The Greatest Risk

by Kristen Ashley

  “It’s my understanding you were paid handsomely for the ridiculously foolish things you used to do and still moonlight doing, even if you’re also paid handsomely for the legitimate job you have at Joel’s firm.”

  Her back shot straight, and her eyes cut to him.

  “Joel?” she asked.

  “Your employer is a long-time friend of mine.”

  She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, muttering, “Naturally.”

  “Simone,” he called.

  She again looked to him.

  “You live in a twenty-first century hovel in a developed country, and you own McQueen, Valentino, Bendel and were last night wearing a pair of eight-hundred-dollar Giuseppe Zanotti sandals standing by my pool.” He looked pointedly side to side and back at her. “What the bloody fuck?”

  “Those Zanotti sandals are life,” she replied.

  “Yes, and we’ll be exploring their various functionalities when you’re submitting to me next weekend,” he returned. “But that isn’t an answer to my question.”

  “I can’t have those sandals and a go bag in my secret hiding place that’s filled and will get even more filled with cash to get me out of the country and keep me clothed, fed, and safe for an indeterminate amount of time when life turns to shit—as life has a tendency to do if you have the last name Marchesa if I have to pay expensive rent somewhere I’m never going to hang.”

  Stellan was again not breathing easy.

  “Perhaps we should not talk about this right now,” he suggested.

  “Perhaps,” she replied, returning her attention to her closet.

  “Pack everything,” he ordered, and she swiveled back to him woodenly, her lips parted. “If you don’t have enough luggage, we’ll go to Scottsdale Fashion Square and pick up some at Louis Vuitton.”

  “I’m not taking everything to your house, Stellan,” she declared.

  He looked down at the tangle at her feet, and at a glance saw the lipstick-red sole of a Louboutin, the heel of which was twined with the silken ankle wrap of a Birman trapped around the signature chain of a McCartney Baby Bella tote.

  He then looked to the door that had a lock on the knob that turned on a pinch and that was it.

  There wasn’t even a chain.

  His attention went back to Simone.

  “Pack everything, Simone.”

  “Stellan—”

  “It won’t be here when you get back. It’s actually a monumental surprise any of it is here now. And since you risked your ass repeatedly to get it, practically giving it to some meth-addled buffoon is not going to happen. So pack everything, Simone.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Sundays are supposed to be fun days, hot stuff. Here we are on a Sunday, and we’re entering domestic bliss, and you’re all cranky.”

  “Darling, I’ve not fucked since well before our affecting night at the gladiator pit, unless you count the multiple handjobs I gave myself as I imagined all the ways I was going to fuck you, play with you, and lately, punish you for not calling as I ordered you to do, which I personally don’t count. I’m afraid that makes a man like me cranky.”

  Now her mouth had fallen open.

  Adorable.

  His patience was draining swiftly.

  She shut her mouth only to open it again to ask, “You’ve not fucked for nearly a week?”

  “The last slave I was inside was over three months ago, and the last vanilla fuck I had was before that, this after I made the decision that empty fucking was something I’d allow you to do while I was biding my time to make my move with you, but it wasn’t doing a thing for me.”

  She seemed to have taken a mental trip to another world before she snapped back, and he realized she’d been harking back to any time she’d seen him at the Honey when she breathed, “My God, that’s true.”

  He swung a hand to the mess at her feet.

  “So if we can hurry this along,” he prompted.

  “I wasn’t empty fucking either, Stellan,” she declared.

  And yet again he was fucking fighting fucking clenching his fucking teeth.

  “Sweetheart, you’ve had nearly every male sub at the Honey who swings your way, always at least in twos, frequently in threes and fours.”

  “I command them to touch each other or fuck each other. I rarely engaged in the first and never the last.”

  “But you played.”

  “You did too, and you touched.”

  Stellan shut his mouth.

  “I was trying to get your attention,” she whispered her admission.

  “You succeeded,” he whispered his reply. “Now you need to pack, darling, everything, before I throw you to that absurdly small bed with sheets that I can see have polyester fibers and bury myself inside you up to your womb.”

  Her eyes heated in a manner that was not helping him control his urge to throw her on the double bed that was taking the majority of the space in the room before her mouth curled up in her cat’s smile.

  “You’re such a snob, baby,” she murmured.

  “The first time I have you is not going to be in a hovel on polyester sheets. And just to make things perfectly clear, Simone, I’ll never be having you in anything remotely resembling a slum or on a bed that’s not even as long as me or on sheets that prove all the inadequacies of the world that they’ve touched your skin.”

  “I’m beginning to like you,” she stated teasingly.

  She was completely in love with him.

  She was also even more fuckable when she was teasing.

  Thus she was beginning to be a problem he was painfully impatient to solve.

  “Simone,” he replied warningly. “Pack.”

  She looked down at the mess at her feet, grinning and mumbling, “As you wish.”

  She could speak no sweeter words.

  Rather than fuck her on a pile of designer gear, he looked around for a suitcase to assist her in hauling that gear out of that hellhole.

  In the end, they went back to his house, switched out his Tesla with his Maserati Levante, loaded his suitcases inside, hit Fashion Square, purchased a full set of LV luggage for her, and went back.

  It took two trips.

  All she owned worth moving were clothes, shoes, handbags, accessories, drawing supplies, sketchpads and mysterious keepsakes she tried to hide, shoving them in her new cruiser bag when she thought he was occupied with something else.

  The rest they left behind.

  Then Simone wasn’t moved in with enough for a month.

  She was just moved in.

  And suddenly Stellan wasn’t cranky anymore.

  * * *

  That afternoon, Stellan was stretched out on his mahogany leather chesterfield in the lounge area off the dining room with his book when Simone returned from his room where he’d left her to unpack.

  He’d done this with two goals.

  One, she’d be unpacked, thus moved in, thus at a place where she could start settling into his home and her life as it would be with him.

  Two, because it was not lost on him that she was a woman who’d lived a life taking care of herself by herself and it would do him no favors to be constantly invading her space. He needed to show her that she’d have her times where she would be alone with her thoughts or her sketchpads or however she needed to settle her mind and emotions.

  He’d blown it that morning.

  That was not going to happen again.

  Even so, he was immensely glad when she sauntered in and threw herself with one leg tossed over the arm of the armchair at the end of his couch.

  However, he was not glad she’d thrown herself in a chair and not on him.

  He took her in. Her tailored, black short shorts. The dark gray knit top that had one arm bare and the other arm partially covered by a fall of material. She’d taken off the pewter gladiator sandals she’d changed into when she’d changed out of her t-shirt dress when they went shopping, so her legs and feet were bare.

  Her hair was a sexy mess,
and except for a sweep of blush, a thick line of black eyeliner and a couple of coats of mascara, she had on no other adornment, including jewelry.

  “I’m done,” she announced.

  Finally it was time to fuck.

  “And just to say,” she went on, “that was no easy task. Your closet is heaving. You have more clothes than a girl.”

  He dropped his book to his chest and spoke truth. “My closet is twice the size of your entire apartment. It might be heaving now with the addition of the evidence of your addiction to leather and designer apparel that emerged as if by magic from that microscopic closet in your hovel. I’m not surprised you opened the door and it rolled out at your feet. What I’m surprised about is that when you opened the door it didn’t explode in your face.”

  She grinned at him.

  Definitely time to fuck.

  “But my closet was not full when you began,” he concluded.

  “I counted,” she returned. “And you have fifty-two suits.”

  He raised his brows. “Is this a crime?”

  “Who needs fifty-two suits?” she teased.

  “Apparently me,” he drawled.

  She rolled her eyes.

  He looked at her long legs and took a moment to gather his control before he had her turned in that chair with her shorts around her ankles and his cock planted inside her.

  When his attention moved back to her face, he noted she’d grown distracted, and she’d done this because her eyes were moving the length of his body.

  It seemed they shared a common frame of mind.

  Excellent.

  “Simone,” he called.

  “Mm?” she hummed.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I like that shirt,” she mumbled.

  He didn’t look down at his graphite-colored linen shirt.

  He studied her, attempting not to smile at the same time attempting to control his cock, which was getting hard.

  “And you look really good in jeans,” she continued mumbling.

  Stellan felt his lips twitch.

  “Simone,” he called again.

  “Mm?” she repeated her hum.

  He reached out and put his book on the coffee table before ordering, “Come here, darling.”

  Like she was on autopilot, she rose from the chair, moved to him, and when she got close, he lifted up only enough to wrap his fingers around her hand. It took no effort at all to tug her down to him so that she was stretched out on top of him whereupon he rolled, trapping her against the back of the couch.

  Yes.

  This was much better.

  Her vague eyes hit his.

  “Would you like something to eat?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t think so,” she replied.

  “Would you like me to make you a cocktail?” he kept at the game.

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth.

  “Maybe later,” she murmured.

  Definitely later.

  “Simone,” he said.

  Her eyes drifted up to his.

  Stellan dipped in close and whispered, “We’re going to fuck now, sweetheart.”

  Her hand resting on his chest clenched into his shirt, her body coasted toward his, her gaze again dropped to his mouth, and Stellan kissed her.

  Although he’d planned to do this last night, starting the proceedings on his couch in his bedroom, that didn’t happen.

  So he carried out his plan there.

  Thus he communicated with his firm, wet kiss that he was not going to mess about, but he also wasn’t going in hard and fast.

  This was not going to be a quick fuck to take the edge off.

  This was going to be their first fuck.

  Something to remember.

  He realized his mistake while crafting this strategy almost immediately.

  He had not taken into account how he would react to her response.

  Especially when it was like it had been during their first kiss the day before—sweet, almost innocent, like he was the first man who’d ever had her mouth.

  This included Simone melting into him, tipping her head deep, her lips soft, her mouth an open invitation, her taste exemplary, her perfume weaving a spell.

  Therefore it was time to take this to his bedroom, or she’d be bare ass to mahogany leather, he’d be out of control, and this would be a quick fuck to take the edge off.

  He broke the kiss, drew away from her, but did it pulling her gently out of the couch with him.

  On their feet, he held her in his arms and kissed her there. Light, soft, quick touches and tastes as she held onto his shirt in fists to hold her steady in order to fully absorb them through her lips.

  Then he disengaged, moved them around the couch, through the room, up the stairs and down the hall to his room.

  He stopped her at his side of his bed, turned her back to it, her front to him, and looked down at her gentled face as she peered up at him with the slow burn he’d created openly exposed in her eyes.

  Beautiful.

  He took her face in his hands, gliding his fingers across the skin, over her ears, in her hair, his gaze roaming, his mouth murmuring, “You probably have no earthly idea how pretty you are.”

  “I’m hot as fuck,” she tried to quip, but her words were breathy.

  He gave her a small smile. “You are, my darling, but you’re also uncommonly pretty.” He rubbed a thumb across her lips, whispering, “I could look at you for hours.”

  Simone was finished with talking, definitely not in the mood to stand there and let him look at her, and she communicated that by arching into him.

  He used his hands at her face to pull her up and again captured her mouth.

  It took effort, and control, to build the heat of his kisses slowly, especially when she started making little mews that formed in the back of her throat but filled his mouth.

  And most especially when she rubbed her breasts against his chest through the fabric of their shirts.

  But when her patience snapped and her hands became urgent, lifting up the untucked tails of his shirt and hitting the skin at the sides of his waist, immediately trailing everywhere she could reach, her touch slipped the knot he had tied on his control, and Stellan returned it.

  Under her shirt, he wrapped his fingers around her sides. The pads going up her back, his thumbs dug in at the front.

  Her skin was smooth, soft, warm, gorgeous.

  Gliding up, his attention snagged as his thumb snagged a ridge of skin that shouldn’t be there.

  Although he’d seen them the night before when he’d helped her undress, it surprised him enough to break contact with her lips.

  But he wouldn’t have had to.

  Her body abruptly cranked to the side, and if he didn’t tighten his hold on her to keep her where she was, he’d have lost her.

  Their eyes met, and her breathing was no longer ragged simply due to his kisses.

  “I—” she started, panic seeping into her gaze.

  “I know about it,” he whispered, feeling her tense as he dragged the pad of his thumb back over one of two scars he knew she’d received when she’d sustained gunshot wounds.

  “It’s—”

  “Not for now,” he finished for her.

  “Stellan—”

  He pressed in at the scar but took his other hand from her skin to hold her at the side of her head.

  He put his lips to hers and said, “I know what brought you back to Phoenix, darling. And we’ll talk about the whys later. For now all you need to know is that I don’t give a fuck about it. It doesn’t bother me. It’s part of you. It comes with you. It’s a piece of your history. And in case you’ve been missing my message, honey, I want all of you. Now settle down so that I can get inside you.”

  She stared into his eyes, her breath still coming fast with excitement as well as panic, and before he could guess her intention, she pulled back, tore off her shirt, tossed it aside and came at him with hands up.

>   Fingers fisting in his hair, she dragged his mouth down to hers.

  She thrust her tongue between his lips.

  He thrust it out, taking hers briefly, then tore his mouth free.

  It was high time to move things along.

  “Shorts off,” he growled.

  She moved instantly, shimmying them down, and it was his turn to pull away, not bothering with the buttons but yanking his shirt over his head.

  When she stood there in nothing but a black, net lace bra, one that exposed high, small breasts and dark, budded nipples, Stellan shoved a thigh through her legs, drawing it up.

  She gasped when it hit her, and he used it to lift her, moving in, taking her onto the bed, going with her, falling on top of her.

  And finally she was beneath him.

  He possessed her mouth with a scorching kiss that he didn’t allow to last long because he refused to wait any longer.

  After what amounted to years of watching, years of wondering, it was finally time to discover a different taste of his Simone.

  On his way down her body, he only stopped long enough to jerk one cup of her bra down and pull hard with his mouth on her tight nipple, giving himself the sharp sound of her pleasure, before he moved down further.

  When he reached his destination, it was Simone who threw one leg over his shoulder, the other she lifted and let fall wide.

  The invitation was brazen.

  And exquisite.

  His hard cock throbbed inside his jeans, and he went in.

  Arching her back, rocking into his mouth, he’d barely slid his tongue along her clit before he felt and heard her coming.

  He took that, he pushed it, he clamped his hands on her hips and held her to him, fucking her with his tongue, feeding on her delicious wet, sucking on her clit as she gasped, moaned, whimpered and squirmed against him.

  Christ, she was magnificent.

  So magnificent, eating her as he ground his hard cock into the mattress, Stellan took more.

  And more.

  Suddenly, she wrenched free and he felt her hands on his jaw, pulling him up to his knees, to her, putting her face to his, and she panted against his moist lips, her foggy, burning, molten brown eyes somehow managing also to be intensely focused as she pushed out, “You. Now.”

  “I wasn’t finished,” he growled.