11. Smith
Chapter 11
Smith
I throw her down and cover her as hell rains down around us. We were close enough to the explosion that the blast is a little too dangerous. The heat from the explosion a little too fucking hot.
In the chaos, I drag her up and out of harm’s way. Anyone else as young as her would probably require me having to waste precious minutes coaxing back to calm. Shit, I’ve had to do that with freshly minted agents before. And ones I’ve needed to extract after they’ve spent years behind desks.
But Calista takes it and runs, like she’s compartmentalized what just happened. Fuck, I don’t know, maybe she’s used to blasts. Maybe she gets off on it. But I don’t think so. I think the part of her brain that makes her so good at her job gives her a place where she can operate on all cylinders when things like this happen. There’s always time to fall apart later.
I can see why the CIA recruited her instead of locking her away.
I can also see why they want to get their hands on her now, this time as possible enemy number whatever the hell .
But we run, her hand gripped tight in mine.
Calista moves with me, fast, low, keeping to the edges of the building where there’s cover, and she doesn’t try and dart into the first door. She doesn’t try and break free and run.
A feral part of me wants her to, though. I want to tackle her down and hit the pavement with her. But this time it wouldn’t be to cover her from the brunt of the explosion. No. I want to cover her so I can fuck her.
I don’t even question my brain’s direction. Libido is just that. So’s a carnal pull to someone. Doesn’t mean I won’t hand her over when the time comes, and doesn’t mean I won’t keep her with me only to throw her under whatever available bus there is the moment I’m done with her.
She’s definitely sitting on something, either something she knows about or is still trying to process, and I’m going to find out before anyone else gets their hands on her.
Hence this .
We’re traveling light without bags. People scramble around, screaming, voices shouting and emergency vehicles flying past us. We move quickly, Calista scouting the area, eyes wide.
We’re almost there.
The airport car sits just outside the airstrip, and I order her into the back as I jump behind the wheel. She doesn’t ask how it just so happens to sit here, very conveniently, and I don’t fill her in. Instead, I take off at a brisk pace, out into the nighttime countryside of the South of France and in the direction of another airfield.
It’s close, and when we get there, she only looks at me as we’re hustled onto a sleek jet. My jet.
She rubs a hand down the front of her face, not saying a word as we strap in and we go through safety checks. She doesn’t speak as we take off, and she ignores the whiskey I get for her from the attendant.
It’s not until we’re in the air and she’s downed her drink that she says, “Who are you, really? And who just fucking tried to kill me?”
“Those are some heavily weighted questions.” I settle back against the plush leather recliner. I know she thinks we’re heading right back to the US, either Washington, DC, or New York, but we’re not.
I can’t let her go yet. There are things I want to know.
Like why she had the number from Estonia about the Collectors on the burner phone when she slipped her SIM card into it. Like what she knows about Bolivia and the weapon.
And I want to know the connections between all of it. Bolivia. Sex trade. Collectors. New weapon.
I know they’re all connected somehow. I can smell it.
And I’m going to investigate every angle, every potential location and cell, before I give her up.
The weapon thing… unless she managed to uncover everything… might be a red herring, at least for me. That’s CIA shit through and through, and she’s either someone who fucked over her agent for money, or she stumbled onto something big and dangerous and deadly.
Could be the former, it’s probably the latter.
But the Bolivian connection is too coincidental to ignore.
Right now, she’s alone in the world. No computer. No evidence that isn’t in an easy-to-get-to place, or so she thinks. I’m betting she has copies of her information somewhere. I know she can probably break into CIA servers, too, which is next-level espionage.
“Why do you think someone’s trying to kill you?”
Calista’s basically bouncing in her seat, panic evident in her expression. “Are you crazy? Were you there? The plane fucking exploded as we were about to board.”
I lean forward. “Could have been for me. Not you.”
“Was it?” She stills, a small gasp escaping her lips. “Who are you?”
It’s how she phrases it, like she’ll keep picking until she learns everything. It’s not going to happen, so I feed her nothing and the truth.
“A man with a lot of enemies, a lot of money, and a lot of power.”
“Then let me go. You don’t need the payout from handing me over.”
I settle back in my seat and gaze at her. We’ve got hours of flying ahead of us, and apart from the pilots and flight attendant, we’re alone. “Interesting that’s what you lock on to. The money aspect.”
She blows out a breath.
Calista’s hair looks good. It makes her look her age, maybe a little older, more polished, like the clothes. And maybe I’m a little perverse in the fact that I miss the silver-blond and colorful hues streaking the cut.
Looking like this, like a chic, sophisticated young woman, Calista would be someone my Smith Hunt cover persona would date and even consider marrying. And then he’d likely go and fuck a whole lot of hot, available pussy, the kind that likes to be fucked in a sex club, likes to play games with them in public places.
But the real me? I don’t cheat. I rarely have relationships. They come with baggage, strings, and weights. I have no need or desire for any of that shit.
But Smith Hunt, the persona who likes to fly around in a fancy fucking jet and marry shiny, young pussy that’s well-behaved, is going to cheat .
The fucking punch in the gut is if I was him, I’d cheat on this woman with the hacker girl inside of her.
Because me and my alter ego want both versions of her.
Now I’m the one scraping a hand over my face.
“Feeling bad you kidnapped me?”
I flick a glance at her. “Fuck no. Feeling bad I didn’t bring a gag.”
“You’re a real funny guy. Please,” she says, deadpan, “bring some surgical tape because I’m coming apart at the seams.”
“Get your ass over here.”
Her eyes go hard. “I’m on a fucking plane with you. I’m here.”
“No. Get over here. To me. On the floor.”
She gets up, which half shocks me, taking her time to unbuckle the seat belt, and she crosses from her luxury seat opposite mine.
But she doesn’t sink to her knees. Instead, she rests a hand on either side of my head and leans in. “I’m not getting on the floor.”
I’m not buckled in. Grabbing her by the waist, I flip her down so I’m on top of her, nestled in against the heat of her denim-covered pussy. Deliberately, I rub up against her. “You’re not real good at following instructions.”
“I’m not real good at being humiliated. Or being told to suck an old cock.”
I laugh, nipping her throat, making her arch up into me, her soft moan negating her words.
“That’s where you’re wrong. I think you’ll love sucking my cock, and I didn’t say anything about humiliating you.”
“It’s what you get off on, right?”
“Do you?”
“I just said?—”
“We both know your words and your reactions are galaxies apart.” I kiss a line down her throat as I skim my hand up under her top to expose her lace-covered breast. I find that hard little pebble of a nipple, kissing my way down until I can take it in my mouth, hold it between my teeth, and run my tongue over it.
She starts to pant.
Little fucking Calista likes being bossed around. No, she likes to fight before she submits. That’s the beating heart of her. She wants my games just like I want hers.
She’s grinding against me with her hips, and I’m having a hard fucking time concentrating on what I’m doing. Which is deconstructing her.
I bite. Hard. Calista lets out a wobbly cry and spasms. And fuck… did she just come from me sucking and biting and teasing her nipple?
She fights me now, but I easily hold her down. “You want my old cock, admit it.”
“Screw you.”
“See? You want me.”
The fire that flashes is worth a thousand willing pussies, a thousand naked women who crawl on the floor for me, who ride me and beg for more.
Calista suddenly breaks free, and I flip her around so she’s on top of me. She takes a shuddery breath before dipping in for a violent, sharp-edged kiss. When she tries to pull away, I thread my hand in her hair and bring her in, harder and wilder. She whimpers, clawing at me.
What I want is to bury myself in her again.
What I want is for her to crawl on her hands and knees to me. To sit between my thighs and suck my cock. I want her to fucking worship it.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to bend a woman to my will quite like that .
I do now.
Shit, most women love my cock. I’m popular at the sex clubs, especially O-Ring, the Knight’s very own. Girls who work there who want me, others who frequent the place, too. I fuck a lot of them.
And as long as they’re of age, I haven’t given a damn. I prefer older, but in a club?
Young, sweet pussy is pliable to will. And the sweet, young things who get into O-Ring are the hottest out there. I’ll share. I’ll fuck them in front of the others if my mood takes me.
It’s just when I’m on the hunt, when I choose a lover, I prefer them older. I like what experience brings. And playing primal games with a woman comes with the least amount of mess.
I’m not a fan of mess.
I’m definitely not into anything resembling a relationship, especially of the sexual variety with girls around my kid’s age.
Except, apparently, this one.
Not that it’s a relationship. Not that I have any intentions of pursuing one, even if that were possible. But if I was looking… no. I’m not. She’s a fuck and nothing more. And a fuck with an agenda behind it. I want to know what she knows. Whether she knows it or not.
Calista might not be able to see the connections, but I’ll be able to.
And this?
She tastes of all the good things wrapped in bad.
I explore her mouth in a dark, pagan way. And then as our tongues start to twirl and duel, start to dance and fuck, I push her off me.
Her hand comes up to my throat and she tries to squeeze as she climbs back on.
Everything in me explodes .
I push up into her hand, adjust her grip, help her choke me. She rears back but I hold her in place.
“You’re crazy.”
“If you’re going to try and kill me,” I say, dragging her down while keeping her hand on my throat, “you might want a weapon. I’m a bit too strong for you.”
“I can kill you.”
“Then try.”
A beat of thick silence spreads, sucking air.
“No.”
I sit up, taking her with me and let go of her hand, but pull her on my lap, right up over my hard cock, and she shudders. The heat at her pussy is enough to light fires.
“You know you’ll be paying for that.”
“Because I tried to choke you?”
I shake my head, beating a tattoo on her hip bone. “No. Because you didn’t try at all.”
“Maybe I wanted to get your attention.”
“Calista, you have it.”
“Who are you?—?”
“Ex-government. And I take on jobs for money. You’re one of them. That’s all you need to know.” I let her go and nod at the seat opposite. “Buckle up and rest. We’ll be landing soon.”
“Where?”
I look at her for a long minute. “I think you should be more concerned with who we’re going to see rather than where we’re going.”