Harris took the driver's seat, buckled his seat belt and checked his mirrors. "All set, sir?" He glanced in the rear-view mirror through the lowered part.i.tion between the front and rear seats.

Layla, sitting in a rear-facing jump seat, glanced from me to Roth and back, and then slid toward the pa.s.senger door. "Hang on, Harris, I'm coming up front."

She exited and took the front seat beside Harris, who shot another glance back at Roth. A nod from Roth, and Harris pulled the long, powerful vehicle out into the stream of traffic, and then closed the part.i.tion.

I waited a few minutes more in silence as Roth stared out the window, brooding. Finally I reached out and pried his hand open, threading my fingers through his. "Babe? You okay?"

He shook his head. "No. I hate selling that building. I built it from the ground up. I formed the construction company myself, handpicked the foreman and architect, and chose all the subcontractors myself. Every tile, every slab of marble and every board foot of imported wood, every door handle and cabinet pull and roll of carpeting...I chose it all myself. My handprints are in the foundation. I poured the first load of concrete. It was the first place since I left England as an eighteen year-old boy that really felt like home, you know? It just...sucks."

"You didn't have to sell it."

He glanced at me, finally. "Yes, I did. Number one, we need the cash. Number two, could either of us have walked into that library ever again? I couldn't. I just...couldn't. I went through the bedrooms, the kitchen, and all the other rooms. But the library...I just couldn't go in. Couldn't stand to see the place where she...where Gina...." He shook his head, once, sharply, and then rested his chin in his other hand. "I couldn't. And, besides, for better or worse, I'm done with New York."

"So now what?"

"Now...Robert condenses the businesses that remain into one umbrella company." Another glance at me, this time with a small smile. "We're calling the new structure St. Claire, Incorporated. You're on the board, and you have your own majority share."

"What?" I stared at him; he never ceased to amaze me.

"You and I are the controlling shareholders, each of us owning a third of the shares, with the remaining third split between a few others."

"So...what does being a majority shareholder entail?" I asked.

He shrugged. "As much or as little as you want. You can become involved in the day-to-day operations of the company, if you want; I can teach you anything you need to know that you don't know already. Or, you can just sit back and do nothing and collect the earnings, which will go directly into your personal bank accounts."

Ah, yes, my private bank accounts. Roth had set them up for me after Harris and I had rescued him from Gina. They were my insurance, in case anything happened to Roth, or if-G.o.d forbid-I either left or became separated from Roth. The accounts were mine, and only mine. He had no access to them. In my purse there were debit cards, checkbooks, and a slip of paper with series of codes written on it, allowing me access to...six accounts? Seven? I wasn't sure. There were a whole bunch of Swiss and offsh.o.r.e accounts, each in my name.

They contained, in total, something in the neighborhood of eight hundred million dollars.

Every once in a while, I would remember I had that money, and I would try to imagine what it meant. Eight hundred million dollars. It was a gobsmacking amount of money. Enough that I could live in utterly ridiculous luxury for the rest of my life and never have to work another day, never have to pay taxes-something that was handled without my needing to do a thing. I wasn't sure how he'd worked that magic, and didn't honestly care; he wasn't a criminal anymore, so it was all legal. Of that I was positive.

"I tend to forget about those bank accounts, honestly," I said.

Roth laughed. "How do you forget about nearly a billion dollars, Kyrie?"

I strived to look innocent. "Out of sight, out of mind? I don't use the money since you take care of everything for me." I shrugged as if it didn't matter, which to me it really didn't. I had total confidence in Roth's ability to provide for us financially. "So...why did you add me to the business, and why name it after me?"

He grinned, a cute, s.e.xy tilt of his lips. "Because you're half of me, sweetheart. And everything I have is yours. All of it is meaningless, without you." He turned toward me, finally. "I've never exactly been poor, but I can tell you without hesitation that I would live my life in utter poverty, as long as I could do it with you."

I shook my head. "Roth, baby. You're a spoiled brat. You have no idea what poverty is like. But...I believe you."

He laughed. "I only said I'd do it, not that I'd like it."

"You would hate it."

He nodded seriously. "I'm sure I would. I have a taste for the best things in life. But I a.s.sure you, my love, if we were to somehow lose everything, every penny, every company and subsidiary and property and stock share, we wouldn't remain poor for long. I would work day and night until you were provided for as you deserve."

"I know it, Valentine. I have absolute faith in you."

He just smiled and squeezed my hand. After another few minutes of silence, the vehicle stopping and starting and weaving through traffic, I recognized that our path was leading to the airport. "So, where next?"

"A private airfield a few hours from the city."

I furrowed my brow. "Private airfield? Like your own airport?"

He shrugged. "Sort of. It's nothing but a few acres in the middle of nowhere with a hangar and a landing strip. But it's owned by a dummy corporation and was purchased through a complicated series of transactions that would be...very difficult to trace back to me. It's a secure facility, surrounded by razor wire and protected by heavily armed guards from Harris's security company."

"Wow." Roth never ceased to amaze me. "When did you do all this?"

"Oh, I've had the airfield for years. I first purchased it back when I was still running guns, but I essentially sold it to myself via a long and complicated process to erase any connection to me personally. And then I just let it sit, kept it maintained, but that was it. Then, a few months ago I had it overhauled, had the landing strip repaved, upgraded the fence, and had Harris set a guard. I had a feeling we might need a place to fly in and out of that was totally off the radar."

"And where are we going from the airfield?"

"It's a surprise."

"A wedding surprise?"

He grinned. "Maybe."

"But Layla and I haven't done any real planning."

"Once we're at our destination, you two can go crazy. As long as you follow Harris's security rules, anything goes."

"What are the rules?"

"He'll tell you when we get there."

"When will that be?"

Roth lifted an eyebrow at me. "Soon." He turned toward me and lifted the armrest up out of the way. "You aren't eager at all, are you?"

I slid away from him, putting my back to the door. "No," I gulped. "Not at all."

He was all over me, a hand cupping my hip and tugging me down, toward him, pulling me horizontal. The movement made my knee-length skirt hike up to mid-thigh, and then Roth's hands were helping it upward, pushing it up around my hips, baring me to him.

"Why, Kyrie..." he whispered, pressing his lips to my ear. "You aren't wearing any underwear."

"You know what being in a limousine does to me."

"We have company up front." His fingers trailed up my leg, tracing from calf to knee to thigh. "You'll have to be silent."

"I can do that."

Roth just huffed a laugh in my ear. "No, you can't. You are many, many things, my love, but quiet during o.r.g.a.s.m isn't one of them."

"I can't help it if you have a knack for making me scream," I said, and then lost the capacity to formulate sentences, because Roth's fingers were inside me, scissoring, spearing, withdrawing, smearing my juices over my c.l.i.t and sliding back in.

I moaned, and Roth covered my mouth with his, not kissing but rather eating my groan, swallowing my sigh, smothering my whimper. I slid further beneath Roth, arched my back, ground my core against his fingers. Eager, hungry, ready. I rode his fingers, writhed against him, sucked his tongue into my mouth and tasted him, bit his lip. I fisted my fingers in his hair and let my knee fall aside, opening myself for him, hooking my other heel on the back of the seat.

"Are you close, Kyrie?" Roth whispered against my lips.

"Yes...f.u.c.k yes."

"Squeeze my fingers, darling. Don't make a sound." He had his index and middle fingers deep inside me, and now pressed his thumb against my c.l.i.t. I clenched my teeth on the shoulder of his suit coat, groaning, writhing, stifling a scream. "You're there, aren't you? You want to come, don't you?"

"I need it, Roth," I said past gritted teeth.

"Not yet." He slowed his plunging fingers, curled them inside me to knead his fingertips against that perfect spot, the ridge high on the upper wall, circling my throbbing c.l.i.t with his thumb.

I was wet, dripping wet, each motion of his hand making a thick squelching sound. He was alternating now, circling with his thumb and pressing with his fingers, and then switching so his fingertips swiped and sc.r.a.ped and pressed inside me while his thumb was stilled against my c.l.i.t. No rhythm, no predictability. Just enough to make me need it more, driving me crazy.

I knew what he wanted.

I clamped down with my v.a.g.i.n.al muscles, and he started f.u.c.king me with his fingers, giving me rhythm now. In and curl, thumb pressing in hard and fast circles. Harder. Faster.

I bit his earlobe and moaned as softly as I could, which...wasn't very quiet.

"Shush, Kyrie, love. Keep quiet for me."

"Can't."

"You can. Or I'll stop." He made good on his threat when I moaned again, his hand going still.

I whimpered in frustration, writhing against him, needing to come, needing to fall over the edge. "Roth, please."

"Yeah? Not above begging, are you, sweetheart?"

"h.e.l.l no. I need it, Roth. Let me come. Please let me come."

"Not yet. I don't think you're desperate enough." He went to work again, starting all over, kneading, circling, and finger-f.u.c.king arrhythmically, slowly, maddeningly, until I was grinding and biting his sleeve and trying desperately not to scream from the raging need inside me, the whirling fireball of need, the hurricane of s.e.xual desperation.

"Please, Valentine, please. G.o.d, I can't take anymore." I whispered this in his ear in my quietest voice, barely audible.

He thrust a third finger inside me, hooking them to rub against that spot, f.u.c.king in and out faster and faster, the only sound now my ragged breathing and the wet sucking of his fingers.

I felt the edge approaching like an on-rushing cliff, like a detonation building, building. Every muscle tensed, my spine arched off the quilted leather, my heels were pressed against the opposite door to keep me aloft, and my teeth clenched against the scream.

I squeezed his fingers as they f.u.c.ked in and out, in and out, and then I was beyond all control, focusing only on not screaming. He was in control now, his three fingers and one thumb ruling my universe.

He pressed his lips to my ear, and nibbled my earlobe. "Come for me, Kyrie. Come now."

I had to clench my teeth so hard my molars ached as the o.r.g.a.s.m blasted through me with nuclear force. I felt myself gush, squirting all over his hand and wrist, and he kept finger-f.u.c.king me with relentless speed, pushing my climax to the absolute zenith, pushing it until I was frantic and writhing helplessly, coming and coming and coming.

When it finally slowed, he withdrew his fingers and murmured in wordless satisfaction as I collapsed against the seat, gasping.

"Look at this, Kyrie." I forced my eyes open, and saw him examining his hand. "You soaked me, love."

His hand was dripping, his shirtsleeve and the cuff of his coat were dampened. Even the leather beneath my a.s.s was wet with my juices.

I felt myself blush in embarra.s.sment. "I made a bit of a mess, hmmm?"

Roth kissed each fiery cheek. "You did indeed. My hand is going to smell like your p.u.s.s.y all day now."

I buried my face against his neck. "I'm sorry?"

He laughed. "I'm not."

I shifted to a sitting position beside him, and noticed a certain problem. "Your turn, I think."

His eyes cut over to me. "My turn?"

I swiveled to partially face him, curled one leg up on the seat. "I mean, I can't let you suffer, can I?"

"Certainly not." He brushed a flyaway strand of hair away from my face, an eager gleam in his eyes.

There was no protestation that I didn't have to. Obviously not. We were past that, long past. I knew what he wanted, and how he liked it. He knew I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to. He just sat there, waiting, his eyes on me.

I shot him a smile as I unbuckled his belt, careful to not let it jingle. I unfastened his trousers, unzipped him. He lifted an inch or two off the seat, and I slid his pants and boxers down to his thighs, baring his c.o.c.k. It stood tall and straight, rigid, veined, pink, and huge. Begging for my mouth. Pleading for my touch.

I wrapped my fist around him, slid my fingers down the shaft and back up slowly, watching his expression go heavy-lidded. He inhaled deeply, letting his breath out in a slow gusting sigh. With my other hand, I cupped his b.a.l.l.s, kneading them gently, sliding my middle finger down, down, finding his taint. He shifted lower, let his knees fall apart as wide as his pants would allow, brushed my hair out of my face, lip curling in pleasure as I stroked his length.

I kept it slow, teasing. Toying with him. Just touching him. A thumb across the tip, smearing the droplet, squeezing around the broad head until it popped out over the top of my fingers then plunging my hand down to the root. Again. Again. And again, and this time his hips flexed involuntarily. I squeezed harder, and he sucked in a breath.

"You like that, don't you?" I asked him in a nearly inaudible whisper. "When I squeeze your c.o.c.k?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"You like it hard and tight, don't you?" I kept my eyes on his as I bent over him. "I know why, too."

"Why's that, love?" His voice was even, steady. But his eyes betrayed him, gave away his need, gave away how much he was enjoying my ministrations.

"Because it feels like my a.s.shole, and I know how much you love to f.u.c.k me there." I said this, and then wrapped my lips around the thick head of his d.i.c.k.

"Jesus, Kyrie," he mumbled, and let his head fall back against the seat.

I took him in my mouth, flattening my tongue to taste the salt of his taut flesh as he slid between my wide-stretched lips. I backed away, letting him pop out. "Don't you?"

"Don't I-what?"

I felt a wild thrill of satisfaction; I knew I was doing it right when he lost composure. I squeezed as hard as I dared, and leaned close to whisper in his ear. "Don't you love to f.u.c.k me in the a.s.s?" I plunged my tightened fist down from tip to root, squeezing, clenching around him. "Like this? Tight and hot?"

He made a sound low in his throat. "G.o.d yes...just like that." He thrust his hips, his groan rumbling deep in his chest.

I pressed a kiss to his jaw, and then his throat, and then bent over him and licked the tip of his glans, tasting pre-come, and then stroked his c.o.c.k with my hands, taking him deeper into my mouth as I lowered my fist around his girth. He groaned again and leaned forward, thrust upward, and I took the thrust willingly, letting him f.u.c.k my mouth, letting him f.u.c.k through my squeezing fist and between my lips.

But then I backed away and glanced up at him. "That's enough, now, Valentine. Let me make you feel good. Don't move."

His eyes narrowed, Roth nodded, resting his head back against the seat once more. He threaded his fingers through my hair, tucked his other hand behind his head, and let out a sigh.