by Riley, Megyn
“Do not rip my shirt.”
“You ripped mine.”
“I’m working.”
Like I give a fuck that she’s working. I want to rip her blouse even more, then watch her have to explain what happened. But I decide to go easy on her. I start unbuttoning her blouse instead. “I don’t know if I’d call this working?”
“Shut up.”
“You fuck all your witnesses?”
“I hate you.”
She’s wearing a front snap bra. I unclasp it with one hand. The fabric falls away and her perky tits spill out. Beautiful melons that gravity has no effect on. Pink, hard nipples. I wrap my mouth around them, nibbling and licking. I cup her breasts, then slide up her body. The head of my cock parts her lips and I plunge deep inside. No teasing this time. I fill her up and she clenches down hard. Her pussy conforms perfectly to my shape. It’s like she was made for me. I thrust long, deep strokes as our mouths melt into each other.
I grab her arms and pin them against the sofa as I pump furiously. Our skin makes wet slaps. Our bodies slip and slide against each other.
She feels so good. It’s all I can do not to blow my load right away. She grips my cock tight. I feel her heels digging into my back, pulling me deep into her.
I lose track of time. It’s like we’ve entered another dimension. The fuck dimension. I’ve fucked a lot of women, but this girl’s pussy is magic.
I grab her ankles and spread her legs wide. I watch my thickness part her perfect lips, stroking in and out. Hammering her deeper than she’s ever been fucked before. She’s tight and warm, and I feel her come again. It’s too much. It feels too good. I cum inside her at the same time. Wave after wave of spurting goodness.
I collapse on top of her, my cock still twitching inside her. She quivers with every movement. If her pussy is anything like the head of my cock, it’s ultra sensitive right now.
This is pure bliss.
Scarlett
That was fucking amazing. I’m drenched in sweat. My heart is pounding. My stomach is fluttering. It was hot and wet and dirty. I’ve never felt a guy come in me before.
Holy shit, he came in me?
“Did you not wear a condom?” I shriek.
He shrugs. “Heat of the moment.”
My eyes burn into him, incredulous. “Get off me.” I shove him aside. Or, rather, I try to shove him aside. I can’t move this hulk of a man. But he plays along and rolls away.
“Relax. I haven’t been with anyone else in two years. And I got tested before I went into the joint.”
“Yeah, but what happened in the joint?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “I’m not anyone’s bitch. If anything, I should be worried about you.”
“This is the cleanest pussy you are ever going to get. And I hope you enjoyed it, because that’s the last time. Ever.”
“Right,” he says, dryly.
I get up from the couch, grab my pants, and march into the bedroom. His hot juice is dripping down my thigh.
“Go wash that ass,” he snarks.
I saunter away from him, putting an extra swerve in my step. I stride through the bedroom to the bathroom. Inside, I crank on the shower. I set my clothes in a pile on the counter and look at myself in the mirror—what the hell have I gotten myself into?
Soon, steam fills the room. I put my hair up in a bun. I can’t get it wet—I don’t want to have to explain to Parker why I’m taking a shower. I slip in the stall and start to lather up. It’s not long before Ryker appears through the mist. My life has turned into some crazy wet dream. It’s like I’m living in a porno.
Ryker pulls open the stall door, and the cool air hits my skin. My nipples harden.
“There is another shower in the other bedroom,” I say.
“Yeah, but you’re not in there.”
“Exactly.” I try to pull the stall door shut but he stops me. Before I know it, he’s in the shower with me. My God, he’s already hard again. I’ve never seen a man spring back to life so quickly.
“Get out,” I say.
“No.”
I glare at him. But damn does he look good—water beading on his rippled skin. I watch a droplet streak down his chest, falling over his abs, down to his thick cock. Somebody help me. My cheeks are on fire, and my core is ablaze. Again!
“Turn around,” he says.
“You’re not the boss of me,” I say, secretly hoping he’ll manhandle me.
“Yes I am.” He grabs my shoulders and spins me around. With his hand between my shoulder blades, he pushes me forward. I reach my hands out, bracing against the moist tile. I arch my ass out, an open invitation for him. I feel his hard cock rub between my cheeks. His firm hands grab my ass cheeks, and he spreads me wide open. I grab his cock and align it with my opening. I feel the tip spread my lips.
What the hell—one more time can’t hurt?
9
Scarlett
Parker bursts through the door. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, strolling into the living area. I’m fully dressed now. And I’m relatively certain that I look just as I did prior to my momentary indiscretion with Ryker. My hair is little more tousled. And my makeup certainly needs a touch up.
“I thought I heard screaming.” Parker eyes me suspiciously.
I let out a phony laugh. “The neighbors were going at it. I think they’re newlyweds.”
Parker’s eyes narrow. “Where’s the perp?”
“I think he’s in the bathroom.”
Parker nods. He’s holding a bottle of single malt scotch. “Room service brought this up. Listen, I’m kind of hungry.”
“Yeah, I’m about to order up some food.” I grab the menu from the couch and hand it to Parker. Ryker strolls out of the bedroom, flashing that devilish grin. He looks more than satisfied. “Order me the medallions of beef, topped with crab. Some sautéed mushrooms on the side.” He strolls to Parker and snatches the bottle from his hand. Then he ambles to the minibar and pours himself a glass.
He swigs it down and swirls it around in his mouth. “Ah, now that’s good scotch.”
“Can he do that? Will the Bureau pay for that?” Parker asks.
I shrug.
“I can. And they will,” Ryker says. “I’m valuable, buddy boy.” He taps his head. “What’s in here is priceless.”
Parker rolls his eyes. “Just order me a burger and fries. I’ll be outside if you need me.” Parker starts for the door, then he turns back. He mumbles, “Mills and Freeman are taking over at 6am. Am I on door duty all night?”
“Comes with the territory, Probational Agent Parker,” I say.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Parker strides for the door. It clicks shut behind him as he leaves, and I’m alone again with Ryker.
“No Mills and Freeman,” he says. “ Just you. And I’ll tolerate this Parker kid.”
“I can’t watch you around the clock.”
“I don’t trust anyone. I think you’ve got a mole in the Bureau.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Do you trust me?”
His face tightens, and his eyes survey me as he contemplates the question. “I fuck you.”
Ouch, that hurt. Not like we have anything more than physical. But the cold hard truth of it stings a little bit.
“Don’t get me wrong, I like fucking you.”
I breathe again. I don’t know why that makes me feel a little bit better, but it does.
“I think you like fucking me,” he says.
“Is that what you think?”
“And for that reason, I think you’re not going to bite the hand that feeds.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t even pretend this isn’t the best sex you’ve ever had.”
I burst into a fake laugh. “It’s not bad. But I’ve had better.” I’m such a liar.
“Well, then. Maybe I shouldn’t trust you.”
“No. You can trust me,” I say, sheepishly.
“Good. Because I might want to fuck you again.”
“Sorry. That was the last time.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
I scowl at him.
“Are you gonna order food, or what?”
I roll my eyes and pick up the phone. Room service answers, and I place our order.
Ryker pours himself another drink. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”
“You are enough to drive a woman to drink, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
I shake my head.
Ryker sits on the couch. “You know, I’d feel a lot better if I had a gun.”
“Not a chance.”
He shrugs.
“Relax. You’re safe. Nobody knows we’re here.”
Ryker
There is no such thing as safe. Especially in this business. And especially when I don’t have a gun. I’m starting to regret this deal. But if I’m out on the streets, everyone’s going to be gunning for me. Lord knows I’ve made a lot of enemies. I can handle enemies. But I can’t handle every member of the mafia all at once.
I’ve always stayed professional. Neutral. A contract is a contract, just like any other. Most people respect that. But there is an unwritten rule. You don’t take a contract on a family boss unless it’s sanctioned by the Commission and the other families. It’s like invading a foreign country and taking out a dictator. It leaves a power vacuum. Creates turmoil and uncertainty.
Even mobsters don’t like turmoil and uncertainty.
Over the years, I’ve managed to stay impartial. But mob guys don’t necessarily like freelancers. They want you to swear allegiance to them. I’ve never done that. Call me commitment phobic, though I do have my regular clients. I’ve worked for Big Nicky Capello more than any other boss. We get along, and he’s always been straight up with me. But I’ll never swear allegiance to any of these scumbags. Then they own you. And nobody owns me. Sure, there are perks that come with being committed to a certain family. But it’s not for me. I guess it’s like marriage. I’ll never settle down.
“Tell me the truth,” Scarlett asks. “Did you kill Vic Falco?”
Shit. Does this broad really think I’m going to open up to her, just because she’s got magic pussy? I make it a habit not to talk about my work.
“What were you doing before we met last night?” Scarlett asks.
“Just because we have great sex, doesn’t make us soulmates.”
She looks like I just punched her in the stomach. Chicks. Why do chicks always have to get attached? A few good strokes and boom… they want to talk feelings.
“I have no desire to be your soulmate. And don’t flatter yourself,” she says. “The sex is just okay. Not great.”
Ouch. The girl can punch back. “Liar.”
Her eyes narrow at me.
“I didn’t kill Falco. That would be suicide.”
“How do you explain the shell casing? The security camera footage?”
“I was visiting a friend in the building. The shell casing is a plant.”
“A friend? Who?”
Scarlett looks confused. She doesn’t know if I’m lying, or if I met another woman there. I can see all the options running through her mind. She’s wondering if I fucked some girl in Vic’s building, then fucked her later that night. Right now, I think she’s hoping I killed the guy. It makes me chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
“You.”
She scowls at me.
“Look, I’ll tell you everything once I have a signed deal in my hand. Till then, if we have to talk, let’s talk about anything but Vic Falco.”
“How did you get into this line of work?”
My face tightens.
“Hey, that’s not Vic Falco.”
I shrug. “Just fell into it, I guess.”
“People don’t just fall into becoming cold blooded killers.”
“You ever killed anyone?”
“No,” she stammers.
“It’s easier than you think. The first one stays with you a little longer. You never really forget your first. But they get easier after that. We’ve all got to die sometime. I’m just changing the date.” I smile.
She stares at me slack-jawed, looking pale.
“Don’t blame me. Blame the Army. They taught me how to kill.”
“You were in the Army?”
“Special Forces. I’m not really doing anything different now than I was then. Just the targets change.”
Scarlett’s green eyes gaze at me, trying to process the monster that I am.
“What about you?” I ask. “Why did a hot little number like you join the Bureau?”
“To put away dirtbags like you.”
“You seem to like dirtbags.”
Scarlett squints at me. “Apparently, I have horrible taste in men.”
I smile at her.
“My father was a cop. 32 years on the job.”
“So you followed in his footsteps?”
She nods.
“Did you ever want to be anything else?”
“All little girls want to be ballerinas. Or princesses. But I’m a little too clumsy to be a ballerina. I keep checking the employment section for princess openings, but they don’t ever seem to come up. Besides, putting away bad guys is steady work. It’s kind of recession proof.”
I chuckle. Smart, sexy, and a dry sense of humor. I like that. “Your dad still on the force?”
Scarlett grows quiet. Her face is sullen. “He’s dead. Gunned down in cold blood.”
My stomach sinks. “I’m sorry.” Then the blood drains from my face as I make the connection. Holy shit. What a coincidence. I don’t even need to ask his name. I should’ve put it together sooner. Her dad is Special Agent Tom Fox.
And I am the one who killed him.
She looks at me with murder in her eyes. “I’m going to get the son-of-a-bitch that killed him.”
10
Scarlett
“Any leads on his murder?” Ryker asks.
“Still unsolved. Case went cold.” I sigh. “Look, I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”
Ryker nods. His face is melancholy. And he seems genuinely compassionate. It’s a softer side of him I haven’t seen before.
I hear the card key enter the slot, and the door clicks open. Parker pushes through and holds the door open for room service.
The server pushes the cart in through the foyer. He’s a small Asian man, dressed in a tuxedo shirt and black vest, with a black bowtie.
“Smells good,” Parker says. He looks like he could eat a horse. He’s so preoccupied with getting that burger, he’s not paying attention to anything else.
I should be paying more attention too. But I don’t notice the discrepancy in the man’s uniform. His gold acetate nameplate reads: Amir Ahmed. Definitely not an Asian name. In a flash, the server pulls a 9mm from under a silver dish dome. The gun has a suppressor on the end of it. With lightning speed, he zips off two rounds into Agent Parker. I hear two dull thumps as the bullets impact Parker’s flesh. Crimson blood splatters and blooms over his shirt, like an ink stain.
Smoke wafts from the barrel. The smell of gunpowder fills the air. The server spins the angry black barrel around and points it straight at my chest. It all happens fast. Faster than I can draw my weapon from my shoulder holster.
I dive to the ground as two rounds streak toward me. I hear the bullets tear through the air, streaking past my ear.
I tumble and roll behind the couch. A flurry of stuffing and fabric explode into the air as the shooter peppers rounds in my direction.
Zip.
Zip.
Zip.
The glass coffee table shatters. Shards pelt me in the face. I swing my weapon around and take aim. But Ryker is sprinting toward the server. I can’t take a chance on hitting him.
The shooter whips his firearm toward Ryker. He’s about to squeeze off a round when Ryker grabs t
he shooter’s wrist, pushing it toward the the wall. Ryker twists his massive body to the side to clear the barrel. Several rounds blast into the sheetrock, spewing flakes of white gypsum.
Ryker grabs the barrel, pushing it around toward the shooter. He moves with textbook precision. The force snaps the shooter’s finger, caught in the trigger guard as it bends backwards. Ryker strips the weapon and fires two quick bursts into the shooter’s chest.
Blood splatters, and the Asian man tumbles to the floor. His chest makes a sucking, gurgling sound as his lungs fill with fluid. He bleeds out in a matter of moments.
Ryker searches the body and finds two extra magazines for the 9mm. The dead man isn’t carrying any ID. Ryker also finds two photos. He shoves them in his coat pocket and tucks the gun in his waistband. He puts the two extra magazines in his pockets.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Arming myself.”
“You can’t do that. Give me the weapon.”
“Take it from me,” he dares.
“This is a crime scene, and you’re removing evidence.”
“So?”
I shake my head. “Look, you acted in self-defense. Clearly justifiable homicide. Added to your laundry list of kills, I don’t think it will be a big deal. I’ll call Murphy and get backup here immediately.”
“No. You won’t. Your people were the only ones that knew we were here.”
Ryker strides to me and grabs my arm. He pulls me toward the door.
“Let go of me.”
His firm grip digs into my arm.
“We’re getting out of here,” he grumbles.
We stop in the foyer. I check Parker for any sign of a pulse, but he’s long gone.
Ryker peers into the hall. He spins into the corridor, weapon drawn. Both directions look clear. With my weapon ready, I follow behind him. Together, we clear the area and move toward the stairwell.
Ryker kicks the heavy door open. A metal switchback stair case spirals its way seven stories down. We both push into the stairwell like a tactical assault team. Ryker angles over the railing—the stairwell looks clear all the way down.
