by Tara Brown
He lifted his head, staring at the Russian Red lipstick. “Really?”
I shrugged. “You put it there.”
“I was testing you.”
“Then we both failed, I suppose.”
He nodded. “I suppose. We never have been the sort to succeed, though have we?”
I shook my head slowly, staring down on 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 gaze 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, plunging himself into me. A soft moan escaped my lips. He breathed in sharply, pulling me down on him so he could nestle his face into my neck and hair.
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 nodded as he and the car rocked us both. His hands lifted and circled my body as he impaled me softly. Neither of us could orgasm, not the way he was doing it and not without the driver seeing everything.
We traveled this way, him forcing me to slowly ride him to the point we were both completely ready, overly ready.
His hands slid around me, cupping my ass and squeezing hard, making me wince as his lips delicately placed soft kisses on my neck. It was a series of contrary emotions and sensations.
We didn't notice the drive had stopped, nor that he was turned around and watching us completely. The addition of his ragged breath caused us to stop and turn. He was rubbing himself in the front seat, staring down at my ass. My skirt covered everything but his eyes weren’t doing the watching so much as his mind was creating the image. Servario lifted me to my knees, pulling himself out. My wetness coated us both but he just did his pants back up as if it was nothing. “Get the door,” he spoke to the driver, showing his disapproval in his tone but never looked back at the man who looked stunned that he had been caught. He swallowed hard, offering me a pleading look. I turned back to Servario who wasn’t fazed by any of it. He lifted me off of his lap completely and climbed from the vehicle. He 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 my hand. He dragged me as if I were a child having a temper tantrum. As if I were the one who had trashed the dirty room on the plane. On the drag in I noticed we were outside of a hotel surrounded by the ocean. The warm salty air hit me like a ton of bricks. I was grateful instantly that I had chosen the outfit I did. But then I noticed several women in abayat 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 could have killed him for not telling me.
Servario didn't check in 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. 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 his 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 maybe, 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.”
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.
I stepped back. “You just called me dumb and you expect I will 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, needing suddenly to be clean from the feeling of him inside of me. 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 of 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 of me there had been a line drawn in the sand, or rather bathroom floor. I was no longer willing to pretend 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 as well. 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 tolerated the noise from.
“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 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.”
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 finish
ed 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 of 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 Three
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 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 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.
I scowled. “What was that thing you used earlier?”
“It stops any sort of transmitting device and/or listening or video recording.”
I winced. “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. He was seedy in all the right ways. 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.”
I turn 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, replacing 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.”
I reached my hand into my bag, dropped my phone in there, and pulled out my middle finger. “I brought you something special all the way from Canada.”
He looked like he might turn me over his knee, not something I generally fought with him over, but tonight I might have actually. When we stepped into the elevator he pressed himself close to me, too close. I was nearly squished into the wall. My phone buzzed in my bag. I lifted the clasp and peeked into the bag, surprised by another random number.
We are going to go to the car. They’ll drive us to the location. You are a woman who does talent scouting for me in Eastern Europe. We are negotiating a deal for twenty young women. They want American girls, no older than twenty-three. You have the girls in Romania right now. If they resist on price, mention how many virgins you have. Make it a good number, like seven or eight. They will not bring in the boss until we have a sealed deal. When that happens the team should meet us. They’re tracking our location.
I didn't understand who sent it at first but then he sent another one from his iPad, cluing me in.
Clearly it’s me, Evie. Try to bring something to the mission beyond being a hooker.
I wanted to stab him in the eye but I was missing my slutty knives. I texted back the one thing I knew would aggravate him beyond belief.
Fuck you, Servario.
The corners of his lips lifted and all I saw was a punishing smirk. I held my head up high, totally bravado but I didn't care. He wasn't going to rattle me and call me stupid. Texting wasn't my thing. I hated it. My fingers, wrists, and thumbs ached after a long conversation.
When we got to the car I noticed it was a different one. This was a Mercedes, not a Rolls. The driver gave me a decent up down before letting me in. I assumed he was checking me out, but then I realized he was looking for a weapon.
I climbed in, trying not to get nervous. We were going in with no weapons. That was insanely planned out.
Servario climbed inside of the car, reaching a hand down into my dress. He rolled a nipple, making it obvious I was a piece of meat for this trip. The driver climbed in, giving me a smirk. I imagined he assumed they would pass me around later, because that's how I liked my gang rape.
I wanted to kill him. I could smell sex slave on him.
As for Servario, I wanted to poke his eyes out. He could sense the hostility in me and pulled his hand from my dress.
I sat there, scared and turned on. It was very conflicting to be so aroused while being afraid. Akin to the time he chased me around in the dark and fucked me against the pool table.
He gave me a look. It was an evil grin. It was the one he used when he was winning. I reached over, meeting his hateful look, and grabbed his dick. I stroked, perhaps a little roughly, but I got my point across. He sat back as if this was his idea and I was his dick-stroking minion. I sighed, stopping and staring out the window. Dubai was a stunning and welcome distraction. The city was lighting up as the sky was starting to darken. Everything about this city made me think Vegas, including the smarmy guy driving and the pervert next to me.
The car stopped after a while, parking outside of what appeared to be a nightclub. I didn't even want to ask, but when we got inside my view changed. I wanted to ask. I wanted to ask about every aspect of the club.
It was a strip bar of sorts but the girls had on clothes. They danced with energy and skills that I had to assume meant they were trained dancers. The men wore suits and I was the only woman not working there, not technically. For all I knew this would be the place Servario would actually betray me for real. Not fake it and expect me to improvise.
No one seemed to understand that I had been a mom for a decade, not an agent. They all expected me to bounce back after ten seconds and remember what it was like to be a hooker/agent/mom/wife/killer and whatever else they could add to the pile.
Servario slipped a hand into mine for a second. He squeezed and let go. It was so fast I almost doubted it had occurred at all. We were escorted to a spot in the back, something akin to a VIP section perhaps.
I was offered a seat at a lone table by a man who resembled our driver. Servario sat next to me, pretending to be enjoying the show—or actually enjoying it. The girls wore bikinis and danced on poles, it was naughty for the Middle East, I supposed.
The music was loud techno with a slight Eastern flair to it. It was actually nice to listen to. Several men walked toward us, sitting near Servario. One man stayed standing, waiting, as Servario stood and they embraced. They hugged and smiled like they were old school friends. I started to feel a little nauseated. I had to chant that he loved me and wouldn't do that to me again. He wouldn't leave me to be killed or worse.
The man’s eyes darted to me but Servario brushed him off in Arabic.
They talked for another second and the man embraced Servario again. I started to glance about the bar, looking for any sign that I wasn't alone—that Coop and Luce had come to be with me.
But all I saw were business men and dancing whores.
Finally they sat, Servar
io again next to me. The man nodded at me. “I understand you have twenty girls.”
I smiled wide, bringing out my best American accent from the South. It wasn't great but there was no way they could tell. “Yes, sir. I do have twenty girls. I have more than twenty but some are spoken for.”
He gave me a weak smile. I wouldn't have called it that though; it was more of a grimace. “You are a woman who sells women, not something we see very often.”
I smiled wider, hating myself. “Well, everyone has to be good at something and I happen to be very good at spotting a virgin.”
His dark eyes widened. “Virgins—you have some of those for sale?”
I sucked my breath through my teeth. “Not really. I have several but they are spoken for, like I said. I have other buyers.” My heart was aching in a big way.
He nodded. “That is good to hear. We get a lot of demand here for virgin Americans. Very hard to find. Your country doesn't savor their virginity very well.”
I laughed, hating myself and Servario equally for a change. “Well, you know those girls in the North, they are loose. But the girls in the South have been raised right. Real wholesome girls. You just have to convince them of the modeling contracts and jobs as nannies. It’s easy when they come from real small towns.”
“And because you are friendly and a pretty American woman. They trust your lies.”
I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. “Yes sir, they do.”
His dark eyes darted back to Servario. “She is a—how do you say—piece of work.”
Servario snorted, coughing a little. “I think you mean keeper.” Their accents made the mistake slightly less painful.
The man shook his head. “No, I believe I know this word. Piece of work. Like rare like art.”
Servario chuckled again. “Do we have a bargain then? You will give us the guns and money and we will give you the girls.”
“How many virgins?” He looked at me again. “I will pay more for virgins.”