Sinfully Mastered: Naughty Nookie

by Akeroyd, Serena

  “Please. Don’t do this.”

  “You could have sold to us. You could have left the city without another glance and a nice few million in your bank account,” Antoni spits at me, his upper lip curled into a sneer. “Instead, you sought to flee. No one escapes our attention, if we have our focus set on you. You have learned a lesson, and the class isn’t over yet.”

  “What do you mean to do?” The question quivers out of my lips, and I hate the weakness of my voice, but I’m feeling very, very weak. I want Nate; I want him to protect me. It’s a fucking terrible time to go all wimpy woman dependent on her strong Alpha male, but Christ, I do.

  Tears bead in the corners of my eyes as Antoni’s gaze flickers to Nate’s limp form. I can only imagine the damage the bastards have done to him.

  I damn the whiskey I imbibed for dulling my senses. I damn my pathetic alcohol tolerance. How could I have not heard him being beaten?

  A sob wells in my throat, and I long to free it, but I can’t show any more weakness in front of these fuckers.

  The man holding Nate upright doesn’t appear to be feeling the strain of supporting nearly two hundred pounds of muscled ranch foreman, so what damage have those fists done to Nate?

  I literally feel the blood drain from my face, and I have to suck in air as Antoni deigns to speak. “It depends on your bargaining chip.”

  “What do you mean?”

  A warble of Russian escapes the bastard, and I watch in horror as the goon lowers his weapon to Nate’s belly.

  My voice rises to a pitch so high I think even dogs would find it difficult to hear it. “No. I’ll do anything, anything, just don’t hurt him.”

  And I mean it. I would. I’d do, be, give anything to ensure Nate’s safety. I don’t care about this morning’s argument. I don’t care that he can’t accept the real me. I want him. I need him. Maybe more than I’ve ever needed anyone else.

  “I want your little black book.”

  My belly clenches at Antoni’s soft words. Of course, he does. That I’m about to trade some of the country’s most important political players for a relative nobody makes me feel sick. But there’s no doubt in my mind that I’ll do it.

  Is it an act of treason?

  I don’t know.

  I try and reason it out by saying they shouldn’t have used Papillon if they didn’t want to have a dirty secret, but even so, I know what I’m about to do could cause many people a worse headache than the one Nate will experience upon awakening.

  But I don’t give a shit. Because that’s all that matters to me. That Nate will wake up with a migraine to end all migraines.

  “I don’t have a little black book,” I start and when Antoni’s face clouds and the goon’s fingers clench around his gun, I hold up a hand in warning. “Wait. I don’t. I have a USB drive.”

  “Where is it?” A silkiness has entered the Russian’s voice. He knows he’s going to get what he wants without having to pay a single cent for it.

  “It’s in my bag. I-I can get it for you,” I whisper, hating the tremor in my voice but hell, I’m fucking terrified.

  My hands are shaking; my body is trembling with fear. For Nate. I can’t lose him.

  I won’t.

  I wouldn’t survive it.

  “Don’t try anything funny or lover boy will get it in the gut.” His warning comes with the removal of the knife from my throat. I cup a hand to my neck and my fingers return drenched with the copper fluid. Swallowing back nausea, I grab the sheet and curl it around me. I hate that I’m naked, hate that these men are seeing me like this, but I try to retain my dignity.

  The sheet is ample covering, and once I stand and go to the wardrobe, I wish like fuck I had a gun in my bag. Or something I could use to even the odds of this sorry scene. But I don’t. I’m completely without any means of defense.

  I should have used the last few days in Chicago more wisely. I could have bought myself a gun, used that on these bastards. Instead, Nate’s in danger and it’s all down to me.

  Before I reach the door, I turn to Antoni and ask, “How do I know you won’t come after me again?”

  “Once I have your client list, you hold no more interest to me or my associates.”

  “How can I trust your word?”

  He sneers at me. “You can’t. But I have no need of anything from you aside from the list. You’re expendable once I have it.”

  Now, why doesn’t his choice of words fill me with glee?

  Knowing I’m screwed and that giving this bastard the USB pen drive won’t assure my or Nate’s safety, I open the doors and reach for my carry-on case. I grab it and lay it on the floor, opening it to Vasov’s interested gaze. Rifling through the crap I always travel with and never use, I dig down to the pocket lining in the case and pull it open. The drive is as small as my thumbnail. It’s innocuous and looks unimportant, but the fate of at least two Senators, a Congressman and woman, as well as countless lawyers, doctors, businessmen lie within the documents saved onto the tiny bit of metal and plastic.

  With no guilt, I hand it to Vasov. He eyes it, turns it between his fingers and then, whispers, “Sdelayte eto.”

  Do it.

  My brain feels dulled, sluggish. I translate the bastard’s words a second after the sound of a shot explodes through the room.

  I don’t even have time to scream.

  It’s too late.

  II

  Just A Woman

  Chapter Eight

  Past…

  The Grand Hotel, Chicago

  As the cab pulls up outside the hotel, I don’t even bother to open the door. It’s strange waiting, but Nate always does it for me. He pays the fare, then jumps out and rounds the car to help me like a gentleman of old. With my hand in his, I smile up at him as I exit the cab.

  Dinner, a walk through Little Italy, and a movie. Not the most thrilling of nights out but that’s the best part about being with Nate. Doing nothing is like doing something.

  The car moves off into the traffic and leaves us on the sidewalk. When Nate doesn’t make to move toward the foyer, I frown at him. “Are we camping out here, tonight? I prefer our room. It has heating.”

  He shakes his head. There’s a weird glitter in his eyes as he bends down and presses his lips to my ear, “I’ve got something for you, Marina.”

  “You have? What?” I ask, a wide grin curling my lips. “Can you give it to me inside? Sorry to be a killjoy, but you’re wearing pants and I have a skirt on.”

  “You’re damned right I can give it to you inside, and the skirt is the reason I can.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just remember,” he whispers, bending down and brushing a kiss over my nose. “Be quiet.”

  Wondering what the hell he’s talking about, he grabs me by the hand and before I can even utter a complaint, he’s pulling me through the entrance, so quickly I can’t even greet the door attendant, and tugging me through the lobby.

  The Grand is just that. Grand. A pleasant mixture of old and new. Antique and modern. It’s why we always stay here for our little trysts.

  The reception is sleek, all slate tiles and low slung, leather sofas. Yet there are Art Nouveau figurines decorating side tables or sculptures overtaking a huge floor space. Muted colors, dim lights, it all adds to a rather hushed air. At the back of the reception, there are four antique telephone boxes. I doubt anyone uses them, but they’re there, and that’s where Nate is dragging me.

  The receptionist stares at the strident path we’re cutting across the hall. One nod from Nate has him returning his attention to the paperwork in front of him.

  I don’t even have time to complain about the rough grip he has on my wrist, before he opens the booth’s frosted glass door and pushes me inside. About two feet by two feet, there’s no room for a skinny woman and her excessively large purse, never mind a couple.

  “Are we calling someone?” I ask pointedly, wondering what the hell we’re doing here. “Because if you’
ve run out of credit on your cell phone, I have plenty.”

  He ignores my sarcasm, too intent on squeezing us inside and shutting the door. There’s about five inches of play in the entire booth. It’s a good thing I don’t suffer from claustrophobia, because hell, this is cramped.

  With the door shut, the temperature shoots up and silence hovers over the pair of us like a heavy blanket. I can’t turn around to glare at him as my back is glued to his front.

  On the brink of making another complaint, his hand suddenly appears in front of me. He holds it over my mouth and the only thing to stop me from stomping on his foot is the fact he takes care to keep my nose free and clear.

  Eyes wide, I stare straight ahead, not saying or doing anything, wondering where he’s going to go with this. How far he’s going to go.

  “Remember,” he breathes into my ear. “Don’t make a sound.”

  I nod and tease him by sticking out my tongue and trailing it along his palm. He chuckles, the sound low and intent but before I can feel smug, his prosthesis drops down to grab the hem of my skirt. One-handed, he drags it up and then, switching sides, he gives the other side the same treatment so my skirt is riding my upper thighs.

  There’s no room to do anything in here, never mind fuck, which I’m assuming is his intention. I mumble against his hand, but he ignores me and refuses to budge his fingers. Before I can glare straight ahead, his fingers are between my legs, nudging my thong aside and sliding down to my sex. He strums my clit on the downward stroke and the move has me jerking onto tiptoe. Excitement vibrates through me. Where irritation had been, arousal now rests.

  I shudder as he continues to rub and massage my clit, making juices flood my pussy and sending sharp hunger pangs for his cock, right through me.

  I reach back, try to rub him through his pants, but he grabs my hand and pushes it against the wall, holding it there so I don’t move. So I can’t move. The sound of a zipper is loud in the silence broken only by his breaths, hard and laborious, I can tell he’s excited and that’s something that only increases my pleasure.

  Nate leans forward and with our proximity, he urges me to bend over slightly. His foot slips between mine, nudging my legs wider apart until his shaft brushes the outer lips of my pussy and he’s working his way deep inside.

  A whimper lodges in my throat as his thick cock forges a path through tight, clinging tissues. My eyes flutter to a close as my teeth take advantage of his hand by biting down on the soft fleshy pad of his palm. He grunts but doesn’t chide me, just keeps on moving until he’s all the way in.

  A low cry escapes me. I can’t control it as my body reacts to the thickness of his penetration, and in this position, it’s doubly noticed. I’m stretched, full, drowning in his presence. But fuck, it feels good.

  In my ear, he whispers, “Hold on.”

  Unable to move, I just stand there, positioned like a marionette doll. His for the taking and the instant his hips start to rock and his cock forges its way in and out of my needy pussy; I lower my head as ecstasy shatters in my brain like fireworks on Independence Day.

  Oh God, it feels good. So, so good.

  My arousal has slurping sounds ricocheting around the booth and the noises are such a turn on, I can feel more juices welcoming him, drenching him. A shudder works through me as he bends further forward, but this time, I’ve nowhere to go but the wall. Pressing my face against it, the cool acetate is a sharp contrast to the heat in the booth. His hand is still there, forcing me to be silent. The slight change in angle means he can start to fuck me properly. A whine works its way free as he does just that. Deep, hard, fast.

  The closeness of the booth enriches everything. Concentrating the minutest detail and amplifying it a thousand fold. So the slightest sound, the smell of sex, the tightness of our fit within the phone box is intense. The heat is uncomfortable, sweat is beading on my brow, drenching my torso, but I can focus only on the fire in my cunt, one he’s intent on extinguishing with a load of his cum.

  Shuddering at the thought, I press my head into the hard wall in front of me. It hurts, but I need that slight pain. Each thrust has him dragging against already hard-used tissues. He’s fucked me so many times this weekend I don’t know where my pussy ends and his cock begins, but it’s still too good to be true.

  A high-pitched moan escapes me as he takes me down, dragging me to the edge of insanity as my climax beckons but stays out of reach and then, he shoots me hard and fast to the stars as it explodes inside me; pleasure, release. Satisfaction.

  The rough fuck has my every nerve tingling as he pummels into me, his hips pistoning deep and then he stops, and with a jerk of his lower body, cums. He grunts low, the sound guttural as he continues with a faint rocking motion, milking every drop of pleasure from my body.

  He stands there in silence for a few seconds, resting his head on my shoulder, leaving me in the uncomfortable position of being pressed against the wall. But I don’t mind. Any other guy, I’d have called them all kinds of names. With Nate, the quick and unexpected, yet molten hot climax is a treat.

  I should be used to occasions like this. He’s always surprising me. Always taking me to the edge, to the outer limits of my control.

  Another shudder rattles through my body and he presses a rough kiss to my cheek. He pulls out, a move that has us both reacting ̶ he with a low groan and me with a high mewl ̶ and then rearranges my skirt so that I’m decent once more. On the outside, at any rate.

  Between my pussy lips, his cum is gathering, moistening my inner thighs and thong. A hot reminder of what just happened...as if I needed one with my mind still floating on a cloud somewhere near heaven.

  Behind me, I can hear him fumbling with the door but as it opens, he doesn’t move. The sound of a zipper tells me why and I’ve a few more inches to play with so I quickly make sure my hair isn’t mussed and that I don’t look as though I’ve just been fucked in a phone booth.

  He steps out, his heat abandoning me and I turn around, staring at him with wide eyes. He looks at me, nods, silently telling me I look decent and takes my hand.

  Sedately, as though we’d just made a call, we walk to the elevators and ride up to our room.

  Neither of us says a word on the way up. As he unlocks the door, sliding the card in before opening it and letting me pass, we retain the silence. Only as the door shuts behind him, does he say, “Bedroom, two minutes. Naked. Leave your heels on.”

  With a grin, I scurry ahead, running through the small lounge and into the bedroom. Tugging down my skirt and thong, I slide them off, then jerk out of my coat, and dump it on the floor. The sheer hot-pink shirt that displays my white, demi-cup bra was a teasing outfit I chose for tonight. Combined with the black pencil skirt, I was decently dressed but he could see everything.

  I’ve riled him to this, to a hard and rough fuck, and God, if it doesn’t thrill me.

  Slipping out of the blouse and bra, I jump on the bed and just in time too, as he sweeps into the room seconds later. Exuding so much power, I shiver with it.

  He looks me over, like a man buying goods and says, “Spread your legs.”

  I do as I’m told and watch his throat work. That is the only reaction on his face at the sight of his cum slowly escaping my pussy and coating the tops of my inner thighs. He reaches forward and coats his index finger with the seed, then proffers it to me. He knows I don’t do that, so when I turn my head away, I’m not surprised that his hands are hard on my hips when he forcibly turns me over.

  Out of everything I could say no to, it’s that, that pisses him off the most. It doesn’t matter that I’ll experiment; do pretty much anything once...that I won’t swallow is a major sulking point.

  A part of me feels smug at my hold over him, and it’s there that the reason behind my refusal to swallow lies, as mean as it is. But hell, a girl has to have something up her sleeve, doesn’t she? Especially with a guy like Nate.

  Christ, I need his cock back inside me. I have four months o
f celibacy to make up for, and I won’t see him again for another sixteen weeks.

  The more time he spends fucking me, the better. And it’s something that his cock can easily accommodate. I’ve never known a man with such a recovery rate, but hell, I’m grateful for it every time we meet.

  His knees land on the bed as his weight makes the mattress dip slightly. He crawls forward, grabs my thighs, and jerks them upright, forcing me to kneel with my legs wide. I comply, keeping my face to the bed, like I know he enjoys, hoping to please him with that even if I won’t by swallowing his cum.

  His fingers delve into my pussy and then, move upward. I flinch at their presence at my butt hole, but know this is a punishment of sorts. He plays there, teasing the rim, popping a finger inside then retreating, sliding one in to the hilt, and then urging another one inside. It’s hard to believe that in most aspects of his life, Nate’s a gentleman. But in the bedroom, he drags me out of my comfort zone and forces me to accept I’m no lady once I hit the mattress.

  He bends over me and opens the bedside table. There’s nothing in there except flavored condoms for when I give him a blow job, and then lube. Lots of it. Wedging his thick shaft in there is difficult and if it didn’t feel so fucking good, I’d tell him not to do it.

  I hear the sound of liquid spurting out of the bottle and tense in reaction. I hear his hand squelch slightly as he coats his cock and then the bottle’s there, at my ass. I squeal as lube drenches the rosette, entering the pucker and freezing me from the inside out.

  A shocked exhalation has me gripping the bed sheets, when I feel his cock already butting against the rosette of my tush. A whimper escapes as he starts to push in, deeper, deeper. The pop of the muscle giving way to his thickness is almost audible, or at least, it feels as though it should be. As my ass gives way to his invasion, I press my face into the sheets and absorb the uncomfortable pleasure of his penetration. He rocks his hips back and forth, spreading the pucker, making it accept him. Forcing my body to take him.