CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jess
“I think we should swap places.”
Rush flops down on the sofa opposite me and loosens his tie, ruffling his hair before pathetically reaching toward the bottle of tequila on the coffee table without leaning forward.
I harden my everything against him and his no-good boy charm he’s currently exuding.
“You can reach the booze from there, just as well as I can,” I say.
He pins me with a look. “You’re meant to be kind and pour me one. Do you know how hard it is to fill Nikolai’s shoes?”
I turn the page in the book. I like this library. I probably shouldn’t be in it as it’s clearly full of his cousin’s books, serious things bursting with a lot of death and blood. Old school people were such goths. I’m impressed.
But I’m here because Rush likes to come home and hang out in here with me when he’s done being Nikolai’s gofer.
We’ve carefully skirted the sex thing. I have, anyway, by shutting it down.
What I should be doing is getting the hell out of here.
I should be snooping.
More than I have been.
The need to snoop and find things the Ten64 might want is the only reason I’m still here. It’s nothing to do with the fact Rush is here. Nope, it’s everything to do with Brutus in the clutches of the Ten64s.
I need to text them, barter an update on Jack, maybe speak to him in exchange for the fact Nikolai and his wife have vacated.
Maybe I could use Dante as a bargaining chip—
The cat lifts his head where he’s curled next to me and gives me a long feline look, one that seems to know and dismiss my thoughts. He’s probably right, the ‘64s would give him straight back.
Although…I’m betting Dante would do some damage first.
Rush disturbs the equilibrium in the room, just by being here.
It’s been a couple of days since we had sex and I’m still not ready to think about it. And Rush…
My gaze goes to him as he sends me an amused scowl as only Rush can. He sits up and pours a drink, taking a sip and shuddering. “How the fuck do you handle this straight up all the time. It’s smooth and all, it’s one of Nikolai’s, but don’t you want a nice bourbon? Some Irish whiskey?”
“I’ll get you a pretty pink umbrella for your drink and explain the virtues of tequila when your balls drop.”
He’s off the chair lightning fast and on one knee next to me. It shouldn’t be a dominating stance, and yet I feel it shiver its way through me, curling down on my inner Domme to tease out the submissive part I’m not sure I’m a fan of.
“If,” he says, mouth close to mine, tequila teasing my senses enough I want to lick his lips and steal a taste, “my balls are tight and high it’s a temporary state, caused by you.”
“I turn you prepubescent? I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
He doesn’t laugh, even though amusement and heat dance in his eyes. He slides a finger over my bottom lip. “Definitely not that. Hard, excited and wanting to come? Now that’s what I mean, what I’m willing to discuss.”
He traces over the length of my nose, then along the edges of my eyelashes. Combined with the soft smile and the light in his blue eyes, I want to wrestle him down and fight.
Instead, I go stiff.
“I’m not.”
“Too scary for you, Jessie?” This time he brushes his lips against me.
If it was my lips or breasts, I’d forgive the move, but he skims my shoulder and then captures my hand, bringing it up to his mouth for a sweet instant before letting it go.
No one can forgive that.
“Too boring.” I shove at him, but he doesn’t move.
“You’re into fisting, gotcha.”
I glare at him, grabbing the comfort zone. “You’re obsessed with fisting. I can make some calls. I know some big dudes into fisting.”
“Depends,” he says, face deadpan as he slips fingers around my throat, resting them there like a human collar. “Am I invited to watch?”
“You’re the star.”
“And here I thought you were gonna put on a live fucking sex show for me.”
I shove him away. “You got your drink, go…do…whatever it is you’re up to each day.”
“Filling shoes, showing the world some Rush-style.” He sits on the floor near me and ruffles Dante’s shining black coat. The cat purrs motor loud. “It’s work, Jess.”
“So that’s why you’re dressed like your cousin?”
“Better dressed, more style. But like I was saying, we should swap. You can go break skulls, and I’ll read and eat bonbons.
“What the fuck’s a bonbon?”
“Fancy ass chocolates. Sometimes big bad Nikolai buys them for Rose. Orders them from some fancy place in Manhattan.”
Of course. “I eat regular bodega chocolate bars.”
“You look like a Milk Dud girl.”
“I’m a break your fucking nose girl.”
“You don’t scare me. You turn me on.” He pulls off his tie.
The words are on the tip of my tongue because he turns me on, too. I want to take the tie, have my way with him, assert my will, strength, put the natural order back into place.
“So you’re doing Nikolai’s dirty work?”
I choose those words carefully. I know the mafia king and queen are away; it’s not hard to miss their presence. But with Rush, I think I need to be a mixture of straight talk and subtle.
Goading him is the easy way to do it.
And it has the bonus of assuaging the inexplicable anger in me.
If he touched me before like he wanted to fuck me hard, or if he’d done it in a dismissive, overtly sexual way, I’d have been good. Same if he’d rough handled me and shoved a hand down my pants, twisted my nipples, bit me.
That I can handle.
I know that shit.
I even like it from the right man.
It’s the softness, the sweet touch, the thing he does that shifts things into an approximation of loving I don’t know what to do with.
One person loves me and that’s Jack.
Not to mention it’s platonic love. Family.
I know Rush doesn’t love me, far from it, but his sweet words, the praise, the almost religious care he brings when he brushes fingers or lips against me, is something that I don’t know how to handle.
Fucked up shit’s my jam.
Not…not the softer side of Rush.
He’s got some fucked up tastes I like, but that other part? It threatens to addict me to it, make me crave gentle fingers, little kisses, words that rain praise and wonder down like summer.
Earlier, when I texted with the burner number—it keeps changing—I told the Ten64 member at the other end it’s going to be slow. If they want this done properly, if they want information to bring this family, along with the Smiths, down, it’ll take time.
I know he went to see someone from the Smith family the other day. Mainly because he’s not trying to hide it.
The disarming thing he has is a potent weapon, should he choose to use it. When he’s open and friendly and charming, it makes me forget he’s my enemy by proxy. He makes me think there’s something…
It makes me think there’s nothing to hide on his part.
“Dirty work? Everything we do has that tinge to it. We’re not so different from your little gang in what we deal with. It’s more the…execution,” he says. “Everything you see is mine.”
There’s a note of humor to his voice but it’s also serious.
I know he’s the heir, but this is wholly Nikolai’s operation, and Rush doesn’t seem the type to want to cross that line and put the crown on. He likes where he is.
Fucking around—I stop. No. He’s got a role, Rose has a role. Every motherfucker here has a role, even the little maid who comes in a few times a week.
“You should take it and run,” I mutter.
“Why?”
“You don’t get sick of the criminal lifestyle?”
“Don’t you?” he counters. And before I can say a thing, he captures my hand again. His fingers, long and strong and elegant, play over mine, and every nerve ending rushes to where we touch, connect. “We broker peace.”
“Should I ask the Pope to vacate the Vatican?”
“Maybe.” He links our fingers, and I should pull my hand back. Soon. “But what I mean is there are scuffles here, little grabs for land and power still. Since Nikolai made a deal with the bigger players and the Smith Family, Queenstown is a mecca for a certain kind of peace, a certain kind of shoulder rubbing. But if anyone’s trying to break into this city without a blessing from the powers, and with the intention of causing trouble, it’ll be war.”
“Even when weaknesses are exposed?”
He meets my gaze. “Rose isn’t a weakness.”
“Sure looks like that since he took off.”
“He travels. He’s not leaving her. Never will. Rose isn’t a weakness, I told you that.”
The thing is, this time he didn’t mention himself, but he’s as important as Rose. A different importance, but the man raised Rush. He’s as important as his own child would be.
I know the link to getting Nikolai is Rush and Rose. But do I want to do that? Do I want to push them at the Ten64?
Rose told me about how she wants to help women, so I can work something with that, and Rush…
“Fuck.” A buzzing hits the air and he pulls out his phone, laughing. “I mean…fuck, seems like Rush has got it.”
My stomach turns hard and cold and queasy.
“One of your whores?”
“You’re my only one,” he says, tugging me half off the sofa to kiss my hand. “And if you weren’t, you’d be my favorite.”
I stare at him, trying not to laugh or maim him. “Asshole.”
“It’s my cock Lucy Smith wants. And…” He rises, coming in to kiss me hard. “She’s pretty, too. Gotta take this.”
He leaves the room and, heart slamming, I scramble up and race to the door, but I can’t hear him.
Lucy. Lucy Smith.
I pull out my phone and google her.
Oh. God.
She’s Rush’s type. Gorgeous, blonde, rich. The article’s about the Smith Charity in Boston, and she’s there with a hot young man. But that’s it. Nothing more. I kick myself for not googling her sooner.
I rub my face with my hand.
They know each other, so she’s around in Queenstown. At least, that’s what I’m assuming. The problem with the name Smith is it’s insanely common, but if I can get to his phone and see where he went the past few days, I can maybe find their headquarters. Or…something.
Are the Ten64 following him?
I can ask next time they text me.
It’s totally the kind of stupid thing they’d do. Follow a high up in the Wilder family.
I stare at her photo, hating how I want to punch her out, warn her to keep the fuck away from Rush.
He’s not mine.
And I don’t beat up girls for liking a guy I do.
But this one? Over this man?
Fuck, what am I thinking?
I force myself to breathe and pick up the bottle of tequila, pouring a healthy glass and downing it. Then I have another.
Rush is right about Rose. That would be war. The logical choice might be finding a way to bring Nikolai down using him.
Dante meows at me and runs to the door, looks at me and meows again.
“Okay, I’ll feed you, c’mon.”
We head to the kitchen that I assume Mia just left as it smells lemon clean and practically sparkles.
To save my brother, I have to sacrifice Rush, but I’m hoping he’ll be enough. I don’t think Rose will work.
But… I also don’t know if I can do it.
And I don’t know how I can’t.
I open the fridge and pull out the cat food. “Damn, you eat better than me.” It’s raw food for cats, and next to it, in another container, is just seared beef that’s labeled Dante.
“Like seriously better.” He meows in a tone that matches the dead eye stare of someone who knows he’s top of the pecking order.
“Here you go,” I say, filling his dish and mixing in pieces of the meat. “Maybe I’ll get a crow to peck you.”
Dante hisses and rubs against me before planting face first in his bowl.
I scootch down to scratch between his ears. “I wouldn’t do that,” I whisper. “I like you.”
The problem is, I like Rush, too, enemy or not. And Rose seems cool, too. Nikolai scares me. As does Tony, his right-hand man.
Rush would question an order against me.
Tony would do it.
Then again, I think Nikolai would torture and kill me if he discovered I’d hurt his cousin.
“What do you do, Dante, when the only chance to save your brother is to betray someone you might like?” I keep my voice at a whisper.
He doesn’t make a sound apart from chomping on his food.
I sit next to him, leaning against the island.
With Nikolai and Rose out of here for who knows how long, there’s not much I can do about that.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out.
Well?
I swallow. Fucking Ten64 assholes. It takes time.
We’ve got plans, cunt. Move it along.
I can’t. Best bet is the wife and the nephew. But she’s away with Wilder. I hate myself. But I press on, spinning slightly. I need to earn trust, which I can when she’s back.
Fuckin move it along, bitch. Or should we start cutting bits of Brutus off?
My throat grows tight. The family is smart. I’m half prisoner, I need to earn trust. I know Rose has bodyguards. So does the nephew. This is fabricated, but it makes sense. Mostly. I’m learning movements, interest. Searching the place is slow. Someone is always watching, but I’m in.
This Rush likes pussy. Give him yours.
Fuck this pig. He’s my way in, but I need time.
My fingers itch to type ‘leave my brother alone or I’ll end you all’, but it’s an empty threat. I can’t do that, and there’s no one I can turn to. It’s Jack’s mess, and I have to get him out.
Maybe you’re just a useless cunt living it up.
I suck in a breath. I can get in with the Smith Family.
Do it. Soon. Show us progress. That you’re in. Or snip chop and fucking death to the waste of space Brutus.
I want to hurl my phone across to the other set of cupboards, but I just clench it tight in my hand.
This will take time. It doesn’t matter if I want to do it or not, I have to.
And I need to hurry that time along. Somehow.
I wish I didn’t like Rush.
I wish he was everything I thought he was when we met.
But hot, flirty, smart-mouthed and fucking smart is bad enough. Add to that being part of the soaked in crime Wilder family led by a man who’d kill me in a moment and without hesitation is even worse.
And he’s so much more.
“Fuck,” I say. “Shit.”
I wipe my eyes and I’m horrified to find my hand wet when I pull it away.
“Fucking bastards!”
“Talking to yourself is a sign of crazy. Lucky for you, I like crazy.”
I whip around.
Rush stands there, no shirt or shoes, just the tie he’s hung, undone, around his neck. He takes one look at my face, then the phone. Finally, he meets my gaze.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I want to tell him everything, wrap around him and share the burden. “No.”
“Who—”
My phone starts to buzz. It’s a call and it’s a private number.
I scramble to my feet and answer. “Hold on Rush, I have to take this.” Then, I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“I’ll make this quick.” A gruff voice I don’t recognize rumbles down the phone. “Maybe you didn’t know, so I won’t hold it against you.” I hurry to the other side of the kitchen. “Rumor is Wilder killed his wife’s father, and her previous husband. Get evidence.”
Rush is staring at me, his gaze burning into me. I turn away. “But—”
“The man disappeared, and Wilder married the cunt. Get us evidence. It’ll bring him down.”
“I need time to heal.”
“Not too much.”
The phone disconnects and my vision blurs. This is bad. This is… Shit. How do I do this? Even if I need to buy time to save my brother and lie, how the hell do I do this? I can’t go through things here easily, and I doubt Nikolai will keep a notebook stating I did it .
No, but…there’s evidence. Always. Right?
Or, maybe, I can just somehow get my brother and leave. Lie my way through it all. To Rush, to the Ten64s.
“Who was that?” he asks, softly.
I spin, blinking rapidly. “Guess Bunny Munroe can’t do without me.”
“They want you back?”
“Who wouldn’t?”
He pulls on the ends of the tie and my gaze locks on to the expanse of smooth, muscled chest and I want to drool.
I need to give them something, and him standing there like an ad for hot sex gives me an idea. “Since you’re dressed up—”
“I’m taking my clothes off. Thought I’d give you a look.” He comes up to me as I speak.
“—maybe we can go out.”
“Or stay in? Have some sexy times?”
“Do you get away with things like that because you’re cute?”
“Probably.” He slides an arm around me, and kisses me softly so I melt. “I don’t say shit like that to anyone else. It rattles you, so…” He grins. “I’m a bad man, baby bunny.”
“Awful.”
“What do you think? You, me, my tie?” He walks me backward, kissing me as he goes, and I’m utterly helpless.
I’ve fought off men twice his size. He…he unarms me, makes me putty. Rush could overpower me in second because I’m boneless, muscles soft when he ignites the fires inside me.
And I hate it.
Almost as much as I crave it.
His kisses are soft, slow. Hard, deep. They’re like sex and seduction and addiction.
When I manage to push him away, I slam against the island and he grins, coming at me with the tie.
But as I go to try and stop him, he does his Rush flipping of whatever his script is.
He picks me up and drops me on the island, and I’m shocked as my ass hits cold marble.
“How…”
Rush pulls off my shoes, tossing them and then the jeans and underwear he somehow managed to get down.
He’s the Houdini of pants. I fucking swear.
“It’s a gift,” he says as he steps between my thighs, unzips and pulls that hot prick of his from his pants.
My pussy throbs. My mouth waters. He’s thick, hard, and the drops of precum at the head of that gorgeous cock are something I want to lick up.
He felt so good in my throat, my mouth. I want him there again. I want him to pound my face again, fuck my throat so hard I cry and come from that alone.
But Rush pushes his fingers between my thighs and strokes my pussy, sending showers of delight and need through me. I’m wet, his digits glide, sliding in between my lips, and he takes my mouth in a slow, thorough conquering.
As he does, so he moves his fingers, his cock taking over, splitting me open and pushing into me.
He’s so big that the stretch is real and I grab his shoulders, tilting up to him. I want it hard. Fast. Violent. I want him to bruise me in all the low-down erotic ways. I want him to slam so deep I end up on the other side of the island.
His tongue duels with mine, and I’m alive and sparking everywhere.
But once he’s all the way in, he breaks the kiss, lifting my chin. “Slow.”
“Fast.”
His mouth half curls into a smile. “Seduction.”
“Pillage.”
“Want, need, lust,” he whispers, rocking into me, pulling my thighs up so I’m open and he can thrust into me, deep. “Wrapped in slow burn, Jessie.”
Before I can say anything, he does that, fucking me long and slow, a relentless rhythm. The drugging, air-stealing onslaught of his mouth leaves me helpless, exposed, his for the taking.
The orgasm builds slowly, and I both grasp at it and push it away, because I don’t want something beautiful like this from him.
It starts to take me, and then he stops.
Stops cold.
I stare at him, and he smiles, pulling the tie off. “Tie me, if you’ll pardon the pun, up.”
He hands it to me and sits on one of the kitchen chairs, hands behind his back, his cock thick and upright, glistening from our juices.
My entire being throbs. I need…Oh fuck…I contract in a single pulse of pure pleasure as I stumble to him, tying his hands sloppily behind his back before straddling him.
I sink down, riding him, hard and fast, his cock hot steel in me. I squeeze as I go, biting his neck, slamming onto his dick, rocking so my clit hits him each time.
We’re both breathing hard, and I kiss him. Then, I put my head to his and we’re eye to eye, mouth to mouth and I want more, more. I want—
Oh, fuck yes.
He has his hands free, and they grip my hips. He uses me, lifting me, pulling me down. We’re fucking hard, fast, the chair creaking, and I can’t get enough of him. That orgasm is still there, wanting freedom, but this time it comes up hard, sinking its teeth into me, and I explode, my pussy spasming on him, setting him off. We’re both clinging to the other, trying to get more, even as the passion flattens us to the ground.
When I come back from that almighty orgasm, his hands are on my ass, rocking me, and he’s kissing and licking my throat.
“Fuck,” he says. “Your cunt is so fucking good. You won me over. I’ll meet you down here in twenty fresh and clean and dressed up. I’ll take you out.”
Rush doesn’t try and pull me off him, and I make no move to go.
“I need more.”
“I like an insatiable woman. I want you in chains.”
I laugh and, though it isn’t my thing, I think I want it to be. But my way. “When we get back, I want you to use me, abuse me, debase me and make me come.”
“I can make you come without that.”
Like now, which was rough enough that I didn’t have to think about the soft ways his touch can be mistaken for caring. For lo—
“No. You only get me tied up if you do it my way. Do it right and I’ll blow your brains out with the biggest motherfucking orgasm of your life.”
He groans and starts to harden.
I make myself get off him. I grab my pants, pulling them on and then I sweep up my shoes. Dante took off ages ago, I’m guessing.
“Twenty minutes?” I ask, not daring to look at him because if I do, I might not reach the door.
“Twenty fucking minutes.”
I force myself out of the kitchen.
As I make my way to my room, one thought keeps haunting me.
Just one.
I think I might be falling for him.