ALTERED BY FIRE: UNDERCOVER SINNERS BOOK 1

by James Tate

  "I seriously did not expect you to come up here," he whispers, his face close to mine. and I swallow hard. My eyes close, and I breathe in the sweaty, musky male scent hanging in the air. When I flick them open, he's looking right at me.

  "Then you don't know me very well," I inform him in a husky, sexy whisper. He grins.

  "I don't know you at all—just the way I like it." Colt leans in and presses a hard, hot kiss to my lips, sending ripples of pleasure rolling through my body like a storm. His tongue swirls expertly in my mouth, just the right amount of pressure as it tangles with my own. Before I even realize what he’s doing, he’s slipping my robes down my shoulders. "God, I hate that coffee," he groans after a moment, and I balk, slapping him in the shoulder like I actually know the guy. He has one of those dangerous personalities that tricks everyone he meets into thinking they know and like him.

  "You suck," I murmur, wrapping my arms around his muscular neck and tilting my head back so he can deepen the kiss. He puts his big hands on my hips and turns me, sending us stumbling over to the narrow single bed with my robes all tangled around my waist.

  We land with him on top, crushing me into the small, shitty mattress and making me moan like a wanton hussy as his cloth-covered erection rubs against my naked pussy.

  "You taste so damn good," he whispers as my fingers fist in his hair. Colt reaches down and unbuttons his jeans, freeing his shaft and rubbing it between my folds. "Shit, condom," he mutters, taking one out of his pocket—seriously bad sign when a guy carries them around in his pockets—sitting up slightly and tearing the package open with a curse.

  Groaning, I arch my hips against him and he slips in slightly—just the tip but holy hell, it feels good. Good enough that I’m tempted to tell him to hell with the condom, but fear of pregnancy and STDs stills my mouth.

  "Hurry up," I breathe as he pulls away from me, more colorful curses spilling past his lips as he unrolls the condom down the length of his shaft and then repositions himself on top of me.

  "You ready for this, babe?" he growls as I buck my hips up and encourage him to thrust me into me. With a groan, Colt pumps his hips and fills me completely, bringing tears to my eyes.

  Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

  He feels so damn good, moving with fast but unhurried motions. It isn't going to take long to get off with this guy; my orgasm is already building like a tsunami.

  The door slams open, interrupting our impromptu fuck, and there’s Hawke. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, covered in guns and knives, he looks like some sort of super-agent porcupine. A scowling, angry super-agent porcupine.

  "Get. Off. Her." He grinds the words out through gritted teeth as Colt and I stare at him in stunned surprise. "That's an order."

  "Come on Boss, this is personal business!" Colt growls, but his leader is already stalking across the floor and grabbing him by the arm, yanking him off and out of me and tossing him aside. Colt slams into the desk in the corner and falls to the floor. Tucking his junk away—including the condom—he rises to his feet and rushes Hawke, tackling him. But the man is solid muscle and doesn't budge for shit.

  Sitting up, I yank the baggy nun’s habit down and watch in horrified fascination as Hawke systemically disables and crushes Colt to the ground, sitting on his back with a single knee.

  "You're acting a fucking fool," he tells Colt. "Now say I'm sorry, sir and get the fuck out."

  "Screw you, sir, you’re not playing fair," Colt snarls, thrashing around and failing to dislodge his leader. After a while—honestly a long while—he gives up and deflates like a kicked puppy. "Ugh, fine! I'm sorry, sir."

  "Go," Hawke says, releasing Colt and standing back up. The sandy-haired man gives one last glance over his shoulder, teeth gritted in anger, before stalking out and slamming the door behind him. "You," Hawke growls, moving over to the edge of the bed and looking down at me. "Are you trying to cause trouble here?"

  "We're both adults," I declare, hating how husky my voice is, how hot and bothered I am by the display of male aggression in front of me. It’s as if they’re fighting over me, like I’m some sort of prize to be won. I love it. I fucking love it. "We have every right to fuck."

  "Colt is a member of my team and therefore, he belongs to me. He’s my property, and he can’t do a damn thing without my consent." Hawke's eyes gleam dangerously. "And you’re the daughter of the man we've been hired to kill. Therefore, that makes you a part of this mission. And if you're a part of this mission, you're also mine."

  "Screw you," I whisper, but my nipples are peaked and my tongue is running across my lower lip. I'm way more into this than I should be. Hawke is everything right now. Male dominance at its best.

  "Only if you’re a good girl," he says with a smirk, kneeling on the edge of the bed between my slightly spread legs. He stares at me like he thinks I'll be as easy to break as Colt. "Is that what you want, Natalia? To screw me?"

  "What gave you that crazy idea?" I choke out, but really … the answer is yes. A yes as loud and resounding as the church bells clanging up above our heads. I want him so badly it almost hurts.

  Hawke doesn't respond to my rhetorical question, but leans closer, planting a hand beside my head.

  "What …" My question trails off, and I need to swallow and wet my lips before I can continue. "What are you doing, Hawke?"

  "Do you do this often, Miss Petrova?" he asks me in a voice like velvet as his lips brush my ear. Jolts of pleasure shoot through me at that light touch, and I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood.

  "Do what? Fuck a fake priest?" I ask, and Hawke chuckles.

  "Ask stupid questions." He sits back on his knees, and I whimper at the sudden loss of warmth from his body. Giving me a long, calculating look, Hawke runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and I shiver.

  Christ, he’s sexy.

  Biting my lip again to keep from asking another stupid question, I wait to see what his next move is going to be. I’m praying it'll be to fuck me. Colt got me more than worked up, and if Hawke isn’t going to finish the job, then I'll have to do it myself.

  "Turn over," he commands me, and my eyes widen. Not with fear. With excitement. Quickly, I do as I'm told, and feel his broad hands grip my waist, lifting me up until I'm on my knees. "Face on the pillow," he corrects when I try to reposition my weight onto my hands. His hand grasps my hair, and shoves my face down onto the pillow where he wants it.

  Suddenly, with my cheek pressing into the fabric and my naked rear-end high in the air, I'm struck by how exposed and vulnerable I am. It only serves to heighten my excitement though, not diminish it, and I can't stop myself from wiggling my ass in encouragement.

  "Jesus," Hawke mutters, running his rough palms over the skin of my butt and squeezing. Hard. Hard enough to make me yelp. "You're just begging for it, aren't you Miss Petrova? Just look at how wet you are." His thick fingers trail over my heated core, and I moan into the pillow.

  That brief penetration from Colt has me all kinds of worked-up, and I’m not above begging. In the bedroom, at least. I'd never, ever beg in a non-sexual situation; it just isn’t how I was raised.

  "Please," I gasp out, and one of Hawke's long fingers slips inside me, teasing me.

  "Please, what?" he asks, adding a second finger and slowly pumping into my dripping slit.

  "Please, Hawke," I groan, desperate to lose myself—and my emotions—in a barrage of sexual pleasure. "Please finish what Colt started. Fuck me. I'm begging you."

  "Well, when you ask so nicely …" His fingers withdraw from me, and I hear the distinctive sound of his belt buckle opening, followed by the crinkle of a condom wrapper.

  "Come on," I demand, impatient as ever. I was raised the sort of girl who doesn’t like to wait for things, and that sometimes bleeds over into my sex life. Much to my previous lovers’ annoyances.

  "Natalia, you are not in control here," Hawke informs me in a dangerous sounding voice. All the same, I feel the warmth of his cock press agains
t my cunt, and I sigh with anticipation. "I am the leader of this team, and you are our prisoner for the foreseeable future." He leans forward, wrapping my long hair around his fist in a tight grip and tugging firmly. "Is that perfectly clear, Miss Petrova?"

  Practically panting with need, I whimper out my response. "Yes, crystal clear, sir."

  "Excellent." He purrs his approval, using his free hand to guide his cock a little further inside my aching core. "Now, Weston is about to begin Sunday Mass, and I want him to hear you scream. Can you do that for me, pet?"

  "Uh-huh," I moan, feeling the delicious slide of his cock inside me. He's thicker than Colt, but I'm already so wet it isn't an issue. Once he reaches his limit, his pelvis flush with my ass, he grips my hair tighter and pulls my head back at an angle that’s just this side of painful.

  Or maybe it’s just the other side. The lines are always a bit blurry for me, but either way I fucking love it.

  "Good, I want to hear what those lungs are made of," he grunts, then begins to move inside me with hard, dominating strokes, dragging sounds from my throat that could rival any professional porn star.

  "Louder," he commands, cracking his free hand down on my ass cheek and this time really making me scream. It hurts. Like, way more than the light spanking I'd had to practically bribe Kisten into giving me in the past. No, Hawke is a man who knows how to hurt someone, so this is a whole different ball game.

  A game I look forward to mastering.

  "You like that, don't you, pet?" Hawke pants as my cunt clenches his dick in a vice-like grip. "You like that little edge of pain with your pleasure, I can feel it." His hand cracks down again, sending a sharp sting through me, making me tense and then moan with ecstasy as the stinging fades to warmth. His punishing rhythm slows as my muscles tighten around him again, making it hard for him to move.

  But like he just told me: I'm not in control. He is.

  His hand comes down again, and my scream is loud enough to shake the crucifix above the bed. Or perhaps that’s from the rough pounding of Hawke’s hips against my ass. Either way, when the pain fades, I'm nothing but a panting, moaning mess, begging for more.

  "Hawke," I gasp, pushing back onto his cock as his fingers grip a handful of tender flesh tightly. His other fist is still tightly wound in my hair, holding my head up at an angle that just permits me a view of the Virgin Mary statue on the bedside table. "I'm going to come."

  My rampant sex life is not coincidental. I'm one of those lucky bitches that finds orgasming easy, even without any clitoral stimulation. Not that I'm ever against the extra attention.

  "Make it loud." He growls the command, and I'm all too happy to comply. The fact that he wants Weston to hear us, while he's playing the role of priest … it's fucking hot as hell.

  Prisoner or not, I'm in Heaven.

  My screams echo through the little room, but Hawke doesn't release me. Not until he finishes himself some moments later with a roar and several bruisingly hard thrusts so deep inside me I can feel him hit my cervix.

  When he does finally release my hair, I collapse onto the mattress in boneless exhaustion. Hawke's withdrawal from my body leaves me feeling chilled, and I roll over to watch as he snaps the used condom off and flicks it into a trash can.

  I can't help it; as I watch him handling his still semi-erect dick, I lick my lips.

  "Natalia Petrova, you're going to be trouble around here, aren't you?" he growls, watching my mouth with hunger but deliberately tucking his cock back into his pants, then doing them up.

  "I sure hope so," I breathe, still lightheaded from that seriously thorough fuck. "Isn't that what all prisoners are supposed to be? Trouble?"

  Hawke narrows his eyes at me, but he can't hide his interest. "Prisoners are also supposed to be tied up." He pauses and gives me a pointed look. "I'm heading out," he tells me, as if his Kevlar armor and multiple guns didn't give that away.

  Holy shit, he just fucked me while wearing at least three guns, that I can see. I didn't think I could be more turned-on by the whole situation, but he’s proving me wrong.

  "What am I supposed to do?" I ask, biting my lip. All jokes aside, the reality of the situation is that I am their prisoner. A polite one, and not under any particular duress … yet … still not free to leave.

  He raises an eyebrow at me with his hand on the doorknob. "Relax. Get to know my team. We’ll begin your training when I'm back tomorrow." Opening the door, he takes a step out then pauses and turns back to me. "Oh, and steer clear of Arsen. He's a dangerous fuck, and I'd hate to see you get hurt."

  "Unless it's by you?" I reply with a sly grin and his eyes narrow.

  "Different kind of hurt," he says with a dangerous voice, then turns and leaves without another word.

  For a long time, I lie there on Colt's lumpy single mattress, my naked cunt exposed and aching as I stare at the ceiling. The way Hawke gave that warning reminded me of Arsen cornering me in the bathroom. He'd said then that his team was afraid he'd kill me.

  I should be afraid. Terrified. So why does it only seem to arouse me?

  Chapter 5

  NATALIA

  Once the sound of Hawke's footsteps fades away, I find a bathroom to clean myself up a bit before exploring the building. From what I can tell, it's an add-on at the back of the main church. It has sparse, utilitarian bedrooms with single beds in them and crucifixes on the walls, a small kitchen where I tried to make coffee, and that's about it.

  Hunting through the fridge for something to eat, I can hear the chorus of voices coming from the main church where, presumably, Weston is holding mass.

  Huh. They’re really taking this whole priest thing seriously.

  Then again, it'd be pretty suspicious if they just cancelled all church services when they moved in. Which begs the question: where are the real priests?

  Without really noticing what I'm doing, I drift over to a door which I assume might lead outside. Just as my fingers touch the doorknob, a heavy hand closes over my shoulder, and I jump in fright.

  "Going somewhere, Natalia?" Mace rumbles, and my breath catches as the sound seems to reverberate through me.

  Speechless, I shake my head, hoping my wide eyes convey the idea that I hadn't been about to make a run for it. I truly hadn't, I don't think. Prisoner or not, this has to be safer than risking it on my own, or worse … returning home.

  "Good." He gives me a small smile that reaches all the way to his eyes, before holding up a bunch of shopping bags clenched in his huge fist. "I grabbed you some clothes from the shop down the street. We figured it probably wasn't safe for you to go home to get your own things, and as good as you do look in a nun’s habit …”

  "It's maybe not the most appropriate attire?" I finish for him, and chuckle. My voice sounds breathy and needy, so I clear my throat to try and get it under control.

  Mace shrugs one massive shoulder and hands me the bags. "Just figured you might be more comfortable. This mission could take a few weeks."

  This causes my jaw to drop. "You mean to keep me here for weeks? I thought it'd maybe be like a couple of days or whatever. You finish whatever job you're doing, then you move on, and I'm free to go?"

  "Weeks, yeah." Mace scratches thoughtfully at his stubbled chin. "If not longer. Of course that depends on the mission."

  I peer inside the bags then narrow my eyes at him. "You're not FBI, are you?" Colt and Weston hadn't actually answered me when I'd asked this earlier, and it's pretty obvious, but I want an answer anyway.

  Mace stares back at me for a long moment before replying. "No, sweetheart. We're something with considerably less rules. You'd do wise to tread carefully."

  A shiver of fear runs through me, but I can't stop myself from asking more questions. Potentially life-threatening questions, but I'm already their prisoner so why not?

  "Are you planning on killing my father? Hawke said something about being hired to kill him, but that could have just been like, a metaphor?" My words fall from my mouth li
ke rocks, and I cringe when I hear them aloud. I sound stupid. Like a stupid, sheltered mob princess.

  "Would that upset you?" Mace replies quietly, watching me with a gaze so intense it seems like he can see right into my soul. Like he’s stripping me bare with just his eyes.

  I shudder again, then surprise myself by the honesty in my answer. "No."

  My father, I've recently learned, is a cruel, unscrupulous man, and he deserves everything he has coming to him. Of that, I have no doubts. What surprises me is the lack of, well, any emotion when Mace speaks of my father’s impending death. Because that’s clearly what they've come for.

  "Will you help us, then?" he continues, raking those intense eyes over my face, but I shake my head firmly.

  "No. I won't help. I won't stand in your way, but you don't understand who you're dealing with. If you fail, like so, so many before you have, and then my father learns I helped you …" A third time, my body shakes with a shudder. "No, I'm sorry, and I wish you luck, but this is suicide."

  Mace grunts noncommittally and then looks me over with a small sigh.

  "You are skinny as fuck," he says, taking note of my tiny waist and thin wrists. More than one man in the past has made the mistake of thinking that means I'm weak. Far from it. There's so much more to conflict than physical strength; that's just one aspect. One aspect I wish I had, but still. "What the hell do you eat? Salad and croutons?"

  A laugh bubbles past my lips as I run both hands down my face.

  "Salad? I only wish I were that healthy. No, vodka and cocaine for dinner and breakfast. After breakfast, I'm usually passed out through lunch so …" I shrug again and cross my arms over my breasts, drawing Mace's attention to the full mounds. I'm lucky I have boobs at all, considering the rest of me is skin and bones.

  "Are you hungry?" he asks, tilting his head to one side. The man is an utter monster. One of the biggest dudes I've ever seen, and I've been around a few thousand self-proclaimed badasses in my time. This guy, though, I have to remember how gently he held my naked, weeping form in the bathroom. There's something special about this one.