"Then take more of it," he said and obliged her with a deep thrust.
Her spine arched in ecstasy, the hills of her buttocks jiggling as he pounded into her. At one time, these games they played had excited him; at the present moment, however, he almost wished she hadn't shown up unannounced and randy for a tumble. Though his body was going through the motions, his mind resisted participating. It had been doing that a lot lately; 'twas as if he'd lost interest in all his vices. God help him, even fucking had become routine.
Evangeline moaned, pushing back against him. On the blotter beside her writhing form, his lucky dice rattled in their cup. Two sixes, face up.
Gripping her hips, he pumped harder. Mayhap he'd just been working too hard. As owner of The Underworld, the most notorious gaming hell in Covent Garden, he existed in a savage, cutthroat world. Two months prior, a fellow proprietor had wound up dangling from a tree. The cove's tongue had been cut out, his hands and feet missing. No culprit had been found, but everyone in the stews knew one of the rival houses had done the deed. Besides The Underworld, there were four other prominent establishments. All of them were run by men powerful and ruthless enough to kill.
After the last customer had left this morning, Gavin had planned on meeting with Hugh Stewart, his mentor and trusted overseer of the club. They had much to discuss due to a recent attack on patrons of The Underworld. But then Evangeline had shown up, flashing a big smile and equally sizeable tits. Gavin had thought a fast, hard plowing might do him good before settling down to business as usual.
"Don't stop, I'm close, I'm going to spend so 'ard—" she wailed.
The dice continued to jump in rhythm to their coupling. Moaning, Evangeline gyrated her cunt against the wooden edge as he fucked her. If her hands were free, he was certain she'd be frigging herself with abandon. She was as efficient about her pleasure as he was about his. Her eyes were closed, her thoughts concealed. For the two of them, sex was always this way: an activity done together yet separately. Like him, Evangeline had come from the rookery, and they shared a survivor's philosophy.
Be in control. See to your own interests. Reward loyalty… and punish betrayal.
At the thought of betrayal, a muscle ticked in his jaw. The small movement caused a twinge along the right side of his face. The scar that ran from cheek to chin was the memento of a man who'd survived hell—and who now ruled it. The popularity of his establishment had brought him wealth and connections; he now possessed the power to pursue the one goal that had sustained him through his darkest hours.
He'd lived for the promise of vengeance, and it would soon be his.
That got his juices up. Holding her steady, he shoved his cock harder, deeper, each thrust an assertion of dominance. Control.All those who owe me will pay.Scarlet dimmed his vision.
"Mary's tits, I'm comin'..." she cried.
Release boiled up his shaft, and he, too, spent himself with a shudder.
After a moment, he untied her, and they each set about tidying themselves. By the time he'd rid himself of the French letter and fastened his trousers, she was fully dressed. A habit of her profession, he supposed, though he knew she styled herself as an actress these days. Not that it mattered to him. Like a cat, Evangeline landed on her feet, and he respected that.
"Will you stay for coffee?" he asked.
She smiled. Some of her paint had worn off, revealing the thin outline of her lips. "Cor, what would we talk about, Hunt? The bleedin' weather? Nay, I think we've done our business together an' done it well. Best be on my way now."
"Before you go, I have something for you," he said.
Opening one of the desk drawers, he removed a filigree locket. A lordling had wept as he'd handed over the family heirloom. All Gavin had cared about was that the piece would fetch a pretty price. While he had no use for sentiment, he did believe in fair exchanges. He dangled the necklace in front of Evangeline.
"Oooh, that's pretty," she cooed. Slipping the chain over her head, she wiggled her shoulders until the locket slid into the deep crevice between her breasts. "How does it look?"
"Like it's found an enviable home," he said.
She laughed and gave him a saucy wink. "'Til the next time, eh?"
After she departed, he rang for coffee and returned to his desk. Knowing the troublesome business that awaited him, he couldn't summon the wherewithal to search out Stewart. Instead, he picked up the pair of dice, tossing them from hand to hand. He felt on edge, sated yet somehow empty. He was stifling a yawn when the knock sounded. The coffee, about bloody time. When the footman scurried in, a harried look on his face and no silver pot in hand, Gavin scowled.
"S-sorry to trouble you, sir," the servant stammered. "There's a gent 'ere, askin' for you. Says it's urgent."
"Who is it?"
"Gave the name Fines, sir," the footman said.
Paul Fines.Gavin sat up straighter in his chair. "Young toff, dressed to the nines?"
"Sounds like 'im, sir."
"Send him in," Gavin commanded.
He let the dice fall onto the desk, smiling with grim satisfaction as they rolled up sixes. For months, he had bided his time, waiting for the opportunity to take Paul Fines down. The fool had already been barreling down a path of self-destruction, and a game of faro had delivered the finishing blow. Yet instead of fetching the deeds to Fines & Company as he'd promised, the blasted cull had reneged and done a flit. Gavin's men had been searching for Fines for days.
With Fines' shares, Gavin could gain control of Nicholas Morgan's company and set the wheels of vengeance in motion. Because of Morgan, Gavin had spent ten years in the hulks for a crime he did not commit. The ever-present tide of darkness rose within him; he held it off with a familiar barricade of rage. Anger had given him the power and will to survive, and it would help him see justice done.
