She chortles, accepting the validity of that, as she climbs off my lap and kneels to run her finger over my shoelaces, where some of her cum remains. She pops her coated fingertip into her mouth, sucking it off. “I’m surprised you didn’t order me to clean up my mess.”
A goddamn dream.
“I planned to,” I admit, reaching between her legs to push the dripping cocktail of our release back inside her with a satisfied growl before gliding my wet fingers into her mouth to have her suck those too. “But my dominance is helpless against your tears.”
She smiles, though it’s a facade for the insecurity she’s concealing. “Do you usually have women—or subs—in here?”
“Never.” I glide my knuckles down her cheek. “I’ve never been intimate with anyone other than you in a location that held any genuine connection to me. It’s always been separate, but Stella doesn’t know that. Hopefully, asking about you confused her.”
“Right. Because we can’t be—”
“No.” I clutch her chin, ensuring she’s giving me her full attention. “We can be everything. I was buying us time.”
“Time for what?” she asks, but there’s enough hesitancy laced through it that it’s clear she’s getting there.
“Hold that thought for me.” I weave our fingers together, guiding her to stand and follow me into my bathroom first so I can clean her up, and then to my closet so I can dress her. “Arms up,” I instruct, skipping her bra and sliding her top on. “Let’s revisit Lev Popov’s concern. You were hired to find intel regarding a media conglomerate?”
Her throat rolls through an arduous swallow. It’s plain she doesn’t enjoy divulging information, even to me, but she finally nods.
This is why I haven’t turned over the informant’s identity to KORT yet. Once I realized Zara had possibly overheard Bernard and I discussing it, I wanted to see if she would go after it.
“What else were you asked to look for?” I probe as I pull her heels off, glide her skirt on, and slip her feet into her shoes again while she balances with her hands on my shoulders.
She bites her lip, studying me as I buckle her stilettos, likely debating what to share until she settles on, “That’s it really. I’ve been doing pattern of life on the entire resort—but all of it with the media angle in mind.”
I rise to my full height, curling my hand around the back of her neck and resisting the yearning to kiss her since it will derail this discussion. “I think you’re working for KORT.”
“Forthem?” Her brows jump for the ceiling, but there’s an unmistakable tinge of relief on her face.
“It’s possible,” I return, straightening my shirt and tie, shrugging on my suit jacket, and proceeding with caution as to not offer more cushioning than is certain. “The timing. The reason you’re here. It fits.”
Her emeralds rove all over my face, glistening with curiosity. “Why don’t you know?”
Tucking the gift I stored in here into my interior suit jacket pocket, I blow out a frustrated breath and lead her into the passageway. “Because my role as one of the five KORT seatsis a conflict of interest with the empire I’ve built. And though I don’t broadcast this to KORT, I consider La Lune Noire my top priority and KORT to be a headache. So, I’ve requested that matters that compromise the integrity of my La Lune Noire position are relayed only as necessary.”
She must’ve suspected I was a KORT chair because she doesn’t miss a beat. “And if you ask now, it points to my inadequacies.”
“Yes, and it’s also possible you’re working for the people after my sister’s family, which would be worst-case scenario. Catastrophic maybe.” I pull her into my side when I feel her flinch, not glossing over the issue, but trying to paint the positive as well. “It’s one or the other. But you showed up at the same time I was told an asset was coming to sift through the resort on KORT’s behalf.”
“Maybe.” She ponders that as we walk, her thoughts so loud that they demand to be heard, even before they’re vocalized. “But Shep … would KORT want me neutralized already? I haven’t been here long, and I’ve been turning in reports. Something is amiss.”
So fucking sharp.
“Agreed. They wouldn’t have turned on you at this point.” I don’t ask if she could’ve been wrong about Shep because Bernard drew the same conclusion, and if she was mistaken, she’ll hate herself for killing him.
“But they also wouldn’t have cared about you being suspicious of me, which would explain why they left me here when I was compromised. If I’m working for KORT, it changes things?” Her voice is so soft, so hopeful with that query, but she’s missing the bigger picture.
“It makes things easier, but it changes nothing for me. Are you in this?”
“What does that mean?” She rubs her forehead, her weariness growing more apparent with every step. “What is being in this when you’re telling me we can’t even be seen together?”
As if to emphasize that point, I scan my retina, inviting her in through a hidden entrance of the penthouse so there’s no trace of us being together, but I swiftly haul her out to my private balcony, letting the fresh air and New Orleans vibrancy extend a whiff of transparency. “KORT only permits one-night stands or marriage. Nothing in between. I’m hiding this for your safety.”
She soaks in the evening I planned for us, noting the elegant table set with dinner under a freckled night, and she inhales the fragrance of our elevation—magnolia and cypress with a hint of Creole that embodies NOLA culture—missing that it’s all hers and whispering, “Okay.”
I crowd her against the spiral staircase that leads to the rooftop entertainment area. She leans back, gripping the heavy wrought iron spindles, her eyes gleaming with ambivalence, her breaths shallow. An uncanny sense that she’s going to shatter me washes my mouth with acid, but I choke it down.
“Get out of your head, Zara. I want you to be mine, to declare it to the entire world, but it’s dangerous if you aren’t all in. That’s how they work. I won’t risk—”
