Hot Lava (15 page)

He stroked my wig, his hand running down my dress until it landed on my tucked and taped prick. He grinned, keenly aware of what I’d done. “Yes,” he eventually said, “I like to dress up like a woman, just like you do. And I like sleeping with guys that dress up like women, especially sexy guys like yourself. Only, this island is pretty small, so running across men like yourself, or like myself, is a pretty rare event.”

“Which is why you were so eager to join our little party tonight.”

“I prayed you’d ask,” he admitted, leaning in for a hot, sultry sucking on my lips.

He broke the kiss first and walked in for a tight hug, sighing in my ear. With my head now on his shoulder, it was then that I spotted it, or, rather, them: manila folders spread out on a glass and chrome desk. Work folders. Thank goodness. “So, David,” I whispered, “do you wanna get plowed by a guy in a dress tonight?”

“Oh, yeah,” he moaned, his cock growing stiff in his khakis as it butted up against my waist.

“And do you wanna get plowed by a guy wearing a dress while
you’re
in a dress?”

He pulled away, his face an inch from my face, a look of out-and-out lust spreading from ear to ear. “Oh, yeah,” he repeated, his breath now ragged. “Please.”

Which meant we now had a Plan C, no cuddling and no conking on the head needed. “Sounds like fun,” I said. “So go make yourself pretty, ‘cause I’m about to plow your ass something silly.” All twentieth-in-his-class of it.

He practically tore to the bedroom. “I’ll hurry,” he panted over his shoulder.

“No,” I shouted back. “I mean, take your time. Let’s see how beautiful a girl you can be.”

He laughed. “Deal.” And then he closed the door behind him.

“Deal,” I repeated, waiting a cool minute before sidling over to his work area.

The folders were neatly labeled, case after case, most of them thick with legal papers. I scrambled through each one, trying my best to keep them in the order I’d found them in. But nothing, nada, zip. No mention of Edward Beles or Makani.

“How’s it going in there?” I shouted through the door, checking on what little time I had left.

“Halfway there, Judy,” he hollered back, his voice already two octaves higher, meaning we were now both tucked in tight, more than likely.

I hurried over to his desk and flung open his filing cabinets. My attorney(ette) was a busy man (girl). And well-organized. Anal even, and color coordinated. Edward Beles’ file was rightly near the front. I propped it open and immediately was confronted with an odd piece of information. Odd and definitely disconcerting. It was also, sadly, all I had time to discover.

“One more minute,” he cooed from behind the door.

I shoved almost everything back the way I’d found it and hopped over to his couch, my ladylike legs crossed and the smile returning to my lipsticked lips just as he emerged, the proverbial butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

David made a surprisingly beautiful woman. (God, that sounds weird, even coming from me.
David made a surprisingly beautiful woman.
I mean, really, how many people get to say something like that in their lifetime? Or want to, even?) He had long, shapely gams, covered as they were in at least one pair of dark pantyhose, with bulging calves that flexed as he strode over to me in his three-inch heels. His dress was short, satin, and champagne colored, shimmering in the light. His waist was narrow, his chest padded and broad, his arms sinewy, gloved to hide the hair. The blonde wig hung low and curled, framing his impeccably made-up face, replete with ruby-red lipstick, a hint of blush, and long, luxurious, black eyelashes.

He reached his hands around my waist and pulled me in, the air around us now saturated in Chanel. I stood there and thought that this was one first I could somehow have lived without. And yet, surprisingly, this new fetish of mine was strangely exciting.

“You’re very, um, uh, pretty,” I managed.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice now soft, feminine. “So are you.”

Very weird. And even weirder to come. Literally.
Will
, I thought to myself,
please know that I’m doing this for you.
(And maybe just a tad for my pulsing cock that was simply begging for release.)

He grabbed my hand and led me to his oddly masculine bedroom, kissing me before flopping down on his back, his eyes hungrily roaming up and down my body. I took the hint, unzipping my skirt and blouse and letting them slide to the carpet. He groaned. “Leave everything else on,” he pleaded, kicking off his heels, gliding out of his hose, and hiking up his skirt to remove his pink, satin panties, which, I quickly noticed, had some sort of rubber front padding. In other words, his prick was now free, rolling in a circle as it pulsed with life, growing inch by steely inch. And then it was my turn to groan. His fat cock, long and turgid, made for an unusual dichotomy, nestled as it was against his dress.

He grinned at my obvious admiration, then lifted his knees up and out, his beautiful, crinkled, pink hole winking up at me. I bent down for a cursory lick, causing him to arch his back as he writhed on the high-thread count sheets. I spread his cheeks apart and dove in. Once good and wet, I asked, “Ready for the real thing, pretty lady?”

“Sweet talker,” he replied, reaching over for a rubber and some lube.

“Sweet asshole,” said I.

“Oh,” he purred, “I bet you say that to all the ladies.”

“Um,” I ummed, with a slight, involuntary shudder. “O-kay.”

Choosing to change the subject, which was confusing the shit out of me, I slid on the rubber, my prick now jutting out from the side of my panties, and slicked us both up, one, then two lubed digits gliding up and in, getting him good and ready for the looming onslaught.

I pressed the head of my cock up against his portal.
Knock, knock.
I was in. He was tight, his ass sucking me in until I was flush up against his smooth ass, balls banging flesh. His hiked-up skirt and my too-tight bra only barely registered in my semi-bothered brain; instead, I focused on his impressive tool and tantalizingly taut hole. Not his wig, not my wig, not the smudged makeup, the dangling earrings, or the wadded-up pantyhose on the floor.

Okay, screw it, the whole scene was a big drag mess -- so I fucked him fast, furious, and hard, willing the whole thing over and done with. And all the while, he moaned and groaned and bucked and rocked, stroking his cock, slowly, oh so slowly, clearly trying to make the moment last. Fuckfuckfuck. Bad karma, bad.

So I took matters into my own hands. Well, hand. And not
matters
as much as his cock, grabbing it from him for a lightning fast stroke as I pounded at his gratefully hardening prostate. Romantic, no. Expedient, yes. Besides, it was knowledge I was after, not romance. And knowledge was just what I got. In spades. Aces of spades, to be exact. (Yep, cue the doom and gloom music again, ‘cause what I learned wasn’t any good. No sir, no how. Well, with David, at any rate, no
ma’am
, no how.)

“Yes, yes,” he howled, spewing streams of man-sap and fairly ruining his beautiful frock.

“Yes, yes,” I sighed in return.
Yes, thank God this is over with.
My kink, you see, un-kinked -- went, um, straight as a fucking arrow, in fact.

He cleaned us both off and begged for some night-time company. I told him I needed to get back; my friends would be worried. I had plans in the morning: I was donating a kidney. Anything to get the fuck out of there. He relented and called a cab. At last I breathed a sigh of relief as I put my dress back on. Gladly, he got re-boyed while I was doing just the opposite. Then I gave him a quick hug and a kiss and hightailed out of there, the cab waiting for me as I emerged into the sticky night air.

I made it back to our room in one piece, thank goodness, and my friends were waiting for me on the balcony with an already open bottle of merlot, also thank goodness. “Thank goodness,” I said, lunging for a glass and downing it in one fell swoop before quickly going for a refill.

“That bad?” Brandon asked.

I shut my eyes and tried to erase the memory. No luck. “Ask me again in ten years. Maybe that part of my brain will be wiped clean by then.”

“So the night was a total bust?” Briana asked.

I shook my head from side to side and let me eyes wander to the dark ocean down below, the white froth of the breaking waves still in evidence. “Yes and no,” I replied.

Brandon groaned. “Let’s start with the yes then.”

“Okay,” I started, “I was able to find the file for Edward Beles, the big boss.”

The three of them sucked in their collective breaths. “And?” they all asked.

“And right on top there was a letter that he received in prison.” I frowned and finished off my wine. “It was unsigned, but the gist of it was that Jed had turned him in to the police just after Makani was arrested.”

“Ah,” ahed Brandon, “so that’s why Jed is in hiding. There’s a pissed-off, incarcerated drug lord out to get him.” He paused and scratched his head. “Fuck,” he added. “But we’re supposed to turn whoever is after Jed over to him in exchange for Will. How can we do that if it’s Edward Beles?”

“Wait,” added Koni, “that doesn’t make any sense. If Jed turned in Edward Beles, then he already knows who’s after him, more than likely. Meaning there can’t be anyone to exchange for Will. Plus, why would Jed turn in Edward anyway? I know for a fact that Jed doesn’t deal in drugs. The two sleaze-bags don’t even seem to have a connection, as far as I can tell.”

“Maybe Jed was trying for some sort of leniency after Lenny was caught, giving up Edward so that the authorities would leave him alone,” I offered. “After all, in theory, Lenny worked for Makani who worked for Edward. The police would’ve certainly tried to tie Jed into all that, him being Lenny’s supposed boyfriend, and all.”

“Could be,” Koni agreed. “I mean, Jed might not have been associated with Edward, but he probably knew who he was. Remember, this island is wee small, and all the bad guys at least know about each other. And turning in someone you’re not associated with wouldn’t be bad for your business, at the very least.”

Brandon shook his head. “But turning in someone with even a modicum of power can be bad for your health.”

And then I shook my head, yet again. “Only, if Jed turned Edward in, like the note said, he had no reason to think it would get back to Edward.”

“Maybe,” added Briana. “Or maybe not. I mean, if there’s a bad presence on the police force, you’d think Jed would know about it. He also has money and power, it appears, so he’s also probably got some knowledge of these sorts of things, even if it’s only hearsay. Meaning, if he turned in Edward to save his own skin, he’d have to know that there’d be a chance that Edward would find out and try to get back at him, even from behind bars.”

My head now sunk into my hands. “In other words, we’re royally screwed. Edward Beles did read that note if David had it in his possession, so it is Edward that’s after Jed, more than likely, or at least his goons. But then Jed would know that, and would also know we’d have no one to exchange for Will. It just doesn’t make any sense. Either Jed is playing us for some unknown reason, or he doesn’t know that Edward is after him.”

“Ah,” came Brandon’s familiar ah. “Which could mean that someone is trying to lay the blame on Jed for Edward’s incarceration, but Jed really isn’t the guilty party after all.”

“A setup,” Koni said. “Someone with a bone to pick with Jed.”

“Ah,” Briana, too, now ahed. “And we know who that probably is.”

“We do?” I asked.

“Yeah, we do?” Brandon echoed.

“Ah,” I eventually echoed Briana, apparently it being my turn to ah. “Liko. Getting Jed out of the picture means one less pimp on the local scene. Plus, they were both dating Lenny, so there was probably no love lost between the two of them. And, if Liko really was in love with Lenny, as we suspect, he probably hated Jed just enough to want to set him up.”

Briana sighed. “That all makes sense, but it doesn’t do us a hell of a lot of good. I mean, besides being mere speculation, there’s nothing we can prove to Jed. And I’d hate to exchange an innocent man. Not to mention, how would we get Liko to Jed’s, even if we wanted to?”

To which Koni added, “Also, let’s not forget about Lenny. We still have no idea who killed him. Jed was up north when Lenny was killed, Makani and Edward were in prison, and Liko, as far as we can tell, was in love with him. Not that that totally frees him from speculation, but I’d say it would go a long way. Plus, no one could’ve known about Lenny’s escape.”

“Which means,” I added, a sour grimace on my face, “there’s a fourth person we don’t know about, someone with an axe to grind with Lenny and who had at least brief access to him just before we found him floating in the ocean. But who?”

“Fuck,” Briana said, with a snap of her fingers. “Sergeant Beles, our apparent police connection to all this. Who tipped off Makani that he was going to be arrested? Stands to reason, Makani’s boss’ own brother would do such a thing, if he was one of the bad guys.”

“Fuck,” I reiterated. “And Lenny escaped just outside the station house. He never made it to Liko for safekeeping. Meaning, the police killed him. Meaning, they killed Buck, too. Meaning, we’re next, if we don’t keep a low profile.”

“Wait,” Brandon added. “Sergeant Beles already knows us, and we already told him everything we knew. Not good, dudes. Not good. Anyone with information related to this is getting themselves killed, and we have a boat-load of it now. I’d be surprised if Chase and I aren’t already next on the hit list.”

“So what do we do?” I asked. “Time’s running out, for Will and perhaps ourselves.”

We sat there, the sound of the distant breaking waves occasionally shattering the silence. “Well,” Briana exhaled, startling the rest of us, “since no one else is stating the obvious, I’ll be the brave one -- we’re just going to have to rescue Will. There’s no one to trade him for and we can’t go the police.”

I allowed myself the briefest of smiles at hearing her say this. “And it’s not like we don’t know where to start looking,” I added. “Klaus told me that Jed is near La’ie. All we have to do is ask around. Maybe we’ll hit upon him before Will calls us.”