by Amity Cross
The road took us past the coast, and Lorelei stared out at the ocean silently. I couldn’t see her expression, and I wondered at her words the night before. Take me to the edge. I didn’t know what they meant or if they were just meaningless words she’d spoken to mirror mine, but they had chilled me to the bone.
Did I have to break her completely before she would be well again? I didn’t want to contemplate going to a place she might never come back from.
She never tore her gaze from the water as we traveled. The hills in this part of Kent were mostly made of chalk, and as a result, the cliffs along the coast were white as far as the eye could see. They dropped at a sheer angle down to the shingle beach, and then to the English Channel beyond.
On a crystal clear day, if you peered hard enough at the horizon, you could see the coast of France, but all that was out there today was gray, choppy water and mist that clung to the surface like a veil.
Turning inland, I took us down the tiny road that would lead us to the cottage I’d intended to be our refuge. The building was hidden by the elements as we approached, so it wasn’t until I stopped the car right out the front that Lorelei was afforded a glimpse at the home I’d wanted with her.
Without a word, she climbed out of the car and stood by the bonnet, gazing up at the stone facade.
Unclipping my seatbelt, I slid out and went to stand beside her, the only sound over the wind was the click click click of the engine as it began to cool in the frosty air. Fog clung to the fields around the little stone building that I’d had restored almost eight years ago. Two stories with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an open fireplace that would thaw even the coldest of winters.
Sighing, I watched my breath plume out in front of me. Considering the things that had happened to us, I’d almost forgotten what day it was. Christmas.
Our world didn’t stop to acknowledge holidays. Death and power were the same, no matter the time of year. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had decorations or a proper family get-together. The last notion was laughable since I was dead to them. Five years ago, I had the help put up sparkly baubles and a tree for pretenses, but I hadn’t really cared. I didn’t need to be thankful for anything back then. I’d selfishly thought my position was my right.
“It’s Christmas Day,” I said as we stood and stared at the little house.
Lorelei didn’t move, her gaze still fixed in front of her. “Oh.”
“I was going to bring you here before,” I said, my voice sounding close in the thick air. “This place was for you.”
No, I never had anything to be thankful for, not until this very moment. Right now, I was thankful for the chance at rekindling what Lorelei and I once had.
“For me?” She stepped forward, her boots crunching on the graveled driveway.
I smiled, captivated by her uncharacteristic sense of wonder. “Merry Christmas, Lorelei.”
We’d been at the cottage by the sea for a month.
The haven that I’d built for her, for us.
Lorelei stood by the cliff’s edge like she was perched on the edge of the world. If the earth were flat, then this would be the end of it all. The drop below would keep going down for forever and ever into the unknown.
Her dress fluttered in the breeze, the pale purple material whipping around her long, toned legs. If I stood here and forgot what our lives had turned into, I could almost believe it had all been a bad dream. This was how I’d envisioned us here five years ago. Just her and I and the ocean beyond.
Lorelei stretched out her arms, the blue vista of the sky making her look tiny against its expanse.
Then she fell.
If it weren’t for the fact that the cottage sat a quarter of a mile inland and the weather was still cold as hell, I would’ve believed the scene before me was true.
Opening my eyes, I took a deep breath as my vision cleared. Pulling myself upright, I cursed. I’d fallen asleep on the couch at some point, and now it was dark out. I’d left Lorelei to her own devices for hours, but as I shook off the last of my impromptu nap, I could see she had used the time in her own efficient way.
She was still here.
A fire was raging in the hearth, popping and cracking, filling the room with the earthy scent of wood smoke. That wasn’t all. It mingled with something else that made my stomach churn. Food.
Standing, I shuffled through the cottage and found her in the most unlikely place.
Lorelei was busy in the kitchen, the scent of cooking food filling the tiny space as she worked. Turning, she glanced at me with a blank expression and began dishing up whatever she’d concocted onto both plates.
“You cooked?” I asked, sitting at the table. An assassin making a roast. What a juxtaposition.
She shrugged. “You were asleep. I was hungry.”
It was logical, and I bit my tongue to stop myself from telling her so.
“Eat,” she commanded, sitting opposite.
Tasting the beef and mashed potatoes, I was surprised to find that it was rather good. An assassin with hidden culinary talents. Even as I marveled at how good a cook she was, I found myself wondering if it was a talent she’d held before. Was Lorelei the gallery curator a good cook?
“This is really nice,” I offered, trying to separate the two women in my mind.
She glanced at me. “I followed the directions.”
Of course she did. I continued eating, letting the conversation fall into silence.
Once we were both done, she cleared the table, and set the plates into the sink. I watched her carefully, sensing that something unsaid was in the air. She leaned against the counter, hiding her face from me.
“I have a lead on a man who has a link to Lafayette’s operation in the UK,” she declared.
“How do you have a lead?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“Hawkes.”
I slammed my fist down on the table. He’d talk to her, but not me? Ten years we’d caused chaos together, and he talked to her over me. I’d wring his filthy fucking neck.
Lorelei turned and gave me a look. “I took the SIM card out of your burner phone weeks ago, and you haven’t cared to check it.”
Scowling, I knew she was probably right. I’d been living in a fantasy for the past month, throwing my all into being here with her and trying to find a love that was lost. I was still making the same mistakes.
We did everything together, apart from the one thing I wanted to partake in again and again. We hadn’t kissed, touched, or fucked since that night in the motel when she’d almost slipped away into the ocean of her own mind. We hadn’t touched, and it was all I wanted to do.
I took her in—her wavy hair that reached her jawline, her big, brown eyes, her tattooed shoulders and arms… The Lorelei I had come to know in the past few weeks was all that remained of the woman I’d wanted to bring here.
“I’m tired of beating you at hand-to-hand combat in the field,” she said, ignoring my temper tantrum. “I haven’t lost control once.”
I sighed heavily. No, she hadn’t. She was much better than I was, but we were almost matched in skill when it came to shooting someone’s face off.
Her gaze met mine. “This place was never going to be a long-term solution.”
“I hoped.”
“There is no hope,” she said, beginning to show signs of annoyance. “Only facts.”
I narrowed my eyes. How could I show someone who was so fixated on facts and clinical observations that it was possible to love. I’d been a cold man, but I’d warmed the fuck up for the right woman. Even as I thought it, I knew it was selfish to think of her that way.
Shoving the chair back, I stood and strode into the lounge where the hearth was full of the warm light from the fire she’d built earlier.
Sinking down onto the couch, I stared into the flames, not knowing what I was supposed to do next. She needed answers, and only Lafayette could give them to her. She had to leave sooner or later, or the unknown
s of her past would eat her up from the inside. What was the lesser of two evils? Hearing the truth, or remembering it?
There was movement at my back, and Lorelei sat beside me, her gaze fixed on the fire.
“Do you want me to come with you?” I asked, fearing that this was where we would part and she would fade into the ether like the specter she was.
“I need to see him alone,” she replied, the firelight flickering wildly across her features.
I closed my eyes as her words hit home. I wasn’t ready to give her up. If she left without me…
“I thought I would’ve remembered something by now,” she said. “But nothing has changed. I’ve only seen two things. The red and white lights and the blonde woman. They do nothing but go around and around in my mind until they’re all I can see.”
I waited, keeping a tight hold on my emotions as she formulated her thoughts.
“The only time I’ve seen things was when…” She glanced at me, her gaze flickering to my lips.
Slowly, she leaned forward, her breathing becoming shallow with anticipation. Then her mouth was on mine, caressing, teasing, and my control almost slipped.
Something was different. Her kiss was soft, and a tiny flicker of lust began to spark inside me in response. She was the one unraveling, but she was the strongest of us all.
Her lips moved from my own and brushed against my jaw, her gaze holding mine with a curiousness that seemed strange given the circumstances. She hesitated like a girl with a crush, like she had hardly touched a man before. I knew that wasn’t true from firsthand experience, and her touch then had spoken volumes.
Had she grown to care for me? Was that what she was so hesitant about? Those were selfish thoughts. I knew she wanted to see more, and the only time she’d remembered things from her past was when we’d been fucking.
I didn’t want to push her, yet I wanted to take her with reckless force and fuck her right here on this couch. I loathed my uncertainty. I was a man who took what he wanted, no matter the consequences.
I knew I’d told her again and again that I was here for her, that she could use me, but in this moment, I almost hated her for it. I loved her, yet she was using those feelings for her own end. My love for her wasn’t something to be manipulated.
Fisting my hand in her hair, I twisted sharply and forced her lips back to mine. She gasped as I plunged my tongue into her mouth, devouring the sound like I sliced up the souls of my victims. With hunger and skilled precision. I knew all the places that would make her bleed slowly and all the places that would erupt and paint the world red in a matter of seconds. And then there were all the places that would make her world one of unbearable pleasure.
Lorelei slid across my lap, grinding against my cock as the uncontrollable sexual beast inside of her took control. She could say she was cold all she wanted, but this—this desire we shared and experienced together—was feeling.
Sliding my hands underneath her top, I caressed her skin as she pulled the material up and over her head. Unclasping her bra, I pulled the material away, took a nipple in my mouth, and sucked hard. Her hands fisted in my hair, holding me in place as I lavished attention on her erect bud.
“Vaughn,” she moaned as her head fell back. Her movements against my cock quickened as I held my palm flat against her back, my mouth moving from breast to breast.
Needing to take control from her, I flipped her back onto the couch like she weighed nothing at all and pinned her down with my weight. Kissing her hard, I moved my crotch against hers, teasing her clit through the denim that still clung to our bodies.
Finally, I slid off the couch and knelt before her, ready to take what I wanted without remorse.
Yanking off my jumper and T-shirt, I reached for her jeans, ridding her of the last barrier between my mouth and her sweet taste. I grabbed her thighs and wrenched them apart, exposing her slick opening, and licked her entire length, swirling my tongue around her clit before biting hard.
She cried out at the abrupt sensation, making my cock flare in my jeans. All I wanted was to slam into her again and again so fucking hard she wouldn’t dare leave me. I wanted to make her come all over my cock and take everything I had, the pleasure the pain…the fucking pain and the blood and the murder. She was everything. She was pleasure and pain. Everything.
Sliding my fingers into her wetness, I unfastened my jeans and pulled out my cock, stroking and spreading the pre-cum around my tip. She rode my fingers like a wild thing, grinding, palming her breasts, moaning like a fucking siren.
I loved her.
I tore my hand away and pulled her against the tip of my cock.
I loved her so fucking much.
I slammed into her with a grunt, burying my cock all the way to the root. Her hands flew above her head and grasped the edges of the couch, but she held firm, meeting my forceful thrust with one of her own.
I didn’t give her time to become accustomed to me as I fucked her on that couch. I pounded into her again and again, my balls tightening, and my cock flaring with each stroke. My hands bit into the skin of her waist as I held her in place, the wet slap of our bodies coming together the only sound other than our desperate moans.
She needed to fuck to remember. I needed to fuck the memory of the Lorelei I once knew away. I needed to fuck this new version to be able to love the right woman.
What a desperate asshole.
Her fingers found her clit, and she began rubbing furiously, her orgasm slamming into her as hard as my cock drove into her depths. She tightened around me, pulsing and milking until I erupted, coating her with my desire.
I leaned over her and thrust, slapping against her clit as I came again, her entire body quivering underneath the weight of mine. I pulled out and slid back in again, teasing my sensitive tip as the last of my seed left my body.
She moaned, her mouth finding mine, and we kissed, our lips bruising with the force of what we’d unleashed. Her tongue was wet against mine, and it told a story that said she cared. I still wasn’t sure if it was true, but I was determined to make her mine again. Vaughn and Lorelei. Lorelei and Vaughn. Mine.
I carried her upstairs, her quivering body still impaled on my cock, and set her on the bed where I fucked her again.
And again.
And again.
Until she couldn’t deny my claim any more.
Chapter 12
Lorelei
I didn’t know what I had been so uncertain about.
The only thing Vaughn fueled last night was my desire for his body. A desire I’d never experienced in the life that I could remember. I’d fucked a lot of men. For release, for fun, for a means to an end, or to get closer to a mark. I’d had some really good fucks in the past five years, but none had come close to the way Vaughn had claimed me on that couch.
I could see what Vaughn meant when he said we’d been good together. Our bodies knew what to do when they were entwined. They knew without even trying.
Opening my eyes, I blinked as restful sleep left my body and I surfaced, the room filling with natural light from the window whose blind hadn’t been drawn the night before. The sun was trying its hardest to break through the fog that clung to the earth, which meant the coldest part of winter was over. There would be no more snow for now.
Rolling over, I found Vaughn in the bed next to me, his warmth seeping into my body. He was still asleep. The light of the morning hadn’t stirred him yet, and it afforded me the chance to study his features without him knowing. If he saw me staring, he would take it to mean more than it did.
He really was quite handsome. He had a strong brow and a sharp jawline. Then there were the tiny creases in his skin that marked his age, the three-day-old beard he’d let grow in because he was too lazy to shave, and the tiny flecks of gray amongst his messy head of sandy blond hair. They were all things that had been in front of me every day since I’d first seen him in that room in the compound but hadn’t really noticed. Things that were inconsequent
ial to a woman like me. A heartless assassin.
My skin felt…warm when I was with him. He pissed me off more often than not with his desperate hope, but I still felt warm in the middle of the icy countryside. Did that mean I cared for him? Is that what feeling was meant to be like? Flashes of hot and cold?
Taking in his expression, I could almost be fooled into thinking that he was a kind man, not some murderous monster. Was he, though? So far, I hadn’t seen anything that confirmed the stories people told about him. The Hangman.
With me, he’d been tolerant, patient…until last night when he’d finally snapped. For a month, we’d lain low in this place, staying busy with menial tasks and keeping physically fit with hand-to-hand training exercises in the field at the rear of the cottage. I’d only touched him to beat his ass.
My body enjoyed Vaughn’s proximity, but I didn’t want to touch him more intimately for fear of remembering something else I didn’t care to. What if, in the middle of fucking, I remembered the one thing that couldn’t be verified? Abuse so horrifying that it caused my father to condition me. During sex with the man who said he loved me.
I’d had a great deal of fun last night, but I hadn’t remembered anything. My doubts were baseless.
The fact that I cared at all was proof enough that I was already unrecognizable to the Lorelei who was presented to a bloody and beaten Vaughn weeks ago.
I still didn’t know who I was…or who I was meant to be.
Over the past month, Vaughn had told me stories about the woman I used to be. Truthfully, he didn’t seem to know much at all. Apparently, we only had limited time together before…everything, so anything he did say was like a puzzle that was missing most of its pieces.
Vaughn groaned, his eyes cracking open, and I glanced away before he realized I’d been laying there staring at him. I felt his gaze on me, but I didn’t turn to acknowledge his wakefulness.
