How To Whisper Secrets
Flicka von Hannover
It was one way to keep them from listening in.
Flicka strode into the guest suite ahead of Raphael and kicked her flats into a corner by the door. “What the living hell was that?”
Raphael closed the door behind them. A lock clicked. “Flicka—”
“Don’t you ‘Flicka’ me. I want to know what the hell is going on.”
“We can’tdiscuss this.”
The Russian guards stared straight ahead, whether at the paintings or the windows, Flicka wasn’t sure. “We sure as hell can. I don’t care who hears me. This is insane. This is actually, literally, certifiably insane. I won’t tolerate—”
Warmth grabbed her arm and spun her around.
“What thehell!”she said.
Raphael, or Dieter, was almost nose-to-nose with her, his gray eyes stormyand narrowed. He grabbed both her arms and pinned her wrists together behind her back, and his mouth crashed down on hers.
Desire flooded her, and Flicka leaned against him, letting him pull her closer with his strong arm twined around her waist.
He ducked his head, and his mouth traveled down her throat, sucking her skin while he held her wrists behind her back.
Her mind fogged with wantinghim.
A worm of panic wiggled in her head, and she breathed in his scent, clean soap and warmth, and pushed it out of her head. The panic wasn’t hers anymore, she told herself. Dieter was keeping her safe from it.
The words swirled in her head—Dieter—Raphael—and became the glowing comfort and lust that wrapped her body.
He dipped and lifted her in the air. His muscular arms clamped around herback and under her knees, and he carried her to their bedroom. His foot shot out as they passed, kicking the door shut behind them.
As the door shut, Flicka saw one of the guards rub his temple while the other’s shoulders shook as he laughed.
Dieter dropped her on the bed and stripped off her clothes and his, revealing his pale gold skin and heavy muscles wrapping his limbs and torso. Flickarecognized the hunger in his gray eyes and knew this was going to be rough, fast, and hard.
She reached for him, as eager as he was.
He was on her in a heartbeat, his hard body pushing between her legs and his face above hers.
God,that hot, savage look filled his eyes, just like when he got home from an adrenaline-fueled, testosterone-driven operation.
He shoved his hand between their bodies,and his fingers slipped over the skin between her legs, massaging her clit.
Flicka gasped and lifted her hips, trying to feel more of him.
“God, you’re wet,” he said, his fingers pressing inside her already. “I love how wet you are, how hot. Say it. Tell me you like it.”
“I do,” Flicka whispered. “I like it.”
“Tell me how you want it.”
“However you want.”
“Because—”
“Because I’m yours.”
