by A. K. Koonce
As we sit against the glossy headboard, the soft pillows of Jameson’s bed make my eyes drowsy. Suddenly, sleep is all I want. Not that Mouse will really allow that right now.
No, he’s all work mode right now.
His index finger taps against the church layout he’s drawn for me.
“What will you do if someone recognizes you?” He pulls off the dark rimmed glasses, sitting them down as he pushes his fingers against his tired eyes. His handsome features look different without the glasses. His cheekbones seem more defined. My gaze trails along his jaw before settle on his full lips.
The seriousness of his question sinks into me and I find myself avoiding the answer.
Because I don’t really know. I’ve acquired so many new skills lately. My nerves shake with power. But it’s reckless and wild. What if it’s too much? What if it destroys more than I intend?
What if I hurt one of these sweet men?
Instead of letting the anxiety sink through me, I choose to change the subject to a less serious tone.
My palm pushes down his chest as my head dips until my lips skim his jaw, his neck, the bronze skin of his collar bone.
“I guess, I’ll have to find a way to distract them.” I push at his soft shirt until the ripple of muscle tone beneath meets my fingertips.
On my knees I lean over him, flicking my tongue down the etched lines of his stomach.
“You’re just going to blow the first guy who calls you by name?” There’s a hum of laughter in his rumbling voice but I also notice how his fingers are threading through my hair. He pulls the long locks back just enough for my lashes to flutter up to him.
Dark eyes hold mine with heavy, watchful attention.
My fingers unbutton his jeans slowly and a hardness already awaits my touch.
“Not just any guy,” I whisper before flicking my tongue against his smooth skin again. “Only if I owe him.”
His lips tilt but there’s only a hint of amusement in his sinfully serious features.
I keep my eyes locked on his as I fully push down the waist of his jeans and the way he’s looking at me sends a tangle of anticipating energy through me.
My palms wrap around his hard length, pushing up and then slowly down every inch of him before I finally lower my lips to the tip of his dick. His eyelids fall to a hooded state but he doesn’t break eye contact with me when my lips slip slowly down his shaft.
The salty taste of him meets my tongue as I lower myself until he hits the back of my throat while my palm strokes in rhythm along the base of his cock. The silence he always clings to is broken as I suck hard before sliding down faster and faster. A sexy groan rumbles through his chest and the sound of it makes my thighs shift almost painfully together.
As a pulsing feeling hardens his cock further, his grip on my hair tightens. Just as I gasp from the painful feel along my scalp, he jerks my head up. Then his lips crash hard against mine.
It’s a consuming kiss that washes away the pain. His tongue rolls against mine in a way I’ve never felt before. His teeth rake across my lower lip, sending another jolt of pain and pleasure right to my sex before his body dominates over mine and he sends us crashing down onto the mattress. In a rush, he pushes at my baggy t-shirt, shoving it over my head and pulling at his own shirt before covering my body with his. His smooth skin skims against my nipples as his mouth claims mine again. Hard thrusts of his hips against my lace panties have me moaning into him. The friction between us is consuming.
There’s a small hesitancy as he pulls abruptly back from me, breaking the kiss in a gasp of breaths as his dark eyes search mine. I’m nearly naked and writhing beneath this man and still he pauses to watch the way I’m unraveling in his arms.
Long fingers grip the soft lace at my hip and I almost pout when he rips them in one harsh movement.
Was that really necessary?
His hips grind against mine, the smooth tip of his dick sliding against my sex until a shuddering breath leaves my lungs.
It was obviously completely necessary.
The depths of his eyes search across my features, his lips poised just above mine. Slowly, he presses himself against my sex. Once more I can’t seem to catch my breath. When he’s lined up just perfectly, he thrusts hard, slamming his length in all at once and my head tips back as a shaking moan rips from my throat. He feels amazing.
My lashes flutter as I struggle to hold his gaze. A cruel smile is on his lips as he starts to rock his hips against mine.
“I love seeing you like this,” he whispers just before his palm grips my jaw. He angles my mouth against his before pressing the gentlest kiss against my lips. It’s a sweet kiss. A kiss I wasn’t expecting at all. It’s slow and consuming and suddenly his thrusts begin to match.
His shaft drags against my clit slowly before sinking torturously slowly back in, making my thighs clench around his waist from the coiling feeling that’s shaking through my body. My fingers fist into his hair. It feels like I’m shattering beneath him while every muscle in his body is in complete control. His arms tense around me as he keeps that deliciously steady pace. As he rocks his hips hard against my clit before sinking in once more, my orgasm soaks down his shaft and finally he seems to mirror my pleasure.
His jaw tightens. A groan shakes through him, allowing my own cries to leave my lips when he pulls back just slightly.
Sweat clings to our bodies, but he doesn’t pause once as I fall apart beneath him. He grips my palms and pulls them high above my head, using the position to thrust harder and deeper into me. My head presses back into the blanket as his pace quickens, no longer sweet and caressing.
The slamming feel of him stretching me completely is a mixture of pleasure and pain and I meet his demanding hips thrust for thrust.
One of his hands leaves mine. He grips my wrists with one hand while his fingers sneak around my thigh, sinking his nails into my skin as he lifts my leg higher against his hip.
“Mason,” my eyes clench tightly together as I try to cling on to some form of logical thought. But I can’t.
The crash of my release is harder this time, more wrecking as my sex clenches around his hardness, pulling him impossibly deeper.
Another low groan rumbles through him, his fingers tightening against my skin just before he stills above me. The pulsing feel of his cock sends me higher, making me shift against him, wanting to extend the moment just a little longer.
As he comes, his lips press hard to mine and then he pulls back, finding his control again before skimming his lips over mine. A heavy breath falls from his lips as he kisses me slowly over and over again, each time more gentle than the last. He pulls away, leaning his temple against mine. When I peer up into Mason’s eyes, there’s a sated look of desire and sin in his dark gaze. He’s always been attractive, but he’s never looked as dangerously sexy as he does right now.
Twenty-Six
Things that Go Bump in the Night
My eyes open to darkness, finding only a few hours have passed. Mason’s smooth chest is against my fingertips as he holds me against him. I turn, expecting Jameson, but find the other white pillow unoccupied.
An odd feeling tangles in my stomach as I realize he’s not here.
In his own room.
Quietly, I pull myself away from Mason. Dark eyes peer up at me as I stand naked at the side of the bed. He sits up for a moment, fully alert but barely awake.
“Come back to bed,” he whispers, his gaze slowly trailing down my body.
“I’ll be right back.” I touch his hand and his fingers tangle with mine before I slip away.
The shirt on the floor is nearly pushed beneath the bed and I grab it before I walk away, pulling it on just as I open the door.
The house is a fortress of silence, there’s not one sound as I trail down the cold stairs. White light shines in through the enormous windows, slashing across the tile floors in the entrance.
I peek into the living room to find the televisi
on still on, flashing light against Jameson’s smooth features. He looks impossibly younger when he’s asleep. His boyish smile isn’t in place and a look of peace is there.
I force myself to walk away from him and I force myself not to wonder why he never came to bed with me.
In just a few quick steps, I make my way into the kitchen.
A thin stream of clear water fills the cup and my focus remains there for so long the glass nearly overflows. I turn the faucet off and take a long drink of the cool water. It’s late and not a soul should be awake at this hour. And yet, here I am.
My lower back meets the counter and I stare around at the dark kitchen. Gleaming appliances and glossy countertops shine in the moonlight. Everything here is expensive and perfect. It doesn’t feel like a home. I certainly don’t feel at home here. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that feeling in my entire life.
Until recently, I didn’t think I ever would. I’m just now starting to think it’s possible. A quieter life is possible. There’s more exciting things in life than fighting and killing and surviving.
Like love.
I swallow hard as I really consider that statement. I don’t know what love feels like. Not really. But I know what it feels like to care about someone now.
I care about them.
Even Rory.
I think ...
The kitchen door swings open, wafting an announcing sound. Rory’s broad shoulders fill the doorway and he doesn’t dare take another step into the room. He stands staring at me and my innocent glass of water as if I was down here plotting his death.
“I think the kitchen’s big enough for the both of us.” I take a casual sip of my water, but he doesn’t seem too convinced of my motives here.
He might never trust me. Especially when we’re alone. He’s always assessing my next move. I swear, I set out to murder him one time and he still won’t forgive and forget.
His gaze darts to the rack of knives sitting neatly near the stove before trailing back to me, standing in my fucking jammies. I must look like a real threat right now. I cock a brow at his blatant thoughts.
He really thinks I’d murder him with a steak knife?
How insulting.
A blunt butter knife would be much more satisfying on my part.
The hard panes of his chest are bare, exposing more of him than I’ve ever seen. Dark lines ink down his shoulder and upper arm, catching my attention for a moment. His bulky frame is made up of pure strength and tense posture.
His gaze never leaves me as he takes slow strides to the refrigerator. One more glaring look passes my way before he opens the door. The bright light halos his bronze skin. It intensifies every scar slicing through his features. Pink scar tissue tears across his throat, piquing my curiosity about the deadly man before me even more. A fresh, open wound gouges through his left brow; probably from a match with Tylin. It makes my stomach twist looking at it.
“You should really tend to your wounds better.” I don’t say it but half of the thin lines cutting across his features would be insignificant details if he knew how to take care of himself.
“You should really mind your own fucking business.” He cracks the top of a beverage, swinging the refrigerator door shut behind him. His attention bores into me as he tilts the drink to his lips. His throat works hard as he takes long drinks from the can.
It clinks against the countertop as he continues to stare a hole through my damn face.
“What’s your deal? Out of everyone, you’re just… so fucking welcoming.”
His big hands push against the granite of the counter as he takes up as much space as possible. The muscles of his arms tense with the movement and I do my best to pretend not to notice.
“My deal is, you’re just a phase. What we have here has been in effect for years. We’re working toward something that we’ve been plotting for nearly a decade. You’re just a shiny toy of a distraction. You’ll be gone soon enough.” His rumbling voice lowers to a promising tone. “And we’ll do what we set out to do with or without you.”
My lips purse into a nonexistent line. The last few days of his forced civilized behavior hasn’t been friendship. It’s just been a job to him.
I’ll win. I’ll make him see me as a teammate if I have to shove my friendship down his throat.
I stalk toward him. His trained attention watches me every step of the way. As my arm brushes his, his gaze falls, just slightly. But I notice it. I notice the way his dark eyes just skimmed across the curve of my breasts.
Hmm, seems he doesn’t hate everything about me.
I arch against the counter behind him, stretching to reach the small white box placed neatly atop the refrigerator.
He doesn’t move an inch as I bring it back and place it beside his drink. My bare leg brushes against his soft sweatpants and I try not to think too much about how warm he feels against my side.
In silence, he watches as I rummage through the little first aid kit. The gauze and tape I used days ago take up most of the space. Thin papers and tiny boxes skim over my fingertips before I finally find what I’m looking for.
I hold up the two small butterfly bandages.
His pretty eyes narrow on them but he doesn’t refute, so… I guess that’s an invitation. My long fingers start to open the first one. I try not to peek up at him, but the small cut along his lower lip keeps pulling at my attention too.
He’s a mess. Can’t take care of himself at all it seems.
I set my open bandages down on the cool granite. His big body is poised at my side, waiting quietly for me to help him.
He cursed at me less than five minutes ago and now he’s content to let me baby him.
Asshole.
Nonetheless, I can’t stand the thought of this deadly assassin getting a simple infection because he’s too stubborn to admit he has a fucking boo-boo.
The alcohol soaks the cotton, tinging the air with the sharp scent of it. With slow and careful movements, I raise it toward him. He stiffens from my closeness, assessing every single thing about me.
Is it awful that I want to rub it directly into his judgmental eyes right now?
I don’t, of course. I press it slowly to the open wound dividing through his brow. It’ll scar. But with my minor help it’ll be a small flaw among many on his body.
My arm brushes against his chest, pushing even more tension into him and an odd but consuming tingling sensation through me. It steals my breath away as it washes over me.
It’s… his power. An addicting but dominant feeling claws through my chest. Tendrils of his power toy with mine, and I breathe through the feelings, allowing myself only a small taste of his energy. It settles deep within my chest, barely a hum as it vibrates through me.
With steady hands, I place the first butterfly to the wound. His eyes close on contact when I pull the wound together. I feel like a good friend right now. Not to pat myself on the back, or ask for a medal or anything, but I am doing him a real favor without complaint. Not that he’s acknowledging the good deed.
When I’m done, he tenses, staring down on me as my hands linger against the wound, trying to judge if I need one more or not.
“Done?” His harsh tone draws my attention.
My lips purse and, just before I speak, I tap his wound just hard enough to make him groan.
“All done.” My voice is annoyingly chipper and I hear him curse me even after I’ve left the kitchen, the door swinging closed behind me.
Asshole.
The door swings again and he passes me, taking the stairs quick enough to make me stop and glare after him. I swear, I live in a house full of children most days.
The shadows along the wall hold my focus as one shifts oddly, sending my body into a stance of defense. It was the shadow of a man. The slasher movie flashes through my mind, throwing me even further on edge. I turn toward the door, taking the steps slowly and stealthily back downstairs. When I reach the floor just near the door, my fingers gri
p a pink and white polka dotted umbrella tightly, my grip tightening as the shadow comes back into view against the wall. It crawls over the room as the person comes closer to the house.
If there were dramatic music playing right now, I’d know one of us were about to die a gruesome death just as the woman on TV did earlier today. Seconds tick by. My spine stiffens as the knob starts to turn and in the minimal moonlight, I see every movement.
Tylin takes a single step in and he seems to immediately know he’s not alone. Tension lines his broad shoulders. His gaze narrows on me in an instant.
“I didn’t realize I had a curfew, Mom.” He’s shirtless, his jogging shorts low in his hips once again. Those angling tattoo lines between his hips are more exposed, detailing just how low his shorts really are.
Who the hell jogs in the middle of the night though?
A breath of relief slips over my lips.
“I almost killed you, just so you know.”
He walks toward the kitchen before turning back to look at me, his attention lingering on the umbrella in my lowered hand.
“With a fist full of polka dots?”
With a roll of my eyes, I place the umbrella back. I take a few steps closer to him and just before the snarky remark slips over my lips, the real question I’ve been dying to ask sneaks out.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice cuts through the shadows and he stops in his tracks. I’m always saying the wrong thing when I’m with him. “Why didn’t you tell me you tried to kill Armond?”
I knew. I knew before I ever came here. I just thought he had started to trust me. That we were friends of sorts. It’s been weeks and he still keeps me at arm’s length.
Because I’m just an asset.
He doesn’t trust me with the full details. He trusts me just enough to pull this job off. We’re not friends though. How stupid of me to think that.
His gaze becomes more serious than I’ve ever seen.
Slow steps bring him closer and closer until he’s staring down on me. Fuck him and his confidence. I meet his hard glare.