AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When we stepped out of the shower he toweled my hair dry and wrapped me modestly in a robe, pulled on a pair of sweat pants and led me into the room just off the bathroom. I followed, half dozy, half apprehensive.
He picked me up and lowered me gently onto the massage table. It was covered in soft blankets, and gently warm. He peeled away the robe and rolled me onto my stomach.
"Put your head in the hole," he told me. "Just relax."
I wasn't certain I had ever once been relaxed around Cole St. Martin. But I did as he said and he draped a towel over my lower back, ass and the top of my legs. I heard him moving around the room. Morning sunlight came through the skylight. Even on a cool October morning it felt good, and the table was warmed and the blankets soft. I was almost asleep when he started.
His hands, covered in warmed oil, began gently working my neck. His fingers went in circles, rubbing out stress, rubbing in oil, edging just into my hair. He was so close and so gentle. When he started to speak, it took me by surprise.
"I've had my people hacking into judicial systems here in the Valley," he said. His lips were against my ear, his breath warm. His hands moved down a little, starting to work my traps.
I was still relaxed, but my focus had changed. I was actively listening. This was what I'd wanted to know, the topic that had sparked the confrontation that led to everything happening.
"Nobody seems to know the exact number of judges in the ring, but none of them are as high as the State Supreme Court." He smoothed over a couple of tense places with his thumbs, warm, slow circles.
I thought to myself that State Supreme Court had fewer judges than the lower courts, and that it might be the highest state court, but there were federal courts as well, both the federal court itself with branches in Northern Nevada and Southern Nevada, and the bankruptcy court, also a federal court and also at both ends of the state. That was a lot of judges, and it added a lot more chances for judges to be part of it.
I didn't mention this. It was too much trouble to speak. Also I didn't offer my opinion that there could be bad cops and good cops being blackmailed and professional people from other areas, like medical, who had access to people's personal information as well as access to people in vulnerable situations. He'd undoubtedly thought of it.
His hands moved down to my shoulder blades. Still warm and caressing, but somehow speeding up.
"The number of girls disappearing has remained steady over the months. No one had gotten greedy."
Sliding his hands down to my waist, moving them outward in circular motions, driving out tension. I melted into the table.
"The first girl went missing just about fifteen months ago. One or two a month. A nice tidy nest egg for somebody, I guess."
I thought it was more likely that the other professions filled in, or there was a trail he hadn't discovered yet. It was way too hard to convince myself to speak. I'd have time to say all this.
Cole's thumbs slid down, warm and oily, to the spot just above the twin dimples most people have on their ass, the place where tension gathers and refuses to relinquish its hold. I sighed into the sensation.
"There's a good chance the police are in on it," he said.
That I almost answered because we already knew they were. It was the police who had twice taken me before lustful, trafficker judges. Before I could decide whether to stir and speak or wait until a later discussion, Cole said, "Of course we know the police are involved. But it seems there's more of those of Samuel's ilk who are taking matters into their own hands."
His hands were moving harder on my skin, thumbs digging in like a deep tissue massage, which definitely wasn't what my ass needed. I tried to shift, the most delicate protest, and Cole's hands pinned me to the table.
"More than thirty-five girls if we're reading it correctly. Thirty-five young women." His hands slipped down and I froze, then started to try and move from him. The massage continued inexorably, his thumbs and then knuckles beginning to dig into my bruised ass. I sucked in air.
"Then you figure the ones we don't know about from the sources we can't name. What does that make it if we double it?" I both wanted information and to distract myself.
It didn't completely work. His hands were so intent. I moaned, under my breath. His massage had turned to knuckles rubbing over and over at the welts on my ass, reawakening the weird itching pain that made me want to run and run and run to get away from the anxious sensation.
"There's not enough information my hackers can find. Not enough to lead us to them but enough to make us think something else."
I thought I knew what was coming. The idea of some of the missing girls, those with Have you seen posters, would eventually turn up, and not alive.
Cole's knuckles traveled down and now he was massaging between my legs, hard, insistent, making me flinch and try to crawl away at the same time I wanted to push back against him, feel his knuckles there, rub myself against him. He kept pushing harder, increasing the pressure. My breath started to come very short.
"Seems possible there's something outside Nevada, participation on a worldwide scale. That could mean organized crime." His voice was still low.
His knuckles pressed into me now rhythmically, pressing and releasing, pressing and releasing, fucking me without entering me. I couldn't hold still. My hips pistoned up and down, keeping his pressure on me, keeping him in contact with everything from front to back, catching the pressure on every spot that wanted it.
He shifted so he was standing more behind me than beside me. His other hand came down, easily slipping between my cheeks. His knuckles began to push there, too. For a second I stopped, uncertain. Unwilling. And then I was shoving against him, feeling my heartrate climb, my body heat, my blood race.
"You'll need to go in like you did before. Get picked up somehow. I'm worried about that."
"What?" The word came out easily because he'd surprised me. Cole St. Martin didn't admit to worrying.
