Undercover Angel

The sultry blonde sat on the floor at his feet, looking up at him expectantly. When she finally captured his attention, she rose and sauntered away. He smiled, shut down his computer, and followed her, hitting the light switch as he exited the room.

Angel lowered her binoculars. "Any man who knows his pussy that well can't be all bad," she murmured to herself. She jotted a couple notes before packing up her surveillance gear and heading for home. There'd be nothing more to see tonight. The bedroom was wired, though, and she'd access that audio signal from her home office. Folks just didn't understand how simple wireless routers made her job. The voice-activated mike she'd planted sent its feed directly to the 'Net, so she could listen in real-time or download past logs.

Her downtown condo served as both a home and an office, and the sign on her door read "Undercover Angel." When she'd launched her P.I. business, friends had urged her to use the tagline "A Dickless Dick," but Angel instead opted for something less crass and more catchy for her Yellow Pages ad: "Devilishly Discreet Investigations." She firmly believed it was the reason she pulled in more business than her competitors—even though she made it perfectly clear in said ad that she would not do sting operations, unlike said competitors.

It was just unfair, she reasoned. Anyone could be seduced. Anyone. Given enough time and enough empathy, Angel knew she could trap any man. There was no conceit involved. She simply knew from years of experience that men of all ages found her quite irresistible—so much so that she was never entirely certain that her many other assets were even noticed, much less appreciated.

Angel kicked off her shoes in the foyer and peeled off her clothing as she padded toward her bedroom. After slipping into a pair of old sweats, she grabbed a bottle of SoBe Lean and headed for her office. She could hear the sound of Mr. Jacoby's voice as she entered the room.

"That's my beautiful girl," he crooned. "You're so soft. And you were very hungry. Weren't you, Delilah love?"

The thrumming purr carried over the computer speakers, and Angel imagined him scratching the cat just beneath its ears. Her own tom picked that moment to vault into her lap and somehow managed to look both perplexed and pleased when he didn't find the source of the purring.

"Don't worry, Watson," Angel assured him as she delivered the desired strokes. "I'd never cheat on you with another cat. And I'm now thoroughly convinced that my client is completely off base about her husband's suspected infidelity. I've been watching him for over a week now, and he's been as good as gold—even with her out of town. He's a real catch. Yet, somehow I get the feeling she's gonna be disappointed that I didn't uncover a single indiscretion."

Watson hopped down as Angel spun the chair to face her desk and opened the investigation file to add her final observations. The man had a couple beers with his buddies one evening after work. Other than that, if he stopped at all on his way home it was either at the gym or the grocery store. He read or watched television in the evenings—alone. No unusual phone calls. No steamy Internet chats. No secret rendezvous. Nothing. He was sterling. No doubt about it. She wondered what could've possibly made Mrs. Jacoby suspect that her husband was cheating.

Angel shrugged. Whatever. The woman would be back tomorrow, and they'd a lunch meeting scheduled. She looked forward to closing the file on this case.

* * * *

Friday dawned crisp and clear. Unusually, Angel had no appointments scheduled prior to the meeting with Mrs. Jacoby, so she decided to spend the morning in her office tidying loose ends and doing some putzing in general. Around ten o'clock, a voice startled her. It came from the computer speakers, and Angel realized she'd left the surveillance software running.

"Get the fuck off my bed, you mangy feline!" The woman's voice was shrill and accompanied by the sound of something, perhaps a shoe, being thrown. The cat hissed, and the woman hissed back. "When that spineless wimp goes, you're going with him. I won't have to put up with either of you losers for very much longer."

"That's Mrs. Jacoby," Angel informed Watson as he entered the room. "Delightful, isn't she? Remind me to recover that wireless transmitter from their bedroom. The last thing I wanna listen to is that woman harping on her poor husband."

"It's about time you got here! I thought I told you to be here at nine. You obviously didn't miss me if you couldn't be bothered to show up on time."

"Now who's she talkin' to?" Angel wondered aloud. Her answer came with the next breath.

"I'm sorry, sweetie! I got here as fast as I could, but the traffic..."

The unfamiliar male voice caught Angel off guard. "Well, now. What have we here?" She checked her computer to make sure the software was in record mode.

"Oh, quit your sniveling and just fuck me. That's all you're good for, anyway."

Angel shuddered. How any man could even get it up for that shrew was a mystery—but get it up he apparently did because Mrs. Jacoby had a gruntin'-and-groanin' good time. At one point, Angel left the room in disgust.

When the tryst ended and the mystery man departed, Angel made a single phone call and then got ready for her lunch appointment.

* * * *

Angel expected Mrs. Jacoby to be disappointed. She was not prepared, however, for outright fury.

"You obviously botched the investigation, Ms. Devilishly Discreet. I refuse to pay your full fee since you didn't do anything."

"Mrs. Jacoby, I assure you I completed a thorough investigation. I can and will share all my records once payment is received in full."

"That won't be necessary," she replied, tossing five twenties onto the bistro table.

"Mrs. Jacoby, that's only ten percent of the balance you owe for a week's worth of surveillance!"

"Yes, and you're lucky you're even getting that much," the bitch called over her shoulder as she stormed away.

Angel sat stunned. She'd wasted an entire week on the Jacoby case and would now barely break even. Downing the remainder of her coffee, which was now as cold as she was hot, Angel collected the cash and stood up—only to be further angered by the realization that she'd also been stuck with the lunch tab.

His car was in her guest parking slot when she arrived back at her condo, and she tapped on his window and handed him her card. "Mr. Jacoby, thank you so much for coming by on such short notice. I'm sure you're completely baffled by my out-of-the-blue request. Please, come inside and I'll explain."

"If you'll pardon my impertinence, Ms. Hayes, you don't look like a private investigator—at all."

"Yes, I know," she winked. "It's a very effective cover. Besides, all the best cheerleader and spokesmodel jobs were taken. Please, call me Angel."

"Patrick." He extended his hand. "I hope you don't mind, but I had to bring my cat along. When I stopped by the house, she was in the closet—crying piteously. I'm taking her to the vet when we're through here, although I can find no physical injury. May I bring her inside? She can stay in the carrier. I just don't want to leave her in the car."

"Of course, Patrick. I'm a cat person myself. Watson—my tom—is inside. Will that be a problem? He's not fixed."

"Shouldn't be," he said as it pulled the kitty carrier from his back seat. "She's not in estrus that I'm aware."

Once they were comfortably settled in Angel's office, she launched into her explanation. "Mr. Jacoby—Patrick," she amended when he raised an eyebrow, "it is not my practice to betray a client's confidence. However, this particular client reneged on her half of our agreement so I don't feel as honor bound. Now, I know two wrongs don't make a right—but I do believe in my heart that I'm doing the right thing."

He sat patiently, waiting for her to get to the point but looking more confused by the minute. Watson leapt into his lap and made himself right at home.

Angel gasped. "Oh, wow! I've never seen him take to someone so quickly. Anyway," she resumed, "a couple weeks ago I was contacted by a woman who suspected her husband of infidelity. She asked that I keep tabs on him while she was out of town on business."

At that, Patrick's head jerked up and he met Angel's eyes. She nodded once, and his shoulders slumped in response. He opened his mouth to speak, but Angel held up her hand. "Please, let me finish, and then I'll answer any questions you may have.

"I'll admit that my first impressions of this woman were not favorable. Sure, she was physically attractive—but her demeanor screamed "hard-hearted bitch". From her expensive coif down to her manicured toenails, there wasn't an inch of her that wasn't a façade. Now, I'm not exactly low-maintenance myself, but the amount of time—not to mention money—this woman must've put in to her appearance made me wonder if she had time to do much of anything else.

"So, I felt kinda sorry for her husband, and against my better judgment, I accepted the case knowing I already had a bias in his favor. That being said, I still expected to find him in another woman's arms, because... Well... I just figured he'd be miserable. Who could blame him, really?"

Patrick stroked Watson absently, and at Angel's last remarks, he gave a rueful half-smile.

"But," she continued, "in spite of my best efforts at surveillance, I found no misdeeds or even any real reason for suspicion. I'm not sure why, but at that point, I knew that my client was just digging for something—anything—to use against her husband.

"Even so, I completed the job and met with her earlier today to give her my report." Angel tossed a manila folder onto the coffee table. "She was, to put it mildly, rather upset that I failed to unearth anything of note, and she stormed off without paying her bill."

"Ms. Hayes, I apologize. Allow me to settle the account." He reached for his wallet, and Watson jumped to the floor.

Angel turned four shades of red. "Oh, no! That's not why I wanted to see you, Patrick. This isn't about money." She sat next to him on the sofa, and took his hands in hers. "Um, I apologize. This won't be easy to hear, but I'm compelled to share it with you. In the course of my investigation, I inadvertently discovered some things about my client—your wife."

Patrick stood and ran his hands through his hair.

"The computer on my desk is open to a digital recording. All you have to do is click the "Play" icon. I'm going to step out for a few minutes to give you a chance to listen to it. Patrick..." She took a step toward him and stopped. Without another word, she turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Angel took a few moments to refresh herself, then returned to sit on the foyer bench so she'd be available when Patrick opened the office door. Watson did a couple figure eights through her legs before spying the kitty carrier that Patrick had left just inside the door. He circled it, butted his head against it, and began to purr. The alto emanating from the carrier provided a harmonious descant.

"Well, that's certainly unusual." Patrick leaned against the office door with his arms folded and head cocked to the side.

Angel's attentions had been so centered on the two cats adoring one another that she'd not noticed him emerge from the office. She stood and turned toward him. "Are you okay? I mean..."

"Denial is a powerful force, isn't it, Angel? I'm not the least bit surprised by what I heard in there, but it still smarts—kinda like ripping a bandage off hairy skin, y'know? I think I'm angrier at myself than anyone else, though, for putting up with her outrageous behavior for so long. Oh, and I used your phone to make a couple calls—local. Hope that's okay. At least I know what upset Delilah so much today. I'm beyond furious that she'd take out her frustrations on my cat! Until this afternoon, I could muddle through life pretending that..."

When she realized that he didn't intend to—or, perhaps, couldn't—finish his sentence, Angel grasped both his hands. Nice hands, she noted before looking into his eyes. Nice eyes, too, although they were framed by a pained expression at the moment. "Patrick, I..."

"Enough," he said, squaring his shoulders. "I'm wide awake now, and I have to thank you for opening my eyes. I don't suppose I could impose upon you to leave that recording device in place for a while longer? I think I might need more ammunition for the fight ahead."

Angel smiled. "Of course. I don't need it for any other cases right now, so..." Watson wove around her ankles, stretched his paws up her leg, and meowed. When she looked down at him, he returned to Delilah's carrier.

"Um, Patrick...? I think they want to..." Angel's cheeks turned three shades of pink, and she became acutely aware that she still held Patrick's hands. "I mean, do you think we should let them... get better acquainted?"

It was Patrick's turn to blush, although he quickly recovered his equilibrium. "That depends, Ms. Hayes," he brought her hands to his mouth and kissed each, "on how you feel about my...pussy."

Angel's eyes sparkled. "Well, Mr. Jacoby, I think your pussy is just wonderful. I'm more concerned at the moment, however, with your feelings about mine." With that, she lifted her skirt and placed his hand between her legs. "Please, Patrick," she purred, dropping her head against his chest. "Stroke me."

Dual insistent meows interrupted them, and they grinned as they both turned to look at their pets. Patrick paused only long enough to deliver a light kiss to Angel's lips before crossing the foyer to unlatch Delilah's carrier. In typical cat fashion, neither bothered to express gratitude. They simply scampered off in search of some privacy.

"I think they'll be busy for a while. Now," Patrick said as he returned to Angel's arms, "where were we? Ah, yes! Your pussy. This way, please."

Patrick took Angel's hand, gently but insistently pulling her back into the office. He seated her on the sofa and shoved the coffee table aside. Kneeling before her, he pushed her skirt up her legs and kissed each bare knee. "Lean back, stunning Angel," he prompted, his voice husky with desire. He nudged her to raise her hips and, when she'd complied, eased her lacy panties down her legs. "Let me worship you."

Angel sighed as she reclined. "Patrick, this is all so... so... Oh!"

"I didn't think it possible, but your lips here," he traced a finger along her inner thigh, stopping when he reached the silky juncture framed with downy curls, "are every bit as beautiful as those on your face. Do they taste as sweet, pet?"

A soft whimper accompanied Patrick's question. His hot breath against her skin caused Angel to tremble with anticipation. "I...," she began, but her words were replaced by a gasp as his fingers explored her folds.

"If I taste you," he mused teasingly as he held a glistening finger before his eyes, "will I fall further under your spell? You've already enchanted me, Undercover Angel. I think this may be my last chance to avoid complete capture and subjugation."

Angel chuckled—a low, sultry sound—and lifted her head to look him squarely in the eye. "Dominion is not my style, Patrick," she said in all seriousness. "While I may indeed enchant, I never seek to control. Ever. Now, if you please..."

"Patience, flower. Tell me..." He smiled as he brought his finger to her mouth. "Tell me how you taste to yourself. Tell me what it feels like to wear your own lip gloss. Hold still..."

She closed her eyes and allowed Patrick to paint her lips with her own juices, resisting the urge to trap his finger in her mouth and suck it. The scent of her own arousal filled her mind—smoky and alluring. "I taste like... like... your heaven," she whispered. "I taste like your today and your tomorrow and..."

His groan preceded his tongue by a split second as Patrick dived into her pussy. "Yes!" came his muffled response. He pulled her hips toward him and, with her ass in his hands, devoted himself to her pleasure.

"My heaven," he murmured again and again as Angel bucked against his face, one hand in his hair and the other toying with her own nipples.

The sounds of her orgasm echoed off the office walls, drowning out Patrick's appreciative—if repetitive—comments. Before the waves completely faded, she pushed him backward onto his ass and quite literally pounced. Her fingers couldn't get his belt unbuckled fast enough, and Patrick hastened to assist her.

Kneeling between his legs, Angel cupped his balls in both hands while licking up the length of his shaft. When she neared its head, his cock leapt to meet her tongue like a magnet being pulled naturally toward another per the laws of sexual physics. She wasted no time taking it into her mouth, and her eyes fluttered closed as the soft skin of its head slid across her tongue, coming to rest at the back of her throat.

Angel was completely baffled by women who claimed to not enjoy giving head. In her experience, the tastes, textures, and sounds combined to produce a euphoria rivaling—and often even surpassing—that of orgasm. It had nothing to do with power over one's partner, either. She felt no need for control—just an intense hunger.

He filled her mouth completely—neither gagging her nor leaving any room for more. Perfection. Patrick's low groan reverberated through her body. She freed one hand to snake up his abs and scrape a fingernail across his nipple, simultaneously drawing on his cock with as much suction as she could produce. His sounds both rewarded her and fueled her desire. This particular thirst was never fully satisfied, though—only temporarily slaked.

All sensation centered in her mouth, and the world around her disappeared. Patrick's musky scent flooded her consciousness, warm and sweet. His hips thrust upward to meet her as her pace became more and more frenetic. She told herself to slow down—to savor him—but the driving intensity wouldn't let her body obey her mind. She didn't want it to end yet, but she couldn't make herself put on the brakes. Only the knowledge that she could soon do it all again kept her from being disappointed when she felt the first pulses of Patrick's come traveling through his cock.

"Oh, Angel!" he sighed when again able to speak coherently.

She looked up at him, reluctant to stop kissing and licking. "I'm sorry."

"You're...sorry?"

Angel sat back on her heels and shrugged. "I wanted to make it last for you, but I just...." She rose and tugged his hand.

Patrick stood and wrapped his arms around her. "Tell ya what," he laughed, "I'm equally guilty where you're concerned. How 'bout we try again later this evening—after dinner? I'm really don't want to go home, after all."

She simply responded with a kiss.

"Check it out," Angel gestured with her head as Delilah and Watson entered the office looking every bit as smug and satisfied as their human companions. "It's nice to know they're compatible."

Patrick chuckled. "Compatible? Yeah, that's one way to put it. I think we're quite compatible, as well."

The sound of voices coming from Angel's computer jarred them from their languid embrace. "What do you mean, I'm under arrest?" Mrs. Jacoby shrieked. "You can't be serious!"

Angel looked at Patrick in puzzlement, and he grinned. "I recognized the guy's voice in the recording you shared. He used to run errands for Caroline's—my soon-to-be ex-wife's—company. He's under age—so I felt it my civic duty to anonymously tip the cops... and his parents."

"How devilishly discreet of you, Patrick! Have you ever considered becoming a private investigator? I know of a thriving practice that could use an equal partner."

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