by Sable Jordan
“Impulsive Kizzie” would go with him. Hell, “semi-sane Kizzie” wanted to go, and she was the voice of reason. But if she went, could she live with only being Xander’s submissive? Would that be enough to turn a blind eye to his other lifestyle? When the novelty of the new sub wore off, when he got bored with her, would she end up lost like Sumi?
And then there was the wife…
In her back pocket, her secure line beeped once, beeped again. In spite of her own secrets, Kizzie had worked too damn hard to become an agent. Xander wanted her to just walk away from everything that defined her. Give up the woman she knew to be his good girl?
The light cycled through to yellow again—Kizzie floored it. She raced across the bridge, covering the short distance to the airport far faster than the law intended. She drove through the gates leading toward the private hangars and stopped.
Dawn hovered at the horizon, the sky a dark purple instead of coal black. The plane was out of the hangar, stairs down but otherwise ready to depart. Phil emerged from the building, a man Kizzie hadn’t seen before at his side. Her gaze drifted to Xander, who stood at the foot of the stairs in fresh jeans and a jacket, hands shoved into the pockets. The smile on his face told her everything she needed to know, and she hopped out of the car.
If Paris in the rain was cheesy, meeting each other halfway between the plane and the SUV in a Virginia drizzle was cheesier. Kizzie found it kind of endearing. She started on the trek, Xander started from his end, and then her secure line beeped once, a gunshot in the silence.
She slowed, retrieved the infernal device. Thumbed over the screen. Looked at the messages. Fletcher. She could deal with him later…or never again.
She flipped to the first message, the one that had come in while she was in the car, and let out a deep sigh. Her feet were still moving toward Xander, but her focus was on the phone. The decryption software did its thing and then the text appeared.
Her whole world turned on its head.
Xander was directly in front of her now, the smile replaced by an expression she’d never seen on him before. Uncertainty. Just as quickly as it appeared, he locked it away.
Kizzie heaved a sigh. “I’m not running, Xander.”
“Of course you’re not. You’re Kizzie Baldwin. You kick ass for a living. You don’t do safe, you don’t scare easy, and you. Don’t. Run.” He cracked a grin that dissolved into something serious as he glanced down at her phone. “You owe him.”
“I owe him… I might always owe him.”
“What do you owe him?”
“Everything you think I am,” Kizzie said. Xander frowned, intense gaze steady on her face. She shook her head, not really knowing what to say. “I’m… sorry, X.”
“Don’t be.” A sad smile on his lips, he engulfed her in a tight hug that warmed her to the bones. Then his mouth was on hers, moving in a slow, sensual kiss that brought a hot burn to her eyes and a tight knot to her throat. One last peck and he pulled back, murmured in her ear.
Kizzie’s eyes widened. “But–“
Anything she was going to say got lost in another kiss. She kissed him harder, arms wrapped around his waist. If this was all she’d ever get, it was going to have to last.
“Take care of my sub for me,” he said when he tore away. Then he turned and strode across the tarmac, covering the distance to the plane much too quickly.
“But, X,” Kizzie called, genuinely concerned with his whispered words. “What if we never—”
“Not without my permission, Princess,” he said, backpedalling. He flashed a smile that would blind the sun. “And don’t mess with your hair!”
The unknown man was in the cockpit, buckled in.
Phil popped his head out the doorway, gave her a salute.
Xander turned and jogged up the stairs.
Kizzie, the good agent, the good sub, watched what she wanted most fly away.
August 7th
Zitácuaro, Mexico
Lennox shifted so his feet hung off the bed, set them on the tiled white floor. Then he laid back, torso resting comfortably on the narrow mattress as he dragged the woman along with him so she straddled his ribs. Mocha hair tumbled down her shoulders and back, demurely draped the rose red nipples of her creamy breasts. They were huge, like two punching bags. Biggest knockers Lennox had seen since…Friday. Well, Friday if today was Sunday, and he wasn’t too sure about that.
Losing interest in the calendar, his palms smoothed up her thighs, fingers splayed over her wide hips and digging into the soft padding of flesh. Maria—was her name Maria?—looked down at him with coal black eyes and a crooked grin. She tipped forward and dropped those heavy pillows on his face. They’d have smothered a lesser man, but Lennox was not a lesser man; shook his head back and forth and blubbered against her skin.
She laughed, the two soft bags muffling her complaint that his beard tickled.
A nudge at his knees and Lennox remembered her friend, spread his feet wider to give the other woman access to his cock. Wet heat enveloped his length without warning, and he hissed against the body over him.
That one had to be Maria. Right? Her mouth felt like it. Hell, at this point he couldn’t remember and didn’t really care. All he knew was the twin bed was much too small for two, let alone three, and he was glad his brain still functioned enough to make the necessary adjustment, thus solving a problem without too much interruption.
But that was Lennox. The problem solver. Though he usually used his talents in a capacity other than figuring out how to get some ass, every now and again those talents came in handy in the ass-getting department.
Working his way over Maria’s ripe nipple—dammit, one of them was named Maria—he moved in time with the other woman’s strokes on his cock. Felt damn good. She spread the love to his balls, gently sucking one into her mouth before returning to grace his dick with her oral skills once more.
He sucked in a mouthful of flesh and sank his teeth into the meat, hands moving down Maria’s back to spread and knead her soft ass cheeks. A moan came from one, a gag from the other. And while Lennox’s hearing rivaled that of an owl, the twin noises almost masked the feather-light footsteps approaching.
Gasping for breath, he drew his head back quickly, lip dangling a thin web of spit from Maria’s erect skin. His abs clenched tight from the knob job courtesy of Maria numero dos. Shit, the woman was going to suck him dry. His toes curled and a tingling shot up the backs of his legs. She twirled her tongue around the head and then poked it in the slit. Lennox groaned, some dark corner of his mind hoping the newest person to arrive wasn’t sent to kill him. Or, if they were, that they’d at least have the common decency to let him nut first.
“Way…” he inhaled, swallowed hard, “wait.” Didn’t help any, and he had to reach deep into the recesses of his liquored-up brain to find the word he needed. “Uhh….¡Espere!”
That slowed the action at his groin. Breathing rough and erratic, Lennox angled his head around the Maria on his chest to look at the one on the floor. “Christ, woman you’re gonna kill me.”
She had no idea what he’d said, he knew, but she smiled and dragged her nails up and down his thighs anyway. If this was the way he was going to die, Lennox was ready to go—in another 15 or 20 minutes.
Another huff to catch his breath and he finally twisted his gaze toward the newcomer, expecting a pistol. Instead, brassy blonde hair and a peach-colored robe met him.
He drunk her in with glassy eyes. Even with her features hard to distinguish, she was beautiful. She stopped close enough to the bed for the sweet smells of conchas and duvalin to filter to his nose. “Maria?”
She nodded.
“Hot damn!” Lennox chuckled happily. Now he just needed to figure out the names of the other two. Better yet, fuck it. Three Marias. Why the hell not?
“Plenty of room for one more,” he slurred in Spanish, and she didn’t hesitate, dipped low to press her mouth to his in a searing kiss. He inhaled through his no
se, pushed his hand through her hair, holding on as her tongue swept round and round his mouth. His other hand sought out the mounds of the woman he’d neglected moments before, blindly fisting the nipple and rubbing over the tip with his thumb. The blow job started again and he jerked his hips, rocking into that Maria’s throat.
Viva Mexico!
In another time and place, his phone rang, loud enough to defy physics and interrupt his present party. The one he kissed pulled back. His hand trailed down the silk robe when she regained her height, and he wondered why she still had it on.
More ringing; the robed Maria stepped away. In the interim, Lennox busied himself with the Maria on his chest, laving at her tits like ice cream melting too fast in the blazing sun. When the other woman returned, she handed him the device. He really wasn’t interested, but thumbed the connect button and said, “‘lo?” in between two messy licks of his treats.
“Tate.”
Lennox closed his eyes and sighed, dropped his head back against the thin mattress. “Well, if it isn’t my old pal Bill. What can I do you for? And make it quick, I’m busy.”
The robe slipped from Maria’s shoulders revealing sun-kissed skin and long, lean thighs. Hot damn! He liked ‘em sporty. He shifted his gaze a bit to the Maria over his chest—liked ‘em thick, too. He recalled the petite brunette doing a fabulous job of spit-shining his dick and came to the conclusion he just liked ‘em.
The blonde head made contact with the mocha, the two women kissing each other while waiting for Lennox to get off the phone. Holy hell, why was he still holding the phone?
“Stateside, ASAP.”
One Maria—did which really matter?—dropped her head to the other’s chest and sucked with reckless abandon. Glazed eyes transfixed by the sight, Lennox gave a noncommittal grunt. Unless this exact situation could be duplicated on the other side of the border, and he could get away with calling all three women Maria, Lennox wasn’t going any damn where.
The suction on his cock stopped altogether, replaced moments later by the press of tiny thighs against his hair-roughened legs. The littlest Maria guided him into her tight pussy and Lennox didn’t even bother masking the breathy “Fuuuuuck.”
“Tate!” Bill growled from the other end. “Get your head out the hooker and focus.”
“Hook…ers,” Lennox hissed through clenched teeth and squinted eyes. “With an S. And I’ve got way more than just the head in her…”
Connolly sighed. “New York, tonight.”
“Need…more motivation than…ooooh shit,” he said, the words riding on a shiver. The line went dead and Lennox almost broke the phone, squeezing so hard the plastic casing creaked.
Maria rode him harder, and he bucked his hips up to meet her, nearly tossing the other one off his chest. She worked her hips too, grinding her shaved pussy against his stomach while fingering the Maria who stood near the twin bed.
Short of the Apocalypse, nothing would get him out of Maria, or Mexico, for at least a week—Maria screamed—make that a month.
Lennox came close to yelling himself, and would have if two sets of mouths hadn’t descended on his in a wet, sloppy, wildly erotic three-way kiss. He hooked each arm behind a neck, reveling in the feel of four hands skating over his chest and head. Tongues were everywhere, and there was still a woman doing a damn-fine job of molding a curve into his cock. Everything built to pounding at the base of his skull and then exploded, locking his whole body as he shot his load, the other Maria belting out a sultry “Ay, ay, ay…” and squeezing around his dick.
He relaxed against the bed, the last vestiges of his orgasm streaming out of his body. Too spent to kiss back, Lennox lay still while the women lapped at his lips. Made sucking down air kind of hard, but so what if he was light-headed.
Connolly could shove the Big Apple right up his wrinkled old tailpipe. Lennox was staying put.
The phone vibrated in his hand, which was still hooked around the blonde’s neck. Laughing, she uncoiled from his hold and went to help the petite Maria off his lap, leaving just the plump one on his chest. She leaned forward and nuzzled his cheek, brown hair partially covering his eye as she sighed contentedly.
Gaze hazy on the screen, Lennox brought up the text with one hand, already calculating how he’d wiggle out of the flight info he was sure to find in the encrypted message. The program worked it’s magic, spitting out… a surveillance photo?
The shift was damn-near instantaneous.
It took all of two seconds for his vision to clear. His blood went cold; the warm woman on his body became another hindrance to breathing.
The photo.
That face.
An ache he hadn’t felt for too many years wormed its way into his chest and he growled low in his throat.
“Goddamn you, Bill,” he muttered. Maria lifted her head and frowned. Lennox sat up, taking her with him, shooting up so fast he had to snag an arm around her back to keep her from falling to the floor. He helped her steady herself before wriggling out from under. Where the hell were his clothes? “Damn you straight to hell, you graying old piece of shit.”
Lennox snapped off the condom and tossed it in the vicinity of the trash can; found his jeans and slid them on, yanked his shirt over his head. The three Marias looked between each other and then at him with concern.
“Señor Gomez. Enseguida,” he grunted to the blonde, jerking his chin toward the door. She left immediately to get the proprietor, an older gentleman who made a pretty penny off these women’s deliciously creamy thighs.
Lennox tamped his feet into his boots and dug in his rucksack, still mumbling curses at a man who couldn’t hear them.
“¿Es todo?” the littlest Maria asked, a frown on her face.
He ignored her, still searching in his bag. Roughly two hours out from Mexico City. He’d have to high-tail it if he wanted any chance to catch a flight. He’d be cutting it close though. His hand closed around his passport, he dropped it, kept fidgeting.
Footsteps sounded on the landing and then the blonde came through the door, the brothel’s squat owner on her heels, a mile-wide smile on his oily face.
“I trust they were to your lik–”
The bullet entered Gomez’s forehead before he could finish. His head snapped back; eyes froze; body dropped; the Maria’s screamed; Lennox shoved the silenced weapon back into his rucksack, zipped it, and slung it over his shoulder. He dug in his pocket for a fistful of greenbacks to cover the bill; tossed them to the frightened women huddled together on the bed.
If only Gomez had paid for the protection the cartel’s leader had so kindly offered, Lennox wouldn’t have been hired to kill him. Such was life.
He sent confirmation of the kill, operating with his usual efficiency as though the women weren’t there. Should probably off them too, but he wasn’t being paid extra. And besides, he had no plans to set foot in this town ever again.
Fuckin’ Connolly…
He’d vowed to never get mixed up with the old man again either. The contracts he took these days paid much less, but they were easy work with semi-decent perks. Going back to Connolly would only be trouble, and Lennox really didn’t need the kind of trouble Connolly had to offer.
That settled it, he wouldn’t go.
Another glance at the photo the crusty old CRU leader had sent and Lennox sighed. He pushed the phone into his back pocket and slid a pair of dark aviator sunglasses into place. Minutes later he was in a rusty truck, speeding toward Mexico City.
He’d told Bill he needed more motivation.
For Lennox Tate, Kizzie Baldwin was motivation enough.
* * * *
Coming Soon
On The Rocks
About the Author
Sable Jordan: Stories so Whet, you’ll want to Lick My INK!
Quick and dirty, I’m a writer of multicultural erotica and seductive romances, and whatever else comes to mind. Tattooed vixen. Wicked humorist. Incurable humanist. Proud geek! Closet badass. (Shhh…)
Lover of pit bulls, fast cars, all music, and candy. That’s the nut in a nutshell.
I’m all about INKing stories with likeable characters, riveting plot, and steamy sex scenes. Come hang with me:
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