Wrecked- Luke & Marie

by Christa Wick

  I can't accept my reaction to Luke. This is not me, not who I want to be, not anyone I’ve ever been like. There has to be a better explanation for my behavior—one that I can live with.

  Exhaustion.

  I draw a deep breath. Exhale. I’ve been up for more than twenty-four hours.

  Hunger.

  In the same period of time, I’ve consumed little more than a single slice of pie and water.

  Fear.

  Rose might die, Tommy and I could go to jail. Solandro will definitely kill me if he finds out I’ve teamed up with Masters, no matter how unwillingly. So, yeah, exhaustion, hunger and fear—that is all my reaction is and nothing more.

  I’m not attracted to Masters, I’m simply vulnerable, I tell myself. Just as I make sure to remind myself that he isn't actually attracted to me, he’s just leveraging that vulnerability.

  That makes the answer to this equation much simpler. I don't want him, he doesn't want me. And the only thing that matters are the two people counting on me.

  Someone raps at the door, the knock confident and demanding.

  I gasp as if just born and drawing my first breath of air, then I answer.

  "I'm ready."

  9

  Luke

  Allowing Mikhael to enter the room first, I move to stand behind where Marie sits on the couch. Wanting to touch her, I shove my hands deep in my pockets and glare at the big Russian for no reason other than the fact that he’s here for me to glare at.

  As he settles into a chair across from Marie, the breakfast service I ordered for her arrives. I signal Mikhael that I want her to eat something. He makes a plate and pushes it at her then pours her a cup of hot tea. I note that she takes it with cream and two sugars.

  After a few more minutes pass, Mikhael starts in, his tone still friendly—or as friendly as it’s going to get under the circumstances.

  "When did Ortiz approach you about cheating the casinos?"

  The words he chooses are meant to put Marie on the defensive. She doesn't accept the bait. In between bites and long, thoughtful chewing, she recounts recent events, starting six months ago when she and her siblings moved to Los Angeles.

  Before that, Marie explains, she shied away from any cities where they might run into Troy Lafayette's associates or enemies. But work in the small towns they hopped between dried up, especially for outsiders.

  "I had to choose between taking the risk we'd get recognized in L.A. or not being able to feed them." Marie's shoulders lift like she’s being led to the gallows. "I chose wrong."

  Finishing the last of the eggs, she puts the plate on the table and shakes her head.

  "You're holding back," Mikhael accuses. "What aren't you telling us?"

  She rolls her lips, shrugs again.

  "Rose has always been hard to control. She was my father's favorite. He set aside part of every score to do something very special for her. When we reached L.A., she started shoplifting. Half of my wages were going toward bribing security guards who caught her. Tommy and I had jobs, she didn't. If she bothered to stay home, she caused problems with the landlord."

  Marie brings her hand up, covers her mouth. Mikhael throws me a look. I suspect the same thoughts are running through his head as run through mine. Rose is a piece of work. Marie is willing to risk almost everything to get her back safe. Certainly she risked her own life tonight by showing up to a meeting with Ortiz.

  But Rose isn't worth the risk to me.

  "About three weeks ago," she continued. "One of Solandro's crew showed up at my front door with a picture of Rose tied up and gagged. Solandro wanted a meeting. I met him. He gave me initial instructions, a fake ID and six hundred dollars to get to Vegas and await further instruction."

  Marie pauses while Mikhael makes notes.

  "Those instructions came yesterday. The lenses, five hundred dollars in seed money, a list of symbols they let me look at for all of ten minutes. He said the dealers weren't in on it and that I would have to wander the floor until I found a table using the marked cards."

  She buries her face in her hands.

  "That's everything. Please understand that Rose isn't—"

  "No," Mikhael interrupts. He taps the notepad covered in his tight, meticulous script, some of the words in Russian so I can't read them. "I don't have to understand a damn thing about your 'poor' baby sister. I'm going to discreetly verify this information so Ortiz isn't tipped off that someone is checking up on her. You better have told me the truth—all of it."

  He leaves with a growl. I let a few minutes pass before I abandon my spot behind the couch and sit down next to Marie.

  "More tea?" I offer.

  Mute, she shakes her head. A second later, her legs clamp together. I should feel at least a blush of shame. I don't.

  "Good," I say, turning toward her. "Now that Mikhael is out of the room, we can get down to terms."

  She casts a furtive glance in my direction, tension lines framing her eyes and mouth. When she speaks, it’s with a frog's croak.

  "Terms?"

  I wait to answer, savoring the way Marie's body draws tighter as the anticipation within her spreads far and deep. When she seems fully wound up, I place my arm along the back of the couch then curl a hand around her opposite shoulder.

  "You want to get Rose back alive," I start. "You don't trust the cops to do it for you or you never would have stepped foot in my casino. Now you're facing jail and so is Tommy."

  She takes a sharp breath in, her teeth threatening to puncture her bottom lip.

  "Am I wrong?"

  Marie shakes her head.

  "If you go to the police, they'll find out who you’re. The focus shifts from Rose to your warrants. If they believe you, it's not like Ortiz is waiting for a money drop. He needs the great Queenie Lafayette to test out his new system without exposing his network."

  Tears dot her cheeks as she nods.

  "Three weeks ago, you could have taken Tommy and run," I say before turning crueler. "You SHOULD have taken Tommy and run because Rose is probably playing you. She ran into a friend of her beloved father. She recognized Ortiz, not the other way around. Or she started out by asking for him on the streets and dropping her daddy's name."

  Marie shrinks along the couch until she runs into the armrest. I push all the way up next to her, my hand capturing her thigh. Leaning in, I whisper into her ear with a lover's voice.

  "I have resources the Vegas and L.A. police departments can only dream of, Marie. I can make your arrest warrant go away, too."

  She holds her breath, body trembling for what she knows deep down I'm going to say next.

  "For a price," I finish.

  Leaning in, I press a kiss against the side of her neck.

  "You, sweet Marie, are the payment."

  10

  Marie

  Luke's first kiss settles like a warm blanket over my body. The second one, a little lower down my neck, makes me wet. I want to move away from him, but I’m already at the end of the couch.

  When his hand skims across my thighs, I practically levitate with pleasure. I understand my body's reaction, but Luke's motivation eludes me. He has a casino full of beautiful women, showgirls, waitresses, and call girls. Half, if not all, of them would drop their panties or thongs in a heartbeat if he so much as smiled at them.

  Does he actually want me?

  Not possible. Quality and beauty surround him. The way the penthouse is furnished, his expensive suits—all of it is here by his choice. Choosing me is inconsistent with his past behavior, so I’m certain that some facet of his game is escaping me. No other explanation fits.

  He growls, the sound sensual but menacing. "Is that a no?"

  Glancing at him, I realize that I shook my head in rejecting the idea that Luke Masters finds me attractive. Now he thinks I’m turning down the offer. I have to correct him before he withdraws it, but I can't admit why I made the gesture or how everything but my brain is enthusiastically screaming my acqui
escence.

  Rule number 6—Know the rules of the game, the stakes and the quitting time.

  "You’re being vague,” I say then. “What exactly do you require of me?" Surely, he’s going to say he wants me to make use of my skills, help him with his operation somehow…

  "Thirty days of you." His hand eases over the swell of my stomach to find my breast, arousing my nipple once more to a sharp pucker. He kisses below my ear, his tongue sliding against the skin. "Whenever I want you. However I want you."

  Nothing vague about that answer.

  Finding my nipple erect, he manipulates it, pinching and tugging until my hips move in the direction of his hand. "I want your sweet, wet pussy and lush ass."

  His hand captures my chin and then he pulls my face toward his.

  "I need this oh-so-fuckable mouth quivering around my cock."

  He kisses me again, his tongue pushing forcefully past my lips to sweep against my upper palate. His fingers knot in my hair, drawing me deeper into the kiss. Heat unfurls across my chest and hips.

  My pussy, wet and wanting, twists around nothing, aching in a way I’ve never experienced.

  Panic douses the heat. I push at his chest. The force of his grip eases but he doesn't release me completely, only allows me to come up for air.

  "You're saying you’ll save Rose if I have sex with you for a month? Is that right?"

  "I'm saying I'll do everything within my power to save Rose from Ortiz. I’ll make your arrest warrant go away and you and Tommy will have whatever you want, within reason, during that period—but I'm not asking for sex."

  Something unnameable flickers across his beautiful face and then he closes his eyes. "I'm asking for your complete surrender, for things you likely haven't experienced, Marie."

  That is a given. I’ve never experienced a kiss like Luke's, never had a man inside me, never had a man's mouth so close to that swollen and aching juncture of my thighs or had his hands teasing my breasts. We already are far beyond my experience level, but I can't tell Masters.

  He won't believe me.

  "I'm growing impatient, baby." His lips brush along my jaw as his hand squeezes my breast. "Tell me you agree."

  Eyes closed, my whole body shaking with the weight of Rose's life and my own lust, I answer.

  "Yes."

  11

  Marie

  I return to the penthouse with Luke. He deposits me in an opulent bedroom furnished in the same dark colors and wood as his office. In the adjoining bathroom, he draws me a bath, telling me I need to sleep afterward. I’m still standing completely stunned and just inside the bedroom door when the water is ready.

  "You've been awake and stressed for more than an entire day, Marie." He cups my face with both hands and brushes his lips across mine. "I want you relaxed and rested so you can enjoy our time together."

  Nodding, I watch him leave.

  Masters is a complete enigma. Rich and powerful, he’s manipulating me into a sexual relationship in which I must agree to his every demand. Yet he wants me to enjoy it.

  Chances are, I will. At least in the beginning. He drives my body crazy with the lightest touch. Wealth, power, and untempered sex appeal, he can also act kind and thoughtful—the tea at breakfast was the same blend as the loose bags in my purse and I don't think that was a coincidence.

  Alone and naked, I sink into the water. My hands work on auto-pilot to clean my body while my mind spars with shadows. Again and again, I circle back to the same conclusion—I want Luke, but I can't trust him.

  I can't even trust him to truly desire me.

  Too tired to keep fighting the situation, I finish the bath, wrap an oversized towel around me and return to the bedroom. In my absence, someone has placed a big, fluffy white robe on the bed and a semi-transparent, pearl colored baby doll nightgown. I lift the robe and nightgown in search of at least underwear, but there’s nothing more.

  I examine the baby doll. The fabric is satiny smooth but iridescent. On the bed and in my hands, it’s lovely and elegant, but at some point it has to go on my body. Standing with my back to the mirrored dresser, I pull the nightgown over my head. The hem falls slightly above the very top of my thighs. When I blindly brush a fingertip below its line, I feel my pubic hair.

  With trepidation, I turn to the mirror. The pale pearl hue blends pleasingly with my skin and the bust has enough ribbons and banding to hold me aloft. It’s just opaque enough that I cannot see the outline of my areola, but I can see the dark hairline on my mound and the bottom of that triangle, which the gown cover.

  Feeling exposed, I suck a breath in and reality settles deep in my bones.

  In a few hours, Luke will see me in the outfit—not just my thick hips, overflowing breasts and rounded thighs, but also that dark patch of fur and everything hiding behind it. He will part my legs and...

  Shame heats my cheeks while lust pinches my nipples to hard, erect points. I close my eyes, unable to continue looking at my body or contemplate exactly what Luke has in mind. I’ll orgasm, I’m sure of that. However reluctantly or exuberantly, I’ll come.

  Nothing else is certain.

  Eyes still shut, I fumble my way onto the bed and under the covers, my body falling into an exhausted sleep almost as soon as my head hits the feathered pillow.

  A soft tap against the bedroom door and the inward brush of its heavy frame over the thick carpet wake me from dreamless sleep. Masters enters, carrying a mug of steaming tea. Inhaling, I smell the mix of apple, chamomile and honey. I sit up, just enough to accept the mug without losing the bedspread and exposing myself to him.

  An approving smile on his face, he hands me the mug.

  "I have the same blend of tea." I blow away the steam, my brain almost as clouded as I watch him walk toward the dresser.

  "I know." He’s shed his jacket, shoes, tie and socks at some point in the last few hours. The remaining clothes look like he slept in them. Turning one hand inward, he removes a platinum cufflink. He repeats the motion, the second one carefully placed on the dresser next to the first.

  I stare at six thousand dollars of precious metal casually placed, so absorbed by the absurdity of my situation that I miss the fact that Luke has turned to face me and is half finished unbuttoning his shirt.

  When I do notice, I can't take my eyes off his bare torso. In contrast to the carefully trimmed beard and mustache, there’s not a single strand of hair on his chest. There are muscles though, that’s for sure. A lot of them. Hard, chiseled, and covered in warm brown skin tinted olive gold, ripple as he untucks the shirt from his pants. The play of light over his flesh as he unthreads the belt from its loops shows several scars. Those on his abdomen appear to be cuts or punctures, but, with the shirt off, I see a starburst of paler skin a few inches southeast of his left collarbone.

  "You were shot?"

  He doesn't answer, just undoes the button on his silk slacks.

  "Did it happen while you were in the Army?"

  "Was I in the Army?" he asks, turning his back to me.

  Only his pants remain. He teases them and me inch by inch.

  Looking up from the slow unveiling of his silky briefs and the magnificent ass to which they cling, I catch him watching my expression in the mirror. He licks his lips, his cheeks flushing as my skin heats in equal measure.

  I tell myself to look away, but don't. Instead, I watch and press for an answer. "You have a PsyOps coin on your desk."

  He pivots ever so slightly so that I cannot see his expression or the front of his body in the reflection. He steps from his pants then places his hands against the top band of his underwear. Intent on giving me a show, he strips them away, his hands and the fabric moving so slowly down his body he’s basically caressing all that lean muscle and olive-gold skin.

  Watching him, my mouth floods, my tongue swells. He’s a beautiful, teasing bastard who won't answer my questions while demanding I tell him everything and submit to him.

  He has a lot of nerve—an
d all the power.

  He turns, hands overflowing as he seeks to cover his erect cock and heavy balls.

  I make a small, mental correction. In addition to power, he has a lot of everything else. He’s thick and long, his genitals every bit as impressive as the rest of him.

  "What are you thinking, Marie?"

  I lift a brow, somewhat stunned by the question. I’m thinking that he’s beautiful. That I can't understand why I am in his bed. More specifically, I can't understand why he wants me in it. I think that he must get off on power and control, so that it’s my need and vulnerability—not my body—that have rendered his cock so hard.

  I can't admit any of that, so I press my earlier question again. "I’m thinking that, if the coin is not yours, it belongs to the man in the picture frame on your desk."

  His gaze darkens. The sexy prowl toward the bed stops.

  "You're very observant, Marie. Too observant, perhaps. The coin is mine."

  "And the man?"

  His eyes go dead for a second and I worry that I’ve pushed a little too far. He shakes it off and moves toward me.

  "I remember agreeing to help you, not answer your questions."

  Reaching the bed, his mouth puckers then curves into a smile. "And I remember you agreeing to give me your body—completely."

  Running the tip of his tongue across his top lip, he slowly drags the covers down the bed. When he gets near the bottom of the baby doll's skirt, I start to draw my legs up.

  "Don't, Marie."

  My turn to lick my lips, nervously. I force my legs flat and watch the bedding slide over the gown's bottom hem. Seeing the triangle of hair, my thighs tense. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and close my eyes.

  He stops tugging on the bedding.