Tinted City Scene Email Header-15.png

EPISODE TWENTY-FIVE

Please remember these episodes are unedited and protected by copyright laws. You cannot copy, paste, or print them.

 

With Colby’s interest in Isabelle lighting a fire in my gut, and Isabelle’s squeals of excitement reminding me I’m not as old as my competitors believe, I spend the next forty-five minutes putting the wave runner through the ultimate test of endurance. 

We glide over the salty water like ballerinas tiptoeing across a stage, spin around buoys like barrel racers fighting for a personal best, and our skin soaks up the late fall sun like it’s the middle of summer, but not once does the thread in my shorts snap under the strain of having Isabelle’s body plastered to mine.

The heat of her pussy on my ass doubles with every wave we jump, and the hardened peaks of her nipples scrape my back with each jolt the wave runner makes, but her breaths on my neck are responsible for the constant firmness of my cock. They’re needy and full of want, and I’m not a man who holds back when an opportunity for greatness is bestowed upon me.

When Isabelle scoots back, endeavoring to put distance between us before I realize how close she is to answering her body’s every whim, I curl my hand around her thigh and tug her back in. She’s so near, even if the heat of her pussy didn’t expose her aroused state, the increase in her panted breaths when she stops fighting the jarring movements of the wave runner would. 

Although her body moves in sync with the jet ski, her crusade to unravel me is smooth and enamored compared to the uneven and shaky advancements of her breaths. She floats her fingertips over the bumps in my midsection before shifting her focus to the fine hairs splayed across my pelvis. 

Just when I believe I can’t get any harder, her tongue laps up a salty droplet of water from my back. I groan a wanton moan when the lashing of her tongue is quickly chased by her pinkie finger grazing the tip of my engorged knob.

 

The wetness glistening on the crown of my cock encourages her pursuit. With her breathing steady and the fleshy globes on her chest pressed firmly against my back, she slides her hand into my shorts.

 

Precum seeps into my black swimming trunks when she circles her hand around my twitching shaft, but regretfully, her boldness ends there. 

“Just like that baby,” I instruct after curling my hand over hers to guide it up and down my rock-hard cock. 

I direct the movements of her hand for an additional half a dozen strokes before releasing it from my grip. The throb making my dick ache doubles in intensity when she continues stroking me without further prompting. She glides her hand up and down my densely veined shaft, her pumps quickening when each pump adds volume to the droplet of precum on the tip of my cock. 

After skimming her thumb over my crown to gather up the sticky blob, she uses it as lubricate for her faultless pumps. The fervent moans seeping from her mouth as she drives me crazy spur me on. I rock my dick in and out of her circled hand for the next several minutes, grunting when the urge to come draws my balls in close to my body. Her hands on me feel good, real fucking good, and it has me eager for so much more.

“Fuck, Isabelle,” I grunt out on a moan when she adds a second hand into the mix. She cups my balls to massage them in rhythm to her strokes. Her pumps are seamless, and they soon have my astuteness teetering on the edge of a very steep cliff.

As the wish to double the heat scorching my ass pummels into me, my race to climax hits full speed. Her lush tits are scraping my back, her panted breaths are beading condensation on my neck, and the scent of her pussy is growing more ardent the longer she strokes my dick. I’m racing for the finish line, certain this is the beginning of a weekend-long fuck-fest, then I catch sight of a wave runner in the distance.

My jaw tightens when I freeze Isabelle’s stroke mid pump. Her groan of disappointment kills my mojo even more than the gleaming grin on Colby’s face. He knows what he’s interrupting, and he assumes his arrival will stop proceedings.

I have news for him.

I don’t release Isabelle’s hand when she attempts to slide it out of my swimming shorts. I keep it curled around my cock, where it’s meant to be, and where it will stay no matter how loudly Colby objects.

After pulling his wave runner next to ours, Colby asks with an arrogant smirk, “Are you guys okay? Are you out of fuel?” 

I wait for his eyes to lift from the extended crotch of my shorts to my face before replying with the same edge of haughtiness to my tone. “We’re a little busy.” 

With his brow arched and his grin not as prominent as it was earlier, he strays his eyes to Isabelle. If being caught with her hand down my pants isn’t already inflaming her cheeks with heat, the arrogant wink Colby hits her with will soon have them firing up. 

As stubborn as he is cocky, once he returns his focus to me, Colby tosses me one half of a rope tied to the back of his Wave Runner. “Here, let me tow you back.”

“We don’t need a fucking tow.” I toss the rope back at him before hitting him with a warning-filled glare. Wanting to stay one step ahead of my competitors is what made me the man I am today, but another factor was differentiating the difference between a sure-fire winner and a loss that will see you lose more than a bit of self-confidence.  

Colby will not win when it comes to Isabelle, so he should back down now before he loses more than he can afford to part with. 

My jaw firms to the point of cracking when my endeavor to give Colby his marching orders sees Isabelle slipping her hand out of my swimming shorts. Her wordless rejection gives Colby’s cockiness a second wind. “Come on, Isaac, everyone needs a hand every now and again.” 

When Isabelle burrows her inflamed face into my back, Colby chuckles. His lack of respect triples my murderous gleam, which is the final warning he needs to back away. “I’m just joshing with you, Isaac. Don’t be so riled up all the time.” He steadies the revs of his wave runner before disclosing, “I just came out to tell you Henry Gottle is here to see you.” 

I curse under my breath. With everything happening, I completely forgot about the meeting I had organized with him weeks ago. Not since we were jumped by a group of thugs has he visited my home turf, so I took advantage of his fondness of Mummon Koti to commence a conversation about a matter that’s been giving me the runaround the past several months. I need his expertise, and although I’d give anything to act ignorant to that fact, ignorance is not a strong point of mine.

The firmness of my jaw is heard in my words when I say, “Thanks, Colby. Tell him I’ll be there in a few minutes.” 

I don’t know if it’s the gratitude in my reply or the angst in my tone that sees Colby leaving after only the quickest flirtatious gesture directed Isabelle’s way. Whatever it is, I’m glad his exit is done without additional commentary. What Isabelle and I are tiptoeing toward is already ambiguous. I don’t need her barriers up even more than they already are.

Once Colby’s jet ski is a dot on the horizon, I twist to face Isabelle. Her cheeks are a cock-hardening hue of pink, and her pupils are massively dilated, swamping her rich chocolate eyes.

 

After gathering her hand in mine, I kiss the edge of her palm before promising, “We’ll finish this later.” In a bed, where I can take my time with you.

I wait for confirmation to flare through her eyes before spinning back around and commencing our trip back to the jetty. Her silence is off-putting but understandable. It isn’t every day you’re busted doing a sex act in public.

“Let me,” I request when our arrival at the jetty is followed by Isabelle tugging on the zipper of her wetsuit.

I glide the stiff metal latch down the generous swell of her breasts, past her flat stomach before stopping at the apex of her pussy that’s scent grows more pungent the longer I loosen the damp material hugging her curves. 

My nostrils flare to suck in her delicious smell when I tug the rigged material past her thighs before fanning out the openings so she can slip her feet out. I feel the increase in her pulse more than I hear it when I cover up the lower half of her body with the demin shorts she kicked to the side before our enthralling jet ski ride. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs breathlessly when I fasten the latch and do up the button.

After gifting her a look that announces it won’t be long before I’m undoing them, I curl my hand around hers, then guide her back toward Mummon Koti.

 

I begin to wonder if Isabelle’s childhood memories are as movie-like as mine when her heart rate breaks into a cantor when we enter the room Henry agreed to meet me at. Although Henry Gottle, Snr. did everything in his power to stop his son from being harmed by his enemies, Henry is well known by them. Col isn’t the only mafia powerhouse scrutinizing his every move the past thirty years. Isabelle’s father has been as well.

“Henry,” I greet, drawing his focus to me. “Sorry, I forgot about our meeting.” 

“That’s fine, Isaac,” Henry replies before shifting on his feet to face Isabelle. “I can understand your forgetfulness.”

Although his tone is playful, I don’t appreciate his prolonged gawk of Isabelle’s body, and the pitch of my tone warns him of this. “Isabelle, this is Henry Gottle, a business associate of mine.” 

He bites at the bait I threw out without pause for thought. “I would have said long-time friend… but I guess business associate will have to do.” 

With a subtle grin that advises he knows he overstepped the mark, Henry holds out his hand in offering to Isabelle. She accepts it, albeit hesitantly, either unsure about my rapport with Henry or uneased about his earlier appreciative gawp.

I work on settling her first dilemma. “I may have said friend if I weren’t left handling the repercussions of your wretched wife.”

“Try living with her,” Henry scoffs out with a groan. “Three years I had to put up with that.”

 

I shudder at the thought of the hell he went through before snickering about his misfortune. I cautioned him numerous times that Delilah was bad news. It was unfortunate for him he was blinded by her sharp wit and usually unappreciated attractiveness. 

Delilah is beautiful in her own right. She just has a feisty edge that scares men unwilling to share the control.

Once I settle my laughter, I get down to business. The more time I spent with Henry, the less time I’ll have to devour Isabelle. “Well, I got her out of your hair, and now I’m calling in those chips.”  

When Henry’s eyes shoot to Isabelle, panicked we’re not talking in private, Isabelle reads his unease as if they’ve met before. “I’ll go and grab some lunch.”

Her steps to the door slow when I mutter, “If you want to stay, Isabelle, you can stay.”

My offer raises her lips, but it doesn’t keep her at my side--regretfully. “It’s fine. I’m famished anyway.” 

After a final grin that exposes her appreciation of my offer, she saunters out of the room, closing the door behind her. Eager to get things wrapped up, I commence my negotiations with Henry before the lock latches into place. “I need you to find a loophole in the UFC so my fighter, Jacob, can fight a current UFC contender.”

Jacob has been fighting for me for almost two years now. I stumbled onto him when he needed a lawyer and I needed a hook to keep me familiar with men I’ll never work for but will forever be associated with.

You can’t keep one step ahead of your enemies if you don’t know where they are and how they operate.

Henry unbuttons his suit jacket before propping his backside onto a desk at the side of the room. “Jacob was banned from the UFC, wasn’t he?”

I jerk up my chin. “Although under the circumstances, the embargo is both unfair and unjust. Jacob was arrested for defending his girlfriend.” When Henry tries to scoff at my claims, seemingly aware of the significant damage Jacob inflicted on Lola’s ex-boyfriend with his bare hands, I talk faster. “Whom the claimant had assaulted only hours earlier.”

Henry cocks a brow. “Do you have proof of this?” The interest on his face wanes when I shake my head. “Then I can’t help him.”

“Lola wouldn’t press charges.”

“Then she needs to understand she’s partly responsible for his ban.”

His snappy attitude takes a step back when my fists ball so quickly, the popping of my knuckles sounds over the growl rumbling in my chest. “I thought of all people you’d understand a victim’s apprehension about coming forward.”

“Don’t do that, Isaac. Don’t go there.”

“Why, Henry? Because you only give understanding to the people you know?” I don’t give him the chance to answer. “That’s bullshit. Jacob’s claimant pinned Lola to the wall by her throat, then threatened to kill her. Jacob protected his girl like any man would, including you and me, yet he got both a criminal record and permanent ostracism from an industry he could dominant if given the chance, where all you got was a slap on the wrist.”

“Because he fucking raped her!” he screams in my face, his jaw tight. 

It firms even more when I toss open the manilla folder sitting on the desk his ass is propped against. Although most of the damage Lola’s ex did was to her face the night she ended their relationship, there’s no hiding the bruises on her inner thighs when she clambers out of the bedroom window of the home they once shared. 

“Do they look like love bites to you, Henry?”

He takes in the images with balled hands for several heart thrashing seconds before he locks his wet eyes with mine. “I can’t push aside protocol, Isaac. I don’t have that kind of pull.”

“I’m not asking for an official UFC fight. All I want is for Jacob to have the chance to rectify an injustice in a fair manner.” I push away the images of Lola until a photograph of the last time Jacob fought The Constrictor, Lola’s ex-boyfriend’s older brother, pops up. “This fight was rigged. The one you organize won’t be.”

Henry is more like his father than he cares to admit. He’s fair, unbiased, and knows not always does justice prevail without the slightest bend to the rules. He just doesn’t have an army of men ready to wage a war on his behalf. He only has himself.

After several long seconds of deliberation, Henry mutters, “If we do this, it will take time, money, and a heap of ass-kissing I have no intention to pucker up for.” When I nod without pause for thought, he reiterates certain aspects of his reply. “I said ‘we,’ Isaac. As in us. Here. Now. This very minute.” His lips furl into a shit-eating grin at the exact moment the entirety of his statement smacks into me. “So, it’s time to pick your poison, doll-face. Fix an injustice or head out for another handsy water sport activity with a sexy brunette who has you acting more your age instead of my father’s?”

While hitting him with a rueful glare, wordlessly announcing I do not appreciate his tone, I use the intercom to request for Ruel to bring me a change of clothes. 

“Right away, sir,” Ruel answers, forever on the ball when it comes to ensuring his guests are comfortable. “Is there something else you need?” he enquiries when I fail to latch the hook back onto the receiver. 

“The guest sharing my room—”

“Isabelle,” he interrupts.

I murmur in agreement. “I’m going to be held up with a business matter for the next couple of hours, so please ensure she doesn’t wait for me before eating.”

“Very well, sir. I will do that.”

“Also,” I snap out before he disconnects our connection. I wet my lips, spin away from Henry, then mutter, “If Colby happens to accompany Isabelle for lunch, send someone to fetch me from the private library in the west wing.”

“Colby?” Ruel asks, acting daft. Even when Mummon Koti is at full capacity, he knows every guest by name—most particularly ones with Attwood/McGregor lineage.

McGregor. If Colby McGregor is seen with Isabelle, I want to be immediately informed.”

“Very well, sir,” he repeats, his tone more indulged. “I will be sure to do that.”

After thanking him with a grunted huff, I return to the hook to its receiver before spinning around to face Henry. “Think very wisely before you speak, Henry,” I warn upon spotting his chortling expression.

Isabelle’s intoxicating scent is still lingering in the air, and my cock is aching. Now is not the time for him to mess with me.

“My lips are sealed,” Henry promises while backing away with his hands held in the air. “Although I should probably tell you your shorts aren’t.”

With the grin of a man not in fear for his life, he drops his eyes to the crotch of my shorts—my almost exposed crotch since the thread holding the Velcro material together has finally relented to the pressure of my cock squashing up against it.

xx

  • Black Facebook Icon
  • Black Instagram Icon