The Assignment 003

Standing in front of him in nothing but a bra and panties while he's still fully clothed is intimidating every time. He seems to love this part though. My clothes always come off first.

He's predictable. His need for control and his lingerie fetish are by no means 'unconventional' as my handler described. He can get rough, which is perhaps what made my predecessors quit, but it had to have been more than that. Did they really go running scared because of a little spanking or some anal?

My lingerie is a dark royal blue sheer mesh today, which leaves practically nothing to the imagination. I can already see him straining against his pants. His tie is loose and the hunger in his expression makes him look angry. That doesn't scare me anymore. Seeing the effect I have on him is empowering.

"Get on the bed." He pulls out rope from the nightstand and wraps it around my wrists. He's clearly done this before, but not with me.

"Lay down." He threads the rope through the headboard then tugs sharply, stretching my arms above my head.

"Yeah definitely not into this," I tell him, feeling far too vulnerable.

"But I am." His tone is ominous. This isn't his usual sexy intimidating attitude. This is something darker.

"The deal was I'd try. I don't like it, so untie me." I jerk my arms down, but he catches the rope and deftly finishes tying it to the headboard.

"I just have a couple questions and if you give me satisfactory answers, I'll untie you."

"I'm really not into role playing."

"Who do you work for?"

"This is stupid. Let me go." He slaps me so hard that my other cheek hits the mattress.

"Who do you work for?" he repeats calmly.

"You, Mr. Riege," I say in exaggerated, sing-song sarcasm.

"This isn't a game, Sosie." Shit. "That is your real name, isn't it?" I don't reply. I only stare at him, expressionless.

"Do you know this woman?" A photo of my handler on his phone. I don't answer so he slaps me again.

"No." Again his palm connects with my cheek.

"That's a lie. You met with her two weeks ago. She's a known handler of dirty spying whores."

I don't react.

"You were different - I'll give you that - but you crawled into my bed just like the others." I start to shake my head, but stop myself from arguing. "Did your people tell you what I did to the girls I caught?" He pauses, studying me.

"They probably didn't say. Probably swept that under the rug... got rid of the girls? Couldn't use them anymore."

"Untie me and let me explain," I offer calmly.

"You're in no position to be making demands, you fucking whore," he spits. "Who do you work for?"

I don't answer.

"What's her name?" he asks, showing me my handler again.

"We don't use real names," I tell him flatly. He raises his hand to hit me again. "Go ahead if it'll make you feel better." I dare him.

"You need to give me something. I need a name. Anyone you've interacted with."

"Sometimes they send a couple goons to drag me off the sidewalk into their van, but I've learned not to talk to them. Or there's the man who wears a mask and beats me when I fuck up, but we're not exactly on a first name basis."

He slaps me again. My face burns.

"The other whores would be crying and begging by now," he mumbles.

"I'm not..." I begin, but realize this is dangerous territory.

"I know." The words are heavy. "Why are you here?"

"To talk to you."

"Then talk. The marks on your arms, your legs."

"Kills." I tell him honestly.

"How many?"

"Seventy-eight." I don't break eye contact. "Plus the two from your party." He ponders this for a long time, but I don't interrupt.

"An even eighty... So what is an assassin doing naked in my bed?" When I don't answer right away he adds, "No one is listening."

"Recruiting. Getting close to you." He shakes his head slowly. It's not denial or surprise. He just looks tired.

"I know some of your associates are anti-Party. Can we talk about this with clothes on?"

He shakes his head again, but still doesn't say anything. I tug on the ropes in frustration. The headboard creaks and the rope digs into my wrists.

He pins my bound wrists and his body hovers over mine. The sexual tension, his proximity is smothering. Maybe it's the life or death gravity of the situation. Maybe we both just need to clear our heads for a few minutes.

I wrap my leg around him, caressing the outside of his thigh. His free hand presses my knee into the mattress, spreading my legs lewdly beneath him. A cool draft makes me aware I'm wet. I shiver.

"I'm not here to kill you," I whisper. His face, only inches from mine, is unreadable. An internal conflict brews in his dark eyes.

Does he believe me?

His lips are within kissing distance, but I don't dare. He withdrawals, kneeling between my thighs. The anxiety of being trapped, of being unable to use my arms, threatens to boil over into full blown panic. I try to slow my breathing, my heart rate.

I shift my hips and try to bring my legs together despite his body between them.

"Stop squirming," he growls. His hungry eyes roam my body.

"If you're not going to fuck me, can I have my clothes back?"

"Do you want me to?" Yes.

"I'm in no position to be making demands, remember?" I subtly lift my hips in invitation.

"Tell me what you want." His voice, his stare is primal. A wild animal who has cornered his prey.

"I want you to taste how wet you make me." My demand is his breaking point. The waistband of my panties digs into my skin before breaking away. I gasp when his mouth attacks the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs.

No easing into it, no teasing. I writhe beneath him, my pleasure building despite the intensity and discomfort. His tongue laps at the growing wetness between my legs. His teeth graze my delicate skin. I scream as he nips at my clit and plunges three fingers inside me.

He raises his head, his eyes dark and angry. "Scream again and I'll stop."

My inner muscles grip his still fingers, desperately seeking friction. I rock my hips, trying to ride his hand.

"Quiet. Understand?" His thumb presses rough circles on my most sensitive spot.

I whimper, "Yes."

His greedy mouth and fingers don't slow down after claiming my first orgasm. He adds another digit, stretching me, pumping aggressively.

I mutter his name, pleading for a moment to catch my breath, climbing to my next peak before recovering from my first climax.

He trails my arousal down, rubbing my other opening. His fingers demand entrance while his tongue takes their place. He is so intimately inside me, yet he hasn't even removed his pants.

My back arches as another orgasm rips through my body. My core pulses as he flips me onto my stomach. The binds on my wrists tighten as I twist.

When he tugs my hips up, my legs, my knees feel weak. As I start to rest my buttocks on my heels, he spanks me. I bury my face in a pillow to keep quiet.

"Hold that position," he growls. The vulnerability eats at me. I crane my neck to watch him remove his clothes then prowl towards me.

His fingers dig into my hips as he buries himself in one swift motion. I meet him thrust for thrust, his thighs slapping against me over and over. He reaches forward to tug on my hair until I arch my back, giving him access to my deepest, most sensitive areas.

Another orgasm is imminent, but he pulls out. My muttered curse is met with another spank, which only causes my empty pussy to grip at nothingness.

"What do you need?"

"Don't stop."

He retreats a moment and then I feel him against my bum. I stiffen and he grips my hair tighter as if to reiterate that he is in control. He pushes inside inch by inch, releasing my head after he's fully seated.

I'm unsure whether the pause is for him to compose himself or for me to adjust to his size. Either way, it's appreciated.

My body feels as if it's going to collapse as he drives into me, steadily increasing speed. He reaches around to furiously massage my clit until I'm climbing with him.

"You're going to cum for me again." A husky breath. He's close too.

Though the command sparks stubborn thoughts, my body betrays me almost immediately with another orgasm. My pleasure pushes him over the edge.

After he backs away wordlessly, I lay down on the bed, still restrained. I hear him put his pants back on and cross the room.

"Where are you going?" He ignores me. "I will break this headboard to pieces if you leave me here like this."

"I'm posting a guard outside. Don't give him a reason to come in here." He's serious and I'm speechless.

Once alone, I fight quietly against the rope without success. As I lay there staring at the ceiling, my mind is numb. I don't know what to think.

I'm compromised. I'm vulnerable. I'm not able to do anything about it.

"I was sure you'd try to get away," he announces when he returns.

"Going to untie me for good behavior?" I ask sarcastically.

"Untie an assassin with eighty kills? I don't think so."

"If I wanted you dead, you would've been dead a long time ago."

"I need you to tell me who you work for."

"You already know. You have a photo of my handler."

"Who does she report to?" He's getting impatient, but I don't have anything more to tell him.

"I don't know. That's not how this works." I tell him honestly. "She gives me my mark and pre-payment. I complete the job, then she pays me the rest. Now please just untie me. You can't leave me here like this."

"But I can." As he starts to walk towards the door again, I make one last attempt to appeal to him.

"The people who attacked your party work for the same people I do, but I didn't find out until afterwards." He looks like he may believe me. "I trained with those people. I probably knew the two I killed, but she wouldn't even give me their names. They don't tell me anything."

"Well you better think of something useful."

"If you don't allow me to check in, they'll know I've been compromised." But he only shrugs as he walks out the door. Once alone, I attempt to free myself again, working against the binds on my wrist until they bleed. I'm so close. I kick the headboard in frustration, which prompts two guards to enter.

"I was hoping you'd make a fuss. Give us an excuse to come see Alden's toy."

"Don't touch me. I want to talk to Alden. Tell him I have information."

"Alden left and we're here to make sure you're not getting loose."

"He left? Where? When is he coming back?"

They shrug and continue approaching, not looking the slightest bit nervous. Either Alden had not shared my profession with them or they don't care.

"Do not touch me," I warn.

"Aww come on. We can be just as much fun as Alden. You'll have to be quiet though."

When I bite the hand that covers my mouth, I taste blood.

I kick wildly, aiming for faces, for throats, for groins. Their first punch to my face bloodies my nose.

"Hold her down. I'm going to teach this bitch a lesson." My screams are muffled as my face is pushed into a pillow. One of my hands slips free in the frenzy, wrist slick with blood, but the pain doesn't even register in my panic.

He is already pushing into my ass when I swing my arm behind me into the side of his head. The three of us are clamoring for control when a female voice booms at the door.

"That's enough." The two guards stop, but I take the opportunity for additional damage. The loud crack of a broken nose is immensely satisfying. Blood pours from his face, dripping on mine as he wraps his hands around my neck.

The distinct click of a gun echos in the room and this time, all three of us freeze.

Miss Mark's voice is eerily calm. "Both of you leave this estate. If I see you again, I'll kill you regardless of what Alden has to say about it."

They walk to the door silently, leaving drops of blood along their path. She places the gun on the bedside table to remove a knife from her pocket. She places it gently below my chin, tilting my head up to look at her.

"Don't make me regret cutting you loose. Get cleaned up then return to this bed until I decide what to do with you."

"Yes, ma'am."

The bed looks like a crime scene and my body aches. When I enter the bathroom, my gory reflection stares back at me, unrecognizable.

I stand under scalding water, watching blood swirl down the drain, unsure how much is mine or my attackers'. I startle when the door opens and instinctively back away defensively.

"Just making sure you haven't passed out. There's a lot of blood out here."

"Mostly theirs. I'm fine."

By the time I exit the bathroom, the bedroom is pristine. There's no scent of blood or bleach. I don't dwell on the reasons these people are expert, efficient cleaners.

I don't want to stay in this room. I don't want to lay on this bed. I don't want to anger Miss Marks though.

I sit in the middle of the mattress in my robe for what feels like hours until Alden bursts through the door, Miss Marks on his tail.

"What did you do?" he accuses me.

"I defended myself," I argue, moving to the edge of the bed. He draws a gun.

"Don't move."

"For heaven's sake, Alden. She's put up with you for months. She's not here to kill you or she would've done it by now. Put that down."

"She fought two men twice her size while restrained. One is in the ER. She's dangerous."

"After you tied her up like a dog. You two are involved in something I want no part of. Keep it out of my household. Do you understand me?"

The warm twinkle is gone when she looks me dead in the eyes. This kind older woman has threatened me twice tonight. I respond the same way I did earlier.

"Yes ma'am."

"Good girl. Get dressed and you two work this out right now." I nod and then glance at Alden before reaching for the pile of clothes she brought me. He glares at both of us.

Once dressed, we sit opposite each other silently looking out the window. I want him to speak first, so I wait.

"I need to know exactly what your assignment is."

"Get close to you and find out any information I can."

"By fucking me."

"Yes, that was part of the plan."

"And what do you get?"

"Hopefully I get out. It's supposed to be my last assignment."

"You don't choose?" The laugh that erupts from my mouth surprises me and I'm powerless to stop it. He's so unaware of the privilege he has.

"Yeah an assignment or a bullet," I cackle. My voice doesn't sound like me. I've cracked. I'm broken. I might welcome that bullet. "Looks like it was all for nothing anyway."

"No." Is all he says. I can see that he's truly trying to work through what he just heard. "Just stay here."

"And do what? Be your fuck toy for the rest of my life?" He grumbles an intelligible response. "These people don't take kindly to deserters. No loose ends."

"What do they want?"

"I don't know exactly," I admit. "I had more coaching on the seduction part than the spying part. I don't think anyone figured I'd get this far. My typical assignments aren't... well I don't... gather much information."

"Right..."

"Why are they curious about you? Why did they send me to recruit you instead of kill you?"

"I assume the people you work for are also nervous about the Party's use of bots."

"And you're trying to stop it?"

"No," he answers quickly with a hint of fear. "I'm... closely monitoring the situation."

"By fucking lifelike bots? Making sure they don't put your brothels out of business."

"Watch your mouth," he warns. "Go to your handler. Figure out what she wants. Tell her the woman they shot at my party was my main contact for bot research - a leading scientist in the field. That was a huge fucking setback."

"Alden, I'm..."

"Get out of my house."

After sending a signal for a meeting, I don't return to Mr. Riege's home. I don't feel like being alone in my apartment though either after what happened earlier that day with the guards.

I roam the streets with no real destination, hood up and head down. Anonymous. I'm being tailed, but it doesn't matter. It's not worth the effort to lose them.

I enter a bar. Whoever is following me can watch me get drunk perched on a barstool. A man plays a guitar at the far end of the long narrow building. The stage lights appear fuzzy through the haze in the bar, which smells earthy, herbal.

When I order my third beer, the bartender says, "Sorry, I've been told to stop serving you."

"By who?" I demand.

"Your employer, but he did pay your tab." So I order some greasy food and a slice of pie, courtesy of Alden.

The night air is frigid and I'm still being followed. I go to my apartment anyway. Whoever is stalking me surely already knows where I live. I deadbolt the door, aware it's only a habit and hardly a deterrent.

My cupboards are bare, save a couple nearly-empty liquor bottles. I don't bother with a glass and I shudder at the first sip. I've gotten used to Alden's expensive alcohol. I bring the bottle to bed anyway.

Sleep comes quickly, but I toss and turn. I jolt awake from a tormented dream, breathless and drenched in sweat. I doze in and out until sunrise, exhausted, but thankful for the light streaming into my window.

My eyes are heavy and my body is aching when I go to meet my handler. A man I don't recognize blocks my path at the park. "I need you to come with me, ma'am."

Glancing around, I see at least three more - one in each direction. No one has weapons drawn, but they're all approaching me cautiously. Like a wild animal. They don't know I'm barely armed and very hungover.

"We're just here to bring you to a meeting." The man's voice is surprisingly calm and gentle... and oddly sincere. He's likely just a good actor, but my options are limited.

"Meeting with who?" I demand.

"You know I can't tell you that here." I had figured as much.

"Fine." I'm in no shape to resist. My chances in a four-to-one situation are slim on a good day, but in my current condition it's not worth even trying.

"Thank you. Do you have any weapons on you?" His politeness is more unnerving than if he was threatening me, but I notice the gun at his hip. He's concealing it beneath his jacket so as not to alarm any passerbys or security cameras, but he makes sure I see it as he approaches.

"For a morning stroll through the park?" But he doesn't find my comment amusing.

He raises his eyebrows instead of repeating his question and visibly tenses. I turn my palms towards him and slowly raise them to shoulder height, showing my compliance.

"Knife. Back right pocket." He nods at someone behind me.

"Do not move," he warns. "Anything else?"

"My boot," I tell him, inclining my head toward the second weapon.

"That all?" he asks once both my knives have been taken. I nod. "Check her."

He stares at me intently as his partner behind me starts a pat down. I look around him, beyond him, not wanting to make eye contact, trying to hide how uncomfortable I am having a strange man's hands on me.

I've come to expect the worst of people, but the frisking is efficient and mercifully quick. Even the tap on the inside of my leg is simply a subtle request to widen my stance. No crude comments. No groping or lingering touches.

I let out a breath when he finishes. Too obviously relieved. A flicker of something flashes across the man's eyes. Concern? Pity? But it's gone in an instant.

"Slowly walk towards that car." And then once inside, he apologizes before putting a bag over my head. My sense of direction is terrible anyway, so I don't attempt to track which way we drive. In fact, the movement of the car lulls me to sleep.

I squint into afternoon sun when the hood is removed. Two men walk me inside a house to a study just off a grand foyer. They sit me in a chair and cuff my wrists, despite my verbal protests. I don't try to fight them though. I need to wait for an opportunity. Wait for them to let their guard down.

"I sent four of my best to capture you and had teams of backup in the area," a voice says behind me. I don't give him the satisfaction of turning around.

"Seems excessive, but I'm flattered."

"You didn't resist. Didn't even draw a weapon."

"Well he asked so politely," I say sarcastically.

My captor steps around to the opposite side of the desk, smirking. His short hair, clean-shaven face, and fit body scream military. The sun has tanned his skin and bleached his hair. This is not the typical kind of person I'm used to dealing with.

The people I work for live in the shadows and are loyal only to themselves. We don't operate as a team, rarely look out for one another. None of us would do well in the military where you won't survive without trusting others.

"You seem almost accustomed to strangers demanding you get in their car."

Usually when I'm handcuffed to a chair, my captor smells of sweat and blood. This man is so... clean.

"Most of my... clients require discretion."

"And what exactly is it that you do for these clients?"

"Is this a job interview or interrogation?" He ponders the question, so I jingle the cuffs on my wrists.

"I haven't decided. They're calling you Alden's pet."

"Employee," I correct. "If you're looking for ransom, you picked the wrong person."

"What do you do for him again?" The jealous bastard already knows and I'm not going to play his game.

"Security. And sometimes we fuck."

"Is that all?"

"Those are both highly demanding jobs." Again I use sarcasm to hide the fear that is creeping in. His laugh startles me.

"I have a better job for someone with your skill set. And you don't have to fuck anyone... unless you want to. Probably pays more too."

"If this is some kind of dick measuring contest between you and Alden, I don't want to be part of it."

"I was at that party. Most security guards are lucky to hit a stationary paper target at a shooting range, but your targets were moving and shooting back."

Oh that skill set.

Alden had never directly commented, but I often wondered if he suspected something more too.

"And law enforcement are trained to injure, to incapacitate, not put bullets between people's eyes." Every response I think of will be dismissed as bullshit, so I say nothing. "You've been trained for something else."

"You don't seem the type to hire a hitman."

"Is your boyfriend the type?"

"I already told you what he pays me for."

"Are you interested?"

"Uncuff me and I'd like some water, please. Then we'll talk." He smiles, assuming I'm interested, and unlocks me. He cracks the door open just enough to speak with someone outside.

Once I have a sip of water, I settle comfortably into my chair. He sits down behind the desk, looking pleased.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"Dominic." He stands to shake my hand.

"How do you know Alden?"

"Old friends."

"So you've probably guessed that he pays me an absolutely absurd amount of money."

"Are we negotiating already?" He leans forward on his desk.

"No. I don't need your money."

"What do you need?"

"Information." I tell him.

"About Alden or..."

"You knew enough about me to bring me here. How? What else do you know about me?"

"I've made it my business to know the small players in this game. The soldiers, the weapons. I was suspicious of you at that first party."

"Was Alden suspicious?"

"I shared my concerns, but when you denied him, he had to have you. He had to prove me wrong. Then you took a bullet for these rich people who don't give two shits about you and he was convinced you had no other motives. I didn't stop digging though."

"You're the one who told him." It's not a question. Rage bubbles up inside me. I dig my nails into the armrests. Nails that still have dried blood underneath them from fighting for my life yesterday.

"I do apologize for how that played out. If it makes you feel any better, I dealt with those guards myself."

My body pulses with anger and adrenaline. I want to hurt him, to make him pay. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Stand up," he says, standing himself and stepping around the desk. "I'll give you one shot. Come on."

I remain seated and simply shake my head.

"Get up. I want to see what you've got anyway. Consider it part of the job interview."

"I don't want to."

"Yes you do." He places his hands on the armrests and leans over me. We lock eyes. There's not even the slightest flicker of fear or doubt in his face. I calmly straighten up in my chair, but he doesn't retreat.

I headbutt that smug face and grab his arms to propel him forward. My raised knee collides with his chin.

He stands slowly and steps back to lean on the desk. When he smiles, I see blood coating his mouth. He spits into a coffee mug.

"You're quick."

"Is that what you wanted?" I ask him, still angry.

He smirks and nods. "Is it what you wanted?"

"I want to know who you work for."

"Myself," he chuckles. "I'm a consultant. I provide intel to the highest bidder. Like you, my loyalty lies with whoever is providing the paycheck."

"And what do you need from me?"

"The threat of violence has always been more beneficial to me than actual violence. My current position is precarious though and kicking down people's doors, being a brute, isn't a good look anymore."

"Being a brute isn't really my style."

"No you're far more terrifying."

"You want me to be your pet instead of Alden's pet? Threaten to unleash me on your enemies?"

"Partner. I want you to know the players, understand the game. Give you a say in who and why. I already have thoughtless soldiers, expendable pawns."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You don't have to trust me to work with me. Trust will come with time... Or I can return you to your master and we can forget this conversation ever happened."

"Not sure I'm welcome back there."

"Stay here then. Take a vacation. I'll make margaritas."

"What?"

"Is your taste more serious and sophisticated like your boyfriend?" I open my mouth to correct him again, unaccustomed to being teased, but instead, I accept.

"A margarita would be great." His grin at my reply appears genuine. I don't trust him, but I don't think he plans to kill me... or tie me to a bed.

I get a better look at the foyer upon exiting the study than I did on my way in. The rest of the house is the opposite of the plain, impersonal study. Eclectic. Colorful.

The eccentric mismatched decor isn't intentional though. The furniture is thrifted and salvaged, filling the space with whatever could be found and afforded. There's such a warmth to the space though. Every sofa looks comfortable enough to sleep on. It makes Alden's homes feel more like museums.

Eclectic and colorful describes the people too. People of various ages and styles who look like they'd have nothing in common lounge about together, chatting softly.

"What is this place?"

"Our home. Our base of operation."

"They all live here?"

"Some do. Most are staff elsewhere."

"Spies." I realize.

"Friends and chosen family," he amends with the charismatic smile of a cult leader. I keep that judgement to myself.

There is no one else present in the kitchen where Dominic mixes the margaritas himself, but in a house full of spies, I sit silently on one of the many stools. I watch him intently, still wrapping my head around the absurdity of the situation.

I can't figure out this spymaster, cult leader, military man, Robin Hood. I don't understand his motivation. Feeding and housing these people must cost a fortune.

"How is it?" he asks after I take a sip of the expertly crafted drink. He even went through the trouble of salting the rim. I try to remember a time when I drank for fun, not just to numb or take the edge off.

When I look up at him, his face flashes somber, mirroring mine for a moment as if he senses my thoughts. I smile though.

"It's actually really good," I tell him honestly. He joins me at the kitchen counter, leaving one empty stool between us. I appreciate the space. "So... old friends?"

"Alden and I grew up in the same suburb. Same age." I nod as I take another sip, already feeling the heat in my face and chest as the alcohol warms me. "All the guys fuck all the same girls... and some of the guys. You know how it is."

He glances at me for a reaction. I smile faintly, remembering boot camp. All that pent up frustration had to be released through fighting or fucking or you'd explode.

"That's not what this is about though."

"Right... You two just seem... different." An understatement.

"Different, yeah." He chuckles. "Whenever you need a fun break from Mr. Dark-and-Serious, you know where to find me and I'll show you how different."

He smiles mischievously. I roll my eyes, but secretly my core clenches with a sudden desire to accept his offer. Maybe it's just a desire to make Alden jealous, to punish him for overreacting.

To choose, and to choose someone so opposite - opposite myself, opposite my type, opposite Alden - is appealing though. I've been controlled by Alden for months, controlled by my handler for years, controlled by the Resistance my whole life.

Fuck it.

"Sure. Show me."

"What?"

"Show me how different you are." His laugh is deep and breathy after I repeat my invitation. He buries his surprise well.

"Alden would kill me himself."

"I'm not afraid of Alden."

"That makes one of us."

"I thought you might be all talk," I taunt.

"You're dangerous."

"Isn't that exactly why you brought me here? Fuck me or the deal is off... partner."

"You're just doing this to get back at him." But he approaches anyway. I swivel my stool to face him.

"I'm not his girlfriend. I'm not his property." Sitting on the stool while he stands, I have to tilt my head back to make eye contact. "You started this. Does it matter what my motives are? I've had a long fucking day."

He cups my face in his hands before his mouth aggressively attacks mine, despite his split lip. My lips part in invitation, but he retreats. I grab his shirt, tugging him back to me. The kiss is a breathless battle for dominance.

His hands slide down my body then slip under my thighs. I gasp when he lifts me up to sit me on the counter.

"What are you doing?"

"Something I'm better at than your boyfriend." His grin is feral.

"He's not my..."

"Lay down so I can get your pants off," he growls. My skin heats at the idea of being naked in such a public area.

It feels like a challenge though. Which one of us is the most daring, the most... unhinged? His eyes dare me to stop him, but I help him get one leg out of my pants, which we leave dangling around the other ankle.

He sucks in a breath. My heart is pounding, but I summon all my confidence into an easy grin, leaning back on my elbows poised and relaxed. The countertop is cool against my flaming skin.

"You're..." his hungry gaze devours my body.

"Dangerous. You already said that."

"Fucking stunning."

I shake my head. "Less talking."

Despite his primal gaze, his mouth is gentle, leading me on an excruciatingly slow climb. I stifle a whimper, suffering from the tease of his long, languid licks. He caresses every inch of my opening with his expert tongue. The next stroke begins even lower. He chuckles when my breath hitches before beginning the journey back up to my clit, which he circles tenderly.

I arch into his mouth, silently asking for more pressure, but his pace remains unhurried. He kisses the sensitive bundle of nerves then my inner thighs before asking, "So who's better?"

"We're not talking about him right now," I sigh impatiently. "And you're not done yet."

"I'm about to be." His confidence makes the muscles between my legs pulse. He quickens his pace as if racing for my orgasm now. His tongue darts inside me as his hands push my thighs wider, giving him total access.

He leans back, admiring. "Fucking stunning," he repeats. It's the beginning of my undoing. He plunges two fingers inside me, curling them to massage me from the inside.

His mouth ravages me and doesn't let up as my legs tremble and I writhe on the kitchen counter. A cascade of pleasure washes over me. The slightest touch to my overly-sensitive bud sends fresh shocks of pleasure through my core.

He stills when I grab his hair, letting me ride out the last wave. I pat his head playfully. "I tap out."

"Back to my question," he grins.

"Do we really have to talk about him?"

"Actually yeah we do since he's on his way here."

"Fuck. Are you serious? What the hell, Da... Don..." I struggle to get my pants back on.

"Dominic." His laugh infuriates me even more.

"When did you find out? Why didn't you tell me?" I demand.

"I figured you knew he'd be on his way. I thought that's why you were in a hurry. Isn't he tracking you?" I pause, simply staring at him, trying to force my post-orgasm brain to operate.

Is he tracking me?

Dominic's device buzzes and he announces Alden's helicopter is arriving. I fix my hair, but the freshly-fucked look clings to me. Oh well. I march towards the door.

"So glad I have a front row seat to whatever this is." I flip him my middle finger.

"Are you tracking me? Where is it? When did you do it?" The back of my neck itches, imaging a tracker embedded under my skin.

"That idiot told me he took you. I don't have you tagged like some kind of property. Geeze, Steph..."

He stops himself when he remembers that the name he's been using for months is fake. He turns his attention to the porch.

"What the fuck, Dom? I thought her meeting went to shit." He was worried about me. "What happened to your lip?" Alden chuckles as he approaches, already knowing the answer.

He looks me over for injuries and his eyes come to rest on my mouth. "Did he hurt you?"

Dominic's eyes widen at me, realizing exactly why there's blood on my mouth. It's not mine. "No, I'm fine."

Alden looks from my face to Dominic's and back. "Were you two..."

"He's trying to offer me a job."

"What kind of negotiating tactics were you using?" Alden asks Dom. I tense, aware he knows. I had said I'm not scared of Alden, but I'm definitely second guessing pissing him off.

They both start laughing. Full, deep, genuine laughs.

What the fuck?

"For the record, I did hesitate. I was afraid you'd be pissed, but she... man." He sighs.

"She can make whatever dumb decisions she wants," Alden says as if I'm not standing right there. He's trying to hide his jealousy.

"Come inside. It's been a while." Dom leads the way.

Alden holds the door open for me. As I pass, he slides his hand down to my lower back. "You look disappointed," he whispers. "Were you trying to piss me off?"

When I turn towards him in the doorway, the proximity is smothering. Apparently my body doesn't care that he nearly got me killed. It's an effort to keep my hands at my sides.

He smiles mischievously as if he understands the struggle. He had been worried about me. Now his face is full of relief and hunger even though I was with his friend moments ago.

It's too much to process.

"I was in the mood for something different. Plus he makes great margaritas."

"Margaritas it is." His quiet husky voice is a growl.