I groaned as Cleo massaged the back of my neck—almost as if she understood my torture.
I gave in to her magic.
I let go.
Exquisite agony shot up my cock and splashed inside her. My thrusts became erratic, driving into her slick *, plunging over and over again.
Her stomach tensed. Her lips devoured. Her legs spasmed around me.
We came together.
We finished together.
My orgasm bulldozed through my headaches and bruises, turning me boneless.
We didn’t move.
Shit, I couldn’t move.
I would’ve stayed forever in her embrace, glued together with sticky pleasure and concreted with love. But my phone rang, vibrating against the back of my knee still in my jeans pocket.
Cleo laughed softly. “Thank goodness whoever that is had the decency to wait and not interrupt.” Reclining on the table, she smiled. “I don’t think I could’ve stomached two instances where you stopped midway.”
I winced. “When will you let me live that down?”
She smiled. “Never.”
The lull of serenity and pleasure made my pain fade considerably. Fisting the base of my cock, I pulled out from her and ducked to pull up my boxers and trousers. “I didn’t want to stop. I passed out. There’s a difference.”
The phone rang louder, shrill and piercing.
“Are you going to answer that?”
“Probably not.” Scooping the peace-ruining device from my pocket, I looked at the screen.
Shit.
“On second thought, I have to.”
Cleo narrowed her eyes as I patted her knee and moved away, trying awkwardly to do up my jeans with one hand.
“Kill speaking.”
“Mr. Killian. We have a Mr. Cyrus Conners on the line. Do you accept the charges from Florida State?”
I flicked a look at Cleo. I didn’t really want her to overhear, but there was nothing I could do. “Yes. I accept.”
The god-awful hold music assaulted my eardrum as I waited. I’d called Wallstreet yesterday to tell him the new timeline of our plan. I’d been expecting his call—just not straight after having fucking sex.
“Kill, my boy.”
The old-world charm and perfect pronunciation of Wallstreet’s voice trickled down the phone.
“How’s it going in there?” Continuing to pace around the meeting room, I gave up trying to secure my pants and focused on the conversation. “You hear any more about your parole hearing?”
Cleo jumped off the table and shimmied back into her jeans.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Some good news on that front. The appeal went well. I’ve been told a positive verdict might be forthcoming. However, I could be waiting months for their conclusions, so I won’t be ordering balloons or fireworks just yet.”
I chuckled. “Well, you’ve served enough. Time to get you home.” Along with vengeance, our long-term plan would also benefit Wallstreet and every other man and woman who’d made a mistake and paid—the reformed criminals, the forgotten soldiers, the rebels of society, right down to the hardworking poor and middle-class citizens who had no skeletons in their pasts, only the bad luck to be born into a system that sucked them fucking dry.
The way this country—this world—was run made me bloody rage.
That was what his letter was about.
It would be fitting if he was freed in time to help me finish—to stand before everyone and announce that there was another way than the one we’d been spoon-fed by dirty politicians.
“Grasshopper informed me that you have a meeting with Mr. Samson in a few days.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve dealt with Dagger Rose?”
I rubbed at the slight scruff on my chin. “Not exactly dealt with. But soon. The fuckers ran.”
“I know where they ran to.”
My blood frosted with retribution. “Perfect. Tell me.”
Wallstreet went silent for a moment. “Night Crusader compound. Most of the Club are holed up there, but others have split and gone alone.”
“What?! We paid them off. The whores, the cash. How fucking dare they go back on their word!”
“I know. I expect you to severely discipline them.” Wallstreet’s voice was black.
My fists clenched. Oh, they’d be severely taught—lesson after fucking lesson. Breathing hard, I flinched against the pressure in my head. “Do I need to worry about the others?”
“No.”
I spun to face Cleo, sensing her presence behind me. A hesitant smile flickered across her lips, her eyes full of concern from my outburst.
Looking away, I calmed down. “Look, I’ve got everything under control. I’ll give you an update when I’ve seen Samson.”
“I have no doubt you’ll pull it off effortlessly, Kill. You always do.”
Cleo came closer.
I wrapped my fingers around her wrist, pulling her against me. She snuggled into my chest, her warm body acting like a painkiller for my head, calming my temper at yet another fucking betrayal.
“Grasshopper also told me about the concussion. Has it affected your trades?”
Shit. He always knew. I could never keep anything from him.
Grasshopper’s information highway.
Squeezing my eyes, I mumbled, “It’s getting better. Every day, it’s easing.”
Bullshit.