Power to the Max (32 page)

How far could she push Witt? Did she even want to know?

A traitorous voice whispered
yes, yes, yes
. And she knew she was crazy. Cameron said her lust for power would be her downfall with Witt. For this moment in time, she didn’t care. Witt wanted her. She felt it in every labored breath he took. She could get him to do anything right now. Even play exhibitionist.

Witt never looked out of the car, didn’t check to see that anyone watched. She could almost believe he was past caring. Right where she wanted him to be.

She slid completely into his lap, straddling him with her arms, right elbow bent, her thumb at the joining of his hip and groin.

She reached for his belt buckle and undid it

“Hey. I said not now. Later.” Tone urgent, a trace of disbelief. How far could she go before he stopped her? Could she get him to do anything she wanted?

It was a test. For both of them. Who would chicken out first?

“It’s just for show,” she whispered, the rasp of his zipper seeming to echo through the car. “Unless you want it for real.” Looking up at him, she licked her lips. “Do you?”

She arched against him, cradling his cock between her breasts, stoking him with gentle movements. The feel of him released another hot rush of moisture between her thighs. Rising, she settled her hand on him and squeezed.

“Tell me to stop and I will. All you have to do is say the word.” Putting her face down, she nuzzled his cock, then glanced up. “If you can.”

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. His hot stare told her that. She loved the power streaking through her veins, the moisture welling up inside her.

“Damn you.” He growled low and deep in his throat.

She yanked at his briefs, freed him. “Tell me how bad you want it.” She wanted him to beg. When he didn’t, she stroked his length with her tongue.

“Fuck, please, shit.” His hips surged against her, forcing his cock deep for a moment before he subsided.

She would have stopped if he’d told her to. But he didn’t. Not when she licked the tiny slit at his crown. Not when she took him fully into her mouth and sucked hard. God, he tasted good. Salty. Zesty. Like hot, risky sex in forbidden places.

His body jerked, his hands gripped her head, fingers tangling in her hair, pushing himself inside her mouth. God, he wanted her, wanted her so bad he’d take it wherever he could, with Angela and Hammerhead and God as witnesses.

Power such as she’d never known swamped her.

“Ah, Christ. Jesus H. Christ.” Those were his words. He never uttered another
don’t
, never pushed her away. His body rose to meet her. And when he came, his power filled her mouth, filled her body, and she almost went over the edge with him.

It was like coming down off a drug-induced high. Max couldn’t look Witt in the eye.

She sat up and away, looked out the side window while the sound of Witt zipping and buckling echoed in the plush interior of the car. Only after the sounds died did Max sneak a peek at him. What was he thinking? She couldn’t tell a thing from his stony profile as he buttoned his shirt and straightened his tie.

He didn’t speak. Instead, he opened the car door and climbed out, stepping slightly forward so that she could follow him. She sort of wished he’d just take a hike for the elevators and leave her behind, but she’d never been a coward.

Liar.

So Cameron had borne witness, too.

It was all Cameron’s fault. He’d started it back in the bathroom stall, getting her all revved up and needy. Not to mention Witt whomping on her in her hallway last night. Men. They’d set her up.

What? Something like forcing her to admit some overwhelming emotion for Witt? She was never at her best in a backseat. Sex in a backseat was about power, nothing more.

She wanted to scream at Cameron. Instead, she whispered, “You were the one who said I didn’t know how.”

Then she fumbled for her shoe and got out of the
Lincoln
simply to get away from Cameron’s voice.

That meant she had to face Witt. He’d smoothed his hair, and his breathing had returned to normal though. A slight flush remained on his cheeks. His eyes were steel blue. The only touch of intimacy that lingered was the scent of sex in her nostrils and the taste of him in her mouth.

Angela and Hammerhead had disappeared. The only sounds in the garage were the squeal of car tires on another level and distant traffic on the street.

“Sorry I got a little carried away.” She had to say something just because he didn’t say anything. The silence was killing her.

“Well, you wanted me to out and out beg, and you got it. In the backseat of a fucking pimpmobile.”

He hadn’t actually begged. She’d goaded him into saying please. What else was a guy going to do when a woman had him buried in her mouth?

“You made me beg last night,” she countered.

“As I recall, you kept saying no the whole time.

Yeah, while she’d mouthed the words, she’d done everything he demanded she do. Then he’d told her the orgasm was
okay
. She hadn’t realized until now how much that bugged her.

“And that was between just you and me,” he went on. “Nobody watching. Who were you playing for, Max, me? I don’t fucking think so.”

But it had been for him. She’d forgotten about Angela and Hammerhead.

Witt’s hand went to his back pocket, returned with his wallet. “Just once, Max, it’d be nice if you did something without extracting your pound of flesh at the same time. You just don’t know how to give a goddamn thing back.”

She’d swallowed. What the hell was that if it wasn’t giving something back? Men loved it when women swallowed.

But Witt wasn’t most men. She’d played him, teased him, tricked him, and pulled her
power shit
on him. He was sick of her games, tired of the chase. No matter how sexy it was. If she’d said yes last night and begged, given him the words he seemed to want, would what happened in the car have had a different ending? She decided it was better not to mention the swallow.

He pulled bills from his wallet. One, two, three, four, five. Five hundred dollars. He’d brought his own cash.

“Here.” He held the cash out to her.

For a moment she flashed back to the first
Lance
vision, the man with his hands out, the woman refusing to take. She pulled her hand back just as Witt let go, and the bills floated to the ground, where they landed askew at her feet. They both stared at the green against gray concrete.

“I brought money,” she said.

“Take mine. You earned every penny. That was the best fucking blowjob I ever had. Better run off and pay your pimp now.”

He turned then and walked away, not to the elevators, but down the aisle, the hard slap of his shoes echoing long after she lost sight of him.

She thought about leaving the money where it had fallen. She had enough to cover what she had to pay Hammerhead. The bills, however, yapped at her feet like angry dogs. She’d pissed him off yet again. How many more chances did she have left?

Cameron’s voice beat at her.

Squatting, one foot slightly back to steady herself, her knees creaked as she went down.

She’d used Witt, gotten off on the power. He’d wanted her to touch him willingly, without an ulterior motive, and the first time she did, she sucked the power out of him. Oh yeah, she was definitely not at her best in backseats.

She should have told him how badly she wanted to do it all again.

Picking up the bills one by one, she then reached beneath the
Lincoln
for the last that had drifted there. She stretched, arched, skinned her knee, and put a hole in her stocking. A run raced down her leg, the trail of it like a finger. Then she rose, smoothed her skirt, her hair, and opened her bag for her lipstick and mirror. Crimson smeared on her mouth and below her lips. She did a repair job—like any good hooker would—then headed for the bank of elevators, ignoring the run in her stockings since she could do nothing about it.

She’d reveled in that momentary power boost, but that was thing about drugs. You always came down off the high with a slam.

The green carpeted lobby was almost deserted, populated only by two desk clerks and an old man crossing with his cane. A medley of music, laughter, voices and the chink of glass washed in from the bar. Max headed for it.

She saw Hammerhead first, at his usual table by the door. Seated in the center of the barroom, Angela had found herself a pigeon, a fat, middle-aged loser with thinning hair and, probably, good cash in his wallet.

Max had good cash in her purse. She sat in the nearest chair, only inches from Hammerhead. Sickened by his too-strong cologne, she counted out his share of the bills. Witt had gotten hundreds, but she’d taken twenties from the machine.

“Not here,” Hammerhead hissed, looking around.

“Here,” she answered. “I need change for a twenty.”

He hiked a hip, yanked out a thick black leather checkbook, and handed her two tens.

Max pushed him a stack topped with one of his ten-dollar bills and the keys to his
Lincoln
. “Two-fifty. That’s your half.”

Hammerhead dipped his head to peer into her lowered gaze. “I love that tear in your stockings. Really got down on your knees for him, didn’t you?” Silence, then, “Did you like it, Max Starr?”

“Fuck you, Mr. Hammerhead.” Then she rose slowly, left the bar without a single glance at Angela and finally pushed through the front doors into the cold damp night. Yeah, yeah, she should have gone back to Angela for her information, but Max found she didn’t have the energy. At that moment, she didn’t care who had killed Lance La Russa. Maybe tomorrow, after she’d slept. Maybe later tonight, after she’d brushed her teeth and extracted Witt’s taste.

A beefy hand grabbed her upper arm.

Witt. Trailing her like a hound dog.

No one stopped him as he half-dragged her from the Embassy’s entrance. A valet parking attendant glanced their way, but didn’t move a muscle to help her.

Witt pulled her deep into a stinking alley at the side of the hotel and shoved her up against a concrete wall. She saw his face for the first time. Lines marred his forehead and mouth. His true blue eyes glittered with intent. And heat.

“Now it’s just you and me, Max. Wanna blow me without the audience?”

Ah, his turn to extract the pound of flesh. “Didn’t you get enough in the car?”

“I’m thinking maybe you didn’t get enough. After all, I was the one who came.”

She didn’t tell him about her spontaneous orgasm as he filled her mouth. “Why don’t we talk about this at my place?”

“Here and now, or not at all. That’s your choice.”

She should have struggled as he lifted her and spread her thighs to accommodate his big body. Instead she wrapped her legs around his hips and let her purse drop from her shoulder. It landed with a loud plop.

“Fuck you,” she whispered, the venom in the words never making it to her heart. If he wanted a fight, she’d give it to him, but he could take her without it.

Witt rammed hard against her.

Moisture soaked the already damp crotch of her bodysuit. She put her arms around him. A urine-infested alley wasn’t the most appetizing place for what he had in mind, but he had a point to make. He said she never gave anything in return. This time she would give him what she thought he wanted.

“Tell me what you want? A cock in your mouth or a fuck.”

“Drop dead, Long.” She wouldn’t make his eventual victory too easy. Or he’d see right through it. He’d like it better if she tussled a bit.