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Then Cain starts moving his hips. His cock slips out of me and then plunges back in, more smoothly each time but still with enough resistance to create a delicious friction that sends ripples of pleasure beneath my skin.
I wrap my arms around him, clinging to him as he rocks my body. My breasts wobble. The bed creaks. Moans spill out of my lips.
Cain starts grunting as he moves faster, harder. My moans grow louder. Pleasure takes control. There’s so much of it that I feel like I might go mad any second. My body threatens to explode.
Then it does. I feel myself unravel as wave after wave of pleasure hits me, sweeping me away. I hug Cain tighter, nails digging into his skin. My eyes squeeze shut and moisten with tears as I throw my head back against the pillow. My cries fill the air.
Cain stops moving for a moment as I tighten around him. Then, as I begin to relax, he starts again. My mind is still muddled, my arms and legs still weak. Somehow, though, my hands end up on his ass, and when he buries himself deep inside me, I clutch the firm mounds of flesh.
He gives a growl as he grips my shoulders. Then he collapses against me. The sweat on his chest coats mine as he gasps for air. I, too, have barely caught my breath, and I let my arms drop to my sides as I wait for Cain to get off me. My eyes stare blankly at the ceiling.
Finally, Cain moves. He pulls his cock out and I feel something leak out with it. Whether the stickiness bothers me more than the soreness or the sudden emptiness, I don’t know. All I know is I can’t move and I don’t try to. I just lie still as Cain gets off me. Then I pull the covers up to my chin.
After I close my eyes, I become aware of the silence around me. The wind seems to have died down. All I can hear now is the sound of Cain’s quiet, even breathing. In the darkness, it gives me a sense of peace as it ushers me back into sleep.
Even if the nightmare comes, I’m no longer afraid of it.
The storm is over.
Chapter Eight
Cain
By the time Allie and I left Rhode Island, the storm had passed. The flight went smoothly. From the airport, she took a cab to her hotel. I saw her off and then went back inside to take another plane to Milwaukee to see Orso. Before leaving Rhode Island, I got a message – I’m guessing Charlie left it – telling me Orso wanted to see me.
I stand in the hallway as I wait to enter Orso’s room. There’s an empty armchair, but I don’t occupy it. I’ve sat enough during my flights and need to stretch my legs. I don’t pace the floor, though. I’m not impatient. I have time. And I’m not anxious. I know why Orso summoned me – to get an update on the final assignment he’s given me. In particular, he must want to know how Allie and I ended up in Rhode Island nearly busting one of his men.
Nearly. Thanks to my quick thinking and acting, it didn’t happen. I’ll just have to convince Orso it won’t happen again.
After a few more minutes, the door opens. A lanky man in a dark grey suit comes out. I recognize him as Bart Nicholson, Orso’s lawyer.
“Cain?” He puts his eyeglasses back on to get a better look at me. Then he grins. “It is you.”
“It’s me,” I confirm.
Bart chuckles and gives me a hug.
Right. He’s a hugger just like Orso. In fact, I believe he got the habit from his Italian friend.
I pat him on the arm and fake a smile as I endure it. Finally, Bart pulls away.
“I can’t believe it’s you.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “And you look just the same as when I last saw you.”
I try to recall when that was. Orso’s fifty-second birthday? No. I met him about a month before that debacle with the Espositos. I went to his house to deliver some documents and he offered me a drink but I refused.
Twelve years. I guess I don’t look like I’ve changed much, especially now that I’ve had a haircut and a shave. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for Bart.
He looks thinner than when I last saw him, and I can tell his shiny black hair is a wig. His glasses look thicker – they have a black frame now instead of gold – while his lips look thinner, barely visible. The only thing that’s the same is that he still knows how to pick and wear a suit.
“You look great, too,” I tell him. “How’s Jodie?”
