Page 62 of Dangerous Passion

Now the reflection in the window showed a man straining for control. The cords in his strong neck stood out, his jaw was tight with tension, muscles bunching along the jawline.

His power struck her anew. Though he didn’t tower over her, his shoulders were almost twice the width of hers. Looking down at his hand cupping her, the taut, thick, sinewy muscles of his forearm looked wildly erotic against her belly. He slid his hand further, fingers stroking her labia, his hand rocking back and forth in a silent request for better access.

Of course. She didn’t even think twice, merely widened her legs further. Whatever Drake wanted, she’d give him.

He fit himself to her, big, blunt, hot. She braced herself because that first entry was always slightly painful, no matter how aroused she was.

He was watching her face carefully in the dark glass. He must have seen her slight wince. He didn’t move forwardas she expected he would. He merely waited, poised at the mouth of her sheath, breathing so heavily against her, she could see her hair sway in the dark pane.

His jaw muscles worked. “Not yet,” he muttered, watching her eyes. “Press up against the window.”

Grace could barely understand his guttural tones. “What?”

“Lean against the window. Now.”

His voice was low, utter male command. She obeyed instinctively.

She hissed in a breath as the entire front of her body met the cold window, hands splayed, breasts, hips, legs meeting the icy pane. He crowded right behind her, like a huge hairy man-furnace. The two extremes of temperature somehow excited her, her nipples puckering with the cold.

Shockingly, he reached down and opened her with his fingers, nudging her forward with his hips. His fingers had exposed her clitoris, which was pressed against the freezing window. She registered the chill against her sensitive flesh in exactly the same second as he entered her, his penis a huge, hot column heating her up from the inside out. Her entire body went into overdrive.

She gave a cry as he started moving, hot and hard inside her, pressing her against the freezing window, a raging furnace at her back and inside her. His movements were hard, almost harsh, on the edge of being painful but … not.

She lifted her eyes to look at their reflection, his face grim as he moved in and out of her, the thrusts fast and hard. Their eyes met and she was shocked at her expression, eyes unfocused, mouth open, throat arching back against him. The very picture of a woman in sexual ecstasy, reduced to her animal nature.

A keening sound filled the room and it took her seconds to recognize it as her own voice. It was unlike any sound she’dever heard herself make, an animal cry. She wasn’t even feeling the cold of the window any more, her entire body was suffused with heat, she was burning up alive.

With a thrust that drove her to her toes, Drake grunted and started coming, swelling even larger, his thrusts irregular and fast as his breath huffed in and out. It felt like he wanted to punch her right through the window. She looked down at the shops and people and cars, the busy street of a great metropolis,

Grace came with a cry, every hair on her body standing up, shaking with pleasure. Suddenly, her senses expanded. As she looked down, it was as if the window had disappeared and she had become one with the people she could see hurrying along the streets, one with the snow drifting down from the sky, one with the energy of the city, pulsing in her fingertips.

She was no longer Grace Larsen, separate and alone and somehow always apart. In one electric pulse, she became one with everything around her, as her body convulsed and shook.

Across the 75feet of a Manhattan street, but over 500 yards to the north, where he only had the most oblique of shots, Rutskoi watched the two figures through his thermal scope.

Drake and the woman. It could only be them. One slender, the other not much taller but much broader.

Naked.

Fucking.

He watched the fiery red and blue bodies writhing in the small circle of his scope, completely unmoved.

Rutskoi liked sex just as much as the next man, maybe more. He’d blown half his first paycheck as a newly-minted lieutenant on whores in Grozny, celebrating staying alive for one wholemonth and getting promoted to lieutenant by staying drunk and with his dick in a prostitute for days at a time. But on the job, it all went away. He felt nothing on the job—not lust, nor hunger nor thirst nor exhaustion. All he felt now was the deep sniper’s calm, a oneness with the ground and the rifle and the scope.

The woman was now flattened against the window by the weight of Drake’s body and Rutskoi’s finger tightened slightly. Christ, she was in his sights. Right there, in the crosshairs.

A 7 lb pull on the trigger, double the pull on a beer can and his .50 cal bullet would travel at 2500 km an hour toward the red and green and yellow outlines shimmering through the thermal imager.

But he had no way of knowing how thick Drake’s windows were and at this angle of inflection, he had no guarantee that it would penetrate and if it penetrated, whether it would pass through the woman to Drake.

So he watched the fiery figures writhe, the woman’s hands outstretched on the glass like five-fingered flames as Drake fucked her from behind and told himself to hold his fire.

They would be in his sights at a straight angle soon enough.

He could wait.

For ten million dollars, he could wait for as long as it took.

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