Kierra could feel another orgasm coming on when Monica abruptly stopped. She grunted in frustration. When she opened her eyes, she had to close them again swiftly as the waves of her lust washed over her. She opened them to check that was she saw was true. Lane kissing Monica, licking Kierra’s essence off of Monica’s tongue.
They turned to her then and Kierra could feel the tiny spasms in her pussy, she’d always loved when they stared at her so intently. And then Monica was kissing and licking her way up Kierra’s body. When their mouths met, Monica whispered “sweet girl” against her lips, and then pressed her soft lips to Kierra’s.
Kierra could have stayed like that all night, but her bosses had other plans.
Lane pulled a condom on and Monica straddled Kierra’s head, facing Lane. Lane spread Kierra’s legs, his hands behind her knees. She felt raw and exposed and beautiful. The feeling of Lane’s cock sliding slowly into her and Monica settling her pussy over Kierra’s mouth, her taste and scent engulfing her.
It was everything that Kierra had been dreaming about for three years. Monica and Lane becoming her entire world.
eight
Maybe it was fate reminding her that all good things must come to an end, but the next thirty-six hours seemed to fly by.
Banovíc’s party was tonight and after that Kierra would officially cease to be Monica and Lane’s assistant. Her bosses still had to gather intel and meet with local contacts but they refused to take Kierra with them because Lane had become downright paranoid about putting her in Banovíc’s line of sight ever since the museum fiasco. They hadn’t told Kierra any specific mission details but she knew that this trip had not been solely for reconnaissance, which meant that whatever their main objective was, Banovíc’s private party was the most likely time for it to all come to fruition.
The future was weighing heavy on Kierra’s shoulders and, she liked to imagine, Monica and Lane’s. At the very least, they all knew that the end of the mission and their professional relationship was fast approaching and the villa became a hideaway from all that was to come. When Monica and Lane weren’t out working, the three of them retreated to their bedroom, winding themselves around one other, touching and tasting and stroking until they were a sweaty, exhausted heap of tangled limbs and pounding pulses.
But tonight was the night.
Kierra and Monica were lying on the bed, facing one another, their bodies pressed close, kissing, lightly trailing their hands over one another’s oiled bodies. They really didn’t have much time. Kierra slipped her hand between Monica’s leg’s, circling her clit with the pads of her fingers, enjoying the way her normally stoic boss’s icy exterior melted at her ministrations.
Kierra wanted to kiss Monica, but she had so little time left with them that she leaned back to study her face, needing to commit this picture of Monica’s release to memory alongside all the other images of her that Kierra could never forget.
The sound of a condom wrapper opening couldn’t interrupt Kierra’s concentration, but her heart did begin to beat faster. Lane lifted Kierra’s leg and slid into her torturously slow. Their sex had ranged from hard and fast and filthy to a gentle, steady rock, but Kierra was certain that this was different. He ground his hips into her in deep strokes as if he wanted Kierra to remember them later tonight, next week, next year. And she would.
She slipped two fingers into Monica, moving her hand to the same rhythm as Lane fucked her.
Lane buried his face in Kierra’s neck, kissing and biting and sucking at her tender flesh, his panting loud in her ears, the vibration of his groans against her skin making her nipples painfully hard.
They had to jump in the shower one more time to rinse off.
They would be a bit late. But it was worth it.
◆◆◆
When they arrived at Banovíc’s private party at exactly midnight, Kierra was trying desperately to keep her emotions together.
She felt absolutely beautiful in the sheer silk dress Lane had wanted her to wear that first night. The silk felt like clouds shifting over her body because she was completely bare underneath it. And even though Club Ménage was absolutely not her cup of tea, walking in on Monica and Lane’s arms made Kierra feel sexy and powerful. She tried not to let it go to her head.
The party’s atmosphere was hedonistic. The music was a slow, thumping techno beat that did nothing for her but apparently revved Eastern Europeans engines. Everywhere she looked as they walked to their table, she saw every ménage configuration imaginable perched on the precipice of sexual tension that would soon spill into release.
But Kierra could also feel the subtle, menacing undercurrent of danger. It set her nerves on edge. She took deep, calming breaths, willing herself to relax. It didn’t hurt that Lane and Monica were armed to the hilt, which was surprising considering how, at a glance, there wouldn’t seem to be any room for weaponry under their clothing. You know, if someone were looking for such a thing.
Monica was wearing a scoop neck, long-sleeved, floor length midnight blue velvet dress with a dangerously high slit up one thigh. So high that Kierra had been able to easily slide to the floor of their hired car and taste her, just one more time, on the way to the party. Even with the long sleeves, that slit would certainly fool any corrupt member of the Serbian army into dismissing the possibilities for concealed weaponry. But when The Agency can make knives thin enough not to disturb the drape of a designer dress and what was jewelry like Monica’s spiky artistic necklace if not a collection of blades, said Serbian soldier would be a fool to think of Monica as anything less than a lethal and very efficient predator.
Lane’s tuxedo, on the other hand, offered lots of opportunities for hiding a small arsenal and as far as Kierra could tell as she’d watched him slide guns and knives and spy gear into various hidden pockets and compartments, he’d taken advantage of every one of them.
They settled onto a couch on the perimeter again, Kierra sitting in between Lane and Monica as before. This couch, Kierra realized only after they sat down, was better positioned than their previous perch. It gave a perfect line of sight of the entrance, the door leading to the hallway where the bathrooms and an emergency exit were located as well as a door that Lane had whispered into her ear led to private rooms upstairs. And, most importantly, there was a wall at their back, so they didn’t have to worry about being surprised in that direction.
A waitress came over to them with a bottle of champagne, “Courtesy of President Banovíc,” she said in a thick Russian accent, which Kierra noted sounded less harsh to her ears when compared to Serbian.
They all nodded and smiled in thanks, but none of them reached for it.
Instead, they kept their eyes on the crowd of about two dozen people, surveying their surroundings and potential threats. Or at least that’s what Lane and Monica were probably doing. Kierra was in it for the action. Sometimes Lane leaned over to kiss Kierra’s neck so that he could relay some observation to them while hiding his mouth. And every now and then, Monica would turn and kiss one or the other of them, to do the same. Kierra let them rile her up with every lingering touch and left the spy work to the professionals.
And then Banovíc walked into the room to everyone’s applause.
Kierra clapped half-heartedly, her body suddenly tense and her mind alert. “Here we go,” she whispered to herself.
Lane kissed her ear and grabbed her wrist to put an elegant, sleek bracelet on her arm. When Kierra peered at it closely she realized that it was a digital timer. He whispered loud enough for Monica to hear, “I’ve set an alarm to go off in one hour. I don’t care where we are or what we’re doing, when that alarm goes off you do whatever is necessary to get to the emergency exit by the bathrooms.”
Kierra turned to him with wide eyes.
“With or without us, sweet girl,” Monica whispered into her ear.
Kierra swung to her, angry and sad, but not entirely sure why. What else had she expected? They were spies and this was a mi
ssion.
She wanted to shake her head and yell at them that they were heartless. That they should have told her the plan sooner. That she deserved to know the operation details. But even if she deserved the information, she definitely didn’t have the security clearance to get it. And they didn’t have time for an outburst.
Banovíc’s guards set a chair shaped not unlike a throne across from them and he lowered his body, clad in yet another ill-fitting uniform, into it.
Kierra tamped down on her own anger, burying it as deep as it could go, and turned a smiling, but aloof, face to Banovíc.
“President Banovíc,” Lane said in a much deeper Southern accent than Kierra had ever heard, “This is an honor.”
Unsurprisingly, those words stroked the dictator’s fragile, xenophobic ego.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hudson and,” he turned toward Kierra, “Laura, I am so happy you could make it.”
His smile was predatory. He clearly wanted to show them all that he had done his homework and knew everything about them. And the way he bared his teeth at Kierra, she guessed that he wanted her to be particularly unnerved. But since it took Kierra a second to remember that the name on her fake passport for this trip was Laura, she only smiled wider at him and then turned to lick and kiss Monica’s neck, snuggling close. She ignored Banovíc’s animalistic grunt.
“I would like to invite you upstairs to my private room,” Banovíc said, his lust dripping from every word.
Kierra was happy that she had buried her face in Monica’s hair because her eyes bulged at the invitation. This sounded like an absolutely terrible idea. She held her breath waiting for Monica or Lane to answer.
Monica reached up and cupped the back of Kierra’s head, stroking her strands gently, clearly having noticed the tension in her body. “We would be delighted,” she said in the softest voice Kierra had ever heard pass her lips, if she didn’t count the soft mewling sighs she made after she came.
“Wonderful,” Banovíc said, clapping his hands. “Please. Follow me.”
Kierra gripped Monica’s hand tightly as her boss followed Banovíc down a sterile hallway at the top of a narrow flight of stairs. Lane was at her back, a reassuring hand on her waist. Behind him, only one of Banovíc’s guard, the one who had approached them that first night, followed.
Kierra didn’t know anything about being a spy, but she would have assumed if there was a handbook it would certainly say that following a despot into a private room with an armed guard was Bad Idea 101. They had absolutely no idea who was up here. What if their cover actually had been blown? What if Banovíc was leading them away to have them killed or captured and tortured? All of these thoughts were running through her head and she decided that, freaky sex aside, she much preferred being an impoverished poet to spy life. Less guns and knives; more books and tea.
They reached the end of the hall and Banovíc opened a very ordinary door that Kierra imagined was a portal into hell. When they’d stepped into the room, Banovíc’s personal guard didn’t cross the threshold, he just nodded at his boss and pulled the door shut. Kierra assumed he would be acting sentry.
She looked around the room and frowned. It was dominated by a large four poster bed, ugly antique rugs and a sitting area with yet another gaudy, plush couch in front of a fireplace. She rolled her eyes at the club’s continued terrible taste.
“That’s it?” She asked, in an annoyed voice. “It’s just us?”
There was a moment of silence where Kierra realized that she’d said that out loud. Monica’s face was still pleasant and smiling, but Kierra saw the slight tension around the corners of her eyes. And Lane’s face was amused, but he was always amused, although Kierra noticed that he’d moved his hands to his hips and closer to the gun at his back.
She turned to Banovíc whose gnarled face showed puzzlement. She smiled and then said, “I thought there would be other people here for us to play with.”
And just like that, the moment of tension seemed to dissipate.
Banovíc clapped and turned to Lane, “She’s a greedy girl, I take it?”
Lane nodded at Kierra, his eyes full of affectionate indulgence, “You have no idea.”
Banovíc’s attention zeroed in on Kierra and his eyes roamed over her body appreciatively. She tried not to heave. “Don’t worry, little bird, I am more than enough for you.”
He tore his eyes away from Kierra and turned back to Lane, “Mr. Hudson, I would very much like to play with your little pet. She has informed me that I need your permission.”
Lane’s easygoing smile didn’t falter. “It would be an honor,” he said. And just like that Banovíc was stepping towards her, but then Lane’s voice stopped him short. “However I’m afraid the person you have to ask for permission to touch our girl is my wife.”
“Oh?” Kierra already hated Banovíc, but his annoyed grunt only heightened her dislike.
He turned to Monica then, openly ogling her. He walked toward her, reaching for her hand. She offered it willingly, and then he bent down to kiss and lick her knuckles.
Kierra had to swallow a gag at the sight. Monica’s alluring smile never wavered. “My dear, Mrs. Hudson, may I play with your beautiful little bird?”
Monica placed her hands on either side of Banovíc’s face. “I would be offended if you did not,” she said. And then kissed him. Kierra’s eyes went wide at the sight and the panic in her breast began to build.
What if he touched her? What if they let him?
Monica pulled away from the kiss and Banovíc’s face was overjoyed.
Kierra struggled to keep the smile on her face as he turned toward her. Monica placed her hands on his shoulders as he advanced on Kierra, encouraging him along.
When he reached her, Kierra’s heart was pumping hard and fast, it almost hurt. And she was terrified.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes and shivered. He seemed to think that was a good thing. She began to count down, waiting for the moment when his rough, probably sweaty, hands stained with the blood of helpless refugees touched her. She knew she would scream.
But it never came.
Kierra peeked one eye open and then the other. There was a needle sticking out of Banovíc’s neck and his eyes were wild with fear and confusion.
Lane moved quickly, helping Monica get him on the bed across the room.
Kierra tried to process everything as it happened, but she wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, so it was difficult.
Once on the bed, Lane began unbuckling Banovíc’s pants and pulled them down over his hips, exposing his small flaccid penis. And Monica took a pouch from a strap wrapped around her thigh. Inside was a collection of syringes and a vial.
“What’s that?” Kierra hissed and then glanced at the door, hoping that the guard hadn’t heard.
When she turned back, Monica was filling the syringe with whatever was in the vial. She tied a small rope around Banovíc’s bicep, just above the crook of his elbow and began trying to coax a vein to the surface of his skin. She pushed the needle into his arm and depressed the syringe slowly, carefully.
Lane had undone the buttons of his shirt and then he pressed two fingers to Banovíc’s other wrist. They all stayed like that, silently waiting, until finally Lane announced that he was dead.
So that was the mission, Kierra belatedly realized.
Lane looked at Monica and nodded.
Monica climbed off of the bed and pulled the top of her dress down over her shoulders, exposing her breasts. She grabbed Kierra by the shoulders, “Almost over, sweet girl. Just a little bit more.”
Then she moved to the door and wrenched it open. “Something’s wrong with him,” she said to the guard, who automatically rushed inside. “His heart,” she said and touched her breast to mime the word.
The guard’s attention was so focused on her naked flesh that he dropped without ever seeing Lane pull the gun from his waist. Kierra hadn’t even heard the shot. When she t
urned to Lane she was momentarily surprised to see the gun in his hand and the large silencer on the tip.
He wiped his fingerprints off of the gun and placed it on the bed next to Banovíc. “Let’s go,” he announced.
If anyone should ever have cause to ask her, Kierra was fully prepared to lie and say that the shock of watching her bosses kill two men – like the trained spy-assassins they apparently were – deeply traumatized her. She would say that Lane had to basically carry her out of that room because she was rooted in place, paralyzed by shock, unable to fully comprehend what had happened.
But in reality she had picked up the hem of her long dress and high-tailed it out of that room behind Monica without a second thought, skipping over the dead guard who she was sure was just following orders. Or whatever. Lane closed the door behind them and then knelt down, pulled a lock picking set from his jacket pocket and locked it. They hustled down the hallway to the stairs.
The staircase was enclosed between two doors. Monica opened it slowly, peering around the corner. No one was there. They descended quietly, but quickly. Just as Monica was reaching for the door that would lead them back into Club Ménage’s main room, the digital timer on Kierra’s wrist went off. Kierra raised her arm and stared at it as if the timer and her arm were made of alien alloy. Lane reached around and shut the timer off and slipped it off of her.
He turned her around and cupped her face. “Well I guess this is the end of the road, sweet girl.” He still had that same easy smile on his face and for the first time Kierra hated it.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
“The driver is going to pick you up at the back of the club. Go out of the emergency exit, down the alley and he’ll be there with a change of clothes,” Monica said.
“No,” Kierra said without thinking.
“He’ll take you straight to the airport. Our jet will take you home,” Lane finished.
“No,” Kierra said louder, but still not loud enough to draw attention, just in case.
Pink Slip Page 8
