back slams into the wall, and she bucks against me.
It’s our first year at Frasier. I sneak up to her table in the library where she sits alone and pull the book from under nose.
Slam.
“What are you reading?” I ask, wrinkling my nose at the old Agatha Christie mystery.
Slam.
“Nothing, now that you’ve stolen my book. Return it, if you don’t mind.”
Slam.
“Take it, then. If you can.”
Slam.
She stands from the table as I hold the book high above her head. But in mere seconds she has my arm wrenched behind my back, and the book falls to the floor.
Slam. Z cries out around her gag and I’m breathing heavily.
“I’m Max,” I say grinning, my captor still standing behind me.
“Lora,” she says. “And you will never interrupt me when I’m reading again.”
It took me years to win her over, but when I did, she was mine and I hers. But we aren’t lovesick teens anymore. And despite what it does to me to touch her like this, I remind myself of who we are now—performers, saviors, killers. Am I a fool to think we can be lovers, too?
I slide my hand between the place where we join and roughly pinch her wet, swollen clit between my thumb and forefinger. Z arches against the wall and squeezes her legs around my torso. My cock pulses inside her as we both rocket into oblivion. My cock throbs as her body wrings me dry.
“I think I’m in love with you, Lora.”
“I think you’re crazy, Max. We just met.”
She was right then, and hell if she isn’t right now. When did the crazy start? On the Seine two-plus decades ago? Three years ago in that limousine? Down the street from the Royal Edenvale Hospital the night I left the post I’d held on my longest mission, with the royal family? Or was it everything in between?
I’d wanted to see her face, each and every time. Because despite her claiming I had no clue, on some level I must have known. But none of that matters now. Loving Lora or Z or whoever she is now puts lives at further risk. We will complete this mission and I will ask for reassignment as far from Agent Z as humanly possible.
It’s the only option that gives us the greatest chance at survival.
Z
AS MY POWERFUL ORGASM ebbs and my shattered gasps return to a normal pattern of breathing, I uncurl my toes and sag limply, held upright by the handcuffs dangling from the ceiling. Blindfolded and gagged, I know how weak I must appear to every depraved leer in the red room, and look they surely do. I swear that I can feel their curious gazes crawling over my flesh like spiders.
A soft cloth presses between my legs, and I jerk at the unexpected contact.
“Shh. Easy now, Princess,” X croons, his breath heating the sensitive shell of my ear. “Aftercare is an expected part of the scene. The dom always looks after his sub once they are finished.” As he speaks, he expertly cleans his come from my folds, and despite my best effort, a furious tear breaks free, trickling down my cheek.
I feel X’s confident movements falter.
“Lora.” His voice is a low rasp. Not Princess. Not Z. Lora.
Another tear joins the first.
“What’s the—”
His question is broken off by a slow clap.
“Magnificent performance.”
I stiffen, recognizing that sultry purr. It’s Caro, turning up again like the proverbial bad penny. At least she’s not blowing my cover or Max would ensure I’d be fucked in a way that caused me considerably less pleasure.
“While you’re not winning any kink contests, you two have a most intoxicating chemistry, which hasn’t gone unnoticed. Daddy watched the whole scene, and I’m pleased to say that you’ve piqued his interest. He isn’t prepared to invite you into his private playroom yet, but he asked me to invite you back tomorrow. This is a great honor.”
“I’ll check my calendar.” X’s response is frosty, arrogance infusing every syllable. He is perfect for this cocky dom role, acting like getting noticed by the dark god of the underworld is nothing out of the ordinary, as if our entire mission isn’t relying on just such a meeting.
“Well...” Caro sniffs, obviously deflated. “If you come, Daddy has one more rule.”
“I don’t play by anyone’s rules but my own,” X snaps.
And the truth in his annoyed snark causes my sensitive inner muscles to clench even though he just wrung an earth-shattering orgasm from me minutes ago.
I force my dry throat to swallow, willing myself to get it together. I’m not a fifteen-year-old girl anymore, bringing my dog-eared copy of A Room with a View out to read beneath the ancient oak tree that grew alongside the rugby oval. While pretending to be engrossed in E. M. Forster’s worlds in Italy and England, I always maintained an awareness of Max as he locked shoulders with his teammates, pushing, shoving and battering in a seething mass of rucking.
I’d find myself rereading the same page time and time again, too entranced by the look of utter focus on Max’s face, the power emanating from his body and the near-palpable force of character.
I’d look away whenever he glanced my direction, pretending to study the clouds or a frolicking squirrel.
“He wants her.” Caro reaches out and strokes my neck with what feels like claws, jerking me back to the present moment. “This little one is exactly his type.”
Don’t I know it.
My gorge rises. I’ve turned down Dante’s advances for years, dangling the promise of my body like a carrot on a string. It seems his patience has run out at last. No doubt fueled by watching my little display with X.
I let it get personal.
Who is the idiot here? Me.
Shit.
“Touch her again, you’ll answer to me.” X’s voice is deadly serious.
The Max I used to know was intense about sports, but off the field he liked nothing better than to joke around with his mates...or tease me ruthlessly.
Agent X, however, doesn’t make jokes. Only promises. And his word is his bond.
“Is that a promise?” The woman sounds curious.
“We’re leaving.” X unlocks my handcuffs and tugs my leash.
“Wait!” I fumble to take off my blindfold, my fingers tingling as blood returns to my hands.
Then the blindfold drops and I see Caro nearly nose to nose. Her body is perfect and her dark skin is without a single blemish. Her bronze lips twist into a smug leer. “Like what you see, sugar?”
I don’t wait for X’s order before dropping my gaze to the floor. It’s not that I dislike my looks, but I’m nothing special. Average height. Average weight. Brown hair. Brown eyes.
I could be a kindergarten teacher or a librarian.
I wonder if I’d have been happier in a simple life. And I think I know the answer.
Yes.
Somewhere