Wild Card (Vegas Underground 8)

And like every time, I respond.

I’m on her in a flash, walking her backward until her ass hits the wall. “Now you’re in trouble.”

“Yeah, I should’ve waited until I peed.”

“You should’ve,” I say, but don’t let go. I’m rubbing between her legs and she gets wet by the second swipe. I thrust a couple fingers inside her and she rises up on her tiptoes, her back sliding up the wall.

I’ll make it fast, since she does have to pee. I have a constant boner for her, so I don’t need any foreplay. Just a quick application of a condom and I’m buried deep inside her, shoving her ass up that wall with each pounding thrust.

She wraps her legs around my waist, arms around my shoulders. I fuck her until she’s babbling my name, begging for release.

“Can you come on command?” I ask.

“You already know I can,” she says, which is true. I found that out at her place, which seems like a million years ago.

“Then when I say come, you’re gonna come, and you’re gonna squeeze my cock so good I’ll forget all about fucking that ass today.”

“I’m ready now. Please now.”

I watch her face as I slam in, jackhammering her into the wall, watching her need grow more and more desperate until I can’t take it anymore.

“Come, Caitlin.” I shove in deep and shoot my load and squeeze one of her nipples hard.

She screams and comes, her juicy pussy milking the cum from my cock until I get lightheaded from the release.

“Paolo,” she murmurs as I coast in and out, stroking her through the aftermath.

Turns out I fucking love hearing my name on her lips, especially in that breathy, sexy way.

I slide out and slam in. “Say it again.”

“Paolo.”

I meet her eyes and see a streak of vulnerability. Right before she covers it with sass. “Now you want me to say it.”

“You’ll say whatever the fuck I ask you to say, right, little girl?” I bump my loins against her again.

“Do you tell all your shakedowns that?” Again, the vulnerability. She’s been asking this shit a lot. She wants to know where she stands with me.

My mouth twists into a smirk. “Not from this position.”

She laughs. Not a crazy laugh, but a genuine, beautiful, musical laugh.

I find myself grinning back at her—which feels fucking good, because I never grin.

I pull out and set her down. “Go pee.”

“Yes, Mr. Tacone.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and blinks rapidly at me.

I smack her ass.

Cute as fuck.

I really don’t want to let her go.

Caitlin

I didn’t know how late I slept until I come out of the shower and find out it’s already 1:40 p.m.

I sort of dash for the computer to check on the money balance. Am I even close to making the amount required by the deadline? What happens if I don’t make it? Surely he’ll cut me a break? He was just balls deep between my legs.

But I really don’t know this guy. He’s dangerous, for sure.

“Where are we?” He stands over me.

“One hundred thirty-eight.”

“Getting there.”

I look up at him. “Do I get a few hours leeway? You know, if it’s all not there by the deadline?”

“Yeah, doll. We’re good. I can see you’re putting in a good faith effort here.”

Good faith effort. The effort that’s going to get me sent to prison for ten to twenty years.

Damn.

I go into his workout gym and get on the treadmill. I stay on it until he drags me off two hours later and I can barely stand on the stable ground.

He grips my elbows to hold me up. “We’re good. Money’s close enough. You can shut it off and I’ll take you home.”

I know my crazy is in full force when my first emotion is disappointment. Like I don’t want to leave.

And that’s as cray-cray as it gets.

“And my brother? He’s off the hook now, too? You’ll pull your guys off him?”

“No one’s touched him, Caitlin. He doesn’t know any of this happened.” He brings his face up to mine. “No one will, right?”

“I won’t talk.”

“You won’t do anything that will make me come look for you again. Capiche?”

“Yeah, I capiche.”

“Get your shit together. I’ll take you home.”

I’m slightly bewildered about the sudden dismissal. I doubt we reached two hundred thousand yet, but I’m not going to complain.

Because that would be nuts.

I’m going home.

I shouldn’t feel so damn disappointed.

Abandoned, even.

Man, I really am a nut-job.

Maybe it’s just because I know that after this I’ll be going to jail. I don’t know if it will take them a week or a month or a year to trace me, but I imagine they will. Even if I spend the rest of the night trying to wipe out that bank account’s existence from all records.

I pack up my stuff and Paolo takes me to the Porsche. True to his word, he lets me ride in front this time.