Snapped (24 page)

"Hi, this is Lucy Hudson, I was
looking for Detective Dante."

"Not here. Is this about the Mollino
case?"

"No, it's ... personal."

Lucy recognized the chuckle at the other
end.

"Dave O'Connor? When will Nick be
in?"

"He won't. He's got time off for a
few weeks. Going up to Stanton."

Damn. "Dave, I need Nick's home
number."

"We're not supposed to give away
that information."

"Please. I really need to talk to
him."

He hesitated. "If I do, what will
you owe me?"

She nearly switched off the phone, but
she gritted her teeth and tried to sound chirpy. "A drink, Dave. Nothing
more."

There was a long pause at the other end. "Right
answer," he muttered. "Got a pen?"

She wrote down Nick's number and address
and hung up. She stared at the piece of paper in her lap. She should call him
first, warn him she was on her way, but she didn't want him leaving the house
to avoid her.

She started the Honda's engine and roared
out of her street, heading towards his home.

Nick's house was a lot like the safe
house. Brick, single-fronted with a bay window and small garden. But unlike the
safe house, Nick's place was freshly painted and the garden wasn't a tangle of
weeds and bushes. The roses were dormant, but in summer they'd add color to the
neighborhood.

She rang the doorbell, feeling like a kid
forced to apologize to a neighbor for breaking a window.

The door opened and Nick loomed above
her. "Lucy! What are you doing here?"

"Uh, hi, Nick. Can I come in?"

He hesitated and for one awful moment she
thought he was going to slam the door in her face. But he stood aside and let
her pass. He blinked at her a couple of times then brushed past her in the
narrow hallway and indicated she should follow him.

She peeped into the rooms off the hallway
as they passed. A neat but ancient bathroom, a spare room which contained a lot
of boxes and his bedroom with a half-filled suitcase on the floor.

"So you are leaving?" she said
when he stopped in the living room. It wasn't a large room but was cozy, with
two blue couches, a TV and stereo and dark wood coffee table in the center. An
open fireplace set in against a wall looked like it had recently been used and
framed photographs scattered along the mantle piece. Of his family? His ex
wife? She was dying to have a closer look but didn't dare. Not yet.

"What can I do for you?"

Her heart sank at his formal tone. "I,
um, wanted to see you. I'm glad I caught you before you left. When's your
flight?"

"Tonight at seven. Who told
you?"

"Dave. He gave me your address. We
have to buy him a drink to thank him."

"We?"

She shrugged and dug her fingers as far
as they would go into the pockets of her tight black jeans. "Are you
visiting your family?"

He nodded. "Mom's been bugging me
ever since my nephew was born. I thought I better go see the little guy." He
smiled and pointed to a silver frame on the mantelpiece. "There's a photo
of him there."

She studied it. "Cute. Which sister
is this?"

He stood beside her, his scent driving
her insane because she couldn't touch him. Not yet. Not until she knew for
sure.

"Elaine. And this is me and all of
my sisters last Christmas." He went through every photo—none were of
Donna. A warmth that had nothing to do with the heating spread through her.

"Want a coffee?" he asked not
looking at her.

"No." She needed to get this
over with. "I want to tell you something."

He lifted his gaze to hers and she
swallowed. He looked miserable. Had she done that to him?

"My Dad came back. After all these
years. Isn't that weird."

His shoulders slumped forward and he
turned away. "So why are you telling me?"

She sucked in air in an attempt to regain
her composure. "Because it kind of changes everything I thought was true."

"Like?"

"Like this whole relationship
thing." She watched him. His back was to her as he studied the magazine on
the coffee table. Or pretended to. "He didn't leave me and Mom. He was in
jail. For fraud."

Nick's head snapped round and he looked
at her, his brows drawn. "Jail? Fraud?" Slowly, one corner of his
mouth turned up, then the other corner joined it. His eyes twinkled with humor
before he erupted into laughter. "You're kidding, right?"

"No," she said laughing. "And
he's in the construction industry now."

He laughed even harder and before she
knew it, he'd taken a step towards her and swept her into a hug. "Oh,
baby, I love you."

She buried her face in his throat and
hugged him back as hard as she could. "I love you too," she whispered
and marveled at the weight lifting off her chest. She could breathe again. She
kissed him hard on the lips.

When they came up for air, he grinned at
her. "I'm sorry your Dad's got a record."

She grinned back and unbuckled his belt. "I'm
not. Although I think he's got a lot of making up to do with Mom."

He touched her cheek with his fingers. "I'm
glad you came to your senses, Lucy."

She tipped her head to receive his kiss
as she unbuttoned the fly on his jeans. He sucked in air when her hand slipped
inside.

"I've got some making up to do of my
own, haven't I?" she said, rubbing her hand along his thick shaft. He was
already hard.

"You just needed time." She
took his balls in her palm and squeezed. "Ah, baby." He bent to kiss
her.

She kissed him back then broke it off. She
fell to her knees and drew his jeans down to his ankles, his shorts too. His
erection sprang free and throbbed when she touched it with her tongue.

"I think I know how to make it up to
you," she said, taking the tip into her mouth. She sucked, loving the
taste of him, then released him. "Of course, if you disagree—"

"No! You put me through hell." He
played with her hair, curling a strand around his finger. "Feel free to
suck up to me any way you like."

"Oh, I'll suck up all right."

She smiled, pressed her fingers into his
tight buttocks and took him all the way into her mouth.

THE END

ABOUT
KENDRA

Kendra
Little also writes explicit erotica featuring BDSM, ménage, voyeurism and
romance. Read free excerpts at her blog:
http://kendralittle.blogspot.com
. Follow her on
Twitter
and
Facebook
.

For
now, read a sample from Kendra's erotic mystery THE HOUSE OF O.

My name is Kiki.  Just Kiki.  Like Madonna or Prince but without the
mansions, designer wardrobe or attitude.  You don’t need to know my last name. 
Last names cause complications.  They’re like relationships that way—you’re
better off without them.

Right now it’s not my last name causing the complication but the
big, hairy, naked fucker eying off my ass like it was a piece of chicken he
wanted to skewer and marinade.  If I wasn’t face down on top of the bed without
a single item of clothing on, not even a lacy thong, it wouldn’t be such a
problem. 

“Nice,” the hairy beast said.  “Tight.  I like ‘em tight.”

The ass-fuckers usually do.  I have a theory it’s because they
actually prefer men but either can’t or won’t own up to being gay or bi.  I’ve
thought about testing the theory by turning the tables and sticking something
up their hole and seeing if they actually like it.  But with a guy as big as
Hairy Harry, turning anything wasn’t going to happen. 

His name wasn’t really Hairy Harry of course.  That’s just what
Madam O called him.  Madam O—my mentor, savior, pimp and closest friend—never
asked our customers names.  Maybe that’s why we were so popular.  Either that
or because Madam O’s House of O had the best girls in town.  We were clean,
pretty and willing to do any depraved thing the clients came up with.

Although I wasn’t so willing on this occasion.  Hairy Harry wasn’t
one of my usual clients because I wasn’t the butt girl.  Madam O respected our
dislikes and never forced us to do anything we didn’t want to.  That’s why all
the best girls in town worked for her.  She was a great boss. 

But Angelina, the butt girl and Hairy Harry’s usual fuck, had come
down with the flu.  Madam O had called him and told him the situation but he’d
insisted someone else take Angelina’s place.  Namely me.  Madam O—real name
Oriana—refused, bless her. 

Hairy Harry didn’t like being refused.  He threatened to go
elsewhere.  He threatened to get his government mates to go elsewhere and when
Oriana still refused he threatened to get her brothel license revoked.  He’s
high up in the department that controls the brothel licenses issued in the city
so he can do that.  Oriana knew it.  And when she explained the situation to
me, I knew it too.  I wasn’t going to let Madam O get screwed just because of
one shit of a man who really should have been over at Jolly Roger’s anyway
sinking his prick into the tight end of one of that establishment’s gorgeous
young men.  So I offered to replace Angelina rather than cancel and risk Hairy
Harry making good on his threat.

“No,” Oriana said, drumming her be-ringed fingers on the kitchen
bench in her apartment.  The brothel was located in a big old triple-story
house in a leafy street, surrounded by other big old houses that had mostly
been converted into apartments.  It had been left to her by her grandmother ten
years ago.  Oriana lived on the top floor.  The lower two levels were taken up
with rooms of varying sizes for the “guests” who hired them by the hour along
with the use of our bodies.  It was a lucrative arrangement and Oriana was a
millionaire many times over.  “I know you don’t like it,” she went on, “and I
won’t ask you to do it.”

“You’re not asking,” I said, putting down my oversized coffee mug. 
We sat in her kitchen, as we often did, the white marble bench stretching
between us.  “I’m offering.  Call him back and tell him I’ll do it.”

Oriana gave me one of her mothering frowns that were half-sympathy
and half-admonishment.  “But you don’t like it.”

“I don’t mind it,” I said with a laugh.  It’s always good to laugh
when you’re lying.  Distracts the other person.  “Sure, it’s not my favorite
thing but I’ll do it.  Besides,” I winked, “you know I’m up for anything.”

“Well…if you’re sure.”

I got off my stool, hiked my micro-mini skirt down because it had
ridden up to pussy level, and pecked her on the cheek.  “Of course I’m sure. 
It’s not like I’ve never done it before.”

I’d never done it before.  That’s the truth.  In four years of
prostitution I’d never had to try it because I'd told Oriana up front it was
the one thing I wouldn't do.

So having Hairy Harry in all his wobbling nakedness rise above me,
his dick poised like a sword ready to ram me through, was more than a little
daunting.  I was shitting myself.  Kind of literally as it happened.  The
thought of that massive thing stretching my tiny hole and filling me up to my
bowels was freaking me out.  I didn't want to do it. 

But of course I would.  For Oriana.  And for me.  Without the House
of O I didn't have a home.  Besides, if Angelina could do it, so could I.  She
was tiny with a skinny flat ass.  I'm average and my ass is well, out there,
not fat just...easy to hold onto.

"Come to daddy," Hairy Harry said.  His sausage-like
fingers grabbed my hips and drew me up so that my middle was raised off the
bed.  "Oh yeah," he said.  "Look at that.  What a delicious ass
you have, Kiki."  He rubbed his paw from the small of my back down to my
pussy, sliding his thumb along the crack.  "Jeez, you're as wet as the
Pacific down there." 

"It's lube."

"Lube?  Why you lubing your cunny?  It's this I want."  He
smacked me on the ass.  Hard.  I jerked forward but he pulled me back so that
his prick prodded against my butt opening.

"I thought you might change your mind and forget the ass
fuck."  It was a dumb thing to say but hell I wasn't feeling too clever or
funny at that moment.  Not with my virgin ass cheeks pulled apart by Hairy
Harry's fat thumbs.  Because the truth was, the wetness wasn't from the lube. 
It was from me.  Fuck. 

Harry chuckled.  "You don't like to ass fuck?"

"I can think of other things I'd rather be doing.  Like
slavering my hot tongue all over that magnificent cock of yours."

"Nice try," he said.  "Don't worry, I'll go
easy."  To emphasize the point, he slapped my cheeks again.  It stung like
crazy but a few slaps I could take.  It was the feel of that smooth round head
at my puckered opening that was making my mouth dry.  And my pussy wet for some
reason.  "It'll hurt at first," he said, "'coz I'm so big, but
then you'll love it.  Hell, you'll be begging me to ram you all the way."