by Tara Brown
I pulled the tight red dress on, dragging my pants and underwear down with it. I kicked everything off to the side so I was just in the slutty dress, and fluffed my hair like a porn star might. I turned to face him, letting him see the finished product.
He didn't budge but I could see the fire.
Slowly, I backed away, heading for the door, aware that if I ran he would chase. We had played that game all too often as well. “I love you, Servario. I have loved you for a while. I hate that I love you as much as you hate that you love me. But here we are, over international waters and land. We are in La La Land and no one has to know we love each other here. We can safely be open to everything and nothing all at once.”
“Don't say that.” He clenched his jaw tightly, offering me a slightly softer version of his pent-up sex face. “You have to take it back. I won’t ever choose you, ever.”
“I know that.” I nodded but deep down my heart broke a little bit. “I know, and yet I love you anyway.” It was true. I knew he wouldn't choose me over the rest of the world. He had a duty as a double agent and he took it seriously. Too seriously.
No matter what, he would always be him, the ungettable get. The unattainable man behind the mask. It was like an aphrodisiac for me.
My hands reached behind me, clutching the doorknob. I turned it, opening the door slowly—not running as if fleeing a tiger—and slipped out into the open jet plane, closing the door behind me.
I turned and walked back to my seat, curious as to how close we were to landing. The jet was dark as the skies had yet to see the morning sun. We were flying through the night—a red eye with a black heart.
I sat down, hating the fact that my bare ass was on his seat. God only knew what he did on them. He liked to pretend he didn't have sex on his planes with anyone but me, but I was smarter than I looked, most days.
The door to the back didn't open, and I had to admit it bothered me. I wanted him to rush through the door, scooping me up and pinning me against the wall.
Instead, I fell asleep again, this time looking like a prostitute with my ass on his seat, no doubt getting an infection or at least crabs.
We landed with a jolt that woke me instantly. I blinked away the confusion of where I was and what was going on. It always took a second when we were on mission. I was used to warm mornings in my house with a cup of coffee as I planned my day around dropping my kids off at various activities or school.
His body was in my peripheral but not next to me. I shivered, realizing I was still in my disturbing red dress and not just bare-assed but also barefoot. I grimaced, standing and walking to the back after the plane had settled.
“Don't bother changing, just add some shoes and makeup. You know what the girls I associate with look like,” he muttered from behind his laptop.
“Yup.” I sighed, not even considering changing. I knew what would happen. He would do his impatient act where he stood at the door, barring the way until I wanted to act like a big girl and put my proper spy clothes on. It always meant I ended up looking like a hooker. It was my most believable act, which I felt said very bad things about my personality. Luce, my female partner, was never asked to dress like a whore.
I slipped into the back room, staring at the bed for a moment. Bits of feathers, foam, and mattress springs covered the room. He’d raged, tearing it all to hell like a child. Had Servario lost a battle of controlling me and himself?
Interesting.
I made a mental note to add this to the reasons why we would never work. I had children enough to raise; I didn't need another who was wanted by every agency in the world for one heinous act or another.
Fortunately, the closet was still pristine, apart from a few feathers from the pillows. I ran my fingers along the pieces, separated by color. The various fabrics tickled my fingertips, each one holding promise of a fun time. Pantsuits, dresses, skirts, blouses, tanks, and even a few pieces of lingerie. Every one of them designer and costing more than my monthly mortgage payment. To him it was nothing, akin to dropping a dollar in a bucket for a homeless man. No, for him spending all this money on clothing for a woman he couldn't ever have was just a regular Tuesday. He was bizarre in the most extreme ways.
I glanced at the red dress, knowing I looked slutty, but I could do better. Servario wasn't a regular criminal mastermind. He was a savant of the underworld, and for that reason I could get away with a much nicer outfit. I lifted a black bustier-styled midriff tank top by Diane von Furstenberg. It made my boobs look like they were seventeen instead of thirty-six so that was obviously a better choice than the tube dress which had no support and whispered I had breastfed a lot.
The bustier tied up in the front with laces from the bottom to the top, revealing my pale skin through them. It was a classy attempt at slutty. I peeled the red dress down my legs, pulling on the low-slung white skirt, also by Diane von Furstenberg. I contemplated wearing some cute wedges, but I knew he would need my legs to look their best. And secretly I really wanted to wear the Jimmy Choo red lace pumps. They had a golden heel, and I imagined if I were ever to get married again they would be the secret hiding beneath my wedding gown.
My life made that dream laughable but a girl could dream.
I used the makeup he had set up in the drawers, including of course, the MAC Russian Red lipstick we had both become so fond of. I teased my dark hair and gave myself a once over. The heavy black makeup made my eyes pop. The falsies and Younique 3D Lash Kit made me look like I was related to the Gabor family, only a brunette.
I stepped back, excited by the fact that I looked classy and sexy, and there was no way his eyes would be able to stray from the incredible amount of cleavage shown through the laces of the bustier.
Satisfied and praying I could torment him a little more, I walked out, leaving my green bag on board. Lord knew we were coming back this way. I just hoped and prayed Luce, Jack, and Coop would be with us.
I walked out to the front of the plane, conscious of the effort it took to not twist an ankle or slip in any way. He glanced back, scowling at me. “You look too nice for where we’re going.”
When I walked past him, I lifted one corner of my skirt, flashing a cheek of my bare ass at him. “I kept it just trashy enough for you.”
He made a noise—of course he did—but I didn't pause. I hurried from the plane to the dark Rolls Royce waiting for us on the small runway, as per the usual. Even in a country in the Middle East, he was able to fly in under the cover of his badass umbrella.
When he climbed in the car he sat too close, smothering me with heat and all the leftover things we hadn’t said to each other and all the damage caused by the things we had done.
He reached over, lifting me up into his lap to straddle him. I opened my mouth to protest, but his eyes darted to the driver.
“You know how I like it, Estelle.” He unzipped his zipper, bringing a gasp from my parted lips. I shook my head, pleading with my eyes, but I could see the vacant look in his stare as he sat me on his opened zipper.
His hands crept up my thighs as I hovered over him, his cock lying between my lips. When his fingers gripped onto my hips he dug in, forcing me to circle in his lap as if it were a dance. He used me to jerk himself off as if he was waiting for me to let him slide himself in. But I didn't. I hovered there, unsure of my next move. He’d called my bluff as I had called his. He always had to win.
He lifted his head, staring at the Russian Red lipstick. “Really?”
“You put it there.”
“I was testing you.” His words had become soft so I felt them more than I heard them.
“Then we both failed, I suppose.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I suppose. We never have been the sort to succeed, though have we?”
I shook my head slowly, staring down at his mouth. I wanted a thousand bad things from those lips but not in a vehicle with a driver.
His hazel eyes held almost no green. They had darkened as his mood had. He narrowed his gaz
e for a moment, plotting or something equally nefarious. As the driver put the car into drive, lurching us forward slightly, Servario brought my hips down, forcing me to grind on his bared cock.
He muttered things, soft and yet disturbing, “I am going to fuck you so hard when I get the chance, you won’t remember ever having been with another man.”
“I know.” I nodded as he and the car rocked us both.
We traveled this way, him forcing me to sit on his dick but not have sex.
When the car stopped Servario lifted me to my knees as he zipped his pants back up as if it were nothing.
He climbed out when the driver got the door, and then turned back, offering me a hand. I tried not taking it, shocked and disturbed and ready to lose my temper over the last several moments, but he snatched it. He dragged me as if I were a child having a temper tantrum. On the drag in I noticed we were outside a hotel surrounded by the ocean. The warm salty air hit me like a ton of bricks. I was immediately grateful that I had chosen the outfit I did. But then I noticed several women in abayas and other garments covering most of their bodies. It was like the scene from Pretty Woman where she struts Rodeo Drive in her hooker boots held up by pins. My midriff was like the most offensive thing I could have shown. His disgusted look made sense now. I had been so wrapped up in tormenting him, I had forgotten about blending in.
Servario didn't check into a hotel like most men. He strolled straight past the front desk, nodding at the man who scurried after us. The man met us at the elevator.
“Mr. Servario, I am so pleased, sir, to see you. The suite is ready for you.” The poor man looked stressed beyond words.
It was there I realized we were staying at the sail-shaped hotel Burj Al Arab in Dubai. I remembered seeing several articles on it because of its unique shape. When we got into the elevator I caught a glimpse of Servario’s fierce stare in the reflection. He squeezed my hand, holding tightly like he was trying to tell me something.
The elevator ride was tense. The air was heady, regardless of the air conditioning.
The attendant gave us an awkward stare, confused perhaps by my outfit or just by the fact that Gustavo Servario was in his elevator. I would be uncomfortable too, had he not played with my ass on several occasions. Once someone does something that intimate, it’s hard to fear them properly.
I struggled with his grip until we were in our room. Then he let me go, flexing his hand, and staring at the room.
“We were meant to stay at The Palm, but I like to change my mind at the last second to avoid predictability.” He pulled something from his pocket, placing it down on the table in the middle of the room that still held my awestruck attention. It was fabulous. I parted my lips to say so, but he held a finger up, pausing me as if I were a remote-controlled device.
He flashed a bright light from the object and then turned to face me, undoing his pants. “Let’s finish.”
I stepped back. “What was that?”
“A device I got from someone you don't know, and the technical language it would require to describe it to you would be wasted air on my part.”
“Wait.” I paused, translating it all. “Did you just call me stupid?” He did. I rehashed it twice before his answer came with a smile and the dropping of his pants. “No.”
He held a hand out to me.
“No,” I said again as I stepped back. “You just called me dumb and you expect me to rush over and let you fuck me?”
He nodded, continuing to hold his hand out.
I scoffed, turning and walking into the bathroom and locking the door. “Asshole!” I muttered, leaning against the counter. I stripped down, suddenly needing to be clean from the feeling of him. I dragged the lashes off, wincing in the mirror as I tried to avoid eye contact with myself. I needed a refresher course on why my vagina wasn’t in charge of decision making, especially where Servario was concerned.
I stepped into the huge marble shower that could have been a sizeable walk-in closet and cranked the hot water. I sat on the bench and let the ceiling rain down on me. The water smelled like roses had been soaking in it all day long, as if the hotel had prepared the water just for my shower.
I closed my eyes, letting makeup run down my cheeks. The water felt like tears, but I didn't have any. I didn't feel guilty about Coop, which was insane. I didn't feel guilty that I was living a giant lie. Somewhere inside me I believed Servario and I were meant to be together. I loved him more than I had ever loved a person, except for my children. For me that was enough of an excuse to tolerate his bullshit.
But I had a feeling that deep inside me there had been a line drawn in the sand, or rather the bathroom floor. I was no longer willing to play that we weren’t more than this—me pretending to be his whore and him taking advantage of the timing and my heart.
If he could be greedy with his heart I could be so with mine. A loud blast interrupted my pep talk. I glanced up to see he’d kicked the door in. I sighed, hating that we were this couple, the one everyone else in the hotel suffered through the noise of.
“Not right now, Servario. I’m not in the mood.”
He didn't strip down. He stepped into the shower—pants, shirt, socks, and all. He lifted me from the seat with a rough tug, jerking me into his arms. I tried to knee him in the balls, but he blocked it, kissing me at the same time. He pinned me, holding me tightly as he tore down his pants. His tongue explored my reluctant mouth, stroking and caressing with the hot water pouring down on us, flooding our faces.
He sat down on the bench where I had been, dragging me into his lap again. I wrestled, resisting his grip but it was futile. He pulled me down on top of him, his erection resting between the swollen lips of my pussy. He didn't say much; he just kissed, not entering me.
We held each other in the rain, tempted by every movement but not daring enough to take the final plunge. I wanted him to do it, and I assumed he wanted me to be the one. Finally, he whispered, “Ask me to fuck you.”
“No.” I shook my head, sliding along his rough cheek to bite his ear.
“Beg me, Evie. Beg me to fuck you.”
I shook my head again, whispering in his ear as I dragged my teeth down the lobe, “No.” I climbed off, grabbing the soap from the decorative shelf where they had folded all the shower essentials so neatly. I washed as he sat getting soaked in his expensive Italian pants and dress shirt. His hazel eyes watched me, watched every move like a tiger hunting a gazelle.
I took long, loving strokes to wash every inch of myself, putting on a show for him more than getting clean. He bit his lip, watching me torture him and letting me do it.
Finally, I finished after a second round of rubbing the soap against my nipples. “Why are you letting me do this to you?” I asked, curious as to why he hadn’t just ravaged me like the savage we both knew him to be.
“I get so few moments with you that there is actual pleasure in the intense pain of waiting and wanting you—of wanting to explode inside you and making you scream my name.”
By far his best answer ever. I nodded, not moving much. He was certainly good at playing this game of greedy hearts. He was winning. He was making me want to give him mine, no questions asked and nothing in return.
Chapter Five
Virgin cock tails
I walked out of the room in a stunning emerald-green shift dress. It covered far more of me and matched the pumps perfectly. My red lipstick was actually a bit intense for it, but I didn't care. I wanted him to see it and cry inside a little, like I was.
He stood in a pair of black pinstripe dress pants and a pale-blue shirt. He wore his same burgundy dress shoes. He looked like fucking sex on a stick, and I wanted to ride that stick more than I had ever wanted anything.
His eyes lit up when he saw me. “Much more appropriate for Dubai.”
“You were going to let me wear the red tube dress—don't start on me.”
“I knew you would change.” He sighed and looked over something on his iPad.
&
nbsp; “What was that thing you used earlier?”
“It stops any sort of transmitting device or listening or video recording.”
“My phone?”
“I turned it off on the plane so that when we arrived here it wouldn't be fried by the device.”
I didn't even want to know how all our stuff got there. I gave myself a last look. “Where are we meeting everyone else?”
“Belgium. We have an hour to finish this negotiation and get back to the jet.”
“Belgium? I thought they were meeting us here.” I turned back, uncertain of his motives. It was the flaw in the system that was our relationship. He had double-crossed me so many times that I didn't trust him, even a little.
He saw my look and shook his head. “Evie, we can’t talk about it right now. Read your text messages on the way to the car.” He stood, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. Handsome was such the understatement. I sighed and followed him, grabbing the gold clutch he had packed for me in my suitcase when he had replaced all my normal clothes with his choices. It was mostly heels and lingerie. My phone was already in there so I pulled it out and read the text from the random number I didn't recognize.
Kids are fine. Don't be a pain in the ass but don't give it all away either.
xoxoxo, Mom
I scowled at his back. “What did you say to my mom?”
He chuckled. “Just that you were playing hard to get.”
“Impossible to get is actually the game of the week for me.”
He glanced back as he pressed the button on the elevator. “Don’t push me, Evie. I like this game right now. Don't make me not like it. Then I’ll be forced to change the rules.”