Two Cuts Darker

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  His breathing sounded abnormally loud, echoing in his head like a freight train. He ripped her jeans and panties off and slung them aside. She rose up on her elbows, crawling back from him. Fleeing. No, he decided as he ducked her kick and grabbed her foot, trapping her leg against his side with his arm. She was making room for him on the mattress. Braced on his knees, he risked letting go of her long enough to rip the package open and slide the condom down over his dick. So hard and sensitive, even the slightest touch made him tremble. His skin throbbed, his entire body on fire, burning with sensation.

  Blood dripped onto her from the cut on his chest, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  His blood. On her. Marked.

  Mine.

  He came down over her so fast her right arm instinctively rose to block him, the knife still in her hand. He seized her wrist and slammed her hand down to the bed. She could have rolled aside or kneed him in the nuts, but instead she hugged her thighs around him. His brain insisted he slow down, that he be the gentleman and make sure to get her off first. But each drop of blood splattered across her chest and neck seemed to gleam in the darkness like fiery rubies. She arched beneath him, her eyes challenging him, even as her left hand ran down his back in a hard, kneading caress that urged him onward.

  Releasing her hand that still gripped the knife, he reached down to position his cock. Fuck, she was so wet. She pushed up against him, already driving her pussy onto him. She took what she wanted, even though she’d fought him like he was an unknown masked attacker. He didn’t even thrust, not yet, because the tight heat already had his head thrown back, his shoulders straining as he fought to restrain himself.

  Her fingers probed the cut on his left side hard enough that he hunched his side. Pain blended with lust, mixed with blood. Tight and hot, she gripped him so hard he almost came again. He shuddered with effort to hold back the swelling wave of need. It’s her turn.

  He plunged deep on a vicious growl. Again, harder yet, hauling himself out only to slam balls-deep again. His balls ached so bad, and his cock was so hard it felt like it would shatter like a flawed blade inside her.

  Then she pressed the blade to his throat and the last bit of his control crumbled like a dam giving way to a torrential flood. He rode the blade like he rode her, pushing against the steel. He’d take it as deeply as she took him, if that was her intent. He’d end it. Now. After so many years of misery and pain and disgust and fear...

  He’d go now. Free in her arms.

  But she didn’t give him that release. She didn’t stab him. She didn’t even cut him, not that deeply. He could smell the coppery torment of his blood, mixing with her scent until he couldn’t differentiate the two any longer. Her breath caught, her hips tipping up even more against him. He ground against her, pushing as deeply as possible to give her release. Her neck arched, her head rolled back and forth.

  Before she could wake the dead and bring her team running, he clamped his palm over her mouth just as she started to scream. The extra restraint seemed to make her climax even harder. She bucked beneath him. The blade fell from her hand and she pushed her fingers up between them. He thought she meant to shove him away, but instead, she pressed her fingers to his mouth.

  Smearing his blood across his lips.

  He detonated. Climax roared through him, scorching his brain to ash. He hammered deeper, harder, surely hurting her but he couldn’t stop. Not with her fingers in his mouth, his blood on his tongue.

  Slowly, he regained awareness. He’d collapsed on top of her, probably suffocating her. She probably could have rolled him off her if needed, but she stroked her hand up and down his back, her fingers light. Her other hand still cupped his chin, her fingers in his mouth.

  He swirled his tongue against her fingers and she let out a little moan that made his cock thud inside her, sending a ripple of remembered pleasure through them both.

  “Broken arrow,” she whispered, turning her face toward his.

  With a low groan, he shifted his weight off and rolled to his side. She turned with him, keeping her arm and one thigh tucked around him. He pulled his head back, letting her fingers slide out of his mouth. “You all right?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Never better. But I think I’ve bled so much on this bed that they’ll have to replace it.”

  “At least the sheets.” She smiled, her eyes shining in the darkness. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you have any family? Siblings?”

  “My little brother. He always called me Vince.”

  “Have you—”

  He shook his head and rolled flat on his back, escaping her probing gaze. “No. I can’t see him. Ever.”

  She moved closer, pillowing her head on his chest, though she respected his need to hide his eyes. “Why not?”

  “As far as I know, he believes I’m dead. It’s for the best.”

  She doodled aimlessly on his chest, little strokes that eased the tension straining through him. “When did you see him last?”

  “I was seventeen, so twenty years ago.”

  “And your father?”

  His breath stilled. She lifted her head and he tried to turn away, avoiding her gaze, but she held his chin, her grip surprisingly strong. He could have wrenched free. But he didn’t. He owed her whatever truths she wanted after what she’d just given him. “I don’t know. Haven’t seen him since Mom took us on the run.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “As far as I know.”

  Her head tipped to the side, her eyes probing as hard as her fingers had dug into the wound on his side. This hurt way worse. “You’re still afraid of him.”

  A tremor rocked through him and he drew a shaky breath. “Fuck, yeah. You would be too, if you knew what he was capable of. He...”

  “It’s all right,” she whispered, ducking her face against his neck. “You don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”

  It was easier to admit his darkest secrets without her gaze on him. “He threatened to drink Charlie if I ever told. I left as soon as I could, so if our father is still alive, he wouldn’t be able to find Charlie through me.” He drew another shuddering breath and managed to laugh. “Fuck, look at me. Badass assassin for the CIA most of my life, and just the mention of my father turns me into a scared little toddler pissing himself in the dark.”

  She didn’t laugh, but stroked her fingers up to his lips, tracing the shape of his mouth. “You’re justified in that fear. Your father sounds like a monster.”

  “He is.”

  “Is that why you want to die?”

  He froze, unable to think. Unable to flee and protect himself. Not from her. It shouldn’t surprise him that she’d pierced straight through to the heart of everything, including the real reason he’d agreed to this dangerous mission with no hope of real success.

  She pressed against him harder, hugging him with her body. “You’re afraid,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his throat. “You’re afraid you’re a monster too. Like him.”

  “I am,” he finally managed to say as he lifted his upper body to roll away and get up.

  Instead, she rolled on top of him and straddled his chest, keeping him flat on his back. “Look at me.”

  Her voice echoed with command and she leaned down, planting her palms on either side of his head. He could squeeze his eyes shut like a fucking pussy, or glare back at her as fiercely as she gazed down at him. He thought about every man he’d ever killed, and then met her gaze.

  “How many men do you think have been able to do what you just did for me? Huh? Guess. I dare you.”

  He gave her an ugly sneer. “I’m supposed to guess how many men you’ve fucked?”

  She lowered herself even more by going down to her elbows. “No. Y
ou’re supposed to guess how many men I’ve successfully fucked. There’s a difference.”

  He wanted to shove her away, but the feel of her breasts, even in the bra, against his chest distracted him. When he didn’t answer, she sat up and reached around behind her to unhook her bra. Slowly, she drew the black straps down her arms, letting the cotton fall away.

  She didn’t have large breasts, but soft, sweet curves that suited him just fine. Her nipples jutted up, begging for his hands and teeth. Slowly, she leaned back down, deliberately taunting him by hovering just above his face. “How many men have been able to give me exactly what I needed? Without hurting me once?” She leaned to the side, brushing one tempting curve against his mouth. He turned with her, keeping his lips on her skin so he could taste her. When she straightened and lifted away, he groaned.

  “While I deliberately hurt you by kicking and squeezing your existing wounds.” She pressed the blade back to his throat, pricking his skin to make him remember what they’d done. “While I threatened you with a knife at your throat. Don’t you have any idea what you did for me?”

  “I only gave you what you told me you wanted.”

  “Exactly.” She used the knife to tip his chin up higher. “What I wanted. That makes you the only man I’ve ever successfully fucked, Vincent. No monster would do that for me without seriously hurting me.”

  His name on her lips moved him more than her words. “Say it again.”

  She knew without asking what he wanted. “I will,” she promised with a knowing grin. Then she shocked the hell out of him by sliding down to his thighs, giving him a good look at his cock that had started to rise to attention. “But first I’m going to successfully fuck you again.”

  She retrieved her jeans from the foot of the bed and dug around in a pocket to wave a second condom at him. “I always come prepared.”

  He gripped handfuls of the bedding as she slipped the used condom off and rolled down a fresh one. “Not.” He fought the sudden surge of lust that sprang from nowhere. Everywhere. He couldn’t think. Not as she pushed back down on him. “Possible.”

  “Bullshit.” She shifted her weight forward and ground her pelvis against his. Evidently it felt as good for her as it did for him, because her eyes rolled back in her head and she groaned. She dug her nails into his chest and it was enough small pain to keep him going while she rode him to a second climax.

  Panting, she leaned down and rubbed her mouth back and forth across his. “How much pain do you need to get off?”

  His balls were already tight and achy, sending a fierce need like a punch up through his lower gut. Surprised, he realized he was already close. “Not much. If you could sit back up a bit...”

  She lifted her chest, letting him see the gleam of her breasts. Fingers trembling, he touched the small wound she’d put on his throat earlier and then rubbed his blood on her nipple. Now she knew what he needed, leaning back down to give him her breast. He lifted his head, rising up to meet her. He sucked on her nipple, letting the flavor of his blood and the firm nipple in his mouth push him over the edge. Each spurt rocketed through his body, even harder than his first climax if that was possible.

  He couldn’t have moved a muscle even if Vlasenko himself charged through the door. She cupped his face and pressed her mouth to his, a mating of lips and tongues that made him groan.

  “Okay, okay.” She laughed softly and stretched out on top of him. “I’ll take pity on you and let you sleep an hour or two.”

  He’d never had a woman want to touch him like this. He’d been carrying around the weight of all the deaths he’d claimed over the years, but with her weight over his heart, none of that seemed to matter.

  “Thank you,” she whispered against him.

  “I think I should be thanking you instead.”

  She propped her chin on her hand, braced on his chest. “The sex was fantastic, don’t get me wrong, but that’s not why I’m thanking you.”

  He searched her eyes, trying to figure out what she meant. She had a normal life. A normal family, though they’d been touched by the tragedy of her sister’s death. She excelled at her job and loved saving others. She was the baddest female agent he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting anywhere in the world. So what did she have to thank him for?

  “You get me, you know? You didn’t judge me for leading those borderline weirdos on and then kicking their asses. You let me kick your ass, then gave me the best sex of my life. You told me about your family and I know that wasn’t easy to share.”

  Nobody knew the things he’d told her. Not even his brother.

  “Silva has my back, whether in a brawl at a bar or a shoot-out on the street. He’d take a bullet for me, and I’d do the same for him, but he doesn’t get me. Not like you do, and I’ve only known you, what, a day? Hours?”

  He felt it too, that instant connection that came from sharing dark, horrible fears that no one else in the world could even comprehend. “I’d take a bullet for you too.”

  He didn’t expect her eyes to narrow. “I want you to promise me something.”

  “Sure, but I should warn you that I take promises very seriously.”

  “Good.” She rubbed her lips back and forth against his. “I want you to promise that you won’t die until I’m done with you.”

  He opened his mouth, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He deserved to die. If he was like his father, he wanted to die before it got that far.

  “You’re not your father, Vincent.”

  Staring up into her shining eyes, he swallowed hard. “I hope not.”

  “I want your word.”

  What would it be like to have her centering his entire life? If he had a promise that bound him to her? Even better if he had a promise of his own. “I promise not to die until you’re finished with me, as long as you shoot me in the head the moment you think I’m becoming a monster.”

  Her lips quirked and then she tucked her face up against his neck. “I can live with that.”

  He fought to keep his eyes open, because he didn’t want to miss a moment. In just a few hours, they’d be in danger again. Even worse than before. He had to protect her. He—

  “Rest,” she whispered, nuzzling her way up to his ear. “I’ll stand guard for you, Vincent.”

  Sleep rolled him under and he knew no more.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ranay

  Wandering around in a touristy shopping area was way down on my fun list but quite high on my hell no list. In fifteen minutes, I found a place where I could buy some decent underwear and a very tourist-appropriate shorts outfit to replace the comfortable pants Charlie had cut up. Gathering Sheba’s leash in my hand to keep her close, we stepped back outside into the sunny market. People everywhere. Talking, laughing, shopping, eating, even singing and dancing because a local band played on the far side of the square. Way too congested for me to find Charlie.

  He’d told me to give him at least thirty minutes while he met with someone. I wasn’t to leave the shopping area and, with Sheba on her service-animal halter, people should leave me alone. We had no reason to suspect that the FBI had tracked us to Nassau, or I’m sure he wouldn’t have left me, even to meet with this supersecret contact, but there was risk present. Vlasenko’s men could be out and about, though why they’d want to nab me—when they couldn’t know about us yet—with a big mean dog at hand, I had no idea.

  I suspected that Charlie was meeting with someone he didn’t want me to know about. Or someone he didn’t want to know about me.

  Of course that had my curiosity on full alert. I wanted to know. Would I be able to recognize the person later? Was this person dangerous to us? To Charlie? Then why would he meet with him alone? He had to be desperate for information, and that sent my pulse skyrocketing.

  It wasn’t in me to disobey
him. True punishment in that sense would devastate me. I’d rather die than disappoint him.

  It’d be especially stupid when we were possibly in danger. But if I finished early and just happened to find him... Would that be so bad?

  Of course finding him in this insane crush of tourists would be next to impossible.

  Sheba sat at my feet, looking up at me. Her ears twitched, as if she was listening to my thoughts and trying to figure out what I wanted. I rubbed her absently between the ears and looked around the marketplace. “I wish I could find our Master.”

  She leaped to her feet and took a step, then looked over her shoulder at me expectantly.

  I followed her. Find Master was definitely a command I’d have to remember for next time.

  Weaving through tables and pockets of people, Sheba would occasionally stop and lift her head, her nostrils wide open. Or she’d touch the ground with her muzzle, snorting loudly. I could almost hear her. He walked here. He brushed against this chair. He’s close.

  We reached the end of the square of booths and she started down a side alley. I drew up short and said, “No.” Immediately, she looked back at me. “I can’t leave the shopping area.”

  She whined, but came back and sat down at my feet. I leaned back against the building, enjoying the shade. I didn’t want to have to smear more sunscreen on my shoulders, because then I’d have to find a place to wash my hands. Sheba stood and paced a couple of steps, waiting for me. At least she didn’t try to leave the square this time, but passed the next two shops on the edge of the square. A wrought iron gate stood wide open, welcoming people to a shaded green park.

  And there he was, sitting at a small café table under a coffee shop awning.

  I squatted down and drew Sheba back to me. “Good girl,” I whispered, giving her a quick hug around the neck.