The grin on his face said it all. The storm around us was adding fuel to the fire in the room as he grabbed my hair and pulling my head back, kissed m... hungrily as his fingers deftly felt my nipple. There was no turning back now. My body was betraying me, responding to his caresses. His fingers worked their magic, twisting and tugging at my nipple as his mouth closed in on the other one. My back arched towards him. Bugger! In all the sexual tension, I forgot his name. These things only happen. I didn’t bother to look out my office windows to Genessee. Bulldog’s driver and bodyguard, Emile, would be opening the back door of that gleaming black Cadillac, the one with the extra legroom in back. No KC cop would ever pull that car over; no meter maid would ever ticket it.Emile was in his 50s and no one fucked with him. Part of his background was hazy, something about the French Foreign Legion in lieu of prison. Something about Thailand, the CIA, a small airline. Emile had a concealed. More

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