Dean Abbott drove toward the residence of Judge Hiram Morgan, which was located in an exclusive section of city. He wasn't going to see Judge Morgan. The state supreme court was in session, and would be for several more weeks, which meant the judge, who was Chief Justice of the state supreme court, was in the capitol. Judge Morgan had an apartment in the capitol he stayed in for the entire court term. He seldom came home when court was in session, even on weekends.
Dean was going to the Morgan home to see Hillary Morgan, the judge's young, very attractive wife. He and Hillary had been carrying on a torrid affair for several years.
He pulled up in front of the judge's extravagant residence, shut off his car, and walked to the large, brass-decorated front door, which was sheltered by a pillared marble portico.
A liveried man came to the door when Dean rang the doorbell. "Yes?" the man, graying, short, with a deep voice, said. He looked at Dean and frowned.
"I have an appointment with Mrs. Morgan," Dean explained. "My name is Dean Abbott."
"Yes, of course, sir. Madam is expecting you," the manservant said. "She's in her drawing room. Please, follow me."
Dean followed the butler up a curving marble staircase and down a hallway. The butler stopped in front of a highly polished door that looked like it was made from solid mahogany. "Madam is in there," he said. He turned and started walking back down the hall.
Dean rapped softly on the door.
"Yes?" came a sultry voice from inside the room.
"It's Dean Abbott," he said. Every time he came here, it felt as if he were being treated like some kind of servant. For some reason he had never been able to understand in all the time he'd been seeing Hillary; that excited him.
"Come in, Mr. Abbott," the husky feminine voice purred.
Dean opened the door and entered the room. Hillary Morgan, sitting on a plush-looking gray loveseat in a dressing room outside her bedroom, smiled at him. She wore a black satin nightgown that looked a bit like a halter dress that had triangular stitched panels going up over her shoulders. The top of the gown exposed a lot of Hillary's pale chest and cleavage and the rest of it clung to her supple body.
The woman's long, dark hair fell loosely around her severe face, to her shoulders. She wore bright red lipstick and her large green eyes glinted, but betrayed little. There was a smile on her face, but the smile was unreadable.
"Have a seat, Dean," the judge's wife said, gesturing to a plush chair opposite her.
Dean sat down. He wasn't sure why he kept coming back to her. When it came to women, he liked being in control, and with Hillary, he was never even remotely in control. Just the same, he couldn't bring himself to stay away from her.
Hillary smiled at him. "I understand your wife is filing for divorce, Dean," she said. "Is that true?"
Dean had no idea how she'd heard about the divorce, but she had a way of knowing things that constantly surprised him. "She says she is," he said. "She intends to ask for full custody of our son." He'd been shocked when Nora told him she was getting a divorce. He didn't mind losing her all that much, but he didn't want to lose custody of his son and heir. "I've spoken with one of my partners who specializes in divorce," he said. "We'll see what happens when we get to court."
"You don't seem very concerned about the ramifications of this, Dean," Hillary observed. "If Nora wins, won't it cost you a lot of money, as well as custody of your son?"
"That could happen, I suppose," Dean replied. "There are times I think it would be a lot easier if she just disappeared."
Hillary smiled and raised her eyebrows. "My goodness, Dean," she said. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"
Dean smiled back at her and shook his head. "You have a mistaken impression of what I said. I'm not suggesting anything," he replied. "That was just wishful thinking."
Hillary nodded. "Yes, well. You, of all people, should know that it is impossible to predict how things will go in divorce court," she said. "I suppose there are times a person has to do whatever it takes to insure they get the outcome they want."
Dean knew what a mess Justice Morgan's divorce from his first wife had been. The judge's first wife had made a laughing-stock of him in court. The woman's lawyer painted the judge look like an old fool who was under the sway of a gold-digging younger woman. Which, of course, was exactly what he was.
Dean had no intention of letting anything like that happen to him. "Yes, well, if it comes to that," he said, "I will do whatever I have to. You can count on that. I'll not allow myself to be humiliated." Hillary's comments had started him thinking. If Nora really were to disappear...
"A tough attitude is vital when it comes to divorce, Dean," Hillary said. "Sometimes it's better to act than react." She smiled at him and licked her lips. "Enough about such a messy subject. It's time we move on to more pleasant matters, don't you think?"
She stood up, stretched, and started for a doorway to the left of the sofa where she had been sitting. When she reached the door she stopped and turned to Dean. "You were planning to accompany me, weren't you, Dean?"
"Of course I was!" Dean replied. It was the invitation he had been waiting for, part of a ritual they'd fallen into since the first time he slept with her, a ritual they re-enacted every time they were together. Surprisingly, it never grew old for Dean and never failed to arouse him, although for the life of him he couldn't comprehend why. His cock had begun to stiffen, especially after he saw her stretch. He stood up and took off his suit jacket. Loosening his tie, he followed Hillary into her bedroom.
Hillary Morgan had one of the most ornately feminine bedrooms it had ever been Dean's good fortune to visit. The walls were covered with pink embossed wallpaper and the windows were curtained with expensive-looking pink lace. In the center of the room, dominating the other furnishings was a king-sized bed that had a pink satin canopy and was draped with the same lace the curtains were made from.
Hillary walked to the bed, turned, and stood there, smiling at Dean.
Dean shed his clothes, his eyes remaining locked on Hillary while he did. When he was naked, she slowly pushed one shoulder strap off, then the other. She paused, then, continuing to smile at him, holding her arms folded over her breasts. Then, deliberately, she lowered her arms. The gown slid slowly down over her curves and dropped silently to the floor.
Dean's eyes widened. Every time he was here, it was as if he was going through this for the first time. Hillary's breasts were medium sized, but perfectly shaped. They were tipped with small, dark circles, and her tiny nipples were already beginning to swell outward. He took a deep breath and licked his lips.
"Do you like what you see, Dean?" Hillary purred, smiling, showing not the slightest trace of diffidence.
Dean nodded. "Yes, I do. I-I like it very much," he replied. As always, he couldn't help but be unnerved by how cool and aloof Hillary acted. It was as if she were doing this strictly for her own pleasure and didn't care whether he was there or not. It made him want her more than he ever wanted any woman.
Hillary licked her lips. Then, gracefully, she laid down on the bed. "I'm waiting, Dean," she said softly. "You really must finish what you were doing and get over here."
Dean shed his remaining clothes quickly and moved to the bed. He stood next to it and looked down at Hillary. Her body was lean and athletic, more angular than rounded, but very, very enticing just the same. Her legs were long and firm, and a luxuriant mass of black hair covered the area where they joined her body. He swallowed hard.
"Eat me, Dean!" Hillary said, her voice showing a trace of urgency for the first time. She parted her legs, showing him her center.
Breathing hard, Dean knelt on the bed, between her legs and bent his head toward her middle. She smelled of expensive perfume, and her skin was hot and smooth. He kissed her pubic forest.
