by Alexa Wilder
"Not yet," he ordered, and I tried to stay still. It was hard. Almost impossible. I needed him. My breath was coming in gasps, my heart pounding in my chest. I pressed my eyes shut, my hands together as if my obedience could compel him to give me what I wanted. Maybe it did, because the next thing I felt was his thick cock pushing into my pussy, stretching me open, filling me the way only Adam could.
I moaned at the pain-tinged pleasure. He was big, his cock thick and long. Sometimes he came into me gradually, with little thrusts, working his way in. And then there were times like this when I was wet enough for him to fill me in one long, slow thrust. Pressure and pleasure in one.
When he was seated to the hilt, I squeezed him, earning myself another smack. The flash of pain only gave more of a bite to the bliss of his cock in my pussy. I thrust against him, trying to take him a little deeper. Impossible when he was already in me to the hilt. But it was enough to goad Adam into action.
With a growl, he sank his fingers into my hips and began to thrust, his cock pounding into me, his balls swinging forward to smack my clit, driving me to the edge of orgasm in moments. I gasped for breath, my closed eyes and trapped hands suddenly mixing panic with the ever growing pleasure. Adam had blindfolded me before, but it had never been this intense.
Somehow blinding myself, voluntarily fixing my own hands behind my back and cutting off my sight, served to make me feel even more helpless than I'd been when Adam had done it. Everything inside me focused on the sensations between my legs. The tease of the duvet cover against my nipples, the harsh sounds of Adam breathing, my thudding heartbeat. When he released my hips and used my joined hands to pull me upright, I gasped a half scream, rising with him, suddenly off balance. He let go and covered my breasts with his hands, thrusting faster. I sobbed, wobbling on my heels, unsteady and skating the edge of orgasm.
"Open your eyes," he rasped. I did, disorientation flooding me as my eyes fought to adjust to the dim light in my bedroom. "Look," he demanded.
My gaze fastened on the mirror above my dresser on the opposite side of the bed, unable to take in what I saw. Adam, the corded muscles of his chest and arms standing out, knotted with tension, his big hands overfilled with my pale, soft breasts. His eyes burned into mine as they met in the mirror. My hair fell around us in sheets of red, my cheeks flushed a deep pink, my eyes glittering a midnight blue. Adam's hands twisted, and his fingers closed on my nipples, squeezing tightly enough to cause a heady mix of pain and fiery pleasure.
"Come," he whispered in my ear. "Come for me now."
In a rush of sharp, burning ecstasy, I did.
4
Axel
I left Emma passed out in her bed, her duvet pulled up to her chin, long hair spilling across her white sheets like a trail of flame. I’d almost fallen asleep myself. After I’d fucked her she’d slid onto her bed, her knees weak from the force of her orgasm. I might have been smug about it, but my own knees had been less than solid as I’d gone to the bathroom to deal with the condom. I needed her asleep to get to the next step of my plans, so I’d tucked myself into bed beside her, wrapping one arm around her waist and settling my hand against her breasts.
Emma might be a lying criminal, but she had stupendous breasts. Seriously amazing. Full. Soft, yet firm. Her whole body was like that- soft everywhere. Her hips, her ass, her stomach. Soft and round and perfect. There were no hard edges to Emma. At least not on the outside. For the first time, I wondered if I could help her get a lawyer when it all went down, find someway to keep her safe from the worst of the trouble coming her way.
I knew better than anyone that sometimes good people made stupid mistakes. I’d seen it too many times to count. No way Emma was rotten to the core. I’d sense it. I’d known people like that, empty and wrong. Soulless. That wasn’t Emma. There had to be a reason she’d steal from her company and sell their secrets for profit. I just hadn’t uncovered it yet.
I'd done a thorough background check on Emma when I'd taken the case. I hadn't turned up anything that explained why she would be involved in corporate espionage. Her life seemed fairly stable. She grew up in Southern California with two brothers, older, and one sister, younger. Her parents were retired, brothers in the military, sister in grad school. No one had any outstanding debt, except for a few student loans that were almost paid off. No extravagant purchases, no expensive health problems, no gambling, no drugs. Just normal people living normal lives.
I was missing something. I had to be. No one crossed the line into criminal behavior without a reason. Some people just got off on the thrill, but if that were the case, there would've been a clue. Speeding tickets or dangerous hobbies. Emma had plenty of interests outside of work, but they mostly involved taking classes, like the cooking class where we'd met, or hanging with her girlfriends giggling over wine or martinis. Nothing that gave any indication why she might wake up one day and decide to start stealing from her employer.
I'd run into situations like this before. The pieces of a puzzle weren't always clear at the beginning of a job. I was used to that. But it normally didn't take this long to figure out what the hell was going on. Laying in her bed, her soft, warm body tucked into mine, it was hard to imagine there would be an end. Eventually, maybe tonight, I’d find what I needed, and I’d walk away. My gut tightened at the thought. Whatever my mind had planned, my body sure as hell didn’t want to give up Emma.
I was drifting off beside her, the honeysuckle scent of her hair and her warm body lulling me into fantasies of luring her away from her life of crime when my brain kicked in. Despite the act I was putting on, I reminded myself, Emma Wright was not my girlfriend. She wasn’t my lover. She was a job. Worse, a target. I had a duty to my client to get my lazy, satisfied ass out of bed and find the evidence that would prove her guilt and get her out of his company. Repressing a sigh, I eased myself away from Emma, slipped from the bed, and grabbed my clothes off the floor, closing the door behind me.
After getting dressed, I started where I always did, with her briefcase. I checked every outside pocket, finding the same pack of tissues, lint, emergency sewing kit, and tin of mints that were always there. The inside was the same as ever, a mostly empty notebook, a plastic envelope file with personal papers, and her laptop. She never hid anything in the briefcase, at least not so far, but I checked it anyway. In my line of work, it pays to be thorough.
I moved on to my real target for the night. Emma’s laptop. Silently pulling it from the briefcase, I set it on the coffee table and flipped it open. I'd figured out her password the first night. Her father's birthday, not very secure. Once I’d broken into the computer, I'd made a quick copy of the hard drive and installed a program that would tell me what had changed. It saved me searching through the whole laptop every time. So far, there wasn't much of interest. A lot of nights she didn't even bother to bring it home, only when she thought she might have to answer emails from employees after hours.
For the first time in almost ten days, the program alerted significant changes in the file structure. My heart sped up, the thrill of the chase drowning out my conflicting feelings about Emma. This might be exactly what I was looking for. I opened the new files and scanned them, disappointed to find that they were nothing more interesting than explanations of the company’s medical and vacation benefits that had been updated the previous day.
Emma's job sounded both boring and annoying. From what she told me about her work, it seemed to me that she spent her days going over paperwork and listening to employees bitch about bullshit that wasn't Emma's problem. For the most part, she chose to find it amusing, retelling some of the complaints with a laugh instead of irritation. I wouldn't have been nearly as patient.
The Las Vegas branch of Sinclair security didn't have an official human resources department. That kind of stuff was handled by our office manager, a former Marine, who'd been injured in the field. He got the paperwork done, but nobody brought Billy whiny complaints about the coffee maker in the break
room. If any one of my team ever complained about someone hurting their feelings, we'd run them out of the building.
Aside from the paperwork and the complaining employees, there were aspects of Emma's job she'd been reluctant to explain. It was those aspects that had my instincts on alert. That, and she seemed too young to head a department. She was only twenty-eight. Harper shipping wasn't a huge conglomerate, and the company only had one location, but there were over one hundred employees, and Emma had four beneath her. Just one more thing that didn't add up.
I flipped through the files as quickly as I could, looking for anything suspicious. Finally, I hit a folder buried among insurance manuals. It was new, when nothing else in that folder had been updated in months, and it was encrypted. Nothing too hard-core. Emma wasn't a hacker and from what I'd seen it didn't appear that she was working with one. I'm not a hacker either. Not exactly. But I had a few on my team, and they'd taught me just enough to get by.
I had the folder open a few minutes later, but I couldn't tell if it was useful. Spreadsheets with names numbers and addresses. I copied them to a USB drive I'd brought for that purpose, but I had a sneaking suspicion that I was looking at a list of employees and their confidential information. Not customer accounts, bids, logistical plans, or any other proprietary information that might be valuable enough to sell to a competitor. I’d check it, but so far this search, like all the others, was a bust.
At the almost silent thump down the hall, I exited out of my program and the open folders, closed the laptop, slid it back into the briefcase, and leaned over as if I was putting on my shoes. Emma's bedroom door opened and a second later she appeared at the end of the hall, wrapped in a faded pink knit robe, her eyes squinted against the light in the living room. Her cheeks were still flushed with sleep, almost the same pink as her robe. Her eyes skimmed me, taking in my half-dressed state, and she said, “You going?"
Another woman might have said the words with an accusation, or petulance. Emma offered neither, no judgment and no complaint. Oddly, that bothered me. I shouldn't want her to want me to stay. I was here to keep tabs on what she was doing and search for evidence for my client. Fucking her was only a side benefit. I wasn't her boyfriend. So why the fuck did I care if she didn't care that I was sneaking out on her in the middle of the night? Again.
I didn't care; I told myself.
"Yeah," I said. "Got an early meeting."
"K. I'll lock up behind you," she said, her voice adorably still half asleep.
"What about you?" I asked, unable to stop myself. "Do you have an early meeting?"
Looking confused, she shook her head. Leaving my shoes on the floor, I stood and crossed the room to her. Her eyes widened in surprise when I took her face in my hands and kissed her. Her mouth opened, her tongue stroking mine, her arms wrapping around my shoulders. I kissed her harder, crushing her full lips, pulling her flush against me, her breasts pressed to my chest, her ass filling my hand.
It was late, and I did have an early meeting. But since we were both awake, it would be foolish to waste the opportunity to get Emma naked. I was a lot of things, but I wasn't a fool.
5
Emma
I sat at my desk, my coffee cold in front of me, my stomach twisted in knots.
It was GO time.
The last few months of stress and fear had led me to this moment. If I managed not to mess up the next hour, I'd get my life back. I think I've mentioned, I'm just a normal girl. I was not meant for excitement. At least not this kind.
It had all started so simply.
I took a job at Harper Shipping just out of college as a lowly assistant in the Human Resources department. My plan was to stay here for a few years, then go to grad school part time and get my MBA. Three months ago, I'd finished my MBA, planning to start looking for a new job eventually. I didn't love working at Harper Shipping, but I didn't hate it either.
I did like Human Resources, and my job here was good experience even if my boss, Thomas, was a misogynistic asshole who thought being female meant I was inherently less intelligent than anyone with a penis. It might have bothered me more, but he didn't try to hold me back so much as he was just rude and annoying on occasion.
A few weeks after I finished graduate school, Thomas’s mother got sick, and he took an extended leave. To my shock, he recommended me as his interim replacement. I was flattered, though I think he only did it because he couldn’t imagine a woman angling to take his job and figured I’d be the safe choice. I didn’t care; I was excited about the opportunity. If I'd known what I was getting into I would have run screaming.
To say Thomas was disorganized would be an understatement. I spent the first week or two on the job just trying to make sense of his system for handling the vast amounts of paperwork generated by our department. Everything relating to employees had to go into writing. Including verbal reprimands. And Thomas had everything stacked in random piles on his desk and inside his filing cabinet.
I dragged in an intern and set to work putting things right. He probably would have been furious when he got back, but a month after he left, Thomas called William Harper, the owner of Harper Shipping, to give his resignation. Since the Human Resources department hadn't fallen apart during Thomas’s absence, Mr. Harper said that I could keep the job, at least as long as it remained apparent that I could do it.
I dove in, determined to get the department running exactly the way I wanted it. I loved everything about being in charge except reporting to Mr. Harper, who creeped me out a little bit. He was an inch shorter than me with narrow bones and a protruding potbelly that made him look pregnant. His shoulders slouched forward, and his watery blue eyes always seemed to be trying to look down my shirt. He’d never done anything overtly inappropriate; I just didn't like the way he looked at me.
Fortunately, we had one short meeting a week, and some weeks not even that if he was out of the office. He’d suggested once that we have our meeting over dinner, but he'd been neutral when I’d declined as if he hadn’t cared either way. He creeped me out, but as long as there weren't any problems in Human Resources, he mostly left me alone.
I should've been in heaven, heading my own department only a month after getting my MBA, especially with the increase in salary that went along with the promotion. I should have been thrilled. And I was. Until I got a phone call from the FBI.
I would've been more alarmed, but Harry Jensen, the FBI agent, reminded me of my dad. He had the same tall, bulky build that was half muscle and half fat. Similar thick brown hair that needed a cut, and his blue eyes were kind and patient. I needed that because I was seriously freaked. I'd never even had a speeding ticket and the only time I'd seen the FBI was on the news when they were wearing those navy blue jackets with the yellow letters on the back and escorting a prisoner or milling around a crime scene. I couldn't imagine what they might want with me. When Agent Jensen said it had to do with my job, I was floored.
Harper Shipping was not exactly a hotbed of criminal activity. The company had a huge fleet of trucks and contracted out to various distributors to drive merchandise all over the country. I worked for the employees, not the clients, but I’d seen enough people coming in and out of the office to know that our clients were mostly corporate, from easily identifiable companies.
Agent Jensen assured me that I was right, for the most part. The bulk of our business was legitimate. Unfortunately William Harper had gotten greedy. According to Agent Jensen, Mr. Harper wasn't happy with the current healthy level of profit he got from shipping legitimate goods around the country. The list of 'other' things Harper Shipping transported was long and terrifying.
Weapons. Drugs. And people. Illegal immigrants to be sold as slave labor. And women, girls mostly. More immigrants, and runaways. Girls who came to Vegas for the bright lights and got lost. They would also be sold, but for a different kind of work. I couldn't imagine it. I didn't like Mr. Harper, but I just couldn't see him masterminding a criminal enterprise l
ike the one Agent Jensen was describing. He didn't seem smart enough, for one.
Harper Shipping was a company William Harper had inherited from his grandfather. He hadn’t built it from scratch or taken what he’d been given and made it better. He barely managed to keep the company on an even keel. When Agent Jensen explained that Mr. Harper was working with the Russian mob, everything made more sense.
And it got that much more terrifying. My first thought, after hearing about the case from Agent Jensen, was to quit my job and get the hell out of town. I had nothing to do with any of the things he’d described. I didn't coordinate with clients, I didn't handle logistics for shipping, none of it. I occasionally did a little work with marketing, but that was the only time I ever stepped outside of Human Resources. My job was limited to benefits, company policies, and employee problems.
But the FBI needed someone on the inside, and after investigating the company for the past year, they'd determined that my new promotion made me their best bet. Coming from below the management level, Agent Jensen was reasonably sure that I was clean, yet my new position as head of Human Resources meant I had access the information that might prove their case against both William Harper and the Russian mob.
I'm going to be honest. I didn't want to help. I wasn't afraid of Mr. Harper, not exactly. But the Russian mob? I wasn't stupid. I've seen plenty of movies and the idea of getting on the wrong side of the Russian mob seemed like a great way to get myself killed. I might not be doing anything really important with my life. Taking cooking classes and hanging out with my friends wasn't exactly curing cancer. But that didn't mean I didn't value what I had.
I wasn't crazy about putting myself in danger. I was gearing up to tell Agent Jensen he could take his job and shove it when he showed me the pictures. Girls, young women, their eyes wide and terrified. Then more pictures of other girls, dead girls. Agent Jensen said they hadn't been able to prove it, but they believed these girls had been moved into the country and to their final destinations by Harper Shipping. The discovery of the group of six dead young women, ages 11 to 15, had been the FBI's first tie between the Russian mob and Harper Shipping. Agent Jensen stared at me with those warm brown eyes so like my father's and begged me to help. To save the next shipment of girls and the one after that.
