Undercover Lover

by Tibby Armstrong

  He scooped her up and she fought the urge to nestle her head into the crook of his shoulder as he brought her back to the bed where he settled her before speaking.

  “No. I did it so you’d be prepared if someone else did it to you.”

  Now that he’d desensitized her to some of the horrors that might be in store for her, he seemed to lose his edge, and in the dark she didn’t find it so difficult to imagine he might be looking at her with something more than irritation or apathy.

  “How did you know I’d present you with the opportunity?”

  “Oh, I assumed if I pushed you hard enough, you’d leave—go looking for some space to curse my black soul in private.”

  The idea of someone deliberately trying to anger her had never felt like a relief before, and she grinned in the darkness.

  “What?” he asked, apparently hearing her expression change. “Are you smiling?”

  “Yes.” She breathed the word on a laugh as her heart became lighter than the snowflakes drifting outside. “You know me too well.”

  “It’s my job,” he replied and the smile fell from her face.

  Shifting on the mattress, she presented her back to him. “Can you let me go, please?”

  “Not yet,” he said.

  She answered with a groan. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s going to hurt like a bitch when the blood comes back to your hands and we’re not finished talking. I’d like you to be able to focus on the conversation.”

  “Oh, that’s something to look forward to,” she groused and faced him again. Even in the darkness it didn’t feel right to talk to him over her shoulder.

  “I want to know what you think you could have done differently,” he said, his voice like English toffee—buttery and crisp rolled into one decadent confection.

  She blew an errant strand of hair from her lips as she tried to remember the cascade of events that had led to this moment. “Well…I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, for one.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I tied up my hands with objects that didn’t allow me to fight quickly.” She curled two mittened fingers behind her back as she mentally numbered her failings.

  “Right.”

  “I didn’t dump my cocoa on your crotch.” That was three.

  She felt him flinch at that one. “Go on.”

  “Um…” Playing over the scenario she couldn’t think of a single thing more she could have done except maybe, “Try to scream earlier?”

  “That would have been wise, but if I recall, your scarf was in the way.”

  “Oh yeah.” She shook her head. “I can’t think of anything else.”

  “Use every imbalance of position to your advantage. Even if you go down a flight of stairs you might live. Let an assailant get you bound and alone in a room like this and you might never see the light of day again. Never go quietly or helpfully, from a public place especially.”

  “Got it.” Jenny nodded, trying to take in all of the information. “It’s difficult to remember it all in the moment though. Are you going to practice with me again?”

  “No,” he said and moved behind her. She heard the snick of his cutting tool as he opened it and prepared to free her hands.

  “Don’t move,” he warned as he poised the clippers.

  “Why?” she asked.

  He paused.

  “I mean why aren’t you going to do it again?” she clarified.

  A snipping sound accompanied the release of pressure around her wrists and the blood simultaneously re-entered her fingers in a fiery rush that had her gasping aloud. Taking her hands between his own, he rubbed vigorously. Tears streamed down her face in an autonomic response.

  “Jesus,” she breathed the word, and rode the long wave of electrified agony. Just when she thought it would never abate, it crested and began to dip. Once it reached a tolerable level she breathed in through her nostrils and out through her mouth repetitively. “Distract me. Tell me why.”

  “You’d expect it was me and pull your punches whether you wanted to or not.” Günter continued to knead her fingers, massaging each digit in succession as he spoke.

  “How many times did they do it to you?” she asked.

  “Only once.”

  “For how long?”

  “A week. I think.” His slow circles of judiciously applied pressure eased the remaining tingles in her hands. “There’s a lot I don’t remember.”

  His admission left her in awe of the man. He’d known what he’d wanted and been willing to go through hell to get it.

  “And you didn’t know?” she asked.

  “It’s a pretty well-kept secret from the new recruits. I assumed I’d blown my cover on the operation they’d sent me on. I didn’t know it was a fake.”

  “How long have I been here?” It felt like twenty-four hours, but she wasn’t nearly hungry enough for that to be so.

  “Two hours.”

  “Holy shit.” She gripped his hand reflexively. And he’d endured a week? “I thought it was at least all night.”

  “I know,” he answered. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. I know I’ve put you through a lot, but—”

  “It’s nothing compared to what they would do to me,” she finished, wanting to spare him any inkling of remorse. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat.

  “When do we leave?” she asked, knowing if he’d pulled this stunt on her tonight the date couldn’t be too far off.

  “Day after tomorrow. They want us in position in London by midafternoon.”

  London…

  Could she handle the idea of the place any better now that she’d set foot on English soil?

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right? With this? With going?” His question highlighted her thoughts for her.

  Suddenly, she needed to touch him. To feel his warmth and the beat of his heart beneath her hand. Reaching up, she found his face and cradled his cheek in her palm. Stubble rasped against her skin as she trailed her fingers along the slope of his jaw. She brushed the pad of her thumb against his lip and his breath hitched. Going for broke, she leaned in and slid her hand down. Pressed it against his chest.

  “I’ll be okay with you there,” she murmured against his lips.

  “Jenny…” His voice sounded a weak warning and he held himself rigid.

  She nibbled and suckled at the spicy fullness of his lower lip, attempting to coerce his kiss with the teasing pressure of her tongue. He’d tried for two weeks to convince them both he didn’t want this—didn’t want her—but she knew better when his heartbeat hammered beneath her hand.

  “I need to know what it’s like,” she tried.

  “Absolutely not.” His mouth moved beneath hers with his reply, and she took the opportunity to pull lightly on his bottom lip with her teeth. He smiled against her lips and she knew he was teasing her. Knew he’d seen the target.

  She played along. “Even you said body language is the strongest indicator of truth. If we do this—”

  He snorted, and she knew he guessed where her logic headed.

  “I’ll be more convincing as your girlfriend.” She leaned into him, purring her invitation against his heated lips. “Teach me. One last lesson.”

  Her fingers trailed down his chest toward his groin and he grabbed her hand to stay its journey. “I taught you one already. In the abbey.”

  She blushed at the memory of the erotic spanking—but even so her pussy clenched in need.

  “I liked it,” she admitted and blushed harder. “I want you to do it again.”

  “Believe me,” he said on a groan, “you’re sorely tempting me.”

  Breathing a laugh against his neck, she said, “Good.”

  Laughter rumbled from his chest even as he stood and firmly set her aside. He pulled a chain on the overhead bulb behind him, spilling his shadow over her as he looked down upon her.

  She knew then—saw in the frank warmth of his
gaze—that he’d intended this moment to happen all along. All the while he’d been fighting her, whether he knew it or not, he’d been testing them both. Him, to see whether he could stay objective. Her, to see whether she could stay true under stress—under his command.

  “Not here,” he said, finally. “Not in this filthy place. You deserve better.”

  “What is this place?” She gazed at the cobwebs trailing from the rafters and shuddered to think she’d been in here with a gazillion spiders and God only knew what else for hours.

  He opened the little doorway and ushered her out first as he answered, his voice quiet, “Oxford is full of little hidey holes like this one. 5 keeps a few of them in many cities for a number of uses. I don’t think this one has seen any action in a while.”

  They climbed noiselessly down the iron stairs into the now-clear night. She paused and looked up as they reached the beautiful Bridge of Sighs and made a wish. Looping his arm through hers, he pulled her closer.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked, his breath a curl of frozen smoke against the night.

  Smiling, she looked up at the Bridge—a glassed-in walkway curving elegantly between two buildings—and answered, “That I want you to kiss me.”

  He shook his head and the moonlight played with his hair. “You’ll be the death of me,” he said, but the familiar phrase lacked conviction as he pressed her backward until she stood under the curving architecture, suspended almost magically above.

  She admired the graceful yet powerful curve of his neck, the straight lines and planes of his classical features, the swoop of his brow, as he lowered his mouth, breath by breath, to hers. Afraid he’d pull back at the last moment, she lifted to her tiptoes and closed the distance.

  Firm and dry morphed to pliant and wet as his tongue darted into her mouth and captured the moisture there. Slanting, hungry lips covered hers, taking her breath away by sips and gulps. Sounds of desire escaped her, filling his mouth with her need, and his forearm wound around her waist to lift her in a primitive display of strength.

  Winding her arms around his neck, she found her balance but not her equilibrium. In this, the most romantic of places she’d ever known, she wanted him. Without reservation. With her whole being. Not gently. Not hesitantly. But with a driving force the poetic souls who’d built this bridge never dared imagine.

  Her hand, insistent and unhesitating, cupped his cock with gentle firmness and his growl vibrated from her tongue to her toes. Pressing her against a wall, he unfastened her coat and pushed up her shirt. Warm steam from a nearby vent cloaked them in a gentle fog as his hand scooped her breast from her bra.

  Nipples already stiff and aching, she gasped when he brought thumb and forefinger together in a twisting, rolling motion that shot jolts of electric pleasure straight to her core. Her grip tightened around that foreign and forbidden part of him and he surged forward. Power made her giddy and she experimented, rubbing up and down with her palm in a rhythmic grasping motion that he encouraged with short, sharp thrusts.

  Her mind tried to drink in his responses, to register what he enjoyed but her body overrode coherent thought, making a tangle of the motion and moment until she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

  “I want you,” she gasped, running her palm over the head of his cock. “I want this.”

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he sucked air into his lungs in great, heaving breaths. The pause afforded her the freedom to tug his belt free of its restraining buckle. The pulling motion rocked her forward on his knee and she mewled in desperation, her fingers shaking as she hurriedly undid his fly.

  Beneath the cover of his coat she explored a foreign landscape. Slipping her fingers underneath the band of his briefs, she relished smooth skin over rigid abs and followed the trail of soft hair to his straining cock. The first touch was a revelation of satin and heat. So hard. So alive. He jumped against her fingers and she became entranced with the seeping wetness of his pre-cum, swirling it around and over his crown to just below the hard ridge.

  He sucked air through his teeth as if she’d burned him and she hesitated.

  “Don’t stop,” he said, resting his forehead against her own. “Feels good.”

  With her fingertip she traced the circumference of his cock—wondered at the way it moved against her hand, seeming to take on a life of its own as she explored the topography of ridge and vein.

  Eyes closed, she focused on the sound of his breathing and the thunder of her own pulse in her ears. Every so often he gasped and jerked forward, but otherwise he stood patient and silent as she learned his body with her questing hand.

  “Do you like this?” she asked, curling her fingers around the head of his cock and squeezing downward along the shaft.

  He groaned and thrust upward, encouraging another stroke, and another, until he fucked her hand in a rhythm her body recognized without having to be taught.

  “Too close,” he panted, gripping her hand in warning.

  Understanding, she lightened her touch and slowed her rhythm to a languorous sweep from crown to base and back. Together, they entered into a meditative, deliberate dance until the sound of footfalls froze Jenny’s hand.

  Pulling her close, Günter disguised their compromising position, hiding her incriminating hand between the press of their bodies. The steps hesitated and her heart skittered to a halt. What if it was a policeman? What if they were arrested for indecency? Even as the thought brought her heart upward in a sickening lurch, the adrenaline rush spiraled around her arousal and spiked it to new heights.

  When she and Günter remained motionless, their would-be voyeur moved on. As soon as the footsteps faded, she broke into uncontrollable giggles.

  “You make me feel so wicked,” she said, lifting on tiptoe to nuzzle his willing mouth in a series of kisses.

  Breath hot against her lips, he laughed and groaned at the same time.

  “Stop,” he said, pulling away to put himself to rights, and Jenny froze.

  He couldn’t seriously mean to put her off again? Not this time.

  Catching her expression, he gave her a smoky half-lidded stare as he asked, “You didn’t think I was going to let our first time be in the freezing cold against a dirty wall?”

  Jenny nodded. She did think so. Wanted so.

  “Oh no, sunshine,” he corrected, and took her arm. “What sort of man do you take me for?”

  Without answering, because really she had no words to give, she followed him into a maze of cobbled streets she’d not yet traversed during their stay.

  “Where are we going?” she asked when she realized they headed away from, not toward, Christ Church.

  “Prison,” he said.

  “Ha ha. Be serious,” she shot back, frustrated libido getting the better of her temper.

  His laugh sounded wicked against the velvet night. “Consider this your last lesson—learn some patience.”

  Groaning once, she let him lead her by the hand down a ramp, under the road and up the other side onto a quiet side street where a grassy hill, more like a tower of earth than any part of a natural landscape, sloped steeply upward. Narrow stone steps cut into the turf and spiraled out of sight, but he led her past these into an adjacent courtyard flanked with ancient castle-like walls complete with battlements. Light flooded from a double-storied glass entry. The understated effect was one of modern-day elegance blended with medieval mystery.

  “What is this place?” she asked.

  “The Malmaison,” Günter answered, tilting his head to follow her gaze as she took in the parapet edging the night sky. “It used to be a prison.”

  “Now it’s a hotel?” she asked, tummy flipping as she realized in such a place he could play either knight or jailor.

  “Yes.” He nodded, studying her face, and she knew he wondered if he’d planned his seduction right.

  Unwilling to give up the sexual high ground just yet, Jenny turned her gaze back to the hotel façade. Judging from the swank mod
ernist chandelier visible in the foyer this place didn’t take reservations at the drop of a hat. Which meant…he’d planned this?

  “How did you know I’d hit the target today?” She turned to him, prepared to be awed by his MI-5 bred superpowers.

  “I didn’t,” he admitted, and quirked a small, secret smile.

  “How then?” she asked, both curious and frustrated with his enigmatic answer.

  Leaning in, he tugged her close and whispered against her lips, “I decided it didn’t matter.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sumptuous silks dyed in stripes of brown and gold, an abundance of pillows and soft lights turned low, completed a picture of seduction. As they’d walked the barrel-vaulted hallway, painted a gleaming white, she couldn’t have imagined the tarnished metal doors on either side hid such decadence.

  Swallowing hard, nearly undone by the unexpected nerves clawing their way from her abdomen into her throat, she slid off her coat and tossed it onto a black lacquered side chair. In the mirror opposite, she saw Günter hadn’t moved—just lurked in the doorway, its dull sooty surface the perfect frame for his golden bad-boy looks.

  He met her glance with a half-lidded stare that reminded her of the predator he’d been in the abbey, and a delicious flutter speared her belly at the idea of all that muscle holding her down, claiming her.

  “You’re supposed to be gentle the first time,” she said.

  He gave one slow bob of his head, but didn’t speak. He pushed away from the door and her hand fluttered to her throat.

  “Do you have, um, protection?” she asked.

  One blond brow quirked and she nearly barked a nervous laugh at her inane question. Or course he did. He always planned for everything.

  “So…” she breathed.

  “So…” he repeated in a quiet rumble, and stepped forward until he had her crowded against the dresser.

  He stood close. So close she had to tilt her head back and expose her neck to look him in the eye. Dark pupils eclipsed his irises, making them appear midnight blue as he raised his hand to cup her cheek and dipped his head to claim a kiss. Soft and sweet, his mouth moved over hers, nibbling and coaxing until she opened to him of her own volition. His tongue dipped inside with a languid sweep to explore her mouth in a gentle, deliberate seduction.