Page 15 of Wild Card
She cries out, her body tensing as she cums. Her pussy clenches around me, milking my cock. I groan, my own orgasm building. I thrust into her a few more times before exploding, my cock pulsing as I come deep inside her.
I pull out, my cock glistening with her juices. I smack her ass again, making you jump. "Fuck, Aria. That was... intense."
She stands up, turning to face me. She leans in, kissing me softly. "It was," she agrees. “I’m yours, Presley, I always will be.”
My heart melts. I’ve been wanting to hear those words since we first started working together. Something about her… there’s just something I can’t articulate. I don’t know if it’s love… hell I don’t even know if I’ve ever been in love before. But I know I want her, and only her, for the rest of my life.
CHAPTER
SIX
ARIA
It’s late.I’m stretched out across the long conference table, one arm draped over my eyes, trying to remember what sleep feels like. My back’s going to hate me for this later, but right now, I don’t care.
Across the room, Presley’s still sitting upright, scrolling through messages on his phone, frowning like the world just handed him a fresh problem.
“Tell me you’re reading memes,” I mumble.
“Nope.”
“Then lie to me,” I groan. “Just this once.”
He stands, the chair scraping softly against the floor. “Wish I could.”
I peek out from under my arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Two messages,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Both interesting.”
That tone—half grim, half wired—snaps me fully awake. I sit up slowly, the table cold against my palms. “Alright. Hit me.”
He holds up his phone. “First one’s from one of my guys. Used to be a jeweler before he got into security analytics. He took a look at the high-res photos Vincent sent over of the recovered jewels.”
“And?”
“He thinks they’re fakes,” Presley says flatly. “Excellent replicas, but still fake. The gem cuts don’t match the originals. And the metal alloy readings from the laser scan are slightly off. He says there’s no way those are the same pieces we logged during intake.”
I blink, processing. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
I slide off the table, standing now. “So, the janitor ‘returns’ the jewels, Vincent tells everyone the case is closed, and the jewels he brings back aren’t even real.”
“Yup.” Presley taps the phone again. “And that’s not even the weird part.”
“Oh, fantastic. There’s more.”
He gives me that lopsided half-grin I’m starting to recognize as his version ofbrace yourself.“Second message’s from an old college buddy—he’s with Vegas PD now. He says they got an anonymous tip this afternoon.”
“About?”
“That they’ve got the wrong guy in custody. The tip claims Ronan—the janitor—was framed. And whoever actually took the jewels is still out there.”
The room feels smaller all of a sudden. The hum of the monitors gets louder.
“So someone planted fake jewels,” I say slowly, “and pushed for a confession from the least likely suspect. Why?”
He shakes his head. “Could be to make the casinos look like they handled it fast. Could be to cover for someone bigger.”
