I moaned. “That feels so good…you feel so good.”
“You feel fantastic,” he said. “I love that tight, wet pussy.”
His thrusts became harder and faster. I raised my hips to meet his thrusts.
“Yes, yes, yes!”
I came seconds before he filled me with his cum.
Afterward, he pulled me to his chest.
“Wow…” he said. “I love you…you know that, don’t you?”
“I love you.” I pushed his hair off his forehead and then caressed his cheek.
He kissed me gently.
I laid my head on his shoulder, and we went to sleep.
Luke’s colleague, whose name I learned was Dan Sellers, was meeting us at Le Cirque for dinner. The restaurant’s color scheme was red, purple, and yellow. The chairs were red-and-white striped, and there were vintage-looking circus pictures adorning the walls. The ceiling was draped with colorful fabric to look as if we’d stepped into the Big Top.
Dan turned out to be a tall, skinny, balding man who seemed terribly nervous. He actually kept wringing his hands. I was disappointed that he hadn’t brought a date because I felt that Dan wasn’t going to be much of a conversationalist.
Dan immediately began trying to explain whatever situation had brought us here. Luke still hadn’t mentioned anything about it to me, which made me think that it probably wasn’t as important—at least, to Luke—as Dan seemed to think it was.
“Dan…let’s eat our dinner, and then we’ll talk business, all right?” asked Luke.
“Yes… Of course, Mr. Fontaine. Whatever you say.”
“Please call me Luke. And, of course, this is my wife Brandy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Dan,” I said.
“Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Fontaine,” he said.
I really wished he’d brought a date so I’d have someone to talk with…or if she was as big on conversation as Dan was, at least I could’ve given it a shot.
When our waiter arrived he referred to us as Messieurs and Madame, which made me feel very continental. He gave us menus and a wine list.
I ordered marinated tuna with clementines and avocado tapenade for an appetizer. Luke and Dan both got the smoked salmon. For our main course, Dan ordered the Dover sole, and Luke and I got the chateaubriand for two.
I’d found some little individual hand wipes in a bathroom at one of the swanky shops we’d visited earlier in the day. I’d taken a handful because who knew when you’d need a wipe? I was glad I’d put a couple in my evening bag.
Poor Dan couldn’t wait until after we’d eaten to begin discussing business. He took a drink of his wine and dived into his story with both feet.
“You see, Mr. Fontaine…Luke…as I mentioned when we spoke earlier, this has gone beyond a case of workers’ compensation fraud. I felt strongly that Mr. Wilson was faking his disability, and I hired a private investigator to watch him. This investigator is someone we use often, so I knew he was trustworthy.”
I could tell Luke was bored by this rehashing of information. Even though it was new to me, it bored me too.
I went ahead and took one of the elegantly-wrapped hand wipes from my evening bag. There couldn’t be any harm in going ahead and cleaning my hands. Plus, it might get Dan off topic for a minute or two. The man really needed to lighten up!
I put the wipe on the table and closed my purse. I noticed Luke’s eyes widen, and I winked and smiled. I hoped it wouldn’t embarrass him for me to wipe my hands off at the table. Was it bad manners? Surely not. Everyone was health-conscious these days. Besides, I’d be discreet.
“Isn’t this the handiest little thing?” I asked, holding the tiny packet between two fingers. “I picked it up earlier today. Dan, would you like one? I have another in my purse.”
A bright pink flush that started at Dan’s hairline spread over his face and even down to his neck. His eyes bulged as he shook his head.
Maybe it was considered bad manners to clean your hands at the table of an elegant restaurant.
“I’m sorry.” I looked at Luke. “I thought it would be all right to wipe my hands off before dining.”
Luke began shaking with laughter.
“What?” I asked.
“Did I hear Madame say she would like a hand cleaning wipe?” asked our waiter. “I’ll get you one.” He bent down and whispered. “You might want to put the condom back into your purse.”
“Condom?” I turned the package over in my hand. Come to think of it, it did feel strange…for a wipe.
By now, Luke was laughing so hard that tears were coursing down his cheeks. Though my blush probably rivaled Dan’s as I dropped the condom back into my evening bag, I began laughing too.
I did succeed on one account—Dan didn’t talk business…or anything else…until after we’d finished eating.
After dinner, we took Dan back to our suite where he could show us a video on his laptop—again, where Luke was concerned, because Luke had seen the footage when Dan had shared his screen during their video chat.
“You see, the private investigator had been tailing our employee—Martin Wilson—and filmed various activities to prove that he was faking his work-related injury,” Dan said.
According to Dan, Mr. Wilson had alleged he’d hurt his back working in the warehouse. However, the video showed him in a parking lot loading boxes into a moving truck.
“It’s a good video…excellent quality,” Luke said. “Your guy must’ve been using some great surveillance equipment. But there’s no way to tell how heavy the boxes were. If we don’t know that, we can’t use this in court to say that Wilson was lifting as much or more than he would at our warehouse.”
“That’s where the P.I.’s testimony would have been invaluable,” said Dan. “When he brought me the footage, he told me how suspiciously Wilson acted prior to the arrival of the U-Haul. He said Wilson seemed afraid of being caught. He also said it was apparent that Wilson was straining under the weight.”
“If he didn’t know the investigator was there, maybe he was worried about the contents of the boxes,” I said. “Do you have any idea what was in them?”
“No. The P.I. copied the identifying information off the moving truck and was going to see who’d rented it and get back with me,” Dan said.
“Who rented it?” I asked.
“That’s just it. My guy has been missing since the day he delivered the video.”
“He didn’t leave the information on the truck with you?” Luke asked.
Dan shook his head. “No. I trusted him to look into it and get back to me. I didn’t think I needed the information.”
“How long has the investigator been missing?” I asked.
“Two days.”
I frowned. “Of course, you’ve sent someone to look for him.”
“Naturally,” said Dan. “He’s not at home. He’s not at work. He isn’t visiting known relatives.”
“What are the police saying?” asked Luke.
“Basically, there’s no body and no crime as of yet.” Dan sighed. “It just doesn’t feel right. That’s why I called you.”
“I’m glad you did,” Luke said. “Brandy and I will start looking into this right away.”
“Thanks.” Dan appeared relieved to be able to share his burden.
Once Dan had left, Luke and I talked strategy.
“What do we do first?” I asked. “Do we talk with Wilson or try to find the investigator?”
Luke pursed his lips. “We need to talk with Wilson, of course, but I don’t know how to go about it without looking suspicious. We don’t want to end up in the same place as the investigator.”
“How about we take Mr. Wilson a gourmet food basket? We could have the concierge find us something.”
“And that would work how? ‘Hi! Here’s some food. Are you faking your injury? And did you kill our private investigator?’” He chuckled.
“No
, Mr. Smarty-Pants. We’d deliver the basket to his home and say we happened to be in town and that we met with Dan and were told of his injury,” I said. “We could say we were very sorry.”
“If we do that, babe, we end up looking like the company is at fault.”
“If the man is receiving workers’ compensation benefits, hasn’t the company already been found at fault?” I asked. “I’m simply giving us an in. We could wear recording devices so it would show that we were also looking into the claim that Mr. Wilson is a fraud.”
“You know, that’s not a bad idea.”
I smiled. “I wrote an article once on a retired doctor who’d worked for plaintiffs’ attorneys in these types of cases. He said that for neck injury claims, he’d ask the patient to move his head as far as he could without feeling pain during the examination. Afterward, when the patient was off guard, the doctor would walk all around the room asking the patient questions. The patient, if he wasn’t legitimately hurt, would turn his head every which way—without a single ouch!—to watch the doctor and answer his questions.”
“Pretty clever,” Luke said. “So how are we gonna get him to show us his back injury is bogus—drop your purse on the floor and see if he’s able to pick it up?”
“Ha, ha. We’re not as concerned with his back at this point as we are the fate of the P.I., are we?”
“True, but if we could disprove his claim while we’re there, it wouldn’t hurt my feelings any,” he said.
“I don’t know. I think maybe we should try to keep him on our side…or at least let him think we’re too self-absorbed to suspect him of any wrongdoing…until we can gather more information about him.”
“When we go see him tomorrow, I’ll let you take the lead.” He pulled me close for a kiss. “Now…are you ready to go see Zumanity?”
Zumanity was hot! The male contortionist made me squirm a little—and not in a good way. The way he could twist his body was just unnatural and a tad disturbing. But the rest of the show was stunning—the aerial performances, the acrobatics, the dancing, and that bathtub scene! Whew!
Luke and I started our foreplay in the limo on our way back to the Bellagio, and we both had bathtub on our minds. We hurried to our master bath. I started the water and poured in the bubble bath. Luke went to the wet bar and got a bottle of champagne and two glasses. I lit the candles that were on the sides of the tub.
Once the stage was set, we began disrobing each other, feverishly kissing each other’s bodies as we removed clothing. By this time, I was wet and he was hard.
He turned off the water, and we stepped over into the foamy bath. Luke turned me away from him and rubbed my nipples between his forefingers and thumbs while his erection pressed between my thighs. He kissed and tasted my neck and shoulders. I reached behind me to rub his cock.
He gently lowered the two of us into the water and fit my pussy onto his dick. With one hand, he resumed fondling a nipple. With the other, he fondled my clit.
I moaned. “Oh…that feels incredible!”
His thrusts combined with the tantalizing caresses of his fingers were going to make me cum in a hurry. I raised and lowered my hips, squeezing my cunt against his shaft as tight as I could as I kept rhythm with his plunges.
We came together and then drank champagne and languidly bathed each other. It was heavenly to explore Luke’s body gently and lovingly…kissing him…caressing him…knowing there would be a round two tonight, but not yet.
When we got out of the bathtub, we blew out the candles, toweled off and then went into the bedroom. We turned down the sheets and slid into the bed, spooning, cuddling, and caressing until he became hard again and I became wet.
We made love slowly this time, keeping our eyes open and drinking in each other’s bodies, movements, and reactions.
I placed fluttery kisses along Luke’s jawline, down his neck, over his chest…and then I sucked his nipples. His cock jerked in response. I trailed on down his body, skipping over his dick to concentrate on his inner thighs. He gasped when I cupped his balls, licked them, and then teased the area behind them with my tongue. I stroked his shaft slowly, teasing with my hands and my tongue, until he rolled me onto my back.
“My turn,” he said huskily.
He bit and sucked my neck, causing such an immediate tingling that I thought there must be a direct line from my throat to my clit somehow. Then he kissed down my body, sucking my nipples as he lay between my legs.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” he said.
“I just want you,” I said.
“I need more specifics than that.” He stopped everything.
My body was on fire for him. “Eat me…please.”
He chuckled softly as he moved lower, moving my knees onto his shoulders. “Hand me a pillow.”
I did as he asked.
“Raise your ass.”
As I lifted my ass, he put the pillow under it. He parted the lips of my pussy and began licking my clit with his firm tongue. He was in a particularly nippy mood, and I liked it. No, I loved it. He gently took my clit in his teeth and sucked. I nearly came up off the bed as I cried out with pleasure.
He put two fingers into my cunt, pulsing them in and out, as he continued licking and sucking my clit. I quickly came on his tongue, and he continued licking and stroking.
“Please! I can’t stand it anymore!” I cried.
“What do you need, baby?”
“I need your dick inside me!”
He rose up, wiped his mouth, and then plunged his thick, hard cock into my pussy. My legs had slid lower, but my ankles were still on Luke’s shoulders. Having my legs raised and the pillow underneath me put my cunt at a wonderful angle that let Luke penetrate me so deep. I clung to his back and met each of his thrusts as we moved faster and faster. He waited until I came again to fill me with his cum.
Afterward, we were both too spent to move. We didn’t even get back up to turn the lights off…just pulled the bedspread up over our heads and slept.
Chapter Three
Martin Wilson lived in a modest ranch-style house in Boulder City, Nevada. He was about forty years old and had a shaggy, unkempt appearance. When we knocked on his door, he answered it with a beer in his hand. It was only nine o’clock in the morning. That could explain the belly. I’d yet to see if it shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly because he didn’t appear to be in the mood to be disturbed.
“Whatever you’re selling, I ain’t buying.” He started to close the door in our faces.
“Oh, we aren’t selling anything,” I said, lifting the basket. “This is a gift…for you.”
“For what?” He scratched his stomach with his free hand. “I didn’t enter no contests.”
“No, but we’re Brandy and Luke Fontaine.” I smiled and looked over at Luke.
“We own the company you work for…or that you were working for when you were injured,” said Luke. “We got into town yesterday and met with Dan Sellers, and he told us about your injury.”
“May we come in?” I asked. “This basket is getting heavy.”
“Yeah. All right.” Mr. Wilson took two steps back so Luke and I could go inside.
I was really glad we’d rented a modest car for the day instead of arriving here in the pretentious limousine. Mr. Wilson seemed put off by us already, but he’d never trust us if he thought we were a couple of snobs.
We followed Mr. Wilson into his living room, and I sat the basket of goodies on his coffee table.
Mr. Wilson sat down on a worn recliner and nodded toward the basket. “What’s in there?”
“Cookies, chocolates, crackers, cheeses, summer sausages, mixed nuts, hard candies… that sort of thing,” I said.
“And you brought me this why?” he asked.
“Because you were injured,” I said. “We just wanted to express our get well wishes.”
“Huh. Well, thanks.”
“Also, Mr. Sellers
seems to be under the impression that you’re moving,” I said.
Luke took my hand and gave it a squeeze. I didn’t look at him because I knew his eyes would be flashing warning signs at me. I didn’t feel the need to be warned. I knew what I was doing.
“I ain’t going nowhere.” Mr. Wilson squinted at me. “Why do you say I am?”
I shrugged. “Mr. Sellers said somebody saw you loading up a moving truck the other day.”
Wilson’s squint turned into a glare, and Luke pressed my hand harder.
“In case you do decide to move,” I hurried on before either man could interrupt me, “we’d like you to keep us in mind when you’re ready to return to employment. We have other operations around the country.”
Wilson’s glare went back to a squint of confusion, and Luke let up on my hand.
“Right,” Luke said. “You have a spotless employment record, and we’d hate to lose you just because you might want a change of scenery.”
I was glad Luke had got on board with my train of thought. We’d spoken about what to say in the car, but Luke had thought mentioning a move was a bad idea…that it would spook Wilson that we were on to him. I thought…okay, hoped…this would get us onto the subject of the truck and what he was doing that night.
“Sellers might’ve just been saying that because he wishes I would move,” said Wilson.
“Why would you say that?” I asked, bringing my hand to my chest in feigned surprise. “Like Luke said, your employment record is spotless.”
Wilson took a swig of beer. “He thinks my back’s not hurt as bad as I say it is. But the doctor has told him it is. I ain’t faking. The stuff I was putting into that truck wasn’t heavy at all. I was helping a friend move.” He took another drink. “Or it might not have been me he saw anyway…could’ve been somebody that just looked like me. Who saw me?”
I looked at Luke. “I don’t think he ever said, did he, sweetheart?”
Luke shook his head. “Maybe we need to be talking to Dan about this. Why in the world would he suspect you of faking your injury? A man with an employment record like yours wouldn’t lie about an injury.”
Shooting On the Strip Page 2
