He played her body like a virtuoso and all she could do was make inarticulate mewling sounds and arch her back, pressing herself into his hand.
When her arms started to tremble, she reached for the windowsill and pulled herself up, crossing her arms and propping her elbows on the sill for support. He followed behind her and used his knee to push her thighs open wider, giving him space to fit between them. As another firework burst in the sky outside, her body throbbed in time to both the powder blast and his fingers pinching her clit.
She groaned and arched her back again, her body instinctively seeking his cock, hunting for the only thing that would give it release.
With a growl so primal it spoke to a deep, desperate place inside her, he gripped her hips and lifted her onto his cock, plunging deep inside her. They both moaned the pleasure of it, their voices a strange, primitive harmony in that frozen moment before their bodies gave in to the need to move.
His first thrust broke the trance, and every thrust after that pushed her nose to the window. The fireworks had to be ending soon. It was the longest show her father had ever put together. Had to be to impress potential donors.
A green and purple firework exploded, showering golden sparks as it finished. Damian grunted with every thrust, pulling her hips backward in a bruising grip as he drove deeper.
Elena let herself go, sinking into the rhythm, the pressure, the delicious throbbing ache of her orgasm building in the muscles around his cock. She basked in the light of the fireworks, and the dark in between; the explosive blasts outside and the frenzied gusts of breath as they panted from the exertion of chasing their climaxes; the heady mix of gunpowder, sweat, and sex as she inhaled a deep breath.
The first tendrils of her orgasm tingled deep in her belly just as the first fireworks of the finale burst in the night sky. Another thrust triggered it and she gave herself up to the waves of velvety bliss as her body melted and she came apart at the seams. Damian’s climax followed on his next thrust and he buried himself into her farthest recesses, leaving part of himself behind on a long, low, rolling growl she felt as much as heard.
The free-for-all of the fireworks finale came to a close as they caught their breath, the last red, white, and blue sparks drifting down in the sudden quiet.
Elena swiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, and unable to suppress a joyful laugh she said, “Best. Fourth. Ever.”
CHAPTER 4
Elena left Damian lying flat on his back on the floor with a stupid grin on his face, as she headed for the bathroom. She cleaned up, threw on some sweats and a tank, and put her hair up in a messy bun.
Back in the bedroom, Damian hadn’t moved other than to lace his fingers behind his head and close his eyes.
“I’m heading to the kitchen to rummage for some food. You want something?”
“No. I’m going to go catch up with Jaxon. I missed most of his show, but I need to stroke his ego for what I heard. Mind if I use your bathroom?”
He climbed to his feet, all six-plus feet of his naked glory making her contemplate another round. But her stomach rumbled, so she smiled and said, “Go ahead.”
She slipped out the bedroom door and padded down the hall on bare feet, wondering if he’d be gone when she got back. Sadness threatened her good mood at the thought of him leaving, but she quashed the urge to go back and say goodbye. How would that go, anyway?
Thanks for the sex after all these years?
It’s been fun spending a couple hours together?
Bye, have a good life?
It seemed better just to respect the moment. Leave on a high note. They’d both made it clear relationships didn’t fit into their lives—not that either of them had implied interest in a relationship. Although, she could be interested. She might be. But it didn’t matter. This had been nothing but sex—fabulous, earth-shaking, best-ever sex—and a memory she’d take out and replay over and over. She’d be fine. She might wish for the chance for more, but in the end it couldn’t work so she put the dream away and moved on.
She trotted down the stairs, craving a turkey sandwich on whole grain bread, slathered in mayo and mustard, with Swiss cheese and plenty of crunchy lettuce. Her mouth watered at the thought of it. Throw in a handful of wavy Lay’s and she’d be in post-coital food heaven.
In the kitchen, the caterers scurried around in a clean-up craze. There must have been a dozen people dashing around doing dishes, wrapping and packing food, wiping counters, and running in and out the door like pack mules.
She paused in the doorway, not sure if she should jump into the fray. It seemed wrong to barge in and interrupt their work. But her belly felt like an empty cavern.
“Can I get something for you, miss?” The same man from earlier with the thick accent asked.
“I’d love a sandwich, but I don’t want to get in the way.”
“I can get it for you.” He gripped her elbow and guided her toward the dining room. “You wait in here. I’ll bring it.”
Darkness crowded the empty room, just like the alarm crowding her brain. She shrugged in an effort to pull out of his grip—a weird intrusion on her personal space—but before she could, something pricked her neck from behind and she recognized the burn of chemicals flooding her veins as the world blurred around her and her legs turned to noodles. She had just a moment to kick herself for falling into whatever trap she’d fallen into. Then everything went black.
***
Damian cleaned up and dressed. Despite sitting in a discarded heap, his clothes had dried enough in the summer heat to be wearably damp. He’d worn worse.
He headed outside, the post-sex buzz about as good as any other high he’d ever experienced. He lived in an almost constant state of craving the adrenaline of combat or extreme sports or anything that would get him jazzed. Sex with Elena left him with that languid, satisfied feeling he got after a long, hard-fought water rescue. His body felt buoyant and drained and fucking happy.
And he missed her already.
What the hell?
He never missed women. He had sex, enjoyed it, and moved on. Period.
Maybe it was just because they had a past. The connection made it feel like there was something more.
Still, he wondered about seeing her again. At the very least, there was a lot more sex to experience.
He smiled. That had to be it. He looked forward to seeing what else was there.
The party had started to disperse now that the fireworks were done and the caterers were clearing the food and alcohol.
He found Jaxon and Colton near the stage, which was in mid-teardown.
“Where have you been, slacker?” Colton asked.
“Busy,” Damian said.
Jaxon snickered and slapped him on the shoulder. “You dog. But you missed the show, so you’ll have to come to another one.”
“I caught part of it. It was good.”
“I heard you played hero, too,” Colton said. “Dad and the senator have been looking for you to suck up.”
“Don’t tell them you were off fucking the senator’s daughter,” Jaxon said.
Colton’s mouth fell open. “Seriously? You did his daughter at his own party? Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow,” Damian said. He couldn’t help grinning. It had been pretty damn wow.
His brothers snorted and punched his shoulders. Nothing like naughty sex to bring brothers together.
He helped Colton tear down Jaxon’s show, and about the time they returned from hauling the last load to the band’s truck, Damian and his brothers ran into Dalton and Gwen heading around the front of the mansion.
“Hey Dad,” Colton said. “Heading home?”
“Yes. Thank you, boys, for being here.”
“You were really good, tonight, Jaxon,” Gwen said.
Jaxon looked like a kid again, basking in the compliment. “Thanks, Gwen. I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”
“How’s Cassie doing?” Colton asked. “We haven’t seen her in a while.”<
br />
Gwen patted his arm. “She’s fine. She’s spending the summer abroad on a work-study program. She’s interested in a European model of education and how it can be applied here.”
“She’ll be a good teacher,” Colton said.
If Damian wasn’t mistaken he heard a little something in Colton’s voice when he talked about their stepsister Cassie. If Dalton would lose it over Damian fucking the senator’s daughter, he’d crap his pants over Colton fucking his stepsister. Damian looked forward to being a spectator to that disaster.
“I hear you saved somebody’s kid from drowning?” Dalton asked.
Just then the senator caught up to them. “Damian,” he bellowed. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Sorry I missed you, Senator.” But I was balls-deep in your daughter.
The senator offered his hand and Damian accepted it, ending up on the receiving end of a vigorous shake. “You saved Roger Sanders’ son from drowning tonight.”
“Just doing my job, sir.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from a Navy man. The admiral was happy with how you conducted yourself. Reflects on him and the whole program. He was sorry he didn’t get to have a few words with you.”
“I’ll catch up with him soon, I’m sure.”
“Well, Sanders is vice president of South Texas Oil. He called from the hospital to let me know the doctors said whoever saved the kid did an expert job. The kid’s just fine and went home tonight. Sanders is tickled and will be making a sizable donation to my campaign. So, I owe you, son.”
Damian stifled an eye roll and sarcastic comment. He didn’t really give a shit about the senator’s reelection, and it seemed dirty that the man would use Damian and that kid to collect cash.
“I’m just glad I could help.”
“Me, too,” The senator said. He turned to Dalton and shook his hand. “Thank you for being here, Dalton, and for your donation. It’s good to see you again, and you, too, Gwen. You’re always a beautiful addition to any party.”
“Gag,” Colton whispered from behind Damian. Damian had to smother a chuckle.
“Thank you, Senator. It was a lovely party,” Gwen said.
After more hand-shaking and congratulations, the senator drifted away to thank other guests, and Dalton and Gwen headed out to the valet to retrieve their car and head home.
“Okay, bro, I’m out of here. We have another gig next week so we have to hit the road. It’s good to see you guys,” Jaxon said.
“Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t see the whole show. I’ll make it up to you,” Damian said.
“Hey, man, I’m happy you caught some of it, and I’m all for getting laid when you can, so no worries.”
“Safe travels, both of you. I’m going home to get some sleep.”
Damian took a few steps to follow his family, but stopped and looked up at the house. He didn’t know which window was Elena’s, but somewhere on the second floor. He should probably find her and say goodbye. Maybe steal one last kiss. The girl could sure as hell kiss. He licked his lips, the ghost of her mouth on his mocking him with all the kisses and sex they wouldn’t have. All the things they wouldn’t do and say together.
Jeez. He shook his head and turned away, marching around the house to find the valet. He didn’t do regret.
He tipped the valet when the guy handed Damian his keys, and climbed in the car, then roared down the driveway.
They’d had some smoking hot sex and that was it. Time to get back to his life.
CHAPTER 5
The first thing Elena noticed when consciousness finally sifted into her brain was the pounding headache that throbbed in her temples. The next thing was her dry mouth. Her swallow mechanism didn’t work the first couple of times until she managed enough saliva to coat the inside of her mouth and throat.
Her memory came back in bits and pieces. She remembered being drugged at her parents’ house by the traitorous caterer. After that she only had flashes of being bound and gagged, the queasiness of takeoff in an airplane, being jounced around in the back of a truck. That was it.
She rolled over onto her back and her muscles protested. Everything ached and throbbed in time to her headache.
Although she had no idea who would kidnap her or why, the first thing she needed to do was assess her situation. She started with her peripheral senses. Sometimes when people relied too heavily on vision they missed things, so she listened, and felt, and breathed deeply to catch any scents in the air.
No sounds of human activity in her immediate surroundings—even the quiet noises of sniffing, breathing, or shifting in a seat or from foot to foot—meant she must be alone. Ambient sounds included male voices outside the room—both inside the building and out, but beyond that the call of birds and screech of monkeys echoed in the space outside. So, she must be in a jungle somewhere with some open space around the buildings. Otherwise, she heard no other manmade sounds—no road or car noise, no aircraft, no sounds of human industry. So the location was remote.
Heat and humidity dampened her skin and hair, but she lay on soft bedding so at the very least she was in some sort of civilized structure rather than a dirt-floored hut or cement warehouse. Remote jungle was bad, but she upgraded the situation given the state of her lodgings. A hint of breeze carried the smell of green in the air—the humid, loamy scent of thick green growth—with an overlay of coffee.
She didn’t need to see anything to know she had to be in the home or compound of someone with money, probably somewhere in a Central or South American jungle country. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots to drug lord.
A well-appointed room greeted her when she opened her eyes. She lay on a queen-sized bed in a room with white and gilt décor, still wearing her sweats and tank top. It certainly wasn’t the ideal work outfit, especially since she had no shoes and no bra. A closet and dresser looked promising, though.
She rolled off the bed and headed for the windows. Outside looked pretty much like she expected—a hilltop compound with sizeable grounds surrounded by dense jungle as far as the eye could see. A dirt road snaked off into the trees at the back of the building, but she did see several men with AK-47s patrolling the perimeter.
The top two drawers of the dresser were full of men’s socks and underwear—not useful. In the middle drawer she found button down shirts, and sweaters filled the bottom drawer. Several men’s suits and a camo jacket hung in the closet. For now she chose the smallest of the button down shirts she could find—a crisp white one—and put it on, rolling the sleeves to her elbows. It was a disappointment not to find shoes.
She hadn’t worked on any drug-related projects recently, and unless there was a mole somewhere, nobody knew she was even an agent. So who had taken her and why?
The only way she’d find out was to talk to someone, so she marched over to the door and turned the handle, surprised to find it unlocked. However, out in the hall two men with the ever-present AK-47s guarded the door. Seemed like overkill to her, but whatever.
“Por favor, señorita…” one of them started.
Elena spoke enough Spanish to be moderately fluent, but letting on that she did gave away an advantage. “No hablo Español,” she said in her best American accent.
He held up a finger for her to wait and said, “Un momento.”
The two of them discussed that El Jefe—the boss—wanted to talk to her when she woke up and about whether to bring him here, or take Elena to him.
They decided to fetch him so the other guy took off to find him, while the one who’d talked to her stayed put. He smiled and made a shooing motion for her to go back into the room.
She complied and spent the waiting time watching the guards outside to figure out their routine, if they even had one. They looked pretty bored, but well-trained and well-armed. Given that drugs and guns often went hand in hand, she wondered if El Jefe bought and sold both.
Before long the rattle of the door handle preceded a man and the guards from
outside her door entering the room.
The man stood somewhere around five nine or five ten, about her height. Broad in the shoulders and thickly muscled with dark skin, black hair, and a thick mustache, his features gave away his Hispanic heritage.
He smiled and offered his hand to shake.
This had to be the most bizarre kidnapping ever. Elena accepted his hand. “Do you speak English?” she asked.
“Si, querida. I do.” His accent was thick, but she understood him. “Please, have a seat. You must be very confused.”
She sat in one of two chairs opposite the bed. He settled into the other, while the guards stood by the door.
“I am. Who are you?”
“My name is Renaldo Ramos. I’m known as El Jefe. I’m the leader of the Los Reyes cartel.”
Shit. Not a great development.
“Can you tell me what’s going on, please?”
“Certainly. Your father is an American senator, is he not?”
“Yes.”
“We do a lot of business in America, especially through Texas, and your father has always been a friend, for a price.”
Elena froze. No way her dad took payoffs from a drug lord. What for? Blocking drug legislation? Keeping borders open? Turning a blind eye? Being eyes, ears, and a voice in America for a Latin American drug cartel? Good God, the idea left her queasy. But how well did she really know him? Nobody in Congress was clean, and her dad had been putting a lot more energy than usual into fundraising, so maybe he’d tried to change his arrangement with this guy.
“I don’t believe you,” she said. Whether or not she really did, she’d be better off playing the role he expected of her, which seemed to be meek senator’s daughter. She’d probably survive this a lot easier in that role than as a CIA agent. She had no illusions that despite his courteous façade, he was ruthless enough to kill her where she sat.
He shrugged in a way that suggested his sorrow for her lost innocence. “We never really know those we’re closest to, no?”
“Even if what you say is true, why would you kidnap me?”
“Kidnap is a strong word. You’re my guest until your father responds to my request to talk.”
Damian (The Caine Brothers #3) Page 4
