by Sybil Bartel
Fear licked up my spine and settled in my heart. I pushed words out through my suddenly dry mouth. “What are you doing?”
“You want to kill a man, don’t hesitate.” Lightning fast, he ripped the gun from my hand, spun it, and in less than a second, it was aimed at my temple. “Otherwise, you lose.” Before I could blink, he reached behind him and set the gun on the kitchen island.
My heart in my throat, I fought for a steady breath. For the first time since he’d walked into his house, I was truly afraid of what he was capable of. “You’re insane.”
“And dominating and controlling and ruthless.” He gripped a handful of my hair, walked me back two steps, then grabbed the back of my left thigh. “You want to fuck?” He lifted my ass to the back of the couch then rubbed his hard cock through my wet heat. “You say so.”
Desire, sharp and painful, clenched in my core and raced to my nipples. “Asshole.”
He shoved in to the hilt.
“Ahhh.” I grabbed his arms as he pushed my thigh to my chest.
He thrust three times, hard and merciless. “You want to know how many times I’m going to fuck you, ask.” He pushed in deep and ground his hips, slow and controlled.
My mouth open, my eyes fluttered shut.
He yanked on my hair. “Look at me.”
My eyes popped open at the command.
“You want to freak out about me coming inside you?” He pulled back then thrust deep. “Get the fuck over it. It’s done, and I’m going to do it again. Know why?”
Oh my God. “No.”
“Because you feel like a goddamn dream.”
It wasn’t a profession of love. It wasn’t even a confession. But for this hardened killer who’d decided to save me from myself? His words felt like a Shakespearean love sonnet. “You feel good too.”
“Good, because I’m going to fuck you until I’m the only goddamn man in your head.”
A smile, as rare as the scarred man fucking me, spread across my face as everything fell into place. “You’re jealous.”
“I don’t get jealous.” He leaned down and bit my nipple just hard enough. “I get even.” His tongue swirled across his sting. “And, sweetheart?”
My pussy clenched around his cock, and I bit my lower lip. “Hmm?” Oh my God, he felt good.
“I’m going to get so goddamn even, that asshole won’t know what hit him.”
I didn’t have time to respond.
Dane Marek reared back and slammed into me. His hands caught my hips, both thumbs went to my clit and he started pounding.
Rough and hard and so mind-numbingly incredible, his body worked mine. Every thrust hit my G-spot, and I was coming before I could even wrap my legs around his hips.
A half cry, half scream erupted from my chest and I was flying.
Heat and the exquisite pain of his big cock bottoming out on every thrust mingled with the shock of an orgasm not self-induced or stolen, but given with such heart-melting determination that I wasn’t just flying, I was breaking free.
Her cunt clenched around my dick, and I picked her up. Holding her ass, pushing her into me as I thrust, she came like a fucking IED blast wave. Her whole body shook as I let go and pumped inside her.
For ten seconds, my head went straight.
Then I realized what the fuck I was doing.
Holding another man’s wife as my dick impaled her and my seed dripped out of her cunt.
Four tours, two hundred and thirty-eight kills, and I was brought down by the hundred-and-twenty-pound wife of a Russian mafia arms dealer.
Jesus fuck.
Her thin arms tightened around my neck. “I’m not jumping into another relationship.”
I mentally shook my head and switched gears. “You weren’t in a relationship.” Fuck, she kept me guessing.
“Well, I’m not jumping into a relationship with you.”
The fuck she wasn’t. “If you’re carrying my kid you are.” God help her if she was. What we were doing was irresponsible at best and fucking suicidal at worst. The second anyone found out I was attached, let alone a father, my kid and her would be bigger targets than me. Leaving the business would no longer be a thought, it’d be necessary if I wanted to keep us all alive.
“Put me down. I’m making a mess all over your hardwood floors.”
“I don’t give a damn about the floor.” Part of me wanted Fedorov to show the fuck up right then so he could see my cum dripping out of her before I put a bullet between his eyes.
“What do you give a damn about?”
I eased out of her and lowered her to her feet, but I didn’t let go of her. “Making Fedorov dead.” I studied her face for a reaction. She hadn’t said shit any of the times I’d warned her about what I was going to do to him. She either had the best poker face of any woman I’d ever met or she wanted him dead.
Her small hands on my biceps, she looked up at me, but she didn’t say a word.
I tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. Jesus, I could get used to this. “You got a problem with that?”
“What’s the right answer?”
“There’s no wrong answer.”
“I don’t care about him.”
That was the right answer, but I called her on it anyway. “A few hours ago, you were on my kitchen floor with the phone to your ear doing exactly what he told you.”
Her fingers traced the muscles in my arms. “I thought you were the worse option.”
I digested that for a moment. “And now?” Did I give a fuck if I was an option or a choice?
She traced the outline of my graze wound. “Now I know you’re the worse option.”
I fucking smiled.
As beautiful as the first time, she graced me with another smile. “I see you have a sense of humor.”
“On occasion.” Seeing her smile, I didn’t give a fuck if I was an option or choice. I just wanted her. “Let’s go to bed.” I was fucking tired and I wanted her in my arms.
Her smile dropped and her expression shut down. “Excuse me.” Without an explanation, she turned and walked her sexy-as-fuck naked body down the hall and into the guest room. She shut the door.
I should’ve gone to bed.
But I didn’t. I grabbed boxers from my bedroom then walked into the guest room without knocking.
Her back to the door, her suitcase open on the bed, she was slipping something over her head. A dress, a nightgown, I didn’t know what the fuck it was, but it was torture. Similar to what she’d been wearing when I first saw her, the thin material showed every curve and her lack of underwear.
I knew she’d heard me come in, but she didn’t turn. She didn’t even react. I cataloged the information to analyze later.
“You’re sleeping in my bed,” I reminded her.
She turned. “What happens after?”
Every time I looked at her, she was more beautiful. Her hair shining in the dim light from the nightstand lamp, her complexion free of makeup, you could’ve told me she was royalty and I wouldn’t have questioned it.
I forced my thoughts back to her question and what was going down tomorrow. “We lie low.” I didn’t have any other jobs scheduled.
“We?” She crossed her arms.
“Yes.”
“What about your other clients?”
I knew she was asking about the women clients. “I don’t have any.”
“But you said you didn’t fuck for free.”
Every time she said fuck, I noticed the dichotomy of her speech patterns. She could converse like a princess or speak like a street whore. I hadn’t decided which pattern was hers and which one was from Fedorov. Her accent had all but disappeared except for a few slight nuances that I would attribute to being raised by a non-English-speaking parent.
I studied her face for telltale signs of jealousy, but I couldn’t find any. “I didn’t. Not for three years. Now I have.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
I held her gaze and pur
posely paused before answering to see if she would react. When she didn’t, I gave her the information she wanted. “I never do repeat clients, escorting nor mercenary. I don’t have any other escort clients because I don’t preschedule them. When I decide to take a woman client, I contact a name off the list and arrange a meet that day. All of my clients knew it was a one-time deal.”
“Where do you get the list?”
“From Vega or another escort, Jared Brandt. We all served together, we all fuck for money. Them more than me.”
“Why?”
“They’re in it for the money. I’m not.”
“Clearly. Because cutting off a paying client is bad business.”
I ignored the jab. “The sex is a release. The terms of the arrangement let them know I’m not for keeps.”
“How often do you call a woman off the list?”
“Usually after one of my other jobs.”
She glanced at my ribs then my shoulder. “When was your last job?”
“Earlier.”
“Today?”
Yesterday, last night, today. I’d dragged it out because the fucker had pissed me off. I nodded.
“So did you call a client off the list?”
Fuck. “Yes.”
Her arms tightened around her middle. “You said you hadn’t had sex in weeks.”
“I haven’t. I didn’t fuck the client earlier today.”
She inhaled then let it out slow, but her expression didn’t change. Pissed, resigned, about to let loose, I didn’t know what the hell she was thinking until she spoke.
“Lucky me.” Her voice was dead flat.
She was pissed.
I reminded her of my promise. “Did I tell you I would take care of you?”
“No, you said, not asked, that I would be in a relationship with you if you knocked me up.”
I ignored the asking part. “That’s not taking care of you?”
“Not even close.”
Shit, she was frustrating. “As long as you’re with me, you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Nothing?” Skepticism in her tone, she frowned.
I couldn’t blame her, but it was pissing me off that she didn’t trust me. And that was a dangerous slope. I didn’t have room for emotion in my life. “Except pissing Hunter off.”
“I’m sure he’s just waiting to have me for a snack.”
I told her more than I should. “He won’t touch you unless I give the command.”
“How reassuring.” She crossed her arms and stared at the floor.
I waited, but she said nothing else. “Any other questions?” I was fucking tired, and I needed to check the security feeds. I hadn’t gotten any alerts, but I wanted to see what the fuck was going on outside with the storm.
She toed an invisible spot on the floor. “There’s more than the risk of pregnancy with unprotected sex.”
“I’m clean.” And I figured she was too. Vega wasn’t an idiot, and Fedorov was a nonissue unless he’d farmed her out, which she hadn’t mentioned.
She nodded on an inhale, then looked up at me. The vulnerability in her expression was back tenfold. “Am I with you?”
I took a step toward her. “You’re standing right in front of me.” I needed to shut the fuck up. “You’re in my house.” I had no right to give her hope. “And you’re going to sleep in my bed.” I gave it to her anyway, because for the first time in more years than I could count, I wanted more from a woman.
“Past tonight, that doesn’t mean anything.”
She had no fucking clue. It meant more than anything else had in my life in a long damn time. I gave her the truth. “You’re the first woman to stand where you’re standing.”
“You were standing next to another woman hours ago.”
“You were standing next to Vega.” I’d seen them on the security feeds on my front fucking porch.
“That was different. I’d made a choice to leave. I had nowhere to go, but I was going. You didn’t know who was in your house when you came home.”
“Nothing is chance.” Life was circumstances, and she was here.
She threw her arms up. “You know who says things like that? People who aren’t desperate. People who can financially handle the obstacles life throws at them. Yes, I’m here for a reason and everything has a reason, but I’m not just some stupid, pretty package all wrapped up for you to play house with for a night!”
The sight of her pitching a fit shouldn’t have made me want to smile, but it did. My expression locked, I didn’t react. “You ready for bed?”
“No, I’m not ready for bed. I don’t even have a bed because I have nothing. No car, no place to live, no money.” She ticked the list off on her fingers, then her hands went to her hips. “I don’t even have a job because I haven’t worked since I met Viktor. He didn’t allow me to work, let alone have my own bank account. Do you know how hard it is to hide a stupid bank account? One single checking account with no money and I wasn’t even allowed that. No, he had to pay for everything and I had to ask if I wanted anything. But asking was a whole other game to him.” She laughed bitterly. “You wouldn’t believe what it cost to get a bottle of shampoo just so I could wash my hair.”
I couldn’t erase her past, but this shit right now? This I could fix. “Do you still have the account?”
“Of course I have the account. And not you, nor your stupid growling dog or anyone else is going to make me close it. I don’t care how little money is in it. It’s my money.”
“What bank?” I had multiple accounts.
She named one I had an account at. “Why? Are you going to try and take that from me too?”
I gave her a pass on the insult comparing me to that piece of shit, Fedorov. “Do you know the account number?”
“I’m not telling you.”
I put just enough force into my tone to get her attention. “This is where you trust me.” I walked out, grabbed my phone from my bedroom, then went back into guest room as I logged into my account at that bank. “Account number?”
She crossed her arms again. “You can’t buy me.”
I decided I hated it when she crossed her arms. “I’m going to ignore that insult. What’s the account number?”
She glared at me. Then understanding kicked in and she briefly closed her eyes. “I don’t need your charity.”
She had resilience and determination, and I admired the fuck out of her for both. If she’d put up with half the shit I suspected Fedorov of dishing out, she was more than a fucking survivor. With the back of my fingers, I stroked her cheek. “I know.”
“I’m not using you,” she insisted.
She looked so fucking vulnerable standing there, telling me she didn’t need a goddamn thing from anyone, it made both my chest constrict and rage boil in my veins. “I wouldn’t let you.” I’d give her anything she wanted, including the fucking shampoo.
Her cheeks reddened and she exhaled. “I know I’m in your house, that’s not what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you meant. This isn’t charity. This isn’t me buying you. This isn’t a damn thing except a gift.” I shamelessly put the kind of force into my tone I knew she would react to. “Give me your account number.”
She gave me the number.
I transferred the funds. “Now you can buy whatever shampoo you want without having to ask.” I cupped the back of her neck and brought my forehead to hers. “I’m tired and I want you to sleep next to me.” Dropping my voice, I did something I never do. I fucking asked. Nicely. “Can we go to bed?”
She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and bit it like she was fighting tears. “How much?”
Not even close to what she was worth. “It doesn’t matter. You can walk away at any time and the money is still yours.”
She dropped her gaze and stepped into me. Her arms at her sides, her cheek against my chest, she didn’t say a word. She didn’t need too.
I wrapped my arms around her.
> My lungs filled with her scent, and more than coming inside her, my fucking world righted.
I fought tears.
He didn’t have to do that.
He didn’t have to do any of it.
And he especially didn’t have to hold me. But he did. For the third time in as many hours, he simply, inexplicably, held me.
No one held me.
Not even my mother.
But Dane Marek held me and fucked me and made me come and gave me money and did things to my heart I shouldn’t let any man do.
His huge hand stroked over my hair and his lips touched my head. “Come on, sweetheart, I know you’re tired. Let’s go to bed.”
I nodded because I couldn’t speak. I was going to bed with a killer who treated me better than anyone I’d ever met.
I didn’t want tomorrow to come. I wanted this moment to last forever, because for the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged.
His arm slipped to my shoulders, and with the grace of a warrior, he led me to his room with a canine trotting behind us. As if it were the most normal thing in the world, he tossed his cell on the nightstand, then he dragged my nightgown over my head. Stepping out of his boxers, he pulled the covers back for me to crawl in, then followed. His chest hit my back and a hundred-pound attack dog jumped on the bed and lay at my feet.
“I didn’t make you dinner,” he murmured, gently brushing my hair from my shoulder.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been sent to bed without a meal. “I’ll survive.”
His lips touched my shoulder. “I know you’re a survivor, sweetheart.”
Every time he said sweetheart, an unfamiliar feeling spread through my chest. “I’m just a problem taking up space in your life.”
“A beautiful, sexy-as-hell problem that I don’t want to get rid of.”
“Like I said, you’re crazy.”
His hand traveled down my side and over my hip then flattened against my lower abdomen. He pulled me back into his hips and huge erection, then let out a slow exhale. “I like this brand of crazy.”