The Venice Code Read Online Free PDF Page B

and had quickly stopped his own assault when she began hers, instead focusing on grabbing her hands to prevent any more of the torturous nerve games. He yanked her hands away from her body, pulling her torso toward his so that she now lay on top of him, her hips still straddling his.
    “Kiss me,” he said, still out of breath.
    “No.”
    He raised his head and tried to find her lips but she jerked back. His head moved to the side, seeking her soft full lips capable of giving so much pleasure, but she continued to resist. Twisting to the right he saw the television, tuned to CNN, display a breaking news graphic.
    Assassinated President’s Son Kidnapped.
    Suddenly he felt Sherrie biting his neck, her tongue flicking out as she starting to suck, the hickey she was about to leave going unnoticed by Leroux as he stopped resisting, his arms dropping to his side.
    Sherrie stopped, looking over at the screen.
    “What?”
    “President Jackson’s son was just kidnapped.”
    “Really? That’s too bad.”
    She turned back and began to kiss his cheek, her pecks travelling over to his ear then down his neck.
    “I wonder if we’ll be called in.” Leroux continued to watch the screen as the kisses reached his chest, then suddenly he felt his shirt get ripped open. His head spun to see a mischievous look on Sherrie’s face as she moved down his chest to his stomach, suddenly grabbing his belt buckle with her teeth.
    “Probably,” she whispered.
    “Probably what?” gasped Leroux as the realization of what was about to happen had the news report forgotten.
    “We’ll probably get called in,” she said as she opened his belt then unbuttoned his pants.
    “Probably. Especially since the entire story surrounding his assassination was bullshit.”
    Sherrie stopped, her eyes narrowing.
    “What do you mean?”
    Leroux looked at her in dismay. “Nothing, I was just joking. Just a theory I have.” She continued to stare at him. “For the love of God, don’t stop!” She continued to stare at him then suddenly unzipped his pants, yanking them and his underwear down in one motion that left him breathless.
    She grabbed him and squeezed.
    He groaned.
    And both their phones vibrated with urgent messages from Langley.
     
     

 
     
    East Gates, Karakorum, Mongol Empire
    March 29 th , 1275 AD
     
    Giuseppe didn’t need to fake appearing cold and haggard from a long journey. He was. His master, Marco, did have to slouch a little and let his face sag, the man a veritable bundle of energy that seemed without end. As they shuffled toward the eastern gates of Karakorum, the guard towers looming on either side, the torches flickering in the wind, Giuseppe gently led their horse, packs filled with several fine silks from back home for trade.
    Two guards stepped out to challenge them, their breath freezing in the frigid air, their noses red and swollen, their eyelashes and brows thick with ice. These were cold, tired men, just as his master had predicted. The howling wind prevented him from hearing much of what Marco said, but the odd word did make it through the gusts suggesting his master was receiving a grilling more detailed than expected. After several minutes Marco waved him forward and he advanced with their horse.
    “Get two of the silks,” said Marco, his expression one of frustration, no trace of his usual jovial mood remaining. Giuseppe opened one of the side pouches and removed two of the swaths, handing them to his master who took them, turning as a less than genuine smile spread across his face.
    “For you and your friend,” he said, handing one to the guard he had been talking to, the other to the second who stepped forward eagerly to receive his. “Sell them for a handsome profit, or give them to your special lady friend and she’ll be yours to do with as you please!”
    The two men grinned at each other, their rotting teeth suggesting any woman would have to think long and hard about giving up anything to these men for