I was incredibly sensitive from the orgasm that had just ripped through me and each slow thrust into my passage filled me with a pleasure that was as sharp as pain. I turned into his body, my leg curling around his hips and drawing him closer to me.
We’d had sex with him on top. With me on top, with me on my knees, with me bouncing on him in a reverse-cowgirl position, but this position was a first for us. We were laying on our sides, facing each other, our bodies tightly coiled together, and our gazes locked and I couldn’t pull mine away.
His hands cradled my face as he leaned forward to kiss me. His cock moved, slowly, in and out, in an excruciatingly slow, arousing dance of sex and submission, of lust and longing.
“Spank me again,” I whispered, blushing as I asked.
He grinned, all dangerous charm and panty-melting hotness. His palm collided with my ass in a sharp slap and I groaned. “Again,” I begged and he obliged once more, before he stopped and moved over me.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Jenny,” he growled into my ear. “Good and hard.”
“Yes,” I hissed back. “Yes. Please.”
Our coupling was fierce and passionate and glorious. Hip slapping against hip. The sounds of my * squelching around his dick. Our groans and grunts and whimpers and choked-off curses. Our sweat-stained bodies colliding together in desperate longing. My hands fisting in the sheets. His face clenched in pleasure above me. His muted shout as he thrust in hard, fast strokes, then erupted in climax. My own sweet release, only a few instants after.
“Cancel the Louvre,” I suggested, when I was able to hold a coherent thought in my head. “And let’s do this once more.”
He grinned. “You are bossy,” he said. “But your word is my command, cherie.”
We showered together then we fucked again. We stopped for some food, then he ate me out while I lay tied up on the bed, helpless to resist. Afterwards, I went down on my knees, my lips closing around his dick. We fucked like two wild, crazed animals, until we both fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 16
Alexander:
Two days later, Jean-Luc knocked on my door with the package from Daniel Schneider in his hands. And everything changed.
“You haven’t opened it?” I asked him as I poured both of us some coffee.
He shook his head. “I thought you might want to do that,” he replied.
“I have no secrets from you, Jean-Luc,” I said automatically.
Jean-Luc raised his eyebrow. “Really? You’ve been quite strategic in failing to mention Jenny Fullerton. Do you think I’m going to forget that she’s a threat?”
I shook my head with a grin. “We are going to agree to disagree on Jenny,” I replied. “I don’t think she’s a risk.”
“That’s your dick talking,” Jean-Luc said bluntly. “Okay, let’s see what we have here.”
I leaned forward as Jean-Luc tipped the contents of the small cardboard box onto my desk. I looked at the USB key in disgust. “These must be the videos,” I said.
Jean-Luc was sorting through the other stuff. Then he stiffened. “Alexander,” he said very quietly. “Look at this.”
He handed me a photo of a young woman. Red hair, green eyes. She appeared to be looking straight at the camera, her eyes wide with terror.
I’d never been able to find Ellie Samuelson. She’d vanished without a trace.
She’d spent a night with me two years ago. She shared my bed for the last few weeks. She was upstairs, in my house, at this very moment.
Rachel. Jenny. Ellie. The same woman.
Jean-Luc had gone very still. He watched me put the pieces of the puzzle together. My mind shied away from the biggest thing. I couldn’t think about Dylan and the fact that he’d taken my Jenny when she was only eighteen and raped her for two years.
I couldn’t dwell on that without shattering. I thought instead of Paris, two years ago. “She was in Saint Denis.”
“On the night Ivan Klimov was murdered in a brothel.” Jean-Luc raised her eyebrow. “You think it was her?”
“It had to be, don’t you think? Klimov. Petrovich. Hoffman. Sam Green. They’ve all been found dead in questionable circumstances in the last five years.” I looked at Jean-Luc thoughtfully. “They would all have been guards at Dylan’s estate during her time.”
“And Grace Olusola was the housekeeper and Daniel Schneider was a guard. Why aren’t they dead?”
“What choice did Grace Olusola have?” I asked. “She had two children to feed. And the others got killed only after they left Dylan’s service.” My heart pounded in my chest as the picture gradually became clear. “I’m not the target,” I said slowly. “Of course not. It all makes sense now, doesn’t it? She’s after Dylan. She was at the auction so I could get her into his compound in Hanoi.”
“What will you do?” Jean-Luc was well aware that I’d been unable to kill Dylan. My plans involved him spending the rest of his life rotting in a prison. But Jenny was looking for a different solution.