His Devil's Desire

by Linzi Basset

  Another clank and whir sound rang through his head, which spurred him through the carved wooden doorway leading into a large entertainment area. It was a massive room with one entire wall of windows facing the city in the distance. At night the view was magnificent. Especially from the wide patio that stretched along the length of the building.

  The area would cater to members who wished to lounge around and just relax on the one side and an open restaurant on the other, with a raised dance floor in the corner. On the far side there was a similarly carved doorway leading to a landing, where a door opened into his well-stocked wine cellar and another disguised behind the stone wall, which was only accessible with fingerprint scan hidden behind the light fixture on the wall.

  “My wine had better survive this upheaval,” he grunted as he looked around.

  The bar was in the process of being built. Similar to the one Colt Fargo and Nolan Shaffer had done recently when they’d renovated their club, Wicked Cove. Only this one was twice the size. It was a heavy wooden bar that stretched the entire one side of the room. It was also the origin of all the noise.

  His bare feet carried him to the far end of the counter, the sound growing louder and his hung-over head thumped painfully.

  The carpenter, Dave Collins, was busy with a saw, cutting a rounded edge into the wood. His denim overalls were covered in sawdust, as well as the bright red cap on his head.

  When he lifted the saw again, Rhone yanked the cord from the wall.

  “Now what?”

  Rhone frowned. That didn’t sound like Dave Collins’ usually deep and gruff voice.

  “Now you stop this goddamned noise. That’s what,” he growled irritably. “Do you have any idea what the fucking time is?”

  The body in front of him froze before slowly rising. The narrow shoulders straightened visibly before he turned to face Rhone while yanking off the protective goggles from his face. The cap fell from his head at the same time, allowing a glorious tumble of golden curls loose. Not Dave Collins.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Who are you and where is Dave?” He was too irritated to allow a pretty blonde, with a cleavage of note and rounded breasts glimmering enticingly in a thin layer of sweat sway him.

  “Samantha Frazer,” she snapped through thinly pressed lips. Moments before they had been rosy and pouty.

  Samantha stared in fascination as his one eyebrow arched, doing a slow sweep over her body. For one thing, it kept her eyes from wandering lower. That first glance had been enough to make her stomach do a somersault or two and set her libido into super drive.

  “As in Woodcraft Carpentry?”

  “Yes. Look, I apologize for the early hour but—”

  “But nothing. No normal human being is awake at this time of day. What happened to normal work hours?”

  She visually sizzled with annoyance.

  “Look, mister, you’re the one who changed your specifications for the bar at last minute. So, if you want it finished in time—”

  “No, you look here, little snip, when I requested the changes I was assured it wouldn’t be a problem. I sure as hell didn’t expect to be startled awake by that god-awful noise you’re making,” he growled.

  Samantha stared at the flashing silver sparks in his eyes. She wondered what he would be like when he was really angry.

  “Clive should never have committed to such a ridiculous timeframe, nor should you have had the audacity to demand it, for that matter.”

  She refused to be intimidated by the formidable man looming over her. Although, her hands were suddenly sweaty, and her clit was throbbing, escalating with every glance toward his wide, perfectly muscled chest, washboard abs and . . . oh man, she drew in a ragged breath when she couldn’t keep herself from taking another peek further down.

  “I don’t give a fuck who did what. Not another single sound, woman, until sunrise.”

  “You know, bucko, you should be careful about yapping so disrespectfully. Especially to a woman with a saw in her hands and your . . . dangling bits so invitingly presented. My hands might just slip . . .”

  Belatedly, Rhone glanced down. He was naked as a jaybird. His cock, the rowdy bastard, was half-mast in reaction to the enticing little chit in front of him.

  He never could resist a blonde and she had a dewy look that made him want to take a nip out of her rosy cheeks that elevated her heart shaped face.

  “You shouldn’t have done that, my pet,” he said with a sexy grin that made Samantha’s toes curl in her boots.

  She cleared her throat and kept her tongue from swiping the drool in her cupid-shaped mouth.

  “Done what?” Her eyes widened when he walked closer, his ‘devil eyes’ sparkling with lustful intent.

  Samantha had been a submissive at Club Pearl in upper Washington DC for close to five years. She recognized the signs. In front of her, stood one of the most compelling Doms she’d ever come across. He was power personified; every inch of his tall frame.

  “Reminded me that I’m naked. Now, you’re just gonna have to face the consequences,” he said and before she realized his intent, he took the saw from her hands. She heard the machine clatter to the thick wooden floor but didn’t flinch. Her almond-shaped eyes were riveted on the man who now stood pressed against her front. His heat seared her skin through her denim overalls.

  “My negligence? I’ll have you knowmmm—”

  His lips caught her unawares and her snippy remark got swallowed by his mouth taking possession of hers. Every sweep of his tongue against her palate, the insides of her cheeks, was demanding. She found herself responding with as much fervor.

  Samantha moaned when she felt his shaft hardening against her stomach. She gulped at the size of the cock that was pressing into her soft belly. Her clit sizzled when he slowly licked her bottom lip.

  His arms tightened around her to lift her until his cock was pressed between her legs. With a growl, he began to rock his length back and forth, the friction against her clit had her whimpering in need in tune with every motion.

  “Now, my pet, if you were to drop those ugly pants and let me in, I might just forgive your early intrusion,” he growled against her throat.

  Samantha went stiff as an iron board in his arms. His sigh rippled from his chest when she struggled against him.

  “Lemme go, you big . . . big . . .”

  “Cock?” He didn’t hide his amusement at her flustered look. “Want to know a secret?” She glared at him with blown-up cheeks. “I’ll just tell you anyway . . . for future reference. This, Samantha Frazer,” his voice lowered as he pressed his cock hard against her clitoris. “isn’t even fully aroused.”

  “You . . . get away from me,” she ordered, becoming more ruffled by the minute. She could feel her cheeks blooming, spurred on by the arousal which was now throbbing inside her loins.

  His eyes darkened. He wrapped his hand around her throat and squeezed, forcing her chin higher. Her amber eyes flashed golden sparks at him.

  “I can smell your arousal, Samantha, so don’t pretend. Don’t ever pretend about your feelings to me, is that understood?” His voice grated through clenched teeth. His scratchy voice resonated deep inside her to tickle awake her submissive nature. She recognized the promise of a future alliance in his words.

  “I understand,” she said, swallowing hard as his fingers tightened.

  “Open your overalls for me, my pet. I want to at least feel your heat.”

  Samantha didn’t think to deny him and fiddled with the zipper of her pants. Her head fell back with her lips forming a round, “Oh,” the moment his large hand trailed over her stomach to find her pulsing clit for a brief pat. His aim—her moist slit which he found with one accurate sweep of his fingers, before lasciviously pushing two digits deep inside her pussy.

  “Ah, just as I’d suspected. Hot, wet and so fucking tight,” Rhone growled in her ear.

  She clawed at his rippling shoulders and couldn’t keep her hips from doing a wild orbit ag
ainst his hand when he began to pump his fingers inside her. Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth as she tried to contain her carnal growl which was threatening to escape from the back of her throat.

  “No, you don’t. If you deny me the pleasure, you don’t get to come off my hand either.”

  Samantha moaned and her pussy felt bereft when he withdrew his thick fingers. She shivered when he stepped back, suddenly cold from the loss of his body heat against hers.

  Rhone watched her through half-lidded eyes as he slowly licked his fingers clean. Her gaze was glued to his tongue lapping up her essence from his fingers. Her clit throbbed in reaction when he sucked the tip of his finger clean and her pussy wept as he curled his tongue around the other. She could almost feel every sweep of his tongue inside the silken folds of her pussy.

  The glint in his eyes was more than just lust. It was a warning of intent. His guttural promise triggered a shiver of anticipation to shimmy down her spine.

  “Soon, Samantha Frazer, you’ll be screaming my name as you climax, with my cock buried deep in your pussy, and then . . . in your ass.”

  Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she watched him saunter through the doorway. Her mouth watered as his natural swagger caused the muscles in his back and flanks to ripple with every step he took. Not to mention his steel buns, which she was tempted to bite into. The way he moved made her think of a warrior—not a hardened one though, although, she’d heard the rumors of how unapproachable Rhone Greer was. No, she’d detected gentleness in his searing eyes. Well hidden, maybe; but it had shone through the moment he’d lifted his head after that panty-melting kiss.

  “My, oh my. I’ve never seen a man this seductive without even trying.” Samantha croaked. She picked up a brush to sweep the sawdust off from the creases she’d carved into the wood.

  The man was devastatingly handsome. “Yeah, and he fucking knows.” That bed-head, raven-black hair with silver streaks on the side, gave him a rugged look. “Man! Why couldn’t I have just kept my mouth shut?” She berated herself. “At least my entire body wouldn’t be throbbing with the need to come now.” She sighed at a loss once again.

  “Oh, and one more thing, Samantha.”

  Her head snapped up to find Rhone leaning his shoulder against the doorway, watching her unblinking. His cock was still aroused and bobbed in a pendulous arc when he straightened.

  “I don’t like other cocks where I aim to be soon. So, be warned. Keep that pussy chaste from now on, until I say otherwise.” His gray eyes roamed over her from head to toe once again, before he turned and sauntered off, leaving her drooling over his buns.

  “Like hell I will,” she snapped once she was sure he’d left this time, with the click of the front door.

  And just for good measure, she plugged in the saw and the satisfying, WHER! WHER! RIZZZ, echoed loudly in the large room.

  Rhone chuckled as he heard the noise follow him all the way inside his house.

  “I’m going to have loads of fun taming that little firebrand,” he said to himself as he began brewing some coffee.

  “What little firebrand? Why did you leave the bed so early, Master?” A sultry voice asked from the kitchen door.

  Rhone glanced toward the dark-haired woman walking closer—as naked as him. Her eyes began to glint with lust when she noticed his arousal. He racked his brain for her name. It surprised him that he’d woken up with a woman in his bed. He never brought women to his house.

  “Master? I think you’re confusing me with someone else. And what are you still doing here? I told you to leave last night,” Rhone snapped. He almost groaned out loud when she visibly shrank in front of his eyes; total opposite to the little snip working on his bar counter.

  His memory slipped into place as he recalled the doorbell ringing and this woman; bedraggled and wet from the rain, standing there, distressed that her car had broken down just up the street. He’d offered to phone a towing service but the storm had left him no choice but to invite her in. It became clear the moment she’d stepped inside that her story had been a lie. That she’d deliberately invaded his house to get to him. He’d been completely sloshed by then. He always was, on the 2nd of August. The only cure, for the mistake he’d been unable to bury, for the past six years. It hadn’t taken much to convince him to fuck her.

  “But we had such a good time and you are a Dom, Master Razor. I told you last night I’d be your slave. Please don’t make me leave.”

  Fuck me. I don’t have the strength for shit like this.

  His gray eyes glinted; cold and metallic. The sclerae surrounding them were pristine, untouched by any sign of redness; shooting an icy look her way.

  “Leave, Vanessa. And don’t darken my door again with blatant lies. No, you don’t get to talk now. I don’t have time for games; least of all, deceptive women, which you have proved to be. Get your clothes and get out.”

  “But, how . . . I don’t have a car,” she stammered, but started retreating to the door anyway, weary of his anger.

  “Another lie. I’m calling a cab. You have five minutes. Don’t waste them. I won’t think twice about throwing your naked ass out of the door.”

  He turned and found a pair of shorts to wear in the laundry room.

  Five minutes later, he stood watching the cab turn into the street from the main gate. This time he made sure that the heavy steel gate slid closed before he turned back toward the kitchen. It was time for a hearty breakfast.

  CLANK! CLANK! WHER! WHER! RIZZZ!

  Rhone’s lips curved into an evil smile as the noise cut through his throbbing head.

  “Oh, yes, little snip. I’m going to take pleasure in whipping your sweet little ass.”

  Chapter Two

  “Don’t tell me the others are running late again, Keon,” Rhone complained when he walked into the boardroom of their firm, Precision Secure. There were five stakeholders in the company—all friends; although, Rhone and Keon were the primary shareholders. It was a perfect cover for running the covert operations unit for the President of the United States of America.

  “They just arrived.” Keon nodded toward the streaming security cam footage. He was slouched in his chair with his eyes half-closed.

  “Didn’t sleep?” Rhone asked.

  “Yeah, well, you know what day it was. I managed to drown myself with some Macallan and some music by Kiss.”

  “Ah, ‘I was made for loving you’, I imagine.”

  “Yeah, it was our song. Now I’ve got one hell of a headache.”

  “I’m with you, Keon. Next year we should just drown together instead of going solo.”

  They fell quiet as each tried to push unwanted memories back to the recesses of their mind and watched their three friends, Lance Talbot, Max Shaw and Jack Blackmore, saunter through the door.

  “Accident on the freeway. We were stuck in traffic for ten miles,” Max said by way of explanation. The three of them lived around the corner from each other and had driven in together. “I’ve asked Savannah to bring us some coffee and croissants.”

  “Don’t tell me you left without breakfast?” Rhone asked while he took his seat at the head of the table.

  “Hell no, but that was over an hour ago. You know my robust body needs lots of sustenance,” Max said. He patted his flat stomach.

  It was a long-standing joke among them. Max ate like a caterpillar—nonstop.

  “Let’s get down to business,” Lance, the operations director of the group, said. He switched on the screen that covered most of the wall on one side of the room and waited for his iPad to link up. Lance was in charge of all new ops.

  “This case isn’t the usual kind we accept for covert ops, but Brad believes there is syndicate involved. This,” he said, pointing at the picture of the man on the right, “is Senator Kevin Douglas, his wife—Ellie and their fourteen-year old daughter, Dixon.”

  “Isn’t he the one intending to propose the bill on legalizing prostitution?” Jack sat forward. He squint
ed at the screen. “For the life of me, I can’t see this man as a senator. He looks like an accountant or something.”

  “Senators and governors are normal people, Jack. Like you and me. Look at Governor Alex White. He’s been dubbed the celebrity governor because of his looks,” Lance responded with a grin.

  “I imagine because of the sensitivity, it has to be a unified vote in congress, so it is going to take some time.” Rhone interrupted their wayside comments. Brad Flint was the Secretary of State and their direct link to the President of the United States. “Thanks Savannah. The coffee smells delicious.”

  “Your special brew all the way from Kenya, sir,” the young secretary said with a shy smile. She disappeared as quietly as she’d entered. Jack’s glance followed her swaying hips until the door closed behind her.

  “They don’t know. What is of concern is that Douglas has been receiving threats. As you can imagine, there are some who are vehemently opposing the legalization of prostitution.”

  “The mafia, probably the most. They have prostitution rings all over the US. Legalizing it would limit one of their biggest revenue sources.” Max bit into a chocolate croissant. “Ah, man, this is heaven,” he said with closed eyes.

  “No wonder you can’t find a wife,” Jack laughed. “They run when they see your appetite.” He picked up a pastry. “Better dig in, boys, before he wipes out the entire plate.”

  “Alex White requested that we look into the matter with discretion. He’s concerned that the syndicate may already be on alert about the possible scrutiny.” Lance continued, unperturbed by the byplay.

  “I assume the FBI and CIA have been instructed to stand back from interfering?” Rhone took a sip of the hot brew from his cup.

  “Alex and Brad claim they’re not aware of the threats. Douglas came to them directly, the moment the threats started and has been instructed to keep it quiet.”

  Rhone frowned. “Started? How many has he received?”