Not My Spook!

by Tinnean

  “How the fuck did you do that, Mark?” I gasped, nonplussed by the rapidity with which he took control.

  He didn’t answer, too busy arranging my hips so he could suck my cock into the wet heat of his mouth. I balanced my weight on my knees and leaned forward. I curved the fingers of my left hand around his thigh and cupped his balls out of the way, giving them a lick before I slid the fingers of my right hand back inside him. Mark’s cock was within reach of my mouth, quivering, the head a deep red, and I swallowed it hungrily.

  Mark slipped a finger past the mouthful of cock I had, and I whimpered as he rubbed his finger over my tongue and then quickly withdrew it.

  Suddenly that moistened fingertip was circling around and across and dipping slightly into my anus. The unexpected sensation caused me to jerk, and his other hand smoothed over a buttock, petting me. He tightened his grip, held me in place, and I gave a full body shudder.

  We both groaned around the hot flesh we worked with lips and tongue. The muscles in Mark’s ass clenched on my fingers as I stroked that small gland inside him, and he thrust up shallowly into my mouth.

  He released me to pant, “Qu… Quinn, is this your… oh, fuck that feels good… your way of pun… punishing me for leaving?”

  I was as breathless as he was. “If I wanted to… to punish you, Mark, I’d be… I’d be sliding into you, and once… oh, once I was inside, I wouldn’t move! I’d make you wait!” I eased my fingers out of him, somehow managed to roll on the condom and coat it with more of the lotion, and then swung myself around so I was between his legs. He gripped my shoulders, and I knew there would be bruises there in the morning. I didn’t fucking care. “I’d be doing this!”

  I pushed his thighs back and apart, lined my cock up with his hole, and pushed. There was an instant of resistance, and I looked into his eyes, dark with passion before he glanced away. He relaxed, and then I slid past the ring of muscle and was buried balls-deep in the snug, velvety grip of his passage.

  I held still, trapping his cock between our bodies, letting the wiry hair that covered our groins tease it with each shuddering breath we took. I raised my head and met his eyes. They were almost wild with uncontrolled passion.

  “Quinn! Jesus fucking God! Move, goddamn you!”

  “Oh, no, Mark. Not unless you promise to talk to me before you cut and run the next time.” I licked the side of his neck and moved just enough to nudge his prostate, and he shivered.

  “And if I… if I don’t promise?”

  The pain of his refusal blindsided me, and I closed my eyes against it. Of course he wouldn’t promise. What made me think I could coerce any kind of pledge from Mark Vincent? My erection began to deflate.

  “Nothing, Mark. But I wish—” I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  His inner muscles tightened around my cock. “Quinn.” His palm cradled my jaw, and his thumb brushed over my cheekbone. I raised my eyelids, surprised by the tenderness of the gesture. “Your eyes look almost green right now, did you know that?” His words were soft, and he caressed my cheek again. “I won’t cut and run next time. Not that I did anything like that this time. I had to leave DC to come here for a funeral.”

  “Of course, Mark.” I felt almost giddy. “If that’s your story, you stick to it.”

  His eyes glittered, and the next thing I knew, he had one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, twisting, squeezing, pinching… oh, my God! He knew how sensitive—

  Once more fully engorged, I threw back my head and yowled.

  “That’s right, baby.” He pulled my head down with one hand while the other continued to torment my nipples, and he nuzzled my lips with his. “Wail for me. I want to hear how I make you feel.”

  “Son of a bitch!” I gasped.

  “Nah. Son of a Vincent.”

  I started to laugh, and then I began to swear, words I had first learned hanging around a stable.

  Beneath me, my lover’s body shook with laughter. “Oh, my, Mr. Mann. Does your mama know you use language like that?”

  “You’re going to make me come!” I warned.

  He reached between us and squeezed the nerve at the base of my cock, and I sighed in relief as the clawing need abated.

  “Bastard,” I groused. “Leave my nipples alone, or it will be all over but the shouting.”

  His body shook harder. “Are you going to shout for me now too, baby?”

  “Mark!” I nipped his chin in warning. “If Mrs. Proven hears me—”

  “Who gives a fuck? We’ll never see her again.” He ran his fingers through my hair, kneading my scalp. “Don’t sweat the small stuff, baby. Haven’t you learned that by now?”

  “Well, I suppose we could always blame it on that newlywed couple staying here….”

  Suddenly his hands tightened in my hair, and he was bringing my mouth to his and ravaging it. I didn’t know what I’d said to cause that reaction, but I had no objection to it.

  I remembered his words to me, forever ago, it seemed.

  You need to be kissed long, and often, and by someone who knows how.

  I sighed into his mouth. Mark certainly knew how.

  He freed my lips and then lipped and nipped the curve of my throat, working a patch of skin.

  “Damn it, Mark, you’re going to mark me!” My complaint was halfhearted.

  “That’s the idea, baby. Now why don’t you get busy and make—fuck me?”

  “Finally. Something smart coming out of that mouth of yours.”

  “You know you love what I do with my mouth.” He locked his ankles behind my back, taking me deeper. Braced on my arms, I undulated my hips, driving my cock against his prostate, and groaned hoarsely. The sound he made in response was indescribable, gasping, desperate, demanding, and it made me wild. “Quinn, goddammit! Please!”

  And that made me even wilder.

  “All right, Mark.” I began a steady, driving movement, one that was guaranteed to bring us to a fulfilling climax. “All right.”

  X

  I MADE the arrangements, and after buying a pair of casual trousers, jogging shoes, and a lightweight jacket for me—as I’d suspected, Mark was a big proponent of Sears, and he broke speed limits getting us there and back in time—we went whale watching. Mark complained when a whale breached and he got a noseful of fish breath. Since it was a three-hour trip, the boat returning shortly after one thirty, we had the afternoon to while away.

  We whiled it away in bed.

  I made the arrangements, and we went fishing in the tide rips. Mark was smugly pleased when he landed more striped bass than I did. That was a half-day trip, and we had a similar problem in the afternoon.

  We spent those hours in bed as well.

  I made the arrangements, and in a sixty-hour period, I had never fucked or been fucked so much. I had to keep shifting in my seat on the flight home, and Mark was walking with a noticeable limp.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured as we walked to the long-term parking lot. “I was too rough—”

  “Baby, on your worst day you couldn’t be too rough.” I thought he was going to say something more, but instead a little smile curled his lips.

  “Give me your duffel.”

  “That… uh… that reminds me. About the rest of my stuff—”

  “It’s all still in my town house, Mark.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” I cleared my throat, and he raised an eyebrow. “It—it wouldn’t look good at the Company if someone from the WBIS kept bypassing my security system as if it were child’s play.” I reached into my pocket and withdrew a key ring. A pewter whale dangled from it. Plymouth Harbor was inscribed on one side and the date we’d gone whale watching engraved on the other. “Hold onto this longer than you did last time, okay?”

  He took it in his hand and stared down at the single key it held, and his fingers closed convulsively on it. High color was in his cheeks. He nodded abruptly and put the key ring in his pocket. “I have work to do, ev
en if you don’t,” he said gruffly.

  “See you later. Baby.”

  He was laughing as I walked away from him.

  I entered the aisle where the Lexus was parked, surprised I hadn’t heard his car drive off immediately. Well, perhaps he was checking his voice mail. I opened the trunk of my car and placed my carry-on and Mark’s duffel in it. I knew he’d go directly to WBIS headquarters and play catch-up for the rest of the day. I’d be doing the same thing at Langley.

  But first I was going home, showering, and changing into clean clothes.

  I pulled out of the spot and let the car roll to the end of the aisle. And there was Mark, waiting in his nondescript Dodge. He cocked his thumb and forefinger at me and grinned, and then he took off.

  XI

  THE message light on my answering machine was flashing. I dropped the carry-on and the duffel to the floor and hit the button to play the new messages.

  “Quinton, I do hope you’re having a pleasant time on Cape Cod.” Trust Mother to discover where I had gone. “You’re fortunate it isn’t as chilly as it usually is this time of year. I won’t expect you for our ride Sunday unless I hear otherwise. I rather imagine you’ll have other things to do. Enjoy yourself, sweetheart.”

  That call had been made the same day I’d left for Cape Cod. I’d have to let her know I’d be able to keep our riding engagement. I stared into space, thinking about my mother, thinking about the kind of mother Mark had had.

  I wondered if Mark knew how to ride.

  I shook my head. If he’d panicked and run simply because he’d enjoyed being with me so much on Sunday, the idea of joining Mother and me on our ride would no doubt completely freak him out. He would deny it, of course, but I wasn’t going to chance it at this point.

  I listened as the next message played.

  “Quinton, this is Horatio Primm. I believe I’ve found exactly what you had in mind. The statue is a beauty, if I say so myself. Please let me know when you’ll be interested in seeing it.”

  He’d managed that very quickly. The call had come in the night before. I picked up the phone to return his call. “Mr. Primm? Quinton Mann.”

  “Ah, Quinton. I’m delighted to hear from you.” He described the statue and named a price, which was not anywhere in the vicinity of what I’d been willing to pay. “My contact found it at an estate sale in New York.”

  “It sounds exactly like what I had in mind. I’d like to stop by in about an hour.” His shop wasn’t on the way to Langley, but I knew the detour would be worth it. “I’ll make arrangements to have it delivered to Mother’s address. My friend is very… curious, shall we say?”

  “Ladies!” the little man laughed. “Bless their inquisitive little hearts!” My reply was deliberately vague. “I’ll see you later this morning, then. Good-bye.”

  I hung up and listened to the third message. “Mann, pick up, goddamn it!” It was Drum. “This is important! Fuck! You’re never around when I need you!”

  This was the second call from him in two weeks. Now what was that all about? Dealing with Drum was the last thing I needed, but I might as well get it over with. I called his office at the Department of Defense. “This is Quinton Mann. Is Major Drum there?”

  “Good morning, Mr. Mann. No, sir, he’s away from his desk at the moment.”

  “Is there a problem for which the Office of the Inspector General requires CIA assistance?”

  “Not to my knowledge, Mr. Mann.”

  “All right. Please let the major know I returned his call. I’ll be at Langley for the rest of the day.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I hung up. If Drum had a problem that needed to be dealt with that urgently, he could get in touch with me. I’d help him or not, depending on my own workload.

  Which looked as if it was going to be heavy. All the other messages were from the Company.

  I took that shower, changed, and drove to Mr. Primm’s shop. We settled our business, each pleased with the other, and then I drove to Langley.

  XII

  IT WAS late when I returned from Langley that evening. I’d hoped to make it home earlier, but I’d gotten involved with something that had come up while I was away. I discussed it with Bramwell Rayner, my director, and would have had Sydney Cooper look into it further, but she was on assignment. Instead I sent Glenn McKenna, another officer, with orders he was to report back to me, personally.

  It had been a long day, and I was feeling every hour of it. I turned my car into the street where I lived. Mark’s car was at the curb, and suddenly I wasn’t feeling quite so exhausted. I parked the Lexus in the garage, crossed the patch of grass that was my front lawn, and let myself into the house.

  The odor of grilled steaks filled the first floor, and I followed my nose to the dining room. The chandelier had been dimmed, the candelabrum in the center of the table was lit, and two place settings were facing each other. The silverware had been in my father’s family, and Mother had given it to me when I moved into my first place. An embossed M was stamped into the handle of each piece. There were salads and a platter of roasted vegetables. Mark walked in with two plates.

  “What do we have here?” My mouth was watering.

  “Twenty-ounce porterhouse steaks and asiago-parmesan mashed potatoes, Quinn. From B. Smith’s.” His look was bland.

  “But they don’t do takeout!”

  Mark just smiled, and I was willing to bet he knew someone there who owed him a favor. “Go wash your hands, baby.” Damn. I was starting to like hearing him call me “baby.” “Dinner’s ready.”

  I used the first floor washroom, then hurried back. Mark was pouring two glasses of Pinot Noir.

  “Have you been delving through my wine cellar?”

  “Quinn! I’m cut to the quick!” He spoiled the effect by grinning, the kind of grin that sent shivers up my spine.

  My trousers were suddenly snug, a condition that was becoming all too frequent, and I quickly sat down. I wasn’t sure I wanted Mark to know the effect he had on me.

  His smile widened. “The wine steward at B. Smith’s highly recommended this vintage. What do you think of it?” He sliced into his steak, which was so rare I almost expected it to moo in protest, but waited until I sipped the wine and gave it my approval.

  “He’s right. This wine complements the steak very well.”

  “Good thing. Otherwise I’d have had to go back and cancel him.” He raised his eyebrow at my frown. “Only kidding, babe.”

  “Of course you were.” I cut my steak and found it was broiled exactly the way I preferred it—medium rare. I put a bite in my mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Hmm.” I put down my fork and knife and touched my napkin to my lips.

  “Is something wrong, Quinn?”

  “Actually, a dinner this good, from B. Smith’s: I was thinking you’re going to get lucky tonight.”

  His eyes were very bright, and he went back to slicing his steak. “I was hoping so!”

  XIII

  ALMOST a month had passed since Mark’s apartment had exploded, and another Sunday had come along.

  Testament, my gray gelding, cantered along the tanbark trail. I settled deeper into the saddle, enjoying the sensual feel of him between my legs.

  “Quinton!”

  “Oh, I beg your pardon, Mother. What were you saying?”

  “You were a million miles away. Where were you?” Mother would have had every right to be annoyed. Our Sunday morning rides were our time together. I was relieved to see that she wasn’t annoyed, simply curious.

  “Lost in thought,” I obfuscated. I was actually awash in a sea of voluptuous, almost tactile memories of how I had spent the night before with my lover. I’d been surprised to find I liked having the WBIS agent running tame in my house. I’d been even more surprised to find that I liked having his cock up my ass. However, the numerous times we’d made love had resulted in me being less than comfortable.

  “Mark Vincent has been staying with you for a number o
f weeks now, hasn’t he?”

  I fought the urge to tug at my collar. “Yes. He has an apartment lined up, but it needs some work, and until it’s done—”

  “As long as he isn’t taking advantage of your hospitality.”

  “Not in the least, Mother.” It was my body he’d taken advantage of, and I’d enjoyed every minute of it. Not that that was something I would confess to my mother.

  “Why don’t we curtail our ride for today? It’s unseasonably warm for this time of May, and I believe I could do with a cool drink.”

  I shifted in my saddle. Testament’s ears flickered back and forth, waiting for the signal of which direction we were to take. “That sounds like an excellent idea.” We turned our horses around and cantered back toward the stable.

  “You know I never interfere with your life, sweetheart, but if you ever need to talk, I’m here. And if you feel you can’t talk to me, there’s always Gregor, as well as your uncles.”

  “I know, Mother.” We dismounted and turned the reins over to the groom who cared for Testament and Pyrrhic Victory, Mother’s bay mare, and we strolled to the clubhouse.

  The hostess smiled and led us to our usual table, and a waiter hurried over. “Your usual, Mrs. Mann? Mr. Mann?”

  “Yes, please, Alexander. Thank you.” Mother settled herself in her seat and carefully removed her riding gloves. She chatted desultorily of her various charities, of the possibility of Victory favoring her off hind leg, of me having dinner with her one evening soon. Alexander brought her grapefruit juice on the rocks and my Perrier with a twist of lime and then left us alone.

  Mother took a sip of her juice, blotted her lips neatly with her napkin, and looked into my eyes. “I’m well aware you would never permit work to infringe on our time together, that you would consider it the worst of poor taste. Am I wrong in assuming this concerns that statue of a dog you had delivered to my house?”

  I squeezed the lime into my designer water. “No.”