by Tracy Wolff
For a while, her connections hadn’t bothered him—hell, they had made the whole dismantling of the escort service easier, as the commissioner had been more than willing to help them protect the names of the clients. Names of some of the men who did more than just sleep with his whores. Names of men who were neck-deep in the other side of the business and would do anything to keep their extracurricular activities from being discovered.
But after the plea bargain was done and the evidence put away, when Veronique had been in prison, he had tried to have her taken out. After all, she knew far too much about him—about how his operation worked—and leaving her alive was a liability he just couldn’t afford.
But Beauchamp, the bastard, had kept the bitch protected even in prison. And Gregory had lost two of his best female assassins before he’d figured that out and decided to leave her be—for a while.
But now, now Micah was telling him that the stupid whore was becoming a distinct liability. She had met with Lacey yesterday morning, had talked with her for nearly an hour. God only knew what the two of them had talked about, but if Veronique had let anything slip, she was a dead woman—important lover or not.
No, fuck that. She was a dead woman no matter what. He couldn’t afford the liability of keeping her alive.
He glanced at Jim sharply, who was staring straight ahead while he went through the file. “Did you look at this before you gave it to me?”
“No, Mr. Alexandrov. I knew you wanted to see it as soon as it arrived. Should I have?”
“No, no, it’s fine.” He flipped through the pages of the report. “But I think we may have a problem.”
Jim’s eyes grew just a little more alert, and his body language changed until he went from looking like a mild-mannered assistant to the dangerous predator he was. His chameleonlike abilities and his skill with a knife were just two of the reasons Gregory kept him around.
“I think it’s time to take care of the little problem we’ve been talking about. She’s becoming a liability, one that I don’t think we can afford any longer.”
“I see. And is there any particular way you’d like it done?”
“Make it look like a mugging—or a rape. The last thing I need is her pain-in-the-ass lover up in my face. And make sure the body is found, quickly. I want it to serve as a warning to anyone else who is thinking of betraying me.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll take care of it today.”
“You do that.”
After Jim had excused himself, Gregory flipped through the file one last time. Reread all the information Micah had included on Lacey. Stared at the pictures his men had taken of her. And seethed that the one woman he’d truly wanted in more years than he could count might very well be the one who could cause him the most problems.
It wasn’t an insurmountable problem; there were ways to secure her so that once she was in his world, she could never get out. Ways to keep her from writing the damn book even as he fucked her brainless.
With a muttered curse, he turned to his computer and typed in the Web address of the blog Micah said Lacey ran in her free time. Then stiffened as the hot-pink and black blog flashed on his screen, complete with Lacey’s deepest, darkest fantasies.
He scrolled through the blog entries, noting, with rising fury, the number of comments on each one. Most entries had at least a hundred comments—a hundred men lusting after Lacey. A hundred men imagining what it would be like to fuck her.
It was enough to make him want to set the whole damn world on fire.
He stopped scrolling abruptly, read the fantasy he’d landed on with ravenous eyes.
You follow me onto the elevator, your hands already on my ass. On my tits. And I know the second the doors close behind us, you’ll be covering me, your body pressing against mine as you lift me up and sink your cock inside me.
I’m already wet and creamy at the thought, my pussy drenched with the need to feel your cock inside me. But I want you everywhere and don’t know where to start—with my hand, my mouth. My cunt, my ass. I want to take you in every part of me, want you to brand me, to ride me. To fuck me.
Closing his eyes, Gregory imagined Lacey at his mercy. Imagined her on the floor in front of him, her glorious red hair streaming over her naked breasts as she fucked him with her mouth. He would be gentle with her the first few times, earn her trust. And then he would take her harder, make her scream his name in pain and pleasure. Make her want him until she didn’t care where they were or what he did to her.
His dick hardened, punching a tent in the front of his tailor-made trousers. He reached a hand down, undid the zipper. Started to stroke himself as he imagined it was Lacey’s hand around him.
Yes, he thought as his breathing grew ragged, it was definitely time to set things in motion. He was getting tired of waiting to make his fantasies a reality.
His question hung between them, and Byron watched as Lacey struggled to find the best way to answer it. Her teeth nibbled at her glorious lower lip, much as he liked to do, worrying it as she searched for the right words.
Finally, just when he was sure she wouldn’t answer, she said, “I didn’t choose you. I couldn’t resist you. There’s a difference.”
His cock, which had been hard as hell for what seemed like hours now, somehow got even harder. His palms literally itched with the need to touch her, to hold her, to pull her to him and take her in all the very many ways he wanted to. But she was telling him things he’d never find out another way and he wasn’t going to call a halt to that.
Still, there was so much he wanted to say to her, so much he wanted to do to her, that restraint was a physical ache within him. Somehow he managed to hold himself back, to simply say, “I’m glad,” and leave it at that as he waited for her next question.
“Why do you want me?” she whispered.
For a second he was sure he had misheard the question, then nearly laughed when he realized she was serious. “How could I not?” he asked.
She never looked away, but he watched as her cheeks turned rosy with embarrassment. “Very easily.”
He did laugh then. “I don’t think so.” He stepped closer, no longer giving a damn about the game or the rules or anything else that didn’t involve touching Lacey. “I want you because you’re the most exciting woman I’ve ever met. You’re smart and charming and so beautiful that sometimes it hurts to look at you.
“You make me think, make me laugh. You shake me up and make me work for every smile I get from you. You’re real in a way nothing has been for me in a very long time.
“Why do I want you?” he echoed her question. “Why on earth wouldn’t I want you?”
For long seconds, she didn’t do anything but stare a him with her shamrock eyes. Then, just as he’d decided she wouldn’t respond, she whipped her camisole over her head and stood in front of him, bare from the waist up.
Heat exploded inside of him, both at the sight of her and at the vulnerability she was showing. The fantasy he’d read earlier on her blog—the one where she had imagined stripping for her lover—came back to him; tonight’s game had been his effort at making that fantasy a reality. But the game had taken on a life of its own, and now they were both more vulnerable—more emotionally naked—than either had been expecting.
And still it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted all of her exposed to him—every inch of her gorgeous, feminine body. Every emotion in her guarded, generous heart. Every thought in her agile, interesting mind. He wanted it all. And now, at this moment, knew he would do whatever it took to get it.
Without taking his eyes from hers, he unfastened his pants and let them—and his boxers—fall to the ground at his feet. He stood before her more vulnerable than he’d ever been in his life, and hoped she understood what he was offering.
She walked toward him slowly, her arm outstretched as if she couldn’t wait to touch him. But then, when she was inches from him, she paused. Let her hand drop back to her side. Slowly shimmied out of her sweats a
nd panties until she too was completely nude.
The sun had set at some point during their little game, and her skin gleamed like alabaster in the moonlight. Her long, silken hair tumbled over her shoulders in a fiery waterfall, and her beautiful body urged him forward like a siren’s call.
Hunger rose in him—sharp, hot, all-encompassing—and he wanted nothing more than to take her with all the pent-up need he had inside him. But she wanted more than that tonight, and he wanted it for her. He would take it slow with her—savor her. Then maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to calm his raging instincts.
Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her until he was drowning in her. Kissed her until he didn’t know where she left off and he began. Kissed her until she felt the same way.
He wanted her on fire, wanted her burning with the same need that threatened to eat him alive. He wanted to slip past her defenses, to see every secret part of her. He wanted—just once—for her to trust him enough to lose control.
He needed her to lose control. As he skimmed his lips over her razor-sharp cheekbones and down the delicate skin of her jaw, the world around him began caving in. He wanted her arms around him, her body beneath him, wanted to take over every part of her so that he knew that she was his. So that she knew it too.
Reaching for him, Lacey cupped his face in her hands and brought his mouth back to hers. The second their lips met, he gave himself over to the conflagration gathering between them, around them.
With a groan, he slid his tongue inside her mouth, thrusting between her lips like he wanted to thrust between her thighs. Demanding more and more from her, demanding all that she had to give.
Lacey whimpered at Byron’s blatant invasion—his blatant claiming—and tried to pull away, to regroup. But he refused to let her go, his tongue stroking every inch of her mouth. His chest pressing against hers. His arms, holding her tightly to his long, lean body. His hips thrusting his hard, thick, long cock against her pussy until she was crazed with the need to have him fill her.
Tangling her tongue with his, she sucked him fully into her mouth and stroked the bottom of his tongue with her own. He growled deep in his throat while his hands tangled in her hair, holding her face to his.
Lacey relinquished his tongue with a moan, tilting her head back until she could see his face. Until their eyes had once again met. His were so black that the pupils had disappeared, so deep that she swore she could fall in and keep falling.
But wasn’t that what she was doing already? Falling for him when she’d promised herself she wouldn’t? Falling for him when she knew she would only get hurt again?
Usually, the threat of more pain was enough to get her to back off. Enough to let her convince herself that the blog was all she needed. Enough to let her believe that she didn’t need to be held. Didn’t need to be loved.
As she looked at Byron in that moment—at the tenderness and the desire that existed side by side on his face—she knew that she’d been lying to herself.
She didn’t want to pretend anymore. Didn’t want to get up in the morning and tell herself that it was better that she was alone. For a while it had been better, but not now. Not with Byron and his incredible lovemaking in her life.
No, she was much better off being with him than she was being alone. He made her happy. She knew, of course, that that also meant that he could make her sad. He would make her sad. She understood that, just like she understood that what they had wouldn’t last.
But she was okay with that. Okay with having Byron for the six or seven months she was in New Orleans. Okay with letting him heal her battered body and soul. And when it was time to let go, she’d be okay with that too.
As she looked into his eyes and dared him to do whatever he wanted with her, she promised herself that she would be just fine when he left. Told herself—and him—that she could take anything he needed to give her and then some.
It was all the invitation he needed. Breathing harshly, he backed her up against the glass door that led to the balcony and held her there as his lips ran over her neck and shoulders and the hollow of her throat.
Fire raced through her wherever he touched, and she could tell he felt the same way. His breathing was harsh, his muscles tight, his cock huge as it nestled in the juncture of her thighs.
And he was staring at her, watching her, with eyes of liquid ebony. She glanced down, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to see herself through his eyes. To understand what made him lick his lips while he gazed at her, to know why his cock jerked and surged against her in such violent arousal.
Her breasts were full, swollen, her nipples bright pink and hard as rubies. Her skin was pale, the blue veins of her breasts evident beneath the oh, so delicate skin. Overwhelmed, aroused, operating on instinct and the need to drive him as completely insane as he was driving her, Lacey bent her head and trailed her tongue over the curve of her breast and down until she reached her nipple.
Byron didn’t move, didn’t betray his reaction by so much as a muscle twitch, and sudden embarrassment bloomed within her. Maybe she’d done the wrong—
“Do it again.” His voice was rough, distorted, and she knew she had nothing to be embarrassed about.
His jaw was rigid and his teeth clenched, his skin pulled tautly over the sharp planes of his cheekbones. His hands had clamped around her upper arms, in a painless but unbreakable grip.
“I said, ‘Do it again.’ ” The words were even darker, even lower than the first time.
“Do what?” She licked her finger, trailed it in lazy circles over her right breast and then the left. Then dipped lower to lightly graze first one distended nipple and then the other.
He growled low in his throat. It was a warning and a declaration, and she took delight in defying him. In seeing just how far she could push him.
“Do it!” It was an order, one she didn’t mind following in the end. With a secret grin she complied. But this time, as she did it, she kept her eyes opened and fastened on his face.
His arms locked around her, caging her in a silken trap that for once she had no desire to escape.
“Touch yourself. I need to see—”
His voice trailed off as she reached down and cupped her breast in the palm of her hand while she squeezed the nipple between her thumb and forefinger. It felt good—really good—and her breath sighed out while she stroked her nipple.
“Fuuuuuck.” It was one long, drawn-out syllable, and she relished this small example of her power over him. Then Byron was wrenching her hand away, replacing it with his mouth and showing her what power truly was.
His tongue licked over her—softly, gently, tenderly. Tears sprang to her eyes at the care he was taking with her, but she blinked them back. She wasn’t going to cry—not this time. No matter how sweetly he made love to her.
His mouth turned rougher; darkness and flames licked their way from her nipples to her stomach, down her arms and legs, until they coalesced in the ache between her thighs.
“Byron, please.” She thrashed against him, bucking and arching as she tried to coax him into giving her what she wanted. What she needed.
He only laughed and pulled his mouth away completely, his breath a soft breeze over her achingly aroused flesh. She grabbed his head in her hands, her fingers tangling in his silky, too-long hair as she tried to force his mouth back to her distended nipple.
“Don’t tease me,” she pleaded as she arched against him.
“Baby, I haven’t begun to tease you.” He curled his tongue around her areola, sucked it into his mouth with a power so strong he had her gasping. The pleasure was so intense she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming, the sharp nip of his teeth taking her arousal to a whole new level.
“Fuck me.” She didn’t care that she was begging, didn’t care that she sounded hot and needy and completely overwhelmed. The only thing she could think about was getting him inside her, and she would do anything to get him there. Risk anything to have him where she so desper
ately needed him.
“That’s what I’m doing.” His breath was hot against her breast, his hair cool against her neck and chin. She was pushing against him, whimpering, pleading with every weapon she had for him to put her out of her misery.
He refused to be hurried, no matter how restlessly her legs moved against his or how desperately her hands clenched in his hair. He pushed her and pushed her, licking delicately, nibbling softly, until she was on the brink of sobbing. Only then, when she was strung tight and on the edge of madness, did he drop to his knees in front of her.
“Oh, God!” She couldn’t stop the whimper that welled in her throat, any more than she could keep from twisting the blond hair in her suddenly tight fists.
Rough hands parted her trembling thighs, and he stared at her with burning, intense eyes. “God, Lacey, you’re so fucking beautiful.” He reached one calloused finger out and stroked right down the center of her.
She trembled again, his words and touch arrowing through her brain to her heart and onto her sex in one burning line. No man had ever looked at this most private part of her and called her beautiful before. No man had ever stared at her as if it was agony not to be inside her. The thought made heat explode within her, shooting her arousal from hot to feverish to downright frenzied. She could feel an orgasm welling powerfully within her and she stood there, shaking, while he brought her right to the brink with almost no effort at all.
“I like this,” he murmured, leaning forward so his mouth brushed against her bare stomach and the small turquoise star tattoo. “I forgot to tell you that last night.”
“I got it when I was in college—a reminder of where I wanted my writing to take me.”
He nuzzled the small tattoo, licked it. “All the way to the stars?” he asked.
“Yes.” She gasped the word—the best she could manage—as desire made her light-headed.