by Lora Leigh
"Marty." Khalid's voice was ragged, desperate. "God, baby. I can't hold on."
Leaning back, his head also fell back as his hips began to move harder, faster. They moved in time, retreat and thrust, fucking into her and pulling back, their thrusts increasing, speeding up until she was screaming, trying to scream, gasping for air, and then exploding in such sensory overload that she wondered if she would survive it.
Shayne was coming. She felt him tightening, heard his groan behind her and the powerful throb of his cock up her ass. A second later her eyes flared open, her gaze locking with Khalid's as he spurted his release inside her.
This wasn't the first time. With the first fiery blast of his seed inside, her pussy tightened around him further and her body shook in another orgasm that left her spinning out of control. Each heavy throb of his cock sent another pulsing wave of heated warmth inside her and another explosion of intensity.
She couldn't survive this much pleasure, she thought. She couldn't survive if she lost this pleasure, and that thought sent a wave of fear rushing through her.
Khalid's pleasure affected her own. His need, his hunger, his very touch and the knowledge of his desires fueled her own fantasies.
That made her weak. It made her want to give; it made her hungry for more. And she was terrified that Khalid had nothing more to give than this. His body, his desires, his hunger, and more pleasure than she had ever imagined could exist.
What would she do if she ever lost that?
Holding on to him now as he lifted her from Shayne and eased her into his lap as he sat on the opposite seat, Marty tried to tell herself she would be okay when it was over. All things come to an end, she reminded herself. At least for her.
"Come here, precious." His voice was a velvet croon as he lifted her chin and touched her lips with his. The kiss was gentle, easing. It sent an easy feeling of warmth through her soul and almost settled the painful thoughts filling her head.
"You make me breathless," he whispered against her lips. "You steal my control when no other has ever managed to do so."
Her lashes lifted to stare into his sexually sated expression. Nothing had ever been so damned sexy as Khalid sexually sated.
"What the hell am I going to do about you?" she whispered then, her hand lifting to stroke his rough jaw as a small smile tugged at his sexy lips.
"Take me often?" he suggested. "Keep me lazy and sated, and I will follow behind you like a puppy begging for a touch from your silken hand."
She almost snorted at the words. Yeah, she could see Khalid trailing behind her like a little lapdog. Not.
"Now, are you hiding a shower in here?" She sighed, desperate to keep from sinking into the emotional trap awaiting her.
"No shower." He kissed her lips quickly. "Trust me, though, sweetie, I know how to clean that sweet, pretty body of yours."
She hoped he did, because she was slick, wet, and definitely in need of a shower. Even more, she was in need of a sense of balance. Some way to place a guard between her heart and this man who she could feel stealing it, touch by touch.
If she wasn't very, very careful, she was going to end up with a broken heart and a very lonely life.
Chapter 17
Anger Thornton's guest list made up the who's who of politics and power in D.C. and Alexandria. He didn't stint on the wine, champagne, and buffet. It was the best of everything, and everything was perfect.
The band was subtle and excellent, the music wafting through the air with a gentle presence. The place was filled with the clink of glasses, the murmur of conversation, as well as an air of privilege and refined arrogance--rather like Anger himself.
At six-four, broadly muscular, with piercing blue eyes, and thick black hair, Anger was a man who most others knew to watch out for. He was rough-hewn; no one could call him handsome. He was more striking, and completely domineering, than "handsome" could ever describe.
The Thornton family had been one of the social elite in the area since the inception of the colonies. They had thrived, risen, cemented their hold and held on to it with steel-reinforced claws. Anger continued the tradition, as well as the tradition of making money in an import-export business that had been in operation nearly since the family had stepped foot in the colonies.
The three-story mansion Anger resided in boasted two large connecting ballrooms. That night, guests milled in both rooms, as well as in the large outer rooms and well-lit gardens. It was a ball that most of the female guests planned for a year in advance. The right dress, the right shoes, and, of course, the perfect escort if they weren't married or that option were available.
For Thornton, it was the business event of the year. He'd managed to acquire many a government contract over the years because of the excellence of this one party.
Entering the main ballroom, Marty had to hold back a smile of mocking amusement as heads turned, the arrival was noted, and varied looks touched many of the faces. Marty wasn't a regular to the parties that kept the social matrons buzzing through the years. Tonight, dressed in a gown that Khalid had managed to procure at the last moment, Marty knew that she was easily competing with even the most expensively dressed women there. Somehow he'd managed to acquire an original by one of the most exclusive dressmakers in the world.
Never underestimate a determined man, she thought. The royal blue silk-and-taffeta concoction bared the upper curves of her breasts, lifted and cupped the rounded globes before tightening beneath them and shaping her hips. From there it fell to the floor in a glorious array of material and stiffened petticoats. Sapphires glittered at her ears and throat, while her long dark blond hair had been upswept into a loose, graceful style that complimented her neck and shoulders.
Beside her, Khalid was dressed in a black silk evening suit with a tie that coordinated perfectly with her dress. Shayne was dressed similarly, though his tie was a slate gray rather than a royal blue.
They flanked her, one on each side, and Marty knew the tongues would wag that night and come morning.
"Marty Mathews, you've finally decided to grace one of my parties." Anger stepped from a nearby group of aging men, his fit, dominant features at odds with the wrinkles and gray hair that surrounded him. "Khalid, Shayne, good to see the two of you again."
Marty almost arched her brows at the familiarity Anger extended toward Shayne. Another member of the club, she assumed. She glanced at Shayne and almost snorted at the amused look he threw her way.
"Anger, an impressive crowd," Khalid stated as they shook hands.
"As always." Anger chuckled.
He sounded amused, but with Anger, one could never be certain. His blue-eyed gaze was cool, his expression placid, barely registering emotion.
"I hear congratulations are in order as well," Khalid said. "A very lucrative contract with the State Department?"
A hint of a smile touched the corners of Anger's lips. "Someone has to transport their dirty laundry, may as well be me."
Khalid inclined his head in acknowledgment as Marty caught sight of her parents across the room. Joe and Virginia Mathews stood with a small group of friends and acquaintances. One of whom could be a contact to the Mustafa brothers.
She had no doubt that someone there was in contact with Ayid and Aman. They wouldn't move with such confidence, such ease, unless they had help within their own government as well as in the States.
Her parents were there as well as her godfather, though. They would be covered. She just prayed she was right. The suspicion that Ayid and Aman would have friends in this crowd had arisen only after she had read the file on the Saudi operation. Someone had sent the brothers that message, and that person could have only been among a very small group of government individuals.
"If you'll excuse me." Marty smiled to the group. "I see my parents."
"Of course." Anger's gaze flickered with curiosity for the briefest moment. "I spoke to your father and g
odfather earlier. They seem rather pleased with your association with Khalid. I wish you both the best."
Marty nearly choked at the good wishes. Her fathers were obviously sick tonight. They were both furious at Khalid as well as at Shayne, for her resignation as well as her refusal to stay at her parent's home while Khalid's brothers were still on the loose.
"Thank you, AT," she murmured. "If you'll excuse me."
"And I as well," Khalid stated behind her. "I believe I'll accompany my lovely companion."
Anger chuckled and Khalid's hand settled once again at the small of her back as they moved across the room.
"Your fathers are good," he murmured, as he bent his head to her. "No one will have any illusions that you are now sharing my bed."
She flicked a glance up at him. He was so smooth, so confident. She felt like stomping his toes just to see his reaction when that amused arrogance showed itself.
She might have if she hadn't caught a glimpse of Vince Deerfield moving slowly from the group her parents were a part of, as he cast her a look that indicated he wanted to meet with her. His eyes were narrowed on her and Khalid, tracking their movement across the ballroom as he drew farther away from them, heading from the ballroom to a hallway at the other side that she knew led to guest bathrooms as well as a small library and a sitting room.
What the hell did he want?
She made the decision to follow him, hoping that if she let him get whatever he had on his chest off it once again, she wouldn't have to worry about a public display of idiocy.
He wasn't above it.
"Excuse me, I think I need to make a trip to the ladies' room." She excused herself to Khalid as she looked around and saw Shayne moving toward the hall from another angle, his gaze flicking toward her.
"Be careful," Khalid warned her softly, as his touch retreated from her back.
"Always." Throwing him a pointed smile, she moved in the direction of the hall as Khalid stepped over to the group her parents were with.
Once in the hallway, she strode as quickly as four-inch heels allowed along the corridor, wondering where Deerfield had gone off to and if Shayne had been following him as well.
As she rounded a corner she glimpsed a door farther up the hall that had been left open. As she moved closer to it, she hid her surprise as her former boss stepped into the doorway and motioned her in.
The small study was designed simply. There was a large desk and bookshelves and, at the side of the room, a luxurious couch and matching chairs.
Closing the door behind her as she turned to face him, Vince Deerfield glared at her.
"Everyone is wondering how long he's going to keep you in his bed," he snapped. "Have you lost your mind, Agent Mathews? I can't believe you'd flaunt this affair so publicly. Hell, I couldn't believe you were actually involved in it until I heard the gossip tonight."
"Others can wonder whatever the hell they want to," she told him briskly. "Now, what did you want? I need to find a ladies' room and I had assumed we no longer had anything to talk about."
He shot her a malevolent look and strode across the room to the small bar in the far corner.
"I always assumed you had more class than to allow yourself to get mixed up with that bastard, no matter the rumors that circulated concerning his interest in you. He has his own harem, for God's sake."
He has six girls his father had sent to him as children who he adopted and now raised as sisters, Marty thought. Unfortunately Deerfield had never believed it, no matter the proof he had been given to the contrary.
"I'm hoping to enjoy the party," she finally said, shrugging. "And he'll miss me soon if I don't hurry. What do you want?"
Deerfield shot back his drink with a hard grimace before slapping the glass back on the dark gleaming wood.
"Your godfather seems particularly proud of this relationship that everyone assumes has developed between you and Mustafa," he said. "I had more respect for Zach Jennings than this. I never imagined he would allow you to make such a decision."
Marty arched her brows slowly. "Why wouldn't they be proud? Neither my father nor my godfather runs my life for me, Vince." The use of his first name was a deliberate insult and a reminder that he no longer had any power over her.
"Does your father know the bastard shares his women?" he asked snidely. "Did you know?"
She stared at him as though he had lost his mind.
"What are you accusing me of, Vince?" she asked him carefully.
Pushing his fingers through his short brown hair in agitation, he narrowed his eyes and stared at her angrily.
"Don't try to deny he's shared his women," he ordered her.
There was no denying that one.
"That simply means he has a past." She shrugged. As well as a future, but there was no sense in lingering any longer here than she had to.
He grunted at that. "I would hope you would be smarter." He didn't sound as though he believed she was, though. "I'd be careful, though, if he brings that brother of his for a visit. The last woman they shared they murdered."
She didn't try to hide her surprise, or her disbelief. "And that's not in our files, why?"
Deerfield grimaced. "Because it was taken out by your godfather." He sneered. " 'No proof, supposition only,' was his damned argument. We couldn't find proof."
Now wasn't that a familiar scenario.
"Perhaps because no proof existed," she suggested, as she gripped tightly in anger the small purse she held in her hands.
"But the proof was there, proof I wasn't allowed to use because of international implications." Deerfield sneered. "And I suspect because your godfather thought more of his friendship with Mustafa than he did of his country."
"I'd be careful, Vince. My godfather wouldn't cover up murder. Nor would he pull information he believed was relevant," she stated.
His lips twisted furiously as he turned and poured himself another drink before turning back to her. "He wouldn't accept the proof," he told her, his voice rough. "Eyewitness accounts. Witnesses who saw the girl's body, saw the sexual abuse inflicted on it. She'd been raped, Agent Mathews, horribly. An autopsy confirmed she had been raped to death by two men at the same time. And Khalid's and Abram's depravities together were well-known. She was Abram's wife, and evidently he simply grew tired of her."
Shock filled her. "This isn't information that I uncovered, and I've researched every facet of Khalid's life."
"Then you didn't research enough," he snapped. "Abram is as depraved as Khalid. He disgusts even his own people. He'll never succeed his father as ruler, because the religious hardliners will never accept an unmarried king who allows others to fuck his whores as he watches. His second wife died before she could even give birth to his child, and he has no intention of acquiring another wife. He gets tired of them and he kills them. Men like him and Khalid are a disease, Marty. One that requires a cure."
Hatred gleamed in his eyes as the fury seemed to build within him.
"That's not your call, Deerfield," she argued. "And a man's sexual tastes don't define him, nor do they make him a murderer."
"They do when he kills the stupid bitches willing to fuck him and his brother at the same time. Silly little whores who fool themselves into believing those men love them, only to learn they're no more than a toy. Then you're damned right, it defines him."
"You're losing your objectivity," she said, backing slowly to the door. "Nothing you've said here warrants the Bureau's harassment of him. If you're not very careful, he's going to have a lawsuit against the entire Bureau."
Deerfield smirked at her warning.
"Worry about yourself, I'll worry about the Bureau. That's my job, and I'm damned good at it."
He's not stable, she thought. He is slipping over an edge that could end up causing irreparable damage between the United States and a potential ally.
"My job is nearly over," s
he warned him. "Khalid is no traitor, and he's no murderer--"
Deerfield broke her argument off with a sharp, derisive laugh.
"You've fallen for him, haven't you? Wouldn't your father be proud to know how far you'll end up sinking for that bastard? Would you betray your country for him, Agent Mathews? Would you let him watch as another man fucks you?"
"You've lost your mind," she breathed out roughly.
"Ask him about her," he snarled, his expression twisting into lines of fury. "Her name was Lessa. She was Abram's wife. A tiny little thing who they broke." His gaze flicked over her in scorn. "I hope you never experience the horror she must have faced as they fucked her to death."
"I don't have to ask him about anything. Khalid isn't a monster, and he'd never hurt one of his lovers, or anyone else's. And I will remind you, you're the one who put me on that assignment to watch him. It was your responsibility to tell me everything, no matter the fact that someone else believed the information irrelevant."
"I didn't tell you to fuck him!"
"Speak to me like that again and you'll regret it." Marty's fingers clenched her purse even tighter as anger coursed through her. "I've taken your abusive tirades long enough, Deerfield."
"For God's sake, do you think I'd bother to berate you if I didn't think you'd make a damned fine agent one of these days?" Surprise seemed to reflect in his expression now as he held his hands out in supplication. "You're risking your life and your career with this man."
"And I will remind you that it's no longer your concern." She could feel her heart racing, adrenaline surging through her as she recognized the fact that her boss's sanity just might be slipping.
"I thought you were smarter than this." He shook his head slowly. "Damn. I thought you were a better agent than this."
Marty gripped the doorknob behind her and stared at him in fury. "I think you should sit down and think about what you're doing, Deerfield," she told him coldly. "You're the one risking your life. You're the one whose career is already shot to hell. Don't make it worse."