by Marie Harte
REAPER’S REWARD
Marie Harte
®
www.loose-id.com
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This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
* * * * *
This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable.
Reaper’s Reward
Marie Harte
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Loose Id LLC
1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924
Carson City NV 89701-1215
www.loose-id.com
Copyright © July 2007 by Marie Harte
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.
ISBN 978-1-59632-490-9
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader
Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Ann M. Curtis
Cover Artist: April Martinez
Chapter One
Seattle, Washington
Maybe the handcuffs had been too much. That, or the orders to please him, to do whatever he said, when he said it. Ethan Reaper sighed and stared at the empty space on the bed next to him. He’d really thought Miranda would be able to handle his demands. Or, as she’d called them before fleeing from his place, his “perversions” in the bedroom. Hell, it wasn’t as if he had some freaky fetish. He didn’t want to suck her toes, and he wasn’t into whips and chains.
The thought made him pause. Well, maybe soft whips, and chains only to secure his sexual slave, who’d come to him on her hands and knees, all willing and eager. His dick spiked, and the erection that had once impressed Miranda rose again.
Frustrated, Ethan groaned and lay back in bed, wishing he’d at least fucked her before opening up about the cuffs. Hell, the woman was a screamer in the sack, and she’d hinted she might want to try it up the ass. The word “might” should have told him all he needed to know.
Miranda had beauty and brains but not enough of a backbone to suit him. She was no one’s doormat, but still, she didn’t offer much of an opinion when he wanted to do anything. Unless, apparently, it included some “perversions” that bruised her fragile sensibilities.
Ethan snorted. “Another two months of dating down the drain. Women are a fucking headache.”
He fisted his hand around his cock and imagined what tonight might have been like with the right woman by his side.
On her hands and knees, she’d crawl to him, licking her lips with a skilled pink tongue. Her body would be slender, curved in all the right places but toned, strong so that she wouldn’t break from rough handling.
“Whatever you want, Master.”
“I want you to suck me.”
She wouldn’t question him, wouldn’t weep or argue. She’d crawl until she found his cock with her mouth, and she’d suck him straight to heaven. With ripe lips, she’d take him deep, her tongue firm as she licked his shaft, stroking beneath the crown in that most sensitive spot. Her hands would rub his balls, sliding her fingers along the seam of his ass, teasing his anus while she pleasured him.
Her tits would fit in his hands, and she’d beg him to fill her in any and every way. Long hair would cover her face, making her look demure even as she blew him.
As he stared down at her, ownership, pure possession, would fill him; he’d know he’d found the woman meant for him and him alone.
She’d pleasure him as fast and as far as he’d order, and she’d be wet, dripping with arousal from sucking him off, a woman to match his desires.
“Make me come,” he’d command harshly, tangling his hands in her soft, silken hair, fucking her mouth with groans of ecstasy.
As she sucked him harder, she’d rim his asshole with her finger, until he reached that precipice. She’d know exactly when and how much force to use, and she’d shoot him into orgasm with the pull of her mouth and a finger shoved tightly into his ass…
“Fuck.” Ethan shot over his belly, his orgasm both powerful and empty. He lay there for a moment, his breathing loud in the darkness, until finally, the pleasure drained.
Maybe if his dreams weren’t so damned perfect, he’d be able to find a woman to satisfy him. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself from ruining his relationships. After a few bouts of sex with a woman, Ethan grew dissatisfied. And his need to fulfill his fantasies would inevitably scare the woman away.
“Maybe I’m going after the wrong types.”
Lindsay, his partner Jared’s wife, had said as much. Ethan liked Lindsay, but she had a tendency to say whatever the hell she thought, regardless of Ethan’s blunt reminders to keep her thoughts to herself.
“You go for the demure women, professionals with so much femininity it makes me want to scream. Women don’t have to be frilly to be women, Ethan,” she liked to nag.
Jared would only smile and say nothing. And the bastard should keep quiet. Lindsay looked like a centerfold ‑‑ blonde hair, large breasts, and long, long legs. Sure, a woman didn’t have to be frilly when she looked like a sex goddess, but in Ethan’s experience, even the goddesses were lacking. Most of them fucked like rabbits and could barely remember their names.
He’d run into women who loved the submissive shit, so much so that they freaked him out. He didn’t want a woman under his control all the time. That would drive him nuts. Then there were the missish, missionary-only types. Women like Miranda. He sighed. They either wanted too much or not enough, and he had yet to find a happy middle ground.
Wishing just once he could have fantasy sex with a woman and not by himself, Ethan forced himself out of bed to clean up. So much for a pleasant weekend filled with sex, beer, and more sex. He’d visit the office tomorrow to take his mind off his problems. When all else failed, he could always count on his baby, H&R Securities, to keep him happy.
The next morning, Ethan rode to work in a much more cheerful mood. Free as a bird, no women or problem clients to mar the perfection of his Saturday, he parked behind his office downtown on Pine and grabbed a coffee from the nearest Starbucks. Black and strong, it sated his need for normalcy, and with a sigh of pleasure at the coffee and the clear blue May sky, Ethan entered H&R.
“Marcy.”
She nodded back, her graying hair framing a pixie-like face streaked with wrinkles and laugh lines. “You look like shit.”
He grinned. Nothing like a woman who reminded him of his grandmother and swore like a sailor to start the morning. “Don’t sugarcoat it, sweetness. Tell it like you see it.”
“Don’t I always?” She nodded toward the hallway. “Think you might have a problem in room three.”
He sobered quickly. “Situation?”
“Mike and Steve finally collared the guy stalking Ms. Finley, and he’s an asshole, let me tell you. He’s also taller than you, with an attitude bigger than King Kong.”
“Oh?” he said softly.
Her eyes gleamed. “Threatening to sue us, that he’ll kick our collective asses, blah, blah, blah.
I was just getting ready to call in Jared since it’s supposed to be your weekend off.” She eyed him knowingly. “Gave Miranda the boot, eh? Good. I never liked the uppity ‑‑”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I dumped her because I knew you couldn’t stand her. And don’t call Jared. I’ll take care of this.”
Could his day get any better? Whistling, Ethan downed the rest of his coffee and neared room three. Loud voices carried. Mike sounded angry, Steve calm, and the other guy roared like an animal. Ethan tossed his coffee cup into the nearby trashcan and rubbed his hands together. He hoped the asshole would prove difficult.
Throwing open the door, he saw that Marcy hadn’t been exaggerating. The creep stalking Amy Finley had to be six-six and weigh close to two-fifty. Though his eyes looked hard, he didn’t stand like an experienced fighter. He put the weight on the back of his heels instead of the balls of his feet. Taking him down would be easy, and not nearly as fun as he’d hoped.
“So you’re the asshole I’ve heard so much about,” Ethan said, smiling. “Mike, Steve, want to tell me what’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on, shithead.”
“And you are?”
“Leo Tolstoy,” Mike deadpanned. “I swear to you, that’s his name.”
“And why the fuck is that so funny?” Leo demanded, his fists clenched, his eyes mean.
Steve smirked but kept silent and stood casually against a wall. Ethan had seen the tension ease out of him as soon as Ethan had entered the room.
Closing the door behind him, Ethan turned again to face Leo. “Why are you stalking Amy Finley?” he asked bluntly.
“Where is she?” Tolstoy took a step toward him. “What did you do with her? She’s my wife, dammit. I want her back, now.”
“She was your wife. The divorce was final three months ago. Leo, you need to move on.” Ethan knew his calm, even tone would irritate Tolstoy all the more. And he was pleased when the big man moved right up into his face.
“Look, you fucker. That woman is mine. She belongs to ‑‑”
Having seen the bruises on Amy’s poor face, Ethan did what he’d been dying to do when he’d first taken the case. Feinting close, he startled Tolstoy into swinging first. Grinning with pleasure, Ethan plowed his fist into Tolstoy’s nose, breaking it with a snap. Blood spurted, and Tolstoy cried out in shock, but Ethan wanted to press his point. Using the training he’d received courtesy of Uncle Sam and the United States Marine Corps, he grabbed Tolstoy in a wrist lock, pinned his arm behind his back, and swept his legs out from under him.
The big man’s head cracked against the tile floor as he landed on his back, and Tolstoy blubbered as he tried to defend himself. The pitiful arm he raised to spare his face did no good.
Ethan cuffed him, hard, across the cheek with an open hand. “Look, shit for brains, the cops will be here in ten minutes.”
Mike muttered under his breath and grabbed the nearby phone to call them, and Ethan continued. “I’m pressing charges for assault, and Amy’s doing the same. She still has a limp from where you broke her ankle two months ago before you ran like a coward. So, guess what? Now that we have you, your sorry ass is getting locked away for a long time.”
“You can’t do that,” Tolstoy choked through the blood pooling in his throat. “You attacked me.”
“Oh?” Ethan glanced back at Steve, who shrugged.
“That’s not the way I saw it.” Steve smiled, and Mike nodded.
“But, but ‑‑”
“But nothing.” Ethan grabbed Tolstoy by the throat, squeezing hard. “You step one foot near Amy again, and I’ll kill you. Pure and simple; it’ll be self-defense. My witnesses will stand by me,” he said through his teeth. “And did I mention I have friends on the force?” Namely, his brothers Hale and Trevor.
Tolstoy’s eyes bulged, and his face turned beet red. He sputtered and weakly tugged at the arm holding him to the floor.
“Uh, Ethan? You might want to let up before you crush his larynx.” Mike’s eyes danced, laughter in their depths, as he hung up the phone.
“Whatever.” Ethan stood up and faced his men. “Make your statements to the cops, about how Leo attacked Steve, and we were forced to defend him.”
Mike chuckled, and Steve frowned. Between the two of them, Steve was the obvious victim. Dark skinned with menacing brown eyes, Mike stood six-three and was a former linebacker for the Seattle Seahawks. He’d retired on medical leave after only one season due to a bad knee. Steve, on the other hand, had skin so pale he looked as if he’d never seen the sun. He was slim, barely reached Mike’s shoulder, and looked like he could be blown over by a stiff wind.
“What?” Ethan asked, his lips curled.
“Nothing. I’ll talk to the cops,” Steve muttered and stalked out of the room.
“You okay with handling him?” Ethan asked Mike, glancing down at the shaky form of Tolstoy on the floor.
Mike grinned. “Sure. And if he pisses me off, we’ll add that he tried attacking me, too. Maybe Hale could turn this into a hate crime, like this fucker hates blacks or some shit.”
“Good thinking. I like your creativity, Mike.” Ethan pounded Mike on the shoulder.
As he left, Mike called out, “Sorry about Miranda, Ethan. But you know, I think you’re better off.”
“How did you ‑‑”
“It’s your day off. You always come to work when you lose the ladies. But I made fifty off this one. Miranda lasted a hell of a lot longer than the others thought she would.”
Grumbling, Ethan slammed the door on Mike’s laughter and stalked to his office.
The phone rang, distracting him ‑‑ which was to Mike’s benefit. Ethan wouldn’t have to go back and pound the shit out of him ‑‑ and after several minutes of conversation, Ethan sat down and began taking notes. This looked like the perfect case. A hefty fee, intrigue, and a definite need for H&R’s services. A case where Ethan could dirty his hands and escape from this blasted city for a while.
* * * * *
Two weeks later
Julia Marciella knocked tentatively on her uncle’s door. “You wanted to see me?” Please don’t let this be about the pearl necklace. I returned it before it was missed, didn’t I?
“Jewel, there you are. I was looking for you.” Uncle Tommy seemed way too upbeat for a Monday. Normally storming around the office like a hurricane, he actually looked pleasant. Which meant one of two things ‑‑ he’d found luck with the ladies this weekend, or luck with the dice in Atlantic City.
“I won fifty thousand at the tables,” he said with a smile. “And found a new client in the process.”
Jewel sat down in the chair in front of his desk, intrigued.
“Sophie Ayers, wife to business tycoon Timothy Ayers, joined me for a few rounds of poker Saturday night at the Borgata. But it wasn’t as chance a meeting as it first seemed.” He grinned, and Jewel wondered if Sophie Ayers had sought out her uncle for help or for some fun between the sheets. A handsome man, Uncle Tommy never hurt for companionship and was far less concerned about married women than he ought to be.
“Please tell me you didn’t sleep with her.”
Tommy’s brows rose. “Jewel, I’m surprised at you. Sophie’s a married woman.” At her look, he laughed. “Besides, I like her husband. Tim and I golf together on occasion.”
“So…”
“So, Sophie and I indulged in some high-stakes poker, and both of us came out winners. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help her much. It’s a common but sorry tale. And I want you handling this one.”
She nodded, wanting to know just what she needed to find. Since working for her uncle the past six years, Jewel had recovered items ranging from stolen jewelry to vintage cars and even a thoroughbred horse. Dreemer’s, Inc. ‑‑ the best retrieval business on the East Coast ‑‑ provided discreet services to those who could afford them.
“Apparently, Sophie was suckered by great sex and a snake charmer by the name of Joshua Denton. T
hey met in Atlantic City while he was on vacation, and after a few heated, naked exchanges, Denton returned to his job at Satyr’s Myst, an exclusive resort on a privately owned island in the Caribbean.”
“Blackmail, right?”
“You guessed it. Sophie was taken by her younger lover and followed him to the resort. There they played in a variety of games,” he dangled the word, and Jewel could only imagine what Sophie and the man had done. “Denton took her to his room, where he kept a hidden video camera. He’s now asking for one hundred thousand dollars in exchange for the film.”
“Which of course he won’t give her until he’s bled her dry.”
“Exactly what Sophie fears. Bottom line, we need to retrieve not only that camera, but any copies of the film he may have made. In this digital world, nothing’s safe any more. And that’s why you’re the best one for the job.”
Jewel preened but knew he spoke the truth. When it came to computers, she had yet to be beaten by any hacker, security system, or program. A little worm like Denton shouldn’t prove too hard a challenge.
“A tropical paradise, hmm? I guess I’m going in as a vacationer then?”
Uncle Tommy paused, a strange look on his face. “Actually, no. I did a little research and found they’re in need of a waitress. You’re going in undercover to get close to Denton, and then find what you need. You only have two weeks, because Sophie has until June first to come up with the money. She’s to hand it over in person on the island.”
“Okay. But wouldn’t it make more sense for me to go in as a potential victim? Take advantage of him instead?”
“No. Definitely not. Jewel, I feel awkward enough asking you to do this, but we need your skills to help Sophie, and none of the others are as good as you are when it comes to computers. The resort, Satyr’s Myst, caters to a…different sort of crowd.”
Suspicious, she watched the odd look on her uncle’s face turn instantly uncomfortable the moment they locked gazes. Jewel sensed there was a lot more he wasn’t telling her. “Oh?”