Her body stiffened before it melted, and I knew there was a lot of soft under all that hard.
There was a moment of complete submission before her lips got harder, hungrier, demanding more. Her chest crushed to mine as her nails dug crescents into my arms.
A low, throaty sound escaped her, making my cock hurt it was so hard.
I wasn't sure the last time I wanted someone as much as I wanted her in that moment.
That said, I couldn't have her.
I slammed her back against the wall, my lips ripping from hers, my hand clamping down across her mouth as my other went between her legs, pressing against the material between her thighs, finding it wet already.
Her eyes were wide, watching me as my fingers slipped under, thumb finding her clit, two fingers slipping inside her slick, tight pussy, making a ragged noise muffle against my palm as I started to fuck her with my fingers, driving her up hard and fast, not giving her orgasm a second to slip away before it crashed almost violently through her system, squeezing my fingers, making her breath exhale frantically on my palm as she made a whimpering sound, her hands clutching my arms, holding on as the waves crashed.
Only when they finished did my fingers pull out, slide from her panties as my hand moved from her mouth.
"There," I said, watching as her brows drew together. "You got off. You rebelled against your brother. You got what you wanted. Now go. This is over," I told her, summoning the last shred of self-discipline I had, turning, going into the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind me.
Even as I changed and dropped down in bed, still smelling her, still aching for her, I knew it wasn't.
Over.
If anything, I'd just kicked a hornet's nest.
A sick, masochistic part of me was eagerly anticipating the first sting.
I knew it would be coming.
Just not when.
Or how.
Or how deadly the consequences.
Fuck the Russians and the Ukrainians and the local street gangs.
The most volatile force in any given town was a pissed off woman.
And I'd just fucked with their queen bee.FOURReignI probably should have been worried that West's texts, when they even came, were about what clubs they frequented, what they all spent their nights doing.
It'd been a week since he'd gone down.
And by this point, I knew any of us would have gotten a shitload more than he'd gotten.
Aside from some information about Huck's childhood, about Teddy's ability to land several girls at a time, and Remy's new obsession with some cat named—of all fucking things—Ozzy Pawsbourne.
I was trying to be patient.
The whole point of sending West was so he could blend in with them. So I couldn't fault him for doing exactly that. For gaining their respect and trust by going to the clubs, getting to know them in superficial ways.
Hell, were I his age and single, I probably would have had the same success rate he was having.
It took time to build connections.
I was more impatient than usual.
"Alright. I have ten minutes," Chris said, dropping down across from me in the common room of the clubhouse.
I wondered sometimes if Lo knew she was going to be replaced by her own daughter. And soon. Like I knew I would be replaced by my son. Hopefully not soon. But it was coming.
"Thanks for doing this, Chris."
"Are you kidding? I live for a little digging. I mean, you wouldn't believe the things I have learned about some of your people. Stuff that isn't in your original files my mom compiled ages ago."
Ages ago.
It never ceased to sting a bit when the kids threw shit like that at us.
"Yeah? Anything I should know?"
"What?" she asked, already distracted, already lost in her mind as she often was. "No. No. I mean... well, no. None of it would be useful now. But we're not here to talk about them anyway. We're here to talk about these guys," she said, reaching for a stack of pictures. "Huck. McCoy. Che. Remington. And Teddy."
"I never met Teddy," I admitted, looking at his picture.
"He's the oddball of this group. He's independently wealthy. He has no reason to be involved in illegal activity. But he seems to be a bit of a thrill-seeker. Not to mention a collector of women," she added, slapping down various pictures of him surrounded by girls.
"What has he done in the past for Huck?"
"That I don't know." And Chris really hated not knowing something. I was half-expecting her to fly down to Florida just to ask.
"Alright. What about the others?"
"Che is technically not here," she said, pointing to his picture. "He came on a tourist visa, got a name for himself in the street racing scene, then connected with Huck, and never left. That, well, we know that could potentially be problematic."