The Divorcee Murder Club

Dieciocho ~ 18

               It’s late by the time our meeting is over, and when I walk everyone to the door, I tug on Angie’s elbow with a whisper in her ear to stay behind. Jackson and Alma glance at us, but they don’t say a word except nod their heads and keep walking. 

I’m pretty sure they know Angie, and I have been bumping uglies. And I’m pretty sure they’re on their way to bump their uglies too.

Releasing a breath, I close the door, and it transforms the apartment into a vacuum of energy sizzling between Angie and me. We stare at each other under the incandescent glow of the cheap living room lights like animals ready to pounce for dominance. And Angie would love nothing more than to teach me a lesson about double-crossing her. She was livid the entire time Jackson and I spit-balled ideas. For the most part, Alma listened, but then she’d give feedback. Meanwhile, Angie sat on the couch, pouting like a little child. She can throw a tantrum all she wants, but working as a team is the best move.

“So…” I say to break the silence.

“So.” She folds her arms.

Taking a few steps forward, I run my fingers up her fur coat and caress her cheek. Angie's head falls back to glare at me, but we both know she's down to fuck. More importantly, sex is the most promising way to pacify her, and I'm not against beating Angie at her own game by seducing her. 

If only the sweet, citrus scent emanating from her hair wasn't so damn intoxicating.

And as much as I want to convince myself that sex with her is purely mechanical at this point, I know I'm a damn liar. The beautiful asshole standing in front of me knows how to chip away at me, but as long as I can't trust her, I must shut off any growing affection toward her. So I remind myself this will be another business transaction. Angie gets to have an orgasm, and piece by piece, I get to take control.

Sneaking my fingers under the lapel of her fur coat, I slide it off her shoulder and press my lips to the soft, smooth flesh it reveals. 

“Oh, so now you’re in the mood, huh?” Angie scoffs, but I call bullshit because her breathing is labored as I run my tongue across the dip of her collarbone.

“Aren’t you?”

"It's your lucky night." She smirks.

"You mean, your lucky night. Because I'm about to make you come so hard, you'll be trembling for the next few days."

"Prove it," she taunts.

Grinning devilishly, I brush my fingers up her thigh, past her skirt, and — I freeze and allow my jaw to drop. "Angie, you're already soaking."

"Don't flatter yourself." She rolls her eyes.

"If I had it my way, you would always be wet for me," I say, sliding two fingers across her slick folds. "Do you like that?"

"Maybe..."

"How about now?" I dip my fingers inside and begin pulsing her G-spot, encouraging a strangled whimper from her. "I think you like that a lot."

Angie's eyes grow heavy as another whimper escapes, but then she slinks off the rest of her coat, abandons my fingers, and heads for the couch. She leaves a trail of her clothing behind, so I follow while licking her sweetness off my fingers, and when she bends to slide her panties off, I slap her bare cheeks, causing her to bolt upright.

"That stung," she growls over her shoulder.

"Give me your panties."

Angie kicks the lacy fabric up and snatches it mid-air. "No."