Butterfly Assassin

by Annabelle Jacobs

  Instead of springing apart like Michael expected, Aaron took his time, finishing the kiss off with a soft peck and stroke to Michael’s cheekbone. Michael shivered, reacting to the heat in Aaron’s gaze even though he told himself, This is just for show.

  “What does it look like?” Aaron’s expression changed to something much colder as he pulled back and turned to face the two men now staring at them with barely concealed hostility. Aaron’s blue-grey eyes had lost all the warmth from seconds before, and his whole body seemed to tense in readiness.

  I should’ve listened to Harry.

  But it was too late now. Michael would have to go along with however Aaron played this.

  One of the guys focused on Michael, pointing a finger in his direction. “He shouldn’t be back here. You know the fucking rules by now, Bass.”

  Bass?

  Aaron shrugged. “Fighting gets me all revved up. ’Specially when I win.”

  Neither of the guys seemed impressed with that. “You always win. No one’s been back here before.”

  They didn’t match anyone from the photos they had of Smith’s bodyguards, so Michael tried to match their voices to the ones he’d heard at Harry’s meetup, but he couldn’t be certain. None of them were Blake, he knew that much. He stayed silent, figuring Aaron knew what he was doing. Michael would just play the submissive boyfriend for now. He ignored the part of him that liked that idea a little too much.

  “How do you know I’ve never had anyone back here?” Aaron responded. “You check?” Before one of them could answer, Aaron half-turned to Michael again, the warmth back in his eyes. “I’ve not done it before because I do know the rules, but this fight was different.” He reached up and cupped Michael’s jaw, rubbing the pad of his thumb along Michael’s bottom lip. “You know how it is.”

  Despite their audience, or maybe even because of it, Michael’s heart set off at a gallop, his breath suddenly in short supply as Aaron looked at him like he wanted to bite him. His gaze dropped to Aaron’s mouth, and oh fuck, either he was seeing things or Aaron’s teeth were sharper than they ought to be.

  Arching his back and pushing his hips forward a little, he slipped a hand around Aaron’s waist and reeled him in close enough to whisper, “Teeth,” into his ear.

  Aaron tensed, so Michael knew he’d got the message, and when he laughed softly and stepped back, his teeth were human again.

  Glancing over at the other two, he fully expected to see anger or looks of disgust at the very least. But he was met with amusement and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a little longing. “Yeah, we know how it is.” Amused guy shook his head and gave Aaron a look that said he’d been there many a time too. “But rules are rules, Bass. He needs to go, now, and Mr Smith would like to see you before you leave tonight.”

  “About this?” Aaron didn’t seem bothered, but Michael noticed the rigid set of his shoulders.

  “No. We won’t mention this.” He wagged a finger between Michael and Aaron. “But don’t let it happen again. Save it till you get home.”

  “Thanks. Let me just finish up and I’ll be out.”

  That garnered a raised eyebrow and a leer in Michael’s direction. “We’ll be waiting.” He pointed to the door, and Michael wondered if they’d be trying to listen to whatever they thought was going to happen. Neither of them seemed bothered that Aaron had a guy in here with him. At least there was that.

  The fact that Smith wanted to see Aaron again unnerved him, even if it was what they’d been angling for. Michael had hoped Aaron would overhear something without having to get too close—not straight from the horse’s mouth.

  Get it together. If it comes to it, Aaron can handle himself.

  He knew the risks involved and so did you.

  Michael hadn’t noticed the others leave until Aaron stepped into his space again, and he glanced up to see they were alone. Aaron shuffled closer, his body now flush with Michael’s. He cupped Michael’s jaw again and rested their foreheads together.

  The smell of clean sweat met him, and Michael let out an unsteady breath. “What are you doing?”

  Aaron stroked his thumbs along Michael’s cheekbones. He rolled his hips the tiniest amount, but it might as well have been a slow rolling grind for the effect it had. Desire coursed through Michael, everything else pushed to the back of his mind as the press of Aaron’s cock—still a hefty bulge in his jeans—stole his focus.

  “They’ll expect us to get each other off before I go out there,” Aaron murmured.

  “How do you know?” Michael asked, knowing they should stop but looking for any excuse to carry on.

  Aaron ducked his head to place a kiss at the base of Michael’s throat. The scrape of teeth that followed made him gasp.

  They were far too sharp to be human.

  A huff of laughter, warm against Michael’s skin. “Because I could smell it on them.”

  He didn’t want to think too hard on what that meant, but Aaron carried on regardless.

  “They’re probably out there now imagining exactly what I’m going to do to you.” Another kiss. “Listening for all the noises you’re going to make.” The next kiss accompanied by a hint of teeth.

  Michael shivered. “What makes you think I’ll be the one making the noises?”

  Aaron laughed again, a warm throaty sound that settled somewhere behind Michael’s ribcage. He pulled back to meet Michael’s gaze, expression serious. “Are we doing this?”

  Every part of his policeman’s brain told him to say no. They could fake a few moans and grunts and get out of there. They didn’t need to actually do anything.

  His professionalism told him to say no.

  But the word eluded him as he stared into Aaron’s eyes, the promise in those blue-grey depths too much for him to ignore. “They think we’re together now,” he whispered instead. His mouth curved up into a smile as he went all in. “I don’t want to jeopardise our cover… so yes. We’re doing this.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “We’re doing this.”

  Aaron blinked, letting the words sink in. He’d only been half-serious when he’d asked the question, and he hadn’t exactly been truthful before when he’d said he could smell it on Smith’s bodyguards. Yeah, he’d caught a whiff of arousal from one of them, but he had no idea what they were actually thinking. An educated guess told him they were expecting him and Michael to finish what they’d started. But saying he could smell it on them was bollocks, really.

  One long inhale told him how turned on Michael was, but he didn’t need his wolf senses for that. He felt the evidence for himself. Aaron wanted nothing more than to take what he was offering, bury his face in Michael’s neck and drown in that scent while they got each other off.

  “I can’t smell it on them,” he offered, wanting to be honest. “I was talking shit.”

  Michael laughed and slid his hands around Aaron’s waist. “I figured.” He shoved his leg between Aaron’s again, rubbing up against him. “But I think you’re right. They’ll expect us to be going at it.” His hands slid down to cup Aaron’s arse cheeks and gave them a squeeze. “So we should get a move on with that.”

  Aaron sighed and gave up trying to resist. He’d started it all, but they both wanted this. Tightening his fingers in Michael’s hair, he pulled him into a kiss—long and desperate, all the tension built up over the past week pouring out of him. But Michael was right, they needed to be quick.

  Dropping to his knees, Aaron reached for Michael’s belt buckle. Two seconds later he had it undone as well as all the buttons on his jeans. He took a moment to admire the long line of Michael’s cock stretching the black cotton underneath, traced his thumb up the length of it, and rubbed back and forth over the head. Michael’s sharp intake of breath spurred him on, and Aaron made short work of pulling his jeans and boxer briefs down enough to free his cock.

  “Fuck.” Michael moaned, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room.

  Holding the base of Michael’s dick to ke
ep it steady, Aaron opened his mouth and slowly sucked him in until his lips brushed the side of his hand. The thud as Michael’s head hit the lockers behind him made Aaron want to smile, and he hummed his appreciation when Michael’s hands found their way into his hair.

  If they were at home, if he had Michael in his bed, then Aaron would take his time, draw this out for as long as they could both stand, tasting every part of Michael’s body.

  But they weren’t in Aaron’s flat. They were in a disused bathroom with two of Smith’s bodyguards waiting outside for them to finish. Who knew if he’d get this opportunity again though? Aaron hadn’t thought much beyond this moment, so fuck it all, he was going to make the most of the short time they had.

  Blocking out everything else, he concentrated on the heady scent of Michael and sex filling his lungs each time he breathed in. The taste of him on his tongue as he licked and sucked his way up and back down, over and over, until the grip Michael had on his hair verged on painful.

  “Close,” Michael hissed.

  Fumbling with his own jeans, Aaron got them open in time to wrap a hand around himself as Michael thrust into his mouth. Frantically jacking himself off, Aaron moaned as Michael’s cock swelled and hardened even more.

  “Fuck.” With a death grip on Aaron’s hair, Michael shuddered as his orgasm hit him, cock pulsing on Aaron’s tongue as he spilt down his throat.

  Multitasking had never been a problem for Aaron, and he swallowed everything Michael gave him while bringing himself off with fast, hard strokes. The air between them, thick with their combined scents, made his head swim and his wolf want to howl with pride. When he felt the telltale ache in his teeth, Aaron let Michael’s dick slip from his mouth and sat back on his heels. As he tumbled over the edge, his control faltered, and his fangs slid out—the pain immediate and sharp, but only adding to the pleasure coursing through him. Tipping his head back, he cried out as he came, lost for a moment, the world around him a blur until the feel of fingers in his hair brought him back.

  He glanced up to see Michael staring at him, his expression a strange combination of sated and worried. Licking his lips, his tongue caught on the sharp edges of his fangs, and Aaron realised what the issue was. Closing his eyes, he willed them away and met Michael’s gaze again with a lazy smile. “See?” He licked his lips again to prove his point. “Gone.”

  Taking Aaron’s hand, ignoring the mess he’d made of himself and the floor, Michael cupped his cheek and offered Aaron a grim smile. “Your teeth weren’t the problem.” Gently, he turned Aaron around so he faced the mirrors above the sinks.

  “Then what? Oh shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  A bang on the door startled them both. “Hurry the fuck up. Mr Smith’s waiting.”

  “Coming,” Aaron yelled back, and the fact he didn’t find that reply the least bit amusing, said it all.

  Fucking hell, they were so shafted.

  He stood and stared at his reflection—his unmarked, totally healed reflection—and ran a hand over his face. Gone was the cut on his cheek, the split lip, and all the developing bruises on his body. “Bollocks.”

  “What the fuck are we going to do?” Michael hissed, his tone laced with panic. “If you go out there like that, they’ll—”

  “I know.”

  “So what do we—”

  Aaron’s shushed him with a quick kiss, then pulled back to meet his gaze. “I have an idea, but I suspect you’re not going to like it much. At least I hope you won’t.” He hurriedly washed his hands, then fastened his jeans while Michael scowled at him.

  “What does that mean?”

  Aaron grabbed his T-shirt and pulled it on. “Sort your clothes out and I’ll tell you.”

  Michael complied, but his scowl remained firmly in place as he tucked himself away and pulled his jeans up. “Speak then.”

  With a sigh, Aaron tugged his bag out of the locker, shoved his towel into it, and set it on the floor. “You need to hit me.” At Michael’s incredulous expression, Aaron forged on. “I can re-create the cut, but not the bruises, and I can’t fake them because all my stuff is at home.” He reached for Michael’s hand and curled it into a fist. “It’s the only way, and we need to fucking hurry, as they’re gonna burst in here any minute to see what’s taking so long.”

  Michael blinked once and Aaron saw the moment he accepted there was no other way. “Fuck.”

  “Come on,” he said, pointing to his face. “My clothes will cover everything else, and I can fake being in pain, but you need to hit me here.” He pointed to his cheek. “And here.” He pointed to his mouth.

  “Jesus.” Michael glanced down at his hands. “This is going to hurt both of us, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  There was no time to tape Michael’s hands or offer him any sort of protection, so yes, it was going to hurt.

  Aaron braced for the pain but it still took him by surprise when Michael punched him—twice in quick succession. He stumbled back into the sink. Motherfucking bastard, he could hit. Hard.

  His face throbbed, and blood trickled down his chin. Aaron reached up to wipe it away before it got on his clothes and inspected himself in the mirror. Flicking out a claw, he added a cut to the mark on his cheek. “That should be close enough.” Would he remember to walk like he was in pain while talking to Smith? “Better give me one to the ribs just to be on the safe side.”

  The door started to open.

  “Now.”

  Michael darted forward and landed a punch to Aaron’s kidneys, stealing his breath for a second. It fucking hurt. No fear of Michael pulling punches. Aaron caught him examining his damaged knuckles, and he had just enough time to grab a pair of gloves out of his bag and shove them at Michael as the door opened wide.

  Casually stepping in front of him as he hurried to slip them on, Aaron slung his bag over his shoulder. “Ready when you are?”

  The guy on the right pointed at Michael over Aaron’s shoulder. “You go with Steve. He’ll take you out the side entrance so no one sees you. That way none of us get in any shit.”

  Aaron didn’t like it. Didn’t want them to be separated. They could be taking him out back to rough him up or worse.

  “All right.” Michael sounded okay, not like he was the least bit concerned, and Aaron reminded himself that Michael was an SCTF officer. He was used to dealing with shifters. He could take care of himself.

  They left the bathroom and parted ways in the corridor.

  It took everything Aaron had to let Michael walk away. His wolf, restless under his skin, set him on edge. They’d forged a connection, no matter how fleeting that encounter was. For Aaron it had been enough for his instincts to kick in. The urge to protect Michael was only a dim pulse inside him, for now, but it was there nonetheless. He rolled his shoulders, making sure to wince as he did so, and went where he was told.

  He was taken outside to the back of the building. A lone black BMW sat waiting.

  Smith’s bodyguard pointed at the car. “They’re in there.” With that, he turned and left, leaving Aaron alone. The car doors didn’t open. Obviously, they were waiting for Aaron to go to them, so he started towards it, startling when he heard Smith’s voice from inside. Quickly covering it with a cough and a show of adjusting the bag on his shoulder, Aaron slowed his pace and strained to hear what they were saying.

  “…police been to see him?”

  “He said not.”

  That was Blake. Were they talking about him?

  “You believe him?”

  A pause, and Aaron held his breath.

  “Yeah. Even if they found the bloody tape in Crossford’s bag, there’s nothing on file to compare it to, nothing to link Crossford back to you.”

  “They’ll know he’d been in a fight.”

  “But they can’t prove who with, or where.”

  Aaron was almost at the car, and they must have been watching him through the tinted windows because a second later the driver’s side door ope
ned and Blake got out. “Hunter.”

  “Blake.”

  “Good fight tonight. Nice to see it last a bit longer than your usual two rounds and down.” He said it as matter of fact, as though he hadn’t given Aaron those specific instructions earlier on in the night.

  Aaron shrugged and replied in the same bored tone, “He was better than my usual opponents, that’s all.”

  Blake winked at him like they shared some sort of secret, then walked to the back of the car and opened the door. “Mr Smith would like to talk to you for a moment, if you don’t mind?”

  Like it was a choice.

  “Of course.” He walked past Blake and got into the car, then tried not to flinch at the slam of the door behind him.

  Smith watched him from his seat, angled to face Aaron, his back to the door. “You fought well tonight.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I was impressed with your stamina. I don’t think it’s really been tested before.”

  Aaron’s skin crawled under Smith’s wandering gaze. It travelled over him, inspecting every visible mark and lingering where his clothes covered other supposed injuries.

  “I know you usually leave two or three weeks between fights, but I’d like you to fight next Friday.”

  “I won’t have healed properly by then,” Aaron protested. The bruises would still be vivid, obvious. Would that much make-up hold up during a fight? Aaron was good enough to make it look realistic for someone he passed in the street, for a fleeting glance, but up close and personal in a fight? No way.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.” He braced for Smith’s anger. Aaron assumed he wasn’t used to being told no.

  But instead, Smith just nodded in what appeared to be acceptance. “I understand, but please just think about it. The texts will be sent out as usual Thursday night. If you change your mind, there’s a spot for you.”

  Aaron glanced at the door. Were they done? Could he leave?

  “That’ll be all, Hunter. For now.”

  Aaron wasn’t keen on the emphasis he put on for now, but hopefully all this would be over and done with before they asked him to do anything else.