The Wanderer's Children

by L. G. O'Connor

  His eyes widened in surprise, not expecting to see a gold ring threaded through each of her tawny nipples. They hadn’t been there in his dreams. How could he have missed them earlier underneath the clingy dress?

  The piercings fascinated him, sending a bolt of heat straight down to his already overengorged cock. He licked his lips, needing to touch the rings with his tongue and feel the metal in his mouth.

  “Very sexy,” he whispered.

  He took a sip of the wine. Taking her nipple into his mouth, he bathed it in the cool liquid, sticking the tip of his tongue through the ring and tugging it gently. Sienna rocked back and let out a moan of pleasure.

  She grasped his face between her hands and pulled him up to meet her eyes. “Michael, I want you inside of me. Right now.” Her throaty voice was deep with desire.

  “That can be arranged…” he growled and reached under the seat cushion to retrieve the condom he’d stashed there earlier.

  “Give me that,” she said, adding “please” as almost an afterthought. She sat up and snatched the condom from his hand.

  She was much more passive in my dreams, he thought with a shiver. Sharing control wasn’t one of his strong suits.

  “Wait,” he said and drew her dress over her head, removing it completely. “I want to look at you.” He caressed her with his eyes. She was so beautiful to him.

  She blushed and glanced down. “As good as your dreams?”

  He tipped her chin up. “Even better.”

  She broke into a seductive smile and tugged on his shirttail. “Lose this.”

  Removing his remaining clothes, he stood naked before her. She reached around to cup his behind and pulled him closer. Taking him firmly in her grip, she swallowed him whole, bathing him in wet heat. He clutched the back of the loveseat in a death grip and fought back the urge to plunge in deeper.

  Does she realize what she’s doing to me?

  Then she ripped open the foil and unrolled the condom onto him. Now packaged and ready to go, she reclined back onto the loveseat.

  Standing, Michael wrapped her legs around his hips. His heart rate accelerated as he looked at her opened up to him, glistening and ready. He eased himself inside, and she cried out as he entered her. Drawing in a sharp breath, he shuddered from the sensation of her tight warmth around him.

  “You feel fantastic,” she moaned, breathless.

  “Mmm… so do you.” His fingers held her thighs firmly apart as he stood rocking inside of her, filling her with every inch he had to give. Slowly building his rhythm, he rotated his hips seeking out her special spot to give her as much pleasure as possible.

  Dreams aside, nothing compared to his need to make love to her and prove his worth. On a primal level, he craved this down to his soul. Burying himself inside her, he stroked her again and again.

  Her body tensed. “Oh, Michael!” she cried, her orgasm rhythmically pulsing around him. To hear her scream his name filled him with deep satisfaction.

  Increasing his pace, all he needed to do was look down at her beautiful body connected to his and he found his release.

  He quivered in unison with her, his knees going weak from the intensity. Standing paralyzed while the sensation held him enraptured, he shuddered one last time before it subsided. He gazed down at Sienna, disbelieving she was really here with him after all those months. Months wasted because of his stupidity.

  With a satisfied smile on her lips and a seductive look in her half-closed eyes, she ran her fingers along his arm. “Can we do that again?”

  He whispered, “You can count on it.” He was by no means done for the evening. His plan was to keep making love to her until either he couldn’t get it up or his dick fell off.

  Still inside her, he dipped down and picked her up. Her legs still wrapped around his waist, she threw her arms around his neck. He kissed her deeply, carrying her into the bedroom.

  Laying her on the bed, he pulled out and stepped away to dispose of the condom before settling down next to her. Drawing her over onto his chest, he stroked her long, smooth hair.

  “That was amazing,” he said and kissed the top of her head.

  “As good as the dreams?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “Better.” He tensed then asked, “Did I live up to your expectations?”

  She squeezed him. “Absolutely… you were fantastic,” she said, lifting her head to meet his eyes. “Don’t ever doubt yourself, Michael, especially with me.”

  Her words were unexpected and they warmed him; a strange tingling sensation traveled along his spine. He pulled her closer and gave her a soft kiss on the lips. “You inspire me, you know that?” Contentment settled over Michael, all his weeks of worry… gone. The feel of Sienna next to him was as natural to him as breathing, like she belonged there.

  And they hadn’t traded a single insult.

  They rested for a moment in each other’s arms.

  “Can I talk you into a shower?” he asked softly.

  “Sure,” she said and then burst out into laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, wrinkling his eyebrows.

  She rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows. A look of mischief danced in her sky-blue eyes. “I’m just thinking about the look on your face the day I found out you were an underwear model.”

  “Ugh,” he groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Yeah, thanks for one of life’s most mortifying moments.”

  She tugged his hand gently away from his face. “Hey, why were you so mortified? It’s not like you were a porn star. I work with models all day long. They’re good people and it’s a respectable career.”

  He shook his head, refusing to answer or meet her eyes. The modeling campaign wasn’t the part that had upset him. It was the way she’d belittled him and the “pretty boy” comment that had gotten under his skin. She’d played right into his deepest insecurities. Same thing when she’d accused him of being gay. In his former line of work, he’d had plenty of gay friends, but the accusation made him feel like his inadequacies were visible when it came to women. That he had no chance of living up to his father’s image…

  “Well, here’s where I apologize,” she said, glancing down at his crotch. “I’m sorry I attacked your ‘manhood’ that day. There’s more than enough of you to make any woman happy.”

  He groaned again, his face flaming as he rolled over and gave her his back.

  Sienna rolled him back over and batted her thick black lashes at him. “What did I say?”

  Blushing, he lowered his eyes and the side of his mouth pulled up in a shy smile. “I’m embarrassed.”

  She tsked and gave him a look that said, “I’m so not buying what you’re selling.” “Oh, please. You’re hot, so stop trying to pretend you’re above it all. You seem ashamed. Why?”

  Leave it to Sienna to call things exactly as she sees them, he thought and sighed. “Would you believe me if I told you it bothers me when people judge me based only on my looks? I worked hard at Yale, and I think of myself as a scholar… like my father. Modeling was always a means to an end for me. It’s just how I made money from the time I turned sixteen. I’ve wanted to open a dojo since I was a kid. That’s always been my dream… to teach.”

  She searched his eyes. “It would be hard for anyone who knew you to think less of you for choosing to model for a living.” Reaching up, she traced his lips with her fingertip. “The pictures were fantastic, Michael. I saw them. You owned that camera.”

  He froze. “You saw the campaign pictures?” Conflicting emotions rolled through him. He didn’t know if he should be angry or ecstatic. Her admission made him feel vulnerable and exposed.

  She touched his cheek and smiled warmly. “Yeah. I have them. You did a phenomenal job with that campaign.”

  His mouth hung slightly open until the realization hit him that she truly appreciated his work. A smile slowly crept onto his lips and an overwhelming feeling of pride tugged at him.

  His hand reached
up to capture hers. He closed his eyes and kissed each of her fingertips. “Thank you,” he whispered and meant it.

  “While I’m apologizing and whatnot, I never thanked you for making me eggs that morning in Connecticut,” she said softly.

  He opened his eyes and smiled. “Two apologies? I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead. Ready to take that shower now?”

  The bathroom had a walk-in shower large enough to host an orgy. Tempted to go for round two under the hot spray, they settled for some heavy foreplay and giving each other a full body lather and rinse before Michael shut off the water. Grabbing towels from the rack, they dried themselves and each took a robe off the back of the bathroom door.

  Sienna wrapped her hair up in a towel and slipped into a robe. Sneaking up behind her, Michael gave her a kiss on the base of her neck before he swept her up into his arms. She giggled as he carried her back into the bedroom and placed her on the bed.

  A tweeting sound came from Sienna’s purse signaling a new text. She looked at him. “Let me see who that is.” Crawling across the bed, she retrieved the cell phone from her purse on the nightstand as Michael flopped down next to her on the bed.

  She looked at the message, laughed, and then handed it to Michael. It was a text from Cara: FOUND THE NOTE. LET ME GUESS. YOU’RE OFF SOMEWHERE HAVING HOT SEX WITH MICHAEL, AREN’T YOU? YOU LITTLE MINX! BE GENTLE WITH HIM AND MAKE SURE YOU DON’T MISS BRUNCH TOMORROW AND THAT HE SHOWS UP TOMORROW NIGHT LIKE HE’S SUPPOSED TO! C

  “Going somewhere?” she asked him.

  A smile played on his lips as he read Cara’s text. He looked up and answered, “Yeah, we’re all meeting over dinner to prepare for our business trip on Wednesday.” Cara had told Sienna he moonlighted at Simon’s private security company.

  Sienna arched a brow. “I’ll be right back.” She trotted out to the living room and came back with a deck of cards. Holding them up, she asked, “Are you tired?”

  “Not particularly,” he said, glancing at the cards, curious about her intentions. She must have gotten them from the game table by the television.

  “I have an idea.”

  “It’s a little late for strip poker,” he teased.

  “No kidding. I’ve already seen the show. And what a show it was, but if you want any more, you’ll have to play for it.”

  He propped himself up on his elbow, curious. “Okay, I’ll bite. What do you mean?”

  She gave him a sly smile. “We play for points. Each hand is worth a point, and each point is worth two minutes. You can redeem your points in two ways. Ten points for foreplay and twenty for sex, or you can use each point in minutes for anything else. Points can be used for something you want me to do to you, or something you want to do to me.”

  He looked at her sideways, wondering about the catch and sensing there had to be one. “Sounds like a win-win.”

  “Could be, but you don’t get to choose what I do with my points—I do. That means I’m in control,” she said, giving him a wicked look.

  Oh. His mouth went bone dry, feeling exposed and psychologically naked. Never great at poker, his expression gave him away. The thought of having her do what she wanted was both hot and frightening. Unconsciously, he tightened the tie on his robe.

  “You don’t like to give up control, do you?” she asked with a mischievous grin.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because if I looked up the word uptight in the dictionary, I might find your picture.” There was no malice in her tone, just brutal honesty.

  “That’s a little harsh.” He frowned, slightly offended.

  She sat Indian-style on the bed and started to deal the cards. Once a full hand was dealt, she looked up and smiled innocently. “Is it?” Picking up her hand, she arranged her cards. “We’re playing Twenty-One. You’d better get cracking, or I’m going to have more points to do with you what I will.” She removed the pad of paper and pencil on the nightstand and placed them next to her to keep score.

  His mouth hung slightly open, he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t figure out if he was pissed, annoyed, or just plain turned on. A competitor at heart, he wasn’t about to let her win.

  Snatching up his cards, he arranged them in his hand. Michael had a feeling he’d just met his match, in more ways than one.

  Chapter 36

  IRENE

  New York City. Roof Party. Sunday, May 26, 1:45 AM ET

  IRENE WAS ON HER third glass of champagne when she turned away from the bar and lost her footing, slamming hard into a solid wall of muscled man. Her champagne flew up and out of her glass in a spectacular bubbly spray, splashing them both. Assessing the damage, she wished for a black hole to come swallow her up.

  “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, mindlessly rubbing her cocktail napkin over her chest. “¡Hijo de puta!” she said, cursing under her breath. She needed to slow down on the drinks.

  “¿Siempre usas groserias en español?” he asked her.

  “No, I don’t always swear in Spanish. It just depends on my mood. Sometimes I pick Farsi,” she replied as heat rose up her neck. Swearing in other languages somehow seemed less rude. Unless, of course, the person you swore in front of happened to speak the same language.

  Her gaze slowly traveled up the tall tree of a man standing inches in front of her, over the wet patch of champagne on his shirt, up to the amused face of the caramel-colored god she’d seen at the concert sitting a few seats down from her. She’d overheard Cara call him Paco earlier. The same height and build as Simon, he was massive and gorgeous with short, dark hair and molten brown eyes the color of dark chocolate.

  “Ay Dios mío,” she mumbled and shook her head, continuing to wipe away the wetness from her chest. Of all the people she could have spilled her drink on, did it have to be the hottest man at the party? And that was saying something, considering the amount of hard muscle per square foot jamming up the roof deck.

  He laughed. “Can I get you another drink, niña bonita?”

  Irene blushed at the warmth in his voice and at being called a pretty girl. “Sure, why not?” She smiled at him shyly, hoping he didn’t notice her rosy cheeks.

  Placing his large hand on the small of her back, he gently turned her back around to face the bar. Resting his body up against hers, he put one arm on her shoulder while he waved the other over her head to get the bartender’s attention.

  Leaning down, he asked, “Another champagne?”

  She nodded. The warmth of him behind her and his lips close to her ear nearly sent her into apoplectic shock; her body quivered at his closeness. Typically, she kept company with the DC milquetoast variety of male. This guy was definitely on the other end of the spectrum. Built like a WWC wrestler, he oozed enough sex appeal to combust her panties.

  “Champagne for the señorita, and a Dos Equis.” His voice had a silky, smooth quality.

  Maybe I’m drunker than I thought, she mused, because this guy is making me swoon.

  With the two drinks in his hands, Paco directed her over to a pair of chairs at the side of the deck and waited for her to be seated before handing her the glass of champagne.

  Sitting down next to her, he tapped his beer bottle to her glass. “To a pretty girl with a sharp tongue,” he said with a twisted smile.

  After taking a swig of beer, he put down the bottle and reached his hand out to introduce himself. “I’m Paco.”

  She smiled as her hand disappeared inside of his. “Irene.”

  “You speak Spanish… and Farsi.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  “Those are two of the ten languages I speak.”

  He tipped his head in admiration. “That’s a lot of languages.”

  “I’m a linguist for the State Department. You could say it’s what I do for a living.” She took a sip from her glass. “Do you work for Simon?”

  Paco stifled a laugh, and shook his head no. “I’m retired, but freelance through Angel Benitez. I’m currently working on Brett King’s securi
ty team.”

  “You look a little young to be retired…”

  He just shrugged.

  “But you know Simon?”

  He shrugged again. “Of course. But I’ve only had the pleasure of meeting him recently.”

  Hmm, she thought. Sounds like he hasn’t known Simon any longer than Cara. She filed that tidbit away.

  “So, you live in California with Brett?” she asked.

  Attempting a little more intelligence couldn’t hurt, could it? Maybe she could find out something that would help Simon and Cara. As for Creep and Creepier, Caswell had called this morning to let her know neither of the tracking devices seemed to be working, suggesting the penthouse could be protected by a sophisticated signal jammer. Beyond what she’d planted in the library, she hadn’t had the desire to plant anything else—that was tomorrow’s task. Since Cara didn’t seem to be in imminent danger, Irene left all of her spy equipment back at the penthouse. Alcohol definitely helped her to relax as she pushed off the execution of her plan. Giving herself a small pat on the back for waiting, she gained an added benefit: chances were low that a satellite was trained on her right now from space, capturing the scene of her mooning over someone who the NSA might consider associated with terrorists.

  He gave her an intense look. “You sure ask a lot of questions.”

  She blushed again and looked away. “Sorry, I’m just making conversation.”

  It surprised her when he reached out and gently touched her cheek sending a flood of heat through her body. “It’s okay. I haven’t had the pleasure of spending time with such a pretty lady in a long time. I’m forgetting my manners. Forgive me?”

  It should be illegal to look that edible, she thought. Suddenly shy, she said, “I don’t want to keep you if you’re working tonight.”

  “I’m off-duty until tomorrow morning unless Brett decides to leave the building.” He cocked his head and gave her a rakish smile. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”