Devil In The Waters, Book 6, Chapter 4

Quinton Rathburn, Stone’s Cayman lawyer, had an office in a modest-sized two-story plantation house in a small enclave north of George Town. Painted all white, with wraparound two-story porches, it was buffered from the roadside by lush bountiful gardens full of brightly colored flowers. Along the side of the building there was a small parking lot, and on a Saturday there were only three cars parked there under towering palms, Kimmy’s rental BMW included. The law offices were closed on weekends, except for special circumstances. Circumstances like Devlin Stone.

There was no one at reception when she entered the building, but Rathburn met her in the hall. He was a man in his late 50s and enormous. Huge and almost toad-like, but well-dressed; he spoke with a cultured Trinidadian accent, and when they were sitting at last, she noticed his open hands were larger than an 8.5x11 size piece of paper. He had the biggest hands she’d ever seen.

But before she’d entered the foyer, she’d sent a text to Amy.

Kimmy: we need to talk

Then when that sounded maybe too dire . . . 

Kimmy: some crazy news!

It would be almost evening if Amy were in London right now, so she wasn’t sure if she would get a prompt response on a Saturday, or if Amy were somewhere in the world where it was bedtime. But she hoped the message would be alluring enough to get Amy interested. It did. And it was just as she and Rathburn sat at his massive walnut desk that her phone deigned and she saw Amy’s response.

Amy: you need to tell me!

Kimmy: in meeting-call soon

The meeting with Rathburn was meaningless. The man showed her an outline of accounts and transactions that had transpired in the last year, some organization structures, some holdings . . . It didn’t amount to anything, and she got the distinct impression that there were things withheld from her anyway. It’s not like she was given the full picture. Rathburn was polite and pleasant in his gravelly low voice, but he was disinterested. The only thing getting the big man into the office on a Saturday was all the money probably going his way from Stone Brokerage over the years. In fact, the meeting only went twenty-five minutes before he laced his fingers on his stomach, leaning back in his chair and looking over his steel frame glasses. “Do you think you have any questions?”

“No, I think I’m up to speed,” she said, both of them knowing the game. She would be logged in now as a visitor at the Rathburn offices to prove that this trip was for the intent of business. Three days of fun and sun for a twenty-five minute meeting about nothing. “Thanks for your time,” she said and shook his hand this time. Her hand disappeared in his grip but he was gentle.

It was coming out of Rathburn’s office that Amy texted her again.

Amy: Call me soon!

Kimmy: in a minute, gotta get somewhere I can sit

She strolled the office toward the lobby, waiting to see what Amy would return. Another visitor to the office entered, coming into the foyer quietly with his back to her and his head down. First thought seeing the man come in the lobby ahead of her was how tall and tanned and well-built he was, liking his head of glossy black hair—then realized with a finger-tingling start that it was Devlin—all the way here in Cayman.

She stopped cold in the circular lobby, resting her hand on a polished wood table with a bouquet of flowers on it.

Devlin smiled, said, “Gosh, what are you doing here, Kimberly?”

“Devlin, what the hell?”

He let the door clack behind him, rested his back on it, bit on his lower lip then smiled. He wore charcoal cotton shorts without pockets, a black cotton polo shirt. The shirt cuffed under the slabs of his chest muscles. His legs looked tanned and hairy, feet in dove gray espadrilles. The shape of him in silhouette looked very dark against the white painted door. He looked like he lived in the Caribbean, and while she was mad at him being here, there was a thrill that raced her right now.

She said, “I told you I wanted to be alone this weekend.”

“You can be alone,” he said. “Don’t let me get in your way.”

“Oh—so you’re just here for a meeting with Rathburn?”

Eyebrows raised, unbothered, he said, “I have my own schedule. Maybe it’s nothing to do with you being here.”

“It’s just a coincidence we run into each other 2500 kilometers from home, coming out the door at the exact end of my meeting you sent me here for?”

“What if I’ve got Rathburn’s 11:30?”

She chuckled, harrumphed, jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Well then you better get in there, don’t keep the man waiting.”

He smiled, eyes narrowing, saying, “My 11:30’s with Kimmy Chang.”

“Kimmy Chang,” she said, “is Kimmy Waters this weekend. I came with Josh.”

“Now you can come with me.”

She shifted where she stood, feeling her thighs tighten. The resolve she had to stand up to him—to defy him—dissipated. The things Josh’d told her last night were terrible. Devlin Stone had really twisted her husband up. Josh couldn’t see how much he did on his own—how he harmed himself. He liked to hang the weight of it around Devlin’s neck.

She asked: “Where are you staying?”

“You want to get right to it?”

“Going to your hotel room?—no, I just was hoping Josh and I aren’t going to see you around the villa.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not on the estate,” he said, hefting himself off the closed doors and strolling toward her with a confident smile.

She said, “That meeting was a waste of my time.”

“That meeting was why you’re in Cayman, kicking back with that limp husband you love so much.”

“I miss him already.”

He closed the distance between them completely, and she had to look up to meet his gaze.

He sneered, said, “I get despondent too.”

“You miss me?”

His hands caressed her hips, moving downward along her thighs, his mouth coming closer. She pooched out her lips, and their mouths connected while his hands went lower, the right hand tugging at the hem of her skirt before shoving right up underneath. She hissed into his kiss, went to her tiptoes, shot a look over her shoulder in case Rathburn caught them together in his foyer.

Devlin growled, “This is what I miss, this tight pussy,” his hand caressing over the silk of her panties.

“We had sex on Wednesday,” she said, whispering, eyes still gazing down the hall to Rathburn’s office.

“You know how good it is, Chang, know I can’t wait for you to get back to Toronto. I came all this way for this . . .”

Now his fingers found the cleft of her sex, dividing it, stroking the sensitive center of her panty-covered sex. She trembled, felt her legs begin to quiver. She said, “Where’s your hotel?”

His other hand held her by the neck, and he kissed her hungrily. The fingers scooted up, dipped down the front of her panties, dove through the tangle of her pubic hair and stroked her seam then slipped inside her with wet ease. “Fuck,” he growled, “you are always so wet.”

“We don’t have a lot of time,” she said.

With two fingers inside her, and his hand gripping her neck, he walked her aside, away from the flower bouquet in the center of the room, off to a door next to the entranceway. He nudged it with his knee and they both stumbled in their kissing and feeling each other, Devlin fingering her. He kicked the door shut.

“What are you doing?” she asked him as her eyes roamed around.

They were in a small personal public washroom. Wood-paneled and beautifully kept, toilet and sink gleaming, faucet sparkling, it smelled like lemons and there were luxury magazines and expensive soaps and lotions, and a glass lantern that hung over the mirror above the sink. Devlin’s hand was fondling the bulge in his shorts. It had grown while they kissed, and seeing it through his pants had her aching for it.

She sighed, “I can’t believe you came all this way,” as he nibbled on her neck.

“Neither can I. I told myself I could wait till Monday, but I was so wrong . . .”

“You just need this pussy,” she said, beginning to scroll upward the front of her skirt, revealing her thighs.

“You don’t know how bad,” he said, lunging for her kiss again, taking her, wheeling her around until she faced the sink. He pulled her skirt up from the back now, gathered it up around her waist. He tugged down her panties, and she watched him in the mirror, watched his determined face as he stripped her bare, exposed her hungry sex, unzipped his huge cock and got in position. Fumbled in his pocket now, and there was a squirting flatulent sound. He stroked her pussy and up to her anus, set down in the sink basin a small tube of opened lubricant. He slid inside her with ease. She was wet, oh-so-wet for him and ready, but with the lube it was absolute heaven. He was so massive, yet she’d become accustomed to accepting him. The stretch was incredible, the feeling of tearing, the feeling of it being too much, just a small fleeting second. “Deeper,” she said, “I want you in me . . .”

“That’s my Kimmy,” he said, gripping her haunches, his fingers curling around, pinched at hipbones. He pushed himself in and out of her, and she watched what he looked like when he fucked her from behind, face very near the mirror, her breath fogging it in time with his thrusts.

“Oh, that’s so good, mm, I love it, oh, deep, mm, deep . . .”

She was up on her toes getting fucked from behind by her boss’s big cock, a bully, an asshole, her husband’s tormentor, but so hot, so fucking sexy, and the way he craved her was driving her wild. “You gonna come in me?”

“You want to feel it?”

“Come on my face.”

“Oh, fuck, Chang, fuck, you make me crazy . . .”

Now he fucked her harder, hands squeezing, thrusts wild and erratic, her pussy squelching around his size with her wet and his water-based lube. The lube was amazing—why hadn’t they used it every time?

The pressure of the pleasure built up high and astounding and her cries of passion couldn’t be quiet or contained, and she worried again about being caught, complaining, “Oh wait, oh God, easy, oh, you’re making me crazy,” in moaning pants, her clawed hand reaching back to grab his hip.

He slowed his stroke, buried and held, pulled out, went deep again.

“Oh, fuck,” she said, “you get me so loud . . .”

Eyes on hers in the mirror, he untied her bun, pulled and played with her hair, yanking back till his cock was buried so deep she could feel the swollen knot of his cock head like a plum in her stomach.

“Oh, oh, wow, mm,” she warbled, her brow furrowing, her reflection pinched like she was about to cry or come.

He said low: “One thing Rathburn’s good at is looking the other way. Make as much noise as you want, we won’t disturb him.”

“Yeah?”

“Fucking scream when you come, okay?”

“Yeah . . .”

Then he was going deep and long, cock head folding her labia then grinding so deep her eyes rolled up. He was growling, enjoying this unexpected big cock thrill he was giving her. “I flew three thousand miles, sitting in planes, Ubers, and airports for three hours, spent ten-grand to come fuck this tight little hole. That’s how great this pussy is Kimmy . . .”

“Yeah, yeah . . . fuck it,” she breathed.

“I know where I want to come, and it’s not in your face . . .”

“Where?”

Now he withdrew his weapon from deep inside her, gripped it, that spongy glans mushing and pressing against her asshole. She gasped, squealed and squirmed . . . but submitted.

Near her ear: “I’m going to come in your ass.” His aftershave made her wild.

Now his cock head spread her sphincter and she went higher on her toes, making little squeaky sounds of pain as her tightest hole was stretched wide. But once he began to enter her body it was like her pussy was a wild and out of control grass fire; she felt a liquid spate flood from her interior, felt trickles of her wet rolling down the insides of her thighs.

“Yeah, you like that?”

“Mm, c-careful,” she said, eyes closed but rolled up high, electric brain activity sizzling around this cray virgin intrusion. “No one ever fucked my ass before,” she whispered.

“Mm, fuck, Kimmy,” I love every hole you’ve got, God, you feel so fucking good . . .”

He sank deeper, but then went no further before he began to slowly thrust in and out, nice and easy. her hand wandered down and she reeled at the feel of how her pussy overflowed. She’d said she didn’t want him here—really didn’t—was mad that he was here, but now five minutes later she’s about to come huge while he fucked her ass in his lawyer’s bathroom in the Cayman Islands.

“Get yourself off,” he growled, “fucking rub your clit . . .”

“Yeah,” she gasped, one eye open narrowly, looking at his handsome face drawn down almost like anger as he fucked her ass.

“I’m gonna come,” she cried.

“I’m gonna come,” he said. “Come together . . .”

“Yeah, mm, yeah, mm, I’m so close, she said, four fingers mashed down hard on her button and circling and circling and circling.

They came together. He growled then roared, she burst out a choked off cry, bit her lips, then wailed unreal pleasure as she came with his cock up her ass. She sagged against him, but it hurt and she collapsed against the sink.

Devlin pulled out his cock from her tightest aperture with an embarrassing sound, then began to beat his heavy member on her ass cheeks. “That fucking ass, Kimmy, fuck, I mean it”—he was out of breath—“it’s worth every minute and dollar to get here and fuck it. You drive me so goddamn wild . . .”