Act of Exposure (10 page)

In the
darkness of the undergrowth, Lance Vector watched, his eyes wide,
his penis pulsating in his trousers. His breath caught in his
throat, his heart thudded like a hammer in his chest. Finally, he
opened his zip and allowed his semen to spurt into the low shrubs
behind which he hid. Despite his release anger boiled inside him.
Stephen Sigmund had sullied the women he desired. He had convinced
himself that his first time would also have been hers, and Stephen
Sigmund had stolen that moment from him.

As the two of
them had performed, he had quietly recorded everything they had
done. Normally, he would have rushed it home, and taken notes as he
played it back before rushing it off to a press ever hungry for
tales of horror and lust. But this time he would not do that. This
tape was for him alone. He had no wish to sully Abigail's name.

It might be
said by a romantically-minded observer who could not look into his
twisted mind that Lance was in love with her. Perhaps he was, but
he was also obsessed with a sudden desire to lose his virginity. It
was as if his pubescent yearnings had finally arrived. He had a
desperate need for carnal knowledge, and the object of his desire
was Abigail Corrigan.

Just as
Abigail could not get Stephen out of her mind, Lance Vector could
not get Abigail out of his. Sitting in front of the video screen,
he pretended he was Stephen and that it was his tongue licking her
slippery pink flesh, his penis sliding in and out of her welcoming
pussy. Pretending was not sufficient to quell his hunger for sex.
For the first time, he wanted the real thing.

On the morning
following the celebration at Trendleham Court, Lance picked up the
phone and dialled Abigail Corrigan's number. He adopted the casual,
confident tone that he'd heard other men use when attempting to
seduce and beguile the fairer sex. 'How about you taking me to
lunch?'

Abby
remembered the fresh-faced man who had stared at her as though he
were viewing his very first date. Her response was immediate. 'How
about you taking yourself?' It stung, but he wouldn't be put
off.

'Don't be
dismissive, counsellor. Think what I can do for you. Consider also
what I can do to you.'

In his mind, he was running his hands over her naked body,
burying his nose between her breasts and sucking in the smell of
her sex.
Imagine
,
he thought,
the silky curls of her pubic
bush rubbing against my face
.

Perhaps it was
the tone of his voice that triggered similar imaginings in
Abigail's mind. Of course she was thinking of Stephen, but it
didn't hurt to use another man's voice, another man's suggestions
to rouse her desire. However, the tone of her voice remained
even.

'And what, Mr
Vector, could you do for me?'

Vector's voice
lowered an octave or two. 'I could wine you, dine you, help you
throw off the dust of all those affidavits, all those legal briefs.
I don't ask many women out, Miss Corrigan, only those that are
special.'

If she closed
her eyes, Stephen became that much clearer in her mind. If she
concentrated very determinedly, she could almost smell him.

Unknown to
Lance Vector, Abigail uncrossed her legs. As she did so, the nylon
of one stocking rasped sensually against the other. The sound was
as provocative as the action.

Briefs. Lance
Vector had mentioned briefs. She smiled as she trailed one finger
over her inner thigh and between the shaved lips of her sex. Briefs
were something she never wore. Of course, she knew the man was
referring to legal briefs, but to hear him spar around what he
really meant, amused and excited her.

She adopted
her most professional voice. 'And how would you do that, Mr
Vector?'

She heard him
sigh, and wondered if her unseen caller was masturbating as he
spoke to her.

'I could
massage your temples. I could have you sit in front of me - press
my thumbs into the very corners of your forehead where your skin
meets your hair. You could close your eyes. Then I could fan my
fingers around your face, massage your cheeks and your jaw. If you
approve of me doing those things - as you become more relaxed - I
could move my hands to the nape of your neck, roll my thumbs over
your tense muscles, spread my fingers along your shoulders.'

Although her
clitoris was hard beneath her thumb, and her body was responding to
the vision in her brain and the finger in her vagina, Abby spoke
precisely, indeed almost coldly, into the telephone receiver.

'Really, Mr
Vector. Would that indeed be your intention? I'm intrigued. Tell
me, where would you go from there?' She heard him sigh again.

'Lance,' he
said almost plaintively. 'Call me Lance.'

'Lance.'

'Could you
call me "darling"? I'd love to hear you say that.'

Abby
hesitated. She was going to say no, but if she did, he would
probably hang up and at this present moment, she didn't want him to
do that. Her fingers were doing such delicious things. Once
aroused, she preferred desire to reach its ultimate conclusion.

'Darling.' She
said it in a low, husky voice, the sort she knew he was dying for.
'Darling,' she said again. 'What would you do then, Lance, darling.
Tell me what you would do?'

He moaned. 'I
would have you lie down.'

'Naked, I
presume.'

Her blatant
declaration and the vision it conjured up in his mind brought him
up short. What would she think of him going on like this? He should
stop, but her likeness was still in his head. He imagined her
naked, her bottom swaying gently from side to side as he played
with her breasts.

He gulped as
he tried to eliminate his lust and not say anything further. It was
no good. He had started something he had to finish.

'Yes! Naked! I
would have you lie face down and naked. Then I would run my hands
down your back, massaging all the tension out of your body.' He
paused for breath as ever more lurid pictures formed in his
mind.

'And
then?'

Triggered by
the reality of Lance Vector's sexual suggestions, fantasy had
fashioned Stephen in Abigail's mind. Never had such a lover been so
easy to construct from pure thought, memories of sight, sound,
touch and smell. Never had she been so affected by a man. Usually,
her sexual longing would have abated after one night. Images of
other men had not lingered so long. But Stephen was not other men.
Her body had had plenty of him, and yet she still needed him, could
still go one more climax before her mind was completely attentive
to her work. The young man on the telephone was doing a very good
job of arousing her.

She was
climbing a cool, green wave. A little more of his voice, a little
more of her finger, and she would reach the highest crest of that
wave, then come crashing down in a swirling, rippling climax.

'Then,' his
voice faltered as his thoughts became clearer and his tongue
thickened with desire. 'Then, I would run my hands over your naked
buttocks, divide them with my thumbs, press them and roll them with
my palms and my fingers.'

'Oh really.'
Her tongue licked her lips. It was her turn to pause, the moment
for her voice to tremble. 'And pray, Mr Vector, Lance, darling,
what would you want me to do as you are doing this to me?'

Say it! Say it!
She threw back her
head, bit her bottom lip. Her thumb tapped against the centre of
her arousal. One finger, then two, dipped in and out of her vagina.
All she needed were those few words that would send her over the
top of that wave and crashing down the other side.

Say it!
screamed her mind, her
being.

Lance Vector
was sweating. He had an enormous hard-on that he wanted to touch.
But although he was on his mobile phone and no one could hear what
he was saying, he was in a public place. But oh, if only he wasn't!
He licked an over-abundance of spittle from off his lips before he
spoke.

'I would have
you open your legs so I could massage your thighs, tickle the backs
of your knees, rub your calves, and manipulate your toes, your
soles, your heels.'

He paused as
his breathing became more laboured and much quicker. He licked his
lips, imagined her in all her naked glory. He hardly seemed to
notice that she was saying nothing, that all was silent on the
other end of the phone.

'Then I would
push one - no - two fingers into you, press my thumb against your
clitoris and jerk into and against you again and again until you
shuddered and shouted for me to stop.'

In the privacy
of her office, a room lined with cherrywood shelves holding row
after row of legal tomes, Abigail Corrigan murmured her climax.

Lance Vector
did not know this because at that very moment Abigail made sure
that her chin was pressed tightly to the mouthpiece.

As Lance began
to describe how he would then mount her and push his wayward penis
into her open portal, she at last spoke.

'No thank
you.' She said it curtly, and put the phone down.

She was
grateful for him phoning, but at this moment in time, she was not
interested in meeting him for lunch, dinner, or anything else.

Stephen
Sigmund was still in her mind and was the man she preferred to be
in her body. She felt a certain loyalty to him, a loyalty that
could not possibly last, but was, at the moment, extremely
strong.

All the same,
she rested her chin on her hand for a moment, and let her eyes flit
over the shelves of green, red, and black books with their spines
of gilt-etched lettering. She smiled. Lance Vector sounded as if he
were a child in a sweet shop and she was all that was on sale - or
the only item he was interested in.

Although he
had made her shiver when she had first met him, he was a pretty
young man. Who knows, perhaps if he was as innocent as he seemed,
she could initiate him into his first sexual encounter. The thought
made her wet again and regretful that she had brushed him off so
quickly.

Enough of
that, she told herself. The intercom was buzzing. Her next
appointment had arrived.

She opened the
file marked libel. Medina Frassard versus Valeria Spendle.

Val was a
senior police officer and, as always, looked the part. Her hair was
neat and dark and framed her face like a small cap. Twenty-two
carat gold stars shone from her earlobes. Her skin gleamed like
polished mahogany, and despite the charge against her, her dark
eyes and her overall bearing still pronounced her confidence.

'Darling.'
They both said it, both kissed the other's cheek.

Once Val was
sitting, one stocking lisped against the other as she crossed her
long, dark legs.

'Well? What's
the score?' Val's eyebrows arched a little higher as she asked the
question.

Abby shook her
head. 'No go. Medina Frassard wants more than an apology. She wants
recompense.' Abby interlocked her fingers and tapped her index ones
against her chin as she viewed the woman who was both a friend and
a client. 'She's after your heart, Val.'

The police
commissioner, whose sexual appetite equalled her professional
ambition, shook her head. 'Not my heart, Abby, honey. That chick's
after my black ass!'

'Your words
obviously opened a very deep wound.'

'Shit no! My
words referred to her very open legs. You know me, Abby. I hate
people trying to pretend they're something they're not. Anyway, I
was a bit tipsy at the time, and that woman is a racist cow. Do you
know what she said to me?'

'Certainly. I
have it here.' Abby flicked to the relevant section in the buff
folder. 'You allege, and I quote, that Medina Frassard hinted that
you had got your job purely by the colour of your skin and not by
your ability.'

'That's
right!' Val's eyes lit up as she recalled the swiftness of her
retaliation. 'And I said to her that her wealth and position had
been acquired by how wide she had spread her legs, and not by the
width of her intellect.' She shook her head. The brown eyes took on
a soulful look before a smile came to her lips. 'Shit. If she won't
accept my apology, then I retract it. I'll see her in court.'

'You could
still refer her comment to the CRE.'

Val shook her
head. 'No. I got this far in life on my own two feet, so I'll stand
or fall the rest of the way on them.'

'It might be a
definite advantage to have a black ass if you do fall. It could get
bruised.'

Val smiled and
shook her head. There was a knowing look in her eyes. 'I won't
change my mind, Abby. There's nothing you can say that will do
that, my darling girl.'

Abby sighed
and leant back in her chair. She crossed her hands in front of her
waist then smiled. 'Not even if I threatened to expose your sex
life to the press?'

Val threw back
her head and burst out laughing. 'Me, you and Stephen too!'

Abby chuckled
into her hands. Val stopped laughing and looked at her friend a
little more seriously. 'Have you two been having a good time? Or
shouldn't I ask?'

Abby nodded
and lowered her lashes. 'You can ask, but I won't go into
detail.'

Val raised her
eyebrows. 'Wow. Could this be love?'

It was an
effort not to blush, but Abby managed it. Somehow she couldn't
answer this at the same time as looking Val directly in the face.
Normally they would have discussed it like two giggling school
girls, compared notes, feelings, and made personal comments about
the man's assets and technique. This time something stopped
her.

Val was
perceptive. She reached across and covered her hand. 'This ain't
just sex, Abby. You two got more about you than that. You two are
made for each other. Do the right thing, girl.'