Southern Spirits (2 page)

She returned to her office, a stark enclosure of cream-coloured walls, bottle-green vertical blinds and matching carpet, and framed diplomas and certificates. Her only personal photo was from her graduation, when her parents put aside their acrimony to present an image of marital
harmony. All for the sake of their daughter and, more importantly, their image.

Cat would have preferred the truth, however, even if it meant one or both of them hadn't shown up. She found such hypocrisies an insult to her intelligence, a lie, and she dealt with more than enough of those in her life, let alone her work. To her, it was a fact of life that most people were dishonest: dishonest to their employers, employees, colleagues, family, friends, lovers, themselves. Some called her cynical for such an attitude, but she preferred to see herself as armoured, tempered to face such realities.

‘Overzealous'?
Besame el culo
, Hausmann.

A flash on her PC alerted her to an incoming email. A part of her hoped it was Hausmann, already approving her request, though she knew paperwork never flew that fast. Then she saw the sender's name, and recognised it as a response to an earlier request, made a couple of days ago, to the interstate police. She opened it, examined and absorbed its contents. She felt she took the news better than she thought she would.

Wanting a change of thoughts now, she returned to her work. She knew she was no stick in the mud, no unfeeling bitch. She just didn't suffer fools, thieves or liars gladly, whether it was obvious predators like Jack Wheeler . . . or ones closer to home.

It was still light when Cat left the building, a modest structure compared with the taller neighbouring glass towers like International Place. She was eager to get home, but avoided her usual route on I-95 to make a detour along a boulevard closer to the ocean. Miami was like Venice, built on several hundred natural and artificially created islands interconnected by bridges. She drove north on Marriot Boulevard towards her
favourite Chinese takeaway, glancing across the water to one of the wealthier islands.

The sky had deepened to a blush by the time she reached her home, an apartment overlooking the verdant enclave of Billings Island Country Club, a haven for people who would feel less welcoming to someone like Cat, though it would be close as to what would ostracise her more, being Latina or an IRS agent.

She juggled her briefcase and takeaway as she entered her apartment, a stark interior of tiled floors and stucco walls and ceilings. She heard the TV playing in the living room. ‘Cliff?'

He didn't answer, and she switched on the lights, saw his shoes and socks discarded in the middle of her hardwood living-room floor, drinks glasses leaving rings on her glass-topped coffee table, and the air conditioning on full. One thing you could say about him, the man knew how to make himself at home – even when repeatedly told not to. ‘Cliff, where the fuck –'

‘Hey.' As she started, he shuffled in from the hallway. ‘Why are you shouting? I was in the john.' Then he smiled and drew closer. ‘How's my little accountant?'

She pulled back, wrinkling her nose. ‘Couldn't you have gone home and showered first?'

He ran a hand through his thick blond hair and smiled that cheetah's smile. ‘Yeah, I
do
stink a bit, don't I?' He approached her again. ‘Let's shower together . . .'

She backed away again, setting her briefcase down by her PC. ‘Let's not.' Then she took her takeaway into the open kitchen area and placed the cardboard boxes in the microwave for later.

He was leaning against the back of her couch, grinning. ‘Got some Chinese for me, too?'

Cat took off her jacket, hung it up and switched on the
overhead light. When she was closer, she folded her arms across her chest. ‘Tell you what, you do something for me, and maybe you can have your fill of something Cuban instead?'

His smile blossomed into a grin on his unshaven face. ‘Anything, babe.'

She smiled. ‘Take off your clothes.'

His eyebrow rose. ‘Man, I love this side of you –'

‘That's because you don't have to work for it. Now shut up and strip.'

Cliff eagerly obliged, casting his shirt and trousers to one side, his erection rising already inside his briefs, his lean runner's body hairless except for a diamond cluster of curls in the centre of his chest. He grunted, and then he was easing off the briefs, too, letting his long thin shaft spring upwards, unencumbered. He was proud of it, and what he could do with it. Naked now, he leant back against the couch again, his cock pulsing further to life. ‘Is this what you want?'

She offered him a smile as she slowly stepped towards him. ‘For starters.' When she was just inches away, he moved as if to kiss her, but she pressed her forefinger against his warm chest. ‘Now I want you to go and shower.' Her finger trailed down along his lean belly, until she almost touched the base of his cock. ‘And be thorough.' She watched him quickly depart, and then she cleaned up around the living room, readied for later.

She padded quickly into her bedroom, all pastels and yellow, dominated by the huge four-poster bed. A purchase of sheer indulgence on her part. She drew the curtains shut, glancing once out into darkness and squares of light from other windows, other lives. She undressed quickly, her cream blouse and navy-blue slacks dropped carelessly onto an adjacent chair, then padded about in her frilly blue satin bra and panties.

She had a full-length mirror mounted on the wall facing
the foot of her bed; when she was feeling self-voyeuristic, as she did now, she could watch herself, with Cliff or alone. She stood before it, running her hands slowly, admiringly over her body. She would never say she was perfect – her breasts were just a little too big, that slight roll around her middle would probably be airbrushed out for any magazine covers and her legs weren't quite long enough. Some days, when she looked, there seemed to be nothing but dissatisfaction, but today, the image of her was pleasing. She smiled. She didn't have many moments like this, and she enjoyed them while she could.

Her hand moved over the front of her panties, lingered, brushed teasingly across her pussy through the gossamer satin, making her shiver. Her hand still there, she stepped back, until she was at the foot of the bed, and sat down, her legs spread. Now she looked down to see her fingers gently peel the lace trim aside, slip beneath the satin, touching her bush, feeling the heat radiating from her sex, and the hairs closer to her folds. Her middle finger eased up and down, tentatively at first, and then more boldly. She was wet; what would happen tonight had excited her more than she had expected.

Her finger moved upwards, pressed at the base of her clit, and the familiar tingle blushed outwards for a moment.

‘Yum.'

The sound broke the spell, and she looked up to see Cliff, fresh from his shower, his hair combed back with his fingers. He had a thick red towel wrapped about his waist, and a bulge had begun to rise at the front.

Cat ignored him, watching her reflection as she touched herself some more, her other hand now stroking the tops of her breasts with her fingertips, until goosebumps rose and her nipples puckered beneath the satin. She leant her head back, letting her hair tumble off her shoulders.

Now Cliff stepped forwards, blocking her view. ‘So, what do you want? A little –'

‘A little quiet.' She reached out and undid his towel, casting it aside to watch his cock pulse back to insistent hardness. Then she grasped it, gently stroking it, loving the feel of it, its firmness and heat. ‘Just do as you're told.' She looked up at him, her gaze equally firm and hot. ‘This is for me. I don't care if you get off or not. Understood?'

He grinned, reaching out to stroke her hair. ‘Sure, babe. Whatever you say.'

Cat released his cock, then reluctantly removed her other hand from her panties before slinking backwards along the bed. When her head was on her pillow, she raised one knee up, the foot flat on the mattress. ‘Whatever I say? Well, I say start at my feet, and work your way upwards.'

Without further ado, he followed her, descending to kiss her toes, her feet, her ankles, his fingertips blazing a trail ahead. As his lips reached her inner thighs, his finger touched her sex through her panties, then slipped beneath a leg band to touch her pussy, lightly stroking her, making slow, tight circles around her clit, while his thumb brushed hypnotically up and down her groove. He was kneeling up now, straddling her raised leg, his shaft twitching against her inner thigh as if seeking attention.

Tingles and sparks ran through her, and their eyes met. She slipped her hands behind her head wantonly as Cliff masturbated her, his hand shifting so that his thumb now massaged her clit, and his middle finger gathered the juices she was producing, moistening her puffy, sensitive outer lips, delving further into her as he continued.

Cat squirmed, kept her hands above her –
Dios
, this was lovely! – willing the satin panties to fade away, longing to feel more naked. Not that Cliff would have the sense to . . .

Suddenly he was removing his hand to do just that. Smart boy, for once. She took the opportunity to remove her bra as well, enjoying the air on her skin. She watched him watching her as he returned to his work, watched his fingers and thumb, glistening, listened to the soft wet sounds which increased as she ground her hips upwards off the mattress, adopting a rhythm that complemented Cliff's. She let herself wallow in the sweet sensations, building on them as they radiated outwards from her.

She came, suddenly, almost without warning, making her pull back from his now-overwhelming touch, the blood rushing to her head. Her hands snaked down to her parted inner thighs, her fingers framing her sex as if to try to contain the heat. Then her forefingers parted from the rest enough to reach down and gently draw back her folds, the cool air barely soothing the inner flesh. Her voice was husky as she urged, ‘I need your mouth, here.'

Cliff looked impatient, impatient for some relief of his own. Still he obediently dropped his head between her legs, gently nuzzled, then lapped and moistened her some more, tasting her juices and delving deeper into her with that gorgeous thin tongue of his, before rising to her clit, the tip of his nose nestling in her bush, drinking in her scent. His eager attitude was welcome, sending little jolts of pleasure which fed on the lingering embers of her recent climax, fanning them back to life. She grew warmer and wetter as he alternated between his tongue thrusting and circling her clit and his lips sucking on her folds.

As he returned to her clit, and she felt the pressures building once more, Cat squeezed her thighs against his head until she made him groan into her sex. He was pushing down hard now, and she met his resistance as she pushed her hips upwards, and received another, stronger orgasm, waves washing over her.

She felt Cliff rising from her pussy, drawing up closer to her head, his intentions clear, but she didn't protest, wanting this as well. She raised her legs again, helping him into her. Slick and hot as she felt, she enjoyed being filled and, as he almost lay upon her, their eyes met again as he thrust into her, hard and fast, as if seeking to punish her for keeping him waiting for this for so long. His words confirmed this. ‘Yeah, about time –'

‘Shut up.'

He listened, and she relaxed, strings of climaxes erupting within her, not overwhelming like before, but still very satisfying. She almost told him to slow down, make it last, but thought better of it. As his control eroded, she wrapped her thighs tightly around him, using her remaining strength within to squeeze him, until his face contorted and his limbs galvanised, his pace quickening, and then he erupted in her with a strangled gasp. He collapsed onto her, his chest sweaty, heaving, breath huffing from his mouth next to her ear.

She gave him a moment like this, also strengthening herself, her resolve strong with the warm satisfaction of her climaxes. Then she slapped him on the shoulder. He withdrew, rolling onto his back beside her, even as she was rising, reaching for her panties and blouse.

Cliff stared up at the ceiling, smiling beatifically. ‘God, I needed that. You were good. Now, how about that Chinese?'

She was up on her feet, slipping back into her blouse. ‘No time. You have to get dressed and leave.'

He grinned and jumped up, cocking a salute. ‘Your wish is my command. Where am I going?'

She slowed down a little as she climbed back into her slacks. ‘That's your business.'

‘Huh? What's the problem?'

‘No problem. You're going, and you're not coming back.'

Without looking at him, she left the bedroom, then stopped at her desk and turned when she heard him follow, his cock quickly wilting. ‘Cat, what's going on? Did I . . . did I do something wrong?'

Leaning against her desk, her hand reached out blindly and touched her briefcase, resting there. ‘Why didn't you tell me I'd moved into your apartment?'

Cliff's mouth opened. Then he swallowed hard and she could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes, spinning lies. ‘What? I don't . . . I don't know what you mean . . .'

‘Oh, sure you do, honey. Apparently, I moved in six weeks ago. At least, that's what you put on that credit card application. The one “we” applied for.'

His face paled even further. ‘How did . . . How did you find out?'

‘An overly friendly customer service rep tracked down my work number this week to offer me an upgrade to Gold. It was the first time one of those annoying calls became useful.' She lifted the paperwork from her briefcase now, though she'd perused them thoroughly that afternoon. ‘You stole payslips from my files here for the verification. You forged my signature on the application. With my added income you were able to get quite a substantial credit limit.' She glanced up again. ‘Put your clothes back on, you look ridiculous.'