Persuasive Lips (4 page)

He opened the compartment door and led her down the corridor and helped her descend three steps to the platform. The engineer was boarding the locomotive. Agent Jones waved to him and he waved back. So did Miss Davis.

“There’s this great little diner over on King Street. Just a couple blocks away. I have something to ask you over a hearty meal...” He offered his arm and she took it. As they walked away, a nagging little feeling caused her to turn her head.

No, it couldn’t be. She could have sworn she’d seen Alfred Hitchcock waddling alongside the train with a film can tucked under his arm.

“Agent Jones, is that Alfred Hitchcock back there? Was he on our train?” She panted in fear.

They stopped at the curb. He didn’t look back. “Agent Jones? My you sure are formal, Della. I should think after our little game on the train you would call me Ashley. Actually what a nice thought that conjures up. Soon you’ll be screaming out my name every time I take you to heaven.”

“But aren’t you concerned there might be a movie of what we did? My goodness! I’ll be ruined. My reputation will be despicable. I’ll never work in this town again.” Della felt the sourness churning in her stomach.
Wait a minute, what was it he was asking me? Does he think I’m going to make love with him willingly? Wait, I was very willing. He asked permission and I granted it. And it was tons better than I had even dreamed of. And my goodness, what a catch he is.

They crossed the street as the light turned. A black Plymouth sedan sped towards them through a red light. Jones hurtled Miss Davis onto the sidewalk and they rolled to the grass. The car disappeared around the corner.

“Come on!” He yanked her to her feet and they ran up the concrete steps toward the George Washington National Masonic Monument.

They rushed inside through the front door then ducked into a stairwell without seeing anyone else. Della’s throat was dry and she was stumbling up the stairs behind him, grasping for the railing with one hand as he yanked her onward by her opposite wrist.

They finally stopped when the stairs ended. He handed her the paper bag. With his service weapon drawn, Agent Jones shoved open the door and stuck his head into the unlit corridor. There were no windows.

He pulled her through and quietly closed the door behind them.

Della didn’t dare speak, not that she could say much of anything with her dry mouth and absence of much oxygen to her lungs.

He maneuvered them into a room and locked the door. Agent Jones struck a match and walked along the walls until he found the mantel. He lighted two oil lamps, then threw the match into the fireplace as it singed his finger. A tiny dry twig caught the flame.

He turned his attention to Miss Davis. He took the bag from her. Dumping the shoes, beer bottles and sheet out, he placed the paper sack over her nose and mouth and said, “Breathe into this. You’re hyperventilating. Calm down.”

She complied and her respirations returned to normal. “Thanks.”

He tossed the sheet onto the pile of oak in the fireplace. It went up in smoky flames, burning just long enough to ignite the other kindling and persuade the oak to smoke before catching on fire.

He used his pocket knife to pry the lids off of two warm beers. He offered her one. “Here, drink this.”

“Thanks.” She coughed a little on the first gulp, then drank half of the bottle. “Hey, what time is it anyway? Respectable ladies don’t drink alcoholic beverages before breakfast.”

“Respectable ladies aren’t being chased by thugs.”

“Who are we running from?”

“You tell me. What have you done, Miss Davis and who have you done it to?”

“What? I don’t like what you are insinuating. I have done nothing that would cause hooligans to run me down in broad daylight.” She wracked her brain, trying to think of anyone she’d irritated lately. She had gotten a little catty with one of the lady secret service agents, but that was all good clean fun. No, not really, because deep down she’d meant the insults. It wasn’t fair the other girl got to carry a badge and a gun and flit off secretly on missions. While she was stuck in the humidity, typing until her fingers cramped up. Her thoughts turned to typing dirty for him...

“Miss Davis, think. What have you done that would cause someone to want to do you harm?”

“Nothing. I’m a good clean girl.”

“Yes you are. I love your scent. And it’s even better now...”

Della’s face flushed. She was aware of the dampness in her undergarments. She really needed a proper soak in a bubble bath to cleanse the...the loving away.

She looked at him as he poked the fire with an iron. He’d removed his suit jacket and rolled his white sleeves up. Her tongue moistened her lips as she studied his arms from his defined biceps down to his long fingers. To match his...

She shook her head. She needed to focus. “Where are we anyhow?”

“The top of George Washington’s Masonic temple. It was designed in the style of the lighthouse in Alexandria, Egypt. They administer the master Mason rites up here to the Freemasons, in the next room.”

“George Washington owned this place?”

“No, this was built in the thirties. An expression of the Masonic fraternity's faith in the principles of civil and religious liberty and orderly government. George was a Freemason. As was Benjamin Franklin. It was Franklin’s Masonic contacts that got France to fight on our side in the revolutionary war. Masons are a tight nit, fiercely loyal order.”

“What’s the master Mason rites business?”

“The highest level of Masonry. The initiation takes place next door.”

“What is it?”

“Something secret. Can’t tell anyone.”

“What could be that big of a secret? Is the holy grail in there? A man from Mars? Mother Nature planning the weather?”

“Something like that. Come here, Miss Davis.”

He pulled her closer to the flames and shook his jacket out, dropping it onto the old hardwood floor.

He took her face in his hands, smiled and kissed her. Just as she was reaching her arms around his neck, he pulled back. “I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time now, you know.”

Della smiled. “Wow.”

“Well? Do you love me?”

“Okay.”

“That isn’t the reply I’d hoped for.” He sounded hurt.

“Yes, Agent Jones, I love you too.” She didn’t really. Did she? This was just happening too fast.

Her response pleased him and with that he kissed her possessively, until she was gasping for air again. He pulled his mouth away and tugged her down to the floor.

Della asked, “Do you want me to wear the red shoes again?”

“Would you?” He ran a finger up her silk stockinged leg, stopping at the garter.

“Sure.” She reached toward them, kicking her blue pumps off.

He said, “Allow me.” He gently wedged her feet into them as he raised an ankle to rest on his shoulder. She lay on her back, waiting and wondering.

“You are so beautiful here in the firelight. So beautiful on the train. So beautiful in the White House.”

“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He rubbed his face on her inner shin. His unshaven face rustled against the silk.

“You’re probably putting snags in the hose. Don’t worry thought, they’re all ready ruined. Do you wanna take them off and tie me up again?”

“Do you want to be tied up?” He kissed the inside of her knee and ran his tongue up her inner thigh.”

She shivered and squirmed. “Sure.”

He buried his face in the crotch of her panties, tonguing and blowing.

She grabbed his shoulders, at first trying to pull him off of her, then trying to keep him just where he was. As she thought she was almost at the point of no return, he pulled away and grabbed her hands.

“No. You don’t know what you want yet. Don’t try to control me. I know how to please you. Just let yourself go.” He looked around the room and sized up the sparse furnishings. A Windsor chair. A tall secretary’s desk. A radiator and the fireplace. “Take off your stockings.”

She unsnapped her garters and nearly ripped the stockings as he slipped a finger in one of the shoes and slowly removed it. She noticed he had one heel in his fist, pulling it in and out. He met her gaze, smiled and removed the mate. After he accepted the stockings from her, she followed him across the room.

“Unfasten your dress.”

She unbuttoned the front of her dress down to her waist. As she started unbuckling the belt he said, “No, that’s far enough.” And he pulled her arms out of the sleeves, folding the dress back over her waist. His breathing quickened as he fumbled with her brassiere.

She said, “Here, let me.” She unhooked it.

He took it from her. “Face the radiator.”

She did.

He gently tied a silk stocking around each of her wrists, then tied the opposite ends around the legs of the radiator on both sides. This cause her to bend in half as she tried to remain standing as she wrapped her fingers around the top of the radiator.

“Don’t you want me to lie down on the floor or something?”

“No. We don’t have a radio to bend you over, so the radiator will have to do,
juicy Lillian
.” He flipped her skirt up to her waist and yanked her panties off. She stepped out of them. He licked the cotton crotch and tossed them toward the fire. They landed on the edge of the hearth, sizzling before igniting. He helped her bare feet into the red shoes. She spread her legs, getting a good footing.

Kneeling, he took her brassiere and looped one strap around her left ankle, then pulled her other leg close and looped the other. “Comfortable?”

“No, not really. I feel like a rag doll, trying to stand up.”

“Are you in discomfort then? Let me know and we’ll regroup.”

“No, I guess I’m okay.”

She felt his whiskers against her thighs, briskly rubbing as his hands grabbed her rear end, squeezing the plump flesh then pulling it apart in the center. “You are so beautiful Miss Davis.”

She shivered. Scared of what was to come. Embarrassed at his view. Validated that the right man had finally said I love you. And even if he didn’t mean it, she needed to hear it. And even if she didn’t mean it, he needed to hear it.

“What if the radiator kicks on?” she asked. She turned her head away from it.

“Doubtful. It’s summertime.”

Della giggled. She heard the sucking noises as his tongue lapped in and out of her secret keeper. Deeper it went each time. She was sore and this soothed her newly used muscle. He pulled his tongue out and slowly licked upwards, momentarily lingering over her other orifice. She shuddered.

He slipped a finger inside her frothy womanhood and said, “Relax Miss Davis. There is nothing to be afraid of. I love you. I will never ever harm you.” He maneuvered a second finger inside and then began working her clitoris with his thumb.

She swayed and cooed. Embarrassed and loving it. “How do you know so much?”

“I was made to love you,” he said in his oh so sexy low voice.

She whimpered when he pulled his hand away.

Agent Jones sat on the floor with his back to hers, untied her feet and grabbed both of her ankles. He pushed his head between her knees, shoving it up to her crotch. She sat on his shoulders. As his mouth sucked on her clitoris, his hands found her breasts. He squeezed them in a circular motion as she moaned and writhed. He pinched both nipples as she screamed in pleasure. He body trembled and she went limp with her face smashed against the peeling paint on the radiator.

“Are you all right?”

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” She did.

He untied her hands. He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the fire, gently lowering her on her back, centering her bottom on his jacket.

He brushed the hair from her cheek and kissed her forehead.

“I wish I knew how to do wonderful things for you. I mean I know how, well, I’ve heard how, but I haven’t really...much...I’m a good girl.”

“You’re
my
good girl, Della. You can suck my
big mariner
if you wish.” He peeled his trousers, shorts and shoes off. Kneeling beside her, he put her hand on his throbbing member. His head dropped back as she squeezed it. He guided her hand up and down the shaft from the base to the tip and back down again. “Suck it.” He straddled her.

She held herself up on her elbows and took it in her mouth. Just the head.

“Take me deeper. And use your hand.”

She wrapped her fingers around his phallus and opened wider, but didn’t want to gag. Her mouth wasn’t nearly deep enough to accommodate him.

“Swirl your tongue around it. Suck. Keep up the friction with your hand.”

Too many directions.

He said, “Never mind, I’ll do the hand part.” They fell into a rhythm and she was soon surprised by the stream of liquid gushing into her mouth. He fell back onto his legs then rolled off of her.

She swallowed and lay there wondering if she had disappointed him. Why couldn’t she coordinate her hand with her mouth?

He pulled her into his arms. “I can’t wait to teach you everything.

They fell asleep, contented and sweaty.

* * *

Della dreamed of spaghetti. Spaghetti and meatballs in sauce simmered all day by her landlady, Mrs. Grogan. Just as she was twirling the long noodles around the tines of her silver fork, those pesky skinny girls that lived across the hall came in and stole her plate. Before she could protest, she awoke.

Grumbling, Della opened her eyes. She wasn’t in her twin bed at the boarding house on Nichols Avenue. She was lying on something hard. And something hard was pressed against the small of her back. She scanned thorough the darkness, up to the oil lamps flickering on a mantel. Oh yes. She remembered where she was. And who that thing pressed into her back belonged to. She resisted rolling over and kissing him. The fairy tale would end and he’d kick her out. It had to be a fairy tale, didn’t it? A dream of some sort? She’d blink and find out she’d just fallen asleep on the job at her typewriter again.

Might as well get it over with. She blinked once, twice, then thrice and she was still in the little dark room at the top of the Masonic temple.