Against the Clock (2 page)

From the mini-bar, Bill could see her peering over the handrail. He'd done the same thing himself many times before, looking down at all the little people, wondering what their lives must be like. He thought of them scurrying around trying to make ends meet, providing for their families and playing by the rules, but rarely being of any real consequence. He thought of them with an odd indifference, a mild curiosity, held in his mind for a moment and then discarded. He found no fault in this, just a keen observation of society's hierarchy, and yet he found himself wondering if Marisol would think less of him because of it.

Marisol came in and closed the sliding door, shaking off the cold as though it were a physical cape across her shoulders. "
Brrrr
…it's cold out there." She shivered.

"How do you like the view?" Bill walked toward her.

"It's amazing. It looks completely different from up here."

He met her in the middle of the large living room, offered her the glass of Scotch, and raised his own to make a toast.

"To…different perspectives, and to us," he paused, "the beginning of something." Their glasses clinked together, their eyes met, and a glimmer of their past desires curled his lips in the hint of a smile.

Marisol coughed at the harshness of the Scotch as it burned its way down her throat. "It's good," she sputtered in a hoarse voice.

They both laughed openly, more nervous release than humor, and briefly, just for a moment, some of the tension between them slipped away.

Caught between breaths, their laughter soon gave way to an awkward silence. Their minds were trapped by indecision; thoughts, questions, words jumbled in their heads, their bodies stilled, unable to move. A stillness so complete surrounded them that it seemed even the world had stopped spinning, frozen in time, frozen in that moment.

Bill pushed himself forward, breaking free of the constraints his doubts and fears had placed on him. His hand cupped the base of her head, and he came in fast to kiss her. She leaned in, their lips crushing together with desire.

The heavy glasses fell, bouncing off the rug. With a guttural growl, Bill lifted her off her feet and pulled her into him with a passion that surprised him. He heard her gasp, and stopped himself short of devouring her on the spot. He kissed her gently under her chin, kissed her again just behind her ear, and again at the base of her neck.

Marisol moaned, and then whimpered as she pulled him in harder. Wanting more, needing more. Her legs wrapped around his waist, gripping their bodies tightly together, grinding her pelvis hard against him, up and down. She could feel his hardness through their pants.

23:52:47

Their bodies moved as one across the large room. Bill held her buttocks firmly in his hands, squeezing, kneading, wanting to rip the fabric from her flesh. Her groans spurred him on. He needed to be inside her now. The bedroom too far, he chose the dining table.

Resting her on the edge, he desperately tried to free her of her blouse. His big hands struggled with the tiny buttons, threatening to rip her shirt to shreds in anticipation of what hid beneath.

Marisol kissed him deeply, exploring his mouth, biting his bottom lip. She pushed his hands away and undid the buttons, letting the folds of fabric drape across her midriff. Her breasts seemed to push out against the open shirt with each heavy breath, but still the fabric clung to her, caught at the edges of each round breast. They were full and aching to be touched, the valley between them promising something magical.

He squeezed her hips, explored her stomach and ribs. He arrived finally at the curvature of her breasts. He paused there, in preparation, in respect, and then moved his hands gently over the slope of her firm bosom and, teasingly, brushed against her hard, erect nipples. He rubbed them, cupping them in his hands, squeezing gently at first, and then firmer.

He buried his face in the valley of her chest, kissing, licking, sucking, working his way to the center of her right breast. He took her nipple deep into his mouth, flicking at it with his tongue. He could feel the vibration of her moaning.

Her hands cupped the back of his head, holding him tightly against her. Her firm grip told him all he needed to know. He moved to her left breast and captured its nipple between his teeth, nibbling at it gently.

"Take me, Bill! Take me!" she gasped.

Without stopping, he guided Marisol's hands behind her back and deftly slid the shirt off her shoulders. It fell in a heap at the small of her back..

With her arms behind her, her breasts were pushed out, up and forward, the effect totally intoxicating. Bill straightened and kissed her mouth passionately. His eyes closed for the first time.

Sliding her forward, he picked her up off the edge of the table, supported her weight, and lowered her slowly until her feet touched the ground.

Marisol leaned against the edge of the table for support as Bill pressed himself closer. He worked his way down, from mouth to neck, to breasts, to stomach, kissing hungrily, gnawing at her flesh, spurred on by her gasps of pleasure.

He slid to his knees, his hands working at the clasp of her belt, then the button of her slacks. From the open space of the undone zipper, white cotton panties flashed at him like a beacon in the night. A small logo of Mickey Mouse at the panty center caught his eye, and somewhere in the back of his mind, the innocence and purity of them registered as an all-devouring aphrodisiac, screaming at him to fuck her in a million different ways.

He wrapped his fingers over the edges of her loosened pants and underwear and pulled them down, bit by bit. They caught on the curve of her firm buttocks, but gave way quickly under the force of his excitement. Her pelvis became more and more exposed with each slight tug of her clothing, his mouth exploring each newly discovered part of her.

At the base of her hips, her pants rose over the mound of her pubic bone. Her skin was soft and smooth, and perhaps a shade lighter than the rest of her tanned body. Where pubic hair would have tufted over the edge of her panties, there was none. It thrilled him. He dove onto the hairless skin with abandon, his chin pushing her panties lower and lower as his tongue probed farther and deeper.

The heat of her excitement met his chin as his tongue discovered the beginning of her outer labia. Marisol moaned loudly, encouraging him to keep going.

He couldn't wait anymore. He tugged at her pants one last time, pulling them down and off completely, finally exposing her naked groin. The lips of her vagina were full and moist, the space between them glistening with promise.

He stopped, captured for a moment, and then charged forward with his mouth and tongue, diving into the folds between her legs, vaguely aware of Marisol crying out in pleasure.

The force of his advance lifted her from her feet. Her trousers and panties fell abandoned to the floor, her legs slung against his wide shoulders. She trembled under the manipulations of his tongue.

He shaped his tongue wide and flat, moving it up and down, then round and round, skirting the edge of her clitoris, getting teasingly closer each time until she trembled to the core. Only then did he move back to the entrance of her, feeling her inner muscles clench tightly against his tongue with each thrust inside her.

00:18:52

Marisol screamed out in bliss while Bill suckled at the folds of her clitoris, bringing her to the edge of orgasm and then backing off. The pleasure built to higher and higher peaks of ecstasy until her whole body trembled uncontrollably and her breaths grew ragged.

She wanted to orgasm with a force unparalleled to any other she had felt before, to feel the power of climactic release, but at the same time she wanted it to never end, to remain anesthetized to the outside world, forever wrapped in a cocoon of illicit pleasure.

The sweetness of his touch seemed to reach into every part of her, traversing the great divide between the physical connection and the emotional, and as her body moved in rhythm with his, a tear welled at the corner of her eye, rolling down the side of her cheek.

Bill freed himself of his pants, tore the shirt from his body and before she could gaze at the hardness of his cock, he thrust deep inside her. She gasped at the fullness of it entering her.

It felt huge and hard. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulled him in tight, and rose up to kiss him. Their mouths collided, open and hungry, her tongue exploring. She could taste herself on his lips and it made her want him even more.

With each thrust she gasped loudly; she didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but the excitement grew to dizzying heights, and she found herself crying out as the all-consuming waves of orgasm rolled through her. Like a stone thrown into still waters, the ripples reverberated through her, starting at the center of her core and spreading out in larger concentric circles to touch every part of her being.

Marisol clung to him loosely as he collected her into his arms, the last ebbs of orgasm giving way to a deep and relaxing sense of peace.

As Bill carried her to the lounge, every part of her felt new and fresh, tingling with life. Her senses heightened. She could feel the lounge's textured fabric against her naked buttocks, the sound of her hair falling across her shoulders, and the masculine smell of Bill's cologne. Every sensation distinct―and arousing. This was her escape. And so she clung to it, appreciating it, understanding it for what it was.

She sat on the edge of the lounge, Bill standing before her. His naked body was glistening with sweat, all his muscles flexing with evidence of hours spent in the gym. He looked like a rugged prizefighter, a gladiator. Tough, dangerous, and sexy as hell.

She saw the full extent of his throbbing penis for the first time as it stood upright and strong, wet with her juices. She gripped its shaft firmly at the base, her hand barely circling its generous breadth, and she brought her mouth over its engorged head. Its size alarmed her at first, yet thrilled her at the same time. Her mouth was barely able to take in the fullness of its head completely.

Bill threw his head back, groaning loudly, giving in to the tremors ripping through him as Marisol brought him to the brink of orgasm. He wanted to pound his chest and scream out like Tarzan with a primal dominance that would shake the trees and scare the lions.

Marisol sensed his urgency, knew his every movement, anticipated his need; she ran to her bag, deftly opened a condom and unfurled it over his cock. He lifted her off her feet, thrust himself deep inside her, wedged her against the pillows of the lounge, pumped rhythmically into her, and exploded in a wild orgasm.

His vision blurred, and black stars twinkled in the back of his mind as he pushed himself deeper inside her with each thrust. The waves of orgasm crumbled his defenses, opened him to a world of unfamiliar emotions. He could feel her muscles squeezing around him each time he withdrew, milking him of all his worth.

He found himself laughing loudly with a deep and genuine joy. And then, slowly, he noticed a warm and welcoming heaviness wash over him. His eyes clouded in a soothing white haze, and gently, peacefully, they closed. He fell limp. Unconscious.

00:40:02

Marisol waited a moment. Assessed him carefully. He didn't move. His breathing stayed deep and even. He was out.

She freed herself from under him, stood, and looked at him indifferently as he lay awkwardly on the lounge. The drugged condom still clung to his flaccid penis. The topical anesthetic inside the condom quickly absorbed through his throbbing, blood-rich dick had worked faster than she'd thought.

She estimated a ten-to fifteen-minute window to do what she came for, crawl back underneath him, become Marisol again, and pretend to wake up when he did.

No one would ever know what had really happened.

Still tingling from the distraction of sex, she felt rejuvenated. Her inner demons momentarily abated, her mind was clear and focused. She left the room. She moved quickly through the lavish apartment toward the antique polished wood grandfather clock in the study. She knew where it was, and what secrets hid within it. That was why she was here.

Standing before it, she marveled at how ingenious it was of Bill to protect his secrets there, hidden from everyone, yet in plain sight. She reached for the glass panel protecting the clock face and opened it. The hinges moved stiffly. She made sure not to apply too much pressure for fear of damaging the panel. She could leave no sign that any part of the clock had been tampered with.

Before touching the clock hands, she looked carefully inside for laser plates, strands of hair perched on a ledge, and any other security measure Bill may have put in place. She could see none.

Her finger touched the large minute hand of the clock, noting that it felt much sturdier than it looked. She turned it counterclockwise in three full circles. She heard a faint click somewhere in the body of the old clock. Then she positioned her finger on the hour hand and turned it clockwise for five full rotations. Another click. Using two hands, she turned both hands of the clock in the opposite direction at the same time until they met together on the number 12. A loud clunk.

She pulled the face of the large grandfather clock toward her carefully and watched as the whole front of the clock appeared to float out in a wide arc, hinged to the wall on one side.