Hunter: Perfect Revenge (Perfectly Book 3)

by Alice May Ball

  His chin lifted, “And you couldn’t risk that.” There was some of Horse’s familiar sly, smug grin. I really did slap him then. And I had been right. It really did feel way too good.

  “Yes, you dope. Because that would have meant him seeing that a deliberate and provable attempt had been made to contaminate the evidence against you. What kind of a deal do you think you would have gotten then?”

  I still had a hold of his cock, “if you’re still thinking of a farewell fuck,” I was angered now, “then as far as I’m concerned, we did it. It’s done.”

  “What?”

  I was near enough to smell the dark sweet spice of his breath. “I put myself out over the line for you, Horse.”

  “That’s great. But why didn’t you just stand up and say, ‘I know he’s innocent’?”

  “With what, Horse? There was evidence against you, and none in your favor. Your story was, while the Bonaventura twins were being shot to death with your gun, you were dozing in a freezer.”

  He was going to speak but then he stopped himself and he hesitated. Then he said, “But you saw the guy who did it. He must have run right past you.”

  “If he had, Horse, I’d have stopped him. I heard something but I couldn’t ever be certain what it was. Not for absolute certain until just now, when Paul Butler admitted that the kid who did it had been dropped in the Hudson.”

  “But you knew, right, you knew that I was innocent. You did, right?”

  “I believed it, Horse. I had a strong instinct about you.”

  “You believed in me.”

  “You could say that.”

  “And you risked your position, your career, everything on that?”

  “Since you put it that way, I did. Yes.”

  “Then you’re right,” he rose beneath me. “A farewell fuck is out of the question.”

  He kissed me. The world span inside me. Light, air, wind and currents all spun up and around as he held me. And we kissed. So close. With warmth and tenderness. And a rising urgency.

  He pulled back. His eyes were down. “We can’t have a farewell fuck.” He reached for my pants. “Not now.” He hauled my belt open and began to work my pants off. “Not now. Not ever.”

  T WAS AN impulse. All of my best decisions are on impulse. Some of my worst ones, too, but let’s not get side-tracked here. But this impulse told me loud and clear that I didn’t ever want to be without her. Not ever again.

  Her eyes had a look of urgency, of desperation, as she wriggled her pants off. I took her face in my hands.

  It felt like a prayer when I said, “Vesper.”

  Her lip trembled. She had a hold of me. I was stiff, hard and pumped bigger than ever as she pulled me out. Her teeth pushed her bottom lip and her eyes widened. Her hands rolled over the thickness of my throbbing pole.

  I kissed her, pulling her face to me as she dragged my cock to the heat of her dripping pussy. Her eyes bulged as the head pressed against her pussy lips. I stroked her neck and kissed her deeper.

  I was afraid she wouldn’t be able to take me inside, that the stretch would be too wide, that it would hurt her too much. Her tongue pressed and rolled against mine as she pushed down on me. The arc of her eyebrows pushed higher.

  Her mouth dropped open as her silken walls and folds took me deep inside. She sighed and the sigh grew into a moan.

  I was over come by feeling what she was feeling, by wanting to be even closer.

  “I love you, Vesper,” I said it without thinking. Without knowing. I wasn’t even expecting it. But as I heard it, I knew it was right.

  A tiny diamond tear formed at the corner of her eye as she slapped my face, hard.

  “Then fuck me, mountain man.” Her head tilted, “Fuck me.”

  And she shouted as I drove fully into her. Her head lolled and thrashed. She tore at my shirt. Clawed me. Clenched and squeezed herself all around me, like every part of her wanted to press every part of me deep into her.

  I wrapped her in my arms and rocked her. Hard. Harder. My face burrowed into the softness of her breasts and she yanked her clothes away. I pushed deeper, harder until her little tuft scraped down to my hilt. Until I felt the slap of my balls against the lovely rolling clench of her ass.

  She dragged her nails through my hair and I rose in the seat. Her lips fastened on mine. She shouted into my throat. We beat and thrashed hard, her ass against my thighs, my hips into hers, and my long, thick, hard heft into her heaving, heavenly depths.

  Her walls pulled and tugged around me, wet and needy. I hammered hard and high. I scraped up at the front. Reamed at the top of her opening. Tugged the base of her hot, hard clit. Jacked like a pile driver high, deep, hard, and fast as she moaned and sobbed.

  When she wound herself around me, coiled and gripped me tight, like a rope around a capstan, I knew she was nearly there. I let go of all thought and let my body thrash and pummel her. Saw and knew nothing but her. Only her beautiful face. Her gorgeous, rippling flesh. Her wonderful cries and moans. And the ecstatic pulsing of her body, trembling to take everything I had.

  She shouted. She beat on my shoulders. She bit and clawed. She pushed her hot wetness all the way down on me. I let go and my cock swelled, stiffened, lengthened and pulsed.

  She ripped at my hair and her reddened chest shook. The muscles of her neck swelled as I exploded into her. Swollen rings ran from the base to the head as I fountained and splashed into her, bolts of steaming hot force.

  Like a rain she sank into my arms and flowed over me. I stroked her hair, her shoulders. Kissed her neck and nibbled her ear. She hung onto me.

  I felt her shake. I thought she was crying. From behind my neck, she said, “You huge bastard, mountain man.” She shook again. “I fucking love you.”

  I hugged her closer. Kissed her under her ear and said, “I fucking love you, too, Vesper.”

  With the strength of a rag doll she beat on my chest. “It’s a disaster.”

  “Sure,” I told her. “But it’s wonderful. You worry too much.”

  “My career,” she moaned.

  “Your career is fine.”

  “Not if I’m in a relationship with a criminal.”

  “Maybe I can find some less crimey things to do.” She pulled back to look in my face. Her eyes drooped and her lips pouted. The words were slow, “Like what? Slight robberies? Borderline extortion?” I loved how her eyebrows twitched. “You just don’t get it, mountain man. A thing is either a crime or it’s not.”

  The words ground in my chest, “The way I feel about you is a crime.”

  Her mouth found mine. And it all started up again.

  Still inside her, my cock thickened and straightened up. As it hardened and stretched her tight, she murmured, “God, you hurt so fucking good, mountain man.”

  She did it all this time. She rose up along the length of me and dropped hard. Her hips rolled and pivoted. I felt her make the deepest scrape she could along the hard ridge. She rubbed the top of her opening against the head of my cock and her pelvis turned, poised before she slammed back onto my thighs.

  It was so wonderful, I didn’t think I could hold out for long. “Slow down,” I said, “You feel too good. I’ll come too fast.”

  She slapped my face. I was thinking she enjoyed that. “You come as fast as you fucking can, mountain man.” Then she slapped me again. “Always. As fast, as hard and as often as you can.”

  Her slaps weren’t meant to be playful. They were meant seriously. But she had no strength in her arms now. It was like the flap of a cloth. So I showed her.

  I slapped her ass. She yelled and her pussy started to twitch and convulse right away. She lost control and couldn’t co-ordinate her movements. So, after I slapped her again, I lifted her. Then dropped her. Hard into my lap. Her head shook.

  Her neck stretched, her arms flailed and she shuddered all over. “God, you’re tearing me apart.” Her eyes were wild. “Fuck me, mountain man.”

  Her thighs gripped hard against
me. “I fucking love you, mountain man,” and she shuddered all over.

  And I couldn’t hold back any more. With the softness of her breasts bouncing against my face I filled her as she yelled and squeezed and shook.

  CURLED UP IN his arms and he wrapped himself around me. I could have nuzzled with him there forever.

  I spoke into the warmth of his chest. “We can’t really be together can we?”

  His arms tightened around me. “Don’t even think about us not being together, Special Agent Vesper Cross.” With a gentle lift of my chin with his fingers, my cheek was in the palm of his hand. He turned my face to look in my eyes. “Don’t imagine living without me from here on.”

  My heart swelled. As impossible as it was, it was the only way it could be.

  A frown tugged my eyebrows. “But,” I said, “It isn’t like we drive for rival taxi companies or run hotdog stands across the street from one another.” He started that grin again. “Are you going to become a law-abiding citizen? Or do you see me making a career shift into racketeering?”

  That’s when his phone rang. We looked in each other’s eyes.

  “Can’t be that many people.” I liked that he waited until I nodded to agree before he took the phone out. That was different.

  As he swiped the screen, I thought, How can it not? How could I let it not?

  “It’s a text message,” he looked back into my eyes. “Vassily. Wants us to come to his club. Says he’ll treat us to dinner.”

  “I already took a drink from him. I’m not going to be more compromised.”

  “You didn’t drink it.” I liked that he remembered. “That isn’t the point.” I was already thinking that I might have to rethink my career in law enforcement. A gift of dinner from a Russian mobster wasn’t going to be the decider, though. “In any case, if we’re going to meet him, it’s better that we do it somewhere that’s not his home turf.”

  Horse nodded. He said the name of the bar where we went the day we first met. The night when we met for a drink. Where we had grappled on the sidewalk. How could I ever be with this man? But how could ever I not?

  He grinned and tapped a text message to send back with the address. “Shall I say ‘Right now?’”

  I smiled and nodded, “Let’s take the initiative from him.”

  Driving to the bar, we both had our theories about what Vassily wanted. Horse thought he would try to find out what I said to Paul Butler. Maybe what he said to me, too. My guess was that he try to get me to be a source for his boilerhouse project.

  “He’s lost two of his contacts in the Bureau. He may not have any more.”

  “He’s an idiot if he thinks he’s got any chance of getting you to do that.”

  “You think I’m incorruptible?”

  He looked at me for a moment, thinking about it. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t think he can do it, though.”

  “Oh, what, you think you can?”

  It seemed risky just putting the idea out there. Offering Horse a challenge was always going to be dangerous.

  Donny the barkeep recognized Horse right away. I was more surprised at the warm look of welcome-back recognition that he gave us. “Top shelf bourbons for you both?”

  He polished a couple of shot glasses. “On the house. It’s been too long.”

  Horse and I thought we’d take our drinks to the quiet booth in the back corner as the most discreet spot in the bar. We shouldn’t have been surprised that Vassily was already there. Installed in the darkest corner in the room.

  Immaculate suit, smooth Cheshire cat smile. No goons. We hadn’t seen any outside either.

  He had a tumbler with a clear drink. I guessed it would have to be vodka.

  When we sat around the table, Horse ambushed Vassily right away. “Why Noah?”

  I was impressed at his aggressive interview technique. Vassily wanted to see us, asked for the meeting, so Horse had shoved him off balance. Good start.

  Vassily nodded and took a nip off his drink. “Okay, I won’t pretend with you. Having the city’s top cop to work with was very beneficial to all of us. But, well, I think you probably have a pretty good idea what the man was like, Agent Cross. He was expensive in too many ways. And difficult, my god. He made many demands.

  “As I told your comrade, Horse — interesting name, Tovarich — as I said, the girls who work in my club are my prizes, my princesses, every one of them. They are totally precious to me. He came here, picked out a couple of girls. I didn’t like his attitude. Then, the way that Butler treated my beautiful Russian flowers, my god, I tell you. Well, he was never coming back to a club of mine.”

  I asked him, “Do you want me to believe that was really why you wanted to get rid of him?”

  “Vesper Cross, I respect you. I like you too. But you can believe what the fuck you like. I’m telling you, there were other reasons, other ways that Butler was becoming costly, but the value he had for us, for the project? I could have let them slide. But when he put a mark on one of my girls? The show was over for him.”

  Horse said, “And all of the other people in your boilerhouse project, all the mobsters and politicians and whoever the hell they all are, they were all in agreement?”

  Vassily nodded. “When I explained the situation, almost everybody recognized that he was too noisy. Attracting too much attention. Too troublesome and too out of control. Sooner or later, something would have to be done.”

  Horse sat back. “And that something won’t have hurt your position in the project too badly, huh?”

  Vassily smiled quietly. His eyes sparkled and he waited a moment before he looked to me and then to Horse. “Do you play chess at all, Mr. Horse?”

  “You thought that Noah would help me to get what you wanted. To get rid of Butler.” Horse rolled the bourbon around his glass. “One way or another, you thought we would draw him out for you.”

  “You and Agent Cross were in what you Americans might call a bit of a fix, no? I thought that your skills and Mr. Braxton’s together would assist you. I thought you would be a good fit.”

  “And you might benefit from the outcome.”

  “I don’t pretend to be a saint.”

  I asked him, “So, have you got a private army, Vassily?”

  “Me? No, of course not.”

  “But your ‘boilerhouse project’ does that have an army?”

  “I wouldn’t call it an army exactly.”

  “And did you, or did it, your not-exactly private army, did it mount the attack on Carmine Monreale?”

  “God, no. No, that was some bad guys.”

  “Vassily, you are a bad guy.”

  “No, I mean really bad guys. Way worse than boilerhouse.”

  “Right.” I managed not to laugh. At least not audibly. “Because you’re the good bad guys.”

  Horse asked him, “So, why did you want to see us, Vassily?”

  “Tovarich,” Vassily raised his eyebrows. He looked genuinely hurt. “I wanted to see that you were okay.” He took a drink. “And, really, I just wanted to see you.”