So much for the relaxed moment. I finger the uneven ridge along his pec. “Is this a scar or a birthmark?”
“A scar,” he answers with disinterest.
“How’d you get it?”
“A knife wound.”
“Is that when you were attacked in Hanoi?”
“Yes.”
“That must have been scary. Were you hurt in any other way?”
“No.”
“And your cousin? Was she okay?”
“A few minor bruises. I think the effects afterward were harder for her to bear.”
I should probably leave it at that, but curiosity gets the better of me. “Was it for you as well?”
“I was angry. If I hadn’t fended off the ambush, May could have been...they wouldn’t have killed her, she’s worth too much for that. But they could have done other things to her. Auction her off as a sex slave. Make her work on their porn films. The Mao Group engages in a lot of sex trafficking.”
“What would they have done to you?”
He laughs. “Ransomed me for sure. Maybe tortured me. One of the Mao Group lieutenants doesn’t like me since I beat up his younger brother decades ago.”
“Were—are you part of a triad?”
He meets my gaze and can’t seem to look away. “I left that life a long time ago.”
I mostly believe him. “How were you in it?”
“A different part of my family lives in that world.”
“Are you truly able to leave that world?”
“Our family is very practical. I’m worth more out than in. And I was never really that involved. I was just a teenager fucking around, rebelling against my father. But I got my cousin Benjamin into it, and my uncle accused me of ruining his son’s future. Our fathers sent us off to boarding schools. Me to Paris. Benjamin to London.”
“Benjamin is the one you invited to evaluate Eric’s project?”
Tony nods.
“What time are you guys heading up to the site?”
“Eric thought ten o’clock.”
I look at the clock. “You should get ready then.”
Throwing back the covers, I get out of bed, but Tony yanks me back.
“You’ve got to take care of something first,” he says, pulling aside the bed cover to reveal his hard-on. He pushes my head toward it.
Knowing what he wants, I wrap my mouth about his erection. He murmurs his approval and weaves his fingers through my hair, tugging me down further down his length. I grasp the base of his shaft as I glide my mouth up and down. I’m not sure who’s in the position of power here. He’s making me give him head, but I want it just as much. I want to make him come. I want to see him come, rendered momentarily helpless by his orgasm, knowing I made it happen.
With zest, I suck on him. He tightens his grip on my hair. He lets me work him for several minutes before sitting up. He reaches for his pants, which are on the floor, and retrieves a condom. Unwrapping it, he rolls the condom down his cock. I lick my lips involuntarily. That shaft of his has penetrated the deepest parts of me, been where no one and nothing has been before. Grabbing my leg, he makes me straddle him. He moves me over him, grinding my pussy against his rod. The ease with which he manipulates me makes me feel like I’m five pounds, and my pussy is loving the contact, the friction. Moisture eventually flows down, making my glide smoother along his shaft.
After he’s worked me up, roused my craving, has me groaning my pleasure, he lifts me up and settles me over his cock. My vagina hasn’t completely healed, but the soreness doesn’t bother me. I want this too much. He’s so beautiful with his bronzed skin, sculpted body, and black hair. My ardor can’t get enough of him, the way he rolls into me, the wave he sets me on. I’m becoming an addict. Maybe I already am.