His Prisoner by Jesse Jordan (30)

Larissa

Despite the sexy exterior, and an education provided by MI6 that isn't found in any other school on the planet, I actually do have a university degree from the London School of Economics. It's useful, and right now I'm putting it to good use as I take care of one of the primary functions of my club, the funneling and laundering of money. Sure, it's all a sham as MI6 and most likely Interpol know my exact financial records, but I still have to do the actual work.

“So let's see, thirty customers yesterday... that's sixty five,” I note, changing the incoming rate. Prostitution is legal in Greece, although the services my club advertises is not on the normal menu for most clubs. “Adjust the bar tab....”

There's a huge crash from out front and I look up in surprise, my eyes automatically going to the security monitors inside my office. I see a group of men rushing into the club, and one of my security is already down. Shit!

I hit my 'panic button' on my computer, a button which first backs up all my data on an offsite server while at the same time sends a message to each of the other capo in The Network that I may be under attack, and then destroys every hard drive in the club. I get the confirmation and head to the door, grabbing my pistol from my desk as I do.

The scene outside is deadly tense as I emerge, my pistol out. There's eight men in the group, seven of them with rifles and one with a shotgun. One of them has Jason, the club's male worker, in a headlock, a gun pressed against his head, while the rest of staff and the customers look slightly roughed up, Lihua's holding her face while naked on the floor. “Put the piece down.”

“Like hell,” I answer, cocking my gun. “I do, and you shoot him.”

“You don't, and we shoot him and everyone else,” the leader, the one with the shotgun, says. “You come with us, and we won't shoot anyone else. One pistol against seven AKs and a shotgun. You do the math.”

I look around, and I see Jason's terrified eyes. He's a true sweetheart, always with a laugh and something to cheer the girls when they have a bad customer or just a slow day. More than just a good worker, he's a good man, popular with the male and female dominants who come here.

I set my pistol down, and one of the gunmen comes towards me. When the guy holding Jason doesn't let go I move, reversing the asshole coming for me and disarming him quickly. “Let Jason go!”

“As you wish, our boss didn't want any more blood than necessary,” the leader says, jerking his head. Jason's let go, and I release the idiot I disarmed, holding my hands up as two more approach me, both of them smart enough to have their rifles ready.

We're most of the way to the door when I hear a scream in German and Claudia launches herself at the gunmen, screaming something at them. She's no match for the gunmen, and he hits her with the butt of his gun in the stomach before shooting her in the arm in cold blood. “No!”

Claudia screams, holding her bleeding shoulder, and the other gunmen grab me, dragging me out to a waiting van before they pile in after me, holding me down by pure force of weight while they tie me up. We pull away, and while I can't do much, I can only hope that nobody else was hurt.

I don't say anything to these assholes as we drive, and based off the time I know exactly where we're going. “Isn't the same bar a bit stupid?”

“The boss wants you there,” Shotgun says, looking back from his ironic choice of seat. “He has questions.”

When we get to the club they drag me inside, where another ten men are waiting on my arrival. I find my feet and walk as they lead me over to one of the empty seats, where Arthur Pinchot is waiting for me. “Ah, Larissa. So glad you accepted our invitation.”

“Your men killed at least one of mine, and shot another. I expect retribution,” I start, sitting down and refusing to look at any of the other men. They're dogs, waiting on their master's command. I deal with men, not dogs. Although considering Pinchot, I'd say I'm dealing with a monster that looks like a man. “What do you want?”

“Who was the man with you?” Pinchot asks. “I'm getting conflicting reports.”

“His name is Inigo Montoya. You killed his father,” I bullshit, but Pinchot's smarter than most criminals, he laughs at my taunt.

“A Spaniard? I've known too many Spaniards,” he quotes back. “Come now, Larissa. Who is he? On one hand, I'm hearing that he's a mercenary, sent here because of the Hendricks girl. The other rumor, more troubling in some ways, is that he's actually a Deep Cover CIA man sent here for the same reason.”

“Either way, he's here for whoever killed Chastity Hendricks. If you don't have anything to do with it, he's going to leave you alone,” I reply, shrugging. “You said last time you didn't, were you lying?”

Pinchot nods. “What do you think?”

“I think that with what I found out about you I wouldn't be shocked if you actually killed her with your own two hands,” I growl. “Which as you know is something that I wouldn't let in my territory. Greece is mine, Pinchot.”

Pinchot shrugs. “Perhaps on one level. But what confuses me is that Finch has an agreement with WW, why would they violate that to send someone after us?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, and Pinchot's out of his seat, backhanding me hard across the mouth. I roll with it, but I'm still knocked to the floor, and I can taste blood in my mouth.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about!” he screams, kicking me hard in the ass. I crawl, but there isn't a lot of room here, and he kicks me again, his shoe hard in my hips, stiff kicks that paralyze muscles. “Finch has the agreement with WW! Dover approved of it!”

“Dover?” I ask, trying to figure out in an instant how much of a beating I can take before I have to fight back for my life. He's pissed, he's talking, I need to hear this. “I don't know anyone named Dover.”

“Stupid bitch!” Pinchot yells, looking around. “Out, all of you! This is a private matter!”

The room starts to clear as I butt scoot, trying to keep my eyes on Pinchot as he watches me, his eyes gleaming and I notice that he's getting hard. Of course he is, administering pain turns him on. “Oh, for so long I heard about you. Finch has known about you ever since you were a little girl, didn't you know?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask, frozen at the mention of my childhood. “What do you know about my childhood?”

“Who do you think brokered you the first time? Although if WW had known about how beautiful you'd become, there's no way they'd have sold you to the markets. So who's the man with you?”

“He's just here for the Hendricks girl!” I scream, trying to get up and failing as Pinchot kicks me again, my legs knocked out from under me. Still I try and fight, but Pinchot's a trained fighter too, and he's got position as well as strength and size on me. I flail with my half decent leg but he blocks it and stomps, pinning my ankle to the floor and making me scream in pain.

“Oooh, and I thought you were into pain,” Pinchot says, tutting his tongue. “Don't tell me you don't like it.”

“There's pain and then there's just being a son of a bitch,” I growl, trying to protect my body as Pinchot starts beating me with his feet and hands. I've taken beatings before, but it's been a while, and as I absorb the blows I try to fight back uselessly. In the end I curl up, hoping that I get one more chance, even if it costs me my life, to take this bastard out.

“Who's the man who was with you?” Pinchot asks again, slightly out of breath from the beating he's been giving me. “Who is he? Why are you violating WW?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I gasp, my ribs aching. He knows what he's doing, beating me slowly and taking his time without breaking anything yet. “You're dead, though.”

“Some day perhaps,” Pinchot says, before sighing. “You're useless. Well, not totally, I shall enjoy feeling your death spasms around my cock. I just wonder how I'm going to do it.”

I gather my strength for one more attack when a long rattling sound like an insane typewriter comes from outside the club. Pinchot turns and I kick him in the back of the leg just as the door explodes inward and Stephen jumps through, automatic rifle in hand. He sees Pinchot and shoots, the round taking him in the hip and knocking him to the ground.

“Where is... oh, there you are,” he says, seeing me. I'm so shocked, surprised at his tone, and happy to see him that I want to jump up and kiss him, but Stephen doesn't give me a chance, raising his rifle to shoot Pinchot again. “Time to die, Pinchot.”

“Wait!” I call, raising my hand. “He's got information on his bosses. We need to question him.”

Pinchot, holding his bleeding hip and groaning on the ground, stares at us with hate in his eyes as Stephen kicks, catching the Frenchman in the side of the head and knocking him out. “Fine,” Stephen says, kneeling down and helping me up. “But I want to be there when he's interrogated. Can you walk?”

“I can move,” I grunt, letting Stephen help me up. “Give me the rifle, I'll cover you while you get this bastard out of here. I doubt the locals are going to ignore you using a grenade launcher on the door.”

“Yeah well, it was a good idea at the time,” Stephen grunts as he grabs Pinchot under the armpits and starts dragging him towards the door. “Glad I brought the Range Rover.”

“Who gave you access to my guns?” I ask as I see that Stephen's rifles is one of my personal stash, a British SA80 with Heckler and Koch grenade launcher. “This is my favorite rifle, too.”

“I bet. It's a good gun,” he says, grunting as we clear the door and I see the Range Rover, two bodies nearby. “Pinchot's men fought like punks.”

“Come on, I know just the place for him,” I say, opening the back door and helping Stephen load Pinchot in. We tie him quickly, and close the back door. As soon as it does I grab Stephen and kiss him hard for a moment before releasing him. “Thank you. I drive.”

“You're welcome... and I want the rifle back,” Stephen says, smirking. “Just in case I gotta shoot someone else before we get back.”

We get in the Range Rover and drive away quickly, Stephen pulling out his phone. “Yes... yes, Lihua, I have her. Yes, your Mistress is safe. You want to talk to her?” Stephen looks over, smirking. “She wants to talk. She made me promise to call her as soon as I had you before she unlocked the gun safe.”

I chuckle, and nod. “Put her on speaker. Lihua?”

“Mistress, you're really safe?” Lihua says excitedly. “I... when Master Stephen said he was going after you I was so worried.”

“Master?” I mouth to Stephen, and he nods. Time for that later. “I'm safe, Lihua. The club?”

“Claudia is being treated, your man Ophelos is here, taking care of the clean up. The police have left.”

I nod, Ophelos is a good man. “I'll speak with him later. Was anyone besides Claudia and Nikandros hurt?”

“No Mistress,” Lihua says. “What are your orders?”

“Tell Ophelos to contact Club Tartarus. I'm bringing in the man who ordered the attack, and I want privacy. Then take care of the others.”

“Yes Mistress,” Lihua says. After we hang up, I glance over at Stephen, who's relaxed enough to lower his rifle some.

“Master Stephen?”

“I promised her that I'd protect you. She says that earns me Master status for her,” Stephen says simply. “Don't worry, I reminded her who her primary Mistress is.”

I nod, and turn my attention back to the road. It's getting late, and I've got a lot more to get done tonight before it's over.

Besides, Lihua's right.

Stephen

Club Tartarus is very similar to Larissa's primary club, but the decorations are darker, maybe more forbidding. “Your sub club?”

“A lot of the subs who can afford Tartarus are mentally hardcore, although most of them can't take even half of what my professional subs can, so we enhance the experience with the décor,” Larissa explains as we truss Pinchot to the St. Andrew's cross. I remember the X shape from my first night in the other club, and beautiful but now injured Claudia who's in the hospital who had been on it. So trusting in Larissa, and trusting in me too by the end... she didn't deserve to be shot. “What's wrong?”

“After we question him I'll tell you,” I reply, getting pissed off as Pinchot wakes up. I'd knocked him out pretty hard, but he's finally coming around, struggling at the end when he realizes what's happening to him. I get his arm bound though and step back as Pinchot stares at us, hate in his eyes.

“You're making a grave mistake,” Pinchot says, and I shake my head, holding up a hand to silence him. Turning, I whisper in Larissa's ear.

“I assume this room has the same tools as the other club?”

She nods, her violet eyes brimming with anger and malice. “And more.”

“Get them. And does the cross recline?” She nods, and I think. “Bring a bucket and a towel too. Just in case.”

Larissa leaves, and Pinchot looks at me knowingly. “American after all. So let's see, CIA?”

“Does it matter?” I return, not wanting to give him any momentum. “Tell me about Chastity Hendricks.”

“Nothing to say,” Pinchot says. Larissa returns, and he grins. “A challenge.”

“Most dominants can't take even half of what my subs can,” Larissa says, foregoing the crop and picking up the cat o' nine tails. “It's why I keep my clubs separated. The customers can't challenge my staff, I'd be too busy keeping them from fucking each other if I didn't. I do hope you can take it.”

Larissa flicks her whip, the tip tearing across Pinchot's chest and he hisses. I know I shouldn't let this happen, but I don't care right now. “Like I said, tell me about Chastity Hendricks.”

“I wasn't involved with her!” Pinchot says, grunting. “I was out recruiting when she was taken!”

“You told me that back when you were going to rape me and kill me,” Larissa says, whipping him again. “You're going to have to do better. Who is Finch?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Pinchot says, and Larissa hits him again. She's trembling on the edge of exhaustion herself after the beating she's already taken, and I stop her hand, taking the whip from her gently.

“Sit,” I whisper in her ear. “You need treatment yourself, and I can handle this. Ask the questions. Okay?”

“Yes,” Larissa says, her eyes still angry but obeying me without a second of protest. She grabs a club chair and sits down while I turn back to Pinchot.

“You're lying,” I tell Pinchot, setting the whip aside to get in his face. “Who's your boss?”

“You think you scare me, Yankee?” Pinchot asks, laughing. “I can see it in your eyes, you play by the rules. I'm not scared of you. I want my lawyer.”

“You might have been right... a few weeks ago,” I respond, punching Pinchot in the stomach. “But that was before I saw what happened to Chastity Hendricks. You think I'm worried about a little roughness when she was treated like that?”

“I'll treat her rougher,” Pinchot taunts, jerking his head towards Larissa. “She's already a legendary fuck by her reputation. I bet she's even better bleeding.”

“Shut the fuck up!” I scream, losing my temper as I backhand Pinchot. “You won't ever touch her!”

Pinchot's head rocks back and blood flies from his lips, but he laughs, bubbles forming on his lips as he looks at me. “So... that's your weakness, huh? Not good, Lancelot. The lady you think you're protecting, she's just a whore with a fancy title. You think the Network is going to let her actually have any power? Scoglitti is going to keep control of the shipping, Rachmaninoff is going to control the money, and she's going to have a couple of whore houses and the crumbs from their tables...”

“Enough!” I yell, jamming my thumb into his neck. It's painful, and as he writhes, I twist deeper, digging my thumb under his jaw. “You will not talk about Larissa! Who's your boss?!”

“Fuck... you...” Pinchot grunts, and I twist harder. It's an excruciating, but I dig in until Larissa speaks up.

“Who is Finch?” she asks, her voice shaky with exhaustion but still calm. Better than I feel, but right now I don't care.

Pinchot laughs again, and I've hit my end point. I find the controls for the cross and invert him, pointing his head down and grabbing the towel. “Can you pour for me?”

Larissa nods, and I clamp the towel over Pinchot's head. I've been waterboarded twice when I was in training at Langley, but I've never done it myself. It short circuits all your survival instincts to simulate drowning, and Pincot's helpless, unable to even move his hands as we pour the water over the towel and down his throat and up his nose. After two cups, he's sputtering, choking on his own panic, and I pull the towel away. “Who's Finch?!”

“Boss...” Pinchot chokes out, coughing. “Head.... of group.”

“Where is he?” I demand, but Pinchot shakes his head, he's obviously more afraid of Finch than me or waterboarding. Time to take it up a notch. I bring him back up, and reach for his belt, undoing his pants and pulling him down. His cock flops out, and I look, surprised. “You've got a baby dick!”

“Fuck you, Yankee,” Pinchot coughs. “I use what I have.”

“Not like this,” I taunt, cupping my cock. “Good God, no wonder you are such a sadistic shit! You can't make her feel your cock, so you make her feel something at least. Larissa, do we have something to make this jelly bean jump?”

“I have just the device,” Larissa says, going over to the cabinet and coming back a minute later with a large wand looking thing. I've never seen anything like it, but Pinchot's eyes widen and he shakes his head back and forth, panicked. “I see you're familiar with the electro-stim wand. This one's a bit bigger, we call it the Tower of Power around here.”

Larissa pushes a button on the handle, and the wand, I realize now it's shaped like a gigantic cock sparks, a wicked arc of electricity snapping between two prongs on the end. From the sound of it, it's nearly the power of a stun gun. Larissa hands it to me, and I find that I'm smiling, turning to Pinchot. “Last chance. His full name and location, or else I barbecue your nuts.”

Pinchot grunts, and I jab him in the thigh, triggering the wand, making him scream in panic and pain. When I pull back, his eyes are clear but totally frightened. “Okay, okay! Reginald Finch, he's in the UK right now!”

“Where in the UK?” I ask, and Pinchot shakes his head.

“I don't know, he moves around a lot. He's former Army, like me!”

I lower my wand, and turn to Larissa. “Think we've got what we need?”

Larissa nods, and I hand the wand back to her. “We'll leave him here for a couple of Network people to take out the garbage later.”

That sounds fine with me, and I put my arm around her shoulder, supporting her as we start to leave. At the door, I stop, interrupted by Finch's laughter. “It... it doesn't matter,” he wheezes. “They'll stop you, they'll stop you both. Finch is untouchable, and there's not a fucking thing you can do about it! They're going to stop you, and you're going to get fucked just like that Hendricks cunt!”

“Maybe,” I reply, crossing the room and getting in Finch's face. “But there's one person I can make damn sure doesn't hurt anyone ever again.”

Pinchot starts to smile, his smile turning to a mask of pain as I grab his balls and squeeze, pulling and twisting as I do. Pinchot's face turns brick red as he screams, the big vein on his forehead throbbing as I feel the inner flesh start to stretch and tear, his testicles turning to jelly under my crushing grip. I pull harder, adding my body weight to the pull, and Pinchot passes out, overwhelmed by the pain. I don't stop until I feel the blood coating my hand and I look down, yanking one last time to literally tear Pinchot's balls out and drop the ruined organs on the floor, wiping my hand on his shirt before turning back around and walking away, leaving him bleeding. “Tell your people they've got a bigger mess than we thought. And I need a sink to wash up.”

Larissa nods, her eyes huge with what looks like admiration for me. “Why?”

I look into her beautiful violet eyes and start to stroke her cheek, then stop. She doesn't need the pollution of this man's blood on her. “Because I will never let another little girl go through what you went through. Come on, we've got a flight plan to make to the UK.”

Larissa

My flat in the suburbs of London is just that, a mostly open space in a large building that I purchased when I wanted a space that was totally mine. Not MI6, not Network, just Larissa Moraitis. After landing at the nearby Stansted airport and driving to the closest thing I have in England to 'home,' and I realize as I lead Stephen inside that this is the first time I've ever 'had a man over.'

Stephen looks around, he's been so quiet since we got on the plane in Kalamata. “It's nice. I would have taken you for a Kensington girl though.”

“I have that side to me for sure,” I tell him with a small smile, “but this place I can just be me. Uh... I don't want to sound cruel, but I only have one bed and a sofa.”

“That's fine, I can do the sofa without a problem,” Stephen says, yawning. “It's been a really tough forty eight hours, I think I might not even notice.”

We get ready for bed, and I lay down in between my sheets, closing my eyes. I think I sleep, but it's never too deeply, I can hear Stephen tossing and turning. Finally, right at the time that my bedside clock says one in the morning, he sits up, yelling in a panic. I'm out of bed in an instant, and I go to the living area, where I find Stephen sitting, his back heaving and his skin dotted with sweat that glimmers like diamonds in the moonlight. “Hey... what's going on?”

Stephen wipes at his face, turning to see me outlined against my big picture window. “Sorry. Go to bed, I don't want to keep you up.”

“Well, you've already done that, so that's a moot point,” I say in a friendly tone, coming around and sitting down next to him on the couch. I turn on the lamp next me and turn, shocked by the haunted eyes that look back at me from shadowed sockets. “Jesus Stephen.... come on now, talk with me.”

He wipes at his lips with the back of his hand before running trembling fingers. I reach out, taking his hand, wondering where this came from. Maybe I was just paying too much attention to the flying and driving.

“I... fuck Larissa, I ripped his balls off,” Stephen says, swallowing. “My whole career, I've been Mr. By The Book. I was the guy that could practically quote you the rules in the middle of the operation, and went by them no matter what. But since starting this mission....”

“You're waking up, becoming the man that you've always had the potential to be,” I finish for him, leaning against the back of the sofa and taking his hand. “Stephen, I had my innocence ripped away when I was just seven. You know that. But I don't think I'm overly pessimistic. I think I'm a realist. And watching you... become the man you've become since we first met just a few weeks ago, I think you are too. The blinders are off, and what you did to Pinchot... he had it coming.”

I expect Stephen to protest, to get angry that I even said it, but instead he hums in agreement. “You're right, he did. But Larissa, from the point we started with the waterboarding until the minute we walked out of that room, I was so far over the line it wasn't even in the rearview mirror. I've spent the past day and a half thinking about it, and it's not the going over the line that worries me most though.”

“What is it?” I ask, letting go of his hand to stroke his arm. It feels nice, and it helps me focus on him, to listen to what he's trying to tell me. “You said you've done... what is it the CIA calls it, wetwork before?”

“Wetwork,” Stephen agrees. “But Larissa, every other life I've taken, I was in control of myself. I made every decision totally on my own, by the book. I took them down clean, by the book. I've never had OPR investigate one of my takedowns. Pinchot though, I wasn't thinking, I wasn't in control, I was just.... doing. It was like I was acting off instinct. And that, more than anything else, has me worried. Because if I just go by instinct, I am turning rogue. I'm crossing a line that can't be uncrossed.”

I smile, he's so close but still not understanding. I can understand, he hasn't had enough time to fully process the world that he's in. He's also got a family back in the United States, a sister if I remember right, he's got a refuge from all this when it's over and done with. So part of him is still fighting his evolution.

“That line, who do you think put it there, Stephen? The CIA, correct? MI6 has a line too, probably close to the same one you have. I crossed that line years ago, Deep Cover sort of erases that line for us. But the more time I've spent without that line, the more I realize that it's just an artificial form of control, a way to keep people like you and me from seeing the world as it really is. The fact is, you're seeing the world fully now, and it takes time for you to come to grips with it. More importantly, you're so close to becoming who you really are and who you're meant to be. It's natural though, right at the cusp of breaking out of your cage, to feel this way. You're a powerful man, and I think you've got plenty of control of yourself still.”

“I don't know-” Stephen says, but I stop him, leaning in and kissing him for some reason, going by my own instincts. Stephen resists at first, but then kisses me back, gentler than most of our normal first kisses. When we part, he's looking at me with the look that sends shivers of anticipation down my spine. “What was that for?”

“Because I want to show you just how much control you still have,” I whisper, taking his hand again. “Come with me... please. Sir.”

Stephen's eyebrow lifts at my last word, but he gets up, holding onto my hand as I lead him to the lift, taking him down one floor. “While this might look rather pedestrian, I do own this building,” I tell him. “And so the top two floors are mine. My living area is on the top floor. This floor however... is for the rest of me.”

I open the lift gate and Stephen steps out with me, looking around in admiration. “This makes your training rooms in your clubs look... what was it, pedestrian?”

I smile, feeling slightly out of place in my flannel pyjamas in this room, but Stephen's right. “I outfit my clubs with good equipment, but yes, everything in here has been purchased with one person in mind. Me.”

“So why bring me down here?” Stephen asks, going over to the bed and looking. “And you said you had only one bed.”

“I've never slept in that bed before,” I muse, looking at it. “Actually, I've never used this room before with another person. I've had this flat for four years, and this room has never been used beyond self exploration. Stephen... Sir, would you help me try out my room?”

I cross the room to my chest of drawers, where I take out the silk bondage cords that I've never used, they're still in fresh out of the package condition. I take them over to Stephen, placing them in his hand. “I have full trust in your self control, sir.”

My lip trembles as Stephen closes his hand over the rope, looking me in the eyes, the side of him that I want to see growing. “And this is what you want?”

I nod, going over to the bed and taking off my pyjamas, kneeling nude on the surface. “Anything you want, sir.”

Stephen comes over, stroking my hair gently before pulling me up for a searing kiss, his fingers entwining themselves in my hair and tugging, just a little bit of spark to our kiss that leaves me breathless. He steps back, grabbing my wrist and twisting it behind my back, pinning me helpless to the bed. “Anything I want....” he muses, and I feel the cord wrap around my wrists. “Little Lihua looked very cute when I did this to her.”

“Yet you didn't fuck her,” I reply, feeling the thrill seep through me. It's tight, but not too tight, and he's done something different than with Lihua, there's a long tail lying off of the end. He's got something in mind. “Am I to expect the same?”

“You will expect what I give you,” Stephen commands huskily, and I can't help it, I'm thrilled by it, by him. He wraps the cord, another knot on the end but there's a long tail again, and I'm shocked when he turns me over, my hands jammed into my lower back painfully. Stephen looks me in the eye, studying me. “Your word is olive.”

“My word is olive, sir,” I agree, another thrill rippling through me as he takes full control, pushing my left knee up and wrapping the tail of the cord around it, then doing the same to my right leg, binding me totally splayed for him. It's a good job, and looking at him, my heart pounds in my chest. “Sir.... my panties?”

“I'm sure you've got scissors or something to cut these cords in an emergency around here,” he says, running a finger up my right hamstring to my ass, cupping it before squeezing. “Where?”

“Same cabinet as the cord, sir...” I mewl, the last word coming so easily now. I'm not calling him sir as a game or a show of my confidence in him... I'm calling him sir because I want to call him sir. Stephen gets off the bed and opens the drawer, taking out the knife and turning to me with raised eyebrow. “It's okay, sir.”

“I see,” he says, sliding it under his shirt and pulling. The cotton parts like tissue paper and he looks at the knife with renewed respect before shrugging off the remains. “Glad I've got a spare t-shirt.”

“Me too. You'd look silly in one of my camisoles,” I giggle, Stephen turning back around to look in my drawers again. He plucks something out and puts it in his pocket, a small smile on his face as he stalks towards the bed, climbing on next to me and picking up the knife. “Sir....”

“Shhh... trust,” he says softly, pulling the waistband of my panties out. Before I can say anything he's sliced, and he slides the ruined satin down my left leg until he can cut the other side and remove them totally. He looks at the knife for a moment then sets it aside to look back at me, his eyes gleaming in the overhead lights. “No blood.”

I let out a long, shuddering breath and realize that for just a moment, I was frightened, but at the same time I'm elated at how in control Stephen is. Stephen studies my now exposed pussy for a minute before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his little surprise. “And what is this?”

“You know what it is, sir,” I tease, gasping when Stephen 'punishes' me with a smack on my ass. “One of my vibrators, sir.”

Stephen strokes the vibrator up the back of my legs before moving to the side of me and kissing me, our lips and tongues molding to each other and making me moan in want as he brings the still turned off vibrator between my legs, tickling my pussy lips with the soft tip. “You've never used this room at all with another person?”

“No sir,” I whisper, gasping when he turns on the vibrator to barely play it over my pussy lips. “Didn't trust anyone enough.”

“I'm honored,” Stephen says, circling the vibrator around my pussy before slipping it in. The vibrations work their magic almost immediately, tremors that course their way through my body as my nerves are lit on magical fire. Stephen watches, his eyes never leaving my face as he starts to slide the tool in and out of my body. “You are every man's fantasy, you know that?”

“I don't want every man,” I moan in reply. “I want just one.”

“You have one,” Stephen murmurs, leaning down and kissing me again before getting off the bed and going back over to the drawers, rooting around while I'm caught in the waves from the vibrator before finding what he wants and coming back. “And I have a fantasy I want to do with you.”

He shows me the bottle of lubricant, reaching for the waistband of his sleep shorts. “How long has it been since a man's been in your ass?”

“At least a year sir,” I groan, the vibrator making it hard to think. Stephen takes his shorts off though, and suddenly the vibrator doesn't do my body justice any more. It's like the appetizer before the main course. His cock is already hard as he takes me in and he squirts a little bit of lube on his cock, stroking himself up until he glistens in the light. “But I have used toys back there, I can take it.”

“You can, huh? Is that a challenge?” Stephen teases, climbing onto the bed and caressing my ass. My back is getting tired from being bound but his touch sends fresh heat through me, and I grunt in need when he squirts a little bit of lube on his fingers and starts massaging my asshole. “You're getting quite a gift, you know that?”

“How-” I start to ask, then his eyes answer for me, and I gulp. An anal virgin? Fresh delight runs through me as I consider the handsome man in front of me, and how much I've introduced to him, but also a ripple of fear. If he doesn't know what to do, he could hurt me so easily... if he doesn't have self control. I nod slowly, biting my lip as he keeps massaging, the pleasure slowly starting to add to the vibrator inside me, and I feel enveloped in Stephen's strength as he studies my face, so much in control of himself that there's no fear as his finger slips inside me and I feel him start to explore. He just knows, watching me as he opens me up. “Mmmm... sir. So good.”

“Are you ready for me?” Stephen asks, his voice quaking with desire as he kisses me again. I've never kissed a man more than I've kissed Stephen since that first time and I'm finding myself looking forward to it more and more, but I hum my readiness, watching with a warm thrill going through me as he gets between my legs, looking into my eyes as he lines himself up and pushes.

This is the dangerous part, if he goes too fast he can hurt me in the bad way, but he doesn't, pushing in slowly enough that my ass seems to melt around the head of his cock until he's past my tight ring and he pauses, a look of wonder on his face. “Holy shit.”

“I think I've created a booty bandit,” I tease, and Stephen laughs, pushing in slowly, spreading me open as the small vibrator continues to keep my pussy white hot and melting with good feeling. “Sir... mmm... please, fuck me.”

Stephen takes his time, relishing as he thrusts in and out slowly, marveling in the new sensation to his body as he explores my ass. The utter joy on his face brings tears to my eyes as he thrusts all the way in, burying himself deep inside me and growling in triumph. “Yessss....”

Stephen opens his eyes to look into mine as he pulls back and thrust in again, both of us moaning from the pleasure. Stephen takes over, pushing my legs back more as he thrusts in and out, hard but not hammering my ass as he leans in and teases my lips with another kiss, and I'm shocked when I try to reach up, try to find his mouth with mine, to pull him down and share more with him as the dual feelings of his cock in my ass and the vibrator in my pussy make my head spin and my heart pound in my chest.

We can't take a lot of time, the feelings are too intense, too overwhelming as I'm pummeled in my pussy and ass at the same time, but it doesn't matter, Stephen's right there with me, his cock stroking in and out as he looks into my eyes and a fire builds deep in my chest, the ache in my back and shoulders mixing with the electricity crackling up and down my body from my ass and pussy, our groans and breath coming in near perfect harmony, and I'm on the edge, trembling. “Stephen, I need....”

Stephen lifts his hips and thrusts one more time, hard and powerful as he kisses me at the same time, and the wave of my orgasm breaks over me, my ass clamping on his cock as he starts to come, filling me with his hot cream and burying himself inside me. Wave after wave follows, my chest hitching tightly as I'm carried deep into a realm of pleasure I haven't experienced in a long time.

I slowly become aware of the world around me again, and Stephen's still inside me, reaching down to shut off my vibrator and take it out carefully before he undoes the knots behind my legs. The feeling of him pulling out of my ass to undo my wrists fills me with longing and relief at the same time, and I'm touched when he carefully, slowly massages my shoulders to help me restore feeling.

“Thank you,” he says as he works my arms over and then goes to my legs, checking them out. “For everything.”

“Thank you,” I whisper back, looking back at him. “Stephen....”

“Yes?” he asks, getting off the bed to put the cord and lube away. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “Everything felt great. I wondered though... after you clean up, this bed's big enough for two people.”

Stephen understands, and nods before smirking. “If I do, you're going to have to call me sir the rest of the night. And I might wake up with morning wood.”

I giggle, reaching for the edge of the sheet to slide underneath. “You do, and I might just have to show you how frisky I feel in the morning.... sir.”

Stephen

“Reginald Finch is a man with a lot of connections,” Larissa says as we go over the information her people have forwarded to us. “Sandhurst grad, he went on to do ten years in the SAS before he was discharged from the Army.”

“What for?” I ask, and Larissa scans her files.

“It doesn't say, which is pretty odd. Normally if someone gets that far with an officer’s background, they're staying for career. What's odder... his discharge is listed as an Early Service Leaver, but it doesn't say why. Normally it does.” Larissa clicks a little more, her face clouding. “Fucking bastard.”

“What?” I ask, feeling like I'm repeating myself. I really wish we had more than one copy of the files to read, or that her table in her flat had the ability for us to eat breakfast side by side so I could read next to her.

“His squadron... he served with quite a few members of the nobility. There were quite a few rumors that started back when he was in, this was thirty years ago now, they had a sex scandal. The same type the church had.”

“Fuck,” I growl, shaking my head. “Well, with Pinchot, I guess it makes sense. Birds of a feather. What did he do after that?”

“I don't have much,” Larissa says, frustrated. “Which is absolute bollocks, he's got connections. A picture of him back in the SAS days shows him being chums with three men who are now members of the House of Lords.”

“Let me talk to my people,” I interject. “Let's face it, this may be a case where your nobility doesn't want a bad apple in their ranks exposed. Your investigative press gets pretty fucking vicious when they want to be.”

Larissa nods, sighing. “Okay.”

I get up from the table, heading over to the sofa where my bag is. When I'm bending over, I see under my shoulder Larissa watching me, a look in her eyes. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” she asks, her voice becoming a little more husky.

“We find this bastard, we can do what you're thinking,” I joke. “I know you like me bent over like this.”

Larissa blinks, catching my meaning before laughing. “Just because you like booty doesn't mean you're ready to give up your own. I'll give you a little privacy to do your security things. I need to clean up downstairs anyway, make the bed.”

She leaves, and I watch her as she heads to the freight elevator that connects the floors of the building, admiring her figure. What she entrusted me with, what she's introduced me to... I'll never be the same after Larissa Moraitis.

I call Langley, waiting for the security protocols to complete. It's still two in the morning in Virginia, and the operator on call routes me to the London field office where at least someone is awake. “What's up?”

“I need information on a person of interest,” I reply, falling back into formal CIA speak. “Reginald Finch, British national, former SAS. Fifty seven years old. White male, six feet tall.”

“Hold,” the London office says, digging through their computer files. When the guy comes back on, he sounds cautious. “Reginald Finch, correct?”

“Yes, British national,” I reply. “You guys are the fucking London office, you should have a file on this guy considering what I've heard about him.”

“Sorry, man. Other than what you said, there's nothing.”

I sigh, trying to think of what the fuck's going on. “Okay, try this. Cross reference and include the name Arthur Pinchot. French national, former Foreign Legion.”

“Hold.... he's dead.”

“I know that,” I growl in reply, getting frustrated. Either the London office is full of idiots, or something else is happening, something I'm not ready to consider yet. “Is there anything in your files about either of those names and the UK?”

“There's a mention about this Pinchot... contact report filed by Agent Nick Hardy a little over a year ago.”

Nick? I know Nick, he and I were on a team together when I started in the CIA. We clashed at the time, but this is work, and I'm not the same man I was eight years ago. “I need contact info on Agent Hardy. This is an Alpha Red priority.”

The London office whistles, with good reason. Very few people can call an Alpha Red without incurring major repercussions, but I think the White House should back me on this. I pray they do at least. The office gives me Hardy's phone, and I terminate my connection, dialing up Nick.

“Hello?”

“Nick? It's Stephen Knightsbridge, you busy?” I ask, the London didn't give me his current mission status.

“Stephen? No, not busy at all, what can I do for you?” Nick asks cautiously. I can understand, the last time we talked it was... tense.

“I've got a question for you on some people of interest for me. London office gave me your name and contact. Think you can talk?” I ask, CIA talk for 'is this line secure.'

“Of course. Who are you interested in?”

“Arthur Pinchot and Reginald Finch.”

There's silence on the other end of the line, and I wonder if Nick's hung up on me, but then he comes back, his voice tense. “You really know how to reintroduce yourself to someone's life, Stephen.”

“It's Alpha Red, Nick. I can really use your help,” I reply, and I hear Nick breathing, and it sounds like... like he's scared.

“Face to face only, Stephen. Where are you?”

“Just outside London. Are you nearby?”

Nick laughs harshly, and I wonder what the joke is. “No, we're not meeting anywhere near London. Fine... Culloden Moor. Call me when you get to the area.”

The line goes dead before I can reply, and I look at my phone in surprise when Larissa comes back up, breaking me out of my thoughts. “What's wrong?”

“Where's Culloden Moor?” I ask in reply. Larissa lifts and eyebrow, and I'm confused. “What?”

“Culloden Moor's on the north end of Scotland,” Larissa says. “Near Inverness. It's a national memorial battlefield.”

I stand up, I shrug. “Guess I've got a road trip ahead of me. This guy I'm going to see, he's CIA. He sounded jumpy, too. I probably should go alone.”

Larissa looks like she's about to protest, but then nods, going over to the kitchen drawer and pulling out a set of keys for me. “Here then, take my Bentley. It'll make for a better drive, and it has in-car navigation.”

She tosses the keys across the room and I catch them, no longer shocked by the strange mix of luxury and commonness that is Larissa. I head for the elevator when Larissa calls my name again. “Stephen?”

“Yeah?” I ask, stopping the cargo door and looking back at her. Her face is set, and there's no trace of the sexy seductress who shared a bed with me last night, but a deadly, and worried, secret agent.

“Be careful.”

* * *

The Highlands of Scotland are rugged, and I'm glad that I have a jacket with me as I get out. A light dusting of snow covers the ground as I crunch across the ground towards Nick, who looks a lot like how he did six years ago when we last talked, except for some more gray hair around the temples, and a lot of lines around his eyes. “Nick. It's good to see you.”

“I see the Company is springing for better rental cars now,” Nick says in reply, refusing my offered hand. “I know you're not the type to splurge for a Bentley on your own.”

“Actually, it's my partner's,” I reply, Nick showing for the first time a bit of interest. “She's British.”

“So... what dragged you down the rabbit hole?” Nick asks, turning and walking across the hills. We're not that far from the towns, but far enough that I can understand why Nick wanted to meet here, it's relatively isolated. “And how'd you get tabbed for this shit detail?”

“Chastity Hendricks,” I reply, Nick wincing. “You suspected?”

“When she disappeared I kept hoping it wasn't those two bastards, but I couldn't help but wonder. By the way, on your drive up here I did some checking, the Company based me in Edinburgh. Pinchot's dead. Found in the hills around Corinth. Castrated.”

“Yeah well... he deserved it,” I answer simply. “Now I'm looking for Finch. London office told me they didn't have any information on him, which smells of bullshit to me, Nick. My partner had more information than the London office, and the Company doesn't like getting outdone on information by anybody.”

Nick nods, staying silent until we're at least a quarter mile from the cars, watching the ground in front of him the whole time. Finally, he speaks. “You know, you were quite the asshole a few years ago.”

“Yeah... I guess I was,” I admit. “I'd like to say I've changed, but there hasn't been a lot of time, I'm not sure who I am now. I just know I want Finch.”

Nick nods, looking out on the battlefield. “You're poking around in areas that are normally too dark for normal discussion. Alpha Red priority or not, people who ask about Reginald Finch tend to disappear. I'm surprised they let me alone after I filed the report on Pinchot.”

“Who are 'they,' Nick? You act like this guy Finch works for the goddamn Illuminati or NWO or whatever conspiritard theory you want to use,” I press. “Nick, she wasn't even out of high school. And what they did to her.... Pinchot admitted to me that it was his group, but all I could get out of him was Finch's name. And something he called W-W.”

“W-W? Damn, you must have really tortured the fucker,” Nick says with slight admiration in his voice. “How many people have you told this to?”

“You're the first,” I reply. “What I did, that doesn't belong in some incident report.”

“Don't tell anyone else,” Nick says heatedly. “Christ, Finch and W-W....you're so far in the dark that the dawn doesn't even exist for you right now. I can see why they sent you, actually. Probably figured that you're too by the book, too innocent to really understand it all, that you'd fuck around a little bit, maybe off a patsy or two, and then all would be good.”

“What the fuck am I involved in, Nick? The past month and some change has been utter insanity, and now you're telling me that it gets worse?”

“It gets a lot worse,” Nick says sadly. He takes a deep breath and holds it, and I think he's making an internal decision before he speaks again. “There's always been layers, Stephen. I think you've started to see that. W-W.... Finch is just the front man in one part of them. These guys, they make Caligula look like a fucking saint.”

“Nick, start making sense. I'm here on a fucking Jacobite battlefield talking with a CIA agent in northern Scotland talking about dead Roman emperors and letters of the goddamn alphabet and I'm still not getting close to this fucker Finch. Goddammit, the Hendricks girl, whatever the other people involved in all this may have been, she was innocent! She didn't deserve what happened to her!”

“I know, it's why I even asked you to come here,” Nick says softly. “But Stephen... W-W's been going on for a long damn time, and it isn't going to end any time soon. Finch is just the front man on one arm of the fucking octopus, even if he is a nasty character in his own right. From what I could find out before I got scared off the trail, he's been involved in this even before he got into the SAS, all the way back to when he was in Sandhurst. Finch is a nasty piece of work, and he's been able to push his agenda farther and faster than I think anyone expected him to. Some of the people he's gotten to... Chastity Hendricks, she was more than a victim. She was a message, to her father and the White House.”

“About what?” I ask, my stomach turning, thinking about what she went through. “A message for what?”

“That they shouldn't-” Nick says, but his words are cut off as a rifle shot rips through the late afternoon air. Nick's head explodes as the heavy caliber round takes him, and I throw myself to the ground as another shot echoes through the air, crawling desperately for a decent sized rock that's poking up out of the moor. Fuck, whoever did that was good, that was a sniper shot, bad light, at least four hundred yards away.... fuck! And all I've got is my goddamn Glock.

I see a dip in the moor that starts to lead back towards the cars, when suddenly a loud string of shots tears through the air, fully automatic fire ripping through the ground above me before silence. I look, daring a glance up, but there's nothing, and I hurry towards the source of the fire, the last burst told me where it was coming from.

It's nearly full dark by the time I find the sniper's shooting position, a nearby pond that is slightly elevated over where I was shot at. What I find chills me as I find the weapon, an AWC G2. Only about a hundred were ever made, and I know who owns ninety eight of them. I pick up the rifle and I head back to Larissa's Bentley, thankful at least that Nick was shot far enough away from the parking lot that the local cops aren't questioning me when I get in and drive away, the rifle tucked next to me under my jacket in the passenger's seat.

A G2. One hundred built, based around the M14 platform as compact sniper rifles. Ninety nine of them were semi automatic only for the military. Only one was built with automatic fire selection.

And that one is owned by the CIA.

Larissa

It's five in the morning when Stephen gets back to my flat, but I've been up for an hour already, tossing and turning in bed as I worried about him and his meeting with his CIA contact. The news last night had me worried when the BBC led with the shooting of a man at the Culloden Battle Monument, although the authorities didn't release a lot of information. Even a call to my Da with his MI5 connections didn't help, and I haven't called him for help on work in years.

Regardless, I woke up at four this morning for some reason, finally giving up and doing some exercise until Stephen comes up, his eyes rimmed with red from the short nap he took on the drive back. “It's a great drive, terrible sleep,” he mumbles as I help him over to the sofa and down. “Thanks for the keys.”

“What happened?” I ask, and Stephen finds in himself the strength to respond, gathering his wits about him enough that he gives me a full report on what happened, from stepping out near the visitor's centre all the way to finding the rifle. He leads me down to my Bentley, where I find it tucked behind the driver's seat.

“I moved it back here once I stopped for gas,” Stephen says, yawning again. “Just in case someone walked by. I doubt this is the sort of thing you get licenses for around here?”

“Hardly,” I reply, looking over the rifle. It's compact, slightly chunky, and deadly looking. “You sure this is the rifle that shot your contact?”

“Yeah, they made us become quite familiar with different rifle sounds at Langley,” Stephen says. “It took me a little time, but yeah... that's the rifle. Found the casings right by it, too. M14 platform with full auto capability. And the range was right too, about four hundred fifty yards.”

“Good shot,” I note, setting the weapon down. “So what now?”

“Now?” Stephen asks, then laughs bitterly. “First, I'm going to take a nap, so I'm stealing your bed. Or sofa, whichever. Then, once I get up, you and I need to seriously plan. Larissa, this is beyond anything I expected.”

Stephen goes upstairs with me, his eyes closing even before his head finishes settling on the pillow, and I watch him sleep fitfully, his exhaustion overcoming the horror that he just saw. I take it from the way he talked about him that Stephen and this man Hardy had been co-workers at one time, and I wonder how they got along before this last meeting. Knowing Stephen when I first met him, not well, but I give credit where it is deserved, Hardy set aside his personal animosity to deliver the information he had.

What is this W-W? Hardy said that it's been going on for a long time. I go back to my computer, seeing what I can dig up in my files about W-W, if there's any sort of information out there that might help us. Let's see, Wonder Woman... doubtful. William Webster... old man, but again I doubt it. An album from a Danish death metal band... just no.

I'm no closer to figuring out what W-W is when Stephen stirs, sitting up in my bed and wiping at is face. “What time is it?”

“Just after ten in the morning,” I reply, going to the kitchen and pouring him a glass of juice. I bring it over, handing it to him. “Here. How do you feel?”

“Like the whole fucking world is just a light varnish on top of the real world, and I don't like what's beneath it,” Stephen mutters, sipping at the juice. “The whole time I was driving, all I could think of was what the hell we're involved in. A CIA agent killed with a rifle that was created and bought specifically for the CIA. A hit inside a friendly country. What the hell's going on?”

“I don't know,” I reply, sitting down on the bed. “Do you want to walk away? We can, you know. You can file some bullshit report like Hardy mentioned, go back to your job in Langley and nobody's going to bother you about it.”

Stephen shakes his head, draining the juice and handing the glass back to me. “No way in hell. I'm not letting this go so easily. Larissa, until we find Finch and put this fucker in the ground we're not going to have even a hint of peace.”

I don't know what it is about his words, but they touch me, and I find myself taking his hand. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me yet, we could both get killed doing this,” Stephen says, swinging his legs out and off my bed. “Also, I owe you an apology. When we first met, I thought you were totally wrong, that you were just as evil as the people we're going after. But I was wrong. You're corrupt Larissa, but you're honest about your corruption. That counts for a lot. So what now?”

“Like I said, that depends on you,” I respond, looking up and taking his hand again. “Stephen, you're totally correct, I am corrupt. I've been corrupt since birth I think, you can set all the psychoanalyst bullshit aside. But you're right, I'm honest about my corruption. And I'm aware that there are levels far beyond what I'm involved in. The Network? That's rinky dink shit, to put it mildly.”

“It's hard to think that drugs, weapons and prostitution is rinky dink,” Stephen says, sighing. “But you're right. I read the changes in The Network since you gained your position. Still a lot of human trafficking, but apparently it's voluntary for the most part now.”

“It is. None of my girls, and none of the girls or boys I've sent have been kidnapped,” I admit. “Stephen, it's more than that though. I never told anyone this before but... there is a reason that I'm a bit of a sociopath.”

“What?” he asks, reaching over and taking my hand. “You've said that you stabbed the bastard first. Was that... not true?”

“Oh no, that was true,” I say with a soft, sad laugh. “I lost my cherry when I was sixteen, which is the legal age here in the UK. Some other time I'll tell you just how MI6 trained me in my... my skills, but no, that's not it. I've told everyone that I was kidnapped from my home when I was seven. I even lied to you the same way. But really I... I wasn't. I was worth exactly fifty thousand pound sterling.”

I've never told anyone the truth before, not my Mum and Da when I came to the UK, not the recruiters for MI6, and certainly nobody in The Network. I don't really know why I'm telling Stephen this now except... the way he's holding my hand.

“I see,” Stephen says, giving my hand a squeeze. “Larissa, regardless of how, or why you think the way you do, you are a remarkable woman. One of a kind. And I will forever owe you a debt of gratitude for helping me. Not just on this case, but on making me into a better man.”

I chuckle, looking over at him. “You're thanking a woman who literally whipped your ass. Someone who's unwilling to accept society's rules, you know that?”

“I do. So why do you do it?” Stephen asks, his eyes knowing. “I suspect it's the same reason I joined the CIA.”

“Hot chicks and guns?” I joke, and Stephen's eyes narrow. “Sorry. You're right. I do all this because it's my way of making the world just a little bit better. I know I can't take down all the layers of shit, it's like that labor of Hercules, cleaning out the stables. There's so much of it that one person can't clean it out by themselves. But I still try.”

“And whip a few asses in the meantime,” Stephen jokes shakily. “Larissa, I don't want you to ever change, you know that?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I couldn't even if I wanted to. Still... it's hard taking on the whole fucking world by myself.”

“I bet. So?”

“Well,” I say, not even understanding why I'm saying it, “when this mission is over, I was thinking, I could use a partner. Oh, they'd have to work their way up from the lower levels of my section of The Network... and they'd have to be very strong.”

“Strong, huh?” Stephen says, nodding as he considers what I'm saying. “And be willing to take orders from you. That could be difficult.”

“It could be. But at the same time, there might be some benefits,” I continue. “You know, what happens behind closed doors and what happens in the public eye could be very different.”

Stephen thinks, nodding. “A very interesting possibility. But first, before we go down this path, I think we need to take care of something.”

“What's that?”

Stephen gets to his feet, his face set and his jaw tense. “We find and kill Reginald Finch.”

Stephen

With almost no other traces to follow, Larissa and I decide to start at the beginning. Both Nick and the files on Reginald Finch mention that he's a graduate of the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst, and that he started to make his 'contacts' even before he joined the SAS while at Sandhurst.

Driving around London to get to the other side is an exercise in patience, and I'm glad I've got Larissa doing the driving, I don't think I could deal with the British system. “I know you guys are used to roundabouts, but this is nuts to me.”

“It's very British,” Larissa agrees, dressed today in a sharp looking women's business suit that both emphasizes and hides her sexiness. There's none of her traditional hints of cleavage on display, in fact her blouse goes all the way up almost to her chin, and her hair's pulled back into a neat bun. She's even wearing a full knee length skirt and conservative three inch heels. At the same time though, there's no way to hide the femininity of her curves or the way the lightly tinted sunglasses she's wearing today highlight the beautiful almond shape of her eyes. “You're staring at me, by the way.”

“Sorry,” I comment, shaking my head and looking out my window towards whatever town it is that we're driving by. “Just... I guess I've gotten used to you looking exotic, sensual, sexy even. But if I can say it, when you're dressed down you're just as pretty. Kinda got that whole 'superheroine's mild mannered alter ego' thing going on.”

“Yeah well, I haven't worn this suit in a year,” Larissa says with a chuckle.

“So what do you think we can accomplish going here?” I ask, catching her drift. “Going to Sandhurst?”

“Well, first off, don't think of Sandhurst like your American military academies,” Larissa says. “It's not a full university, the normal course is only about a year long if you include the holiday breaks. The basic idea is for a person to go and get their degree at a regular university first, or be close to completing their uni courses, and then go through Sandhurst. The whole course is designed around training officers for the military only. But, with courses starting three times a year, a cadet can be exposed to a lot of different people during their time at Sandhurst. Let's figure out who Finch knew, who he may have made connections with.”

“And it's an open campus?” I ask, and Larissa shakes her head. “So how are we going to get access?”

“That's easy,” Larissa says. “Why else to do you think I'm wearing the suit? For the first time since meeting me, say hello to Agent Larissa Wordsworth, Special Division, MI5.”

“Larissa Wordsworth?” I ask as she hands me an ID that backs up what she says. “I thought you were MI6?”

“And MI6, like the CIA, isn't supposed to have investigative powers within our own borders,” Larissa says. “We get around it in that I have a few alternative identities.”

“And how many is a few, Miss Wordsworth?” I ask, handing the ID wallet back to her with a grin. “You wouldn't be Larissa Tudor, Larissa Stuart, Larissa Windsor, and Tiffany Moneypenny too, would you?”

“Tiffany Moneypenny?” Larissa snickers, shaking her head. “No, definitely not Tiffany Moneypenny. Actually, that's an ID that The Network obviously doesn't know about. And, Wordsworth is my adoptive family's name. My Da's MI5, so it was a pretty easy choice.”

“Do you get in contact with them?” I ask, thinking about Victoria. “I mean, I've called my sister a few times, sent a few e-mails over VPNs. What about your family?”

“I talk with them, Mum and Da know that I can't call all the time and there are things that I can't tell them about. Over the New Year's, The Network had me here on business and I took a few days to drive out to see them,” Larissa says. “They can't come to me unfortunately, but I guess that's understandable. What about the rest of your family?”

“My parents died when I was thirteen,” I reply, “and I don't have any aunts or uncles. I was sort of a miracle surprise baby, according to my Mom, she didn't have me until she was already forty five and my Dad was fifty two. Actually Victoria was a surprise too, Mom was forty one when they had her, but I really blew everyone's mind.”

“What happened, if you don't mind?” Larissa asks, and I shrug, it's painful but she's been honest with me.

“My parents were on a second honeymoon, Dad had decided to retire a few months early and they went down to St. Thomas for two weeks, Victoria had landed a good modeling contract and paid for it all. They were on a tandem jetski, Mom always loved that idea of riding behind Dad, I think she had a bit of a biker chick fantasy. Dad had a stroke. The reports say he twisted the throttle as a result, and they went full speed into the side of a cruiseliner. Nobody else died thankfully, but that left just me and Victoria.”

“No family at all?” Larissa asks, and I shake my head.

“The courts were willing to be cool with it since Vic had money, and there was a neighbor who was willing to act as our guardian, even though it was pretty hands-off. Vic was the person who raised me through high school.”

Larissa hums, and I force a grin. “Hey, it's okay. It happens to people, and I've made a good life for myself out of it. And it's getting better all the time. In some ways it feels like I've just started to really become an adult.”

“When's your birthday? Sorry, I forgot from your file,” Larissa asks, and I smirk. “No way.”

“You gave me one heck of a birthday present there on Mykonos,” I reply. “A few days late, but then again, what you've taught me about myself Larissa, you've been giving me gifts from the first day we met.”

Larissa actually blushes slightly, falling silent as we finish the ring around London and drive the fifty kilometers out to Sandhurst. Parking, I follow Larissa's lead as she talks with the security guard, who makes a phone call and we wait. Soon, a petite woman in British Army fatigues comes out, introducing herself. “Leftenant Brenda Giles.”

“A pleasure Leftenant,” Larissa says, offering her hand. “Larissa Wordsworth, and this is my partner...”

“Stephen MacGregor,” I interject, using one of my old aliases that I've used before. The Leftenant shakes my hand as well, giving me an evaluating look that has more to do with how I look than whether I'm a security threat to the her post.

“Is that so? Well then, 'S Rioghal Mo Dhream,” Leftenant Giles says, her voice picking up a burr.

Larissa raises an eyebrow and whispers in my ear when the Leftenant turns and escorts us through the gate. “MacGregor?”

“Old, old family branch,” I whisper back. “I'll tell you about it later.”

“Actually, I want you to keep talking with the Leftenant,” Larissa whispers. “Keep her out of my hair.”

“You won't be upset if she flirts with me?” I joke, and Larissa growls. “What?”

“I've got a crop with your name on it if you push things too far, mister,” Larissa threatens as we cross the parade ground and enter the building. The Leftenant takes us to the admin offices, which except for the fact that almost everyone's in army uniforms looks like any other office in the world. “Leftenant, if it's possible, I'd like to look through your records. Our inquiry is on a graduate of the Academy?”

“Of course, I can get you set up on one of our terminals,” Leftenant Giles says. “Would you like a private cubicle?”

“No, but if you can take Mr. MacGregor and show him around, I'd appreciate it. I hate sharing computers,” Larissa says, giving her most charming smile. Giles looks from Larissa to me, and I smile as well.

“Please? I haven't been in England long, and I'd appreciate it.”

Giles thinks, then nods. “All right. I'll log you on Agent Wordsworth, and then I suppose I can show Mr. MacGregor around some. We just started a new course, you can see some of the newest cadets going through the basics.”

Larissa gets herself set up and Leftenant Giles takes me outside again, adjusting her beret on her head when we reach the steps. “So where are you from Mr. MacGregor?”

“Spokane,” I reply, thinking quickly of the alias Stephen MacGregor. “What about you, Leftenant?”

“Please, Brenda. Americans never do get the rank name correct, I spent three weeks last year in El Paso being called Lieutenant,” Giles says with a chuckle. “But I'm Scottish, actually. Dumfries, which is why I don't sound very Scottish.”

“You've got a charming accent to my ears,” I flirt back, feeling myself separate as I set aside the real me and instead focus on drawing out what I can from this young woman. Still, Brenda blushes slightly before shaking her head.

“You Americans, you can't tell London from Manchester from Edinburgh,” she replies, but she's more relaxed as we walk down the steps. “I don't suppose you even know what I said earlier.”

“What, Royal Is My Race?” I return, catching her off guard. “Not all Americans are ignorant of their roots, Brenda. What clan are you?”

“My family isn't Highland, but Lowland. We're a mix of Northern England and Scottish,” Brenda replies, shrugging. “So no fancy clan tartan for me. Still, it is a hobby of mine, history. Ah, here we are, the cadets just getting ready to do some drill.”

I watch from the sidelines as about two hundred cadets go through their parade practice, and while it's impressive, my mind drifts. With everything that I've learned in the time that I've been with Larissa about how the world works and how things really operate, what are these cadets doing? Are they really putting themselves through this year of what looks like a lot of hell to make their country safer? Are they doing it to make the world a better place?

Or are they doing it all for a lie? Are they doing it so that certain power players, people maybe they know the names of but maybe don't, are they doing it all so that the power players can keep themselves in power?

“Brenda?” I ask, watching as the cadets work with their rifles. “Why'd you go through this place?”

“Me?” Brenda asks, pleased that I'm asking about her and not the cadets. “I wanted to do something useful with my life, I suppose. My family's always been that sort of working class that doesn't make a difference, nothing wrong with that mind you, but I wanted to try for something more. What about you, where did you go to uni?”

“Notre Dame,” I lie, watching the cadets. “My father was a legacy, and I wanted to get away from the West Coast. The Midwest was just about far enough.”

Brenda shakes her head, laughing softly. “Spokane to the Midwest, hard to believe. Then again, you've got states bigger than all of the UK, so I guess that plays a role. For me, getting away meant going a hundred kilometers.”

“Sometimes it's not a matter of space but a matter of mind,” I reply honestly, thinking how much I've changed in the weeks I've been with Larissa. “Sometimes getting away could be as close as next door, or a continent away.”

“You're a poet, Mr. MacGregor,” Brenda flirts. “Don't tell me you can sing and dance too?”

“No, just sing,” I tease. “I do my dancing off the floor.”

“Is that an invitation?” Brenda asks. “If it is, I know a lovely little restaurant nearby. Or would Agent Wordsworth be upset that I'm asking you to dinner?”

I chuckle, thinking that this woman wouldn't want to see Larissa upset. “She might be. Careful, you don't want her to get violent.”

“Ah, I'm a trained soldier, remember. I'm sure I could handle myself,” Brenda jokes. “But then again, I wouldn't want you to get hurt in the meantime.”

“Don't worry there, I hand out the spankings, I don't take them.”

Brenda bites her lip, shaking her head. “You Americans. Well, if you're going to be in England a while, here's my mobile number.”

* * *

Larissa notices the slip of paper when I take it out of my jacket pocket and crumples it up. “That didn't take long.”

“You asked me to keep her distracted. I did. Doesn't mean I'm going to call her though.”

Larissa harumphs and keeps driving. “You know, you could have. Given her a call.”

“And what? Meet her up for some fish and chips, go back to her flat for a little old fashioned shagging?” I half mock. “Larissa, if I passed up a beautiful, well trained girl like Claudia or Lihua, what would some fling with some random girl from lower Scotland have for me?”

“Well, she does have a cleaner background than me,” Larissa says. “And probably a lot better career prospects.”

I turn to look at Larissa, whose face looks a little haunted, and I see what her life's been. What she's searched for her entire life, and maybe what she's started to think doesn't exist out there for her any longer. Deep Cover MI6 isn't exactly the sort of life that leads to finding that special someone, especially when your cover story is Larissa's.

“I'm not interested in the Leftenant. Now, what did you learn about Reginald Finch?”

Larissa's face clears a little, and she passes over a data stick. “Here. He went first to Rugby, one of the elite boarding schools, and later Sandhurst where he went to classes with over two dozen different members of the Peerage.”

“The what?” I ask.

“The high ranking noble families. They eventually become Dukes, Earls, Marquis, and the hereditary Barons,” Larissa says. “Basically, the elite of the elite of British nobility. They're the families that stock the House of Lords, and despite the fact that they supposedly are archaic and all that other shit, you don't get within sniffing distance of their arses unless you're one of the club. They own the major industry in the UK in some form or another, they run things, they are the power players.”

“So he knows the movers and shakers,” I finish. “And he's willing to cater to their needs.”

“I think it's more than that, honestly,” Larissa says. “I've met some of these ivory tower types, a lot of them are assholes, but generally decent people. Finch though, I think he's a corrupter, on a scale that makes what I do for The Network look small. But... I think we have a lead.”

“Oh?” I ask, and Larissa nods.

“On there, I found a picture of him, from an archived copy of The Wish, Sandhurst's Academy journal. In it, he's mentioned as having an estate in Cambridgeshire, which explains something else to me.”

“What's that?” I ask, and Larissa increases speed on her car.

“Cambridge has an airport with a sixty five hundred foot long runway, big enough for a lot of planes. The airport's mostly private planes and flying schools, though. I've landed there once or twice, even. It's an easy way for a man who wants to move things in or out of the country to avoid scrutiny.”

I nod, tightening my grip on the balled up piece of paper in my hand. “Then I guess we're going to Cambridge.”

Larissa

“Nikolai, I know that, but I'm standing in the middle of this fucker's estate in Cambridge and I'm looking at jack and shit,” I complain. “I had a lead, I followed it up. What else could you want me to do?”

It's a risk to reach out to The Network right now, not with as much as I've done publicly under my real identity recently. Too many hits in too short a time, and The Network might start wondering where I'm getting my information. But after reaching Reginald Finch's Cambridge estate only to find nothing but two day old leftovers in his icebox and a pot of cold coffee on his counter, I'm pissed.

He's close. Nobody leaves leftovers out like this in their kitchen unless they plan on coming back relatively soon. He's got to be somewhere within England, but if he knows that someone's on his trail, he's not going to worry about spoiled roast pork.

“I understand your enthusiasm, but what you are asking, it incurs serious risk,” Nikolai says. “It could lead to exposure of Russian intelligence in the UK.”

“And if you can get me this information, we can gain a lot more than that,” I counter. “Nikolai, this man, what I've uncovered... I'm not exaggerating when I say that he could bring down the entire British nobility if this shit gets out. While we like a little bit of corruption, you have to admit that a UK that's going through a civil war is not what we want at all.”

“Every country needs a little revolution from time to time. Look at Russia, we had two in a century. It helps clear the cobwebs from the corners, reinvigorates the blood.”

“Nikolai, all joking aside,” I blow off, not wanting to get into a debate with him on that particular form of corruption, “this is personal for me too. You know why as well, so let's cut the bullshit. I'm willing to risk it all on nailing this motherfucker.”

Nikolai's silent on the other side of the call, and I can almost imagine his mind ticking away like a computer. “We'll discuss your risk if I can get information. I'll be in touch.”

Nikolai ends the call and I take my phone away from my ear, trying to control my nerves. We were so close!

Stephen comes into the room, his own phone in his hand. “The CIA isn't telling me shit, I don't know why. I put in what I could though, and made a few private calls. But I don't have the personal network that a lot of people do, you know. What did The Network say?”

“Rodrigo's going to do what he can, and Nikolai's on the fence,” I reply, closing my eyes and trying to control my anger. “I'm going to try contact MI6 next, but... fuck, Stephen! We nearly had him!”

Stephen comes over and puts his hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes. “We did. Now, get a hold of yourself, we're going to catch him. Who knows, maybe we've spooked him, he's got to know someone's on his ass right now.”

“That's what worries me more!” I yell, pushing Stephen in the chest. “We spook him and he poofs off leaving us with nothing to track and....”

Stephen pulls me in tight, kissing me and cutting off my words, his tongue silencing me and taking away my fears at least for the moment. I moan lightly and pull him to me, feeling his body warm and right here. His tongue twists around mine slowly, and another little part of me that I've been afraid to listen to starts talking again that maybe, just maybe, having a full time partner would be a good thing.

“Better?” Stephen asks when he pulls back, smiling when I nod. “Good. I've wanted an excuse to kiss you since seeing the way you reacted at Sandhurst yesterday when that girl flirted with me.”

“I wasn't jealous,” I lie, and Stephen raises an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe a little.”

He cups my face, and I feel something shift inside me as he looks in my eyes and strokes my cheek with his thumb. “That's what I thought. Larissa, that girl never had a chance with me. You joked about it when you started training me, but it's true. I've had the best now. I'm not settling for the rest any longer.”

“I wish...” I start, but my phone rings, and I see that it's Rodrigo. Reluctantly, I step away from Stephen and answer the call. “Rodrigo, you're calling back quickly. What's going on?”

“You must have a little bit of luck in your corner,” Rodrigo says, “because you're not going to believe who just requested a flight plan for a Gulfstream 280 from Cambridge International Airport to Stewart International Airport, an hour north of me.”

“You're shitting me,” I reply, shocked at the fortunate turn of events. “You mean it?”

“I'm serious. Plane owned and operated by an R. Finch of Cambridgeshire, England. Listed as a nonstop flight, arrival time of eight hours, twenty eight minutes from now,” Rodrigo says. “While I was checking the info, Jessica did the math. You've got about an hour to catch him on the ground on your end. That is, if you want him and don't want me to pick him up.”

“Fuck that, we prepare on both ends,” I growl, giving Stephen a thumbs up. “Can you get men to get him?”

“Who do you think controls the unions at Stewart?” Rodrigo asks, giving me both an answer and a hint into how he got the information so quickly. “I'll have men ready. Give me a call if they need to be ready.”

“Will do. And Rodrigo... thanks.”

Rodrigo chuckles warmly in my ear. “Go get 'im, my friend. You can pay me back by taking your spring vacation in Sicily, I was planning on bringing Jessica and the baby there once they're ready to fly again.”

“A promise. Sicily is great in winter.”

I hang up, and Stephen's grinning. “We got a lead?”

“We've got a lead and not a lot of time to move our asses,” I reply, heading out of Finch's estate. “He's taking off in an hour and a little bit of change for New York.”

“Then let's move,” Stephen says, heading out the door. “Glad we brought the heavy artillery.”

He's right, I opened up my weapons vault totally for today. In the back of my car is my own personal favorite rifle, a SA80 just like the British Army uses. Meanwhile, in a touch of justice, Stephen has the G2 rifle that was used to shoot Nick Hardy.

“You sure about that thing?” I ask as he slaps a twenty round magazine in the rifle and chambers it. “I mean, you've never fired it.”

“I know my sight settings on any American weapon cold,” Stephen says. “Besides, it'll provide us with some heavy caliber weaponry, just in case.”

We approach the gate of the airport, the guard blanching when he sees my rifle, but he relents when I flash my MI5 ID. “Give me your control tower, I want to know where Reginald Finch's plane is hangered. And that plane isn't allowed to take off.”

The guard acknowledges me and gets on his radio, getting his information quickly. “Westernmost terminal. Airport security is being dispatched.”

“No!” Stephen interjects. “Not with him, he's armed and considered very dangerous. Call your tower, everything's shut down!”

We jump back in my Bentley before the guard can reply and I hit the switch on my convertible top, glad for the space now. “I know you didn't plan to use this thing this way when you bought this fucker,” Stephen says as he looks. “Hey, what type of plane did you say he's got?”

“A G280, it's got upturned wingtips and a T-top tail.... there!”

I spot the plane, waiting near a hangar for it's passengers and lay on the gas, pushing my car up to over a hundred. Someone sees us coming though and I see Reginald Finch running towards a Range Rover, a security man with him. The guard raises a pistol, but Stephen's faster, standing up in his seat and firing his rifle. The sound of the G2 on full automatic is thunderous even over the roar of my engine, the hot brass pinging off my boot behind us.

I don't know if he's lucky, or if he's just that good, I suspect the latter as Finch's bodyguard is hit at least twice before he drops, unable to even fire a shot. Still, it gives Finch a chance to get into his Range Rover and pull away, the engine on the Rover screaming as he floors the accelerator.

Still, he's in a Range Rover Sport, and I'm in a customized Bentley Continental GT, and I'm already at speed. We cut into his lead quickly, and he cuts across the grass towards the runway, going off-road while I have to take the taxiway that's a little ahead.

“Shit!” Stephen grunts, trying to aim but we're going too fast. “Why didn't you follow him?”

“Five inches ground clearance!” I yell back. “Hold on!”

I power slide into a U-turn, keeping my eyes on Finch's Range Rover as he tries to make it to the other end of the runway before we can close the gap, but Stephen's not giving him the opportunity, already up and firing a full magazine at him before doing a hot reload and firing again. The back window crazes as he hits the glass, and I can see holes punch in the back paneling, but the SUV never slows. “Fucking thing is reinforced!”

“Get me next to it, I've got one mag left. If not, I'll need your gun.”

“You got it,” I grunt, handing him my rifle while pushing the gas harder. We approach on the driver side, taking the risk of Finch being able to shoot back in order to give Stephen the better shot. If I'd known we'd be doing this, I'd have bought a four door.

Finch must have a supercharged engine in his vehicle, there's no way a standard Range Rover should be able to keep its distance from me this way, but I close the gap as best I can, pushing my Bentley up closer and closer to it's top speed for the distance we have, getting worried as we approach the end. “Whatever you're going to do, do it quick, we're going to have to turn soon!”

Stephen steadies his rifle and fires, not in automatic bursts but in more controlled semi-automatic shots, the brass flying around my legs and burning my forearm where it hits, but he takes out the rear wheel of the Range Rover first, then with four more shots hits the front wheel. I hit the brakes hard, jerking back as Finch's vehicle slews across our path. Finch pushes the gas but only increases his loss of control. The rim of his front wheel hits one of the warning lights that mark the end of the runway and he flips, rolling twice before coming to a stop miraculously on it's wheels.

“Cover me!” Stephen says as soon as we come to a stop, and I grab my rifle, socking it to my shoulder as we approach. Stephen's rifle is still raised, but he can't have much more than three or four rounds left. “Reginald Finch! Surrender!”

There's no movement from the truck, and Stephen swings a bit wider, my breath coming in short spurts as I watch him stop, then wave me around the other side of the vehicle.

It's clear as soon as I approach that Reginald Finch isn't going anywhere. He's still strapped in his driver's seat, but blood trickles from his nose and from the corner of his mouth, and he's cut in at least a dozen other places.

“You two,” he groans, swallowing. “When I... when they told me someone was poking around....”

“Who told you?” Stephen asks. “Who else is working with you, Finch?”

Finch coughs, a fine spray of blood covering the deployed air bag in front of him, and I realize he's trying to laugh. “You won't... Dover won't let you get close enough. They won't let you live long enough to find out anyway.”

“Who's Dover?” Stephen asks. “Die with some peace, Finch.”

“Peace?” Finch asks, coughing again. “Peace is a lie. There’s only power.”

“Who are you working with?” I ask. “Who covered for you?”

Finch's eyes flicker towards me, and he smirks. “Good to see you again, Larissa. It's been twenty two years, but I remember you well. My first trip to Greece, you were so pretty when you were seven.”

The realization hits me like a punch in the chest and I lift my rifle. Stephen nods and turns away. I take a second to tilt my head, and feel inside me the little girl that I once was stir in the grave that she's been buried inside me for two decades. “Last words, Finch?”

“Fuck you,” Finch grunts, trying to spit at me. I don't give him time for more as I pull my trigger, thirty rounds emptying out and turning his upper body and head into pulp. I turn, walking away from the wreck and tossing my rifle into the back of my car. Stephen's already behind the wheel, saying nothing as he puts it into drive and we drive off, ignoring the airport security that's coming on the scene.

Fuck it. Let the office handle it.

* * *

It feels strange to be in my flat again after today, but after blowing Finch all to hell, I had to file paperwork, report to The Network and to MI6 what I'd done, all of that. Thankfully they stepped in and took care of the particulars, and the airport cops are not going to be asking any questions.

But it still feels weird, sitting on the sofa next to Stephen as he finishes his report to the CIA. “Do you think they'll keep you on the case?”

He closes his computer, looking over at me with his eyes deep with meaning. “I doubt it. Allusions to Dover and all aside, my boss said in the live chat that she thinks I got the people who got Chastity. The Deep Cover office was already in touch, saying they're worried that if things keep going, your cover's going to be threatened. Nothing's for sure, but....”

“But they're going to want you back in the States,” I whisper, and Stephen nods. “I wish you could stay a little longer.”

“Me too,” Stephen admits. “I feel like... like I'm walking away when things are only half done, and I don't mean the case. I mean personally too.”

I chuckle. “I can put you in touch with some people who might help. If anything Rodrigo would be a good person to talk with. And well... would it be too big a breaking of the rules if we stayed in touch?”

“It's probably breaking the rules, but I'd like that too,” Stephen says, leaning closer to me. “Larissa....”

“I know,” I reply, cupping his face and kissing him. There's no roughness, none of the ferocity or aggression that's become almost normal for us at the beginning. Tonight is about something that's been building between Stephen and I for months now. His hand cups my breast and I moan, reaching down and cupping his cock in his jeans, wanting to feel him in a new way. “Stephen, will you join me in my bed?”

“Yes,” he rasps, and we stand up, heading towards my bed where we kneel on the mattress, slowly stripping for each other until we're naked, inches only between us as his hands stop, almost nervous. “This... I feel weird. Like we've spent so much time tearing clothing and making our skin red from crops, spankings and everything else, that this... it feels new to me again.”

“Me too,” I whisper, crossing my arms over my body almost shyly. “I... it's been so many years, but I kinda feel like back when I was a virgin again.”

Stephen nods, and gets up, knee walking backwards until he's in the middle of the mattress. “Would you believe I lost my virginity when I was twenty two?”

“I'm not,” I reply, looking over his amazing body. “I can't even begin to think of how many socks you turned into crusty tubes during your teen years though.”

My little joke breaks Stephen's hesitancy, and he leans forward, kissing me. He's a great kisser, and as his lips suck and nibble on my neck, I let him push me back onto the mattress, washed over with the pleasure of having his skin pressed against mine. For long, wonderful minutes we nibble and kiss each other, just happy with the feeling of skin on skin contact. This isn't fucking, at least it doesn't feel that way, and that scares me, but at the same time I want it.

“You're beautiful,” Stephen whispers in my ear, sitting up some. “Truly beautiful.”

“You let me feel beautiful on the inside,” I reply, reaching up and stroking his chest and running my fingers over his scar. In a little spurt of fun, I tweak his nipple, and he hisses, smiling. “Like that?”

“Only if I get to return the favor,” Stephen growls, cupping my breast and threatening, but not actually pinching. “You've opened my eyes, Larissa. I met you, and I thought that you were as ugly on the inside as you are beautiful on the outside. But I realize the truth now. As beautiful as you are on the outside, it's inside you that you're even more beautiful. Nobody would believe me if I called you angelic, but that's the only word I can think of right now, but....”

He strokes my breast and I moan softly, touched by his words. I feel something between my legs and look down, humming happily as I sit back, a fresh idea going through my mind. “Well now, I'm flattered. Tell me, are there any fantasies of yours that we haven't done?”

Stephen looks down, lifting an eyebrow as I cup his cock and stroke him softly. Fantasies? My whole life has been about fulfilling men's fantasies, but there's one that I've wanted since I met Stephen, and I haven't had the chance to yet. “Uh.... you're pretty much my walking fantasy.”

“Then let me have one of my own.” Getting over his initial shock I turn over onto my hands and knees, and lick the tip of his cock, silencing him again as I ease him into my mouth, humming happily as the velvety head slides over my tongue. I've always been a bit of a size queen, and in Stephen I've got the most perfect cock I've ever seen in person or even on video, and my pussy flows with juices as I suck him as deep as I can, until he bumps into the back of my throat. Still, I can wrap my entire left hand around his shaft as I pull back, and suck him again, this time Stephen putting his hands in my hair and moaning thickly.

“That's it... oh fuck you suck so good.... I never imagined it could...” he moans, guiding me up and down his shaft, showing me how he likes it. He's sharing control with me, turning me on even more. There's a time for taking or giving control, but this time... it's about sharing control.

I pull off of his cock and smile at him naughtily, licking my lips. “I'm just getting started. After I suck your cock, we're going to fuck the rest of the night, correct?”

Stephen, recovering a little of his cockiness, grins, his eyes sparkling. “You have no idea how many times you're going to come.”

“And you have no idea what sort of heaven this naughty angel has in mind for you,” I tease back, running my tongue around the edge of the head of his cock again before swallowing it. He's stretching my mouth, but I don't stop, sucking him deeper again, ignoring him when his hands pause but suck another inch into my mouth before drawing back and then sucking deeper, pushing myself even as the thick, hot shaft of his cock starts to block my throat until my nose pushes against the crinkly light tufts of hair at his base and I swallow, massaging his cock with my throat as Stephen gasps and groans at the feeling. Letting him out, I suck and pump his cock, letting Stephen start to thrust and fuck my mouth. Reaching under his shaft, I find his heavy, egg shaped balls and roll them, pulling on the sack a little to stop him from coming so quickly.

Stephen moans and fucks my mouth harder, and I stop trying to suck, and instead hold still and let him do what he wants. His cock is thick and heavy, and even though I love it, I'm gagging at the same time, but I don't want him to stop. I want it to last for hours, but Stephen's never had a woman like me before, and his cock swells, and I pull back, until just the head is in my mouth when he groans, and my tongue is coated in the sweet-salty creamy taste of his come. It's thick, and never seems to stop, making me moan it's so fucking good.

When he finally pulls back and his cock slips out of his mouth, I look up at him and show him my full mouth before swallowing it all, grinning. “I guess I should have told you, besides my switch side, I've got quite an oral fetish. The things they teach you in MI6 schools, huh?”

Stephen laughs shakily, and scoots back, his eyes still blinking at what just happened. “Well, you showed me something I've never had before. I hope I can return the favor.”

“You've learned so much from me, and you're so... so good for me, I'm sure you will,” I reply, humming and laying back. “For now though... how about some cuddles? We've never done that before.”

“I love cuddles, I didn't think I'd ever get the chance with you,” Stephen laughs in reply, laying out and pulling me close next to him. “I mean, you've got the perfect body for cuddling too, it's a crime that you're very, very guilty of. I'm going to have to lock you up for hours for it some other time.”

I giggle, a side of me that I'm still trying to figure out sighing happily at his last words, and snuggle into his arms, exchanging kisses with him. My body's humming, the desire to feel him inside me nearly overwhelming, but it feels like, at least for now, that time's frozen. There's no CIA, there's no MI6 or Network, no Deep Cover. Just Stephen and I, right here, right now, and I'm going to indulge in this fantasy for as long as I can.

“So,” I ask between little kisses, “lock me up for hours? You do know how to turn that other side of me on, don't you?”

“And you know that there's a side of me that would like to take you downstairs and do just that,” Stephen says intensely. “But for all of that, there's this side of me too. I want you to know that part of me.”

“Aww,” I tease, wiggling a little. “I'm still not the sort of girl who likes little stuffed teddy bears holding heart shaped pillows though.”

“Don't worry, I'll make sure the teddy bear is holding flowers,” Stephen teases, and I laugh lightly. “I didn't know you on the inside, but I knew one thing. I knew you were a remarkable woman from the first day I saw you.”

“I noticed you too,” I purr, stroking his back, enjoying the muscles that are strong without being showy, pretentious. “I so wanted to kick your ass.”

Stephen chuckles. “From what I remember, you did kick my ass. But I understand what you mean. I'm glad... I'm glad you had the patience to work with me to help me find myself. Even if it means I don't get to pamper you.”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” I murmur, kissing his neck and along his ears, licking the lobe, “sometimes I like to be pampered. Not submitted to, just... pampered.”

We continue to just caress and explore this new thing between us, taking our time, until I feel something stir against my thigh, and I grin, reaching down and stroking the shaft of his cock. “Someone seems to have caught his breath.”

“He is. He's got the world's most beautiful woman pressed against him. Can you blame him?” Stephen asks, and I hum happily, wrapping my hand around his stiff member which still glistens in the overhead light. “Careful, I might have some more endurance, but you're very very good at that.”

“You know, you're a little intimidating to most women with this,” I tease as I pump his cock, smiling as it grows to it's full impressive size again. On a whim, I try and wrap both hands around it, and do it easily, with even the head of his cock sticking out the top. “Even I'm stretched out by you.”

Stephen growls and laughs, moaning lightly when I pump his cock slowly. “I have never, ever had a woman totally swallow me, and now you say you're stretched? Well, if that's the case I'm going to have to use my tongue on you again, although I think that's something I'd like more later.”

I lean down and kiss Stephen again and we roll together, letting him get on top of my body, pinning me lightly to the bed as we kiss slowly, his cock hot and pulsing against my thigh. Never have I let a man pin me down as much as I've let Stephen and I know that I've never felt the same way about a man that I feel about him. I don't know what this is, but I'm submitting to him in more than just physically.

Stephen kisses my lips one more time and gets to his knees, lifting my right leg and straddling my left, his cock already nudging open the lips of my pussy. “Is this a good position for you?”

I half turn, wiggling onto my side and letting his cock spread me open a little more, and nod. It's new for us, and it feels different. “This is wonderful. And Stephen?”

“Yes, beautiful?” he asks, stopping as he starts to push, pausing a little nervously. “What is it?”

“Once you're inside me... you can still be a little athletic,” I purr, smiling. “You have taken me places that I haven't been in a long time, maybe ever. Let's see if you can top it.”

“Challenge accepted,” Stephen hums, pushing in more. I know how big he is, but still it takes my breath away as he stretches me, his cock rubbing my pussy in a different way than ever before as he takes his time. He's not even a quarter of the way in, but I'm trembling, the head of his cock rubbing against my g-spot with every short stroke.

“Uh, yesssss,” I gasp as I feel him slide in deeper, loving it. My pussy is filled, stretched in a new way than it's ever been before with him, and I love it, my eyes rolling back when he reaches around my body and kneads my breast, pinching the nipple and sending sparks through my stomach to mix with the hot, liquid churning below my waist. “More.....”

Stephen pauses, and I look back over my shoulder, lust addled, but understanding. I nod, and Stephen swallows. He takes a deep breath and thrusts hard, and the pain and pleasure of his cock sinking all the way until I'm speared on his cock makes me cry out in ecstasy. This is what I love, this line where I'm feeling everything, the nerves in my pussy crying out with everything they have, and I know that I have to have Stephen more, some miracle has to let me have him again.

He pauses, letting me adjust and let the pain drop down a little before he pulls back and thrusts again, and I'm nearly coming already, my stomach clenching as Stephen begins thrusting faster, pushing deep inside with every movement. I can't help it, my pussy squeezes and I moan, coming around his cock. I've never come this fast before, it's amazing, but even more as Stephen doesn't stop, his hips driving his wonderful cock again and again into me. My already on fire body is blasted by the pleasure, my mind caught up and I'm crying out, not in pain but in amazing pleasure, begging Stephen to give me everything.

Stephen adjusts, sliding his leg off of me and pushing my other leg up, a full missionary as he hammers into me, my stretched and filled pussy shocked at the change in angle. It feels different, and a new wave of heat builds inside me as he looks into my eyes, kissing me while his hips pound me into a different kind of submission. This isn't physical, this is something that no man has ever gotten close to touching on me, but Stephen's different. No man has ever looked at me the way he is right this moment, his eyes gleaming with desire. Men have begged me, men have dominated me occasionally. But none have ever looked at me with the look that Stephen is. His eyes are respectful but unrelenting, taking me as his, nearly animal in his hard thrusts, but just on that line where it becomes too much. No wonder the polite girls in his life before me couldn't handle him, he's too strong for them.

I feel another orgasm building inside me, bigger than before, and I claw at his neck, afraid and wanting what he's doing to me. Stephen bites my lip in reply and it pushes us, both of us abandoning all restraints and going hard, my pussy squeezing his cock as he swells. When he's on the edge he growls one more time in my ear, claiming me. “Mine!”

“Yours,” I groan in response, and his growl of possession turns into one of triumph as his cock swells, and he comes. The last driving thrust pushes me over and I'm coming hard too, both of us desperate for each other. Time stretches out, and I feel my heart whisper that I'll never be the same. I've never answered to a demand like that before, and it shakes me to the very depths of my soul.

When the frozen moment passes, Stephen stays inside me, kissing me tenderly. “Sorry about the lip,” he whispers, gentle. “I wanted to be gentle, and well... are you okay?”

“No,” I tell him honestly. “I wish I had one more thing.”

“What?” he asks, concerned, reassured when I stroke the side of his face with my knuckles. “What?”

“A time machine. Something that would keep this night from ever ending.” My words are almost immediately betrayed as we both yawn almost simultaneously, and I smile sleepily. “Well, maybe some rest. Cat nap time?”

“Sure. Mind if we spoon some?”

I purr and turn, enjoying the warm strength of his arms wrapping around me. “I think I could become addicted to spooning. Oh, and Stephen?”

“Yes, beautiful?” he hums, relaxing.

“That was amazing. And I want more.”

Stephen hums happily and kisses the back of my neck. “When we wake up.”