Chapter 21

Twenty-One

Considering Ash's father owns the hotel, it's no surprise when we bypass the front desk and go directly to the elevators. As we cross the lobby, I see a few people turning to gape, some even lifting their phones, presumably to take video or pics of Ash, just as they do when Damien is out in public. Soon, I know, the fact that he's here in Vegas will be all over the internet.

I glance at him, but he's as cool about the attention as his father always is. I'm not surprised. He'd garnered his own fame early on as a race car driver, so he was already used to it before that fame had multiplied exponentially when his relationship to Damien hit the press.

I, however, am not used to it at all, and I move even closer to him, relaxing only when the elevator doors close. As soon as they do, Ash punches in the code for the penthouse suite, then backs me into a corner, his arms and body blocking me in. Not that I want to move. Right there in the protection of his arms is exactly where I want to be.

Even so, I gasp as he tugs the top of my dress down, freeing my breasts. He bends over, laving his tongue over my hard nipple. "Ash, no." I'm amazed I can get the words out. I'm so turned on I can barely think, my body all ice and fire and need.

"Any time, any place." His fingertips replace his tongue, and as they tease my nipples, his eyes hold mine. "That was the deal."

"Cameras," I say, ashamed that the word is only for form. I'm still tingling from the drive, my body craving his. I don't know what he's turned me into, but right then I don't care what kind of a show we're putting on.

"Breaking our deal?" The whispered question tickles my ears as his hand slides up my thigh, taking the skirt with it. I'm going to be fully exposed soon, blocked only from the few angles where his body shields mine.

Three million . Technically, that's what he's paying for this moment in front of the cameras. But the joke's on him, I think as his fingers find my core. As his lips tease down my neck.

Three million , I think, and I stay silent and exposed. This is the trade I agreed to. The deal he proposed.

Does he really not know that I crave the way his fingers touch my clit, the way he thrusts them inside me? The way he kisses his way down to my breast so that he's no longer blocking my view of the corners of the elevator car where I know those cameras are mounted?

I swallow, more turned on than I can ever remember being as I look at the lens across from me. As his fingers slide in and out in a rhythm that's taking me close, but not taking me over.

Who am I?

More important, who am I with Ash? And is that who I want to be?

The answer comes fast, and I cry out his name, begging him to take me over, too turned on to care who might be watching, or who Ash might have to bribe to destroy whatever is caught on those cameras.

I want this. I want him. This man who erases my fears. Who will bury my nightmares. Who will pay a fortune to keep me safe.

And who plays my body like a finely tuned instrument.

He pulls away from my breast, then rises to take my mouth in a kiss that is long and deep and claiming. If there was any doubt in my mind that I'd become his property sometime during this trip, it's fully erased now.

I need the three million.

I want Ashton Stone.

And the real horror is that once the money is transferred, I won't be his any longer.

As the elevator slowed, Ash stepped back, letting the material fall against those slim thighs as Bree adjusted her top, her eyes not quite meeting his and her cheeks flushed pink.

He wanted to pull her close and kiss her hard, but he knew from experience that Mina and David, the housekeeper and concierge assigned to the penthouse, would be waiting in the foyer when the doors opened, ready to take on any tasks required for one of the Stark family or their guests. Better to just stand beside her as the elevator slowed even though all he wanted to do was touch her.

His body was still on fire from the drive. He'd never been with a woman as responsive as Bree. But it wasn't just the way she reacted to him. It was the way she trusted him. Maybe she knew that the Stark family code he'd entered for the penthouse also disabled the cameras, but he doubted it. Which meant that she'd fully submitted to him when he'd told her not to worry.

It humbled him that she trusted him with her body. With her privacy. With the intimate knowledge of what turned her on.

Most of all, she trusted him to fix whatever horror was nipping at her toes. A horror that could only be slain by a three-million-dollar payment.

He didn't know the specifics of why she needed it, but he was certain it was some type of blackmail. Though what a woman like Bree could ever have done that was worth paying three-million dollars to hide, he really didn't know.

He intended to find out.

"Fiftieth floor," she noted as the elevator slowed. "I've never been up this high. When Nikki and Damien gave me a week here once, Aria and I stayed on the pool level. It was incredible." She tilted her chin up as she looked at him, the corner of her mouth tugging into the tiniest of smiles.

"That must have been fun." He remembered that weekend. He'd been in town, too, and though he usually didn't visit the pool deck—the penthouse had its own pool—he'd learned that she and her friend had reserved a cabana for the day. "I've been here myself several times and I often go to the pool deck just for the company. And," he added as his eyes skimmed over hers, "for the view. I've been known to meet friends there, too. Sometimes, I'll even offer to buy them a drink. Always a disappointment when they have to decline."

"Maybe you'll have the chance to make the offer again." Her eyes sparkled with humor. "Another drink. Or something else interesting. Maybe if you do, they won't turn you down."

The edge of heat in her voice teased his cock, and he wanted to ask what drink or activity this mystery friend might find appealing. But before he could, the elevator doors slid open, revealing the now-familiar entrance hall along with Mina and David, the staff he'd come to know over the last couple of years.

He let Bree step out first, then followed and introduced them. He gestured for Bree to continue inside while he hung back to give Mina and David their instructions—essentially to not worry about them since it was just an overnight stay. Then he sent them off, promising to ring if anything more was needed.

"Wow," Bree said when he caught up with her on the balcony. "The view is amazing." She was hugging herself to ward off the October chill as she looked out over the sparkling lights of Sin City.

"Lovely, isn't it?" he said, his gaze skimming over those sharp cheekbones. Her kissable lips. Her silky hair tucked behind an ear he was tempted to caress.

And why not? He owned her, didn't he? For now, at least, the woman he'd craved for what felt like an eternity belonged entirely to him, and he stepped behind her, ready to claim what he owned.

Gently, he urged her forward until her hands closed over the railing that topped the clear panels surrounding this level of the balcony. He was already hard, and he heard her breath stutter as he moved close, his cock straining against his jeans and pressing against the small of her back.

He put his palms on her bare shoulders, then tilted his head forward, breathing in the floral scent of her shampoo.

"Whatever you want," she whispered. "However you want it."

"She remembers the rules," he said, slowly peeling down the top of her dress until she was naked from the waist up. Then he cupped his hands over her breasts. Her breath hitched, and his cock grew even harder.

He slid one hand down, teasing her pussy through the thin material, his cock straining against the denim as she whimpered softly, then shifted, pushing her ass back against him in what could only be a silent plea for more.

"Beg me for it," he whispered, as his fingers teased their way under the skirt. As he found her wet and wanting and ready. "Beg me to fuck you right here, standing at the top of this city."

"Is that what you want?"

"Desperately," he admitted. He couldn't remember wanting a woman more, and it wasn't just because he'd been denied her for so long. Wasn't because of the rules he'd set. He wanted her humor and her strength. Her sass and her smile.

Most of all, he wanted the way she made him feel. As if he was her hero. As if he had the power to slay all the monsters that haunted her.

And somehow, someway, he would do just that.

"Beg me," he repeated, longing to be inside her.

"If I beg, I'm free." The soft words were almost whisked away by the breeze.

He stifled a groan. He'd set the damn rules. "I want you, Bree," he said, and he couldn't remember ever meaning those words more. "Tell me you want me."

"Yes." The word was little more than a tremulous whisper, but he could hear the truth.

"Say it," he demanded, his fingers thrusting inside her, making her gasp and moan in a way that only made him harder. "Beg me," he ordered as he teased her clit and she made soft sounds of growing pleasure. "Beg me," he repeated.

But she stayed brutally silent.

Frustration as pungent as fire curled through him. He'd never wanted anything more than what he craved right then. To yank the dress all the way off. To lay her out on one of the over-sized chaises. To spread her legs and fuck her as the lights of the city twinkled like fairy dust all around them.

He wanted to lose himself inside her. To take her up all the way to heaven, then send her crashing back down like the burning embers of a shooting star, only to land safe in his arms again.

"Beg me," he pleaded, but she only shook her head. "You want me," he whispered, his fingers stroking her clit.

"Yes."

"Then beg me."

She laughed, and he knew she saw it, too. The irony that he was begging her to beg.

He couldn't help but smile at the game they were both playing. She could drag it out, but in the end, he would win. He'd have her begging for him by sunrise. And when she did, he would be more than happy to oblige. As for now…

She moaned as he slid the dress down over her hips and thighs so that it fell to the floor, leaving her naked in his arms. "Cold," she whispered, and he gathered her closer, then bent his mouth to her ear.

"Will it sound too cliché if I tell you I'll warm you up?"

He felt her soft laughter against the palms that again cupped her breasts. "Maybe," she whispered. "But what's a little cliché between friends?"

"You make a good point." He kept his left palm firmly over her breast but went exploring with his right. Teasing her nipple. Feeling the weight of her breast against his palm. Trailing his fingers down her soft skin, then tracing a fingertip over the pattern of her ribs. Her body was perfect. Not so thin that he could injure himself on a bone. Not so athletic that sex felt like an Olympic try-out, but also not so soft that she had no stamina and was content to simply lay beneath him like a fuckable pillow.

On the contrary, Bree responded with an enthusiasm that made him ache even more. That seemed to fuel the desire for her that he'd tamped down for over a year. Her bare ass writhed against his denim-clad cock. Her hands closed over his as he teased her breast. Not to stop him, but to move with him. As if she couldn't bear to not feel what he was feeling. To need what he needed.

Her breath was shaky, broken by soft murmurs of yes and please , and the way she wriggled against him only made the torture more sweetly intense. It took all his strength not to bend her over and fuck her from behind. To tease her clit as he thrust his cock deep inside her. To make her explode in his arms, screaming his name so that it echoed out over all of Vegas.

But that was against the rules. He wouldn't fuck her until she begged.

And when she begged, this would be over.

Would it?

The question came unbidden, and he shoved it aside. Right now, he cared only about this moment. Right now, he only wanted to touch Bree.

With her ass nestled against his cock, he slid one arm around her neck, locking her in place. He felt her stiffen, and in the next heartbeat, he remembered who he was holding. The horror that she'd been through when she'd been taken.

He released his chokehold, then took a step back.

"Stay."

Her whisper was barely audible, and he froze.

"Not like that." He moved closer, his palms light atop her bare shoulders and her back against his chest. "I don't have to hold you like that."

"What if—what if I want you to?"

He closed his eyes, certain he should refuse, but also hearing the plea in her voice. As if this was a test. Not of him, but of herself.

Then, without a word, he put his arm around her neck again. She exhaled, one tight little puff of breath, then arched back, surrendering to him. Humbling him.

Slowly, he traced his other hand down, starting at her breasts, then easing over her ribs, then over her flat belly until he reached the smooth, waxed skin of her pussy. She made a whimpering noise, and when she shifted her stance to spread her legs a bit more, the certainty that she wanted his touch as much as he craved her slammed through him with full force.

He stroked his hand down, his fingertips rejoicing in the feel of her smooth skin, his lips parting in a low groan as he went lower still and found her slick and wet and needy.

He didn't tease her. Didn't play with her clit or trace softly over her labia. Instead, he thrust two fingers inside her, then held her tight as her back arched and her core clenched around his fingers.

"That's it, baby. Tell me you want it."

"Yes," she murmured as her hips moved and her breathing quickened. She was so close, and he wanted to take her over. Wanted to be the man who made her explode.

But he wanted more, too. And he was damn certain that she did as well.

All she had to do was beg…

He withdrew his fingers, then slowly teased her clit as she murmured, "No, Ash, please. Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

He bent to whisper in her ear. "Tell me what you want, baby. Beg for it."

"Bastard." But the word was a breath, and he heard the humor under the frustration.

Once again, he thrust two fingers deep inside her, teasing that sensitive G-spot as she writhed against him, her body craving everything he had to give, and her cry of, "More, Ash, please more," sounded so wild and desperate they could probably hear it down on the strip.

"That's it, baby," he said as he stroked and teased, wanting to take her over. Wanting to hold her close as she exploded in his arms. He didn't know what had happened to her when she'd been taken, but he could imagine.

And he would make it his personal mission to burn her fear to the ground, then build her back up with nothing but pleasure. "Beg me," he whispered. "Come on, baby. Beg me."

"Ash," she murmured. "I want?—"

Ping!

The sharp chime of the elevator startled them both, and as Ash spit out a curse, she broke from his embrace to scoot out of sight on the far side of the glass patio doors.

"Dammit, I'm so sorry." He held up a finger to indicate he'd be right back, then hurried through the open doorway intent on strangling David or Mina.

Except it was his own ass he needed to kick. He'd locked down the elevator for the evening, but he hadn't turned on the Do Not Disturb function. And absent that command, the staff was authorized to reactivate the elevator in order to deliver urgent mail or packages to the entryway table.

But who the hell would be sending him something tonight?

He'd know in a second, he thought, as the elevator doors parted, and David stepped out.

"Mr. Stone. Sorry to disturb, but this was delivered by a local messenger and was marked urgent."

As David departed, Ash opened the slim cardboard envelope with the local messenger service's logo. Inside he found a letter-sized envelope with Ash's name printed on the front and a handwritten notation indicating that the service had received the fax fifteen minutes ago, and the sender had identified itself as Stark International. But it was a stamp reading URGENT that took up much of the envelope's real estate.

Ash couldn't imagine why Damien or anyone at the company would use a messenger service as a middleman and not just send the fax directly to the hotel. For that matter, why not text or email Ash directly?

Frowning, he slipped a finger under the flap to open the envelope. As he did, Bree hurried toward him, the dress back on, but her feet bare. "What is it?"

"Something from my father. Or his office," he amended, pulling out the paper, then frowning as he unfolded it to reveal a fax copy of Stark International's letterhead with no signature and no text. In fact, all that was on the paper was a QR code, neatly centered on the page.

"What the hell," he began, but he choked on the words when Bree sank to the floor, then pulled her knees up and hugged them.

She tilted her face up, and the terror he saw there almost ripped his heart out.

"That's not from Damien," she whispered, her voice so soft that he could barely hear her. "And the message is about me."