His Sword

by Holly Hart

  “I can’t hold on any more,” Carson grunts.

  My head spins as he picks up speed, pistoning in and out so fast it feels like my body is a machine over which I have no control. A pool of pleasure starts to build its way up from my core like oil into a well.

  I feel my abs contract with every stroke, out of my control, almost like I’m doing sit-ups, until I finally abandon all control and just let my body be assaulted by Carson’s powerful thrusts.

  “Cassie,” he groans. “Oh baby, It’s so good. You’re so freaking good.”

  “Carson,” I pant. “I’ve waited so long. So long.”

  And it’s true. Not that it has been so long, though it has. But that I’ve waited. Because it’s only just now that I’m realizing I’ve been waiting for Carson this whole time. I didn’t realize what I was holding out for.

  As the spasms take over, I grip his triceps with everything I’ve got. We shudder together once, twice, three times. I lie there gulping in air, trying to stop my eyes from rolling.

  Suddenly, Carson wraps his arms around my thighs and grips them together as he drives home one final thrust. I feel like the universe is exploding inside me and around me. We’re as close as two humans can be in a moment, any moment.

  We both let loose with guttural growls from deep inside us. Carson’s head drops backwards like an animal howling to the moon, but he stays silent.

  God, I hope the rooms in the Regent are soundproofed.

  When it’s over, he drops low and covers my body with his. I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his torso, feeling his girth inside me. Our breath mingles into a chorus of gasps as we try to catch our breath.

  I burrow my face into Carson’s neck and nibble on the flesh there. I don’t know why; it’s just instinct taking over.

  We lie like that for what seems like an eternity as our runaway heart rates slow to normal. Carson caresses me gently, rhythmically, all over. The tingle it elicits makes me feel warm all over. Safe.

  Suddenly, from nowhere, the tears start to flow freely, staining my cheeks. I’ve never felt so naked in front of another human being.

  “I’m so happy it was you,” I sob into his ear.

  He takes my face in his hands and kisses me gently everywhere: my eyes, my cheeks, my lips, my chin, my forehead. When he pulls back, I can see the shimmer of tears in his eyes, too.

  “I’ve never believed in God,” he whispers. “But I think I may have just found a compelling argument.”

  I stroke his cheek, unable to stop touching him, even for a moment.

  Finally, he rolls onto his back and we both shift our bodies around so that we’re lying on the pillows. I put my head in the crook of Carson’s shoulder and lay my arm across the vast expanse of his naked chest. Our sweat mingles and dries in the recycled air of the room.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  42. INTERLUDE

  A woman with long, satiny blonde curls glances down at the tiny flashing red light in the top right corner of her smart phone’s screen.

  “Don’t move,” she snarls at the man hanging from the metal rack. He’s covered from head to toe in black leather, except for a small zippered opening where his mouth is. The room is painted entirely in black.

  “Yes, mistress,” he moans.

  “Did I give you permission to talk?” the woman snaps as she sets down a leather cat-o-nine-tails and swipes a scarlet-tipped finger across the screen.

  “C-c-call me sen-sen-senator maggot,” he breathes. “Please.”

  “No,” she says coldly.

  The information on the screen bothers her. She steps away from the dungeon into an alcove and types in a phone number from memory.

  “Yes?” says a voice on the other end.

  “One of the keys has been used.”

  Silence for a long moment.

  “As we feared?”

  “Room 317, yes. The transponder in the ring confirms it.”

  “This is… unfortunate.”

  “I’ll begin the process of rectifying the situation.”

  “Keep me informed.”

  “Of course.”

  She thumbs the phone’s end-call button and types in another number. This time the call is greeted only with a click.

  “You were right,” she says. “You know what to do.”

  Silence. Then a click to indicate the call has been disconnected.

  She ends the call and picks up the leather whip.

  “Wh-who were you talking to?” the man in the leather outfit asks. “Please tell me.”

  “Your mother,” she spits, whipping the backs of his legs with the steel tips of the cat-o-nine-tails. He howls in response.

  “She said you should go fuck yourself.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  43. CARSON

  “When I realized you were the quarry, I thought I was dreaming,” I say.

  Cassie sighs and strokes a finger down my chest.

  “I know the feeling,” she says. “When I realized that was a key in your hand and not a weapon, I literally thought the world had turned upside down.”

  “It kind of did turn upside down,” I chuckle. “For me, anyway.”

  She grimaces.

  “I’m so sorry about that.”

  “Sorry? You were like Scarlett Johansson in The Avengers! Except you’re a real redhead.”

  The awkwardness in her smile makes my heart melt. I pull her closer and nuzzle her hair. It’s a forest fire I could lose myself in for good.

  “Think about this for a second,” I whisper. “Two geeky kids, so lame that the only people who would hang out with them were each other. Building scale models of nuclear reactors and talking about Renaissance artists.”

  “I think I remember them.”

  “Now go back in time and tell them that, in a dozen years, one’s going to be a billionaire playboy and the other will be a secret agent.”

  Cassie is quiet for a moment.

  “That’s crazy,” she says.

  “Right?!” I hoot.

  She rolls to her side so she can face me.

  “I’d rather tell them not to lose hope, because they’re going to be together again someday.”

  My heart stops. This girl is so damn perfect.

  “Always have to one-up me, don’t you?” I say.

  She smiles. I pull her close and lay a long, slow kiss on her mouth. Our tongues explore each other, less urgent now, more familiar.

  After our lips part, we look into each other’s faces for awhile, like we’re taking inventory. Okay, those lips are mine, those eyes, check, that freckle, that other freckle. Yup, all mine.

  Cassie turns her head to look up at the ceiling.

  “Holy shit, this is a beautiful room!”

  I don’t remember ever going from post-orgasmic afterglow to full-on horse laughing in such a short period of time, but that’s Cassie for you.

  When we finally manage to rein in our hysterics, she looks at me and shakes her head.

  “That killed the mood a bit,” she says sheepishly. “But I mean, wow! This is incredible. This whole night has been incredible.”

  She looks at me. “You’re incredible.”

  I take her face in my hands and kiss her slowly and deeply again. Now that the initial frenzy is over, we can just be for a little while.

  Until Round Two, of course.

  Cassie is right about the room. It’s done in a tasteful ivory palette, with hand-carved paneling across the walls and deep tray ceilings with moldings that probably cost in the neighborhood of a thousand dollars a foot.

  The high ceilings and vertical mirrors give the illusion of a grand space, and the pastel toile curtains are held aside with antique silver tiebacks. The furniture is of the same Prohibition-era vintage as the bar, with curved drawers, damask fabric, claw feet and sublime cherry wood inlay.

  “The Regent is probably the most exclusive hotel on the Eastern Seaboard,” I say. “You’ll never find it on Expedia. I had
to hear about it from wealthy acquaintances. There are no prices listed anywhere, just like Piccolo. I think they might actually have the same owner.

  “It’s the ultimate no-tell hotel. I’m sure the Chase’s organizers want to maintain the illusion that it’s a discreet, classy affair.”

  “The Chase,” she murmurs.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  “You first.”

  She props herself on one elbow, giving me an excellent view of her bare breasts. I give each of them an appreciative kiss.

  “I’ll give you just thirty minutes to stop that,” she says.

  “I’m good. Let’s talk.”

  Her eyes narrow.

  “Not for too long,” she says.

  I point to the tent between my legs under the sheet.

  “Definitely not for too long,” I say.

  She grins.

  “Well,” she sighs. “You’re right. I’m a secret agent. Was a secret agent.”

  “I’m guessing that’s not the job description they stuck in the HR file.”

  “There is no technical job description for what I did. I’m not an analyst or special agent; I was strictly off the books.”

  So much makes sense now about Cassie’s behavior lately. Then again, this opens up a whole new line of questions for her. I decide to just let her talk. She needs to talk.

  We’ve got all the time in the world now.

  “You’ve probably guessed by now that this had something to do with prom night,” she says.

  “Sort of,” I say. “Your dad – was he in the agency when we were kids?”

  She looks me square in the eye.

  “You need to understand this is privileged information.”

  Wow. Like I said, a whole different Cassie.

  “Of course,” I say.

  “Dad was seconded into the agency after 9/11. He’d been in Army Intelligence until then, but his specialized knowledge of Afghanistan put him in high demand after the attacks.

  “The day we disappeared – do you remember what had been in the news that week?”

  A psychologist once told me the human brain is like a computer; mine just has a lot more RAM than most, so I can access things inside it quickly and easily. So I tend to remember things really well.

  “There was a Senate hearing into some black ops dealings to do with the war,” I say.

  She nods.

  “My dad was identified by one of the witnesses as being involved. Within a day, there was chatter on NSA intercepts about threats against his life.”

  “Holy shit…”

  “Yeah,” she breathes. “He came bursting through the door in the middle of the afternoon and the next thing I knew, we were on an Army transport to Honduras.”

  “And I was standing on your porch, wondering where the hell you were.”

  She takes my head in her hands and pulls me close, touching her nose to mine.

  “I am so sorry,” she husks. “For years I wanted to get in touch with you, but – ”

  “Shhh.” I kiss her eyelids. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

  A moment later her hand is under the sheet and around my appreciative cock.

  “We’re both here now,” she whispers. “So what should we do about it?”

  “I’ve got a few ideas.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  44. CASSANDRA

  I think it’s morning, but I’m not sure. Being sure would require me to open the curtains to peek outside. Or get up and look at my phone on the dresser.

  Both of those things require me getting out of this cloud of a bed, and that just ain’t happening.

  Carson stirs beside me and lets out a deep sigh. His chest has been gently rising and falling in a slow rhythm since I’ve been awake, which hasn’t been long.

  Or maybe it has. Time lost all meaning when we stepped into the elevator last night.

  He turns toward me and opens his eyes.

  “Thank God,” he says, a hint of red embarrassment in his cheeks. “I was scared to fall asleep. I honestly thought I’d wake up and realize last night never happened.”

  “Oh, it happened,” I say. “Three times. I’m surprised you didn’t collapse into a coma after that last one.”

  “It was an important night. I wanted to make sure it was worth waiting for.”

  I climb on top of him and weave my fingers into his.

  “Imagine you’re waiting to taste lobster for the first time, because everyone you know always talks about how great lobster is,” I say. “And then, the first time you try it, it’s the meal we had at Piccolo last night.”

  His eyes widen.

  “Wow,” he says.

  “And then multiply that by a billion.”

  He chuckles.

  “There’s only one problem,” I say.

  “Problem? What problem?”

  “You set the bar ridiculously high. If you don’t live up to last night every single time from now on, well...”

  He slides his hands under my rear and gives me a friendly squeeze.

  “Do you know who you’re talking to?” he asks with mock gravity. “Carson Drake eats challenges for breakfast.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say. “And then Matthias whips him for it in the gym later on. That song’s been on repeat for a while now, babe.”

  He barks a laugh. I giggle, too.

  I didn’t mean to lead the conversation in this direction, but I’ve been taught to take advantage of every opportunity. We’re on the subject, and we’re both in a talkative mood.

  “Speaking of challenges,” I say. “How on Earth did you end up in the Chase?”

  “I knew I couldn’t avoid this for much longer,” he sighs. “I have to be honest with you, Cassie: I was bored.”

  “That much I figured out on my own. You never could sit still – you always had to have something to occupy your mind or you’d go crazy. I’m curious how you heard about it.”

  He shrugs. “It was in the Billionaires Club newsletter.”

  I cock my middle finger with my thumb and flick his earlobe. Hard.

  “Ow!”

  “There’s more to come if you don’t smarten up,” I say. “I’ve interrogated men in ratholes in the Middle East who would eat you the way you eat challenges.”

  He goggles at me.

  “Is that true?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say with a grin. “The fact that you have to ask means I’ve done my job.”

  “Understood, ma’am.”

  “Now: how did you really hear about the Chase?”

  Carson props himself up on his pillows. I do the same – it’s more suited to serious conversation.

  “I have a friend named Maksim,” he says. “His family is connected to the Russian mob, though I’m pretty sure I’d have a hard time proving that. He put me in touch with someone who brokered the deal.”

  Brokered the deal. Hmmm.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “About five-eight, long blonde curls, crimson lipstick?”

  “Seriously? You know her?”

  “She brokered my deal, too.”

  “Huh,” he says. “Makes sense. They probably don’t want to do the dirty work themselves, so they contract it out.

  “Your turn: how did you find out about the Chase?”

  It seems like a thousand years ago now, even though it’s only been a few months.

  “I was doing research for work. I came across a cryptic site on the dark web offering a commission for anyone who could connect the poster with someone who had – let me make sure I remember this exactly – ‘a very unique set of circumstances.’”

  Carson’s eyebrows go up.

  “That’s a pretty good way to describe it,” he says.

  “It piqued my interest,” I say. “The first thing that came to mind, obviously, was sex slavery. But the more I discovered about it, the more I realized it wasn’t a criminal operation. At least not in th
e strict sense of the word.

  “They were looking for a woman who had counter-espionage or intelligence-gathering skills. Someone who could lead a bunch of rich, old men on a merry – old – chase.

  “And, of course, they had to be a virgin, and willing to… submit to the winner.”

  I blush, even now, after everything. Carson smiles and kisses my hot cheek.

  “In return, the quarry would get $250,000 a day,” I continue. “That kind of money represented a freedom I didn’t even know I wanted. As soon as I saw it, all I could think about was leaving the underground lifestyle behind and becoming financially independent.

  “I think I finally realized that I only signed up because my father pushed me into it. He said it was my duty to the country to use my smarts to save American lives.

  “But when you wake up one day to discover you’re thirty years old and you’ve never even been to bed with a man, you start to get a new perspective.”

  Whoa. That was a revelation. I suppose I’ve had those thoughts before, but I’ve never articulated them like that, to myself or anyone else.

  “Your dad is definitely a demanding guy,” Carson says. “How did he take the news that you wanted out?”

  I wince. “How do you think? He said I was wasting my potential. Disappointing my country. Disappointing him.” Even now it hits me in the gut like a haymaker.

  “You know what? I think what you’re doing now is discovering your potential. We’re both living proof that you don’t know what you’re capable of until you go for it.”

  He always knows exactly what to say. I could get used to that. To this. For the rest of my life.

  “If I had a glass of champagne, I’d toast you,” I say.

  Suddenly his expression darkens.

  “Wait a minute,” he says. “You only got $250,000 a day for this?”

  “Only? That’s a lot of money.”

  “My buy-in alone was $20 million.”

  Holy shit. Wealth may be relative, but that’s a serious wage gap.