Everything else around us disappears. The world ceases to exist while pleasure consumes each of us. I lean down, pushing the sequined triangle aside, taking her nipple into my mouth before plunging my cock inside her warmth.
Her fingernails dig into my shoulder, marking me. Is she claiming me as her own?
She's the only one I want. No other man will ever touch her again. I intend to make her mine forever.
I fuck her, listening to the sweet moans and gasps. The only sounds that reach my ears are hers as she tightens and spasms around me.
Lucy feels so good, so tight and warm. Her trembles bring me closer to the edge. "Fuck," I mutter, trying my damndest to hang on a bit longer. I don't want this to end, and she deserves the best fucking of her life.
"Come with me," Lucy whispers into my ear, and my erection pulsates, my insides nearly ready to explode at her words.
It's like fireworks, a crescendo exploding and erupting at the height of the climax.
Except, it isn't just fireworks.
It's gunshots.
There's gunfire and screams. The one-way glass mirror is riddled with the spray of bullets and screams from down below as the glass cracks and shatters.
I shield Lucy with my body, protecting her from the onslaught of gunfire, glass, and shrapnel spraying the office, pulling her down to the floor to protect her.
"What's going on?" Her voice quivers, and I give her my jacket to wear while she's crouched under my office desk.
I yank up my pants as the mafia bursts in through the office door, guns pointed in our direction. "You're coming with us," Otello shouts. His Italian accent is thick and rough as he gestures for his men to grab Lucy and me.
They shove a black cloth bag over my head, making it impossible to see anything as my arms are thrust behind my back and secured with metal handcuffs. "Don't you dare touch her," I shout at Otello. "I'll kill you!"
He laughs, not the least bit afraid of my threat.
I'm dragged down the stairs. I assume that Lucy is right behind me, but I can't see a damn thing with the thick black bag over my head. I recognize the direction that we're heading, out the back door. The music still blares over the speakers, but the area has been cleared. Are there dead bodies littering the ground? I stumble against something in the darkness.
How many people did they kill to get my attention?
We're thrust outside. The pavement is rough and coarse—gravel. One of the men yanks open a vehicle door, and I'm shoved inside. I'm in the back of a van, the metal floor at my feet. I attempt to sit up and hear Lucy struggling against the men, fighting for her freedom. It won't work. There are too many men.
A moment later, she's locked in the back with me. "Nikita?" her voice wavers and I exhale a breath, doing my best to remain calm.
"Yes," I say, exhaling a heavy breath. "Stay calm. I'll get us out of this situation."
"How?" Lucy squeaks. There's fear in her voice, her breathing, and the slight rattle of the handcuffs as she trembles.
"Just try to breathe," I say. She needs to save her energy for when we have to fight. And undoubtedly, we will have to fight to survive. The mafia isn't going to let us walk away.
"Do you have a plan?" Her voice trembles, and she exhales a loud sigh as she attempts to calm her breathing.
A plan? How about not getting killed? I don't make the joke aloud. I doubt she'd find it particularly humorous while we're restrained in the back of the mafia's van. I shift forward and maneuver the bag off my head to see what we're up against.
The van is dimly lit, and there's a dirty window out the back. The floor is metal. There's nothing but the two of us in the back, nothing that can be used as a weapon.
I shuffle around, and with my hands behind my back, I manage to yank off the cloth bag covering Lucy's head.
"Thanks," she says, glancing up at me. "Any chance you know how to pick a lock?"
I glance out the dirty window, the sunlight reflecting through the small space as I try to gather our location. We haven't been traveling far. Where are they taking us?
"Can we jump out?" Lucy asks.
She's bold.
"We're going too fast," I say as I notice us head onto the highway. "Is my phone still in my coat pocket?" I ask. Lucy has my jacket wrapped around her body.
"My hands are a bit tied up at the moment."
"You don't say?" I stalk toward her, keeping my footing as the vehicle shifts unceremoniously. The driver changes lanes, cutting off another vehicle and sending me right into Lucy.
She's flat on her back, and I'm lying atop her. I'd apologize, but I'm not that sorry about the position, just that we're in this situation, which isn't the least bit my fault. I didn't bring the mafia to the club.
Where the hell is Anton? Is he dead? I didn't get a look at anyone with that damn bag over my head. They should have killed me because when I'm done, they're all dead—every last one of them.
"Nikita, please tell me that's a gun in your pocket." There's a faint smile on her face.
"You're joking at a time like this?" I'm shocked that she can find a little sunshine in a dark situation.
I climb off her form, no easy task with my hands secured at my back. I kneel beside her as she sits, shuffling to lean her back against the vehicle's wall. The paneling clanks as she knocks against it with her metal handcuffs.
The scrape of metal against metal is unpleasant.