Page 28 of To Catch A Rook

Her pitchy gasps and wanton moans spurred me on. The fingers of my other hand trailed along the inside of her thigh until I pushed the impeding fabric out of my way and plunged my desperate cock into the unholy warmth of her cunt.

“Stop.”

My groan reverberated through our bodies. I stilled at the forceful tone, seeking explanation.

“I’m not having unprotected sex with you if you’re sleeping with your employees, Aaron. And you’re drunk. Let me down.”

I slapped my palm against the wallpapered surface in frustration. But I did as she asked. My cock jutted out in front of me like a primed weapon as I stepped back.

“I’ll wear a condom, then,” I said in acquiescence. I hated condoms, but so in need of release in the moment, I would do whatever she desired.

“No.”

The word was uttered not as my lover for the evening, but as the commander of a tightly run ship. The heat in her stare dissolved into a tired wariness, and she deftly tucked my cock back into my jeans. Despite the dramatic change in atmosphere, it hadn’t deflated in the least.

“Mi Reina,I need …” I trailed off, my mind returning to its previously cloudy state, unsure what to say. I needed her beautiful body? Her splintered soul? Her demons to blend with mine, so we may submit to them together?

Hillary released a long sigh and beckoned me through the dark hallway beyond the entry. “Come, you can sleep it off here.”

She brought me to a private suite on the other side of her home. Its windows were covered with dark curtains to block the cityscape below. She turned on a delicate crystal lamp and pointed to the armoire across the room.

“An extra set of pajamas are in there. They should fit you.” She nodded toward the ensuite bath to our left. “Toothbrushes are underneath the sink.”

I reached for her and caught her hand to pull her into my embrace. “I need you in the morning. You are always my first pick,Mi Reina.”

A sad smile flickered across her lips so quickly it was barely there. “You’ll be gone before I wake up. And we both know that’s not true.”

She pressed up on her tiptoes for the barest of goodnight kisses, before swiftly leaving the room and closing the door softly behind her.

I struggled out of my clothing as the weight of my day and exhaustion of my night finally seeped through my skin and into my bones. With a quick message on my phone, I sent Jacques home, determined to have breakfast with Hillary in the morning before my busy day.

I would demonstrate my loyalty before succumbing to my death.

It was the last thought in my addled mind before I drifted into dreamless sleep. When I awoke hours later to the rising sun beyond the curtains, I quickly pulled on my stale clothing with a wrinkle of distaste, but a renewed sense of purpose guiding my movements.

My footsteps were light across the tiled great room separating the two sides of her penthouse. I strode to the familiar bedroom, pausing only briefly before slipping through the cracked door.

Mi Reinalay splayed on the California King before me, a dainty ornament amongst the myriad of cushions and bedding. Her pink silk eye mask engulfed my favorite part of her face, and large powder blue headphones covered her ears. The muffled sound of static noise broke through the soft releases of breath that escaped from the pouty lips I loved to kiss.

I took her in, the vision of her peacefully asleep a stark contrast to her authoritative, wakeful presence. How I wanted to crawl in beside her and cradle her in my arms, to brush the tendrils of silky hair away from the crest of her cheeks.

It would be cruel of me to give in to my temptation, breaking her out of her few moments of peace. I slipped out of her room and padded toward the elevator back down to the dark realities of what was to come.

I messaged my private driving service on the way down, allowing Jacques a few more hours of sleep of his own.

My heart was laden with sadness as I met her expectations, leaving her to wake up alone. Should I live through my next steps, I vowed to live up to every promise I’d ever uttered.

My tattered soul would be hers on a platter, but she would have to share it with the devil himself.

“Where to this evening, Ms. Lane?”

Josephine’s gray eyes peered back at me expectantly in the reflection of the rear view mirror. Her long, dark hair had been tugged tight into a ponytail today. The band of her scrunchie matched her standard uniform of a white tailored suit and practical black boots.

My driver and bodyguard, Josephine was a svelte machine of taut muscle and unassuming strength, the remnants of her military days still imprinted beneath her skin.

She had been one ofSammy’s recommendations, and after an unorthodox interview where we grappled on the mats of his gym for a few rounds before I reviewed her unredacted history, I was sold.

Her quiet confidence and stoic demeanor were perfect qualities for a protector, and though our relationship was strictly professional—maiming criminals aside—I trusted her implicitly.

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