Filed to story: Submitting to My Bestie’s Daddy Read Online >>???
I groaned and forcibly removed his hand from my breast. “You beast! I need sleep. Food. Something to drink!”
James chuckled and simply moved his hand between my legs. “Are you sure?”
What he did to my cl*t made me nearly cross-eyed.
“Uh…” I stuttered.
“I didn’t think so.” James worked me with his fingers, and my body woke again under his touch.
“You don’t play fair,” I whimpered with need.
James kissed the back of my neck. “Who says I’m playing?”
“I d—” My words ended in another orgasm, James having expertly drawn it from my body.
“I like the way you sound when you come,” James whispered hotly in my ear.
“Ngh,” I replied, unable to answer him.
James brought his fingers to his lips and licked them before putting his hand back on my breast. “Maybe I should let you rest now.”
“Ngh,” I agreed with a nod.
James slipped a leg between mine and stroked me.
This time, however, I was too tired to respond.
“You know we’re going to be okay, right?” James said after a while, still stroking me. “We’re going to resolve this Alessandro situation, go home, have lots of babies, and live happily together for the rest of our lives.”
I laughed tiredly. “You’ve… got it all… figured out.”
“I do,” James said. “I’m going to take care of you, and any children you bless me with. We’re going to be a happy family.”
“Sounds… nice…” I replied wistfully.
“It will be. It will be perfect. This right now, this is just a small hiccup,” James reassured me.
“A small… hiccup,” I repeated with a yawn.
James chuckled and kissed the back of my neck again. “You go ahead and sleep. I’ll wake you up when I need to.”
“When… you need to… what?” I asked drowsily, looking back at him.
James wiggled his eyebrows at me.
I groaned. “You are… completely merciless… James Valentino.”
“I am,” James said. “And you love that about me.”
I didn’t answer because sleep came and dragged me under before I could.
Later, I didn’t know how much later, James woke me to kisses along my neck, his hand massaging my breast. He was already in me, pumping slowly in and out.
“Italian Stallion,” I mumbled aloud, still barely awake.
Mona, Private Investigator.
James Valentino was one of those clients you just couldn’t say no to.
I’ve had a few high-profile cases before, and even those guys didn’t pay as well as Mr. Valentino. Sure, it was sometimes hard to get in touch with him, but oh boy, he paid on time and more than what was asked.
So, naturally, I wasn’t going to complain when his investigation led me to the Sirens dance club at 3;00 AM.
The bouncer at the entrance eyed me suspiciously as I approached the door. They probably didn’t get a lot of women, and from what I read on its website, it was supposed to be a slow day.
“Identification.” He extended his hand toward me.
As if I could pass for someone under 21.
“Here you go, sir,” I said, slipping a $100 bill under it. He glanced at my ID for a split second and returned it, sans the bill.
There really was no reason for him to turn me down, but the little extra was just to ensure I got what I wanted. Surely enough, he opened the door and let me through.
Everything about the “accident” Chad was involved in was shrouded in mystery. The police reports were conveniently lost in paperwork at the station, and the officer who had arrived at the scene was on paid leave for the foreseeable future. No way to contact him, of course.
When I had tried to talk to the doctors who assisted Chad, one paramedic panicked and literally ran away from me, and the ER doctor threatened to have me tossed out the door like a sack of potatoes.
But here, among the multi-colored lights of the smoke-filled strip club, I had found gold.
Sasha Lace, stripper and escort, who happened to be on the boat that night.
Finding her had been a stroke of luck, if I was to be honest. My tech guy provided me with footage of the security cameras in the marina, and he recognized her from this place. Said she was his favorite dancer.
Thank the stars for lonely nerds, I guess.
I had taken a place near the back where I could watch without being seen, and soon enough, the last act of the night came onstage.
Sasha wore a pink wig and a tiny, silver and golden bikini and impossibly high heels. She swayed her hips to the rhythm of the music and wrapped her leg around the pole, swinging her body around it as the few guys up front tossed her some bills.
On the night of the incident, the cameras caught her running from the boat the second it hit the pier, while the other girls stayed behind to get paid or talk to the other guys who had witnessed the whole thing.
Why had she fled like that? And what had she seen?
Before her act was over, I headed to the bar and requested a private dance.
“She’s expensive, that one,” the woman said, gesturing toward Sasha, who had now lost her top and was on the floor with her legs sprawled.
“Tell her I’ll pay triple her fee,” I said, handing the woman a folded $100 bill. “This is so you’ll get the message to her. I’ll be at the back.”
With a wink, I returned to my spot and waited for Sasha’s dance to be over. Some guys picked up the tips from the floor, and she scurried backstage, sending kisses flying to her patrons.
The woman at the bar promptly headed backstage as well, hopefully to convey my message. If she took too long, I’d have to go try to catch Sasha outside, and that wasn’t going to be the best place to have a chat with her.
Soon enough, Sasha exited the door behind the bar with the woman, who then pointed at me. In a split second, Sasha resumed her character–she stood up straighter and her mouth took on that seductive shape she had used while onstage–and she sauntered toward me.
