Extreme Danger (45 page)

She looked back over her shoulder and gave him a hot red smile. “You like this color?”

“Yeah,” he rasped. “I think that color would look really great around the base of my dick.”

It was a risk, but he knew it had paid off when her nose wrinkled up and he heard the telltale snuffle of suppressed giggles. “Pig,” she muttered, tossing the lipstick in the general direction of her purse.

She grabbed his cock as she sank to her knees, and oh, man. He was a goner. As usual, everything was different with Becca.

Including himself. He liked it. The fun, the teasing, the arguing. His face felt strange these days. It actually ached from smiling so much.

She rubbed the head of his cock against her hot, cloud-soft cheek, and flashed him a teasing look. “Does this remind you of something?”

She puntuated her question with a swipe of her pink tongue along the slit on his cock head that oozed clear, slippery drops of precome. She licked it up, swirling her tongue round his glans.

He struggled to remember what the hell she’d said. “Huh? Remind me of what? I can’t think straight when you’re doing that.”

“The night we met. Remember? Me naked, you clothed?”

He grinned. “You bet I remember. Me on my feet, you on your knees.” His breath hissing through his teeth in a shocked gasp of pleasure as she lapped up one side of his shaft, twisted around the glans again and swiped down the other side.

“So strange,” she murmured, between voluptuous strokes of her tongue. “It was like I was split in two. One part thinking, God, he is the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen…” She took time out to flutter her tongue flirtatiously against the taut pucker of flesh on the underside of his cock head. “The other part thinking, this guy is going to kill me.”

He shook with a burst of silent laughter. “Same here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, I’m so sure,” she scoffed. “As if I could be so scary, buck naked and dripping wet.”

His laughter shocked off as she did something totally amazing with her tongue, fluttering it underneath and around while she worked the base of his cock with her hands. “Oh, you were plenty scary,” he told her. “I thought I was meat. I thought Zhoglo’d sent you.”

That jolted her so much, she took her mouth away from that excellent thing she’d been doing with her tongue against his cock head.

Not a desirable outcome. He should have kept his goddamn mouth shut. But it was his own fault. Served him right, for falling ass over head for a talkative woman.

“No way!” she breathed. “Zhoglo? Me?”

“I thought, oh, shit, they’re onto me,” he confessed. “I thought, either you were a black widow assassin sent to fuck me and kill me, or else you were a call girl sent to fuck me and distract me so that somebody else could kill me. Either way, I was dead meat. I was consoled only by the fact that either way I also got to fuck you. Split-second response. Couldn’t call it thinking.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered.

“Then I looked at your bare-ass naked perfect dripping body, and all I could think was, wow. What a way to go,” he concluded.

“You thought that I could be a call girl? Or an assassin?” Her voice squeaked till it broke. “A milquetoast wuss like me? Puh-leeze.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, “I know exactly what to do with an assassin or a call girl. I had no fucking clue what to do with you.”

She snickered. “Oh, you improvised well enough, as I recall.”

He ignored her, cupped her jaw and stared intently down into her beautiful upturned face as he struggled to frame the thought in words.

“You are so much more than I bargained for,” he said slowly. “You are like, the secret weapon, sweetheart. You take me to pieces.”

Her giggles stopped, the smile faded to a somber gaze, and she covered his hands with her own. She kissed both his palms, grabbed his cock and brought it to her mouth. And oh, sweet Jesus.

He would never survive pleasure of this intensity.

He’d had lots of blow jobs in his life. He’d started young, and never lacked for opportunities. He loved the lazy luxury of them, the feeling of godlike power, the wallowing in carnal bliss. Throwing his head back and just enjoying the sensation of a woman’s hot mouth sucking on his swollen cock until he exploded. It was one of those perennially dependable things like pizza. Even when it was bad, it was good.

True to form, with Becca, it was different. New world, new rules. She was honey sweet, red hot, a wildcat. He’d been with women with lots more experience and sheer technical expertise, but he’d never felt a woman go down on him as if she—

Loved him.

Whoa. No. Don’t go there. Not even in the privacy of his own mind. Shudders racked him, pleasure and terror in equal measure. He forgot all about godlike power, about power-tripping sex games. He just struggled to stay on his feet before this onslaught of selfless, ardent generosity. It humbled him, made him want to fall to his knees.

Her lush mouth moved over him, her strong hands twisted sensuously around the root while she laved the crown and sucked him in, deeper and deeper. So deep, for a clueless novice. And that agonizing…slow…swirl on every instroke, the deep hungry pull of suction, friction on every outstroke, and again, and again, and again. Yes.

He couldn’t hold back, couldn’t slow down. With the volcanic force gathering, it was too damn soon, but that was just too damn bad—

He wound his fingers through her hair and shouted, hoarsely. Spasms of violent pleasure wrenched through him.

He was kind of surprised, some time later, to find that he was sitting on the bed. Good thing it had been right behind his knees, or he’d be flat on his ass. He was hobbled by the jeans that Becca at some point had jerked halfway down his thighs. His torso was collapsed over her body. Her head was cradled on his lap, her warm lips kissing his thigh. His cock, still long but finally softened, was nestled tenderly in her damp hand. Spent, home safe and happy. He couldn’t stop making that sobbing sound with every breath he sucked into his lungs.

He didn’t dare even look at her until it eased down, and that took what felt like forever. A dark, hot forever of nuzzling, of cuddling, wordless closeness, skin on skin. He never wanted it to end.

But everything had to end. Everything had to be let go.

He forced himself to sit upright. Every muscle in his body shook. He was soft and limp. Weak with pleasure, wet with sweat. Speechless.

Becca smiled at him as she raised her head. She wiped her mouth, and stroked her fingers through the wiry tuft of dark hair that curled around the base of his cock. “You know what? You were right,” she said, in a tone of discovery.

He cleared his throat. “About what?” he asked cautiously.

“This color,” she said, lifting his cock to the side to show him the smears of lipstick she’d left on it. “Slut red. It does look good on you.”

He started to laugh, helplessly. The laughter dissolved almost instantly into something else. Something that he was afraid to face.

All he could do was just grab her again, hide his face in her hair.

Her slender arms slid around his ribs and gripped him. Holding him as tightly as he needed to be held. They strained, fighting to pull the other closer, hold the other tighter.

Muscles shaking with the effort of becoming a single being.

The Vor was intensely irritated.

He jerked his chin in the direction of his coffee cup, but it took Kristoff ten seconds to catch on, and then the man fumbled, slopping coffee dangerously close to Zhoglo’s snowy cuff. If the coffee had spattered one centimeter closer, Kristoff would be dead.

Or perhaps not. His ranks of useful and experienced men had been decimated by Solokov’s bloody spree on Frakes Island. He could not afford to kill any more out of pique. Too much work to be done, now that the thrill junkie surgeon was creating extra work.

Idiot, to involve his half-witted mistress in his business schemes.

He stared at the weekly schedule laid out on his laptop. The secret clinic was now fully operational, the doctors comfortably settled into their new homes, ready and waiting for the call. Each one of them was firmly in his grip, pinned by a complicated web of threats and promises. Fear and greed, the great motivators of humankind.

He should have brought more men, he fretted. Perhaps he should contract out the anesthesiologist’s demise. They were being watched from God knew which angles and directions. Anyone who left the house would be seen, and followed.

Then again, it would be a very easy hit. The woman lived alone, in a single home surrounded by foliage. If Mathes was correct, she should be in a drugged sleep. No intelligence was required for this.

He cast an appraising eye on Pavel, and dismissed him out of hand. Pavel would have to be put down soon. Until that moment, he required close watching. But it seemed a shame not to delay the mercy blow until Pavel’s punishment reached its grand climax. Zhoglo was always curious to see how people came apart in extremis. It was like watching a scientific experiment. This chemical, plus that, created such and such a reaction. Add heat, add pressure…ah, fascinating.

It had destroyed Pavel. His haggard face was dull, vacant.

Zhoglo stirred more cream into his freshened coffee, and toyed for a moment with the thought of lifting the sword that hung over the man’s neck. Letting little Sasha live. He could be merciful. Theoretically.

Then he thought of the bodies Solokov had left behind on the island, and hardened his resolve. Going back on his word would undermine his authority with the other men. Besides, Mathes had found profitable homes for everything Sasha’s scrawny little body had to offer, right down to the boy’s corneas. It satisfied Zhoglo’s penchant for thriftiness. And the fees added up to a handsome total.

He could hardly wait to observe the debut harvest, scheduled for tomorrow night. Sergei’s girl. Finally. It would be fascinating to watch.

But back to business. Kristoff, no. Too stupid. Perhaps he should kill the man after all, just so he wouldn’t have to look at him. Mikhail, perhaps. Zhoglo observed the new man, Mikhail, who had done the hacking for him. He had a scholarly look, but beneath it, an air of chill competence. “Mikhail, have you been observing the activity outside?”

“A worker from a utility company up the telephone pole at five A.M.,” Mikhail said promptly. “And two new vehicles are parked on the block, none of the license plates corresponding to residences on this street. I assume cameras are trained on the house, but unless I approach them to sweep for radio signals, I cannot confirm—”

“And have them know we know?” Zhoglo snapped. “Don’t be thick.”

Mikhail subsided, mouth tightening.

“We have that meeting with Dahler on Monday,” Pavel said dully. “We cannot go forward with that meeting with this security breach.”

Zhoglo turned unbelieving eyes on the man. After all this, the fool dared to critizice his Vor’s judgment. The look pierced even Pavel’s apathy. His eyes dropped to the carpet.

“Ironic, to hear you voice concern about security, Pavel, since your incompetence was what caused this necessity. We will relocate soon. When the trap is baited.”

“Vor, it is dangerous to—”

“I must have Solokov.” Zhoglo’s voice smashed down on the other man’s words like a club. “I want to crush his beating heart in my hand.”

Pavel shut up, and turned to stare out the window.

Zhoglo clicked on his mouse, and activated the monitor mounted on the wall. Several windows were open, each showing a different location. One showed a flicker of movement.

He clicked to enlarge it, until the image filled the entire screen. The garden apartment downstairs, where Rebecca Cattrell’s lusty young brother Joshua was fornicating enthusiastically, dog style, with the beautiful prostitute, Nadia. It had been so easy, reeling him in. Though not, perhaps, for Nadia. The boy’s stamina was incredible. Well into day number two, and they had barely stopped to sleep. Ah, youth.

The men in the room all watched with rapt attention. Nadia swayed back to meet the boy’s vigorous thrusts, hair and breasts swinging, mouth open with gasping wails of simulated pleasure.

“You are recording this, are you not?” he asked Mikhail.

“Certainly, Vor,” Mikhail assured him.

Nadia looked over her shoulder, said something to the boy. He pulled out, and sprawled on the bed with an obliging grin. Nadia gripped his stiff penis, swung her leg over him, and inserted him into her perfectly shaven, delicate pink genitalia with practiced skill.

She flung her head back, tossed her hair and smiled for the camera as her hips pulsed rhythmically over the boy’s long, lanky body.

Watching the girl perform soothed Zhoglo’s ruffled temper. Perhaps he would sample her charms himself. The subtleties of her art were wasted on that gangling boy. But Joshua would serve his purpose, before he was broken down for parts.

Bait. When Zhoglo wished, Rebecca would come running.

And her lover would follow her.

Nick was a good dancer. Becca wasn’t sure why she found that so surprising. Ballroom dancing seemed so lighthearted a skill for a basically grim guy, but sheesh, he was smiling today and that affected her even more than the admittedly excellent champagne. It was dizzy, madcap fun, being swirled and dipped, spun and yanked smoothly back into the confident grip of his hands. He led with such graceful self-confidence, she’d even managed to relax and follow him without stumbling too often. Which said a great deal for his ability, since she’d certainly never had the leisure to acquire a nonessential skill like dancing. She just faked it and hoped for the best.