All I Want is You_A Second Chance Romance

by Carter Blake

  My eyes close so tightly that when I finally open them, I’m seeing spots everywhere.

  I reach down and pull his head up from between my legs. Partly because I need to recover, but also because I want to return the favor.

  Our lips meet hard, and I can feel myself dripping from his lips—not that I give a fuck.

  I slip a hand down around the base of his cock and moan into our kiss as I feel him throb in my hand.

  When he stands, I take the opportunity to slide my lips over the velvety head of his thick cock. I take his length down the back of my throat until my nose is pressed against his body. My tongue swirls around the underside of his cock while I hold him in the back of my throat.

  This time, it’s his turn to moan.

  I let him free from my mouth and slide my tongue around his head as my hand strokes along the length of his shaft.

  I fully intend on making him come against the back of my throat, but Janus pulls himself from my grip and grabs me by the waist.

  I barely have time to process that he’s turned me over onto my stomach when I feel him lift my ass up off the bed, his cock thrusting hard into me.

  “Oooh!” I exclaim in surprise.

  There’s a soft pull against my head as Janus wraps my hair around his fist.

  In the reflection of the window, I can see him smirking as he looks down at me. It makes me smirk in kind.

  I rock myself back against him with each hard thrust in perfect harmony. We work like a two-person symphony.

  We were hot and sweaty before thanks to the heat, but now, our bodies are positively glistening from our workout.

  We move from position to position until I’m sitting on his lap on the edge of the bed.

  Janus has one hand gripping my shoulder—pulling me down into him with each thrust—and the other holding my waist.

  My face is buried into his neck—biting at his rough skin—as I feel myself approaching another crescendo.

  I’m thankful that he has such a firm grip on my body as I begin to quiver and shudder against him once more. He growls when I bite down against his neck, but it only makes him thrust harder as I explode around him.

  My hips bear down into him, wanting to feel more of him inside me, and I feel his breathing catch in his chest.

  He’s close, and it drives me to grind into him harder and faster.

  I push him back against the bed and press down firmly against his chest. His hands move to my hips in response and dig into my skin as he groans. I can tell he’s trying to hold himself back, but I’m far too persistent.

  I want to feel him explode inside me, and I get it. His entire body clenches before relaxing in a big explosion of shivers and moans.

  He mutters a few words—in Russian, I think—as his eyes roll into the back of his head.

  I give him a moment to recover and lie down on the bed beside him.

  “You look particularly satisfied with yourself,” he says with a breathy laugh.

  “You’re one to talk.”

  Our session continues well past sundown until our bodies are too tired and sore to continue.

  As far as last nights go, this was one for the history books.

  And when I wake in the morning—before the sun has even thought to rise over the horizon—I feel a twinge of guilt.

  I hate to leave him here without saying goodbye. I know that he’s going to worry. But sometimes, sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.

  I give him one last, lingering look before slowly closing the door and slipping out into the hallway.

  Chapter 3

  Janus

  It’s getting late. The apartment is getting darker by the minute.

  Turning from my work, I admit defeat to the dark—I need to turn on a light.

  Once the sun goes down, Berlin becomes far too cold for my liking, even though it’s spring.

  I guess when you’re used to Egypt and the Middle East, most other countries are positively frozen by comparison. I can hardly bear traveling home to England because of it—it’s so wet and cold.

  Flicking the central heating on, as well as the lights, I head through to the kitchen to grab a much-needed coffee. The apartment only has instant coffee, and I can’t help but grimace in distaste at the thought. But this isn’t my usual safe house, so I can’t exactly complain about it not being stocked the way I like it.

  Still, I appreciate the scalding hot mug between my hands as I sink into the armchair I was working from, sighing heavily.

  Forging documents always takes a lot out of me—all of that peering and fussing over minuscule details—but it’s part of the job. And I’m damn good at it.

  But god, do I miss the heat of the sun.

  I’ve been lying low for a few weeks now, keeping out of sight and out of trouble after a minor misstep in Dusseldorf alerted the German authorities to my presence.

  It’s why I’m not doing any fieldwork, and why I’m stuck with forgery for a couple jobs instead.

  And I really don’t do well locked up.

  I sigh again, arching my neck back to stare at the bare ceiling with sightless eyes. The steam from my coffee wafts up and fills my nostrils, reminding me of warmer countries full of exotic spices and exciting women.

  Well, one woman in particular.

  A woman who ignored my genuine plea for her to stay safe, fucked me, and then slunk off into the night, never to be seen or heard from again.

  Danielle Robinson still haunts my thoughts, even now, three years later. We had hit it off so well—at least, I thought we had. But I clearly couldn’t have meant all that much to her if she ran off after sleeping with me.

  The sex had been phenomenal, so I’m reasonably certain I can rule out her leaving because I was bad in bed.

  I drag a hand over my face. I’m sure I wouldn’t have been thinking about Dani so frequently as of late if it wasn’t for Griff and Kalista.

  Helping Gryphon save our Phoenix from kidnappers—as well her scum-for-brains father—hits a little too close to home for me.

  That kind of danger was what I was trying to keep Danielle from. Would things have been different had I agreed to stay with her through it all, risk-to-life be damned?

  I shake my head grimly, trying to clear it of such thoughts. Had she stayed by my side for that reason, then it would only confirm that she merely viewed me as a useful tool at her disposal.

  After all, she very easily disposed of me after I refused to do her bidding.

  She had viewed our relationship as one of purely business to the end, regardless of the sex that acted as a very pleasurable full stop to the whole transaction. It’s how I should view our relationship, too.

  So why, three years on, do I still find that impossible?

  I take a sip of disgusting coffee before returning to my work. These documents are due in the morning, and I’m only halfway done.

  So, of course, that’s when Leviathan calls me.

  “You know very well I’m working on a deadline,” I mutter on the phone. “This better be good.”

  I can almost see him making a face down the phone. “Aw, come on, Jackal, I just need some advice.”

  I close my eyes for a moment, willing myself not to swear profusely down the phone before hanging up.

  “I’m assuming this is for a woman, Leviathan.”

  “Oh, you bet. I’d ask Griff, but he’s too busy getting it on with—”

  “I get it, I get it,” I interrupt, not wishing to dwell upon Griff and Kali’s relationship any more than I already have. “Who’s the girl?”

  “She’s some writer from New York. Dark hair, pale skin. Killer body.”

  Of course, my mind immediately inputs these descriptors and outputs Danielle.

  “Does she know you exist, Leviathan?” I ask, desperate for the conversation to end but knowing full well that I’ll be thinking of Dani long into the night regardless.

  Leviathan gives me a noise of feigned hurt.

  �
�You wound me, brother.” There’s a pause. “But, erm, no, she doesn’t know I exist, not yet—”

  There’s another pause, but I can tell this one means something entirely different.

  “Leviathan?”

  “You need to get out,” he responds, the usual easygoing edge to his voice entirely gone.

  I’m immediately alert, pushing the forged documents and my awful coffee away from me as I stand up.

  “Who knows?”

  “GSG9. Someone’s only gone and tipped them off.”

  I make a face. “Find out who they are. Nobody should know about this place. How much time do I have?”

  “About ten minutes, tops. They’re on their way. I’ll find who ratted you out.”

  Leviathan hangs up. I throw my phone at the armchair in rage—who could possibly have known I was here? Who would have the audacity to find out?

  I trust Leviathan to do his job and find the answer for me as I burn the documents I had labored over for so long, as well as the rest of the damning evidence against me.

  After hastily packing up my scant belongings, I push the tall refrigerator in the kitchen over to the side, revealing a secret exit out of the large, dark apartment.

  I only just get into the tunnel and move the fridge back in place to cover the exit before I hear people barging down the front door.

  That’s a lot less than ten minutes Leviathan!

  Granted, I would be royally screwed if not for him in the first place.

  The brief tunnel connects to another apartment—also mine—where a go-bag and car keys are waiting for me.

  I learned long ago to always have an escape plan ready.

  I slip out of the apartment complex without being seen, locate my getaway vehicle, and drive away with no hassle whatsoever.

  The panic is over so quickly, I’m almost disappointed. And here I was thinking a night of excitement would distract me from Danielle.

  A buzz in my jacket pocket alerts me to Leviathan having texted me the address of my next safe house.

  I groan when I see the location. It’s at least two hours away.

  “I’m never gonna get those documents re-forged in time,” I grumble.

  I’m astonished to realize that I seriously regret not drinking the entirety of the awful coffee I left behind; I resolve to stop by the first café still open to get my caffeine fix, no matter how bad their blend is.

  To be honest, I’d rather drink something stronger, but I’m not one to drink and drive.

  I end up not finding a source of caffeine until I’m just ten minutes from my new safe house, but it is—blessedly and wondrously—good coffee. The kind that wouldn’t be out of place in an artisan roast house about five times the price of the tiny place I’m sitting in right now.

  The café may be small, but even at eleven at night, it’s full; it’s clearly a popular place. Given how good the coffee is, I’m not surprised. After eyeing up the specials board behind the till, I give in and order their vanilla cheesecake.

  This is how I find all of my favorite coffee houses and bars—by sheer accident. I tend to play down the ‘accident’ part when bringing any of the Brotherhood to my artfully selected haunts, of course.

  I have an image to uphold, after all.

  But I didn’t have to uphold that image with Danielle.

  I silently curse myself for thinking about her again as a waitress discreetly brings my cheesecake over and walks away without a word. It’s always good to find a place that appreciates quiet service.

  I take a bite of the cheesecake. It’s divine.

  Resolving to remember where this place is for all future trips to Germany, I finish my coffee and cheesecake in contented silence before leaving a generous tip for the waitress and driving to my new safe house.

  Thankfully, the place is up to my sort of standard—Leviathan chose wisely.

  I feel my phone buzz, so I pick up to see who’s calling.

  “You’re welcome,” Griff says on the other side of the line.

  I hear Kalista giggling and Griff trying to silence her. I can’t help but smile at the two of them.

  “I take it I have you to thank for my apartment upgrade?”

  “Yes, and it’s one of my favorites. So no getting caught by the police this time.”

  I roll my eyes. “Wonderful advice, Griffin. Never thought about that before. I’ll be sure to take it on board.”

  I hang up the phone to the sound of the two love-birds laughing before collapsing on the beautiful, white king-size bed in the apartment. I close my eyes briefly; even with the coffee in my system, I’m exhausted.

  But then I remember those documents that I need to redo. Suppressing a groan, I move over to a nearby desk and draw out my tools, steeling myself for a long night.

  I wish I had had the foresight to order some coffee to-go.

  Chapter 4

  Danielle

  “I don’t care what it is you think you’ve found this time, Robinson. Get your ass back to New York on the next available flight, or so help me god—”

  “But this is human trafficking!” I interrupt. “This is a massive story, Claire! And I can’t simply turn away from people in danger when I’m in a position to help out. You know that.”

  My editor, Claire, sighs. “You know I’m just worried about you. You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days.”

  I laugh at the cheery thought.

  “Well, we’ve all gotta die eventually. May as well do something worthwhile in the meantime, right? And besides, I have access to the best personal protection in Europe, who yours truly will most definitely be hiring to keep me safe and sound.”

  “And who might that be? Sounds incredibly suspicious.”

  “Ah, if I told you, I’d have to kill you. And something tells me you don’t wanna die quite yet, Claire.”

  There’s a pause from Claire, and I know I’ve won.

  “See what you can dig up over the next seventy two hours. If you have nothing, then you’re coming home.”

  I blow a kiss at my phone. “Much obliged, Miss Greatest-Editor-in-the-World.”

  Claire sighs. “I’m going to regret this.”

  And with that, I’ve secured my permission to get on with my life’s work.

  Really, it’s sometimes a little too easy to convince people to let me do what I want. But as is the case with these things, there’s still one person in my past who wasn’t convinced to let me do what I want, no matter what I said or did.

  And that’s the person I need to hire as my bodyguard.

  Well, I always have loved a challenge.

  Fucking Janus O’Connell and then sneaking off in the dead of night may make him a little less inclined to help me, though.

  I probably shouldn’t have done that—no, I know I shouldn’t have done that—but damn if it wasn’t worth it. I haven’t connected with any man as much as I did with Janus in the three years since we parted ways. And I’d be lying if I didn’t think about the way he screwed me a little too often over the past three years, too.

  I feel butterflies in my stomach merely thinking about seeing the man again.

  My time with Janus in Sudan had been thrilling, exotic, and dangerous—everything I could hope for from an investigative stint abroad.

  And I’ll be honest: I wasn’t expecting my translator/bodyguard to be a sexy, roguish Brit with an accent to die for with the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen.

  How was I supposed to fight my attraction against a man like that?

  I chuckle slightly, for clearly, I couldn’t fight my attraction to him. Hence the fucking.

  I dwell on the entirely pleasant memory as I search my clean and spacious Grecian hotel room for an errant piece of paper that I know I shouldn’t have just lying around but have misplaced anyway.

  I find the note hidden under my mattress, the folds of the paper so creased that they threaten to rip apart. I’ve looked at the number scrawled across it too many times to count
.

  The number I need to call if I ever find myself needing Janus O’Connell again.

  It’s not a direct connection to him, of course, but the person whose number this belongs to can give me just enough information for me to find the man in question himself.

  I don’t know what my contact looks like, or even their name. I don’t even know if they’re a man or a woman. But we help each other out when needs be, and they definitely owe me a favor.

  Which is convenient for me—almost as if I had arranged it that way.

  I take my phone out and text them my request instead, remembering that my contact strictly doesn’t do calls.

  The longest five minutes of my life so far pass by as I impatiently wait for a response.

  I call room service, ordering dinner to eat on the balcony—the sun has already set, but Athens is unseasonably warm for early April right now, and the heat still lingers in the evening air.

  When my phone buzzes, alerting me to a response from my contact, I almost jump out of my skin. The text message I receive contains a website address, so I slide onto my bed and open my laptop from where it had previously lain forgotten on my pillow.

  The website seems to be some kind of search engine; curious, I type in ‘Janus O’Connell.’

  I receive zero hits.

  Zero.

  Frowning, I consider what else to try, and then I feel a grin spread wide on my face.

  Of course.

  I type in ‘The Jackal’ and find what I’m looking for. It’s another link—this time in the dark web.

  It’s in this way—through constantly following links, encrypted web pages, and nuggets of information that I learn of Janus’ current location in Berlin.

  I smile in satisfaction.

  “You’re not so difficult to find as you led me to believe, Mr. O’Connell,” I say aloud, just as a gentle knocking on my door alerts me to the arrival of my dinner.

  Thanking the waiter for the food, I transfer it over to the little table on my balcony before relieving the minibar of a small bottle of Merlot to pair with the steaming pot of Moussaka I ordered.

  I relish the food and wine as the night-time chill permeates the air. I look out over the city, determined and resolute. I’ll uncover the trafficking ring in Athens for sure.