“Who cares?” he said. “If it’s a game, it’s a good game. Between equals who like to play, and know what they want. Understand?”
The crease between her brows indicated that she did not.
“Equals,” he repeated. “Meaning, sometimes, I kneel before Her Magnificence and subserviently pleasure her with my tongue, and sometimes, my love-slave concubine presents her hothouse flower of a pussy to me to be fucked from behind. In any case, I can be counted on to make you come screaming. No need to get uptight. If you trust me.”
She gave him a short, nervous nod. Old ghosts, old shames. The two of them had to push through the fear.
Pulling out almost killed him. His cock shone, radiated scorching heat. “So?” he prompted her. “Show me that you trust me.”
He moved aside. She rolled over and got onto all fours, her body shaking. Her hair swung forward, hiding her face. Her arms shook. He positioned himself behind her, marveling at the perfect shape of her ass, the shadowy marvels between as he gently urged her legs wider.
“Do you want me?” he rasped.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Invite me. With your body. Show me.”
It was beautiful to behold, the graceful arch of her back, the swirl of hair dangling down, the shy, sensual glance back.
She cried out at the first thrust, but she soon braced herself, rocking back to meet him. The bed rocked in time with the heavy slapping rhythm. He could have exploded then and there, but he had a point to make. He tuned in to those secret senses that bloomed open whenever he fucked her, swiveling, stroking. Driving her to that place in her head where everything sharpened to a fine point—
And detonated, together. The force of it blotted out the world. There was just wave after throbbing wave of blinding pleasure.
They collapsed on the bed. The last thread of consciousness he had was dedicated to not crushing her. He lifted himself away, sometime later, and sprawled alongside her. Boneless.
“You could trust me more,” he said.
“I try,” she whispered. “But it’s a mistake, to play games. Dominance, submission. It makes me feel . . . ashamed.”
Fuck. “Ashamed?” He jerked up onto his elbow. “It’s not about dominance and submission! It’s about pleasure! Have you been listening to me at all?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just know that I’m lost, in all this. I can’t find my way.” Her voice shook.
He held out his hand. “Let me lead you. Trust me. I’ll take you through the dark. All the way to the other side.”
Sveti’s eyes flicked from his hand to his eyes. She did not take his proffered hand. Wary of a trap.
“It’s not a power game,” he urged. “It’s give-and-take. Look at the sorry state I’m in. I’d do anything. I’ll follow you around like a lap dog, when I’m not beating assassins off you. Is that not submissive enough? What the fuck else do you want from me? Leather and chains?”
“Sam . . .” She rubbed her face and shook her head wearily. “You’re a man. It costs you nothing to play at being submissive.”
“Play?” He stared at her. “You think I strut around like the king of everything just because I have a dick? I know how it feels to be at someone’s mercy. You’ve had me on my knees for years, so don’t give me shit about my dominating attitude. I know how to sit and beg and roll over. You’ve seen me do it. Hell, babe, you taught me how.”
A knock on the door jarred them. He was on his feet, yanking on his jeans. Sveti leaped off the bed and scrambled toward the bathroom.
“Who is it?” he called.
A female voice answered. “I’m looking for Svetlana Ardova.”
He edged into the sitting room, gun in hand. “Who wants her?”
“I’m Nadine Muller,” the voice said. “Is she there?”
Sveti opened her mouth. Sam put his finger to his lips and waved her into the bathroom. “Who gave you this room number?”
“I know the concierge,” she said. “Federico’s a friend of mine.”
“I’m going to have a talk with friendly Federico about security.”
“Actually, Federico is discussing security right now with Silvano, one of Mr. Hazlett’s team.” A business card slid under the door, followed by a UK driver’s license. He examined them. The license looked real. Her name was right. “That’s me,” she said. “Mr. Hazlett sent me. Satisfied?”
Not really, but when would he ever be? He cracked the door.
A slender blonde stood there, in an elegant black and white dress. Flaxen hair, a kittenish face that matched the one on the license. He peered into the corridor. Handed the woman her card and her license.
She took the license, leaving the card. Her eyes flicked over his bare torso, his half-buttoned jeans. Drying sweat. The reek of sexual discharge. Tough shit. That’s what she got for sneaking up on people.
She cleared her throat. “I’ve come at an awkward time, Mr . . . ?”
“Petrie,” he said.
She waited for more. “Is Svetlana here?”
“Yes, I am.” Sveti emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed in a graceful, dark blue wrap dress and blue pumps. Remarkably put together for a woman who had been in a state of sexual collapse moments before. “I’m sorry to greet you this way. Come in. Sam, why don’t you take your turn in the bathroom while I talk with Nadine?”
The two women’s eyes fixed upon him, expectantly.
Right. As if he was going to go wait meekly in the bathroom and leave her alone in a room with a strange woman. Not in this universe.
“Nah, I don’t think so,” he said blandly. “I’ll just stay here.”
Sveti’s mouth tightened. “I’d like to talk with Nadine. In private.”
“I won’t interrupt you,” he said. “I’ll just sit here. Talk away.”
He dropped in a chair, the gun dangling from his fingers.
“Ignore him,” Sveti said, her voice chilly. “He’s behaving badly.”
“Who is he?” Nadine asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Sam Petrie, a friend of mine,” Sveti said.
“Bodyguard,” Sam corrected. “I’ll accompany her everywhere.”
“Ah.” Nadine’s smooth brow creased. “That might be a bit awkward, because the gala tonight is by invitation only. But don’t worry, Mr. Hazlett’s security team can take over for—”
“It won’t be a problem,” Sam said. “I’m on the guest list.”
Sveti’s head whipped around. “You’re what?”
Nadine looked blank. “But this function is—”
“I’m a donor,” Sam said. “Look me up. Samuel Petrie.”
Nadine gaped. “Samuel . . . oh my! You’re that Samuel Petrie?”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s me. No worries. I’m on the list.”
“I should think so!” Nadine’s entire demeanor had changed. Her eyes sparkled. “We’ll roll out the red carpet!” Her gaze flicked back to Sam’s torso with renewed interest. “Well. You two are busy. I’ll leave this envelope with the info for tonight. A car will come at eight—”
“We’ll go on our own. The address of the venue’s in the envelope?”
“Of course, with directions. If you’d prefer, we can—”
“How much did he donate?” Sveti’s voice was crystal sharp.
“One point two million USD!” Nadine bubbled. “One of our biggest private donations so far, aside from Mr. Hazlett’s! Now we know who brought it in! You have more resources than we realized!” She nudged Sveti’s arm. “We didn’t know you had donors to bring to the table!”
Sveti’s face had gone white.
“Actually, there’s something you can help us with,” Sam said.
Nadine snapped to attention. “Anything! Say the word!”
“Sveti doesn’t have a dress for tonight,” he said. “And for obvious reasons, I don’t want her wandering the streets to shop for one.”
“Sam!” Sveti hissed. “I can handl
e this myself!” She looked at Nadine. “I have a dress in my suitcase that would be perfectly—”
“Price is no object.” He ran a practiced eye over the dress Nadine wore. “That looks like Dior. Did you get it here?”
She preened. “Quite an eye, Mr. Petrie! I bought this in Florence, but I do shop here. I know which shops would have what you need.”
“Could you contact them? Have them send us some possibilities in a size four. We’ll probably need alterations, too. Since she’s short.”
“Sam! You are embarrassing me!”
“Shhhh, I got this,” he soothed. “Sveti, what’s your shoe size?”
Sveti crossed her arms over her chest, mouth flat. He reached for the flats next to her suitcase and examined them. “Five and a half, narrow.” He glanced at Nadine’s elegantly shod feet. “I think we can trust you to find the right thing. For the dress, tell them romantic, clingy. Think old Hollywood. Earthy colors would work, rust or moss greens. Not black, or white, or anything too loud or bright.”
“I’ll get right on it!” Nadine bustled out, all smiles.
Sam closed the door behind her and braced himself to face Sveti’s fury.
CHAPTER 16
Sveti stared at Sam’s broad, muscular back, obdurately turned to her. She could not breathe. Price is no object. Her ass.
“One point two million dollars,” she said. “Holy. Fucking. Shit.”
“I do a lot of charitable giving.” Sam’s voice was gruffly defensive. “I checked into Illuxit’s anti-trafficking foundation. They met all my criteria, and I still hadn’t met my philanthropic quota for the year, so what the hell? I thought you’d approve.”
“I would, under any other circumstances!”
“What’s wrong with these circumstances?” He spun around, scowling. “I don’t get it! What is your fucking problem?”
“Just how rich are you?” she demanded. “Spell it out for me.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Depends on the day, what’s happening with the market. You know, wars, coups, earthquakes, plane crashes, terrorist attacks. Pretty rich by almost anybody’s standards, I guess.”
“What does ‘pretty rich’ mean to you?”
“What do you care?” he demanded.
“Normally, I wouldn’t,” she said. “I would never have asked such a vulgar, invasive question if you hadn’t started swinging your money around and knocking things over. But since you did, I feel entirely justified. Is this money that you inherited?”
“No,” he said. “I just work with money I’ve made myself.”
“Made from what? Not from a homicide detective’s salary.”
He huffed out a sharp sigh. “I’m good with money, Sveti. After college, I invested in some tech start-ups that did well. I reinvested my profits with other ventures, and did well with those, too. Playing with money is something I do to unwind. Sort of like masturbating.”
“Except that you ejaculate into your bank account,” she said.
He snorted. “Great. So now I’m scum because I trade for fun?”
“For fun?” she repeated. “With that pocket change, you can afford to give Illuxit’s anti-trafficking foundation one point two million?”
“Among other gifts.” He sounded annoyed. “I’ve given away about six million this year, so far. It’s just something that I do. And? This is relevant exactly why?”
“Tam said you had money,” Sveti said. “But I never thought it was on that scale.”
“Why think about it at all?” he asked. “I don’t, because I don’t find it particularly interesting. That’s why I didn’t pursue it as a career.”
She waved that away. “Don’t you see the position you’ve put me in? Here comes the new girl, the one who fucked that rich donor! Nice dress, wink wink, nudge nudge.”
“Sorry,” he said stiffly. “I didn’t mean to put you in a bad place. It just never occurred to me that throwing a big chunk of money at a worthy cause could possibly have a downside. For anyone.”
“Of course you didn’t,” she said. “You wanted to control me, and control the situation, with your money. Because you can.”
“Bullshit,” he snapped. “I give money away all the time. What the fuck else do I have to spend it on? I don’t do drugs, I don’t drive fancy sports cars, I don’t have a high-maintenance girlfriend to impress. Or maybe I do, now. One point two million is pretty high maintenance.”
“Not funny, Sam. I can hear the gossip. Fund-raising with your ankles in the air, har de har har!”
“I have a solution,” he said. “It’s elegantly simple.”
“Enlighten me.”
She could feel his body heat, smell his salty sweat as he rested his hands on her shoulders. “Let’s make it clear to everyone that you won’t be fucking any other donors,” he said. “You’ll just be fucking me.”
She edged backward. “How do you propose we advertise that?”
“Marry me,” he said.
She stiffened, staring at him. Unable to breathe. “Sam,” she said. “Don’t. Be. Difficult.” She bit the words out slowly, one by one.
“There we go again. You hate my money, just like you hate my abdominal muscle tone. But the cat’s out of the bag, right? Why not indulge myself, and throw a tantrum as only a rich playboy can? Why not just swing my moneybags around, breaking all the china?”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I had to hear this from Nadine!”
“I guess I knew instinctively that my investment portfolio would be a huge turn-off for you,” he said. “On the level of, say, genital warts.”
“So you lied to me deliberately?”
“Hell, no!” He sounded aggrieved. “You wouldn’t even give me the time of day, Sveti, for years! Then, when you finally did, I got distracted by sex and violence. Money was never relevant. But don’t worry, it’s not contagious. Not unless you marry me.”
“Don’t try and make a joke out of this,” she snarled.
“Then don’t make such a big fucking deal out of it! Let me spend some cash on something I genuinely care about, for once!”
She waved her arms in frustration. “But not like this! Designer dresses and shoes, brought up to my hotel suite, like I’m a rock star, or royalty? I can’t swallow it! It’s not my scene!”
“Look at it like a role-playing game,” he suggested. “I play the part of the spoiled playboy indulging his whim. You play the whim.”
“I’m not a whim, Sam! I won’t pretend to be one!”
He rolled his eyes. “The operative word here is play, Sveti.”
“I suppose you’re used to role-playing games, with your modest two-bed in borderline North Portland with the broken sidewalk, right?”
“What, you think I should act like a rich man?”
“I would never presume to tell another person how to act. But I do know it’s not healthy to pretend to be something you’re not.”
Her gaze locked on his smoldering eyes.
“You want me to drop the masks, Sveti?” he asked softly.
“I’m not afraid of reality,” she said. “And I’m not afraid of you.”
She was on the bed, pinned beneath him so swiftly, there was no time to gasp or flail. He shifted his hot bulk a little so she could breathe. His naked torso felt so hot, so hard. Her fingers clenched convulsively against the thick muscles in his chest. Nails digging in.
“This is the deal.” His rough voice tickled her ear. “I like you feisty and difficult and uppity. I do not want you cold and dead. I will do whatever, and spend whatever to that end, whether you like it or not. And call me spoiled and frivolous if you want, but I want you to have a hot dress and sexy shoes for your big party. I’m just selfish that way.”
“Sam, get off.”
“Spit all the nails you want, but I’ll win.” His voice drifted lower, a smoky, sensual rumble. “I’ll never get tired. I’ll never give up. I will wear you down, because you know in your heart that I’m right, to insist on your safet
y at all costs. And you know what else your heart knows?”
“Don’t tell me about my heart. My heart is my own business.”
Sam slid his hand up between her thighs. She shuddered with startled pleasure, arching so hard she lifted him up.
“I know more than you do about what’s going on in there,” he whispered. “I know what your body says. Your body doesn’t lie.”
“You’re fantasizing,” she scoffed, squirming under his weight.
“Sure, babe.” He slid his fingertip over the gusset of her panties. “You want the naked truth, no masks? You like me this way. You like me strong. You like to push, and you want something hard to push against. And I’ve got something really hard for you right here, Sveti.”
She opened her mouth, but nothing but a breathless moan came out as his finger teased her panties aside and slid delicately inside her.
Sam’s face contracted. He thrust deeper. After having washed up, she was slick and soft and ready for sex all over again, and he’d gotten her that way with words alone. With his power games and his posturing and his sexy talk. Her face was hot with shame, but it didn’t keep her hips from jerking up to meet his hand, or the muscles inside her from clenching convulsively around his fingers.
Sam reared onto his knees, tossing her skirt up. His stance was arrogantly wide, displaying the thick bulge in his jeans. He inhaled the scent on his hand. Licked his fingers. Waiting. So damn sure of himself.
Oh, to hell with it. She reached for his belt, almost angrily, and yanked it loose, tugging on the heavy buttons of his jeans. His cock sprang free, bobbing against her hand. He shucked his jeans, then resumed his blatant, show-off pose, with his big phallus jutting toward her, the blunt tip swollen and red with eagerness.
A quick tug, and the gusset of her panties gave way. He shoved the ruined garment up to her waist and shoved her thighs wide.
“Damn it, Sam!” she snapped. “What did you do that for?”
“Saving time. And making a point,” he said, with a swift grin.
“It’s a stupid point!”
“Yeah, terribly wasteful,” he agreed. “Shhhh.” He nudged the blunt tip of his cock barely inside her. Pulsing, hinting, promising.
“Sam,” she whispered. “Please.”
In For the Kill Page 24