by A. K. Koonce
As is the entire class.
Blood trickles down the side of his temple.
I feel the energy of the room shift. I feel it in my own confidence, and I feel it when I look out at the big, watchful eyes of my class.
“With enough force, your body is a weapon. The blows that landed Mr. Benton on his ass exceeded three hundred and ten pounds.”
“It was three twenty,” he corrects on a breathless groan.
“Right.”
I pass a look to Scar, my smile hard to contain, and the big smirk she gives me puts me entirely at ease.
“Let’s team up. I need to see your skills. Get into groups of twos. We’re not aiming to kill anyone this morning, but I do need to see where you’re at.”
They all move the moment I speak. And just like that. They listen to me.
This is going to work. I can do this.
“You did great!” Scarlett beams at me as the last of the students filter out of the room, sweat glistening on her forehead.
“Really?” I ask, although I’m pretty damn proud of myself for pulling off an entire class. I just barely restrain myself from patting myself on the back and grinning like an idiot.
“You kicked that dude’s ass. I’d pay to see that all over again. He never saw it coming from your tiny ass self.” She smirks, propping her hands on her curvy hips, and for a second we just stand there and absorb the girl power vibes flowing through the room.
Yeah, that feels good. No, it feels fucking great.
Heading toward the wall where I’d left my things, I haul my bag onto my shoulder and then walk across the mats toward the door with Scarlett, the pliable rubber giving way under my sneakers.
“Wasn’t your sister supposed to be in that class?” Scarlett inquires, as she brushes sweaty palms down her thighs, waiting for me as I close the door and join her in the hallway.
Her long, crimson hair is tied high on her head, appearing even darker, nearly maroon with how damp it is from her workout in class. Pieces of her red locks stick to the side of her face, skimming the dark tattoos along her left eye and cheekbone. Even as a sweaty mess, the girl oozes sex appeal. I don’t know how the men of this institute are going to stand a chance against a woman like her.
Her skills as a deadly assassin are attributed to her looks, as well as her deadly mind abilities. She’s like confident, sexy runway model meets Chuck Fucking Norris.
I blink and remember the question she asked.
“She’ll be here in about a week! Is it weird that I’m looking forward to seeing her again?” Truthfully, knowing I have a blood relative out in the world has been odd. I’d never had a family before. Not a real one. I’d considered Armond family once, but he never had been. What did it say about me that I didn’t have the slightest bit of regret for killing him, draining the life out of him, and ending his reign of terror?
And then there’s Derek. I didn’t have even a speck of remorse for the way he died—disappeared—but then again, he was an evil son-of-a-bitch, and his revelation about being my father had only fueled my anger rather than softened my heart toward the man. I still haven’t allowed myself to process what he said. I swallow as I think about the way he disappeared again, and remember my conversation with Vale the other day about following my gut. While my gut is currently leading me to the kitchen for some much needed food, it still feels unsettled about what transpired. I shake my head as I walk, trying to dislodge the thoughts that are bogging me down. I just had a victory. I taught a fucking class. It’s time to celebrate, not wallow in unknowns that may not even be important in the first place.
I tell myself that over and over and over again.
Six
Teacher’s Pet
The second shower I take that evening is more needed than the first. I wash away the hours worth of training and teaching I did with the class, and I almost feel like a real person again.
When I round the dark corner near my room, a low whisper stops me in my tracks.
“I’m telling you, you’re here to learn. I saw you today.” Tylin’s body is strung tight and he’s right up in the other man’s face, his voice low in warning.
It’s Wes ‘Three Twenty’ Benton. The cocky asshole from class.
“If you’re here to learn, then we want you on our team. If you’re here to fuck with my people, with Alexa, then you’re gone. Don’t treat her like a stupid girl. Don’t talk down to her. Do not fuck with her. Got it?” Moonlight shines in Tylin’s eyes and there’s a deadly promise in his pretty, steely gaze.
Wes’ teeth clench, his eyes never lowering in submission to Tylin. Complete anger tics through his jaw.
There’s always one asshole of the bunch.
I used to think it was Tylin though. Seems he’s been replaced.
Wes nods.
“Good.” Tylin’s eyes crinkle with the smallest, taunting smile. He steps back, his body holding on to that tense posture as he walks away.
I try to move back, but he rounds the corner faster than I have the good sense to scurry away.
His dark eyes rake down my body, his smile lifting into a sincere look rather than the conniving way he smirked at Wes. His gaze lingers on the top of my white towel, his body coming closer and closer until he presses me right into the wall.
Heat snaps between us everywhere our bodies touch.
“Eavesdropping, Huntress?” he whispers, his lips hovering so close to mine I can physically feel his rasping words.
I can’t help the warmth that’s spreading through me. He’s protective. And knowing. How did he know about this morning’s class?
It’s sexy in a stalker type of way. I just can’t help it. I’m a sucker for dangerous, slightly disturbing men.
My lips brush over his slowly and he lets me kiss him, chastely, teasingly. My palms slip beneath his shirt and trail slowly up the hard lines of his chest. Every single muscle of his tenses beneath my light touch, like I make him as crazy as he makes me.
He’s just better at controlling it.
“You know…” I press another slow kiss to those soft, cruel lips, and then his gaze flicks between my eyes, his body held so taut as he seems to force himself not to touch me. “I think it’s against the rules to threaten a student, Mr. Valderban.”
He doesn’t reply, instead, that smile starts to shine in his eyes as he watches me play this sexy game I didn’t even know I liked until right now.
He hums a low sound that builds in the quiet hall. I feel the growling vibration deep inside me.
Finally, he places his fingers around my wrist, closing one finger after the other until he holds my arm between us, our gazes challenging one another in a way. Then he pulls my hands down his pecs, across his abs, and barely, just barely, over the hard outline beneath his jeans, before he pins both hands in place at my sides. Holding me. Watching me. Testing me.
“You like playing teacher, don’t you?” That perilous smile sparkles in his eyes, piercing the darkest depths of recklessness that always gleams there. “Let me teach you a lesson, Alexa,” he murmurs, his tone dragging on a rasp across my hushed name.
My heartbeat skips and pulses between my thighs, and I hate how much distance he likes to keep between us. Physically and emotionally.
Or maybe this is closeness for him.
One palm leaves my wrist, molding against my hip, until he’s sliding the soft fabric of the towel up as he pushes his palm higher and higher, cupping my breast for only a moment before skimming along my collarbone, my neck, then my jaw. His thumb brushes there, running lower, as he takes his time to really feel the softness of my lower lip, before pulling back entirely.
My heart spasms when he breaks that contact. It’s a torturous feeling I believe he understands and knows so well. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
And I love it.
“Don’t move,” he whispers, the glint in his eyes telling me this is very much a test, and I can’t explain why my body wants to follow his every ins
truction despite how badly I want to move, how badly I want to feel him against me.
Lightly, he teases his fingers down the length of my arm, over the towel, and just across my nipple. He traces a path along every curve of my body, leaving a flush of heat and goosebumps everywhere he touches. Wanting, needy breaths have my chest pressing into his subtlety with each inhale.
And then his hand slips beneath the opening in my towel. My breath catches the moment his index finger glides up the tender flesh of my thigh. He watches me watching him. With slow, drawn out movements, he runs his fingers a little higher.
A little more. A little more.
And then I press my lips to his, flicking my tongue against his waiting mouth, and let him bruise my lips with his. The way his mouth works mine is the epitome of passion.
Then he pulls back entirely.
Coldness washes over me as a gasping whimper slips from my lips.
“I said don’t move, Alexa.”
All the energy inside me thrums, and my feelings of want are almost painful.
He knows exactly what he’s doing to my body. How much control he has over me right now.
He fucking thrives on it.
He takes a single step, his boots echoing in the silence. Long fingers faintly touch the spot behind my ear, along my neck and shoulder.
His attention dips to the white towel and with one flick of his wrist, it falls to the floor. Cool air rushes over every inch of my skin.
My heartbeat soars, demanding I check our surroundings in the dark hall.
But I can’t look away from the demanding expression in his gaze.
Rough palms brush over my breasts, squeezing lightly, and trailing away all too soon. Those steady fingers ghost across my abdomen, my navel, my hips. Shivers rack through me just from the hint of his touch, and I’m aching with every single slow stroke of his hands.
Finally, he slips a single finger down the slick folds of my sex. His breathing hitches the moment he feels my wetness. One hand lifts, and he comes just a little closer as he plants his palm against the wall near my head, holding himself steady with one hand while making me fall apart with the other.
“You’re quiet now,” he whispers, slipping down to my opening and then sliding right back up.
A small smile pulls at my lips and I try so hard to keep my eyes open, even as my lashes flutter.
“I can be quiet, Tylin. I do know how to control myself.”
His head dips low, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he works me with long, slow, teasing touches. “Right now, I’m in control. And I hate when you’re quiet.”
He pinches my clit hard and a sharp gasp tears from my throat.
The way his eyes light up in the moonlight only heightens the needy feeling tingling through my body.
My fingers twitch at my sides, and I reach for his belt.
Just to be chastised all over again.
Maybe part of me likes being in trouble with Tylin. It’s an odd thought, but I do love the dark tone of his voice when he pulls away all over again and tells me what I’ve already been told twice now.
“If you move again, I’ll have to punish you, Alexa. Is that what you want?”
Is this a trick fucking question?
I bite my lip and force myself to shake my head like a good girl.
God, am I supposed to want to be punished? Should I be asking what being punished involves or just dive orgasm first right into it?
His palm settles on me, cupping my sex fully and grinding just slightly against me. My fingers fist as I force myself to keep them at my sides even as he slips two fingers deep inside me. Then he arches them, rocking back and forth and massaging me in an absolutely perfect way. Every move he makes has that tightening feeling in my core spiraling higher, but he doesn’t seem to be in a rush to push me over the edge.
I want him. I want more than just the slow, pulsing rush he’s giving me.
And honestly, I want to know what makes Tylin tick.
Pushing him is the only way I know how.
His watchful eyes flare to life like pure hellfire when I tip my head defiantly forward. His tongue meets mine before his lips do, and he kisses me deeply, drawing out the feel of our mouths dancing together. He groans low and I mirror that sound on a crying moan, just before he pulls away with more heat in his eyes than I’ve ever seen before.
His fingers slip from me and before he pulls away entirely, a painful slap stings across my pussy, intensifying the building pleasure and making me cry out all over again. The strike of his palm radiates through my core on waves of pure sexual bliss.
“Turn around,” he orders, and his jaw tics, as his breathing becomes ragged as if he’s the one on the brink of an orgasm instead of me.
With hooded eyes, I blink up at him and the dangerous sound of his voice that’s still echoing in the empty hallway.
I’m naked and living in a house full of assassins who will probably hear our loud extracurricular activities.
And yet, all I want to do is stay right here just like this with Tylin.
I turn, placing my palms flat against the smooth wall, but he steals them away until just my chest and cheek is supporting me on the cold surface, with my wrists held tightly behind me in his palm just above my ass. His other hand sneaks ever so slowly along the curve of my ass before trailing around my hip and slowly down my front. The way he affectionately caresses my wetness is the opposite way of how he touched me just moments ago. The sting of his slap can still be felt between my thighs and he takes his time rubbing sweetly along my pussy, my folds, every single part of my sex before grinding his fingers hard over my clit.
My lashes flutter, and when a moan shakes from my lips, his pace quickens. His cock grinds against the curve of my ass through his jeans, sending my need for him to an all-time high and making me greedy for more.
As he touches, teases, and fucks me thoroughly with his hand, all I can think about is the thickness of his cock, how good it’d feel if he fucked me just like this, pressed against the wall and at his mercy until he has me just the way he wants me.
Until I come.
My orgasm does just that. I tremble against him and the cold wall, gasping and moaning his name until I’m certain, without a doubt, that I’m the reason no one has stepped foot down this corridor since we started.
His fingers slide to my opening and he slips inside just to feel the way my sex clenches around him. Leisurely, he thrusts against my g-spot, drawing out the pleasure and making me wetter against his palm.
He releases my hands, and my shoulders feel stiff, while the rest of my body feels loose and weak. The filling feel of his fingers slips away and he turns me, covering my body with his just like I wanted from the start.
The feel of his big arms wrapping around me, and holding me like I’m the most delicate thing in the world, sends warmth through me. Before I settle my head against his chest, his fingers catch my chin, and tip my attention up to him and his dark, lustful eyes. He keeps our gazes locked, even as he leans close and presses slow, affectionate kisses to my lips over and over again.
“Better?” he asks with a husky tone.
I nod, still trying to steady the breath in my lungs. I feel entirely taken care of, but he keeps searching my eyes.
“Tell me if it’s not, okay? If anyone does anything—if I do anything—” He pauses on that statement and it makes me hold him tighter against me. “Tell me.”
My heart feels fragile as I nod. It flutters and stumbles with weakness from his protective words. And I just know.
I love him.
Being assigned to kill this man might have been the best thing that ever happened to me.
Seven
A Stalking Huntress
The following days run smoothly. The construction, the new classes, our lives, it all comes together seamlessly.
Finally.
“We need to find Archer,” Tylin tells the messy, half assembled kitchen full of assassins.
Rory lifts an entire line of stained cabinets by himself, without lifting a finger or glancing at the thing. He keeps hammering away on something else while the drifting wood throws itself together.
Compared to the sweaty men who surround him, he’s kind of cheating. And it’s kind of impressive.
The new members continue installing shining countertops onto the freshly dark stained cabinets. In the adjacent room, a cafeteria setup is being arranged, with dozens of tables and several metallic food lines. It’s all a mess but I see the vision.
Kind of.
Only Mason stops what he's doing, resting his bronze arm against an uninstalled stainless steel dishwasher.
“I can’t track him. I told Rory I'd help with his first class today.”
Wait. Time out. Pause.
“Is he teaching ‘How to be a Certifiable Dick Mongrel 101?’” Jameson asks, before I even have a chance to even question it. “Why the hell would you make him an instructor?” Jameson rambles. Rory keeps working like his friend’s shit compliment isn’t something he has time for. Jameson’s jeans are slung so low on his lean hips that I nearly forget the very serious question he just mocked—a question that was reverberating around inside my own head just a moment ago.
Why would Rory be made an instructor?
“Because he has information new assassins need. And he's very experienced in this particular department,” Tylin explains, barely glancing Jameson’s way while he drills in another set of stained cabinets.
“I guess I hadn't realized the qualifications were set so monumentally low.” Jameson’s arms fold and although I originally agreed, I'm not a complete asshole either.
I glance at Jameson’s furrowed, pale brows, accenting the cruel scar lining his perfect face. He’s… oh my god.
Someone's jelly.
When you’re as obnoxiously confident and insanely attractive as Jameson Ryne, you don’t have much experience with jealousy. And it shows.
Tylin finally lowers his drill and cocks a brow at his friend. “Yeah, the qualifications are ridiculously low. Know when to shut up from time to time. That's it. That's the sum of the qualifications. Which is why you didn't get a callback, but we’ll keep your application on file.”
