“Well, I don’t know… I mean…”
“It’s settled then,” he said, kissing me again, long and slow, tongues circling. “You’ll stay.”
“Yes,” I sighed. “I’ll stay.”
I closed my eyes and snuggled in under Sean’s arm with my cheek resting on his muscular chest and my finger drawing circles around his nipple. I didn’t move until I felt his chest rising and falling steadily. He began to snore softly. I rolled away from under his arm. He shifted to one side and put an arm over his eyes. After a moment, he began to snore again.
I waited nearly an hour before slipping out of bed and tiptoeing through the dark penthouse. I could barely believe that I was walking around naked in Sean O’Connor’s place. I resisted the urge to open drawers and look in closets. I knew Sean was too smart to have anything in the apartment that would tie him to illegal activities, so I didn’t waste my time.
I found my purse on the dining room table. I crept into the bathroom and locked door, then sat on the toilet to take a good long pee. My cooch was a sticky mess. I reeked of sex. I’d find a washcloth in a moment and clean myself off.
First, I had to text Ed. I knew he was probably bouncing off the walls. The last thing I needed was for Ed to overreact and bust down the door only to find Sean asleep in bed and me naked, pissing on the toilet.
I took out the burner phone belonging to Claire Goodman and texted the contact listed as MOM.
I typed in: All’s well. Call soon. Send.
Even though it was nearly one in the morning, Ed immediately texted back.
Where are you? What are you doing?
I typed in: Sitting on the toilet. Peeing. Talk soon. Good night.
I turned off the phone before Ed could text back.
I knew he could track the phone on his computer.
He was probably sitting at home right now, in his boxer shorts, with Greta Vann snoring in the bed beside him, staring at a computer screen wondering what the hell I was still doing in Sean O’Connor’s apartment at one in the morning.
I could only imagine the size of the brick he was shitting.
For some reason, the thought made me smile.
Sean
The sun beaming through the penthouse bedroom’s wall of windows woke me just after eight on Saturday morning. I rubbed my eyes and yawned as I rolled over to say good morning to Claire.
I’d dreamt of her all night long, replaying our sexual romp on an endless loop in my head. I wasn’t surprised to find that I had woken up with my cock so hard it literally ached. I hoped she liked morning sex as much as I did.
Sadly, I discovered that I would have to wait to find out because she was not in the bed beside me. I pushed up onto my elbows and listened for a moment, thinking that maybe she was in the shower, but the apartment was dead quiet. Her side of the bed had been slept in, but the sheet was cold, so she’d been gone for a while.
I called out to her but got no reply. I eased back on the pillows and sighed. I could only suppose that she had gone home sometime in the night.
Oh well. I had a raging hard-on and a very active imagination. I closed my eyes, wrapped my fingers around my cock, and let the movie of the night before replay in my mind.
It didn’t take long. I blew my load quickly, covering my hand and stomach with my milky goo. I grunted a little as I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom with my sticky hand out.
When I opened the bathroom door, I smiled.
Written on the mirror in red lipstick, was a phone number and the words “CALL ME!”.
She had dotted the exclamation point with a little heart.
Cute.
And very sexy.
Claire
Ed was sitting across the little coffee shop table, glaring at me as he stuffed half a powdered donut into his mouth. He shook his head and spat crumbs as he spoke.
“I can’t believe you,” he said. “What the fuck are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that I’m getting into Sean O’Connor’s inner circle pretty fucking quickly,” I said, leaning in and lowered my voice.
“By fucking him?” He picked up his coffee cup and shook his head before taking a sip. “Unfucking believable, Claire. You have compromised the entire operation because you can’t keep your fucking hormones in check.”
“I haven’t jeopardized a fucking thing,” I said, forgetting to control the level of my voice in the small shop. Several customers glanced my way, then shook their heads in disgust at the girl with the muck mouth and went back to their coffee and donuts.
The truth was, I may not have jeopardized the operation, but I’d certainly added a new level of difficulty to it. Now we needed iron-clad evidence to convict the O’Connor crew, but the Catch 22 was that we would have probably never found such evidence if I hadn’t, to quote Ed, “fucked my way to the inside”.