by JA Huss
His eye twitches. Most people would miss it. I’m not most people.
“Warning heard, challenge accepted and hey,” I say, shrugging. “It’s just a game anyway.”
This time he cocks his head a little, like he’s confused. “Is that what this is?”
“Oh, come on.” I laugh. “I mean, yeah. So let’s just—”
“Wait,” he says, one hand in the air like he’s about to stop time. “Are you fucking with me right now? Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Why did you invite me in? Why did you allow me to take off your clothes? Why did you suck my cock?”
“Look, I’m not much of a talker, OK? Let’s just fuck to ease the tension a little and then you can take me wherever it is you’re gonna take me. I mean, it’s getting late. Can we just get this show on the road?”
He laughs. “What the fuck—”
“Exactly,” I interrupt. “What the fuck? Are we gonna do this or not?”
“Do what?”
I sigh. It’s a loud, thoroughly annoyed sigh. “Are. We. Going. To. Fuck?”
He stares at me for one more second, then grabs my shoulders, spins me around, and pushes me face-first against the wall as he leans into my neck and whispers, “Just remember you were warned.”
I whisper back, “There’s no point to pleasure without a little panic, right?”
One hand is between my legs before I even stop talking, his fingers probing my pussy, searching for the sweet spot. And when he finds it, I close my eyes and relax.
I’m gonna enjoy this. I do not give a fuck who he is. In fact, I doubt he’s even an FBI agent. He’s an actor, right? This whole game is nothing but an act. And I need this fuck. Like right now. So I can forget about the dry spell I’ve been in. So I can come, get it over with, and then be at my best when he finally takes me to the club to fulfill my sexual fantasy.
That thought alone is enough to make me moan. But when you add in the fact that his fingers are now pushing up inside me—
“Yes,” I say. “Yes.”
He keeps quiet, which is perfect. Because I’ve had enough conversation for the night. All I want now is action.
He presses his hard cock into my back. “You’re small,” he says, noting—like I do—that there’s no way he’s gonna be able to fuck me from behind standing up. I’m too short. This has always been a problem for me. Kinda sucks too. I mean, even on my tiptoes, his cock will still be inches too high to enter me like this.
He lifts up one of my legs, improvising, because he gains entrance to my pussy and puts me off balance so I have to rely on leaning into his arm, which is pressed firmly against the wall on the side of my head. But then he goes one step further. Lifts me up, off my feet completely, pushing my face into the wall to keep me in position, and his cock slides inside me without resistance.
Clever, clever Finn Murphy.
I’m gonna kiss Chella tomorrow. I mean, yeah, I put up a fight over this stupid game of Jordan’s, but hell, it’s like… it’s like having someone take care of your most intimate needs. It’s kinda perfect.
Finn nips the tender skin behind my ear, his mouth soft, his breath hot. He says, “You like that?” just as he presses his hips into me, pushing his cock fully inside.
“God, yes,” I say back. “More. Fuck me harder. Faster. I need it.”
He chuckles as he takes his kisses to my shoulder and then he lifts up both legs, making me steady myself with palms flat against the wall, and starts the pounding.
I have never been fucked like this in my life.
His balls are slapping against my pussy with each determined thrust. His big, fat cock is buried deep inside me one moment, but with each backwards motion, he withdraws almost completely. Making me feel empty. Making me crave him for those few seconds when he’s not stretching me open. Making me long for the friction that will bring me to climax.
“Brace yourself,” he says, changing position slightly so his hips are almost underneath me, so my top half is crushed against the wall and my bottom half is practically sitting on his cock. He buries himself even deeper inside me—so deep, I let out a gasp from the pain. “Shhh,” he says. “It’s not time to panic yet.”
I agree. That wasn’t a cry of panic. It was a cry of pleasure.
He’s thrusting upwards now, my ass directly above his thighs as he fucks me hard. Harder than I’ve ever been fucked before. His breath is quick, and loud, and he’s grunting in a low, throaty way that makes me close my eyes and just… disappear into the ecstasy of the moment.
“Yes,” I say again.
“Your stockings are so fucking sexy.”
“No talking,” I say, reaching around to grab a fistful of his hair.
He doesn’t respond. At least with words. But he does stop fucking me.
I peek over my shoulder. “Don’t even think about it,” I say.
“What?” he asks. And I catch a glimpse of a charming, boyish smile appearing on his face.
“If you stop—”
“If I stop… what? What will you do, Issy Grey?” He leans in to bite the outer edge of my ear, which drives me wild. Like sends a shiver through my entire body. “Will you kick me out?”
“No,” I say, nearly breathless. “I guess I’d have to just… submit and do what you want.”
“Why?” he asks. “Because I’ve given you a taste of my magic cock and now you realize you can’t live without it?”
It’s a joke. And normally I’d banter back with him. Have a few laughs. But I’m not in the mood for laughing. I just want to come! So I say, “Yes,” instead. “Yes. I need your cock, Special Agent Murphy. I need all of it, I need—”
He pounds me. He fucks me so hard my cheek crashes into the wall with each forward thrust. My legs are trembling, the muscles tired of the exertion of keeping myself balanced on top of him. My arms are shaking too, exhausted from the effort of stabilizing my body as I am fucked from behind, completely lifted off my feet.
His large hands are gripping my thighs and I feel his fingers digging into my flesh—tearing at my expensive stockings. Ripping them so he can slide his fingers under the silky nylon and feel my skin.
And then he lets go of one leg, which puts me completely off balance again. I’m about to protest because my body is spent, my muscles taxed to their limit.
But that’s when his fingers find my clit. He begins to rub me. Back and forth so quick, I want to die. “Oh, shit,” I manage to squeak out, just as the warm liquid spills out of me and I squirt all over his fingers.
That’s it.
I come.
I come so hard my whole body begins to convulse. Sounds escape my mouth that defy description. Moans, and squeals, and shouts of, “Fuck yes! Don’t stop!” and, “More, more, more!”
He slows his thrusts until there’s nothing left of me. Until I disappear. Until I cease to exist in any world other than the one of post-coital afterglow.
And then he drops my other leg, pulls out, presses his large hand between my shoulder blades, and pushes me to the floor.
I bend low, my head pressed into the hardwood floor of my foyer, my ass high up in the air, as my fingers find my clit and begin to rub.
He spills his come all over my back, the heat of it making me climax again. His moans match mine. Low growls of satisfaction.
Then he bends down, uses my blouse to wipe off his come, and gathers me up in his arms.
He carries me across the room. I don’t even open my eyes to see where. Can’t open my eyes to see where. But then he sinks onto my couch, me in his lap, and relaxes back into the cushions.
“That was fun,” he says, nearly gasping for breath. “But we’ve got somewhere to be, so…” He slaps my thigh. Hard. Hard enough to make me cry out from the surprise and pain. “So let’s clean up and get on the road.”
“I don’t wanna,” I say, turning into his chest, burying my face in the crook of his neck.
“You’re not in ch
arge anymore, Ms. Grey. I am.”
“How long?” I ask.
“How long what?” he says. His voice is low, but not throaty like it was a few minutes ago. It’s soft, and calm, and completely devoid of panic.
“How long will you stay with me? Just tonight?” It might come off a tiny bit desperate, but fuck it. If you can’t be needy in the wake of this kind of sex, when can you?
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“The game,” I say. “I’m so fucking sleepy right now. Can we just enjoy this and finish the game tomorrow night instead?”
“What?”
I open my eyes, sit up a little so I can look at his face. “Are you gonna make me spell it out?”
“Spell what out?”
“The game,” I say, getting very irritated. “You know, the one we’re fucking playing right now!”
He cocks his head at me. “What. The fuck. Are you talking about?”
“Oh, I get it.” I laugh. “You’re not gonna break character. OK, whatever. So you got a place in mind for tonight? I mean, if this is my one chance, I gotta take it, right? So I really hope you’ve got this all figured out and I don’t have to make decisions because that was kinda the whole point in playing.”
He pushes me away from him, leans back in the cushions even further, and stares at me. Hard. “You mean… the safe house? How the fuck—”
“What? Safe house? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The safe house. I’m supposed to take you to the safe house in Silver Springs.”
“Why the fuck would I need to go to a safe house?”
“Uh…” He laughs. “Because you were involved in a drug bust tonight that resulted in you being questioned down at the Federal Building. Not to mention the terrorist connection that came in afterward.”
“This is…” I’m so confused. “This is part of the game?”
“What fucking game? I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“The game!” I yell. “The fucking game! The one I asked to play—well, I didn’t ask to play. Chella made the arrangements. Jordan’s Game.”
“Jordan, your lawyer?”
“Yes!”
“Why are you playing a game with your lawyer?”
“I’m not! He’s…” But I realize I signed a confidentiality agreement. With a lawyer. Who probably takes shit like that very seriously.
“He’s what?” Finn asks. And he sounds kinda pissed.
“I can’t say any more.”
“Why not?” he bellows.
“Because I told you, I signed an NDA earlier tonight so we could talk about it.”
“Who could talk about what?” His tone is angry now, like I’m really starting to piss him off.
“Is this part of the game or not?” I say, suddenly feeling lied to.
“I don’t know what fucking game you’re talking about, Issy. None of what you’re saying right now makes a bit of sense. Are you trying to tell me you just fucked me based on… a misunderstanding?”
“Is that what you’re telling me?” I yell.
He inhales. Deeply. Exhales. Loudly. “OK, we’re talking in circles.”
“All I need to know is if you’re playing or not. And I get it, you have to like… maintain the illusion, right? To make it feel real, or whatever. But seriously, dude. I need to know what the fuck is happening. Because I just let you fuck me!”
“Let me?” He laughs. “You practically begged me!”
I get up out of his lap, walk over to my front closet, pull out a trench coat, slip it on, and tie the belt securely around my waist. “Get out.” I point to the door when I say it.
He sits on my couch—zipper open, half-hard cock still spilling out of it—looks me in the eye and says, “No fuckin’ way. I’m not leaving until you tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“I just did. And if you want to play, fine. But I’m quitting this game right now unless you let me know why you’re here. All I need is a wink, OK? You can keep in character or whatever, just give me a signal. And if you can’t do that, then you need to get the fuck out of my house or I’ll throw you out myself.”
He opens his mouth to respond and I can just tell whatever it is he’s going to respond with won’t be something I want to hear. So I cut him off and say, “And if you have any doubts that I’m capable of throwing you out, Special Agent Finn Murphy—if that’s even your real name—then consider this a warning. I’m ranked as a seventh-degree black belt in jujitsu. I can take down men twice your size in four moves.”
He huffs some air. Like… as if. But I don’t mind. I like being underestimated.
So I finish with, “Just try me, asshole.”
CHAPTER SIX - FINN
OK. This is weird. And all the ways it’s weird are ticking off in my head one by one.
She thinks we’re playing a game? And from what I can tell, it has something to do with her lawyer?
“Get out,” she repeats.
“Just…” I hold up one finger. “Give me a second, OK? I need to think things through.”
“What’s to think through? I asked a very simple question that can be answered with one word. Yes. Or. No.”
Right… but she said something about me staying in character. She thinks this was set up? Does she think the entire night was a setup? Like the search warrant, and the FBI interrogation, and the demand to take her to a safe house? And if so… do I play along to get her in my protective custody? Or do I give it to her straight and risk the whole terrorist thing crashing down on top of her?
Well, that’s a no-brainer.
So I wink at her.
She recoils a little, tilting her head.
I take it one step further. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Wink.
She opens her mouth to say something, then decides not to.
“But I do have a place in mind for us tonight.” Wink.
She squints her eyes at me, like maybe she didn’t catch the wink. I decide it might be too dark in here to actually see it properly, so I get up, tuck my dick away, zip my pants but leave them unbuttoned, and walk over to her, hands in the air like I surrender.
“I need to take care of you tonight, Issy. It’s my job.” Wink. “So just grab a few things, stuff them into a bag, and let’s go.” Wink.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a secret,” I say, smiling. “You’ll know when you get there.”
“Is it… safe?”
“Safe?” I almost laugh. Because it’s a safe house, right? But whatever it is she thinks we’re doing tonight, it’s got nothing to do with a safe house. What does she think we’re doing tonight? “Of course it’s safe. I just told you, I’m here to take care of you. It was practically an order. So come on, it’s getting late. We need to get a move on.”
“I need to be back by five AM. I have a seminar tomorrow at noon and I want to get there early.”
She’s not going anywhere in the morning. But I just nod and say, “Then let’s get this show on the road,” echoing her words earlier.
She stares at me for a few more seconds. And if I’m reading her correctly, I think it’s because she’s scared. Not about the terrorist cell who decided to use her company as a front, like she should be, but… of me.
And I don’t like that. I mean, I can be a scary guy, but not to innocent women. And after all that just happened since we got to her house, if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that Issy Grey has nothing to do with whatever threat Declan was talking about earlier. She’s just collateral damage.
So I say, “Issy,” and offer her my outstretched hand. “Trust me. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”
Which makes her snort. And then laugh. “You can’t hurt me.”
I can think up a million ways to hurt a woman, even a capable woman like Issy, and none of it involves violence. You can’t jujitsu your way out of emotional damage. “It doesn’t even matter if I can or can’t, Issy. I’m not g
oing to. So go pack a bag and let’s go.”
She holds her position for five more seconds. I know, I count them. And then she gives me a slight nod and walks upstairs to what is most likely her bedroom.
“Quickly,” I call after her. “We’re wasting time.”
I put myself back together while I wait. Tuck in my shirt, button my pants, and then I walk around her house and look at stuff in the moonlight. I don’t want to turn on a light just in case anyone is outside watching. I didn’t see a tail when we drove over here—and I was checking—but you can’t be too careful.
I find three things of note.
One—an award. It’s a little gold-colored statue of a microphone. The plaque on the base says Empowerment Speakers Award and has her name in fancy calligraphy underneath.
Two—an old family photo. A very small Issy with an older man who might be her grandfather. They’re holding hands, eating ice cream cones, sitting on a front stoop, looking pretty happy.
Three—a framed front cover from the Pan-American Jujitsu Magazine with Issy Grey’s face front and center. The headline across the picture is blacked out with marker.
Which makes me wish this wasn’t just the cover, but the entire article so I could read more about her.
I take that off the wall and study it. She looks young. Like… young. I don’t know a lot about martial arts, it was never my thing. But I do know that there are age requirements for black belts. She’s holding a gold medal, smiling since she obviously won some very important competition.
“What are you doing?”
I turn to find Issy standing at the top of the stairs, wearing a fresh blouse, holding a bag. “This was a big deal, huh?” I hold the frame out in her direction.
“Yes,” she says, slowly descending the stairs, eyes trained on mine. “And that’s very meaningful to me, so please put it back where you found it.”
