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Her body spasms as she tightens around my fingers, demanding more. Suddenly I’m impatient to be inside her again. I reach for the condoms, rolling one on, as fast as I can, then I take hold of her waist, positioning her so I can slide slowly inside her.
This time I take it slow, letting the sensations wash over me. She whimpers softly as I move, her fingers gripping the sheets. I find myself wondering again at how tight she is, how hot, how good it feels to be inside her. I want it to last as long as possible, so I flex my hips slowly, sliding in, then out again, until she’s pulsing uncontrollably around my aching cock. Her body starts to shudder, the hot clenching in her core urging me deeper. I bend over her, losing control as I plunge faster and deeper inside her heat. I hear her scream, and feel the contractions as she comes, and I reach for her breasts, teasing her hard nipples as her body continues to convulse ar
ound me. Leaning back up, I grip her thighs and lift her legs off the bed, losing control as I thrust deeper into her pulsing heat. Vaguely I hear her cry out as she climaxes again, and the pleasure rises in my brain until I can’t take it anymore. I groan loudly and slam into her, almost losing my mind as I come.
I release her legs and collapse on top of her. She’s breathing deeply, her body glowing with sweat. I pull out of her and get rid of the condom before collapsing back on the bed.
“Now, I definitely can’t feel my legs,” she pants.
“Me neither.” I sigh, and surprise myself by pressing a kiss on her shoulder. She smiles at me and I smile back. Who knew sex with a whore would be this good?
The silence stretches as our breathing returns to normal. “The elevator doesn’t require a code to leave.” I inform her, sure that she’s thinking of leaving. “Just press the call button.” When she doesn’t say anything, I turn to look at her, and she has a strange look on her face that I can’t decipher. I get up and retrieve my wallet from my pants. Pulling out a couple of bills, I leave the on the nightstand on her side. “I know you’ve been paid,” I tell her, “but consider that a bonus.”
She gives me a small smile, but she still doesn’t say anything. I imagine that she’s tired and drowsy. I know I am. I smile at her before laying back down on my side. “You can leave when you’re less tired,” I say, “and don’t forget to leave your number.”
I’m a light sleeper, so I’m surprised that I don’t hear her leave. When I wake up hours later, she’s already gone. The cash is still on the table, and there’s no number anywhere.
Across from me on a conference table in his lawyer’s office, a petulant Evans Sinclair is signing the papers that will ensure that he can no longer go around badmouthing me to anyone who will listen, as he has made a point to do in the few months since I purchased the hotel his father built from him.
His petulance won’t last long though, I think, more than a little disgusted with him. As soon as he’s out of here, he’ll go back to spending the money he made from the sale, as well as the small settlement that’s part of the contract we’re now signing, on exotic cars, fast women and the never-ending party that’s his life. He spent the years since his father died paying lip service to his position as the president of the management board of the Gold Dust Hotel, but as soon the other board members forced him to sell rather than watch the hotel die a painful death, I became the villain, at least to him.
“Mr. Court.” The lawyer gets up as soon as the signatures are on paper, and extends a hand to me.
I rise from my seat, leaving Alex Haven, my lawyer to retrieve the papers. I shake Sinclair’s lawyer’s hand. “Thank you.” I tell him. Then turn to Evans.
He gets up and takes my hand in a soft, indecisive grip. “Fuck You Landon,” he says resentfully.
I shrug, and redo the button on my jacket, turning away from the table. Before I get to the glass doors, I spy the Gold Dust, soon to be Gold Dust – A Swanson Court Hotel, through the floor to ceiling windows. The retention of the old name had been the condition of the board members, all members of the extended Sinclair family. I would take total control, but keep the original name of the hotel. I had no problem agreeing. Before Evans, the Gold Dust name had been one to be reckoned with.
Already, my team are working, refurbishing the old hotel and transforming it into an establishment worthy of the Swanson Court name. In a few weeks, we’ll open for business.
Downstairs, the hired car is already waiting outside the main doors. My chauffeur Joe, in the driver seat. He looks nondescript, graying hair in a crew cut, and ordinary black suit, but he’s a security expert, deadly with a firearm and a skilled martial artist. With him around. I don’t need any other bodyguards.
Not that I can’t take care of myself. On good days, I can outshoot Joe. And I still do mixed martial arts, but Joe’s job is to make sure I never need to use those skills.
Alex catches up to me before I get into the car. He’s a few years older than I am, and is a partner at Fincher and Haven. The name of the law firm has changed since they were my grandfather’s lawyers back in the day. I’ve known Alex for years, since he started working there as an associate, and he’s one of the people I know I can trust to get results.
“I have a meeting with the interior designer,” he tells me. “So I’ll be in New York later tonight.
“Fine,” I say. I already met with most of the people working on the refurbishment before my meeting with Sinclair but there are still some legalities Alex has to iron out. “I want a full report,” I tell him.
He nods. “Are you returning right away? You’re not staying at least a night?”
I almost smile. Of course, he would expect me to stay, to have a date ready for my short visit to the city by the bay.
I shake my head, a brief image of red hair and deep green eyes flashing through my mind. “No, I have a few things to do in New York.”
“Good then. I’ll let you know when I arrive.”
I get into the car and Joe starts the engine. “Airport?” He asks, looking at me through the rearview.
I nod.
He starts the drive to my waiting plane, and my mind goes back to the image that’s been haunting my mind for the better part of three days.
It wasn’t that she was more beautiful than other women I’ve been with. She was good-looking, pretty even, but I knew many better-looking girls. Her body wasn’t the best I’d ever seen either, but in my memory, it felt perfect in every way.
I feel the now familiar tightening in my pants that’s become the norm whenever I think of her, or remember that night. Even now, I can still hear the sound of her moans, like an aural memory that won’t go away.
