She shuddered from his words. “Then control me,” she whispered, arching her back, showing him that she could give in to this need he had. “Because,” she began, echoing his word as hot molten sparks shot through her body, “I love everything you do to me.”
“And do you love this?” he said, holding on tight, driving into her so she could feel him deep and hard inside her. “You like when I make love to you like this? Because that’s what I’m doing right now.”
“I know,” she said breathlessly, and after a night of revealing her secrets, she could no longer keep the truth hidden. “You are, and I love it because I feel everything. I feel everything for you,” she said, coming as close to saying those three words as she could.
He hitched in a breath. “God, Julia. I feel everything for you. Every single thing. And I want your pleasure again. I want to feel you come on me. Show me that I can do this to you over and over, and make you feel everything.”
Pleasure spun through her body on a wild ride, racing through every corner, touching down in her belly, in her br**sts, along her thighs. Even in her toes. “You can do anything to me,” she cried out, as she felt herself reaching the brink. She tightened her arms around him trying to tug him as close as he could be. He held onto her, his c**k buried inside of her, his lovemaking touching her so deep with its intensity that she was in another world, another realm, where she was bathed solely in the never-ending bliss of a cl**ax that promised to rocket through her body.
Her head leaning back, her mouth falling open, she tried desperately to keep her noises to a minimum but it was futile as waves of pleasure slammed into her, and she came hard on him. He followed her there, his body shuddering, his chest heaving, as he thrust one final time. She felt as if she could never be close enough to him.
Never.
“I’m going to help you,” he said, his voice strong as he promised her something she knew would be tough to give. “This is a promise. I’m going to find a way to help you out of this, and then I’m going to find your ex.”
She didn’t know that he could do either, but the fact that he wanted to was one more reason to fall into him.
CHAPTER NINE
The bride sat on the groom’s lap, and his arms were wrapped around her waist. Julia held a glass of champagne and laughed at something Chris said. Jill reached across to punch Chris on the shoulder, and he rubbed the spot where she swatted him, clearly pretending it hurt. Then they all laughed, and Clay made up the words they were saying in his head.
He stood outside, watching the reception unfold through the windows. His phone was pressed to his ear.
“So what did you learn?”
“That Charlie Stravinski loves greenbacks more than anything in the world,” Cam said.
“How so?” Clay turned away from the scene, and walked down the hill.
“He’s got his fingers in all sorts of pies. He runs this limo company, right? Charlie’s Limos. Totally legit, but it’s his Bada Bing,” Cam said.
“The strip club in The Sopranos.”
“Yep. It’s a clean business, and everything flows under that. He’s got the market locked up in San Fran on sports betting. That’s his big cash cow. He does concert tickets too—steals them and resells them at scalper prices. His growth market, though, is in poker. He runs a lot of big executive games in the Valley. He just started running some games in New York too,” Cam said, and Clay stopped at a tree, setting his palm against the trunk.
“He’s working out of the Big Apple now?”
“Seems he is. And he’s a big-ass loan shark too.”
“Oh well, of course,” Clay said sarcastically, because Charlie was growing more conniving with every new detail. “Did you get the story behind Mr. Pong’s?”
“You bet your ass I did. Used to belong to good old Mr. Pong himself. But Mr. Pong needed money to pay off an investment that went belly up, so Charlie loaned him the dough, putting up his restaurant as collateral.”
“Let me guess. He never came up with the money.”
“Bingo,” he said enunciating every syllable. “Charlie took over, and word on the street is Mr. Pong is living on the street.”
“He’s homeless?” Clay said, his voice thick with shock.
“That’s what I hear. His restaurant was all he had, and it’s all Stravinski’s now. Tons of VCs in the city eat there. Charlie runs his games above the restaurant and he has lunch there every day at twelve-thirty. Those f**kers love their routines, don’t they?”
He steeled himself for the next question. “What about drugs?”
“Nope. He’s as squeaky clean as they come in that regard. But . . .” Cam said, his voice trailing off into a territory that Clay wasn’t so sure he wanted to go. But he had to.
“But what?” he asked wearily, as a cold gust of wind snapped. The night cooled off quickly by the bay.
“My sources say he might be making a move into the world’s oldest profession, so there’s that.”
Clay clenched a fist, his fingers digging hard into his palm. He could slam it against the tree, bang it hard and unleash this coiled ball of anger eating up his chest, but that wouldn’t do him a lick of good. He gritted his teeth, and turned away from his temptation.
“‘Course, if it were up to me, I’d advise him to stay out of that racket,” Cam continued.
“Thanks for looking into all that, man,” he said. Then he stopped in his tracks. “Wait. There’s someone else I need you to look into.”
“Who’s that?”
But Clay didn’t know Dillon’s last name. “I need to get more info. Let me get back to you on that.”
“You know where to find me. And I’ll see you Saturday for our game?”
Clay nodded. “I’ll be there,” he said, and as soon as the words were spoken, something started to click.
He ended the call, but he didn’t head back inside. Instead, he watched from a distance, rubbing a hand across his jaw as he began to hatch a plan.
* * *
A few glasses of champagne later, Julia was feeling like the drink herself—bubbly and effervescent. Though that might simply be due to the gorgeous man with his arm draped possessively around her. He’d been by her side since he returned from making his phone call, and she loved that he found ways to touch her all night, whether he brushed her fingertips accidentally when he took her glass to refill, or when he absently traced a soft line along her hipbone as the cake was being served.