by Riley Banks
Holy shit. Is that… It looked like Wilson. No, you must have imagined it. Wilson’s in France, awaiting charges.
Mark knew. He’d leaked the story to the media, publishing it under a pseudonym so as not to get sued by Harvey Inc.
The French wouldn’t let him out, would they?
Mark stared straight up, trying to see if he could catch another glimpse of the guy. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the guy just looked like Wilson.
No, Mark was sure it was Wilson. At least ninety-nine percent sure.
He needed to tell someone fast because there was one thing Mark had learned on this trip - Zac Wilson was bad news.
The Mon Petit Bateau drew ever closer to Portofino and safety. Yet lying in the king size bed, Charlotte’s warm, naked body beside him, Damon had trouble remembering what they were running from.
He traced the outline of her lips and she smiled beneath his gentle touch.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Just making sure you weren’t a dream.’
Charlotte reached over and kissed him, her mouth sensual and inviting. ‘Does that feel like a mirage?’
‘No.’ His voice was husky with desire.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re insatiable,’ she said, straddling his body as she reached across the bedside table for another condom, ripping it open with her teeth.
Damon groaned, hardening in reply.
You’re moving too fast. She’s vulnerable. Twenty four hours ago, her life hung in the balance. What are you doing? Slow down.
He tried. He really did. Even attempting to push her hips off his swollen groin, sitting up in the bed.
But Charlotte simply took his action as an invitation to roll the protection into place, her fingers light against the hardened shaft.
Why does she have to be so goddamn sexy?
She scooted back up, her legs circling his waist as she lowered her pelvis onto his, moving her body in rhythmic circles.
He gripped her narrow hips, no longer wanting to move her away but to ensure she stayed right where she was, thrusting up inside her, wishing they could stay like this forever.
And they did, moving against each other, enjoying every sensual thrust and movement, drawing out the pleasure for as long as was humanly possible.
But all good things must come to an end.
Charlotte arched her back, her head rolling backwards as she began to orgasm, biting her lip to keep from crying out as her muscles contracted around his cock.
He took the opportunity to lower his lips to her breasts, drawing the erect nipple into his mouth.
As he bit down on her nipple the soft moan became a panting cry, shuddering out of her throat like a rocket, refusing to be contained.
She clung to him, riding wave after wave of orgasmic bliss, the vitality of her release fuelling his.
After showering and donning matching bathrobes, they moved to the upper deck with a plate of cheese and olives and another bottle of wine, in desperate need of a little sustenance.
Charlotte stretched out on the leather sofa, her head in his lap, her long tanned leg breaking free of the robe, reminding him that she wore nothing beneath the soft folds of fabric.
She popped the occasional olive into her mouth and stared up at the stars. ‘I can’t get over how clear the sky is out here.’
Damon took a sip of his wine, forcing his eyes away from her bare leg.
It would be so easy to lose himself in the moment, to not think about anything but here on this boat.
But the real world was out there, waiting for them.
‘Charlotte?’
She stopped eating, playfulness in her eyes. ‘You want to go again?’ Her hand slid beneath the folds of his robe, sexual innuendo plastered across her beautiful face as her fingers stroked him.
This time he managed to push her hand away.
‘We need to talk.’
His words had a bucket of cold water effect. She sat up, her brown eyes darkening until they matched the night sky, her face deadpan, waiting for the axe to fall.
How could I be so stupid? ‘We need to talk?’ She thinks I’m going to dump her. She thinks I’m going to tell her it was all a big mistake.
It couldn’t be further from the truth.
Damon reached out, taking her hands in his, kissing her fingers. ‘Don’t look so horrified.’ He tried to take the formality out of his voice. ‘It isn’t anything bad.’
She was not convinced.
‘So much has happened in the last day or two,’ he said, looking into her eyes. They were intense; the familiar deer-in-the-headlights gaze back with a vengeance.
‘Today. You and me. Us… it’s been amazing… but…’
‘But what?’ Her tone was cold and impersonal. Nothing at all like the amazing woman he’d spent the last few hours being intimate with.
‘I’m worried I took advantage of you.’
‘Advantage?’ She shook her head, the warmth returning to her voice. ‘I made the first move, remember?’
‘I know.’
How could he forget?
‘But you were vulnerable and scared…’
‘I’m a big girl, Damon. When I kissed you, I knew what I was getting into. I don’t have any expectations. If you want it to be a one-time thing – make that a three-time thing - I’m fine with that. Just say the word.’
Is that what she thought of him?
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Then what are you talking about?’
‘You almost died yesterday. I’m sure you’re confused…’
Why is this so hard to say?
Sleeping with Charlotte didn’t feel like a mistake on his part but he was terrified that she regretted it, or worse, that she’d done it out of some bizarre sense of obligation.
‘You think I slept with you because… you think this had something to do with Zac Wilson?’
She was angry.
‘I just want to make sure I didn’t push you into this, that you didn’t feel you had to… you know…’
She laughed, and the sound was like music to his ears. She popped the last olive into her mouth. ‘What? Pay for my voyage with sex?’
‘I never said that. I just don’t want you to feel obligated into anything you don’t want.’
She stood up, pushing his thighs apart with her knees, pushing him back against the leather cushions, her hands possessive in the middle of his chest.
‘Maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough.’ She tugged the loop that held his robe closed, unable to hide the lust in her eyes as his manhood stood obediently to attention.
‘I want you,’ she said, stepping free of her own bathrobe. ‘Not because I owe you anything or because I am frightened and vulnerable.’
She stood in front of him naked and Damon knew, in her own way, she was baring more than just her body.
‘I want you because it feels so damned good.’
He gazed up at her, his blue eyes cloudy with desire. ‘We still need to talk about this, about us…’
It was a losing battle. How could he stay focused on later when all he wanted to do now was bury his face in the soft mound between her legs – the mound that was now level with his eyes?
He pressed his mouth to the silky, soft hair, his tongue touching the small hard bump he knew he would find, smiling inwardly as her legs quivered in response.
Damon lowered Charlotte to the sofa, nudging her thighs apart with his face. ‘You’re sure this is what you want?’ he said, his voice muffled between her legs.
‘Yes, oh God, yes.’
Bill knew what he had to do next; had known for almost twenty years. He’d just had to wait for Baker to make the first move.
Now everything had fallen in to place, just as he planned.
‘Little Nancy Robertson doesn’t realise how useful she’s been,’ Bill said, the mouse hovering over a series of grainy photographs. The images were pure gold and gave Bill all the ammunition he needed for
the next phase.
He picked up the phone, pressing one of the speed dial buttons.
‘Get the plane ready. I need to get to Washington DC as fast as I can.’
‘What are you up to,’ William asked.
‘Just a bit of old-fashioned extortion.’
‘Extortion?’ William said, his rheumy eyes opening wide in shock. ‘But that’s illegal.’
‘Why do you think we put cameras in all the bedrooms? Do you think I need to watch a bunch of kids have sex to get my rocks off?’
‘Well no, but…’
Bill was tired of tip-toeing around the issue. ‘Don’t act all innocent with me. You knew this was going to get messy.’
‘Messy? We’ve had twenty fucking years of mess thanks to you.’
Bill couldn’t believe his father was putting this back on him. ‘Me? This all started when Baker got into your basement. And you ordered Helen Baker’s death not me.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ William said, scrunching his face up at the memory. ‘According to you, we didn’t have a choice.’
‘You always have a choice, father dearest. And let’s not forget, you made choices for all of us years ago. We’re all here because of your secret. It had to be protected at all costs.’
William was angry, an irate retort on his tongue. ‘Don’t blame this on me,’ he said, his voice hissing out between his widening front teeth like air escaping tyres. ‘I ordered one death and have hated myself ever since. How many people have you killed, son?’
That was the problem with William. He had no intestinal fortitude.
Oh, he wanted his secret kept safe. He just lacked the stomach to do what was necessary to make it happen.
‘Now you’re getting cold feet because a few people have to die?’
‘A few? She was your wife, Bill. The mother of your children. Don’t tell me that was about our secret.’
If only you knew.
Bill could still see Jacqueline at the study door, her eyes widening in horror as she overheard a conversation Bill was having with his father. And the old man now thought her death wasn’t his fault.
‘You think I killed her because I was tired of her company? She knew, you daft prick. Overheard you on the phone. But hey, at least I handled it properly, unlike you. If you’d just dealt with Baker years ago, we wouldn’t be going through this bullshit now.’
‘You’re crazy, son -’
‘Don’t fucking call me crazy, you sick bastard. Everything I am, you created. You dragged my son and I into this and for what? To save your precious dynasty. You created this legacy. Now harden up and live with the consequences.’
‘Consequences? This stopped being about my secret years ago. Now we’re in the business of covering crimes. Other people are one thing, Bill, but now you are attacking your own family.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I know what you did. You set that killer loose on your own flesh and blood. How could you do that?’
Bill lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. ‘Butt out old man. You’re damned right I’ll sacrifice a child? And if you try to cross me… you’ll see how far I’ll go.’
William looked fearful. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that if you get any noble ideas, any thoughts of double crossing me, I’ll kill you myself.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine:
Six engineers flew in from Maybach’s head office in Germany to supervise loading a customised black sports car into the cargo section of a private Boeing 747.
Another ten ground crew stood back, looking awestruck as the sleek black coupe took pride of place in the middle of the plane’s yawning underbelly.
With the car secured and safe beneath several layers of protective covering, the ground crew began loading the luggage - dozens of Louis Vuitton suitcases monogrammed with five gold letters –WSHIV.
A small truck begun unloading crates of live seafood, fresh vegetables and fine ingredients while a black Mercedes Benz pulled up and a well-known chef stepped from the back of the limo, following the food up the stairs and into the waiting, full size kitchen.
Two more black Mercedes arrived, depositing four beautiful women in front of the portable stairway.
Each wore head to toe Dolce and Gabbana, looking more like models from Milan than airhostesses.
Ten minutes later, the jet stood fuelled and ready to go, the pilots giving the signal that all was ready for take off. An assistant placed a call and a few minutes later, a final Mercedes pulled up beside the plane.
BJ Harvey emerged from the last Mercedes, two drop-dead gorgeous women at his side. But instead of hostie uniforms Katya and Gilda wore floor length evening gowns, fur coats and sky-high stilettos.
They looked the part in their haute couture but beneath the elegant clothes beat the hearts of two whores, as dirty and kinky as their brothel sisterhood, even if their clientele had become more upmarket.
BJ strode up the short flight of stairs, ushering his two companions past the smiling hostesses into the wide, open body of the customised plane.
To the right were a plush cinema, bar, galley, staff seating, three guest bedrooms, and a bespoke sauna and jacuzzi designed especially for in air use. To the left, a formal living and dining room.
Straight ahead was a spiral staircase, which led to BJ’s private suites.
An elegant lounge suite formed a semi-circle around a giant television screen.
BJ took a seat, Katya and Gilda draping their bodies across him like they were part of the designer upholstery.
‘Your drink,’ the blonde hostess said, handing him his customary glass of Macallan 1926 single malt whisky on ice – the ice made from one hundred percent Kona Nigari water flown in from Hawaii.
‘Play this will you, Carly,’ BJ said, handing her a plain black DVD case.
‘Yes, sir.’ Carly slid the disc into the machine, pressing play. ‘Will that be all?’
A series of still images rolled across the screen; Damon and Charlotte drinking wine on the foredeck of the Mon Petit Bateau.
But as the massive 747 engines rumbled into action and the plane hurtled down the runway, the photographs became just as racy, switching from still to live action shots, the powerful zoom lens putting BJ right on the deck with them.
There was an element of discomfort watching his brother roll a condom on to his erect penis but the two of them looked enough alike that BJ could pretend he was in the video.
Anyway, it beat the alternative; thinking about his baby sister.
True, as Bill had pointed out, the two of them were hardly close anymore but that didn’t mean he wanted her dead.
If it were up to him, he would have found another way to handle the problem; a way that didn’t involve being murdered by a psychotic madman.
But Bill made it very clear it wasn’t up to him. His dad, as always, was calling the shots.
If BJ couldn’t change what was going to happen, why bother obsessing over it?
Besides, if Wilson were half as good as his father thought, Anita was dead already. All he was doing was borrowing Damon’s white charger. This time, instead of Damon riding to the rescue, BJ would.
‘They fuck like rabbits,’ Katya said in her thick Russian accent.
She was right. Burke and his brother were going at it like a couple of desperate teens getting their freak on for the first time. At this rate, the show would be over in less than two minutes.
Katya undid his pants, sliding them down to his ankles. ‘We make porn too.’
She knelt between his legs, popping his dick into her mouth, running her pierced tongue from the base of his balls to the tip of his cock.
Eager to join the party, Gilda unzipped her navy blue gown, shoving her DD tits in BJ’s face.
Under normal circumstances, BJ would have enjoyed burying his face in those puppies but the action was heating up on screen and she was blocking his view.
‘Get out of my fucking way.’ He shoved
her to the ground, her dark hair falling over her face like the final curtain at the theatre.
She didn’t pout or sulk. At $30,000 a night, BJ was entitled to do whatever the hell he wanted, including roughing her up if he desired. She simply crawled behind Katya, lifting up the Russian’s red evening gown.
He knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to entice him with some girl on girl action.
Lucky for her the sex on screen had just come to a sweaty halt.
BJ had no desire to watch Damon and Burke hug in the moonlight.
Gilda pushed Katya’s legs apart, exposing a juicy, pink cunt, her eyes finding BJ’s in the mirrors lining the wall. ‘You like?’ she said as she slid one finger after another into the moist hole, sucking the juice off each one when she was finished.
He did like. He liked a lot.
‘Eat her pussy,’ he said, his cock swelling in Katya’s pierced mouth.
Without hesitation she obeyed, her tongue sliding in and out like she was digging for water.
In response, Katya elicited tiny shivers of delight that somehow translated into a better blowjob for him.
But he wasn’t paying all that money to cum in some hooker’s mouth, not that he ever cum that quick.
‘Come here.’ He pushed Katya aside, beckoning Gilda to him. ‘Turn around.’
She obeyed, standing with her back to him.
‘Bend over.’
She touched her head to her knees, displaying the flexibility of a gymnast as well as her gaping, wet hole.
‘They are fucking again,’ Katya said, pointing to the television screen.
It was true. They had moved from the deck to the stateroom, a hidden camera now capturing the scene.
BJ expected to see more animalistic fucking but his baby brother had changed pace, losing the frenzied desperation, upgrading from the hundred-metre spring to the long distance marathon.
Gripping Gilda’s hips, BJ slid into her exposed pussy, his thighs slapping against hers as he synchronised himself to the action onscreen.
By the time Damon and Burke took their sex show up onto the upper deck BJ had done his own do si do, changing partners again, moving to the delightful tightness of Katya’s ass, settling in for the long, hard road to fulfilment.