by Jasmin Quinn
Michael pulled Isabelle by the waist as she struggled, and she lashed out at him with her nails. They were attracting unwanted attention so Michael yanked her to him and squeezed her so tightly that she gasped and staggered under his grip. As they walked by a stunned couple, Michael said to the man, “Too much to drink. You know how it is.”
The man nodded sympathetically. The wife slapped him on the chest, “Hey! Really? You know how it is?”
Michael couldn’t help but grin, which grounded him, made him less angry at the woman in his arms. The elevator arrived promptly and thank the universe it was empty. He pressed the button for the 6th floor and turned to chastise Isabelle, to find her grinning at him. “What the hell?”
“I wanted to lose your buddy,” Isabelle said, her voice steady and sober. “We need a little alone time to talk.”
Michael chuckled. He wasn’t giving her enough credit. He pushed her up against the wall and kissed her, his lips hard and demanding. Isabelle kissed him back, just as passionately, draping her arms around his neck. He whispered in her ear, “Is that what you want to do, Isabelle? Talk?”
The smile slid from her face as she gazed into Michael’s eyes. “I want very much not to talk right now.”
The elevator door slid open and another couple stepped in as they stepped out. “We’re not going to our room. The Hilton is safe. The office is still an option. Another option is my safehouse.”
“Or mine,” Anto said as he stepped through the door to the stairwell.
Michael reached for his gun, then realizing who it was, raked his hand through his hair instead. “Fuck, Anto. I almost shot you.”
“Don’t be silly. You wouldn’t have shot me.” He turned to Isabelle. “While I admire the fact that you can slam scotch like sailor in a strip club, you are not much of an actress.”
“She fooled me,” Michael came to Isabelle’s defense.
“That’s because you are too fucking in love with her to see straight.” An awkwardness settled on the three of them. Michael couldn’t deny it, not without crushing Isabelle. And by doing so, it would tell Anto that it was true. Anto was looking down at his nails, inspecting them, pulling at a cuticle.
Isabelle stood her ground. “Anto, you couldn’t charm the pants off a hooker, you bastard.”
Anto grinned at her.
“I wanted a little alone time with Michael. Without you.”
“Good thing I got here as quickly as I did. Or I might have caught you blowing him in the stairwell.”
Isabelle balled her fists. “You are such a jackass, you piece of shit! Everything is either sex or violence with you.”
Michael placed a hand on Isabelle’s arm. She was pissed. Her face was red, her eyes were tearing up, and her jaw was tight. And Anto, Michael knew enough about him to know that he did get angry, and when that happened people got hurt. It was barely perceptible, but Anto’s back was just a little straighter, his nostrils a little flared.
“I talk about what I like, girlfriend of Michael’s. I like sex, I like beautiful women, I like blow jobs.” He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And I like vodka. But you, you pretentious piece of ass, I don’t like you.”
Michaels temper flared. At Isabelle for being so loose with her tongue. For goading Anto. And at Anto for his disrespect of Isabelle. “Enough,” he growled at both, grabbing Isabelle’s arm as she raised it to slap Anto. He quickly pulled her behind his back. “Anto, do we have another room here?”
Anto drew his gaze to Michael, dismissing Isabelle for the moment. “Yes. 4th floor. Won’t be up to the lady’s standards, but she’ll just have to lower them.”
“Fuck,” Michael said, more to himself than anyone else following Anto into the stairwell, pulling Isabelle behind him.
The room wasn’t up to his standards, Michael decided as he looked around. It was nice enough, but it wasn’t a suite. It was just a typical hotel room. Two queen beds, a coffee brewer, a bar fridge. Anto entered first, Isabelle ahead of Michael. Michael pushed the door shut with force, bolted it and put the chain on it. He turned to the two of them. “Stop fighting. You don’t have to like each other, but right now, Isabelle, we need Anto more than he needs us.”
“That’s not true,” Anto said carelessly as he dropped down on one of the chairs. “I need her,” he nodded towards Isabelle, almost choking on the word her. Michael knew Anto had wanted to say something more demeaning but was trying to be respectful to Michael. “I wish to deliver on this. It will solidify my place with Rusya. If I don’t deliver, Savisin will see me as weak. I will lose ground. Lukov’s death will be for nothing.”
“I didn’t kill Lukov to further entrench you.”
Isabelle piped up, “You killed someone?”
“Isabelle, you saw me kill someone.”
“I was compartmentalizing that.”
Anto ignored her. “His death had happy consequences for me. I should have killed him myself sooner. Or maybe not. The timing was good.”
Isabelle sat on the bed furthest from Anto, her hands at her side, palms facing down. Michael watched her as she swayed. He hoped she was just coming to grips with everything. He hoped she wasn’t going to faint. He didn’t want to go to her right now. It was such a fucking tightrope with Anto. Especially with a woman involved. Anto thought women made a man weak and maybe he was right. Michael didn’t have time to debate the topic and Anto sure as hell wasn’t going to listen to Isabelle. Michael had to stay the course. He’d apologize to Isabelle when they were on a plane to Paris.
He walked over to a chair at the little side table and sat in it, across from Anto. “Isabelle, join us.” She glanced over at the two men, her face expressionless. Wordlessly, she stood up and walked over to the table. No chairs to sit, so she sat on the edge of the bed. Michael sighed as he looked at her. One minute, she was a woman in control, the next she was frail and fearful.
He looked at his watch. Another bloody long day, far from over. They had to get out of this hotel to somewhere safer. “What’s our next move Anto?”
“I have a safehouse. A bit of a drive, but easy this time of night. Gets us out of Vancouver.”
“Where?”
Anto hesitated, wrestling with the notion of giving up the location of his safe house. Michael understood. He had a couple of his own safety nets scattered around the city. No one knew about them, not even Anto. What you didn’t know, you couldn’t tell. Finally, Anto shrugged, “I was getting tired of the place anyway. A house in Whistler." Which meant after they left, Anto would sell it and set up another safe house. Understandable.
“Okay, we need a ride.”
Anto grinned. “I’ll get us one.”
Michael sighed. “Don’t hurt anyone in the process.”
Anto seemed disappointed. “Savisin and Creed will have men on us. Creed wants to make sure Isabelle does the job, so he’ll watch her 24/7. Savisin trusts me but is worried you might kill me.”
“He might be on to something,” Michael muttered.
Anto roared his laughter.
“When we give them the slip, what will Jack and Rusya think?” Isabelle’s voice was thready, but colour was starting to return to her face.
“I’ll call Rusya and let him know that we’re fine. Planning the job. I have my eye on you and am outraged that Rusya would think I couldn’t control the situation.” All this he said to Michael.
“I’ll need my kit. Or a kit. Not something I can probably put together in Whistler.”
Anto finally glanced at her. “I have your kit, in the trunk of my car. I picked it up while I was looking for my Russian brothers.”
Michael sighed. “Anto, Isabelle is not to blame for their deaths. I killed them.”
“I’m not blaming anyone,” Anto said. “But I am in mourning.” Then he flashed a big toothy grin. “Some people grieve by thinking of sex, women, blowjobs, and vodka.”
Isabelle drew her eyebrows together but kept her thoughts to herself.
“Wh
at’s the plan then?” Michael needed Anto to refocus.
“I’ll get the kit. It’s in a black duffel bag, so it looks like an overnight bag. Then I’ll steal a car. I’ll text you when I have it. You and Isabelle will leave the hotel out the front doors, like you are going for a drink. Walk to the Beagle Pub. It’s two blocks south. Try not to be followed. Go through the pub and into the kitchen, through the back door. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Are you really going to steal a car?” Isabelle asked in disbelief.
Anto nodded. “Isabelle, you don’t like me because you misjudge me. You shouldn’t do that. Almost everyone who misjudges me is dead. Like you, I am very good at being a criminal. Michael, not so much. He’s not as discreet as he should be.”
Isabelle glanced at Michael who rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Go Anto. We’ll wait here,” he said.
Anto nodded. “It should take me 40 minutes or so. I have to lose the tail that is on me. Maybe I should just break his neck.” He strolled out the door closing it firmly behind him.
“This is all a game to him,” Isabelle sputtered turning towards Michael as he bolted the door behind Anto.
“It’s not, Isabelle. He takes this very seriously. Trust me on this.” He paced over to her and pulled her to her feet, holding her in his hard embrace. “I don’t want to talk about Anto. I don’t want to talk at all. We have 40 minutes. And we may not get another chance to be alone like this.”
Isabelle folded herself into his arms, giving up her tension, fear, exhaustion. “Just don’t rip anything,” she whispered. “These are the only things I have.”
Michael nipped her shoulder as he undid the zipper on the back of her dress. Then he stepped back from her, pulling the straps from her shoulders and watching as the dress fell to the floor. His eyes raked her body, memorizing every curve. He loved that she wore such sexy lingerie. He loved that she wore stockings, that she was waxed and groomed. He loved that she was capable of walking in 4-inch heels, that she knew that her legs were fantastic and that she shared them with the world. Okay, maybe he didn’t love the sharing part. The world didn’t need to see her legs. Maybe when they were done, he would take her away someplace private, their own private safe house. France did sound good. Or Germany. And they would be together.
He dropped to his knees and pulled her towards him, his hands on the small of her back, burying his face in her belly. Kissing it, listening as it gurgled. He brought his fingers to her garter, unhooked it from her stockings, then slid her panties down her legs, to her shoes. She stepped out them.
“Sit Isabelle,” he said as he pushed her onto the bed and parted her thighs. He drank her in with his eyes first and then with his mouth, drawing his tongue up her slit, nuzzling her clit. Her hands were gathered in the folds of the duvet, her fingers scrabbling to maintain a grip as Michael explored, slowly, languidly. He knew they didn’t have a lot of time, but he didn’t want this to be frenzied. He wanted to make love to her. As crazy as she made him out of bed, she made him even crazier in bed. She moaned and dropped back on the duvet bringing her heel up to his shoulder, opening herself wider, letting him in.
He loved the taste of her, the smell of her. He slid a finger into her, a small thrust, probing and as she gasped, he stopped his hand. Then raked his finger over the sensitive spot he found and was rewarded with a moan. While he fingered her, he brought his mouth to her clit, kissing it gently, then licking it with his tongue, hard and relentless, lapping at it, at her wetness. She cried out, wrapping her fingers through his hair, hanging on to his head, then letting it go as her hands dropped down on her thighs, her red fingernails digging into her flesh.
He slid another finger into her body, hooking them inside her, drumming them on her g-spot. She brought her thighs together lifting her ass off the bed, thrusting against his fingers. His mouth slipped off her pussy and he lifted his shoulders, pushing himself up so he could watch her tremble under his touch. He raked his thumb over her clit, slow at first, then harder. Her body was writhing now, her hands on her breasts, squeezing them, pulling at her nipples, then moving them to her neck, her stomach, stroking herself as she bucked her hips. Her breathing was uneven, little gasps and cries escaping between her rapid breathes. He felt the first tremors of her orgasm as she tensed, a tightening of her sheath around his fingers and then when she hit, the pulsing of her pussy, hard, rapid spasms. His name escaped her lips, between her cries and then as she came down, he slowed his petting until she stilled.
He slid his hand from her pussy, up her belly, her wetness creating a glistening path that his eyes followed. He waited as she gathered her senses together. Then as she tried to sit up, Michael said, “Stay.”
She dropped her head back down on the duvet.
Michael felt the push of his erection, impatient to be free. He reached down and undid his trousers, pushing them down over his ass and drawing his cock out. He caressed himself, savouring the skin on skin as his eyes stroked over her luscious body.
“Let me.” Isabelle’s voice was husky as she held out a hand to him.
He knelt on the bed beside her, pulling her up on her knees so they were facing each other. Then he wrapped her hand around his cock encasing her hand with his, stroking his cock at his pace with her hand. He closed his eyes as a groan ripped through him. She tried to increase her speed, but he stilled her hand.
“No.” He moved her hand from his cock, then kissed her lips, her neck, squeezed her firm breast and licked her nipple. “I want you to come again. While I’m in you.” He forced her knees apart and settled himself between her legs.
Isabelle gasped as he dropped his fingers to her pussy, stoking her sensitive clit, forcing her tremors. It was her turn to stop his hand. “Not yet, Michael.” She pulled herself from his embrace and reached for his cock as she licked her lips.
Michael caught her as she slid down the bed, pulling her to him, looking into the depth of his eyes. “Isabelle, you don’t have to.”
“Michael, I want to. I need to.” She pushed away from him, pushed him down on the bed on his back. Then she brought her hand to his stomach, running her fingers over the edges of muscles, tracing the hard lines. She moved slowly, agonizingly inching down through his dark pubic hair, pulling at it, not hard, but not soft. Playing with it. He groaned and felt himself grow harder. He sensed her hesitation.
“Isabelle, wait.” He forced the word from between his panting breaths. He pulled her around so he had access to her beautiful ass, so he could finger her pussy. “Let’s not make this just about me. I want you to be as turned on as I am.”
“Let’s not overthink this, Michael.” Isabelle wrapped her hand around his cock, solidly gripping it, stroking it. She ran her thumb over the head of it and he could feel the stickiness of his precum as she drew her thumb up to her mouth and licked it. Her glittering green eyes stared into his and she smiled. The heat in his belly flooded through him. Then she dropped her head to his cock, taking it between her lips, holding the head inside her mouth, stroking it with her tongue.
Michael inhaled sharply and brought his hand to her ass cheeks digging his fingers into the lushness of them. He forgot about her pleasure, bastard that he was, as he sank into the ecstasy of her lips and her tongue on his cock, so teasing, so sensuous. The grip she had on his cock moved down to his balls, and as she stroked and squeezed them, she took more of his cock into her mouth. He jerked when she raked her teeth down his shaft and lifted himself up on his elbows to watch her as she fucked his cock with her mouth. She was so beautiful kneeling on the bed, in her garter. Her ass was perfect, her pussy exquisite. How could he not keep wanting her, how could any man? Then he dropped back down on the bed, sucking in a hard breath as she pulled him deeper into his mouth. He felt a little rage at the thought of anyone but him touching her.
And as the anger washed over him, it fueled his lust. He was too close to the edge. He needed her to stop or he would come in her mouth. He took her head in his hands, pu
lling her off his cock, guiding her up so he could kiss her mouth. “Ride me, Isabelle,” he breathed into her ear as he nipped the lobe. “Sit on me and fuck me.”
Not giving her a chance to deny him, he sat up and pulled her onto his lap, settling himself between her thighs, her long legs straddling him as he slid her onto his cock. The wetness of her drew him into her, and she settled, her tightness sheathing his cock. He thought he might come without any more stimulation, but he shifted his thoughts, buried his face into the hollow of her neck as he dropped his hands to her hips, helping her move on his cock, slowly and steadily. Isabelle’s breathing grew hoarse and little moans escaped her lips. He loved hearing her as her excitement grew. He could feel her taut nipples brushing his chest, her pussy pulsating around his cock. Her eyes closed, her head thrown back, her long milky pearl-wrapped neck exposed.
It seared him to the core. He could feel the pull, the hunger, the need to come inside her. The need to possess her. She opened her eyes suddenly, her green eyes flashing, staring deeply into his. “You are so fucking good, Michael” she gasped.
That was it, he shattered, lost control. Grabbed her hips and slammed her down on him, bucking deep into her, thrusting, her pussy tightening around his cock, strangling it, wringing it. Then he exploded, an orgasm so violent it scorched through him slamming into his darkness, wrapping around the edges of his heart and forcing tears to his eyes.
“Fuck, Isabelle!” he shouted, letting go of everything but her.
And Isabelle, pumping him, crying out her own pleasure, her arms around his shoulders, her hands buried in the folds of his shirt. And dimly, the phone beeping. Once, then again, and again.
“Shit,” Isabelle groaned as she rolled off Michael and splayed herself beside him on the bed, trying to gain control of her breathing. “Fucking Anto.”