by Pam Godwin
Knowing Mike listened to her having sex with another man was upsetting. But they shared an unusual bond with a complicated background. They would survive this like they’d survived everything else over the past eleven years. Together.
She glanced in the direction of the exit, unable to see his position around the corner. But he was there. She bet her life on it.
From the bag, she removed a laptop, launched a recorded video, and set it on the floor beside Cole’s head.
He glared at the rafters, refusing to look at the screen. The same reaction he had the night she showed him the footage of the drone. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that whatever she intended to show him would hurt. It would hurt worse than anything he’d endured so far.
She pressed play on the video and stepped back, detaching herself from his impending pain. God, how she’d tried to avoid this. Tried and failed.
Because the way to Cole Hartman wasn’t through his stomach or his dick.
It was through his heart.
The video began, streaming sultry music through the warehouse. His entire body turned to stone.
Slowly, his neck twisted, his eyes shifting toward the screen. His expression, starkly blank, gave nothing away. He lifted his head, straining to see around the bulge of his bicep. She couldn’t see the video, but she knew it well.
The glittery costume, sensual hip rotations, long golden hair, and room full of admirers were but a backdrop to the main attraction.
Danni Savoy was stunning. With huge gray eyes, flawless skin, and a body that dripped sex, she wasn’t just a gorgeous woman. She was a gorgeous belly dancer. Dear God, the woman stood on that stage and danced like no one was watching—shameless and serene, self-possessed and sinfully, enchantingly talented. And everyone was watching.
The video captured ten minutes of her performance, focusing on the gyration of her hips, her pretty face, and most importantly, the vulnerability of her position. She wasn’t locked away in hiding. She was dancing in public for all to see.
Lydia didn’t have to voice the threat to Cole. The footage spoke for itself.
“This is where you went for five days,” he said in an eerily calm tone.
“Yes.” She’d driven seventeen hours to St. Louis to locate Cole Hartman’s heart. “Your dancer is extraordinary. Painfully beautiful. If I were into women, I would be obsessed with her, too.”
“I’m not obsessed with her.” His dark gaze snapped to hers, stony and unbreakable. “She doesn’t belong to me, Lydia. You do.”
His erection, which had lost some of its life, hardened anew. With his magnificent body laid out like an erotic buffet, rigid and vibrating, he exuded an animal magnetism that made her feel things, want things that she couldn’t freeze out.
It was impossible not to desire him. Any woman with a pulse would throw herself at his feet. So to hear him say that she belonged to him? It satisfied an ache she didn’t even know she had.
It also distracted her from the job.
He continued to stare, watching her with a brooding intensity in his eyes, the video seemingly forgotten. Why wasn’t he freaking out and asking about Danni’s safety?
Because this was Cole, always in control and one step ahead.
“She might not belong to you.” She crossed her arms, her pulse thudding. “But you belong to her.”
“My position says otherwise. You have me, Lydia.” He eased up on the rope, relaxing his limbs, unabashedly sprawled and fully erect. “Come here, and I’ll show you.”
It had to be a trap, but she was already moving toward it, kicking off her heels as she went.
The music on the video changed, increasing in crescendo. Danni’s hips would be kicking and shimmying along with the beat, but he didn’t glance at the screen, didn’t remove his eyes from Lydia.
As she reached him, she lowered to her knees and slid over his sculpted body, her hands and lips roaming everywhere, trembling and conflicted. But all the doubts in her mind couldn’t stop her from crawling up his chest and touching his beard, his rugged face, those chiseled lips.
“Closer.” Panting, he lifted his head and offered his mouth. “Give me your lips.”
As if yanked by a fist attached to her throat, she fell into him, kissing him with reckless abandon.
He growled, pushing his tongue into her mouth and taking over. Her insides turned molten as she ground down on him, rubbing her pussy against his flexing abs.
Then she broke the kiss, shocked by how wet she’d become. She was leaking all over him and rocking mindlessly, frantically, desperate to be filled.
Rope bound his arms, chest, and legs, but his hips had freedom to move, and holy sweet Jesus, did they move. He bucked beneath her, twisting and angling as if trying to reposition her, as if dead set on taking her this way.
Maybe it was a trick. Or maybe he really did want her. The video started over, blaring its music, but he never looked at it. His gaze never left her mouth.
She grabbed his face and kissed him again. He groaned, thrusting his tongue, bruising her lips, his muscles contracting and writhing beneath her.
Reaching between them, she gripped his cock and stroked him mercilessly. His entire body went rigid, his breathing choppy and urgent, as slippery strings of pre-cum coated her hand. She increased the pressure, ringing him with her thumb and forefinger until he was groaning, thrusting, panting.
“Goddamn, Lydia. Oh, fuck.” He grunted, his sinews straining and creaking the rope. “Put me inside. Right now.”
Sharp longing spilled through her, shaking, building, and hurtling her toward delirium. But it wasn’t enough.
She needed him.
Shifting backward, she clamped her thighs around his waist and brought her tender flesh against the underside of his cock. He was so fucking hard, so insanely turned on he couldn’t catch his breath.
What had sparked it? The glimpse of his dancer on the video?
With more force than was necessary, she smacked the laptop shut and shoved it away. Then she gripped his length between her legs and slammed down on him.
“Ah, God. Fuck yeah, that’s incredible.” His voice scraped, thick with desire. “Now just sit there like a good girl and let me do the fucking.”
Excitement and pleasure shimmered in her blood, heating her breasts and racing her pulse. He arched against the restraints, plowing into her, digging his cock deep, deeper, ramming into the back of her cunt.
Blissfully, maddeningly, she moaned. It felt so good it hurt, building too quickly, too viciously. He stabbed into her harder, faster, his hipbones driving into her buttocks and circling, dragging his length at new depths and angles, and shattering every nerve ending inside her.
Her fingers slid from his face to his flat nipple, her nails burying into muscle and pinning her need against his thrusts. Her other hand clung to his broad shoulder as she leaned toward his mouth, seeking.
He caught her lips, kissing her deep, then deeper with each brutal stroke of his cock. Her hands sought, and his body shook with exertion and pleasure. Somewhere in the recesses of her awareness, she knew she shouldn’t enjoy this. But his kiss generated a craving in her neglected heart. As arousing as it was terrifying, she couldn’t separate her emotions. She could not stop.
She needed more. More of his hunger. More of his kisses. More of his hot, hard maleness sliding and flexing against her.
And he gave it to her, deeper, harder, fucking her mouth as passionately as he fucked between her legs. They were sweat and spit, feral lust and smacking flesh. Together, they were explosive. Unstoppable. Dangerous as hell.
He thrust again and again, the heat so fierce, the sensations so shockingly uninhibited, she burned. Melting from the inside out, she clutched at the rigid muscles of his arms and sank into his strokes.
His aggressive kisses held their mouths together. She opened to him, her lips and thighs, welcoming the invasion, inviting him to take and touch as he wished.
She wanted his hands on her, groping a
nd bruising. She needed his arms around her, wrenching her closer. But he was still restrained. He couldn’t touch her, couldn’t hold her, and she resented that.
His teeth caught her lips, biting wildly, the kiss breaking and reconnecting with the frenzy of their hunger.
“I have a weakness,” he grunted against her mouth.
“Only one?”
“Right now, it’s the only one that matters.” His hands balled into fists above his head, his eyes locked on hers. “Give me your ass.”
“You want to fuck my ass?” Her breath fled. “That’s your weakness?”
“You have no idea.” A shudder ran through him. “You’re so goddamn hot, so unbelievably slick and greedy. The tight fist of your cunt…” He snapped his hips, hammering into her. “Fuck, you make me crazy. I can’t even imagine what your little asshole would do to me.”
A gaping, throbbing sensation ignited between her legs, dripping, swelling, aching to be punished.
“Jesus.” He gasped. “I can feel you clenching. You want it. Christ, I knew you wouldn’t pass up a dick in your ass.”
“You’re so fucking kinky.” She stretched over him, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, with her hands braced on his restrained arms. “I want your dick in my ass.”
“Then spread your cheeks, woman. Don’t make me wait.”
She was far from an inexperienced newcomer to anal. When she was younger, she had a regular lover who preferred her ass over all else.
Relaxation, arousal, and lube were crucial in making it enjoyable, and holy hell, she had all of that working for her right now. She’d never been so turned on, so utterly loose and ready for it. And wet. So goddamn wet her fluids were everywhere, leaking into her crack and running all over his thighs.
She rose on her knees, disconnecting them. He grunted at the abrupt loss of contact, his body stiff and waiting. The folds of her dress kept her covered as she reached behind her and angled his erection between her flexing cheeks.
The head of him sluiced through her slippery crevice until he notched against her back entrance, pushing against the tight outer ring. She breathed in, out, and slowly lowered, pushing down, down, all the way to the root.
So much pressure, the fullness, the overwhelming stimulation… Her body gushed in response, and his echoed her every spasm. He wasn’t breathing, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide and glazed.
Then she lifted, stretching around him and crying out before sinking again.
He choked on a groan and started pumping away, harder, faster. “I’m going to come.”
“Wait.” Her hand skidded down his abs to his hip, holding him fast, while she fumbled beneath the dress to rub her clit.
He didn’t wait. His muscles went taut. His spine arched, and he roared, thrusting feverishly, erratically, and jetting a torrent of hot liquid warmth into her ass.
He came.
At last, he fucking surrendered.
Despite not finding her own release, she couldn’t help but savor the victory.
“Wipe that look off your face.” His voice cut through her like a whip, shockingly cold and mean. “Get off me.”
She flinched, frozen, with him still buried in her rectum.
“Get up!” He punched his hips, dislodging her, his eyes blazing with fury. “Get the fuck away from me.”
Stunned and teetering, Lydia fell off Cole’s lap and landed on the floor beside him.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She shoved to her feet, shaking with her fists at her sides.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve been forcing yourself on me for days, and you have the nerve to ask what’s wrong with me?”
Footsteps pounded behind her, sounding Mike’s approach. When he reached her side, she shivered at anger rolling off him. But neither she nor Cole spared him a glance, their gazes locked.
“Orgasm denial doesn’t work on a man who doesn’t want to come.” Cole laughed cruelly. “He has to be interested.”
“You just came—”
“I literally fucked you in the ass, Lydia. With my hands tied. Let that sink in for a second.”
It sank, and it sank hard, caving in her chest and leaving a trail of ice.
After a long, heart-pounding pause, Cole went in for the kill. “The only pleasure I derived from that orgasm was knowing that while you’re coming to terms with how fantastically you’ve been manipulated, you get to feel my payback dribbling from your filthy asshole.”
Bile hit her throat. She was going to throw up.
Mike lunged forward with his pistol drawn, his expression murderous.
She swung out an arm and caught him across the chest, halting him. She needed to hear this. No matter how badly it hurt.
With a growl, he snatched Cole’s jeans from the floor and tossed them over Cole’s soft cock.
Grateful to not have to see that part of him, she moved to the hose and twisted it on. She could, in fact, feel him dripping down her legs. An irritation that would soon be remedied.
Cole and Mike watched as she lifted the hem of the dress and sprayed off the slime between her thighs. She kept herself covered, but it wasn’t her finest moment.
Her humiliation was absolute, but she hid it beneath a mien of rancor, which she directed at Cole, shouting with her eyes. Fuck you.
The corners of his mouth twisted up, defiling his gorgeous face. So antagonistic, that smirk.
“Danni is surrounded by bodyguards, right?” He glanced at the laptop and returned to her. “You can’t touch her. If you could, she would be here with a gun aimed at her head. The casino has top-notch security, so you couldn’t even plant bugs. You had to wear a camera on your clothes and sit in the restaurant with all the other patrons just to capture a recording of her.”
Her throat closed.
He’d known all along. That explained why the video hadn’t upset him.
Everything they just did together had been deliberately contrived. None of it had been real. How hypocritical of her to think otherwise. She’d been coercing him all along.
Except that wasn’t entirely true. She was using him and at the same time, saving him. She wanted him to survive. And for a fleeting moment, when they were together, she wanted him simply because she wanted to be with him.
“The video was only good as a scare tactic. A hollow threat,” he said, his voice rumbling, crawling beneath her skin. “You’re desperate. That tells me you searched for my friends and couldn’t find them. Danni was your only option.”
Mike stiffened beside her, his finger twitching against the trigger on the pistol. He wouldn’t shoot unless he had to. He wasn’t that impulsive.
She’d tried to track Cole’s friends. But while she was getting him settled in his cell, his friends had fled the states. They were nowhere to be found.
“Why are you telling me this?” She turned off the hose and dried her legs with a towel. “Why not just tell me where the hard drive is?”
“We both know I’m not walking out of here. You’re not going to kill me. But there are fifteen men, including your boyfriend here, who are gunning to rip me apart.”
She ground her teeth, feeling pretty fucking homicidal. “You don’t know me or what I’m capable of.”
“No, but I’ve learned a lot over the past month. Enough to know you’re too soft to torture me.”
“I wasn’t too soft to fuck you, was I?”
“You convinced yourself I was into it, but you feel guilt. Puts a new light on the walk of shame.”
Her cheeks heated, and a ringing sound blared in her ears. She hated him for this. Hated how easily he dissected her.
“You don’t have the stomach for torture, and you’re not cold enough to be a Russian swallow.” His jaw tightened, twitching his beard. “You’re not even Russian.”
The blood drained from her face, chilling her skin. Oh God, how did he know?
She didn’t dare speak, too afraid she would give away more than she already had.
“D
uring the first week, you had a good handle on the accent.” Furrows formed between his brows. “It was stiff, but convincing. Then it started to slip. The more comfortable you were around me, the more your inflection relaxed. Especially when you’re aroused. That’s when I hear the Midwestern drawl. Chicago, I think.”
“She’s lived in the states for years.” Mike shook his head, refusing to give up her ruse. “Of course, she picked up an American accent.”
“That’s what I thought until she made a glaring mistake.” Cole met her eyes. “The day I told you I wanted palimi with sour cream and caviar, you didn’t correct me. You played it off like you knew what I was saying. But you don’t. Blini is a pancake. A Russian staple for breakfast. Palimi isn’t even a word.”
Her lungs collapsed, and her hands slicked with sweat. She’d fucked up, and if Cole saw through her disguise, who else had? If Vincent Barrington was half as smart as Cole, she was dead.
Mike stepped forward, and she recognized the look in his eyes. He was ready to end this with a bullet in Cole’s head.
Cole knew too much. He couldn’t live, and given the fuck-it vibes radiating from him, he’d already accepted his fate.
“Mike.” She set a hand on his forearm and dropped the accent. “This isn’t finished.”
He glanced behind them, confirming they were alone. Then he gave a nod.
“Why Chicago?” she asked Cole.
“Your th sounds get lazy. Instead of zis, you slip into dis. Da hard drive, instead of za hard drive. You’ve used fer instead of for, among a dozen other little tells.” Cole switched to Russian, speaking each word with flawless articulation. “You use Midwestern slang that doesn’t make sense to native Russians.”
He was right. Goddammit, she knew it happened sometimes and tried to cover it. But nothing slipped past him.
She blew it. The gig was up, and she had no idea what to do.
Pacing, she grasped at strings, desperate to fix this. “Tell me who bought the hard drive, and I’ll let you go. Right now. Just give me a name, and you’re free.”
Mike went still, his gaze cutting to her. This wasn’t part of the plan, and he didn’t like it. If Cole went free, he would hunt her down. After everything she did to him, she expected nothing less.