Risky Temptation

by Hart, Gemma

  Risky Temptation

  Gemma Hart

  Copyright 2016 Gemma Hart

  All Rights Reserved

  This work is not bound by DRM, which allows you as a reader to enjoy this story on any digital platform you choose to use. But please respect the work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Any similarities to events or situations is also coincidental.

  © 2016 Gemma Hart

  All Rights Reserved

  Dedication

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  Haven’t yet read Undercover Temptation?

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  It’s not necessary to read the books in order but it can help with chronology. There will be a few spoilers if you read Risky Temptation first.

  Table of Content

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Undercover Temptation

  Gemma Hart’s Mailing List

  Chapter One

  Halle

  “I didn’t think people still wore those French maid outfits,” I said as I took off my earrings in the bathroom. “I never even really thought anyone had ever worn those in real life…like, ever.”

  Marco snorted as he unbuttoned his jacket in the bedroom. “Yeah, well, the bourgeoisie in Europe are a little different than the elite in the States,” he said. “They like to maintain some of that Old World charm.”

  “Oh is that what you call it?” I said dryly as I unzipped my dress.

  We had just come back from dinner at Cerc, a new boutique hotel in the outer end of London. It had been hailed as one of the finest places to stay in all of London, at least for the people who could afford it. They only had one hotel restaurant and its head chef was a four star Michelin rated chef with years of experience in various international kitchens.

  I had read about the grand opening plans in a magazine and had made an off hand remark to Marco about how I’d be curious what four star food would taste like. I had just been thinking aloud, not meaning anything serious.

  But lo and behold, three weeks later, Marco had an invitation to Cerc’s exclusive grand opening in hand with reservations at their restaurant.

  And the restaurant had been themed in a retro style that harkened back to what Marco referred as ‘Old World’ charm. Women were dressed in silken black maid uniforms that, while long enough to be appropriate, definitely cinched in the waist and gave a viewer a good look at a pair of fair bosoms. The bell boys and staff had on pill box hats and crisp cream uniforms with shining gold buttons. It had all felt incredibly luxurious and decadent.

  I walked into the bedroom clad only in my bra and panties. “How does that Old World charm grab you?” I asked, the smile clearly in my voice.

  Marco turned around slowly, his shirt half unbuttoned, revealing his broad chest with defined muscles. I watched as his dark eyes blackened with lust as he looked me over. I could almost feel his gaze roving over my body appreciatively.

  He crossed the room in three long strides and had his arm roughly around me within a second. He pulled me close, pressing my body against his hard length. I was able to make out the small amused twitch of his lips as his mouth descended on mine.

  “I’m from the New World,” he said. “I like New World charm the best.”

  And before I could reply, my lips were crushed against his. No matter how many times I had been kissed by Marco Desmond, I could not get over the dark thrill I felt when his lips touched mine.

  He kissed like no man had ever kissed me before. There was a need in his touch. It felt as if he had to have the taste of me, as if it were a requirement, a nourishment. He tasted, touched, explored, bit me with raw lust and love. I never walked away from him with my breath safely intact.

  Immediately, his hand reached for my bra clasp, expertly undoing it, releasing my breasts. The breasts I had once cursed for the shapeliness. They had been what had always held me back in the FBI. They had been my curse, my burden.

  But with Marco, they were my joy.

  A large hand wrapped around a breast and squeezed, sending a delicious ripple of pain and pleasure down my spine.

  No, they were our joy.

  Marco made me luxuriate in my body. Through him, I saw my curviness and lushness as positives. I realized that there was nothing to hide and everything to celebrate. Though I looked exactly the same as I did before we met, I felt more beautiful because of his love.

  With a sweeping move, Marco lifted me off my feet into his arms. I gave a gasp and giggle at the suddenness.

  And with a grunt of pleasure, he tossed me onto our bed, letting me whoop as I bounced up and down.

  Quickly, he removed the rest of his clothes. There was a tiny bit of a pang as I saw him quickly divested of his pants and shirt. When Marco wore a suite, he just owned it like nobody else. Shirts molded to his body like marble and the long dark well-creased pants made him look like a refined jaguar. He was the embodiment of what a suit should look like on a man.

  But seeing his sizeable cock quickly growing in hunger, I didn’t feel sad for too long.

  Naked or clothed, Marco Desmond looked good.

  Marco stood by the side of the bed, comfortably naked with his cock standing proud and tall. He looked down at me with eyes glimmering in wicked anticipation.

  “How about showing me some of that New World charm, baby?” he said, his voice low and smooth like dark velvet.

  I bit my lip in anticipated arousal. God, would I ever get enough of this man? After every session of lovemaking, I was so exhausted, so completely worn out, and yet I left hungrier than when we had started.

  I was addicted.

  I was addicted to Marco Desmond.

  Crawling over on my hands and knees across the wide expanse of our bed, I kneeled, facing his cock.

  Gently, I grasped the appreciative length. I stroked him slowly, enjoying watching the muscles of his thighs twitch at my touch. I leaned in and breathed out slowly over the head of his cock, letting my warm breath tickle and tease him as I continued stroking him.

  Above me, a groan escaped his lips. A large hand wrapped around the back of my head, urging me forward. “You trying to kill a man?” he demanded.

  I put a hand on his thigh, stopping him from pushing me all the way forward. I looked up, eyes twinkling with mischief. “New World girls like to take their time,” I said, slowly pumping his throbbing cock. “And they go only when they’re ready to go.”

  I gave a slow long lick down the underside of his cock. I saw the
hard thighs twitch convulsively and a low groan reverberate above me. I almost wanted to laugh at the sadistic torture I was inflicting.

  Finally, I took him completely, mouthing as much of him as I could and using my hand to make up the rest. With smooth steady movements, I pumped back and forth, letting my tongue swirl around him, teasing and tormenting him.

  Marco gave a loud groan as my tongue swept against the sensitive underside. He thrust his hips, pushing his cock even deeper down my throat.

  Finally I felt a fist gently yank my hair back, pulling me away. I looked up into the most lethally seductive eyes I had ever seen. With one dark brow raised and a firm hand still gripping my hair, he said, “I think it’s time you see how New World men like to take their New World women.”

  Grabbing me by the hips, he turned me around with an easy strength that left me breathless. Pulling up my hips, I felt his cock brush against me from behind. My arms almost buckled, nearly collapsing me. God, I was ready for him. More than ready. Hungry for him.

  Keeping my hips firmly in his grasp, he let his cock slip down against my growing wetness, teasing me just as I had teased him. I felt the head of his cock slide across my clit, making me shudder and moan in neediness.

  Then with sudden deliberateness, Marco plunged his entire length into me in one hard thrust. I buried my face into the covers, crying out in relief as my body was filled by him.

  My pussy stretched to accommodate him. It was an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My toes curled as I was filled and stuffed by his cock.

  This is Marco Desmond’s cock. I’m having sex with Marco Desmond.

  Sometimes it still hits me randomly like that. I forget that just a few months ago, Marco Desmond had been a part of the notorious Desmond Mafia. He had been heir apparent to a ruthless empire that had a bloody and brutal past.

  That was the man who was now thrusting his hard cock into me, deeper and deeper with each filling plunge. I moaned as pleasure washed over me in consuming waves.

  But that wasn’t all of Marco Desmond. I had learned very quickly that Marco was not just a dangerous playboy for the Desmond Mafia. He was lethal. He was powerful. He was seductive. Yes, he was all of those things. But he also had a heart. And as scarred and battered as that heart was, it was incredibly loving and protective.

  I groaned as his cock thrust deep into me again, nearly brushing against my womb. And thank god I had found out how deep his love could be. Because I couldn’t imagine being anywhere in the world except right where I was.

  Suddenly, I jerked forward in surprise as I felt large fingers wrapping around my hips and stroking my wet folds.

  “Oh god!” I moaned as his fingers expertly began stroking my pussy in rhythm to his thrusts. His finger swirled around my swollen clit, egging it on towards the inevitable spiral of pleasure.

  Marco leaned over my back, nipping against my ear. “New World men believe in equality,” he said, before thrusting hard into me. “What’s fair for the gander,” he thrust in hard again, “is fair for the goose.” I grunted loudly as he thrust into me again, setting fire to all my pleasure nerves. Clearly, he was going to pay me back for my teasing blowjob.

  With his finger assaulting my clit and his cock invading my pussy, I felt overwhelmed. I felt completely taken and owned. I arched my back, crying out in pleasure as this new position angled his cock differently in me.

  “Oh my god,” I gasped, feeling that final and inevitable wave approaching.

  A hand pinched my nipple hard. I squeaked. “Don’t you come,” a voice warned behind me.

  “But—” I sputtered in protest as I pushed my hips further back, ready to be taken over the edge.

  Marco took firm hold of my hips so that I only got the thrusts he was ready to give. “Don’t you come,” he said again. “Wait.”

  I gave a miserable groan as undeniable pleasure swam over me. How could I stop myself from coming? He was literally pushing me towards my climax! With every deep thrust, an aching burst of ecstasy overcame me, teasing me, drawing me nearer towards the end.

  Hard fingers stroked down my swollen pussy, making me cry out in pleasure. I could hear Marco’s breath grow more ragged behind me. We were both ready for release. Our bodies were dying to join together in that ultimate end.

  “Alright, baby,” he said, his voice thick and husky. “Come for me. Come!”

  Hard fingers pinched my swollen clit as his thick cock slammed into me, deep and hard.

  I threw my head back and screamed as I came in shuddering glory. My vision nearly sheeted white as I felt wracking spasms of ecstasy run through my entire body, leaving my fingers and toes completely numb.

  A loud growl exploded from behind me as Marco found his own release, letting his cock throb deep inside me, filling me.

  Still joined, Marco scooted me forward so we could fall across the bed together. He wrapped his steely and steady arms around me, making me feel completely cocooned and safe. Enclosed in his arms with his cock still in me, humming from our recent coupling, I felt happy. Content. Safe.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  I felt a small kiss behind my ear. “I love you,” Marco whispered back.

  And together, we fell off into a peaceful sleep that only comes from knowing that everything you hold dear is within arms reach.

  ***

  It still blows my mind how different life is now. And yet, how normal it all feels.

  Mentally, I had celebrated our six month anniversary since coming to Europe.

  It had been six months since we had flown to Germany that wild and adrenaline fueled night. I had hardly had time to collect my wits, let alone any of my belongings, before Marco had whisked me off in a private plane from LA to Germany where he had had a whole life ready for us.

  I had thought for sure that something bad would happen to us within the first few weeks. The other shoe would drop. Surely. I just couldn’t imagine us getting away that easily.

  So even in France, when we holidayed together with Jamie, Marco’s brother, I was sure that something would happen. Every corner we turned, every avenue we strolled, I was always on the look out for men in coats, ready to turn us in to whoever—Interpol, FBI, maybe even the CIA.

  But nothing happened.

  We were able to live our lives comfortably and peacefully, thanks in large part to Marco’s careful and meticulous planning. Having bought a string of plants in Germany that made a special kind of necessary microchip for computers, he had ensured himself a ‘modest’ income.

  It was funny to even think that the plants’ income was modest but that was how Marco had described it to me.

  When I had expressed my concerns on how we would now live as fugitives on the run, he explained the fake passports and the German plants. “They’ll bring in enough for us to live on,” he explained. “And to take care of Jamie. But it’s not comparable to the Desmond fortune.” He gave me a look as if warning me not to get my expectations too high.

  If anyone was high, he was. I had no expectations. I was literally expecting to be arrested! Who could worry about how much of a fortune we did or didn’t have when we could potentially be thrown into a cell at any moment?

  But it turned out, I didn’t have to worry about our fortune because ‘modest’ for a son of Roy Desmond meant a few tens of million per year. A pittance compared to the hundreds of millions the Desmond empire had brought in yearly.

  And with both of us eager to settle into some kind of normal routine, we kept our heads low and our lives quiet. We moved to London to be closer to Jamie.

  We were able to buy a lovely house in Chelsea that confirmed all of my childhood ideas of beautiful Victorian homes with stately parks and streets. And slowly but surely, we began to fall into a routine.

  Marco worked remotely from London with the plant manager in Germany to make sure that things were working smoothly. Using the profits from the plants, he eventually began t
o invest carefully in safer funds to give us a good solid foundation for our future.

  I began to explore London with less paranoia about Interpol or FBI agents. I fell in love with the city immediately, feeling right at home in the hustle and bustle of the large crowds. I met with Jamie often and had lunch together. We would have dinner together, all three of us, nearly every week. So much so that Jamie eventually complained and teased Marco saying we were cramping his style at school.

  It was remarkable how easily I fell into the rhythm of this new life. It almost felt normal.

  The FBI, the botched mission, Agents Hadfield and Truman, Roy Desmond…they all seemed so far away. Memories of them would only come to me in sporadic nightmares but Marco was always there to soothe me back to sleep, reassuring me that in his arms, no one could touch me.