Chapter 47

 

Dylan stayed in the bar for a nightcap, and by the time he got to bed, Gemma was asleep. Or pretending to be. She had her back to his side of the bed, and much as he wanted to reach for her, he didn’t. Instead, he lay on his back with a hand behind his head and stared around the dark room with just a bit of light from the drapes she hadn’t quite closed properly.

Had he said too much?

Surely she wouldn’t let on to anyone what he’d discussed? After all, he’d told her nothing really. It was all hearsay. If she did try to expose him, there was nothing tangible to tie him to the robbery. And he’d not specifically mentioned the Portillo by name.

He recalled her saying no, quite adamantly. He wasn’t sure if he was pleased. There was a part of him that wanted her to move the painting and take the money, but there was something else simmering away inside of him, almost like relief, that she’d told him to get lost. What an enigma she was. His nostrils flared as he inhaled her sexy perfume.

As if she knew what he was thinking, she turned her naked body over and pressed herself seductively against his thigh. It was the only encouragement he needed.

The kissing dance between them began. His tongue moved inside her mouth and she teased him with hers. His lips trailed down her neck, kissing and biting her smooth skin. He moved onto her breasts and lingered on her nipples, sucking and biting each one in turn.

He took hold of her feet and spread them so her pussy was on display for him.

“You are so fucking sexy, Gemma,” he breathed as he flicked his tongue across her folds, like a cat lapping her. Her body quivered and wriggled, but he wasn’t going to be hurried. He slipped one of his fingers inside her, and then two, stretching and scissoring her as he forced them deeper. Her body jolted with excitement and she moaned and quivered as he spread her juices all over her clit.

She thrust her pussy in his face. He forced his tongue into her, keeping her on the brink, until finally he ran his tongue up and down, sucking her clit into his mouth and nipping it with his teeth.

“Dylan!” she screamed as he continued lapping and sucking while she writhed.

He moved up to her and kissed her. “You’re one fucking hot woman, that’s for sure,” he smiled.

“And you’re one fucking hot man,” she purred, “and you taste of me.”

“You’re killing me,” he breathed in her ear, “get on your knees for me, so I can fuck you.”

She turned over and he wrapped her in his arms as they knelt together. He kissed and sucked her neck, playfully biting her ear lobes.

The sight of her tight ass on all fours, and the invitation of her wet pussy he’d just tasted, thrilled him. He ran his hand down his long length and pressed his tip to her swollen folds, running it up and down her crease to her clit. She wriggled her ass aligning her wet pussy to him and he pushed forward, sinking his dick effortlessly into her. She tilted her ass up so her pussy sucked him in further, and he held her hips, pulling out slowly, leaving just his tip before sinking back hard and fast.

He forced her legs wider with his knees. He couldn’t get enough as her slippery pussy clenched his dick, and he slammed in and out, hitting her cervix relentlessly as he filled her to the brim. Her head dropped and the groans coming from her made him fuck her all the harder.

He cupped her tits and clamped his fingers around her nipples, pulling hard. Her whimpers turned to screams as he pounded her, “Dylan, oh, God, Dylan!” she yelled.

He continued to hammer her relentlessly, until his own body convulsed and he was coming, flesh slapping against flesh until they both collapsed on the bed.

What an incredible fuck she was. He couldn’t get enough of her.

 

*

She snaked herself against his body, throwing one leg over him and resting her hand on his chest.

“Sleep tight, beautiful,” he muttered, kissing her head.

Oh, I will.

’Cause you’re about to make all my dreams come true.

“You too,” she purred.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 48

“He wants me to move the painting across to France,” April told a surprised Paddy at their regular Saturday morning meeting. They were inside the park café to escape a shower.

“Bloo – dy– hell,” he took a sip of his coffee. “I didn’t expect this.”

“Me neither.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “You must be convincing, that’s all I can say.”

You have no idea, Paddy.

He scowled, “But it does put a completely different slant on things now.”

April stirred the froth on her latte. “It does, but I think this is our only hope. I know my remit was finding out where the Portillo was stored and linking the brothers, but I can’t get anything,” she gave a frustrated frown, “you know I’ve tried. I don’t see him any day soon divulging where it is. I think I should go along with this charade and tell him I’ll move it. That way, he’s going to lead me directly to it.”

Paddy added more sugar to his coffee. “He’s not going to take you to where it’s stored. That’s far too incriminating. Those brothers won’t have anything traced back to them. We’re confident from the coded messages you’ve managed to get that Jit Monks and his gang carried out the heist, but it’s getting the evidence. If we could bring them in also, you and I will be laughing all the way to the bank.”

“I think there is a way, but you’re going to have to trust me.”

“What way?” he asked. “I hope you’re not considering what I think you are?”

“Of course I’m not,” she dismissed, “I don’t need the job that badly.”

He widened his eyes. “What were the sleeping arrangements in France, then?”

“Not with him, I can assure you,” she lied.

He gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her.

“Go on then, what else do you have that’s going to get him to open up?” Paddy asked.

“It’s only an idea at the moment.”

The tone of his voice changed to one of authority. “Tell me what sort of idea?”

“I want to see how the next few days play out. We are this close,” she squeezed her thumb and finger together, “I can do this, Paddy, you know I can.”

“I don’t doubt it, but I need to know exactly how. It’s not only tying him to the Portillo, we’ve also got to get a conviction. And a police officer sleeping with the suspect isn’t going to cut it with the Crown Prosecution if that’s what you’re thinking. You know that as well as I do.”

“Yes, and it’s for that very reason I’ve resisted his advances,” she lied again, “but he likes me. We have a great rapport. I just need a few more days. Everything we need is in that safe, I can smell it. And remember, unbeknown to him, I know the date the painting is going to be moved.”

“He’s not mentioned anything to you about the specific date?”

“No, not yet. Right now he thinks I’m not interested in helping him, but all that’s about to change. Tonight I’m going to tell him I will.”

Paddy checked his watch. “We haven’t got long. It’s ten days from now if it goes ahead.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Have we got anything from surveillance?”

“Nothing. Wherever he’s got it, it’s bloody well hidden.”

“It’s great we’re certain Jit Monks and his gang stole the Portillo.”

“Yeah, it is. He’s got the experience, and done time so knows the score. He’s not stupid, either. He’ll have an idea he’s a prime suspect in the robbery so is lying low.”

“Anything from the emails and WhatsApp messages I’ve sent you?”

“Only Dylan and Victor talk about J and his so-called daughter, which is code for the painting. Nothing that would stand up in court of course.”

“You’ve had a tail on Jit Monks though?”

“Yep, but nothing significant there. No visits to unusual places. He’s leading quite a mundane existence.” He sighed deeply, “I wish there was something to report.”

Paddy’s face was a deep red colour, particularly his neck, so she guessed the case was aggravating his blood pressure. He reached for a serviette and wiped his brow and neck.

“I’ve got the Chief Inspector hassling me, not to mention the insurance company.” His tone changed to one of authority, “We need a result on this,” he emphasised with an almost painful expression.

“Then trust me to finish it,” she pleaded, “let me see what I can do in the next few days.”

“We can’t let him move that painting out of the country,” Paddy warned, “if he does, you and I are finished. We’ll end up licking stamps in an office somewhere for the rest of our days.”

“I’m going to get him and the painting. I promise you. You know I can do it.”

“Yes, but it’s how you do it that bothers me.”

There was nothing she could say. She wasn’t about to divulge anything more to him. She stood up. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be in touch, please try not to worry. I’ll not let you down.”

Concern was etched on his face. It was sweet that such a tough cop was worried about her.

She leant forward and gave him a hug. “I’ll be fine, honestly.”

She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. She flung her bag over her shoulder and left him sitting with his empty coffee cup and no doubt his concerned eyes boring into the back of her.

There was work to be done.

Paddy Frodsham was a good Detective, but he really had no idea.

 

***

 

He watched her walking towards the park exit chewing her bottom lip. Her fringe kept blowing across her face and she brushed it out of the way with an inpatient flick of her fingertips. The short cut suited her with the decorative earrings showing her pixie-like ears off to perfection.

As always, she was in her blue jeans which clung to her long legs like they’d been painted on, and no make-up. She didn’t need it. The pink tee-shirt showed off her generous breasts. Her arms were bare. She could do with some sun on them, she was too pale.

The rain had stopped. People were milling around, mothers with children and pushchairs, and adults clutching coffee cups, hastily making their way through the park.

How he’d love to go over to her. He was close enough to call out hello if he wanted to. She’d be shocked if he did, that was for sure.

The sun was blinding so he pulled the peak of his cap down further so he could watch. She looked over her shoulder as she turned left out of the park.

He knew where she was going now.

He knew all her movements.