by Stacy Gail
“You gotta be kidding.” Judd’s voice dripped with disdain before he glared pure death at a Brony when the man dared to neigh at him. “Kid wasn’t drunk or high, or whatever. He was a fucking psycho. He didn’t understand he couldn’t do whatever the fuck he wanted, know what I mean?”
Now that sounded like Knives. “Yeah.”
“Spare the rod, spoil the child, wind up with a crazy-ass freak on your hands, as the saying goes.” Judd nodded at more customers and headed for the other end of the bar. “You just stay put and don’t go anywhere without protection, you hear? I’ll keep you safe.”
Safe, I thought, looking out at the Gathering Room without really seeing it. That unease moved through me again, now so strong it wasn’t a shadow anymore but an actual darkness. No matter where I turned, every part of my life was anything but safe. There was a hit out on my life, and the man I loved had made me believe he was dead for months. Now, with Knives hassling Shona, and learning there was a monstrous side to him that I’d never dreamed was there, safe was the last thing within my grasp.
“You were smokin’ hot with pink hair, Fearless, but you’re off-the-charts on fire as a blonde. I like.” Warm hands slid over my shoulders. If the pressure of those hands hadn’t been there to hold my dress in place, it would have fallen off when I jumped at least a foot in surprise.
“Polo.” I furiously hissed his name out through clenched teeth, and when I pressed a hand to my rocketing heart I encountered almost all bare skin. “Damn it, you scared me. I didn’t even know you were there.”
“That’s the idea.” He had a black hoodie pulled low over his bearded face, and if I hadn’t been able to recognize his voice I never would have known it was him, even at this close range. A hint of a smile touched his mouth as he bent to lock his eyes on mine. “Wanna party, kitten? Bet I can make you purr.”
He probably could, but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to even think about it. “Just… get me the hell out of here, okay?”
His smile vanished. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” My heart was still pounding with that horrible unsafe feeling, and I set my empty glass aside with more force than necessary. “It’s just been a long day, all right? I’m beyond ready for some peace and quiet.”
“I can arrange that.” He turned me in his arms and let his hands smooth the dress’s thin material over my ass. “Wrap your legs around me when I lift you, beautiful.”
I gave a self-conscious tug on the dress, as if that would magically grant the hemline another six inches. “How about I just hobble? I’m not exactly in the mood to flash a roomful of horny animal-wannabes.”
“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let anyone see what’s mine.” Without waiting for my agreement, his fingers dug into my ass and lifted me. My ankle wasn’t too bad now; I could have walked. But with Polo’s strong arms coming around me to hold my body tight against his, I found myself taking advantage of the dwindling excuse of being hobbled.
That uneasy darkness retreated as his warmth filled my senses, and I did as instructed by wrapping my legs around him while burying my face against his shoulder. He smelled so good, so much like everything I loved, that the last of my restlessness drained away. With my arms curling around his neck, I nuzzled my way past the hood’s material and breathed him in more deeply. When that didn’t satisfy me, I pressed my lips to the side of his neck while he left the Gathering Room behind and entered the hall leading to his rooms.
“Dasha.” When he was turned on, Polo’s voice was my most favorite sound in the world. It was somewhere between a hungry growl and a happy purr, and it made my toes curl every damn time. “You’re not starting something you’re not going to finish, are you?”
“Who says I won’t finish?”
He pushed into his suite and closed the door behind him, all without letting me go. “I thought you were tired after your long day.”
“I’m a lot of things. Tired isn’t one of them.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I slid my mouth along the line of his close-cropped beard all the way up to his earlobe, pulling off the veiling hoodie as I went. I took the lobe into my mouth to give it a quick nip and suck, and I reveled in his swift intake of breath. Smiling, I backed up just enough to look into his dark eyes, now burning with need. “You know, I think Jubilee was right. Nonverbal communication really is more honest than talking. Why don’t you let me down so I can nonverbally communicate with you about how totally not tired I am?”
“Is that your way of telling me to shut up?”
“It is, but you don’t seem to be very good at it, since we’re still talking. You’re also not letting me down, by the way.”
A blink of an eye later I was on my feet, but his hands still held me steady. “I don’t want you putting any pressure on that ankle now that it’s starting to heal up.”
“You have a point.” With that, I sank to my knees in front of him, my eyes never leaving his.
God, he was beautiful from this angle.
Again, his breath had an audible catch in it. “Shit. Dash…”
“Seriously, Polo. Nonverbal communication just doesn’t seem to be your thing.” This was what I needed, I realized. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to share. There was something edgy and dark and dangerous going on inside me, and I wasn’t in the mood to face it. The ominous burning that was now my constant companion had mingled with the upset over my brother, but I didn’t want to think about any of that. The bliss Polo gave me could make all that toxicity go away, if only for a little while.
But for now, that would be enough.
As long as he didn’t frigging talk.
The sound of Polo’s zipper seemed shockingly loud in the silence of the room.
“I’m surprised we’ve never tried this before.” My excitement began to grow as the increasingly stiff bulge of his cock pushed against the confines of his white boxer briefs. “I think I’m going to like it.”
“That makes two of us.” His last word ended on a low hiss as I pushed the elastic band of his briefs down to free his thick staff, and its silken heat burned my palm as I at last closed my fingers around him.
Perfect.
“I can feel your heartbeat.” Pure lust kindled in my blood, making me flush all over as I stroked his impressive length. That feverish rush made my nipples tingle, hardening them to sensitive peaks to brush against the thin cheetah material veiling them. An achy, needy heat bloomed between my legs. I moaned soundlessly under the weight of my growing desire as I rubbed my thumb along the underside of his penis, giving special attention to the ridge at the base of his crown.
Soon my tongue would do the same.
I wanted him to be ready for it.
“God.” His voice was thick, aroused. The sound of it magnified my hunger until I shook with it, while molten hot slickness surged in my cleft. One of his hands came to pull the blonde wig from my head so he could get to my hair, while the other hand wrapped around the base of his rock-hard cock. “Suck me hard, Dasha. Put that sexy mouth around my cock and turn me inside out.”
“If you insist.” I was so excited at the prospect I was on the verge of panting even as I leaned in. Before I took him in completely, I decided to satisfy my curiosity about his intimate taste. I ran my tongue first along one side of his silken, hard length and then the other, slathering wetness along his staff and delighting in how it twitched and grew larger still under my ministrations.
Yum.
His low, uneven groan urged me on to pleasure him more, as his pleasure fueled mine. I licked my lips and slid them over the head of his cock, my tongue swirling and swirling around the purpling crown.
“Fuck.” His hand left his dick to wrap around the back of my head. His hips pumped as if he had no control over them, and suddenly my mouth was full. “Fuck, yeah. Love that, beautiful. I fucking love that so much…”
God, he was such a man.
As
I took him in deeper, I again looked up from my kneeling position, only to find his eyes were already on me. When my gaze crashed into his, a rough sound escaped his throat, and it made me moan in response. That vibration hummed against his hardness, and it broke some internal leash he had on his restraint. His fingers fisted on my hair as he made me take all of him, and I fought off my gag reflex when he hit the back of my throat.
“Touch yourself,” he gritted out, his tone gravel-rough and commanding. “Keep your eyes on me and make yourself come, Fearless. I want you to come with me, so make it happen. Do it now.”
My hand was on the move before I consciously willed it, the pulse between my legs increasing with excitement even before I slipped my hand under the thin material of the thong I wore. Then my concentration became hopelessly torn between the movements of my hand and the sucking and swirling of my tongue, my lips growing wet as he slid in and out. I was so hot, so slick, that circling my clit was almost too much to endure, and all too soon I felt that familiar, quivering tension curl in on itself in my belly.
“Yes, Dasha.” He felt it too, his breath shallowing out as his movements grew rougher. I tasted saltiness a moment before his eyes squeezed shut and the tendons stood out in his neck as he threw his head back. Then he was coming, thrusting down my throat even as I reached my own fierce climax that seemed to go on and on.
He finished before me, pulled out and hauled me up into his arms, only to drop me gently onto the bed. I was shivering in reaction as he disappeared into the bathroom and returned to me seconds later, his clothes removed and a washcloth in hand. He came to me and with sweet tenderness that melted my heart, and rubbed the warm washcloth over my face. Then he peeled away the dress that had, miraculously, stayed in place after all.
“Do you have any idea,” he murmured, setting aside the cloth to concentrate on removing my panties, “how long I’ve dreamed of having your mouth take my cock?”
The admission did ridiculous things to my heart. “You should have told me.”
“You make all my dreams come true.” His voice was rough with the fierceness of what he was feeling as he joined me in bed. He curled his hard body around mine and pulled the covers over both of us before gathering me close. “That makes me want to make all your dreams come true. Just tell me what they are and I swear to Christ I’ll make them happen.”
Without warning, my mind was filled with all the horrific things my dreams were made of, and that edgy, dark burning roared back before I could stop it. “You’re alive, Polo. All my other dreams can go to hell.”
Chapter Ten
Polo
In the night-washed silence of his rooms, Polo heard the faint buzz of the cell phone he’d left in the pocket of his discarded jeans. Carefully he eased his arm out from under Dash, who lay curled up on her side in a fetal position. Light twitches ran through her limbs, and her breath was shallow and disturbed. As he watched over her, a small whimper escaped her.
Goddamn it.
She was dreaming again.
For one uncharacteristic second he hesitated, torn. A call at three in the morning almost always meant shit was hitting some unknown fan, especially now since only a handful of people knew he was alive to catch the call. But how could he do anything else but hesitate? For five nights in a row he’d lain beside his woman, and each one had been a carbon copy of the other.
Restlessness.
Mumbling.
Crying in her sleep.
Jolting awake.
Poorly stifled screams.
Refusing to talk to him afterward.
Avoiding his touch.
She never used to do any of that. She’d always rested in his arms so peacefully. He’d loved that. He’d loved it because it was as though she’d known all the way to her soul that she’d found the one safe place in the world where she belonged.
Since they’d been reunited, she hadn’t enjoyed a moment of peace. Not even in his arms.
That was fucking unacceptable.
“Easy, Dasha. It’s just a dream.” Hoping her subconscious could lock onto that reassurance and take her sleeping mind in another direction, he smoothed a hand over her hair. She seemed to relax, and she settled more deeply against the pillows. Reassured, he crossed to where he’d dropped his jeans to the floor.
“Hold on.” He whispered into the phone the moment he had it to his ear, He tugged the jeans in place without underwear, then headed out into the red-lit hallway, shrugging into his discarded hoodie as he went. It was as quiet as it ever got in Celestial Bodies, though music was still playing slow and bluesy in the background. He was pretty sure no one would come down the hall, but to be on the safe side he slipped outside into the back parking lot after checking to see if the key card was still in his pocket. A dead man could never be too careful when it came to drawing attention to himself, he thought wryly, flipping the hood over his head for added concealment.
“Sorry about that, man,” he muttered, keeping one ear out as crickets chirped quietly in the darkness. “I didn’t want to wake Dash.”
“No problem.” Alex Rodin’s voice came through loud and clear. He could easily picture his best friend and manager of his business dealings—tall and rangy, as blond and charming in appearance as a frigging Ken doll, and as cold and deadly as Siberia in January. “I know this isn’t exactly the best time in the world to call, but you said you wanted to know the moment Pops and Indigo found anything out.”
Barefoot, Polo came to a standstill as he stared blindly at the filled parking lot. “And?”
“We got a hit.”
The rush of adrenaline made his skin prickle, but he made himself hold absolutely still. “You found Grigor Dmitriyev.”
“Maybe. My pops and Indigo are thinking they know where Knives’s old bodyguard is—or rather, where he may be hiding. Let’s face it, the guy could give The Invisible Man lessons when it comes to disappearing.”
“No shit. Give me details.”
“Indigo’s got contacts over in Buffalo Grove, which has hotspots of Russian immigrants, right? Turns out one of those contacts thinks they’ve seen Grigor Dmitriyev coming in and out of his ex’s place.”
Polo’s mouth tightened. “Thinking they’ve seen Grigor isn’t going to cut it, Alex. I want eyes on him, and camera lenses—fucking proof that we’re not chasing down another goddamn dead end. We get Grigor, and we can get him talking, we might be able to get the proof we need to bring Knives down.”
“Hey man, you’re preaching to the choir on this one. I’m still in the show-me camp too. Remember how much Grigor hated his ex? He wouldn’t even call that bitch by her by name, so it’s hard for me to see how he’d hole up with her.”
“Yeah, it was never fun being trapped in the same room with them. He’d call her mistake, and she’d turn right around and call him headache, and then the whole scene went right down the crapper from there. Hard to believe she’d be willing to give him shelter when all she did was bust his balls for twenty years.”
“I guess staying with the one person everyone knows you can’t stand is the best place to hide. Swear to God, this was the last place on earth I would’ve ever thought to look for him.”
“Last place or not, let’s fucking hope this latest lead on Grigor bears fruit. I can’t keep Dasha in the dark much longer. She’s getting antsy.” Or moody, or cabin-feverish, or some damn thing. Whatever the hell was going on with her was building up like a dangerous storm, that much was obvious. The sooner he got her out from under this hell her brother was putting her through and back to where she could live clean and happy, the better.
“I’m just glad we’ve finally got some hope that Grigor might actually still exist,” came Alex’s drawling voice. “I’m going to be honest with you, man. I was beginning to think Knives had fucking killed that crabapple-faced sonofabitch and dumped his skinny ass in the middle of Lake Michigan.”
“If you thought that, you don’t know Grigor. No matter how good Knives thinks he and
his new army of dumbass recruits are, there’s no way they could’ve gotten the drop on the likes of Grigor Dmitriyev. That’s bastard’s gonna outlive us all.”
“I am honored to hear you say this, Polo Scorpeone.”
It took less than a heartbeat for Polo to spin around, but that was still too long. If it had been an actual hit, he would have been too busy dying to realize he’d just gotten reamed.
Man, being dead had really put him off his game.
“Call your dad and Indigo off the scent, Alex,” he said, eyes on the thin, sunken-faced older man leaning casually against the side of the building. “Grigor Dmitriyev just found me.”
“What?”
“I’m looking right at him. Later.” With that, he hit the phone’s screen, then slid the phone into his back pocket. As he did, he cursed silently at the emptiness in all his other pockets. He didn’t even have fucking car keys to throw at him. “Hey.”
Grigor, a square-jawed, Russian version of Mr. Miyagi, shook his head in a pitying way. “Look at you. Surprised. Helpless. Stupid. What would your mentor, Borysko Vitaliev think of you if he could see you now?”
Polo tried not to growl at the heavily Russian-accented words. “Since Borysko’s dead, I’m not going to waste my time worrying about impressing him.”
“You do know that if I had been one of those foolish new recruits you were just talking shit about, you’d be dead by now, yes? An embarrassing way to go after all you’ve been through in your life, boy. Shameful, even.”
Polo’s jaw locked before he could tell the old man to go fuck himself. “When you’re right, you’re right. Asshole.” There. That made him feel better.
Grigor grinned, something Polo had never seen before. Considering the astonishing amount of wrinkles and crevices the uncharacteristic expression set off in the man’s ghoulishly sunken-cheeked face, it was something he hoped he’d never see again.
“True. I am an asshole. You want to hear something else that’s true? You are very much alive. Interesting state of affairs for a man who died so extravagantly.”