Chapter 7

ROSALIND

Sex with Cesare was a solid nine out of ten, and I only struck off a point because he let me goad him into skipping the foreplay. His cock must be studded or pierced because the way it rubbed against my g-spot should make it a weapon of mass destruction.

I'm still drunk from a cocktail of endorphins and euphoria when Cesare laughs. It's the mocking, maniacal mirth of a madman who's just unraveled a mystery.

My eyes, which were half-lidded, snap open.

"What?" I ask through panting breaths.

"I've got to say," he pauses, mid-chuckle, to look me up and down. "Your pussy is a nine, but your attitude is a one. That averages out at?—"

"A five?" I spit.

He withdraws, pulls off the condom, and tucks himself back into his pants. As though answering my question is too much of an effort, he unbuckles my ankle restraints and releases my legs before moving onto the leather straps around each wrist, freeing each without a word.

Chest heaving, I push off the leather bench, glaring a hot beam of anger into his broad back. Wasn't he supposed to be an easier target than Leroi? Or was he only easier to manipulate because he only wanted to bust a nut?

"I'm readjusting my score," I say.

He walks to the other side of the playroom to a trash can where he deposits the used condom.

My eyes narrow. He was supposed to be insecure and eager to prove himself, but maybe that was only lust. Or I've pushed him so far that he's given up. Either way, I'm losing him. But if he orders me to leave, I can take the scenic route around the grounds and gather information on their defenses.

"Get dressed," he says, not even bothering to make eye contact. "I'll drive you to the gates where someone will take you home."

My stomach drops.

Shit.

If I don't turn around this situation, then I fucked him for nothing. I rise off the leather bench and walk over to where he stands at a table of supplies and opens a box of latex gloves.

"Why did my pussy only get a nine out of ten?" I ask.

He snaps on the gloves, grabs a pack of disinfectant wipes, pulls one out and strides back to the bench. I spin around, my mouth gaping open as he cleans the leather surface as though getting it ready for the next woman.

"Damn," I mutter. "At least Leroi gave me aftercare and snacks."

He straightens, his shoulders squaring. The veins in his neck swell beneath his skin, and I smirk.

Looks like I've finally gotten through to this asshole.

When he turns back to meet my gaze, his features are pinched. "You're still naked."

I fold my arms across my chest. "You're not sending me away without at least a snack."

His eyes shutter, and I raise my brows with defiance, daring him to lash out. There's a method to my madness. I need Cesare to invite me to stay over or at least fuck me until he falls into an exhausted sleep.

Right now, I can't afford to inspire his indifference, so I'm aiming for his hatred. Men like him, who like to dominate women, wouldn't be able to resist pounding me into submission once more with their cocks. It's just a matter of holding their interest until it's time to strike.

"Will you shut the fuck up if I give you a drink?" he asks.

I offer him an eager nod.

Cesare turns back to the bench, wipes down the restraints, and then strides out through the door. Some of the tension in my chest eases at the prospect of prolonging my stay.

I rush to my purse, pull out a bottle of OPA, and pop it open before following him into the pool house's living room. Oxypentanol renders a target unconscious faster than GHB. Its effects last up to thirty-six hours, but can be reversed with an antidote.

Cesare walks past the dining table and sofas, too self-absorbed to notice what I'm doing, and pauses in front of a kitchenette.

By the time I reach him at the counter, he's opened a cabinet full of bottles. All I need to do is appeal to his nature as an asshole to render him unconscious.

"Give me your strongest vodka," I say, resting my head on his shoulder.

Shrugging me off, he pours me a generous amount into a tumbler, returns the bottle, and strides back across the room. Any other time, I would balk at his shitty manners, but I take the opportunity to gulp down the liquor and top up the glass with OPA.

"Cesare?" I ask.

He pauses halfway to the playroom without turning back to meet my gaze.

I raise my chin. "If my pussy is a nine, then my other holes are elevens."

No reaction.

"I'm not just saying that. Leroi once said I was a fifteen when he was silencing me with his cock down my throat."

He snorts. "Is that right?"

"So, he speaks," I mutter.

Finally, he turns, his cold gaze flickering up and down my naked body. It's a cold assessment that makes my fingers tighten around the glass.

When my tongue swipes over my bottom lip, his gaze sharpens, and my skin prickles under his scrutiny. Moments pass, and the tension builds until my ears ring.

No man in history has ever turned down a blow job, but it looks like Cesare might be the first. I don't think I've ever met anyone so mercurial. He was so eager before, and now he's acting indifferent.

It's maddening he's got me desperate and trying to impress. Mirroring my own tactics.

"Okay, I'll put on my dress and let myself out." I hook my thumb toward the glass doors.

"Get on your knees, then," he says, his words glacial. "Let's see if your mouth is good for something other than talking shit."

I raise my tumbler. "Hold my fucking drink. I'm going to need something in thirty seconds to wash away the foul taste."

He snatches the glass and knocks back its contents. Triumph punches through my chest, but it's too early to celebrate my victory. The formula I gave him is colorless, odorless, and so bland it would have picked up the taste of vodka. But there's a slim chance he'll see through my ruse and raise the alarm.

When he doesn't grimace, I drop to my knees and force down a grin.

I unzip Cesare's pants and pull out his cock. Even half hard, his shaft is long and thick with prominent veins. He's just as huge as Leroi, but that's not what makes my breath catch. His bulbous tip is pierced with four silver beads attached to thick barbells.

Feigning disinterest, I ask, "What kind of piercing is that?"

"A magic cross," he replies with a smirk.

"Oh," I murmur. "That's why you felt so different."

He slides his fingers through my hair, making my scalp tingle. "I thought it was only worth a six?"

"Different isn't always better." I lick my lips, my pussy already throbbing.

"That was the most intense fuck you've ever had," he snarls. "Don't deny it. I felt how your cunt pulsed around my cock."

I scoff. "That was barely a tremor. I've had better climaxes with my pinky."

His fingers in my hair tighten, delivering a sharp pain that heightens my arousal. He jerks my head back, so I'm forced to look into his eyes.

"Are you going to continue to give me sass, or will you demonstrate those cock-sucking skills?"

I snatch his shaft, making him hiss through his teeth. The OPA should already be working its magic by now, but Cesare must be resistant. Lucky for us both, he's my most attractive target and best fuck.

It's almost a pity he'll have to die.

Swirling my tongue around his head, I flick the piercings, and his body tenses. He's salty and sweet, with a hint of bitterness from the condom's spermicide. But I've tasted far worse.

The fingers tangling in my hair loosen a little, allowing me more room to maneuver, yet he still guides the movement of my head.

With my free hand, I ease his pants further down and roll his balls, which are surprisingly smooth.

Cesare groans, and I let him bob my head up and down his shaft. The piercings slide back and forth against my tongue and the roof of my mouth, making my pussy throb.

"Eyes on me," he says.

When I look up, his pupils are tiny pinpricks, bringing out the pale flecks in his blue irises. It's a sign that the drug is taking effect, but I need him pliable and drowsy before he comes in my mouth and kicks me out.

I increase the suction, eager to raise his heart rate to accelerate the drug. His breathing turns ragged, and his hips jerk.

"Good girl," he rumbles. "So much better when you can't talk back."

"Go fuck yourself," I mutter around his cock.

He chuckles, the sound rich and deep. "Use your words."

"I said?—"

His fingers tighten around my hair, making my breath catch. Then he flashes his teeth and growls, "I'm gonna fuck your throat."

Before I know it, he's thrusting into my mouth and down my windpipe. My eyes water, and I breathe hard, trying not to choke.

Part of my training as an assassin was getting rid of my gag reflex so I could stay focused when a target loses control. Staying alert, I increase the suction, ready to catch him when he falls.

Soon, his thrusts slow and become more erratic. When his fingers loosen their grip, I know he's fallen under the drug's influence.

Taking him deeper, I close my throat around his crown, and he climaxes with a guttural groan, flooding my mouth with salty fluid. His knees buckle and my hands shoot out to break his fall, and he collapses into my arms.

His cock slips from my lips, and I lay him on the floor, making sure he's still breathing. Then I grab his wrists and drag him through the pool house's lounge and into the playroom.

It's time to change into something more suitable to infiltrate the mansion and search the grounds.