Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Lochlan
My tongue’s buried in Chantal’s cunt like it’s the only meal I’ve had in weeks.
Her thick thighs are on either side of my head as she lays spread out on my bed like a feast to be devoured. Long braids fanned across the pillows, she arches off the mattress every time my tongue brushes a sensitive spot.
She’s panting the more I dig in, producing breathy sounds that make me so damn hard. They’re sounds I’m not used to after twenty years with Cara, who barely ever made a peep.
…who rarely ever let me go down south in the first place. The few times I tried, she’d lie there stiff as a board, making me feel like some kind of deviant for wanting to pleasure my own fucking wife.
Eventually I stopped trying. Eventually I stopped wanting to.
But Chantal?
She grinds her hips against my face and slides her fingers into my hair and tugs demandingly. She’s not afraid to own that she loves being the center of attention and enjoys being pleasured.
Which makes sense considering how spoiled and bratty she is.
My lips spread into a grin against her pussy as I admit to myself I like that she is.
She’s a woman who knows her worth and isn’t shy about it. She damn sure isn’t afraid to negotiate for what she wants.
It should probably be studied how even as a captive she’s managed to get her way. I’ve made concessions to the girl that nobody else could’ve ever gotten away with.
I can’t even go through with my original plan—that much is undeniable no matter how hard I fought it.
What that means for the future, I don’t fucking know. I couldn’t explain what the two of us are doing at this point, other than living in the moment.
We’ve crossed over from being a captor and his captive into new territory that doesn’t have a definition. That it seems we’re gonna have to figure out along the way.
“Oh fuck yes!” Chantal breathes, gyrating her hips. She clutches at my hair and tips her head back. “Why… why are you so freaking good at this?”
I’m still grinning as I lap at her juicy cunt and then swirl my tongue along her swollen clit. She tastes sweet and musky and so fucking good I could probably do this for hours.
Just drown in her pussy juices and enjoy the taste and smell of her.
I’d admitted before it’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman. The last and only being Cara for twenty long, drought-like years.
So getting to eat Chantal out as she writhes against my face and unapologetically chases her own pleasure feels like a luxury. Her every moan is like music to my ears, even as angry and obsessed with revenge as I’ve been.
It’s a reprieve from the obsession. Replacing one fixation with another.
I’m hard as hell, twitching to be inside her, but this isn’t about me right now. This is about making up for how badly I fucked up.
I almost sold her to the Bratva. I did sell her to the Bratva.
A decision I instantly regretted and knew I couldn’t let stand as soon as I did it. Within seconds of walking out the door, I was pivoting and rushing back in.
Rurik refused, stating that a deal was a deal and the payment had already been made. He was technically right. But I still couldn’t let it go down; I wasn’t about to leave that place without my little bratty captive at my side.
Two of my fingers slide into Chantal as my tongue works her clit. She arches, squeezing her thighs against my head and crying out so damn loudly, the guys on the ground floor probably hear.
Not that I’ve got any fucks to give.
Let every single one of my men know exactly what I’m doing up here while they’re stewing in their resentment downstairs.
“Fuck… I can’t… I can’t take it… I’m coming!” Chantal screams.
Her cunt grips at my fingers and her thighs quake on either side of my head.
I glance up at her and watch how her round features contort with pleasure. She’s squeezed shut her eyes and dropped her mouth open like she’s forgotten how to close it.
Her whole body seizes up as the orgasm crashes through her. I keep her where she is, spread out on my bed, and start lapping away at her pussy, licking and sucking every ounce of juice she offers.
Only then do I pull back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I climb up her body and settle beside her.
“Wow,” she pants, blinking dazedly, dark eyes on the ceiling. “If that’s how you apologize, you should definitely fuck up more often.”
A rare hoarse laugh rumbles out of me before I can stop it. “Don’t tempt me, brat.”
She grins lazily, obviously so satisfied she’s got no plans of moving anytime soon. Yet her hand creeps down to her cunt and she starts circling her fingers.
“You know what would be the cherry on top?” she purrs. “That nice, big, fat-ass dick fucking me.”
I return her grin as I grab her chin and draw her mouth to mine. “Damn right. You didn’t think I was already through with you, did you?”
I grab the hand that’s on her pussy and pry it away as I climb on top of her and position myself between her thighs. I shove my sweats down and slide straight into her to shared groans of instant pleasure.
It looks like the rest of the house is in for an encore.
The next morning, I get stares from my men like I’m a Martian.
I come downstairs a lot less presentable than usual, roaming the halls bare chested in only sweatpants and with rumpled hair. I’m unshaven, my beard thicker by the minute, and I’ve probably got the distinct air of somebody who was up most of the night having sex.
That assumption would be correct.
But it’s none of my men’s fucking business what I was doing last night. Anybody who gapes at me quickly diverts their gaze the moment I glare at them and bark what they’re looking at.
I make it to Grandpa Finn’s old office to find Marco, Robby, and Akio already assembled.
The Japanese tech genius is dutifully seated with his laptop, looking wholly unconcerned that last night’s big deal with the Bratva went tits up.
Meanwhile, Marco and Robby’s dissatisfaction is a whole fucking aura in the room. Just like last night, neither shithead has gotten over it.
Marco’s eyes travel from my messy hair to my sweatpants as if it offends his gaudy Italian sensibilities.
I drop into Grandpa Finn’s creaky chair behind the desk and glare back at him. “You got something you want to say? So say it. Don’t stare like some scandalized pearl-clutching old bitch.”
“Nothing, nothing, Loch,” he quickly says. He holds up his hands and shrugs. “Just, you know, usually you’re… more put-together than this.”
“And?” I press, eyes narrowing in warning.
“And just…didn’t realize we were doing casual Fridays now.”
“It’s Saturday,” Robby mutters.
Marco turns to him, visibly vexed. “You know what the fuck I meant, you fucking asshole. Why’re you always so goddamn obnoxious?”
“Both of you are equally obnoxious. There a reason you’re both waiting for me? Obviously you’ve got shit on your mind. Put your big girl panties on and spill.”
Marco hesitates, scratching at his receding and heavily gelled hairline. “Look, Loch, we’re not trying to bust your balls here. But the guys are talking. After what happened at the Vodka Room—”
“What about it?”
“Five million dollars,” Robby cuts in. “Five million fucking dollars gone.”
“You mean five million fucking dollars you scattered across the floor of a Russian bar,” Marco snipes.
“The point is, we walked away with nothing!”
Marco heaves a sigh as if unable to dispute that. He turns back to me and says, “The guys are right to ask questions, Loch. They want to know what the new plan is.”
“Should I start a spreadsheet for everyone’s grievances, or are we just freestyling?” Akio asks from his corner, not looking up from his laptop. His voice is dry as sandpaper, completely unbothered by the tension crackling through the room.
“Shut up, Akio,” Robby snaps.
“Just trying to be helpful. Organization is key.”
I ignore the sidebar and focus on what Marco’s said. “The new plan is for them to do their jobs and trust that I know what I’m doing.”
“That’s getting harder to sell,” Marco replies.
“Some of the lower-ranking guys are starting to question your decisions. They signed up for a payday, not a war with the Bratva. We already had the Callahans to deal with. Now we’ve got Rurik Raguzin gunning for our heads, our accounts are running dry, and—”
“And what?”
“And…” he pauses, cutting a glance at Robby. “They’re wondering if the girl is worth all this trouble. The plan was to sell her, right? So what are we doing now if it’s not the Russians and her pops won’t pay up?”
“How about the Ferreras?” Robby ponders aloud. “They’ve got deep pockets, and Marco you said Nico’s always looking for ways to expand his ventures. The Bratva’s got the lock on the trafficking markets, but the Italians have been breaking into it, haven’t they?”
I grit my teeth. “The girl is not up for sale. She’s not even up for discussion.”
Both men fall silent as they stare as if confused by my statement. Obviously neither agrees, though they don’t outright challenge me on it.
But I take it upon myself to elaborate anyway.
“Don’t even have her name in your mouths,” I go on. “I don’t want you talking about her. I don’t want you looking at her. I don’t even want you fucking thinking about her. In fact, you’re gonna forget she’s even here with us. You got that?”
Another tense second passes with nothing but their stares answering me ’til Marco seems to get that I’m not asking but telling.
He gives a nod, hands still held up in conciliatory fashion. “Alright, boss. Whatever you say goes, of course. We trust you. I’ll tell the other guys to shut the fuck up. I’m sure your new plan will work out, and this’ll be water under the bridge.”
“If we’re ever voting on someone else to sell, I nominate Robby,” Akio says from his laptop. His gaze is still set on his screen. “A lot less talking.”
“Hey, fuck off, Akio!” Robby snaps, his face turning red.