Skin Game

by Ava Gray

“You got that right,” she murmured. “If you can keep up, you’ll need three or four of those tonight.”

  Rey paused. “Is that a challenge?”

  “It’s a fact. Are you going to take your clothes off, or do I need to do it for you?”

  A shudder worked through him. He closed his eyes and curled his hands into fists. It was a moment before he moved, and then it was to pull his shirt over his head. He didn’t bother draping like she did, just flung his things in his haste to join her on the bed.

  Ah, gorgeous. Kyra hadn’t misjudged him. He actually improved when he got naked: broad shoulders, taut abdomen, and such delicious bronze skin. All told, she didn’t think she could’ve picked a better partner for a night’s pleasure. He had a lovely cock, made for exactly what she wanted.

  In a move she hadn’t anticipated, he went straight for her mouth, licking and nuzzling her lips with raw hunger. Though she usually preferred to get right to the fucking, she kissed him back, bit down on his lower lip until he whimpered. She ran her hands through his inky hair, surprised to find it was silkier than she’d expected. Heat kindled as he tasted her, so she threw a leg over his hip and rocked against him.

  Surely he’d take the hint. Slap a condom on his cock and shove inside her. She’d never been with a man who made her wait after she made it clear she wanted to fuck. Kyra had already taken care of the foreplay, after all. Before his arrival, she’d caressed her own breasts and tugged on her nipples, stroked her own labia and teased her clit. She only needed him for the final act.

  Rey didn’t seem to have received the memo. He kissed her until she couldn’t get her breath. She ran her nails down his back, wanting to punish him for being so slow.

  He nibbled from her lips to her jaw and then down her throat. Kyra tipped her head back and made a low growling sound in her throat. He bit her. She felt herself lubricate even more, so slick and ready for him.

  “Don’t make love,” she managed to say. “Just fuck.”

  In answer, he licked a slow circle around her nipple. “You’re not in charge, Kyra. Try to tell me what to do again, and I’ll stop. If you want to be completely in control, you should do it yourself.”

  “Bastard. Maybe I will.” She reached between them, curled her fingers around his cock, and squeezed. “Who’s in charge now?”

  His hips bucked. “You make me come like this, and you don’t get a hard cock inside you tonight. Let go.”

  She levered up on an elbow, working her fingers along his length in an irresistible rhythm. “Make me.”

  His eyes kindled like stars blazing into the dark velvet of a night sky. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

  “Are you as stupid as you are pretty?” She enunciated clearly in case he was. “Of course I do.”

  That seemed to be the last straw. He caught his breath and broke her hold on him in a move she’d used on him earlier in the day. Before she hardly knew what had happened, Kyra found herself facedown on the bed with Rey applying pressure on her upper back to keep her that way.

  Ah, a kinky fuck. She liked that.

  The condom packet crinkled as he presumably tore it open. Then she felt his hands on her hips, but he didn’t need to guide her. She knew this position, so she raised her pelvis, and he slammed into her. His fingers knotted in her hair, smarting a little, but she liked it rough—always had.

  He took her hard and fast, all the way in and then he drew almost all the way out, so she felt each push as if it was the first time. Kyra lifted her hips to meet him, grinding back on each inward thrust. Then it was like he read her mind—what she always wanted and seldom got.

  His hands roved under her body, cupping her breasts. He pulled on her nipples and she felt an answering contraction in her pussy. Rey ran his hands over her like he owned her, slipping between her thighs to rub her clit. Kyra bucked as if she’d fight him off, but it was quite the opposite. She wanted to be tamed, but nobody ever rode her exactly like she wanted.

  Until now.

  She felt him cover her entirely, weighting her. Claiming her. He bit down on the back of her neck, hard enough to hurt. She’d wear his mark for days, and that idea pushed her over the edge. Sobbing for breath, she tensed and came. Clawed at the pillow.

  Rey pushed her through that orgasm and two more before he let go. His thrusts became quick and shallow, his breath gusting in her ears. Kyra lay beneath him, quiet and quiescent, reveling in the afterglow. The raw groan sounded torn out of him when he shuddered atop her, his chest plastered to her back in sweet slick sweat.

  How fucking brilliant. She might’ve met the man capable of wearing her out. It would definitely be a night to remember.

  Reyes woke with a hard dick, the taste of her on his lips, and a bad feeling. In that order. After the night he’d had, the first thing indicated there was something seriously wrong with him. He should be set for sex. Instead the wild night seemed to have only given his penis unreasonable expectations.

  Christ, they’d done it three times, not counting all the extracurricular exploration, vying for dominance all the while. Fighting her for control had worn him the fuck out—he’d never been with anyone like her—and now he wanted her all over again.

  They had nine more condoms, and time for a quickie before checkout. He reached for Kyra and found only the slightly pilled cotton of cheap, well-washed sheets.

  No shower running, no ambient noise in the room at all. Not. Good.

  With immeasurable regret, he opened his eyes. The slant of the sunlight across old, green shag carpeting reinforced his impression something wasn’t right. A quick scan of the room resulted in a resounding, “Fuck!”

  Before he bounded out of bed stark naked, and headed for the window, he already knew what he’d find—a potholed parking lot that didn’t contain a powder blue ’71 Marquis. Chagrin and humiliation burned in his empty stomach, creating a bitter cocktail. She’d given him the slip.

  Only sheer self-control, which had failed him last night, prevented him from slamming his fist into a wall. That would only injure him without adding anything of benefit. Reyes tried breathing exercises, needing to restore equilibrium so he could examine the situation logically.

  Nothing helped.

  The woman had fucked his brains out and then left him asleep in bed. He couldn’t remember when, if ever, anyone had so bested him. Of course, given the teeth marks he’d left all over her neck and shoulders, it could be argued he’d taken his share from her as well, at least on a personal level.

  But this was business, not personal.

  She’d written him a note on motel stationary, short and to the point. Best I ever had—thanks for an amazing night. Good luck! Signed with a big swirling K.

  Well, at least I was her best. Somehow, that knowledge didn’t quell his wrath. Adding insult to injury, she’d also left him a crumpled twenty, as if he were a cut-rate man-whore she’d hired for the night.

  Reyes swore.

  A glance at the red digital numbers on the old clock radio told him it was almost eleven. Goddamn, he never slept this late. Clearly he’d underestimated Kyra Marie Beckwith all the way around.

  Fury alone wouldn’t get the job done, but if he tamped it, if he remembered how he felt at this moment, it might come in handy later. He took a five-minute shower and dressed in the same clothes he had on yesterday. Housekeeping would be at the door in a few minutes and he intended to be gone before then.

  After giving the room a final, cursory scan, he snatched up the bill she’d left him. When he found the woman, he’d make her eat it. Or maybe not, maybe he’d put her mouth to better use. But first things first.

  As he came out of the rundown motel, humidity hit him like a wet glove. Reyes retrieved his cell phone from a zipper pocket cunningly concealed in the lining of his jacket. Later, he’d need to take it off or sweat himself sick. He let the customer-service agent do her I’m-so-friendly spiel and then said, “You’ll find my rental car parked at Suds just outside Eunice. S
end someone to collect it, please.”

  The rep sputtered as he’d expected. He gave her thirty seconds to articulate her objections, and then he spoke over the top of her. “I don’t care what it costs. Put it on the platinum card.” He paused and pretended to listen. “No, thank you.”

  Spinning in place, he assessed his situation in a single glance—within a few miles of Lake Charles and a stone’s throw from the highway. No wonder the bed vibrated all night, quite apart from their pelvic wrestling. An eatery called Motel Restaurant sat close to the access road, apart from the L-shaped building that intersected at the office. Since it offered his only option for breakfast, he headed that way.

  Like the room they’d rented, this place had seen better days. Worn green linoleum had cracked and curled up near the counter. The tabletops were made of ancient white and gray Formica. It wasn’t a large place, only one person inside, a scruffy, bearded guy who looked as if he’d be hard-pressed to pay for his coffee.

  Nobody came to seat him, so he chose a booth near the back where he could watch the door. Old habits died hard.

  The menu consisted of a single laminated sheet. It looked like he could have grits, eggs, hotcakes, bacon, or any combination thereof. This wasn’t the sort of place where a guy could find fruit or granola. Reyes sighed; the food he ate while tracking Kyra Beckwith might succeed in killing him where everything else had failed.

  Next order of business would be getting another car delivered. Enterprise claimed to do just that, so he dialed information for their local office. Five minutes later, he had the promise of a ride. He had to drive with the rep back to the branch to fill out paperwork, of course. It would be well into the afternoon before he finished all this crap.

  If he wasn’t the best at what he did, he might be worried about the delay. It had taken him months to track her down the first time because Kyra lived quietly, didn’t flaunt her money, or take too much in a single score. Well, not usually anyway, not since Vegas. So people didn’t remember when she passed through.

  This time, however, he had a plan B. Reyes hadn’t expected the woman to get away from him, but he’d taken steps, just in case. In his field, he was known for preparing for all eventualities. He drew out his phone and clicked a few keys, wanting to make sure the tracking device he’d planted gave a good signal.

  Perfect. Someone else might’ve planted the transmitter on her clothing, but she’d change them, probably sooner than he could catch up to her. There was no telling how fast or hard she’d drive, how many miles she’d cover in one day.

  But Kyra would never leave that car behind. He’d sussed out her love for it back in the bar, after glimpsing her quickly veiled reluctance to drop the keys into the pot. She’d wagered it, but only when she knew she’d win.

  Reyes still wasn’t sure how she’d done that, or what she’d done to him that left her able to kick the guy’s ass in the convenience store. But he was positive of one thing.

  Once he found the Marquis, all he had to do was stake it out. Reyes smiled, imagining her reaction. This would be fun. Anticipation spiked into his veins.

  The waitress—a pink-haired, middle-aged woman with a beehive, who’d clearly watched too many Alice reruns on TV Land—came to take his order. His expression must have alarmed her because she took a step back. She fiddled with her pad and pencil. “Uh, if you’re not sure, I can—”

  With some effort, he dialed the menace down. “No, I’m set. Thank you.”

  He went for coffee, juice, and the special: scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Since there was nobody else, his breakfast arrived fast, and he was pleasantly surprised. By the time he finished the last triangle, liberally smeared with good strawberry jam, he felt almost agreeable.

  “Don’t clear my table,” he told the waitress as he stood, throwing down the crumpled twenty Kyra had left him. Reyes offered a warm smile to make up for the fact he’d scared her earlier. He knew he could be intimidating, but he didn’t generally try, not unless he was on the clock. “I’m going to get a paper, and then I’ll be back to drink your fine coffee and wait for my ride.”

  She actually blushed, patting her hair with a plump hand. “Oh, we certainly have the space this morning. It’ll be my pleasure to keep your cup warm, sir.”

  His lips twitched as he headed out. A machine in front of the motor lodge offered him a day-old American Press for fifty cents. Well, he’d take it. Scanning the headlines as he walked, he read about recalled meat, fragile college budgets, and mudbug madness.

  Until Enterprise delivered his car, he had nothing but time.

  Then the game was on.

  That’s right, Kyra Marie. Keep an eye on your rearview mirror, because I’m coming for you.

  CHAPTER 4

  Gerard Serrano gazed out over the skyline. From his penthouse, he had an excellent view of the Vegas lights. He should have felt some degree of satisfaction over what he’d achieved. Thirty years ago, he’d been a kid with nothing, coming to the Strip looking to make his mark. From there he’d clawed his way up to the top, stepping over a few bodies along the way.

  “Like they say,” he muttered, “you don’t make the omelet without breaking some eggs.”

  Until a few months ago, he’d been feared and respected. That had all changed the night Rachel Justice humiliated him in his own casino. Serrano clenched his jaw against the remembered burn of it. That wasn’t even her real name, of course. She wasn’t a kindergarten teacher. She wasn’t Presbyterian.

  Kyra Marie Beckwith had played him for a fool like nobody had managed in twenty years. It didn’t help that his chief of security, Foster, had suggested he run a background check on her, months ago. If he hadn’t been so stu pidly infatuated, he would have listened. If Foster had his way, everyone would be fingerprinted before they were allowed to talk to him, Serrano thought with amusement.

  That faded slowly as he recalled his problem. If he’d listened to Foster, he’d have known who “Rachel” was before things escalated and he could have taken care of things quietly. Now that was no longer an option. He had to make an example of her.

  She’d used her position as his fiancée to disgrace him completely. If he hadn’t been out of town on business, she never would’ve been able to convince the cage cashier to pay out her money in large bills. She’d even gotten them to do it especially for her, not needing his approval because he’d told them to treat her word as his own. He’d intended to make her queen of his kingdom, the mother of his children.

  He turned from the window as his security chief let himself into the office. Serrano recognized the cat-soft footfalls; nobody else who worked for him moved quite like Foster. He half suspected the man had a background in stalking and killing, but to Serrano’s mind, that made Foster more suited for his job, not less. He was a tall, slim man of indeterminate ethnic background. Sometimes Serrano thought he was Nordic, other times, German, but Foster had no discernible accent.

  “Any word?” Serrano asked.

  Foster functioned as the go-between in communication with the pro they’d hired to make the problem go away. Serrano didn’t dirty his hands with such things, and it wouldn’t be smart to leave a trail. The money that paid for the hit came from various hidden accounts, and not even from the same one.

  The security chief inclined his head. “He caught up with her in Louisiana. When he has information regarding the whereabouts of your money, he’ll finish the job.”

  “That’s good news.” Serrano smiled. “I want to get this wrapped up. I’m heading to St. Moritz in a few days.”

  “I thought you hated to ski.”

  “I do, but the women there are fantastic.”

  His top man had the restraint not to say that his penchant for women had gotten them into this mess in the first place. Sometimes it was good for people to think they knew all about you. In some ways, this debacle could be turned to his advantage. It might be interesting to see who came snapping at the injured wolf’s throat. When the time came, he�
�d handle all challenges in the same way he always had—without mercy.

  Foster didn’t know everything; he just thought he did. And the real reason Serrano was heading to Europe was a lot more interesting than he’d let on, even to his security chief. He didn’t think it was smart to trust anyone with the big picture.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “A couple of weeks, I’d say. Can you handle things here?”

  “You can rely on me.”

  Something about Foster’s cool, neutral tone set off alarm bells. Serrano had never been able to pinpoint it, but he always had the feeling his security chief didn’t like him, not that it stopped the man from doing his job or cashing his paycheck. Maybe he was paranoid, but he hadn’t survived so many years in a dirty business by being a trusting SOB. One of his competitors might see his humiliation as a golden prospect to take him down, and any employee could be bought.

  That was why he’d started thinking about a family, a son to inherit what he’d built. It would take the right kind of woman to give him what he wanted. He’d thought Rachel Justice was that woman, but she was just a con artist’s creation. That stung more than he liked, the fact that he’d been so cleanly taken. But Serrano didn’t let his temper get away from him. It wouldn’t do to show weakness, not even in front of Foster—maybe especially in front of Foster.

  “Keep me posted, will you?”

  “Absolutely, sir.” Foster turned to leave.

  “How long have you worked for me?” He knew the answer; he just wanted to measure the man’s precision.

  “One year, ten months, and twenty-seven days.”

  “When was the last time you had a raise?”

  “Not quite a year ago.”

  “Was it a good one?”

  He damn well knew it had been. Serrano rewarded efficiency. Foster was a solid, reliable employee who never asked inconvenient questions and always offered the best solution to any problem. In his experience, that meant something would break soon. Men like Foster weren’t content nibbling at the edges of somebody else’s pie. They wanted the whole damn bakery for themselves.