sucked.
He’d had good sex, great sex, even awesome sex, but he’d never had sex that made him think he was losing his grip on reality. He didn’t dare to look at her. He was about to start crying, for fuck’s sake.
Breathe in, breathe out, asshole. Just keep it together. Breathe in, breathe out. That’s the way.
She touched his chest. He recoiled from the contact. “Don’t get mushy on me, beautiful,” he muttered. “It was a great fuck. Leave it.”
Dead, flat silence followed his whispered words. He got that just-kicked-a-kitten feeling again. It felt bad.
She was no kitten, though. She was a bad joke, she was a knife in his back, she was the worst luck he’d ever had. Look at him. Death on every side, and he was fucking wildly on the rug and getting all emotional about it, like a thirteen-year-old who’d just lost his virginity.
Although he did not recall being this emotional when he first did the deed. Even at thirteen, he’d been a tough little bastard. He’d just smoked a cigarette and played it real cool. Hey, babe. No biggie.
Not an option here. He was destroyed.
She was trying to sit up. He jerked her down onto her back again, struggled up onto his knees and lunged for her discarded blouse and jeans. He shoved them into her hands.
“Show’s over,” he hissed. “Put these on before you get up in front of the camera.”
She gave him a short, jerky nod. She tried to unroll the blouse, but it was snarled, rolled like a nylon stocking, and her hands shook.
Seconds ticked by. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He yanked it out of her hands, muttering various imprecations in a muddled mix of Slavic languages until the wad of fabric resembled a blouse again.
He yanked it over her head, tugged it down over her body. She rolled and wriggled until they got it over her torso, and batted his hands away with a catlike hiss when he tried to arrange her tits under the gauzy fabric. Her nipples poked through, without the barrier of a bra.
She writhed on the floor like a lap dancer as she tried to get her jeans over her hips. Her skin was damp and they stuck to it. She took them off to start over.
He didn’t even know what he was doing until he’d shoved her knees wide open. He wanted to look at her pussy.
She struggled, but froze when she heard the low animal sound that came out of the back of his throat. A sound that said it’s my right, and I’ll look if I damn well please.
She clutched his hands where he held her knees, vibrating like a tuning fork. But she let him look.
His exhausted cock twitched and lengthened. Her cunt was as pretty as the rest of her. A miracle of nature, on the scale of sunsets, flowers, starry skies. He imprinted her on his visual memory, the way his fingers knew her, the way his cock knew her. The way his mouth wanted to know her. He was a connoisseur of women’s bodies, but Becca’s moved him beyond belief.
They didn’t have time for this, but he couldn’t stop staring at the gleaming dark curls, slick from sex, the pale glow of her thighs. The sinuous narrow slit, the pink inner folds deepening to crimson shiny and hot. Beckoning him. He whiffed her scent, mingled with his own. She was dripping wet with his come. His heart thudded. He’d never seen that before. He kept his sex life rigorously light. He didn’t want problems, repercussions. By definition, that made him a firm believer in latex.
The sight had a strange effect on him. A tug in his chest, a fluttery emptiness in his insides. He wanted to lick and taste and suck and savor her, till she screamed. The woman was a live wire. He’d never had anything like this. He wanted more. Hours of it, but they didn’t have hours, or even minutes.
He let go of her knees. They snapped shut, like a sprung trap. He hauled her up onto her unsteady feet and yanked up his jeans. “There’s an attached bathroom,” he said. “Go wash up.”
She collected her jeans and underwear, and hurried into the adjoining room. He sank onto the bed, slack-jawed, and listened to water rushing through the pipes. A plan. He had to come up with a fucking plan, but his brain kept slamming against bricked-up dead ends. Break it down, asshole. Get outside the box. Think, goddamnit.
His chance to worm his way into Zhoglo’s operation was already compromised beyond recall. He hadn’t gathered any intel, hadn’t planted gulper bugs or beacon locators into Zhoglo’s or any of his mens’ belongings. He hadn’t found out what they were doing, or where.
He hadn’t found out anything about Sveti. And he had to swallow that down and let it go. Think purely in terms of salvage.
Becca wasn’t going to last out the night in this snakepit. They would eat her alive.
If you don’t have the guts to do what Zhoglo asks of you, you are dead. If you do have the guts, you are damned.
Tam’s words echoed in his head. He’d thought he was dead enough inside to go all the way, get killed. A guy could get used to anything, even being doomed. But now—
He heard voices in the bathroom…what the fuck?
He was on his feet, bathroom door slapped open in a nanosecond.
Becca cowered against the wall. The bidet swirled and bubbled. Zhoglo’s bulky body filled the doorway that opened onto the corridor. Soapy water streamed down her legs and puddled onto the shiny floor around her feet.
She regarded Zhoglo as if he were a gigantic scorpion.
Nick stared from one to the other, like a fucking idiot. Yeah, and what now? Come to her rescue? He wanted to wipe that vicious piece of shit off the face of the earth for the bulge in his pants. For that smile on his swollen, self-satisfied face.
But there was a vid cam in the bathroom and four big guys armed to the teeth downstairs. He could kill Zhoglo with his bare hands, but even if they did manage to jump from the upstairs deck without breaking any bones, Becca was barefoot. They’d be mowed down at twenty meters.
“Magnificent performance.” Zhoglo’s voice was oily. “Her orgasm, in particular, was extremely realistic. Continue washing, please. A beautiful girl with her hand between her legs, ah. I could watch forever. Go on, finish.”
Becca flipped off the water. “Thanks, but I’m all done.” Her voice was cool. “I just need to dry off. If you two gentlemen would excuse me?”
Nick was stupefied at her nerve and Zhoglo was startled, too. He stared at her blankly for a few seconds. Then he pulled a hand towel off the rack and held it out to her. “No, I will not excuse you.”
Bright color flared in Becca’s pale cheeks, but she heard the menace in his voice and kept her mouth shut. She reached out to the towel rack where she had tucked her underwear and jeans.
Zhoglo snatched them out of her reach. He examined the plain cotton panties, sniffed them, and tucked them into his pocket. “No, my dear,” he said. “You look charming just as you are.” He slung her jeans over his arm.
Becca stared at the man and suddenly her face changed. She gave him a bright, professional smile.
“Well, then. I was meaning to ask you, sir…would you prefer
