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“Hmm, Eddy, you have a beautiful cock.”
She gazed at it avidly as she inched to the edge of the bed. Her fingers encircled his penis, then she squeezed it through her fist, elongating and stretching it. “So big. Who are you saving it for? That ugly redhead down at headquarters? Or my Aunt Carole?”
She flung her head back and looked up the length of his torso. The cold glint in his eyes alarmed her for an instant before she decided that she liked him best when he was being a bastard. He posed more of a challenge that way.
“I can and will do more for you than either of them.” Having made that breathy pledge, she bent her head over him to prove it.
At the first deft, damp stroke of her tongue, Eddy’s knees buckled. In seconds, Fancy was on her back in the middle of his bed and he was lying above her, his tongue inside her mouth, spearing toward the back of her throat.
“Oh, God. Oh, Jesus. Yes. Yes,” Fancy panted when his hands roughly caressed her.
He threw her arms behind her head and attacked her breasts with his mouth, sucking ardently, biting hungrily, licking furiously while the girl writhed beneath him. She became so lost in his rowdy foreplay that it took several seconds for her to realize that he was no longer doing it.
She opened her eyes. Once again he was standing at the foot of the bed, smiling with amusement.
“Wha—”
Only when she tried to sit up did she discover that her arms were tied above her head. She swung them forward. Her bikini bra was wrapped around her wrists, the ends knotted.
“You son of a bitch,” she yelled. “Untie my fuckin’ hands.”
Calmly, Eddy went to the bureau and took a pair of briefs from the top drawer. As he pulled them on, he made a tsking sound. “Such language.”
“Untie me, you bastard.”
“I’m sure that a resourceful young lady,” he stressed with one eyebrow skeptically raised, “will think of a way to free herself.”
He took his rented tuxedo out of the plastic bag and began dressing. For as long as that took, Fancy lambasted him with every epithet her fertile mind and unlimited vocabulary could produce.
“Save it,” Eddy said tersely when the crude tirade had ceased to be amusing. “I just want to know one thing.”
“Screw you.”
“What did you mean by that remark about Carole and me?”
“What do you think?”
He reached the bed in three strides, grabbed a handful of Fancy’s hair, and wound it around his fist until it pulled against her scalp. “I don’t know what to think. That’s why I’m asking.”
He frightened her. She lost some of her defiance. “You’re getting it from somewhere. Why not from Aunt Carole?”
“First and foremost, because she doesn’t appeal to me.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Why bullshit?”
“Because you watch her like a hawk, especially since she came home.”
Eddy continued to stare at her coldly. “She’s my best friend’s wife. They’ve had their problems. I’m concerned how their marriage might affect the outcome of the campaign.”
“Some marriage,” Fancy scoffed. “He can’t stand her because she’s screwed around on him. My true blue Uncle Tate won’t put up with that kind of
crap from his wife. He’s only staying married to her until the election is over.”
Then Fancy smiled. She was almost purring. “But, you know what? If you do want in Carole’s pants, I think you’re out of luck. I think they’re patching things up. I think she’s giving to him—if he wants it—what she was giving to you before the airplane crash.”
Gradually, his hand relaxed and he released her hair. “That’s quite a theory, Fancy.” His voice was cool and calm. He moved to the dresser, stuffed a handkerchief into his pants pocket, and slid on his wristwatch. “It just happens to be wrong. There never has been or will be anything between Carole and me.”
