Part 15 (1/2)
Candi stepped out of the bathroom wearing one of the bathrobes and flipped off the lights except for a desk lamp that glowed in the corner of the room.
”Turn the TV off,” she said in a silky soft voice and dropped her bathrobe, revealing the curves of her naked body.
Rick got up, turned off the TV as ordered, and returned to the side of the bed.
”You need to relax,” she said. ”Here, let me loosen your jeans.” Rick stood in silent surrender as Candi unzipped his kakis.
”Sit down on the bed,” she said. ”Let's get those pants off.”
Before Rick could respond, Candi pushed him flat on the bed. By the time she'd removed his kakis, his under shorts looked like a tent stretched over his monstrous erection. Candi made quick work of removing his shorts. He was feeling a rush of emotions released by the wine that he hadn't felt since making love to Ann.
She spread his legs apart and leaned in. Before she could devour him with her mouth, Rick sat up, reached down, and pulled Candi up by her firm, rounded b.u.t.t until their lips touched. They fell back on the bed and she mounted Rick, riding him like a bucking stallion. Rick released all the years of pent up emotion and frustration and nearly bucked her off the bed. Candi shrieked with each thrust and prodded her stallion for more with her knees. Rick responded by rolling her over and pounded her thrusting hips until they both lay exhausted.
”You're a wild man,” Candi said as they both lay on their backs.
Rick responded with only heavy breathing and a smile.
”Jeez, we've been wasting all this time. Don't die on me,” Candi said. ”I'm not done with you.”
Candi snuggled next to Rick, who was facing her and shaking his head in disbelief. She ma.s.saged his limp manhood until it grew hard again. He pulled her on top of him. They kissed and explored each other's bodies. She slid him into her, and they made love again, and again.
When the sun finally peeked through the s.p.a.ce between drawn drapes, a shaft of light cut across their naked bodies stretched across the bed.
Candi nudged Rick. ”You awake.”
”I am now,” he groaned.
Candi ma.s.saged him gently. It didn't take long until Rick responded.
”Careful, you're going to wear it out.”
”Never happen. Last one in the shower buys breakfast,” she teased.
Candi bolted for the bathroom with Rick right behind her. She jumped in the shower and turned it on full blast.
”Oh s.h.i.+t, it's freezing!” She leaped out of the stream of water and began stroking him again.
”We can't get in until the water gets hot, but I don't want to waste that beautiful hard-on of yours.”
Steam soon started rising from the shower and with a firm grip on his growing erection, Candi pulled Rick into the shower with her. The hot water stung like pin p.r.i.c.ks on his back. The pain was quickly forgotten when she wrapped her legs around his waist. Their wet bodies slapped against each other in the steam-filled shower.
Checking out, Rick didn't allow Candi to go Dutch for the room as she'd insisted the night before. He also picked up the breakfast tab since he lost the race to the shower.
They stood in the front entrance without speaking. Images of last night's marathon raced through their minds while they waited for the valet to bring Rick's car around.
Rick wasn't the same person who'd watched the valet drive away the previous night. He'd awakened an unexpected personality. Rick had finally broken down the wall he'd built around himself after the loss of Ann. Now he could feel emotions for someone else without guilt.
When the car arrived, he gave the valet a generous tip.
They wound their way through the hilly Winston-Salem landscape, looking for I-40 East.
”Do you think Dan will go for us staying over for the champions.h.i.+p game?” Candi asked in mock seriousness.
”In your dreams after he sees this bill.” Rick laughed as he turned the Corvair onto I-40 and headed for Raleigh.
Chapter 32.
”Men learned new skills and how to tame the powerful diesel locomotives that pulled twice the load of steam engines for thousands of miles without costly repairs.”
Tank faces crisis on every front ”Don't worry, Pop, I've got everything under control.” Tank a.s.sured his father with the swagger he'd acquired dealing with his staff and members of the General a.s.sembly.
”I called the Sheriff myself and he wasn't even aware a deputy was patrolling our warehouse. You better get control of the situation and quick.” Sam raised his voice for emphasis.
”I had my chief of staff contact the Sheriff after your complaint call. The Sheriff a.s.sured him it was just routine. The officer was new and a little overzealous, his first week on the job.”
”That's not good enough. I want to know why he was snooping around.” Sam pounded his fist into his palm in front of Tank's face.
”Calm down, I'll take care of it!” Tank slammed his chair into the desk then grabbed up a handful of letters and waved them at Sam. ”Look, I'm swamped here.” Tank threw the papers back on his desk, pulled the chair out again, and sat down hard. He covered his face with his hands and sighed.
Being an a.s.semblyman had grown into a much harder job than Sam had made it out to be. Tank was hardly sleeping, and the constant nagging by his const.i.tuents only made dealing with his father all the more frustrating.
Tank clamped his face with his hands. ”Lobbyists are camped out here seven days a week, the General a.s.sembly is hounded about the flood of imported textiles, tobacco law suits are piling up, and kids are holding demonstrations on campus and burning their draft cards, protesting the Vietnam War.” He put his hands flat on his desk and looked at Sam. ”We get thousands of letters a day complaining about these issues and dozens of others. I've got my hands full, Pop, so cut me a little slack, okay?”
Sam's stone face showed no reaction to Tank's plea. ”You just keep in mind how you got this job and where the money came from, and most of all, why it is important to have this job. I don't think it's too much to ask for a little help on protecting our investment.” Sam paused then said, ”Oh, by the way, your mother wants to know if you'll be home for Christmas dinner, we'll be in Bankstowne for the holidays”
”I'm the grand marshal of a parade in the district next week. There are several speeches . . . but, I'll be there. I really do need a break. I've never been so tired in my life. Football practice was never this exhausting. I'm taking the week between Christmas and New Year's off and plan to watch Carolina in the Orange Bowl. I'd love to go to the game, but I just don't have the time or energy.”
The bright star that had s.h.i.+ned on the Grad School a.s.semblyman earlier had lost its glow. Campaign promises for change that flowed so easily off the tongue of the young challenger with no record to defend proved much harder to keep than to make. Slowing the influx of textile imports was the federal government's jurisdiction, which he couldn't control in Was.h.i.+ngton. But try to tell that to the laid off workers.
Tobacco, the backbone of the state's economy, was coming under heavy attack by anti-smoking activist groups nationwide. Congress legislated a printed label on each pack of cigarettes warning that smoking was hazardous to the smoker's health. Lawsuits against cigarette producers in the state over cancer cases alleged to be caused by tobacco smoke had increased and won large settlements.
Tank was growing weary of the endless stream of lobbyists looking for payback for their employers' support and gra.s.sroots special interest groups bent on banning smoking in public buildings. The roar of approval he once enjoyed in his football playing days and as a young candidate was gone. Back then, he'd almost thought he was doing the right thing because of all the support, but now he felt as if nothing he did would bring him back to that place of adoration. And now his own father badgered him to rein-in law enforcement doing its job by investigating his cigarette operation.
”I have to go,” Sam said. He gave Tank a pat on the back and headed for the door but stopped and turned facing his son. ”I know you'll take care of the problem. You're doing a great job, son. Just stay focused on the game plan. See you at Christmas.”
The door wasn't half closed before Tank went to his liquor cabinet and poured a shot of Jim Bean black label and tossed it down. In quick succession, Tank downed three more before he sat down in his chair and propped his feet on his desk.
Tank reared back and waited for the mellowing effect of the bourbon to kick in. He buzzed his secretary with instructions to hold all calls. Almost two years in office had etched permanent dark circles beneath his eyes. His belly strained against the b.u.t.tons on his s.h.i.+rt and hung over his belt.
He fired up a Winston filtered cigarette, a habit he picked up during the campaign that turned into a three-pack-a-day addiction. But it wasn't a gesture of support for the besieged tobacco industry. Like the bourbon, it was an effort to escape the relentless pressure he faced. The political lark Tank so naively began at his father's insistence had morphed into a reality he never antic.i.p.ated and wasn't prepared to handle.
SBI office ”I'm sorry to hear that, Mark, but I understand your position. I don't want you to jeopardize your job. You're going to be a fine officer and I was glad to help you get into the academy. Really appreciate your help. Check you later.”
Wil hung up the phone, disappointed at the bad news. His only contact couldn't do surveillance for him anymore. Forsyth County Sheriff Allen Swenson had received a complaint from S & T about the unusual frequency of patrols by one of his deputies.