Someone Taught Aimee Ch 3

You try to do something nice for someone and it blows right up in your face. He scrawled some notes on a legal pad and considered taking a vacation. To some place without women. Two weeks with her and he still couldn't get those five words out of his head.

"Let me speak to Daddy."

There's just something incredibly obscene about a grown woman calling her father "Daddy."

"Mr. Running Bear? Mr. Atkinson would like to see you in his office."

Joe dropped his pen and glared at the papers in front of him for a moment. "All right, Sandy."

He shrugged on his suit jacket and shoved his fingers through his hair. The corner office on the floor where there were only two offices would be his one day, but at the moment it belonged to the his boss. Estelle, Atkinson's secretary–handpicked by Mrs. Atkinson–was no where to be found. She was as efficient and conscientious as she was ugly so her absence was unusual. If only Mrs. Atkinson knew that Mr. Atkinson swung the other way.

"Joe, come on in and have a seat."

"What's this all about, Tom?" Joe picked the leather armchair and sat down.

"I got a call from Adam Rutledge today."

Joe plastered a bored expression on his face. "What did he want?"

"He wants me to fire you. Threatened to turn me into the SEC. He says that while you were engaged to his daughter that you took care of some accounts for him and he's just discovering that you did it illegally."

"What do you think?"

Tom leaned back in the chair and studied him with piercing eyes. "Tell me about Evan Glass."

"He's a crook. He rigged a buyout of a tech company called Synergistics for Global Energy Dynamics. He planted some evidence of industrial espionage on the suits that ran Synergistics, spread rumors about Congressional inquiries and downgraded the stock and picked it up for a song."

"Rutledge says that you did it and used Glass as a scapegoat."

"What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think, Joe. If anyone could pull of a stunt like that, you could."

"I've worked for you for three years now. Have I ever given you reason to believe that I'd do something like that?"

"No, of course not."

"Am I fired?"

"Not yet."

"But you might do it."

"How do you know about Glass? This isn't something we're into."

"I did a little research on it after I found out a few things about Rutledge. Something didn't smell right over there."

"What things?"

"I'd rather not say."

Tom didn't say anything for a while, he simply stared. Joe stared back, unflinchingly. Tom respected a man who stood up for himself, who never apologized, who could stare him down. Joe learned that little piece of information long before he'd ever had his first interview with the man.

"I've got a meeting to get to. We'll discuss this over lunch tomorrow."

Joe stood up and smoothed his jacket. "I didn't do anything wrong, Tom. You know that."

"We'll see."

Sandy raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth when he stormed past her desk. "Not now, Sandy."

"But, Mr. Runn–"

"I said not now! Hold all my calls."

"Mr. Runn–"

"Shut up or you're fired."

Shock blossomed on her face for a moment, then a hard mask dropped over her eyes. She sat down at her desk and started typing. At least she'd shut up. He slammed the door to his office and stalked to his desk. What in the hell was the man up to?

"Joe."

He jerked around. "Christine? What are you doing here?"

"Aren't you even a little pleased to see me?"

"What do you want?"

She sat down, her knees demurely together and her eyes on the edge of his desk. "It's about Aimee." She sucked in a deep breath. "And Daddy."

"What about them?"

She met his eyes, hers wide and imploring. "You're the only person I can turn to. I don't know what to do anymore, Joe. Aimee, she..."

He waited for a few moments for her to continue. "She what?"

"She came and visited Daddy yesterday. He didn't know I was home. He..." She broke eye contact, swallowing hard and staring at the floor.

"He what?"

"He

hit

her." She straightened her shoulders. "I didn't believe her. I didn't listen. I didn't want to. They were yelling at each other and then I could hear him slapping her and I could hear her screaming. Begging him to stop."

Joe wanted to hit something. He curled his hands into fists and held himself perfectly still.

"He had sex with her. Daddy. And I didn't believe her." She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "Why did you let her go to him?"

"She's a grown woman. I can't stop her from doing what she wants to." He forced himself to relax. "Why are you here?"

"I can't find her. I went out again, so they wouldn't know I'd heard everything. When I came back she was gone and Daddy acted like nothing had happened. He was excited and happy. I called your apartment and I couldn't reach her. I've been trying all day." Her voice dropped. "I wanted to say I'm sorry."

"Do you know why she went to see him?"

"No."

"You said you could hear them yelling."

"They were yelling about you. She kept yelling that he promised."

"Anything else?"

"I didn't hear them too well. She yelled something about files and promises. And he yelled about her being a slut and then he hit her."

"Files? What files?"

"I don't know."

"Synergistics?"

"No! Just you and promises."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Go to Mother's and see if we can find Aimee. I'm worried about her."

"Give me a call if you do."

"All right." She stood and crossed to the door. For a moment, she looked at him. Her eyes were full of longing and regret. "I'm sorry, Joe. Be careful."

"I can take care of myself." Something inside him stirred. "You take care, Christine. Your father is dangerous."

She smiled thinly. "I know."

Then she was gone.

He picked up his pen and stared at the papers that needed his attention. Nothing. He threw the pen down and shrugged his jacket on. He needed to find Aimee.

"Sandy, reschedule my appointments. I'm gone for the day." He didn't slow down to see if she'd heard him or not.

The apartment was quiet as death. He flicked on the lights and dropped his keys on the foyer table. After shutting and locking the door, he listened. All he heard was the quiet thump and whir of the refrigerator and the understated hum of the air conditioning. "Aimee?"

A sniffle came from the bathroom. He pushed open the door and flicked on the light. "What are you doing?"

She was in the bathtub, up to her neck in bubbles, with the lights off. "Just taking a bath."

Her voice was shaky, a half ghost of the woman who taunted him into spanking her nearly every night.

"What's wrong?"

She refused to look at him. He crossed to the tub and pried her face around to his. The eyes were big, blue, and full of tears. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"I would rather we did."

She looked away.

"Christine dropped by my office today."

She flinched, but didn't look at him.

"Right after my boss and I had a discussion about my involvement with Syngersitics. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"No."

"Did you steal my files and take them to your father?"

She whirled on him, her wet hair sending water across the bathroom. "Why would I do that?"

"Why don't you tell me."

She glared mutinously at him. Her lower lip trembled. If he didn't know any better he'd swear a seven year old girl was in the tub in front of him. He frowned and stood up.

"Why? Dammit, you owe me an answer."

"I don't have anything to say." The mulish expression accompanying that proclamation dared him to do something about it.

He grabbed her by the upper arm and hauled her out of the bathtub. He dragged her through the hallway and tossed her onto the bed, ignoring the screeching.

"You can't do this to me!"

"I just did. Did you steal my files?"

Her eyes narrowed and she eyed him as if she were Lady Astor looking at an Irish street urchin. "Figure it out yourself, Tonto."

"This is the last time I'm going to ask you nicely, Aimee." He could feel his back teeth grinding. "Did you steal my files?"

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Dropping onto the bed, he hauled her across his lap, face first. He had an impression of shock in her expression before her butt was within range and his hand shoved down on the small of her back, holding her still.

"Joe!" She tried to shove herself off his lap.

He delivered a series of strong smacks to her left butt cheek, not stopping until his hand hurt. He didn't have to touch her pussy to know she was hot, he could smell her. Right then, he didn't care.

"Did you steal my files?"

"Is that all you got, Geronimo?"

For just a moment, he saw red. Everything was washed with a haze of reddish anger and he thought he might actually throttle her. Then he dumped her onto the floor.

"You want more? Stick your ass in the air."

She stood up and ran her eyes over his body, as if she were sizing him up and found him lacking, then bent over the bed with slow, deliberate movements. She looked over her shoulder at him and had the gall to yawn. "Whenever you're ready, chief. I've got a nail appointment in an hour, can you speed this up?"

He whipped his belt out of the loops, a thin, black leather affair, and bent it in half. He'd never done this to another human being before, and he hesitated.

"Coward." She wiggled her butt at him.

She squealed when the first whack curled around her butt. Her entire body jerked forward and she shook. He landed another three in about the same spot, then stopped. Her ass was bright red and he could see the ridges of long, thin welts rising on her flesh. The belt slipped to the floor and he couldn't remember a time when he felt worse about something he'd done.

"Aimee..." He didn't know what to say.

Her face was pressed into the blankets and she was shivering. She twisted her face to look at him. Her hair shrouded her expression. "More. Do it more, please."

"What?"

She shoved her hair out of her face then pushed herself up onto her hands again. "C'mon, chief, spank my ass." The shakiness in her voice belied the attitude in the words.

He hesitated a moment, taking in the welts and then the lust in her eyes.

"Don't wimp out on me now, Geronimo."

The slow grin that worked its way across his lips didn't reach his eyes. He picked up the belt and let her have about five more good hits. As soon as the belt hit the floor again, she whipped around and dropped to the floor beside him. She nuzzled her face into his pants, tears streaking into the dark fabric. She pressed her lips against the placket in front of his crotch.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she whispered

"God, Aimee." The gentle sweep of his fingers through her hair reinforced the reassurance in his tone. "It's okay. Whatever you did, we can work it out. You just have to tell me."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

She shook her head violently and shoved her eyes into his body.

"I can't fix it if you don't tell me what the problem is."

Her fingers went to the button holding the top of his pants together. She toyed with it for a few moments and then undid it. It was arousing and irritating all at the same time. She tugged the zipper down and freed him from his briefs. Her fingers wrapped around his cock and she rubbed her cheek against it.

"Tell me what's going on, Aimee."

"Nothing important." Her tongue flicked along the underside of his erection and he had to suppress the need to stick in her mouth. A woman can't talk with a mouthful of cock.

He wrapped his hand around hers and forced her movement to stop. "You want my cock?"

She glared up at him. "That's blackmail."

"Simple commerce. You've got what I want and I've got what you want. Now tell me."

"It doesn't concern you."

"Then why did he make a move on my boss?"

Her eyes flared a moment, shock perhaps. "I don't know."

The pad of her thumb rubbed over the sensitive head, spreading around a thin sheen of his own moisture. He closed his eyes and sucked his breath between his teeth. He took a step back, pulling his cock away from her. "No."

"I'll leave."

"No one's stopping you."

She bit her lip and looked utterly miserable. He refused to let it soften him up.

"Tell me."

"I did what I had to do. Daddy will leave you alone now."

"What was that?"

"I don't remember."

He rubbed the tip of his cock against her lips. "Try."

"I don't remember." The mulish words caressed his erection with the flutter of her mouth and the heat of her breath. He wasn't able to swallow the groan. She met his eyes with naked satisfaction.

He pushed a little, not surprised when she opened up and took him in. Oh God, she was hot. And wet. Her mouth was that almost cliched velvet suction swallowing him whole. He gritted his teeth, trying to remember why it was important that he didn't grab her head and fuck her mouth. Nothing came immediately to mind but her tongue moving along his shaft.

Aimee didn't stay idle. Her fingers came up along his thighs and found his balls. He growled deep in his throat. That felt so good. His mind turned into a black hole that centered on the head of his dick and the tingle in his balls.

Bracing his hands on her head, he shoved her away before he lost. He backed up, bracing a shaking hand on the dresser, and hid his weakness for her in a glare. She stared at him, hurt and angry, while he took a few calming breaths. When he could trust he voice not to betray him, he tried again. "Tell me about my files."

"What files?" That false innocence came back with a widening of those cat-like eyes and a pout of her wet lips. She stared at his dick and traced her tongue of the lower one, making it red and full. He gripped the edge of the dresser until he felt the blood leaving his knuckles.

"Last chance, Aimee. The files."

She gave him the mulish look. "Those are things you business people keep."

He ground his teeth together. Fuck her. He stomped over to the closet, pulled her bag out and threw it at her. Shock replaced stubbornness. Her clothes followed the bag, fluttering around her. He ripped drawers open and emptied her stuff out of them. "You have fifteen minutes. Get out."

"What?" She sounded like a little girl who just watched her goldfish die.

"Get out. You've got fourteen and a half minutes. You'd better get moving."

"No, wait!"

He slammed the bedroom door and went to the kitchen. Coffee. He needed coffee. And some ice for his stupid, fucking dick. It

still

wouldn't go down.

"Joe, please! Don't be like this."

He dumped the old grounds and slapped a new filter in.

"Joe, please."

He carefully measured the coffee grounds.

"Joe, it's not like that."

He swallowed a retort and filled the carafe.

"Please. Just listen."

"Files."

"I can't!"

"Then leave."

"Joe. . . ."

He poured the water into the pot, slid the carafe into place, and flicked on the light. He toweled off the counter with precise strokes, as if his very existence depended on his accuracy.

She sat in a chair and pressed her face into her hands. He could hear her snuffling over the hissing of the pot. "He promised that if I got him those files that he'd leave you alone. He said that if I didn't get them to him, that he'd have you fired and put in jail. He can do that. He's too powerful. He knows people. So I took them."

"Shit."

"Did I do bad?"

He wanted to strangle her. Did she do bad. "No, Aimee. It's nothing I can't handle."

She offered him a smile; naked hope shining in her watery eyes. "C-can I stay?"

"Yes, you can stay."

She jumped up from the chair, her breasts jiggling, and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I'm going to go clean up in there. Are you," she smiled shyly at her feet, "coming to bed soon?"

His better judgment demanded that he immediately begin plotting to get his leverage on Rutledge back. Or at least get some new stuff. His penis thought otherwise. "I'll be in there in a minute."

It wasn't that he didn't have other copies. There were three sets. It was that Rutledge was already moving to mitigate whatever was in those files. The damning evidence wouldn't be so damning in a few days. In a week, he could publish everything in the Journal and no one would raise an eyebrow. Lies, innuendo, and coverup. About a week until Rutledge could do whatever he wanted to again. This couldn't be the man's only dirty deal. No, there had to be more skeletons in that closet. A man like that had entire graveyards. After he put Aimee to bed, he'd make some calls.

She pounced on him the minute he walked into the bedroom. She purred and tugged him onto the bed with a saucy grin. He let her manhandle him onto his belly and then rolled his eyes into the back of his head when she dug her fingers into his shoulders and started kneading. She had some fruity oil that she poured onto his back and rubbed it in.

A few minutes into the massage he started to relax, letting his muscles go slack as she worked them into malleable putty in her dainty little hands. He would have fallen asleep, if she hadn't started scraping something soft and hard across his skin. Her nipples traced his spine–she paused a moment to grind her pussy into his left butt cheek–then one of her breasts slid along his cheek. What man could resist that? Certainly not he.

He reached out with his tongue and licked at the slope. She groaned appreciatively and replaced her tit with her mouth. Like a giant cat begging to be petted, she rubbed herself against him. Twisting to his side, he went after her mouth like Custer went after Big Horn. He absently rubbed his hand along the smooth curve of her butt, looking for a handful to pull her fully against him with. She tried to smother the gasp with a disguised moan, but he knew pain when he heard it.

"Are you okay?"

"Perfect. Do that again."

"What?"

"Rub my ass. Make me feel it."

"You're nuts."

She moaned in the back of her throat and shoved her butt against his hand. She hissed between her teeth and latched on to his lips. He didn't have time to catch his breath before her tongue invaded his mouth. He squeezed the butt cheek and she wrapped her leg over his hip. They weren't touching, but he could feel the wet heat from her pussy as if he were already buried inside. Reaching between them, she trailed her hand along his belly until her fingers wrapped around his cock. He groaned into her when she used the sensitive head to tickle her clit.

He wanted to say something--he loved telling her how hot she made him–but kissing her was so much better. Her tongue mated his mouth like his cock was about to mate her body. Deep, hot, and wet. She wriggled it around, testing his teeth, licking at the roof of his mouth, and, finally, rubbing so sinuously against his tongue that he couldn't restrain himself. He slid his hand into her hair, anchoring it at the back of her head, and held her still for his own assault on her mouth. She squirmed against him, hunching her hips so that the head of his dick slid between her lower lips.

Sucking on both her tongue and her mewling cries, he adjusted himself and gave a powerful thrust that sank his erection almost all the way home. He could feel her fingers sliding along his shaft, a set of hard bands that gave way to a moist, clinging sheath. He shoved again, and then once more, seating himself fully. She writhed beside him, a butterfly welcoming the pin that impaled her. He let go of her tongue long enough for her to plead for a thorough fucking and then he thrust his tongue into her.

He rolled her beneath him, in no mood to play with an awkward position. He wanted nothing less than to master her body. He pulled at her hips, tilting them to receive him, and pounded into her as if he could imprint himself in her by sheer force. She arched herself, lifting to meet him with equal measure. He rode her like this for what seemed hours. Sweat beaded on his back and stung his eyes, his lungs felt like they were going to explode, and the muscles in his legs and ass burned with the effort. None of that mattered next to the sweltering pleasure that concentrated itself in his penis. He wanted to cum, needed to, but couldn't quite get there.