The job was all Drew lived for. He had it all figured out: six major heists a year, totaling a street value of about three million. Pull a few smaller jobs while waiting for the oversized ticket items to cool before he fenced them. Granted, until now, all his “jobs” had been worth about 2.5 million. That took four years. Drew figured he had the basics down; now he was ready for the big leagues. He moved to New York City near the major art auction houses. Christie’s had a two-year backlog of items in the basement. Most of these items would only fetch high five figures on the black market, but if he did it right, it could be months before anyone even realized the theft had occurred.
Cynthia loved her job as an insurance item recovery specialist, hunting down the bad guys. Now that was fun. She was good at her job. Based out of New York, she often traveled the globe, inspecting items for their insured value when purchased at one of the many auction houses, then chasing the art down when someone tried to steal it. In eight years of doing this job, she had a 100% recovery rate of stolen art. Her recovery rate was so high that she earned triple what the average recovery agent made in a year.
Today she was at Christie’s to inspect various items going up for auction. A Rembrandt and a few Byzantine statuettes. She was examining one of the statuettes when a man approached her. He was handsome, not like movie stars today, but like in classic films.
He approached her and said, “Hi, I see you are inspecting my purchase. Please tell me I haven’t lost my touch and got a good fake.” His baritone voice had a calming effect.
“I thought this purchase was for Mr. Rothstein,” she replied, flattered this handsome gentleman would lie to talk to her.
“It is. I am just a procurement specialist. Various individuals hire me to find and acquire art and antiquities for them.” His reply was smooth, almost rehearsed.
“Oh, I don’t see many of your type at auction houses. Lots of private sales mostly,” she explained. “My name is Cynthia, and yes, you did get the real deal.”
“Oh, I am sorry for being rude. My name’s Mitch, and I’m glad to hear it. I don’t usually come to an auction house, but I have acquired various pieces for Mr. Rothstein over the years. His usual guy is sick, so he asked if I could do him a favor.”
“Well, H.R.A. can insure this piece for its full value, no problem. The forms will be sent to Rothstein for him to sign, and Christie’s will deliver the piece in a couple of days,” she said with a smile.
Mitch liked her smile. That is not to say she didn’t have other qualities. She had a perfect body, looking like she worked out at least a few days a week. Suddenly he realized he was staring.
“Hey, are you busy after this? I am famished. I could go for a bite to eat. I would love it if you would join me.” His voice was sincere.
She wanted to. That would be nice. I know a great place just around the corner. I can go now if you like. Yours was the last piece I had to verify. I need to grab my things from the clerk.”
They had left Christie’s in a few minutes and were walking down the block. She found it was easy to talk to him as he was kind and seemed to be genuinely interested in what she had to say. They talked straight through the meal. She liked when he touched her forearm to emphasize the point. As the conversation went on, she found his hand lingered longer each time until his hand was resting on her thigh. She liked it. Her hand was stroking his strong arms.
“Well, I guess I should be getting home,” Cynthia said, hating having to stop the wonderful time she was having. “I still have a ton of paperwork to do once I get home.”
“Okay, can I walk you?” Mitch asked.
“That would be great. I only live 8 blocks away,” Cynthia beamed at the idea of him walking her home.
Taking her hand, Mitch led her out of the restaurant. The walk went too fast for Cynthia’s liking. Reaching her apartment building, she asked before she could chicken out, “Do you want to come up?”
“Sure. I don’t have any pressing business.”
She led him to the elevator, reaching as she punched the button for the top floor. Suddenly, she was in his arms, his lips pressed against hers, locked in a passionate kiss. She responded to his passion, her hands holding him tight as his roamed over her body. Grabbing her ass, he lifted her off the floor and her legs wrapped around his waist.
“You have a great ass,” he whispered in her ear.
Giggling, she replied, “Thanks. Yours isn’t too bad either.”
That giggle only made him hotter for her. Just then the elevator dinged. Cynthia dropped down, straightening her skirt just as the doors opened. The first thing Mitch saw was an old lady standing in the door.
“Oh hi, Ms. Donnelly,” Cynthia said, like nothing happened.
She heard Mitch step behind her. He leaned in to whisper, “I am just going to follow you. I have a serious hard-on.”
Smiling, Cynthia walked out of the elevator, with Mitch following close behind. As soon as the door closed, she broke into a run for her apartment. She couldn’t wait for another minute to feel his hands on her. Reaching her door, Mitch pinned her against it, kissing with a savage hunger.
Pushing him off so she could open the door, she just barely got it open before he was on her again, and she responded by ripping off his shirt. His hands moved up her skirt, pulling down her thong. Her hands moved to free his raging hard-on. It was perfect to her. She dropped to her knees, kissing down his shaft, her hands fondling him.
Mitch let out a low groan of pure pleasure. “Holy crap, which is amazing,” he said.
Grabbing her arms, Mitch lifted her off the floor and gasped, “That’s good, but I need more.” He laid her on the table. “You are beautiful.” His hands stroked her exposed chest. Pulling her to the edge of the table, he thrust in fast and hard.
Moans of pure delight escaped Cynthia’s lips. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into her, their bodies moving in unison. Each thrust brought them closer to orgasm. Suddenly their worlds exploded in unison.
Mitch leaned in to kiss her gently on the lips. “so, you want to do that paperwork, or more of that?”
Her response was only a passionate kiss.
Early the next morning, the phone rang. Groggily, Cynthia picked it up. “Who is it?”
“Your boss, that’s who. Get out of bed. There’s been a robbery. One of our client’s Rembrandt’s was stolen sometime last night. Get your tight little ass over there.” His voice was unusually angry.
Rolling over, Cynthia saw Mitch just waking up from the night’s rather stimulating activities.
“I’m so sorry, but that was work. I have to go,” she said, sad to leave such a nice body.
“That’s fine. I have to meet Mr. Rothstein this morning,” Mitch said, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
Within a few minutes, Cynthia was running out the door, almost tripping over a package on her way. Grabbing it up, she noticed there was no address. Thinking that was unusual, she dropped it inside the door and headed for her car.