A/N: Just a friendly reminder that this book features some aggressive sexual exploits that may be a bit violent in nature, so discretion is advised, you kinky hoes xoxo Ami

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nineteen | paris

the first ever photograph of a human is believed to have been taken in 1838 by Louis Daguerre on the Boulevard du Temple in Paris

JAKE

May 8th, 21:06 (GMT +2)
7 days until it happens

SHE DRANK THE Macallan — I could taste the smoky sting of it drenching her tongue.

Schmooze a little, Director Wilson told us.

Well, fuck. Mission accomplished.

I don't meet my own eyes in the bathroom mirror as I rub burgundy smudges of lipstick from my mouth. A single sip is never enough. I want to suck every last intoxicating drop to the bitter dregs.

Back in the ballroom, Rayna is intent on ignoring me like the stubborn little brat she is. She's deep in frivolous conversation with another woman, laughing and having a grand time from the looks of it. But nothing about her carefree mannerisms is random, I realize; Nikitin is three metres away, chatting with a small circle of other men.

Her spine straightens sharp as I come to stand beside her. I rest a hand against the warm swathe of her bare back exposed beneath her plunging gown. Quietly, I prod, "Ready to call it a night, darling?"

She digs her talons into my wrist. The sting is delicious. "But honey," she purrs, eyes glinting like a lioness prowling for prey through the blackened savannah, "It's still early. Let's stay a while longer."

"We have an early morning, love, remember?" Rayna's interlocutor, an older French woman with a hundred-thousand pounds-worth of diamonds studding her pale neck, regards us curiously.

With a dry, breezy eye-roll, Rayna exchanges a knowing look with the woman that simply bemoans, Men.

The melody shifts. The orchestra strings a slow, jazzy beat. Around us, couples move together, drifting to the music. Ah, bloody hell...

Rayna twists away from me, ready to vacate the dancefloor, but I grab her by the arm and pull her into my chest instead. Her round, toned arse presses against my trousers. Into her ear, I murmur, "Weren't you begging me for a dance earlier?"

Her neck tightens haughtily. I can feel the tension thrumming through her body and it sends a sick thrill charging into my gut. "I don't beg."

I kissed her and it turned her into a fucking puddle. She'd rather dig her own grave than admit she liked it, admit that she wants more. "Unless you can't handle it," I taunt softly. If she walks away, she loses, and she knows it.

She swirls in my grasp so we're tucked chest to chest. Copper cinders rage at the edges of her irises. I cinch a broad palm along her waist and she clamps her fingers onto my shoulder. Her words slice meagre inches from my lips when she whispers, "One of these days I'm gonna put a bullet in you. Just haven't decided where, yet."

My left hand folds around her right and our feet glide across the polished pearlescent tile. "A bullet? That's it?" I grunt, unimpressed. "How pedestrian."

Her skin is warm beneath paper-thin red satin. "You're right..."

"Always am, darling."

"...a bullet is too sweet." Her canines gleam. "I would draw it out..." Our eyes brush, "Nice and deep and slow."

My heart-rate rockets. "Hard and rough is more my style, princess."

Her gorgeous tits heave against my chest. I take a glance at her streaking neckline and make sure she sees me do it. As payback, she curves a couple inches closer and I have to make an effort not to groan. In a soothing, dulcet tone, she proposes, "A knife, maybe. A blunt one. Serrated. Like a saw."

Near the pinch of her nose, I ask, "Which part would you slice off first?" My hand on her waist drifts lower, hugging her tailbone.

Her hips sway into mine when she replies, "I'd save the best for last, of course." My dick twitches against her smooth stomach and I watch her eyes blaze darker than hell.

"A brutish approach to disembowelment," I evaluate. "A blunt knife? Entirely unoriginal. It lacks elegance. Refinement."

She lifts a dark, neat eyebrow and scoffs, her lips a hairsbreadth from my jaw, "So you're a connoisseur, huh?" Her challenge scrapes my chin, "How would you take care of me, then? What..." She's mocking, now, "chic and cultured methods would you employ?"

Arching over her, tugging her in with both hands on her hips, I explain, gruff and dim, into her ear, "I'd fuck you til you bleed." Her breath snags. "I wouldn't stop until it killed you. You'd waste your last breaths pleading for more."

Her composure waivers for just a second before she snaps right back at me, "An old man like you? You'd never outlast me. You'd be dead of a heart attack long before I even broke a sweat."

I have six years on her, seven or eight tops, but twenty-somethings love to think they're invincible. "Ageism is the lowest form of humour." Our dancing has devolved into straining hips and clinging fingertips. "But I'm happy to wager. You're welcome to try your very best to prove me wrong."

She's going to kiss me again, it's the only possible outcome of her craning her mouth so close to mine. But instead, she just hums, that rich Macallan tinge boozing her breath, "I think I'll stick with my knife."

The song breaks and she slips from my arms without so much as a hitch in her step. I watch the spring of her curves as she struts away and picture sixty-eight different ways I could ruin her with my hands and my mouth and my cock. No, actually. Make that sixty-nine.

Cool it down, Morgan. Regroup. Have a drink. Move on. Too much time spent faffing about.

I sift a hand through my hair, distracted.

I've just settled at the bar with a tumbler of something strong and murky when Rayna is fisting the lapel of my tux, urging me away in a flurry. With a curse, my drink rattles onto the bartop.

"Sorry, love," I gripe, "I'm not really in the mood for another snog–"

"Just shut-up and listen," she hushes sourly. "I heard Nikitin talking with one of his cronies about meeting someone after. William O'Boyle is the name he mentioned. Ring any bells?"

I shrug. "So what? I took care of O'Boyle for an evening only as a cover. It makes sense that his business with the mob is still underway."

"But listen. They were talking about May fifteenth. It's a date that keeps coming up, first in Minsk, then again in those flash-drives. Originally, I thought it was their deadline for paying Cassidy's ransom, but they don't have Cassidy. It's seven days away. What do you think is going on there?"

I'll admit, she's right about the fact that it's an interesting question. "We'll monitor the bug we planted."

She shakes her head impatiently. "The bug only records what Nikitin says, not what the people around him are saying." She's dead-serious when she says, "We should follow him."

"No. No way in hell–"

"Look, I have a really strong feeling about this one. You gotta trust me."

That's a laughable assertion, but I'm too somber to crack a chuckle. "I said no. It's unnecessary and dangerous."

My stern tone angers her. Her eyelids thin. "I'm not asking." Apparently still smarting from the blow I delivered while she was flattened against the wall, she adds icily, "I don't ask." Her throat lengthens with pride. "And certainly not nicely."

I rub my neck, aggravated. "You're being impulsive about this. You don't know where they're going or what they'll be doing. Don't be daft."

"Ugh. You wanna work solo? Fine. I'll do it on my own." She thuds my shoulder aggressively with hers and storms past me.

My aorta sputters like a kettle, pumping my blood to a hissing boil. No fucking way I'm letting her chase this lead without me.

In two long strides, I've fallen into step with her. Without looking at me, she snides, "Can't bear being left behind?"

"You'll fuck this up royally without my help."

"That's what queens do."

"Queen of Fucking-Things-Up has a nice ring to it."

As we descend the front steps, the night air nips vexatiously at my skin. Rayna's lips curl at the seams. "Be a loyal servant and shut the fuck up."

She'd raze an entire kingdom just to have me bowing at her feet.

***

Author's Note [Nov. 18th, 2022]:

Let's make a bet: which chapter will they finally bone?

Your medical fact for the day:

Did you know that there's literally a vaccine that prevents cancer? Upwards of 95% of all cervical cancers are caused by the human papilloma virus (HPV). You can be vaccinated against HPV. Even if you don't have a vagina, you can still get vaccinated to prevent spreading the virus. HPV is also responsible for mouth, anal, and throat cancers — pretty much anywhere you can stick a penis into can get HPV. It is VERY common — if you're sexually active, you'll probably get HPV, but whether or not you're protected against the most common cancer-causing strains depends on if you got jabbed or not.

In a lot of places, the HPV vaccine is funded for school children. HPV also causes genital warts, but the strains that cause warts and not the same strains as the ones that cause cancer. Vaccines are safe and effective! Get vaxxed!

xoxo Ami