'By yourself?' I asked out loud.
'No…'
'So even if someone saw you go in with me, they wouldn't think anything of it?'
'Yes, that's true, but…'
'But what?'
'What do you want in there?'
'I want to look around. I think one of the people who goes there may he involved in the suicide thing,' I told her, lying glibly. What I wanted was a good look— maybe Cherry had another hiding place. Or a laptop computer.
'How long would you have to be in there?'
'An hour. No longer.'
'All right. I'll do it. I have the keys. It'll take a couple of days…'
'That's okay. Perfect.' I put an arm around her shoulders. Her breasts strained against the T–shirt as she turned toward me. I dropped her hand to her hip, pulled her close.
'Don't,' she whispered. 'Please don't…kiss me. I hate that.'
I snapped my cigarette out the window with my left hand, watching the red tip sail toward the creek. She put her face into my neck, I could feel her breath against my throat. 'I don't want to neck,' she said urgently. 'It's too… innocent. Like kids. I don't want to be a kid. Tell me what to do. Tell me what to do— order me to do it.'
'Fancy…'
'Please!'
I took a deep breath through my nose, smelling the mossy darkness. Then I slid across the seat toward the middle, touching her hips with mine.
'Get on your hands and knees,' I told her.
She did it, facing out her window, back arched.
'No, stupid bitch,' I said, hard–voiced. 'Turn around.'
She did that too, pulling herself around with her hands on the back of the seat.
'Unzip my pants,' I said.
Her dark hair fell all around her face as she bent to do it. The zipper sound was like fabric tearing.
'Take it out.' My cock sprung free, standing up rigid. I put my right hand on the back of her neck, shoving her down across my lap, flattening my cock against me. She moaned as I roughly pulled her skirt up around her waist. The pink silk bikini panties were just a thin strip across the width of her bottom— I hauled them down past her knees.
'Don't take them all the way off,' she whispered. 'It's better if they— '
'Shut up,' I said, pulling the panties down more, leaving them hooked over one ankle. I turned slightly sideways, put my thumbs under her heavy breasts, wrapping my hands around her back. I picked her up, dragging her against my chest. Then I put my left hand on the inside of her right thigh and pulled her leg over so she was straddling me. She was sopping wet but it was still a tight fit. I set myself, rammed up hard. She grunted, penetrated. Her breasts pressed against me, her face next to mine, looking out over the back seat. I could feel the wetness all around me, smelled the blood beneath her skin.
'Wiggle your butt, bitch,' I whispered.
She ground into me, humping like she was going to buck herself off, muttering words I couldn't understand. I stroked her back, then gripped her shoulders from behind, slamming her into me with each downstroke. I heard a deep, sharp intake of breath.
'Don't make a goddamned sound,' I told her.
She let go with a rush, a split second before I did.
Holding her, I could hear the soft slapping of water over rocks in the creek. She was crying softly, gulping like a kid does, trying to get it under control. We stayed like that until my cock softened and gravity pulled it down…out of her.
She wasn't going to move. I gently pushed on her left shoulder, turning her around as I took her off my lap, felt the slight adhesive tear from the dried fluids bonding us.
She slumped against me. I zipped up my pants, ran my hand over the front of her thigh.
'Pull your skirt down, Fancy.'
'Sleepy,' she said softly, curling up, putting her head in my lap. I patted her back. She squirmed into a comfortable position, pulling her knees up to her waist.
I lit a cigarette. She didn't stir. I looked down. She was on her side, quiet, the pink panties around one ankle. I tugged her skirt down almost over her hips, the way you cover a sleeping child.
Sitting there, I went someplace else in my head, searching. There was a thread somewhere. A strong thread, so deeply woven that if you pulled it, the whole fabric would unravel. I knew it, but I couldn't see it.
When Fancy played her domina games in that white room, was anyone else in on the profit end? Even if there was, a blackmail racket didn't explain things. Not all of them, anyway. Blackmail's a high–wire act— one slip and
