So many goddamn questions she’s brought up, and none of the answers would deal with my oncoming war.
Emily would just be the washer. An important position, but not enough for me to spend too much time over. Someone was killing my people, and it was all connected, but I didn’t know how.
No more letting this one get to my cock. She’ll play her position and then I’ll move my focus to my enemies.
I arrived at Emily’s place.
She was already outside. Luka was on her right. The limo pulled up right in front of her.
I stepped outside.
And we gazed at the other.
Silence stood between us.
Her hair and style were completely different again. A curly afro surrounded her head in a big halo. Tiny candy curls and spirals outlined her face and fell to her shoulders in deep waves. Designer black glasses covered her eyes. Candy red lipstick decorated those delicious lips.
My gaze traveled down her body.
And all my control rushed away.
The first time I’d met her, she’d given me a professional feel mixed with artsy creative. The second time, she looked like one of those movie burglars, creeping into a laser-lined museum to steal a special diamond.
In this moment, she was a femme fatale. I’d already had a hard time not bending her over last night and getting my cock wet. Today would be a battle.
She wore a slim fit checkered dress—black, white, and red. Cinched at the waist. Hugging her curves—full breasts, amazing hips, plump ass. Chic and ultra-designer, as if she stole it off a New York Fashion Week runaway before the model could go out and show it. Rolex on the wrist, leather clutch in the other hand. Open-toed midnight black pumps finished the look.
The top of her dress dipped into her full cleavage. It didn’t show enough. It was a merciless tease. Just a glimpse. Yesterday, I’d known she had a nice bosom. Today, my cock guaranteed it. In my head, I pictured my hands caressing those lush breasts. They were more than a handful. They would overflow and spill out between my fingers.
My cock was harder than it had ever been in my life, and I hadn’t even touched her.
Dangerous.
I gripped the door hard and held it open. “Good morning, Emily.”
With a neutral expression, she gazed at me through those dark glasses. “Good morning, Kazimir.”
My name sounded like salted caramel on her tongue, and no matter how I tried to push the vision away, in that moment, I imagined her licking my balls as she whispered it. And also moaning my name as I pounded into her. Those perfectly painted candy red lips would be smeared from so much licking and sucking and groaning.
This is why she’s so dangerous.
The thought of her sucking me off had me tenting the front of my slacks. Annoyed that her simple words had caused the reaction, I didn’t hide my hardening cock.
Let her see what she does to me. It doesn’t matter. I’m still the one in control.
Silent, we stood in front of the other, almost trying to exert our dominance.
Instead of climbing into the limo, her naughty eyes roamed down my suit to where my arousal displayed for all to see.
You see what you’re doing to me?
Her breath hitched. Inch by inch, she guided her gaze back to mine. Silence sat between us. What could I say to her in that moment but that I didn’t want her to climb into the limo anymore. Instead, I wanted her to climb onto my cock and bounce that sweet fat ass up and down on it.
With her lips parted, she stared at me. Did she think she was safe, watching me through those sunglasses? Did she feel the intense sexual pull between us?
I licked my lips, and her gaze went to my mouth, studying my tongue. I needed her to see my tongue and think about it between her thighs, lapping at that wet pussy. I wanted her moistness on my tongue.
My voice came out as a growl. “What’s on your mind, mysh?”
She widened her eyes and then got into the limo.
I smiled.
My little mysh is always full of surprises.
I climbed in after her. My cock weighed heavy in my pants.
We sped off minutes later.
Smart, she didn’t ask where we were going, just gazed out of the window as if assessing for herself where we were heading.
“How long have you lived in Harlem?” I asked.
She continued to stare out of the window, her face hidden from me. “Born and raised.”
“Have you ever wanted to go somewhere else?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
You’re answering my questions, but not truly answering them. You’re so careful and always in control.
I’d checked her video footage from last night. She hadn’t even gone to bed. Luka had sat on her living room couch. She’d been propped in a big recliner chair, under a blanket, binge-watching movies all night while she typed into her laptop. My tech guy had said that she’d been doing research online the whole time—not an email or any of her social media. For those hours she’d been researching skyscrapers for sale in Manhattan—doing her job, before I’d asked.
“Did you sleep well?” I asked, wondering how truthful she would be with me.
“No, but I didn’t try to sleep.” She turned away from the window, opened her clutch, and pulled out two folded pieces of paper. “I found two buildings you might be interested in. The one on Madison Avenue is my favorite. It’s 1.2 million-square-foot property. Valued at 2.25 billion.”
“I thought you weren’t comfortable with washing millions, now you would consider billions?”
She looked at me. “I’m thinking that once you’ve signed over Rumi’s money to me—”
“How did you know that was what we would be doing today?”
“It would be the smartest move,” she said. “And I believe you are a smart man.”
“Who told you Rumi died?”
“Everyone in Harlem knew by the end of my art showing last night.”
“That’s not an answer, Emily.”
“A friend told me.”
“And you put two and two together about why I needed you?”
“Yes.”
“And your thoughts on Rumi?” I asked.
“The cops say it was a suicide.”
For some reason, I told her. “He was murdered.”
“I figured. But either way, if you’re able to get cops to lie about the cause of death, then you would be able to get lawyers and judges to approve a fake will, naming me as the head beneficiary for all of his millions. . .which are really all of your millions.”
I drank in those sexy legs, unable to help myself. Nothing made me crazier than a gorgeous woman that could outwit me.
“So. . .” Catching me look at her legs, she blushed.
“Go ahead, little mysh. You were impressing me.”
“Mysh?”
“Mouse in Russian.”
A smile broke across her face, before she shook it away.
“You find the nickname humorous?”
“Yes. My favorite English teacher used to call me Mouse. She would say, ‘that girl is as sneaky and crafty like a mouse. Watch out for her. She disappears through the walls, and you can’t find the damn girl until the food comes out for lunch.’” And then she stopped herself as if she hadn’t wanted to give me too much information about her.