Page 71 of Conning the Billionaire
The spiraling tension cracked, and waves of ecstasy poured through, rocking her back and forth.
Micah grunted hoarsely in his throat. His fingers dug into her thighs.
Kylie spun and clung to him, her body pulsing, her heart racing, her vision of the hotel room blurred by tears.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her against his muscular chest and shoulders while he caught his breath. He ran his hand through her hair and kissed her shoulder and the side of her neck, then he grabbed a thick handful of her hair and guided her mouth to his.
The slow caress of his lips on hers melted Kylie, and she held on, kissing him.
When she finally lifted her head, Micah’s brilliant eyes appeared softer, dazed, and he glanced from her lips to her eyes, staring up at her as if searching.
But he took a breath and rested his head on the back of the chair, whispering, “Good girl.”
Kylie lifted herself off him and climbed off the chair, her legs weak as she held onto the arm of the chair.
Micah peeled the condom off himself, got rid of it, and then returned to her. He whispered near her ear, his breath tickling her ear and neck, “Go in and lie on the bed in case I want to have you again. Leave your phone here, and don’t put your panties back on. Just lie there like my little toy with your naked quim, waiting.”
Kylie put her phone on the side table and walked into the bedroom, her legs crossing each other as she staggered. She did what he said, flopped down on the wide bed, her face buried in the thick comforter. Air conditioning from the vent in the ceiling chilled the backs of her legs and arms. Her body was so limp-noodle that she couldn’t even roll over.
As her mind slowly recovered, neurotransmitters building up to the levels from before the orgasm had blasted through her brain, a thought floated through Kylie’s mind.
Dammit, he’d distracted her.
23
HACKING
MICAH
Micah watched Kylie waver as she walked to the bedroom, catching herself on the doorframe and pausing, head down, before she stumbled toward the bed.
The door swung shut slowly but stopped halfway.
From inside the bedroom, the mattress springs creaked, and he could see Kylie’s small foot dangling off the end of the bed, sole up.
She was lying ass-up on the bed, her thin dress clinging to the roundness of her butt cheeks.
Micah could walk in there and slide one hand up the inside of her thigh, caressing her with his fingers until she came again.
Or he could find out whether he was going to be murdered that afternoon.
He ducked behind the minibar and opened a drawer, retrieving the satchel Arthur had passed to him on the boardwalk the previous evening. Inside, a variety of tools and some rope that might be put to various purposes cluttered the bag, but he found a small pouch holding a dozen or more thumb drives.
The drives had numbers printed on them—codes, one might say—and he selected one that was black with a red stripe. The numbered codes on them were meaningless. The plastic color told him what their function was.
When he pulled off the cap, the USB connector was small, designed to be a micro-USB instead of a normal, square one.
He strolled over to where Kylie had left her phone, which was at least five years older than the newest model. With a quick glance to assure himself that her tiny feet were still dangling off the end of the bed, he jammed the USB drive into the charging port of her phone. The screen came to life in his hands, glowing and already open to the home screen.
Even while he thought that surely Kylie wouldn’t be texting Salvatore Grande about their imminent plan to ice Micah, perhaps he could glean whether or not a plan was in motion.
On the other hand, the men of the Honored Society were both arrogant and careless. Micah had listened to legendary wiretaps where a Mafia made man had asked a hit man, “You got the shirts? You got the bullets for the shirts?”
He went through Kylie’s phone.
Normal texts, normal apps, and even her pictures were as innocent as could be as far as Micah was concerned. Before last week, she had text strings and pictures on her phone to be used as evidence in her confidence scams, but those had ceased after she’d met Micah again.
Even her Flash/Chat app, where the texts supposedly disappeared but could be easily retrieved by law enforcement and that peculiar thumb drive he’d just inserted into her phone, was nothing but a stack of periodic welfare check-ins with her friends.
