At least until everything with Valentine happened. And then I'd sort of, as Cal had insinuated, fallen off the face of the earth. Valentine had made sure both Cal and Mom were taken care of, financially, and I'd sent an email to Cal explaining that I'd started dating a guy who was "well off", as I'd put it. Just to throw him off the scent, I guess. I mean, how do you explain a man like Valentine Roth to a nineteen-year-old kid? And, since then, I'd called Cal every once in a while.
Mom? Not so much. Mom didn't talk on the phone. Didn't send or receive letters or email. I'm not sure Mom ever even noticed that I'd stopped visiting. I still felt guilty, though. But...I couldn't exactly visit her, for her own sake. If I showed up at her hospice, it would have given Vitaly a bullseye to aim for. Harris had people checking in on her, making sure no one bothered her. But that was about all I could do.
I tuned back in to the story Cal was telling that involved his roommate, a two-hundred-pound potbelly pig, and the last day of classes at Columbia last year.
"...And I swear to god, that pig was faster than a damn cheetah! You should have seen the security guard trying to catch it! Funniest thing I've ever fucking seen."
Layla was--I wasn't really sure what she was. She was drinking, but slowly, and I would guess that she'd nursed one drink all night. She was laughing at the stories, but there was something subdued about her. But the thing I noticed most was that she was watching Harris's every move. Hanging onto his every word. It was weird. Beyond weird. She had very little to say, occasionally offering a comment or cracking a joke, but she was mostly quiet--which was entirely unlike her. At any party, any gathering of people where alcohol was involved, Layla was usually in the thick of it, driving the energy, and typically getting, as she puts it, naked-wasted.
I tried to keep up with Cal's story, which had morphed from something about the pig prank to an adventure he and his roommate had experienced involving a misplaced bag of pot and an undercover narc. It sounded like the kind of story that was funny now, but wasn't all that funny while it was happening.
Okay, maybe I was nodding off. I tuned into every fifth word, smiling lazily against Roth's chest. Layla was sitting in the sand right beside Harris; both of them back in the shadows away from the fire. Just their faces were visible, turned toward each other. Harris was saying something I couldn't hear, and Layla was nodding and smiling. And shit, that smile? It was...I had to search for a word. Intimate. Private.
My heart melted. God, if Layla and Harris ended up together, things would be just about perfect.
But then something truly odd happened. A patch of shadows near the waterline detached itself from the shifting glint of the ocean and the gleam of starlight and the darkness of night, resolved itself into the shape of a man. Alexei. Tall and broad, hard and lean, a wicked, gnarled scar running down his face from forehead to his chin. He was dressed in shades of gray and black: BDU pants tucked into calf-high combat boots, a short-sleeve gray shirt with a black bulletproof vest, a gray ball cap on his head decorated with a black patch that had "A1S" embroidered in scarlet letters. He had a compact assault rifle hanging barrel-down across his chest, the strap clipped to his vest rather than hanging over his shoulder. He had a pistol at his side, a knife handle in a sheath on his vest, and several other accouterments on his belt I couldn't identify.
He stopped in the shadows well outside the circle of the firelight, crouched near Harris and murmured in low tones in what sounded like it may have been Russian. Harris nodded twice, muttered something back, and then stood up, setting his half-consumed beer bottle in the sand.
"Harris." It was a statement from Roth, low, a command.
"Possible perimeter breach," Harris said as he vanished into the shadows, reaching behind his back and producing a black handgun, checking the clip, and returning it. "Probably nothing, but I'm going to check it out anyway."
"Should we stay here?" Roth asked.
"No. Alexei will escort you to your rooms." Harris glanced at Layla. "There's nothing to worry about. Just being cautious."
"I'll trust you on this, Harris," Roth said. "It goes without saying that I want you or Alexei to inform me the moment you have discovered the exact nature of the breach."
Then Roth stood up without letting go of me, an arm under my legs and the other around my shoulders, taking the lead behind Alexei, who moved in a swift, silent prowl across the sand toward the staircase leading up to the house. His weapon was held low, barrel still down, but his head was constantly swiveling from side to side, and every few steps he would pivot and walk backward, checking our rear and making sure we were all together.
We stopped at Cal's room first and Alexei entered the room alone, ensuring that it was secure. When he was satisfied, he allowed Cal to enter with instructions not to leave, informing him that a security detail would be patrolling the area.
Next we stopped at Layla's room and Alexei repeated the protocol, this time taking time to ensure that Layla had everything she needed.
Just as she was about to close the door to her room, Layla looked at me questioningly, not saying a word. I could tell she was a little unnerved.
Seeing the expression on her face, Roth said, "Layla, please don't worry. It's better to be safe than to take chances. Harris has us covered. There will be a security detail right outside your door."
Layla just nodded, not looking convinced, and we continued through the house. Alexei preceded Roth and I into our room, sweeping the bedroom and the bathroom before leaving.
My heart was pounding. "You think there's anyone out there?" I asked. "For real?"
Roth shook his head. "No. If Alexei thought there was a real danger, we would have been taken to the ship, rather than to the house. There's a Zodiac on shore at all times, ready to take us to the Eliza in the event of an emergency. As Harris said, they're just being cautious."
"What did Harris mean by perimeter breach?"
"There are hidden motion detectors running around the perimeter of the property, including along the water line. There are also buoys in the water out about five hundred yards, with line-of-sight lasers connecting them to the shore, so if anyone approaches from the sea, we'll be alerted. The crew on the Eliza has the radar active at all times as well. Plus, there's another motion-sensor perimeter immediately around the house itself. So, to answer your question, a perimeter breach could be a fishing boat that wandered into our waters. The ocean-side crew would hail them and send them on their way. Or it could be some animal in the forest that set off the motion detectors. There's nothing to worry about, sweetheart."
"I had no idea there were so many different security features in place."
Roth laughed. "You think I'd bring you ashore anywhere on the planet without making sure it was as safe as humanly possible? When we went ashore on St. Thomas, Harris's men were there an hour ahead of us, sweeping everything. They poked into every building, every rooftop, every bathroom and rental counter. They were there when we landed, sweeping ahead of us, and they followed behind us. There was a sniper in place following our every move, as well. Up on a rooftop somewhere, I guess."
"A sniper?"
Roth nodded. "Andrei, I think his name is. Alexei's cousin. There's Sasha out there somewhere too, who is Alexei's brother. I guess when Harris and company stormed the island to get you out, Andrei's brother--Alexei's cousin--was killed. So they all three signed on with Harris, for a chance to get even with the Karahalios clan. Good men to have on our side, but really, really scary fuckers. Men I would not want to have as enemies. Ex-Spetsnaz, I guess."
"Spetz-what?" I asked. I'd heard of it, but I was fuzzy enough to not be able to remember.
"Russian special forces. Like the Navy SEALs."
"I'm glad they're out there, then."
"Me too." He brushed a thumb across my cheekbone. "You should sleep. Ella is bringing your dress tomorrow for the final fitting."
"I haven't made any plans," I said, leaning against his chest.
"I know. I h
ave, though."
I peered up at him, smiling, surprised. "You have?"
He sounded very pleased with himself. "I have. Some very special plans. Which is why you'd better get some sleep, because tomorrow is going to be a long day. Lots to do."
"Like each other?"
He lifted an eyebrow. "If you're good."
I tried to look innocent, the whole wide-eyed blinking look. "And if I'm bad?"
"Don't tempt me, Kyrie. You're too cute to handle when you're this drunk."
"I'm not that drunk," I protested.
He let go of me, and I promptly stumbled. "Oh no?" He turned me around, faced me toward the bed. "I bet you can't make it to the bed without falling."
"And if I do, I get to tie you up and have my way with you. I never got you back for Vancouver, if you remember."
His eyes went hungry. "Ah, Vancouver. A delightful night. I think I still have marks on my back from your fingernails." He bit my earlobe, whispering. "If you make it to the bed without stumbling even once, I will allow you to tie me and do as you wish."
"I'm going to have you tied up for hours." I twisted to glance at him, and somehow ended up sideways, his hands holding me upright. "I'm gonna keep you on the edge of orgasm for so long you'll beg me to let you come."
"You don't have to tie me up to make me beg for you, Kyrie." He unzipped my shorts, letting them fall to the floor. He stripped off my T-shirt, unhooked my bra, and tossed both aside. "All you have to do is get naked and I'll be ready to beg."
Clad in nothing but my underwear, I forced myself upright, focused on the bed, which suddenly seemed to have propagated into more than one bed. Stupid multiplying Tempur-Pedic. Focus. Focus.
I maybe possibly spread my arms out like a tightrope walker, much to Roth's amusement. And then I took a step. A single, very wobbly step. And then another. My arms windmilled, and the world tipped sideways, but I managed to remain upright and take another step. I really wanted to tie up Roth. Dear Jesus, to have him spread-eagled on the bed, hands bound, feet bound, big juicy cock bared and begging for me to play with...? I was all wet just thinking about all the various ways I could torture him. The more I focused on what I could do to Roth, the closer I made it to the bed without stumbling. But shit, when had this room gotten so big?
I could fellate him until he was ready to come, and then stop. And then I could kiss him all over, everywhere except his cock, until he was starting to lose his hard-on, and then I could lick him like an ice cream cone but never actually put my mouth on him. Oh god, that would drive him absolutely nuts. Ha. See what I did there? It'd drive him...nuts? I'm so funny.
And then I was at the bed, triumphant, spinning in place to gloat--which, it turned out, was my downfall. Literally. I fell over and landed sideways on the bed.
"That counts! I made it!" I shouted.
Roth was there, standing beside me, lifting me upright. "You fell, darling. It doesn't count."
"I made it to the bed first!"
He squeezed my nipple between a thumb and forefinger until I gasped. "You fell without touching the bed first. It does not count."
I pouted. "But I want to tie you up."
"Why?" He pinched the other nipple, and then bent to take it in his mouth, suckling until my nipples were both rigid and hypersensitive.
"Because I want to."
"But why do you want to, Kyrie? You know my history regarding being bound."
I let my head tip backward as he sank to his knees, sucking hard on one nipple and then the other, drawing my panties down as he went. I gasped when his tongue touched my clit, momentarily lost my train of thought. "I--um. Because..." I glanced down at him, at his head, blond hair longer than it had ever been, curling around his collar, caressing his temple, brushing over his forehead and in his eyes. He'd grown out a beard, too, which I really liked. It tickled, but it was soft, now. At first it was scratchy--which led to a few weeks of a no-pussy diet for Valentine, but when he insisted it was grown out enough to be soft I let him go down on me again, and Jesus, it was amazing. The tickling made it all the more intense, because it was a counterpoint to the ecstasy of his talented tongue. So now he was long-haired, bearded, rugged. And I liked it. I didn't usually go for the rugged look, but with Roth, anything was sexy as hell.
But looking down at him, I had a memory of him on the old boat, somewhere in the Mediterranean, handcuffed to the bed, naked, crazed, bruised, bloody, wild. And I remembered.
"Because you're mine," I growled. "And I won't let her have any part of you. I want to tie you up so I can take the experience away from her."
I was airborne, twisted, and I bounced down on the bed in a sitting position. He undid his khaki cargo shorts with one hand, and I helped him with his underwear while he peeled off his shirt. I groaned at the sight of his cock, waiting for me. Hard, veined, thick, balls heavy and straining with come, belly flat and grooved with chiseled abs.
He gripped my hips and pulled me closer to him; I wrapped my legs around his waist and gazed up at him as he drove into me. No warning, no gentility. Just one hard thrust and he was balls-deep in me, vivid, piercing cerulean eyes hot as blue flame.
My tits jounced as he fucked me, wordless. He was wild, suddenly. Feral. Primal.
I knew I'd said the right thing.
"You're mine, goddamnit," I hissed. "I'm going to tie you up and I'm going to tease you until you beg me. And then--"
"What?" he demanded, pulling out of me, grabbing me by the hips and twisting me, shoving me with delicious roughness to the bed, pushing me to lean forward, spreading my thighs apart and driving into my pussy from behind. "What are you going to do to me then, Kyrie my love?"
"When you're desperate to come, I'm going to ride you like a fucking wild stallion until you fill my tight wet pussy with your come. And I'm going to leave you tied up, get you hard again, and I'm going to ride you and ride you and ride you. I'm gonna fuck you raw, Valentine. I won't let you touch me even once. Because I'm going to prove to you all over again that you belong to me as much as I belong to you."
"You've proved it, my love." He was moving slowly now. Making love to me with aching, tender gentility. I loved the juxtaposition. Usually from behind he was crazed and primal, and slow and gentle face to face. But this time he was caressing my spine, my shoulders, brushing my blond hair out of the way, cupping my ass cheeks and gripping my hips, his cock gliding in and out of me with a slow, deliberate slide.
Oh fuck, I was close.
He was, too. I stretched out, pushed back into his thrusts. Felt him take my hips at the creases, pulled me into him, my ass crushing against him, providing a thick, bouncy cushion. God, yes. Yes. I knew I was being loud, and I buried my face in the mattress and let myself scream into the comforter as he made sweet slow love to me until I came.
And god, did I come.
But he held out. He waited until I was gasping and trembling before pulling out.
I twisted in place and lay back on the bed, wrapped my legs around him, reached between us and guided him back in. I knew his needs, his rhythms; he needed to look at me when he came, knew that's what I needed too.
I was almost hanging off the bed, just my upper spine and shoulders still supported by the mattress, the rest of my weight held up by my Valentine. He drove into me now in slow hard thrusts, his eyes on mine. I felt him thicken with each thrust as he drew closer and closer to the edge, and when I knew he was right there, I reached up, grabbed him by the neck and pulled him down to me, crushed my lips to his and kissed him with all that I had.
He lost it then. He groaned into the kiss, broke it to rest his forehead between my breasts and thrust into me wildly, all control abandoned.
"I love you," I whispered as he pushed into me again and again. I made it a chant, clutching his head and writhing against him. "IloveyouIloveyouILOVEyou--"
And then he was emptying himself into me with a shout against my skin, sweat slicking his hard flesh, his hot wet seed gushing into me in wave af
ter wave, thrust after thrust. When he was finally spent, he lay on me for a long moment, gasping. I loved the weight of him against me. I caressed his scalp, his neck, his shoulders, his arms, feathered my fingers through his hair and listened to him breathing.
"I'm sober, now," I said, when he lifted up to gaze down at me.
"How do you always know exactly what I need to hear the most, Kyrie?" he whispered, thumbing a stray lock of hair away from my face.
"Because we're one person split into two bodies, Valentine. I know what you need to hear because it's what I need to make you understand, what I need to say to you."
"I love you more than I know how to express, Kyrie."
"You should marry me," I said with a grin. "That will express it pretty damn well."
"Then you'd better get some sleep," he said, his expression going serious. "Because that's happening tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
He nodded, then leaned down and kissed me. "Tomorrow."
I reached up and clung to his neck, squealing in happiness. "I can't wait to be Mrs. Kyrie Roth."
"You want to take my name?" he asked, sounding pleased.
"Well...yeah. Of course I do. I want to be yours in every way there is."
"I know this is a strange time to ask, probably, but...what about children? When this is all sorted, when we can relax and be somewhere permanent, would you consider having children with me?"
I had to swallow hard against a thick hot knot of emotion. He wanted kids? Roth? My Valentine, my sexy, reclusive, billionaire fiance wanted to have children with me?
"When we can be somewhere safe and permanent and there's no threat," I said, blinking against the welling tears in my eyes, "then yes, Valentine, I will have your children."
"Then I have all the more reason to settle this than ever." He scooped me up and set me at the head of the bed with a kiss. He fetched a towel and cleaned his seed away with gentle, loving strokes, and then lay beside me, wrapping me up in his arms.
"Kyrie Abigail Roth."
"That's me," I murmured sleepily, realizing I wasn't quite as sober as I'd thought.
"Tomorrow you become my wife." He sounded as if he couldn't quite believe it.
I felt the same way, but I was too near to sleep to form words. "Mmmm-hmmm," was all I could manage.
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