Obsession: (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #5) A Billionaire Russian Mob Romance

by Ainsley St Claire

  Closing my eyes, I groan a low, guttural sound. God, I need this badly. My middle finger curls inside my sex, feeling the wetness inside me. My index finger joins the middle, and I slowly slide my fingers inside my slick hole. Squeezing my breast sends shivers to my pussy, and I moan as I work my fingers in and out, the sound music to my ears.

  I spread my knees farther apart in concentrated pleasure as I pick up speed. A stray finger finds my clit and starts to rub in vicious circles as I imagine he’s there with me.

  I groan a deep animal noise as my orgasm hits and I come powerfully. Climaxing over my fingers, I relish the waves of sensual bliss overtaking me, traveling throughout my body. I’m out of breath as I lie there, completely spent.

  I know he’s here for me physically, but I miss him being here for me emotionally as well.

  But no matter what happens, I won’t let Dimitri Kuznetsov beat me.

  Chapter TWENTY-THREE

  Todd

  The Friday afternoon traffic is busy, but we don’t notice. Jim’s team is driving a large SUV, and we talk about our plans for the weekend. We’re guests at the house, but I can’t imagine they want to spend every second with us.

  We stop for a nice bottle of bourbon and flowers outside of Sausalito, then trek over the mountain through Mt. Tamalpais State Park and drive into the Northern California beach town.

  The entire drive, we have a relaxed conversation. I learn more about Cynthia’s parents and her brother, who’s married with two young kids. I can tell she’s close to her brother and his family, her eyes lighting up when she talks about her niece and nephew. I hope to meet them one day.

  I haven’t touched Cynthia since the break-in. It isn’t because I haven’t wanted to, but I want this relationship to last after this mess is over. Building a foundation for something long-term seems like the right thing to do, but each night before we go to bed, she looks at me longingly and I work hard to ignore her desire. This mess with Kuznetsov won’t last forever, but I want her, and I need her in my life after this is over. I’ll fight to do whatever it takes to make this work.

  Driving through the two-block town of Stinson, we pull up to the gated community of Sara’s family’s home. The neighborhood is on a peninsula at the north end of town, with homes running on the beach side and the inlet side. It’s a classic Cape Cod-style house on the beach, with plenty of land to keep the neighbors and other prying eyes at bay.

  Sara greets us with an affectionate hug; she and Trey came up last night and have worked here all day. After we carry our bags inside, presenting Trey with his bourbon and Sara with the flowers, she gives us a tour and shows us a room where we can put our things.

  I had some groceries delivered, and the security team checked them over. I watch them remove each item from the bag and make sure everything is in their original packaging, sealed, and untampered with. They’ve been extra careful since the mutilated rat and sometimes it seems they go a little overboard.

  My menu for tonight starts us with a caprese salad, wild sockeye salmon, Israeli couscous, and steamed broccoli. I’m not necessarily a good cook, but I can work a grill at least.

  Cynthia goes off to the bedroom to lie down and rest. She’s out almost immediately, but her hair splayed across the pillow and the serene look on her face makes me want her. I can’t live without her, but I feel like dumping all my feelings on her right now, with everything going on, would be too much. I might lose her in the process, and I couldn’t handle that.

  She wakes just in time for dinner, and we have a nice time visiting. As we begin to clean up, Sara stops us. “You cooked, so Trey and I will clean up. Why don’t you both take a walk along the beach? Here’s a flashlight. It gets pretty dark out there, and stubbing your toes on a rock is no fun. Take my word for it.”

  “I didn’t cook, so I’m happy to help clean,” Cynthia volunteers.

  “No, you go. Enjoy some time with Todd.”

  I hold my hand out for Cynthia’s, and together we walk out the back through the patio. There’s a member of the security team there, who nods to us and speaks into a microphone at his wrist.

  “What a beautiful home,” she says.

  Because of where it sits on Bolinas Bay, Stinson isn’t a white sandy beach. It’s comprised mostly of small pebbles, with small lapping waves licking the beach as the tide pulls in and out. “I love the water,” Todd says.

  We walk a few minutes in silence. I don’t know how to start the conversation, but thankfully Cynthia finally asks, “Do you regret getting involved with me? Because if you do, we can move back to friends. I know my life is complete chaos. I’m sorry.” Her voice cracks. “I… I… I just want us to at least be friends.”

  I stop and pull her in to my chest. “Sweetheart, I know your life is unexpected and drama-filled right now. I get it. I don’t want to be just friends with you. Not at all. I’ve only been a little distant because I didn’t want to add to all of your stress. We have all the time in the world to enjoy each other after all this drama subsides.”

  “Really?”

  She’s breaking my heart. I thought not putting pressure on her to have sex with me meant I was showing her that I wanted more than that with her, but it’s obvious that’s not how she’s been taking it.

  Looking down at her, I say, “Cyn, you’ve become my everything. I want what we have to last for a very long time. I just didn’t want you to think all I wanted was sex.”

  “You make me feel safe and secure, and I know sex isn’t everything.”

  There isn’t much light, but I can feel her relax, and a wave of guilt washes over me. Leaning down I capture her mouth; my kiss begins slow and sensual and builds to hot and feral.

  “You’ve made me into a nympho. I swear you’ve woken a beast, and it requires feeding daily.”

  I whisper, “Daily, huh? I like the sound of daily. I want you.”

  She giggles. “I want you too—just not on this beach with an audience.”

  She grabs me by the hand and leads me back to the beach house.

  Trey and Sara are cuddled up on the couch watching a movie. Trey says, “You guys are just in time. I have an advance copy of the Andrew Bingham film.”

  Todd perks up. “Is that the one with Winter Thompson?”

  I look at Sara, who’s nodding. “How did you manage to get a hold of a screening copy?” I ask Trey.

  “Andrew and I went to college together, and he knows I can’t always get to a movie theater.”

  “And Winter Thompson will have his shirt off in half the scenes. He’s swoon-worthy,” Sara chirps.

  “Better than me?” Trey quips.

  “No one’s better than you, my love,” Sara teases him.

  I want so much to see this, but I’ve had a hard-on for over a week that I want Cynthia to take care of. I look at her, trying to plead with my eyes, but she shrugs and says, “I’ll make popcorn.”

  Guess I’ll see it after all.

  “Big bowl right here,” Sara announces.

  We sit down and watch the movie, enjoying it and one another’s company. When the credits roll, Sara is fanning herself. “That man is hot.”

  Trey looks at her and shakes his head. “He’s like five two. You’d tower over him.”

  Sara giggles, and Cynthia is quick to say, “Well, he’s perfect for me!”

  “Hey!” I call out.

  “Well, Trey, let’s go have lots of naughty sex so I can imagine I’m having sex with him.” Sara winks at Cynthia and we all laugh.

  Trey stands. “I’m going to remind my woman what a stud she’s married to. You both do what you need to do. There’s no hurry around here in the mornings, and there’s eggs, pancake mix, and tons of fruit, tea, and coffee. Make yourselves at home.”

  Cynthia’s watching me carefully.

  “Shall I show you what a stud I am?” I wiggle my eyebrows.

  She nods.

  We turn off the lights and head to our bedroom, where I have big plans to show her ho
w I feel about her.

  She stuns me with all her inner strength. Knowing what’s coming at her, she isn’t running and hiding like most. She’s ready to kick Dimitri Kuznetsov square in the balls and tell him, “Fuck you.” I love that about her.

  We make love, slow, soft, and passionate, and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

  As the morning dawn breaks, the sun shines into the room and wakes me. The soft light reflects so beautifully off Cynthia’s bare tanned back as she lies peacefully next to me on the cloud-like king-size bed. I desperately want to kiss up her spine and slowly fuck her awake, but after recalling our wild and late night, I decide to let her sleep in, opting to go for a swim instead.

  I leave her a note for when she wakes: Gone for a swim. Meet me on the beach. XOXO.

  The beach is so calm in the morning, only a few stragglers strolling along. It’s fall, the summer visitors long gone, and only a few live in the community year-round. It looks like rain is starting to roll in. I leave my towel next to some rocks and head into the water.

  I’ve been swimming for almost a half hour and am heading back to shore when I see her waving to me. Damn, she’s beautiful.

  I jog over to her, glistening from the salty ocean water covering my body. She grins in response as I scoop her up and spin us around. “Missed you,” I whisper.

  “I was disappointed that you weren’t in bed when I woke up.” She sticks her lower lip out in a mock pout, and I want to lean down and nip at that luscious lip.

  Cynthia curls into me, and I have to remind myself that we do have an audience, her security close.

  “We can go back to the room and I’ll make it up to you. I think it’s worth at least two or three orgasms this morning.”

  “I’ve never been so multi-orgasmic before you.”

  I feel like a real stud knowing that.

  I continue whispering what I want to do to her back in our room, watching her chest rise and fall quickly as I talk. I want to suckle her breasts, watchful eyes be damned. They’re like a drug, inviting me back every time.

  Cool raindrops start to fall as I draw her in close and kiss her, our tongues moving in unison as I lift her in my arms. I carry her back toward the beach house, not breaking our kiss as I go.

  I set her down and we walk silently into the house toward our bedroom, leaving her protection detail on the covered patio. I lift the shirt over her head, surprised by her tiny little bikini that makes me want to unwrap her like a Christmas present and fuck her hard. I pull at the strings of her top and her breasts pop free, exposing her hard nipples. Licking and suckling them, I pull a delicious moan from her that I just can’t get enough of.

  Laying her down on the bed, there are only two more strings standing between me and Cynthia’s completely naked body. I quickly fix that, pausing to take her magnificent body all in, and she smiles sweetly up at me.

  “Take me, you big stud.” She giggles, and I can’t help myself, teasing her with my hands and mouth until she’s worked up.

  Panting, she tells me, “I’m on birth control if you’re worried about that. I haven’t had a partner in almost two years. I haven’t had any testing, but I can do that if you’d like. What about you?”

  “I haven’t even looked at another woman since I met you. The last time I was tested was shortly after moving here. Are you good with no condom?”

  She nods and I crash my mouth against hers. I part her lips with my tongue, and we kiss passionately as I lower her gently onto me. Slowly I thrust my hips up as she grinds hers into me. It’s calm and sensual; I know she can feel every inch of me as I move in and out of her.

  Our mouths never leave one another’s, our bodies starting to tense as we’re getting close. Our pace quickens slightly, and then we both let out a low, muffled “Fuuuuuuuck,” squeezing each other tighter so we can feel the other’s orgasm.

  It’s intense, so intimate, and I love it.

  Chapter TWENTY-FOUR

  Cynthia

  It’s Monday morning and that means back to work—though I’m currently staring out at the people walking on the sidewalk four flights below me. I often wonder where they’re going and what they’re thinking, imagining the smile and bounce in their step means a loved one is at the forefront of their mind. If they’re impatient and jostling the other pedestrians, something at work must have them upset.

  My phone rings, bringing me back to reality. Greer is calling. “Hello!”

  “Hey, gorgeous. Have you seen today’s paper?”

  I don’t typically worry about what’s in the paper; our clients are written about every other day, and I let Greer manage that headache so I can focus on my own. “No, what did I miss?”

  “Well, someone at the Chronicle knows about BrightStar and why they were closed.”

  My insides churn, and I start to hyperventilate. “Oh shit. Is it online? Can I read it?”

  “I’ll send you the link now.” I hear some tapping in the background. “Sounds like some pretty scary stuff went on at your old firm.”

  Scary? What’s scary? I want to cry. “I didn’t observe anything while I was there.” My computer notifies me of a new message. “Your email arrived,” I inform her as I click on the link and scan the article.

  It says all the partners knew the Russian government was involved. It doesn’t name me outright, but by position, it indicates that I’m the leak. It suggests I was behind a capture password and keystroke program on the office computers, and that we—but mostly me—were sharing confidential information with the Russian government about software and hardware that was being developed for the US government and law enforcement agencies across the US.

  This can’t be good.

  “Greer! I’m learning more from this column than I knew to start with. I certainly didn’t know anything about password and keystroke software on any computers. I can’t determine if the smear campaign’s good or bad news.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. Now, you understand what to do if someone from a media outlet calls, right?”

  “I think so. I tell them ‘no comment’ and refer them to my lawyer, right?”

  “That works. If they ask about SHN, refer them to me.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  “Maybe you should call Jim and find out his opinion. And possibly call Todd too.”

  “Thanks for alerting me. Lunch soon?”

  “I’ll be in the office next Tuesday. I’ll pencil you in.”

  “Sound’s great.” As long as I’m not in a federal penitentiary. If Walker Clifton believes I was the one sharing information, I’m screwed.

  I sit back in my chair and close my eyes. My head’s pounding. I know how I got into this, but how the hell am I going to get myself out?

  I pick up the phone and call Jim first. He answers abruptly. “Cynthia, is everything all right?”

  “I’m not sure, which is why I’m calling.” I send him the link to the newspaper article, and he reads it while I’m on the phone. “Do you think I’m in trouble?”

  “Well, if they didn’t realize you were the whistleblower before, they know now.”

  “Jim, this can’t be happening. What am I going to do? I have to be honest here, I can’t afford this right now. And I mean financially. The time this sucks up is another issue entirely.”

  “Cynthia, I’m not billing you for any of this. I’m sending the bills to SHN.”

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with SHN. They won’t pay it. The bills need to come to me. However, Jim, you need to understand that I don’t have the money to pay for this. Four men twenty-four hours a day are incredibly costly. I’m not even sure if when this mess is over, SHN’s going to want to keep me.”

  “Mason is insisting we send the bill to him. You’re an investment. But I’m not taking your team down any number of men, nor am I stopping coverage of you twenty-four seven. The FBI doesn’t have the manpower to provide you with the protection you need with Dimitri Kuznetsov. He’s more than troubl
e, Cynthia. He brings a new level of danger, and the FBI needs the help from my team. Case closed.”

  My head’s throbbing. I need caffeine and some ibuprofen.

  Getting up from my desk, I wander into the kitchen to find my fix, grabbing a cup of coffee with cream and sugar plus a Diet Coke. I plan on double-fisting my caffeine.

  After rummaging through the company first-aid kit, I grab a couple of Motrin and chug them down with my Diet Coke, watching the boats on the bay. Running away on a boat and escaping for a few months sounds so appealing.

  The smell of breakfast burritos permeates the air and brings me out of my wishful thinking. The fluffy scrambled eggs, a little bit of green salsa, cheese, chorizo sausage, and hashed brown potatoes, all wrapped in a delightfully soft flour tortilla, make my stomach rumble. There’s only three left, but they’re usually gone by now—something’s finally falling my way. I can’t help but grab one.

  The first bite is oh so delicious. My mouth has its own orgasm, all the ingredients blending together for a nirvana of perfection.

  I don’t hear Emerson come in, I’m so busy enjoying the delicious, mouthwatering burrito. “Hey, you. How are you feeling?”

  With my mouth full, I say, “Not too bad. How about you?”

  “I saw the column in the Chronicle.”

  Oh, that. “It has a lot more information about what happened than I ever knew.”

  “I understand, but it does paint a very dangerous picture for you. Are you going to be okay?”

  “I’ve already spoken with Jim, and he assures me that I’m in perfect hands.”

  Mason runs into the kitchen just then. “Oh thank God I found you. Greer sent me the link to the Chronicle article, and I was worried you’d left the building.”

  It occurs to me that I failed my job as a good employee. I pull up a chair and motion for him to sit down and talk to me. What I have to say isn’t private, but I keep my voice low anyway. “Mason, I understand I haven’t told you much because the assistant US attorney discouraged it—most likely because you may become a witness in this case—but you need to know that there was a lot more in that article than I ever knew was going on. While the author points to a single whistleblower, given the information it contained, I don’t believe I’m the only one.”