Their Cartel Princess: The Complete Series: A Dark Reverse Harem Box Set

by Logan Fox

  Babe. How fucking stereotypical.

  Because that was what she was, all she’d ever be — tits on legs with a cunt somewhere in the middle.

  She stormed past the surprised guard, heading out of Ronan’s mansion. She needed space right now — a place to get a clear head. Ronan’s guest room had been comfortable, his staff accommodating — but she hadn’t been able to get in to see him since last night. Since she’d scurried from his room like a virgin who’d laid eyes on the gigantic trouser snake ready to tear her hymen asunder.

  And Owen had had the nerve to tell her she wasn’t made of the right stuff? Yeah, well, apparently she was two balls and a dick short of ‘the right stuff.’

  Story of her fucking life.

  She was halfway down the stairs leading to the mansion’s front entrance when she heard voices. It wasn’t coming from upstairs in the living area, but from what she expected was toward the back of the house — the servant’s quarters.

  After hesitating for a second, she quietly hurried down the last few steps before sneaking up to the corner.

  She hadn’t recognized the first voice, but she definitely knew the second.

  The voices disappeared, and a door closed. Shayla peeked around the corner. There were three doorways in the hallway, two open and one closed. She edged closer to the closed one, straining her ears to hear something.

  Her phone rang. Shrilly. Loudly.

  She spun away, moving as fast on her heels as she could. Turning the corner, she put her back against the wall and fumbled through her purse for her phone. She was about to end the call when her brain sent her a furious signal to pause, read, consider.

  Wakama: her contact in the DEA. Without hesitating, she answered the call.

  “Wakama?” she whispered.

  “Can you talk?” came a deep African American voice.

  “Sure. What have you got for me?” She slipped away from the wall, casting a quick look down the hallway. The door was still closed, the hallway still empty.

  So far, so good.

  “That intel you asked for?” Wakama let out an expressive sigh, as he always did. She’d never met the man in person, but she imagined him to be incredibly tall or morbidly obese. Something to explain his pregnant pauses and the exhaustion she always heard in his voice.

  Maybe he was really busy. It had to be difficult, keeping stuff from slipping around when you had such greasy fucking palms.

  “Yeah?” There was a touch of Brooklyn in her voice again, but she tried to pay it no mind.

  “I found nothing.”

  “Oh.” So why the fuck had he called? “Thanks, Wa—”

  “Nothing from the DEA.”

  Her mouth was still open, but she closed it again, squeezed her eyes shut, and tried desperately to concentrate on Wakama and not the fact that something interesting was happening a few yards from where she stood. “What you on about?”

  “That guy — this Kane? Not his real name.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Her words emerged mixed with an exasperated sigh. She would never dare say so, but she didn’t pay Wakama the kind of money she did for shit she could figure out on a hunch.

  “No,” he insisted, his ‘N’ heavy with intent. “It’s Simon Jones.”

  “And?” Shayla asked, risking another peek around the corner. The door was still closed — anything could be happening behind. Stuff she could be using to her advantage. The faster she got Wakama off the phone—

  “He’s an orphan.” Wakama’s voice broke through to her subconscious, and she shoved aside any other thought.

  “And?”

  “His parents were murdered — offed by a Mexican cartel when he was twenty-two.”

  She remained silent — judging from the tone in Wakama’s voice, there was more coming her way… and it would not be pretty.

  Ronan ambled down the stairs. In his forty-two years on this planet, he’d never been required to rush. Perhaps he should have done at his father’s funeral, when a traffic jam of immense proportions had delayed him almost thirty minutes. But, even then, he hadn’t hurried onto the altar at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. He hadn’t apologized for being late.

  The world waited on him.

  When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard a faint voice. He turned, spotting a half-obscured view of Shayla through a mesh blooming with orchid fronds. He watched her for a moment as he drew near, studying the way she cupped her hand over her cellphone’s receiver as if she couldn’t bare her conversation to travel.

  Ronan reached her as the call had ended, with Shayla still staring at her phone’s screen, her face blank with concern.

  “Shayla,” he said.

  Her head snapped up, dark irises meeting his with wide-eyed shocked. “S-Sir.”

  And then she seemed to recover. Her spine straightened and her mouth solidified into a solid line. She faced him off, for all the world as if she hadn’t been on the receiving end of his belt last night.

  He walked past, but she called after him. “Can we talk?”

  “Will have to wait,” he said, smiling at her. “I have important matters—”

  “This is important too.” She didn’t look in the least fazed at having cut him off, and for that he dismissed her.

  What the fuck could a street rat like Shayla Doyle tell him that he didn’t already know?

  His smile transformed into a sneer as he forced down his derision with a hard swallow. “Not now.”

  What had the world come to that someone as common as Shayla was allowed free passage in his home? He glanced over his shoulder and flicked fingertips to the house’s front foyer. “Get. I’ll call ya if I need ya.”

  The dismissal was clear, but perhaps Shayla hadn’t quite understood.

  “Mr. King, this might—”

  He ignored her and headed for the den. He considered ordering in a cup of coffee, but poured himself a scotch instead.

  He glanced at his watch. He had a meeting at the Fox Pit this afternoon and it was a good hour’s drive to the remote property. Perhaps he still had enough time to fuck Darcy.

  26

  Feel That?

  Kane watched Cora walk to the bathroom and close the door behind her without once turning in his direction.

  At least she’d taken his advice to heart.

  Maybe, just maybe, they’d live out the week.

  Her scent faded from him. Strangely, he wanted it back more than he wanted away from this hotel, Benecio; the whole fucked up affair that was him trying to run down the Irish Mafia.

  Maybe he was past his prime; when did a DEA agent ever get over busting criminals?

  The toilet flushed while he was busy ordering sandwiches, coffee, and energy drinks.

  Cora came out running her fingers through her raven hair. They locked eyes, and for a moment she did the same as before — trying to keep track of both his eyes. Then she stopped and focused just on the one.

  He allowed himself an inward smile. If nothing else, she was a fast learner.

  “Yeah, that’ll be all,” he said. He set down the receiver and hesitated before holding it out to her. “You want to call your boys?” he asked, wiggling the phone.

  Her spine stiffened that chin rising like bread. “I’ll phone them when I’m done.”

  He set down the phone and moved to the side of the bed. “So how was your first plane flight?” he asked, glancing at her over his shoulder in time to catch her blush.

  Did she honestly think he’d just go ahead and never mention it again? As if. He held her in the palm of his hand right now and he wouldn’t let her slip free.

  He began unbuttoning his shirt, and she stopped walking. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice husky with anticipation.

  “Kind of muggy in here, isn’t it?” he said.

  Then he turned to her, and stalked over to where she stood, paralyzed, in the middle of the hotel room’s floor.

  Halfway through making her come in the plane, he’d realiz
ed he wanted more. He wanted to own her — even if only for a moment — and hear her say his name.

  But not in a candy-sweet kinda way.

  He wanted her to scream for mercy and dissolve into tears when he refused her.

  He wanted her to relish how much he needed her, how much he had to have her. He wanted to make her feel good whether she wanted it or not. Wanted to own her whether she wanted him to or not.

  He would control her.

  Whether she wanted it… or not.

  Cora couldn’t look away when Kane shrugged off his shirt, her body was straight up refusing to do anything she asked. Instead, a slow, hard ache grew inside her as Kane’s phantom touch returned.

  This time, not so much to the back of her neck, but between her legs. Where he’d stroked her until she’d come, thousands of feet above the ground.

  He stalked closer to her, and even then she couldn’t move away from him. Her body remained rooted to the spot, waiting for him to attack her.

  To take her.

  To consume her.

  His hazel eyes scanned her face, her throat, her breasts. His hands glided over her arms and around her back, finding the dress’s zip as if he’d made a note of where it was.

  As the zipper’s teeth tore apart, a shiver spread through her body in a slow wave.

  Kane ducked his head as if he would kiss her. Her eyes fluttered closed in expectation, but the only touch that came was the ebb and flow of his warm breath on her mouth.

  Once her eyes closed, it seemed impossible to open them again.

  Kane’s fingertips slowed that last inch of the zipper. He slipped a hand inside the gaping back of her dress and trailed his fingertips up the nubs of her spine.

  Another shiver, but it cut off when he grasped her jaw in his hand as the other hand still caressed its way to the back of her neck.

  Her eyes flew open.

  Kane watched her, his curving mouth parted. Hair hung in his eyes, eyes that gleamed like those of a ravenous animal.

  The contrast between the steely grip he had on her jaw and the gentle fingers trailing up her spine made her core clench with trepidation.

  How could someone be so gentle — and so rough — at the same time? She grabbed his wrist with both her hands, but she didn’t have the will to tug him loose.

  He tipped up her head, leaning back as his fingers slipped under the dress’s shoulder. He pushed it off with that same insipid gentleness and then twisted her head to the side as if admiring the slope of her neck.

  Her underwear, had she been wearing any, would have been soaked. But she’d left it on the plane, still reeling from Kane’s touch she hadn’t even thought to retrieve them.

  As soon as the second shoulder came free, the dress slid to her elbows.

  Kane took a moment to consider her breasts before pressing his hips against hers.

  Breath surged through her lips at the feel of his hard cock against her belly.

  “Feel that?” he murmured into her ear, sending another volley of shivers through her. “That’s what I’m going to fuck you with this time.”

  Her thighs clamped together.

  Kane must have felt the motion because he let out a soft laugh that fluttered warm air over her lips. They strobed in response, begging for his touch.

  “You might think you have a say in this, sweetheart, but you don’t.”

  As if his words had finally triggered the apt response to the danger of his presence, Cora ripped her jaw free of his hands and took a wobbling step back from him.

  A crooked smile sprang up on his lips. “Yes,” he drawled, casually unbuckling his pants. “Do run.”

  She got as far as the door.

  But Kane grabbed her wrist and a fistful of her hair and ripped her away. She screamed through a gasp of surprise, but he snuffed out the sound with his mouth.

  Grinding his lips against hers, he used his body to urge her deeper into the room. She struggled, grabbing his wrist and trying to untangle his fingers from her hair.

  He was too strong. Too determined. Their breath mingled in a furious panting, teeth clicking together with each dragging step he forced on her.

  Her ass slammed into something slick, icy, immovable.

  The glass doors.

  Her heart gave a sickening thud — a racehorse rearing in its stall — before pounding into overdrive.

  Kane released the grip on her hair so he could push open the glass doors leading onto the balcony and resumed their ferocious kiss without missing a beat.

  Her feet went out from under her on a terrace slippery with rain. Her frantic gasps as her feet skidded away made their kiss breathless and frantic, but Kane had his arm around her waist and supported her every time her legs gave way.

  The railing slammed into the middle of her back, halting them both. She squirmed, tore her lips away for a shout, and got a mouthful of rain instead.

  The angle the rain fell made the patio’s roof barely effective, especially with her pressed against the railing.

  She coughed, spat out water, and tossed rain-slicked hair from her face with a snap of her neck.

  Kane dragged his palm over her face, smoothing back her hair as he gazed at her. He didn’t have to hold the back of her neck anymore — he’d wedged her between his body and railing.

  Her arm shot up. She thought she was going for his eyes, trying to scratch them out, but she still didn’t have control over her body. She grabbed Kane’s wet hair, dragging down his head to resume their hungry kiss.

  His buckle clattered to the wet terrace. He clawed at her dress, ripping it over her hips and letting it bundle at her feet.

  Rain pricked into her naked flesh. Her skin broke out in goosebumps when a gust of wind slid against her bare back.

  Kane’s warm body replaced the roughness of his jeans, and his cock ground against her rain-wet pussy so hard that she gasped into their kiss. Kane grabbed her ass in his hands and lifted her an inch from the ground.

  For a terrifying moment, she thought he’d hoist her up on the railing.

  The world spun around her, bobbing and weaving like a balloon in a gust of wind. Instinctively, she clasped her legs around his waist and grabbed him around the back of the neck with her arms.

  Her lower back crashed into the railing as Kane bruised her lips with his kiss. The tip of his cock glided over her entrance, too hot compared with the icy wind and rain.

  She shuddered, her teeth clacking together before she could clench her jaw.

  Kane froze, using both his hands to wipe hair from her face.

  His gaze darted to her mouth, and he stared wide eyed at her for a moment before speaking.

  “Your lips are going blue,” he murmured, as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying.

  He swung around with a low-throated growl that grated with a desperate need. Her heart thumped in her chest as she struggled, trying to slip from his grip.

  “That doesn’t mean you’re getting out of this,” he said, a laugh wreathing his words. “I’m just taking you someplace warmer.”

  Cora should have known it was useless trying to fight him. Her little body didn’t have the strength to free itself from his grip. Yet when he pushed her onto the sofa, pinning her as much with his weight as with his limbs, her struggles intensified.

  He knew she wanted him. Wanton lust warmed her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle. And when he shoved a hand between her legs and felt the slickness of her arousal pooling from her, he knew her body had surrendered.

  Which made him want to take his time getting there. Even though his cock ached with the need to be piercing the most secret part of her, his mind enjoyed the hunt and scramble so much more.

  He might even let her get away again.

  Raking his fingertips through her cunt, he forced her breath from her with another ferocious kiss.

  If he’d had any doubts, that kiss would have been a one-way affair. Him taking what he wanted, her trying to refuse him.

  Bu
t she opened her lips readily to him, encouraging his tongue to fill her. To explore her.

  To own her.

  How sweet she tasted. How enthusiastic. But how would she fuck?

  He grabbed the length of his cock, smearing the tip over her slit until she moaned into their kiss and bucked her hips.

  Eager. Willing. Ready.

  He exhaled, breaking their kiss to take a breath big enough to push his lungs against her pert little tits.

  His thumb found its way into her cunt, and he had the first half-inch of his cock ready to delve into her before he pulled away.

  Her hips bucked again, and those golden eyes opened, wide and wet with need.

  “Do you still want to run?” he asked, his voice tight with the effort it took to hold himself back from fucking her right then and there.

  She shook her head.

  He slid his free hand over the front of her throat and squeezed.

  There was no terror in her hooded eyes. He kissed her again, pushing hard against her without penetrating her.

  He raked his teeth down her throat, shifting his grip to her hair.

  The sofa was too soft. She kept shifting under him. He wanted to fuck her so hard she’d beg him to stop and plead with him to make her come.

  Kane dragged her off the sofa, onto the thick, pale carpet. For a moment, her eyes flared wide with shock, but then he grabbed her leg and wrenched it into a hard angle, and to the side. He stared at her slit and the tiny triangle of dark curls above it. His cock lay heavy and aching on top of her belly.

  When he bucked his hips, the sensation of his dick trailing down her damp skin sent a chill through his body.

  He pressed against her cunt, glancing up when she mewled. He grabbed her other leg, placing it exactly like the other, and lay his hands over her knees, pushing them even further apart.

  But her tight cunt refused to part for him.

  “Open,” he said, forcing the words through clenched teeth.

  His dick hung ramrod stiff an inch from her cunt, but he didn’t want to dig his way inside her.

  Cora’s hand appeared, her fingers trembling as she gingerly touched her folds.