Free Double Lucky by Jackie Collins

on top of her and going at it like a randy dog was enough. No foreplay, no words of desire, nothing, nada —just an angry hard-on and a fit of manic energy as he pumped away, heading toward his own satisfaction like an express train, not at all concerned about her orgasm.
    â€œYeah, pie-face, you sure are one lucky little girl,” Anthony agreed, still vigorously thrusting back and forth.
    Even though Anthony was only thirty-nine, Emmanuelle had a sneaking suspicion he took Viagra to make sure he stayed hard. One time she’d discovered a couple of the telltale blue pills in his jacket pocket, and when she’d asked about them, he’d gotten furious and informed her they were for headaches. Some headaches!
    Rapidly getting bored with Anthony’s lack of skill, Emmanuelle decided to fake it early, hoping it might make him come. She began her own personal ritual, a series of long, drawn-out sighs, followed by cries of “Oh, Anthony . Oh yes, yes, yeeees! You make me so wet and creamy. Oh, yeeees , baby, you’re the man, the big, big man .”
    She was done, finished.
    Not really, but let him think she was.
    Contracting her vagina, she squeezed his cock tight.
    It did the trick. He hurriedly pulled out and spurted all over her stomach.
    Anthony refused to wear a condom; he also refused to come inside her. Emmanuelle knew it was because he didn’t want to take the risk of getting her pregnant.
    Ha! Like she would want his baby. All she wanted from Anthony Bonar was material goods—in her name. And the sooner, the better.
    *   *   *
    Two minutes later Anthony was standing in the shower scrubbing off Emmanuelle’s scent. Once the sex was over he had nothing to say to her. Fact is, he had nothing to say to women period. The only woman he’d ever come across worth a dime was his formidable grandmother. Now, there was a woman who gave as good as she got. He admired her, yet at the same time he was more than a little scared of her. Ridiculous really, because Anthony was never scared of anyone or anything, but sometimes Francesca made him feel exactly like the twelve-year-old boy she’d plucked off the streets of Naples and given a life. Some life it was too. He was rich, and in his world extremely powerful. He could have more or less anything he wanted, and he did. Yes, he’d come a long way from his impoverished childhood with an Italian mother who’d worked as a maid, and an American father who’d never bothered to acknowledge him.
    Now, if he was to satisfy his grandmother, he had to bring the Santangelo family down. And Lucky building the Keys in Vegas had given him the perfect opportunity.
    *   *   *
    Two days passed before Irma spotted the young gardener again. This time she was determined to take it a step further since a so-called friend had sent her a newspaper clipping of her husband exiting a nightclub in Miami with the piece of white trash he kept stashed in an apartment there.
    Anthony had some gall to flaunt his “girlfriends,” or “cheap hookers,” as Irma thought of them. It infuriated her. Didn’t he give a damn?
    Apparently not.
    Well, if he didn’t care, why should she? She’d sleep with the gardener and to hell with her controlling husband. Let him see how he liked it when she did it back to him . Not that he’d ever find out, but she would know, and that was enough to satisfy her.
    It was late afternoon and the older gardener was nowhere in sight. However, Luis was there, on his knees, tending to the rosebushes.
    After a few moments of indecision, Irma approached him. “ Hola , Luis,” she said, fanning herself with a magazine.
    Unfortunately, her Spanish language skills were quite limited, although she was well aware that hola was a familiar greeting used by friends, and Luis was not her friend, he was her employee, or rather Anthony’s employee—which would make