Seven of Swords Page 2

  Jacob takes my glass and leaves them both on the edge of the bar as we pass by. We cross through the red room and down a dimly lit hall. Two doors are bedrooms with a Jack-and-Jill bath in between.

  One is a bathroom for guests to access from the living room. And the last room will be his. Everything is as I expected it to be. This night will go smoothly.

  He opens the last door, a master suite the size of most people's apartments, including mine. Unlike the scarlet room of doom, this one is more gently appointed in soft taupe and navy blue.

  "It’s lovely," I say.

  He shrugs. “Some decorator did it."

  "Did the decorator choose the red room?"

  “As instructed,” he says. The smirk is back.

  "Murder chic," I say. "It definitely makes a statement."

  The bed is massive, larger than anything I've ever seen. Even so, it takes up only one small part of the room. There's a sofa and chairs on one side. Door to a closet, door to the bathroom. The two bay windows don’t open.

  I know my exits.

  He turns me in a slow circle, his hand lifting mine above my head.

  "I like very much what I see," he says, and now his voice has that same husky quality I used on him earlier. "I want to see more."

  "Your wish is my command," I say.

  I turn my back to him so that he can work the zipper. But he takes a step away, and his voice changes completely, from casual stranger to unrelenting domination.

  “You will strip for me. You will follow all my instructions. And from this moment forward, you will not speak."

  This is more like what I expected from him. I shiver with anticipation. I’ve made the right choice to come here, to be his tonight.

  I turn to face him, then reach behind my neck to the top of the zipper. I slide it down. The dress skims my body to fall directly to the floor in a perfect puddle of silk.

  Jacob’s eyebrows lift. "Nice,” he says.

  Beneath the dress, I wear a sheer black bra that reveals rosy nipples. His eyes go there first, then float down my belly to the barest of panties, just a scrap of lace that makes clear how bare I am for him. It isn’t necessary to remove them for what he has in mind. Clipped to a lacy garter belt are stockings leading to stilettos.

  "Bra next," he says.

  I reach behind me and tug at the clasp. The bra slides down my arms, and I let it fall to meet the dress.

  I definitely have his attention.

  "Come here," he says.

  I lift my foot over the fallen dress and close the distance in slow, careful steps.

  His hands go directly to my breasts, cupping them, his thumb crossing both nipples. I suck in a breath.

  I didn't fake this one, as this man leaves me breathless. This has been worth every risk. No matter what happens, I won’t regret this night.

  He’s good and hungry for me. I want him to call Sylvester over and over, helplessly asking for my name.

  Even after he realizes what I've done.

  The idea of pulling one over on this powerful man leaves me wet between my legs. I am going to screw him hard.

  And then I’m going to screw him over.

  3

  Jacob

  Sylvester's women are always beautiful. My specifications often change. I went through a blonde phase. A curvy phase. Redheads. Academics. Athletes. Asian. African. Spanish. Each and every one is unique.

  But something about Jade is like no other.

  I sense something underneath this luscious body. Something that strikes a chord deep within me. I feel like I know her, that I’ve always known her.

  She could be the one to finally make me forget the other. Her dark hair banishes the red. Brown eyes obliterate the green ones from my memory.

  I am anxious to find out.

  As my hands caress her perfect pert nipples, my eyes drink her in. Her skin is evenly tan with a hint of olive. The color does not break, and just the idea of her sunning naked makes me hard as a rock. I want this. I want to take her to my rooftop and strip her in the light of day. I want to taste the sweat trickling down her body as I lick it off her skin.

  The fantasies run wild in my mind, and I think well beyond the moment at hand. I can already tell I will want her again and again and again.

  But first, this night.

  “Lift your chin," I tell her.

  She obeys, her face tilting to mine. I kiss her full, supple lips, then nibble and nip. Either she's an excellent actress, or I'm getting to her, because the soft moaning in her throat is extremely convincing and sends a lightning bolt of desire through me.

  I shift one of my hands to the back of her head and draw her in close. Now, her curves press against my body, and her mouth is mine to plumb deeply. She tastes of whiskey, same as I do, but also chocolate, and peppermint. I wonder what she ate just before coming here and smile to myself at her indulgence.

  Her tongue greets mine as I hold her tightly against me. My hand slides through the glossy dark tresses, curled in loose spirals. The scent of lilacs lifts from her hair. She is exactly right.

  I want to know all of her, so my hands make a journey from her neck down her shoulders, along the toned intention of her biceps. I picture her again, beside me, in workout clothes, lifting weights. The fantasies surprise me. Normally, I am so focused, and never do I picture Sylvester's women outside of the situations that I hire them for. It almost makes me pause.

  But my hands want to find their way, and they drift along her collarbone to the familiar territory of the soft, supple breasts.

  They move down the curve of her waist and the slight flare of her hips. My palms slide along the indentions on either side of her belly, and I flash with the vision of her fat bellied with my child. That’s definitely new. Damn. I’m bewitched.

  I reach the lace of the garter belt and slip my thumbs just beneath the edge. Her skin is warm and faintly marked from the pattern of the lace. My hands wander farther down, circling her thighs, my fingers sliding between her legs and easing them apart. She widens her stance and I smile against her mouth.

  "That's my girl," I whisper. I slide a hand back up, delighted to realize the panties are slit in the center. She's deliciously wet already, something you can't fake. My groin tightens even more fiercely. I want her now, but I must hold fast to my control to reach the ultimate pleasure for us both.

  My finger moves inside her, first one, then two. She's warm and pulsing in my hand, and I feel the faintest beat of her heart as her blood throbs through her body.

  A small groan escapes her throat, and I curl my finger inside, looking for the places that will affect her the most.

  She sucks in air, and I have found my mark. I work it back and forth until her breath becomes so labored that it is difficult to maintain the kiss.

  And then I withdraw.

  Her eyes open slowly, looking up into my face. But, as instructed, she says nothing.

  I step away from her to sit on a bench at the end of my bed. I like that she's aroused by me. Love it, in fact. I want her desperate and silent, unable to even beg me to take her.

  Control is mine now, the short distance between us giving me room and space to remember what drives me the most — the anticipation.

  "Turn around," I say to her. She does, her back to me, and I admire the smooth, toned curve of her ass.

  "Bend over."

  She does, her flexibility on display as her fingertips brush the floor even in the heels.

  I see her slit, glistening and pink. I want to know what she does to herself. That way I can torture her all the more.

  "Touch yourself," I say. "Just before orgasm. Don't go over the edge."

  She pauses for a moment, but before I can reprimand her, her fingers slide inside her body.

  I unbutton my shirt as she moves, her thighs flexing, her arms quivering, small sounds escaping her mouth.

  I lean back on the bed, loosening my belt, already thinking of what I can do with it. I don't generally
get into rough play, not since my encounter years ago with the red-haired lovely I could never shake, but something about this one makes me want to subdue her. It's that connection I feel. It throws me off balance. My desire for her commands all my attention.

  Her breath speeds up, her fingers moving more quickly between her legs.

  She's getting close. I wonder if she will stop as I have commanded, or if she will not be able to do so. I slide the belt from my pants and stand over her.

  "Do not orgasm without me," I say. I smack her lightly on the perfect tan ass with the loop of the belt.

  She sucks in a breath and another more strangled groan escapes her. I’ve accelerated her need. She likes this.

  My cock is painful in my trousers, straining toward her. But I control it, like I control her. I smack her again on the other perfect cheek.

  "I'm going to —"

  “No talking."

  I strike her a third time, right where the pink has just begun to develop on the first side. Another startled cry. I can see her pussy quivering. She loves this. How perfect.

  Her fingers slow in their movements. Her teeth bite hard on her lip as she struggles for her own control.

  "You may stop,” I say, smiling inwardly at how incredibly well we fit, my urge to subdue her, and her erotic response.

  Her hand withdraws, but her entire body shivers.

  "Crawl onto the bed, slowly."

  She nods and turns toward it. She places her knee up on the bench, displaying the bright glistening pink to me once again. She brings up the other knee. Her thighs are perfect in the silky stockings, the stilettos so pointed they could pierce a wall.

  My control evaporates. I jerk my pants open, shoving the boxers out of the way. I snatch a condom from the small table beside the bench and roll it on with practiced speed.

  She inches across the bed with exaggerated slowness, just as I told her. Her second knee has just made it to the mattress when I grab her hips and jerk her back against me, impaling her in a single thrust.

  She shrieks lightly, gasping for breath. I hold her tight, rocking my hips against her again and again and again. She grips the bedspread with tight hands, her glorious hair falling across her back.

  "You will come when I do," I growl.

  She nods with a whimper. Her head drops, hair spilling across my bedspread. I imprint this incredible vision in my mind, and pump harder and faster and deeper. I pour my energy and strength and desire into her. I think of the jewels nestled in my vault. Today is my victory, and this is my prize. And this woman is befitting, a perfect woman for my perfect crime.

  "Now," I command her, and she dives headfirst against the mattress, her body instantly quivering around my cock. I unleash into her, the spasms of her muscles clenching me, pulling the orgasm straight from my body into hers.

  We moan together, simultaneously released from the torture of waiting. I continue pushing into her, pulsing, working our bodies, until she collapses forward on the bed.

  She is a superb ending to this day. I am on top of the world.

  4

  Jade

  This man is intense.

  It’s his stamina. His need. It’s everything I wanted from this night and more.

  After a swift initial round on his bed, he becomes even crazier, carrying me out onto the balcony so the autumn air can cool my skin.

  He peels off the stockings and piles the panties and shoes together near the door. He has me stand in the corner, where any insomniac could look up and see me, although with over thirty floors to the ground, it’s unlikely they could make anything out.

  My hair flies in the wind as he strips. His body is sleek and fit and muscled in all the best places. I’ve been told not to speak and it drives me crazy to stay silent, but this adds to the intrigue.

  It also helps me keep my distance. I can’t shift my focus whatsoever.

  But he’s become my kryptonite, delayed gratification and playful pain. It won’t be just him trying to rationalize this tomorrow. It will also be hard for me.

  He pushes me down to kneel on his balcony, the streets of New York laid out below us. I take his cock in my mouth, hot and throbbing. He buries his hands in my hair.

  I take him in deeply, feeling a satisfaction that reverberates all the way to the bone as he groans. I work him with my tongue, my hands, cupping his balls, massaging the spaces that will challenge his control.

  He twitches in my mouth, the veins pulsing, but before he can come again, he pulls back.

  He lifts me up, drawing my thighs around his waist. Then he’s inside me again, this time without the condom, part of the agreement for them to exercise as a bonus clause. It’s five grand extra, not that it matters to me.

  The skin within skin makes everything more intimate. My thoughts keep going rogue, picturing myself with him in other places, other times. Things that absolutely cannot be.

  But damn, he’s good. He walks us to the corner and presses me against the rail. I spread my arms out to clutch the smooth polished bar. It’s the perfect width to grasp, and I wonder if this was luck or a detail he thought through.

  Then he slams into me, and I’m lost again, his face buried in my hair, his body hot and powerful as it thrusts into mine.

  His hands grip my ass and hold me steady.

  It's hard to make someone like me feel daring, but Jacob is doing exactly that. The air chills another degree, but I don't mind. I clutch the rail, letting my head fall back. My hair flows down the side of the balcony, tousled in the wind. I forget everything for a moment. Where I've been. Why I've come. What I will have to do next. I let him work me, expertly, with fervor and strength.

  He's not making me wait for him or controlling me in any way. This time it's just pure collision. His hands grasp me so tightly that they will probably leave a mark. But this just plays into my need. His teeth bite me lightly on the neck, and I groan. The frenzied pace of his cock plunging into me is a high no drug could ever give me.

  My breathing speeds up, and I can feel that tension gathering a second time. He senses it too, because he works it more carefully.

  He pauses for a moment, and I open my eyes, wondering if this is another game he’s going to play with me.

  His eyes stare directly into mine. For a moment we’re caught. There’s a connection, deep and flooded with understanding. I don't know where it comes from.

  With a growl he thrusts himself inside me even harder. I cry out so loud that I swear all thirty-two floors are going to light up. The orgasm bursts like a bottle rocket, shooting through me with all the light and stars and sparks you'd expect from pyrotechnics.

  He lets out a long, guttural moan, and this time I feel his seed filling me. It’s life itself, ecstasy, a combining of our collective power.

  My arms settle around his shoulders, and he holds me close. Gradually, I release my legs to stand next to him.

  Neither of us speaks. I don't know what words there would be to say. We breathe together as the air cools our skin. Then he takes my hand and leads me back inside his apartment.

  I follow him to his bedroom. He collapses down on the bed and holds his arms out to me.

  It's probably three in the morning by now. I curl up next to him. He expects that he has me all night. So I settle in next to him, my head on his shoulder.

  And despite what I know about him, and about me, and about what tomorrow will bring, I relax for just a moment. He’s a man and I’m a woman, and we’ve just confirmed how compatible we can be. The world is in front of us, all the normal things of regular life — dates, dinners, passion, love, a future. A wonder that isn’t bought and paid for, or seen and stolen, or discovered then destroyed.

  Once all these tender feelings have been acknowledged, I extinguish them one by one. I can't afford them.

  I wait for him to fall asleep, and then carefully, I rise.

  I have much to do.

  5

  Jacob

  My first indication that some
thing might be amiss is when I roll over for a morning round with Jade and discover she isn't there. Her side of the bed is cool, so she hasn't lain beside me for a while.

  I sit up and listen. The apartment is silent. No telltale water running, or footsteps, or the small sounds of someone freshening up.

  I stand up and glance around for my clothes, then remember they are out on the balcony. I grab a pair of workout shorts from a drawer and head into the bathroom.

  It’s chilly and silent. I touch the basin of the sink. Dry. I check the toilet seat, both parts up. Unless she put it back where I left it, that particular trick of mine to know when a woman has been wandering around remains unchanged.

  I pad through the apartment on silent feet. I'm not sure why my senses are on alert, but they are. Something about her was too perfect. Too good a match.

  Our whiskey glasses remain on the edge of the bar. I check the balcony. My clothes are piled as they were the night before. Hers are gone.

  I walk back through the living room. Nothing seems amiss. Sylvester's girls are not usually the type to give up another bonus. His standard contract allows an extra payment for a breakfast round of sex.

  I pause, listening. All is quiet. The apartments on this floor are well insulated. It’s rare that sound leaks into my home from another. Only the occasional bump from above ever reminds me that I live between other humans.

  An unexpected glare of glass catches my eye. Something is out of place. I walk to the wall.

  It's a case that holds the tiara. The door is open.

  The tiara is gone.

  Anger floods through me. That thieving bitch.

  I close the glass door, the gentle beep assuring me the alarm system worked as expected.

  But she defeated it.

  In my own home.

  One of Sylvester’s girls. I’ve trusted him to provide me top-notch women.