Mature (18+) Audiences. Contains bad words and sex-y scenarios.
Mosvar clicked a mouse with his right hand, looking up over the top of his laptop every few seconds. The internet cafe was at about half capacity as people stood in line, large gaps between them, all waiting for oversweet coffee. His order sat on the table virtually untouched. He’d only managed one sip of the “candy” they referred to as black coffee in this country.
After Argun’s death, his father had shut down operations within their clan. No one could go or come without approval from the old man and multiple layers of security, including him. He’d assumed, after his brother’s death, his father would have gravitated toward him whenever he needed a second head to make decisions about running their family empire. Instead, he treated him like a suspect. It had been like trying to sneak out when he was a child just to pull off arranging this meetup.
That Asian son-of-a-bitch was the gift that kept on giving.
There were only a handful of men he could trust to keep information away from his father. They were the ones who he’d found enough dirt on to assure their loyalty, whether it was a drug problem, a second family, snitching only he knew about, their sexuality, or a place next to him in an orgy that had included the wives and daughters of several prominent world figureheads. His brother had claimed he didn’t have any men of his own, but he was currently looking at snapshots of the man he was sure had been in his suite. The man who’d killed Argun.
His initial plan had been to lay low and go into hiding. The man had already done him a favor by killing Argun. Although he knew he was probably next in line, retaliation hadn’t been anywhere on his radar. Now, it seemed like either apprehending or killing the man responsible for Argun’s death was the only way his father would see him as, at least, Argun’s equal.
But the photos on his laptop were blurry.
Ivan, the man of his who had a second family here in America his wife back in Chechnya knew nothing about, had taken the pictures. At least, he’d tried to. The Asian was hard to catch on foot as well as on film.
They didn’t know the Asian man’s name or anything about him other than the fact that he appeared to be good friends with the man called Beast, and he had a wife that would make for an excellent fuck. Ivan knew where the Beast lived but had declined every suggestion Mosvar had made about going there. He’d even threatened to tell Ivan’s wife about the family here in America, which would have more than likely resulted in Ivan’s father-in-law cutting off his cock, but Ivan had rather take his chances with Svetlana’s father than face the Beast alone.
So now, all he had was blurry pictures.
A man in a navy-blue tracksuit and sunglasses entered the cafe. When he spotted Mosvar, he headed over, pulled out a chair, and sat.
“Three million,” the man said.
Mosvar grimaced. He had his doubts about an American being able to carry out this task, but another one of his men, Andrev—an orgy participant—had vetted him as highly-recommended.
“How will you find him?” Mosvar asked.
The man lowered his sunglasses. One eye had a scar that slashed right through. There was virtually no way the eye should have been spared. A mark like that usually resulted in shredded eyeballs and blindness and yet, this man had walked away without either.
“Three million,” the man repeated. “You let me worry about the rest.”
Mosvar jutted his chin in the American’s direction. “What happened to your eye?”
The man slapped a piece of paper on the tabletop. “Wire half the money to that account. I’ll have him dead in a week. I expect to be paid in under 24hrs after the task is complete.”
Mosvar stared at the paper like it was a foreign object and then slipped it into his pocket. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t believe this man would be able to do the job. There was more to the Asian guy and, once he figured out what, he’d be better prepared to kill the man. Hell, maybe he’d do it himself.
Without another word, the man flipped his sunglasses back over his eyes, stood, and left the cafe.
* * *
“Ass up and face down is the same thing.”
Xara released the pillowcase from her teeth, but her fingers still gripped the sheets. “Mike, that’s not true,” she said, barely pulling in enough air to get the words out.
When the need to scream returned, she buried her face back into the pillow. They weren’t at home, and while she was sure the other couples got down just like they did, it was the middle of the day. Everyone was awake and bustling about, including their children. She didn’t want to force them to have any uncomfortable conversations later in an attempt to explain why it sounded like Auntie Xara was “dying.”
But…good Lord…he was hitting the very spot she needed. His strokes were slow and measured, teasing and torture. If this was them taking it easy to let conception happen—if it ever did—she wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle it. By the end of it, she’d have damaged vocal cords, bad knees, and sore glute muscles. Very sore glute muscles. As it stood, this was Mike’s favorite position.
He stopped moving his hips. She sucked in a breath because she knew what was coming next.
His soft, warm tongue found the sensitive seam of her sex.
“Mike, I’m —”
Her climax put the rest of the words in a chokehold, effectively shutting them up. It wasn’t like she’d had to tell him. He knew that whenever she started panting and shaking her right leg, release was near.
He helped her come down with long, slow licks until she was moving away from overstimulation.
“Too much?” he asked, laughing. His teeth sank into the flesh of her behind, biting and kissing and licking. “Mmm…so beautiful. You are…damn, Xara. Every time… Every time…”
After giving her a moment to catch herself, she felt when he entered her again. A long groan rumbled from his throat and lifted into the air. He stroked, first long and slow, savoring the heat her body gave him. She loved that she could hear what her body did to him. She couldn’t imagine making love to a man who resigned to staying quiet the entire time.
She pushed on her hands and knees, back into him. He groaned again, breaths harsh and quick, and grabbed her hips to guide her. Turned on again, she closed the slight gap of her thighs and squeezed them together, putting pressure on her clit which hadn’t completely finished climaxing for the night.
His strokes grew deeper, harder.
“Mike…let me…damn, baby…on my back.”
“Nuh-uh, Xar.” He sucked in a breath, pumped faster. “Fun. Just…have…fun.”
He stopped moving and held onto her. A series of curses floated around them. His dick throbbed along her entrance. She tried not to think about it, to relax, but a small part of her still hoped this was it.
The mattress indented as he collapsed next to her. She slid onto her stomach, not wanting to turn over or move too much.
He reached down with one hand and grabbed a globe of her ass. “Were you trying to get a second one?” he asked, fingers kneading.
She turned her head to look at him. “Yeah, but it’s okay.”
“Mike, I can’t.”
He wrapped an arm around her, flipped her over, and hovered over her, palms on the mattress. She didn’t understand how he retained so much energy post-orgasm when all she wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep.
It probably had something to do with the work he did.
“You agreed to let things happen naturally, Xar,” he said. “The stress of trying to plan every detail of making a baby is probably why we can’t. Think of our ancestors. They just fucked. No calendars, no apps, no ‘basal body temperature.’ Just good ol’ fashioned fucking.”
He lowered and flicked his tongue against her nipple. The point immediately rose to a peak, demanding more.
“Let me see you play with your pussy, Xar.” He dragged his tongue across her bottom lip, pulling away when she tried to pull it into her mouth. “Get yourself off, baby. Let me watch.”
He sucked the nipple into his mouth.
She slid her hand between her legs.
“Just like that.” His tongue flicked, mouth sucked.
She’d already been close, so the minute her fingers made contact, she was already on her way. The combination of his hot mouth, teeth, and tongue made her wet, made her ache.
He reached down and covered her hand with his. She slipped hers away until his thick, long, calloused fingers were stroking her, pinching her clit, slipping in and out. Her orgasm hit her like a brick wall, and he moved back up to her mouth and covered it with his, smiling as she bucked under him.
He left her, nipples damp and legs weak, and headed toward the bathroom.
“Lie with me?” she asked.
He stopped in the doorway. “Why’d you ask me like that? Do you think I won’t?”
“No.” Maybe. “It’s just that, after everything that happened with Mos…I mean, you know who, and our session with Ayesha, I was wondering if you’d just kinda hold me.”
He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a washcloth. “You don’t have to ask. Don’t be afraid of me. I’ll never hurt you.”
The washcloth was warm as he swiped it over her sensitive skin.
“I’m not afraid of you. I just want to respect your boundaries.”
He returned the washcloth to the bathroom, lingered a little, and returned to climb into bed next to her. She automatically curled against him.
“I’ll never turn down the chance to hold you, Xar.” He kissed the top of her head. “Never.”
She nodded. Against her, he was more than a hard body. He felt like home. She didn’t know exactly how to explain it, but against him, everything fell into place.
They spent the next few days at Ari and Julien’s before setting off for their trip back home. Ayesha reiterated that they come see her in Hawaii and take a break from what she called “the evils of this lifestyle.”
“You have everything?” Mike asked Xara before the pilot signaled they were about to take off. “You know how you like to leave things behind.”
She smiled and rolled her eyes at him, seat facing his. “I have everything. All we have to do it get home, repack for a vacation in Hawaii, and then have fun in paradise.” She squealed. “I can’t believe I’m going to Hawaii.”
Mike leaned back into the plushness of the seat. “You’ve always wanted to go?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looked out the window. “We never had time. But, it doesn’t matter, because we’re going now. When are we flying out?”
He turned to his window. They were the only plane on the private strip. Initially, they were going to fly commercially, but he’d managed to convince Xara that changing their plans would be fine. She’d become almost neurotic about planning everything, and he knew it was her trying to get control of something. Her life felt chaotic, so she did what she could to control the aspects of it she could. Hopefully, the trip would help her get her sense of stability back.
The pilot announced they were getting ready for departure. He leaned even further into his seat to prepare for a nap when he spotted a car in the farthest corner of the area surrounding the hangar. The iconic Rolls Royce Phantom grille peeked between the low-hanging leaves that added to the privacy of the property. It wasn’t one of the guys; not even Giorgio owned a Phantom. “Maybe when I am in later years,” he’d said. Plus, they would have told him if they were coming to the airstrip instead of hiding out as if attempting to avoid being seen. Which this car was doing.
“Everything okay, baby?” Xara asked.
He studied the car a few seconds longer before giving her his attention. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
She didn’t believe him, he could tell.
He didn’t blame her.
When the plane began to taxi, the car backed out of its alcove and disappeared from sight.
“The Shadow in the flesh and blood.” A tall man with dark hair pulled back into a half ponytail stepped from between the trees. “I am assuming I saw you coming because you wanted me to?”
“Dominik,” Mike greeted. They slapped hands. “I’m surprised you’re an acquaintance of Pozza’s. I didn’t know he had acquaintances.”
“Acquaintance?” Dominik laughed, shoulders shaking. Having gone to school in the U.S., he only had an accent when he was speaking to family, another Russian speaker, or wanted to intimidate. “We have an actual document that says ‘the Russian Mafia will not interfere with the movements of Giorgio Pozza.’ Without it,” he held up a scarred forearm, wrist, palm, and tilted his head to show a long scar on his neck, “I would be dead.”