He paused at the rim of my cunt. “You frustrate me beyond belief, Blue Eyes,” he rasped, then plunged his fingers inside me.
I gasped, vaguely aware of the guard in the security booth, the door wide open between both rooms. I knew Reeve hadn’t forgotten that his employee could hear everything going on between us. Why did that turn me on so much?
Reeve crooked his fingers and stroked in and out of me. “Do you know what a man like Michelis does with people who frustrate him?” He paused, but I didn’t know if he really wanted an answer. I couldn’t give him one if he did – my thoughts were too blurred for speech. The lingering sting on my ass muddled with the pleasure of his hand job.
“He takes things from them,” he said, answering his own question. “Things they care about. People. And that’s when he’s in a good mood.”
I shuddered, both from his words and from the new spot he’d found to rub.
Suddenly, his fingers were gone and I jumped when he smacked me again. He hit me twice more before shoving back inside of my pussy. His strokes were slower this time, and my orgasm began to build, so leisurely, so steadily that I knew it would knock me off my feet when it fully bloomed.
Reeve leaned over me, pressing his chest to my back as he massaged me. “He has a reputation for a reason, and what people say about him is kind. He’s an expert at pain and suffering. And, when he’s done with a person, he doesn’t bother with a conversation. He just kills them.”
“I…” I choked on a sob. “I didn’t…” I didn’t realize he’d come after me. I couldn’t speak, too distracted, too worked up.
Reeve rubbed his nose against my cheek. “He could have hurt you, Emily,” he said, his voice raw and threadbare. “In order to hurt me.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that could keep away the emotion that I was sure would swallow me up when my climax hit me. Soon. It was so close.
Reeve sensed it too. “All I’d have to do is brush your clit and you’d come, wouldn’t you?”
I nodded.
Abruptly, he stood, releasing me and removing his hand from my cunt at the same time.
I blinked, confused and desperately wound up. Propping myself up on the desk, I twisted to look at him. “Why did you stop? I was almost there.”
He wiped his hand on his pants. “I’m not going to let you come. I’m mad at you.”
The rage I’d somehow forgotten while he’d had his fingers inside me returned with a vengeance. “You are so manipulative.” I pulled up my panties. “And mean. I hate you and I never want you to touch me again.”
I started to storm past him, but he grabbed my upper arm and pulled me to him. “I will allow you your space while you work through whatever conflict you imagine exists between us, Emily, but I will not tolerate being lied to.”
“I’m not lying. I really do hate you.” And I did. As much as I loved him, I hated him.
He didn’t even flinch. “I’m sure you do. But you most certainly want me to touch you.”
I hated him even more for that – for knowing me that well.
No longer able to look at him, I wrenched my arm away and stomped out to the car. I got in and pressed my face against the window and kept it there until we’d driven into the garage by the main house.
When we’d parked, I unbuckled my belt, and without looking at him, I said, “I’m leaving with Joe tomorrow. Don’t tell me to stay. Neither of us wants to find out if I’m able to ignore you.” I threw open the car door and hurried into the house.
I’d meant to head straight to my room, but Brent and Joe met me at the door, each of them somber and serious.
Panic rose inside me. “What is it?”
“You haven’t heard?” Joe asked.
“I was with you all night. What could I possibly have heard?”
Joe started to answer, then stopped as Reeve came in behind me.
I’d wanted to be away from him by the time he got inside, but now I didn’t care. The air was tense and charged and all I could think about was Amber, sure that something terrible had happened to her and I had to know now, before the worrying ate me up. “Will someone please fucking tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s Chris Blakely,” Joe said without any further hesitation. “He’s dead.”
CHAPTER 16
I didn’t sleep well.
The few times I started to doze, I dreamt. Vague nightmares where images of Chris faded into images of Reeve then Michelis then Joe until all of them morphed into one man who was one minute trying to make me come, and the next, trying to kill me.
It was still dark outside when I gave up on sleep. I tossed the covers aside and got out of bed to pack my suitcase instead.
Joe had heard the news about Chris on the radio as he drove back to the ranch from The Four Seasons. Although the police weren’t releasing any information yet, he’d called a friend on the Los Angeles force and learned the cause of death appeared to be an overdose. Chris had been shooting a guest role on a nighttime soap and was found dead in his dressing room earlier in the evening.
I’d had to lean against the wall when he’d told me, the edges of my vision having gone black and fuzzy. Reeve had pulled me into his arms, and I’d clutched onto him and cried as Joe and Brent explained what they knew, which wasn’t much.
“It will be nearly impossible to prove that the drugs weren’t self-administered,” Joe had said. “If they weren’t.”
Brent piped in next. “Even if they weren’t, we don’t know that Michelis had anything to do with it.”