Page 33 of Arrogant Bastard

I giggle, hurry to the bedroom window, and slide up the window shades. I barely have time to locate the majestic mountains before he’s behind me, imprisoning me with one arm around my waist. When I wriggle, he curves his large body over mine. “Stay,” he rasps in my ear. “Enjoy your mountains.”

His tone suggests he’s about to enjoy something else of his own. A moment later, one hand recaptures my breast, and the other slides between my legs. We both groan at how wet I am.

“Are you still sore, baby?”

I bite my lip and nod. “A little.”

“Okay,” he replies a little reluctantly.

His hand starts to move away. I put mine over it. “But…I don’t want you to stop what you’re doing.”

A puff of breath warms my ear. “Are you sure?”

“Mmm-hmm…”

He buries his head in the crook of my neck and breathes deep. “Thank you. I don’t want to hurt you but I’m so glad I don’t have to stop.”

I don’t admit to him that sometimes I like it when he takes me like this—when I’m uncomfortably sore and the pain is as acute as the pleasure. It makes accepting my happiness a little easier, my guilt a little less consuming.

He sinks two fingers inside me, and the snow-capped mountains in the distance turn into a hazy mirage. My head falls back onto his shoulder, and my knees weaken. I brace one hand above the window and the other behind his head and let him have me. He finger-fucks until I come and then replaces his fingers with his cock.

My already damned Catholic heart can’t help but compare one Knight brother to the other and find the one I used to be married to severely wanting. Killian fills me up, both in mind and body, in a way Matt never did. Even holding still inside me now, the way he does each time he first penetrates me, draws fire from my toes all the way to my crown. I always thought toe-curling sex was a myth until I met Killian.

Now he slams inside me, and I rise to my toes, sublime pleasure sizzling through me. The plane catches a pocket of turbulence and dips, shoving me harder onto his cock.

My scream draws a groan from him, and then he laughs. “Shit, even my plane wants in on the action.”

Despite the bone-melting bliss racing through me, I laugh. This is what he does to me. Laughter at inappropriate times. Mile-high sex with the clouds as our audience. Diving into sin and secrets with my eyes wide open.

A year ago, I wouldn’t have even dreamed I was capable of this. But I’ve found out that life takes a turn when you least anticipate it. And my life has turned several times since Killian Knight walked into it.

Widow. Lover. Spy.

All three connected to the man who is now inside me, calling me beautiful, worshipping me as he gifts me with another mind-blowing orgasm before he finds his own.

By the time we land on the private airstrip just outside Cairo three hours later, I’m rested, relaxed, and ready to take on the monsters.

The villa rises out of the sunbaked desert like a shimmering apparition. Situated southwest of Giza, the location is remote and exclusive, the type of address that attracts the rich and famous in the mood for something different. A lush oasis in the middle of a stark wilderness is always a thing of beauty. But what has been created here is several levels above that. It’s a jaw-dropping masterpiece.

Constructed entirely out of cerulean reflective glass, the single-structure property is sprawling, with several angled sides reaching up into the sky. It’s hard to miss, but it’s the rumors of its underground rooms that has put the residence named Amaris on the map of the bored, wicked, depraved, and decadent.

News that it’s been rented for six weeks by Silicon Valley billionaire Killian Knight and his new girlfriend were circulated in the right places. Whispers of the exclusive-to-the-point-of-illegal parties we intended to throw for a select few achieved the right amount of buzz to attract our prey.

But the price of first contact with the sex trafficking players was high, even for a clandestine agency with an unlimited budget. It’s the reason this operation was meticulously put together. It’s the reason nothing can go wrong. If it does, the atrocities will continue. And I can’t bear the thought of that.

Paul Galveston. Raj Phillips. Moses Black. The file on them is several inches thick, and I’ve learned it inside out and backward. I know everything there is to know about them, right down to their preferred brand of toothpaste. A necessary evil that has made my stomach turn ever since I learned the true depths of their depravity.

My relaxed state on the plane is nowhere in sight a day later as I sit through the last video-linked security briefing with my handler back in the US. It’s six hours before our first meeting with Galveston and his allies tonight. I hide my sweating palms by sliding them over my denim-clad thighs. I know I don’t succeed in playing it cool when Killian’s leg gently brushes mine under the table. It’s a whisper-soft touch but the message is loud and clear.

Pull yourself together.

I take a slow, deep breath. I can’t afford to blow this. And for this case to get its final stamp of approval, I need to ace this last meeting. I grit my teeth and raise my gaze.

Eric Biggins, my handler, looks at me with the dead eyes of an agent who’s spent far too long in the business and witnessed too many horrors.

“So, you all set?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply. Killian nods.

---