happy to be touching you.”
The smile that took over her face was like nothing she’d ever felt before. She reached down to caress his erection. “Shhh…don’t move,” she murmured.
She slid down to admire his beautiful, taut phallus at close range. Stiff, hot, and so smooth against her tongue. Salty, sweet. She licked silken drops of pre-come off his glans with slow, luxurious strokes.
“My turn to torment you,” she whispered, pulling him deep into her mouth.
“Oh…my God.” His voice broke off into a groan, which was a good beginning. Very good, but just a beginning. She’d keep at it until she heard him shout.
That was a memory to take with her when she ran off into the dark.
7
Gil reached for his earbuds. He was sick of the pulsing music and battle sounds of Josh’s fucking video. It was worth it, to keep the annoying little shithead occupied, but the music grated on him.
One of the phones near his chair vibrated. Not his smartphone. The red burner, dedicated to Sheldon Sinclair.
He did not feel like talking to that degenerate today. Shel was under the impression that he owned Gil. Not for long. Shel wasn’t smart enough to win a long game against Gil Clemens, but he still needed to be carefully managed.
Gil picked up the phone and punched talk. “Shel,” he said. “You’re up late. It must be three in the morning in Isla Rosalba.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. So can you.”
Shel’s voice had that loud, blustering quality that indicated that he’d been drinking, drugging or both. Drugs made Shel combative, which was a big fucking bore. Gil steeled himself. “What do you need, Shel?”
“Good news, my man, I need good news. Tell me that you ran that snotty little rat-bitch down and took care of business like a man.”
Gil forced his jaw to unclench. “I’m still looking for her. I was working on that now. Your call interrupted me.”
“Yeah? I bet you’re sitting there drinking Scotch and stroking your chin and overthinking it, like the stick-up-the-ass politician that you are. Didn’t you say you have the bitch’s little brother?”
“Yes, but I—”
“So use him!” Shel bellowed. “You have the leverage! Fucking use it!”
“We discussed this already,” Gil said evenly. “She has leverage, too. Her countermove would destroy us.”
“So you’ll just keep him like a puppy in a kennel? Give him treats?”
“I’ve gone on TV with him,” Gil said, with steely calm. “I’m sure she got the message. She may be a lying, treacherous bitch, but she isn’t completely stupid.”
“I never did like that snotty cunt. I knew she’d be a pain in my ass. I get you wanting the Roarke billions, but there are better ways to get funded than to deep-freeze your dick. What the fuck, Gil? Is my money not good enough for you?”
“Go lie down,” Gil said. “You’re stoned, Shel. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Did I not promise to fund you, all the way to the top? But no, you just had to get greedy. A person might almost think that you don’t trust me. After all we’ve been through together.”
Every now and then, Shel had a brief but dangerous flash of real insight. Gil hastened to quash it. “That’s never what I—”
“Then your father-in-law gives his billions away to fucking charity! And there you are…married to that frigid cunt, and with no cash to show for it. That’s so fucking funny, I’m still laughing.”
Gil’s teeth clenched. “It wasn’t like that.”
“And you can’t even access what’s left of the money until she’s declared dead, right? Nothing for Gil! Joke’s on you, eh? Good thing I’m still here to help, amirite?”
Gil held down the simmering rage, teeth clenched to the point of pain.
It was true that Louisa and the Roarke money had been his back-up option, in case Shel imploded. Shel Sinclair was worth two hundred billion dollars of inherited wealth, but he was burning through it fast, with his whores, private jets and lavish drugged-up parties. He was probably in bed with naked under-aged girls right now. He passed them around to his business companions like cigars. Gil was working hard behind the scenes at burying the latest lawsuit, but the man was never going to stop.
Shel was a threat to Gil’s squeaky-clean DA image. Gil had been distancing himself when that stupid whore Erasma showed the video to Louisa. The one, single time at Isla Rosalba that Gil had let himself be tempted, after too many drinks, too many lines of coke, too many naked girls bouncing their tits. He’d