by Nicole Snow
I still worried, told her I didn’t like her going alone to meet strangers. The housing market was just getting back on its feet in Reno, and some of the old foreclosures she was trying to flip had vagrants or worse milling around inside.
Some of those places became drop sites. Meeting places for men like Lucient to make deals of his own in the underworld.
Jess laughed it off. Didn't see the danger of showing up alone in the evenings, especially when she swore she was packing the taser and 9 mm I'd given her.
She appeased me by listening, sure. I know she also took my advice to heart. Thought she'd become aware of the dangers she hadn’t thought of before.
Until Lucient.
Jess had one fatal flaw – she thought her worries ended at bad men with guns creeping around dark corners. She never expected them to come to her with a smile in broad daylight. Totally unassuming, totally charming, and totally fucking devilish.
I’d told her again, as I had before, it's never the homeless guy crashing in the basement she needed to worry about. It's the slick, rich bastards with silver-toed boots who're incredibly good at luring innocent, unsuspecting girls into their lairs to use them up.
Mr. Fuckface knew how to push all the right buttons.
He claimed he was looking for a home. A big one somewhere out near Lake Tahoe. The foreclosures where she bumped into him a few times were just rentals he wanted as a side income thing.
He played up his intentions. Swore he wanted a multi-million-dollar home, soon, a goddamn penthouse that'd make her more commission in one sale than she’d made in all the years since she’d gotten her realtor's license combined. And he had friends, too. Family from Mexico and buddies overseas.
Men and women who were just as loaded, just as in need of luxury, just as desperate for 'good people' they could count on here in the States, to help them do business and keep their yaps shut if they wanted to do deals in cash, or through third parties, or using different aliases.
Despite my warnings, she bought into his promises. Going from a hard-earned thirty or forty thousand a year to a chance at over a million-dollar income was too much to resist for a headstrong woman in her twenties with something to prove.
Regret weighs like hot lead in my gut when I recall the last time I saw her.
The glare she’d given me as she’d walked away with Lucient’s arm draped around her shoulders. I'd parked right next to his Escalade – a bone-white one that day – and told him to stay the fuck away from her.
It was here in Reno, late one evening, after I'd tailed them to a casino. I knew it was bad when she was barely mentioning Lucient anymore every time I called. Then when I heard she'd started hanging around with a 'Prince' she'd met looking to buy property...
The Prince fairy tale was a lie to impress Aunt Judy. The only thing he could ever be is a Prince of Darkness.
And the very real darkness of that hopeless night swirls in my mind.
Months Ago
“Stay out of this, Noah. You're being rude, and I know what I’m doing.”
I grab her arm. “No, you don’t, Jess. If you did, you wouldn’t be here with this fucking snake. You’re smarter than this. Walk away. Come home.”
She jerks away from me, falling into Lucient's arms. His dark eyes twinkle as he shakes his head. “Go home, Bernard. You heard her. Don't turn this little misunderstanding into a security incident. I know the management here quite well, and they have zero tolerance for petty fistfights in the parking lot.”
Ignoring him, I step forward, grabbing her arm. “Jess! For fuck's sake –”
“You know, you've got something right: I am smart. Smarter than you'll ever know.” She pulls out of my hold, her ice-cold voice weakening my grip. “Go back to California before you ruin it. Let me be smart on my own.”
“Cesare Lucient is scum, Jess. The worst of the worst. Only reason he isn’t behind bars is because he hasn’t been caught red-handed yet. It's just a matter of time.”
Lucient's lips quirk at the implied threat. “You should be working for me with brass balls as big as yours. I could use a man like you in security, protecting my assets. If you had half your cousin's brains, we'd –”
“You'd be dead, asshole. I see what you are. I know what you're doing. You're not taking her anywhere. Let her go.”
And he does.
For a split second, time slows down to the dull beat of hope in my heart.
Jess is coming toward me, I reach out to grab her again, but she's too fast. She smacks away my hand and shifts to my side, pushing her lips to my ear.
“Don't make me say it again, Noah. Stay out of this!” She hisses. “I don't want your help. I don't need it. Honestly, you're losing your mind. There's nothing wrong with Cesare, or me, or simple business.”
“Jess –”
“No. Go home. Tell Mom everything's fine and stop putting ideas in her head. You're worrying her too much. Let me have a life.”
I want to grab her again, drag her kicking and screaming back to my car. But there's a determined glint in her eyes – sharp, glassy tears – one beat away from turning into hate.
It's too much. I can't fucking make her do everything, even if I wish to infinity I could. She's a grown, stubborn ass woman.
She's gone a second later, her back turned, a bright smile forming as she steps into two evil arms in a charcoal-grey suit. “Ugh, I'm really sorry. Ready to show me how to play twenty-one, Cez?”
I don’t look him in the face when I whirl around for the last time. I can't, or I'll not just cause a scene, I'll fucking kill him.
Looking her straight in the eye, I say, “Bullshit, Jess. Every last bit of it. You’ve been playing twenty-one since you were eight-years-old.”
She glares at me, but her smile for Fuckface never falters. “Playing against you, and winning, doesn’t count, Noah.” Her smile grows as Lucient drops his arm around her. “See you around, cuz.”
Wheeling around in her high-heeled yellow bumblebee shoes – gaudy things I'd never think she'd be caught dead in – she walks away, glaring at me over her shoulder.
Present Day
“Oh, wow, looks like there’s a storm moving in.”
Pulled back to the present, I turn to Lucky, who's stepping onto the balcony. Her hair hangs in glistening soft waves over her shoulders, and as she steps closer, the smell of her shampoo fills the air.
It's light. Airy. Citrus. Sweet. Dangerously intoxicating.
This time, she's in jean shorts and a soft green tank top full of patterns. I realize they're four-leaf clovers on closer glance. Lady Luck incarnate, asserting herself, reminding my beat-up brain there's more to life than the past, however heavy.
Her green eyes are focused on the horizon, and I turn, glancing at the heavy blanket of dark clouds slowly moving in over the city.
“Looks like it could be a doozy,” Lucky says.
“Yeah,” I stand and pick up my computer.
She notices and frowns. “Where are you going?”
“Inside.” I nod toward the sky. “Better follow, darlin'. It’ll be raining in a couple of minutes.”
“I know. But...don’t you want to watch it? Something cool about seeing Mother Nature at her finest.” She glances around at the highrise buildings and smiles, her cheeks turning slightly red. “Or maybe it's just because I’ve never seen a storm like this from this high up.”
“Storm chaser? You?”
“Oh, yeah. Lightning. Thunder. Wind. Rain. I even like hail. Bring it on.”
I grin like a fool. Amazed, actually, because I’ve only known a few people who like storms. Outside of me, which I don't tell her.
Her little laugh is charming as ever. She waves at the open sliding door. “You can go inside. Don't wait up for me.”
I carry the laptop inside and then return to the balcony. She’s standing next to the railing, leaning forward like some avenging angel on the bow of a boat. I step up next to her.
Her smile is gentl
e, sweet, a total contrast to the dark tide sweeping in. “I'm fine. You don’t have to stand out here.”
“Don’t mind, Lucky. Maybe you're right. Good to spare a moment to take it all in.” It's coming, too. The storm barrels in fast, the thick black clouds swirling like a devil's dance. “Ever seen a tornado?”
“No. Not in real life.” She pats the hand I laid on the railing next to hers. “Don't worry! That’s just clouds swirling. It’s not a tornado. We never get 'em.”
“I know. Those are shelf clouds. They're rare out here and pretty weak. Not like the kind I saw in Wyoming on a road trip one time with Eli, before he moved overseas.” I smile, shaking my head. “Big one rolled up out of the blue while we were on the highway, north of Laramie, an hour or so from his family ranch. Had that boy down on his hands and knees praying – never found out if it was for our lives, or because he didn't have insurance on his truck.”
She laughs. “You're lucky. I'd like to see something so amazing just once – without being too close. I never got to travel much. Dad came from Wisconsin and always said he didn't miss it. Said too many storms ruined his hunting trips.”
A far-off rumble sounds. I chuckle slightly at the timing. “Hear that?”
There's excitement in her eyes. She points to the left. “Wow. There’s lightning, off there in the distance. You have to watch closely, but you can see it. A good old thunderstorm, taking her sweet time. Not like the monsoons we get back home.”
“I saw,” I admit. “You're sure you want to hang here? Might get wet.”
Her eyes are glued to the storm. “So?”
“You just took a shower. Dried your hair.”
Sure, it's weak. It's not her hair I'm worried about – it's how hard my dick aches if she gets completely soaked and I start to see how little she's wearing underneath that flimsy outfit.
Fuck.
She shrugs. “I can just dry it again. It's not complicated, Noah.”
No. Not complicated. Not like her very presence teases every inch of me.
We stand there, side by side, and watch the swirling clouds roll closer. She leans her head back, staring straight up, as a cluster of dark wisps unfold overhead.
“Dang. If I was just a bit taller, I swear I could touch those clouds.”
The wind whips her hair around her beaming face. She catches most of her tresses with both hands and holds them out of the way as she continues following the clouds.
I doubt I’ve ever seen someone so enamored. And so unafraid.
“You'd be a giant then,” I say, enamored myself, and it's got damn near nothing to do with the show going on in the sky.
She laughs and holds her arms out at her sides. “This is amazing!”
“Do you storm-watch all the time?”
“Only when I’m home alone,” she says, never pulling her eyes off the sky. “Which isn’t often. We don't get enough rain in Phoenix outside monsoon season. Oh, here comes the rain!”
I have to pull my eyes off her to look at the incoming storm. There's a defined line where the rain starts falling and it’s moving closer. Fast.
Instinct moves my arms a split second after the first few icy drops splash my skin, wrapping them around her shoulders. She gives me a quick glance and smiles, then turns to face the storm.
Fearless. Bold. Confident.
Lucky closes her eyes as the rain picks up, like she's relishing each splatter, and then laughs and wraps an arm around my waist. “This is the best, Noah. The best.”
Within seconds, the rain hits in earnest. It’s not as cold after the first wave, but the drops still urge a shiver out of my body. Soon, my worst fears are realized.
We're both soaked.
She’s still laughing, smiling like it really is the best day of her life. I'm damn close to agreeing it might be mine, too, for all the wrong reasons.
The storm hits my blood. Her curves, her warmth, her lush little lips call to this animal thing inside me. Dark and dense and unpredictable as the tempest curdling the sky.
You can't fuck her, idiot, a voice in the back of my head growls.
The rest of me roars back, why?
Why? Why the fuck not? Why can't I rock Lucky's tight little body just once, split her world in two, send her on her merry way with more than a memory of that time she got herself into serious fake marital trouble in Reno?
It's too insane. Too risky. Too likely to burn us both down.
Then the sky answers. Thunder booms, lightning flashes, charging the air with something like black magic.
Or maybe that’s her laughter again. An indescribable, incredible awe fills me, and I struggle against it, even if I know it'll win.
Thunder booms again. Louder.
Lucky laughs, her skin going rigid on mine.
Next thing I know, I'm laughing, too. Tightening my grip, my fingertips grazing the edge of her shirt, half a heartbeat away from tearing it off over her head and taking what the storm says is mine.
Lightning splits the sky, turning everything burning white. The storm’s energy surrounds us, fills us, rules us, as it continues unloading over the whole city.
There’s a sharper crack, a lightning strike so close the glass panes behind us rattle.
It startles us both and our eyes tangle. Fuse. Refuse to let go.
What happens then must be as natural as the storm, ever since the first man figured out how fucking tight and irresistible and perfect a woman could be.
Our lips meet with the fury of the thunder and edge of the lightning ripping up the sky.
“Yeah, darlin'. Yeah,” I growl it against her tongue before I push deeper with mine.
Her lips are softer than I remember, warmer, full of hot, heady passion. She returns my kisses as fast as I bring them, chasing my mouth back.
Our bodies can’t get any closer, but they try. Damn, do they ever.
Her arms wind around me, her fingers drifting through my hair. Mine roam her back, her hair, her sides. She's melting in my arms.
Mindy climbs my body, legs splayed, grinding softly against my thigh, making these soft little whines that translate to one word: more.
I pull her closer. Tighter. Digging my fingers into her ass, I push her against me, a tease and a promise on my lips every time they crash into hers.
Every ounce of the need, the lust, I’ve felt for her the past few days renews, burning, driving me to delve my tongue deeper in her mouth.
I can’t get enough of this frantic, gorgeous, ineffable woman.
The rain hangs on her lips after every hurried breath I have to take to keep standing, feeling the blistering heat of her skin under her rain-soaked shirt.
More, Noah, more, she whimpers again, wordless pleasure-mewls that beg without forming syllables.
More is what I need. More is what I'll have. More is what I'll give, shoving my dick inside that sweet cunt I've jerked off to for days. More is what I'll claim when she's convulsing, my whole body rocking hers, nipples tweaking the air as I power-slam into her.
More, more, so much fucking more.
Growling, I shove my hands under her shirt, cupping her sides, running my thumbs up and down her ribcage, then over the firmness of her heavenly tits beneath the satin of her bra.
Her skin is pure silk. So are her hands, just the way they’re pushing up my shirt, fingertips finding me.
Hands exploring, lips seamless, we stumble backward, through the open doorway, and somehow land on the couch. Our lips part at the jostle, and she laughs as she settles on top of me.
There's no turning back.
Our gazes lock again and the coy, knowing shimmer in her blazing-green eyes sends a thrill clear to my spine. Her hands, still beneath my shirt, work up, taking the material with them till I've got no choice but to lift my arms and let her remove it.
As soon as my hands are free, I grasp her clover top, and rip it over her head. She shifts upward, straddling my hips, finding her perch.
Fuck me, she’s perfection.
Every living, loving inch of her.
The sun-kissed skin of her neck, shoulders, stomach, thighs. Those pert, palm-sized tits begging for my fingers, my mouth. That V between her legs, the one I know I'll find absolutely drenched once I push my fingers, my tongue, my cock fully in her.
Planting both hands on my chest, she says, “I haven't stopped storm-watching. Show me more.”
Animal excitement blasts through me, but a shaking second of common sense prevails, sticks in my head like a thorn.
There are a million reasons why this shouldn’t happen. Why I should stop this while I still can. Why I shouldn't wind up hurting her – and pain is guaranteed – just to get my dick wet and deliver the most mind-blowing O of her natural life.
Too bad she's still touching me.
Lucky massages my chest, pressing her barely covered pussy hard against my throbbing cock, her jean shorts riding up through the friction. The idea of slipping inside her slick, tight pussy makes me throb harder. Pure, angry want.
I want to fucking defile everything Charlie boy ever had.
I want to fuck him out of her head and out of her heart.
I want to brand her from the inside-out, the heat of skin-on-skin, show her what a temple her body really is, mounted to mine.
Even as the excruciating need paralyzes my senses, I find words. “Lucky...fuck, you're sure you want this?”
An amazingly adorable grin curls the sides of her lips as she reaches both arms around her back.
My throat goes dry at how the movement makes her breasts strain against the cream-colored satin.
“Positive,” she says, meeting my eyes. Wiggling a bit, she unsnaps her bra. “You heard me the first time: show me the storm.”
How could I even think about saying no? How could any red blooded man?
I reach up and take hold of the straps, then pull them down her arms, loving the sight of her perfect tits bouncing free.
Tossing the bra aside, I don’t know if I’m lost, or the luckiest son-of-a-bitch alive. I'm past caring.
Grasping her sides, I pull her forward so I can taste those tits. One at a time.