Risk & Reward (7 page)

She stilled, her eyes flicking up at him.

“Funny enough, there’s a blind spot right here.” He nodded at either end of the hallway. “About a five-foot gap none of the cameras cover. A silly oversight I’ve been meaning to fix since I found out about it, but it hasn’t been a priority.” His voice dropped, became menacing. “You move three feet to the left or two feet to the right and anything we do will have some interested viewers. You know how vigilant my security is.” He slid his hand down her side, over the curve of her ass. “They’d see me tear this pretty, expensive dress off. Rip your panties. Get inside you and drill you into the wall.”

The oxygen had left her brain, leaving her lightheaded and dizzy. “They would come and help me.”

His laugh was mean and sadistic. “No. They wouldn’t dare. They know I own you. No one would save you.” He gripped her ass. “This is mine. Your tits, your pussy, your ass, you’re all mine.”

His hand slid to the small of her back, and he pressed until she was flush against the wall. “What do you want? Want to try to run? Maybe, after we’re done, I can invite them up. Have a little party. They can watch me fuck you live.”

She imagined multiple men’s eyes on her, watching as Wyatt used her, despoiled her in a hallway. His woman, in the building he essentially owned.

She shuddered. Yes, she wanted that. But the fact that Wyatt paid their salaries made it both hotter and impossible. Their fantasies occupied a very definite niche in their lives, a quiet, secretive one.

Now, if they were in some different place? And the ones who were watching were strangers? Well. That was a fantasy that could be explored another time.

“Make your choice. It’s the last one you’ll have all night.”

“I don’t want this.”

His expression didn’t alter. In the bright hallway lighting, he looked foreign, some stranger inhabiting Wyatt’s large, strong body. “Too late. This is what you get. Sex show or not?”

“Not. I-I don’t want anyone to see.” So many lies.

“Good choice.” His hands went to the bodice of her dress. As he had earlier in the evening, he grabbed the material and yanked it lower so her breasts spilled out. Her nipples were already tight, ready for his hands and mouth.

His gaze was cold as he looked down and surveyed her, a master checking his goods. “You say you don’t want me to fuck you. Why are your nipples so hard?”

“It’s chilly.”

His fingers pinched her chin, and he forced her to meet his gaze. “You liar. You want this.”

“No.”

His thumb pressed enough to open her mouth. Two of his fingers shoved inside, thrusting shallow. Unable to resist, she brought her teeth down on his flesh, not breaking the skin, but reminding him that she could.

He cursed and removed his hand, lips firming. “Oh, Tatiana. You are so fucked.”

Yes, yes, yes.

Fisting large handfuls of her skirt, he hauled the silky material up. “Hold it.”

Her fingers complied, bunching the material up farther so her white thong was revealed. She didn’t know what she expected—for him to open his own hurriedly zipped trousers and fuck her, or maybe spin her around and do the same. Instead, he sank to his knees and yanked her panties down until they pooled around her ankles.

His palms slapped against her thighs and widened her stance as much as her stretched thong would allow, and then his tongue and lips and mouth were on her naked pussy. She groaned and leaned her head back against the wall, her fingers biting into the skirt of the dress.

Wyatt was a master at giving head. There was no tentativeness, no asking permission, he just fucking went for it, seeming to delight in the taste and feel of her sex. His nose rubbed against her clit as his jaw worked, thrusting his firm tongue into her channel. She glanced down and could see his biceps flexing as he worked his cock. She wished they were on a bed so they could properly 69.

He drew away and tugged at the hair on her mound, pulling at her sensitive, wet flesh. “I love this,” he murmured, his voice dreamy, breaking character for a brief second.

She did the same. “I thought guys liked it bare.”

“Normally I don’t care how the fuck a woman decorates her pussy as long as I can get inside it. But this.” He tugged again, harder this time, and leaned in to scrape the stubble on his jaw over her clit. She yelped, her legs turning wobbly as pleasure shot through her. “I like that you didn’t change it. It makes me feel like I’m nineteen again.”

The wistfulness in his voice made her heart pulse. She scratched her hand through his hair, and a deep rumble came from his chest.

They had tender sex, but at the moment that didn’t jive with the emotions roiling inside her. She used her grip on his head to bring him forward to her pussy. In a show of rare subservience, he let her, sliding his slippery tongue back inside, fucking his face against her, his nose bumping against her clit. She returned to clutching her skirt, out of his way while he ate her out in the hallway of his hotel. Her head lolled to the side, and she eyed the elevator not far from them. A ding—that’s all the notice they would have if someone were to come up and catch them in the act.

It would be hotter if they didn’t even have that much notice.

Her climax came fast, rushing over her like a freight train, leaving her weak and slumping against the wall.

He rose to his feet, his cock curving out of the fly of his unbuttoned and unzipped pants. He pulled a condom out of his pocket and donned it, his hand giving his cock long pulls. His face was shiny with her juices. He licked his lips smugly, back in his role of coercer. “I thought you didn’t want it.”

Ever scrappy, she stiffened her spine. “I figured I might as well have some fun if I’m going to get fucked anyway.”

His big hands wrapped around her hips. Easily, he lifted her up until she was free of her panties, and held her against the wall. His cock dragged over her thigh. “Nothing you can do could stop me.”

Recognizing the dare, she let loose with her hands, slapping at his chest and face with all her force, letting him feel her anger.

She stopped, panting. Unmoving, he waited until she paused. “You done?”

“No.” She slapped him across the face, so hard his eyes gleamed.

She expected him to bind her wrists, maybe with the tie still draped around his neck. He didn’t bother.

He crowded closer, until she was pinned to the wall with his body weight. His cock burrowed tight against her pussy, a thick, long threat. A broad palm settled on her throat. Not squeezing. Just there, a heavy, weighty reminder of how big he was. How much larger than her. How helpless she was. She stilled.

“Nice,” he murmured. His thumb stroked her skin. “You’re going to be good now, aren’t you?”

“Is that what you want? A good girl?”

“I want you.”

Did he? Did he really? Or did he only want the ease of a relationship with an idealized memory?

She bit her lip, losing the thought when he pressed his cock inside of her, pushing slowly past the initial resistance of her body. She was slick and wet from her arousal and his tongue, but she still made him work for it, tightening the muscles of her pussy until sweat beaded on his brow.

And that hand, still on her throat. A threat and a promise. She bucked, and he tightened his fingers. There. The tiniest amount, enough to make it very clear that he could do so much more.

She wanted more. When he loosened his grip, she pressed her hand over his and increased the pressure. His eyes flashed. “Yeah?”

Her lips were beyond dry. “Yeah.”

His motions were controlled as he fucked her, each steady thrust rocketing her arousal higher. He varied the tempo of his hips, sometimes hammering her, other times shafting her slowly, until the need coiled inside her.

“Don’t come,” he ordered.

Was he crazy? Of course she would come.

His fingers twitched on her throat, enough pressure that he cut off her air. He released almost immediately, but that small restriction, that second of illicit danger was enough for her to clench down on his hard cock and shatter.

He grunted. “You dirty little whore.”

The words were distant but appreciated. She gasped as he surged above her, thrusting deep before collapsing against her with a muffled shout. His body tensed as he came, his hands holding her tight. Between them, sweat made for a peculiar sort of glue.

She had a fleeting thought for her dress, so expensive and brand new. Ah well. Dry cleaning could possibly take care of it.

He let her down slowly, holding her steady when her legs would have collapsed. It took him a few seconds to repair his clothes, and he scooped down to pick up her panties and shove them into his suit coat pocket. He readjusted her bodice, but not before bending and pressing a reverent kiss on each nipple.

She glanced at the cameras on either end of the hall. “This
is
a blind spot, right?”

“Of course.” He arched a brow. “I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“Don’t you think they’ll wonder why we ran out but never made it to the elevator?”

“They’re focused on watching the casino floor and the guest areas, or they should be. There are other safeguards in place to make sure no one unauthorized comes up to this floor.”

She shook out her skirt. Wyatt might be a sex machine, but he knew exactly how far to take things without making a mockery out of their games.

He was…perfect. Fear made her tighten her fingers on her skirt.

Attuned to her body language, he paused. “We are okay, right?”

“Of course.” The tension that the sex had given her a temporary reprieve from found its way to the base of her spine, lingering but numbed by their fast and furious coupling and a solid postcoital glow.

She could read the exhaustion in his face, in the tired ghost of a smile he gave her. He offered her his arm, and she took it. They strolled back to the apartment door, looking for all the world like a rumpled version of the civilized couple who had returned from their earlier night out.

She rested her head on his shoulder as they walked back in, breathing in the scent of his cologne and the sex they’d had.
Dear Lord. Please don’t let me screw this up.

Chapter Seven

She woke up to her hair being stroked back from her face. Wyatt was already showered and dressed and sitting on the side of the bed, staring down at her with an intent expression. “Hey.”

She stretched and regarded him somberly. “Hey.”

With those two words, she knew things were still strained. They were being cautious with each other, or he would have tickled or kissed her awake.

“I have to get to work. I tried to clear my day out to spend it with you, but there’s some things…”

“No, it’s okay,” she responded quickly. “Go do what you normally do.” When they visited each other, neither of them worked as much as they normally did, conscious of their finite duration of time together. The perils of a long-distance relationship.

“Did you bring work?”

“I have a commission I can work on. But I think I may go visit my parents first.” She threw it out there casually, like it was no big deal. Like the subject of her parents wasn’t some great gaping injury.

Was there something twisted in her that liked to stick her fingers in these wounds and dig them around when there would be no payoff or resolution? She knew what his reaction would be, and he didn’t disappoint. Wyatt’s face became emotionless, and he dropped his hand away from her, making a show of checking his watch. “Yeah. I have to run. Why don’t you call me when you’re done, and I’ll come meet you somewhere.”

Done?
How would she ever be done with her family? Her father’s insidious words from the night before whispered in her mind. Heart heavy, she nodded. “Sure thing.”

He hesitated. “Tell your mom…tell her I regret that last night was uncomfortable.”

She nodded, her sarcastic side certain that the words were simply another manifestation of his relatively newfound social skills training.
Emily Post says when your girlfriend’s parents storm out of dinner, be sure to convey your deepest regrets.
“Yup.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “I ordered breakfast for you. It should be up when you’re done with your shower.”

She closed her eyes, drinking in the consideration as well as his affection. “See you later.”

With a last half smile, he left her. Lingering in bed would have been nice, but all she would accomplish was moping. Instead, she hopped up to go take her shower.

She made plans with her mother via text while she ate, and then left the suite. The hotel was large enough that she didn’t know all of the staff, but they knew her. She received nods and smiles from bellhops and the front desk as she departed.

She raised a brow when she came outside and found Sal waiting for her outside a sleek town car, his face expressionless and his uniform crisp despite the already mounting heat. “I don’t need a car today, Sal.”

Though she knew Wyatt had ordered him to take her wherever she needed, Sal nodded. That’s what she liked about him. He didn’t put his boss’s orders above her own.

She set out down the street, appreciating the low-key morning energy of the Strip. Las Vegas was different from her normal digs, and not just because the heat was a sharp contrast to the foggy bay chill that marked San Francisco. Part of her liked going back and forth. Exploring two cool cities meant she was rarely bored.

This area was walkable, helped by the elevated crosswalks taking her across traffic. In no time at all, she was at the Wynn. She’d been here once or twice before, so she was aware of the location of the adults-only pool her mother had suggested for a meeting spot. Her large tote slapping against her thigh, she made her way through the bar and entered, spotting her mother’s head over the rows of chaises.

She walked toward her, gasping when she came closer and saw the smooth line of her mother’s back, a skort-style bottom her only nod to modesty.

“Mom,” she said quietly, in an effort to hide her complete mortification. This was like the time her mother had chaperoned her junior prom and started dancing to Madonna. Only worse. Much worse. “Why are you topless?”