Her Mile High Mates [The Hot Millionaires #4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (18 page)

“No. Leave it and the butt plug, too. I want to be filled every which way I can be.”

“What? I can tell there’s something else.”

“I want to touch you, but I can’t. My hands—”

“No chance. I want you at my complete mercy.”

“Yes, Master.”

Clyde swore. They both ignored him. Peyton shuffled forward until his cock was directly over Fabia’s lips.

“Make do with touching this with your lips. Make it bigger for me, babe.”

She sucked him into her mouth, her tongue tickling the underside of his dick and then his balls. He sucked in a sharp breath, willing himself to withstand the torture. Her lips worked on him with ruthless expertise, tugging at the hairs on his scrotum, sucking and nipping until, with the help of the cock ring, he was harder and bigger than he could ever recall being before.

He briefly considered coming in her mouth before he fucked her but dismissed the idea. The increasingly frustrated noises coming from the pilot’s seat reminded him just how selfish he was being. He pulled out of her mouth and slithered back down, placing himself at the entrance to her cunt. She was soaking wet and writhing with impatience. He slid into her and rammed himself home, the pressure of the cock ring causing them both to groan from the increased sensitivity.

“Legs around my neck,” he said brusquely. “I need to get as deep as I can.”

The moment she was in position, he started moving steadily in and out of her, at the same time agitating the butt plug with his forefinger. Fabia let out a series of desperate squeals as she took his entire cock deep inside her. She closed the walls of her cunt around him, sheathing him so tightly inside her slick vagina that it felt like heaven and hell all rolled into one. Neither of them would be able to take this for long.

“Tell me what you feel,” he said.

“I feel the cock ring rubbing against my pussy. It’s a crazy feeling. I feel the plug in my butt heating up. I feel the clamp on my clit driving me wild.” She spoke in short gasps, as though barely able to draw breath. “The clamps on my nipples are sending fire all through my body.”

“Nothing much, then.” Peyton laughed, picking up the pace, his balls crashing against her buttocks.

“Most of all, I feel your cock fucking me. It feels like the earth really is moving because we’re not on the earth, I suppose. I understand why people like doing this in a plane.” Clyde grunted something unintelligible and tilted the wings. Fabia cried out and lifted her hips even higher to meet Peyton’s next thrust. “I’m coming, Peyton. It’s building so fast I can’t stop it.”

“Let it go, babe. Come for me. I’m gonna come, too. I’m gonna fill your sweet pussy with cum.” He panted the words, trying desperately to hold back until her orgasm hit. He felt her tense up and then relax her hold on his cock as she screamed his name and thrashed against him.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” she screamed. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever known before. Give me it harder, Peyton. Spank my ass. I’m coming like crazy.”

Peyton drove the plug deeper into her butt and crashed his hand over the globes of her bottom, plunging as deep as he possibly could with his cock.

“That’s it, Fabia. You’ve got it all. I’m gonna come now. Take it all, baby. Let me fill you deep.”

“I can feel you coming. Oh God, I’m gonna come again as well. This is insane.”

She screamed, pushing so hard upward that the clit clamp must have hurt. Fabia didn’t seem to care. As he came, he lowered his head and nipped at one of her clamped nipples. She yelled at him to do it harder and came for a third time.

When they were both finally spent, Fabia’s smile was brighter than the sun streaming through the windscreen. Tears of pleasure trickled down her face as Peyton bent to tenderly claim her lips and told her again that he loved her. He’d never said the words to a woman before and had never thought he’d have reason to. But now that he had, and meant it, the woman he’d said them to didn’t respond. Hell, she’d withdrawn to a place where he couldn’t reach her and didn’t seem to have heard him.

“Clyde, you wanted to see me about something?”

David Field stood at the door to the loft at six that evening, appearing preoccupied.

“Thanks for coming, David.” Clyde opened the door wider and stood back so he could step in.

“I don’t have much time.” Field glanced at his watch. “There’re a thousand and one things to do for the gala. Still…Hey, this loft is something else. I didn’t realize it was quite so spacious.”

“Glad you like it.”

Clyde guided him toward the formal seating area, where Peyton waited for them.

“David,” he said, standing to extend his hand.

That was Edmunds’s cue to leave Fabia alone in the study and join them. He did so, in company with one of his underlings. Field glanced at them and frowned.

“Who’s this? What’s going on?”

“My name is Edmunds. I’m with Interpol.” He flashed his credentials under Field’s nose. “We need to talk.”

Field’s face paled. “What about?”

“Sit down, Mr. Field.” He did so, glancing first at Peyton, then Clyde. “Is this your idea of some sort of sick joke? It would be just typical of you two—”

“Money laundering,” Edmunds said succinctly.

Field’s head turned sharply in his direction. “What are you talking about?” But his innocent protestations lacked teeth.

“We know Asimov is laundering Mafia money through the casino.”

“Really.” This time he did manage to look suitably surprised. “Then you know more than I do.”

“We also know that you’re turning a blind eye in return for manipulating the tennis and marina fees.”

Field leapt to his feet. “I don’t have to stay here and listen to this rot!”

Edmunds’s colleague, who was built like a linebacker, blocked his path.

“Sit down,” Edmunds said calmly. “It’s a waste of time protesting, because we know you’re in this up to your grubby little neck. Asimov couldn’t swing it without your help. But it’s your lucky day.”

Clyde flashed Peyton a look that said he never would have known it from Field’s expression.

“We’re not interested in you,” Edmunds continued. “It’s Asimov we want.”

“If he’s doing this then I don’t know anything about it.”

“Fine. If that’s the way you want to play it, we’ll just arrest you and you can tell it to a judge.” Edmunds paused. “Eventually.”

“You can’t arrest me. You have no evidence.”

Edmunds leaned back in his chair, the epitome of calm. “Let’s not waste one another’s time. We know more about your finances than you know about them yourself. People like you always get caught because you get cocky don’t think anyone will suspect you.” He pinioned the man with a sharp gaze. “Unfortunately for you, we’re good at what we do and always know which rocks to look under.”

Field held out for a little longer, his protestations becoming more and more feeble. Edmunds had him, and everyone in the room knew it.

“I didn’t have any choice,” he said, shaking his head and looking on the verge of tears. “Asimov doesn’t take rejection well.”

“So now’s your opportunity to do the right thing.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“We need a statement from you confirming that Asimov is using the resort to launder money. That’s all.”

Clyde hadn’t thought it was possible for Field to get any paler, but the thought of crossing Asimov proved him wrong.

“Forget it. He’ll know it’s me and my life won’t be worth shit.”

“Seems to me,” Edmunds said amiably, “that you have two choices. Give us the statement and we’ll protect you, or keep your mouth shut and hope for the best. But,” he added, waving a finger beneath Field’s nose, “if you don’t give us what we need, we’ll arrest you and make sure Asimov knows you’re trying to save your neck by ratting him out.”

“But…but I wouldn’t do that!” Field’s face had gone from deathly white to beetroot red.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t, but you know how it is.” Edmunds turned his hands palms up and shrugged. “These things tend to get distorted.”

“Asimov is putting a load of dirty money through the casino during the gala, isn’t he?” Peyton asked.

Field glowered at Peyton. “What’s all this to do with you?”

“Just answer the question,” Edmunds said in a monitory tone.

“Yes, he tends to use busy occasions so it’s less noticeable.” Field dropped his head into his hands and shook it from side to side. “What a fucking mess.”

“You didn’t have to get involved,” Clyde pointed out, less than sympathetic. “You could have let him get on with it and turned a blind eye. Why involve Anton and the marina captain?”

“I gamble,” he admitted in a reluctant whine. “Always have. I just can’t seem to resist the thrill of the chase. It’s in my blood.” Clyde blew air through his lips, making it clear what he thought of such a weak excuse. “It got out of hand, and I was in over my head. When I got this job, Asimov said he’d write off what I owed if I agreed to him doing this.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t explain why you were taking a cut yourself,” Clyde said contemptuously. “You could have made a fresh start with the slate wiped clean.”

“I tried to give up the ponies, but I just couldn’t seem to manage it. Just one more big win and I’d quit.” Everyone in the room levelled an incredulous stare on his face. “I know,” he said defensively, “but it wasn’t my fault.”

“That’s what addicts do,” Peyton said. “Always find someone else to blame.”

“I guess I should have looked for professional help, but it’s not always easy to see the wood for the trees when you’re in so deep. I got into debt again, but Asimov already had me where he wanted me. I was implicated by association, and he didn’t need to help me out again. All he said was that if I wanted to earn a little extra I could—”

“Could involve people who needed cash. People who run aspects of the resort that don’t need to equate sales to merchandise.” Peyton glowered at Field. “Presumably, Anton and Captain whatever the fuck his name is were in hock, too, and jumped at the idea. I mean, who’s gonna know how many boats actually stop at the marina and pay mooring fees, or how many people take tennis coaching?”

Field nodded. “We were stupid. And greedy. I can see that now.”

“Bit fucking late,” Clyde muttered.

“Anton got cold feet, which is, I think, why he sent his new assistant to the meeting this week. He’d gotten himself straightened out and didn’t want to fabricate numbers anymore, but I wouldn’t let him quit. He’d gone into it with his eyes open, just like the rest of us, and couldn’t opt out when the fancy took him.”

“He might have ducked the meeting, but he still left fabricated figures for Fabia to present,” Clyde said.

“Yes, that way I couldn’t bawl him out. But he must have known she’d realize they were phony and pull the right ones off the computer.”

“Okay,” Edmunds said, “down to business.”

Field made the formal statement that Edmunds required, which was recorded and sent electronically for some minion to put on paper.

“What happens to me now?” Field asked petulantly.

“It’s absolutely essential that you carry on as normal and that Asimov doesn’t hear about this.” Edmunds fixed him with a menacing stare. “No one outside this room knows who you are, or anything about Interpol’s involvement, so if word gets out it can only have come from you.”

“I’m hardly going to tell him that I’ve grassed him up.” Field shuddered. “In spite of what you think of me, I’m not that stupid.”

Clyde wanted to take issue with that statement but resisted.

“You can have no idea how much my ex-wives fleeced me for. Every fucking penny and then some. They were as much to blame as I was when the relationships broke up, but they took me to the cleaners and got everything. It just isn’t fair. What would you have done in my position?”

No one had anything to say to that, and Edmunds broke the uneasy silence by slapping Field on the shoulder.

“Make sure you act normally round Asimov, because he can detect bullshit a mile away. You’ve finally done the right thing and won’t be arrested if everything goes according to plan and you keep your side of the bargain. But if you don’t…well, let’s just say that you get to choose who you have as an enemy—me or Asimov.” Edmunds’s eyes took on a chilling shine. “Trust me, you really don’t want it to be me.”

Clyde believed him.

* * * *

As soon as Field shuffled off, Fabia appeared from the study.

“I can’t believe he wanted you to feel sorry for him,” she said indignantly.

Peyton shrugged. “Weak people never think they’re responsible for their own problems. In this blameless society we’ve created for ourselves, it’s always someone else’s fault.”

Clyde nodded. “Asimov would have had a lot of say about who was appointed as manager here. He would have checked out all the applicants and realized that Field already owed money at other Russian-owned gambling establishments in this part of Spain. The Russians pretty much have that market cornered, so he’d easily be able to find out.”