Chapter Nine
Xia
Rex’s private suite, the next morning...
“Ouchie...” The husky moan echoed through the cabin.
The ambient lighting created an intimate cocoon around Xia’s curves as she stirred with every muscle protesting the movement.
Stretching languidly, she arched her back, watching with a wicked smile how her naked silhouette danced across the paneled walls.
The deliberately dim cabin lights seemed to caress her body like a lover’s touch, highlighting the marks Rex had left behind in a delicious reminder of their night together.
“Sweet bouncing bear balls,” she groaned as memories flooded back. Rex had been relentless, masterful in ways that mocked her previous experiences. All of them paled in comparison. He was more than an enigma as a man...
He was a machine... a sex machine!
A delicious shiver skated down her spine as she recalled the way he had commanded her body, wringing pleasure after pleasure until she’d lost count... Her thighs quivered at the memory of his skilled hands, his demanding mouth, and the way he had—
“Get it together, Foster,” she chided herself, forcing her thoughts away from the delicious flashbacks. But her body remembered—oh, how it remembered. Every delightful ache told its own story of lustful debauchery.
“Ugh,” she moaned again as she pushed upright against the plush headboard.
She didn’t need to search the suite for Rex’s presence.
His absence rang as loud as his dominance did last night.
When he was near, the very air seemed to crackle with his authority, an invisible force field of confident control that coaxed every nerve ending to stand at attention.
Now, it was gone and left behind a void that somehow felt colder than the aircraft’s carefully regulated temperature.
“So, no romantic morning-after scene. Just me, wrapped in thousand-thread-count sheets that still hold his aroma,” she complained as the whiff of his man scent teased her nostrils.
“Some wife whisperer I turned out to be,” she muttered, running fingers through her mussed hair. “More like thoroughly whispered to.”
A soft knock preceded Master Coop’s entrance by mere seconds, sending her scrambling to cover her nakedness.
“Hmm,” he grumbled as he walked into the room. It was the grunt that was fast becoming his tell of annoyance. “Time to get up, Xia. The plane is landing in fifteen minutes, and you’re assigned to be the welcoming hostess of the members on the CDS ferry.”
“Welcoming hostess? I was appointed as a bartender, then a wife whisperer, and now a hostess? Is this the norm, Master Coop? To keep changing inflight staff functions?”
“It seems you didn’t read your contract properly, Ms. Foster.
” He placed the clothes he carried on the bed.
“It clearly stipulates that additional duties may and will be assigned throughout any flight you are working.” His eyes traveled over her disheveled appearance.
“Master R might have found a clever way to justify fucking you, but you are still an inflight employee; therefore, you remain my responsibility until he declares otherwise. Since he hasn’t, and I highly doubt he will, you will perform the duties I assign you to between your wife whispering sessions, so I suggest you start moving.
I expect you downstairs in the entertainment cabin for a briefing in eight minutes. ”
His words were like a dash of cold water, reminding her that she held no special place in the owner of the club’s heart.
“Woe to me for thinking the explosive night we had meant as much to him as to me.” With a sigh, she got out of bed.
She hadn’t missed the emphasis Master Coop had placed on the title, wife whisperer. He clearly thought of it as a joke, and for all she knew, so did Rex.
Xia squared her shoulders. “Well, fuck the both of you. I refuse to let it sway me from my decision. So, it’s game on, Mr. Oliver,” she snickered with a determined glint in her eye.
“You may think you’re evaluating potential wives, but I’ll be damned if any of them make it past me.
Time to put these additional duties to good use. ”
She had eight minutes to transform from thoroughly ravished woman to professional crew member. Challenge accepted.
The private bathroom was a testament to Rex’s attention to detail. Every amenity was precisely placed, much like his whipping had been the night before.
“Focus, Xia!” she scolded her wandering mind as she rushed through her shower. Steam clouded the mirror as she attempted to tame her hair into something resembling professionalism.
“At least the hickeys are covered by the uniform,” she muttered, examining a particularly impressive mark just below her collarbone. “Though Master Coop’s face suggests he knows exactly what happened in every corner of this suite.”
Five minutes left.
The uniform Master Coop had brought fit perfectly, not surprisingly since she had to supply her exact measurements beforehand. Rex’s PA had made it very clear how pedantic her boss was that all inflight staff were spotless and presentable.
“Welcoming hostess,” she practiced her best smile in the mirror while adjusting her name tag. “Good morning, and welcome aboard the CDS ferry. Please, let me show you to your seat while I systematically ensure you’re not wife material for Rex Oliver!”
Three minutes.
Her reflection showed a composed professional, but underneath, her body hummed with memories of Rex’s touch. Visions of how he had pinned her against that very wall, how he’d lifted her onto the desk in the other cabin, and the—
“Damn it!” One minute left, and she was getting distracted again. Grabbing her phone, she found a message just delivered.
Unknown Number
“Slept well, Ms. Foster?”
Her heart did a ridiculous flutter. It had to be Rex. Before she could reply, another message appeared.
Unknown Number
“Master Coop takes punctuality very seriously.
Don’t be late.”
Xia cursed under her breath, shoving the phone into her pocket. Even when absent, the man managed to be simultaneously thoughtful and infuriating.
Fifty seconds. Shit!
Her legs protested every step as she practically flew down the spiral staircase to the entertainment cabin. The other crew members were already assembled, and Master Coop’s expression suggested she had cut it closer than he appreciated.
“Nice of you to join us, Ms. Foster.” He checked his watch. “With two seconds to spare.”
“Apologies, Master Coop. I had to ensure I was... properly presentable.”
A few knowing smirks from her colleagues turned her cheeks warm.
Great. The whole crew probably knew about my night with Rex.
A vision of the small rubbish bin next to the bed overflowing with used condoms and silver wrapping packets flashed through her mind.
Holy shit! Why didn’t I think about throwing it out?
Too late now. Her cheeks flushed red. Now everyone would think of her as a nymphomaniac!
“Indeed,” Master Coop’s tone could have dried the Pacific. “Now, about the ferry transfer protocol...”
Xia straightened her spine, ignoring the delicious ache that reminded her of exactly why she had almost been late. She had a mission now—to become Mrs. Rex Oliver. And if that meant playing the perfect crew member while sabotaging every potential wife candidate, so be it.
Game. Set. Match.
A CDS member
Cristiano Ronaldo International Airport, Santa Cruz, Madeira, Portugal
“And so, the game has begun, Mr. Oliver. You will regret the day you played me for a fool. I always get what I want, and you have the skill that I need to achieve my goal. I offered you the easy way... you chose the hard way.” A grim smile twisted the attractive features of the man into evil incarnate. “So be it.”
Through dark-tinted Cartier sunglasses, he watched Rex Oliver’s purposeful stride toward the waiting helicopter.
Even from this distance, that insufferable confidence radiated from every movement.
He presented the same arrogance he had since their senior school days, when he and his four equally privileged friends thought themselves above everyone else.
“Enjoy your last days of superiority, Oliver.” His cultured voice carried a hint of venom. “Your precious algorithm won’t protect the banking world much longer.”
The helicopter’s blades cut through the morning air, its sleek black body emblazoned with the same golden thread and tiger’s eye motif as the GoldenEye plane.
“How fitting. A tiger about to be declawed,” he sneered under his breath.
As owner of one of the U.S.’s most prestigious investment firms, his reputation was impeccable.
No one suspected that beneath the Savile Row suits and charitable donations lurked one of the architects of The Consortium—a masterpiece of white-collar crime and illicit financial manipulation.
He’d spent twenty years cultivating the perfect U.S.
network of wealthy individuals, each one carefully chosen for their combination of greed and vulnerability.
The super-rich were all the same. No matter how much they had, they always craved more.
It was that greed he used to keep them loyal to him, knowing they would always protect him.
Because if he got caught, they would all crumble alongside him.
He was the one who swung his scepter, and they, his loyal underlings, filled his covers every time they breathed... unknowingly, of course.
“They might be filthy rich, but not all of them are very clever,” he muttered as he watched the helicopter take off.
He had access to all their information, all their wealth, and all their secrets.
Those who knew how he secretly carved small amounts from their wealth kept quiet since he had no empathy for the weak.
.. something he had proved more than a couple of times.