A Necessary Deception

by Lucy Farago

  She stopped, smiling when he complained. She could let him in on what she had planned, but while she had no problem telling anyone who pissed her off to go fuck themselves—a leftover from her heiress days—the words cock and blow job she had a hard time with. Then again, she’d made great strides in her life by stepping out of the box and away from her comfortable, spoiled existence. So, as she licked his skin and kissed the bandages covering his ribs on her way down his body, she told him exactly where her mouth was going. In a spectrum of colorful words, she explained what her tongue would do once she reached his…cock.

  After sucking him hard, she blew on his wet skin and was thrilled to see his fingers clutch the bedsheet. This gave her the courage to try more out-of-the-box thinking. Positioned across his hip, his strong erection primed at her mouth, she bent her knees and lifted one leg, letting him see how much she was enjoying herself. And when his eyes grew darker, his tongue moistening his lips, she used her free hand to part her folds and play with herself…for both their pleasures. He grew harder in her mouth. She tasted salt, felt the vein she teased with quick flicks pulse faster, giving her more for her to lap. The beginning of an orgasm made her muscles vibrate as she applied pressure to her own wetness. Driving two fingers deep inside her, she imagined it was his cock pumping into her. The ache increased. Forcing her throat to relax, she took him all, then slowly pulled out and took him again. Over and over, her mouth worked his erection. His groans and “holy fuck” made her plunge her fingers deeper and faster into her own body, now desperately wanting something bigger than her own hand.

  She could finish them both off, but where would the fun be in that? Much to his frustration, she stopped. However, when he saw what she intended, he didn’t complain and instead held himself in place for her. She drove her body onto him, the impalement a welcome intrusion. He grabbed her shoulders and yanked her forward, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth. She arched into him, bracing her arms on the wall behind the bed, and watched him suckle, enjoyed his teeth. She was going to climax, and a part of her recoiled at the thought. She didn’t want this to end. She liked seeing him fight for control, the heat of his skin scorching her own. She liked knowing she was the one who’d brought him to the point where near-painful frustration met exquisite release. And in the moment where near-painful frustration met exquisite release, she loved him. Because here it was safe. Here, reality didn’t belong. Later, she could blame it on one hell of a great orgasm.

  Chapter 22

  In four days, Taylor had learned more about him, and herself, than she’d have thought possible. Who knew lots and lots of heart-to-hearts after lots and lots of sex would have that effect on her? Monty wasn’t a sleeper-after-sex kind of guy. It seemed to energize him, and the more sex they had, the more he wanted to talk afterward, even in the middle of the night. Given the waning daylight hours, she supposed the time of day didn’t really matter when they had nothing to do except keep each other company. Hell, she’d even ’fessed up and admitted she’d seen every episode of The Bachelor franchise, and that it had nothing to do with research. Maybe she could send some of her couples to Alaska. It was hard not to discover everything there was about another person and whether they were compatible, when nothing else demanded your time.

  She’d thought she’d buried her resentment toward her father, that he no longer mattered to her. Truth was, did anyone ever really get over being rejected by a parent? But talking about it seemed to help. Both of them.

  “You didn’t.” Monty slipped one leg into a pair of sweatpants and then the other. “How the hell did you get away with that?”

  “My father couldn’t be bothered with punishing me, I guess. The staff cleaned up elephant poo for a week.” She laughed, remembering the evil scowls the gardener had shot her way. She finished buttoning her flannel shirt and headed into the small kitchenette. “I suggested using it on the flowers, but that didn’t go over well.”

  He grabbed his own shirt and followed with—thankfully—only a small limp. “I still don’t get how a ten-year-old managed that. It’s not like you can buy an elephant on the shopping channel.”

  “No, but I’d been to a birthday party with a petting zoo. I drove the men running it crazy with questions until one of them gave me a business card. But then I thought, why stop at a petting zoo when I could have real zoo? When I called, the guy didn’t have an elephant to rent, but he knew a guy who did. And I was good at being invisible,” she explained. “My father never knew when I was in the room. I learned all his passwords, even the combinations to his safe. I used his computer and did everything via email. Remember, I had a lot of time on my hands.”

  “Too funny,” he said. “You can help me plot my revenge the next time the guys take it upon themselves to dump me in Alaska.”

  “Are you ever going to tell me the story behind that?” She opened the back door and retrieved two bottles of water from the snow pile.

  He’d never really explained. He’d told her many other things about himself, including his life in Kentucky. Her heart broke for the boy who’d had to live with a woman either too stupid or too selfish to see her one true love was her son. Which one of them carried more scars? The little boy invisible to his mother or the little girl whose father saw her and still didn’t want her.

  “I fucked up,” he said, something she’d already heard.

  It was none of her business, and she told herself not to take it personally. “Fine, don’t tell me, but now you have to tell me your first name.”

  “Not even on the table.” He took the water out of her hand.

  “I thought we were friends.”

  “We are.”

  “Good friends?”

  “Of course,” he said, a tad warily.

  “So, you’re willing to share your body…risk your life for me…but your name is off the table? That’s stupid.”

  “Maybe.”

  The little shit was going to hold his ground. “Then maybe sex is off the table.”

  “You won’t do that.” He put the bottle on the dinette, and she allowed him to pull her into his arms.

  “You think you’re that irresistible?” He was, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Yes.” And to prove his point, he fisted her hair, tugged her head back, then licked, nipped, and sucked her neck from collarbone to earlobe.

  Unable to prevent her body’s reaction, she gritted her teeth and tried a not going to work. Unfortunately, her treacherous voice came out far too breathy for it to have the desired effect.

  The asshole chuckled against her skin, then had the gall to cup her ass and press her against what she’d be missing should she follow through on her threat.

  “You suck,” she said on an exquisite shiver.

  “Give me time to take your clothes off and I’ll prove you right.”

  He really was an asshole, and for the next five days at least, he was her asshole.

  * * * *

  On day seven of their stay, the news wasn’t good. The truck would be delayed another ten days. While Monty appreciated his time with Taylor, the reality was, his team was searching for them, and so might the Russians. As far as he knew, they’d supplied the only gun to the settlement. And should their location be discovered, one gun wouldn’t be good enough. Were these people as banal as they portrayed themselves to be? If that was the case, and the Russians found them, he and Taylor weren’t in the best position. However, if this was all a façade to hide far more illegal activity…

  One of his contacts had told him the feds were investigating a drug-trafficking ring in northern Alaska. They’d found a connection to a Californian group but hadn’t yet closed in on them. They’d made a couple of arrests, but it seemed the dealers liked to sample their wares. Both died either in the holding tank or in jail from drug withdrawal—conveniently. With the vastness of Alaska, timing was everything. When the feds c
hose to move in on Operation Santa, it would have to be well-coordinated and top secret. Had fate intervened when they’d nicknamed their hosts?

  When he’d first heard about it, he’d assumed the Bratva were using Alaska as a gateway to Russia. Most drug smuggling was south of the United States, closer to the manufacture. They had once tried to exploit the Alaskan pipeline boom but had been unsuccessful. There’d been no way for them to gain a big enough percentage in anything related to commerce for them to secure a foothold. Not like the Keystone XL Pipeline, where 31 percent of a company manufacturing 40 percent of the steel was Russian owned. With close ties to the Russian government, the Bratva had their fingers in that pie.

  “What if they catch you snooping?” she said.

  “They won’t.”

  “Are you well enough to be doing this?”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “You weren’t asking me that this morning.” They’d been busy, and while he’d rather be watching her face as she came, he had to do this.

  She scrunched up her nose and scowled. He loved when she did that. “Fine. What if they catch you?”

  “You already said that.” He tapped her nose with his index finger, then zipped his coat. “I’m just going for a walk.”

  “They don’t strike me as stupid.”

  “They don’t strike me as anything. They barely talk to us.” Another ten-day delay would be odd, but not if they were waiting on a held-up drug shipment. He’d decided it was best to share his theory with Taylor. Her expression said she wasn’t buying it.

  “Drug smuggling? You think Lonnie is a drug smuggler? Lonnie? The little old lady who changes your bandages and pretends not to sneak a peek at your…manhood, that Lonnie?”

  “Please tell me she doesn’t do that.” He’d been wondering why she insisted on clean bandages every day. Now he knew. He was mortified and a little appalled.

  “Have you never wondered why she positions herself that high on your thigh? Silly man. She might be in her sixties, but she’s still breathing.”

  He slipped on his gloves. “And she’s never changing the bandage again. You can do that from now on.” It wasn’t that he minded women looking at him, but she could be his grandmother.

  “And deprive her of the only action she might be getting?” She folded her arms and leaned on one hip. “Not a chance.”

  “Women,” he muttered under his breath before she cut him off at the door.

  “I think maybe we’re being a little paranoid. I mean, these people took us in, helped with your injuries. They don’t look like criminals to me.”

  “By we you mean me? Maybe. It’s not uncommon for indigenous people to want to keep to themselves, but this isn’t a settlement. Why go somewhere this remote if you aren’t hiding something? What if my theory is correct and the Russian mob has set up shop in Alaska, using these people to help? That means we’re in more danger than we suspect.”

  “You don’t know that…and you’re not a cop.”

  She was concerned about him. He got that. “I’m just going to walk past the building. I won’t be back for a while, so don’t worry. I have to make it look like I’m checking the area out.” He bent down and placed a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll be back soon, and we can start up where we left off this morning.”

  “I thought we’d finished?” she said with a hopeful sparkle to her eyes.

  “Then we’ll just have to start from the beginning.” And he meant it.

  * * * *

  The cold, Monty had noticed, didn’t seem to bother anyone here. Today was particularly frosty. Most everyone was inside. That, however, didn’t mean no one was watching. In fact, every time he or Taylor left the cabin, eyes were on them. Today was no different. He kept his hood off, better for his peripheral vision, but tugged his hat further down, the howling wind sharp in his ears.

  He headed east, prepared to circle north and avoid the direct approach. He figured it would be the best way to lose his tail. He didn’t get five feet into the brush when he heard someone behind him. Whoever it was made no secret of hiding his presence. So why beat around the bush, so to speak? He turned to face his shadow. Howie.

  “Going somewhere?”

  He saw no reason not to be somewhat honest. “Scoping things out. That’s not against the rules, is it?”

  He rubbed his chin with a gloveless hand. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost. Won’t make that pretty lady happy.”

  “I won’t go far. And I have a good sense of direction.” As a kid with too much time on his hands, he’d had no choice. Entertain himself or die of boredom. “I grew up in the Kentucky mountains. I hiked every day.” Every day until the day he left. Anything to avoid going home to a house that felt empty, even when his mother was home.

  Howie smiled. “This isn’t Kentucky.”

  Monty shrugged. “I just mean I’m not afraid of nature. I’ll be fine.”

  “Suit yourself.” He zipped his coat all the way up to his neck, then gave an over exaggerated shiver. “It’s cold today. Make sure you make it back.”

  In other words, they wouldn’t send a search party to look for him. Fair enough. But while the Goose jackets everyone at camp wore were warm, his and Taylor’s were the best money could buy and warmer. He wouldn’t freeze to death; not for a very long while anyway. He inclined his head, letting him know he understood the hidden meaning. “I won’t be gone long.”

  Howie turned and began to walk away, waving a hand. “Watch out for wolves.”

  Wolves rarely attacked humans and as this was early in the winter, he doubted they’d be hungry enough to want to take a chunk of him. Was there something he wasn’t supposed to see out here? He glanced around the vast trees. If there was, he be damned if he knew what. No, whatever they were hiding was in that building. He pulled what was left of the compass out of his pocket and made sure he knew where the hell he was, then set out to lose Howie.

  The man had the advantage of knowing the area. Monty didn’t. But he did have training, and unless Howie could make himself invisible, Monty was fairly certain that after ten minutes, he’d lost his buddy. He killed another fifteen minutes and was nearly back, coming at the buildings from the north, when he heard it. A snowmobile. His first thought was of Taylor. The rational part of him knew not only would he not be able to get to her in time but where would they go? He forced his instinct down. The best way to help her would be to figure out what they were up against.

  He listened and realized it was a lone machine. His heart slowed a fraction. Logically, the Russians wouldn’t come alone. Through the branches of a thick cedar, he caught its approach to the settlement. The sled was identical to the one they’d taken, and its rider wore a Goose. It was no Russian on the sled, and on closer inspection, he saw exactly who it was. The quiet one—Ozzie. The building had a set of large garage doors flanked by one side door. Someone rolled it open, and Ozzie drove inside.

  They’d lied about the snowmobile. Why? It had been a fair trade. It meant they didn’t trust them not to take it and flee. Were they lying about the truck being delayed too? He pushed all his questions to the side for now. What was in that warehouse? Even from where he stood, some forty feet away, he saw rows and rows of boxes lining two walls. He got as close as he dared and watched as Ozzie removed two saddlebags from the sled and pass them to another man, who’d put down the red gas cans he’d been holding. Seated at a long fold-up table, two middle-aged women chatted as they worked under the warmth of an outdoor kerosene heat lamp. Obstructing his view of their hands were a couple of carton boxes, and it wasn’t until one of them dropped something that he figured out what it was that kept them busy. When the woman on the left stood, Ozzie held up a hand to indicate he’d fetch it—a plastic container the size of a pill bottle, plastic because it hadn’t shattered when it fell onto the concrete floor and rolled toward a cooler he hadn’t noticed earlier.

&nb
sp; Why would they need coolers in this weather? And just what was it they were putting in those bottles? What black-market shit were these people up to? A few months past, the RCMP had taken down a lab producing its own OxyContin, lacing the pills with fentanyl. With the increase in accidental death from overdose on the rise, giving addicts these pills was akin to signing their death warrant. The RCMP was able to ascertain the highly deadly powder was being smuggled in from drug labs in the East—China and other parts. They hadn’t pointed a finger at Russia. But that only meant they weren’t sure.

  He attempted to move in closer, but as he did, Ozzie rolled down the doors. Monty headed back into the bush and returned from the south.

  Taylor pounced on him before he’d even stepped inside. “Short walk my ass. Where have you been? Lonnie came by and I had to answer the door in a blanket.”

  He gave her a confused look. “Why?”

  “You know, for a smart guy… She wasn’t here to see me. How did I explain where you went?”

  She was going to smack him, but he had to smile. “Ah, I see. So, you pretended we were…fucking like wild animals.”

  She punched him in the arm. Not that it had the desired effect, given his thick winter coat, but he gave her the satisfaction of pretending it did. “Hey,” he rubbed his arm, “I need that.”

  She made a cute fist and shoved it in front of his nose. “You’re lucky I didn’t aim for your face.”

  She withdrew her sexy knuckles and he tried real hard to tone down the smiling, but honestly, she was so adorable…and his brain had painted a picture of them fucking like wild animals he couldn’t get out of his head. “I wasn’t gone that long,” he said, sobering up when he remembered what he’d seen.