Magnus shifts so that something inside of me is hit in just the right way.
“Magnus!” I cry in surprise, overcome with pleasure.
The wave that was rapidly building now moves at supersonic speed, crashing with enough power to make me feel like my body is breaking into a thousand pieces.
I scream out louder than ever, burning with humiliation at the knowledge that the entire staff of the boat can probably hear how easily I fell victim to their boss.
Even as I come, Magnus’s eyes never allow mine release. He relishes this degrading state he’s left me in.
I’m left nothing but a limp rag doll as that gaze hardens along with every one of his muscles just before he releases into me. I feel the unchecked warmth invade me, penetrating that part of me that nature intended.
A deviant thrill shocks my system one last time, wondering if modern technology will be enough to fight Mother Nature.
Magnus slides out of me, leaving a trail of his seed in his wake.
I lay there in nothing but shreds of a dress and underwear, cum oozing from between my thighs, muscles sore from being used to so harshly.
Even now, as disgusted and ashamed as I am with what happened, I feel that lingering swell of pleasure cling to my nerves and the primitive parts of my brain.
I’m too weak to try and wriggle my way from beneath Magnus.
That idea is moot since I feel his body harden once again, as though what just happened was no more exhausting than using a remote control to turn on the TV.
His hand slowly drags across my body as though it’s his property. Fingers trace a line up my thigh, flick across my still swollen clit, causing me to spasm with pleasure, palm flat across my stomach, stopping to cup my breast one last time. He lands back at my neck again, stopping to claim it.
He squeezes just enough to keep me in place, in case I had any ideas of escaping.
When he speaks, the fear that I should have been warned about when this whole thing started now comes sizzling to life.
“I already know everything, Sloane.”
Chapter Thirty-Two Magnus
My body is still in a frenzy, recovering from how overwhelmed Sloane had me.
Almost to the point of losing control.
No woman has ever come that close.
The sound of her screams of pleasure still reverberates in my head, having me wanting to take her all over again. I’m so bewildered by the woman beneath me, I can’t tell if that would be a good or bad thing.
It’s enough to fill me with rage, but I subdue it, knowing that would only lead to another form of internal chaos.
I underestimated her desire to keep the truth from me. I’m under no illusion that fucking her was all me taking without her giving at least a little bit. As enjoyable as it was, I realize it accomplished nothing.
Which means I have to show my hand.
One thing my grandfather taught me about the rules of poker is that sometimes defying the rules is the best choice. After all, it is a game of bluff.
And I finally seem to have taken Sloane by surprise for once.
“What?” She replies, staring up at me with her eyes wide once again.
A smile curls my mouth, knowing I have her right where I want her.
She quickly tries to replace the mask again, but now that it’s slipped, there’s no hiding the truth.
“Don’t bother trying to lie to me again. I’ve already fucked you so that ammunition is used up.” I squeeze a bit tighter and lean in closer. “All that’s left is my hand on your throat. It’s up to you how hard I squeeze. It’s on you if you want to die denying me the information you’d be stupid to think I don’t already have.”
Her eyes dart to the side in thought, and I actually enjoy watching her try to come up with some solution.
Maybe it’s because I actually admire her, or maybe it’s because I’d hate to see this woman go to waste when she’s already proved to be a worthy partner in bed, but I throw her a final bone.
“Jan Vorster? Gabriel Fouché?”
Her eyes come back to mine, her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Who?”
I squeeze tighter. “Now is not the time to keep playing games, Sloane. My patience is wearing thin.”
Her fingers claw at the hand that I realize is too tight for her to speak. I loosen it only a little.
“I don’t know who those men are,” she protests, her face contorted in frustration. “He wasn’t stupid enough to give me his name.”
That’s enough for me to release her, only enough for her to breathe normally. I keep my hand on her neck just for good measure.
“What do you mean? You don’t know who sent you here?”
She shakes her head, no.
“Then tell me what you do know. What does he look like? What specifically did he ask of you?”
She hesitates, and I see her eyes beginning to work as she tries yet again to come up with some alternative solution.
Damnable woman!
I squeeze just enough to remind her that she is already caught in the trap, and I’m the only one with the power to release her.
“If I tell you, he’ll kill me.”
“If you tell me what, who will kill you? Describe him to me.”
She slowly raises her eyes to me. After a pause and a sigh, she gives me a frank look. “Can I at least sit up and get decent?”
“No. Not until I’m satisfied.”
She scowls at me.
“He was a white man. Cold blue eyes. He had an accent, South African, I think.”
“That’s Jan Vorster,” I confirm, releasing her neck just a bit.
“You know him?” She asks, her gaze surprisingly accusatory.
“The question is, how do you know him?”
“He—” she hesitates again. At first, I assume it’s to come up with another lie, and I feel my hand itching to squeeze again. Then, I see the mixture of fear and pure hatred in her gaze as she looks
