Killian
Before I can probe further, the chopper banks to the right. I look out the window and see our destination. The building is a single-story, shingle-roofed structure with a simple sign that announces its purpose. There is a single pickup truck parked at the front, and as we descend, a figure emerges from the front.
I turn back to Faith. Her attention is fixed on the property too. But I know that she is aware of my scrutiny and is avoiding me.
For now, I swallow the questions crowding my brain as we fly over the T-shaped property and land in a clearing about a hundred yards behind the building.
We disembark in silence. Mitch and Linc head off in opposite directions while Rob, the pilot, remains close by. His loose-limbed stance belies the fact that he’s on high alert, and I scrutinize the tree line too.
Linc returns first. “All clear,” he says.
We duck under the slowly rotating rotors and head for the side of the building. The truck is heading down the driveway, its taillights blinking once in the trailing dust before it disappears. Mitch pulls the keys out of the front door and holds it open. “We have the place to ourselves until six p.m.”
The smell of gunpowder and cleaning oil hangs in the air when we enter. On the towering wall behind the long counter, a vast array of firepower is displayed, from hunting rifles to submachine guns. Mitch locks the door and pockets the keys while Linc moves behind the counter to pull out a large tray holding boxes of ammunition. On the counter itself, ten different types of pistols are laid out on black velvet cloth.
Faith pulls off her shades and baseball cap and looks around, noting the near-complete silence. “You arranged for the place to be empty?”
“It wasn’t that difficult. Today was turning out to be a slow day, apparently. And the owner was properly incentivized.” I hold up two weapons. “Glock or Smith and Wesson?” She used both during her time at the training facility, although after that she switched to the more compact Ruger.
Her gaze drops to the weapons. I spot a tiny wave of uncertainty fluttering over her face. Our conversation in the chopper flares up between us. “Whatever happened before, Faith, we are in this now. You said you wanted to be prepared. So pick a weapon.”
She points to the Smith & Wesson. I hand it to her butt-first before I grab the two boxes of bullets. Mitch walks us down a hallway and uses the set of keys in his possession to open another door. He throws a switch on the wall, and the large space where the actual range is located lights up. The worn Astroturf muffles our footsteps as we move along the row of cubicles that make up the shooting gallery. Faith picks the one dead center, and I take the one next to her.
“Need anything else, boss?” Mitch asks.
“No. We’re good, thanks.”
He nods and hands over two pairs of protective earmuffs and goggles before he leaves.
Faith calmly feeds the bullets into the chamber and slams it with a confident kick. But as her finger moves over to flick off the safety, I see her tremble.
I put my own gun down and step up behind her. My intention was to keep up the pressure of my interrogation when we were alone, get her to give up the last piece of whatever the fuck she’s holding so close to her chest. But the timing sucks right now. I’m willing to bet that, before she held the gun on me in the park last week, the last time she held a gun was back in Cairo.
I had the dubious benefit of a deep debrief to help me deal with that nightmare. She hasn’t. Unless she’s holding back about that too.
I stash my angst, and I cup her shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay.”
Another shudder runs through her body. “No. It’s not.” The answer is definitive enough to make my pulse trip in apprehension.
“Tell me what’s going on. What are you feeling?”
The gun wavers in her hand, and she lays it down on the wooden slab in front of her. “That I can’t bear the thought I’ll have to point a gun at someone again in the near future. That I’ll have even more blood on my hands.”
My fingers tighten. “I’m going to fight like hell for that never to happen. But if it has to, do you want to be prepared or not?”
She turns and locks her green eyes on mine. A mixture of defiance and irritation swirls in their depths. It’s not the look I crave to see on her face, but at least the bleakness has receded. After a moment, her jaw flexes.
“I hate it when you make a good point,” she says.
I lean and whisper in her ear, “I know. I tell you what, the person who gets the most dead-center shots gets to dictate how the rest of the evening goes. Deal?”
The barest hint of a smile turns up her lips. “Are you sure you’re prepared for that level of ass-kicking?”
My gaze drops down to her legs, and even though my senses are still raked raw with everything she said in the chopper, my basest instinct is still very much alive and kicking. “I’ll happily take whatever punishment you dish out if it involves using those legs on me.”
Her eyes turn a darker shade of green, and her nostrils flare delicately as she inhales. I swear I catch a hint of gratitude in her eyes before she turns and she reaches for the gun again.
I place her headphones over her ears and step back and put mine on. “Remember your training. Breathe.”
She nods and steadily raises her gun. The first shot explodes from the muzzle and goes wide, nipping the bottom edge of the target. “That doesn’t count,” she snaps.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing and remain behind her. “Am I putting you off, baby?”
“You wish,” she says, but she catches her lower lip between her teeth in concentration as she lines up another shot. This one is closer to the target. The next one is even better.
Yep, she was rusty, but she’s quickly finding her feet again. I move to my cubicle and grab my gun. I fire three in succession, each hitting the bull’s-eye. The next two stray an inch or two to the left. But the last rounds hit dead center.
She glances over at me as the target reels toward us. “That was a stupid bet,” she mutters.
I laugh under my breath. “Best of five?”
Her lips purse. Then she nods. “You’re on.”
I win the first set. She challenges me to a second set. I win that one too. We take a break while I fetch more bullets. She’s drinking from a water bottle when I return. A few drops slide down the corner of her mouth, land on her chest, and disappear between her breasts.
My GI Jane fantasies roar to life. She reads me loud and clear, and the bottle in her hand quivers as she lowers it. “Killian…what—”
“I’m going to buy you some dog tags,” I promise, my voice thick with arousal. “You’re going to wear them between those beautiful tits. I’ll get you some combat boots too. Those scuffed-up ones with the thick heels. You’ll wear just the tags and the boots, with your hair tied up like that and those naughty bangs teasing your eyes. And you’re going to sit on my face for a solid hour. You can come as many times as you want.”
A visible tremble rakes her body, and she swallows hard. “And…after that?”
I walk slowly over to her, pluck the bottle from her fingers, and take a long drink. “I’m tying that long hair around my arm, and I’m fucking you from behind…in both holes…until one of us passes out.”
She sags against the wall behind her. I catch her around the waist and pull her back up and hold out the bullets. “You ready to go again?”
Her eyes narrow. I laugh and earn myself a punch in the arm. “Just for that I’m going to kick your ass this round.”
And she does, and the one after that, by fractions of an inch. But, because I’m the selfish asshole who wants what he wants, I pull out my ruthless streak and win the next four rounds.
She yanks the earmuffs and goggles off in annoyance. “I still say it was a stupid bet.”
I discard my gear and enter her cubicle, my eager gaze seeking out and finding what I crave. “Stupid or not, I believe I have a prize coming to me.”
She slowly looks over her shoulder at me. “And what’s that?”
“You know what the sight of that ass in those shorts has been doing to me for the last four hours?” My voice is as thick as the needy bulge growing in my pants.
Her lips part on a quick little pant. The sound of it wraps around my cock and squeezes tight. “I asked you a question. Do you?”
She raises her chin. “I’m not a mind reader.”
I smile. Her breathing accelerates even more. “Maybe not, but you’re a body reader. What’s my body saying, sweetheart?”
She makes a show of scrutinizing me from head to toe, her eyes lingering in places that set me on fire. Her gaze snaps back to the front. Her fingers flutter over the items laid out. “Killian, we can’t.”
I step up to her, pressing my crotch against the culprit responsible for my current state. “Tell me you don’t want this bad boy inside you. Tell me you don’t feel this insane hunger that’s killing me.”
The tiniest nudge of her ass against my crotch. But it spells her dooms. “I do. But we can’t do that…here.”
The simple admission after so much resistance is almost my undoing. I bend my knees and settle myself firmly against her until I feel the globes begin to cradle me. “Baby, don’t fuck with me. I dictate how this goes, remember? I won fair and square.”
A saucy smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “Okay. I’m yours. Tell me what you want.”
I want to fall on my knees and shout hallelujah. But I can’t risk not being able to stand if I do. I straighten and trail the backs of my fingers down her arms. “Leave those hands where they are. Grip the edge if you have to, but they leave that shelf and I’m starting again.”
Her breath hitches. “Starting what?”
My mouth whispers over her smooth cheekbone, the smell of her skin so intoxicating that I want to devour her. “You’ll see. Now face forward and do as I say.”
Her hands grip the edge of the wooden slab.
I circle her trim waist with my hands, tighten my hold, and rock my hips against her for a second before I glide my hands down to grip her ass. My touch is less than gentle when I squeeze. A hot little moan leaves her lips.
I kick her legs apart, wide enough for me to kneel between them. Then I reach around to the front and open the button on her shorts. A tug of the zipper and the offending material keeping her from me drops to snag on her hips. The sight of her very skimpy thong stupefies me for a minute. “Fuck, baby, you’re so lucky I didn’t know you were wearing this before.”
“W…why?” she stutters adorably.
“Because so far, those tiny scraps of lace you wear cover your ass. But on the day we decide to go out, you wear two pieces of string?”
I bring my hand down hard on her left butt cheek. She yelps, and her whole body shakes. I follow my spank with a bite, and her knees give way. A moment later, her scent hits my nostrils.
“Fuck, I can smell you.” I spank her right cheek, and I’m rewarded with the same reaction. With the same wave of heat from her pussy. “God, you’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” I take another bite. “Aren’t you?”
“Y…yes.”
I yank down her shorts until her widened stance stops them at her calves. But I have more than enough to work with. I pull her thong up between her butt cheeks until her pussy strains against the material. When she tries to rock against the friction, I spank her again.
“You’re not allowed to get yourself off. Not until I’m good and ready.”
Her moan is half protest, half surrender. I tug again, and again, and watch with rapt hunger as she gets wetter.
“Look at me.”
She glances at me over her shoulder. The sight of her stormy green eyes through her bangs adds a layer of steel to my dick. How the fuck is it even possible for me to be this hard just from that alone?
“Do you want to come?”
Her cheeks flush a deep pink, and she nods. “Please.”
“I can’t wait to hear you repeat that word sometime soon, when you’re on your knees.” I tug again, and her eyes flutter.
The next tug is much harder, designed to rip the material keeping her from me. It gives way with a snap.
“Oh God.”
I pull the scrap of fabric away, tuck it into my back pocket, and sink to my knees. A tap on her ankle, and she raises one leg. I pull the shorts off, keeping her legs adequately parted, and spread her cheeks.
The sight of her glistening pussy and swollen clit drenches me with a need so strong I feel like I’m going to pass out just looking at her. “God, Faith, you have the most gorgeous cunt.”
She trembles harder, probably from my raw language. Or from the use of her name.
“Faith,” I test again.
Another shiver. But no protest. I save that piece of info and part her wider. Her beautiful butthole reminds me I haven’t taken that incredible pleasure yet. Something else to savor soon. Unable to resist another second, I drag her back and flick my tongue against her puckered flesh.
“Ahhh!”
Beneath my hold, her thigh muscles spasm wildly, and her next breath hisses out. “Feel good?”
“Yes,” she moans. She rocks back against me, and I push my tongue deeper into her. “So good.”
I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on. Still circling her sphincter, I drag my middle finger through her soaked pussy. Back and forth until she’s whimpering.
“Killian…please…”
The plea is too much for me. On the next pass, I slide my finger inside her pussy. Her hungry channel immediately closes around me. Her hips begin to pump, cheeky little strokes at first. Then, when I add another finger, she increases the tempo. I can’t find the words to berate her because the picture she creates of her plump ass, her arched back, and the rope of her hair swinging back and forth is so intoxicating I don’t mind. I finger her harder, faster, pushing my tongue deeper into her ass.
Her breathing turns ragged, her hands white-knuckled where she’s gripping the wood. The only thing I’m missing in this incredible picture is the vision of her tits bouncing with her movements. But then she gives a little pre-orgasmic scream.
“Oh…oh God, I’m coming,” she gasps.
“Fuck, yes,” I encourage hoarsely.
Her back bows tighter as if her spine is the string that connects her pussy to her brain. Her contractions begin to gather pace, tightening and releasing my fingers. I’ve felt her come many times, but this is still the most incredible thing. Greedy for more, I crook my finger inside her, searching for that sweet spot that turns her wild. There it is. She bolts up onto her toes and screams louder this time. An instant later, I feel her sweet essence drench my fingers.
My free hand flies to my crotch to tackle my zipper, the need to be inside her—now—pounding painfully through me. She’s still twitching through her sublime orgasm when I ram my cock inside her.
She screams and starts to come all over again. Holy fuck. I lock my hands on her waist and hold still, fighting against the muscles relentlessly milking my cock, determined to make me her slave.
“Faith. Oh God, Faith…”
She rocks back against me, slamming her ass against my groin. And because I’m too fucking far gone, I meet her halfway. We pound into each other, our breathing frayed and desperate, the only thing real for us the unique bliss that is ours alone. I want to fuck her forever, until the whole world stops turning. But the ferocious fire barreling up my spine and shooting into my balls tells me my time is limited.
But hell, I’m taking everything I’ve got. “Fill you…I’m going to fill every inch of your cunt with my cum.” I pound her harder, until I swear I feel the edge of her womb on my next thrust.
“Yes! Killian…” My name is a long, strained moan that pulls my balls right up against my cock.
I grit my teeth for one last futile second. And then I erupt. I throw my head back and succumb to the indescribable pleasure sucking me deep into the most glorious abyss. But I don’t remain there for long. The world tips upside down, and I’m flying, cresting wave after wave of bliss as her orgasm lengthens mine.
My legs shake and threaten to give way. I sag against her body and wrap my arms tight around her.
“Shit. Shit. God, Faith. I…I…” Love you. I’ve loved you since the second I saw you.
The words remained locked in my throat. Why, exactly, I don’t know.
I don’t know whether she suspects them or not. We just remain, bowed and spent over the wooden slab, until reality returns in the form of the smell of gunpowder and damp Astroturf.
Reluctantly, I pull out of her. I tug her thong out of my back pocket and clean us up the best I can. Her pussy is still damp, and my cock still wrapped in her cum. But I don’t give a damn. I don’t care if the whole world knows we’ve just fucked. I drop a quick kiss on her pussy when I pull up and zip her shorts. She rewards me with one last shudder.
And just because I can, I kiss her mouth long and deep. When lift my head, she presses her fingers to her lips. “Every time…”
“What?”
“Every time I think it won’t get any better, you make it amazing,” she murmurs, her voice a little stunned.
I’m not surprised when the words pull at my chest, instead of pumping up my ego. I want to lay every promise of her every desire right there at her feet in this shitty little shooting range. I don’t. But a little bit of my apprehension recedes.
I brush my knuckle down her cheek. “Stick around, baby. I promise I have more to give.”
She smiles, but I catch that shadow again and turn away before it ruins my relative calm.
I gather the weapons, and we head back onto the main floor. Mitch and Linc are by the door, talking in low voices. Rob is leafing through a copy of Guns & Ammo. He discards it when he spots us.
“You ready to head out, Mr. Knight?” he asks.
I nod and hand the guns over to Mitch, who replaces them in their glass vaults. I leave them to lock up, and escort Faith back to the chopper. Five minutes later, we lift off.
She’s sitting next to me on the bench seat, her head tucked against my shoulder. I’m not sure whether it’s the sublime sex or the fact that my instincts tell me we’ve reached saturation point, but I slide my fingers into her hair and gently tug her head up.
“I need to know, Faith. Everything.”
I watch as her mouth quivers and her eyes slowly fill with tears. My badass lover, who once drop-kicked two Bulgarian thugs without breaking a sweat, is crying.
“You’ll hate me.”
My heart turns over. “No. I won’t.” The conviction in my voice is total.
Her eyes widen. “Killian—”
“I’m not a fucking saint. There are some things I won’t find easy to live with, but I will never hate you.”
A tremulous smile curves her lips but doesn’t make it to her eyes. “A blanket pardon would be great right about now.”
I cup her chin and press my mouth to hers. “We will work toward it, if we need to. But you’re telling me. Tonight.”
Her eyes turn a darker shade of moss. After a beat, she nods.
Something gives inside me that leaves me weak with relief. I nudge her back against me, and we watch the denser outskirts of New York State give way to the bright lights of the Big Apple.
We’re five minutes out from landing, when Miniature Betty beeps in my pocket. For a moment, I’m startled, having momentarily forgotten about the other dangers hanging over us.
Faith tenses against me as I lift the gadget and hit the requisite buttons. She’s dislodged from my side when I jerk upright.
“Fuck!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Betty’s spotted a ninety percent likeness of Paul Galveston.”
Her breath catches. “Where?”
“The Algonquin in Midtown.”
“He’s here? In New York?”
I nod and scroll through the rest of the information. My blood turns ice-cold. “She backtracked his movements.”
“And?”
“He was on the Upper East Side two hours ago.”
“That could mean anything. Or nothing.” I hear the hope in her voice. But the fear is stronger.
Both emotions run through me as I keep scrolling. The last nugget sends my world into free fall.
“What is it, Killian?”
I hit zoom on the image and show it to her. Her stunned gasp echoes my emotions.
“That’s…Fionnella.”
I scrub a hand down my face. “Yes.”
She looks closer and spots what I’ve already seen. “Is she…? Oh my God, she’s in our…your apartment,” she remarks in a shock-dulled voice.
“Yes,” I confirm.
Her hand is shaking when she sets the gadget down. “What…we can’t just leave her there…can we?”
“When I saw Galveston’s location, I was going to instruct Rob to change course and fly us to Teterboro. My plane is waiting. I could fly us anywhere else in the world as long as we’re not in the same city as this fucking bastard…”
Her gaze drops to the gadget. “But we can’t.”
“No. This isn’t a coincidence. I think we need to see her. Find out what this is all about.”
Half an hour later, tense silence rules the penthouse living room as we stare at the smiling woman seated across from us.
“So, I’m sorry to be the bearer of un-fun news, but you’ve had almost a week together. The honeymoon is over, kids. It’s time to get back to work.”