21. Nik

CHAPTER 21

Nik

The Golden Sands’ lights gild Brie’s platinum hair in shifting colors as we make our way back inside after our evening out. And I’m glad to see the tension from earlier has left her shoulders. I want her relaxed and happy. Worrying about her safety is my job—hers is to think, to strategize, to lead. And she can’t do that if her mind is on other things.

“You were right,” she says, her voice carrying that drawl that only emerges when she’s truly let her guard down. “I needed that break. Thank you for making me go out.” She threads her arm through mine as we walk through the lobby.

I scan our surroundings even as I smile at her. A couple stumbles past, drunk on love and probably vodka. A security guard nods respectfully in our direction. Looks clear, but there’s still something bugging me.

“I still worry about us staying here,” I tell her in a low voice. “That dressing room is hardly secure.”

Brie’s laugh is musical, drawing the attention of a passing high-roller who does a double-take at her beauty. I shift subtly, blocking his view. Mine , everything in me growls, even though I know Brie belongs to no one but herself.

That’s what I love most about her, truth be told.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” she says, squeezing my arm. “Men like Larry always completely forget about my dressing room, tucked away down there.” Her eyes sparkle with that mischief I’ve come to adore. “Honestly? I sometimes think they forget about it on purpose. They don’t want to know how the sausage is made—or the clam, so to speak.” She snort-chuckles at her own juvenile joke, and I fall a little harder for her. “All they want to see is the finished product strutting across the casino floor.”

“Mmm.” We’re through the lobby now and heading into the deserted corridors of the corporate offices, so I pull her closer, lowering my voice to a whisper that makes her shiver. “I happen to love knowing exactly how your particular clam is made. Every…” I brush my lips against her ear, “single…” my hand slides to her lower back, “detail.”

A blush creeps up her neck, but she recovers quickly, proving once again why she’s perfect for this world. Nothing rattles Brie Colombo for long. “Speaking of which…” She trails her fingers down my arm, then takes my hand, pulling me back into the casino with her. I go willingly. “I’m not done unwinding yet,” she says. “How do you feel about a late-night spa visit?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t it closed for the night?”

“That’s what makes it perfect.” Her grin is pure sin as she sashays toward the nearest security guard. I watch her work her magic, marveling at how effortlessly she commands respect. The guard’s deference is immediate and absolute, no questions asked. This is the woman who will lead the Colombo Family, I think with pride. She can make people want to break rules for her with nothing but a smile.

Inside the spa, I immediately lock the door behind us. The air is still perfumed with the scented oils that burn constantly, and Brie goes straight to start up the sauna so it will be ready when we are. We keep the main lights off, letting only the ambient glow from the windowed walls light up the place. Brie beckons me toward the pool, where she starts sliding her dress straps off her shoulders with the slow deliberation of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing. She turns to let the dress fall down her body, shimmying when it catches over her hips, until she’s standing there naked.

And then she casts coy looks over her shoulder that make my mouth go dry. I pull off my clothes as fast as I can while I watch her take a clean dive into the deep end, then swim a lazy few strokes to the middle. “Hurry up,” she calls.

“I’m hurrying, believe me,” I tell her, but I make sure I keep my gun on top of my clothes and in easy reach at the side of the pool. And then I join her.

The warm water embraces me as I slide into the pool and swim over to her. Brie’s skin gleams in the low light, droplets catching and holding the soft glow like diamonds. Here, in this stolen moment of privacy, she looks almost otherworldly, a siren emerged from the depths to claim me.

“You’re still on guard,” she teases, swimming closer. “Even here?”

“Always,” I murmur as she moves into my space, water rippling around her perfect curves. “Gotta keep that body of yours safe, after all. From everyone but me, anyway.”

Her laugh echoes softly off the tiled walls, but dies in her throat as I pull her against me. The kiss starts slow, a gentle exploration that quickly deepens into something more urgent. Water laps around us as we lose ourselves in each other, her fingers tangling in my wet hair. The heat of her mouth contrasts with the cool water droplets on her skin, creating a sensory experience that makes me ache with need.

“God, you’re beautiful,” I breathe against her throat, and she arches into my touch like a cat seeking affection. Her legs wrap around my waist as I press her against the pool wall, the water making her weightless in my arms.

I keep her pressed there as my hands find her tits, squeezing and kneading them until she moans and writhes against me. I dip my head to flick my tongue across one sensitive nipple, and her grip tightens in my hair, urging me on. My mouth seeks out her other breast, and I lavish it with attention, sucking and biting as she writhes and gasps. I drop a hand to her cunt and find it already slick, even in the water. Her hips buck against my touch, seeking friction, and I stroke her clit with a finger, keeping up the pressure on her tits with the other hand.

Her moans drive me on, and I slip a finger inside her, thumb circling her clit. She tenses, her nails digging into my shoulders as I pump in and out, slowly and deliberately—and then withdraw. She groans in frustration as I return to her tits, kissing and sucking each one. Her hips buck, the water slowing her movements, eddying around us. “What are you waiting for?” she pants.

“A little more heat.” I release her, swimming backward, and then crook a finger at her. “Come on. I want to get you all sweaty.”

She follows me when she realizes what I mean, and I lead the way to the sauna, which is at a nice level of humidity—not so much that it feels like I’m breathing through a wet towel, but warm enough to make Brie sweat. That’s what I want—to watch the beads of sweat forming on her golden skin, to lick them off and taste the salt of her, to watch her squirm and moan beneath me as I devour her from head to toe.

I lay her out on the wooden bench, a towel beneath her head and one under her hips, and I spread her thighs wide open so I can take in the sight of her, glistening and swollen and eager for my touch. Her hair is spread out around her, still wet from the pool, and her eyes are dark with lust. She’s watching me, too, her gaze flicking down my body to the cunt that’s aching for her.

“I want to taste you,” she says, her voice hoarse with need.

“Maybe later.”

“But—”

“Shh.” I lean forward, putting a finger on her lips. “Good girls do what they’re told.”

“I’m a very good girl,” she whispers, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“You are.” I run a finger along her jaw, and then slide it into her mouth. She sucks on it eagerly, and I shudder. “ Very good,” I repeat, and then trail that hand down her neck, across her chest, and stop at her right tit, cupping and squeezing. My other hand slides between her legs, and I start working her pussy again, teasing her with long, lazy strokes of my palm over her clit.

Her breath comes faster, but I’m determined to take my time, and I resist her pleas when they come, keeping her legs spread wide open, my movements slow and steady. Her juices are flowing freely now, coating my fingers, and the sight and scent of her drives me wild.

My cunt is pleading for attention, but that can wait. For now, all I care about is Brie.

I drop to my knees, ignoring the hard floor, and put my mouth right up against her pussy. She shudders at the first brush of my lips over her sweat-soaked skin, and then gasps as I lick her from ass to clit. She tastes salty-sweet, her sweat mixing with her cream. My fingers find her hole, slick and hot, and I slide my fingers into her, curving and twisting to find all her most sensitive spots. Her moans and gasps grow louder, and she bucks and twists under my touch, hands scrabbling for purchase on the wooden bench.

I keep her spread open, licking and sucking, fucking her with my fingers, until I feel her starting to shake. Her thighs tremble, her stomach tenses—and then she comes, her whole body rippling, her cunt pulsing against my tongue.

She pants, her body twitching and writhing as aftershocks roll through her. I keep them going, flicking her clit with my tongue and pressing on all those exquisite little nerve endings inside her, until her cries turn to whimpers.

I pull my hand free, crawl over her, and pull her mouth to mine for a fierce kiss, my tongue demanding, insistent. I guide her hand to my cunt, and she understands, slipping two fingers inside me and pressing her thumb against my clit. Her other hand snakes up to find a nipple, and I groan against her mouth as she strokes me, tugging at my tits until I push her hands aside and mount her thigh, desperate for more. She’s wet all over, which means I can glide and grind with the perfect amount of friction. I grab her wrists when she reaches for me, and she whispers Yes, yes, as I press them down above her head.

“You’re mine,” I tell her, as I ride her, slow at first, then picking up the pace. “That gorgeous cunt is mine, and your tits, and that sweet little mouth—tell me.”

“Yes,” she pants out. “Yes, I’m all yours, only yours…” The sight of her sweat-sheened body shaking under me as I fuck down on her, combined with the sounds she’s making—it’s all too much for me, so when she whispers, “Come on, come all over me,” I can’t resist.

I’m bound to follow her orders, after all, no matter how much we might play around with who’s on top during sex. And so I do come for her, as ordered, gasping out her name, and when I finally stop moving, I slump against her and she cradles me, stroking my hair, as I murmur, “Thank you, thank you.”

Later, as we dress to leave, I catch her watching me in the mirror, a small smile playing on her lips. “What are you thinking?” I ask, coming up behind her to zip her dress.

“I’m thinking,” she says slowly, running her hands over my arms as though admiring my muscles, “that Larry and his men can plot all they want. They’ll never understand how real power works.”

And looking at her—this woman who commands respect with a smile—I couldn’t agree more.

We head back through to the corporate area, which is deserted at this time of night, though I see Brie glancing at Terry Colombo’s locked office as we pass it, a wistful look in her eyes. When we get back to the dressing room, I take her into my arms to kiss her into bliss again, but the moment is interrupted by the sharp trill of her cell phone.

I tense automatically, but Brie’s expression remains calm as she answers. “Eva,” she says, her voice cooling several degrees. “What can I?—”

I watch her face carefully as she listens, noting the slight widening of her eyes, the ghost of a smile that touches her lips. When she hangs up, there’s a triumphant gleam in her eye that makes my pulse quicken.

“Eva came through,” she says. “She’s arranged a conversation with Big Joe.”

“So we need to pack?” I’m already mentally cataloging what we’ll need for a trip out of town, but Brie’s smile stops me.

“It’ll be simpler than that,” she says, reaching up to begin unbuttoning my shirt again with an intimacy that still takes my breath away. “Much simpler. Let me tell you all about it…in bed.”