by Aubrey Irons
I realize as soon as the thought crosses my head that I mean that both literally and metaphorically.
I guess I’ve just learned to be insular. I learned to add layers and levels around myself to keep me safe; to keep me protected. I was the youngest when our dad died, and my sisters were there for me of course, but they were also older, and moving forward with the rest of their lives.
Me? I had to stay. I had to process being alone more than they did, I suppose.
I shake my head as I stare at the gentle ocean waves before me. Of course, fucking none of this matters, because it’s all stemming from horrible thoughts about him.
Jesus, just, no.
I dunk under the waves again, letting the ocean clear my thoughts for me as I come up and push the hair from my face. There are bad boys; I mean I get that whole “rebel with a problem with authority” thing. Both my sisters are with tatted-up Marines who flaunt authority and rules like it’s their second job for crying out loud.
But, Javier isn’t a bad boy.
He’s a man.
A very, very bad man.
I step out of the waves, knowing it’s probably not a good idea to be so naked and exposed like this. But he was out like a light back at the campsite, and again, it's not like I have a change of clothes. The sun and the edge of my sarong dries me quickly, and I step back into my bikini before heading back to the campsite. Time to wake up Javier and get going with getting out of here.
My heart drops like a rock though as soon as I step through the trees: The sleeping, muscular and hunky fugitive is no longer snoozing under the tree where I left him. He's just gone.
You fucking idiot. The thought hits me like a rock to the head as I whirl around, manically looking around for him as if I’ve somehow missed him standing right there.
Of course he's not here, you moron. He probably wasn't even sleeping, he was just waiting for his moment to strike, like a snake in the grass. I somehow trusted him, like a complete fool, and that piece of shit ran off.
There's a trail of sorts leading through the underbrush and up the hill from the beach, and I wildly jump into the foliage. What am I doing, chasing him? With what, exactly? A sense of righteousness and a half-damp bikini? What exactly am I going to do if I even do find him?
I'm shoving branches aside and starting to run further up the forested slope, when suddenly, I hear it.
I hear my name.
I freeze in the stillness of the trees, trying to push the sounds of birds out my ears as I strain to hear what there is no way I actually heard. But there it is again; my name, whispered quietly and whispered lowly. It’s followed by a groan and more growled words in a Spanish.
There's a large boulder covered in moss on the trail beside me, and every muscle in my body tenses as I start to creep around the side of it. I can hear my name again, the sound of what almost sounds like struggle, and then a sharp gasp.
Oh shit, he's in trouble.
I dash around the boulder, pushing past a fern, ripping aside a branch and then-
Oh. God.
He's not in trouble, but I might be.
Javier's eyes are squeezed shut as he leans back against the mossy slope of the boulder. His teeth are bared, and the muscles of his arms and shoulders bunch and strain along with the heave of his chest.
But that’s not at all what catches my eye first.
Because what my eyes immediately lock onto is the fact that Javier's hand is wrapped around his simply enormous cock and stroking it up and down while he moans my name.
Holy. Shit.
My first gut reaction is to be furious, or horrified. But that’s only because I know it’s what I should be feeling. But what I should be feeling is in very sharp contrast to what I'm actually feeling.
Because instead of being mad or offended, or anything like that at all, I find myself very much, very uncomfortably, and very utterly turned on.
The man is like some sort of Greek god; his muscles standing out as he grits his teeth and moans. His cock throbs in his hand, the head pulsing red as his hand shuttles up and down the thick girth of it. I'm wet, instantly, and it's not from my swim. There's a dull, burning need between my legs as I find myself captivated by the scene in front of me.
His hand moves faster and faster, his breath coming shorter and quicker, and as he moans my name one more time, I realize my hand is on my breast, rubbing my nipple through my bikini.
And that’s when he looks up.
We both gasp at the same time as our eyes lock; me from utter shock, but him for an entirely other reason.
Because that very moment is when he comes.
My name groans from his lips as the shaft in his hand throbs and twitches and erupts into the air between us
“Chelsea-”
The sound of my name - directed at me this time - has me snapping out of my frozen state, and suddenly the moment is shattering around me as I come to my senses.
“Oh! I-” I’m sputtering as I back away from him; “I'm so sorry!”
And then I'm running as fast as I can back to the campsite; my heart beating a mile a second.
Yeah, I am officially in no way in control of this operation anymore.
What the hell am I going to do now?
9
Javier
Well, fuck; that could have gone better.
I actually laugh out loud, standing in the middle of the forest like that with my cock still out and half-hard.
Shit.
Yeah, Special Agent Chelsea Archer definitely just watched me come and definitely heard me moaning her name as I imagined her lips and her hands wrapped around my dick. Part of me feels like I should be embarrassed, and if I were normal - which, I'm not - that might be exactly how I'd be feeling right now. I mean, someone normal might actually find some sense of shame there.
...I should probably work on that whole normal thing.
I mean there's no way she doesn't have every idea of what she just walked in on. It'd only have been more in her face if I came on her or something.
Well, there’s a thought.
I'm still chuckling as I tuck myself back in and head back down the trail to the beach. She's going to flip when we're face to face again; that is, if she's even still there. I grin again, wondering if all it would take to get agent uptight spy-girl off my tail would be waving my cock at her. I should've thought of this yesterday!
But of course, she's still there, tucking that stupid unloaded gun into her sarong and avoiding my eyes as I traipse back through the underbrush.
“We need to get going.” She's curt with her words, not only not looking at me, but looking everywhere else but me; as if there's something in the empty stretch of sand that just needs her attention. She’s trying to play it cool and play it coy, but I know the second I look at her that she’s barely keeping it together. I grin to myself; I kind of like the idea that I have the power to make this girl fall apart like this.
“What, no pillow talk?”
Her face goes bright red and though her eyes meet mine for a split second, she hastily looks away; “Let’s- let’s just go, OK?”
“Hey, princess.”
She finally looks up at me, her cheeks an adorable shade of pink. I might be enjoying the power trip of clearly having this sort of effect on her, but that doesn’t mean I’m not confused why the fuck she’s the embarrassed one here. I mean I'm the one that got caught with my Goddamn pants down; literally.
She stammers, looking at the ground between us; “I’m- I'm sorry for-”
“Oh, for what, babe,” I say with a smirk, rolling my eyes; “For seeing it or for lingering?”
Her eyes go wide and her jaw drops; “I did not linger,” She huffs out.
“Oh, sure you didn't.” I roll my eyes, enjoying the look of absolute frustration on her face; “Did you get a good enough look? I mean I can show you again if you need me to.”
“You're disgusting.”
I grin, definitely enjoying ma
king her squirm way more than I should be here; “Hey, a man has needs. I was in prison you know.”
She wrinkles her brow and makes a face like she just bit into a lemon.
Dios mio, this girl is easy to fluster. This is going to be way too much fun.
“Look, I'm sorry, OK?”
I nod, letting the silence stew for a second. Hell, I still don’t know why she’s apologizing, but if this the only way uptight, stick-up-her-butt Chelsea Archer feels we can move past this, then so be it. She opens her mouth, and then quickly closes it; still acting like it’s her job to be embarrassed, or apologize, or whatever is going through that entirely wound-too-tight head of hers.
I let her twist on the line for another second before I shrug, like it's nothing; “You know, I really am happy to show you whenever you want to see it agai-”
“Enough, Javier.”
I laugh as I turn to scan the beach; “Get your things spy girl, we need to get moving.”
10
Chelsea
The walk along the edge of the cliff-side road at the top of the bluffs is quiet as we make our way towards the next resort village. Islands like Aruba are like this; long stretches of wildly beautiful, empty roads, followed by little bursts of towns and resorts.
We’re walking in silence, of course, with me trailing behind him. I find myself zoning out as I follow, thinking about the day so far.
I can't believe I saw his cock; I can’t believe I saw him come like that. The image of it is absolutely seared into my head and it’s embarrassing and just so not OK how turned on it has me.
Like, way too turned on. Again, I want to blame the insanity of my first twenty-four hours on a field mission, or even the serious dry-spell going on in terms of my sex life. But, I know it’s more than that. Javier is crude, and piggish, and like some sort of manic wild animal. But the problem is, it’s that animal inside of him that's drawing me in like a moth to a flame, and I can't figure out how to extinguish it.
A small beach motel finally reveals itself around the next bend, and I breath a sigh of relief; finally. I need to phone Langley and report in to Koufax and the rest of the team before they think I'm dead, plus the two of us seriously need clothes. This whole debacle is finally almost over. After this, I can go home, and leave all the horrible stories of my one day with Javier Toro behind.
“Great, we can hole up here,” Javier says. He turns, his hands on his hips and his body glistening with sweat in the heat of the day.
“’Hole up'?” I stare at him before I shake my head; “No, actually, we're going to call this in right n-”
“You don’t know who those men were, do you.”
I frown at him; “No.”
“Any ideas at all about how they knew who you were, or where you were?”
“I-” The words falter on my lips as I pause, my brow furrowing.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He says, looking at me sharply.
“Well enlighten me, criminal mastermind,” I say, rolling my eyes at him; “Who were they?”
Javier narrows his eyes at me; “They're called Blackriver.”
That name; it hits a nerve somewhere, like I've heard it before.
“Oh, you know it.”
Blackriver. Something to do with dad-
“Mercenary group; guns for hire,” Javier says, his words sharp and his eyes flashing at me; “It's where your father found those little toy soldiers you and your sisters can't stop spreading your legs for.”
My eyes flash at the mention of my family; “Don’t be fucking crude, and don’t you dare talk about them like that.”
“So, you put out for that little guy, yet?” Javier's teeth are white and shark-like as he grins at me, cocking an eyebrow; “What’s his name, Rice? Bryce, that's it.”
“Fuck you.” I spit out.
“That a yes?”
“I- ew, no.” I wrinkle my nose. Bryce is like a brother - a weird, quiet, brother, but still. We’ve joked about it before of course; how both my sisters have ended up with his two brothers. But the idea of the two of us like that? Yeah, no way. Besides how cliched that would be, like some sort of bad romance movie plot, Bryce and I click like friends or siblings; nothing more.
Of course, none of this is Javier’s Goddamn business in the slightest bit.
“Don't be disgusting.”
Javier chuckles; “It's a honest question.”
I shoot him a look before he just shrugs; “Well, anyways, that’s where they all came from; from Blackriver.”
“What the heck would they want with me?”
Javier shrugs; “Great question, because honestly they should have everything to do with me. What they want with a C.I.A. operative is beyond me, because pulling a stunt like that seems fucking insane, even to me.” He shakes his head; “But you have to think about that for a second.”
I stare at him, waiting for more.
“You’re a C.I.A. Agent on a secret mission, right?”
I roll my eyes; “It’s not that spy-movie sounding, but sure. Get to the point here, Javier.” I eye the payphone across the street from the beach motel; my lifeline back home and my ticket off this island and out of this ridiculous adventure with him.
“And they knew where you were?”
I frown, suddenly hating to admit how much of point he has here; “OK, why would they try and-”
He shakes his head; “No fuckin idea. But believe me, honey; you want nothing to do with Blackriver.”
“Oh yeah? And what makes you the expert on-”
“Those daddy’s boys of yours?”
I grit my teeth, and Javier seems to grin at my annoyance; “I hired them.”
What?
“I worked with Blackriver; the same Blackriver that knows who and where you are when only the damn C.I.A. should know that.” Javier looks pointedly at me; “Sure sounds to me like someone sold you out, princess. You still want to make that fucking phone call?”
Goddamnit. I hate how much sense his crazy talk is making, and I hate how much I’m actually buying into it. The voice inside is screaming that this is all some sort of long-con mind-game of his; all part of his plan to ditch out and run away. But on the other side of that coin, I did get ambushed by a bunch of men with guns, and as much as I absolutely hate to admit it, the only reason I’m here and not God-knows-where-else or dead is because of the criminal standing in front of me.
“Don't.”
I frown; “What?”
“Don't ask 'what now'“
“I wasn't goi-”
“You were so.” Javier smirks at me, and I can feel my blood boiling. I’m not thinking about seeing his cock anymore, I'm thinking about getting away from the obnoxious, arrogant asshole I’m saddled with right now.
“It's your operation, spy-girl. So what's your move?”
The cocky Spaniard rakes his fingers through his long, dark hair; pushing it back from his face. He’s so fucking arrogant in the way he acts like he’s letting me be in charge here; as if he’s allowing me to believe I’m still the boss. He’s egotistical, he’s full of swagger and macho bravado, and for God’s sake, he needs to put a fucking shirt on.
“We need to lay low, until I can figure this out.”
He grins; “Now you’re talking sense, princess.”
I whirl away from him as I storm towards the main office of the run-down looking motel, but it’s not so much out of anger this time. This time, it’s to hide the grin on my face, because for the first time, I don't mind him calling me that.
11
Chelsea
“You're in deep shit, agent.”
Koufax's voice is his usual weasel tone, though he sounds even more annoyed at me than usual.
The pay-phone in the parking lot of the motel is hardly a secure line, but we've got protocol for things like this. Koufax, as sputtering mad as he is, also sounds like he's sputtering mad through about three layers of cardboard with all the proxy lines we're being wired throug
h to avoid a trace.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
“We were ambushed at the hotel, sir. I had to break cover when we ran, and we've been in hiding since. This is the first call I could make.”
“Ambushed?” Koufax's tinny voice drips with sarcasm even through the thirty-odd connections we're being patched through.
“Yes, sir. There were trained men there; definitely a paramilitary group of some-”
“Toro.” Koufax's voice cuts me off abruptly; “Do you have Toro, Agent Archer.”
I'm fine, and I'm not dead. Thanks for asking, asshole.
“Yeah, I've got him.”
I can almost hear Koufax frowning on the other end of the line; “Well, where is he, exactly.”
“We're at a motel, sir. He's back in the roo-”
“You're at a motel?!” Koufax's voice explodes with anger, his tone sharp through the receiver; “Wha- you-” He starts to sputter; “You just left him in the motel room to make a fucking phone call?!”
I wince, knowing how this probably sounds; “He's not going to run, sir, he-”
“Of course he's going to run!” He rages through the phone; “I knew sending an under-trained, under-qualified agent was a total shit idea! Goddamnit!” He spits out a stream of expletives before his voice is suddenly louder and clearer in the phone, as if he's cut out all the middle-lines; “You're fucking this up, Agent.” His voice is gravel, and I swallow the lump in my throat; “I don't think you're quite appreciating the man you have under your charge. Javier Toro is a snake, Agent Archer. Do not let him out of your fucking sight, and don’t trust a word he says about anything. If he even is still there in that motel room when you get back in there, you will do your fucking job, apprehend the target, and wait for further instructions.”