Bogota, Columbia

General Martino Palmero looked at the buxom blonde beauty sitting beside him in the nightclub’s booth and wondered just how far she would go. All the way? It was a tempting thought. He might even be satisfied just finding out if those tits of hers were real, or if a doctor had worked his professional magic on her. Either way, Palmero didn’t much care. The woman was a turn-on from head to toe. Her magnificent breasts were only part of what excited him.

She was no naive teenager, this one. General Palmero wondered how close to thirty she was. Two or three years under the big three-oh, at most. The years hadn’t been cruel to her. In fact, the years had been more than kind—they’d been generous, nearly to a fault. General Palmero had known the pleasures of enough beautiful women in his day to realize that this one—Svetlana, she called herself—was more beautiful now, in her middle to late twenties, than she had been a decade earlier. The time had given sophistication to her looks, her moves, her gestures, that hadn’t been there earlier. She touched his erotic sensibilities in ways that no mere girl ever could. And that difference made his cock hard as stone—solid like it hadn’t been since he was a kid in school.

The trouble was that Svetlana had not come to the nightclub with him. Colonel Alonzo Mendoza had brought her. The colonel had met her that afternoon at the outdoor market, and apparently they'd hit it off immediately. At least that was what the colonel said.

“What’s wrong, General?” Svetlana asked, turning her sultry, ocean blue gaze upon Palmero as she leaned toward him in the booth.

She had a Russian accent when she spoke English, and it was slurred slightly with alcohol. The general didn’t mind the fact that she’d been drinking. Over the years, slightly inebriated women had been a source of great pleasure to him. He found vulnerable women a serious turn-on. It was always erection-inducing for him to him to know that the women really couldn’t defend themselves. Nothing made his cock so hard as power over a defenseless woman. It was then that he could really show a woman the kind of virile man he truly was.

“Something seems to be bothering you.”

“It’s nothing.”

Svetlana placed her hand upon the general’s knee beneath the table. She leaned toward him, pressing her extravagant breasts against his biceps. She whispered, “Have I done something to upset you? If I have, I swear to God that I hadn’t meant to.”

Palmero shook his head. “I was thinking of something else entirely.”

“You were wishing it had been you who brought me here,” she said as her hand slid higher on his leg and the blue light in her eyes became just a little more intense, “and not Colonel Mendoza, weren’t you?”

Not even the years of military life he’d spent in the Venezuelan army could prevent the shock from showing in Palmero’s expression. Svetlana had shocked him by accurately reading his thoughts, and though he was pleased with her awareness of the situation, a small part of his brain warned that he had let his defenses down. It wouldn’t kill him to have a half-inebriated, big-bosomed tourist reading his thoughts, but it could be fatal to have a vengeance-driven counterpart from, say, England or the United States know what he was thinking.

This was not an awareness that rested easily with his consciousness.

“Now I’ve made you angry again.” Svetlana leaned even closer and whispered into his ear. Her breasts pressed tightly against his arm. “Tell me what I’m doing wrong, and I’ll stop doing it. Just tell me.”

“You’re doing nothing wrong,” Palmero replied, patting the back of Svetlana’s hand on his leg. “In fact, you seem to be doing everything right.” He looked into her eyes that, he noted with a connoisseur’s sense of detail, were the color of priceless jewels. “Perhaps more right than you could ever imagine.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Palmero saw Colonel Mendoza returning from the restroom. Palmero had learned to respect and trust Mendoza’s ability, and because of this, had never pulled rank on him. But he thought now of bullying his aide for the first time. This woman was someone worth annoying a junior officer over. Rank did, after all, have its privileges. This awareness made Palmero smile. He had power...and it was the greatest aphrodisiac that he had ever known.

There was something special about Svetlana, something almost magical, that he hadn't seen in a very, very long time. She was someone unique...and he wanted to know what it felt like to bury his hard cock deep inside her soft, welcoming body. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d lusted for a woman this intensely.

“And how is my lady?” Colonel Mendoza asked as he slid into the booth to sandwich Svetlana between himself and Palmero.

“What took you so long?” Svetlana demanded, her brow furrowed, her full-lipped mouth turned downward slightly at the edges in annoyance. “I started to worry that you’d never come back.”

“Not come back to you?” Mendoza exclaimed, leaning away from her in mock horror, a hand lifting theatrically to his chest. “How could you even think such a thing?”

Palmero noticed that Svetlana placed her right hand upon Mendoza’s thigh, midway between his knee and groin. Now that Mendoza had returned, she no longer had her hand on his leg. As a man who played power politics every day of his life, he understood her actions and didn’t begrudge them. He didn’t necessarily like what she had done, but he certainly understood it. He was a player who knew how to play the game...and he played it exceptionally well.