Black Collar Queen (Black Collar Syndicate Book 2) (22 page)

Half an hour later,
they're in the middle of downtown Manhattan, standing atop the Empire State
Building and staring out over the city. The view is beautiful, but Vera only
has eyes for Seth. She can't help the smile that takes her, not the sly thing
she usually uses, but a giddy, girlish one. The sass is nowhere to be found in
the look she gives him.
 

She says, “I probably
don't have to say it, but I've missed you, too.”

It's just the two of
them, a “private tour” that Seth arranged when they arrived. Beyond them is the
city that sprawls on regardless of the king or the confidante. The late-season
sunlight makes everything glitter and shine, and the wind rustles around them.
It makes Vera's hair dance and glint like the fire she produces in his
gut.
 

He reaches past her,
runs his fingers over the metalwork that prevents anyone from going over the
edge. He refuses to meet her eyes, instead watching the sparkling mass of metal
and glass below them. He has removed his shades, and his eyes are so brown,
charged with some youthful energy.

He says, “It's still
nice to hear it.”

He pushes forward with
the slightest pressure against her, so that her back is pressed against the
crisscrossed railing, and the whole of Manhattan. His hands find her hips, but
not with their usual roughness. The touch is almost . . . reverent.
  

“I haven't been up here
in so long,” he says against her ear.

Part of her believes he
will fuck her right here, ass bared to New York, screams of abandon rising into
the atmosphere, but there's something so different about him against her. This
truly isn't some quickie, some impersonal exchange between two people who fuck
well together. She can't stop herself from brushing her knuckles along his
cheekbone. Her hair tickles them both, yet neither of them moves to stop it. He
continues.

“Caleb and I used to
come up here after-hours. I've been bribing security for years.”

She laughs against him,
a throaty, velvet sound that makes him pull against her just a little more. She
says, “And here I thought it was just that good ol' Morgan charm that got us up
here.”

Now he looks to her with
a smirk. “In a way, it was,” he says.
 

“Bribing security sounds
like Caleb's idea to me.”

He pauses, glances away,
but then he smiles again. Sometimes he likes to forget that she knew his
brother in the time he was gone, and that she began chasing their father for
interviews long before the boys knew who she was. He buries his face in her
hair, and says, “You're right. It was. But he taught me well.”

“Mmm, I'll take your
word for it on that one.”

His lips brush her ear,
so soft it sends a shudder through her, when he says, “And some talents just
run in the family.”

Just now, she's sure she
wouldn't care if they don't fuck, but to be snuggled up to the most elusive,
cold playboy in the U.S., it feels like everything she could ever want from
him. Again, she must wonder, how real is this?
 

She gasps when she
realizes it, that this is real, that his battered, broken soul doesn't have
many comforts left in his world. And that she's never been anything but real to
him. The sensation is overwhelming, numbing in the certainty that they can
never be anything traditional—but they can always be an escape for each other.
He's absolutely right; she is still getting to know him, the deepest layer of
his soul that he could never show before. Now, he doesn't have to tiptoe around
the older generation. Now his heart no longer belongs to that harpy.

Her whole being buzzes
with desire, not just for his ridiculously perfect body and insane bank
account. It's never been about that. She wants to breathe in the scent of death
that haunts him, feel his sorrow and his joy, know his secrets.
 

She feathers a kiss
against his neck and he groans, uninhibited. She's heard this sound from him,
and it's coal to the fire, such sexy abandon from a man who gives away so very
little. She wants to slip her hand in his pants, but this restraint between
them is so new, and quite maddening. His grip on her hips tightens.

His voice is hot in her
ear when he says, “I remember that night in Chinatown, on the dirty street for
everyone and no one to see. You told me there were no strings attached to the
hooks—your hooks. I wouldn't admit then that you were right. You never pulled
on me for anything. I could have ripped them out at any time. Except I
couldn't. Instead I always ended up anchoring back to you.”

Her breath catches in
her throat. She wants to pull back so she can see what he looks like saying
such things, but she's pinned between him and railing. Of course, he wanted it
this way, so he could give her this honesty he believes she deserves.

He continues, “I don't
know if I'll ever be able to give you what you want from me, or even that I'll
ever know what it is you want. I can't say when it is you'll see me again, but
I can give you this. Stay with me tonight.”

“Seth.”

His name comes out with
her breath, and for a rare moment, she can think of nothing else to say.
Finally, he takes a step back, and looks her in the eye. For a stretch, they
just stare. Then, that little boy smile returns, and his cheeks color.

“Come on,” he coaxes,
“disappear with me. Let me show you the perks of owning a hotel.” “As if I'd say
no,” she says. And then he's kissing her, hard and deep and slow. She whimpers
against him, aches for him. Her hands curl into the lapels of coat. Breathily,
she asks, “Can we go there now?”

He grins into their
kiss. “Let's go.”

Back in the limo with
more apple brandy, Vera's fingers draw tiny circles on Seth's inner thigh. She
watches his jaw tighten as he tries to maintain his composure. He digs his
phone from the compartment where he left it, and her features wilt. He just
grins as the thing powers on. His free hand is in her hair. The cell phone
makes all kinds of chimes and notifications, but Seth is intent on his purpose.
He hits the number for Tinney, and waits for it to ring.

Vera watches sidelong,
hand still on his thigh, breath catching in her chest. Finally, Seth says,
“Hey, I need you to do something for me if you're not too terribly busy.”

Vera can barely hear a
quiet, rumbling voice on the line, but can't make out what it says. The result
is that adolescent grin, and Seth says, “I know. I owe you a righteous vacation
soon.”

Again, the rumble
sounds. Seth smile falls, and in a much quieter, somber tone he says, “I know.”

Vera chooses this moment
to make her next play, and resumes the circular motion of her fingers. Seth
sucks in a breath, surely without meaning to, because he would never willingly
show her the effect she has on him. He tugs downward on a handful of hair in
answer. And he continues as if nothing happened.

“Listen, I need you to
call your head at the Black Diamond. Let them know I will be there in about
twenty minutes. I will need one of the executive suites. I want no chit-chat,
no stopping at the desk, none of the shit. Just somebody waiting with the key,
at the door.”

Vera brushes the backs
of her knuckles against his rock-hard response to her, so he pulls her hair
just a little harder. He pulls her close enough that she can hear the voice on
the other end says, “I will press upon them the need for discretion. Enjoy your
evening.”

The line goes dead, and
Seth chucks the phone back into the compartment. The grip in her hair loosens
but doesn't relent.

“Who was that?” she
wonders as she presses harder against his dick.

He pulls back on her
hair, tilting her head and exposing her throat. He runs his tongue up the
column of her neck, then says into her ear, “Head of security.”

“Oh, how Morgan of you,”
she quips.

His free hand gropes a
breast, and she gasps despite herself. Several years ago, they would have
already been humping against the limo seat, both of them impulsive and driven
by the passion they kindled in each other. This, this new level of the game
between them, the waiting and stoking of the flame – it's a testament to the
man he has become.
 

His thumb brushes over
her nipple, hard beneath her lace bra, and she keeps the motion of her hand
light and taunting. He groans again, and claims her lips with the fierceness
she knows so well from him. It seems exacting his little game is taking its
toll on him as well. She's so fucking wet.

She gently strokes his
length through his jeans. She loves the sounds he makes, the tiny affirmations
that he wants her, and the way he fights it until he can no longer keep quiet.
He pulls back from the kiss just a fraction to rein in some control of his
breathing, and on his driving need for her. He cannot lose himself in the
tsunami of emotion and desire, in the truth of the matter: this is the
culmination of two and a half years of absence. Sure, they have seen each
other, but they haven't fucked since life before Cuba.

By the time the limo
rolls into the garage they are both breathing heavily and red-faced. The
hotel's head of security says very little as he escorts them into a service
elevator and up to the top floor. And as soon as the door closes behind them,
they are locked into a hungry kiss.
 

She's shoving his coat
off his shoulders as he drops her skirt around her ankles. She jerks his belt
from his buckle, then he's pulling her sweater over her head. He kicks out of
his Docs as she leans against him to unzip her boots. And he steps out of his
jeans as he pushes her backward onto the California King bed. He slips the
innocent white t-shirt over his head, then peels her leggings off. Then he
stops, just stares down at her in her black bra and panties.

Her eyes crawl down his
body, stop on the barely healed tattoo on his left pectoral, just beneath the
new scar—the place where she was used to the old scar. But it's the ink that
really grabs her attention, the black and grey snake swallowing its tail, and
the crown over top. Never in all her worldly knowledge and vast array of
contacts would she ever have expected to see ink on the royal skin of Seth
Morgan. And so never did she ever consider how completely sexily the boy would
wear ink.

“My god,” she all but
growls, “I never thought you could get any more delicious.”

He leans down over here,
but pauses, poised above her with most of his weight on his right arm. His
expression is full of the ferocity she has missed from him, and his eyes burn
into hers when he says, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

She runs a gentle touch
across the ink, the skin still the slightest bit raised but healed. Her free
hand grabs his cock through his boxers. He makes a gruff, “Mmm.” Bites down on
her bottom lip. Moments later, he makes quick work of her bra with one hand,
then he rips her panties over her hips. He drops the boxers, then pauses. She
stares up at him like she might devour his soul, and perhaps like she can share
the burden of his pain if he gives her the burden of his pleasure.

Her voice is quiet,
raspy, when she says, “I've waited a long time for you to fuck me again, Seth;
don't be cruel.”

He grins, and this time,
it's purely predatory. He grabs her knees, shoves them apart, and rather than
heeding her wish, he buries his tongue inside of her. She cries out, louder
he's heard her before, and it's a long sound of reckless abandon, a sound that
becomes a whine when he runs his tongue up to her clit and begins working
it.
 

His hands explore her
thighs, her flat stomach, her breasts as he makes her writhe against the bed
cover. Her hands twist the blanket, and her muscles shake as she comes. In all
their history, all their circumstances, and despite all her masterful blowjobs,
he's never given this to her. So he bares his soul in this rare show of skill,
and he makes her come until she's covered in sweat, shaking, and whimpering.

When he surfaces, he
wipes his mouth on the back of his hand with a pompous grin. For a moment, he
just watches her, perfect breasts heaving for breath, hair of fire spread
around her face, cheeks flushed. How did he ever deserve this—this perfect
devilish goddess of pleasure?

He mutters, “God, you're
so gorgeous.”

Before she can answer,
he pushes inside her, and that answer comes out as, “Aaaaagh fuuuuck.”

He goes slowly at first.
She's so goddamned tight around him from the multiple orgasms he already gave
her, and just as his big dick might hurt her, her perfect pussy might make him
come too soon. Her moans drop in pitch, and even this slow friction sends
earthquakes of ecstasy through her. He can feel it radiate in the sound she
makes.
 

Soon enough, though, her
legs wrap around his hips, and he finds himself bucking into her as though
there will never be another chance. Her hips roll with the cadence of his,
every muscle in her body tensing in time, and his cries join hers in the
otherwise quiet room. All the passion and lust and trust and denial swirl
together, hit them like a steam roller, until they are pounding against each
other—until there's nothing else in the world but their lips and hands and
flesh, and that relentless rhythm.