25. Smith
Chapter 25
Smith
T he list is a test. One she passes quickly. And her expression tells me she knows that’s exactly what it is.
“Do you have any more meaningless tests for me?”
“Do you need them?” I counter.
Her face turns arctic, tinged with a little volcanic activity, and her hard gaze hooks into me deep.
“You need to be whipped, hung, maybe even quartered.”
“Add some boiling oil and it’ll be a party.”
“You’re a sick fuck.”
“So are you,” I say, dropping my voice. I place the scotch down on the desk in my study where I was just going to set up for the evening. Outside it’s already getting dark, but this is New York. Things don’t get started until at least nine o’clock or so.
“I think I’m just going to take my chances.” She narrows her eyes. “Alone.”
I’m up fast and around the desk. I capture her arm and walk her back to the sofa. She teeters and pitches forward, but I tighten my hold. Keeping her drawn up against me, the scent of citrus and spice swirling and teasing the air.
She doesn’t even wear perfume. It’s just her.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Her eyes get stormier, glimmering with a wild heat. “Try and stop me.”
“That your fucked-up way of issuing an invitation?”
Calista lifts her chin and sways into me. “Are you looking for one?”
Earlier when I stupidly kissed her, fires were lit. All kinds of fires. Because it wasn’t a kiss with an agenda. It was just a kiss that took on life and flared. It’s still there, in the air, and I can feel the aftermath of it in me still, the beat of wild, carnal lust, the urge for more.
And she…
She suddenly swoops in and bites me through my shirt. Her mouth’s hot and wet, teeth sharp and delicious as they sink sharply into the flesh of my chest.
“Let go, please…”
Her whisper has something in there, a note that pleads, one that begs for freedom.
I loosen my hand and she slides down the length of me, kissing her way down over my rapidly growing erection. Then she bites my thigh as she unbuttons my trousers.
“Fucking little…” Laughter rumbles up inside of me. “Sweetheart, you’re the most intriguing prey I’ve ever met.”
“Not prey.”
We both know it’s a lie.
She shoves me, and I go willingly onto the sofa, letting her free my now iron-hard cock.
I let her because there’s something fucking powerful in a woman who thinks she’s utterly in control, who takes the chance to dive right into the den with the bigger, wilder animal.
“Well, then, Mrs. Hunter,” I say, “do your best.”
She slides her hands up over me, pulling on my cock and making me dig my fingers into the soft linen cushions. And then she looks up at me, eyes glittering with a feral light, one that makes me growl low in the back of my throat.
She licks me.
From my balls all the way up to the tip. And fuck, does it feel phenomenal.
My kiss earlier softened the boundaries that she winds tight around her. But this… I don’t know if she thinks this will buy her time or a way out, or if she just can’t help herself. Or even if it’s a combination of all those things. I don’t even know if it matters, because in this moment, those boundaries dissolve away.
“Swallow me down, little girl,” I say.
My voice is calm, pure fucking silk. But I’m teetering on the edge, because her touch, her hands, her tongue… all of it is something I need more than the most crazed addict needs his next fix.
It’s been too long. Even though it’s not been that long at all.
“I’m doing what I want,” she says as she starts to suck my balls into her mouth.
I almost fucking come on the spot.
I bite down on my lip to stop the words from tumbling out, just like I keep my hands digging into the sofa to stop them from guiding her, directing her, and giving myself what I need and want with her.
This is exhilarating and the suck and pull on my balls is like nothing else. It’s torture and pleasure, all wrapped into one .
She releases them with a small pop and starts to lick and suck her way up my shaft, up over the top as her hand moves, giving that right amount of tension and friction and she starts all over again. Each suck, each pop, each lick and drive down of her mouth on me to the back of her throat is more intense than the last.
I can’t take any more. I grab her, hand tangling in her hair as I drag her head up, and I kiss her hard. Then I take all the control, pushing her back down, guiding my cock into her mouth and I start to fuck her, the gagging music, her eager sucks pure jazz.
I’m going to come, I’m— Fuck. I explode into her mouth and she laps up everything I have to give.
“You’re a dirty girl, Calista,” I mutter, rising and pulling her up with me. “Why did you let me do that?”
“I wanted to.”
Taking her mouth again, I drag her all the way up into my arms, and she wraps her legs around my waist. I kick off my pants and carry her toward her room. “Why?”
She takes my face in her hands. “You’re hot, and I figured maybe you’d fall for me and not be able to let me go. I mean, look at me in this outfit.”
Her self-deprecation makes me smile. What she doesn’t get is I am fucking looking at her and she’s gorgeous. I bet there’s a slew of guys still masturbating into socks over her. And she has no idea they ever lusted for her in the first place.
“Yeah,” I say, matching her. “I’m hotter than fuck. But you won’t fall for me, obviously.”
I throw her on the bed. And her little grin is worth the world. “Obviously. I don’t even like you.”
“And you’re a pain in my ass.”
“But men think with their cocks, Smith.”
“Mine’s got a PhD.” I draw her bottom lip into my mouth as I lean down over her, sucking it before letting it go. “This buys you a couple of hours.”
I strip her and dive down to taste her tits, the soft, sweet flesh with those hard fucking nipples I could suck and bite all day.
It’s not enough. I need to be inside of her. I roll us so she’s on top because I like her thinking she’s in control. Even though this is just banter, I can hear the need in her voice, and I meant what I said earlier. She’s been through a lot. Maybe she needs the vanilla. And I can deal with it.
It’s her .
She rubs her cunt up along my cock, her juices soaking down around me.
“I’ll take it,” she says.
I draw her down and kiss her as she grabs my cock, lining me up and sinking that tight, wet cunt down onto me. I thrust into her heat and pull her close.
The kiss is hot and turns explosive. My flesh heats, the need for more consumes me whole.
She fucks herself on me, grinding down, taking me all the way into her, rolling up and almost out, only to repeat it all. Her clit slides against my cock, and each time she comes down, it’s like catching a glimpse of God.
My blood burns with each push and pull and my balls ache for release. It’s almost too much, letting her have that control.
She rides me hard, trying to reach her peak, trying to come, and I can’t take it a second longer. I grab her hips and circle her over me, hitting her G-spot. Her pussy quivers and quakes, her juices drowning my cock.
And I’m not going to be able to make it. I’m not?—
“Oooh God…” she screams, her cunt spasms so hard on my cock that I come. Hard and deep into her as she comes, too. It’s wild .
Fucking divine.
Something rare.
Addictive.
Ours.
When we come down from the euphoric high, I roll her over and give her what she needs. The kisses are soft and gentle before they get more demanding and pleading, and it’s not long before we’re both hungry for more.
And when I’m ready to slide into her again, I know… I know … for the first time that I can remember, it’s going to be slow and tender and all about her.
Only about Calista.
It was a shitty thing to do, taking advantage of her.
It’s been a couple of hours and I’m sliding a pod into the coffee machine in the kitchen.
I lean against the counter, rubbing a hand over my eyes. In the bedroom, she’s sleeping, naked, twisted in the covers because she’s a restless sleeper. Although it seems like that restlessness set in when I got up. Before that, she…
Shit. What the fuck’s wrong with me, giving her an almost loving touch? Even if it’s designed to do a job? I knew, regardless of what a woman likes in the realms of sex, someone younger like Calista was going to respond to that. My vanilla fucking with a gentler touch designed to tear down more barriers without her noticing.
I know how to work my prey.
Weird thing is, I didn’t hate it.
I could feel the silk of her skin under my fingertips, the warmth of her as she snuggled down against me, the heat and tightness of her cunt, the way she stretched to fit my cock, the way she squeezed my dick into orgasm as she came.
Yeah, I didn’t hate that at fucking all.
We’re on borrowed time, because I do need to hand her over. No one’s come knocking, yet. Her field agent didn’t seem to recognize her in Miami, and I’m not sure what team he’s playing for yet, his own or the government’s. I do know he’s gathering intel and he’s set up meetings after checking my creds.
Interested parties want to talk, and I’m passing those along to Jones, since they’re weapons related. Bolivia was mentioned, a tiny country that’s somehow been involved the entire time. Although I still can’t get my head around Bolivia mixed up in a new US military weapon as well as trafficking and low-rent porn with unwilling girls.
I mean, sure, the girls with fucking guns is a thing. But that’s not the same as kidnapped or trafficked girls in shitty porn for fucknuts with cash, along with a side interest in illegal and highly classified blueprints for a new weapon.
Not to mention Marta’s mention of some parts already having been made and sold. I make a mental note to look into that. But if I’m honest, I’m really not overly interested in the weapons angle. It’ll be taken care of, and that isn’t my job.
Calista’s no traitor.
What I want is to use her as a way to follow my agenda. Destroy the fucks leftover from the Collectors, or whatever this new arm is.
It seems that’s what Calista wants, too.
So I’m going to use that borrowed time to find out who’s trafficking and using Bolivia as part of the cover. And I’m going to find out what Collectors are still operating. There are some we left, I know that. But I keep an eye on them.
This isn’t them .
There are others.
I’ve showered and changed, and there’s an outfit for Calista here. I have more clothes for her at my penthouse in the West Village. Because that’s a better base for my next phase.
“Plotting?”
She comes into the kitchen, wearing my shirt. Only my shirt.
And my fucking pants start getting tight.
“Kind of,” I say. “There’s an event tonight. If you want to come.”
She goes still.
“You’re not handing me over?”
“Not yet.”
We circle each other, wary.
“So we have a truce?” she asks. “What about Johnny?”
“What about my list?”
She frowns, picks at the edge of the clean kitchen island, then shrugs. “Most are dead or have clipped wings. It’s clear they’re watched and on good behavior. They’re too clean. But there are others.”
Her glaze flickers at me before she disappears to grab the computer. She walks back into the kitchen just as the scent of coffee fills the air. She takes my cup, so I make another and stare at the screen.
Names and activities and… shit.
Our gazes meet. “Why the fuck are these names showing up as building things in Bolivia?”
There are four. They’ve all got affiliations to the Collectors—tenuous but there—and now they’re in New York. Two are on the list for the event tonight.
The opening of a new office building for a nonprofit.
One of those boring places where all kinds of deals go down.
“I don’t know,” she says. “What’s on tonight?”
“Have you heard of Senator Aaron Riley?”
Her eyes widen. “Yes. He’s in town?”
“Yeah. Opening a nonprofit.” I look at her. “Want to go?”
A flush of color stains her cheeks. “Just try and stop me.”