by Linzi Basset
Her eyes shone like amethysts and he had a hard time keeping her squirming body from slipping out of his grasp.
“Did you just say you’re going to eat . . . you know?” she whispered as she glanced downstairs.
“Know what?” He whispered back.
Samantha saw the twinkle of amusement in his silver eyes.
“Stop teasing me, Rhone Greer and get back inside that room. It’s about time you came to your senses. I was on the verge of asking Wade to come and—”
Rhone’s eyes narrowed. “Wade has been here?”
“Well, he’s your club manager and he’s around for a couple of hours most days. He pops in now and then to check up on me.”
“It seems I need to have a chat with my club manager. Maybe I was a bit hasty and you need more time to recuperate,” he intoned brusquely as he lowered her to the bed.
Samantha held onto his neck and pulled him down with her. “Oh no, you don’t. You’ve got me all hot and bothered, Master Razor and you are going to deliver on your promise.”
“Promise? I can’t recall making any . . . Jesus, Samantha!” he growled as she cupped her hand around his balls and squeezed. Hard.
“Are you going to deny me, Rhone? A sick and bedridden little woman?” She squeezed again and smiled when his breath wheezed through his lips. Her voice sounded sweet but the heat in her eyes incinerated him.
“Well, in the interest of keeping my balls intact, I guess I’ll have to . . . lemme just get rid of this,” he muttered. He gripped the neck of the t-shirt she was wearing and ripped it in two. “Yep, now, this,” he said and her bright red satin bra followed the same path.
“Rhone! That was an expensive bra,” she complained but lifted her hips dutifully as he yanked off the sweatpants she was wearing. Her sneakers had disappeared without her knowledge.
“Hmm. Now isn’t this an enticing sight.” Rhone stood back and stared at her where she was lying relaxed on the bed amidst her tattered clothing, dressed only in a red satin thong.
“Push your hand under your panties, my pet,” he ordered in a deep voice, smiling when she immediately complied. “Now, rub that naughty little nub of yours. Yes, baby, faster,” he instructed and watched her legs move around listlessly. Her eyes were glued on his face. He knew what she was seeing. He could feel the heat all over his body and the awakening lust in his loins was clearly portrayed in the tense lines of his face.
“Dip your finger inside your pussy, baby,” he continued while he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He watched her eyes grow darker when it slipped off. “Deeper, Samantha. Good, add another and pump. Come now, luv, you know what I want. Faster,” he ordered as he stepped out of his pants, leaving his boxers on.
Her hips lifted and arched into her hands. Her eyelids fluttered closed as pleasure filled her veins.
He pulled her hand free and sucked her fingers into his mouth.
“Rhone,” she gasped. Her loins clenched in tune with the sucking as he licked her fingers clean of the syrupy juices.
Samantha’s stomach fluttered, watching this magnificent man suck and lick her juices from her fingers like it was the tastiest elixir. The air was charged, like a special bond was being woven between them. Rhone settled between her legs, fixing her with a steely gaze which she had no defense against.
“I want this hot, wet pussy, luv and you better believe me when I say that when I’m fucking you, there will be no thought of any other man in your mind. Don’t ever forget this, Samantha Frazer. You are mine.”
“Then show me. I’ve waited long enough,” she said in a hoarse growl.
Samantha arched her back when he kissed his way between her breasts, then back up to lick and suck them deep into his mouth. She moaned when he released the nub with a loud pop and continued with a trail of fiery kisses over her stomach and up and down the inside of her thighs. She jerked when his lips nibbled at the soft flesh and sinew at the joint of her hips and pelvis.
The sound of her panties tearing hardly registered as he traced his tongue traced down along her pelvis with salacious intent. He brushed her labia and inserted his middle finger, exploring, twisting and probing deeper. He watched her face bloom with color as her pleasure increased.
Samantha arched her back and raised her hips invitingly to his searching mouth, overcome with desperation to feel his tongue and lips. She fisted a clump of his hair and ignoring his warning growl, she guided his mouth to her quivering core. She was on fire. Every cell in her body thrummed with heat and she was subsumed in a wave of unbridled lust.
“Slow down, baby,” he admonished as he backed away. “You’re not well—”
“Rhone Greer, call me weak and I’m gonna lose it,” she warned and then wailed as he pushed her legs wider to slip two fingers inside her. He began to pump and twist his hand, to brush and caress her sweet spot; pushing, tapping and teasing it, causing her pelvis to orbit uncontrollably in response. She whimpered due to the intense convulsion of her pussy around his fingers.
“Oh fuck, honey, that feels good,” she hissed and thrust her hips into his lodged fingers, begging for more. “Fuck me, Rhone,” she moaned.
“Well, seeing as you’re asking so nicely,” he teased her by blowing softly against her clitoris before closing his lips around the nub.
A broken sob escaped her throat. Samantha clamped her legs around his head, holding him in place and bucked wildly, lost to the sensations he awakened inside her. With a primal growl he sucked her clit deep into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the tip and bit into it gently. She cried out helplessly lost in the throes of passion as a rush of hot juices spurted from her pussy.
“Fuck, you make me forget myself, baby,” he gritted through clenched teeth. He forced her legs wider and pushed his mouth deeper into her pussy, probing his tongue with lusty intent, lapping at her constant suppurations, greedily accepting the offering from her body.
He yanked his boxers down and slowly entered her throbbing slit, watching her mouth form an O in an expression of wonder, at the feeling of his steely strength filling her.
“I’m going to take it slow, and no, don’t give me that look. You’re in no way ready for a hard fuck, no matter how much you like to see me lose control,” he admitted to one of his weaknesses where she was concerned.
Samantha felt her pelvis throb. With renewed courage and confidence, she smiled sweetly, locked her ankles behind his waist and raised her hips invitingly upward.
“I’ll take anything you have to offer, honey. God, do you know how wonderful it feels to have you inside me? So hard and yet so velvety at the same time.”
“And do you know that you make me feel like a giant every time I feel your silky folds envelop me? So trustingly . . . even those times when I treated you like—”
Her fingers on his lips ended his remonstration of his guilt.
“Let’s forget about the past, Rhone and concentrate on the future. The here and now. That’s all I ask. One step at a time, my love, and we’ll soar together, before you know what hit you,” she promised.
“Samantha, don’t expect—”
This time she reached up and kissed him into silence. Her eyes were filled with promises of love and happiness.
“Don’t tell me not to dream, Rhone. You and I are meant to be, that much I do know. Now, my love, show me what you’ve got,” she demanded. At the same time she squeezed and released the muscles surrounding his cock.
He pulled in a breath.
“Fuck, you’re a wicked brat, do you know that?”
He pulled out and pushed his cock into her an inch deep and stopped, watching her face as he flexed inside of her. She moaned wildly and writhed in a spasm of pure ecstasy.
“You are an amazing woman,” he murmured, his breath came in harsh bursts as he pushed all the way inside her and started to rock into her with deep ragged thrusts.
Samantha tilted her hips up and forced him deeper, up to the hilt. She gulped as his velvet steel rod plunged deep
inside her with long, rhythmic strokes. Her loins tightened painfully as she arched and thrashed against him.
“Easy, baby,” he cautioned and pinned her arms above her head. He thrust harder, slapping against her clitoris.
“Oh, Rhone,” she sobbed, as he continued at the same relentless slow pace. He leaned in and wrapped his lips around her nipple. He pulled it deep into his mouth and sucked on it; hard. Samantha lost the battle and cried out, “I’m gonna come. Rhone . . . geeezzz!”
Rhone plunged deeper into her, pillaging her softness. He tilted her hips higher, speeding up in a race to reach the pinnacle that was pinching at his loins.
Heat flared in his chest, wave upon wave drowned him in a state of bliss. His eyes closed as the dam inside him burst. He strained on his arms to keep his weight off Samantha. With a final thrust, he exploded inside her, spilling spurts of semen deep inside her.
For moments he was frozen and couldn’t move, while his body became a prisoner of his orgasm. He finished off with two sharp thrusts, and then fell on his back next to her.
“Fuck, that nearly blew my brains out, luv,” he admitted when he could talk.
She giggled and pressed against his side, finding her favorite spot on his chest.
“Well, then, thanks for the compliment.”
Rhone chuckled but was floored by the emotions that had followed that intense climax. For the first time in years, he wasn’t so sure about what he wanted anymore. But something was changing inside him. He could feel the desire to reach out and grab what she offered, selfishly and with greed that astounded even him.
Chapter Nine
“I’m glad you recovered from your stomach bug, Mr. Whittaker. We were worried,” Lena, his secretary cooed while pouring coffee into a cup. “There you go. Strong enough to keep the spoon upright. Just like you prefer.”
She placed the cup in front of him and trotted to the door. Adam had to force the bile down. He abhorred coffee and was dying for a cup of tea but it was a habit a man like Whittaker would never break overnight.
“Shout, when you’re ready to go through the updates you asked me to prepare. I’ve reviewed your calendar and moved all appointments for the following two days, like you’d asked. The next two days are open for you to catch up.”
“Thank you, Lena.”
Adam cleared his throat. He hated the grating, old man voice that came out of his mouth almost as much as he hated the face that reflected in the mirror. He couldn’t believe the lengths Vitale had gone to turn him into Whittaker, even having pitch-lowering surgery performed on his vocal chords. He ran his hand over the short, blonde hair and yanked off the clear view glasses that he was forced to wear, because Damien used to be blind as a bat.
The past week had been hell. Vito had his team work with Adam to turn him into Damian Whittaker. He was still recovering from the shock of the operation that had changed his life, but Vito had been ruthless.
“We don’t have time for you to properly recuperate. Your surface wounds have healed from the wonder ointment. I’m sure you have the strength to fight the ones on the inside. Get to work. Before people start asking questions about Whittaker’s delayed return.”
And so, they taught him how to walk, talk, his mannerism, his habits and studying the Black Diamond Corporation, one of the most lucrative diamond mining companies in the world—Whittaker had been the CEO.
Adam felt brain dead.
The hate and resentment he’d felt toward Rhone and Keon had shifted. He had a new target—Vito Vitale. Rhone and Keon had impeded his ability to rise faster than he’d wanted to in the CIA because of their constant interference. He’d spent years killing fires instead of concentrating on getting ahead. Because of them he’d become the lackey for the Sixth Order instead of being one of their leaders already.
He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. It was his own greed that had landed him in this spot; in a boardroom, chained to this desk day in and day out. Not the fact that he’d caught his fiancé in the arms of his boss all those years ago. That he had used it as an excuse for his actions all those years ago.
Greed changed a man, he thought bitterly.
Vito’s connections were vast and when he had promised the director’s position, Adam hadn’t hesitated in double crossing the Sixth Order. But it had backfired because he’d omitted to disclose everything to Vito.
“Fuck! Why didn’t I tell him that the Sixth Order was trampling on his territory? That I had given them his sex trade connections.”
Yeah, it’s my own fucking fault!
He scowled at the phone on his desk when it rang but he pressed the speaker button down to answer. “Yes, Lena,” he barked, the irritation rang sharp to his own ears.
“I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Paul Burgess is here to see you. I told him you’re not available but he’s adamant that you will see him.”
Adam racked his brain but nothing sprang to mind. It wasn’t a name he’d encountered in the material he’d studied. Unease settled in his belly.
“He can make an appointment, Lena, for Friday,” he said and released the speaker button.
The future looked bleak for the man who once thrived on attention from women, the respect of his team and peers in the CIA. Now, he had no idea where it would all end; hopefully not as a pawn torn between the Sixth Order and Vito Vitale.
The one thing that hounded Adam . . . or Damien, as he had been instructed to start thinking of himself, seeing as Adam Baxter had officially been declared dead, was that neither he nor Vito knew who his contact to the Sixth Order was.
He was walking target. He’d walk right past him or her, for that matter, and not know. The feeling of unease resurfaced.
Paul Burgess . . . what if he’s the contact?
“Jesus! It’s such a fucking mess.”
“Mr. Burgess, you can’t just walk in here! I’m sorry, sir. I tried to stop him,” Lena cried worriedly as she followed the tall man into his office.
Adam’s face fell. He’d always been able to control his expressions but this time, he was unprepared. He instinctively knew the man staring at him down his nose was his contact to the Sixth Order. Vito didn’t care if Damien’s position in the syndicate was non-sequential as far as rank was concerned. What was important was that he had the means to infiltrate the operation.
“It’s fine, Lena. Please close the door and ensure we’re not interrupted.”
The office had suddenly shrunk in the presence of the man who remained after the brunette’s exit.
How the fuck is this possible? Him! Of all people.
Adam’s heart sank. He was doomed. All his cohorts, his guns-for-hire, thought he was dead.
He stood alone, trapped in darkness. People thrived in the warmth of sunshine, the coolness of breeze, and the sight of new blooms. People craved open air because it represented freedom. Now, he was having a claustrophobic attack.
He had nowhere to run, no one to turn to. He was trapped in a well of despair—one of his own making. Adam acknowledged that this was the end for him—Adam Baxter, the man everyone knew, was already dead. This shell he now inhabited would follow the same path—and soon.
Because if this man found out who he really was, he was a dead man. Not to mention what Rhone and Keon would do if they caught wind of his existence. Vito Vitale, the cruel mastermind, was the only one benefiting from this debacle.
Adam cringed when Burgess turned his searing topaz eyes on him. His muscled frame was fitted in a tailor-made dark gray suit, a pristine white shirt and a dotted silver tie. Impeccably dressed as always.
No one would recognize him like this. Not with the colored contacts hiding his wintery blue eyes, the dark red wig and bushy beard disguising his face. The only reason Adam recognized him was because it was the same disguise he’d worn to the masked ball at the White House a couple of years ago.
“I thought you knew by now that I don’t make appointments, Damien.” His eyes narrowed in thought. “What are you up to?”
“I’m trying to catch up, that’s all.” Adam opted for a brusque response, hoping to imitate Damien’s style.
“Next time, inform me when you’re incapacitated, Whittaker. I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark. And don’t give me that look. You knew from the day you joined forces with us that your life wasn’t your own anymore. Or do I need to remind you of the steps we had to take early in our association?”
Adam blinked. Suddenly it fell into place. A noticeable bleak time in Whittaker’s life had been during the threat of a hostile takeover of Black Diamond Corporation ten years ago. It was also when he’d divorced his wife and turned into a workaholic.
“It won’t happen again,” Adam grunted. “What can I do for you, Mr. Burgess?”
“The shipment of crack Baxter managed to recover from the FBI vaults—bless the dead man’s soul—sold like lightning. Have you got everything in place to start converting the cash?”
Money laundering was the norm in the crime world, and the white-collar industry for that matter. Everyone tried to score in one way or the other. As Adam, he’d been exposed to it for years and he wasn’t surprised to find out why Damian Whittaker had been recruited by the Sixth Order. He had the perfect front—his company, to layer the cash for them.
The entity he owned in Namibia, was probably the front for black money laundering. It would be easy to move large chunks of money under the pretext of diamond trading.
“Yes. How much this time?”
“Hundred and fifty million.”
Adam startled. He’d never realized how vast their drug trafficking business was.
“That’s a high value to move at once,” he responded with a pensive frown. He didn’t have the in-depth knowledge of how it worked on the wrong side of the law but he was intelligent enough to know it would trigger an alarm with either the Namibian authorities or the Department of Justice and IRS in the US.
Burgess acknowledged his concern with a brief nod of his head.
