Spy Games

by Cassandra Dee

  “Really?” he asked, a black eyebrow raised. “Never would have guessed, a nice girl like you.”

  My cheeks flushed.

  “Yes,” I said firmly. “It’s not the greatest place to grow up because they classified the canal nearby as a Superfund project. But I’m proud of my beginning, and not afraid of my humble roots.”

  The billionaire nodded slowly. But then a calculating gleam came into those blue eyes.

  “So tell me,” he rasped, leaning forwards. “How much are they paying you at Elite?”

  I gasped. Didn’t he know? The big man was the boss after all.

  But I nodded my head. It wouldn’t matter if I told him. After all, it was clearly his money in my pocket.

  “Helena offered me a salary of one hundred and fifty thousand a year,” I said in a firm voice. “After yesterday, I understand if you want to dock my pay. It was a tough situation, and I should have handled myself better. My apologies again.”

  The words were formal and stilted, but I didn’t want to be fired. How much would he penalize me? Ten thousand? Even more?

  Instead, the billionaire did something unexpected—he threw his back and laughed, showing off even white teeth. I flinched at the sound, utterly confused. Why was he amused? Was the man making fun of me? Heat rose to my cheeks, hot and agonizing.

  But the alpha merely shook his head again and looked at me wryly.

  “I’m not going to fire you, pretty baby,” came that low growl. “I’m gonna do something even better. I’m gonna offer you some incentive pay.”

  My mind reeled. I wasn’t going to be fired? Not even punished or written up? Hallelujah!

  But the turn of events left me cautious.

  “What do you mean, ‘incentive pay?’” was my slow query. “Is that like a Christmas bonus?”

  After all, at Burger Barista, we’d had a “holiday gift” each December. It was a coupon for a free pickle with your burger. Worth less than zero to someone like me, who hates pickles.

  Plus, my current salary was easily more money than I knew what to do with. I could save, for the first time in my life. I could put something away towards retirement. And I could help my mom pay her medical bills, evading bankruptcy.

  So what was this bonus he was offering?

  Because the answer was already on the tip of my tongue.

  Yes.

  Yes, I’ll do it.

  I’m poor and need the money. Please.

  My life is already ten times better than it used to be, and with you in it, worlds have already opened. Opportunities that never existed before.

  Mr. Evans chuckled like he could read my mind.

  “Incentive pay means bonus money for doing exceptional work,” he drawled. “Are you an exceptional girl?”

  Oh no, oh no. Because was this a trap? Me, exceptional? Was this guy crazy? I just screwed up my first flight, hiding in the closet like a coward.

  So I tried to play it off.

  “Oh no, you don’t have to do that.” I shook my head, trying to seem confident. “I want to do good work anyways. You don’t need to pay me extra for doing my job.”

  Mr. Evans nodded and seemed pleased with my answer. But one black brow crooked again.

  “But you deserve to be compensated for work that goes above and beyond the call of the average stewardess. Capiche?”

  Actually, I didn’t understand. Not at all. So straightening in my seat, the words came earnestly.

  “Mr. Evans, you don’t have to pay me extra, I aim to please. It’s no trouble at all.”

  He[MJBB10] smiled again, but this time his eyes had a devilish glint. Oh god. This man had me wound around his finger, and my insides loosened, face growing warm. What was he planning?

  And sure enough, the lion struck then.

  “I want to make things better for you,” he drawled. “I want you to be more than just a stewardess on these flights.”

  A slight pause.

  “More than a stewardess?” my voice squeaked.

  What in the world? What did that mean? Oh wait. Suddenly it was obvious.

  “Sure, I don’t mind scrubbing the toilets,” I said hastily. “I can absolutely do the laundry too, it’s no trouble. No extra pay needed.”

  All Mr. Evans did was throw back his head and laugh mightily again.

  “Naw pretty girl, that’s not what I mean at all.” He leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze caress my curves. “Tell me, where did you work before Elite Air?”

  Oh god. Oh god. The time had come.

  “Oh, um, it was just a minimum wage job.” I dropped my gaze to the table, face burning. But I couldn’t duck anymore. “I was a barista and a burger flipper at a little local joint called Burger Barista. It sounds crazy right? Who drinks coffee and eats burgers at the same time? But actually, it was a genius idea, they had so many customers.”

  The big man’s eyebrows were practically on the ceiling now.

  “So you flipped patties?” he drawled.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Yes sir. And pulled espresso shots. For eight hours a day, it wasn’t too bad. My feet hurt afterwards, but we had free food while on shift, so it was worth it.”

  There. It was all out there now. My humble beginnings at LeBar City. My minimum wage job filled with greasy oil and the french fry smell that never went away.

  But everyone has to start somewhere, and for me, Burger Barista was step one, humble as it may be.

  Mr. Evans, on the other hand, is hard to read. His eyebrow quirked, making me uneasy, before the alpha leaned forwards again. “You sound like a hard worker and a good employee. Did you have extra responsibilities around Burger Barista?”

  I nodded, chin up.

  “Yes! If they needed someone to mop floors, or clean the bathroom, I was on it. I did it for free because we’re a team, you know? I wanted to give my all and show I was worth keeping.”

  Mr. Evan’s eyebrows raised, surprised at my answer. I fidgeted, unsure if he was impressed or regretting his decision. Oh god, oh god. The hammer was going to fall at any moment, I could feel it. I’d be on the street with a quick “thank you, goodbye.”

  But instead, that movie star smile flashed again.

  “Well, I’d like for you to do a little extra for Elite Air. Like I mentioned, you’ll be paid for your service.”

  My breath stilled. What did he mean? But then that handsome face grinned, making my heart race.

  “Little girl, I want to play with you on these flights. To help me de-stress. To get me relaxed. What do you think about that?”

  My ears burned, cheeks on fire. What in the world? As usual, the words came tumbling out before I could stop them.

  “Of course!” was my blurt. “I can make you a really soothing tea, and I’ve been learning about meditation. There’s this Zen routine where you blank your mind and try and think of nothing at all. It sounds easy, but is super hard to do. Plus, do you like yoga? Or massages? I can take classes on Swedish massage,” was my quick refrain. “Or Japanese-style if you prefer.”

  Oh god, my whole face was red now. Had to be.

  But the billionaire grinned wolfishly then.

  “Sure that sounds good,” he drawled. “Especially if you like nuru massage. Have you heard of that before?”

  I shook my head, cheeks flaming.

  “No sir, but I can learn. I’ll look it up and sign up for classes immediately.”

  The gorgeous man threw his head back and laughed aloud then.

  “Sure sweet thing, take classes. But I don’t want you practicing on anybody but me.”

  My eyebrows went up.

  “I’m sorry?” was my stammer. “What do you mean?”

  He grinned again.

  “You’ll see honey. Look up nuru massage, and you’ll see what I mean. But I want more than just massages, if you get my meaning. It includes your, ah, assets,” he drawled, staring at my girls.

  Shamefully, they tightened and rose, the nipples pointing s
traight at the big man.

  “I’m sorry?” was my soft gasp. “What do you mean? I... um…”

  But more words wouldn’t come, and suddenly my palms were clammy, thighs squeezing tight with electricity.

  The alpha seemed amused by my reaction, eyes turning a deep, dark blue. Oh god, I could drown in that stormy ocean.

  But Mr. Evans is a businessman, and he doesn’t mince words.

  “You know what I mean,” he drawled. “You, as my plaything. You, naked and open for my touch. You, on your knees, begging when I say so.”

  WHAT?

  What was happening?

  He wanted me to serve drinks … naked? He wanted me to do what?

  What in the world?

  But the billionaire continued, unperturbed.

  “I’ll pay you for it. How about twenty-thousand dollars per leg of air-time in addition to your salary? That’s a lot, sweetheart. Twenty-thousand to be my plaything. Say you fly with me from JFK to Charlotte and then on to Chicago. That’s two legs. You make forty-thousand in one day, on top of everything else.”

  If before had been insane, then this was downright crazy. Forty thousand dollars for a day’s work? For flying two short legs?

  But wait … I had to service him nude during those flights.

  Swallowing heavily, I stared into mesmerizing blue eyes. And the words came unbidden then.

  “What does it mean to be your plaything?”

  The alpha’s grin was wolfish, like he might ravage me right then and there.

  “Good question, sweetheart. Because it means you. Anyway I want. Any time I want. Hot and nubile. Five- miles up in the air. You would be my in-flight entertainment so to speak.”

  Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades and slipped down my back, even as a sweet tingle began in my cunt. Was he crazy? Was this even legal?

  My tongue felt thick as I spoke again.

  “Does that mean… You know…?”

  Oh god. I was so naïve. Incredibly dumb and girlish, compared to this seasoned alpha male. But I’ve never been with a man before, much less a powerful and important billionaire who was probably used to all sorts of crazy sex stuff.

  And Mr. Evans’ eyes darkened again, smile calculating. Now, those blue eyes devoured me whole.

  “Sure thing, pretty baby. It means my dick in your hot pussy[MJBB11], hard and real. You on board with this? After all, it’s twenty thousand dollars, sweetheart. Can you stretch your pussy for to the tune of twenty thousand dollars a go?”

  Suddenly, something snapped within me. Because I should have been offended. I should have been disgusted, and screamed sexual harassment, running out the door to protect my modesty.

  But instead, all I felt was excitement. Wetness pooled between my legs, insides going hot and soft. Oh god.

  Thorn Evans saw me as a woman.

  And I saw him as a man, a powerful alpha male who desired my body.

  Slowly, my lips parted.

  “Yes sir. I can do that.”

  The man smiled, pleased, and leaned back in his chair.

  “Good,” was his curt reply. “Our first flight is tomorrow. As I said: JFK to Charlotte and then onto Chicago.” Suddenly, that voice dropped to a growl, making my whole body tremble. “Get ready to earn forty-thousand tomorrow, pretty[MJBB12] baby. You think you can do it?”

  Oh god, oh god. My temp must have gone up about a hundred degrees. Suddenly, the cavernous conference room with the giant oak table was too big. Everything disappeared until it was just me and the billionaire, our eyes locked together, devouring one another.

  But then the moment snapped.

  Mr. Evans stood smoothly, so tall that his head almost touched the ceiling. Was that right? Or maybe I was just imagining things. After all, the dazzle was strong. My lungs wouldn’t inflate, and I stumbled for a moment, wobbling next to the conference table.

  “Gotcha,” he growled, one big hand grabbing my elbow and pulling my curvy form close. “Gotcha, sweet thing.”

  And all of a sudden, it was on once again. We were pressed together, my big boobs right up against his abs. Oh shit, oh shit! Slowly, my head tilted back, chin up, meeting his eyes.

  But something unexpected happened again. Because I thought Mr. Evans would push me away. I thought he’d send me on my way with a friendly pat on the ass, nothing more.

  But instead, the billionaire bowed his head and brushed those sculpted lips against mine, a butterfly kiss that soared through my soul.

  Oh my god, was this really happening?

  Was I really kissing the CEO, right here in an empty office? Oh god. But it was true. That mouth was commanding and yet sensual at once, drugging my senses and filling my core with anticipation.

  Was this how it felt to be kissed by a man?

  Because I definitely wanted more. My body was on high alert, heating flooding every cell with awareness of this man.

  But with Mr. Evans, nothing is predictable. Because he pulled away then, looking deep into my big brown eyes.

  “You’re sweet, little girl,” he rasped. “Real sweet. Can’t wait to taste more. Now go before I rip you to pieces right here.”

  Because oh god, as he moved away, I saw it then. That enormous tent in his pants. Straining, hard, and ready to burst.

  My eyes went wide.

  Mr. Evans had to qualify for the Guinness Book of World Records.

  I could even see the imprint of his glans, a rigid line delineating the shaft from the bulb, tantalizing and hot.

  And unbidden, my mouth filled with saliva hungrily.

  Because I wanted it.

  I wanted to touch, to taste, and to sample.

  But oh god. Because what have I agreed to? Mr. Evans is hung like a horse. How was that going to fit in me?

  And Thorn could read my mind, a deep chuckle erupting from that chest.

  “Like I said pretty girl, get ready to earn your forty-thousand tomorrow. Six a.m. sharp, sweetheart. You’ll have to work hard, because it’s not gonna be easy.”

  I nodded, tearing my eyes away momentarily. Heat flamed in my cheeks. Oh god, oh god! Moving as if in a daze, my feet carried me out of the room and down the hallway. Only when I was at the main door did I look back.

  And sure enough, there was Mr. Evans, devouring me with those hungry blue eyes.

  “Like I said,” he reiterated in a low voice. “Get ready to earn your pay.”

  And then I was in the lift.

  Oh, please hurry, I need to get home.

  Because what just happened?

  What had he said?

  Any way I want. Any time I want.

  A whimper escaped my throat and my hand gripped the bar on the side. Oh my god. His?

  But then the elevator chimed, opening to reveal the lobby. Fortunately, most people were gone, busy at their desks. There were just a few stragglers here and there who hopefully wouldn’t notice my flaming cheeks.

  After all, I’d just agreed to be the plaything of a billionaire. And worst of all? Forty thousand wasn’t necessary … because I would have done it for free.

  ***

  Katrina, please be home, my mind begged. I need your advice desperately.

  The subway ride home had been uneventful, but honestly, an earthquake couldn’t have jolted me from my daze. Because I’d just made an incredibly dirty deal … with my boss.

  Oh god, oh god. What do I do now?

  But when I let myself into the apartment, there was a scrunchie on her doorknob, the age-old sign of “Do not disturb.”

  Bummer.

  Well, conversation could wait then. I had a more urgent matter to attend to.

  Tossing my purse onto the old, worn couch in the living room, I kicked my shoes off hastily. My bedroom was as I had left it – clothes hanging out of dresser drawers and more clothes heaped on almost every surface. Oh well. The search for the perfect outfit had evidently worked just fine, because now I was in for a big-time payday.

  And I wanted to dream more,
to visualize and explore within my mind. Mmm, Mr. Evans. What would that dong look like exposed and out in the open? What would happen when I finally got my hands on it? Would it fit in my mouth?

  My dress fell to the floor, pooling untidily. But who cares? Mr. Evans had me on a roll, and I wanted to play.

  Flopping onto my mattress, my mind filled with images of him again. Dark. Forbidding. Intimidating. And yet devastatingly sexy.

  This is really happening. I just agreed to be the plaything of a billionaire. For money. My first time was going to be with an alpha who ruled the world.

  My hands slithered down my belly. Ooh, that felt good! But it would feel even better when Mr. Evans did it.

  Suddenly, a chirp interrupted my fantasy. What?

  I grumbled and closed my eyes, trying to ignore it. But the damn cell buzzed again, before stopping.

  Good.

  Goodbye, I don’t have time for you.

  And turning back to my reverie, I bit my lip once more, imagining Thorn’s piercing blue eyes and devastating grin. But this time, a sharp knock sounded on my door.

  What the hell?

  Can a girl get a moment to herself?

  Seriously folks. I was having the most exciting sexual encounter of my life right now, an alpha male’s demanding physique burned on my brain.

  But it was too late. Between the phone and the knock, my excitement had dissipated. Grumbling, I reached for a ratty robe and pulled it on.

  “Come!” was my annoyed call. “Door’s open!”

  And Katrina, that sly cat, opened the door, leaning against the jamb. My buddy had full-face makeup on, but not in a good way. It was clear she had slept in it, the mascara and eyeliner smudged for big-time raccoon eyes. Not to mention her hair was a rat’s nest, the blonde strands poking this way and that.

  But did Katrina care?

  No, not at all.

  Instead, my friend loves to gossip and wanted to get the deets.

  “So, tell me all about your swanky new job,” she purred. “You’re gonna be rich now, right?”

  Sighing, I got up, striding into the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of cheap, five-dollar wine, I poured a glass for each of us, plopping onto the couch. Might as well get into it. Katrina’s been my best buddy since we were five years old, and we share everything, always. Sometimes too much because I don’t want to know about her geezer boyfriends. But hey. Someone’s gotta listen to these tall tales.