Page 37 of Forbidden Deviant Games

Viks walks back into the closet and comes back out with a small white shopping bag. He steps in front of me, and for the first time since that night at Club Outsider, he grins at me—a full-fledged, almost boyish grin. It reminds me that underneath all of the hardened exterior, he’s still a twenty-something year old man. No one can be hard and cautious all the time.

He goes to his knees and my eyes practically bulge out of my skull. Not that it’s a hardship to see him this way. Not at all. Having a man like Viks in front of me, on bended knee, looking up at me like I hung the fucking moon—yeah, maybe I’ve got a little thing for it. A smidgen.

“This,” he says, pulling out a black stretchy leg holster, “is your new best friend.”

Viks lifts my leg up by the ankle, placing the flat of my foot on his thigh as he slides it on and all the way up. I lick my lips and place my trembling hand on his shoulder to keep from falling over as he plucks the gun from my fingertips, double-checks the safety in the same way that I had, and then carefully slides it into place.

With my dress pushed up this high and his head so close, I can practically feel his fingers on my pussy. His knuckles brush against the cotton center of my thong and I shiver. It happens again as he adjusts the leg holster, turning it to ensure that the gun won’t be super obvious when the skirt of my dress falls back against my thigh.

I’m sweating and heated and trembling. When his hand brushes against me once more, I narrow my face on his suspiciously concentrated face. “I think that’s enough,” I snap, pulling my leg back. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

This time, when he looks up at me, it’s with that same damn grin. “Yeah, but you like it.”

“Asshole,” I mutter. Perhaps if there was any actual anger or heat in the word, it might do something, but there’s none of the old hatred there once was. Instead, it’s playfully annoyed, and I think he likes that because as Viks gets back to his feet he shoots me a wink and grabs his shoes before slipping them on.

Another hour goes by as I head into the bathroom to finish my make-up—covering the now fading bruises on my throat and arms with several layers of foundation—and slip on my heels. Finally, Viks’ phone buzzes and he gestures for me to go ahead of him towards the front door. “The car’s here.”

Together, we ride down in the elevator. I don’t know what it is about enclosed spaces or perhaps it’s the danger that we both expect to face tonight, but my skin is taking on a sheen of sweat. Nerves and lust. They crawl through my system. I want nothing else but to push Viks against the wall and slam my mouth against his—something to take away all of this anxiety I can’t help but feel.

When the elevator dings and the doors open, we step out into the lobby and head for the front where a black Town Car waits for the two of us. A familiar man waits against the back passenger door with a pair of sunglasses on his face and his arms crossed.

“Andrei.” Viks leaves me and walks ahead to greet the man.

It finally clicks where I remember him from. Club Outsider. He’s one of the men who regularly met with Viks in the private lounge.

“Got everything ready?” the man named Andrei asks, pulling his sunglasses down and sliding them into the collar of his shirt. Andrei’s gaze moves to me briefly before he refocuses on Viks.

"Yeah, Cain will be waiting for us when we get there.”

“And the girl?”

“The girl is right here,” I say, stepping forward until I’m right at Viks’ back. “And yes, I’m ready. Thanks for asking.”

Viks turns to the side, sliding a hand behind my back. The heat of his palm scorches me through the fabric. Andrei eyes me doubtfully.

“She’s good,” Viks says. “Don’t worry. All you need to do tonight is follow us on security. I’ve got Jackson on the cameras.”

Andrei nods and then pops open the back door before leaving it hanging as he heads around the vehicle. Our gazes meet for a split second just before he ducks into the driver’s seat and I do the same into the backseat, but there’s nothing but suspicion in his eyes. Like he doesn’t trust me—or Viks for bringing me.

I press my lips together in irritation and slide all the way across the seat. Viks gets in and closes the door behind us. “Let’s get this over with,” Viks says.

“It’ll take an hour to get to the city,” Andrei informs him.

Viks glances my way, his eyes growing hot and molten. I freeze, my fingers locking onto the seatbelt as he slides his hand across the seat and stops me. “Good,” he says. “That’s more than enough time.” I swallow roughly, flashing a look to Andrei and back to Viks. “I’m rolling up the barrier,” he says. There’s a click and my eyes widen when a blacked-out window begins to ascend from somewhere between the back and front seats, completely cutting off Andrei so we can’t see him at all.

“Mitchell!” I hiss. “What are you doing?”

He smirks and chuckles lightly. “You don’t say my first name often,” he comments. “But when you do, I’m almost always in trouble.”

“You’re fucking trouble personified,” I reply, only to pull back when his hand finds my waist and he turns me dragging me across his lap. “What do you think you’re doing? He’s driving. What if he can’t see behind him?”

“There’s a camera,” Viks mutters, bending down and nuzzling against my neck.

“He can probably hear us,” I try instead.

“Do you care?” Viks asks. His teeth nip at my pulse point and it’s like that one little sharp sting has an electric connection to my pussy. My thighs clench automatically as a gush of wetness hits my panties.

“Yes, I care!” I snap. He ignores my protest, though, and lifts his head to mold his mouth against mine. His lips move against me perfectly, his tongue slipping inside as if it’s meant to be there. It’s impossible to deny him. My chest heaves as his hands rove over my skin. The heat of the metal pistol against my thigh is the only thing keeping me from completely losing myself.

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