17. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Sabrina
“ Y es, please.” I dug my short nails into the arms of the chair and looked down at Michael. The wicked grin on his sculpted lips made my stomach flip like it had when the seaplane touched down in the lagoon.
I tipped my head back as he pressed my legs apart. The progression of events that led from trying to convince him to help take down Sandoval to him on his knees between my spread thighs boggled my mind.
Good idea, bad idea, who fucking cared. I needed this. Sex cleared the mind and calmed the body. I’d earned this. I wanted this.
The slow slide of my satin panties against my aching flesh was the most exquisite form of anticipation. His knuckles were so close to where I needed to be touched. He leaned forward until his teeth found a tender bit of skin on my inner thigh and nipped, then sucked.
His mouth lowered to my center and my breath caught. My blood boiled; my need grew exponentially.
He started by exploring. And it was torture. Mind-bending, bone-melting torture. He searched out every nerve ending and pulse point with precision, finding the places that made me shudder and gasp.
Sensation eclipsed worry. Pleasure replaced stress.
Then he began to conquer. His lips fastened to my clit as he slid one long finger into me. He sucked and stroked in a rhythm that sent lashes of liquid heat racing up my spine. I arched up, chasing his mouth, demanding more. He put his other hand under me and lifted my butt off the chair, delivering my body to his mouth.
Oh, I’d been so right, he was very, very good at this.
He groaned and squeezed my ass. I kicked off my sandals and put my feet on his huge shoulders. I strained into his caresses. My body slicked with sweat at the effort, and it was worth it. On the horizon was a glorious explosion of pleasure.
He bore down. His tongue circled my clit and his finger curved within me to brush that one perfect spot. I spasmed and fell over the end of the world in an explosion of colors and sensations. I screamed so long and so loud as my body trembled that my throat ached. It was more than an orgasm. It was a release of fear and anger and hope all tangled together in a complex knot that I had no interest in untying.
I sagged into the chair, my arms limp and my ass barely on the edge of the seat.
“Holy shit,” I gasped.
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” He sat back, lifting my ankles from his shoulders, and licked his glistening lips.
“Ah, yeah. I needed that.” I was still fully dressed, my body buzzing with the lingering pleasure from one of the most intense orgasms I had ever experienced. Giddy with euphoria, I giggled.
“Oh, Siren. We are only getting started.” The crooked smile on his lips was pure promise as he reached under my dress and slipped off my panties.
He stood, stripping off his gray slacks and the black briefs beneath. He stroked his erection. It was massive. Michael was six and a half feet tall and his cock was, ah, proportional. I reached out a tentative hand and could barely wrap my fingers all the way around him.
I bit my lip, and he stepped back. I looked him up and down, his heavy muscles, swirling tattoos, and thick thighs. It was a sight to behold. My eyes settled on his straining erection.
“Nervous?” His tone was half concern and half a taunt. The perfect blend of humor and sincerity. Not like this was my first penis. I’d birthed a child and understood female anatomy. I knew it would fit. But…
I considered what I was feeling before I answered. “Intrigued. I’ve always been a motion of the ocean, not a size of this ship kind of girl. But that’s an aircraft carrier.”
He laughed and scooped me from the chair, then sat with me straddling his lap. “Well then, let’s put you at the helm.”
I laughed; nothing better than laughter mixed with orgasms.
I dug my hands into his thick pecs and kissed him. His impressive cock sandwiched between us, thick and throbbing. He reached behind me and tugged down the zipper of the borrowed sundress, then swept it over my head. The clasp of my bra gave way under his skilled fingers and joined the dress on the carpet.
He growled with appreciation at the skin he’d revealed. His hands ran up and down my body with a reverence that made me feel beautiful.
I lifted myself up on my toes, poised to slide down on his impressive length, and paused. “We don’t have a condom.”
He closed his eyes and moaned like he was in pain. I shared the sentiment. I wanted—no, needed—this so very, very badly. My body actually ached. Being practical sucked.
“I’ve been tested recently. All good. You?” He gripped my waist and waited for my answer. His hands flexed, and all I wanted was to slip through his fingers and onto his cock.
“I’m good, and it’s not like I’m getting pregnant at my age.” I didn’t bother to explain I had a hormone-laced IUD that was helping with my early menopause symptoms. Not the time.
His hands relaxed, and slowly I took him inch by magnificent inch. It was a tight fit, but so fucking worth it. When I rested fully on his lap, I looked into his face. He was about to snap. The effort he exerted to stay perfectly still was inhuman and made me feel like a sex goddess with an enthralled captive.
I relaxed, taking time to adjust to the size of him filling me so completely. In this position, he gave me what circumstances had taken away: control. It was a gift. Straddling his lap, I rocked my hips, applying the perfect amount of pressure to my already fevered nerves. I gasped his name and picked up my pace, breathlessly riding his length.
Beneath me, his breathing had gone ragged, his body slicked with sweat. I lifted his hands and put them on my waist wordlessly inviting him to move. He clamped down on my hips and began to push and pull my shuddering body back and forth, fucking up into me at the same time. It was glorious.
I dug my nails into his muscles, dropped my head back, and held on for dear life, hoping that this would never end. Wave after wave of sensation enveloped me. Everything about him was overwhelming. His huge length pummeling in and out of me. The broad steel bands of his chest. The marble-like hardness of his thick thighs under me.
My orgasm built slowly, ratcheting up like a roller coaster inching toward the top of a towering incline. I whispered nonsense words, his name, and prayers to every deity I knew until I plunged screaming over the other side.
I might have blacked out for a moment. Too many sensations, not enough air. Delicious.
He tangled one hand in my hair, the other spanned my lower back, and he drove his hips up. His face pressed into the hollow of my neck. A final bone-shaking thrust, and he followed me over the summit and plunged into bliss.
He crushed me to his chest, and I felt small, precious, and utterly boneless. Every ounce of stress that I’d stockpiled over the last few days evaporated. Down in the depths of my soul, my reserves of strength were renewed. It was spectacular. Probably temporary, but still an improvement.
“There is nothing like incredible sex. Beats a margarita or a hot bath.” I nuzzled his chest, the sprinkling of coarse hair tickling my face.
He chuckled and stood, scooping me up in his arms like I weighed nothing. “We should find the bathroom in this place.”
We did, and I was pleased to find the bathroom had lovely water pressure, fluffy towels, and a sturdy vanity that withstood our vigorous second round. He was not only well endowed but for a man of his age fast to recover—my superhero.
My stress level at an all-time low, all things considered, we unpacked in our respective bedrooms and ordered room service. My blonde hair was a good disguise, but I’d be staying in the room until tomorrow. No reason to court added danger or remind Michael how much he hated Gunter’s plan while I was still enjoying my endorphin buzz. I focused on the mundane act of unpacking and tried not to think about my situation or the plan and all the million ways it might go off the rails.
Our food arrived, and we sat across from each other at a small table near the windows. The server set us up with a white tablecloth, candles, and a chilled bottle of wine in an ice bucket. The romantic scene only increased the awkward silence between us. I should have tried to find a radio or something because now the only sounds were our silverware clanking and us chewing. It made my skin crawl.
The meal could have been good, bad, or indifferent for all the attention I paid the food. I took a long sip of my wine and looked out the window at the sunset. In the distance, the beacon on top of a lighthouse blinked to life at the mouth of the harbor.
So yeah, this was why you either stumbled home after a one-night stand or passed out. I discarded the uncharitable characterization of our tryst as soon as I thought of it. What we’d shared had been nothing like a one-night stand.
I trusted him.
Exhibit A: no condom. Any other man, any other situation, I’d have never taken such a risk. But he’d been earning my trust since the first moment we’d met.
I put down the wineglass and cleared my throat, determined to break the silence, but Michael beat me to it.
“I’m sorry.” He pushed away his plate, the meal half eaten.
“For what?” An uneasy sensation caused me to shift in my chair. I reached for my wine and braced for bad news, something I was getting far too good at.
“Your restaurant, I should have told you.” He stared at the napkin in his lap, unwilling to look at me.
“You knew before we left?” It was like a kick to the solar plexus. He’d known. He’d lied to me. So much for the euphoric relaxation I’d been enjoying.
“Yeah, Smith didn’t want you to know. It was for your protection.” He looked guilty.
“Of course it was.” I took a swig of the wine. Michael’s need to protect me was becoming debilitating. First he didn’t want to hear Gunter’s plans, now this.
“Look, I didn’t agree with Smith, but he had a reason. Well, two reasons.” Michael sighed and rubbed his temples like he too was developing a headache.
“Which were?” I hid my balled fists in my lap. I wanted to punch something or someone. So much for trusting Michael. Maybe.
“First, he knew if you got cold feet those pictures would reignite your anger. And second, the reason I went along with Smith’s plan was truly to keep you safe. There wasn’t a way to keep you from Viande short of locking you in a cell if you knew what happened. Sandoval’s people wanted you to show up and inspect the damage, so they…” He trailed off, unwilling to speculate on the fate Sandoval’s people had planned for me.
But I knew.
In the photos, I’d seen shell casings scattered across the floors and the bullet holes in the walls. So many bullet holes—more than enough to end me.
My protest caught in my throat, lingered, and died. He was right. I’d have moved heaven and earth to inspect the damage firsthand. My safety wouldn’t have been a consideration. Had I been anywhere but Cuba, I’d already be in a boat, plane, or car heading to Miami to start repairs.
“Damnit.” I banged a fist on the table, setting the china to rattling. As much as I wanted to be mad, the anger faded fast. Fear for your life had a way of providing clarity. “Is Smith always right? How can you work for him? It’s got to get frustrating.”
“He is diabolical. At times I’m sure he sold his soul to the devil. But the same foresight that led him to hold back the information on Viande from you led him to hire me. And I’ll forgive him almost anything for the chance he gave me.” Michael shrugged and refilled both our empty wine glasses.
“You are two hundred and fifty plus pounds of muscle. Everything about you screams ass-kicking bodyguard, from the tats to the granite jawline. I assume you are a no-brainer hire for a security company.”
He paused before he answered. A deep wrinkle gouged into his forehead, making him look tired and stressed. With a wince, he dug his fingers into his shoulder muscle, working on a knot of tension.
“When Smith met me, I was in handcuffs and Miami PD was booking me for murder.” With a long sigh, he finally looked at me. He was dead serious.
“Murder?” When he’d offered to kill Sandoval for me, I’d brushed it off as exaggeration, but suddenly his offer seemed far more ominous.