"We can hide at her place…" Her breath hitched—not from fear, but from the Hand of Arousal crawling under her skin, twisting her mind into a whimpering, needful mess.

"And then…" Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, her hips rocking against me, grinding her soaked panties into my thigh. "We can go to some other country… and be free…" Her fingers slid down, gripping my cock through my pants, stroking it slowly, deliberately. "Just you and me…"

Her lips brushed my ear again, her voice a venomous purr: "We can even go to Russia…" Her tongue flicked over my earlobe, her hand stroking my cock faster, harder, as if mapping out the escape route on my skin.

"I've heard Victor has got some beef with the Russians these days…" Her lips curled into a smirk, her voice dripping with dark satisfaction. "So I can help them take him down…" Her fingers tightened around my shaft, her thumb swiping over the head, collecting the pre-cum.

"An enemy of an enemy…" Her tongue traced the rim of my ear, her voice a razor: "…is our friend."

I shoved her back, just enough to see her face—her smug, triumphant smirk, her eyes glinting with plans. "And what makes you think they'll believe you?"

Emily giggled, a dark, knowing sound, as she dropped to her knees, her hands gripping my thighs, her tongue swiping over the head of my cock. "Because, baby," she murmured, her breath hot against my skin, "I've got proof."

Her fingers trailed up my inner thigh, her nails scraping lightly, teasing, before dipping into her cleavage. She pulled out a small, gold USB drive, dangling it between her fingers, her eyes burning into mine.

"Everything," she whispered, her voice a razor. "Victor's accounts… his deals… his weaknesses…" Her tongue flicked over her lips, her voice dropping to a hiss: "And the names of every man he's ever killed."

I grabbed the USB, yanking it from her fingers, my eyes narrowing. "You stole this?"

Emily grinned, her voice a purr: "I copied it." She rocked back on her heels, her fingers trailing up my cock, stroking it slowly. "From his private server…" her lips brushed the head, "…while he was fucking me from behind…" Her tongue swiped over the slit, collecting the pre-cum, her eyes never leaving mine. "He never even noticed."

I fisted her hair, yanking her head back, forcing her to look at me. "And they'll take us in… just for this?"

Emily's lips curled into a smirk, her voice a challenge: "Oh, darling…" She leaned in, her breath hot against my cock, "They'll take us in…" her tongue flicked over the head, "…because with this…" her fingers tightened around my cock, "…they can destroy him with this."

Emily's fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on my cock, her thumb swiping over the head, collecting the pre-cum with a wet, obscene schlick.

"We fly private—" Her tongue flicked over the tip, her eyes darkening with lust and something sharper. "A friend of mine owes me a favor." Her fingers stroked my length, her grip tightening just enough to make me hiss. "She'll take us straight to Moscow…" Her lips curled into a smirk, her voice dropping to a whisper: "No questions asked."

I groaned, my hips jerking forward instinctively, but she denied me, her free hand pressing flat against my stomach to pin me in place. "Patience, darling," she purred, her breath hot against my skin.

Then her eyes darkened—lust, yes, but something sharper, too. "Victor must be coming here anytime now." The words were a splash of ice water. She yanked away, her fingers leaving a cold absence as she stuffed me back into my pants with rough efficiency, the zipper's teeth biting into my skin. "We should move. Now."

I adjusted myself with a grimace, watching as she straightened her dress, her nipples still visible through the thin fabric, betraying how wet she was beneath it. Oh, this bitch was playing a dangerous game. And I loved it.

"Fine," I muttered, but my mind was already racing. Moscow wasn't just a flight—it was an opportunity. Isabella and Nikolai's little misunderstanding could be leveraged. And Natalya? Fuck, just the thought of her had my cock twitching again.

Maybe I'd let Emily ride me all the way there, her tits bouncing as she took every inch, her moans drowned out by the engine's roar. Or maybe I'd bend her over the seat first, just to remind her who was really in charge.

Emily didn't wait for permission. She snapped her fingers at the bodyguards lurking like shadows—"Stay the fuck back"—her voice whip-crack sharp.

Then her hand was around my wrist, nails digging in as she dragged me toward the underground parking. The air was thick with the scent of oil and damp concrete, the fluorescent lights flickering like a bad omen.

Her Bentley crouched in the dimness, a sleek black beast. She all but threw me into the passenger seat before sliding in herself, the skirt of her dress riding up her thighs as she did.

I caught a glimpse of lace—soaked, clinging to her—before she slammed the door and gunned the engine. The car lurched forward, tires screeching against the pavement.

"Where the hell are we going?" I asked, though I already knew.

She didn't answer. Instead, her hand found my thigh, fingers inching upward, her touch scorching through the fabric of my pants. "Safe house," she finally said, her voice husky.

Soon after 40 minutes of driving. We were in front of the safehouse.

The safehouse wasn't some rotting warehouse—it was a temple of secrets, tucked behind wrought-iron gates and a facade of old-world elegance.

Emily killed the Bentley's engine with a shuddering exhale, the car's leather seats still warm from the heat of her body, the air between us thick with the scent of her arousal and my cologne—something dark, expensive, like aged whiskey and gunpowder.

"This is it." Her voice was smoke and honey, her fingers trembling as they fumbled with the seatbelt, the clink of the metal release obscenely loud in the silence.

The streetlights bled through the tinted windows, painting her skin in gold and shadow, her dress still hitched high enough to tease the lace of her thong—soaked, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. "No one knows about this place. Not the staff. Not the security. Not even Victor."

Her eyes locked onto mine, black with hunger, her lips parted just enough to let her tongue dart out, wetting them. The air between us crackled, charged with the promise of what was coming. I didn't wait for an invitation.

I grabbed her wrist—hard—and yanked her against me, my teeth grazing the shell of her ear as I growled, "Good." My free hand slid up her thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh until I found the drenched heat between her legs.

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