Déjà Vu & Gin

by Heather R. Blair

  “It got me thinking,” she continues, her voice slightly breathless. “That you might be right. About me. And frustration.”

  Well, isn’t this just all kinds of interesting? I straighten in my seat, taking another gulp of hot tea and watching her squirm, wondering where we are going with this.

  “How experienced would you say you are, in relieving that kind of frustration?”

  I don’t spit out my tea, but it’s a damn close thing. “Are you talking about sex?”

  She raises an eyebrow coolly at my slack-jawed expression, but her hands are twisting her skirt into knots. “I should think that was obvious, Tyr.”

  The sound of her saying my name tugs at something primal in my gut. It roars to life until I have to clench my hands to keep from leaping over this table and making her say it again.

  In my struggle to get ahold of myself, my words come out harsher than I mean them to. “I’m an assassin of the realm, love. I fuck women and kill people—it’s kind of in the job description. My experience would make a cossetted little thing like you scream and run away.” I lean over the table again. “But you’d damn well enjoy it.”

  She doesn’t flinch, but those ice-blue eyes dilate and her lips part. I can’t look away as she sets her tea on the table between us very carefully. “What if I was interested in making you an offer regarding that experience? One that doesn’t rely on blackmail?”

  I can’t breathe. She’s fucking serious.

  I misjudged her. Again. She’s far more mercenary than I thought. An offer, huh?

  I want her, but I draw the line at selling myself for sex, even though I’m well aware there’s precious little difference between an assassin and a whore.

  My shoulders are so stiff they ache, just like the cock between my thighs. I may have lines, but my dick sure as hell doesn’t. “You think because I offer one sword for hire the other is available as well?” My ragged tone could cut bone.

  Her blush is immediate and fierce. “I wasn’t— That is not at all the proposition I was— Not that it was really a proposition at all.” She gulps. “I mean, yes. It obviously was, but not in the sense that I was offering to pay . . . I just thought you might, that we might come to a mutual . . . Oh, never mind,” she mutters, getting to her feet and whirling away.

  Instantly, I know I’ve made a mistake, but like a fool I have to make it worse. I stand up and catch her arm. “Are you sure?” I say, with a bite in my tone. “Maybe I could be persuaded if you were to sweeten the pot sufficiently. I mean, with more than the obvious.” I scan her from head to toe, slow, thorough and mean. She sucks in a breath and I expect to be slapped.

  Instead that regal little head lifts as she gathers her skirts. Her cheeks are still blazing, even though her tone is frigid. “If you’re not interested, you could just say no. There is no need to be such an asshole about it.” She sniffs before yanking her arm free and heading for the hallway. “Take your spells and see yourself out.”

  I take one determined step toward the door, toward sanity, but it’s no good. Silently, I spin on my heel. She doesn’t hear me coming until I’m already on top of her, swinging her up against the wall hard enough to tumble several small figurines off the mantelpiece next to us. Her eyes go wide, her lips parting on a gasp.

  I cover her mouth with mine before she can get out a single word. Christ. So sweet.

  So goddamn sweet. I groan and kiss her harder.

  Her small hands slam into my chest but I can’t stop. Not just yet. I’ve been imagining her taste for a while now, but the reality is so much better.

  She’s soft as I press into her, all curves and silk and velvet. Her lips are warm and trembling, then greedy and hot. She’s not pushing me away now, but yanking me closer. I laugh into her mouth as she goes to her toes, her fingers sliding up to tangle in my hair.

  I knew Anastasia would burn hot under all that ice, and I wasn’t wrong. Kissing her is like kissing the stars, white, fierce and blinding.

  Utterly beyond my reach.

  Her fingers tighten in my hair, but I know I have to stop.

  Trust me to get offered the one thing I can’t steal and then screw it up so magnificently. I uncurl my fingers from her dress and force myself upright.

  I open my mouth, but her finger is already on my lips. “Shut up. If we talk too much, one or both of us will fuck this up. Just nod or shake your head.” She takes a deep breath, looking straight into my eyes. “Do you want me, Tyr?”

  My jaw tightens. I nod once.

  She smiles. “Good. Then we need ground rules.”

  I raise my eyebrows. Rules. Why am I not surprised?

  “Don’t worry, you’ll like these rules.”

  I doubt that, but I wait for her to continue.

  “This is just sex. Nothing more, nothing less. I don’t expect anything from you. No dinner dates or flowers or scintillating conversation.” She gives me an arch look. “And it’s just between us. My sisters can’t . . . no one can know.”

  It’s not anything I haven’t agreed to before. I ignore the twist in my guts and nip the finger at my lips. She gasps and yanks her hand back.

  “You done?”

  Hesitantly, she nods.

  “Wonderful. Now for my rules, Anastasia.” Her expression goes wary. It’s about bloody time. “When it comes to this ‘arrangement’ of ours, get one thing straight right now. I’m no fucking gentleman. I’m going to smack your ass, I’m going to pull your hair.” I lean in close. “I’m going to bite.” Her eyes go wide as saucers, her mouth a tiny O. “I won’t ask for what I want nicely. I’m going to demand, and you’re going to obey.”

  One perfect silver-blond curl has fallen in front of those wide eyes. I push it back behind her delicate ear, then drag the pad of my thumb down her throat to where her pulse is beating light and fast under that porcelain skin. “Do we have an accord?” I growl.

  Barely breathing, eyes locked on mine, she nods.

  “Thank Christ. How fast can you get out of those clothes?”

  10

  Pretty fast, it turns out.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  I undress with shaking hands while those black eyes rake over every inch of newly exposed skin like banked coals. I’m alternately shivering and on fire. Tyr leans against the couch, not moving a muscle until I’m completely naked. My toes curl into the thick blue carpet at his unnatural stillness. I’ve never been bared to a man this way and while it’s strangely freeing, it’s also terrifying.

  There’s no doubt the assassin likes what he sees. He gets up slowly, only to circle me, once, twice. Like a prowling black panther, deciding which bit to sink his teeth into first.

  I bite.

  The echo of those words makes me shiver again, and I jump when his fingers graze my shoulder. He chuckles softly, letting the back of his hand run down my spine. Slowly, lightly, leaving a tingling trail of heat over my skin until he reaches the curve of my ass. With an almost reverent sigh, he reverses his touch, cupping me in his warm palm, then squeezing roughly until I gasp.

  “So soft,” he murmurs. “But that is all an illusion, isn’t it, Anastasia? There’s pure steel under that velvet.”

  I can’t seem to form words, but he doesn’t appear to expect them. Abruptly he spins us around, lifting me onto the arm of the couch. The feel of his clothes brushing my naked skin and his hands on my ass leaves me dizzy. He steadies me with a grin before stepping back to leave me perched there. His gaze wanders over my body lazily, then lifts to my face.

  “Spread your legs.”

  I blink, heat rising to scorch my cheeks, even flushing the tips of my very hard nipples. He raises an eyebrow, reminding me without a word of what I agreed to. With a swallow, I do as he bids.

  His eyes darken and dilate. Before I can take a breath, he steps between my thighs, his hands sliding over my skin, hands rough with callouses earned over a century of work with bladed weapons. The only other hands that have touched me were
soft. The contrast is heavenly. He cups each of my breasts with those hard hands, his skin dark against my paleness. My flesh feels unnaturally warm and needy . . . heavy with want. I arch, my lips parting on a moan that becomes his name as my nipples press into his palms.

  Then he’s kissing me again, almost savagely this time, his tongue twisting and hot as his hands work my sensitive flesh. When he pulls back to kneel in front of me, I take in a shaky breath, my whole body trembling at his obvious intent.

  He looks up, lips quirking. “You object?”

  “No. I just thought . . . the first thing you’d want—would be something solely for your pleasure.” Gods, I’m awkward. He smiles and runs two fingers along the inside of my thigh. My hips twitch in response. His smile widens.

  “In other words, you thought I’d be a bastard. Sorry to disappoint, love,” he says dryly, “but this is solely for my pleasure.”

  He lowers his head, his eyes never leaving mine as his mouth hovers over my skin.

  “And for the record, you can pull my hair, too.” His eyes twinkle as his lips trail over the sensitive skin his fingers just explored, the scruff of his jaw an exquisite torture. Then I feel the hot flick of his tongue.

  Oh fuck.

  Not wanting to tumble over the arm of the couch and lose this feeling, I bury my hands in the sable darkness that is Tyr’s hair. I’ve wanted to touch it for ages, to feel it between my fingers. It’s softer than I expected, thick and silky. He groans as my nails rake his scalp lightly, then his mouth covers my center. My grip tightens as my body reacts.

  Fiercely.

  I can’t remember the last time I felt such heat. It roars through me until I’m flushed and panting. My head falls back, my hips rocking up to meet his devilish tongue. Hot and wet, he parts me. A long, slow lick that tears a moan from my throat.

  It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten what the touch of a man can do. As Tyr’s rough hands tighten on the backs of my thighs, sliding between the watered silk of the couch and my skin as he lifts me higher, I wonder that my memory can be this faulty. Maybe it’s not.

  Maybe it’s him. There is something magical in the way his tongue teases and flicks and coaxes until I am mad and shameless with want.

  I wind my legs around his head and shoulders, begging for more, for his fingers, his tongue . . . his cock.

  He stills abruptly, those broad shoulders between my thighs going taut as he lifts his head.

  “What did you say?”

  Did I say all that out loud? I swallow, but there is no shame in me. Not now. I’m too far gone. “You heard me.”

  He nips the inside of my thigh before forcing me to untangle my legs from his shoulders and my fingers from his hair. Getting to his feet, he doesn’t bother to remove his shirt, he just undoes his pants and shoves them down his hips. My nails dig into the fragile upholstery at the sight of him.

  “Tell me again, Anastasia.”

  “I want you. Now.”

  With a curse, he spins me around and pushes me down over the arm of the couch. Then he’s inside of me. My eyes go wide and my hands scrabble at the cushions as my body adjusts to the sudden invasion. It’s been too long and his girth is nearly too much, but it feels so right. Yes, please. My back arches involuntarily and I gasp as he slides deeper.

  “Christ,” Tyr groans. “You’re so fucking tight. You should have let me finish—”

  “No,” I hiss, shoving back against him. “No, this is what I want. Don’t stop.”

  Lean, strong hands tighten on my hips. “Fine.”

  He lifts me, thrusting deeper until my eyes are rolling back in my head. I hear him curse again, as if from very far away. He stops moving. “What’s wrong?”

  “Other than the fact I’m going to last about two more seconds here, nothing at all,” he grinds out.

  I gasp out a laugh as he starts to pull back. “That’s okay, me t—”

  He drives into me, the sound of his hips smacking my ass like a slap, the force and weight of him lifting me to my toes. Once, twice and just like that I’m gone.

  Coming so hard it hurts. The wave of pleasure rolls through me, curling my toes, stealing my breath. My legs give out, but Tyr is there, his fingers digging into my flesh, holding me up as he takes his own pleasure now, hard and fast. When he comes, I feel it, liquid and hot, and it makes me tighten down all over again.

  His knees buckle. I know because his weight comes down on me, heavy and warm, the roughness of his stubble between my shoulder blades. “Fuck,” he whispers in one long, drawn-out breath against my damp skin. Neither of us does more than breathe for several long minutes.

  I feel the press of his lips against the back of my neck before he pushes to his feet, easing out of me. He’s careful and slow, but we both hiss as the connection between our bodies is broken.

  I’m not entirely certain my legs are capable of supporting my weight, but when Tyr helps me up, they do. He digs into the pile of frothy fabric at his feet and comes up with my chemise. I slide it on and when my head pops through, the first thing I see is him staring at me, frozen in the middle of pulling up his pants.

  His eyes are black and impenetrable, his lips pressed tightly together. I shiver. It is not the look of a man who just experienced vast pleasure. In fact, he looks furious.

  “Tyr?” I say hesitantly.

  The dark look vanishes, to be replaced with a smile so wry, it’s almost bitter. He finishes yanking up his pants. “I know I told you I hate surprises, Anastasia. But if you got any more where that came from . . .” With a shake of his head, he reaches down to pick up the satchel.

  He’s halfway across the room before he turns, looking at me over his shoulder and flashing a grin.

  “Do let me know when you require my services again.”

  I smother a giggle against my fingers as the front door closes. Then I fall back on the couch, smiling as I stare up at the molded ceiling. As ideas go, I think this one went rather well.

  Maybe too well, I amend when I jump up from the couch seconds later for a shower and feel a protesting twinge deep in my lower stomach. It doesn’t so much hurt as ache, and this ache makes me want more.

  As I’m grabbing my dress and petticoats from the floor and heading up the stairs, it hits me again that this little arrangement is dangerous in more ways than one.

  I could get addicted to Tyr’s brand of sex.

  Of course, at the moment, that doesn’t seem like such a terrible thing.

  11

  Anastasia bent over that couch, coming so hard, is burnt into the back of my brain. I see it every time I blink. Which means I am sporting a semipermanent hard-on all damn day, not exactly comfortable for what I’m about to do.

  Stealing from gods is not a new trick, but it’s still a dangerous one. Of course, I’m not Perseus making a grab for fire, I just want to steal a stone. No big deal.

  Only this is a truth stone and I’m stealing it to so I can give it to Persephone to get her out of the corner I’m less than twenty-four hours away from shoving her into.

  Fun stuff. I slink down the torchlit tunnel. I may be invisible, but stealth is always a good default mode, no matter how safe you might feel.

  Not that I’m feeling particularly safe at the moment. I ease around the corner and see that veiled woman talking to Cerunnos. Interesting. I’d gotten the impression she didn’t much like him. With a mental sigh, I lean against the wall, waiting for them to stop chatting in front of the door I need to get through.

  I close my eyes, then immediately open them again. Goddamn that witch’s ass. The fucking feel of her. I had to get out of there or I would have thrown her over my shoulder and taken her upstairs and fucked her again. And again.

  Somehow she’s dug her way into the primal recesses of my brain, the caveman part that wants to find a club and bang it into something while dragging her off by the hair.

  Christ.

  It’s like my brain and my cock are arguing, and guess who’s winning?
<
br />   Let’s fuck the witch again.

  That’ll be a great idea.

  Get her out of our system and get off at the same time.

  Awesome fucking plan. How’s that working for you?

  We won’t know for sure unless we keep trying.

  I grind my teeth together and barely resist pounding my head into the stone that surrounds me.

  I almost jump as Cerunnos strides past, looking smug. Well, he always looks smug, but this time more than usual. I wait for him to disappear down the corridor before easing around the corner again. No veil in sight.

  I stride forward, rolling my eyes at the antlered stag carved into the door. It’s like the guy wants someone to put the pieces together. I run quickly through my standard checks for magic and traps. And magical traps. Alarms, etcetera. I frown when I find nothing. It’s too easy.

  Never trust easy, Freya’s voice whispers in my head.

  I push the door with the tip of my little finger. It swings open with a low groan. I look back over my shoulder, but the tunnel is still empty. Slipping inside, I shut the door behind me. I dislike closing off my one avenue of escape almost as much as knowing I’m hundreds of feet underground with dozens of magical beings and at least two gods between me and the surface. But hey, it’s a living.

  Not that I’m getting paid for this shit. Thanks to one extremely annoying, icy . . .

  Gorgeous. Oh so sexy. Those little moans she made when I was between her legs. The feel of her hips rolling so that I had to hold her down to get my tongue where we both wanted it . . .

  Shit.

  Focus.

  Sideboard in front of me. A decanter of deep purple wine.

  I push aside a curtain in the back. There’s a small table with a bowl on it. My eyes almost slide over it, then halt.

  The bowl is filled with a dozen stones, identical. Or apparently so.

  Hmmm. Maybe he’s not so dumb after all. There’s nothing else in here that anyone would want to steal. And from the buzz tickling my fingertips, I have a feeling that if I snatch the wrong stone, they’ll be serving baked assassin upstairs for dinner tonight.