Chapter 2
Fear is an unimaginably powerful device. Some people spend their entire lives twisted by fear, driven to all kinds of insanity, only to justify it through fear. Aaron recognized that Janette lived with a good measure of fear of her bosses. With good reason. He doubted the prostitution racket had any real separation from the gun-running and drug dealing side of the family business. Janette was knee-deep in the hoopla. This was not the US of A, where gang bangers walked around packing pistols in public. In London, where all handguns are illegal, they were the big ticket black market item.
Back in their deluxe suite at the Knightsbridge Hotel, Aaron hashed out the situation with Michelle. “The dancer is deathly afraid of this guy Reza. When we talk to him, he’ll know where we got our information.” Aaron loathed getting involved with this mess. But he needed more info.
Michelle slipped off her Louboutin designer heels and faced him. “In Albania, the mafia deal in slaves. Here, they are merde, pimps and thugs, but the habit is hard to break. They own this woman, like a commodity.”
Aaron wondered how Michelle knew so much about Albanians.
“Mon amour, you are tense.” Michelle unbuttoned his dress shirt, her eyes smoldering with desire. “Let me help.”
She slid off his shirt, unzipped his pants, and he stepped out of his boxer shorts. He loved it when she pampered him like this. And he loved the feel of her silky smooth, pale limbs wrapped around him.
He had found her again just three weeks ago in Paris. When she died in his arms, her body plugged full of 9mm rounds by Jamison, their bond broken, Aaron felt as if he’d lost part of his soul. Discovering she had survived, resuscitated by Parisian medics, had been the best night of his life. Like getting a second chance. He could never get enough of Michelle. If it wasn’t for this damn vampire hunt, he’d never let her out of the bedroom.
He unzipped the back of her blue dress and pulled it from her shoulders to watch it fall to the floor. Nothing but smooth, flawless skin. No bra, no panties, just the love of his life, in her delicious birthday suit. Every night with this pale goddess in his arms felt like a stolen moment. Death cheated one more time.
He pinned her against the wall, his cock already hard with need for her. “I’ll work away both our tensions, until you can’t walk.”
She growled low and gripped his cock firmly. “A bold promise. But I will hold you to it.”
He loved hearing that feminine growl of hers. He’d learned everything he knew about how to please a woman in her bed with her growling beneath him. She could fuck until his cock hurt and still take more. His balls ached with an endless need for her and she fed that need, stroking him with a smooth, squeezing glide.
Her hands knew his cock better than he did.
He ran his fingers deep into her hair, encircling her head, pulling her into a kiss. He had to have her, be inside of her, his tongue, his cock, his fingers. Lips crushed, fangs bared, he devoured her mouth. Still pinned to the wall, she wrapped a slender leg around his waist and slid his cock between her inner thighs.
Slick with arousal, she ground her hot, wet slit along the top of his shaft and pulled on him, trying to slip it in. She growled into his kiss, struggling to mount him, but the angle was wrong, sandwiched between him and the wall. He let her fight her slippery wet battle, almost sliding in then slipping back out again. He grinned into their kiss, chuckling as she grunted in frustration.
Finally he stepped back. She took full advantage of this opportunity and jumped on him, legs spread wide. She guided him into her sopping wet heat with a satisfied moan. Then he slammed her back against the wall, and ground up into her hard and fast.
