Three and a Half Weeks (39 page)

I peeked into his eyes and the heat I saw in them made everything inside me twist and turn. I’m sorry, but this man of mine is fucking hot.

Aiming for strong and confident, the voice that projected from my throat was all breathy and feeble. Pathetic. “It all b
egs the question, why? Why, Ian? Why is it necessary?”

Without breaking his intense gaze, he responded softly. “Before I met you, the answer would be to keep my sexual partners at an emotional remove.”

“And now?”

He didn’t look at me as he answered; instead, he ran his hand almost lovingly over a cane hanging on the wall. “Now I haven’t done it in some time… but I think I’d still enjoy doing it.” Then his eyes traveled to mine and he grinned wickedly. “With you. The moment I saw you, I wanted you in here, baby, naked and entirely at my mercy. I’d enjoy that very much, even now.”

“Enjoy inflicting pain?”

His face sobered. “I would think that by now you’d know me better than that, Ella. No, enjoy driving you crazy with sexual arousal. Watching your lovely pale skin flush with heat until it’s bright pink. Seeing you gasp from the heights of physical pleasure. My little version of Nirv
ana, my pretty Ella.”

I accepted what he said as gospel but in my bones I knew he’d still like to be able to deliver some pain. Since we’ve reunited, there’s been a bit here and there but nothing with whips of any stripe—ugh, another pun. I’d have to think long and hard before I’d even open a dialogue with him about his using a whip on me again. Frankly, I doubt I’ll ever go down that road again… but one thing I’ve learned is that you should never say never.

So I’d let him tie me down to a bench of a sort and use things on me: a flogger, some vibrating toys, and a blindfold. Now that I felt comfortable with him and knew he’d have reasonable limits to how far he’d go, I felt much more at ease with these things and could actually allow myself to enjoy the experience. When he finally removed the black satin blindfold from my eyes, I realized all over again how extraordinarily handsome a man he is. It seemed revelatory that night, as if I’d never quite seen him clearly before,
really seen him
. That’s when I understood that his sexual proclivities are part and parcel of who he is and I’d better learn to enjoy them, for his sake.
Yes
, I thought,
I can do that
.

Thinking about the things we did is now making me want Ian all the more. I’ve grown accustomed to daily orgasms and he’s been gone a good sixteen hours. I close my eyes remembering how, after he tied my wrists and thighs down around the narrow bench, he used the flogger all over my body, sensitizing the skin to the point where I was ready to scream for him to touch me.

But he didn’t, not right away. He teased me with feathers and chains, cold and hot, soft and hard, brushing each one ever so lightly over my skin. In addition to lying on my stomach, I wore a blindfold so I couldn’t see a thing, not a single thing. The music playing in the background had harps and violins and the staccato beat was unnerving in this environment— precisely why he chose it, I’m sure. When I was so relaxed that I felt boneless, well, that’s when he took out the clamps.

My breasts were dangling from the bench. Standing, he straddled me, leaning on me lightly as he reached down and grasped them. I gasped at the contact of his warm hands and enjoyed him playing with my nips but when he started twisting and tugging, I whimpered.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’m just getting them ready for some jewelry. You like jewelry, don’t you, Ella?” he whispered into my ear, his warm breath sending fire right through my core.

I nodded—I
do
like jewelry—though I yet whined internally at my sore nipples when I felt the bite of sharp metal teeth on one. “Eek!” I screamed.

“Too tight?” he asked gently, but I heard laughter in his tone, as if he were enjoying my discomfort.

“Yes, too tight,” I spat out the words in a torrent but he didn’t loosen it. He just waited, rubbing my back until the pain faded. Then he took up the other one. I realized it must be almost an art form to know just how tight to make the clamp: too tight and a person could be injured; too loose and there’s no point to using it. It must be adjusted to produce just enough erotic pain to contribute to the sum total. Ian knew exactly how to gauge it.

What I was not expecting at all was the clit clamp. When he asked, “Ready for the next one?” and pinched me there, I tried to buck and evade his fingers but he’d tied me down too well—I could barely move an inch. He readied it the same way as my breasts and that, I’ll admit, was okay… fun even. Okay, it was fucking hot. But not when the clamp bit down. I squeeze my eyes shut even now as I recall the sharp sting.

The real pain was yet to come, though, for I discovered taking off the clamps is when you get the most punch. Once he’d entered me, his rhythm pushed me all the way up, up, up, and I was about to come. That’s when he reached down between us and released the lower clamp. I even scared myself with the scream I produced when I climaxed: I’d never experienced an orgasm like that before. A few beats later, he removed the breast clamps, and I came again, right on top of the first one. When the rolling waves finally subsided enough for me to regain my hearing, I heard him laugh like Satan, and then he picked up a frenzied pace again until he couldn’t take any more and let loose. Afterward, we both just lay limp on the narrow little bench, his thighs on mine, resting on a small leather support on either side of the sawhorse.

As he locked the room’s door and we headed back to his bedroom, he looked at me with heavy lidded eyes and I took note that he looked so much more relaxed now. “We need to visit that room more often, Ella, don’t you think?” His voice was smooth again, the hoarseness ironed out by sexual release. I felt a twinge of pride at accomplishing my mission.

“Mmm, maybe so,” I replied truthfully, for I also felt good, as if I’d just received a massage instead of rough sex. I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. I didn’t want to ever let him go.

Finally, tonight, with a picture of Ian in my mind’s eye, in his blue jeans and white tee shirt, barefoot with disheveled hair, tucking me into bed, I fall asleep hugging my pillow and pretending it’s his warm and comforting body. That night I dream of New York, two men, and a blond woman with long, red nails that morph into talons before my very eyes.

The door to Phillips’ loft is sitting ajar as the two men warily approach it. On the way up, they discussed the various options in front of them.

“If they were all Russian, deportation would be a much more attractive path to pursue,” Ian pointed out. “With our collective clout, we could facilitate an expedited deportation order and have Natasha’s grandpa’s friends providing the welcome home. Live or die, they’d no longer be my problem.”

Daniel nodded. “True, but the brothers are Lithuanian nationals, which complicates the situation. It’s also not an ideal solution for other reasons. Even if we succeed in expediting the process, it can still drag on for months—months that could allow them time to put back-up plans into place. Moreover, you can never be sure of their individual fates. For example, even if the Russian welcome wagon took out the men, would they necessarily eliminate the women as well? Natasha is your biggest problem, or so it appears right now.”

Ian nodded. “I need more intel on the entire family before I commit to any course of action. I suppose we’ll see how today plays out. If the brothers engage us, to use your word, then we’ll see to them here and now, and worry about the others later.”

Daniel had smirked and agreed wholeheartedly. “I’ve got your back, friend. Let’s do this.”

About five feet away, Daniel extends his arm to halt Ian’s progress and they stand still while Daniel concentrates. Thirty seconds later, he opens his eyes, gives a curt nod, and lowers the barrier of his arm. They proceed further and step through the threshold of the apartment. Lucien is right there in the room, not ten feet away from them, waiting patiently for their arrival.

“Hello, Lucifer,” Daniel says, smiling. “How goes it?”

Lucien sneers when he catches sight of Daniel. Obviously he remembers him from his last visit. Ian stands adjacent, broadly grinning at his adversary and enjoying Daniel’s moniker for him.

“So? Where are your henchman protectors, Phillips?”

“They’re not here. They’re busy conspiring against you with your number-one female fan.”

“Ah. I assume you mean the poisonous Natasha Yenin?”

Lucien nods. “What do you want? I will caution you that it’s really not safe for you to be here. My henchman protectors, as you so quaintly label them, are dangerous men with little to lose—the very worst kind.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Ian counters. “Everyone has something valuable to lose, regardless of what he tells himself.”

Daniel, meantime, is pacing slowly throughout the room, arms behind his back. At a pause in the conversation, he glances up. “Is there anything you’d care to share with us, Lucifer?”

Glaring at Daniel, Lucien spits out his words. “First, if you expect me to converse politely with you, you’ll stop calling me by that name.”

Smiling, Daniel replies, “True, you’re way too much of a pussy to be equated with the prince of darkness… “ He cocks his head in a speculative stance. “Still, I like it on you.”

Lucien scowls and mutters at Daniel. “Asshole.”

Ian chimes in. “Now that’s funny… You see, we think you’re the asshole, Phillips, and we’d like the pleasure of never having to see your sniveling face again. But, alas, your friends keep getting in our faces so we’re here to lose them. Understand?”

Without answering, Lucien sits on the couch, loosely gesturing to them to join him. Daniel complies but Ian remains standing.

“Where are they now?” Ian prods.

Lucien shrugs his shoulders. “No idea. I told Natasha to leave and she took them with her.”

Daniel now interjects. “You told Natasha to leave? Why?”

“She asked me to go after Ella. I refused and told her to get out.”

“You’d better watch your back in that case, Phillips. Those brothers might be fond of you but blood is thicker than water.”

Lucien smirks. “Thanks for your concern, Blackmon. Anything else?”

“What did she ask you to do to Ella?” Daniel’s face is now devoid of humor.

“She wanted me to grab Ella and hold her as a means to get to you, Blackmon. I think she planned to let her uncles have their way with her, as well.”

Ian gets a sick look on his face at hearing that information. “Do they have anyone else working with them?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Lucien answers, “but I’m not privy to everything, either. I suggest you watch Ella carefully. If I hear anything else, I’ll inform you of it. Give me your cell number.”

Hating to do it, Ian nonetheless pulls out his cell, scrolls through his phone book, and calls Lucien’s phone,
unblocking his private number. The three men listen to the phone buzz twice before Ian disconnects. “Okay, you have my number. Is there any other information you can share with us? Anything at all?”

“Nothing comes to mind.”

Daniel stands. “Do the Lithuanians have any other family, other than Natasha’s mother?”

Shaking his head, Lucien says, “I’ve never heard them speak of anyone. Then again, they’re not the forthcoming type either… but as far as I know, Natasha’s family is their only blood.”

Daniel looks sharply at the blond man. “No children for either man?”

Lucien flushes at the penetrating gaze Daniel is training on him. “Not that I’m aware of.”

Daniel continues to stare at Lucien for a long minute, green eyes blazing with light. Finally, he smiles and turns away. “Let’s go, Ian. Can’t wring blood out of a stone.” With his back to Lucien, he tosses a farewell over his shoulder, “
Au revoir, Monsieur Phillips, j'espère que nous n'atteindrons pas encore,
” in flawless French, taking Lucien by surprise.

Ian, also fluent in French, knew Daniel told Lucien that hopefully they wouldn’t meet again. He hadn’t known Daniel was multilingual, however. The man never ceased to amaze him.

Once they get outside, Ian turns to Daniel. “Now what?”

Flashing him a beaming smile, Daniel says, “Our friend is a terrible liar, Ian. He just found out, via Natasha, that one of the brothers is his biological father.”

Ian’s mouth drops open in astonishment. He starts to ask Daniel how he knows but thinks better of it just in time. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. Did you not see his face when I asked if they had children? It was written all over it. I got the sense he just found out or he’d be more comfortable with the knowledge. He’s probably worried, too, that if the truth comes out, he could lose his fortune to his French father’s genuine blood heirs, if any exist. I don’t know about French law but in the U.S. he’d be protected since a legal father is the one who raises the child… but where so many millions are involved, you never know.”

At that moment, Ian’s ringtone blares loudly from his pocket. He looks at it. “Ella,” he tells Daniel. “Hey there,” he answers.

“Ian, thank God! I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I was worried about you. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Ella. I was planning to call you once we finished with Lucien. We’ve only just now left him.”

There’s a pause as she digests this information. “I hope you don’t mind but I gave Maya your cell number.”

“Maya?”

“Yes. Maya St. Sauveur? Lucien’s half-sister.”

“May I ask why?”

“I called her to see if she knew anything more about the Sobels. She promised to ask her mother for any more info and get back to you. Since she’s in New York and so are you, I thought it might be worth it to get together with her.”

“I see. Where are you now?”

“Home, where I promised I’d be. Where exactly are you?”

“As I said, Daniel and I just left Lucien’s loft. He was alone and didn’t know where the men were but said they were with Natasha. Ella, I have another call I need to take. I’ll call you a little later, okay?”

“Okay. I love you, Ian.”

“Love you, too. Talk soon.” He clicked on the next call.

“Yes,” his answered tersely.

The voice on the other end was loud enough for Daniel to hear both sides of the conversation. “Mr. Blackmon. I have that name you asked me to obtain. It’s Greshenko, Gregori Greshenko.”

“Very good,” he replies brusquely, a man of few words, and disconnects without so much as a goodbye. Ian’s employees and business colleagues are used to his ways and no longer take offense at the lack of civility.

Quickly, he punches in his grandfather’s Phoenix number. “Grandpa,” he says as the man answers on the second ring. “It’s Ian. I have the name you asked for, our Russian friend? It’s Gregori Greshenko. Ring any bells?”

The call lasts a little less than three minutes but it is enough: Ian’s face looks grim when he disconnects. He turns to Daniel. “This whole thing began with a case of my grandfather’s. He asked me to get him Natasha’s grandfather’s name. I just checked with him: he says Greshenko was bad news from A to Z. Not only was he supplying high-tech assault weaponry to terrorists and other enemies of state, he was also moving large quantities of heroin and synthetic drugs throughout suburban America. I just happened to read a New York Times article about the latter drugs: they cause severe psychosis and astonishingly are largely legal. Once the government acts to ban one, the chemists change a single molecule of the formula, a single fucking molecule, and voila! It’s a new drug and it’s legal again. The majority of proceeds from selling this shit generally fund terrorism against western countries. On the ground, the tainted drugs cause numerous deaths and other problems associated with them.

“At the time of his arrest and internment, Greshenko was also being accused of getting into human trafficking—actually helping to bring slaves into the United States from other areas of the world, channeling them through counterparts in Saudi Arabia. A real charmer all around.

“My grandfather said that by the time he was deported, Greshenko had both the Colombians and Mexicans after him for turf incursion with regard to the heroin, and the synthetic drugs were cutting into cartel profits on more traditional drugs. Greshenko was trying to move out of drugs—hence the human trafficking—to get the cartels off his back. The Feds should have let them have a go instead and that would have been the end of it—at least for the Blackmon family.

“Did he make any suggestions as to how to deal with them? Legal suggestions, that is?”

Ian shakes his head. “How could he? There are too many of them to get deported right away anyway. There are these three plus her mother and brother. Who knows? There may be even more—my security peeps are looking into that as we speak.”

“Good. We don’t want to leave any stone unturned, Ian. You have decisions you have to make, the biggest one being whether or not we get our hands dirty.”

Ian nods. “I need to make phone calls.”

“Come on. I’ll take you to my house—I can work from there.”

To the casual observer, they are a couple of executive-types sharing a conversation, not friends with brilliant minds deciding the most effective way to eliminate their enemies. Others know differently, however. As the men in suits start down the block, two swarthy brothers and a shifty-eyed blond turn the corner and are coming right at them. Daniel looks at Ian, “Not here, out in the open, in broad daylight. We need some kind of cover.”

Both men begin to cross the street to avoid confrontation but down the block, the three stalkers follow suit.

Ian and Daniel continue strolling casually while the brothers and Natasha travel directly into their path. About fifteen feet away, the Lithuanians slow down, take a long look at Ian and veer off in another direction, leaving Natasha alone, smiling as she closes in. Daniel whispers quickly to Ian.

“You’ve just been made, Ian. They wanted to see what you look like. From here on in, you need to watch your back very carefully.”

His expression grave, Ian nods as they reach the blond woman. She wears a smile that looks joyously triumphant, making Ian’s guts seize up in hot fury. Hatred is not strong enough a label for what he now feels for this treacherous conniver.

She very obviously trails her eyes up and down Daniel, clearly appreciating the cut of his dark coffee-colored suit. “Well, now, Ian. Please introduce: I’m always looking for a new pretty boy with whom to play.”

Sneering his contempt, Ian responds. “Does he look desperate to you?”

Flipping her head back to toss her long hair off to one side, she sneers. “Oh, now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings. Are you jealous perchance?”

He doesn’t dignify her comment with a response, even a nonverbal one. Over the years Ian has honed the practice of ignoring nuisances to an art form. The men continue to walk right past her.

She calls back. “I think you’re a sore loser, Ian… and make no mistake: in any competition with me, you will be the loser. That Alexis woman wasn’t up to the task but I surely am. And my uncles will be a lot more persuasive with your Ella than Lucien ever was, the pathetic creature.”

Spinning around, Ian is about to vent his spleen when Daniel grabs him by the shoulder and whips him back around, using his momentum to advance their progress. “Stop it,” he hisses. “You’re playing right into her hands with your anger. She already knows Ella is your Achilles’ heel—if you really want to piss her off, do not react.”

“Fuck me, I know! But let’s see you do it if someone threatens Olivia.”