The End of You: A Single Lady Spy Series Novella (The Single Lady Spy Series Book 3) (4 page)

We
didn't notice the drive had stopped, nor that he was turned around and watching
us completely. The addition of his ragged breath caused us to stop and turn. He
was rubbing himself in the front seat, staring down at my ass. My skirt covered
everything but his eyes weren’t doing the watching so much as his mind was
creating the image. Servario lifted me to my knees, pulling himself out. My
wetness coated us both but he just did his pants back up as if it was nothing.
“Get the door,” he spoke to the driver, showing his disapproval in his tone but
never looked back at the man who looked stunned that he had been caught. He
swallowed hard, offering me a pleading look. I turned back to Servario who
wasn’t fazed by any of it. He lifted me off of his lap completely and climbed from
the vehicle. He turned back, offering me a hand. I tried not taking it, shocked
and disturbed and ready to lose my temper over the last several moments but he
snatched my hand. He dragged me as if I were a child having a temper tantrum.
As if I were the one who had trashed the dirty room on the plane. On the drag
in I noticed we were outside of a hotel surrounded by the ocean. The warm salty
air hit me like a ton of bricks. I was grateful instantly that I had chosen the
outfit I did. But then I noticed several women in abayat and other garments
covering most of their bodies. It was like the scene from
Pretty Woman
where she struts Rodeo Drive in her hooker boots held
up by pins. My midriff was like the most offensive thing I could have shown.
His disgusted look made sense now. I could have killed him for not telling me.

Servario
didn't check in like most men. He strolled straight past the front desk,
nodding at the man who scurried after us. The man met us at the elevator. It
was there I realized we were staying at the sail-shaped hotel Burj Al Arab in Dubai.
I remembered seeing several articles on it because of its unique shape. When we
got into the elevator I caught a glimpse of his fierce stare in the reflection.
He squeezed my hand, holding tightly like he was trying to tell me something.

The
elevator ride was tense. The air was heady, regardless of the air conditioning.

The
attendant gave us an awkward stare, confused perhaps by my outfit or just by
the fact that Gustavo Servario was in his elevator. I would be uncomfortable
too maybe, had he not played with my ass on several occasions. Once someone
does something that intimate, it’s hard to fear them properly.

I
struggled with his grip until we were in our room. Then he let me go, flexing
his hand and staring at the room.

“We
were meant to stay at The Palm, but I like to change my mind at the last second
to avoid predictability.” He pulled something from his pocket, placing it down
on the table in the middle of the room that still held my awestruck attention.
It was fabulous. I parted my lips to say so but he held a finger up, pausing me
as if I were a remote-controlled device.

He
flashed a bright light from the object and then turned to face me, undoing his
pants. “Let’s finish.”

I
stepped back. “What was that?”

“A
device I got from someone you don't know and the technical language it would
require to describe it to you would be wasted air on my part.”

I
paused, translating it all. “Did you just call me stupid?” He did. I rehashed
it twice before his answer came with a smile and the dropping of his pants.
“No.” He held a hand out to me.

I
stepped back. “You just called me dumb and you expect I will rush over and let
you fuck me?”

He
nodded, continuing to hold his hand out. I scoffed, turning and walking into
the bathroom and locking the door. “Asshole!” I muttered, leaning against the
counter. I stripped down, needing suddenly to be clean from the feeling of him
inside of me. I dragged the lashes off, wincing in the mirror as I tried to
avoid eye contact with myself. I needed a refresher course on why my vagina
wasn’t in charge of decision making, especially where Servario was concerned.

I
stepped into the huge marble shower that could have been a sizeable walk-in
closet and cranked the hot water. I sat on the bench and let the ceiling rain
down on me. The water smelled like roses had been soaking in it all day long,
as if the hotel had prepared the water just for my shower.

I
closed my eyes, letting makeup run down my cheeks. The water felt like tears
but I didn't have any. I didn't feel guilty about Coop which was insane. I
didn't feel guilty that I was living a giant lie. Somewhere inside of me I
believed Servario and I were meant to be together. I loved him more than I had
ever loved a person, except for my children. For me that was enough of an
excuse to tolerate his bullshit.

But
I had a feeling that deep inside of me there had been a line drawn in the sand,
or rather bathroom floor. I was no longer willing to pretend we weren’t more
than this—me pretending to be his whore and him taking advantage of the
timing and my heart.

If
he could be greedy with his heart I could be so with mine as well. A loud blast
interrupted my pep talk. I glanced up to see he’d kicked the door in. I sighed,
hating that we were this couple, the one everyone else tolerated the noise from.

“Not
right now, Servario. I’m not in the mood.”

He
didn't strip down. He stepped into the shower—pants, shirt, socks, and
all. He lifted me from the seat with a rough tug, jerking me into his arms. I
tried to knee him in the balls but he blocked it, kissing me at the same time.
He pinned me, holding me tightly as he tore down his pants. His tongue explored
my reluctant mouth, stroking and caressing with the hot water pouring down on
us, flooding our faces.

He
sat down on the bench where I had been, dragging me into his lap again. I
wrestled, resisting his grip but it was futile. He pulled me down on top of
him, his erection resting between the swollen lips of my pussy. He didn't say
much, he just kissed, not entering me.

We
held each other in the rain, tempted by every movement but not daring to take
the final plunge. I wanted him to do it and I assumed he wanted me to be the
one. Finally, he whispered. “Ask me to fuck you.”

I
shook my head, sliding along his rough cheek to bite his ear.

“Beg
me, Evie. Beg me to fuck you.”

I
shook my head again, whispering in his ear as I dragged my teeth down the lobe.
“No.”

I
climbed off, grabbing the soap from the decorative shelf where they had folded
all the shower essentials so neatly. I washed as he sat getting soaked in his
expensive Italian pants and dress shirt. His hazel eyes watched me, watched
every move like a tiger hunting a gazelle.

I
took long, loving strokes to wash every inch of myself, putting on a show for
him more than getting clean. He bit his lip, watching me torture him and
letting me do it. Finally, I finished after a second round of rubbing the soap
against my nipples. “Why are you letting me do this to you?” I asked, curious
as to why he hadn’t just ravaged me like the savage we both knew him to be.

“I
get so few moments with you that there is actual pleasure in the intense pain
of waiting and wanting you—of wanting to explode inside of you and making
you scream my name.”

By
far his best answer ever. I nodded, not moving much. He was certainly good at
playing this game of greedy hearts. He was winning. He was making me want to
give him mine, no questions asked and nothing in return.

I
walked out of the room in a stunning emerald-green shift dress. It covered far
more of me and matched the pumps perfectly. My red lipstick was actually a bit
intense for it but I didn't care. I wanted him to see it and cry inside a little,
like I was.

He
stood in a pair of black pinstripe dress pants and pale-blue shirt. He wore his
same burgundy dress shoes. He looked like fucking sex on a stick and I wanted
to ride that stick more than I ever wanted anything.

His
eyes lit up when he saw me. “Much more appropriate for Dubai.”

“You
were going to let me wear the red tube dress—don't start on me.”

“I
knew you would change.” He sighed and looked over something on his iPad.

I
scowled. “What was that thing you used earlier?”

“It
stops any sort of transmitting device and/or listening or video recording.”

I
winced. “My phone.”

“I
turned it off on the plane so that when we arrived here it wouldn't be fried by
the device.”

I
didn't even want to know how all our stuff got there. He was seedy in all the
right ways. I gave myself a last look. “Where are we meeting everyone else?”

“Belgium.
We have an hour to finish this negotiation and get back to the jet.”

I
turn back, uncertain of his motives. It was the flaw in the system that was our
relationship. He had double-crossed me so many times that I didn't trust him,
even a little.

He
saw my look and shook his head. “Evie, we can’t talk about it right now. Read
your text messages on the way to the car.” He stood, grabbing his jacket and
pulling it on. Handsome was such the understatement. I sighed and followed him,
grabbing the gold clutch he had packed for me in my suitcase, replacing all my
normal clothes with his choices. It was mostly heels and lingerie. My phone was
already in there so I pulled it out and read the text from the random number I
didn't recognize.

Kids are fine, don't be a pain in the ass but don't give it
all away either.

xoxoxo, Mom.

I
scowled at his back. “What did you say to my mom?”

He
chuckled. “Just that you were playing hard to get.”

“Impossible
to get is actually the game of the week for me.”

He
glanced back as he pressed the button on the elevator. “Don’t push me, Evie. I
like this game right now. Don't make me not like it.”

I
reached my hand into my bag, dropped my phone in there, and pulled out my
middle finger. “I brought you something special all the way from Canada.”

He
looked like he might turn me over his knee, not something I generally fought
with him over, but tonight I might have actually. When we stepped into the
elevator he pressed himself close to me, too close. I was nearly squished into
the wall. My phone buzzed in my bag. I lifted the clasp and peeked into the
bag, surprised by another random number.

We are going to go to the car. They’ll drive us to the
location. You are a woman who does talent scouting for me in Eastern Europe. We
are negotiating a deal for twenty young women. They want American girls, no
older than twenty-three. You have the girls in Romania right now. If they
resist on price, mention how many virgins you have. Make it a good number, like
seven or eight. They will not bring in the boss until we have a sealed deal.
When that happens the team should meet us. They’re tracking our location.

I
didn't understand who sent it at first but then he sent another one from his
iPad, cluing me in.

Clearly it’s me, Evie. Try to bring something to the mission
beyond being a hooker.

I
wanted to stab him in the eye but I was missing my slutty knives. I texted back
the one thing I knew would aggravate him beyond belief.

Fuck you, Servario.

The
corners of his lips lifted and all I saw was a punishing smirk. I held my head
up high, totally bravado but I didn't care. He wasn't going to rattle me and
call me stupid. Texting wasn't my thing. I hated it. My fingers, wrists, and
thumbs ached after a long conversation.

When
we got to the car I noticed it was a different one. This was a Mercedes, not a
Rolls. The driver gave me a decent up down before letting me in. I assumed he
was checking me out, but then I realized he was looking for a weapon.

I
climbed in, trying not to get nervous. We were going in with no weapons. That
was insanely planned out.

Servario
climbed inside of the car, reaching a hand down into my dress. He rolled a
nipple, making it obvious I was a piece of meat for this trip. The driver
climbed in, giving me a smirk. I imagined he assumed they would pass me around
later, because that's how I liked my gang rape.

I
wanted to kill him. I could smell sex slave on him.

As
for Servario, I wanted to poke his eyes out. He could sense the hostility in me
and pulled his hand from my dress.

I
sat there, scared and turned on. It was very conflicting to be so aroused while
being afraid. Akin to the time he chased me around in the dark and fucked me
against the pool table.

He
gave me a look. It was an evil grin. It was the one he used when he was
winning. I reached over, meeting his hateful look, and grabbed his dick. I
stroked, perhaps a little roughly, but I got my point across. He sat back as if
this was his idea and I was his dick-stroking minion. I sighed, stopping and
staring out the window. Dubai was a stunning and welcome distraction. The city
was lighting up as the sky was starting to darken. Everything about this city
made me think Vegas, including the smarmy guy driving and the pervert next to
me.