The plot thickens!
"I'm at a disadvantage here," I said. "You know my name, but I don't know yours."
"My apologies." His voice was controlled, cultured, with perhaps the tiniest hint of an accent. "I am Avram Aslanyan. At your service."
"I suppose that I should say that I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Aslanyan. But I think that I'll withhold judgment for the moment."
"That is your prerogative, Miss Ford." His lips curved into mocking grin. So he knew my last name, also. What else did he know about me?
The ride seemed to go on and on. I began to get restless. Then I realized I was not restless; I was horny. The bareness underneath my skirt made me unusually sensitive. Every time I shifted, I could feel the seat cover sliding luxuriously against the thin fabric that separated me from the leather. I wanted to feel that leather on my naked skin. I smiled at the thought of smearing my juices on his expensive upholstery. With the same slow caution I'd use in picking a pocket, I raised myself slightly and slipped the skirt up, then settled back, pretending to doze.
The smooth caress of the leather on my bare ass made me ache again. My clit throbbed, screaming for my attention. My cunt remembered his fingers and clamored for mine. Did I dare? From under drooping lids, I sneaked a peek at the driver. He seemed completely focused on his task, oblivious to me.
As if shifting in my slumber, I half-turned toward the passenger-side door, away from him. Then I placed my hands in my lap, one resting on the other. With the little finger of the hidden hand, I began stroking myself through the skirt. The stretchy cloth transmitted the pressure with delicious effect. At first, I just brushed the finger lightly over my hooded clit. Before long, I was digging into the crevice between my thighs, moving my little joystick back and forth at top speed.
I kept my eyes closed and worked to keep my body still. As I drew closer to climax, though, my breathing must have changed. Or perhaps the scent of my arousal wafted up to the front seat. Something, in any case, caught the driver's attention.
"Are you comfortable?"
"Yes, fine" I managed to keep my voice steady, though I was teetering on the edge of orgasm. "Just napping." Now, my clit demanded, squeeze me, pummel me, make me burst. I kept my finger moving.
"Sorry about the length of the drive. We're almost there."
Something in his tone made me open my eyes. Our gazes locked for a moment in the rear-view mirror and I knew that he knew what I was up to. Flustered, I moved my hands to my sides. He grinned. Damn him, had he intended this all along? Is that why he had taken my underwear? I should have gone back to frigging myself all over his fancy back seat, just to prove that I didn't care. Instead, I sat there like a dummy, sticky and frustrated, wondering how I had gotten myself into this situation.
The car stopped in front of a wrought iron gate, which swung open after a moment to let us through. We parked in the circular driveway fronting an imposing brick edifice with tall windows and balconies on the second floor.
Avram came around to help me out of the car. I just glared at him, refusing his proffered hand. I followed him up the steps to the front door, surreptitiously trying to straighten my skirt.
The door was opened by someone who looked like a professional wrestler dressed in a tuxedo. The uniform just didn't hang right on that muscle-bound frame. "Good evening, Sir," said the giant, stepping aside so that we could pass.
"Good evening, Burke. There will be two for dinner tonight. We'll be in the library. Please call us when it's ready."
"Yes, Sir." I marveled at the incongruity of his blond hair flowing down the back of the formal black jacket as he headed down the hall, presumably toward the kitchen.
"Burke is my butler, bodyguard, cook and chauffeur," my host commented as he led the way to the library. "A man in my position must have as few servants as possible, and they must be absolutely trustworthy."
"What do you mean, a man in your position?" I took the seat he offered me, one of two armchairs flanking a marble fireplace. "Don't you think that it is time you told me who you are and what you want?"
Avram smiled his crooked smile. "A drink, first. Have you ever tried arak?"
I shook my head. I don't drink much. It dulls my reflexes.
"It's the national drink in the Middle East and Turkey." I watched as he poured an inch of clear, viscous liquid into a tumbler. The liquid turned milky as he poured in water from a carafe. A potent scent of anise filled the room.
I took a cautious sip while he prepared a drink for himself. It was delicious, sweet licorice with an alcoholic bite.
"Is that where you're from, Turkey?" I asked.
"I'm Armenian. But originally, my family came from Anatolia, in central Turkey. A long time ago."
"So. Tell me your story. I'm listening."
Avram settled himself opposite me and smiled. Resisting an impulse to tug my skirt down over my knees, I crossed one booted leg over the other, defiantly showing him a generous length of thigh.
"I am a businessman. Sometimes I do business on one side of the law, sometimes on the other. I use my brains and my craft to get what I want. Whatever I do, it pays for me to keep a low profile."
I looked him straight in the eye. "Are you a thief?"
"Perhaps. Sometimes. I prefer to think of myself as an adjuster. I adjust the balance of wealth in my favor."
I laughed, looking around me and noting the elaborate stereo system, the furniture fashioned of rare woods, the walls of books, the Oriental carpet and the oil paintings. "It seems that your adjustments are quite a success." The arak sang in my veins, soothing my irritation, softening my resistance.
Avram shrugged. "I do well enough. But I cannot afford to be complacent. Besides, if I'm not working on some - project - I get bored."
"So, what do you want with me?"
"I need an assistant in a new undertaking. Someone intelligent, cool-headed and resourceful. Someone willing to take risks in order to reap the rewards. And, incidentally, this someone needs to be an attractive, sexy young woman."
I didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted.
"There's a man who stole something from me, something of priceless value." Avram's face clouded over with a suppressed rage. I marveled at his sudden intensity. "I plan to retaliate in kind."
His eyes softened as he turned his gaze back to me.
"I first noticed you on the Lexington line a month ago. Even before you had chosen your mark, you caught my attention. Something about you – your posture, or your fashionable but forgettable clothes, or that calculating look in your green eyes – made me watch you carefully. I saw you sidle up to your target, casual and relaxed. I saw your slender fingers disappear into his coat pocket, even as you looked the other way and seemed to study your phone. I saw you pluck his wallet and submerge it in your tote bag in one smooth, fluid motion, like a dancer's gesture. And I saw your parted lips and your heightened color, afterward."
He leaned forward. "I knew then that you were the woman I needed. A woman who steals for the excitement, as much as for the cash."