Her smile was sharp with teeth, her gaze hot with malicious anger. Jules was so captivated by that intimate glimpse of the real Scarlett that he didn’t stop her when she caught him roughly by the nape, her almond-shaped pink nails digging painfully into his skin. He hissed and tried to pull back, but she held him tightly.
Then she grabbed his dick in her other hand with brazen possessiveness.
“Merde, salope!” he bit out, recoiling instinctively from the rough grasp but finding himself held fast.
Scarlett pulled his head down to hers and took his mouth in a harsh kiss, her tongue thrusting between his lips in lush, deep,frenzied licks. Frozen with surprise at the assault, Jules shivered as her hand on his cock began to stroke, tugging skillfully.
Impossibly, he grew hard when he should’ve been spent. He loved to take her, this mercurial steel magnolia, but he also loved that she was willing and able to take him.
A groan escaped him as her kiss softened and became cajoling.
“It’s late,mon amoureux,” she murmured against his lips. “And you can’t leave in this condition.”
With her grip on his neck now slackened, Jules pulled back. He looked down into her breathtakingly gorgeous face and yearned so intensely that he hated her for it. Lifting her by the waist, he turned and pressed her against the wall.
“You’re asorcière,” he spat. “A fucking curse.”
She laughed triumphantly, arching her back to press her breasts against him. “You don’t call me such names when you’re inside me.”
No, he used more tender—and revealing—endearments.
Reaching down, Jules caught her behind the thighs and lifted her. “You exploit your power over me,” he accused. “It’s just a game to use me.”
“Why don’t you use me,cher?” she purred, running her fingers through his damp hair. “Let me remind you of how much you’ll miss me while you’re gone.”
He positioned his cock at her slick entrance, and his breath whistled between his teeth. The need to claim her, to mark his possession, was a primitive drive. He lowered her without conscious thought. It was impossible to resist the feel of her tight, silken pussy sliding over his dick.
She squirmed, fighting to control the angle and speed but unable to. She gasped his name when she’d taken him to the root, her nails digging into his taut biceps.
Panting heavily, he pressed his cheek to hers. He was bareback inside her, and the feel of her around him with nothing in between them was driving him out of his mind. His hips circled, grinding into her sweet heat. “We…have to…stop. I’m not?—”
“It’s okay,” she breathed into his ear, her arms wrapping around his neck. “I’m on the pill. Don’t stop. It feels amazing.”
Her delicate inner muscles massaged his penis in teasing pulses.
Jules shuddered. When Scarlett tightened her legs around his hips and began to ride his cock with a full-throated moan of pleasure, he could do nothing but surrender.
In the dark of the wee hours, Gideon was already awake and lying in bed in his pajamas when Lucky’s sudden alertness warned him that someone was approaching the bedroom door.
He quickly shut the dog in the closet with the door cracked, knowing the beagle would nudge it open and eventually rejoin Eva on the bed. Gideon raced to the bedroom door before that could happen, managing to slip out without Lucky barking after him. With a finger to his lips, he gestured for silence from Detective Wade Rollins, who was about to knock. Gideon wanted his wife to sleep as long as possible and hoped her rest would be more restorative than his own.
He’d slept some. He and Eva were carrying a sleep deficit, which made falling asleep surprisingly, blessedly swift. But his dreams were vivid and horrifying. He’d woken frequently, every time to the lingering mental fog of a different nightmare.
When he and Rollins reached the living room, he found himself facing a host of weary faces. The NYPD and FBI teamsassigned to the penthouse rotated shifts at staggered hours, but he recognized many of the techs, agents, and detectives from the night before. The sky outside the windows was still dark. The clock on the wall told him it was just past four.
It was Sunday morning. Ireland had been gone since Friday night. While no one had been frank enough to say it aloud, Gideon was aware that the survival rate of hostages dropped ninety percent after twenty-four hours. The fear he felt was like a cancer inside him, eating away at his sanity and growing inexorably with every minute that passed.
“Are they calling back?” he asked the room at large.
The young female tech from the night before was back at the dining table after spending the day off duty. There was now a counterpart tech from the FBI working alongside her. She’d changed her eyeglasses to a pair that was bright blue with three-dimensional clouds on the arms. Catching his gaze, she said, “They called your stepfather and told him to pass along that they’d be calling you soon.”
Rollins, the detective who’d given up his shoes to Gideon the day before, said more. “They called your stepfather at his home twice in the past hour. They used your sister’s voice this time, but the words were definitely not hers.”
“Jesus.” Gideon’s breath left him in a rush. “What was said?”
“You can listen to the recordings,” Rollins offered grimly, but his face said Gideon wouldn’t want to.
And Gideon wasn’t sure he could. To hear Ireland’s voice and know it wasn’t her… He could imagine how devastating that would be. More so for her father. “Have they made any additional demands? Suggested a place for a handoff? Anything at all fucking useful?”
