Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I suck his dick while I gently roll his ball sack, determined to make him come before I do. The man is an expert when it comes to my body, and he knows where every erogenous spot on me is.
We’re both close to climaxing when his phone starts to ring. We ignore it, consumed with each other. But then it starts to ring again, and I pause, unsure if he needs to get it.
Rather than cutting it short though, he flicks my clit, silently telling me he’s not stopping until I come, so I go back to sucking him off. Within minutes—and several missed calls—we’re both moaning through our orgasms.
I can normally handle the taste of cum—though it’s not my favorite—but the moment it touches the back of my throat, I gag and shoot up.
With my mouth filled with cum, I climb off Matteo, nearly falling over, thanks to my post-orgasm shaky legs, and make it to the kitchen sink just in time to throw up everything I ate today.
“Fuck, baby,” Matteo says, moving my hair out of my face. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I cough, then rinse my mouth out with water. “I think your cum hit the back of my throat wrong.” I turn around and wince. “Sorry about that,” I mutter. “Not exactly the sexiest moment, huh?”
“Hey.” He grips the back of my neck. “I just spent the better part of ten minutes eating your pussy while you sat on my face with my cock shoved down your throat. It doesn’t get any sexier than that. Besides”—he smirks—“I can’t imagine it’s easy to handle all this.” He thrusts his hips, and I chuckle, thankful that I get to spend my life with this man.
I’m about to suggest we take a shower when his phone starts to ring again, and he sighs.
“I’d better take that.”
He leans in and kisses me, not giving a shit that I just finished throwing up. I can smell and taste my arousal on him, and it causes my legs to clench.
Matteo notices and chuckles. “Already ready for round two?” he taunts. “I’m going to see who it is, and then I’ll meet you in bed. I want you waiting for me on all fours with that perfect ass in the air.”
Because he doesn’t have to tell me twice, I do as he said, but when he enters the room and I glance back, I can see from the look on his face that round two won’t be happening.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, flipping onto my backside and sitting up.
“There’s an issue at the port,” he says, his tone cold since he’s switched to business mode. “A shipment has been confiscated.”
A chill races up my spine. “Do you think it was the person who took me?”
“I don’t know,” he says, grabbing his jeans and pulling them up his muscular legs. “But according to my guys, it’s bad … really fucking bad.”
33
Matteo
As I watch the officers sift through our shipments, thanks to an anonymous tip, I try my best to contain the rage that’s simmering below the surface.
As if my brother can sense I’m hanging on by a thread, he gives me a look that says to chill the fuck out, and I clench my fists, knowing he’s right.
When I got the call from one of the cops we had in our pocket, letting me know that shit was about to go down, it was too late to do anything but deal with the fallout.
The shipment, which was supposed to contain pharmaceuticals—legal, I might add—was flagged by maritime law enforcement, the Coast Guard assholes who are in charge of anything and everything related to the shipments when in the water.
They insisted on doing a check, and when the freight was opened, not only was the shipment missing the pharmaceuticals, but it was filled with various illegal drugs, such as cocaine, heroin, ecstasy, and Rohypnol.
South Florida Pharmaceuticals has a multimillion-dollar contract with our port, and it’s expected that their shipments will arrive safely and be prepped to be delivered to their warehouse.
“This is insane!” Ilan Cohen, the CEO of South Florida Pharmaceuticals, barks, glaring at Dominick. “I don’t know what happened, but someone needs to be held accountable for this.”
It’s the middle of the night, damn near two in the morning, yet Dominick and Ilan are both dressed in suits.
“And I’m going to look into it,” Dominick says, careful with what he says so as not to incriminate us. “But we didn’t have anything to do with it. The shipment on your cargo ship was stopped in the water. We only accept the cargo.”
Ilan huffs, and the officer steps over to him.
“Ilan Cohen, you’re under arrest,” he says, taking his hands and placing handcuffs around his wrists.
Dominick shakes his head and scrubs his hand down his face, knowing this isn’t good. The shipment can’t be linked back to us, but that’s not the point. Whoever did this went out of their way to screw over one of our largest contracts. Once Ilan gets out of jail, he’s going to yank his contract with us, and then he’s going to tell everyone he knows what happened, tainting our reputation.