The House at the Top of Briggs Road

She did smile now, a cool quick smirk. "I'd say you better be careful to know who you're after before you start." I laughed easily. "But no. You're not stalking me. You're picking someone up?"

Here it was, the only hole in this plan: if little Annette Rosario came out of band practice early, I was fucked. But last Wednesday the kids hadn't left until four, which was safely an hour away. I was counting on Julia cutting out long before then. "My cousin. Well, her daughter. Annette Rosario?"

"Mmhmm." She didn't seem to care, her lashes flickering behind the big sunglasses as she pondered me. "Band practice? You're early, Tricky Ricky."

"No shit?" I raised my eyebrows, the picture of innocence. "My cousin told me they let out at three!"

"Four," she corrected, shifting a heavy leather school bag from one shoulder to the other. Other teachers were leaving behind her, glancing curiously at us. I could see the lines of her bra across her large, firm tits, visible through the fabric of her dress; already, I had to will my cock to behave. "You're screwed. You've got an hour to kill."

"Yeah?" She hadn't fled, and showed no signs of hurrying away; I dared to think this might be going exactly as I'd hoped it might. It would all be so much easier if she was attracted to me. "This isn't my neighborhood, MP. Got any suggestions in mind?"

"There's a little place a few blocks up that way," she said immediately, gesturing with her chin. I shuddered at the graceful, female line of her throat, almost seeing her pulse there; this woman was so vibrant. How was she not taken yet? "I'd give you better directions, but there's a problem with that."

"Yeah?" I frowned, mock-serious. Fuck. The woman was flirting with me! "You don't say."

"See, if I tell you where it is," she went on slowly, "you'll just pick up and go. Then I'll be left standing here next to this shitty car, and everyone will assume it's mine." She shook her head deliberately. "Unacceptable."

"Yeah?" I slid off my trunk, loose-limbed and easy, then leaned on the primer-coated metal. "Ever see Star Wars?"

"Which one?" She stood tall and lithe, her feet spread slightly, the wind rustling her hair.

"Which one," I scoffed. "The first one. The only one. This car?" I patted the trunk. "This is the Milennium fucking Falcon, darling. May not look like much, but..."

She was nodding now, thoughtful. "Bet you get a lot of girls driving in a car like this, Tricky Ricky," she said quietly.

My heart leapt. Perfect. This chick was amazing. I wondered whether she could see my semi in my jeans. "You can find out, if you want. Julia."

She cocked her head, a slow smile spreading across her face. "You're offering me a ride? In this shitbox? To where?"

"To a little place a few blocks up that way," I smiled. "To kill an hour. I promise," I went on, spreading my open hands, "I'm not an axe murderer."

"And even if you were," she nodded, "you've got no axe." She frowned. "I'll let you take me out, but not in this. You can walk with me."

"Okay." I almost preened, amazed at how well this was going. "If you want, you can leave your stuff in here. The doors actually lock," I pointed out, messing with the manual lock on the window rim.

She laughed now, a plummy laugh, tired after a long day in front of the classroom. "Do they?" She sighed, hoisting her bag onto the passenger seat as I held the creaky door open. "Fine. I'm parked back this way, anyway."

I slammed the door. "So I can't say I'd have pegged you for a teacher, Julia," I ventured, starting off with her slightly ahead.

"What's that mean?" She wasn't offended, but the glance she threw over at me was cool.

"Just that I always think of elementary teachers as people who looked like mine." I shrugged, my hands riding in my pockets. "Old. Cranky. Hags, for lack of a better term." The neighborhood around Milne was suburbia in all its glory, an area of homes costing maybe three hundred thousand. "They all reminded me of my grandmother."

She sighed. "Let me tell you, I can certainly be cranky sometimes." She was smiling at me now. "Nice to know I'm not a hag, though."

"Far from," I agreed. "I don't think you ever will be, either."

"Oh stop." She tossed her hair back. "Everybody gets old and haggy. Especially teachers. You said it yourself."

"Nah." I felt sure, somehow. A few blocks ahead I could see a small business district, older, the kind that would have once had a bank, a bikeshop, and a florist across from a diner. "Some women never really lose it," I mused.

"Lose what?"

"Youth. Vitality. Vigor." I didn't even know what I was saying. There are times, with a woman, when I just feel my game is so strong that I don't even think about the words. I just let them flow. They certainly seemed to be working this time; Julia was walking tall and confident, with no hint of hesitation or worry. I wasn't freaking her out. "Some women have it, a certain air about them."

"You know a lot about women, hmm?" She was grinning as she said it, but it was a teasing grin and not a mocking one.

I decided on the truth. She'd never believe it. "I do. Professionally." When she half-turned, walking sideways beside me with her splendid body tugging at her dress, I let her see my eyes flicker down to her chest. "I'm a pimp."

"Well, shit," she nodded, her eyes narrowing in mirth behind the shades, "this is my lucky day. I've been looking for a career change." We both laughed, the simple laughs of people who've met and decided they match, and when I reached impulsively for her hand she did not pull away.

* * *

My stomach lurched sourly on the walk back to my car; I'd accepted tea, and that was almost always a bad idea for me. Especially the herbal crap Julia had bought for us. I'd handled the cookies, sumptuous creations from a gorgeous glass case beside the coffee urn.

But this time, she was the one who reached for my hand. So I ignored my heartburn and just walked quietly beside her, the two of us replaying the conversation over the little round table in the corner.

We'd discussed it all. Her job. Her past. My accident. The court case. She did not ask me about pimping, and I did not volunteer. But she did, at one point, mention something interesting when I noticed a jagged scar across the back of her hand. "Recreational knife fighting?" I asked.

She'd cocked her head and gazed at me like a curious magpie before nodding slowly. "An ex-boyfriend did that to me." She took in my raised eyebrows. "No, it wasn't abuse or anything. He just used to get... well, a little carried away. During, uh... mutual nocturnal activities. If you know what I mean."

"Oh!" I'd leaned back, the hard coffeehouse chair digging into my shoulderblades. "I've been guilty of that myself, sometimes."

She'd thrown a furtive glance around the room, then leaned in close so that I could glance down past her face and see her firm, smooth white tits straining at her dress. "But you clip your nails," she pointed out. "He had, like, claws."

"Claws?" I smiled and made my eyes stay on hers. "Like a cat?"

"More like a wolf, sorta." She licked her lips. "Like a big wolf-man. He behaved like that too. Like a beast." Her eyes took on a faraway look, lips pursing in satisfaction. "It was kind of a relief to break up with him. He never meant to hurt me, but he didn't seem to be able to help himself."

"A wolf-man." I smiled through my sudden unease. "Julia, Halloween is coming soon. But that doesn't mean you should be going around dating werewolves." I laughed, and it took me a few seconds to realize she wasn't.

"Well." She sipped her tea. "Let's just say I apparently attract weirdos, sometimes. My legs have scars too."

I arched an eyebrow, not too sure why I felt a nagging sense of unease. "He didn't cut his toenails, either?"

She just stared at me, curiously intense. "Claws I said, Tricky Ricky. Claws."

The rest of the conversation had gone smoothly enough, though, and by the time I got her back to my car, the leaves had already made orange-red speckles on the Dodge's long hood. It was a gorgeous fall day. "So," I said casually, admiring her ass as she bent to get her bag, "this is probably the part where we exchange contact info."

"If you hadn't brought it up, I would have." She straightened, nodding. "I'm not going to kiss you, though."

"Of course not," I agreed solemnly. "Nobody wants to see a teacher being naughty right across from the school." It was almost four, and the band parents were already milling around. I was keenly aware that I needed to get her the fuck away from me before Annette Rosario (whoever she was) came out to find her actual pick-up. I nodded at the assembling parents. "Better scram. You'll need to beat all the traffic."

She nibbled on her lower lip, then pulled a post-it deliberately out of her massive bag and scribbled a number on it. I already had that same number, from my sleuthing, but I'd never have cold-called her. "Text me if you want to get together again."

I waited in silence until she looked back into my eyes, then nodded. "I want to get together again."

"Okay." She smiled then, a wistfully brief one, then winked. "Good. Because I do too." Her dress swished in the breeze as I watched her march off toward the teacher lot around the side. I was hard as a rock.

* * *

She only asked me once about pimping, on our third date. I'd just taken her for dinner at Zimbardo's and she'd put away a ribeye (medium rare, I was pleased to see) with a baked potato, and peach cobbler for dessert. She watched that night as I took the check and eased my wad out of my pocket. "You always have so much cash," she mused. "I almost never do."

"I don't get obsessive about cards being bad juju or people tracking us or anything weird like that," I shrugged, figuring the tip, "but I do like doing business in cash. It's no-nonsense. You always know where it is."

"Do you keep your stash tucked inside a Playboy under your mattress?" she giggled. She was looking extra vivacious tonight in a short red dress. I knew I could get her clothes off easily, and that she'd probably let me fuck her. I also knew my dick was still sore from Kaylee's "improvement" session the night before, though, and there was something else holding me back: a crusty-voiced old vampire with a shriveled, lovesick heart. I was all but certain Felix would be very, very unhappy if I seduced the love of his life and took her to bed.

Very, very unhappy.

So I leaned back and smiled. "Playboy is all the action I'm getting these days," I lied, remembering Kaylee's sweet little ass in my hand.

"Bullshit," she smiled. "You said you were a pimp. Don't pimps score all the time?"

I hesitated, my smile frozen, dredging a steak frite through the remains of my béarnaise sauce. "I mean, I guess it depends on the pimp," I laughed, and then I saw her whole body unclench as she decided, no, this new guy I'm hanging out with is not actually trafficking women. It hadn't occurred to me that she'd actually believe me. "Call me what you want, Julia, I'm not getting much."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe I'd like to change that," she husked, and God help me if my sore, Kaylee-drained penis didn't lurch, just like that, right there in the restaurant.

I let my lip rise in a smirk. "You want to change... what? You want me to start using a credit card? Or you'd rather I read Penthouse?"

She was still nodding. "See? This is why I like you," she sighed. "You're fucking funny. Make a woman laugh, and you're halfway into her pants."

"I think Plato said that."

"Now you're more than halfway." She was toying with my hand now, her fingers twining in amongst mine, and I looked at them and thought of Halloween, of Felix, and I shuddered. She noticed. "Do you want to be more than halfway, Ricky?"

Goddamn, I realized as I met her eyes. She thought I was some sort of virgin. Or celibate or something. I thought of Felix' weird eyes once more, then pushed them from my mind. "No," I told her quietly. "That's just quibbling. I want to be all the way."

Her answering smile had that confident, testing feminine quality I never seemed to see in any of my whores. That look that told me she was 100% confident she was going to get laid tonight, on her own merits. Because she'd make me want her. And, of course, she had. Just like she'd done to the men on the beach as she ran. As she'd done to that mysteriously gruff old weirdo at the top of Briggs.

I suddenly wondered whether Millow and Zondervan knew that Felix had made a special request. The thought shivered somewhere in the back of my mind, but by that time Julia Cooney had leaned across the little table, her face alight, lips parting, with everything about her shouting ripe, eager lust of the kind that only comes along once in two thousand years...

Her lips were hot and firm, dry with the dulled sheen of red lipstick I could taste suddenly as my tongue darted out without even a moment's thought. She accepted willingly, her lips spreading with that sedated passion that tells you she's thinking I want to get drilled over the table with her hot, blaring lizard-brain while her better judgement reminds her that, no, I'm at Zimbardo's and I might want to come back here with some other guy someday...

We parted in a gentle slough of saliva, coating her chin like she'd just taken a drink of water. My head buzzed, light and a little dizzy, and my cock had already gone painfully hard in my jeans. She was smiling a little dreamily as she drifted back, her eyes closed until those long lashes fluttered up. "Usually, I don't wait until the third date to kiss a man I like," she murmured.

"Yeah," I nodded, "same here." This was true, of course: one occupational hazard of pimping is that you tend not to get too many dates under your belt before you're cumming in the woman's ass, or something. I let her see my eyes search her face, her neck, her chest. "I'm impressed with my self-control. You're a difficult woman to wait for."

"So you're saying we should make up for lost time?" She eyed the pile of cash I'd tucked into the waiter's little folder. "Is there a reason we're still sitting here, Tricky Ricky?"

"Yes," I smirked. "If I were to get up right now, I'd be showing the world what you've done to my dick."

She burst out laughing, drawing glances from across the restaurant. "Let them look," she declared, glancing down at herself, "if they bother looking at anything but my nipples. Can we go to your place?" She sounded apologetic. "My apartment is getting renovated. Dust everywhere."

"Sure." I'd need to call my apartment from the car, obviously, while Julia followed me: Lisa had been crashing at my place for a couple of nights, and she'd need to be told to scram, and tout suite. I hadn't bothered kicking her out the night before, which I'd spent with Kaylee; we'd given Lisa the couch. "I'm a single man. I'm not promising the tidiest house in the world."

"Sightseeing is not my expectation, Ricky." She winked, blushing from her lovely breasts all the way up to her cheekbones, and the flush was still there when her heels clacked across from the guest space at my apartment parking lot to meet me in the stairwell. She took my arm as we headed up toward my door, her body close and warm and solid without being clingy; she moved with a sort of unconsciously graceful hauteur, making me feel like a schlub by comparison.

But as soon as I motioned her through the door, not even worried I'd find Rita there (my orders to her over the phone had been quite forceful), I stopped worrying so much about how I looked. Because once the door closed behind us, nothing in her manner mattered anymore to anyone but me.

I watched as she strode into my living room, her fingers moving to the back of her head to unwind her fiery hair from the prison of its scrunchie, letting its thick auburn waves scatter down her back. I was already shrugging out of my jacket as she turned, her fingers trailing along the top of my sofa. "What can I get you to drink?" I asked, smiling. I could smell Lisa's deodorant, but only slightly; I had no doubt I'd still find droplets of water all over the shower. She'd gotten out with admirable speed, but then that's how I'd trained all my girls. "Tea? Bourbon? Wine?"

"Saliva? Sweat? Semen?" She said the last with a wicked grin, hiking her butt up on the back of the sofa, and that grin took me as firmly as any hook ever took any fish, pulling, my feet crossing over my grotty carpet in three long strides from the door. "I'll have some coffee," she husked as I drew close to her, her eyes roving wide and wet down my body, "tomorrow morning. When you make me breakfast."

"Fuck." I closed in on her, her smell filling me with a suddenness that banished every other woman I'd ever met: she was perfume and sweat and shampoo, hormones and pussy and need, and I was already leaning into her mouth when her hands found their way nimbly under my shirt. I felt life and passion in her fingers, but they were nothing compared to the tongue she sent boldly in between my lips, sweeping my mouth unapologetically, tasting me.

My hands found her at once, desperate to feel what that sublime body could offer me, finding full hips sweeping upward to a supple waist; I was clasping her tits before I even knew I was doing it, the flesh there giving way to my grasping fingers as she exhaled into my mouth in a moaning little sigh. I gripped firm, rounded sweetness through her thin dress and a sheer bra before she reached up, eyes wide, and pulled both dress and bra down to one side.

Her message was obvious.

The breast which popped out at me was pale, eager perfection, the nipple already poking out of a large wine-red disc of intoxicating skin, the whole thing begging for my mouth. I lowered my head at once, hearing her achy whine as she arched back to push herself into my questing mouth. She tasted of salt and naked flesh, and when I sucked hard on that inviting nipple, she burst into a ragged gasp.

The force of her surging body nearly made me take a step back, so eager was she to feel my mouth on her flesh, and I sucked greedily. Her tit gave softly under my tongue, offering itself to me, even insisting I take it for my own. And my other hand clawed mindlessly at her bodice, desperate to free my other prize.

"Oh, fuck," she crowed in a whisper, for her fingers had just found my cock down the front of my pants. I arched forward, pushing myself deeper into her hand, hearing myself groan with desire. God bless Kaylee and her talented vagina, but I was completely rampant for Julia, as hard as I'd ever been, my balls quivering to unload inside her. And she knew it, too, her arm plunging far down inside until her desperate fingers could cup me. I felt a lurch in my stomach when she did.

We mauled each other a few minutes more, rubbing heavily against each other while our tongues smeared each other's chins, both of us panting desperately in that close little living room, with the couch sagging as it tried to hold us upright and the faint whiff of one of my hoes still on the air. I felt my face go slack, mouth dropping open in the dull grip of the lust I was feeling, her lips curling into a wicked little smirk as her fingers probed how hard she'd made me. "You're a big boy," she crooned, my precum smearing her forearm. "Do you think you'll fit inside me?"

"There's only one way to find out," I grated, smelling her breath as she gasped it into my face; I'd just lifted her dress and reached cruelly down to cup her mound. Her body trembled as she humped it into me. Already I felt the trickle of her juices on my palm; this girl needed cock. Badly. "As soaked as you are?" I taunted into her ear, "I bet you'd be able to fuck someone twice my size."