Chapter Three

 

Kat gave up trying to stay upright and sank to the floor with her knees against her chest, panting, trying to focus through the curtain of water.

John grabbed a snow-white towel and rubbed it roughly over his head and face. He looked into the wide mirror above the sink and spotted her slumped. “Get up.”

“I…I…” Kat squeaked out. “I will in a minute.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

Kat felt the first pop of fury burst in her veins. She had handled it; she’d handled it just fine. And if there was one failing she couldn’t tolerate it was being thought of as weak. She pushed up and switched off the shower. On shaky legs, she slunk from the cubicle. “Hand me my dressing gown.” She indicated a chenille powder blue robe hanging on the back of the door.

John reached for it.

“Thanks,” she said, sarcasm dripping from the word like syrup.

He snorted and turned to leave the confines of the bathroom. “We need to talk.” He threw over his sodden shoulder. “You have something I want and…”

As he stepped onto the carpeted floor, Kat aimed a hard, sharp blow at his right temple. Whack! The middle knuckle of her left hand, with her entire weight behind it, blasted into his skull.

John spun and lifted his arm in time to block a second blow heading straight for his nose. “Damn it, woman!”

Kat stepped back into a balanced stance and aimed a side kick at his groin, trying to confuse him by striking out with her left fist towards his head at the same time.

John blocked the groin strike as if swatting a fly and took a step towards her, batting down her right fist that was now heading for his solar plexus. “Jesus Christ, lady, what the fuck are you doing? I told you I only want to talk.”

Kat wasn’t interested in talking. She wanted him down. This brute who’d followed her and broken into her apartment had to be taken out. But John was immune to her expertise, trying to rationalise with her at the same time as blocking and defending as though she were a mere irritation. She aimed another side kick at his groin, curled her quad up into a cannon about to go off, but he was too close, and as she fired forward, she caught his left knee cap with the ball of her foot, hard—really hard.

An expression of complete and utter agony twisted his face. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out as he lunged towards her arms wide.

Kat’s split second of triumph lasted exactly that—a split second—because then she was flat on her back with John’s weight crushing down on her. She couldn’t breathe, her ribs were cracking and her lungs bursting as she strained for scraps of oxygen.

With her last reserve of air, she went for a head butt, but his was buried safely into the carpet, and all she hit was tough shoulder muscle, hurting her own head more than his.

He’s so damn heavy. I can’t…breathe.

A row of marching black ants invaded her vision, tiny specks floating around. The swell of panic grew like a mushroom cloud in her mind. She was going to suffocate, all alone in her flat with this animal on top of her.

“Get…off…” she managed in a last gasping whisper.

John hoisted to his elbows. “No more head butts, Pussy Cat,” he said gruffly. “Or kicks. If you still feel the need to kick like a mule, I’ll stop being polite real quick. Got it?”

Kat was swamped with relief as his weight finally released. She dragged in big, greedy gulps of free air, re-inflated her lungs and re-oxygenated her system.

“Bastard,” she managed breathily.

“Whore.”

He pushed to his feet and limped in his soggy clothes towards her living room.

Kat lay for a moment looking at the ceiling, watching the ants march away. Then she dragged to her feet and followed him, pulling her dressing gown tight and rubbing at her poor, aching ribs.

She paused in the doorway and leant her shoulder against the frame. John was stretched lengthways on her sofa, legs out straight and arms folded across his bare chest. His soaked clothes were dumped in a pile on the floor and the white towel around his waist looked all the more brilliant against his dark trail of body hair.

Kat would have felt uncomfortable having anyone else in her flat, but John’s imposing male presence filled more than physical space multiplying that discomfort tenfold. His aura filled the every room and completely changed the flow of energy. It didn’t feel like her safe, feminine sanctuary anymore. The sight of him was strangulating and completely invasive.

“Got any whisky?” he grunted, rubbing at a red zigzag scar on his knee.

Kat’s eyes fell to his sopping clothes on her cream carpet. With her fist clamped around the top of her dressing gown, she walked over, picked up the offending garments and moved to a long, white radiator. She spread everything out to dry and upturned his dripping trainers along the top. “You want anything with it?”

“No. Just make it a triple.”

Kat pulled open a door on a sleek unit next to the television. She grabbed a bottle of Bells, and poured three generous fingers into a crystal glass.

“Here,” she said walking to the sofa and holding it out at arm’s length.

John grasped it, knocked back half, then pressed the glass against a rising bruise on his right temple. “Sit.”

There was nowhere else to sit. Kat only had one sofa and no armchairs. “I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself.” John shrugged. “As long as you tell me where my Porsche is I couldn’t give a damn what you do.”

“I told you I don’t know. It’s gone.” She re-twisted her damp hair into its clip.

“It can’t just be gone. You must have some idea where Shrek took it.”

“No, I have no idea. What does it matter now anyway?”

John took another slug of his drink. “Because in the boot is something worth considerably more than a car.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Diamonds.” He paused, as if waiting to see the effect his words would have on her. “That’s what I’m talking about, Pussy Cat, lots and lots of diamonds.”

Kat turned away, moved to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a whisky. “Tell me,” she said with a disbelieving tone, “why a guy like you would have diamonds lying about his car?” She sloshed more whisky into his now empty glass.

“Because, like you, I’m a thief.” John slugged away at his refreshed drink. “And tomorrow…no, make that today,” he indicated out of the French doors at the lightening sky, “I was going to get the hell out of this God forsaken country and set up a new life somewhere sunny, get myself some high class living…a bit like you’ve done here. So you’ll forgive me for being pissed, but you took considerably more than a car last night.” His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. “And I need you to tell me where I can find it. Then I can get on with my life and you can get on with yours. Simple. Everyone happy.”

She looked into his eyes. Was he telling the truth or was it some weird game he was playing? She didn’t trust him not to play games, not after jumping her in the shower. “I told you, I don’t know where it is.”

“Just tell me who drove off in it, and I’ll be out of your way. I’m guessing that’s what you want.”

“Of course that’s what I want, but all I can tell you is I handed the key to a guy I know as Carlos, but I can’t see how that’s going to help, because I don’t know where he is and I don’t I have any way of contacting him.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “You’d better tell me what you do know.”

Kat’s body was still but her mind raced. If only she’d known there was a stash of diamonds in the boot. She could have stopped on her way to the handover. Hunted them out and popped them in her purse. No one would have been any the wiser and she would have been rich. Never again would she have to worry about having a financially secure future or panic about what would happen if her work dried up with Carlos. She was haunted with memories of being poor and hungry, of having absolutely no one to turn to. The diamonds could have been her ticket away from those nightmares. Perhaps they still could be.

“What’s in it for me?” she heard herself saying.

John frowned. “Un-bloody-believable!”

She shrugged, put her hand on her hip and took a sip of her drink.

His voice lowered. “You’ve got more attitude than is safe to be chucking around in front of me tonight, Pussy Cat.”

“If I help you, I’m entitled to a cut.” She pouted. “Fair’s fair.”

“Five hundred. You can have five hundred thousand if you help me get them back.” He smirked and a snort came down his nose. “Then you won’t have to work for this Carlos guy anymore. Imagine it, no more spreading your legs to steal cars.”

A wave of intense irritation washed through her. She hated him for what he’d just said, even though it was true. She couldn’t deny it, but she didn’t like to hear it said aloud…especially by him. But instead of hitting him with a comeback about thinking with his dick, she mulled over her options. She did want a share of the diamonds. Perhaps she could help him, and maybe if she was careful, real careful, Carlos would never find out they even existed. “One million,” she said. “I want one million if I help you.”

John smiled. “What thief doesn’t always want more?” he said. “Okay, deal. One million it is; that’s exactly half.” He swung his legs to the floor and sat forward. “Tell me everything, right from the very beginning. I need to know all about this Carlos guy. Starting with when you’re going to see him next.”

Kat perched at the far end of the leather sofa. Acutely aware of her lack of underwear, she kept her knees squeezed together. “I won’t see Carlos until next Thursday or Friday. He’ll post the details of the hit, and I’ll see him when I hand over the keys later that night.”

“You can’t be serious!” John groaned. “Next week! Damn it!”

“I only do hits at the end of the week and usually only one. Two this weekend has been busy for me.”

“Lucky me to be your overtime.”

She shrugged.

He looked at her with a puzzled frown. “Why doesn’t he just hotwire cars like the good old days, why does he need you?”

“Elite, sporty cars—the ones he takes orders for—are well beyond hotwiring. Without the key there’s no way you can get into them, let alone start them.”

“He doesn’t look beyond roughing someone up to get their keys.”

Kat laughed without humour. “He’s not, but he prefers the cars reported stolen the next day, that gives him longer to hide them and start transforming them for their new owners.”

John nodded slowly. “But I presume you get paid. How do you get your share if you don’t see Carlos until the following week?”

“Bank transfer. I’ve got an offshore account he wires my percentage to each Monday morning.”

“And you trust him to be fair about your percentage?”

“I’m hardly going to argue with twenty stone of brute strength, am I?” She huffed.

“Well you sure as hell tried with me.” He took another mouthful of whisky and furrowed his brow. “There’s only one thing we can do. I’ll follow you out on your next ‘hit’, watch you take a car from some, poor, unsuspecting guy and then trail Carlos. With a bit of luck, he’ll lead me to my Porsche.”

She nodded slowly.

“It’s risky.” He frowned. “We’ll have to pray a week isn’t leaving it too long and hope no one else finds the diamonds.”

“What are they just in a bag or something?”

“No, they’re tucked in the lining of the trunk, well out of sight of inquisitive customs officers at Dover or Calais.”

“Should be okay then.”

“The main problem now…” he chewed the inside of his cheek as he studied her, “is what to do with you until that time?”

“What do you mean, ‘what to do with me’?”

“Well, I don’t fancy my chances of finding you again if I let you out my sight.” He raised one thick eyebrow. “There’s only one thing for it, I’ll have to shack up here with you.”

“You’re joking. I’m not having you here all week.” She stood and banged her drink on the low coffee table. “This is my home. No one else ever steps foot in here but me.” She pointed to the hallway. “You have to go. I’ll meet you, take you to the hit. Why wouldn’t I? I’m getting half of the diamonds. I can’t stand you here. I can’t breathe with you here. It won’t work.”

John stood, appeared to hesitate before putting weight through his left leg then stepped up to her. “The thought of me hanging around repulses you, does it?”

“Yes.”

He loomed down, lowered his face and pushed in so close their whisky breaths mixed. “Get used to me being around, Pussy Cat. You made your bed, now you’ve gotta lie in it.”

He chuckled, straightened and hobbled out of the living room into the kitchen, adjusting the towel around his waist.

Kat glared after him. What could she do? It wasn’t as if she could physically throw him out. Perhaps she could give him the slip at some point. But where would she go? She had nowhere to run and no one to run to. Besides, she did ultimately want her share of the diamonds. Now she knew about them she could visualise them all pretty and twinkling, nestled deep in the palm of her hand, each tiny, perfect gem worth thousands and thousands of pounds. If hanging around with this big, irritating guy for a week was the only way, she’d have to somehow cope with his intrusion into her solitary existence.

She stomped after him and watched as he pulled open the fridge door and studied the contents. There were half a dozen microwave meals for one, all from Marks and Spencer, several bottles of unopened chardonnay lay on the top shelf and one open, half full, stood in the door next to a pint of skimmed milk. Other than that the only other inhabitants were a bag of green seedless grapes and two strawberry yogurts.

“Jeez,” he said blowing out his breath. “Is this all you eat?”

“What’s the matter with it?”
John swung the fridge door shut in disgust and leaned his behind against the counter.

“It’s not real food, that’s what’s wrong. Microwave meals, no wonder you’re so small.” He paused and let his eyes slide down her body—all the way to her red toenails— then just as slowly all the way back up again.

She pursed her lips in irritation and tightened her dressing gown farther.

He yawned and pushed away from the counter. “Get some rest,” he said as he brushed past her. “We’re going shopping in a few hours.”

“Shopping, what for?”

“I can’t eat this girly shit all week. I need proper food, and in case it escaped your notice, we need some kind of wheels to follow Carlos. That is unless you have a car stashed away somewhere?”

Kat trailed behind him. “I use cabs.”

“Well, you better cough up some cash to replace my car.” John sank onto the sofa, folded his arms behind his head and exposed dark shadows of underarm hair. “I’ve got a few grand on me but we’ll need another ten to get something decent.”

“As long as I keep it after we get the diamonds back.”

“Whatever.” John adjusted the cushion behind his head and closed his eyes. “Turn off the overhead light on your way to your bedroom, will you, and don’t bother trying any more sexy business with me. I’m knackered.”

“As if,” she spat then headed into her bedroom and slammed the door. She didn’t turn off the overhead light.

 

* * * *

 

Six hours later, Kat and John were browsing around a vast Kawasaki dealership. John fingered the hard cash folded in thick wads in his front, jeans pocket—the ten thousand Kat had produced from a mug in her kitchen cupboard should buy them something reasonable.

“I like this one,” Kat said, sliding her denim clad butt onto a lime green Kawasaki Ninja ZX. She grabbed hold of the handles and leant forward, twisted the throttle and made a low purring noise.

“You just like the colour,” John said then nodded to the hovering sales assistant. “We’ll take this one.” He pointed to the one Kat was straddling. “Now, for cash.”

“No problem, sir. Just give us a few minutes, and you can collect it from the forecourt.”

John reached for Kat’s elbow, tugged her off the bike and steered her towards the adjoining accessory shop. “We need to get you something more suitable to wear.”

“Hey, what’s the matter with what I’ve got on?” She tottered alongside him to keep up with his long strides. “These are Rock Republic, you know.”

John paused and spun her away from him. He studied her butt in her impossibly tight jeans. “I’m not complaining, but I don’t fancy you having your perfect honeyed flesh peeled from your bones if we go skidding along the tarmac.”

Kat frowned and jerked from his grip.

“You haven’t been on a bike before, have you?” he said, marching down a short ramp towards rails of biker gear.

“No. But there can’t be much to it. If you can do it, then I’m sure I can.”

He reached for a pair of size sixteen leather biker trousers and a matching jacket from the first rail they came to. “Go put this on,” he said as he thrust them at her.

Kat ignored the hangers he held. She reached for size tens in the exact same style.

John watched her turn and walk towards the changing room, nose in the air and little ass wiggling.

He selected some leathers for himself and, without bothering to try them on, paid for them and the bike and waited for Kat to come out the changing room.

After ten minutes of hanging about he’d changed into his own new stuff and browsed all the accessories. Impatience began to bubble and he called through the curtain of the changing cubicle tucked in the corner of the shop. “Hurry the hell up, will you?”

“Hang on,” she shouted back. “Nearly done.”

John rolled his eyes in apology to the young cashier idly scratching at a spot on his forehead with a pencil. It didn’t matter to him how long she took, but John was keen to get going. He was hungry, real hungry, and he hated having an empty stomach almost as much as he hated not having a whisky on board.

Finally, she appeared from behind the thick navy curtain. “Well,” she asked, giving a jaunty tip of her hip. “What do you think?”

The young cashier froze, and his eyes widened.

Tight black leather really worked on Kat’s hourglass figure, and to top it off, she’d teamed the outfit with knee-length black laced boots. She’d left the jacket zip undone far enough to expose her impressive cleavage supporting her usual diamond necklace.

It was all John could do not to let his jaw hit the floor. He stared adolescent like. Kat looked stunning in the shiny, black outfit. Every curve of her body accentuated and squeezed.

She strutted over, her hips rolling with each step, not stopping until she stood as close to him as she could get. “What do you think? Are these too tight?” she asked sweetly, her eyes sparkling. “Does it suit me?”

“You know damn well it does,” John said irritably.

A satisfied smile tickled her glossed red lips as she flicked her hair over her shoulders. “You approve then?”

John’s nostrils flared. He opened his mouth to speak but glanced at the cashier and shut it again. Lightning fast he reached down and grabbed her tight round behind and pulled her to the balls of her feet. Pressed her against his hard body so she’d be in no doubt he liked her—liked her a lot—in skin-tight leather.

He leant his head and spoke into her hair. “Be careful, Pussy Cat, ‘cause if you’re going to play sexy little games with me, your nine lives will get used up pretty damn quick.” He jerked her harder into his erection. “In fact, I reckon two have gone already.”

“I’m not playing games.” She kept pressed against him, un-intimidated and still smiling.

“You’re teasing me because you know it’s safe in here,” he whispered and nodded at their captive audience, the gangly youth. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Now who’s scared?” She raised her eyebrows.

“What are you talking about?”

“There is something I can do about it.” She licked her lips. “If you want me to, that is.”

John’s forehead furrowed. What the hell was she on about?

Kat twisted out of his grip. “I might need a hand,” she said “getting out of this tight gear.” She gave him a loaded look before turning and strutting back to the changing cubicle.

She went to pull the curtain across but his hand was already on it. He wrenched it to one side.


She looked up at him and swept her tongue over her bottom lip. “Come in.”

“You’re playing with fire,” he snarled. His erection was ready to burst out of its confines. The way her butt wiggled as she walked in that leather had him boiling with lust.

“Shut the curtain behind yourself,” Kat said smoothly.

John stepped inside and pulled the curtain tight. “What are you up to? You want me to take you in here?”

“No.” She placed small hands on his chest and pushed him against the flimsy sidewall. It rattled ominously under his weight. “I’m going to take you.”

John pulled at the leather around his groin, trying to ease the blood congestion. “What the hell are you on about, little girl?”

“This.” She dragged a battered upholstered stool behind herself and sat directly in front of his groin. “You reckon you can handle it, John?” She reached for the silver zip of his new leather trousers and tugged it down a couple of notches.

He glared at her as a mixture of fury and lust washed through him.

Kat raised her eyebrows and pulled the zipper to reveal the waistband of his boxers. He let out a groan.

A voice came from the other side of the curtain. “Only one person in the cubicle at a time.”

John dragged his attention from Kat’s shining mouth and the downward journey of his fly. He flicked the curtain back an inch and stared out at the hovering assistant who was wringing his hands and shifting from one foot to the other.

“Piss off,” he growled.

“Only one person at a time, that’s the rule and if the manag…ughh.” His words were cut short as John shot his hand from the curtain and wrapped his fingers around the assistant’s long, pale neck.

The young man’s eyes saucered, and he gripped John’s wrist.

“If you like anything about your life, piss off and make sure no one else needs to try anything on.” John tightened his grip farther and pulled the lad to his toes. “Got it?”

The youth squeaked and nodded.

“Good.” John released him as suddenly as he’d grabbed him, slid his hand back into the cubicle and secured the curtain.

Rapid footsteps faded across the shop floor.

 

* * * *

 

Kat had his flies all the way down now and sizzling heat was radiating out of his tented boxers onto her cheek. She sucked in much needed air as she pulled his cock out. He was straining forward and as hard as a rock. He wasn’t just mildly excited—he looked ready to come right now.

He slid his fingers around her neck and cupped her nape. “I can handle it, Pussy Cat. The question is can you?”

A shiver of goosebumps charged across her flesh at his touch. A cocktail of emotions— lust, fear and anger—surged through her. She’d never done this before but how hard could it be? It was certainly worth a go when it gave her back so much control. The lust dripping from John’s eyes was more intense than anything she’d ever witnessed before.

She tapped her fingers over the lower muscles of his abdomen, making his stomach contract and his engorged dick twitch from his black forest of pubic hair. She was fascinated by the glorious sight of his angry red flesh so close to her mouth, and pouted in anticipation—she wanted to taste him, wanted to know what all that silken flesh on a steel rod would feel like on her tongue, on the roof of her mouth, down her throat.

She yanked the leather farther to release his balls.

He jerked as he braced to support himself and his hand on the back of her neck tightened. “Get on with it…” he said in a low, grating voice.

Kat reached underneath his shaft and took his testicles into her palm, rolled them like two snooker balls being played with in a bag. They were cool and the hair was sparser. She inhaled his wild maleness and the sweetness of new leather. He was an overdose of pheromones, and her female hormones leapt to wicked attention.

“Jeez,” he grunted. “Just do it. We haven’t got all day.”

Kat slackened her jaw and aimed the stretched ‘o’ of her mouth over his shining head. She dragged in a deep breath and slid her lips down the long shaft. Felt the slit of his tip glide over her palate, tasted the salty hint of pre-cum on her tongue and pulled her teeth away from the pulsating veins jutting from his flesh.

She kept on going, farther and farther until he hit the back of her throat. Filled with his thickness, she struggled to control her gag reflex. Tightening her resolve to handle him, she successfully beat down the choking sensation and pulled air through her nose.

He slid right down her throat like a stick of honey.

His fingers clenched in her hair and an animal groan erupted from his lips. “God, yes…fuck yes…”

She backed up from his hardness and dropped down again. A spark flew to her clit as she took him even deeper than before, the gag reflex no longer an issue. She curled her tongue like a deep duvet around his shaft, rippling it along the base with her pointed tip. She pushed her hand between her own legs and applied pressure through the leathers straight onto her sex. She wanted to come too. She might in a minute.

Both his hands gripped the back of her head now, and his harsh gasps swirled around the changing room. She heard voices through the curtain, a woman speaking to the assistant about a present for her husband. She ignored them. The thought of John about to cum in mouth was her over-riding thought. But he didn’t, instead he lifted his hands and left her free to move as she pleased.

Kat felt powerful, in control. She created a hot suction and bobbed her head all the way down to the base with a soft sucking noise she hoped wouldn’t carry. She wanted to make him come, make him as desperate for her as she’d been for him. Over and over, she slipped down and sucked up. Her lips felt swollen around his cock and her tongue danced over his domed glans.

“Get ready, I’m gonna come,” he gasped as the first drip of silky fluid spilt from him. His hands were back, tangled in her hair, keeping her in place. He thrust forward, and forged in. Kat took him, loving it. Why had she never done this before? Her tongue found an extra thick vein at the base of his dick and she laved at it as his pubes tickled her nose. Her clit hummed, about to fly like a rocket.

John’s cock suddenly went thick and rigid. Suspended in time, it froze butting the very depth of her throat. She reached for his balls which had retreated into the base of his shaft, let them nestle in her palm as her fingertips stroked the ridge of skin she found between his sac and his anus.

“Fuck, yes…” He ground out as his thighs went taut. “So good, you feel so…damn…good.” Like a popped cork, semen flooded down her throat. She barely had to swallow he was so deep anyway. One hand fisted her hair back into a rough ponytail, and his other cupped her chin, his thumb just touching her bottom lip and at the same time pressing on the base of his penis. He continued to spill his seed, pulsing and jerking in her mouth, greedily massaging the base of her tongue.

Kat hadn’t orgasmed but it sure felt like it. She eked every sizzling drip of pleasure from John and committed it to a memory she would get off on when she was alone. Her nipples strained and her pussy was wet; she had a job to catch her breath around his flesh.

He pulled his spent cock from her mouth, still hard but nothing left to give it lay against the zip of his leathers.

Cupping her chin, he urged her to her feet.

Kat looked into his glazed eyes. Her throat was salty and empty and her lips stretched and moist. She knew her red lipstick would be a smeared mess.

“A virgin mouth,” he said huskily.

She scowled. How had he known? It had sounded like she was doing it right. How could he have possibly guessed she’d never done it before?

“Only a virgin mouth would go straight for a deep throat fuck.” He traced the contours of her lips with the pad of his thumb, dipped into her cupid’s bow and wiped at a milky drip in the left hand corner. “Not that I’m complaining.” A ghost of a smile tipped his mouth. “It was fucking fabulous.” He bent his head and pressed a hard kiss to her tender lips.