rubbingitout_GEN

by Lexxie Couper

  “Lincoln?”

  “Hmmm?” He trailed his fingers over her thigh and kissed the top of her head.

  “Will you make love to me again?”

  For an answer, he traveled his fingers to the junction of her thighs and found her clit.

  The morning sun streamed through the window by the time they’d finished. They showered together again, Lincoln washing her hair as she told him stories of what she and Bebe had been getting up to in the last year.

  “The time we broke into the chicken farm outside Forrestdale turned out to be a lot crazier than we’d planned.”

  “Why?”

  “We were busted as we were cutting through the lock to the second row of cages.” She closed her eyes and leant back into his body. God, this was nice. “The security guard even pulled his gun.”

  “Security?” Lincoln’s hands stilled in her sudsy hair. His body did the same against her back. “Gun?”

  She chuckled, wriggling her butt against his groin. “Don’t stress. Bebe flashed her boobs at him and he dropped it.”

  “She what?”

  “She dated him for a month after.”

  He spun her around to face him. “Are you serious?”

  “He was kinda cute. If a little bit clueless. Bebe decided a month into the relationship she actually wanted to have a conversation with whoever she was screwing at the time, and poor Blake just didn’t cut it in that department.”

  He scrunched up his face and shook his head. “We’re heading back to Perth ASAP. Clearly I need to have a few words with my sister.”

  Smoothing her hands up his wet chest, she grinned. “ASAP? And when’s that?”

  He snared her hips and hauled her to his body. His cock—well on its way to being a full-on erection—rubbed against her lower belly. “As soon as I know we’re good to go.”

  “You mean as soon as you’re not worried about your former bosses?”

  He nodded.

  “And how will you know that?” Damn, he knew how to knead a girl’s arse cheeks. “The mysterious Snyder?”

  “The mysterious Snyder.” His lips curled. “Now shut up so I can fuck you senseless, okay?”

  Rising up onto her tiptoes, she ground the hood of her clit to the rigid length of his hard-on and fisted her hands in his wet hair. “Shutting up.”

  Chapter 9

  They ordered in pizza that afternoon and spent the rest of the day curled up on the sofa, watching television. He spent a good fifteen minutes trying to convince her Tom Cruise was a good actor before he gave up. Clearly her generation had no taste.

  She goaded him into letting her corn-row his hair while they watched Risky Business. He paid her back by refusing to let her come until his say-so when they made love after the credits rolled.

  The next day they did the same, minus the Tom Cruise discourse and hairdressing session. Just lots of relaxing together, checking out whatever was on the telly, and long hours of losing themselves in each other’s bodies.

  The day after, they discovered they both loved Ice Road Truckers, and learned neither liked Bill Maher when his show came on that night.

  Turning the TV off, he dragged her back to bed, brought her to climax three time with his tongue, before covering his cock with a condom, sliding into her tight heat, and making her come again.

  He’d called his uni-student caretaker while she’d showered the next morning and had him deliver a box of groceries. Enough to last the week. Who knew how long they would continue to be holed up here.

  A lifetime?

  The thought was both enticing and unsettling. Spending the rest of his life with Niki would be a dream, one he’d never allowed himself to consider. And yet, every minute with him was potentially putting her in danger. Until he heard from Pete, he was on edge.

  He vowed to keep his agitation under control, even if he had to make love to Niki every hour on the hour.

  Grinning at the notion, he flicked her a quick look.

  She stood at the kitchen counter, making them tea. Lunch had been interrupted when he’d decided he couldn’t stand the thought of her wearing clothes anymore and had stripped her naked.

  She’d laughed out a protest the whole time, although he hadn’t been able to miss how quickly she’d removed his clothes as well.

  Now he was clearing up the dishes as she poured freshly boiled water into the teapot.

  Christ, I could die in this perfect moment and be happy.

  He smiled. It was perfect. Domestic and calm and peaceful. Everything he’d spent his adult life avoiding. Everything he’d spent his adult life fighting to maintain for millions of unknowing Australian.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  Shaking his head, he cupped the side of her face in his palm and brushed a kiss over her lips. “Us. Fate. How we never know what’s going to happen in our lives until it’s happening.”

  “That’s part of the adventure, isn’t it? The not knowing?”

  He chuckled. “True. Although I wished I’d known how incredible life with you could be. I would’ve thrown myself into it years ago.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “I’ve been trying to convince you of that very thing for a while now. The next time you want to argue with me about something I know, try not to fake your own death, okay?”

  “Deal.”

  He kissed her again. And made love to her again.

  Screw the tea.

  An hour later, as Niki searched through the television channels for a movie they could debate over, he went outside to check the mailbox.

  Since they’d arrived, it had remained empty. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. When Pete discovered what the agency was planning to do about Niki knowing he was alive, he would contact their old handler—now retired and walking dogs for a living—who would contact Ruckus, who would then leave Pete’s message, written in code.

  For the last three days, no message.

  Today was their fourth day being off the grid. It wasn’t like Pete to take so long to find out this kind of intel. The next time Lincoln spoke to his old partner, he was going to give him a hard time.

  Enjoying the heat of the late-afternoon sun on his bare face and arms, he stopped at the letter box and emptied it.

  Normal junk mail, two You’re A Winner!!! envelopes, complete with multiple exclamation marks…and a rock.

  He rolled it in his hand and scanned the immediate area. No cars parked on the quiet residential street. The distant sounds of kids playing, laughing, tugged at something deep inside him.

  Kids.

  An image of a little girl with fair hair and big blue eyes gazing up at him filled his head.

  “Fuck.” He dragged a hand through his hair. The last thing he should be considering is a life with kids in it—his and Niki’s kids. With the shit he’d seen during his time with the agency, with the horrific atrocities he knew were committed daily out in the world, he’d shut out any notion of being a father.

  A little boy joined the girl in his head. Both gazed up at him with Niki’s eyes…

  “Fuck a bloody duck,” he muttered. The last thing he needed was to get distracted by some nebulous fantasy.

  And yet, that same thing the sound of kids laughing had tugged at seconds ago now bloomed into a different thing, a thing of possibilities and contentment.

  Hope?

  Dropping his head, he studied the rock in his hand. And frowned.

  Were those small marks scratched into the rough surface?

  His heart thump into his throat. Yep.

  He scanned the street again—still not a car or person in sight—and then ran his finger over the scratching. He recognized the pattern. Crowley was well versed in it.

  A secret cypher only one other person knew—Synder.

  His chest tightened. Had Pete left the rock?

  No, he didn’t know about the safe house. Perhaps he’d given it to their old handler, who’d given it to Ruckus.

  Letting out a
ragged breath, he rolled the rock in his hand again. “Damn it.” Regardless of how it had come to be in the letter box, it was bad news. If Pete was contacting him this way, it meant the agency was pissed.

  Grinding his teeth, an uneasy itch between his shoulder blades, he deciphered the scratch marks: Hyde Park. Bridge. 1300.

  One p.m.

  He shot his watch a look. “Crap.”

  It would take him forty minutes to get to the park in the Sydney CBD, and it was already 12:30.

  Shoving the rock into his pocket, he hurried back inside.

  “I’m thinking,” Niki said from the sofa, her focus on the television screen, “we should watch—”

  “I have to go.”

  She blinked, and then frowned as he strode over to her and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. “What do you mean, go?”

  “Pete got in contact.”

  “Pete?”

  “Snyder.”

  “Ah, the mysterious Snyder. Should I be jealous?”

  Despite himself, he laughed. “I like the way you look naked more.”

  “You’ve seen him naked?” She folded her arms over her breasts and arched an eyebrow. “Now I really am curious.”

  He shook his head. “Babe, you really don’t want to know.”

  She studied him, and then nodded. “Okay. Have fun. Do I need to be prepared to flee the country when you get back?”

  His heart clenched at the fact she was making light of the situation. She was perfect for him. Could roll with whatever he threw at her, could laugh when most people would crumble.

  He grinned. “Even been to Cuba?”

  She snorted. “The most exotic place I’ve been to is Bali, and the last time I was there I got crash-tackled by a secret agent just as I was about to smash the head of an Australian diplomat.” Her lips twitched. “Remember?”

  How could he ever forget? “I’ll be back ASAP.”

  “’Kay.”

  He hurried into the bedroom, pulled on a shirt, shoes, and slipped his telescopic baton into his jacket pocket.

  “Should I be worried?”

  Niki’s soft voice at the bedroom door tightened his chest.

  Cupping her face in his hand, he kissed her. “No. Pete’s just giving me some intel.”

  “Then what’s with the scary stick?”

  He forced out a relaxed chuckle. “Have you seen the pigeons in Sydney lately?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He kissed her again, time pressing on him like an anvil. “I’ll be back.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  He’d just pulled open the door leading to the garage when she called, “Naked.”

  He laughed.

  “Touching myself,” she yelled.

  Fuck, he really did love her.

  * * * *

  How long?

  How long would the snake be gone?

  Long enough?

  What were the chances he’d come back too soon?

  On fire, body aching, he watched the prick drive away from the house, leaving Nikalene alone for the first time in days.

  Days waiting for this moment.

  Days furious at her for not being back in Perth. For making him worry.

  Days spent assessing. Planning. Adjusting.

  He let the curtain slip from his finger, hiding the view of the prick’s house across the street and stepped away from the window, pulling in a deep breath.

  He needed to be sure the snake wasn’t coming back straight away.

  Turning, he smiled at the elderly man lying on the floor. “A few more minutes of waiting won’t hurt, ’eh Mr. Ackles?”

  Mr. Ackles didn’t answer. It was hard to talk with a hunting knife sticking out of your temple.

  He looked back at the prick’s house through the gauzy curtain and smiled wider.

  “Just a few more minutes,” he whispered.

  * * * *

  Ambling around the house wearing a big, fluffy robe, Niki chewed on her bottom lip.

  Okay, she wasn’t worried, but boy was her stupid, overactive imagination running amuck. In the short time Lincoln had been gone, it told her his old bosses had ambushed him, that he’d realized he wasn’t in love with her and had taken off, he’d met some random woman on the way to wherever he was going and had decided he liked her more, and—the piece de resistance—he and Snyder, a.k.a. Pete, had decided to run away together and were planning to get married in Munich.

  “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, stomping into the kitchen. “Pancakes. I need pancakes.”

  Pancakes fixed everything. She’d whip up a batch, eat them, and hopefully Lincoln would be back by then.

  Probably should have asked him how long he thought he was going to be when he was heading for the door, instead of being all witty and—

  A sharp knock reverberated through the house.

  Motionless, she stared across the kitchen toward the door.

  Crap.

  Whoever it was knocked again.

  Mouth dry, she padded on bare feet through the living room and stopped at the door. Stared at it, and then flicked a glance at the CCTV screens on the wall beside it. She could just make out the shoulder of whoever was out there.

  Hadn’t the screen showed the full door when she’d first seen it days ago?

  Or had she been mistaken?

  “Nikalene?” a gruff male voice said on the other side.

  Her stomach smashed up into her throat.

  “Crap,” she whispered.

  “Nikalene?” the man said again. Worry threaded through the syllables of her name. “Nikalene Macintosh?”

  Crap.

  “Nikalene?” The voice was louder now. More husky. Like the speaker had a sore throat. The door knob turned. Back and forth.

  Locked. Thank God it was locked.

  She looked at the screens again. No longer just his shoulder. Now she could see all of him. Or at least, she could see a tall man with broad shoulders wearing a battered bomber jacket and baseball cap. Not his face though. She couldn’t see his face.

  On purpose?

  “Nikalene? Open up.”

  Fuck that for a joke.

  “It’s Pete. Crowley’s—I mean, Lincoln’s friend. He might have called me Snyder, but my real name’s Pete.”

  The mysterious Snyder. The man Lincoln was going to see.

  But Lincoln is currently on his way to see Snyder, so why is Snyder—Pete—here now?

  Spinning on her heel, she ran into the kitchen on silent feet, grabbed the biggest knife in the knife block, and half-ran, half-tiptoed back to the door.

  Stood and stared at it again.

  “Nikalene,” Pete said from the other side. “It’s all good. I promise. Lincoln is getting something sorted out with Ruckus, and he asked me to come check on you.”

  Ruckus.

  Gripping the knife’s handle tightly, Niki chewed on her bottom lip at hearing the name of Lincoln’s cousin. She’d met Ruckus only twice, both times back in Perth over two years ago. A cyber-security expert whose eyes seemed to say I know stuff you wouldn’t believe, he was one of the most intimidating people she’d ever encountered.

  A few nights ago, Lincoln had told her only Ruckus knew he owned this place. If Pete was here now, and Lincoln was with Ruckus…

  Stomach churning, she swallowed, gripped the knife tighter and reached for the doorknob.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Niki,” Pete said from the other side of the door, voice sounding almost scratchy. “I promise.”

  She opened the door…

  And her stalker smiled at her.

  “I would never hurt you, beautiful girl,” he said, his voice now as smooth and deep and familiar as it had been in every message he’d left on her phone.

  Oh God, no. No nonono!

  She slammed the door just as he crossed the threshold with a single step. It smacked into his palm, the crack of wood on flesh loud and sharp.

  No. Oh God, oh God, no!


  Heart wild, she ran. Turned and bolted for the back door, knife locked in her grip.

  “Don’t run!” Pete called behind her.

  Oh God, how had she been so stupid?

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to love you.”

  The word crawled over her skin. She shot a look over her shoulder and everything turned cold. Shit, he was only a few feet behind her.

  No.

  Stomach lurching, staring at Pete over her shoulder, she threw herself forward—and careened off the wall.

  “Niki!”

  Pain sheared through her hip and down her leg, but she bit back a cry and forced her legs to move faster.

  “I said don’t run!”

  Fingers scraped at her elbow.

  She ran faster, the back door in her sight.

  Hurry. Hurr—

  Pete grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her backward.

  “Stop it, beautiful girl!” he panted, mashing his face to her cheek as he slammed her back to his body, his arms bands of fleshy iron impossible to break, his hands clamping around her wrists. “Stop it.”

  She thrashed in his hold, panic a feverish wail in her head. Oh God, Pete was her stalker. Pete. Lincoln’s—

  “Stop.” He hauled her off her feet and gave her a brutal shake. “Stop it. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

  The knife. Cut him!

  She twisted her wrist against his grip, trying to slice into him with the blade.

  He laughed, face still pressed to her cheek, and jerked his arm away before getting a better grip on her wrist. “I love your spirit, Niki. It’s what drew me to you.”

  A cold knot rolled in her stomach. Her heart slammed into her throat, choking her. Or maybe it was her breath. Or fear.

  “Get off me, creep!” She twisted her wrist again. Nothing. The blade lashed the air.

  Somewhere in the house, a phone rang, an old landline ringtone.

  Lincoln…

  “Get off me!” She bucked and thrashed.

  Again, he laughed, squeezing her tighter. “Shhh, beautiful girl. Shhh.”

  “Fuck you!”

  Another laugh. His hot breath blasted the side of her face. He stroked her cheek with his own. “You just need to listen. It’s okay, it’s going to be okay. I love you. I love—”

  She smashed her heel into the top of his foot.

  Bare heel. Booted foot.