“Marcus Yang, an operative from Beijing specializing in air pollution and pollutant migration. Works for the CIA. Andre Yokovic, bioweapons tech. He's an inventory specialist at Langley and speaks Russian, Ukrainian, English, and Spanish. Thomas Presley, chemist and professor of biochemistry and organic synthesis at NYU. Carl Bradsheir, lawyer at Bradsheir, Dawson, and Lohan, senior partner.” He ends the app and sends an encrypted email to Griffin.
“I need a copy of those names,” I tell Griffin without emotion but my heart is fluttering. Carl is working with some pretty intelligent folks all seemingly involved with the CIA.
The Christopher Street Society has often been known to associatewith politicians and wealthy elites. We are entangled in the government at every level, but this speaks to something more deeply involved. Perhaps they are partnering together, vying for a contract and working all angles of a possible pitch. If they haven't already secured a contract with the US government they might be trying to sell the drug and with it, they'd have ultimate power.
“Thank you,” I say to Matthew and Griffin. “If we’re done here, it’s been a long night. I’d like to retire with my wife.” I essentially dismiss the gentlemen and our suite is empty within minutes.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Scarlett
“That went much better than I was anticipating. In fact, unbelievably well—so good I question whether any of this is real.” Beckett seems to have been pondering as he speaks out loud.
“Do you think your friend would betray you?”
Already my head hurts with how uncomfortable the night has been—listening in on a conversation and trying to watch my words around Beckett's friend whom I don't know well. Could we trust a police officer working outside of his job description to identify men who held positions of power and likely wanted to remain anonymous?
“Griffin is a jerk, but I’ve known him my whole life. He wouldn’t take a bullet for me, and I wouldn't take one for him either. He isn’t going to betray me, not for something like this. We’re on the right side of ethics here.” He approaches me with a slow, seductive walk. “Now it’s time to celebrate. I can approach the head of CSS with this information and leave it in his hands. I don’t believe Carl is acting on his orders.”
His big hands bracket my sides as he slips them under the straps of my shirt before sliding it off my shoulders.
“Bold move wearing only this.” He dips his head and kisses my tit, making it harden and spike with need. He bites the fabric, threatening, enticing, making me want him. “Bedtime.”
He lifts me into his arms and carries me to the suite.
“Don’t you want to go home?” I ask as he sets me on the massive bed draped in gauzy sheer curtains.
“My cock can’t wait. We’ll go home in the morning.”
I laugh at my husband—still strange to think I have one.
“Your cock is as demanding as you are,” I laugh, kicking out of my sweats and ducking my tank top over my head so I am lying there naked before him.
Asa dancer, I am very used to being naked; however, what I am not as accustomed to is the heated look in Beckett's eyes.
“Fuck me, Scarlett,” he says under his breath. “You’re a fucking goddess.”
He quickly undresses and stands before me naked and hard as a rock, his cock piercing glistening in the low light.
We've been having sex every night, and I still haven't gotten over that first initial look of him. He is tall and so muscular, chiseled like he is made of stone. Every time he disrobes when I am in front of him, his cock is rock hard, rigid, and standing upright with pre-cum already beading at the pierced tip. It is as if just the sight, smell, or thought of me has him aroused beyond comprehension.
“Oh, your cock is ready,” I tease as he nudges me to move over and make room for him.
“It always is with you,” he says, confirming something I already know.
Possessive and demanding, his mouth claims mine in an ardent kiss.
Throughout the day he peppers my forehead, cheeks, and sometimes my lips with soft, passionate kisses. His lips are pillowy and warm, and he takes advantage of any opportunity to deliver a kiss, but this isn't that. It isn't a warm welcome to a wife or an affirmation of some kind of glowing adoration swelling within him.
No, this is possession. This is lust. This is fueled by a manic need to satisfy his urge.
Luckily for me, I am just as hungry for him. Our lips lock with one another, and I taste the mint and manliness of his mouth. His tongue demands my attention, as does his hand roving over my back into my buttocks, massaging my cheeks as his cock grazes up and down my belly, hard as stone. We kiss for some time until my chin grows raw with the stubble on his face, and then he pulls away to stare at me, looking deep into my eyes.
“You are the most beautiful thing,” he says. “A dangerous temptation that makes me forget everything except you. I could get lost inyou, in the idea of you, in the experience of you and everything that you are.” He kisses me again and continues pressing kisses into my neck where he sucks hard against my bone, marking me with his desire. “You are all.”
I arch into his kisses, my hands banding around his back, feeling his buttocks mirroring his movements as my heart races and my skin prickles with desire. His touch is practiced and confident—the touch of a man who has mastered the art of pleasure.
“You’re dangerous too,” I breathe into his chest.
