G-Men: The Series

by ANDREA SMITH

  “Good evening Darcy, Colin,” he nodded, setting his drink on the end of the bar.

  “Would you care for a drink or a glass of wine, Darcy?”

  “Wine would be fine, thank you.”

  “Scotch, Colin?”

  “On the rocks, please.”

  Well, that went smoothly.

  There were two love seats facing one another with a large, square cherry-wood table in the middle. The thick Aubusson rug underneath the furniture was 18th century. The grouping was arranged in front of the large, black marble fireplace that was lit. It was still chilly and damp this time of year in London; the crackling warmth of the fire was welcoming. I took a seat on one of the love seats, Colin sat down beside me.

  Easton took a seat across from us with his drink in one hand, his free arm resting against the back of the love seat.

  “So, the feedback I’ve received from Colin is that you’re progressing very well in your role. Are you finding your position challenging?”

  I squirmed a bit, pulling my dress down over my knees as his eyes continued to peruse me.

  “It’s been very satisfying. Colin’s been totally patient with me,” I replied, smiling over at him.

  “She’s being modest,” Colin replied, sipping his drink. “Darcy’s a natural for this role with significant growth potential. She’s a keeper.”

  I blushed at the compliment, trying to determine if there was some hidden meaning to it. Probably just me trying to read something into nothing.

  “I’m anxious to critique your presentation after dinner,” Easton replied.

  “I’m looking forward to your input,” I said, blushing at my own choice of words and watched as a smile graced his beautiful mouth.

  I wonder if Bianca ever blushed.

  I took a gulp of my wine, hoping it would start seeping in to calm my nerves. Just as I took another long drink to hurry along the process, Easton broke the silence.

  “What the hell have you done to your hair?” he blurted out angrily.

  I choked on my wine as soon as his words were out, and then segued into a coughing spell. Colin hurriedly set his drink on the table, moving towards me, his hand smacking my back roughly.

  “Really, Easton,” Colin said, clearly irritated, handing me a cocktail napkin. “Are you alright Darcy?” he asked. I nodded my head up and down, the hacking slowly subsided.

  “Well?” Easton asked, still waiting for my response.

  “I changed my hairstyle,” I retorted angrily. “So what?”

  “I don’t think it suits you,” he said in a tone that was just short of a snarl. “Not one bit.”

  “Well, I happen to like it,” I snapped back. “I think it suits…me.” I shot him an Oscar-worthy smile.

  Clearly, Colin was not comfortable with our exchange.”May I freshen your drink, Easton?” he asked, standing up.

  “Please,” Easton replied, holding up his empty glass, not taking his eyes off of me. Colin went to the bar out of direct earshot. Easton leaned forward, clasping his hands together.

  “I’d prefer you tone down your make-up as well. Tomorrow afternoon you’ll be representing Baronton-Sheridan at this meeting, not Victoria’s Secret. Your appearance must speak professionalism in a more conservative way.” His gaze was ripping right through me.

  “I assure you, I understand appropriate attire. Your critique should be directed toward the presentation I’ve put together. I can handle my appearance; I promise you,” I replied stiffly. This wasn’t going well. I wanted to jump down his throat, but he was the boss and in this situation, that was simply not an option.

  “See that it’s handled then,” he responded, taking the drink Colin handed him.

  I couldn’t recall whether dinner was good or not. It was just something I managed to get through, rather uncomfortably. I noticed Easton was putting away some alcohol this evening, which was something I hadn’t observed previously, in between tossing glares across the table at me.

  Finally, it was time for my presentation. I was ushered into a study off of the main hall that was more like a conference room with all of the media set up, ready to go. Colin clicked a button on a remote and the 19th century oil painting of Scottish moors slid away, revealing the projection screen. He clicked another button and my title page of the presentation illuminated the screen.

  Easton was perched at the other end of the long table, leaning back in the black leather chair, one foot propped up on the seat of the chair next to him, his hands clasped behind his head. He had removed his suit jacket, loosened his tie and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to just beneath his elbows. He glanced at his watch, nodding for me to begin.

  I commenced my presentation, making sure to throw in some overly enthusiastic model-sashays, as I used the laser pointer very generously when bringing attention to certain elements on the slides. Easton was clearly onto me, because not even five minutes into it, he very loudly and very rudely interrupted.

  “No, no, Darcy,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s too hurried. You haven’t put nearly enough build-up into the potential of this new, cutting edge, tracking software prior to introducing it to your audience. The audience needs to be on the edge of their seats before the slide where you announce ‘Night Moves.’ Didn’t you consider it important for them to know there’s nothing out there remotely similar? What about the fact that it’s been under development for nearly five years? You’ve shown no stats for the beta testing that was conducted. And, what’s with all the flailing of your arms when showing the slides? Your audience is not interested in seeing what’s behind Door #3 here. This is a technical sales pitch, not a fucking game show.”

  Colin spoke up in my defense. “Easton, you were provided electronic copy of the slide presentation days ago. We even discussed it on the phone before Darcy and I made the trip here. You didn’t say anything about having issues with it until now.”

  Easton ran his hands through his dark hair, clearly agitated. I took comfort in the fact that this probably had nothing to do with my presentation at all, but rather the way I kept baiting him.

  He rubbed his eyes then looked up. “Colin, you go ahead and take off. Spend tomorrow and the weekend with Veronica, you’ve earned it. I’ll work with Darcy tonight to get this problem fixed. I’ll go with her to the presentation tomorrow afternoon and, if I don’t feel she’s adequately prepped, then I’ll present. You deserve a few days off, take them.”

  Colin looked back and forth between us. He seemed reluctant to leave me in the hands of a very irritated Easton.

  “If you’re sure,” he said.

  “I am. Send my regards to Veronica.”

  Colin nodded, wished me a good-night and left.

  “Now Ms. Sheridan, let’s get busy. We’ve work to do here.”

  chapter 24

  As it turned out, my presentation wasn’t nearly the disaster Easton had implied. We spent about two hours rearranging the order of the slides and created a couple more up front to draw out the anticipation of the long-awaited ‘Night Moves’ tracking technology. It was trademarked as “tomorrow’s tracking technology—TODAY!”

  Pom-poms not included!

  I’d never been so glad to distance myself from Easton as I was an hour ago when he finally agreed the presentation was ready. I mumbled an obligatory ‘good-night’ and headed up the grand staircase to my suite. I showered quickly, scrubbing off all of the eye make-up which he’d clearly detested. Crawling under the warm covers of the Victorian canopy bed felt like heaven. I was totally exhausted. Thankfully, I could sleep late, since our appointment wasn’t until 2:30 p.m. tomorrow.

  I’d been asleep for a while when I felt his hands on me. At first, I thought I was dreaming, until I felt his breath on the back of my neck. His hands were on my hips, gently massaging them as I slept on my side. His torso was pressed up against me. I felt his rock-hard erection. My body tingled in pleasure, until I came fully awake, realizing
my mistake was allowing him to continue.

  I sat up abruptly.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed. The light filtering in from the lamp I’d left on in the sitting room shed enough light so that I could see him. He was disheveled, but that only served to make him more appealing, for some odd reason. He needed a shave. His hair was tousled and his eyes were shuttered.

  “You’re drunk,” I said immediately. I’d never seen Easton like this. “Do you need help finding your suite?”

  “I’m right where I want to be, love,” he said, inching closer to me. “And I’m right where you want me to be as well.”

  “That’s your opinion, love.” I began to move away. “Geez…have another drink, Easton.”

  With a quick panther-like movement, Easton lifted me from the edge of the bed, tossing me roughly onto my back in the center, straddling me. He pinned my arms above me, quickly clamping handcuffs around my wrists, attaching them to the spindled headboard. I was going nowhere.

  “I’ll scream,” I quietly warned. He wasn’t even touching me, save for my lower body, which he was straddling. Easton’s chest was right above mine, his hands resting on the mattress on each side of me; his mouth was too close to mine and not close enough.

  “You won’t,” he quietly replied, as we shared the same breath. His eyes were an almost hurricane gray, lit up with both challenge and dimming disappointment.

  I opened my mouth to scream, to ask him what was wrong, to bite him, to kiss him, to tell him to fuck off, to ask him why he ever left. But all of that was lost when I felt his lips touch mine.

  Just his lips. It was almost a phantom kiss, his lips barely touching mine, quietly making up their mind. My quick inhale must not have gone unnoticed, because he quickly took my bottom lip between his teeth and began a slow, hard suck on it. My body turned traitor as it bowed up to his, and my mouth was already raising the white flag as it tried to deepen the kiss. But he wasn’t having any of it. He just kept kissing me softly, like some sort of punishment, softly nipping at the corners where I keep my smiles, wrecking me.

  I could feel his breath speeding up, unveiling his self-control. Still, he wasn’t giving in. I let out a frustrated moan, rocking my hips against his.

  “Stop that,” he told me sternly between kisses.

  “Easton,” I pleaded, again rocking my hips against the heavy weight of his.

  “No.” He gave me a hard nip, drawing out my bottom lip once again, sucking on it to the point of pain. “You want to play games?”

  Oh…shit.

  “Let’s play.” He lifted his body completely off of mine. Stepping away from the bed, he turned back to me and began to lift his partially unbuttoned shirt up and over his head. I couldn’t help but watch his muscles stretch and flex with the movement.

  He was barefoot and shirtless as he leisurely walked over to the side of the bed. I tested the handcuffs as I watched him slowly reach for the bottom of my silk, black nightie. He lifted it teasingly, making sure the pads of his talented fingers gently scraped against the skin of my thighs as he did so.

  Another betraying groan stumbled from my lips as I felt him cup my panty-clad pussy, his eyes at half-mast as I felt his middle finger trace my cleft.

  “Still want to scream, love?” he asked, as I felt that finger lazily masturbate me.

  “Yes,” I let out ragged breath, shooting him a hard glare.

  “But you’re so wet, Darcy,” he told me, his eyes on where his hand was, watching my hips subtly lift and fall to his momentum. Easton looked up at me, giving a pirate’s grin, “Or am I to call you Bianca this evening?”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck.

  He slowed his finger down, lightening it to a feather-like touch. “Tell me something…” His eyes again on the bunched up silk around my hips, “Were you trying to make me angry tonight? Trying to get back at me, perhaps, for not indulging you in on a lie that you had no business knowing?”

  I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I’d never seen him so intense. I remained silent.

  I was so fucking stupid. What did I think would happen when I showed up prancing around apparently like a ghost of his past? Did I honestly think he’d just laugh it off, slap me on the back, and offer me a beverage as we went through my presentation, like the professionals we were pretending to be?

  I was too busy thinking about what Eli had said and that he was so fucking right when I felt Easton’s hands suddenly on my breasts.

  I watched as he tore where the bodice met the straps, lowering them below my nipples. I closed my eyes, swallowing another moan of frustrated pleasure as he began to roughly knead my now-sensitive breasts, apparently making up for his too-light touches from before.

  When I managed to open my eyes, I watched as his head slowly made its way to where his hands were. Almost like he couldn’t help himself. I think that’s what undid me the most, because I let in a sharp breath. He gave me a soft, dark laugh at the sound…Right before covering a nipple with his mouth, and sucking hard on the tip as he used the palm of his other hand to stimulate the other. I felt his teeth pulling on my nipple as he raised his head and looked up at me.

  “I just wished I knew you were into role-play, Darcy.” His hand continued its pleasurable assault on my other breast.

  I gasped. “What’s your fucking point?”

  “The point,” he whispered sinisterly, “is that you’ll get to finish out the day with your audience asking for an encore performance.”

  He pushed a little voice into his whisper, giving it an almost mellifluous, lyrical sound, “I’m going to fuck you like I would Bianca. I’m going to speak to you like you are Bianca. And I’m going to use you like I would Bianca.”

  I felt his lips on the spot right below my ear. “Are you frightened, love?”

  “No.” I’d made my decision the moment I sat in the hairstylist’s chair. Go big or go home. Besides, I knew down to my toes that this man would never really hurt me. My heart, yes. My body? No.

  Easton took a step back, quickly perusing my body, stopping momentarily on where my dress was torn, and then stopping to study my face.

  I raised my chin defiantly. “Do it.” I challenged him.

  He looked back at me, in wonder…an easy smile resting on his lips. Something flashed in his eyes as he continued studying me, and before he was aware of it, I saw a vague and saddened disappointment reflect through his eyelashes. Before I could think too much about it, he quickly replaced it with a smirk.

  “My pleasure, Bianca,” he said, turning his back to me and making his way to the dresser.

  “You’ve displeased me today, Bianca.” I watched as Easton opened one of the drawers and took out two pieces of long, white fabric. “And I will punish you.”

  Were those always in there?

  He took one of my ankles, and I obliged. It was almost sickening that I could feel myself getting wetter, even though I knew it wasn’t me he was seeing anymore. He looped the fabric around my ankles, making quick work of a knot, binding me. He did the same with my other ankle. Finished, he made sure the knots were tight enough to the point where I couldn’t go anywhere, but not to the point where they were uncomfortable. He assessed the handcuffs that were now beginning to tire my arms.

  “Comfy?” Easton asked provocatively, his British accent stronger now.

  Not waiting for my answer, he deftly unfastened his pants and I watched his hard, solid cock slip out and up. He then threw the pants hard into the darkness, somewhere the light from the bedside lamp didn’t quite reach. He crawled up on the bed, straddling me, reaching up and shredding what was left of my nightwear down the middle and tossing that away, too.

  “Christ, you’re beautiful.”

  I held still, waiting for him to conclude that sentence with the name ‘Bianca.’ I mean, it was meant for her, wasn’t it? I felt him take my nipple into his mouth once again.

  Maybe I just hadn’t heard it.

&
nbsp; I moaned, arching my back. God, his tongue was so fucking talented. He used one hand to plump up my breast, and the other made its way up my arms and rested on the shackle one of my hands was imprisoned by.

  “I love seeing you like this,” he said, nipping on the underside of my breast. “I always loved tying you up, Bianca. And watching the way your body responded to my every touch.”

  His hands and mouth left my body as he sat up, glaring at me menacingly. He made quick work of my panties, and I waited for him to throw those to the side too.

  But Easton didn’t do that. I observed as he raised my light blue panties up to my mouth.

  “Taste yourself,” he ordered.

  I had never…

  Waiting for me to raise my mouth to meet the slightly soaked cotton, I obliged. I looked down at him as I sucked on my own heady dampness. His eyes were darkened to an almost light black now. He slowly took them away from my tongue, balling them up in his palm.

  That’s when I felt his cock rub at my pussy teasingly. I didn’t see him put on any sort of condom he always made sure to use. But that thought quickly disappeared as I felt warmed metal causing swift friction against my clit.

  Oh. My. God.

  I was panting now, meeting every shallow thrust his hips were making.

  “I never rode you like this, Bianca…” He breathed. “Mmmm…you’ll have to tell me what it feels like.” And with that, he buried himself in me with one quick thrust, all the way to his hilt.

  “Easton!” I gasped. My head turning to the side, as I bit my lip on a savage moan of intense pleasure.

  “Christ,” he moaned, pulling back. “Your pussy’s always so hungry.”

  Easton began his next thrust, only taking it halfway. He pulled back again, rubbing that delicious piercing against my clit.

  “Please, Easton…”

  “No, Bianca.” He looked up at me through hooded eyelids. “This isn’t for you.”

  Wait…does that mean…?

  “It’s for me,” he said, pouring gasoline over any stupid hope I had.

  Easton then showed me a series of thrusts that I was beginning to understand were some kind of pattern. He’d make several shallow thrusts, hitting my clit each time, slowly shattering me. Then he would use one hard thrust that would have me pulling against the restraints, wanting to dig my fingernails into his back in true female gratification.