Chapter 17
Suds
The room at the Four Seasons, large by DC standards, shrinks daily, and after a week, I fear the women may kill each other.
Wheels and I, however, have no problems. We take shifts and watch the hallway. We know for a fact the FBI rented the room next door and if they’re not working with the CIA, I will eat my hat. More concerning are the nosey neighbors down the hall. I’m damn sure they’re up to no good.
When Sam texts me from her new job, I meet her in the lobby. “What’s up?”
“My boss gave me fifty cold-cases. I already located two of the suspects who they claimed were impossible to find. It’s such bullshit they fired me. I am so better than them.” She motions me to the bar and while we wait for our coffee, I ask about our client. Hopefully, we can find who’s trying to kill her and go home.
Sam slurps her brew, makes a face, and begins the tedious task of pulling tabs from miniature cream containers. “Do you remember how Selena said she was almost run over in a parking garage?”
“Yup. Why?” With the tiny drops of white not doing much good, I stretch for another bowl, and slide it in front of her.
“Well, get this. I found a guy who claimed a couple men in a dark car threatened him with an or-else.”
I whistle through my teeth. “Damn.”
“Right? So, anyhow, I have Jason cross-referencing people and places this lobbyist has in common with our sex-worker.” She purses her lips, then tips her head toward a guy drumming his fingers on the bar. “Check out Mr. Tapping. He’s way too interested in our conversation.
“So is his partner, ZZ Top.” I glance at the bearded man sipping a foamy brew under a garland of pine and poinsettias.
She empties her mug and motions me to the uni-sex bathroom. A good move on her part. We can talk without them listening in.
“I made an appointment with the lobbyist. He thinks he’s meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Walton. We’re the black sheep of the family.” She opens her phone and shows me a fake social presence. “Jason’s been busy.”
I shake my head at her audacity. “So, we’re supposedly related to the billionaire founder of the chain store?”
“Mmm hmm. You’re a beloved second cousin twice removed. I’ve got a team working on disguises.” As she beams up at me like a kid on Christmas morning, I hate to burst her bubble.
“It’s all good except for one serious flaw.”
“What’s that?”
“Babe, babe, babe. No self-respectin’ Texan would marry a Brooklynite. How about you let me do all the talkin’?”
“Says the rambling record holder?” Her brows raise.
“Oh, now you’re gonna get it. Say uncle.” I tickle her ribs and hold her while she giggles and tries to break free.
“Stop. Okay. Truce. Uncle, uncle!”
Letting go, I make the mistake of believing her and she jumps up and attacks my underarm. “Gotcha.”
Laughing, we pause for air but now, my willie is chomping at the bit. It’d be a damn shame to waste this opportunity. This in mind, I cup her chin, and kiss the living b’jezus out of her.
My hands slide under her button-down blouse, and I push up her bra to give me access to her lush breasts. Teasing her nipples, my tongue parts her teeth, then dives in and out as I grind against her.
I draw a heart in the steamy mirror as she releases my belt, unlatches the top button, and unzips my fly.
“Sugar.” I shudder as her cold fingers wrap around my cock.
The other hand drops my pants to my thighs. With her thumb arousing my tip, I release a bead of cum, and she leans over to lick it.
“Going to be fast.” I turn her around, slip off her jeans, and press her to the wallpaper.
“Go, dammit.” She pulls my hand and presses my fingers to her wet clit.
