Epilogue #2
“What canvas?” I ask as innocently as possible.
She spins round, only to find it isn’t there.
“Where did you put it?” she shouts at me in a rage I haven’t seen.
“Relax,” I say, “It’s on its way to where it belongs.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?!”
“No,” I say. I mean, I anticipated the reaction. “I gave that quite a thought.”
“What were you thinking?” she says, heavily groaning.
“I made a deal with the French authorities. If I get them the Mona Lisa, they will drop all charges against me,” I say. “I made deals with every country I am wanted in. The Mona Lisa was the last one.”
She opens her mouth.
Brakes hard, stopping in the middle of the road.
She wants to say something, but no words come out of her mouth.
“I wanted us to be free,” I say.
“You did it for us?” she whispers while people are honking behind us.
“I did,” I say. “And well, because they let me keep my trophies,” I add and snigger. “Now drive before that guy behind us comes knocking.”
“Shall he,” she says. “I am law enforcement.”
“Yeah, law enforcement who just stole a painting?”
“That no one can trace because it’s not in our car anymore.”
I grin.
“And, technically, taking something stolen isn’t really stealing. It’s returning something where it belongs. That’s how you reframe your memories for the polygraph.”
Instead of answering, she drives. She hates it beyond when I start with ‘technically’, and I love teasing her with it.
Thirty minutes later, she turns into the garage of our apartment. Well, technically, it’s mine, and she just lives there all the time.
“What’s up?” I ask her when we ride the elevator up.
“Nothing,” she says.
“I can see it, in your face, in your eyes, in your body language.”
She doesn’t answer me but stares at a point somewhere above my head.
“I don’t think I can be an agent anymore,” she finally says.
“But you love being one,” I say.
“I don’t know,” she says. “It was the only path, and now that—now that I got a glance at the other side, I am not so sure.”
“Are you saying you had fun stealing?” I ask, and she sucks in her lips.
She closes her eyes and nods.
“Well,” I say as a wide grin spreads over my face as I step up to her, my hand grasping the side of her face.
I kiss her.
Kiss her neck.
Push my leg between hers and my body in her.
She gasps in.
“You just stole the Mona Lisa,” I tell her with my lips against her skin, and add, “You’re a thief, one I have hunted for years now,” to reverse our roles for this role play.
I take the gun from her holster, take a step back, and say, “Reid Shaw, you’re under arrest. Hands up and on your knees.”
Her eyes flicker in pure delight at me as she bites her lips and sinks to her knees, hands up.
“You have been such a pain in the ass,” I tell her, derogatorily. “And I will make you pay for all the sleepless nights you cost me. Undress,” I tell her.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” she says, and hits me in the back of my knees, so I fall to the ground. She wrestles me, takes her gun, not that I fight her much, and then she sits on me in riding position and presses the gun into my chest.
A grin spreads over my face as I grab her.
I close my hands around her ass and roll my hips against her. I love it when she sits on me. What I love even more is the power play.
She moans as I push my hip up and hold her close against the pressure. She rides me with one hand, still pressing the gun into me.
Her eyes roll slightly up and back with her head, and I simply enjoy the effect I have on her.
I use the moment of distraction, let go of her ass, and close both my hands around the gun’s barrel.
Her eyes flash back to focus.
I guide it to my mouth.
Her eyes burn in arousal.
I trail my tongue around the muzzle, not breaking the gaze into her eyes.
I open my mouth wide.
Push the gun in and suck it.
Her chest heaves up and down fast as she gazes at me with flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips.
“You’re crazy,” she breathes out.
I stop sucking, smirk, and say, “Babe, you haven’t seen any of my crazy. But I will show you, if you want me to.”
She bites her bottom lip, trying to stop a grin from appearing on her face. But I already know her. I know every thought of hers after all this time together. And I know she is a wildcat waiting to be released from the cage of rules.
She nods almost invisibly.
So I push up my hips and swirl her onto the floor so I am on her now.
I press the gun hand by the wrist onto the floor and take the gun from her, then I kiss her.
Wild.
With tongue.
As she deserves it.
Kiss over her chin down her neck to the collarbone.
Push up her shirt.
Rip away her bra and bite her nipple.
“Ouch,” she shouts and arches.
“Did you enjoy that?” I ask her.
She grins and says, “Yes.”
“Good,” I say and get up.
“Remove your pants,” I say as I stand above her, gun in one hand, and remove my own clothes.
She opens the buttons and pushes them down. Meanwhile, I drop my clothes, then I get back on my knees and dig my face between her legs. I circle with my tongue around her clit for a moment, until she presses her legs around my head.
I bite her labia.
She squeals.
Moans.
Rolls her hips.
Lick her pussy more, and then, just when she is about to come, I stop.
Lift my head, because for what happens next, I want to see her eyes.
She looks quite reproachfully at me because I stopped.
“Open your legs,” I tell her.
She does so hesitantly.
“Fuck, I love your pussy,” I say as I look down. She giggles, flushes, and hides her face in her hands.
“Hands away,” I say, and she does as told. “You will watch when I fuck you with this,” I say and wiggle the gun in my hand.
She looks at me, one part regretting challenging me, one part daring me to do it.
So I hold the gun at her entrance, lock eyes with her.
My own breathing flattens and fastens.
And then I push it in.
She moans.
Arches with her head back.
Breathes erratically.
And I fuck her with the gun.
Slowly first, and then I speed up.
“I love it when you take whatever I desire,” I breathe out. I am panting. I am so turned on by watching her, feeling the power she is handing to me, that I have to roll my hips.
Her moans become louder.
I have to rub myself as I fuck her with the gun.
“Oh gods,” she shouts.
“Keep it together,” I say between my pants. “You will wait for me.”
I slap my own pussy to make myself come.
Fuck her harder.
“I can’t anymore!” she shouts and explodes.
I stop all my movement.
Remove the gun and throw it away, and climb onto her. “I told you to wait.”
“Eat,” I tell her as I sit on her face, not allowing her to ride out the orgasm. I sit on her face full weight, suffocating her with my swollen pussy.
She enters me with her tongue, but I need more. So I start rolling my hips over her face.
I want her not to get any air.
I want her to be so delusional that she doesn’t know where up and down are.
She digs her fingers into my legs and mumbles something inaudible, but I am not stopping until the final wave of my orgasm overcomes me.
A deep moan rumbles through my chest.
I pause for one second before I get out of her.
She just lies there, panting for air.
I grin as I get up, because I am so not done with her.
“Get up,” I tell her.
She only shakes her head and then breathes out, “can’t walk.”
“Then crawl.”
She is trembling and swaying as she gets onto all fours.
“Crawl to the kitchen,” I order her. I watch her from behind.
Damn.
I have the desire to take her with a strap-on from behind, but first, I need something else. I need her to see my crazy, all of it.
I walk into the open kitchen behind her.
“Kneel there,” I tell her, and she kneels. Still swaying slightly.
I grab a wine glass, fill it with water, and hold it against her lips. “Drink.”
She takes three gulps and then stops.
She lets her head fall back with her eyes closed, and I pour the rest of the water over her.
She squeaks because it’s ice cold from the fridge.
I set the wine glass aside and took a knife from the collection she had placed in the kitchen for cooking. I do so forcefully that she hears the sound.
Her head snaps up, and she stares at me.
I don’t need knives for cooking; I need them to get turned on beyond.
I stand in front of her and cut my palm.
“Mhhhhhmm,” I moan out as the pain bites on my skin.
But I love pain.
I love thrill.
And pain.
Because they make me feel alive.
She gasps.
Blood appears.
“Lick it off,” I tell her.
She looks at me in total bewilderment.
“Do it,” I order her, blood dripping onto the floor.
She takes my hand and licks my palm.
“Gghhhhm,” I moan and throw my head back as the shudder of arousal surges through me.
“I fucking love you,” I say as I bring my head back up, remove my hand, and lean down so I can kiss her. The metallic taste on her lips as our tongues met in a feral embrace of the high we’re on right now.
“Hop on the table,” I tell her against her lips. “I wanna fuck you with a strap.”
“You have a hand,” she says cheekily as she gets up.
“I really got you hooked on the fisting, didn’t I?”
“I like it when you take what you want,” she says, pulling me close, biting my neck up to my ear.
“I also told you that table would come in handy one day. Now you get to fist your fucktoy on it,” she whispers in my ear before she turns around and bends over the table, leaving me, for the first time, completely speechless.
Avery’s and Reid’s Song:
Faint of Hearts – Tegan and Sara
The End