Beauty and the Barracuda (8 page)

He rolled them until her back hit the loveseat and he was between her thighs. Grabbing one calf, he placed her knee in the crook of his arm and slowly withdrew his cock. She gasped when he changed the angle of his hips to short, sharp jabs.

“I don’t manipulate you,
cara
,”
Sansone grunted above her, closing his eyes to the sight of her pert nipples. “I make you come and you fucking
love
it. Am I right?”

“
Jesus…”
Nyssa gripped his biceps. “Sunny…”

“Am I right, Nyssa?” he demanded, his strokes deepening. “Don’t you love it when I make you come?”

She arched upwards and a throaty moan poured out.

“Can’t hear you, baby.”

“Yes
!”

His lips curled as he pushed into her faster. “Then maybe I should make you come now.”

“You should,” Nyssa agreed. “You really should.”

Bending toward a nipple, he lightly bit down and listened to her attempt to stifle her wail of pleasure as her inner muscles clamped down on him and drained his shaft. The moment she stopped trembling, he sat upwards and let her leg drop.

“Now…let’s revaluate these
rules
…”

She sat up, and he placed a fingertip against her lips. “You got to speak and now it’s my
turn.” Her eyes narrowed but she quieted. “If you think you can outrun this,
me,
you’re incredibly wrong, Nyssa. You can move at the speed of light and you will
never
be able to escape it. I don’t care what I have to do or how many times I have to do it but you will surrender. Every fear, every anxiety-ridden moment, every doubt. You can scream, you can throw things at me, you can even shave my head like you’ve been threatening to do from day one but I am going
nowhere
.”
He pushed his face so close to hers that their breaths mingled and he could see every color in her irises. “There is nothing you can say, nothing you can do that will make me stop. I’ve spent years watching you, craving you, reaching out to touch you only to yank my hand back at the last moment too afraid of what the consequences may be. Fuck the consequences. Fuck yanking back. You. Belong. To. Me. Do me the favor of running—I dare you to—because believe me when I say you
will
find out every nuance of why I’m called the Barracuda.”

She was trying to make him fucking mental. Had to be. It was the only explanation for that goddamned dress. Did she really expect him to behave? Because if so, she’d find herself thoroughly disappointed and flat on her back the moment he got her alone.

Sansone tucked his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo trousers and drew in a deep breath, fighting the growing urge to do more than watch Nyssa from across the room. He could very well get her beneath him within a matter of seconds but he didn’t think she’d appreciate that with at least one hundred other people milling about the million-dollar home of their host. They’d been invited to the black tie event together and ended up coming separately. Funny, in the last month they hadn’t done much separately, least of all coming. No, Sansone had the good fortune to witness that live and in color often. Fun didn’t even begin to describe what it was like to see Nyssa floundering for an escape that he refused to give. Night after night, day after day, she continuously tried to deny what was so blatantly obvious. She belonged to him. Signed, sealed and delivered.

His lips turned up just at the corners when he realized she was trying to ignore him.
Heh.
He could’ve gotten anxious or even frustrated with the fact that she refused to allow him access to anything outside of what he could do to her with his tongue and a well-placed finger but he hadn’t been lying when he told her he didn’t care
how
he got her to surrender. As of right now a tongue and a well-placed finger seemed to be the best options so he’d continue to use that trump card until he knocked down every single one of those defenses. She was adorable when she said the words
“stop”, “don’t”, “Sansone”, or “please”
just for them to turn into,
“Sansone, please don’t stop.”
He always left the power in her hand, always told her one simple thing that would call a halt to his hands or mouth on her but she never spoke the word; she never said no.

He knew her well—better than she wanted to admit. Nyssa needed to feel as though she had some type of say; she wanted to know she wasn’t a malleable Barbie he killed time with when bored. Sansone had put her anatomically correct parts to extremely good use, but he also consistently tried to show her that their playtime wasn’t just for play, no matter how much she wanted it to be just that. Every moment he had her under him, over him, bent over in front
of him got Sansone just that much closer to his goal—Nyssa’s heart.

Snagging a champagne flute as a waiter strolled by, he found a corner and watched her as she moved around, her illusion gown catching light in the sheerest parts, giving one the impression that they’d see more of the bronzed skin just beneath the black, clinging fabric. On either side of her svelte, curvy figure one got a glimpse of what she might or might not look like without it on. You never saw too much, just enough to hold your attention, make you imagine what would happen if she were to move the right way, if the overheads caught her silhouette at just the right moment.

It had been tailored to fit her perfectly. She’d straightened her hair, the normally springy curls falling to her shoulders in soft waves. Her make-up was minimal with darkened eyes and pale lips. Each time she moved, the gown rippled and he swallowed. If he had known what she’d be wearing tonight he probably wouldn’t have let her out of bed this morning. He could see
exactly
why she hadn’t wanted to show up together.

Originally, when they’d received their invitations to attend a client’s charity ball, Sansone had no intention of coming. Mainly because he wanted to spend every waking moment between Nyssa’s thighs or with his head on her belly, listening to the low dulcet tones of her voice. But the moment he found out she’d be here, he’d gone out and bought a tux. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to get blood all over it by murdering the son of a bitch who was getting in Nyssa’s personal space.

Sansone was taking a step in her direction when a hand came down on his shoulder, halting him. “These rugs made me weep when I saw the price tag. If you stain them with someone else’s gray matter, I’ll be forced to make
you
weep.”

Snorting, he turned his attention slightly away from Nyssa and looked to the quarterback standing next to him. “You
do
know I’m the reason you were even able to buy them, right?”

Noel Haddon squeezed Sanson’s shoulder briefly before letting go. “And I do so appreciate your efforts to keep me whoring for your amusement, but you can’t commit homicide here. I just
had the place renovated.”

“You don’t
whore,
you play games and win…then I promote you and get money from it… Ah, wait, I see why you would think you’re my whore.” Sansone purposely ran a fingertip down the side of Noel’s face. “But Daddy treats you good, doesn’t he? Lets you get pretty things?”

Bursting into laughter, Noel slapped his hand away. “There’s something severely wrong with you.”

Sansone tipped his flute toward the football player and took a sip. “You’d be right, my friend. She’s across the room right now.”

The other man smirked. “She’s what’s
right
with you, asshole. I just can’t figure out why you won’t get it together already.”

“It’s not for a lack of trying.” Sansone sighed. It was strange how everyone else could see it and the one person he
needed
to open her eyes, refused to. When they’d met Noel just a little over three years ago, he’d been a first-round draft pick and had the potential to become the biggest thing the NFL had ever seen and he wanted
their
management. The issue was that at the time he’d been a skeevey little prick interested in Nyssa’s assets more than her talents. A quick, whispered threat from Sansone as to how he’d break, repair, and re-break Noel’s arms if he ever insinuated he’d have more than just a working relationship with Nyssa had cleared said issue right up. Surprisingly enough, he’d found himself
liking
the dickhead.

“So you didn’t
try
to stop her from showing up in
that?”

Except for right now. Right now Sansone
hated
him.

“I didn’t know,” he ground out as some fucker with a too-bright smile placed a hand at the middle of her back.

“An unfortunate oversight, my friend.” Noel looked around. “Hey, uh…Alana didn’t show tonight, did she?”

That captured Sansone’s attention once again. “Why do you ask?” Oh, he knew
why. It seemed that the moment the quarterback took his eyes off Sansone’s woman, he set sights on his own, but Alana wanted nothing to do with Noel. She didn’t trust athletes or anyone who was in the public eye too often. She’d made that abundantly clear. Noel had made it abundantly clear he didn’t give one fuck. Mirrored situations.

The football player rolled his shoulders nonchalantly and took a sip from the crystal tumbler in his hand. “No reason. Just curious.”

Sansone tried not to laugh in his face.

“Er… Sunny?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t pretend to know
all
of Nyssa’s expressions but I am most definitely sure
that
particular one reads ‘
Get me the fuck out of here. Now.’”

Frowning, Sansone glanced back to where his
cara
last stood and found her looking a lot less relaxed than she had been moments ago. He followed her line of sight and saw why. James Woodard was about twenty feet away and making a beeline for her.

Shit.

***

He’d been following her with his eyes all night and she could
feel
it. There was something about Sansone that made you acutely aware his focus was solely on you even if yours was elsewhere. How much longer could they play this particular game? How much longer could she pretend like she hadn’t lost an earring in his sheets before sunrise because she’d buried her face so hard in a pillow that the small diamond slipped out? Not much longer. Nyssa knew exactly what she was doing when she’d purchased the gown she’d taken so much care in selecting. She was testing the limits of his discipline, taunting him. Why? Because it gave her the sickest sense of satisfaction to know she made him burn the way he did her.

Was she wrong for it? Quite possibly, but that didn’t mean she’d stop. She’d never admit it out loud, but every second she’d spent with him over the last few weeks had been well worth it. Every morning started with her deliciously sore and drowsy before she found herself staring up at a face that could send her quivering with one glance. Nyssa couldn’t put into words how happy it made her that he had some seriously creepy tendencies and liked to stare at her while she slept. She’d called him on it time and time again, and yet her pulse beat just a bit faster whenever her lashes fanned upward and she found him there, a smile in place that was only for her.
He
was only for her. More frightening realizations had never been made. Sansone had her in the palm of his hand, but what if her chose to flex his fingers and crush her?

Feeling shaky now from either his heated stare or too many glasses of champagne, she shot a quick stare around the room and found herself impressed that someone she’d dubbed
Prickface Haddon
had come this far and turned out to be amazingly, incredibly sweet. He was also amazingly, incredibly convincing. Tonight’s meals were three hundred dollars a plate, and although Nyssa hadn’t planned on coming she knew if she couldn’t bat a lash at spending half a grand on vintage Yves Saint Laurent then she couldn’t rightfully do so at donating to a children’s foundation.

Normally Nyssa wouldn’t have seen this as an opportunity to make Sansone insane but lately she’d been feeling her composure slipping. He was getting entirely too close, if that were at all possible, and she needed to take the reins for a little while, even if it was for just one night. When he’d stepped into the expansive ballroom in Noel’s home, she’d barely stopped herself from dropping to her knees and crawling over to him. He’d cut his hair, the curling locks now in a modified style that left the sides and back shorn and the top long enough to play with. A few days’ worth of stubble lined his hard jaw and his tux fit him as though God himself had sewn it together. Classically black with a velvet lapel and bow tie, it should’ve seem average, and maybe it would have if it were on anyone but
him. Sansone could make a brown paper bag hanging off the head of his cock look like a spring collection.

She was drifting in and out of the conversation happening before her, wishing she’d brought Alana along, or at the very least Samara, who she hadn’t heard from in days, when another waiter came past and she placed her empty flute on his tray before freezing. Nyssa blinked, then blinked again, but the image before her never dissipated. However, it
did
move closer, and she found herself taking a step back.

James.

His gait was slow, almost apprehensive, completely different from the way he’d approached her when she’d first joined his agency. At the time he’d been all mischievous grins and sparkling blue eyes. Right now his shoulders were squared, his hands in his pockets and his stare on her. Determined steps brought him nearer. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She was in a room full of people and felt completely alone.

The last she’d heard of him he’d moved to L.A. and become the third partner of some new age agency that was expanding overseas. What was he doing here?

Nyssa turned her head, looking toward where she’d last spotted Sansone standing with Noel and found the spot empty.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

James got closer. Fifteen feet. Twelve. Nine.

Strong, familiar hands gripped her by the shoulders and turned her around. Unable to swallow down her panic toward a man who’d essentially stabbed her and twisted the proverbial knife, she gripped the front of Sansone’s jacket.

“Get me out of here.
Now.”

Dark eyes held her own before he nodded once and somehow got her out of James’ reaching distance in a matter of seconds. They weaved around crowds of people—some they recognized, some who recognized them. Sansone led her down a long hallway off to the left of the kitchen where no one besides the wait staff was. A quick right turn brought them to several doors and he popped one open, finding it unlocked. The bathroom. Good, because she felt like she was going to lose every bit of shrimp puff and mini quiche she’d eaten.