The Count (Twisted Classics Book 3)

by Monica Corwin

  I shoved away from the table and held out my hand to her. “Shall we?”

  Hoping to see a reaction flicker across her face, I monitored her carefully, but she gave me nothing except the hard set of her jaw as she took my hand.

  I wanted to lay her out across my bed, strip her bare, and relieve every ache. But taking her into my room felt personal, like I’d be sacrificing something if I did. So I let her back into my office.

  “You bring all your conquests to your office instead of your bed?” She asked, letting go of my fingers when we stopped.

  I closed the door and let her wander around the space, her bare feet created little slapping sounds on the hardwood.

  There were still very few things for her to see here. I wasn’t sure what she searched for, but I couldn’t take my eyes away. The bunch of her shoulders drew me as she explored a bookshelf. All bought for decoration by the designer before I moved in. My personal collection making a home beside my bed.

  She trailed a finger down a spine and I shivered imagining that finger over my lips. The memory of her touch threatened to drag me into the past.

  “Do you like to read?” she asked.

  “I do, but I don’t have much time for it anymore.”

  She nodded as she turned to hunt for something else to focus her attention on. Anything but me. I was content to stand and watch her in her efforts to ignore me.

  She made it back to my desk and took her time inspected the grain of the stone.

  “If you need more to look at I’m sure I can drag out my sock drawer for you to dive into.“

  Her tucked chin chided me. I sat on the edge of the desk and held my hands.

  She surveyed them for a long moment and then stepped between them. “I’m supposed to hate you.”

  “Supposed to?”

  She cleared her throat. “I do hate you. Maybe just not as much as last week.”

  I wanted her to hate me, right? Her anger an easier standard to bear than her love. I’d already met the benchmark of her anger. Her love needed to be earned. A lesson learned the hard way a long time ago.

  I pulled her closer and released her hand to slide mine around her waist. Remembering the purpose of all this would be the hard part.

  Our arrangement was for physical release, and payment for a life. It meant nothing else. Neither of us could afford to let it.

  “Are you ready?” I asked, if only to keep myself from falling into memory.

  She scanned my face, then opened my collar and top button. In answer, I hooked my thumbs over the edge of her yoga pants.

  I should stop. I should stop. I should stop. But I didn’t have the control to end this right now.

  I stooped down to pull her pants to her ankles. She kicked them off her feet as I stood up.

  No words were necessary at this point. I picked her up, cupped the full globes of her ass, and planted her on my desk.

  “Back here again,” she said, a soft chuckle followed. For the first time since our reunion, she sounded nervous.

  I tugged her hands and planted them against my chest. “Touch me back.” I whispered.

  She nodded slowly then she watched her own hands explore the shape of my pecs. She wanted more, but didn’t want to ask for it. Maybe it would signify she wanted me to.

  I quickly removed my shirt and tossed it toward her discarded pants. She hesitated a moment, and then replaced her hands on my chest. Bare fingers on bare skin.

  Her sharp inhale shot through me and I dragged her closer to me, her butt barely perched on the edge now.

  I couldn’t stand it any longer. I grabbed her face between my palms and crashed my mouth down on hers. She captured my hands in her own, molding her palms and fingers to the shape of mine.

  She tasted like dinner, and wine, and I wished this could sustain me. I sucked her tongue into my mouth until only the taste of her was left.

  From somewhere, I caught the sound of a whimper. It jolted me away from her lips. I stared into her eyes as I so slowly trailed my hand over her jaw, down the arc of her neck, to the space between her breasts.

  She curved into my hand and I continued until I held the soft heat of her pussy in my palm.

  I cupped her like I owned her. And right now, this second, I did. Her eyes were closed, her lower lip clamped under her teeth. For me, she’d be anything, do anything.

  I gently slid my fingers into her panties. She jerked against me as I let myself explore her short curls leading me down to the molten core I really wanted. I teased her with a finger, just a tiny taste of what I longed to give her. What I knew she loved.

  “Do you want two fingers? How long has it been, can you handle it?”

  She huffed. “Tease me all you like I’m not telling you anything.”

  She opened her eyes and looked up at me now. “Are you going to tease me, or fuck me?”

  I removed my hand and braced myself on either side of her hips so I could meet her eyes more easily. “That sounds an awful lot like a challenge.”

  She raised her eyebrows and stared me down.

  Never one to let a challenge like that pass, I jerked her off the desk. Her feet hit the floor with a thump and I didn’t give her time to process before I spun her around, dragged her panties down and planted a hand in the center of her back.

  With the other hand, I opened my pants and pulled out my already near to bursting cock. She wriggled in front of me as I slid myself down the seam of her ass.

  “Is this teasing, or fucking?” I asked as my cock met the slickness down lower.

  She arched back and I shoved forward sheathing myself inside her hard and fast.

  Just a taste. A little bit to take the edge off before I get a condom and do this properly. Took care of her properly.

  She shuddered. I gripped her hips, half guiding her, half lifting her to give us both a better angle. “Is this what you wanted?”

  She didn’t answer so I stopped. And she slapped her hand on my desk and dropped her head to the surface. “Fucking hell. Don’t stop.”

  All the encouragement I needed. I was barely keeping myself under control as is. I hiked her up again and pumped into her. She clawed both hands into my desk now and a fuse popped in my brain. I pushed into her over and over, my only thoughts revolved around getting more of her, getting more of myself inside her. She heaved a heavy sigh and her body quaked around mine. The first vestiges of her orgasm sparked through me, and I pumped faster, harder, deeper. She curled her arms in toward herself, and I caught a breathy ‘fuck’ as her end rolled over me. Mine matched hers in waves until I had to stop. I held myself inside her, both of us shivering and shuttering. The only sounds were our ragged breathing as we fought, mutually, to get it under control.

  I blinked and the situation came into sharp focus. I’d meant to pull out, pause, do this thing safely. But once she challenged me I couldn’t have stopped, despite my best intensions.

  I cleared my throat. “Stay there.” I carefully slid out of her, pulled up my pants, and went to get a towel.

  When I returned she hadn’t moved an inch. I carefully wiped her off and fetched her discarded clothing from the floor.

  Finally, she stirred. “Thank you,” she said, taking her clothes.

  I wanted to say something, apologize for my roughness, offer to get a plan B pill. I had no idea what to say in this situation.

  I opened my mouth to speak but she put her index finger against my lips. “Don’t ruin it.” She grabbed a bottle of Scotch from my bar, walked toward the door, and left with a languid smile on her lips.

  Fuck. I was in trouble.

  NINE

  MERCY

  I woke up curiously sore. The memory slowly seeped in on the edge of dreams and waking. I could still feel the hard press of his fingers latched on my shoulder. I’d no doubt have a bruise there. Perpetually low iron meant I bruised easily.

  A memory from the past followed like a train car. God, the feel of Eddy’s fingers on my skin. Only the th
ird time I’d had sex, all with him, we were kids. So young. That was the last time I came so hard I almost blacked out. I shoved the memory away, back in the hole where it belonged. I didn’t think about that part of my past.

  I sat up and climbed out of bed, no dreams I wanted would arrive after that.

  A knock on the door stopped me on the way. I snagged a t-shirt off the floor and slid it on.

  “Come in,” I called, expecting Will.

  But a small Hispanic man, only a built a little bigger than I was, opened the door and carried a tray inside.

  I paused and jerked the hem of my t-shirt down. “Uh…hello.”

  “Mr. Will thought you might want breakfast in here this morning.”

  I pulled my mess of a ponytail from the back of my shirt and narrowed my eyes. “Did he?”

  He ducked his gaze, sat down the tray, and headed for the door again. “He said he’ll come to you when he returns.”

  With those parting words, he left.

  Alone in the house for the first time. Was this some kind of test? It wasn’t one I was going to pass.

  I snagged a coffee mug off the tray, along with a piece of the toast, and walked into the empty sitting room. Part of me expected him to jump out and shout, ‘Boo!’

  Knowing him a little better now that I’d been here a couple days, I had to say his home sort of matched him. Tones of grays and black, all the decorations sparse, little there was turned out to be fancier stone like the granite and amethyst crystals I saw in one of the tables.

  The elevator dinged open loudly and I jumped. My coffee sloshed dangerously but I steadied it as he stalked forward. “Snooping again?”

  I did my best impression of his permanent scowl. “I’m literally standing here eating toast.”

  His lip twisted to a whisper of a grin. “Likely story.”

  I sipped my coffee and ignored him and the way my body lit up like a fucking sparkler the second I caught sight of him.

  I turned away and pretended to focus on an abstract piece of art. It was just sex you stupid woman. A payment for a debt, a transaction, and nothing more. That thought doused some of the heat flowing through me. A transaction to save Taylor’s life. I closed my eyes, shoved the rest of the toast in my mouth, and washed it down with the rest of the coffee.

  Then I turned back to face him again. “The cook said you gone. Anything I need to know? Anything on the agenda for the day?”

  He took a step forward, and I matched it with a step backward.

  His eyes narrowed. “What’s different?”

  I held his gaze and shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “You aren’t throwing things at me, making demands, yelling.”

  “You complain when I do, you complain when I don’t. Tell me what you want and that’s what I’ll be.”

  He scanned my face and I held my ground this time.

  “So all I had to do to make you more amenable was bend you over my desk.”

  Anger sparked deep in my belly. I wished I was the kind of woman who would throw a coffee mug at a man’s head. Twenty years ago, I had been.

  Instead of replying, I spun and stalked back to my room. I cut him off with the slam of my door.

  Fucking bastard. I couldn’t win with him.

  I went into the bathroom, gorgeous in white marble and antique fixtures. Something about the stark white and lack of decor calmed me. I pressed my chilled hands to my warm cheeks and started the shower. If he kept provoking me then I was going to be well armored against his barbs and his charms.

  I showered, letting the hot water wash away my anger. Then I carefully put on my makeup and styled my hair in a straight fall down my back. I slid into a pair of black slacks tailored to my small stature, and an equally expertly cut cream blouse. Once I felt covered up, safe behind my silk and wool I sat on my bed and waited. I had no doubt he had plans for me, or for us, by the way he walked in earlier. I resolved to focus on my goal. Finish out this sentence and get the hell out of here.

  I stared at the wall for ten minutes before I heard him pause outside my door. He knocked and I said, “come in.”

  He would have anyway, so my permission seemed idiotic. He entered slowly, one hand on the knob as he hovered in the doorway. “Look, I apologize for what I said.”

  His apology made me more uncomfortable than his dickishness.

  “Fine. What do you want?”

  He released the door and idled closer. “We have a place to be. But it’s important for you to know I have a purpose for us being there. I’m not just trying to fuck with your head.”

  That sounded ominous. “Why are you explaining yourself to me? I’m a prisoner of war, and a piece of ass. We go where you say.”

  He shoved out a heavy sigh and a tiny part of me regretted my venom. I couldn’t take it back now though.

  He said, “be ready in five minutes,” and walked out.

  Defeat, acceptance, anger, rage. I didn’t know what I felt anymore. I just wanted this situation done. So I stood, straightened my blouse, slid on my favorite pair of heels, and met him by the elevator.

  We made it to the car without a word to each other. A mumbled apology when I brushed against him broke it.

  “For fuck’s sake, Mercedes.”

  I flushed at my name from his lips. His voice, the hard edge dredged memories from the last night back to me.

  He continued, “I said I’m sorry. What else do you want from me? There are very few people who even get that much.”

  “It’s not about the apology. It’s about me forgetting what this whole thing,” I gestured between us. “Is for a second. I’m not upset with you. I just want to get it all of this done so I can go home.”

  He stiffened and stared out the window. I peaked at him. He scratched his thumb over his bottom lip in a rhythmic pattern. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who forgot. Perhaps he lashed out at me in his own defense mechanism? Understanding didn’t mean I was any less over being someone’s property.

  “Can we just pretend this whole morning never happened? We have an uneasy truce, and dare I say it, a sort of trust? Can we focus on that and leave the rest?” I asked.

  He turned to look at me. The sunlight glanced off his profile and a memory hit me hard and fast. Eddy, my teenage love, nineteen years old, the red and blue lights highlighting his features as the police car pulled away.

  I put a hand on my belly, and focused out my own window again. I deliberately avoided trips down memory lane for twenty years. Why were they all stirring up now? After my heartbeat returned to normal I glanced back.

  He studied me now. “Fine, but remember that when we go inside.”

  The car stopped in front of a nondescript brick building. The driver opened my door and I followed Will inside a dimly-lit entryway. He reached behind him, and I scrambled to take hold in the dark. At the end of the long hallway, he knocked once and a door swung inward. He gave my hand one quick squeeze and released it.

  The light hit me first, and once my vision adjusted to a new level of dim, I saw why he warned me about his intentions.

  It looked like any other night club, but the lights we brighter, the music more sensual, and all the low couches scattered throughout the space were draped with half-naked women.

  I dragged him back by the arm. “Is this a strip club?”

  He leaned down and whispered, “no, it’s a brothel.”

  I spied an upper level lining the room. Owning girls wasn’t in his dossier, so what business did we have here?

  He pressed a cold drink in my hand, and I took a sip without looking. The whiskey burned all the way down. And kept on burning. The cheap stuff.

  I glanced around, heavy security by tattooed figures. One of the tattoos told me they were members of The Wild Dogs. I leaned into Will. “Is this one of St. James’ places?”

  I’d heard he kept girls but let the girls run things how they wanted. St. James offered protection and a way out with a word. A strangely respectable mobster.
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br />   He nodded and peered around the room, looking for something, or someone. It took a minute while he sipped his drink as if it didn’t hurt. I sat mine on the bar and waited. He stared across the room toward an alcove. A pretty young blonde lounged across its center. She eyed us as we approached.

  “Mind if I sit?” He asked.

  She surveyed him and gestured next to her. I sat beside him, thankful the couch was more than big enough for all of us.

  She leaned in and traced a hand down his chest. “What can I do for you? Is your wife playing, or just watching?”

  He said, “not playing,” at the same time I said, “not his wife.”

  She smiled between us, and tracked her fingers over his Adam’s apple to his shirt collar. Something dark twisted through me as I watched her touch him. He wasn’t mine, but my body screamed at me to intercede, snatch her hands off him.

  He glanced my way and raised an eyebrow. My emotions must have been written across my face. I cleared it to neutral and he looked back at the girl.

  “I want information on one of your former employers.”

  A line appeared between her eyebrows, and her smile slipped. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Will. I want to hunt hum down, in a messy public way, but I need your help.”

  She checked the neared security guard’s proximity and leaned closer. Likely to screw with me, she followed a path from his collar to his belt buckle. “It’s $500 an hour no matter what we do. Let’s go upstairs. Pay first.”

  He stood, pulled out several $100 bills and handed them to her.

  She smiled at me, stood, and led the way to a private room upstairs. It was like a miniature version of below, only a bed instead of a couch. He sat on a chair and I eyed the bed before perching on the very edge. She sat right next to me, so close our thighs touched.

  “You’re not-wife needs to loosen up,” she told him.

  He chuckled. “She doesn’t have a loosen up setting. This is Mercedes Mondego.”

  She jerked away like my skin burned her. I guess she’d heard of me.

  She looked at him. “Then you’re…”

  “The Count,” he finished.