Orchids to Die For (Jim Morgan Adventure Series) (7 page)

“What do we know about her, Eunice?”

“She’s a writer, dresses okay... Exhumes sex, and I’ve pegged her as a party alcoholic, her name is Catherine Harris.”

The Senator was forming a mental picture from Eunice’s rundown on Catherine. The image forming in his head was a haunting face, his own daughter Sophie; “I’ll see what I can get on her for you, Eunice.”

“By the way, John. Morgan stiffed me for a forty-two hundred dollar dinner. Can you pick that up for me?”

The Senator was smiling openly, “What in the hell were they dining on, the Texas Longhorn’s mascot?”

“No. The bimbo did have lobster. But Jimbo pulled a fast one on me when I said I’d treat and ordered a Rothschild.”

The honorable laugh was as hearty and sincere as any Senator could muster, “Oh Eunice, send me a bill for it, but please head it as an alcoholism research study. I might be asked to account for that steep of a dinner expense.”

“Thanks John.” Eunice pulled a pillow between her legs, and opened up with her personal feelings to her Senatorial mentor, “I thought I’d bring Morgan back into my personal life, John. I really loved the big galoot. Too bad I’m not a petite blonde with big boobs. Oh well...”

John was sympathetic with Eunice’s candid confidence; “You’ve known him for a long time, haven’t you?”

“Yes. Going on six years now. He changed dramatically since he returned from Russia...since Madagascar.”

The Senator recalled the last time he had talked to his daughter Sophie, “I’m in love, dad. But the guy’s in love with his boss.” And the Senator knew she had been talking about Jim Morgan.

“There are a lot of nice young Lawyers around here, Eunice. I’d be more than happy to introduce you to them.”

“Ah... Morgan just has a way... Oh well, John. I’ll let you get some sleep. I should be back in Washington tomorrow.” And she hung up the receiver. She fluffed up the pillow under her head and gave the one between her thighs a physically pleasant squeeze. She fell asleep with a tear running down her cheek.

The Senator finished his milk and set the glass on its familiar coaster. His last waking thoughts were of his daughter and that, as she called him, rascal Morgan. He made a mental note to get the low-down on Catherine Harris, and then he fell into a deep, soothing sleep.

* * *

Morgan called the limo driver to pick them up, “How close can you get us to the beach?” He had asked, with a rare slur engulfing his words. He then ordered coffee to their table, and a picnic basket, to go, with virgin Bloody Marys instead of a customary wine.

It was midnight when the stretch’s door opened onto a private sandy beach in the North Chicago upper class suburbs. The moon was still full and their driver produced a small blanket from what seemed to be, mid air.  Leaving their shoes in the car they walked to within ten feet of the fresh Lake Michigan water and spread out the bright orange coverlet.

Roger the driver carried down their basket and announced, “Wake me when you’re ready to roll,” and disappeared back into the limo.

Catherine went to the water and waded in, ankle deep, “Jesus Murphy, it’s freezing.”

“About sixty-two degrees, give or take five degrees,” he said, as he took her by the hand and they strolled in the moonlit surf. Morgan had rolled up his pant legs but they were still getting wet, as was the hem of Catherine’s burgundy dress.

“I want to thank you for being so gracious during our interruption by Eunice.”

“Oh, it was fun.” Then Catherine’s voice went up a few octaves, “Is she serious about this Brazil thing?”

“Oh yeah. She meant it. No doubt about it.”

“I’ve never been to Brazil. I almost screamed out a yes, I’d go. But I’ve only met you yesterday,” and she looked at him in the moonlight and she saw his face and she wanted to see more of him and wondered what it would be like to wake up next to him and make him open up those sensuous blue eyes and have him smile on her, and take her in his arms and feel his passions enwrap her...

“I really had a lot to drink this evening, Jim. I’m basically a tea and coffee connoisseur. I want to apologize...”

Morgan took her full in his arms and kissed her gentle on her lips and – she responded so naturally that she knew it was meant to be and a shiver ran down through her body and it had nothing to do with Lake Michigan’s chilly water.

Morgan sensed the mutual response to his impassioned kiss and he let his hand embrace the small of her back, exposed by the cut of her designer dress. And the feel of her flesh and the soft drum of her heart beat moved him to slide his other hand down the silky fabric covering her taught belly and made a determined pass down and across her pelvic mound, and she, in mid-kiss, hummed out an encouraging, “Hmmm.”

She slipped her hand under his shirt and roamed his developing six-pack and... He, and she, lost their offshore balance and, holding one onto the other, they splashed, unceremoniously, into the two-foot depth of the nippy shore waters.

The sobering experience sent them on a run to their blanket with goose flesh enveloping them both and this time, it had nothing to do, at all, with romance. As they cuddled they explored each other with a warming playfulness and teasing touches to wet clothes and, underlying taboos.

Catherine ran her fingers down the outside of his arm stopping at his wrist and felt his watch. She was enjoying herself so tremendously that she had lost track of her sense of time. She sat bolt upright, pulling Morgan’s wrist and Rolex right up to her eyes and surveyed the dial in the moonlight. “Oh my God, it’s three in the morning.” She looked around at the beach setting, the moon, and the handsome man lying next to her, then -- with an obvious sense of pleasure for the here and now, said, “It looks like I may miss a lecture, or two, come morning.”

 Morgan opened the picnic basket and handed her a non-alcoholic Bloody Mary. Then handed her a crisp celery stick, “Here. Use this to stir up the Tabasco sauce.”

“What else is in there?” She pondered aloud. “This tomato juice is great. Any crackers? Cheese?”

Morgan fished around inside the gourmet basket and did find a brick of cheddar and a host of butterfly shaped, rye saltines. The night was engrossing; every star twinkled down on them as the moon had moved deftly westward beyond the steel and concrete fortresses comprising the Chicago skyline. Eastward, a pale whiteness glowed ever so soft where the sun would all too soon rise and enlighten the souls of these two sand based picnickers.

“I’ll bet the Four Seasons could dry and clean your dress by morning,” suggested a caring Morgan. “I have a suite there for the night,” and he elaborated, “I stay there occasionally.”

Catherine stood, “Well, Jesus Murphy, Jim. The clock is tickin’,” she openly and warmly suggested, “I do need to get out of these wet things, let’s go.” And a childish race to the limo ensued... With basket and blanket in tow.

Morgan way over tipped their driver and the wet guests made their way into the Four Seasons lobby. Another large tip at the check-in counter gave them dripping rights up to his suite, on the 31st floor. Their clothes would be picked up within the hour and would be returned before an eight a.m. breakfast delivery.

Morgan took her hand in his on the express ride up, “A warm shower sounds really nice, to me. How about you, Catherine?”

“Yes. It does. -- Me first, okay?” And she glanced up at a smiling Jim Morgan with a lot more than simple romantic notions racing hectic throughout her writer’s mind.

Morgan’s mind was active; too, it was filled with all kinds of lusty anticipations. And a black thought ran through his own mental gauntlet of ethical stop signs. Was this too fast? Were his intentions noble? He felt a reciprocal need pulsating hot in the petite hand he held. And, was she still high on the wines of caustic inebriation?

“It’s ladies first in my book, Catherine,” and then he added, “Make sure you call out when you want your back washed,” and Jim’s face reddened noticeably in the dim elevator light.

Catherine’s blush followed naturally as their eyes locked and the moment of truth rushed closer into her passionate thoughts and carnal desires. She had never had a man wash her back and the concept of that act loomed sensuously across her inner-vision thrilling her romantic senses to a level near orgasm and she became aware of her own earthly need to commingle with this beautiful man that was bending down to place his sumptuous lips against her own. She closed her eyes and parted her lips for him to taste her very soul and, in mid passionate embrace, the elevator slowed and made its 31st floor stop.

Together, they entered the shower of Eden without inhibitions and any second-guessing of their premeditated intentions and were lost immediately into their innate wants, desires, and carnal need of each other. Their supple bodies, one soft and curvaceous, and one muscular and toned to an Athenian sculpture fit for a showing on Mt. Olympus.

An eye pleasure was gifted to them both, she taken aback with his masculine perfection and he with her tanned flesh proportionately displayed against the marbled walls of the hotel’s plush finery. The warm water cascaded down their embracing flesh and she felt him grow erect against her firm, silk-skinned thigh.

Morgan softly grasped her petite ass and, fondling her with gentleness, pulled her up firm against his stiffened penis. Their mouths locked and their teasing tongues encircled and played an erotic game of enticing one another to the point of experimental daring and that spoke of anything-goes and a no-holds-barred relationship that would be entrenched evermore into their mental scripts of uninhibited lovemaking.

Catherine stroked his penis, she squeezed down ever so soft and pleasurably on his full erection, and she wanted him in her and she felt her own pelvis throb with anticipation. Yet, she wanted to be taken comfortably in his bed and not within the confines of a wet slate shower and she mused, “Take me to bed Jim Morgan, make mad passionate love to me.”

They dried with tender towel dabs and moved furtively onto the white linen sheets of the hotel’s king-sized bed. And there, they frolicked naked, touching, kissing flesh, and they tasted of every erotic taboo. Then... With filtered starlight as their only illumination, Jim Morgan entered her, ever so pleasurably, into the depths of Catherine Harris’ sumptuous body and they both satisfied a mutual need to share, and love...

Catherine took his steadfast entry with an awe of unabashed excitement. An excitement that sent her senses shooting off like a winged angel in flight across the Milky Way out and up into heaven itself. And she arched her hips up to meet his gentle strokes to insure that he penetrated into the depths of her very being.

He, sensitive to her small stature pumped with a delicate ease, ones that simulated teasing strokes until he felt her upward surges engulf his entire penis right up to the rim of his groin and he pushed down firm into her with an ecstasy screaming out wildly that orgasm was already near from his stroking so ambitiously into her love moistened, reflex-demanding labia that were now uncontrollably throbbing about his full diameter and the entire length of his well lubricated penis. And when he began to withdraw for a follow-up push, her entire sexual being screamed out with a muscle contraction that cuckolded them both – right up to almost orgasm. And as their bodies tightened euphoric, their souls danced a mellow tango that dipped with every pump. And on a mystic cue, an uncontrollable spasm directed him in and out by some anatomical mystery reserved for those who are pure of heart and who want and desire to share in the vast knowledge of a sublime and emotional oneness, and to exhibit unrestrained screams of a chemically induced esoteric passion.

Morgan screamed out, primeval in every sense of the word, a maddened shout outward to every hierarchal beauty and, to all carnal Gods, and every poetical Goddess in a prolific, “Jesus! F-u-c-k-i-n-g ...Murphy?”

And Cathy Screamed out – something, too, that was absolute but totally and sorely incoherent. It was surely a profound statement of pure and conclusive pleasure – that could only express the highest of all pleasures, one of love.

And they made love again, and yet once again, before room service waiter delivered them their eight a.m. breakfast…

Chapter Ten

Arnold Ames was amassing massive stacks of paperwork. He liked being in charge. But suddenly he found himself questioning the significance of all the paper-traffic stopping at his desk.

Emily, a pretty office clerk, walked in and dropped a four-inch file on his already cluttered desk, “Here’s the Harris file,” and she turned to leave.

“Wait a minute, Emily. Can you do me a favor, sweetie?”

“You can’t call me sweetie anymore, Arnold. You’re in charge now. What do you need?”

“Sorry, Miss Smith, can you run a copy of this Harris file and pouch it over to Senator Alberquist’s office?”

“No, Mister Ames. I need an authorization slip to copy anything marked top secret. And, you’re not on the list as an authorized signer, sorry.”

Philip Annerson, Ames’ superior, had called off for the remainder of the week. “Taking some comp-time...” He had announced to his boss. With an assurance that, “Ames can handle the Brazil thing.”

Ames picked up the fat Harris file, opened it, and began reading, speed-reading...

Emily returned, “Here’s the FBI report on the Catherine Harris tail.”

Ames opened the FBI file and began reading it.

Emily returned, “Here’s the latest Homeland Security report,” and she plopped down another 4-inch folder, “and this is from communications,” and another fat file slapped down on his desk.

“Thanks, Emily.”

Emily returned, with a hand-truck laden with three over-stuffed boxes, “Here’s all the Brazilian files, Mister Ames.”

“Thank you, Miss Smith.”

Emily paused, and then asked, “Hey, are we still on for that ‘Three Doors Down’ concert on Saturday?” 

* * *

Eunice dressed and made multiple phone calls, including one unanswered one to Morgan all by 7:30. She needed coffee and decided on a full breakfast in the hotel’s restaurant.