The Billionaire's Embrace (The Silver Cross Club)

by Bec Linder

  It didn’t matter; I had no intention of stopping.

  She writhed on the bed, tossing her head from side to side, moving her pelvis toward me and then away. I increased the vibrations yet again, and her body lifted in a perfect arch, mouth hanging open, and she came again, in long, slow waves.

  I didn’t stop.

  I held the vibrator where it was, as she came and as she came down, the tremors finally easing, and as she fought against her restraints, struggling to escape the sweet torment between her legs.

  She opened her eyes and looked at me, pupils blown. “I can’t,” she said. “Will you—stop.”

  “Safeword,” I said. “Safeword and I’ll stop.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “Please. Please stop.”

  “Safeword,” I insisted, and she turned her head away from me and didn’t.

  Fuck. She wanted it. My cock throbbed in my trousers, hard as iron. I could have fucked her right then, unzipped my pants and shoved into her, taken her, claimed her.

  I didn’t. I wanted to make her come again.

  I shut off the vibrator and set it aside. Regan made a relieved noise, and I smiled to myself, amused that she thought this would be any sort of respite. Leaving my right hand where it was, buried deep within her, I bent and set my mouth to her dripping slit.

  She moaned loudly, her thighs clamping around my head. She had a heady, musky scent that filled my nostrils and coated my tongue, and I buried my face against her, drinking it in. I couldn’t get enough of her. I licked her with the flat of my tongue in long, languid strokes, tasting the full length of her.

  “Carter,” she moaned, straining against me, and hearing her say my name like that made me feel like a god.

  I moved my mouth to her clit and sucked on it, teasing with teeth and tongue, and it throbbed in time with her heartbeat. She was so close. She was almost there.

  I stayed there, licking and sucking at her, until I thought I would explode if I delayed any longer; and then I turned on the vibrator again, and held it just there, right where she needed it.

  She let out a wail and went to pieces beneath me.

  It went on for a long time, convulsions rolling through her, her face screwed up in joyful agony, her limbs shaking.

  She was magnificent.

  She quieted at last, and I turned off the vibrator and slowly, very carefully, drew my fingers from her body.

  She looked up at me with her dark eyes, her face soft, body limp with lassitude. I couldn’t resist. I bent and kissed her, and she returned the kiss eagerly, opening her mouth to mine, our tongues sliding together.

  I had to have her. Waiting any longer was impossible. My need was suddenly urgent, overwhelming all rational thought. I unzipped my trousers and drew forth my aching cock, dark red and wet at the tip from waiting so long. I fumbled in my pocket for the condom I had stashed there earlier and rolled it down my cock. And then I lifted one of Regan’s thighs out of the way, my hand hooked beneath her knee, and plunged into her in one smooth stroke.

  We cried out in tandem, her at the intrusion and me at the feeling of her around me, tight and hot. I rolled my hips once, experimentally, and knew that I wouldn’t last long. Regan had that effect on me. Everything about having sex with her—the way she smelled, the sounds she made, the way her body opened around me—seemed designed to make me lose control as quickly as possible.

  I lowered myself so that I lay directly on top of her, our bodies pressed together. I wished now that I had taken the time to remove both of our clothing, so that I could feel her bare skin against mine, but it was enough to be close to her, to kiss her neck and rock against her, thrusting slowly, making it last as long as I could.

  It wasn’t long. I was too aroused, and she kept making small, contented noises that utterly did me in. I buried my face against her neck and let go, and my orgasm poured over me like a rising tide.

  I came back to myself several long moments later and reached up to untie Regan’s hands. Then I staggered off the bed and into the bathroom, feeling like I had been hit by a truck. Death by orgasm. I discarded the condom, and washed my hands and splashed some water on my face

  Regan was lying where I had left her, stretching luxuriously, hands clasped together over her head. She gave me a sleepy smile and moved her legs so that I could kneel on the mattress.

  “You left me,” she said, mock-pouting.

  “I did,” I said. “And then I came back.” I lay down on my side, in the tiny sliver of space between her body and the wall, and turned her so that she was spooned against me, her back to my front.

  “So did I,” she said.

  I frowned, confused, and then realized: she wasn’t talking about tonight.

  “I won’t do it again,” she said.

  “You’d better not,” I said. I wrapped my arm around her waist and held her against me, my face buried against her hair. Maybe I shouldn’t have believed her, but I did. If I was being naive, I didn’t care. The joy that I felt, holding her and feeling the warmth of her body, left no room for doubts.

  I knew, then, that no matter what happened, there was no turning back for me. Regan was everything I wanted, and I was all in.

  Chapter 18

  I spent the next two weeks on cloud nine. Regan and I saw each other constantly, every chance we had. She spent more nights than not at my apartment, and would even come over in the evenings after her night classes to have a late dinner with me and watch television. We told each other all of our secrets, both good and bad. We screwed like rabbits, we cooked meals together, and every morning that I woke up with her in my bed, I said a silent thank you to whatever power in the universe had returned her to me.

  At first I was afraid that my work would suffer, but instead it benefited from my high spirits and abundant energy. Once, I even caught myself whistling while I did paperwork: truly an indication that the end times had arrived. I finalized a merger in record time, invested in three promising start-ups, and crushed a small firm that was attempting to poach one of my best executives.

  I didn’t, however, have time to maintain my personal relationships as much as certain parties would have liked. Namely Carolina and my mother, both of whom eventually resorted to calling my office phone in the hopes that I would pick up. I didn’t; I had Nancy take all of my calls. If there was one thing I hated, it was having my train of thought interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone.

  It wasn’t that I was deliberately trying to avoid them. It was simply that I had a finite amount of mental processing power, and the portion of it that wasn’t dedicated to work was currently fully occupied with Regan.

  I did manage to maintain my weekly appointments with Nelson. The weather was finally getting warmer, spring inexorably rushing in, and I took him to the batting cages on Randall’s Island. He wasn’t particularly athletic—I sympathized; neither was I—but he seemed to enjoy swinging his bat around and yelling, and I was more than willing to indulge him. I was less than pleased, though, when he squinted up at me and said, “You’re acting all happy. You got a new girlfriend?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re ten, Nelson. What do you know about girlfriends?”

  He rolled his eyes right back. “Yeah, I’m ten, not two. And I have a TV, and my cousins tell me stuff. I’m not a baby.”

  I laughed. “You’re right. You’re not a baby. And you’re also right about my girlfriend.” Why lie? I was too happy to keep it to myself.

  “I knew it!” he hollered victoriously, and jumped around the batting cage like a manic dog while I laughed.

  So Nelson was pleased with me, at least, and Regan, even if I was busy alienating everyone else in my life. I wasn’t particularly concerned about my mother—genetic ties meant she would have to forgive me no matter what—but I felt a periodic twinge of guilt when I saw that Carolina had sent me yet another text message.

  It was guilt that motivated me to answer when she called my cell on the one day I had forgotten to silence it. I
was in the middle of reading some extremely dull investment reports, and so I allowed myself to be distracted enough to glance at the screen. When I saw Carolina’s name, I sighed, shook my head at myself, and answered.

  “Carter, my darling!” Carolina said. “You have been avoiding me.”

  “Now why would I do such a thing?” I asked, leaning back in my desk chair and turning to gaze out the window. It had been raining all day, and the upper floors of the building were completely clouded over, so that my view was a blank gray haze. It was like being inside a cloud.

  “I cannot possibly think of why, but I have been calling you for two weeks, and nothing,” Carolina said. “You have not totally succumbed to despair, have you? I’ve been worrying about you.”

  I couldn’t think of what she was talking about, and then remembered: I hadn’t spoken to her since I got back in touch with Regan. She must have thought I was still licking my wounds. “No despair,” I said. “So, what’s on your mind?”

  Carolina laughed. “No time for chit-chat! All business! Let’s go out tonight. A new club just opened, and I hear only good things about it.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “I’m afraid I can’t.” I had plans with Regan: we were going to try a new restaurant she had heard about, on the Lower East Side. I was trying to be more conscientious about avoiding the upscale places that made her nervous, and she, in turn, was exposing me to a side of the city I had never experienced.

  “You are seeing someone new,” Carolina said immediately, and I closed my eyes, silently cursing myself. I should have given her a concrete excuse. She knew me too well, and knew that I was at my most vague when I had started seeing someone and wasn’t ready to talk about it.

  And if I denied it, she would simply keep prying until I spilled all of the details—or, worse, she would call my mother, and they would both set to work on me. It wasn’t worth the grief. “Fine,” I said. “Yes, okay, I admit it. I’m seeing someone.”

  Carolina made a delighted noise. “Who is she? Do I know her? Not Jenna, because you never called her, you bad man—”

  “No, you don’t know her,” I said, and sighed, succumbing to the inevitable. “Remember that woman I was seeing back in the fall?”

  “Oh, Carter,” Carolina said. “Don’t tell me—”

  “Yes, I’m back together with her,” I said. “And it’s going well, and I’m happy, so please don’t spend too much time berating me.”

  “Carter, she left you,” Carolina said. “You were so sad for so long. How do you know she won’t leave you again?”

  “Don’t you think I’ve already asked myself that question? I’ve decided it’s worth the risk. I spent so long being bitter after I broke things off with Spencer. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize that I’m old and I’ve spent my entire life being afraid to take the chance to let someone in. There’s no point to life without love.”

  “Is that what this is?” Carolina asked. “Love?”

  I drew in a breath. “I love her,” I said, and as I spoke the words, I knew they were true. I hadn’t admitted it to myself yet, but I did: I loved Regan, whole-heartedly, without reservation, and she was worth it. She was worth the risk.

  “Well,” Carolina said. “How can I berate you, then? You are a grown man, I suppose. When do I get to meet this woman?”

  “Soon,” I said, smiling. I had a feeling that Regan and Carolina would get along all too well, and that the quantity of female conspiracies centered around me would drastically increase. “I don’t want to scare her off.”

  Carolina gasped. “Scare her off? Me? I would never do such a thing!”

  We talked for a few more minutes, Carolina telling me all the details of her latest modeling job, and she extracted a promise to have brunch with her that weekend. I ended the conversation with a sense of relief: Carolina wasn’t angry with me for my neglect, and now I could return to my work with a guiltless conscience.

  There was still one important thing that needed my attention: the case against Hackett. It had been weeks since I last held a party at the Silver Cross. In part, I felt that it would be disloyal to Regan to return there, as we both knew all too well the sorts of activities that went on behind closed doors. I also, frankly, had lost interest. Although my primary motivation in attending the club had always been to wring information from Hackett, I would be a liar if I claimed that I didn’t enjoy being showered with attention by half-naked women. Although I had never availed myself of the club’s more exclusive services, the idea that I could had been titillating in and of itself.

  But now, with Regan, my sexual needs were more than fulfilled, and the thought of watching the dancers rub against Hackett seemed vaguely distasteful. I couldn’t delay it forever, though. My contact at the FBI had called me a few days ago, requesting an update, and I’d been forced to admit my complete lack of progress. It was time to hold another party.

  I called Germaine and reserved a room for Thursday evening, and had Nancy call a dozen or so men to extend invitations. The goal of the parties was to put Hackett at ease, lower his inhibitions, and it was important to have enough attendees that he wouldn’t feel singled out. Fortunately, I had enough social cachet, and the club enough mystique, that I never had difficulty attracting guests, even with notice that would otherwise be considered inappropriately short.

  That night, as Regan and I rode back to my apartment after dinner, I said, “I’ll be throwing a party at the club later this week.”

  “Oh?” she said, looking at me expectantly, her expression one of polite interest.

  Cautiously pressing onward, I said, “I still haven’t caught Hackett doing anything incriminating, but it’s important to keep trying. You aren’t bothered?”

  “No,” she said, “why would I be? I used to work there, you know.”

  “Yes, exactly,” I said. “So you know precisely what sort of debauchery goes on.”

  She smiled at me. “Am I supposed to be concerned? Are you planning to take one of the dancers into a back room and have your way with her?”

  “Of course not,” I said, mildly offended that she would even consider the possibility.

  “Then why would I worry?” she asked. “I trust you.”

  She said it so simply, as though she had no idea what those words meant to me. I supposed it was possible that she didn’t. I had decided to trust her, to let her back into my life; and to have that trust returned to me, to have her look at me with those big eyes and tell me that she wasn’t worried, made me feel like the universe was giving me a sign that everything would work out for the best.

  My conversation with Carolina was fresh in my mind, but this wasn’t the right time. Instead of saying what was in my heart, I leaned over and kissed Regan deeply, one hand cupping the back of her head, and she returned my kiss so sweetly, my perfect girl, the best of all my angels.

  * * *

  On Thursday evening, I arrived at the club half an hour before my party was scheduled to begin. I needed time to ascertain that all of the hidden microphones were working. That was the reason I always held my parties in room 4—not, as Regan once suggested to me, as a consequence of any sexual obsession with the number 4. I wore a wire under my shirt as well, but the redundancy ensured that nothing Hackett said would go unrecorded.

  I didn’t expect him to say anything of interest, though. I had essentially given up on the idea that this investigation would bear fruit. Perhaps it was time to tender my resignation to the FBI. Although I was initially happy to provide whatever assistance I could, the shine wore off as the months wore on with no results, and I didn’t want to spend the next decade of my life visiting the Silver Cross on a regular basis and hoping that Hackett would give me a few crumbs of information.

  It was different when I was still single, but now, with Regan, I wanted to spend my evenings with her, not watching grown men embarrass themselves over women who were paid to feign interest.

  Standing on a chair on tiptoes to check a mic in th
e ceiling, I decided: I would go through with tonight’s party, but that was it. No more. I would call my contact and tell him I’d had enough.

  But first, to survive the evening.

  All of the mics were in place, and still working properly. With ten minutes to go, I went out to the bar and fetched the server Germaine had assigned to me. She was a new girl, one I didn’t recognize—Regan’s replacement, maybe—but pretty enough, and conservatively dressed, which would keep her safe from any wandering hands. If she knew who I was, she gave no indication. I asked her to bring a few bottles of Scotch, and she set out glasses and pitchers of water, and fluffed all of the cushions on the couches.

  Exactly at 7:00, the first guest arrived: an older man named Johnson, who seemed to find the club amusing, and never stayed for more than an hour and a few drinks. He worked for an investment bank, and I suspected that he attended my parties primarily as a way to sniff out my latest investment strategy. I appreciated his mercenary approach, and greeted him warmly.

  Sure enough, he said, “Evening, Sutton. I’m hoping you’ll give me your opinion about an investment I’m considering.”

  “I’d be happy to,” I said, entertained by his predictability, and by the time the next guest arrived, we were already deep in a conversation about the relative merits of REITs.

  Hackett showed up late, but not exceptionally so—half an hour, more or less. He was often late; for all his faults, he had an impressive work ethic, and had never fully abandoned the long hours he must have kept as a first-year analyst. I gave him a friendly nod as he settled on the couch across from me, but immediately returned to my conversation with Johnson. It was a delicate balance: show interest, but not too much; keep him interested, but don’t spook him. Even though I intended to jump ship after tonight, I had no desire to ruin the investigation.

  Shortly after Hackett arrived, the dancers came in: three of them, wearing seductive scraps of clothing that they quickly shed as they moved among the guests, shimmying and seducing, sitting on laps and then sliding off again, elusive as snakes. I sipped my Scotch and watched as Hackett lured one of the dancers toward him and began kissing her neck and groping her breasts, her nipples hardening between his fingers. Good: he wouldn’t be leaving soon.