Their Cartel Princess: The Complete Series: A Dark Reverse Harem Box Set Page 38

  “Cigarette,” Zachary snapped.

  Anyone but him would have given him a double-take. Ailin drew a crumpled soft pack of cigarettes from his pocket, hesitated, and then brought out a shitty plastic lighter.

  He would have to purchase something more elegant for the man. God knew what he spent his paycheck on each month, but it was never on himself. Perhaps he had a lover Zachary didn’t know about. He might even have a family.

  Zachary hadn’t closed the door behind him; from inside the room, came a girl’s breathy cry. Ailin shook out a cigarette, and then held out the lighter for Zachary. He pulled hard at the cigarette, coughed just as hard, and then took a second drag and held it in his lungs. It tasted foul, and hot, and too thick. But it was glorious. He took another drag, turned at the sound of the bed moving over the floor, and patted Ailin on the side of his arm.

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  Ailin said nothing as he put his smokes back in his pocket, and then returned to his inspection of the ceiling.

  Angel glanced up when Zachary came back into the room. His jaw was tight, his right hand white knuckled where he gripped the top of the girl’s thigh. His bandaged hand hung limp at his side, as if his wound hurt too much for him to use it. From his new vantage point, Zachary had a better view than before. The girl seemed oblivious to everything except Angel’s dick. But he didn’t watch Angel fucking the girl…he watched Angel watching him. Disgust slowly replaced Angel’s vapid concentration. The young man tipped his head down, spat down on the girl, and then rubbed in that lubricant with furious intent, eyes never leaving Zachary’s.

  Something twisted inside Zachary. He took another long pull at his cigarette before dropping it to the floor and grinding it out under the heel of his shoe.

  “Don’t come inside her,” he said levelly. “I don’t want to have to pay for another abortion.”

  A look of obtuse shock flashed over Angel’s face. Then he groaned, pulled out of the girl, and jerked himself off until he came all over her belly and breasts.

  She lay panting under him, mouth wide and eyes confused. Then she tipped her head back and looked at Zachary upside down, as if wondering if he was going to take his turn with her now that Angel was done.

  And the mood he was in, she might just be in luck.

  Angel used the girl’s pretty underwear to clean his dick, and then awkwardly zipped up his jeans with his bandaged hand. When he stepped back, he closed her legs for her. They just fell open again, the girl seeming still trapped in some pleasure-wreathed dimension.

  Zachary slowly walked over to the bed. His mouth tasted like ash, and it was beginning to make him feel nauseous. He leaned down, and kissed the girl until she kissed him back. Eventually, when the taste of cigarettes had been replaced by her sweet saliva, he straightened again.

  Angel’s mouth had twisted as if he’d bitten into something sour.

  “I don’t surround myself with frivolous things,” Zachary said as he tugged the girl’s underwear over the bed. He urged her into a sit, and then spread her legs open. “If you can’t do what I need you to, when I ask it of you…what use are you to me?”

  Angel looked away, but then his eyes were drawn back when Zachary began fingering the girl.

  He seemed transfixed by what Zachary was doing. The girl moaned, writhing and twisting her hips. Eventually bucking against his hand to drive his fingers deeper inside her. One finger became two, three. Her moans turned to gasps, then whimpers.

  “So, I’ll ask you one more time, Angel…” He slid her underwear across her throat, catching a hold of both ends in a hand. “Will you kill for me?”

  Tightened it.

  Angel leapt forward the same instant the girl gasped.

  The young man grabbed at her underwear with both hands, trying to rip it from Zachary’s hands. But he’d twisted it around his thumb to secure it and the girl began to thrash.

  “It becomes easier with time,” Zachary said, his voice tight with the effort of keeping the girl from breaking free. Her eyes bulged, and her face became red. Zachary yanked his fingers free of her, and used that hand to grab a hold of Angel’s throat. The young man grunted, but didn’t bother trying to free himself; his clumsy fingers tried to tug away the underwear strangling the girl. A pinprick of blood stained the back of the bandage over his left hand.

  “Some would say addictive, even.”

  Angel went for Zachary’s hands instead, scraping his nails over his wrists. That dot of blood became the size of a quarter.

  With a twist, Zachary caught a hold of Angel’s fingers and tangled them in the underwear. When he pulled away, it was Angel strangling her, not him.

  Angel froze. His face turned pale as the girl’s struggles rapidly ceased under them. He tried yanking his fingers free, but her head just bobbed forward. She twitched violently, catching him in the stomach with a perfectly manicured foot—bright pink toenails gleaming in the low light of the stand lamp—and then she was still.

  A sob escaped Angel. He finally managed to shake himself free, and tugged away that slip of fabric. Bright red weals painted the girl’s throat. A few spots showed where blood had almost come to the surface.

  Zachary grabbed the dead girl’s hair in a fist and shoved her toward Angel. He fell back with a hollow cry and seemed to notice that he’d opened his wound again for the first time; he cradled his blood-soaked bandage against his chest.

  “Fuck her again,” Zachary said. “She’s still wet.”

  Angel turned and retched on the floor.

  A sneer tugged at Zachary’s mouth. The taste of ash had come back twice as strong, and his mouth filled with saliva as if his stomach wanted to empty itself too.

  There was a first for everything in this world. And this was the first time he’d ever been wrong about someone.

  22

  The claiming

  Finn splashed cold water on his face in the hotel’s bathroom, and gave his reflection a critical stare. He was badly in need of a shave and his hair a trim. His face was more lined than he remembered, and the set of his mouth decidedly grim. He almost bumped into Cora, who’d been waiting outside. She gave him a strange look from under her lashes and charged into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

  Lars was at the drinks station. The smell of brewing coffee filled the sitting room. “I’ll take first watch, ten to two.”

  Finn made a non-committal sound and took the cup of coffee Lars handed him. Lars set another two cups down on the coffee table and sank with a sigh into the closest armchair.

  “So…tomorrow’s the big day.” Lars sipped at his coffee and gave Finn a solid stare.

  “Big day?”

  “We hand Cora over, the gig’s up. By the way, how’s payment working now that Swan’s MIA?”

  “He said Javier Martin would do a wire transfer soon as he had Cora.”

  “If you can’t trust a drug kingpin, who can you trust, amiright?”

  Finn shook his head and grabbed the remote off the coffee table. He navigated through the menu without reading. It was something to look at that wasn’t the closed bathroom door. Something to direct his attention to that wasn’t Cora goddamn Swan.

  He took another swig of coffee, but it couldn’t rid him of the memory of her taste. As if he’d just kissed her.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never been this hung up on a girl his entire life. There was just something about her. Something as intoxicating as—

  He cut off the thought, but his beast stirred somewhere deep in his mind and whispered, Heroin?

  “Are you planning on watching something, or just wearing down the buttons?”

  Finn started and put the remote on the coffee table again with a clatter. Lars snatched it up, taking a swallow of his coffee and giving Finn a blatantly cocked eyebrow over the rim of his coffee cup.

  “What you in the mood for? Action? Thriller? Comedy?” Lars began scrolling through the list of movies. “Hey, you seen this one?”<
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  Finn forced his eyes away from the bathroom door. Lars was watching him, a tight smile on his mouth. He looked at the flat screen and shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Sure you’ve seen it, or sure you’d like to?”

  “Sure I don’t give a shit,” Finn muttered.

  “Figured.” Lars set down his mug and selected a movie.

  Finn hadn’t seen it. He didn’t make a habit of watching movies. He didn’t really have that much free time on his hands. The only time he watched movies was when he spent time with his sister, Heather. Those few months of the year when she wasn’t in rehab, of course.

  He stood and went to check the windows. He closed them all, drawing back the curtains and glancing down into the street. Marfa was a ghost town—even the hotel’s parking lot only had a few cars in it. He walked past the bathroom door on his way to the bedroom to check those windows.

  The door opened. He barely stepped back in time before Cora barreled out. Her shoulder caught against his, and her momentum spun her to face him. They stared at each other.

  Shampoo and body lotion scented the air with a strange mix of roses and lavender. She’d changed into a hotel bathrobe—thick and fluffy—but it did little to hide her curves.

  “Made you some coffee,” Lars called out. “And there’s a movie on if—”

  “No, thanks,” she said, spinning away from Finn and making for the bedroom. “I’m going to sleep.”

  “You both on a fucking diet or something?” Lars said, sounding sour. “Well I’m getting something. We’ll see what you say when this place starts smelling like take out.” Lars made for the telephone on a table against the far wall. He put his hand on the receiver and then froze when Finn spoke.

  “You know what? Take out sounds good.” Finn paused. “Why don’t you go fetch us some?”

  Lars gave Finn a long, considering look. His hand twitched as his eyes flashed to the bedroom door and then back to Finn. “We could have it delivered,” he said carefully.

  “Thought you’d need the fresh air.”

  In the background, the movie Lars had put on clamored through an action scene involving explosions, breaking glass, and the screech of tires.

  Lars’s expression hardened. He gave his head a hard shake. “Yeah? I don’t.”

  “What were you thinking? Pizza? Chinese?”

  “Don’t do this, Milo,” Lars said, his voice deadpan.

  “And a cherry soda.” Finn put his hand on the bedroom door’s handle. “Get Cora a cherry soda too.”

  Lars’s lips turned up in a brittle smile. “Cherry soda,” he muttered as he swept to the door. “Sure, I’ll get bunny a fucking cherry soda.”

  The front door slammed, neatly coinciding with a Hollywood scream from the television set.

  The bedroom door was unlocked. Cora stood by the dressing table, running a brush through her hair. It didn’t need it—the wet locks were straight and clung to her scalp and down the nape of her neck. Her eyes flickered to him when he entered the mirror’s reflection, but then turned back to her own.

  “You can have the one on the left,” she said, pointing behind her to the bed closest to the window.

  “I don’t want the one on the left. I want you.”

  Her eyes widened. Apprehension, or disbelief? She made to turn to him, but then he was against her, pressing her against the edge of the dressing table.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered furiously, struggling.

  “You come out of the bathroom in nothing but a robe,” Finn murmured, staring at her panicked reflection. “I know you’re naked under it. You say you’re going to sleep. So I start wondering what you’re going to sleep in. You only have one pair of clothes. So, naked then?” The string of words poured from him as he bent to the side and slid his fingers up the outside of her leg. She shied away from his touch like a nervous horse new to being shod. So he grabbed the back of her neck with his other hand, holding her still.

  Her eyelids fluttered, and she let out a hard breath.

  His fingers reached her hipbone. He traced the curve of it where her skin stretched taut over it.

  She stiffened when he came closer to her clit, but he didn’t touch her. Instead, he changed direction and headed for her breasts. Cupped one and let it lay heavy in his palm. When he squeezed her, she moaned and bucked her ass into his hard-on.

  The robe had fallen partly open. All that held her modesty in check was the knot dangling over the slit of her belly button. He tugged it away, and drew the two halves of her robe open, baring her slender body to the mirror. She looked at herself, and then at him where he loomed behind her.

  “One last hit,” he said quietly, releasing her neck so he could gather both her breasts in his hands. His skin was darker than hers, tanned from the sun. She was the color of creamy coffee, her nipples dark russet circles that puckered and turned into dark buds when he ran his palms over her aureoles.

  “Finn—”

  He pinched her nipples, one in each hand. So hard that her mouth gaped open. “Just one last hit.”

  “But I didn’t—”

  He kicked her legs open. She fell forward, crying out before she caught herself on the dressing table’s surface. Her face flickered with lust, mouth open and eyes sparkling when she glanced at him over her shoulder.

  She fought him when he grabbed her wrists and twisted them behind her but she couldn’t stop him pinning them to the small of her back. He grabbed her between the legs and squeezed until she stopped fighting.

  He was so hard for her that his dick ached. Finn tugged down his zipper, barely giving Cora enough time for a surprised gasp before he was inside her. Filling her. Making her squirm against him.

  Her nails bit into the back of his hands, but he held her fixed. When she tried to close her legs, he wedged himself between them.

  He thrust into her, growling with half-pleasure, half-disgust. The pleasure at how tightly her muscles milked him, disgust at how much he’d enjoyed forcing his way inside her.

  “Oh, god,” Cora whispered, eyes fluttering closed as he drew out.

  She moaned, bucking her hips to meet his every thrust.

  “Harder,” she murmured.

  The dressing table rattled as he slammed into her. She reached around to caress his balls, to feel where his cock met her slick skin. She grabbed the base of his dick, squeezing him, pumping him as if she was trying to jerk him off while he was inside her.

  “Finn, please. Hard—” and then she cut off with a strangled cry.

  He curved against her ass, going as deep inside her as he could. His hand went around the back of her neck, keeping her pinned against the dressing table as he fucked her from behind.

  His other hand slid around her hip, found her clit, and began to circle it.

  Her struggles abated abruptly. She let out a guttural moan. Pushed against him, whimpered, and spread her legs for him.

  Fuck, that single gesture, how she so readily opened herself for him, it almost made him come. The sight of her arched back with the trough of her spinal column…that sound she kept making that made it impossible to decipher if it was pleasure or pain…

  He stroked her to orgasm, his fingers slowing until she begged him to end her and then swore at him when he didn’t. Her climax was silent, but powerful. She clamped around his dick like a vice, making movement impossible. Which was fine, because he emptied himself inside her while she was still trying to find her way back to the light.

  Massaging her ass, he leaned into her as a last throb tore through him. He could have stayed inside her until he was soft. Until he’d grown hard again and could take her again.

  But the front door of their hotel room slammed.

  Finn jerked, half coming out of her. She made an unhappy sound when he tugged himself out the rest of the way, and then slumped against him as if her legs had turned to water. He lifted her, carrying her over to the bed as his eyes flashed to the door. The movie was still playing, but there weren�
�t any car crashes to hide whatever noises they or Lars made.

  He could hear the man moving around behind that thin door.

  Of course Lars had known what would happen the moment he’d left. But he’d still left.

  He set Cora down on the bed, and she rolled onto her stomach and stretched like a sun-lazy cat.

  “Oh my god,” she murmured, voice partly muffled by the sheets. “That was fucking amazing.”

  She pushed herself up, rolled onto her back, and looked at him as if he’d single-handedly parted the clouds and shown her what heaven looked like. Maybe he had.

  Laying there, she looked so delicate. Like a toy, easily snapped in two with a casual twist of the hand. Like the new bruises on her hips—stripes where his fingers had gripped her.

  Next time, we’ll break her, his beast purred to itself in the back of his mind.

  But for now it had been sated…for now.

  Shame burned in his chest at the thought that when it woke again, when it became hungry, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself taking her again. How much punishment could her body still take?

  Christ, let her be long gone before that happened. For his sake…and hers.

  23

  Somesuch nonsense

  Sex hung in the air like a cloud. Not the smell of it—the bedroom door had been closed the whole time he’d been gone—but the anticipation. It had been what drove him from the hotel room in the first place.

  Lars set down two pizza boxes on the coffee table, glancing up at the bedroom door. There were sounds from behind it, but no grunting or thumping. They were done, and would be coming out soon.

  He had a half a mind not to be here when they did.

  It was bad enough he had to ignore the hollow screams in his head about how wrong this was. What the fuck was Milo thinking? Then again, he could almost—almost—understand what drove the guy. There’d barely been enough time for a quick wank in the shower these past few days, what with all the shit that had been happening.