by A. K. Koonce
Quiet voices can be heard in the kitchen, the soft, tense lilt of them is my constant soundtrack here. Anytime I leave a room, the conversations start up. Anytime I enter, they cease.
Proof that they don’t trust me with whatever they’re talking about. Or proof that I’m the topic of conversation.
Walking into the kitchen, I take note of the way the sun is low in the sky. “So what’s for dinner, boys?” I ask, breaking the awkward tension of their stilted conversation and the way all eyes land on me as I enter the room.
“What are you cooking, babe?” Jameson wiggles his eyebrows at me, a purely sexist grin on his lips.
“I don’t cook.” I rummage through the cabinets and find a bag of white cheddar popcorn and spin, hopping my butt up onto the countertop as I dig in. The salty texture hits my tongue and I hum appreciatively, diving in for another handful.
Looking up, I notice that all the eyes are still on me.
“What?” I question, looking down at myself to see if maybe I have crumbs all over my boobs or something. I mean, those things are like a catch plate. So annoying. Coming up clean, I arch a brow and move my gaze from one man to the next.
Shaking his head, Mouse offers to go pick up some take out and we all place our order. It feels a little awkward, but I give him my order, trying my best to fit in.
“That will be fourteen dollars.” Jameson comes and stands in front of me, holding out his hand.
“Excuse me?”
“For the food. Fourteen bucks.” He looks pointedly to his hand and back up into my face. For once, I have the height advantage, thanks to the smooth marble countertop I’m sitting on. “You don’t think you’re getting a free ride here, do you?” He tilts his head like he’s studying a sad puppy, the look on his face overly concerned to the point of sarcasm. Which it is.
“I’m happy to pay my own way.” I smile as sweetly as I can, hoping to give him a cavity. A deep one. One that will hurt to drill. “As you can see, however, I don’t exactly carry a purse.” I motion around me, making my point. “I’m good for the money. I’ll bring some next time I’m here.”
He eyes my chest, which happens to be much closer to his face at the moment, given my position.
“Don’t chicks usually carry money in their bras or something?” He lifts his chin, the smug look back on his face.
“Not this chick.”
“Mmmhmm.” He hums condescendingly.
Without thinking about it, I set down my bag of almost empty popcorn, and casually pull my shirt up, flashing the men in the room my lace trimmed white bra, showing off the mound of my breasts.
A choked sound comes from the other side of the room, but I don’t dare look away from Jameson.
“You going to frisk me? Search me for money? Be my guest.” Part of me hopes he does. It’s been too long since I got off last and my body seems to hum anytime I’m near any of these guys.
Rough, calloused hands land on my waist and Jameson starts teasing my sides, running his hands up and down lightly over my skin. It’s just an inch or so up and then back down, but the movement sends a shiver racing up my spine as awareness blooms right in my center.
Then he opens that damn mouth.
“Well if you’re offering sexual favors, I don’t think we’ll need that money after all.”
Pinning my shirt under my arms to hold it in place, I purposefully run my hands along the bottom edge of my bra, teasing my fingers under the cups.
“I think…” I trial off, my words breathy as I slide my hands fully under the bra, cupping my bare breasts while keeping myself hidden from their view—not that I’m honestly all that modest. Leaning forward, I arch my back toward Jameson and take delight in the way his nostrils flare and his pupils dilate. His eyes never leave the view of my hands, which are now squeezing my breasts, fingertips biting into my own flesh. My teeth sink into my lower lip seductively, my body presses closer before I continue, “…that I’ll just bring the money next week and you’ll have to trust me.”
He growls, actually growls, and his hands land on my thighs, yanking me closer to his body. One leg on each side of him. A gasp slips past my lips and my hands fall free, my shirt slipping back down my stomach. My palms meet the cool countertop behind me for balance as I lean away from him.
“Then I think dinner is a no-go, darling. But you can always be my dessert.” His thumbs brush the inside of my jeans, running up the seams, getting dangerously close to my core. He doesn’t dare touch me higher but he does takes his time slowly teasing my skin.
Fire flashes in my eyes, and I lean forward, gripping his wrists to stop his exploration.
“Do these lines really work on women? Like, real, live, actual women?” I question with a mocking tone.
Mason chuckles from the side of the kitchen. “Yeah, no. They don’t,” he says. “She’s got your number, J.”
Jameson simmers in what seems to be sexual frustration.
Deciding enough is enough for one day, I push Jameson back and slide from the counter. He lets me pass, his curious attention held on my every step.
“Thanks for the offer, boys, but I’m going to take a raincheck.” I straighten my shirt and brush my hands off. I pat Jameson on the ass as I walk by. I smirk when I hear more chuckling from Mouse. Rory just stands still as a statue, watching my interactions with his “real” teammates.
He must see me as the fox in the hen house. More like the fox in the cock house. Yeah, I’m more than happy to play the role of vixen in that little scenario. I grin to myself.
With effort, I pretend I’m just as confident as all of them. Adding swagger to my walk, I make sure my hips swing enticingly on my way out. Calling over my shoulder, I head to the door. “See you tonight, Mouse.”
I’m sure the quiet little bastard will be there at some point tonight. Whether I see him or not is another question.
The Lifeless League house is silent as I step through the door. I would never admit it to the guys, but my body aches from being tossed on my ass all day long. I’m looking forward to another long, hot bath. It calls to me.
My stomach is more pressing about its needs, however, so I haul my butt through the corridor and head for the mess hall. The elegant cafeteria is lined with long wooden tables, and carpet in an array of ugly colors in hideous patterns covers the floor. Whoever thought carpet should be made in paisley or other ridiculous patterns should be shot. I mean, rugs are one thing, but entire floors outfitted in swirls of color is overkill.
Just being inside the house again has my guard back up, the image of the file in Armond’s office runs through my head.
I need more information and no one’s willing to give it up easily.
Alright. We’ll just have to do this the hard way.
Dinner first, though.
Filling my plate from the scarce buffet, I take a seat in the corner, my back to the wall so I can keep my eyes on the room.
I fork food into my mouth, content to have a little quiet without the constant hum of power that I seem to always pick up off of the guys. Speaking of power, I replay the fight with Rory over and over in my mind. The way I felt his power buzzing against my body. I don’t think it’s normal. Neither is the way I seemed to toss that water bottle across the room without effort.
Something is happening and I can’t explain it. I’m not sure I should. It feels like a secret best kept to myself until I can figure it out. Or recreate it.
That sounds like a good idea, except I have no idea how the hell I managed to do it in the first place.
“Hello.” A girl calls as she walks to my section of table. A couple of people look her way as she disrupts the heavy silence with her small voice. What the hell is she doing? We don’t talk to each other. Doesn’t she know that? Is she new?
“Hi.” I give her a cold little wave, making sure she understands I’m not up for company. What is happening?
Without asking, she plops herself in the seat across from me and I eye her with
a look I hope says “what the fuck, Barbie?”
Her blonde hair is pulled tightly into a ponytail that sits high on her head. It’s the fancy kind too, where the hair wraps around the rubber band so you can’t even see it. She has overachiever written all over her. I brush my fingers through my own long locks, aware of the messy state they’re probably in from my fights earlier with the guys.
“I’m Nala.” She grins and takes a dainty bite of food, looking at me over her fork.
“Hart.” I take another bite myself and then can’t help but to ask. “Nala?” Every assassin chooses a name to go by, something different from their real one. Unless you were me. Armond chose mine and it just kind of stuck.
She blushes, her cheeks turning a rosy hue. “It’s from the Lion King. I loved that movie growing up.” She looks embarrassed, and for some reason I decide to save her.
“I liked the book. You’ve got the mane of blonde hair to pull off the nickname.” I nod toward her ponytail.
Grinning, she nods, her face returning to a normal shade a few beats later.
I did like the book. I couldn’t attend school without being tossed into a state system like foster care. But I spent my time in the public library daily like it was a haven. I don’t have a typical education but I’m smart. Learning was just harder for me growing up.
Everything was harder growing up.
We eat in silence for a while. “You know that no one here really talks to each other, right?”
I don’t say it in a malicious way, but her odd behavior is throwing me for a loop.
She leans across the table. “I know, and it’s so weird to me. I mean, none of us have normal friends outside of the ‘job’.” She puts the word in air quotes, breezing over what we actually do for a living. I won’t lie, it’s hard for me to picture this pristine girl getting her hands dirty. Not that assassins all have a typical look, or anything. I can definitely see where her too-perfect looks would be an asset. Plus, there’s always been more male assassins than female. Any woman willing to kill is an asset to the League. Except me, that is. Since I’m a little on Armond’s shit list at the moment.
I give her a tight smile, realizing she’s been chatting the whole time I’m in my head. Something about a new movie that’s playing at the cinema down the road. Exhaustion seeps into me fast, and I decide to excuse myself.
My chair scrapes silently across the carpeted floor and I stand up. “Sorry, work.” I collect my things and notice a quick flinch in the girl’s eyes from the top of my vision. Maybe not a flinch so much as a narrowing? This girl may not be all sunshine and rainbows. It makes sense. She’s a killer after all. Sighing, I give in. “I’m not good at this friend thing,” I motion back and forth between the girl and myself, “but maybe I’ll see you around.” A smile lights her face again.
“Until then.” She nods and smiles oddly for no particular reason. The small polite smile makes my brows tense and I finally leave, trying not to be creeped out.
God, what’s wrong with you, Alexa? She was just being nice. Seriously, who smiles for no apparent reason though? Am I so broken that I can’t even make a friend? Doesn’t matter. Head in the game. Don’t associate with others. That’s always been your rule.
Except I’m breaking that rule by being involved with Tylin and his crew of misfits.
I shake my head at myself as I climb the stairs and enter my apartment.
Rules were always more like guidelines anyway. Isn’t that the saying?
Fourteen
A Delicious Wake Up Call
The sound of crunching is the only thing that alerts me to Mouse’s presence in my apartment when consciousness returns to my body. I’m lying on my stomach with my face pressed into my pillow and I pray hard that I don’t have drool staining my pillow.
Pushing my face up, I thank the universe for small miracles.
“Good morning,” I say without even looking in his direction.
“Morning.” He takes another bite of whatever it is he’s eating. Turning over, I see him sitting in the same place I found him yesterday morning. Creature of habit. He shovels another spoonful of cereal into his mouth and gives me a closed mouth grin while he chews.
“So I can’t get dinner without paying the price, but you can sneak into my place and eat my cereal?”
He doesn’t answer, but his eyes flash with amusement.
Sitting up, I groan, my muscles yelling at me. Reaching over my shoulder, I try to knead at the soreness in my shoulders.
“I plan to pay.” His voice is honey and way too close.
“I’m never going to get used to that.” I open my eyes and glare at him, his nose only inches away from mine. I didn’t even feel the bed tip in his direction as his weight hit the mattress.
“Relax.” He purrs, and something in his eyes makes me comply. “Lie down.”
“I didn’t picture you for a dominate in the bedroom.” I smirk into my mattress as I settle back down into my bed. His thighs are suddenly straddling my ass and he settles his weight onto me, pressing me into the mattress.
“I can be whatever you need me to be.” This time, his breath fans over the back of my neck just before his lips close over the sensitive spot. Thumbs knead into the sore spots in my muscles on either side of my shoulder blades and I can’t contain the moan that slips out of me, loud and low.
“Mase.” I groan as his assault on my muscles continues, his tongue licking where his lips are latched, alighting all my nerves at once. Somehow, the spot his mouth is over has a direct connection to my clit and my core clenches around nothing.
“That’s it.” He nips my ear. “Say my name.”
I don’t even give him a witty comeback, completely absorbed in the way his fingers are working my body, pressing along my spine and trailing down to the curve of my ass, making me hum unintelligible words. His palms grip the spot between my thighs and my ass, his thumbs deliciously close to my sex.
As he massages me I feel the outline of his hard cock growing against my ass, getting just as excited as I’ve become. I arch up in to him instinctually.
He grunts and thrusts into my curves, setting a slow, erotic, rocking pace as his fingers work their magic along my lower back.
I’d like them to be working their magic on other areas of my body. I wiggle up against him seductively, silently asking for more. We tease and touch just right. His palms push beneath my shirt, setting fire across my spine with the smooth feel of his skin against mine.
I probably shouldn’t do this, but I’m wound tight, aching for release from days of buildup.
Knowing just what I need, he snakes a hand around my front, splaying it possessively across my stomach before starting its downward trek.
I try to remind myself that I’ve only known this guy for two days, but my baser needs don’t care and tell the saner part of my brain to fuck off.
I lift my hips, arching my back more to give him room, and prop myself on my forearms. His fingers slide into the black panties I’m wearing, and I’m glad I had the good sense to put on something sexy. It was sweet revenge for knowing the man was going to watch me sleep.
The sexy time is just an added bonus, but one that seems to be working in both our favors.
The first brush of his fingers over my clit makes my hips jerk from how sensitive I am already, but the movement just causes more friction against Mason, earning me a sexy groan from deep within his chest.
We don’t talk as his fingers glide over my sex, back and forth, circling, teasing. Every touch drives me higher, and I rock against his cock as his fingers circle my entrance. I want him. Need him inside of me more than I can put into words. His fingers, his dick. Any part of him that he’s willing to give me.
It’s his fingers, though, that slip inside, tentatively at first. The stretch of one finger is good, but not enough.
“More, Mase. Please.” I push up on my hands and look over my shoulder at the man behind me. His eyes meet mine and I grind my hips i
nto his hand, needing far more than the one finger that’s massaging my inner walls. His hair is messy, his eyes lively. The way the sun streams in through the window halos around him, stealing my breath. He’s beautiful, and that’s not a word I use lightly.
“Relax.” He places a palm in the center of my back and presses me back down. My eyes want to drink in the sight of him, but I begrudgingly obey. “You’ll get what you need.” He murmurs it so quietly, I almost don’t hear it. Everything about this quiet, enigmatic man intrigues me.
His hand shifts and he withdraws his finger only to stretch me further with two. I tense around the blissful intrusion as they start a leisurely pace that makes me simmer and coil tight as need consumes me.
“That’s it,” he says, leaning his weight over my back as he works his hand, curling his fingers into my g-spot. “Give it all to me.”
I shudder out a breath, the drag of his fingers over the sensitive spot inside my body making me spiral higher. I want to give him what he asks for.
I didn’t picture Mason for the controlling type, but he knows exactly how to work at something until he gets what he wants. Most of the time I doubt it’s even noticeable. It’s a quiet kind of dominance, just like the man himself.
I ache for him to increase his speed, to take me hard and fast, but that’s not Mason’s way. His methodical thrusts drive me crazy, and I buck into him, rubbing my body against his cock.
Shifting his arm, he lets his palm drag over my clit with every drive, bringing me to my peak. “Scream for me.” His quiet words are whispered into my ear just before his tongue flicks out and teases a spot behind my ear that I didn’t even know was an erogenous zone.
Letting go, I shatter into a million pieces, as he curls his fingers just right. Giving him what he wants, I scream for him, “Oh fuck, Mason!” My voice rasps even as I say his name.