Burned - Moning Karen Marie - Страница 58

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“Blond guys are hot and sexy and … well, fun and all that, but for some reason I usually avoid them. It’s the dark-haired guys that get me. I don’t know, I take them more seriously. They come off as more …” She sighs dreamily. “… dangerous. Ryodan is definitely more dangerous than you. I mean, really, what do you do? You screw blondes and act like a caveman. But back to what I really want to know: can you read minds and could you help me organize my thoughts? And if so, what do you want in exchange?”

“Ryodan,” I manage to say without snarling. Well, okay, so maybe I snarl a little. “You think he’s more dangerous.” She not only just insulted my dick and what I do with it, she’s now moved on to insulting my fucking existence.

“I don’t want to talk about him. I came here to forget him. Can we just not talk about him?”

“You’re the one who brought him up.”

“I did not.”

“Indirectly. Don’t tell me I’m the hottest fuck if I’m not.”

“I’m surprised you’re still talking. I thought Pri-ya meant pretty much brain-dead. Don’t you have better things to do with your mouth?”

“Oh, honey, I got plenty of better things to do with it. Better than any fuck out there.” And I’m gonna prove it. She likes danger? I’ll show her danger. “And some of us got too many brains to kill.”

She laughs. “You? Yeah, right.”

I growl. A few chains would definitely help. We’ll see just who she thinks is the hottest fuck by the time I’m done with her.

When she pushes herself up to climb on top of me again, I shove her back and snarl, “Arms over your head, woman.”

With a husky laugh, she falls back and complies.

She’s gonna stop laughing real soon.

Scowling all the while, wishing I had chains in this room — bloody hell, how can she look at this face of mine and not see danger? — I dig around in the sheets for the scarves my parade of blondes donated to the cause, knot them around her wrists, and tie her real tight to the posters at the top of the bed.

Then do something I never let myself do, and tie her feet down, too, thinking, Man, she should not be letting me do this, followed by, Man, I know better than to do this.

I got Jo spread-eagled naked, legs wide, totally at my mercy, and I’m not gonna have one fucking ounce of it. She’s not getting out of this bed until she’s had the most explosive orgasm of her life, followed by a few hundred more. I’m keeping her for weeks.

I’m keeping her until she’s telling me I’m the hottest fuck she’s ever had and means it. Until she’s Lor-Pri-ya. Until she sees there’s a little more going on here than Mr. Fucking-Second-Rate-Nice-Guy who’s fun, for fuck’s sake, and wasn’t one of the most vicious killers the old world knew. I can keep it under control. I’ve been soaked in sex for the past week and a half. The lethal edge is off my appetite. Mostly.

We’re a competitive bunch at Chester’s. We don’t take kindly to being called second best. It’s why we don’t poach each other’s pussy. We get territorial, even if we screwed ’em just once. Level 4’s turnover is the highest in the club.

She’s looking straight at me, catches her lower lip with her teeth. “I never let Ryodan do this to me,” she says breathlessly.

Wise woman. Not so wise now.

Score one for Lor. I’m doing something the boss didn’t do.

I’m about to do a few other things I guaran-damn-tee Ryodan didn’t do, too.

Being invisible in a closed elevator with Barrons and Ryodan is quite possibly one of the most stressful experiences of my life. It nearly ranks up there with being tortured by Malluce.

You don’t think about the many ways your body has of announcing your presence until it’s absolutely essential you remain one hundred percent silent. I could sneeze. Hiccup. Pass gas. If I forget to walk with my feet slightly apart, my jean-clad legs will swish against each other. One of my joints might pop. I may be young but my bones keep getting broken and occasionally my knuckles remind me of it. A single belly growl would out me in an instant. These are men with dangerously acute senses.

I make a mental note to forgo eating when I decide to go sleuthing next time so I won’t have to worry about my stomach gurgling as it digests. Then I realize if I don’t eat, it might growl from hunger. I conclude I’ll have to eat frequent, small, easily digested meals to minimize the likelihood of either from happening while I scout the restricted half of my world.

I press back in the far corner opposite them, trying to be as small as possible, holding my breath and praying it’s a short ride.

Although it feels interminable, we stop after only two levels. Ryodan stalks off the elevator with Barrons behind him. Again I have to run to keep up.

A few doors from the end of the hall, Ryodan slams his palm against the wall and roars, “Get the fuck out here now, Lor!”

I catch up to them as the door whisks open and stand behind them, peering in.

Ryodan storms into the room. And stops. Mid-step.

I lean forward and — Oh. Wow. Oh. Looks like Jo took my advice. Plunged into it with alacrity and abandon.

I wonder irritably how many times I’m going to have to watch Lor have marathon sex this week. The universe seems to be taking some kind of perverse pleasure rubbing my face in his carnal abundance and my lack thereof.

The three of us stand, staring.

Jo and Lor are frozen, staring back. Then again, Jo’s pretty darned well restrained so I’m not surprised by how immobile she is.

Barrons laughs softly. “Didn’t see this one coming.”

Jo is tied to the bed, spread-eagled, with Lor straddling her. They’re not actually having sex at the moment, but by the tangled sheets, how sweaty Lor is (gotta love a hardworking man), and Jo’s bed-head, it’s obvious this isn’t their first go-round.

I’ve seen way too much of Lor naked lately. I scowl at Barrons, wishing we’d had sex more recently. Like five minutes ago.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Lor growls.

“You’re a dead man,” Ryodan says softly.

Straining futilely against the scarves — even from my limited perspective I can see Lor knows how to tie knots right — Jo says, “Ryodan, it’s not his fault! It’s mine. He didn’t want to sleep with me, I forced him—”

“Where the fuck do chicks get that phrase?” Lor growls. “No man wants to sleep with a woman. He wants to fuck her. And nobody forces me to do shit.”

“—to do it. I heard he was Pri-ya. I took advantage of him.”

“He’s a dead man because he lied to me, Jo. Not because he fucked you. Though I’d rather not have seen it.”

I peer at Ryodan from the side. He’s watching Jo through narrowed eyes and I realize it really does bother him seeing them together but it’s not emotional. It’s purely territorial. Still, that’s something and I’m glad Jo got the satisfaction.

Jo meets his gaze and says quietly, “I didn’t mean for you to see it.”

“He’s not Pri-ya. He’s faking. That’s what he lied about.” Ryodan drops the bomb casually and watches it detonate.

Jo blanches and her gaze flies back to Lor’s face. “Is that true? You’re not Pri-ya?”

“What the fuck’s the difference? You wanted to fuck me. You asked me to get the boss’s taste out of your mouth. I did.”

“Taste out of your—” Ryodan says. “Christ, Jo.”

“It’s not like I thought the idea up all by myself,” Jo says defensively. “Mac’s the one who—”

“Get off her, Lor,” Ryodan orders.

Great, now Ryodan has one more reason to dislike me.

“—told me to do it because she thought it would be—”

“Don’t go getting pissed about it now,” Lor cuts her off. “I’m the one that should be pissed. This didn’t have a damned thing to do with me. Just my dick. You know how many times you told me how glad you were I wouldn’t remember this? Well guess what, Jo? I remember every goddamn detail. Etched into that puny-ass little brain you think I have.”

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