Shadow

by Nadine Nightingale

  “W-Who?” he stammers, arching his back.

  This is getting to be a real buzz killer. “What did I tell you about the rules of our little game?” I run the silvery metal over his tip, slicing a good inch off his dick.

  Crimson splatters.

  Alexei screams like a baby.

  I give him a sec. “Last chance, where does Dimitri keep his merchandise?”

  He lifts his head, tears running down his face. “You’re fucking crazy.”

  I slide the blade over his whole pitiful length.

  Alexei screams. His eyelids flutter. He’s about to black out. I can’t let that happen. I stroke him again. More blood spills as it rushes into his hard-on.

  “Stop,” he pleads. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  I massage his cock, ignoring the bile rising up my gullet. “Tell me where you keep them,” I whisper, my breath beating against his ear.

  “The docks,” he chokes out. “Dimitri keeps them by the docks.”

  That’s a start. I need more. “Be specific,” I bark, blade pressed against his tip.

  He swallows the pain pulsating through his cock. “North America Way.” He gasps for air. “The old coast guard building.”

  I caress his shaft, flashing him a brilliant smile. “Wasn’t that hard, now, was it?”

  He relaxes into his pillow. He shouldn’t.

  This is far from over. I need as much intel as I can get if I want to hit Dimitri where it hurts most. “Alexei.” He looks at me. “I want you to tell me everything you know about this place.” I roll my stiff neck. “Staring with the security detail. Do you understand?”

  He nods.

  “Good boy.”

  With the fate of his cock in the palm of my hand, Alexei sings like a little birdy. He tells me everything and more, hoping I’ll spare him.

  I won’t.

  “Why do you care?”

  Markus

  “Your stance is too forward.” I tilt my chin at Dasha’s feet. “Shift your right foot farther behind.”

  “Why?” She sighs dramatically. “I can hit my opponent much easier like this.”

  “Maybe.” I cock a brow, arms crossed. “But it’ll also weaken your left and right hooks, gives you less mobility, and exposes your head and body.”

  She follows my instructions. “Better?”

  I scan her feet—not too close or far, not too square or sideways. “Perfect.” I lean against the wall. “Do you feel it?”

  She smirks. “Feel what?”

  “Balance and mobility,” I reply, voice even. I didn’t drag my ass to the gym to flirt with her. I’m here to teach her how to defend herself in case some douchebag attacks her. Ironic, considering she’s dating one.

  “All I feel,” she unzips her black Nike jacket, “is heat.”

  You and I both.

  She flashes me her tight green sports bra; it supports her tits like a pro. What red-blooded dude wouldn’t be on fire?

  Dasha’s gaze darts to my balled fists. “You okay?”

  Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not like I’m seeing her fiery curls spilled across white sheets, her legs spread far and wide while her fingers work her clit. I’m stronger…better than that. “Just keep your hands up and do the combo, all right?”

  She delivers meticulous jabs, right uppercuts, left hooks, and right crosses. The goddess has strength, too. The punching bag flies sideways.

  “So,” she says, eyes trained on her leather opponent. “Are you going to meet Will this afternoon?”

  “Yeah.” He called me a few hours after the cave threesome and told me the next fight would be Sunday night. Then, he demanded I join him today to help him find some bouncers for his new club. If I called the shots, I would have told him to fuck off, but Tiffany thought it was a good opportunity to bond with the motherfucker.

  Dasha delivers a right hook. “You don’t sound particularly happy.”

  I walked in on Deveraux twice. Each time he was messing around with Angela. No, I’m not happy to see that cheating douchebag. “Focus on your combo.”

  “Whoa.” She steps away from the punching bag. “What’s with you, Mr. Grumpy Pants?”

  I know I sound like an asshole. I got blown by Irina and jerked off to Dasha fucking herself. I am an asshole. “Get moving. We ain’t got all day.”

  She moves. Toward me. “Did I upset you?”

  Fan-fucking-tastic, Boulder. Now she thinks I’m mad at her rather than her cheating boyfriend. “No.”

  She comes nearer. “So what’s your problem?”

  Tiffany didn’t find anything else on Dimitri. London is on my case because she thinks I’m not close enough to Deveraux. Shadow is still a shadow. And I’m forced to look at a goddess in a sports bra whose boyfriend is fucking half of Miami. Problem? I ain’t got no problems.

  She looks up at me, her breath beating against my chest. “Can’t be sexual frustration.” She smiles like the devil. “Irina never disappoints.”

  Awkward doesn’t begin to cover this shit. I did get blown by Irina, but the image branded into my brain is of Dasha pleasing herself. I can’t say that, can I? So I play dumb instead. “What makes you think I fucked her?”

  She raises a brow. “Didn’t you?”

  “Why do you care?” She’s got a boyfriend. My sex life is none of her goddamn business.

  “I don’t.”

  “Good.” I point at the punching bag. “Let’s focus on your lesson then.”

  Dasha heads back to the punching back. The only sound in the gym is her breathing as she delivers punch after punch.

  I enjoy the silence, until she looks over her shoulder and says, “I didn’t take you for a guy who lets others pick their fucks.” She shrugs. “Guess I was wrong.”

  Whoa, what? Is she fucking serious? She’s dating the epitome of asshole, and I’m the one she judges? Yeah, not going to happen. “Maybe you should focus on that rich boyfriend of yours. Seems like you’ve got enough on your plate with him,” a wicked grin crosses my lips, “and all his friends.”

  She turns, her hand flying at my face.

  I grab her wrist, preventing a nasty mark on my cheek. “Lesson two,” I whisper, spinning her around. “Don’t aim for the head. It’s the smallest part of the human body.” I lower my lips to her ears. “Therefore, hard to get a good hit in.”

  “Let go,” she barks, pressing her ass right into my groin.

  She flipped my switch. All the player-asshole attitude is no longer just pretense. I snake my arm around her hip, pulling her closer. “I’m not as rich as your TMZ poster boy, but the things I could do to you?” I moan in her neck. “You have no idea, little girl.”

  She tries to break free. “Go to hell.”

  “Been there. Done that.” Nothing could be worse than the shit I’ve seen. Not even the pit.

  She turns her wrist, trying to loosen my grip on it. “I said let go.”

  I should do as she says. Tell Deveraux to find someone else to train her. Be fucking done with her. But the thought of what she did to Dimitri after I left the bathroom poisons my system. “Tell me, Dasha.” I hold her tight. “Do you like to be treated like a whore? Passed around like a joint?”

  “So righteous and judgmental.” Her head melts into my chest. “And yet you didn’t mind fucking one of Dimitri’s whores.” Dasha pushes her ass into my groin, moving her hips in small circles. “She blew you first, didn’t she?”

  How the fuck does she—

  “Did she take you deep enough?” she says, teasing my throbbing cock with her sweet ass. “Did you,” she looks up, “feel the roof of her mouth?”

  Walk the fuck away, Boulder!

  “Did she suck you dry?” She wiggles against my painfully swollen dick. “Oh, wait. You’re not the kiss-and-tell type, are you?”

  Remember when I said I’m an asshole? Here’s what I heard of the conversation: blow you, deep, roof of my mouth, and suck you dry. What do I see? Dasha on her knees, my dick in he
r mouth as she’s blowing me deep and sucking me dry. Asshole, see.

  She shifts her head, meeting my gaze. “I know you pictured my pussy when you fucked her.”

  “I—”

  “You still want my pussy?” She runs her hand down my cheek. “It’s okay. Your secret is safe with me, soldier.”

  “I—” Want your pussy. I want to lick you, bite you, and take you to Nirvana. I want you to come all over my face, screaming my name. I want you to think of me every time your bastard boyfriend shoves his tongue down your throat. Fuck, I want you to want me.

  And yet, there’s someone I want more. Someone I can’t have if I give into temptation. “I have a meeting.” I let go of her and move backward. “Lesson is over. Go home.”

  I take two steps before Dasha cups my elbow. “What if I don’t want to go home?” Her hazel eyes burn bright and fast. “What if I want…” She trails off, licking her upper lip.

  It takes everything I have and more not to claim her mouth. “What, Dasha?” I raise my brows, playing cool when I’m on fucking fire. “What do you want?”

  Her chest rises quickly. “What if I want you to look at me the way you did when I fucked myself?”

  What did she just say? There’s got to be something wrong with my ears. Or—

  Oh my God. “You knew I was there watching you?”

  “Maybe.” She pulls the rubber band out of her messy bun, letting her red hair down. “Maybe it’s you I thought of when I fucked myself.” She inches closer. “Maybe it turned me the fuck on.” Her lips curve upward. “Or maybe I let you watch because I felt sorry for you.”

  “Sorry for me?” I laugh. “Oh, little girl, the only one you should feel sorry for is you.” I breathe down on her marvelous face. “I bet Dimitri has no idea how to fuck your brains out, how to make you scream and squirm beneath him.” My lips touch her ear. “How to lick and bite that sweet pussy of yours until you beg for mercy.”

  She traces her finger down my bare chest, sending chills down my spine and heatwaves down to my dick. “Do you?”

  Can someone die from a hard-on? Judging by how bad my cock hurts, I’d say the answer is yes. I want to pull my shorts down to ease the pain, make her grab the ropes of the ring and fuck her so hard she’ll never want anything inside her but me.

  Shadow, I repeat his name over and over. I’m here for Shadow.

  “You bought me a drink,” she says, tugging at the waistband of my shorts. “Don’t you want to claim your reward?”

  The hunger in her eyes, the smoke in her voice. I’m in trouble. Big fucking trouble. Scrubbing my fingers through her silky hair, I haul her closer. “I don’t like your games, Dasha.”

  She cups my dick, applying just enough pressure to make me forget my name. “I think you do.”

  I wind my hand around her head, calling her bluff. No way she’ll go through with this. Not when America’s Favorite Son offers her part of his world.

  She should fight me off. Hell, she should tell me how fucking wrong this is. Instead, she opens up for me, tasting me as if I’m her first pasta after years of carb abstinence.

  Dasha’s kisses are everything I feared they’d be. Passionate. Demanding. Addictive. And when she deepens the kiss, needing more, wanting everything, I understand a woman like her doesn’t belong to anyone. She’s her own master, a goddess satisfying her needs with whomever the fuck she pleases. By some miracle, it’s me she craves today.

  Our tongues dance to the rhythm of an old R&B song—slow, sinful, scorching. Her heat and taste send my mind reeling.

  God, I want to fuck her so bad.

  So.

  Fucking.

  Bad.

  “Did you like to watch?” She traces kisses down my jaw. “Did it turn you on, solider?”

  My fingers glide up her arms. With a flick of my fingers, I brush her hair back, exposing her porcelain skin. “Maybe,” I say, mouth descending.

  She tilts her head to the side, giving me more access. “Did you want me?”

  “Maybe,” I reply, lips finding her neck.

  I trail kisses down to her collarbone.

  Dasha’s head falls back. Delicious and gratifying moans fill the air. “Do you still want me?”

  I’m done playing. I circle her hips, pushing against her sweetness. She has her answer—my swollen cock speaks louder than any words.

  Dasha grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks, wrenching my head down. Her lips are so fucking close, I can smell the strawberries she had for breakfast. She lingers inches from mine, getting off on torturing me.

  A groan rumbles through me. My cock jerks against my shorts, demanding to be released from its prison. Need poisons my bloodstream, infecting me like a vicious virus. I’ve never felt this way before. Like I’m starving in the middle of a fucking five-star restaurant.

  My hard-on presses against the inside of her thigh. She spreads her legs for me, teasing me with what’s beneath those lavender yoga pants of hers. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” she says, tracing her fingers down my waistband.

  Images of her rosy nipples covered with lace flash across my mind. They looked so sweet and tender. I bet they taste even better. “I think I have a pretty good idea what I’m getting myself into.”

  She fists my hair, pulling my forehead against hers. “Will is going to kill you.”

  “I’m not afraid of your boyfriend.” And neither am I afraid to die.

  She stares at me, jaw unhinged. “You’re fucking crazy.”

  “For you,” I admit, reaching for the zipper of her bra.

  The fabric lands on the floor, and I get to admire heaven. Rosy nipples, a flat, well-trained stomach—yoga sure as fuck pays off.

  I could admire her all day, but my mouth aches for her nipples.

  She tastes so much better than she looks—sweet, fucking addictive. I suck, nibble, and lick until she screams my name.

  “Don’t stop,” she begs as I pause to catch a breath.

  I have no intention of stopping. Not when that right nipple looks back at me, feeling neglected.

  My teeth sink into her right tit.

  Dasha moans, digging her nails into the nape of my neck, leaving marks for everyone—including her asshole boyfriend—to see. Am I a fucking pervert for wanting him to see them? Is it sick to be proud of his girlfriend begging me for more? I guess so. But who the fuck cares?

  I lift her and carry her to the bench. She sucks on my lip, making it impossible to focus on my steps.

  “Why do you fight for him?” she asks as I sit us both down.

  Here she is, straddling and tasting me. Yet she speaks about Deveraux? I’m torn between shutting her up with a kiss and pushing her off me. I do neither. “Do you believe in second chances? In redemption?”

  Dasha rests her forehead against mine, rubbing her pussy against my cock. “No,” she says. “I don’t. Redemption is an illusion. No matter how hard you try, you can never wipe out the red in your ledger.”

  I stare at her, long and hard. The girl is a mystery to me. Her looks say: I never knew hardship. Her words paint a very different picture. The image of a woman who lived through shit and learned life’s lessons the hard way.

  She cups my cheeks, stilling on my lap. “We’ve all done bad things. Doesn’t necessarily make us a bad person.” She sounds as if she knows every little detail about my life. In reality, she doesn’t even know why I’m really here.

  I avert my gaze, the need in my groin overshadowed by the seriousness of this moment. “Easy for you to say.” She didn’t put a bullet in the brain of a little boy. Didn’t execute terrorists. And she sure as fuck isn’t responsible for the death of her own brother.

  She lifts my head. “You’re not like Will, Markus. This world,” she looks around, “is going to fuck you up good.”

  “I did four tours in the Middle East.” Got my brother, his squad, and innocent hostages killed. “I’m as fucked up as they come.”

  “You don’t g
et it.” She looks me in the eye. “This isn’t war. There are no rules or justice on the street. Not when you’re dealing with the likes of Will and his friends.” She talks about America’s First Son as if he’s the Godfather.

  “If you hate this world so much, then why are you with Deveraux?” The second the words are out, I regret the question.

  Dasha gets off me. “We all do what we have to.” She snatches her bra off the floor. “You of all people should know that, soldier.”

  I catch her wrist. “We only have to die, little girl.”

  She looks over her shoulder, flashing me a sad smile. “Death is sweet compared to what Will is going to do to you when he finds out you had your mouth on my tits.”

  “Sounds like a threat.”

  “Not a threat.” She heads to the exit. “A friendly warning.”

  “Hey, Dasha?” She turns to face me. “Are your parents okay with you dating an asshole like him?”

  “My parents?” A bitter smile tugs at her lips. “I wouldn’t know, soldier. They died a long time ago, and I’m not Melinda Gordon, and this isn’t Ghost Whisperer.”

  “Fuck.” I brush my hair back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  “Save it.” She heads to the exit. “It was a long time ago.”

  I truly am an asshole. An asshole who almost fucked the girlfriend of America’s First Son.

  “I have no right to feel possessive of her. Fuck me, I do.”

  Markus

  Mental note: get a new assistant. One who doesn’t ditch me last minute just because London tells her to do so. The deputy director of the USSS thinks Tiffany would get in the way, that this is my chance to form a brotherly bond with Deveraux. Little does she know, we already share a special bond. Her hair is like a wildfire, her eyes the color of a dying forest, and her skin…so fucking soft. I can still feel her pressed against my chest, dry-humping me.

  Deveraux’s phone buzzes. He scans the text. “John?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “We need to make a pit stop.”

  “Anything you want, sir.”