Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) (26 page)

“You want me?” he asked, a low growl in his voice.

“Always,” she whispered and he started to slowly unbutton the shirt he wore. Carefully revealing every inch of sculpted muscle, his hard body and ridged abs, until he tossed the useless cloth away. The whisper of his belt being torn free sent a thrill up her spine, but tonight wasn’t for that kind of play – it was just about her and him. Sitting up she tugged at the button on his pants until it gave way, drawing the zipper down just before he shoved his boxer-briefs down with them.

With a low rumble in his chest he kicked them off and climbed onto the bed, his knees pushing hers wide, and he held her hands to the bed over her head. “Keep these here. No matter what.”

“Why?”

“Shh. No questions.” Sitting up between her legs she had trouble focusing on what he was doing because his rigid cock stood up from his hips, begging her to taste him, or draw him inside her – but instead, he wiped a chocolate covered finger across one nipple and then the other.

“The fuck?” She opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing, but he slipped two fingers between her lips, silencing her with the sinful taste of chocolate on her tongue. As she rested back against the bed, keeping her hands where he’d placed them, his mouth surrounded one nipple and drew on it. Camille moaned against his fingers, but he teased her further, flicking his tongue against the tight bud as his hips rested between her thighs, his cock brushing against her baiting her further towards an orgasm that he seemed committed to withhold for now. “Mmthh!” she begged around his fingers, and he switched to the other nipple as he adjusted his hand to grasp her by the neck, keeping her laid back as he licked the chocolate from her.

“Do you know what it’s been like watching all these men drool over you in that damn sundress all day?” His lips returned to her nipple as soon as he’d spoken and her back arched under him.

“You fucking love that dress!” A whimper escaped her as he bit down lightly, before teasing her once more, his hips shifting against her in a mockery of what she really wanted.

“I do. Seeing other men enjoy it makes me feel a little…” Smith leaned up and captured her lips, his hand moving into her hair to hold her to the bed as his tongue clashed with hers – a swirl of chocolate and sex and need. “Possessive.”

“Then take me,” she growled back, and he captured her lips again, his thighs spreading hers further, and then his cock brushed against her. Velvet hardness, and in one smooth movement he was inside her, stretching her, filling her. She moaned against his lips, and he groaned as he thrust again. Just as she started to bring her hands up to wind them in his hair, he caught them and pinned her back down, holding her exactly where he wanted her as his strong hips drove into her again and again. Sparkling heat started to wind itself up her spine, blending with the knife-edge tension he’d built before he’d ever been inside her – and she knew it was a useless exercise to try and hold back. “Please…” she whispered, and he groaned against her ear, nipping before he spoke low.

“Come for me.”

“FUCK!” She cried out as the wave crashed over her. Light and sensation sparking every nerve ending into electric consciousness, an inescapable pulse of pure pleasure forcing her to lock up as Smith pressed inside her again and again. His quiet growls echoed in her ears as he leaned up to capture her lips and then she felt his cock kick inside her. Smith came with her, each pulse of her own pleasure squeezing him until they were both breathing hard, warm and wet against each other.

“You are perfect,” he whispered as he caught her lips again, releasing her hands so that she could finally trace the damp skin of his back, each movement making his muscles jump under her touch.

“You’re pretty fucking amazing yourself,” she laughed and she knew he was smiling even as he released a slow moan and pressed kisses across her shoulder. With a groan of effort he slid from her and landed at her side, his breathing harder for a moment or two before it slowed.

Lifting up onto her elbows Camille took the opportunity to appreciate his sculpted chest, the long run of his hard abs, the sheen of her juices on his thighs as he propped one leg up on the bed. Every breath made his ribcage expand and contract, highlighting the muscles that she knew kept him strong and capable in every fight – whether it was a sparring session with her, or a knock-down drag-out with someone he deemed an enemy.

He
was fucking perfect.

“Want to throw on some robes and sit on the terrace and eat the rest of that chocolate cake?” Smith grinned over at her when she glanced at him.

“Do you really need to ask?” She smiled as he went to reach across her for the cake, and blocked his arm with her leg, pinning it to the bed with her shin. Sitting up slowly she lifted the plate with the cake and slowly traced a finger through it before slipping it between her lips. “It really is delicious.”

“I’d hate to spill that cake, but if I have to toss you off me to get to it – I’m not above it.”

“You wouldn’t ruin this cake,” she taunted, scooping another bite of it with her finger.

“C…” Smith’s voice held a warning, but she just smiled, and then rolled away from him, keeping the cake upright as she dove off the other side of the bed.

“If you don’t get the robes I’m just going to walk outside like this. With the cake.”

“You wouldn’t –” he laughed, pushing a hand through his hair, that devilish smile making its way across his face. “Wait, yes, you absolutely would. Un moment, mon chéri.”

With a swift bow, his very naked, very gorgeous self turned towards the bathroom to grab them robes. A few moments later she was wrapped in the softest terry she’d ever known, curled into Smith’s lap, with a full view of the Eiffel Tower at night. “This is amazing,” she whispered.

“Yes, it is.” Smith smiled as he popped another bite of chocolate cake between her lips, and she licked his fingers clean.

Resting back against his shoulder she watched the night sky drift between clouds, the golden haze of Paris unfolding beneath them. “I never imagined myself in a place like this. Not in a million years.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, resting the plate on her thighs as he hugged her tight to him. “I know, it’s why I wanted you to have this. The whole experience.”

“How long are we in this hotel?”

“Three more nights.”

With a smile she curled against his chest, letting the wine and the jetlag take hold. “Good, because I want to remember it forever.”

“I hope you do, mon deux chéri, because it’s all for you.” As his words faded into the distant road noise of Paris, she focused in on his heartbeat, and soon not even that could keep her from the sweet, quiet embrace of sleep.

Chapter Twenty-One

Click.

Click.

Sabine Moreau smiled at her as she leaned close to light the cigarette she had bummed from another Parisian in pathetic English, and for a moment Camille felt bad for the beautiful young woman as she flicked the lighter and lit her cigarette. As soon as she lit it, she wrapped an arm around the woman and fake stumbled, as if she were drunk, and then she drew the little gun from her thigh, pressed it against Sabine’s ribs – and pulled the trigger.

Boom.

The muffled sound of the shot was impossible to hear over the traffic and the crowd, and as she let Sabine slide to the ground Camille let her hair cover her face, the shocked look filling the woman’s face, and then she pulled the trigger again. Head shot. Impossible to survive.

Walking away from the cameras at the entrance of the restaurant, Smith stepped up next to her to slip his arm around her waist, allowing her space to tuck the gun into his coat as they walked away. Just another drunk couple, enjoying their night in Paris.

“Done?”

“Done,” C whispered, and he pressed a kiss to her hair as he turned the corner to where they had parked. Just as they moved, shouts went up from behind them, and they continued without a pause. The little dark blue car was four down, and neither of them had
actually
drunk anything tonight. They’d spent the whole day trailing Sabine and Gabriel, discovered the restaurant they frequented. Verified it with Jean, and then waited.

“Arrêtez!” A man yelled from behind them, and then gunfire broke out. Civilians and tourists screamed as Smith shoved her into the car, slamming the door hard, and she leaned up to see where he was, but a moment later he climbed in the other door.

“My gun! Give me a gun!” she shouted, as Smith threw the car into gear and floored it out into traffic, narrowly avoiding another car. Then he dug in his jacket for her gun, keeping one hand on the wheel and his eyes on the road. It landed in her lap, still warm, as another car whipped into traffic behind them.

Bullets bounced off the car, loud pinging ricochets that had Camille checking Smith, but he was shifting gears and moving them around the slower vehicles like an expert. “They’re smart, they already had a car ready to follow them.”

“You think?!” Camille shouted as another round of bullets hit her side of the car. Pressing the button on the window she rolled it down and tracked the car, firing carefully towards the dark SUV following them. Her shots hit the front of the car, the side, but missed the windshield and the driver.
Fuck.
“I need another clip!”

“Take mine!” Smith shoved his gun into her shoulder as he swerved around a small sports car, and a sedan, probably full of tourists, but Camille threw her gun into the floorboard and started firing again. Two shots later and she’d busted the windshield of the SUV, unsure if she’d hit anyone.

“Go! Go!” She screamed, and then they were hit, the high pitch scream of metal scraping, the car spinning. They had been hit from the side, and she caught herself against the dash as they spun just before they slammed into something and she blacked out.

Smith.

“Réveillez vous.” A man’s voice wormed its way into her head, along with the dull memory that she’d just been slapped. Another slap made her sit up fully, her cheek stinging, but it was nothing compared to the dull pounding of the side of her head.

“What the fuck?” She growled, and she was hit again, this time in the stomach. It stole the air from her, but she tensed and forced herself to recover. To focus through the haze.

“Do you speak French?” The voice shouted, and she winced at the volume.

“Do you think I speak your pussy language, asshole?” Another hard hit to the side of her head almost made her throw up, but she swallowed it down.

“Fine. We speak English.”

“You!” The voice moved away from her and she raised her head slowly, ignoring the swimming sensation, to see Smith on his knees across from her.
Shit
. Looking down she was still in the same sleek, black dress she’d worn out, but her legs were spread wide and there was some kind of rope tethering her legs to the outsides of the chair. Her arms were bound to the back, and although there was a little give – it would be a very painful escape if she had to make it.

“Which one of you killed Sabine Moreau?” The man shouted again, but Camille let her head loll forwards, she didn’t need to see the cold stare in Smith’s eyes to know what the name of this game was.

Don’t talk. No matter what they do.

“Who?” Smith asked, and then a low grunt told her he’d been hit. As much as it made her want to fight, she stayed still.

You’re just a girl. Just a girl in a dress. Play it up.

Camille sniffled hard, starting the panicked breathing she’d heard from too many targets, male and female alike. “What’s happening? I don’t understand, I don’t -” She yelped when a man behind her ripped her head upright, the sting at her scalp nothing compared to the pounding at her temple where the itchy presence of drying blood told her she’d hit her head in the crash.

They hit your car. They pulled you from the wreck. Survive. Figure it out, and survive.

“Is this your girlfriend? Want us to fucking kill her?” The man behind her spoke, putting a gun to her head, and she finally focused her eyes on Smith’s face. He didn’t even flinch. “Did you kill Sabine? Tell us! Tell us who ordered the hit!”

Smith kept his jaw clenched, even when the man next to him slammed the butt of a gun into the back of his head.

“Tell us!” The man echoed the demand, and yes, there was pain, and she was pretty sure there was something wrong with her left shoulder, but she could read Smith now, and he was telling her to be strong.

“You want this piece of ass to die?” The man next to her dug the gun in harder, and she whimpered like a good victim should.

“Please don’t kill me, please!” She begged, acting like any helpless girl would, and the asshole beside her laughed.

“Listen, we just want to know who ordered Sabine’s death. Was it Thomas Moreau?”

Smith stayed silent, held down on his knees, the dark burgundy of dried blood on his collar and at his eyebrow spoke of injuries that he wasn’t acknowledging.

We don’t name names.

Camille grit her teeth and met his eyes across the way, and for an instant she saw him – the real him – the one that was worried about her, and it was starting to peek through, but she couldn’t let the other assholes see that. “What the fuck! This isn’t worth the five-hundred euros, man! I’m out, tell them to let me go. It was just supposed to be a dinner! I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die…”

The fucker behind her laughed, grabbed her hair, and bent her head back painfully. “Did you get a whore?”

“Yes,” Smith growled. “She’s just a whore. A prop so I didn’t draw attention. Let her go.”

“Yeah, let me go! Please, I don’t give a fuck what you assholes are involved in! I won’t say anything!” She tugged at the ropes, and noticed that the section around her right wrist was looser than the left.

“Tell us who hired you, and confirm that you killed Sabine, and we’ll let your whore go – or maybe we’ll keep her for fun.” Douchebag with the gun to her head shifted it so that he could reach between her thighs, running his hand up to lift her dress.

“Don’t!” Smith snapped, and she swallowed as the man’s hand froze against her underwear.

“Oh, so you
do
care for this little whore?”

Smith stayed silent, and the man to his left hit him. His head cracked to the right, his whole body slumping for a moment, but she bit her tongue to stay silent. “Who hired you? We want a name.”

The man on the other side of Smith drew his gun, and spoke softly. “Or, you can just keep your trap shut and we’ll have fun with your American whore while you think it over. That will be a pretty show, won’t it?”

When the man behind her grabbed her by the jaw with his gun hand she swallowed, prepared for what she knew was coming. His other hand slid between her legs again, pushing her underwear aside to shove two fingers harshly inside her. Camille stayed silent, but she heard Smith struggle, the sound of a fist impacting flesh, and then she was released – the douchebag above her sliding his fingers between his lips. “She tastes delicious. Definitely not like a whore.”

Smith was swaying between the two men on either side of him, his eyes lifted to hers slowly – and they were filled with pain. She had prepared for this, she
was
prepared for this, and as much as it angered her, it hurt worse to see what it was doing to Smith.

You’re just a girl. They don’t see you as a threat.

Whimpering she struggled again, begging in a soft, broken voice that she’d heard from her own lips too many times, “Please… I don’t understand what the fuck is going on. Let me go, please? I just want to go home…”

The man beside her shoved her head forward and laughed. “Tell us what we want to know and we’ll let her go, otherwise we’ll have everyone take a turn with her before we kill her.”

“No!” She cried out, playing the part, but she could only hope Smith knew she was okay.

I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.

“C…” Smith’s voice cut through everything and she lifted her head to lock eyes with him. There was something there, something
more
that hadn’t been there before. But there was a gun aimed at him, and a gun in the hand of the asshole beside her. “I never meant for this to happen.”

Shit. He’s going to do something.

“Tell us what you know! Are there more of you?” The man beside him shouted, hitting him again, and in the moment of distraction she tried to wrench her wrist free of the ropes but it was just a hair too tight.
Fuck
. There was only one thing she could do. Smith’s gaze locked on hers, one eye swollen shut from the most recent punch, and she knew.

“We will rape her, and we will kill her! I will make her scream for me and then shoot her you son of a motherless dog! Answer us!”

Grabbing onto her thumb she prepared to yank it out of socket so she could slip her hand free. “Hey,” C’s voice was unusually calm as she ignored the not-so-empty threats from the man beside her, maintaining a forced steadiness just for Smith.

Her voice drew his gaze back again. Pained, concerned, but she needed a killer right now, not whatever he’d become after crawling into bed with her.

Give him something to kill for.

“I love you.” She spoke softly, tightening her grip on her thumb. “Remember that.”

“The little blonde whore loves you, hear that?” The man next to him laughed.

Smith flinched and then nodded, adjusting his position on his knees. Slowly, he raised those perfect jade eyes back to hers. “I trust you. I always have.” With a sudden movement he threw himself to the side and swept the man next to him, the gun firing somewhere at the ceiling, and she jerked her thumb out of socket with a shout of pain to get her hand free.

Somehow, Smith broke free and there was a gun flying towards her, pulling her other hand free of the slack rope she caught the gun and fired first at the man aiming at Smith, then at the asshole beside her – and then she hit the ground hard, still tangled in the chair. As much as it hurt, she lifted her injured shoulder and fired at the motherfucker on top of Smith delivering hard punches.

A clear headshot.

With a growl she sat up as much as she could and fired headshots into the other two, conserving the last bullets even though what she wanted to do was obliterate the bastards’ faces. When there was no one else even twitching, she collapsed against the ground. One, two, three steady breaths and she forced her thumb back into place with a scream. “FUCK!”

“C! Are you okay?” Smith winced as he crawled towards her, sloughing off the ropes that had been around his arms, and then he started on the ones holding her legs to the chair.

“I’m fucking fine,” she growled, and then she heard the door open and sat up fast, firing the last two rounds in the gun into the asshole that had come inside. He collapsed, and she waited as Smith tugged the gun from the hand of the man who had been beside her to aim it, but after a moment there was no more movement.