HOLLOWPOINT

         There was a faint buzz then click as the electronic lock went from red to green.  The door swung wide and light from the hall poured into the darkness, spilling past the silhouetted form standing there.  The sumptuous contour and whisper of perfume identified her as clearly as any hello.  After a cursory glance left and right she stepped out of an $800 pair of Jimmy Choo's and padded barefoot into the suite, silent as a prowler.

         Closing the door behind her, she acclimated quickly to the dark.  After a week's occupancy she was able to reach the bathroom before turning on a light.  The wall surrounding the two-sink vanity was mirrored from floor to ceiling.  When the bank of lights came on she lingered a moment, as if trying to reconcile who she was with the reflection she saw.  The stylist had been enthusiastic, gushing over how little he'd changed but she saw the differences, it was all in the details...  While the Agency had glammed her up and covered her in a second-skin of cut-to-fit designer material, Erin was eye-candy before the makeover.

         And eye-candy was exactly what they needed.

         Erin had been blessed with a body like Salma Hayek; a fairer complexion and with slightly longer legs,  maintaining her black belt in Aikido kept her toned and dangerous.  She'd been groomed to fit with the overstocked buffet of women circulating for...hospitality.  Billionaires, politicians, and power-brokers had all been at the event tonight.  An invitation-only meet and greet hosted by a man trying to get into the White House.  A man her bosses didn't want winning.  She'd put their escorts to shame.  Be it the striking cascade of vibrant, red hair, her ensemble, or her body, Erin had outclassed the working girls the way diamonds outclassed cubic zirconias.

         She sat the shoes on the counter, followed by her small purse, bracelets, and teardrop earrings.  Open from the nape of  her neck to the small of her back, the gown was a sheathe of intricate black lace which suggested everything while revealing nothing.  She shrugged out of the dress, happy to be naked and unrestrained.

         Well, mostly naked. 

         Two items remained: her sheer panties, laced up the back with a satin ribbon and  her not-quite-matching holster, strapped to her inner thigh.  She removed the weapon, extracted its magazine then tugged back on the slide, ejecting the chambered round.  The bullet clattered as it circled the basin while Erin unclipped the holster.  Next the panties, and the deliberation with which she rolled them down over her hips showed she knew I was there.   

         “I don't get it.”

         “What?”

         “Why you go with the Walther instead of a Glock or Smith & Wesson.”

         She looked over her bare shoulder, grinning.  “You've been watching all this time and that is what was on your mind?”  She turned back to the mirror and leaned forward, one slender finger extending to her eye.  A blink later and the hazel contacts were gone exposing her natural, cornflower blue irises.   

         “I spent almost a year with that INTERPOL task force, remember?  Worked with plenty of Brits.  I appreciate the Walther now,  it's compact enough to conceal under anything and in the outfits I'm wearing, that's crucial.”

         “Riiiight.”

         “What?”

         “You're just a double-oh-seven geek.”

         “Ha!  Bond has nothing on me, baby.”

         She stepped away from the vanity and started the water for the shower.  I stare, loving the way the narrow taper of her waist blossomed into the round, deeply-cleft glory that was her ass.  She was right, Bond had nothing on her...

         “If I were Bond,” she said, coming back to the doorway.  “That would make you MoneyPenny.”

         “What?  Why not PussyGalore...?”

         “And I am the Bond geek?”

         “I'm just saying, if you're making me a woman, give me the sexiest fucking name of all time or leave my dick where it is.”

         “And where is it, exactly...?”

         I kick the sheets aside and roll from the bed.  Smiling, she backs into the bathroom, leading me until her butt meets the counter.  She looks up, hands on my chest, the edges of her manicured nails teasing the hair.  I snare her in my arms and kiss her.  Hungry, urgent, our lips work like we've been apart for years.  When we come up for air, I ask the question I have to ask.  “Nobody touched you tonight?”

         “Nobody.  Some looks made me feel like a whore, but nobody tried anything.”

         “It's the job, it's a cover; you're no whore, baby.”

         “I know, ” she sighs, pressing closer.  The lush, lightly-freckled slopes of her breasts rub against me, her stiffening nipples digging into my skin.  “But it did make me think a lot about you, about now.  About...dirty things.”  She drops her hands, slipping them inside my waistband and pushing my boxers down.  My cock bobs free as my underwear collect around my ankles.  I shake despite myself when her fingers close on my length, squeezing, coaxing, making me throb.

         “Fuck...”

         “Agent Collier, is this a concealed weapon?” 

         “I want to conceal it in you.”

         The corners of her plump lips draw upward, her cheeks dimpling.  “Hide it every place you can, baby.  Every place...”



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