The Corner of H & L (4)

A car in front of me honked, and I glanced up. The light was still red – it seemed like it had been red forever – but if I was going to do something, it would have to be now.

“How much?”

“Don’t worry about the price, baby – it’s a sliding scale. Let me in before the light turns, and we’ll talk about what it’s gonna cost, okay?”

What a terribly stupid idea. “Okay.” So stupid.

She had just pulled the door shut when the red switched to green. I crossed the intersection, and the traffic just melted away.

Even with the bucket seat slid all the way back she didn’t fit very well, so she turned sideways, leaning against the door and facing me, one thigh-booted knee resting over the parking brake and almost into my lap. I rolled up her window in time for her to lean back against it, and the dank, cigarette butt smells of the streets began to be replaced by the scent of some musky, spicy perfume.

“Seatbelt.” I glanced over at her.

“Oh, that’s no fun.” Her hand fell casually on my shoulder, then slid it down the neck of my shirt, reaching to squeeze my pec. Her gloves were made of a Nappa-like leather – supple and soft, not patent, and – damn! – it felt so sensual. I wanted her to touch my face, fondle my ear, play with the hair on the back of my neck. Instead she slipped her hand out of my shirt and roamed down my chest from the outside, past my ribs, my stomach. While I kept both hands on the wheel, she wedged her fingers between my thighs, forcing them apart, and began massaging my groin. My cock was already hard and aching (why would I have been on L street), so it was easy for her to grab, even from the other side of the fly, to maneuver up inside my trousers, to begin stroking. I made an effort to relax, to try not to squirm. “Beside,” she continued, “if John Law stopped us, he wouldn’t care about my seatbelt.”

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Cheating Life – 10.1

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THE TATTOO SEEMED TO BE A HALL PASS, too.

Jane led me first to a floor with long halls stretching off in both directions, lined by tightly-packed doors on either side. The doors were numbered, and we strolled down the left hall until we found number 276. She produced a small fob and waved it in front of the door; a green light blinked overhead and the door clicked.

Inside was a small, clean, simply furnished room. It had a bed, a desk, a table, a chair, a restroom, a window, and a computer tablet resting on a stand – just what you’d expect to find in a hotel room, but with better quality and less decoration.

“This is your room. You can stay here whenever you want, and it’s a good place for you to rest or think or write later on today. But don’t forget what I told you – you are mine, and I won’t treat you like another girl might. I’d like you to spend your time with me. I won’t lock you in here, either. Here’s your key – you’ll need it to get out as well as in. If you do decide to leave the room, I only ask you to send for me first so you don’t get lost. Oh, and there’s a spyhole beneath the numberplate – see right here? So, if you do want to spend any time in here, I’ll give you a little piece of tape to cover the dot on your side.”

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