19. Determination
Chapter 19
Determination
Christophe
I thought Winnie, braless in a tight, cropped shirt and booty shorts with her ass peeking out would be the death of me. But this…?
This version of her is so much more lethal.
Every lock of hair brushed, and curled, and coaxed into glossy golden waves. Pristine skin polished and buffed to perfection. Dark, dramatic eyes with lashes thick and black. But those lips…Her plump lips that beg to be kissed, tasted—devoured—are painted deep crimson.
She’s flawless and all I want to do is mess her up. Smudge the red from her mouth—leave her lips bee-stung and swollen.
Watch her mascara run, black pooling under her eyes as she stares up at me from where she kneels between my feet.
I watched her paint it all on. Every stroke, every line. I sat in my chair, phone in hand, legs crossed, and dick hard as steel.
As if her everyday clean face and messy hair isn’t enough to make me fall all over myself, each layer she applied was like a shield of armor, a cloak of confidence wrapping around her. Shoulders back. Spine ramrod straight. Sexy as fuck.
And then she dropped the last vestige of sweet, young Winnie. She unzipped the garment bag—the fucking garment bag that held a sorry excuse for a dress. More like silky straps that crisscross her body, scarcely covering her tits. Barely reaching low enough on her hips to keep her pussy from view. She’s a fucking wet dream.
She stood in front of the mirror adjusting the lie of the straps, ass popping from the black stilettos, the red soles perfectly matching her dress. And her lips. And the heat burning through me.
I had to tell her twice to put the detachable skirt on for her arrival at the club. And then I still had to physically wrap it around her waist, fastening it securely.
I would love nothing more than to kill the bastard who selected this poor excuse for a dress for her. But I’m not ready to die.
I have too much yet to do.
I step out of my town car, positioning my body strategically as Winnie emerges, to ensure no one gets a view of what they’re here to fight for. We’re barely out of the car and I can already feel hungry eyes clocking her every move.
Interest is at an all-time high tonight.
Even moving the auction up with no notice, has the Honey Pot filled well beyond capacity.
The Glock at my waist, Teague at our backs, and the knowledge that every single asshole inside has been stripped of whatever weapons they were stupid enough to think they could smuggle in safely is locked away only offers a marginal sense of security. I know who these people are—I grew up in the company of a good number of them—and I don’t trust them in the least.
I plant my hand on Winnie’s back and guide her inside where she’s whisked away by the auction hostess.
“You planning on following her back there?” Teague asks. His question stops me in my tracks, and I realize I’m halfway down the wrong hallway. “We have shit to do. We need to assess the room, check the guests, and make sure we’re up and running for wire transfers before this thing starts.”
I pause, waiting for Winnie to disappear from sight before stalking toward the office. I don’t spend much time here at the club—no time, if I can help it. The Honey Pot is not my scene, seedy and distasteful. Bad for even a strip club.
We check the guest list, the financials, and finally, the security feed. Images of the main room from various viewpoints fill the wall of monitors.
Tonight’s take promises to be through the roof.
To maximize revenue, the hostess has the girls mingling with buyers prior to opening the bidding. Which is one of the reasons the event is heavily guarded by my people. I stand to gain tremendously tonight; I won’t trust the security to anyone else’s men.
Short skirts and sky-high heels are easy enough to spot in the crowded club. My eyes dart from screen to screen, scanning the faces, the bodies, for her .
“Whoa,” Teague mumbles, standing straight and backing away from me. “You want me to get you a drink, boss?”
I’m hard pressed to rip my focus from the screen to acknowledge that he’s spoken to me. “What?” I bite out.
“You look like you’re about to bust through that wall and kill anyone within arm’s reach of Winnie. You’re not planning to let Alain actually win her, are you?” Tilting his head to activate his comms, he mumbles directions for security to step in on a buyer getting a little too hands on with one of the girls before turning his attention back to me.
“Alain?” I search the room and find him in a cloud of cigar smoke. “What the fuck is he doing here? Find out who his source is. I want them dead.” Alain is the primary reason we moved the auction up a handful of days. The way he looked at Winnie as she perched on my lap had me seeing red.
I pull Teague back before he can exit the office with a question. “What else did he say to you the other night? I know there was more.”
“As he was leaving? He asked me if Winnie was the virgin. If she’s really untouched.” His brows lower over his eyes. “He said he wanted to add her to his collection.”
Alain likes them young. Likes to break them in, be the first to fuck them. Ruin them and cast them aside. His reach knows no boundaries.
“You know how he operates, Christophe. He’s going to bid her up high, then let some other fucker win and pay. Have his men intercept her and the payment”—Teague pauses, eyes dropping to my clenched fists— “He’ll revel in the fact that he’ll get to fuck her and destroy you at the same time.”
“Go. Get her off the floor,” I growl. “Over my dead body.”
One of Alain’s men has his hand wrapped around Winnie’s arm leading her across the floor and straight to the Devil himself.
I watch as my uncle, my father’s twin brother, reaches out and pulls Winnie’s body into his. His pudgy hand squeezes her ass, and I lose the tenuous grip on my control. “Bring her to me, now ,” I roar. “Get on comms and get one of our guys to that corner immediately, for fuck’s sake.”
Teague storms out of the office, hand to his ear, barking orders as he goes.
I watch the screen, unwilling to take my eyes off of what could very well become a huge shitstorm. Alain is not generally receptive to the word no , so it doesn’t surprise me that his face sours, his hand jabbing at the air with that foul fucking cigar as he cuts his men down. One of les beaux voyous takes off after Teague and Winnie, but security stops him before he makes it into the hall.
“Where are you taking me?” Winnie asks Teague, her voice trembling.
Not feeling so sure of yourself at the moment, are you honeybee?
I reach for her hand, pulling her behind me to close us into the office. Before the door clicks shut, I bark an order at Teague. “End of the hall—stay there. No one comes back here, understand?”
He nods and strides away as I slide the lock in place.
I turn slowly, trying to calm my rage before facing Winnie. It doesn’t work. All I can see when I look at her is Alain’s hands on her. Him touching her, squeezing her ass. The way his fingers slid beneath the useless fucking, red bands that do nothing to cover her and everything to showcase her curves, highlighting everything a man could want.
This is not how the night was supposed to go. He’s not supposed to be here, and Winnie’s supposed to remain untouched.
I can’t imagine what she sees as her gaze skates over my face, but we are too close to the finish line to let the mask fall now.
I don’t give her a chance to say a goddamn thing as I wrap my hand around her throat and walk, pushing until all she can feel is the wall at her back, and me—every hard inch of me—pressing into her.
“Did you like that old man touching you? His hands on you while he was picturing you spread out beneath him?” Her throat bobs against my palm as she swallows down her fear. “Because I didn’t fucking like it. Not at all.” I grind the words between my teeth.
The desire I’ve been suppressing over the last few days—hell, it’s been years—is overwhelming. I’m riding a knife’s edge of playing a role and giving those fucking wants free rein.
I palm her tit, pushing the scarlet scraps beneath her creamy flesh and pinch her pretty pink nipple. She gasps at the bite of pain as I do the same to her other breast.
“I need a taste,” I mumble, pulling one perfect nipple into my mouth—licking, sucking, nipping—until she squirms and her breath hitches.
She’s fucking perfect.
I slide my hand down her soft belly, over the flare of her hips, and cup her ass—my hand exactly where Alain’s was just moments ago. I want to erase him from her. Replace each of his proprietary touches with one of my own.
I release her nipple with the scrape of my teeth and stand, my lips hover just above hers. “Who feels better pressed against you?” I ask, my mouth brushing over hers. “Who would you rather picture above you? Behind you? Spreading you out. Worshipping you. Fucking you soundly?”
“You.” She breathes out her response and I greedily suck it in, swallowing it down.
I slide my hand between her legs, sweeping a finger beneath her soaking-wet thong. “You like that—the thought of my body above yours, my fat cock spearing you, stretching you wide.” Every fantasy I’ve had of her spills from my lips. The things I want to do to her, with her. To teach her and show her pleasure she’s only ever imagined.
“Yes.” She tilts her hips, granting me more access.
I circle her opening with the pad of my finger, pushing, dipping in and spreading her juices.
She pants and mewls with every dip.
The sounds she makes are merely a tease; I want her moaning, writhing, gasping beneath me. I want her fingernails digging into my flesh, for her to mark me the way she fucking owns me.
I want it to be my name on her lips as I pound into her, the sound echoing through the room as she comes apart.
Maybe she knows where my thoughts are, maybe neither of us are thinking at all, because when I pump my finger into her tight cunt and then add another, spreading them, stretching her, she moans my name, her muscles squeezing, hips rocking.
I drop to my knees and replace my fingers with my tongue, delving into her silky depths and savoring the way she tastes.
The hint of her protest rolls right into cries of ecstasy. And me?—I’ve died and gone to heaven.
She’s sweet like the purest honey.
Every swirl of my tongue around her tight little bud of nerves has her gasping and writhing in pleasure. I lick into her pussy, and suck each of her lips into my mouth, relishing everything about this moment. When she’s trembling in my grasp, I wrap my lips around her clit and suck— hard —until her hips buck against my face, coating me in her juices. I bracket her swollen nub between my teeth teasing the tip of her clit with my tongue. The bite of pain, the overall sensation—I don’t know—has her spearing her fingers through my hair. Pulling me in tight. Pushing me away.
Responsive.
Head thrown back; lips parted.
Delicious.
Legs quivering and hips rocking.
I want to devour her.
Gasping for air as she floods my tongue.
“Fuck, yes. Give it to me, honeybee. I need everything you’ve got.” Like a man possessed, I slide three fingers inside her, pump them in and out as I feast on her, needing her to come for me. The sounds are liquid and messy and sexy as fuck. I push deeper, lost in her, consumed by my need for her.
“Stop,” she gasps at the intrusion and squeezes her thighs together trapping my hand. She pushes hard against me, shoving me with everything she has.
“Stop, Christophe. You have to stop.”
She uses my surprise to rip herself away from me and escape. Her grasp on the edge of the desk is all that’s holding her up because those long, beautiful legs are boneless and doing nothing for her.
I stand and face her, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My eyes narrow as I pin her in place. “I don’t have to do a fucking thing,” I warn.
A handful of steps has my dick pressed against her ass, separated by my trousers and the scrap of red silk she’s trying to smooth back into place. I grab a handful of her hair and push until her chest is pressed against the desk. The thought of taking her like this, bent over and balancing on her toes, ass in the air, has me burning up.
I shove my foot between hers to kick them apart but far more agile than she should be right now, Winnie twists away from me and puts far too much space between us.
Cheeks flushed, tits heaving, and bee-stung lips, she looks like a goddess. A beautiful, messy goddess and I want to spend a lifetime worshipping her. Hell, she’s the only woman I have ever gotten down on my knees for.
In the space of a heartbeat, the heat swirling between us shifts and I move.
One step and her hand flies up, palm out.
Two steps and her shoulders drop, her jaw set.
“Don’t. Don’t come closer.”
I smirk. “I plan on coming, honeybee, but only after I get you there again. I want to hear my name fall from your lips as you come apart. I want you to scream for me.”
“No.” Her hands flutter across her chest, adjusting the front bands of her dress, putting herself back together.
“I agree, no.” I wrap my hands around her delicate wrists and growl as I erase the space between us. “Don’t you hide what’s mine from me.”
She inhales deep and expels the air like it’s offended her.
If she wants to do this with restricted air, I’m happy to make that happen. Her throat would be so pretty with my hand wrapped around it.
I shake my head and try to make sense of her bullshit words buzzing softly against the exposed skin of my throat, but they make no sense. “What did you say?” I ask, my voice low.
“I’m not yours. I…I don’t belong to you, Christophe. We can’t do this.” The cadence of her words is slow, measured as though she’s explaining something ridiculously simple. Maybe she is.
She frees her wrists from my grasp and splays her hands out in front of her. “You said this is all I have that’s worth anything. If you fu— If we do this, I have nothing. I can’t pay you what you think I owe. Then what? Huh? You won’t even tell me the amount of my parents’ debt. I have no options, you said so yourself. This? My virginity is all I have to offer; you can’t take that away from me.”