“If you’d like.”
“In other words, I have a choice? This isn’t a case of you saying, I’m footing the bill, you at least owe me a free look?” She’d find another way to get to Jabberwock if extortion was one of Hare’s tactics for getting her to fall in line.
“You don’t owe me anything, and you always have a choice.” He moved to stand behind her and rested his hands on her hips. His breath was hot on her neck. He was close enough the faint smell of cologne and dry-cleaned clothing penetrated her senses. “Every choice you’ve made has led you to this point, and you always have a say in what you do next.” His voice was quiet, weaving into her thoughts. “However, I am arrogant enough to think you’ll invite me into the dressing room with you.”
“Oh?” She tried to make the question sound aloof and haughty.
“Mhmm.” His tone and confidence seared her skin and sent sparks through her veins, gliding on the receding endorphins of having successfully escaped her attacker. He glided his fingers along her waist. “Because I think you like the idea. I think it sets your nerves on fire. You can almost taste it, like the hint of a memory of sweet on your tongue, and you know it will drive away the tension clawing at your limbs.”
Fuck, he was right. She wasn’t sure if the lust coiling in her belly was driven more by adrenaline or him, but fantasy had skipped several steps ahead. It treated her to images of his fingers gliding over her bare skin, his gaze drinking in her body, as she stripped down in a tiny room with a sales clerk a few feet away on the other side of the door.
“So, my gorgeous ward.” He dragged his nose up the side of her neck, and a chill raced down her spine. “Would you like help trying on your new clothes?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Chapter Eight
Hare guided Reagan into the dressing room and closed the door behind them.
She paused to take it all in. She’d expected a closet-sized space with a mirror and a built-in bench. This room was big enough to fit the leather couch and love seat, along with a rack holding three dresses. A pair of heels sat on the floor beside it, and a mirror lined one wall.
“Reagan?” His voice, abrupt compared to the soft music filling the room, jarred her.
She wasn’t about to admit to being awed by a changing room, after his insistence she didn’t know how to carry herself in certain company. “Just realizing there are no other customers and Monique isn’t far away.”
“So?” He nudged her further inside. “She’s paid not to care. But if it makes you feel better, do your best to bite your tongue, and I’ll try just as hard to make you scream.” Light teasing lined his words.
“Not happening.” It was easier to grasp the playfulness than focus on the rainbow of stresses she couldn’t handle. She could see why he said sex was a good temporary escape from tension. Already, desire spilled inside, burning away the tightness in her neck and shoulders.
“Is it at least a little bit of a turn-on?” His lips vibrated against her skin, as he drew them up her neck. “Thinking about someone being a few feet away, out of sight, but not out of hearing range, and most likely enjoying what she hears?”
“I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself.” Reagan’s skin prickled with the need to be touched, and the coil in her belly unfurled, traveling to her fingertips, toes, and sex. She didn’t know if she’d ever been this aroused from so little contact. But there was no fun in admitting that.
He moved into view, wearing a smirk. He grasped her fingers and pulled her into the middle of the room. As he looked her over, his gaze left the lingering dust of want everywhere it fell. “You can’t try on the dresses if you’re in the old clothes. Shirt off.”
She liked the simplicity of the command. The fact that she didn’t need to question the intent behind it. She stripped off her top and set it aside. Instinct overtook her, and she covered her chest.
“Now you’re timid?” Amusement danced in his eyes. “You don’t strike me as shy. Jeans and sneakers next.”
Wetness pooled between her legs. She stepped from her shoes, pulled off her socks, and then shed her pants. Standing in front of Hare in nothing but her bra and panties, she felt more exposed than at any point in the last couple of days. But the rush of endorphins begged her to keep going, rather than run.
He circled her, looking her over, the appreciative quirk of a smile never fading. This ranked stories above making out in the back seat of a car. Or lying in bed, trying to quietly screw someone, because her roommate slept a door away and had a test in the morning.
This was a rush Reagan could get addicted to.
Hare pointed her toward one of the mirrors. He brushed her ear with his lips. “You’re gorgeous.” His whisper caressed her cheek. She felt fingers on her back, and a second later, the tension loosened on her bra. He held her gaze in the reflection of the mirror, while he slid her bra straps down her arms. “Don’t look away,” he said.
Mirror-her stared back at them, lips slightly parted and cheeks flushed, as mirror-Hare glided his hands up her chest to cup her breasts. Reagan moaned and tried to push closer to the barely-there touch across her nipples. Seeing the blonde stranger wearing her face and mimicking her movements added a new level of sensation to the experience.
He slid her panties down her legs next, lifting one foot at time so she could step out, then setting the underwear with the rest of her clothes. “Sit in the chair and spread your legs.”
“All right, Mister Bossy.”
“Yes, Sir will do fine,” he said. “And think of it as practice for this evening.”
She would roll her eyes at anyone else, for a line like that, but the assurance in his tone glided over her body like a second set of hands. “Except I’m not letting you strip me down in a room full of strangers,” she said.
“Not that room.” He knelt at her feet and looked up at her. “Eyes on the mirror.”
Turning back to their reflections blanketed her in the surreal. As the man in the glass kissed up the inside of the woman’s thigh, Reagan sank into Hare’s mouth sucking along her sensitive skin. She watched mirror-her mimic her squirm, as he drew closer to her core.
When he moved away from the source of her need and worked his way down the other leg, she whimpered and dug her fingers into the arms of the chair. Her hips bucked closer to his touch, but he kept his kisses light and limited to her leg and knee.
Observing the people across from her go through the same things was a new kind of arousing. She found herself thinking of mirror-Hare as a separate person, teasing the other woman. If he decided to grant her release, would Reagan be allowed the same?
Hare moved back up and licked along her pussy. She bit the inside of her cheek, to keep a moan from escaping. He dipped his tongue into her opening, and she squirmed at the needles of pleasure that raced over her.
“Fuck, you taste amazing.” He probed her inner walls, drawing her closer to the edge of climax with each thrust of his tongue.
She didn’t dare reply. What little control of her vocal chords she had was focused on not crying out. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, wanting to fall into this moment as herself, and not share it with a reflection.
When he moved his thumb to her clit, she arched her back, to grind into his touch. He pushed in, drawing tight circles around the swollen button. Her breath came in short gasps. She was vaguely aware of squeaking or maybe groaning, but she wanted to dive into his touch.
Her ass came off the chair, as orgasm crashed through her. She pressed into his attentions and knotted her fingers in his hair, holding him close.
She writhed until her body couldn’t take any more, and then she jerked away from him. A shudder racked her, then another, as he kissed the tender flesh before pulling away.
Her throat was raw, and her head swam. It took her a moment to open her eyes. The entire time, he traced lazy circles along her leg.
“I had a feeling I could make you scream.” He looked up at her with a sl
y smile.
Did she? Heat might have flooded her, but she was too flushed to tell the difference. “Point for you.” Her word came out as a dry croak. In the back of her mind, the incident from earlier, with the gunman, tried to rush back. The cloud of euphoria filling her thoughts kept it at bay.
He pulled a foil packet from his wallet, and it took her a moment to realize it was a wet-wipe. He cleaned her, his gentle ministrations enough to make her buck, and tossed the tissue away.
“You have dresses to try on.” He stood and offered her a hand.
She accepted. “If you insist.” There was no fight in her. She was happy to linger in this pocket of bliss.
He pulled a hanger from the rack and held the black dress in front of her. “This one first.”
She stepped into the outfit and tugged it on. The fabric was soft. If she wore anything underneath, there would be lines. The black knit was sleeveless, and followed her curves down to end at her knees.
He stepped behind her and zipped up the back, then handed her the heels. She rose by three inches when she stepped into them.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Mirror-her stared back, judging and appraising. The familiar gaze traveling over her, then moving back to meet her own. “I barely recognize me.”
“I know exactly who you are, even if you haven’t figured it out yet.”
She whirled at the odd words, ready to question him.
“You look stunning.” He spoke before she could. He pulled the handkerchief from his jacket pocket, flicked it once to unfurl it, then rolled it up. He reached behind her head, and used the fabric to tie her hair back. “And that’s simply elegant. Every eye in the room will be on you tonight.”
“That doesn’t seem like a good thing.” She kept her laugh light.
“It is. You’re hiding in plain sight. Except there’s nothing plain about you. High cheekbones”—he followed her jaw and up to her brow—”captivating eyes, a cute button nose”—he trailed his finger along her bottom lip, eliciting a sigh—”and full lips I’d love to see around my cock.”
She cleared her throat and raised her brows in disbelief.
He grasped her wrist and lowered her hand to trace his erection through his slacks. “Is this more direct?” he asked.
“I wasn’t questioning what you meant.” She liked the teasing.
He guided her to slide down his zipper. “And you haven’t said no yet.”
“I haven’t.” She dropped to her knees. That they were doing this in an almost-public place was wicked, but wearing the dress and heels made her feel filthy in the best possible way. She wrapped her hand around his shaft, to free him, and he groaned and leaned into her grip.
As she pumped, she looked up to find him watching her, eyelids half-closed. She drew her tongue along the head of his cock, before taking him in her mouth.
He thrust against her, hitting the back of her throat, and grasped her ponytail. The urgency and control in his grip tingled across her skin, making her wet again. This was the right kind of raunchy and fun.
Salt danced on her tongue as she licked his shaft. He held her head captive, fucking her face, grunts tearing from his throat.
“Your mouth feels so good.” His voice had dropped an octave, words coming out in a rumbling growl.
She moaned and widened her eyes, watching him watch her. She paused long enough to say, “I want to taste you.”
“Fuck.” He gasped the word and increased his pace. He tightened his grip until her scalp stung.
A dull ache spread through her knees, but she didn’t care. She sucked harder. A new kind of desperation welled inside. An intense need to finish him. To please him.
He jerked, and a warm spurt hit the back of her throat. And then another. She whimpered in delight as he came in her mouth. His frantic rhythm slowed, before he stopped.
She licked him clean as she pulled away, smirking in self-satisfaction, he shuddered each time she drew her tongue or lips over his cock.
He helped her stand, pulled the handkerchief from her hair, and wiped a stray drop from her chin. “Absolutely stunning,” he said.
This was a different kind of terrifying than being chased by men with guns. This screwed with her thoughts and distracted her and made her want to surrender control, which seemed like a bad idea on normal days. Given her current circumstances, it was outright dangerous.
But—so help her—she was rapidly becoming addicted to the rush that came with the kind of sex Hare offered, and the calm that settled over her after. It helped her push everything into the background for a few minutes.
As long as she remembered it was only a temporary distraction, that she couldn’t live there all the time, the momentary lapses from reality were fine.
Chapter Nine
Reagan was grateful that, despite Hare’s earlier assurance, the entire room didn’t turn to watch them as they entered. In contrast to this morning, she didn’t feel underdressed. She had no illusions she’d fit in here on her own, however.
She kept her hand hooked in the crook of Hare’s elbow, telling herself she was only doing it for appearances, not because she needed something to hold onto, and not believing the lie.
The conversations around them were quiet enough she heard the tap of her heels on the hardwood and the clink of glasses on tables polished so brightly, they reflected the people sitting at them.
At the far end of the room, a bar spanned the length of the wall. An almost-rainbow of colors lined the top, glasses filled with liquid that ranged from pale beige to the deepest violet. Numbered bottles sat on the shelf behind the bartender, their contents matching the poured wine.
She wanted to pluck one up, down the wine in a single gulp, and move to the next.
Hare handed her a glass and leaned in, his mouth near her ear. “Possibly the only time you’ll ever hear me say this—spit, don’t swallow.” He pulled back and nodded at a bucket sitting in the middle of a nearby table.
She gave him a tight smile. “Thanks. I know how that bit works.” She kept her tone low and sweet, despite the sarcasm she wanted to pour into her response.
“Rules,” was all he said.
Right. This wasn’t meant to be insulting, but he would assume she knew nothing. “I’m sorry...” Her voice stuck in her throat when they turned to face the room and she saw a familiar face. Hatter. He watched them from across the room.
Her stomach churned, and her hand shook. She dug her fingers deeper into Hare’s arm and steadied herself.
“What’s wrong?” Hare followed her gaze. “Isn’t he the reason you’re here? Or is reality just sinking in?” He spoke with a conversational cadence, so quietly only she’d hear the words.
That didn’t mean what he said made any sense. “I’m here because—”
“One of Jabberwock’s top men is meeting with a potential client tonight.” Hare nodded at Hatter. “He’s that top man.”
She wanted to retreat. Crawl under a table. Turn on her toe and bolt out the door. Hatter’s stare held hers, freezing her feet to the floor.
She wanted to look away, but if she did, Hatter would evaporate again. He was the enemy? “So he knows Jabberwock.” She wasn’t sure if she wanted to down the drink in her hand or was grateful she hadn’t had any yet to sour her insides. She set the glass on a nearby table instead.
Hare made a tsk sound with his tongue. “No one knows Jabberwock. Not that they could tell you. He works through his representatives. Rumor is, if you realize you’ve met him, that’s when you draw your last breath. He could be anyone. Fuck. You could be him, and no one would ever know.”
“I really couldn’t.” Every impulse in Reagan’s head screamed run. She wasn’t sure if it was from Hatter or Hare
Hare shrugged. “Anyway. Hatter is one of his primary representatives.”
Oh God. Her legs threatened to give out. She’d screwed him the night Wayne died. Had he been sent to take care of her, too? Why was she still alive? She�
��d never found pictures. In all her research, it wasn’t just Jabberwock whose face was hidden. No one had evidence of any of his people. “You don’t know for sure that’s true.”
“I do.” Hare’s response came without hesitation. “Because I’m one too.”
Reagan’s head spun, and her world dropped out beneath her. She was vaguely aware of Hare helping her into a nearby seat and taking the spot next to her. She must have misunderstood what he meant. “You’re one what?”
He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned close, leaving only a few inches between them. “One of Jabberwock’s representatives.”
Jesus-fuck-me-shit. “You lying asshole. You fucked me under false pretenses, you—” There was something more important to worry about. Reagan struggled to draw breath. The walls were closing in around her. “Then he knows where I am.” Stating the obvious helped ground her. Gave her a leaping-off point to figure out next steps. The problem was, the leap took her into nothingness. She had no idea what she was supposed to do.
“He has for a while,” Hare said.
“Then why am I still alive?”
“Because I’m here.” He spoke as if it were the only obvious answer. “I’m on your side. None of his people need to know that, it’s between you and me, but as long as you’re with me, they won’t touch you.”
She needed a similar plan to when she was almost abducted after brunch, but to execute it this time. Find a moment when he wasn’t looking, and run. Hare let his guard down around her before; it would happen again. Until then, she’d see how much information he gave her, and assume at least half of it was meant to deceive. “What about at the church? The restaurant? Why was someone sent to kill me?”
“I don’t have that information. I don’t think it was on his command, but we’re each privy only to our own orders. This is a really bad place to be discussing this, by the way.”
Reagan Through the Looking Glass (Hacking Wonderland, #1) Page 6
