Charity's Secrets (7 page)

My
thighs are quivering around him. He wants to make this last I can tell; I can
see it in his eyes, but we both know that can't happen—not here. Any moment,
Lena or John will come looking for us, wanting to fill him in on our news.

"Finish
me, I'm begging you," I plead.

"Now
that
I believe," he breathes.

He
lifts my ass off the desk higher onto his lap so that his cock is ramming
upward in me, into my G-spot. Now he's able to use one of his hands to thumb my
clit, and my climax returns.

I hold
on to his tie for dear life. The pulsing inside begins to grow, becoming a
rhythmic
whomp
that controls the humping and thrusting of my hips. It's
all I can do to keep from shouting. The office holds its sound well, but I
don't trust it to scream the way I need to. His thumb slips up and down my
stiff trigger, dipping into my folds briefly before moving back up, stretching
it out of its hood.

Before
I can cry out, I hear Justin's breath catch and a low rumble emerge from his
chest. He knows I'm close, and he sets himself free. The ecstasy on his
gorgeous face tips me over the edge. I cannot see his orgasm without erupting
in my own. All the muscles in my vaginal path contract, becoming the epicenter
of a massive explosion of joy that consumes every inch of me from my trembling
legs to my hands still yanking his tie.

Justin
rubs my clit until I can't take his touch any longer, twitching and jerking
myself away from his hand. I pant, trying to catch my breath as his large cock
slides out of me, happily spent.

As he's
done since day one, Justin insists I clean up first in his private restroom. He
goes in after me and I watch him dress again when he comes out, smiling at him
for making me so happy.

He
reads me well and comes to me, softly cupping my face with his hands. "I
missed you, Warrior," he whispers before kissing me.

Swoon!

JUSTIN IS INTENTLY LISTENING
to everything we have to tell him.
Sylvester silently paces around almost looking confused that we are not paying
attention to him; his prerecorded snarling is wasted on us. We have the large
display littered with our latest surveillance files, trying to decipher the direction
they are pointing us in.

At the
top left corner of the screen, our guy, Mr. John Roberts. His name has been
around a long time in a great many financial and political circles. His family
was huge in Southern oil, their influence grew to infamous proportions. If you
wanted to create a political backing team, you wanted him on it. Fortunately,
he's one of the founders of our client group. Owning politicians has been vital
to his family's businesses for years. Our group didn't go after him to include
him, he practically made it himself.

So it
was not surprising that he was approached by someone else to see if he wanted
to join their group. Nor was it surprising that he brought it right to Justin
when it happened. He doesn't want anyone fucking up his investment. He wants it
fixed, and Justin is his guy for that.

Blake
Adams was the next connection on the screen, the man that had approached Mr.
Roberts a while back. The rest of our group isn't yet aware of this, only Mr.
Roberts and we know about it, but that has to change soon. Blake is less well
known, but almost as wealthy—a great combination. He's in Properties
Management; the buying, leasing, and selling some of the largest buildings in
DC, Dallas, Miami and New York.

Blake
looks like the complete sleaze, flowing, half-curly blonde hair, a crooked
smile, and a twinkle in his eye that warns you that you're about to get fucked
in the ass before he wipes himself clean on your sheets and leaves while you're
crying. He is not someone Panther can just go throw some wire taps on to catch
him. He was sure to have his own security group, the problem was—who is it?

Justin
asked Mr. Roberts to string Blake along for a while to get more information,
but it wasn't working, and more importantly it was becoming too dangerous for him,
and Justin refused to put him in any risk. Before the meeting with Lewis today,
Justin had met with Mr. Roberts and told him to bail out.

Mr.
Roberts wanted to keep going and tried to refuse but he trusts Justin, always
has from what they've told me. Once Justin explained risk of exposure to Lewis
and the entire team, he consented. There will be other ways to find out what
was needed.

This is
where our latest information comes in. I'm paying the upmost attention now,
hanging on any reaction from Justin. If we are in any danger, this is where it
will come from. Whether they plan to come for Justin, or for me to get to him,
if we are going to protect each other, we have to start here.

If we
were
followed at the wineries, then they are already on our tail, and the group is
in jeopardy. Even if not, we don't have much time and this is the way. If
they're onto us or not, this is how we stop them, this is how I protect the
love of my life. I can't stand being away from him for a single night. I'd hate
to imagine anything more serious keeping us apart.

We've
had Blake Adams followed for the last few weeks, starting not long after we
were successful in Lewis winning the election. Justin wanted to wait for that,
to see if anything would come out on its own during election process. He didn't
think it would and he was right, but it was better to be careful. The special
election happened too soon for anyone else to react and we had the jump on
everyone since we orchestrated the whole thing in the first place.

Someone
out there wants this seat and they don't think Lewis is the man for the job.
But they're being careful, and they might know who we are; they might know what
they're up against. That gives them an advantage, because we're just starting
to get a clue.

Every
other file up on the screen is a result of painstaking surveillance, monitoring
everyone Blake Adams has had contact with in person, by phone, even through
email, and weeding that list down to anything possibly related to Blake, Lewis,
or politics at all.

And now
we have a few names for Justin.

Blake
had two brief meetings, one with Teresa Holster, a lobbyist for the health
insurance industry, and another with Nelson Seals, Farming and Agriculture.
This normally would have meant nothing, except Teresa and Nelson, two people
that have nothing to do with each other, have been meeting with each other
constantly. According to their phone records, it began right after we made
Senator Wilkins resign and the seat was open.

Justin
was reading their files, separating them from the rest. "They're in,"
he says flatly. "They have no business talking to each other otherwise, so
this
is their business. There's no past overlap or connection between
the two of them, or with Blake Adams."

He
looks around at us just to be sure we all agree, and we do.

"We
need to back off of Blake now and start following these two," I say full
of confidence.

John
and Lena look surprised to hear me say that. They stare at me, waiting for me
to explain myself.

"Blake
is a money guy. He'll be more careful, more conscious of us on his tail. These
two, they're pawns. They have to stick their necks out more often than the
others, and they haven't had to develop a wicked sense of suspicion about
everyone around them the way their wealthy counterparts have."

Lena
looks proud of me. So does Justin.

I
continue, "We can get the inside on these two easier, reduce our risk.
They'll lead us to the other pawns, and we'll be able to connect the dots from
all the pawns to all the power players."

"What
about their candidate? Shouldn't we be trying to find out who they're looking
to move in?" John asks. His top button was undone, his tie loosened. I
expect that when he stands, one side of his shirt will be untucked.

"We
are," I answer as-a-matter-of-factly. "He'll be one of the pawns—like
Lewis. Their candidate is not critical, we have someone more important to find,
and not a lot of time to do it."

"Who's
that?" John asks, looking upset to be the last one of us to put it all
together.

"Me!"
Justin snaps. "We have to find our counterpart, their security—and
hopefully before they find us."

"HERE
YOU GO, GUYS
,"
Trisha says happily, bringing us an open bottle of Shiraz and filing our
glasses. She looks beautiful as ever in the black top and pants they wear here.

"How's
Sam," I ask quickly before she has to saunter off to other tables.

"Hot
as always," she jokes, flaking her pretty smile. "I'll miss him
tonight, but he's all mine tomorrow."

She has
an order up and vanishes into the kitchen to get it. I love seeing the bounce
in her step. Almost fittingly, "Roar" by Katy Perry begins to drift
out of the speakers.

Around
the bar, all the familiar faces of the regulars are here. Four Guys are here,
that's what Trisha and I have begun calling them. They're more regular than
Justin and I are capable of being. It seems they practically live here five
nights of the week. All of them are nice guys. I remember the night they jumped
in to help me stop Justin from killing Steve right here in the Grill. There's a
few scattered couples around the dining room that I see often as well.

This
place has a feeling like being home, and I need that now, with Christmas
somehow already just two days away.

How
the fuck?

I'm
excited as hell, but it's certainly different experiencing a holiday in the
city. There was an early snow yesterday that helped. It was only a soft
dusting, nothing sticking to the ground, but for a bit it was comforting like a
little piece of home falling from the sky.

It was
going to be my first Christmas ever away from home, from my family. Even
through college, I made it back for every big holiday. There's just no time
this year with Melissa coming right after and I think Justin needs more
prep-time to build in to meeting everyone.

Justin
senses my sudden sadness. "Thinking about home again?" he asks softly
with an understanding that makes me love him more each time I see him.

I nod
at him because I don't want to talk about it; that makes it worse every time.
He reaches across the table and holds my hand, rubbing his thumb over my
knuckles gently.

We
placed our order with Trisha a short time later, and while eating Justin has me
laughing again, my dolefulness eventually dissipates into nothing. Thinking
about the way he lifts my heart makes me want to kiss him again and again. The
food vanishes from my plate in between furtive glances at his sexy green eyes
and his busy mouth. I'm almost sad when the food is gone.

Trisha
clears our table after we're finished. "You two are so cute
together," she tells us. "I love how much you adore each other,
anyone can see it in your faces when you look at each other." Apparently
my furtive glances hadn't been so secretive to everyone.

I blush
slightly—because that's what I do.

"Seriously,"
she continues, "Four Guys just ordered a round of shots for themselves and
toasted to "finding the one" after they looked at you two. I think
you're fuckin contagious."

Insert
snort-laugh here.
Dammit!

"She's
reminding me of John right now," Justin says as she walks away with our
plates. "Has he ever given you his insight on the city having
emotions?"

I
laugh, being careful not to snort again. "Oh my God—
yes.
And it
makes so much sense the way he tells it."

"Right?"
Justin agrees loudly.

The
last of the wine is in our glasses now, the empty bottle is feeling sad and
lonely now that it's been discarded to the edge of the table. I swirl my glass
around, watching the wine spin for no particular reason other than something to
do during a short quiet moment. Justin checks his phone and it's as contagious
as watching someone yawn, making me grab my phone out as well. I tap in my key
and watch as the screen comes up. Instantly, I see a strange icon up in the top
left corner and press my screen off as fast as I can, hoping Justin doesn't see
it.

I have
that notification set to silent for just these moments, when it was best no
one, especially Justin, hears a thing. There's only one reason that icon is
there right now. I throw my phone back in my bag as if there's nothing
interesting, and I wait for enough time to pass that my actions won't be
obvious when I bring my phone to the bathroom with me.

There
are ways around obstacles, you just have to look for them. Justin can track me,
listen to my calls, read my texts, probably even get into my account history
for my cell, but—at least for now—he's not expecting me to have a private email
app.

It nags
at me insistently now. I've found him, and it didn't take nearly as long as I'd
thought it would. No one else in the world has that address, it must be him.
His voice wafts out of my bag, beckoning me, begging that I respond.