Hot as Hell

by Monette Michaels

  “Good.” He expelled a harsh breath. “I’m gonna take care of it.” His face was red and sweaty from the control he exerted while building her need once again.

  “Yes-s-s-s… good… so bloody good.” A syncopated pulsing began inside her pussy. His cock throbbed in counterpoint to her sheath squeezing him. She arched into his body, taking his cock so deeply it bumped her cervix. “Ahh.” She winced at the flash of pain which quickly dissipated.

  A slap to the outside of her hip startled her. But even that sharp bite of pain also added to the pleasure climbing toward an explosive peak.

  “What?” She blinked at him.

  “You hurt yourself.” He settled both hands on her hips. “I’m holding the reins here.” A muscle in his jaw pulsed and his arms bulged. “Later, I’ll take you as roughly and deeply as you want. Right now—”

  He threw his head back and closed his eyes as she clamped down on his cock, but still he managed to hold onto his control. “I’m makin’ love to my woman… my small, tight, sex-starved woman.”

  Dawn laughed, then sobbed her pleasure as Sam began a steady thrusting of his hips. “God, luv. Faster.” She slapped at his shoulder.

  “Fuck, yeah.” Sam lowered her onto the bed until she was flat on her back. Then he braced himself over her and pounded into her until her breasts bounced wildly and the bed thumped against the wall.

  With each downstroke, he ground his pubic bone over her clit, causing her to gasp at the piercing ecstasy. When he pulled out, she mewled at the loss. Gasp. Mewl. Gasp. Mewl. The cycle repeated at an ever increasing speed until once again fevered bliss and Sam were her only realities.

  “God, you feel so fucking good.” Sam placed biting kisses along her jaw and then sucked her ear lobe between his lips. When she moved a hand to rub then pinch his nipple in return, he muttered, “Little hellcat,” and he teethed the lobe he suckled.

  Her breath hitched and she arched her neck, giving him full access to her throat and very sensitive ears.

  “Is that a hot spot, little cat?” He licked along the rim of her ear and then lightly bit the lobe.

  “Yes-s-s,” she hissed as he nipped his way to the other ear.

  “Good.” He lovingly tormented her other lobe, then kissed and sucked his way to a nipple where he teethed the ring.

  The tug on her nipples was like a shot of electricity straight to her core. She cried out and arched into his touch.

  “Love these.” He took her nipple into his mouth and tongued the ring. Her pussy spasmed with each flick of his agile tongue. “I’m gonna buy you diamonds for these tasty little buds.”

  “Sam… so… so close.” She arched her body into each of his thrusts now. “I… need…”

  “This.” Sam pummeled her hips just as he lifted one hand to thumb then tug on the nipple ring.

  Dawn couldn’t breathe. The bite of pain exacerbated the pressure escalating inside her. Her world view had narrowed to pure sensation. The feel of his cock dragging along overly sensitized nerves inside her pussy. The piercing pleasure-pain concentrated in the little bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. The brush of rough chest hair over her tender nipples. The scent of their combined musks as their heated bodies threw off pheromones. The feel of sweat on her skin as she strove to reach her peak and then dive into free fall. The sound of Sam’s grunts and groans and his muttered “so sweet, so fucking sweet” harmonizing with her gasps and cries as they sought the ultimate pleasure—together.

  Then in one perfect moment, the mundane sensory world disappeared, blasted out of her consciousness, and was replaced with a tsunami of pure pleasure. She thought she screamed his name, but after that, all words… language… failed her. All she could do was moan, mewl, and sigh as her body was taken over by a force more powerful than her will.

  As she was tossed about on a sea of pleasure, Sam roared her name and joined her in free fall. Their orgasms fed upon one another, dipping and swirling, for what seemed like an eternity.

  Floating down from one of the highest highs she’d ever experienced, she heard Sam crooning against her neck. “Love this. So precious. My little cat. So perfect.”

  Her arms feeling strangely boneless, she stroked his back as they lay face-to-face. They were still connected, his cock, amazingly, still hard inside her. He anchored her to him, his arms around her body, as if he never wanted to let go, never wanted to be separated again.

  “Can we stay like this forever?” She kissed his sweaty chest and then snuggled her face against his shoulder. She inhaled his scent and moaned. “Yummy. So addictive.”

  Sam laughed. The sensation rumbled over her body, touching her everywhere, inside and out.

  “Sweetheart, I’m glad you find me addictive, and I’m willing to stay just like this.” He nuzzled some hair off her forehead and followed the move with a gentle kiss. “But I don’t think Maddox could send us out on jobs this way.”

  The image of chasing bad guys while nude and connected at the hip had Dawn giggling so hard, she snorted into his chest. Sam held her through her fit of giggles, petting her back and arse in long, slow strokes.

  When she finally caught her breath, she found him smiling at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed in bed before. I like it. I like you, too, Sam Crocker. My MacCrocker and sometimes my Crock-of-shit.”

  Sam held her chin and brushed kisses over her face. Pausing, he whispered against her forehead, “That’s when I knew I had to have you.”

  “When was that, luv?” She turned her face into his palm and kissed it.

  “In Belize, when you hissed at me like the cutest little cat and called me names.” He took her mouth in a gentle, but no less hungry kiss.

  Dawn returned the kiss, which grew deeper and more ravenous until they both moaned and pulled away.

  “Jesus, sweetheart,” Sam said. “You go to my head like good shine.”

  “Shine?” She scrunched her nose.

  “Moonshine.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Homemade grain alcohol, guaranteed to knock you on your sweet ass.”

  “Hmmm—” She massaged his shoulders and then smoothed her hands up and down his strongly muscled arms. His cock was hard and throbbing inside her again. His recovery time was impressive.

  Her internal clock told her the real world would intrude soon, but first—“Let me take care of this hard problem you seem to have.” She clamped her vaginal muscles around his thick shaft.

  Sam raised his head. His silver grey eyes had darkened to pewter. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna be sore.”

  Dawn patted his cheek. “I’ll live. I want you, Sam. I want to sit at that card table tonight and still feel you inside me.”

  “Little cat,” he breathed out and then took her lips with a deep, ravenous kiss before breaking off. “My hellcat.”

  Her Marine, his gaze fixed on her face, pulled her top leg up and over his hips, then began the rhythmic hip movement that could only end in their mutual pleasure once more. As Dawn fell under the sway of his lovemaking, she let go of all thoughts of perverted sheiks, dead poisonous snakes, traitors, and what tonight might bring and replaced them with fantasies of a future when Sam said the words that matched his actions.

  When he gave her the words, she’d tell him she loved him, too.

  Chapter 10

  March 3rd, 7:45 p.m.

  Dawn checked her image in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. “Bloody hell, I look like a bleeding prostitute.”

  The dress was tight, tighter than anything she’d ever worn. So tight, she couldn’t wear a bra or even knickers. The color was blush pink, a color so light she looked as if she wasn’t wearing anything at all.

  It was too late now to find something else to wear. Later, she’d definitely have a few choice words for Keely about this little outfit. The dress belonged to Keely. Something told Dawn that Ren had ordered his wife to get rid of the dress.

  Hindsight said Dawn should’ve tried it on before she left Cartagena
.

  Balancing precariously on four-inch heels, she made her way out of the bathroom. A longing glance at the rumpled bed brought back memories of all the lovely, delicious things Sam had done to her body hours earlier—and while he hadn’t actually told her he loved her, he’d shown her with every touch, every glance.

  Dawn sighed. She hadn’t liked waking up from her much-needed nap to an alarm—and alone with only a note for company. The note said “You needed your rest. If I’d stayed that wouldn’t have happened. I’ll be watching over you this evening. Stay safe, little cat. – Sam.”

  Her first sort of love note from a man. A very special man. She’d tucked the missive in her passport for safe-keeping.

  Time to go to work. Tapping at her diamond-studded smart watch, she activated her com system and the camera in her necklace. “Systems check.”

  “Hey, Dawn.” Ren’s voice.

  Her mood sank. Where was Sam?

  “I hear you loud and clear,” Ren said. “Camera shows a nice image of the door of your suite. We’ll adjust the angle of the camera feed once you’re seated at the Baccarat table.”

  “Roger that. You’re also coming across loud and clear. Is Conn in place?” she asked.

  “Conn’s at the table, sweetheart.” Sam’s deep voice and the loving way he said “sweetheart” sent a flush of recalled pleasure over her body. “I’ve told him his job is to protect your sweet ass. Let him.”

  “I can take care of myself, luv.” Her response was a knee-jerk one, a sop to her hard-worn position in a man’s world. But, in reality, she understood why Sam said what he had—he cared. So she’d cut her man some slack. They were still new, feeling their way into a relationship. Eventually, he’d learn she wasn’t foolhardy or wild and that she only took on risks she could handle. “Is Keely monitoring our communications?”

  “Not on this frequency, but we can pull her in, if needed,” Ren answered. “She’s monitoring intelligence chatter, real-time satellite images, and the eyes and ears we have on MacLean’s estate. She’s also backing up resort security on running facial recognition on the day’s video feed from the resort security cameras, trying to find Lloyd.”

  Ron, the fucking wanker—she couldn’t even get rid of him even after she’d quit. “Hope Keely finds the arsehole.”

  “She will. Now, get down to the casino,” Ren said, his tone almost pleading. “Conn’s losing his shirt at Baccarat. Don’t you lose yours.”

  Dawn snorted. “Wouldn’t make much difference with what I’m wearing. Tell your wife I get to vet all my undercover costume choices in the future before I leave for an assignment.”

  “Shit”—Ren spoke over Sam’s shouted “What the fuck?”—“which dress of hers did she lend you?”

  “You’ll see in a second.” Dawn opened her suite door, entered the hall, and closed the door behind her, making sure it locked. Then she slowly turned toward the security camera nearest her room and blew them a kiss.

  “Fuck,” Ren snarled. “Ass in the fucking chair, Sam. It’s too fucking late now. She has to get the fuck downstairs. Fucking Benrabi is due to show up with the fucker MacLean in tow. Dawn needs to fucking be there or we lose this opportunity.”

  Entering the elevator, Dawn snickered. Since she was alone, it was safe to comment. “That was a bleeding bunch of fucks, mate.”

  “That’s because I clearly remember telling my lovely wife to burn that dress,” Ren responded.

  “Um, this is an Herve Leger, Ren.”

  “That’s exactly what she told me and my reply was—”

  “Fuck Leger?” Dawn filled in the blank.

  “Yeah.” Ren’s chuckle was half-laugh, half-snarl.

  “Guess she thought giving it to me was a better choice than throwing it away.” Dawn blew out a breath. “Well, it will definitely draw Benrabi and his friend MacLean’s attention. But I am not leaving the casino without Conn at my side, covering my scantily clad arse.”

  “Damn straight. If not Conn, we’ll get one of Theo’s security people to shadow you,” Sam added, his tone as stern and sober as a judge.

  “Yes, Sam.” Normally, Dawn would resent the waves of testosterone-induced over-protectiveness coming from him and Ren, but in this instance, she agreed with their concern. This dress had been designed to make men’s blood boil … to cause riots. There were too many hot-blooded Latinos at this resort—she must’ve rejected half of them at the pool this morning— and she really didn’t want to defend her virtue if she didn’t have to.

  The elevator dinged for the casino floor. Dawn inhaled and let out a breath. “Here goes nothing. Wish me luck.”

  “Luck, little cat. We’ll be following you on the monitors from the elevator to the table. There are no blind spots in the casino.” Sam’s voice was calm and all business now that this part of the op was in progress.

  “Just an update,” Ren said. “Besides the Aruban law officer acting as a waitress, Theo put one of his security people at your table as croupier.”

  Dawn hummed an “uh-huh.”

  Men were such worriers. She’d had fewer safeguards in place when she’d walked the docks of Marseilles as a hooker in an attempt to attract the attention of the drug-trafficking cartel leader. Shit had happened. She’d handled it.

  Her current outfit was a glorified success if the responses of the men she’d passed were any indication. She smiled at a security guard who inclined his head as she walked by him and then casually began to follow her.

  “Conn has arranged it so you’ll sit and immediately be offered the Bank. Your Bank will have half a million dollars, USD. That should allow you to play for as long as it takes us to get MacLean’s DNA,” Ren offered. “Hopefully, it won’t take long.”

  Dawn mentally snorted. She was a damn good card player and wouldn’t lose Ren’s—or whomever’s—money. As she approached the elevated section where the Baccarat table was located, she swept the area for trouble, and found nothing that made her neck itch. She then mounted four steps.

  Theo was acting as the floor man for the area. He opened the golden rope closing off the table from the common people who’d never think about dropping $10,000 on a single bet, let alone play several hands at that high-dollar amount.

  “Welcome, Lady Wilson.” Theo inclined his head. His appreciative gaze took her in from top to bottom and back again. “You look very lovely this evening. Quite fetching.”

  “Thank you.” She slipped him a twenty and spoke loudly enough so everyone at the table would notice. “I’d like a Glenlivet, 16-Year, Nadurra Reserve, on the rocks, with a twist of lemon, and two bottles of unopened spring water. Put them on my tab, please. Advise the waitress that I won’t require any other drinks this evening.”

  “I’ll see to your drinks personally, milady,” Theo said.

  “That would be lovely. Thank you.” She looked toward the table where play had paused momentarily as the decks were reshuffled and the shoe reloaded. “I think my timing was perfect to join a new game.”

  She approached the Baccarat table. The men present stood. “Thank you, gentlemen. Please be seated. May I sit here?” She addressed Conn.

  Since he’d held the Bank last, she’d be the next in line to hold the Bank. She felt lucky and was looking forward to playing. She hoped Benrabi was late. She hadn’t gambled since the last time she was home for a holiday. All of her immediate family members were avid Baccarat and poker players. The games were cutthroat; she and her father were the best players, because they were willing to take the most risks. It hadn’t surprised anybody in the family when she—and not her brothers—had chosen to follow her father into the world of law enforcement.

  “Please do. I’m Conner.” He pulled out the chair for her.

  “Thank you, Conner.” Dawn smiled at him. “Please call me Dawn.”

  Conn sat and proceeded to introduce the rest of the players. Three seats remained empty and she realized Theo would keep anyone but Benrabi and MacLean out.

  Dawn nodd
ed politely at the other men.

  “Adjust the angle of your camera, Dawn,” Ren ordered. “Maybe another fifteen degrees upward.”

  Dawn looked at her watch as if she were receiving a text on her smart phone and made the adjustment.

  “That’s good, Dawn,” Sam said.

  The female croupier turned to Dawn. “Would madam wish to hold the Bank?”

  “Madam would. What are the betting limits?” Dawn asked.

  “Minimum bet is $10,000. There is no maximum. What is the value of your Bank?” the croupier asked.

  “A half-million U.S. dollars.”

  The croupier nodded and called for the floor man. “Verifying a half-million U.S., please.”

  Theo approached and tapped on a small computer tablet. “Half-million is approved for Lady Wilson. Good luck to everyone.”

  Dawn smiled at her fellow players. “Well, I’m sure you lovely gentleman will attempt to make a nice run at my funds, but”—she eyed each man in turn, ending with Conn who looked amused—“I must warn you I’m feeling very lucky this evening.”

  Henri, a portly man of middle age, toasted her with his martini. “Bonne chance, Lady Wilson.” His French accent was heavy. He’d told her he was in pharmaceuticals.

  Dawn picked up the Scotch Theo had placed at her spot and returned the toast. “Good luck—and do call me Dawn. Lady Wilson sounds so stuffy.”

  The other men smiled and raised their drinks to her also.

  Just as Conn shifted the shoe toward her, a rustling of robes preceded Sam’s muttering in her ear, “Heads up. Showtime.”

  Chapter 11

  The casino’s security center was a dimly lit circular room. A crew of techs sat at computer stations that controlled the dozens of monitors on the walls. Each monitor focused on a different area of the casino floor and often flashed four or more images of an area at one time.

  Standing in front of the monitor dedicated to the High-Roller’s Baccarat table, Sam’s gut clenched as he watched Benrabi smile—well, leer was more like it—at Dawn. Slime-ball bastard. He shot a quick, sharp look at Ren. “Convince me again why we had to expose Dawn in order to get DNA from MacLean.”