DrillingDownDeep (15 page)

He paused and she took a deep breath.

Fuck. It should not have felt so wildly exciting.

She shuddered, feeling his cock beneath her harden.

Smack.

She sucked in a breath and felt him hesitate. Then startling
her, he shoved three fingers inside her wet pussy.

“Oh God.”

Smack.

As he spanked her, he fucked her with his fingers, hard and
deep and she squirmed at the pleasure.

“Fuck.” It was him this time. He dumped her off his lap,
flipping her onto her stomach and yanking her jeans and panties all the way
off. One damn reason to get around to buying tighter jeans was so he wouldn’t
always have such an easy time of getting her out of them.

She groaned and looked behind her to see him pulling his
rigid cock out and kicking her legs farther apart with his still-trouser-clad
knees.

Then he plunged just his middle finger in her pussy again,
swirling it around, and withdrew it, suitably moistened.

So he could bury it knuckle deep in her ass.

She yelped in her surprise at it and he laughed.

“Ssshhh! Not worried about Miss Prentiss hearing now, are
you?”

He thrust his moist finger in and out of her butthole
slowly, pulling her a little up on her knees to give him a better angle from
behind, and then thrust his cock, hard, up her other channel in rhythm with his
finger.

Both of her holes filled.

“You like this, baby?” he taunted.

She moaned.

“I think you do. I think I’ve finally shut my sweet Vanny
up.”

God, the pressure, the fullness, it felt alien and very,
very hot.

He withdrew his cock slowly, his finger in tandem and she
whimpered at the dual friction.

“Oh yeah, you’re so tight I can tell your little butt is
virgin, isn’t it, baby? So tell me how you like it.” His cock sank back into
her slick pussy and his finger stretched her ass. She arched against the
sensation, so good, so bad. The next thrust of his cock was a little harder,
jarring her forward, and she heard a quick hitch in his breath as from that
point on he increased his speed, the flexing of his hips against the cheeks of
her ass making a slapping sound. He pushed her down onto her side and wedged
one leg between hers, kneeling over her as he plunged into both her openings
again and again, pulling out his cock and his finger and then thrusting both
deep up into her.

“Come on.” His voice was breathless. “Nothing to say, my bad
little Vanny?”

It felt as if his finger was going deeper every time—Jesus,
he might have even added a second one, her eyes were shut so tight she wouldn’t
know—adding a pinch of pain to all the pleasure, his cock reaching ever higher
inside her as he did. When she clenched the muscles of her vagina against his
rigid, thrusting cock in automatic reaction, she felt the hot grip of something
primal and wild in her backside as well.

“Talk to me, Vanny. Tell me how it feels to have me buried
up both your holes.”

“It feels, ah, oh God, it feels…so…so…
good
,” she
moaned.

“Yeah, I thought my sexy little Vanny might like this.”

“Like” wasn’t quite the right term for it. She was writhing
with his ministrations, giddy with the naughty excitement of it. She wished she
were fully naked for him. That his mouth was on her tits as well, sucking her
nipples as he plumbed the depths of her.

“My shirt,” she mumbled, fumbling for the bottom of it.

He paused, wedged firmly inside her, as she struggled to
pull her shirt up and yank one cup of her bra down, holding her naked breast
wordlessly toward him.

The low rumble of his laughter came out against the heated
skin of that one freed breast. “Oh Vanny, what a greedy little thing you are.”
But she didn’t care. Let him laugh. She wanted that last overwhelming touch,
needed it.

He sucked her nipple hard and rammed into her one last time,
surprising her eyes open with the pleasure of the coordinated attack. She came
so hard she thought she would faint. And she cried so loudly that—forget about
Miss Prentiss—the prissy receptionist in the lobby probably heard it.

He groaned as well and swiftly pulled his cock out and then
shot a hot stream of ejaculate all over her ass, coming between her cheeks but
not penetrating.

He took one last shudder and withdrew from that last
orifice, flopping down on his back beside her. She stretched out to lie on her
stomach, pillowing her head in her arms.

God, that had felt incredible. She should be ashamed of
herself.

But she wasn’t.

“I’m not sure my spanking ended up sending quite the message
I meant it to,” he said in a low voice.

She grinned. “Whose fault is that?”

Though he did not grin back, he seemed more relaxed and less
angry. Incredibly hot sex did that for a person.

“What was that?” she couldn’t help but ask. “A kinky side to
the famous Michael Reynolds?”

He glanced at her wryly. “More like a ‘Vanny Donald bringing
out a wild side I barely remembered I had’.”

“But you’ve ah…been ah…” She gestured vaguely behind her.

“I’ve been having sex a long time, Vanny, and have probably
been offered everything you could imagine a woman would offer me. Some things I
tried because I wanted to, just to see.” He traced one finger lightly along the
sticky crack of her ass. “Who knows what you’ll be offering me soon?”

About to delve further on that, he pulled his hand back and
cut off the cozy chitchat. “My original point still stands though. It was
irresponsible to talk to that cop on the fly, without a lawyer, especially
under the current circumstances. I don’t exactly feel like handing them your
head on a plate.”

“No. So you handed them yours.”

“They can’t prove it wasn’t a training exercise.”

“Isn’t there some kind of governmental investigation too,
though? I thought I heard something on the news about that.”

“The governmental investigation is to make sure there were
no spills, and there weren’t. I’ll take care of this whole situation, believe
me. But I don’t need the Houston P.D. poking around while I do. Especially not
around you.” He reached for her hand, linking fingers. “I might have
overreacted a little down there. I don’t know. Maybe it was childish of me to
get so freaked out.”

“Funny you saying that since I’m the one who got spanked.”

He shook his head, and with a little chuckle, closed his
eyes, bringing her fingers to his lips. “You do make me lose control. No doubt
about it.”

She wanted to push it on the investigating point. Didn’t he
care who was trying to bring his rig down?

But frankly, she just didn’t have the energy.

“Are we still going to New York?” she asked.

“Yeah. As soon as I can move again.”

* * * * *

Tiffany Fischer liked to spend money. Specifically, other
people’s money. As much as she possibly could. And she
could
a lot.
Probably that came from growing up dirt poor in an Appalachian mining town
where the mine had long since run out. Not that her ex-husband Jeff or any of
their social set knew that. On the contrary, she’d been “passing” as a
born-and-bred member of the jet set for as long as she could remember. She’d
left her twelve brothers and sisters and her dead-tired parents behind long ago
and had never given them a second thought. Or a forwarding address. The last
thing she would ever want would be one of those gaunt, ignorant ghosts showing
up on her doorstep. And they never had.

Unfortunately, something worse showed up one day, delivered
to her swank Park Avenue apartment. A dossier chronicling her whole sorry
childhood in the mountains and her early start in New York as a penny-ante
whore. And her one big mistake. It was the mistake that convinced her to do
what the anonymous note ordered her to do.

What was the harm anyway? Jeff and Michael were always
buying and selling companies. What did she care if they bought some Texas oil
company? So she nagged Jeff until he checked it out and when he did he told her
it was a good deal after all. He even brought her a very nice diamond necklace
as just the kind of thank-you gesture she appreciated.

It had all turned out very well. Until today.

“Hi there, Cissy-Lou.”

Tiffany hadn’t even heard the little man come in. Her eyes
shot open at the name and he was simply in front of her. There in the
supposedly private room she was always shown to at her hair salon in order to
wait out the highlighting process. No need for anyone to see her with foil
sticking out of her hair and all. Not to mention a green mud mask on her
normally perfect face.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing in here?
This is a private room.”

Maybe she could just ignore the “Cissy-Lou”. Maybe she’d
been hearing things and this nondescript man who was assuming a seat across
from her was a pervert whom hair salon security would come and throw out at any
minute.

“Now now there. I thought we were old friends.”

She peered at him, as best she could through the globs of
green mud they’d slathered under her eyes. Impeccably dressed in a business
suit that her keen eye could tell had cost more than most house down-payments,
he wore round little glasses and was going bald. Forty or so, she’d guess,
though with that pasty skin he looked older. And he was little, just as she’d
noted initially. Maybe no taller than her five foot five.

Forgetting for a moment the foil in her hair and the mud
mask, she asked in the cordial voice that expensive business suit demanded, “Do
we know each other?”

“Well, we’ve never met in person, but I’ve admired you from
afar and I must say seeing you this close, your beauty has not been
exaggerated.”

An automatic smile at the compliment started to crack the
drying mud on her face before she realized he was probably making fun of her
given what she looked like right now.

“You better get out of here right now or I’m going to call
security.”

“Don’t bother. I own the place.”

“Well,” she stood up in a huff, “I certainly won’t be
patronizing such a rude—”

“Sit down, Cissy,” he said quietly.

Feeling a terrible sense of dread at the use of the name
again, she did.

“How did you like the little package I sent you a few months
past?”

It was him. Whoever the hell
him
was.

“You know,
Tiffany
is such an overused name these
days. If you were renaming yourself, you could have chosen something so much
more original. I’m afraid you don’t have much imagination, Cissy-Lou.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? It’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Not anymore.”

“Well, it’s the name they’d probably send you to prison
under if they saw that videotape. Even that, a whore killing her pimp is so
unoriginal. It’s a wonder you’ve gotten as far as you have.”

She swallowed, hard. “I didn’t mean to kill him. He was, he
was abusing me.”

“He was your pimp. I thought that was part of the job
description.”

“How did you get that tape?”

“Never you mind, Cissy. We’re not here to talk about that
now.”

“What do you want?”

“So impatient. Just settle down. You have a good half hour
to go with those highlights anyway given your particularly platinum
bleached-blonde look.”

“It’s honey blonde,” she snapped automatically.

“Ten years of highlights ago maybe. Now it’s colored straw.”

She kept her mouth shut.

“Now, I had asked that simple favor of you—”

“I did it! I did what you asked!”

“Yes, yes, that was fine. But now I’m going to need a little
added effort. I have something very special I’d like from you.”

She wished she didn’t look like a space alien right now and
had her normal armor of perfect beauty on. She’d give him something special.
She felt at a horrible disadvantage, but she supposed that was probably the
point.

“Fine,” she said. “Just name it.”

And he did.

* * * * *

Jeff Fischer slammed the door to Michael’s office.

“Hi there. Welcome back to the East Coast. So how was the
wedding anyway?”

“The wedding? Oh, Samantha’s wedding? Fine. Just a small
family thing. I’ve almost forgotten about it at this point.”

“Yeah, it was all of two weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry, Jeff. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“And in your bed, I hear.”

He glanced up.

“Tiffany,” Jeff admitted. “My ex-wife keeps such close tabs
on you she could qualify as a stalker. But since I keep equally close tabs on
her, I guess I won’t make a federal case about it.”

Michael leaned back in the comfortable leather recliner that
served as his office chair for the fifteen some years he’d been CEO of Reynolds
Industries. Whatever offices he established at subsidiaries around the world,
this one, his original office in New York, was where he felt the most at home,
where he got the most work done. Alhough you wouldn’t know it from his work
product, or lack thereof, from this morning’s day at the office. “You should
forget about Tiffany, Jeff. She’s not worth it.”

“Didn’t stop you from fucking her.”

He shrugged. “If you didn’t want guys to sleep with her, you
shouldn’t have divorced her.”

“Like being married to me stopped her from doing that,” he
scoffed.

“Not with me,” Michael said quietly. “I don’t know what
Tiffany told you, but I swear on our friendship that I never laid a hand on her
while she was married to you.”

“Yeah. That I know. Why do you think she divorced me?”

Michael couldn’t hide his surprise.

“Oh you thought
I
divorced
her
, did you? Nope.
She’s like a drug for me.”

His friend’s taste in women was horrible. Sure, Tiffany was
a very experienced lay with fantastic tits, but —