Her Three Protectors [The Hot Millionaires #3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (18 page)

“Sorry, babe.”

“You were shouting in your sleep,” she said, brushing a hand across his forehead. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. Sorry about that. What time is it?”

She glanced at the clock. “Six thirty.”

“Time I was up.”

“You already are.” She giggled as she flicked a finger against his erection.

He chuckled. “A permanent condition when I’m anywhere near you.”

“Hmm, I see your problem.” She nibbled the end of her index finger. “What can we do about that, then?”

“What indeed.”

Troy lowered his head and kissed the little vixen. He was never going to do anything else, right from the moment she woke him from his dream and his cock sat up and paid close attention to proceedings. It was completely beyond him to resist her lush body, the temptation of that sweet pussy, those gorgeous tits, her endless legs. He deepened the kiss, rolled on his back, and pulled her on top of him. She leaned into the kiss, her tits brushing against his chest as she sucked his lower lip between her teeth and nibbled at it. His hands reached for her breasts, dangling tantalizingly just beyond his grasp. He was unsurprised to discover that her nipples were rock hard, and he pinched them between his thumbs and forefingers, well aware that she wouldn’t want him to treat her gently. Just as well, because Troy seldom did gentle.

Still kissing her, he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her. She got the message and positioned herself over his cock, wriggling with impatience to take it all.

“Ride it, babe,” he said, breaking the kiss and smiling up at her.

“If you insist.”

She sank down on him, closing her eyes as he slid into her and his hands reclaimed her tits. They settled into a slow, easy rhythm, letting the feelings grow in their own time. She was so goddamned sexy, even though her features were still puffy with sleep. Tangled hair fell across her face as she rode him, her remarkable eyes sparkling with life and anticipation even though she’d only just opened them. Troy groaned as the full weight of her breasts settled heavily in his hands each time she lowered herself on him. He increased the tempo, for once having no desire to make her wait.

“I want you to tie me up,” she said. “I love it when I’m at your complete mercy.”

“Not this morning, babe. Wrong time and place. Right now we’re just gonna fuck ourselves awake.” He pinched her nipples hard enough to make her squeal. “But tonight we’ll play a few new games. We’ll keep you bound and gagged all night, make you do all sorts of crazy things, thrash your ass and your cunt ’cause you like having your pussy slapped, don’t you?” She swallowed hard and nodded. “I have a lot more toys yet that you haven’t tried, and we’ll catch it all on film. Would you like that?”

She sank down hard and groaned. “You know I would. Do you have cameras up there?”

“We’ve got enough cameras in this house to make Steven Spielberg weep with envy.”

She groaned as he drove a little deeper into her. “Why?”

“Because we’re cautious bastards who’ve pissed a lot of people off in our time. We don’t want our personal space invaded by the bad guys.”

“Oh.”

Porcha rotated her shoulders, sending her hair cascading down her back as she tilted her head back and closed the eyes, sensation clearly overwhelming her. “I need you, Troy. Make me come, please!”

Her anguished cry did it for Troy. Besides, he had preparations to make and no time to linger. He thrust his pelvis upward, and she met him perfectly, thrashing down at precisely the same moment so that he was as deep inside her as he could possibly get. The door opened just as they both climaxed, and Adam stood there, grinning as he watched their performance.

“All the headboard banging woke me up,” he said when Porcha collapsed, spent, on top of him.

Troy laughed as he extracted himself from beneath her. He knew what Adam really wanted.

“All yours, buddy,” he said, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose, climbing from the bed, and heading for his own shower.

“All ours, you mean,” a naked Beck said as he passed him in the passageway and headed for Porcha’s room as well.

Troy hadn’t been downstairs for long when the other two guys joined him. He’d known they’d be quick. When it came to their work they were all pretty focused. Adam poured coffee for him and Beck and joined Troy at the table. He was checking his weapons.

“You anticipating problems?” Beck asked.

Troy shot his buddy a look that said
don’t be so naïve.
“I always anticipate problems. That’s what keeps us alive.”

“Do you think he’ll come?” Adam asked, assembling the ingredients for a massive fry up. None of them liked to work on an empty stomach.

“If he intercepts that e-mail then I don’t see how he can afford not to. He wants Porcha badly enough to take risks.”

Beck nodded. “I can relate to that.”

“I think we all can,” Troy responded with a heavy sigh.

“What is it, Troy?” Adam asked, turning away from the hob where he had a pan full of bacon sizzling away. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

“No, nothing.” He shook his head. “It just doesn’t feel right, that’s all.”

“It can hardly be a trap because we set the thing up,” Beck pointed out.

“I know that, but I keep thinking we’ve overlooked something.”

“You’re just anxious because it’s Porcha,” Adam said. “We all are. We don’t usually get emotionally involved with our assignments.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I figured but—”

“The three of us can cover that mall,” Beck said reassuringly, “and Porcha will be safe here. No one can get past our security, not in broad daylight—”

Adam flinched. “Unless they shoot their way in.”

“They’d need to know she was here,” Beck pointed out, “and no one does.”

“You’re right,” Troy said, still uneasy.

“Leave one of us here with her if you’re that worried.”

“Nah, it’ll take all three of us to cover the mall.” Troy shook his head. “It’ll be all right, I guess.”

“You never guess,” Beck said, clearly picking up on his anxiety.

Adam plonked plates of food in front of them, and they got into it, all conversation briefly halted. The only disturbance was the scrape of silverware against plates and the steady voice of the newscaster pouring from the television fixed to the wall behind the table.

“All fucking bad news as always,” Beck complained.

“Wouldn’t be newsworthy otherwise,” Adam said, helping himself to a second slice of toast.

They’d cleared away and were all checking their weapons when Porcha drifted in, looking as fresh and lovely as though she’d slept twelve hours solid rather than spent most of the night being fucked by one or all of them. She wore jeans and a sleeveless top
and
had put a bra on.

“Morning again, gorgeous,” Beck said, pecking her cheek.

But even he was distracted. Nothing, not even the lovely Porcha, came between the three of them when they were preparing for an assignment.

“There’s coffee made,” Adam said. “And I could cook you something.”

“I’m quite capable of feeding myself, but thanks for the offer.”

“Eat something,” Troy said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Even if it’s just fruit.”

“It’s not me that’s going anywhere.”

“No, but you never know what the day might bring.”

Porcha kissed his cheek and obediently reached for a piece of fruit.

* * * *

Porcha watched her three guys in business mode, secreting an astonishing number of guns and knives about their persons, communicating in a kind of shorthand she didn’t understand and which she was excluded from anyway. Seeing such a tight unit preparing to go in to bat for her ought to have filled her with confidence. It did, but she also feared that one or all of them could be injured in their fight to keep her safe. Woollard was no pussycat and would almost certainly turn up mob handed. The thought of any of them getting hurt because of her almost crucified her. She wouldn’t be able to bear the guilt if any of them came back with so much as a scratch.

They looked focused yet calm in their cargo pants and sleeveless vests—attire that made them look like millions of others guys on a Florida weekday morning. The only difference was the miniarsenal of weapons, and perhaps the combat boots that were a bit hot and heavy for the climate.

Her eyes burned into one handsome profile after the other, loving them all, grateful to them for wanting to help her when they didn’t need to, especially after they’d had everything they could possibly want from her. Weren’t men supposed to go cool when they’d got their collective ends away?

“Okay, babe,” Troy said. “You know what to do while we’re gone.” She nodded, but he spelt it out anyway. “Keep all the doors locked. If anyone knocks, don’t answer, and if you have any concerns at all, ring one of us straight away.”

“Our phones will probably be on vibrate,” Adam said. “We can’t afford to have them going off if we’re trying to keep out of sight, but we’ll check them regularly.”

They all turned toward the television when the talking head, a little breathlessly, announced breaking news.

We’ve just heard that the body of Miami business man Salvador Gonzalez has been found in a Mexican back street. He had been beaten and shot.

All three guys reached out to touch Porcha. The news flashed pictures of a dirty back street in Mexico, “experts” pontificated, hinting at his connection to the drug cartels, but Porcha barely heard the words.

“Well, now it’s official,” she said, wondering why she didn’t feel anything at all. Sal had robbed her of the essence that made her the person she was, but he’d still been her husband, and she’d loved him once. In some respects, she always would.

“Says so on the news, so it must be true,” Beck said, but there was sympathy rather than flippancy in his tone.

“The king is dead, long live the king,” muttered Adam.

Porcha fixed him with a gaze. “What do you mean?”

“If this was about Woollard wanting to take over Sal’s drugs business,” Troy said, “he had to let the world, or more specifically, Sal’s rivals, know that he was in control.”

“I’m surprised he waited so long for Sal’s body to be
discovered
,” Beck said. “I would imagine the sharks are already circling.”

“You gonna be all right, babe?” Troy asked, slipping an arm round her shoulders. “Want one of us to stay with you?”

“No.” She expelled a deep sigh. “I’ll be fine. You guys go and finish this thing.”

“Keep that little gun of yours close by, just in case,” Beck added. “Not that we anticipate any trouble this end, but it’s best to be prepared.”

“Do you need to go already?” Porcha had never been a needy person, but she had a bad feeling about this and was suddenly afraid to let them go. “There’s over an hour yet before I’m supposed to be at that mall.”

“We need to set ourselves up there,” Troy said. “If Woollard thinks you’re gonna be there, he’ll be early as well.”

“Oh, I see.” She wrapped her arms round Troy’s neck and kissed his lips, repeating the process with the other two. “Stay safe, all of you,” she said censoriously. “And get back here as soon as you can.”

“Count on it,” Adam said.

“Whilst you’re gone, I shall amuse myself by dreaming up a few games that I might like to try out on you all later.” She fluttered her lashes at them in a deliberate effort to lighten the mood. “Am I allowed to make suggestions or will that get me punished?”

The guys were laughing as they headed for the door that led to the stairway to the garage.

“Lock the door and shoot the bolts after us,” Troy said. “We’ll honk the horn when we come back so you know it’s us and can let us back in.”

“Who else would it be?”

“That’s what worries me,” she thought she heard Troy mutter.

Porcha listened to their truck roar into life, heard the garage door open and close, and locked herself in upstairs as instructed. She slipped her little gun into the back of her jeans and wondered what she was supposed to do with herself now. The house seemed very large and very empty without the guys. She wandered into the kitchen, but there was nothing for her to do there. They were meticulously neat and tidy and never ate without clearing up immediately afterwards. Military discipline, she supposed.

She gravitated toward the living room, stared out at the water, but couldn’t settle. In the study—Troy’s territory—she glanced at all the various screens, with no idea what half of them were for. She ran her finger down the spines of hundreds of books, all well read. But reading was out of the question, as was watching television. The discovery of Sal’s body was everywhere, and she didn’t want to hear what they were saying about him.

Too on edge to settle to anything, Porcha continued her restless prowl round the house with no idea what she was looking for. She invaded each of their bedrooms in turn, able to identify which room belonged to whom because each guy expressed his personality in the few possessions he kept in his space. Apart from obsessive neatness, the one thing that all had in common was that they didn’t carry any emotional baggage. No pictures of wives, girlfriends, parents, siblings. No old letters, greetings cards, or sentimental knickknacks. It was as though they were ready to take off and not come back at any given time.