Guardian

by Knight, Angela

  “Tell me, Graham,” she said, her index finger almost brushing his, “what do you know about X Section?”

  “Never heard of it,” he said, because as far as he knew, MI5 sections only went up to F.

  “What if I told you it hunts things?”

  “Things?”

  “Unnatural things. Dangerous things. Beasts who shouldn’t exist in the human realm.”

  Her face was suddenly very close to his. Her eyes were as dark as coffee, mysterious golden lights seeming to flicker behind the irises. Graham felt dizzy staring into them, his heart thumping far too fast. He didn’t recall seeing her move, but she was kneeling on the floor of the compartment in the space that gaped between his knees. Her pale, strong hands were sliding up his thighs. His cock lurched like it could hasten their possible meeting.

  “We need information,” she whispered, her breath as cool and sweet as mint pastilles. “So we can destroy these monsters. And we need you to get it for us.”

  “You’re crazy.” He had to gasp it; his breath was coming so fast.

  “No, I’m not, Graham. I’m the sanest person you’ve ever met.”

  Her fingers had reached the bend between his legs and torso, her thumbs sliding inward over the giant arch of his erection. She scratched him gently with the edge of her bloodred nails.

  “Christ,” Graham choked out. The feathery touch blazed through him like a welder’s torch. His nerves were on fire, his penis weeping with desire. He shifted on the seat in helpless reaction. Her mouth was following her thumbs, her exhalations whispering over his grossly stretched trousers.

  “I’m going to give you clearance,” she said. “I’m going to make sure we can trust you.”

  He cried out when she undid his zip fastener, and again when her small, cool fingers dug into his smalls to lift out his engorged cock. Blimey, he was big, his skin stretched like it would split. She stroked the whole shuddering length of him, causing his spine to arch uncontrollably.

  “Watch me,” she ordered as his head lolled back. “Watch me suck you into my mouth.”

  Graham was no monk. He watched her and felt her and thought his soul was going to spill out of his body where her lips drew strong and tight on him.

  He didn’t want to admit this was the first time a woman had performed this particular act on him. He could see why men liked it. The sensations were incredible, streaking in hot, sharp tingles from the tip of his throbbing penis to the arching soles of his feet. She was smearing her ruby lipstick up and down his shaft, humming at the swell of him, taking him into her throat, it felt like. Her tongue was rubbing him every place he craved.

  The fact that she was barking mad completely slipped his mind.

  “Oh, God,” he breathed, lightly touching her hair where she’d tucked it neatly behind her ears. The strands were silk under his fingertips, so smooth they seemed unreal. “Oh, Christ. Don’t stop.”

  She didn’t stop. She sucked and sucked until his seed exploded from his balls in a fiery rush. He cried out hoarsely, sorry and elated at the same time. And then she did something he couldn’t quite believe.

  She bit him.

  Her teeth sank into him halfway down his shaft, those sharp incisors even sharper than he’d thought. The pain was as piercing as the pleasure had been a second earlier. He grabbed her ears, wondering if he dared to pull her off. Her clever tongue fluttered against him, wet, strong . . . and then she drew his blood from him.

  He moaned, his world abruptly turned inside out. Ecstasy washed through him in drowning waves. She was drinking from him in a whole new way, swallowing, licking, moaning herself like a starving puppy suckling at a teat. All his senses went golden and soft. So good. So sweet. Like floating on a current of pure well-being.

  He didn’t know how long it lasted, but he was sorry when her head came up.

  “You’re mine now,” she said.

  He blinked sleepily into her glowing eyes. Was it queer that they were lit up? Right at that moment, he couldn’t decide.

  “I’m yours,” he said, though he wasn’t certain he meant it.

  “You’re not going to remember me biting you.”

  “No,” he agreed. “That would be awkward.”

  “When I give you instructions, you’ll follow them.”

  “I expect I will,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, her winglike little brows furrowing.

  “I will,” he repeated, because she seemed to require it.

  She rose, licking one last smear of blood from her upper lip. As soon as it disappeared, he forgot that it had been there.

  “Zip yourself,” she said.

  He obeyed and got to his feet as well. It seemed wrong to be towering over his handler, though he couldn’t really claim to mind. She handed him a slip of paper with a meeting place in Hampstead Heath. As had been the case with the note tucked into his paper, the directions were neatly typed—no bobbles or mistakes. He had the idle thought that Estelle would have approved.

  “Tomorrow night,” the woman said. “Eleven sharp. You’ll know when you’ve seen what we need you to.”

  “Will you be there?”

  He thought this was a natural question. Any male with blood in his veins would want to repeat the pleasures of this night, if only to return the favor she’d shown him. But perhaps he wasn’t supposed to ask. She wrinkled her brow again.

  “I won’t be,” she said, “but chances are our enemy will.”