The Single Lady Spy Series Boxset

by Tara Brown

  Obviously, I was his plaything and he was reminding me of this fact. He was testing me.

  I winced and trailed my sweaty hands up my thighs, dragging my skirt up with them. The single door to the right stopped everyone from seeing what I was about to do. But they were probably taping it. I swallowed my fear and the onion soup threatening to come back up. I looped my fingers in the underwear and slowly pulled them down. As I bent forward I was grateful I’d done all my ablutions before I got on the plane. I dragged them right down to the boots, bending all the way. Just as I was about to step out of them, he spoke, “Don’t move.”

  The heat from his fingers lingered over my ass cheek. He traced across and down. I lurched forward when he slid his finger inside my slightly swollen pussy and his other hand came across my ass cheeks hard. “I said don’t move.”

  I held my core tight as he pumped his finger in and out, seeming bent on torturing me. It was too slow and soft, although I was mouth breathing into my own knees as he unbuckled his pants again.

  His finger pumped harder, making me gasp before his cock replaced it. He shoved in hard. I cried out. It was too loud for an airplane door to conceal.

  He thrust in a circular motion, all the while holding me bent forward. I thanked God I’d gotten addicted to hot yoga. My spine was flexible and able to take the assault.

  “God, you feel good,” he muttered, taking long, rhythmic strides.

  He shortened his pumps as if he was using me, enjoying me.

  My brain tried to register the fact he was using me and I liked it.

  “I am never letting you go. You are mine, forever. Sweet fucking God,” he cried out when it felt as if he’d reached something of a peak, and then started pumping again. “You. Get. So. Wet. For. Me. Evie.”

  He jackhammered me almost, with the angle I was at. His thrusts slapped his balls against me, spanking all the way to my clit. I gripped the seat next to me, moaning into it as he came. He slowed his thrusts and stopped suddenly.

  “You are the hottest piece of ass, I have fucked in a long time.”

  Blood was rushing to my head. I needed to sit up but he held me down.

  He touched where his cock plugged my hole. He dragged the moisture of his semen up to my ass. My eyes bugged when he touched the wrong hole.

  “That’s never been touched, has it?” He slightly dipped his finger in the very entrance of my asshole.

  I shook my head.

  “Hmm, we'll have to remedy that in the near future.” He slipped the finger in farther. I had dozens of bad thoughts.

  “Relax. I'm not going any farther. I don’t have the right tools for the job and this is not the position to do it in anyway.” His voice was soft, satisfied.

  He pulled out his finger and his cock at the same time. He slipped past me and went to the back of the plane. I leaned on the seat in front of me and tried to catch the emotions I was overcome with in my throat as my brain wrestled with the ass-sex comment.

  Anal was a huge no for me.

  I would kill him before I let him put his cock in my ass. I had always been a “you first” sort of girl in that area. I told James if I could do it to him with a dildo, then he was welcome to do it to me afterward. Needless to say, we never had the conversation again.

  I grabbed a linen napkin, a bottle of water, and kicked off my underwear. I picked them up and returned to the back of the jet for a second sponge bath, and a possible mental breakdown. I wondered if you were allowed to smoke on private planes. Or if Roxy had any for when we landed.

  I was sitting in the back with my legs pulled in to a near fetal position when Roxy came back with a glass of wine.

  I took it, avoiding her eyes.

  “He's an asshole sometimes. He's a perve and a total bigot. He doesn’t see you as anything but a means to an end. He sleeps with everyone.” She spoke so quietly I could barely make out the words.

  “Yeah.” I gave her a weak smile. “I got that message loud and clear. I’ve known him for a whole day and here we are.”

  She seemed scared. “If you get the chance—run.” She left it at that. I nodded and we spoke things with our eyes.

  She softened instantly and pointed. “You need to take a seat though. We're in Vegas.”

  I shuddered again and left the chair in the small changing room to follow her back to my seat.

  He smirked up at me. “So, I want you to do two things for me.”

  Swallowing my pride, I sat and tried not to notice the constant throb in my hundred-dollar underwear.

  “Kill him fast, otherwise he’ll be expecting something.” His voice was calm. I shot him a look but he just laughed. “You know why he's got you coming? The hotel told me he has a standing order, new girl every night.”

  Coop's words flashed in my mind. “He won't be expecting someone younger?” I asked.

  He gave me a once-over. “He won't be disappointed when you show up looking like that.” He leaned over. “He doesn’t touch what's mine, so I expect your training better be as sharp as it was. You’ll pay if he touches anything.”

  I gulped. He was taking the whole “you are mine” thing too far. I assumed it was the heat of the moment. He’d get over it when he saw me watch a chick flick with snot running down my face and Ben and Jerry keeping me company.

  He reached over and ran his hand up my thigh. “I have a suite at the Bellagio. You will meet me there afterward.”

  “Okay, look, the sex was nice. It was fun. I feel young and adventurous again. Thank you for that. I’m feeling more alive than I have in years in good and bad ways. I owe you for that. I’m guessing I might have compensated you already for it; we can argue over that later. But you must need to rest at some point. I personally have been married for the last decade. That means sex once a month, and only really on a day where I drank too much wine and read something hot and naughty. Usually a Saturday or a Sunday. To be honest, we haven’t actually had sex in months. Looking back, I’m not sure how I missed that as a bad sign for the time he wasn’t pretending to be dead. But I can’t be having sex every hour on the hour. I’ll need an ice pack for my hoohoo.”

  “I don’t know what you're talking about. I don’t know what a hoohoo is.” It sounded weird when he said it. “Focus. You will come back to the room and I will clean you myself.”

  Was he goading me again? He had to be kidding. Even David Duchovny didn’t have that much sex in one day. I was going to get a rash if this continued or, at the very least, a bladder infection. Clearly, he hadn’t been reading much Cosmo. “You need to consider using condoms more than you do.”

  He ignored my protests. “The second thing I need you to do is take this and write on the mirror in the hotel room.” He handed me a tube of lipstick. It was Russian Red. He was setting me up. Why the hell was he setting me up?

  I took it. “What should I write?” My stomach was in my throat, panicking and plotting an escape instead of a murder.

  He smirked and tried to dazzle me with his hazel eyes and handsome face. “Whatever you like.”

  The room would be bugged, the hotel would be bugged, and he would be watching my every move. If he had the manager telling him what the fat man was doing about his hooker supply, he was watching the surveillance cameras.

  I remembered the phone I had in my wristlet, the one that if I pressed 911 I’d get the young man. That would get me Coop. I shoved the lipstick into my small purse and zipped it shut. “How do you want it done?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Make it interesting. Surprise me.” His smile turned devilish. “Thus far, I must say, I've been pleasantly surprised by you.”

  I hated myself in that moment—the me I was, not the me my country needed me to be.

  All I could think was the Burrow had better be something so fucking important the president himself would thank me for finding it, and for taking a finger in the ass.

  8

  What happens in Vegas . . . shit

  I pressed 911 from the stall of t
he ladies’ restroom.

  The young man was there immediately. “My, you look spiffy. Where are you going, the CMA awards?”

  My hands shook as I nearly cried with joy, “Bellagio. Ladies’ room by the slot machines on the east wall.” My old ways were slowly coming back. I could tell directions again and notice things.

  “Coop said he'll be there in a second. Hold tight.”

  “I don’t have seconds. They're watching the doors, halls, and floors.”

  He winked. “We’ve got this.” And the call ended. He was a cheeky little shit. CMA awards, really?

  The door to the ladies’ room opened. I held my breath as footsteps made their way across the shiny floor. I stepped up onto the toilet and waited.

  Dark-brown dress shoes stopped outside the door. My heart almost leapt from my throat when he spoke, “Do we have a secret knock or just whatever?” His voice was my saving grace. I reached for the lock and turned it. He swung the door open and smiled. His eyes were serious. “You okay?”

  I felt the tears coming. I shook my head, wanting to tell him everything and nothing. I gazed down, ashamed.

  “Did he hurt you?” His voice was deep and scary.

  I parted my gooey lips but nothing came out.

  Had he hurt me?

  I supposed he had, but he had also made me come like no man ever had. I closed my lips and shook my head.

  Coop’s huge hand cupped my chin and lifted my face. “We all do things we're ashamed of for the job. I once worked as a gigolo for three months in Sweden.” He fought a grin. “It was rough.”

  Someone whispered harshly from another stall, “Speak for yourself. I woulda nailed his ass in every crevice of that airplane and never had a moment of shame. Did you get some for me?”

  I laughed when I leaned forward. Luce was winking at me from another door.

  “No.” I sighed and whispered back, “The plane ride isn’t the issue. I have to kill the fat man and write with the lipstick I'm wearing on a mirror. He’s setting me up.”

  Coop processed. “Then what?”

  “Back to his room upstairs.”

  His lip twitched as he took it all in like he was crazed. “His room?”

  “Hopefully for some sleep.”

  He spoke after a minute, “We’ll deal with that later. For now, we need the hit to go smooth and look like an accident. The room is gonna be recorded, you know that, right?”

  I nodded.

  “You have to make it appear to be an accident. Smother him while having sex?” Luce gave me a weak smile.

  “I've been getting molested the whole way from Boston and could’ve come up with better plans than whatever you two have right now. What the fuck were you doing on the plane?”

  Luce grinned. “I watched a couple of movies.”

  My face dropped. She laughed. “It was a joke. We have a plan. Just need to sort through the variables you’ve added.”

  Coop still wore his processing face. He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and pressed a number.

  “Jack, I need two of those potassium chloride pills.” He put a hand to his head and closed his eyes. “There's a table with flowers on it in the hall outside his room. Put the two pills next to the planter. She can wobble in the shoes she's in and pick them up. Write him a prescript for it all and make it look like he's filled it dozens of times in the last few years. He's fat. He's probably already on it all.” He hung up the phone and smirked. “Write something kinky on the mirror before you kill him.”

  “Okay.” We were still planning the death of a man. He must have seen the look in my eyes. He grabbed my arms. “I wish I could do it for you.”

  I nodded and let it be enough. It would have to be. I walked past him and Luce.

  “You look sexy as shit, by the way,” he muttered.

  “Screw you, Coop.” I raised my eyebrows. “So far it's been really fun being the sexy plaything of the arms dealer who never really killed my fuck-up husband. Maybe you guys should learn the fine art of intel.”

  His lips curled into a bigger smile. “Don’t piss me off, Evie. It’s a bad idea.”

  I rolled my eyes and tottered out of the ladies’ room.

  Trying to appear calm in case the cameras saw me, I made my way to the elevators in the hotel. The shoes were ridiculously comfortable. I had no idea. Two grand for shoes actually paid off.

  When I stepped into the elevator I inspected myself. I could pass for a high-class whore, no doubt. My only saving grace was every other girl in Vegas could also. I blended perfectly. I coifed my hair and stepped out of the elevator when I got to the floor. I scanned the wall to see which way the room was and spotted the table with the flowers and took a deep breath. I could do this, be the person they needed. I wobbled and placed my hands on the table. Attempting it in one smooth movement, I scooped the pills up and dropped my wristlet. I bent to pick it up, flashing my ass for the cameras. Hopefully, that’s what they saw. I popped the pills into the small purse as I lifted it. It was fluid, suggesting I’d done it a million times. I reached into the wristlet again and grabbed the keycard, swiped the right door, and put it back into my small purse.

  I took a breath and stepped in.

  The fat man was listening to Frank Sinatra as if he couldn't be more cliché with his white suit.

  He grinned up at me, shaking his jowls. His face was sweaty, even though he wasn’t doing anything. He was sweating from existing, like that took work. He eyeballed me up and down. “You're hot. I'm gonna have to get the name of your company.” He smiled, trying to be sexy as he undid his dress shirt.

  I almost gagged. Instead, I grinned as though I was about to backcomb my hair and tell him about saving whales and orphans. In my best Miss America country accent, I twirled my long dark hair. “Why, thank you.”

  Secretly, I always had a thing for accents. Whenever I read aloud, it was with a British accent.

  I reached into my wristlet and chatted, pretending to sound casual. “I heard you like it kinda rough so I was thinking maybe we could do a little spanking first.”

  He chuckled. “Oh my God. You're a gift from God. I gotta remember to thank Vince tomorrow. The last girl complained.” My stomach dropped at those words. At least it would make killing him easier. I was only guessing about the spanking.

  “Yeah, Vince said to say hi. I think that was his name.” I tilted my head and made a confused face as I pulled my lipstick out. “My name is Wanda. It's short for Wanda Lynn.”

  I wrote my new name on the mirror in the foyer, bringing to mind one of those waiters in the restaurants with the paper tablecloths and the upside-down writing.

  “Wanda, huh? I like that name.” He shot back his drink. The sound of the ice made me want some too, but I didn’t need that clouding my brain, not yet. I’d need it later to drink away the memory of his naked body anywhere near mine. He poured more and walked toward me.

  I stuck the lipstick in the small purse and strolled up to him as I fished the two pills out. I dragged my hands up his sweaty fat chest, pinching the pills between two fingers.

  “You wanna spank me first or me spank you?” As the words left my lips, I contemplated just taking the poison myself and ending it there.

  He laughed and grabbed my breast in my thousand-dollar halter top. “I think I'll spank you first.”

  I tilted my head and smiled sweetly. “Okay, where do you want me?”

  He pursed his lips. “Bed, ass in the air.”

  “Skirt on or off?” I dragged my fingers along the waistband of my skirt.

  “Skirt on and pulled up.”

  “Yes, sir.” I blushed and strolled to the bed. I looked at him as sexy as I could and lifted the skirt slightly, letting my ass cheeks peek out the bottom. He smiled like he got a new toy or, let’s be honest, a sundae. He licked his lips and I decided it was a sundae for sure.

  I bent over and placed my hands on the bed, still gripping the pills.

  He walked to me, rub
bing his hands over my nearly bare cheeks. The French underwear had ridden up a fair amount. He rubbed in a circular motion and then gave me a hard smack. I made a sexy face and moaned.

  “You like that, huh?”

  I nodded. “I do.”

  He smacked again and then rubbed more. His fingers were brushing my underwear. I wanted to bury my face and cry, but I smiled, giving him my sexy bedroom face. He smacked again. The vibration was actually not bad, considering I had never been spanked before. Not that the feel could take away from the fact that I was being spanked by a three-hundred-pound sweating beast. He rubbed my cheeks. “You work out, Wanda.”

  “I do. I run sometimes.”

  He gripped my ass, the filthy thoughts clearly burning through his mind. He spanked once more and pulled my underwear to the side. I stood up fast and planted a kiss on his squishy lips. I could smell cigar and paint chips, I swear it.

  “Lie back,” I whispered into his lips. He sprawled out on the bed. I crawled toward him and unzipped his pants. I coughed. It was part fake and part smell. He smelled like sweat, old booze, and smoke. “I need a drink.”

  He pointed, almost panting. I got up and pranced over to the table. I took his drink he had before and drank a sip.

  “You want the rest?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  I clutched it in my hand and slipped the pills in as I walked to the bucket of ice. I clinked in one more ice cube and stirred it with my finger.

  He licked his lips again. The capsules were fast dissolving I guessed since they were gone by the time I got to the bed.

  He shot it back and reached for me, but I grabbed the glass and pulled away. “I still have a tickle.”

  He chuckled. “I'm gonna tickle you.”

  “You are a bad man.”

  “I am.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You want me to punish you for a minute?”

  He nodded. I poured the scotch into the glass and carried it to him. I drank a sip and passed him the rest. He gulped it back and scrambled off the bed.

  I pulled his belt off and wrapped it around his wrists behind his back and bent him over the bed.