Behind Closed Doors m&f-1

by Shannon McKenna

  She twisted in his arms, and her soft breasts pressed against his chest as she hugged him, kissing his jaw. “I'm so sorry about your mother,” she murmured, her voice catching.

  He turned his face away from her soft kisses. “Don't feel sorry for me, because I'll take advantage of it, I promise you,” he said roughly. “I'm an opportunistic bastard, and don't you ever forget it.”

  She leaned her forehead against his, and shook with a whispery little laugh. “If you're so opportunistic, then why are you warning me?” “Damned if I know” he muttered. “somebody’s got to, I guess.”

  She was so intent on her questions that she barely noticed that he'd tugged her leggings completely off and was peeling off her socks. “Are you still in touch with Hank?” she asked.

  “Hank died five years ago. Liver cancer.” He tossed her discarded clothes to the floor.

  “I'm sorry” she said. “So now—isn't there any family out there for you? An aunt, or uncle, a grandparent? Nobody?”

  He hesitated. “No.”

  “But... there did used to be someone?” Her voice trailed off into a questioning silence.

  His split-second hesitation had been a mistake. She was quick and smart, and listening so carefully that she had sensed the ragged black hole inside him where Jesse used to be. The one place he was utterly unwilling to go.

  Diversion time.

  He seized her ankles and placed them on the seat, pushing her back until she was crouched in front of him, thighs splayed He leaned against her, pressing her thighs even wider. “Story time is over for today, sweetheart.”

  Her head fell back against the seat with a breathless gasp. She lifted her hips, offering herself to him. His leather coat creaked in the hushed darkness as he hunched over to suckle her breasts. She reached up and clutched his jacket, gasping as he slid his finger tenderly inside her, stretching and opening her. “Are you sore?” he asked. “I was pretty rough on you yesterday.”

  “I'm all right.” Raine gripped the front of his sweater and moved herself against his hand. “I love what you do to me. Please don't stop.”

  “How about my offer?” He played with her sensitive folds, in sync with the eager movements of her hips, spreading her moisture tenderly around. “You going to blow off Lazar and come away with me?”

  Subtle sounds were loud in the stillness of the can unbuckling his belt, the buttons popping open on his jeans, the rustle as he ripped open a condom and fitted it over himself.

  Her fists were trembling, clenching hard onto his sweater. “I don't need a protector, Seth,” she whispered. “I can take care of myself.”

  She let out a sharp sigh at the first blunt, probing contact of his cock. He nudged the head of his shaft tenderly up and down her cleft in a slow, controlled caress. “That's not how it looks to me, sweetheart.”

  Her hips pulsed against him, but he held her still, pinning her against the seat, circling his penis around her swollen clit Making her squirm and whimper and wait, until they were both sure she wanted it as much as he did. He wanted there to be absolutely no doubt.

  “It sounds like you're saying I should be protected from you.” She let out a nervous little laugh as he lifted her into position.

  He nudged his cock slightly deeper as he captured her mouth in a hot, demanding kiss. He bit her lush lower lip, and slid his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the shallow, teasing thrusts he was making with his hips. “Yeah, you probably should be protected from the likes of me,” he said, not even bothering to hide the dark triumph in his voice. “But you're not, Raine. And you know what?”

  “What?” she begged, pulling at him, her eyes dazed. “What?”

  “That's just your tough luck, babe.”

  He thrust himself inside her with one deep, hard lunge.

  She almost screamed. He was so thick and hard and hot, the rough penetration both exciting and painful. He'd been right, she was sore from yesterday's encounter, but so aroused that she hadn't wanted to risk him stopping, or slowing, or holding back in any way.

  She wanted all of him, everything. She needed it, now and forever. Only Seth had the power to drive away her fears. Only this white-hot blaze of pure desire would do the job.

  She grasped his upper arms, but they were too thick with muscle and slippery with stiff leather to get a good grip, so she seized fistfuls of his sweater again. First she was upright, pinned between him and the sweat-dampened leather seat. Then he shoved her down onto her back and folded her legs up over her chest so that his thrusts had his whole weight behind them.

  The world focused down to this cramped seat and Seth's heaving body. He blotted out all the light and sealed her into a tumultuous velvet darkness. Cars passed occasionally, their lights dancing erratically across Seth’s rigid face. She barely noticed, and did not care. All she knew was his weight, his breath, his strong hands, the plunge and slide of his thick shaft inside her. The fire he had unleashed stormed and raged inside her, driving her higher and deeper into herself. She was glowing, molten, hotter with every stroke.

  He took all she had to give, but he was generous too, pouring a current of sexual electricity into her body, transforming her with his magic. It was ravishing, perfect. She wanted it to last forever, but they were already speeding over the brink together, crashing to the finish.

  As soon as Raine could form a coherent thought, she realized that her throat hurt. She had been yelling and screaming. She wondered if anyone had heard, and realized that she didn't give a damn.

  They clutched each other for a long time, damp and panting. “God,” Seth finally said. “I'm soaked.”

  She kissed his forehead, tasting his salty sweat against her lips. “Should have taken off your jacket, silly.”

  “Didn't think of it”

  She tightened her arms and legs around him, cuddling him against her breasts and stroked Ms damp hair. He heaved a sigh of contentment, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to impress the moment of perfect intimacy upon her memory. She wished she could extend it to infinity, but reality was encroaching, the way cold air crept under even the warmest blanket.

  He dropped a kiss on her shoulder and raised his head. “Go pack a suitcase. I'll take you to a hotel for now, but I'll rent something for you as soon as real estate agencies open. What part of town do you prefer?”

  She stiffened. “Wait, Seth. Hold on. I don't think—”

  “Don't think what?” His voice was sharp.

  “I don't think I'm cut out to be a mistress.”

  “OK, fine. Forget about being my mistress. Come with me anyway. Be whatever the hell you want. You can find your own apartment. And you can find a better job in ten minutes. Pack your bags now, though. It'll be dawn soon, and this neighborhood is about to wake up.”

  His words indicated that her decision was foregone, but his watchful stillness said otherwise. He waited, his penis still shoved deep inside her. She wiggled beneath him. She could barely move.

  If she went with him now, and let him claim her, protect her, define her whole existence, she would be just as pinned. Just as helpless. He was overwhelming.

  It was so tempting. She wanted to laugh at the irony. From a famine to a glutton's feast. Frontwards, backwards, sideways, up against the wall, in the shower. She saw herself sprawled beneath Seth's big, beautiful body, having multiple orgasms until she was lost in bliss. What a day job that would be. She could tell the ghosts of her past that she'd had no choice. Sorry, guys. Never mind the quest for truth and justice. She'd been swept off her feet and right onto her back.

  No, she couldn't get off that easily. Seth couldn't protect her against what was inside her own head. Her nightmares, her past, her destiny. Nobody could save her but herself.

  She looked into his narrowed eyes, sensing how badly he wanted to protect her. It brought hot tears to her eyes. She tightened her arms around his neck and kissed him in silent gratitude.

  “I'm sorry, Seth. I can't go with you,” she said. Tension gathere
d in his body as he readied to do battle. “No,” she said, more sharply. “No means no, Seth. I can't quit my job right now. And I can't go with you. Thank you for offering to help me, but no.”

  The tenderness on his face had vanished. It was taut and angry. “Why not?”

  She touched his cheek, wishing with all her heart that she dared to confide in him. “I have my reasons “ she said quietly.

  He flinched away from her hand and withdrew himself from her body. He closed his jeans and rummaged around, gathering her things. He tossed the tangled wad of clothing at her. “Get decent”

  She clutched them to her chest, chilled at the biting tone in his voice. “Is that all you have to say?”

  “If I beg like a dog, will it change your mind?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then get to it. I have work to do.”

  “At three in the morning?”

  “Yeah.” He offered no further explanation.

  She began to turn her clothes right-side out and pull them on. Sweat was cooling on her body, making it harder. He waited, grim and silent, until the laces were tied and the zippers zipped. He snapped the locks open and got out of the car. “Out you go.”

  “Seth—-”

  He reached in, grabbing her arm and pulling her after him. “You've got your house keys?” he demanded. “Let me see them.”

  She fished them out of her pocket, shivering in the cold.

  “Go on inside. I want to see the door locked before I leave.”

  He got into the car, and she stood there on the street, frozen in place. Her legs shook so hard that she didn't dare move. She was afraid she would fall on her face. The motor hummed to life. His window rolled down. “Get your ass into the house, Raine.”

  His harsh tone jarred her nerves. “Don't order me around, Seth.”

  “If I have to carry you in there, I will, but be aware that it is going to seriously piss me off.”

  She backed away, holding up her hands, unable to bear the cold look on his face any longer. She scurried into the house, locked the door behind herself, and peeked out the window. He saw her, nodded, and pulled away. She watched his taillights disappear down the street.

  She sank down onto the carpet. Her shoulders shook, but with what emotion she wasn't sure. The situation seemed to call for tears, but she had cried so much recently, she was all cried out

  Then it occurred to her that after all the passion and intensity of that encounter, he still hadn't given her his phone number.

  She had to laugh after all.

  Chapter 10

  Victor took a sip of his brandy and stared up at the sky. The moon emerged, making a brief appearance in the ragged window in the clouds. It illuminated the water for a few seconds, and vanished again.

  It was long after midnight, but he could seldom sleep when the moon was this close to full. The wind had an icy nip, but he felt so exultant, he didn't care. His niece wasn't a rabbit, after all. She needed work, but the raw material was there. Maybe she really was his daughter. She certainly didn't get her spirit from poor Peter, and Alix was all noise and bluster, not spirit or strength.

  His campaign to toughen her up appeared to be working splendidly. The encounter with Mackey had done her a world of good. She had actually defied him, the naughty girl. She had thrown him out of her place. How marvelous. His whole body was pleasantly wide awake, humming with excitement Tonight was a night to celebrate.

  He tossed back the last of his brandy and went inside, handing the glass to the hovering attendant. “Send Mara to my suite in ten minutes,” he said briskly.

  Her soft knock sounded before he had finished undressing. He let her wait outside the door as he donned his robe and sat down in his favorite chair, positioned for a clear view of both the window and the mirror. “Come in.”

  She stole into the room, barefoot, her long dark hair tousled around her shoulders. She was wearing a short robe of crimson silk, belted at the waist. She walked towards him slowly, a sultry, expectant smile on her face, and stopped a few feet from his chair, awaiting further instructions. His staff was very well trained.

  He studied her at great length, liking what he saw. “Take off the robe,” he ordered.

  She tugged the belt loose and shrugged. The robe slipped off her gleaming shoulders, the smooth fabric caught for one delicious, suspended moment upon her taut brown nipples. It snagged even more briefly upon the curve of her hips, and pooled silently around her feet.

  Gilded toenails, he noticed. He liked that detail. He did not like the toe ring, but that could be overlooked for now. He would mention it to the housekeeper tomorrow. “Turn,” he said.

  She gracefully did so, lifting her hair and arching her back. Her muscles rippled and flexed, and her breasts were perfect. The sharp, humming energy in his body coalesced. The moment was right.

  Victor gestured for the girl to kneel in front of him, and then leaned back to watch as she sank to her knees, smiling at him with seductive promise. She reached confidently inside his robe, grasping his aroused penis with cool, smooth hands.

  He was pleasantly impressed with her technique. The girl was skillful and sensual. The pacing was perfect, the ratio of depth to pressure very enjoyable; he felt no teeth. The way she used her hands in tandem with lips and tongue was per- feet. She was bold yet graceful, managing to be beautifully carnal in the act of fellatio while avoiding the pitfall of vulgarity, never an easy task. She made no unpleasant noises with her mouth. Above all, she displayed an unforced, pleasant enthusiasm for the task. He appreciated that, whether real or feigned.

  He shifted his attention to the mirror, enjoying the picture she made. The dip of her waist swelled into buttocks that looked as if they had been polished to marble smoothness. Flawless. He would inform his housekeeper to give her a bonus. He lit a cigarette. Mara's eyes flicked up in a questioning look. He nodded, indicating that she should continue.

  The dimness of the room suddenly struck him as oppressive. He flipped on the light, but this proved to be unfortunate, as it highlighted the fact that Mara's forehead was somewhat low, her nose a bit too narrow. Her makeup, under the light, seemed harsh.

  He closed his eyes, blocking out the sight, and found himself thinking of his niece. Her tryst with Mackey must have been a good experience. Or, at least, extremely intense; the only kind of experience worth having, in his opinion. He wondered idly if Mara was still capable of blushing. He opened his eyes and observed her. Watching his penis slide in and out of her glossy crimson mouth, he rather doubted it.

  The conflicting thoughts weighed upon him, threatening both his mood and his erection. He tried to dismiss them, but a startling thought was taking shape in his mind, so ludicrous it was impossible to ignore.

  He was jealous of his clumsy, ignorant, blameless niece. She was poised on the brink of miracles and disasters. Anything could happen to her. Anything probably would. The danger and intensity of her life was worlds away from the flat emptiness that he faced every day.

  He closed his eyes, deliberately allowing the warm, wet suction of Mara's skilful mouth to coax him over the crest.

  He came, in a long, painful shudder. A crashing silence descended on him.

  When he opened his eyes, his cigarette was a teetering tube of ash. Mara was wiping her mouth, trying to hide the apprehension in her eyes. He twitched his robe shut. “You can go,” he said curtly.

  She rose to her feet. She looked faintly hurt, but was far too professional to make any protest. She left without a word.

  He stared out the window. The cold inside him deepened.

  Summoning Mara had been a mistake. Sometimes sex alleviated the cold; sometimes it intensified it. Unfortunately, in the initial stages of sexual excitement, it was impossible to tell which of the two it would be. He should probably give up sex altogether, he thought, with a fierce stab of regret. It was no longer worth the risk. Self-denial was tedious, but at this point, self-indulgence usually was, too.

 
He experienced a flicker of discomfort at how cold and abrupt he had been with Mara. She had done her best, and the situation was not her fault. She was being very well paid to get her feelings hurt, however. He brushed the thought aside, poured a glass of whiskey and sipped it, gazing at the desolate beauty of the moon on the water.

  He knew what would happen now. The cold would deepen into a hollow ache. The ache would spread out, cracking him open until he was staring into an abyss of emptiness. On nights such as these, the moon was a cold, unfriendly eye that witnessed all, remembered all, forgave nothing. Sometimes he was tempted to medicate away the ache and the emptiness, but he preferred even intense discomfort to the fog of drugs or alcohol. He should not even try to sleep tonight. In such a mood, a dream was sure to afflict him. He wondered if Raine had inherited the Lazar gift of dreaming.

  It was a most inconvenient birthright for a man such as himself.

  He needed something absorbing to entertain him, if sex was no longer a viable diversion. He'd been on tediously good behavior since the wretched Cahill affair, and this moratorium on illegal activity galled him. Perhaps it was time to turn back to collecting. Not the treasures he had down in his vault, though many of them were indeed priceless. His real hobby was collecting people.

  He had always had a talent for finding and exploiting people's weaknesses. The stolen murder weapons were just a new variation on an old theme, binding people to him with secrecy and collusive guilt. He loved the power, the sense of control.

  His collection was vast and varied, but lately he had gotten bored with collecting public figures and pillars of the community. For some time now he'd been toying with the notion of collecting more dangerous, unpredictable creatures for his private zoo. Exotics, as it were. Such people's key secrets were uglier, more dangerous. Rather like his own.

  That was the impulse that had gotten him involved with Kurt Novak. Novak was the most exotic creature he had ever attempted to collect. It was like swinging a poisonous serpent by the tail—one had to keep the centrifugal force in constant motion. Once collected, however, Victor would have a lever with Kurt's even more powerful father, Pavel Novak, a Hungarian, and one of the richest and most influential bosses of the burgeoning Eastern European mafia. That was a prize too intriguing to resist, with infinite possibilities for entertainment and profit.