Pink Slip

by Katrina Jackson

  Monica’s arms encircled her, holding her, smoothing her hair. Kierra could feel Lane's solid presence, oozing with rage, as he paced a small circle in front of them.

  “Are you hurt?” Monica asked when Kierra’s sobs finally began to ease.

  She shook her head. Some of the tension radiating from Lane’s body seeped away but he kept moving.

  “What happened? Tell us everything,” Monica said in a soft command that cut through Kierra’s lingering fear.

  As she told them about running into Banovíc, Lane paced faster.

  “He was following me,” Kierra said.

  Lane shot her a caustic look. “Of course he was. We’ve been talking about that for days.”

  Kierra’s face heated. She felt foolish. In her frustration, she’d behaved as if she were still just their PA, not their pet and an integral part of their cover. She’d assumed when they talked about Banovíc having them followed that only meant Monica and Lane. She hadn’t thought that Banovíc thought of her as anything more than a pretty young thing on their arms. But she could see now that that was exactly the point.

  “He wants to fuck me,” she blurted out.

  Lane gave her another withering look. “Of course he does. Have you looked in a mirror?”

  Kierra bit her bottom lip, trying desperately not to be so pleased with the compliment, even if he offered it to her in an annoyed tone.

  “Did you feel threatened?” Monica asked the question while continuing to smooth Kierra’s hair. Kierra tried not to acknowledge to herself the irony of Monica petting her or that she was practically glowing under the attention. She simple pressed her body even more firmly into Monica’s side.

  “Not like our cover is blown, threatened. Just in a ‘that guy gives me rapey vibes’ kind of way.”

  “Okay,” Lane said, “that’s good. Well not good. That guy gives me rapey vibes as well. But our cover’s probably still intact and I don’t plan on letting him getting near either one of you alone again.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Monica replied drily.

  Lane smiled at her, his first smile since Kierra had arrived back at the villa. But then he looked at her with a serious scowl. “Next time you want to leave here without us you arrange a guard, swallow a tracker and let us know. You hear?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said and then bit her lip.

  The stare he gave her back was stern, but not in an angry way.

  Kierra pressed her face more firmly into the crook of Monica’s neck, inhaling the spicy scent of her cologne, and finally let herself relax now that she was well and truly safe.

  ◆◆◆

  After the afternoon’s excitement, Kierra would have liked to hang around the villa, eat ice cream and let Monica pet her until she fell asleep.

  But there was a party happening at one of the city’s most popular fetish clubs and Banovíc would likely be in attendance. There were a lot of sex clubs in this moderately sized Eastern European city, which seemed strange to Kierra, but when in Novi Sad she guessed. Kierra had considered protesting, willing to make the case that since this club wasn’t ménage specific, they technically didn’t need her. But then Lane had shown her the dress they’d picked out for her, a short mesh, sleeveless thing that wouldn’t even begin to cover her important bits. And then he’d oiled her body, while Monica slipped into a white, midi, slip dress that seemed to flow over her curves like water when she walked and Kierra had gotten distracted by the barest flash of her areolas. And then she’d trying not to get her nails stuck in the mesh of her dress as she shimmied her hips into on a flesh toned thong.

  And before she knew it Lane was walking ahead of them in his casual slate gray business suit as if he was going to a business meeting. He opened the door to the club whose name Kierra couldn’t pronounce but intel translated as Peep, and Monica was grasping her hand, leading her inside.

  If the problem with Club Ménage was that there wasn’t enough action, the problem with Peep, in Kierra’s opinion, was that there was too much.

  One second they were outside on a quiet, out of the way street, and the next second they were in the middle of what felt like one big writhing mess.

  Kierra wasn’t sure if Monica had been to this club before or if she’d studied its layout closely, but she deftly moved them through the very public orgy happening basically at the club’s entrance, up a flight of stairs and into a tamer sitting area. The music wasn’t so loud up there and the setup was fairly similar to Ménage with big plush couches along the perimeter. Kierra guessed if you’ve seen one Eastern European sex club, then maybe you’ve seen them all. She sighed at the lack of imagination.

  The only thing of real interest, and she guessed part of the reason why the club was called Peep, was that in the middle of the room a clear Plexiglas circle was inset into the floor. As they walked over it, Kierra looked down and got a bird’s eye view of the orgy downstairs. She decided that from this vantage point it was much more palatable. She then noticed that all along the club’s walls Plexiglas portholes offered views into other rooms allowing patrons to witness the many goings on around them. She nodded absently, giving the club a few points for novelty.

  Monica and Lane moved across the sitting area and took possession of a small loveseat in the corner. Their perch had a clear view of the stairs and a door in the opposite corner, which led to Kierra didn’t know where.

  Lane reached to pull Kierra into his lap.

  “There are other, bigger couches over there,” she protested, not sure if sitting in Lane’s lap was the best way for them to stay on task. Well they were professionals so maybe they would be fine, but it certainly wasn’t the best way for her to stay on task.

  “This seat has the best view for our operation. Now sit,” Monica demanded, patting Lane’s lap.

  Lane quirked his eyebrow at Kierra, leaned back into the couch and put one arm over the side and one along the back behind Monica. The invitation clear.

  Kierra lowered herself gingerly onto his legs, trying not to think about all of the dreams she’d had that started just like this.

  She tried not to squirm, which only made her squirm even more. She shouldn’t have been shocked when she felt Lane’s dick begin to harden beneath her, but she was. She turned to him with wide eyes.

  “What’d you expect? Stop moving and he’ll settle down.”

  Monica scoffed, “What’d I tell you about talking about your cock like it’s a person?”

  Lane leaned over and kissed Monica’s cheek, “It’s big enough to be.”

  Kierra giggled. Monica shook her head, but turned to kiss him back warmly.

  Just then they were interrupted by a waitress. She smiled and nodded at them while placing a bucket of champagne and glasses in front of them. And then she turned to nod across the room.

  Kierra recognized the man staring back at them in his crisp business suit as Martín Stepanov, Banovíc’s finance minister. He raised his glass at them and they all nodded as the waitress opened the champagne bottle and poured them each a glass.

  “Is this a good thing?” Kierra asked, using her champagne flute to hide her mouth.

  “Too early to tell,” Monica replied, with a smile on her face as she ran a hand up Kierra’s thigh.

  Kierra couldn’t blame her response on the champagne, since she hadn’t drunk any. And she couldn’t blame it on this afternoon’s run-in with the European dictator they were gathering intel on. But she could blame the days, months, three years’ worth of pent up lust for her bosses for making her moan as Monica’s cool hand, slightly wet from her champagne flute, made contact with her skin. She moved her legs slightly apart, her invitation clear.

  “May I?”

  Kierra nodded eagerly.

  Monica’s hand didn’t move higher, but she didn’t take it away either. She did lean forward and swipe her tongue across Kierra’s nipple, through the mesh of her dress. She kept her eyes on Kierra’s face the whole time.

  Lane’s hips
shifted beneath her and Kierra’s head fell back in ecstasy as Monica began to suckle on her nipple, her wet mouth applying the perfect amount of pressure.

  Kierra’s legs fell open obscenely and she began to thrust her hips forward, her body begging Monica to touch her more, everywhere.

  Monica dragged her tongue up Kierra’s chest and her neck. And then they were face-to-face. “This isn’t the mission, Kierra. We can just watch.”

  “Just tell us to stop and it’s done,” Lane added.

  Kierra wanted to laugh, like really laugh at the absurdity of their words. Who cares about the fucking mission? She sure as hell didn’t.

  But she kept her gaze level with Monica’s and her voice serious. “You’re supposed to be the best spies in the world. If you don’t know that I wanted you before this mission, I’m going to have to question your credentials.”

  Kierra’s eyes widened as a not-small smile spread across Monica’s lips. She’d never seen a full-fledged smile from her before. She wanted to bottle it and keep it with her forever.

  And then Kierra’s mouth fell open in a groan as Monica’s hand finally – FINALLY – moved up Kierra’s thigh, between her legs and cupped her sex over her very skimpy underwear.

  “How long have you been this wet?” Monica whispered.

  “Three years,” Kierra answered honestly.

  Lane barked a laugh.

  Monica moved her thumb over Kierra’s clit and began to rub circles there. Kierra shivered and ground her hips down into Lane’s very hard erection.

  “Just this,” Monica whispered. “The rest is for us.”

  Kierra didn’t know what she meant until she moved away. This wasn’t the mission. And no one in this skeevy Serbian club needed to see them finally get the exact thing they’d all been wanting for years.

  Monica settled back down next to Lane, who kissed her and then whispered, “Banovíc” just loud enough for them to hear.

  They all turned and saw that Banovíc, flanked by his guards, had settled on the couch next to Stepanov. In the seconds – or minutes, Kierra was honestly unsure – when Kierra had been under the spell of Monica’s hands and mouth on her, Stepanov had opened his pants and a man, who Kierra had not noticed before, was kneeling between his legs, sucking him off.

  Stepanov and Banovíc raised their glasses to their small couch. Kierra had expected to feel the panic rising at seeing him again. But she put on her mask and smiled, nodding her head slightly.

  Monica’s hand between her legs and Lane’s sure arm around her waist helped to calm her nerves.

  seven

  Kierra gave the Peters the four months’ notice her contract required, but four months had felt so far away then. It was only just hitting her that in just a few days Monica and Lane wouldn’t be her bosses anymore. It was hard to fathom. And even though quitting had been her idea, she still couldn’t imagine her life without them.

  Especially not now, in the back of their hired car, as she leaned against Lane’s chest, Monica’s hand sliding between her legs.

  Monica’s eyes were on her, deadly serious in a way that always made moisture pool at Kierra’s center, as she lifted the poor excuse for a dress up her thighs.

  “Is this what you want, sweet girl?” Lane asked, his voice still playful even if it did sound a bit ragged, like he was suppressing a growl. He ran his hand over Kierra’s stomach in a soothing circle and then trailed his fingers lightly over her sternum.

  “Yes,” she moaned, trying to swivel her hips closer to Monica, but failing when Monica clutched her, holding her still.

  “Are you sure?” Kierra turned to glare at him.

  He laughed. “Tell her. Tell her exactly what you want.”

  Kierra turned back to Monica who was settled between her splayed legs. “I want you to taste me,” she said. “Please.”

  If before tonight Monica had never smiled, she seemed to have an abundance of grins and smirks and smiles that almost bared her teeth, for Kierra. Monica licked her lips and then moved her fingers to the edge of Kierra’s incredibly small thong. She ran her nail along that seam and Kierra groaned. When she pulled the fabric away, it clung to her wet sex. She blew softly on it and the brush of her breath made Kierra shiver, her hips straining toward Monica’s face again.

  The partition between them and the driver gave them the illusion of privacy. But since she’d just let Monica rub her to a gentle orgasm in the middle of an orgy while a high ranking Serbian minister came in his boyfriend’s mouth, what was a few moans in the car on the way home, Kierra thought.

  And clearly Monica agreed. She lowered her head to Kierra’s pussy, running her tongue through her folds and sucking her clit into her mouth. Kierra’s hips jerked and she cried out, unable to stop herself. After three years, it was finally happening.

  And then the car stopped. The driver’s voice came through the intercom announcing that they had arrived back at the villa.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Kierra yelled to no one in particular.

  ◆◆◆

  Kierra stumbled out of the car. Her high heels and wobbly legs made her feel like a drunk giraffe. Lane was at her back, an arm around her waist to steady her.

  “Be careful there, sweet girl. Don’t need you spraining an ankle,” he said, with a soft chuckle.

  Monica keyed in the code to the door and leaned down with wide eyes for the retinal scanner.

  “Identity accepted,” the digital voice intoned.

  Kierra had to bite her lip to keep from responding with her normal, “thanks, doll.”

  Inside the villa, Monica turned to Kierra and Lane, looking them over with lust in her eyes. Kierra’s back was still pressed against Lane’s front and she jumped when the front door closed behind them.

  “You always wear those inappropriate shoes to work,” Monica said, her gaze raking over Kierra’s body.

  “Well technically, tonight they were very appropriate,” Lane replied in Kierra’s defense. His free hand smoothed down her hip and then pulled up the hem of her dress slightly, his perfectly manicured fingernails scraping against her thigh. “But I sure do love to watch her prance around Command in them. The higher the better, if you ask me.”

  Kierra had spent three years in a near constant state of arousal. So when she realized that she had never been as turned on in her entire life, she knew that the bar was incredibly high. And yet, she was shaking in anticipation as Monica stalked toward them.

  She reached down and slid one hand along the seam of Kierra’s thighs up toward the apex of her sex. Lane helpfully lifted Kierra’s dress up over her hips so that Monica could slip her hand into Kierra’s panties. They really were a great team.

  Kierra moaned as Monica’s fingers lightly traced her folds, up and down, and then slipped gently into her opening. Kierra’s head fell back onto Lane’s shoulder.

  “He loves when you’re inappropriate,” Monica whispered and then licked the column of Kierra’s neck.

  “I sure do,” Lane concurred as he covered Kierra’s mouth with his.

  Kierra felt like one big exposed nerve ending. The heat of Lane’s mouth, his tongue gliding along her own, Monica’s finger – make that fingers – pumping into her were the stuff of her actual dreams. It didn’t take long for her to come, her hips jerking on Monica’s hand as Lane swallowed every one of her moans.

  Lane held her tight to his body as she shuddered in the aftermath of her orgasm, tiny spasms in her pussy held Monica’s fingers in place. She was gasp for air. Monica moved to kiss Lane and Kierra watched them, surprising herself by coming one more time as she was crushed between their bodies, with Monica’s fingers moving again and her palm grinding against Kierra’s clit. Lane’s hard erection digging into the small of her back.

  She was so lost in the moment that the fear from earlier in the day felt like a nightmare from years ago.

  ◆◆◆

  Technically Lane and Monica were supposed to spend the next day out doing surveillan
ce and checking in on their contacts and informants. To accomplish these mission objectives, they really needed to get to bed at a reasonable hour. And as their personal assistant, Kierra felt obligated to remind them of that. And she did. But her timing might have been off.

  She and Monica were naked in bed.

  “Tomorrow,” Kierra said just before Monica slipped her tongue into her mouth.

  Kierra’s hands were kneading Monica’s breasts like she’d always dreamt of doing, rolling her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers. Monica broke the kiss and her head fell back as she groaned loudly. Kierra noticed that Lane was at Monica’s back, a mischievous smile on his face. She looked down and was unsurprised to find his hand moving between Monica’s legs.

  “What about tomorrow, sweet girl?” he asked her the question as if this were a normal, regular day in the office. And as if Monica wasn’t shuddering through her orgasm between them.

  “You have contacts to meet. It’s on your schedule.”

  Lane kept his eyes locked on Kierra’s but moved his head to put a tender kiss on Monica’s cheek. “Don’t you worry about that, sweetness. We’ll make our connects. Now get on your back.”

  Kierra shuddered. Lane never gave her commands. He asked nicely, in his most genteel Southern accent, preferring to let his tone cajole people into giving him what he wanted.

  Monica demanded.

  But maybe that was a sign of a great partnership, Kierra thought as she shifted back onto the bed, when one person is down -like Monica right now, in the beautifully incoherent afterglow of her orgasm – the other person picked up the slack. Kierra added this insight into their relationship as one more thing she loved about them.

  And then Monica’s tongue flattened against her sex, lapping at her like she was the sweetest dessert, and Kierra lost the train of her thoughts. She couldn’t focus anywhere but on the way Monica licked and sucked her folds like she was starving and had never tasted anyone so sweet.