ALTERED BY LEAD: UNDERCOVER SINNERS BOOK 2

by James, Tate

  Each time I see him, I wonder what could possibly be going through his mind. Back in the city, when I was staying at the hotel, I didn’t see much of any of them, but I knew they were busy cleaning up the mess from our shootout with Konstantin. But here? We’ve been here for weeks, and Mace hasn’t touched me. He’s barely spoken to me.

  Hawke, I get. He’s a jerk. And he hates me. But he also wants me. Pretty sure he also hates himself for wanting me. There’s a lot going on there. Mace, on the other hand … I thought he was one of the good guys.

  Okay, so that’s a bit of a stretch. None of these guys are good. I did think he was one of the better ones though.

  Standing up, I run through a few quick stretches before heading downstairs to look for something to eat.

  I’m rummaging through the fridge, bent over, my thong-covered ass sticking out, when I hear a deep rumbling, like the shifting of boulders before a rockslide. I stand up so fast that I bump my head, whirling around and cursing as I find Mace situated in one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

  He looks ridiculous sitting in it, a true mountain of a man perched on a toy chair.

  “When did you get down here?” I whisper, my voice hitching with the slightest tinge of true fear. I didn’t see him, a man as big as that, sitting in plain sight. Hawke is right: I’m never going to survive this if I don’t up my game.

  “I’ve been here,” he says, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. He’s shirtless, and glorious, and my thighs squeeze together without my even meaning them to. The milk carton in my hand dents as I squeeze it just a little too hard. “Natalia, don’t,” he warns, his words balanced on the fine tip of a knife’s edge. He seems liable to snap.

  Maybe it was my pink thong that got him? It’s the only pair of girl underwear I have. Colt brought them back from the city as a present. Just thinking of him sliding them under my door with a little note makes me smile. He really kind of is the schoolboy crush I never had. I jumped right into the hotbed of dangerous, lethal men.

  And got Kisten killed for it.

  I banish that thought as I open the carton and take a sip of the milk.

  “Don’t, what?” I ask, getting snippy as I put a hand on my hip. “You’ve been a total dick to me since we got here. We run into each other, you don’t even say hi. I beg you to fuck me today, and you dump me the second Hawke calls. Are you in a relationship with him or me?”

  “I wasn’t aware we were in a relationship at all,” Mace grumbles, his dark blue eyes catching a bit of light from the fridge as he leans forward. “And Hawke is my superior.”

  “Right,” I say, exhaling sharply. Why did I even say that? Where did the word … relationship even come from? “I’m sure I expected too much out of you.” That last part comes out with my signature bitchy princess tone attached to it. Oops. Am I inciting a fight with Mace? At the very least it’ll get him to talk to me.

  “You did. You have.” He stands up, like he’s meaning to leave. But I don’t want him to go. Out of all of them, the way Mace holds me … It’s incomparable. He makes me feel safe, even if it’s only for a brief moment here and there. I’ve never felt safe before.

  “I don’t think so,” I tell him, and he pauses to glance back at me, shirtless and wearing sweats slung low on his hips. Even the simple act of turning to look at me makes the muscles in his chest and stomach ripple. “I think my expectations are right on par with what you’re capable of. What I can’t figure out is why you’re avoiding me.”

  Mace starts to turn away again, and on impulse, I pour the milk from the carton all down my front, soaking my white t-shirt and highlighting the pert points of my nipples.

  Now that gets his attention.

  He turns his body back toward mine again, and there is no mistaking that bulge in the front of his sweats.

  I throw the milk carton on the floor, the moment stretching taut between us.

  The way Mace is looking at me, I can tell it’s not enough. He’s not going to make a move unless I make one first. Turning back to the fridge, I grab a can of whipped cream and spin around, coming face to face with Mace’s chiseled midsection.

  “You shouldn’t expect anything from me,” he says, his mouth turned down in a severe frown. “You should expect even less from Arsen or Hawke.” There’s a long pause there where Mace looks away, toward the peeling wallpaper. “Looking to Blackbirch for salvation won’t serve you well, Natalia. Looking to me or any of the others will turn out even worse.”

  “You’re avoiding me because you think you’re not good enough?” I ask, but when he starts to turn away again, I know I’m losing him. I reach up and spray the whipped cream across his broad chest, from one hard nipple to the other.

  And then I lick one.

  Mace shudders in place, curling his hands into fists, but he doesn’t make any moves to touch me. Instead, he closes his eyes as I spray a line of white down his stomach, tracing it with my tongue. Underneath the sweetness of the whipped cream, I can taste the freshly washed surface of his skin, a hint of soap teasing my nostrils as I drop to my knees.

  My fingers curl under the edges of his sweatpants, dragging them over his tight ass. His thick cock springs free, as big as any I’ve ever seen. Bigger. The sight of it makes me squirm, my tongue sliding across my lower lip.

  “Natalia …” Mace growls out, giving me a warning. I might be a bottom, but I’m an aggressive one. I spray the whipped cream along the length of his shaft and then toss the can aside, the metal container bouncing across the old floors. Mace puts one of his huge hands on my head as I cup his ass in my hands and slide my tongue along the length of his dick. “Goddamn it.”

  His hand fists in my hair, and it’s not difficult to see how much effort it’s taking him to hold back. His big body quivers, a bead of sweat sliding down his lower belly. I lick that off, too, before returning to his cock, stroking it gently with my tongue until the cream is gone, and a droplet of pre-cum quivers on the tip.

  When I suck that off, Mace loses that carefully exercised control of his, grabbing onto the back of my head and pushing his hips forward. I take as much of him as I can into my mouth, wrapping my right fist around the base of his shaft to keep him from going any further. I might be the deep-throat queen, but Mace’s dick is enormous.

  He pumps his hips against my face, filling my mouth with the salty sweetness of his cock. The heaviness of it resting against my tongue strokes the fires of my own lust, and I just know that I’ve soaked that cute, little pink thong all the way through.

  Mace keeps a firm grip on my hair, fucking my mouth with deep, slow strokes as his head falls back and a rumbling groan tears from his lips. But he’s still in control. I want to see him lose it completely.

  I put one of my palms on his lower belly and push back at the same time he pulls out, his cock sliding from my lips.

  “Fuck me,” I whisper, looking up at him, his fingers still locked on my hair.

  He tilts his head down to look at me, his lip curling up in a snarl. When he pushes me away and starts to leave again, I scramble to my feet and grab a jar of chocolate sauce from the fridge, chucking it against the wall so that it shatters into a million little pieces.

  Mace stops to look as I pad toward him, throwing my arms around his neck and lifting up onto my tiptoes to kiss him. Our lips just barely make contact before he’s throwing me over the kitchen table and ripping my thong off. The fabric tears, and I feel a small pang of regret that I won’t get to wear the stupid thing anymore.

  But it’s oh so worth it when Mace puts the head of his shaft, still wet with my saliva, against my opening. I’m soaked through with desire, so when he thrusts forward, my pussy has zero trouble taking the full, thick length of his shaft. Mace grips my hair like reigns and rides me so hard that the heavy table beneath us shifts slightly forward.

  The wet, slapping sound of our bodies coming together is the only noise in the quiet house, a primal, basic rhythm that’s as unmistakable as t
he patter of rain outside.

  Mace rides me hard and fast, bruising my hips with each powerful slam of his body against mine. He isn’t nice about pulling my hair either, yanking me back so that my body is bowed, my hips pressing into him. My breasts sway, the sticky milk-covered t-shirt stuck to the hard points of my nipples as he fucks me with all the pent-up fury of the past few weeks.

  One of those enormous hands of his comes around to touch my clit, and his frenzy slows just a little, the rapid piston thrusting of his hips turning into the slow in and out motion that he used on my mouth.

  He waits until my climax sneaks up on me, my body tightening around his, milking that big shaft of his. I desperately want him to come in me, but instead, he pulls out and finishes on my ass.

  I’m lying there, shaking, my fingers curling against the wooden surface of the table.

  When I look back at him, I can tell he’s furious with me. Or himself. Maybe both of us.

  “Come here, Natalia,” he snarls, hauling me up from the table and hoisting me into his arms. I try to touch his face as he carries me up the stairs, but he won’t look at me. Instead, he dumps me back in my bedroom and goes to leave.

  “Wait,” I call out, my heart thundering, desperate for a connection of some kind. Any connection at all. Mace looks back at me once, but then tears his gaze away, like the sight of me lying there in a wet t-shirt, his cum all over my ass and thighs, is too much to handle.

  “Go to sleep,” he growls, and then he steps out and slams the door behind him.

  In the morning, I wake to find that the chocolate sauce has been cleaned off the wall, and it’s as if nothing happened between us at all.

  Chapter 5

  Colt

  Without really meaning to, I hold my breath as Natalia steps into an obvious trap that Hawke’s just laid for her. As I anticipate, he blocks her predictable punch, throwing his weight into his next move and sending her flying across the room. Damn, dude, do you really gotta throw our girl around like that?

  To my surprise, though, she twists in the air just in time to fall properly and is back on her feet in less time than it takes for me to release my breath. Fuck, yeah, babe, show that asshole what’s up.

  "Shit." I grin like a madman, impressed as hell. "Didn't see that coming."

  Mace grunts a noise beside me, like some sort of ogre. Damn that dude needs to start using his words more. Kinda like how he was back in the church … back when our Russian princess was getting under his skin and into his pants.

  Turning slightly, I raise a questioning brow at him but he doesn't pull his eyes from the combat training in front of us. Not even for a second. Does he even need to blink? Dickhead thinks nobody knows about his fucking Natalia in the kitchen the other night. Actually, we all do. He’s not as sneaky of a bastard as he thinks he is.

  I’m also starting to wonder if he’s falling for this chick.

  I’m starting to wonder if I am.

  "She's a natural," he finally says, his voice a low rumble. Like those rock monsters from The Neverending Story, the ones who eat rocks for breakfast? That's what I think of Mace like. "Took to this all like a duck to water." Finally he flicks a look in my direction, a small smile tugging at his lips and his eyes full of sex. "You should see her shoot."

  I grin, letting the mental picture play out. "That good, huh?" If Mace is impressed, she must be better than I remember.

  The big man's smile increases by a whole millimeter. "Better." His heated gaze returns to where our broken doll is now attacking Hawke with a determined look on her beautiful face.

  "Let me guess," I murmur, turning my own gaze back on Natalia and Hawke, "the boss hasn't offered up any praise to show her how good she is?"

  Mace's reply is a snort—as close to a laugh as I ever hear from him.

  "Figures." I sigh, rubbing a hand over the scars on my chest. I've had my fair share of close calls in this line of work—to be expected seeing as I joined the Blackbirch Company as a fifteen-year-old runaway—but this one was as close as they come. So shouldn't I be getting my ass as far away from this volatile little troublemaker as possible? Not thinking about taking Hawke’s place in her combat training just so I can feel her hands on my skin again.

  Damn. Maybe I really am pussy whipped?

  Then again, it’s one hell of a good pussy.

  I bite my lip to hold the groan silent and adjust my pants.

  Of course fucking Mace sees me do it, even if his eyes never leave Natalia. He just gives a small head shake and clicks his tongue in a disapproving sort of way.

  "She's off-limits, Colt," he rumbles. "Or at least she should be. She's on the team now."

  I roll my eyes at the whole thing. "Yeah? Tell that to Arsen and his insatiable need to stick his dick in her every fucking second they're alone. Or not alone." Portia got too involved with us, and that got her killed. But Natalia is already involved in the underworld. Her parentage alone affords her zero freaking protection, so what does it matter if I want to touch her, fuck her, buy her cute pink thongs and stick them under her door?

  Mace just grunts again, but I know he’s pissed at Arsen by the way his jaw tightens and his hand curls into a fist at his side. What’s new though? The two of them have hated each other since moment one. "We can discuss this further at the team meeting."

  Across the room, Natalia throws a particularly precise right hook at Hawke and actually catches his cheek with her taped knuckles. Fuck yeah, princess. Hit that fucker.

  "Didn't we just have a team meeting?" I narrow my eyes at Mace. Or at the side of his head, anyway. Big lug is still watching Natalia like she's dancing topless on a poker table, and not even his baggy cargo pants can hide the massive boner he's rocking for her. Fucking hypocrite.

  He doesn't reply, folding his tree trunk arms over his chest as Hawke calls time on his fight session with Natalia. Right after locking her in a hold that could easily end with her neck broken.

  The look on her face is pure frustration and anger, but Hawke must have trained her enough that she holds her tongue and gives a sharp nod before stalking to the wall where her water bottle waits.

  "Tell her," Mace says quietly as Hawke joins us on the other side of the makeshift gym.

  Our team leader’s eyes narrow slightly at his second-in-command, and he grits his teeth. "Good work today, Natalia," he throws over his shoulder like it physically hurts him to pay her a compliment. Which is insane, because if he'd been looking at her when he said that, he would see how much that small thing meant to her. The rapid transformation from frustrated and pissed off, to shocked and proud is so startling I almost gasp out loud. "Go and shower," Hawke adds, his voice cold and devoid of emotion, "you still stink of Arsen's dick which, by the way, brings me to another point. If the two of you have time to fuck day in and day out, then you have time to be in this gym more."

  Natalia's jaw clenches and she stomps out with a few muttered curses in Russian.

  "Fuck, that's sexy," I groan, biting my lip as I watch her perky, muscle-toned ass walk away. "Those pants should be illegal. How the fuck have you two kept your hands to yourselves for six whole weeks?" Turning back to my teammates when the door slams behind Natalia's sexy butt, I see the answer all over their faces.

  With great difficulty.

  Even though I'm taking my life into my own hands, I can’t help it. I laugh.

  "You two are fucking idiots," I snicker.

  "Can it, Colt. I'm not in the mood." Hawke scowls at me. "Mace, go grab Weston and dickhead so we can discuss a few things."

  The big man lumbers out of the gym and I follow Hawke through the French doors that lead to a decaying wraparound veranda where he heaves a sigh and props his butt against the railing. Brave move, considering the condition of the wood, but that's Hawke through and through. Brave as shit. Or, more than likely, he’s already been out here, testing the railing for safety. That’s more his style. Total bore.

  "How are you doing, Colt?" he asks me with co
mplete seriousness, brushing aside all the Natalia teasing. "You scared the shit out of us, kid. Weston looked like he was ready to make deals with all kinds of devils to ensure you pulled through."

  I grimace and rub a hand over my short hair. I fucking hate short hair, always have, but no one really asked my opinion when I was in the hospital.

  "I'm fine, boss. Truly. They kept me in that coma way longer than they needed to." I drop my hand to my chest and rub at the shiny scars there. In the weeks since waking from my coma, I've pretty much given up wearing shirts at all. They all chafe at my scars in the weirdest way. Instead of being less sensitive, like scarring usually is, it's more. Makes wearing the rough cotton Blackbirch-issued training shirts unbearable.

  Hawke says nothing for a moment, just squints at me in that creepy x-ray vision way of his, before shaking his head. "Fine. Have it your way. But if you don’t tell me anything’s wrong, I’m going to push you like nothing is."

  I nod back, as close as Hawke and I ever come to hugging it out, and look up when the other three arrive onto the veranda.

  "What's this all about then?" Arsen drawls, throwing himself down on one of the wicker chairs which is missing its padded cushion. He flips a cigarette out of his pocket and lights up with practiced ease. "It better be important, I was busy."

  "You were jerking off," Weston corrects, smirking. "Probably picturing a certain Russian doll with her lips around your cock, no doubt."

  Arsen levels a deadly glare at my tall friend. "Actually, I was reminiscing over a petite blonde who used to let me tie her up and use her body until she passed out from either pleasure or pain." He blows out a plume of smoke, ashing his cigarette onto the veranda floor. "Or both."

  His casual mention of Portia makes my heart ache, and all traces of joviality evaporate within me. Even though I can see the pain in Arsen's fucked up, cruel eyes, it doesn't excuse him.

  "Fuck you," I spit in his direction. What I’m objecting to, I’m not entirely sure. Maybe the fact that he’s reminding me why we’re on this job in the first place, or because hearing him speak of Portia makes me feel like a cheating asshole for feeling the way I do about Natalia.