Demarco and I seemed to realize what was going on at the same time: Sergei Gurov was indeed a psycho rapist, but he preferred men. The lunatic didn’t desire me at all — he was after my partner.
“You don’t want that,” I said with a trembling voice.
“Shut up! Do not tell me what I want!”
“Tell him, Aimon,” I said to Demarco, “about the sore.”
Gurov stared at me, then Demarco. My partner understood and tugged on his lower lip, exposing the inside where there was a pretty nasty wound. Gurov had no idea of knowing what had caused it, but I seriously doubted he’d want to put himself in that mouth. He was obviously pissed off, but glared at Demarco and said, “Then you will use your hand.”
Demarco and I both knew there was no way around this, and I imagine that, like me, he was relieved that Gurov didn’t want to take him anally. My partner looked at me, then moved next to Gurov.
“On your knees,” Gurov demanded, determined to demonstrate his power over the younger, bigger man. Demarco complied, sinking to his knees then taking the Russian’s limp cock in his hand. Pointing to a nearby chair, Gurov looked at me and ordered, “You sit there. You will watch your man become a woman.”
I sat and watched as Demarco began stroking Gurov. It was surreal, and I tried to look distraught as I focused on the task. Regardless of what was happening, we had a job to do. “You can have me,” I told Gurov, trying to sound distraught. “I’ll do anything you ask, just please don’t humiliate my husband this way.” His only reply was a smug grin.
Gurov was halfway erect when Demarco suddenly removed his hand. The Russian asked sternly, “What are you doing?” as Demarco began taking off his tux jacket.
“Give me a second,” Demarco replied, handing the jacket to me. It wasn’t until he also removed his bow tie and tossed it in my direction that I understood. He then spit in his palm, grabbed Gurov’s budding erection and resumed stroking it.
Demarco was performing my part of the plan, now it was up to me to take care of his part. I continued to watch the forced sex act as ordered, then slipped off my heels and began making myself cry. Slowly my tears flowed harder until I was sobbing loudly. Gurov looked pleased at first, then annoyed. Finally, I blurted out, “I need a tissue. I’m going to ruin my gown.”
By that point Gurov was fully erect and enjoying his handjob. “Over there,” he gestured toward the closed door behind him, “there’s a bathroom.”
I ran toward the restroom, carrying the tie in my closed fist. I opened the door and turned on the light inside, then looked behind me. Across the big office I saw Gurov’s back, with Demarco kneeling on the floor next to him. I shut the bathroom door without entering, then quietly tiptoed into the large, dark conference room. Working quickly, I removed the Cyclops from its hiding place in the bow tie, then located the only other door in the room, which had to be the wiring closet. I was prepared for the worst as I grabbed the knob, certain it would be locked and that I’d have to either abandon my quest or try to pick the lock with a tiny tool hidden in my bracelet. To my surprise, the knob turned easily. Apparently the Russians felt the high-tech alarm on the main door to Gurov’s office was sufficient.
It was dark in the closet and I couldn’t risk turning on the light. Luckily, there were enough flashing LEDs from the various network devices to allow me to locate the router. The problem was that in the low light I couldn’t discern the colors of the various cables feeding in and out of the router, nor could I read any labeling that may have helped. Instead I felt around until I isolated every cable that was the right width for an ethernet cable. There were eight cables, two rows of four. Then I found a single ethernet cable on the opposite side of the router and decided it must be the one that carried the inbound signal.
I heard a distinct moan from the other room. With no time to waste, I held one section of that inbound cable near an LED to illuminate it a little as I used the Cyclops sniffer to cut a tiny hole in it. Carefully I slid the sniffer inside the cable, making sure the hole couldn’t be seen when I was done. Then it was time to get the hell out of there before Gurov caught me. I exited the conference room and quietly slipped into the bathroom, grabbed a few tissues, then left, shutting the door loudly enough to be heard.
I took my position in the chair, sniffing and tabbing at my tears with a tissue for effect. Gurov was engorged and he looked into my eyes with near glee as Demarco jerked him off. Demarco seemed simultaneously humiliated and pissed off. When he looked up at me, I nodded subtly to let him know I’d finished. At that moment, Gurov grunted as he erupted onto the office carpet. Demarco quickly removed his hand and wiped it on the carpet and moved away from Gurov as the Russian stood grinning and breathing heavily. When he reached down to zip up, Demarco again looked in my direction, raising his eyebrows as if to verify, and I nodded to him to confirm that we were done.
“Your husband is talented. He would make a good woman,” Gurov said, leering at me. Demarco stood, a look of thorough disgust on his face. Gurov turned to him and said, “Excellent job.” Then he pointed at the chair next to mine and said, “Now sit there.”
What the hell? Demarco said, “You had your fun. Please let us return to the reception now.”
“No,” Gurov said flatly. “It’s my turn. Drop your pants and sit down.”
I could tell Demarco wondered when this madness would end. He balked at the command.
“Do it or I will summon security!” Gurov barked.
Demarco again knew he had no choice. He grudgingly undid his pants and pulled them down, then took a seat. Gurov looked at me and said, “Watch how much your husband enjoys this.” He knelt and took Demarco in his hand, then I watched as his mouth closed over my partner’s limp organ.
I refused to watch the blowjob and instead stared at Demarco’s face. I felt horrible for him and I realized without a doubt that if Gurov had been taking advantage of me, Demarco would have felt equally terrible.
The minutes passed. Suddenly Gurov lifted his head and said, “What is wrong with you? Are you afraid? Just relax! You are going to produce an orgasm — then you can go.” I looked down to see Demarco, still completely limp, disappear again into the Russian’s mouth. Demarco was obviously helpless. I knew I had to do something so we could get the hell out of that office.
Demarco was staring at me, not wanting to acknowledge what was taking place in his lap. I gave him the most seductive smile I could muster and slowly slid my dress and bra down on one side, exposing my breast. Demarco looked at me as if I’d lost my mind as I licked my index finger, then circled it around my nipple. I was far too scared to actually be excited by what I was doing, but I had to create the illusion. My partner understood and began taking deep breaths, trying to relax as I played with my tit. When he cracked a tiny smile, I looked down to see that his cock had become noticeably plumper.
Gurov continued while Demarco and I ignored him completely. I knew my partner would need more mental stimulation than an exposed boob to get him off, but I didn’t dare strip further. I could cover my breast quickly, but lifting up my gown to let him see more would be riskier. My only option was to stimulate him mentally.
Demarco was still watching me play with my nipple. I looked down again and saw his cock was hard as a rock. I pulled my dress back up over my breast, and when he looked up, I pointed to my eyes with my index and middle fingers. It was the same gesture he, as Sasha Lazarenko, had made in that hotel room in London. When he hesitated, I repeated the gesture and mouthed the words, “Fuck me.”
Demarco seemed to understand and stared right into my eyes, then put his hand gently on Gurov’s bald head and held him still while he began slowly thrusting in and out of Gurov’s mouth. The Russian kept sucking, oblivious to the intensely erotic scene taking place just above him. I never broke eye contact with Demarco except to occasionally look down at his big erection, then look back up to him with a devious smile.
Demarco’s pace quickened and I heard him moan. I
remembered that moan from London and grabbed both of my breasts, massaging them through the fabric of my gown.
“Fuck me,” I mouthed again, then watched as he groaned and exploded into Gurov’s mouth. The look in Demarco’s eyes was so fierce, it was as if he were actually fucking me. He held Gurov’s head and continued to unload, and Gurov didn’t stop until Demarco finally leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes in relief.
Gurov stood, looked down at Demarco’s slick cock then over at me. “That’s the best he has ever had,” he said. “From now on he will think of me every time your mouth is on him.” Then he calmly walked to the desk and picked up the phone. “Come to my office,” he ordered.
Demarco pulled up his pants and gave me a look of gratitude that I’ll never forget. He also looked humiliated and angry. I handed him his coat, then helped him tie his bow tie, kissing him gently on the lips out of compassion. There was a knock on the door and Gurov opened it, then asked the two security guards standing there to escort “my Swiss friends Aimon and Marit” back to the reception. As Demarco and I left the office, Gurov said, “I hope you enjoyed the tour. Don’t forget what I mentioned about Siberia.”
His tone of voice made it sound like a friendly reminder, but it was an obvious threat to keep quiet about what had just taken place.
Twenty-Three
We left the reception immediately, hailing a cab. Demarco didn’t want to talk at all, other than placing a call to Henninger back at the hotel, who had already received word from CIA headquarters that they were receiving encrypted, compressed TCP/IP data from the router in Gurov’s office.
“Great job, Mercer,” Demarco said. He sounded pissed off, embarrassed, distraught — all at once. I could see the humiliation and anguish. I remained quiet until we reached the hotel. When we exited the cab, I put my hands against his chest and stopped him.
“Ryan, you had no choice,” I said, looking into eyes that couldn’t hide the psychic wound that Gurov had inflicted on him.
“I know that, or I wouldn’t have done it,” he said angrily. “We completed a difficult mission and I appreciate your help in accomplishing our goal when things went awry. Now I need to get to my room and get some sleep. We can regroup in the morning, then get the hell out of this fucking country.”
We entered his room together and Demarco went straight to the adjoining door, opening it so I could continue on to my own room. I’d hoped to convince him to have a drink, to talk about what had happened. I paused at the door, not wanting to leave my partner. I knew I could convince him that none of it was his fault and that everything that he’d gone through was in service of the operation, which we’d completed successfully. The two of us had managed to plant a data bug in the heart of the Russian Defence Complex without being detected. Surely I could get it through his head that was more important that some psycho deviant taking advantage of him.
Demarco firmly pushed me through the door into my room, then shut and locked it behind me.
I stood there in my beautiful gown for a quite a while, staring at the door. I had so many mixed feelings: pride at having completed a truly challenging mission, relief to have come through safely and without having to give my body up to that Russian pervert, and sympathy for my partner, who hadn’t fared quite so well with Gurov. That last one really stung, because part of me still wanted to hate Ryan Demarco for what he’d done to me in London.
I thought back on what had taken place in Gurov’s office between Demarco and I. There was no longer any point trying to deny the sexual attraction between the two of us. When he was struggling to even get an erection in there, I had managed to enter his mind and coax him to an intense orgasm.
I opened the minibar and grabbed a little bottle of Russian vodka, kicked off my heels, and sat on the bed to think things over. Twenty minutes and three vodkas later, my mind was nowhere closer to calming down. I was furious at that pervert for humiliating Demarco in front of me, and even more so because he thought we were a married couple.
Demarco realized he had no choice and had complied for the sake of the operation; he’d had his sexual identity messed with while risking his life for our country. There was no way I could let that stand. I knew something I could do to help set things right again.
I knocked on Demarco’s door. When I got no answer, I knocked again. Still nothing. Determined, I knocked a third time, loudly.
Finally the door flew open and Demarco was standing there in his black tuxedo pants and bare feet, his white shirt half unbuttoned. I could smell bourbon on him.
“What?!?” he demanded.
I pushed passed him into the room. “I’m out of vodka,” I said. “Get me a drink.”
Demarco glared at me, then headed for the minibar. As soon as his back was turned, I lifted my gown over my head. The material drifted past my eyes, then I saw him standing at the minibar holding four little vodka bottles, a frown on his face.
“What the fuck are you doing, Mercer?” he asked wearily as I tossed the dress on a chair and stood in front of him in my beautiful bra and panties.
“I’ve had a seriously rough night, Demarco,” I said, reaching behind me to unclasp my bra, “and I need a release.” The bra fell to the floor and for the second time that night Demarco saw my breasts.
“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “Pick up your clothes and go back to your room. I’m not in the mood.”
I responded by peeling my panties off.
“I don’t give a shit whether you’re in the mood or not,” I said, walking naked to him and yanking his shirt open, ripping off the buttons that weren’t already undone.
Demarco put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me away.
“Get the fuck out of here,” he said, his breath smelling of bourbon. “I don’t need your pity.”
I followed him, grabbing his belt and trying to work it loose. “I don’t pity you at all,” I said calmly. “I’m too busy hating you for taking advantage of me in London. But right now the only thing that matters is that I need your body.”
Demarco pushed me away again and stepped around me, but I’d unbuckled his belt and it came off in my hand. I dropped it and followed him, the vodka in me fueling an unrelenting urge to get him as naked as I was.
I reached for his zipper. When he turned around to evade me, I grabbed the sides of his pants, falling to the ground as he pulled away, but taking those pants down to his knees as I fell.
He kicked his pants off and stood there in his ripped-open shirt and gray boxer briefs as I climbed back to my feet. Demarco turned to me, his broad, muscular chest filling me with desire. I had forgotten how absolutely stunning that body was.
“Goddamit!” he shouted, “What the fuck do you want from me?”
I looked him straight in the eye and said, “For you to throw me up against the wall and fuck me as hard as you can.”
He laughed, an irritated, tired laugh. “Go back to your room, Mercer. You’re drunk.”
I lunged at him and managed to get a hand on his briefs, jerking them down on one side. Demarco pushed me away, but I held on and kept pulling downward until his cock sprang free. That was my prize, that big, beautiful dick of his. When I saw it was already slightly engorged, I pulled that much harder.
“Have you lost your mind?” he demanded, trying to get away as I continued to tug. Finally he stood still and I got his underwear down to his ankles.
“For the last time,” he said deliberately as he stepped out of the boxer briefs, “get out of my room.”
I stood up, sweating and gasping for breath. “I’m not leaving till you fuck me,” I countered.
I saw he was nearly half erect. I wasn’t going anywhere.
We stood there for a second. Demarco desperately needed to fuck me — I knew it even if he didn’t. I stared at him, too determined to even consider giving up. His eyes dropped to my naked body for the first time. His cock twitched upward and my heart skipped a beat.
“I don’t have any condoms,” he gro
wled.
“I don’t care,” I replied breathlessly.
He was on me so quickly that I had no time to react. He lifted me clear off the ground and carried me to the wall, pinning me against it. His forearm was across my collarbone, pushing so hard I could barely breathe. His other hand grabbed my tit roughly, squeezing it. I reached down and was stunned to find him already rock hard.
Demarco slapped my hand away from his hard-on. He looked into my eyes for one intense second, then dipped his body slightly and came back up with his cock between my legs, pushing into me. I was so wet he slid in easily, forcing me against the wall and lifting my feet off the floor.
“Is this what you want?” he demanded angrily.
“Yes,” I moaned as I threw my arms around Demarco’s muscular shoulders and pulled his shirt off, wrapping my legs around his lower back to give him an easier angle.
He began thrusting hard into me and it felt delicious, that heavenly sensation of being utterly, completely filled. Everything about this incredibly rough sex felt so right, so dead-on perfect, that I was almost afraid it would end too soon. In that moment I didn’t want it to ever stop.
Demarco continued to pound me. Beads of sweat formed on his body as he slammed into me over and over. I grabbed his hair, pulling his head next to mine and holding on as tightly as I could. “Yes, baby,” I whispered coarsely as he hammered away at me. “Don’t stop.” I was no longer sure whether I was doing this for him or for me, and I didn’t care. “Harder,” I said and he instantly obliged. He moaned into my ear once, then again a little louder.
When I sensed him start to slow up, I said, “Come inside me.” Again he backed away to look at me, still thrusting hard. We locked eyes momentarily, then I pulled his head back to me as he renewed his assault. I squeezed his torso tightly with my legs, trying to coax him to give me everything he had. There was one long moan, then he slammed me hard and I felt him come. Repeatedly he banged me against that wall as he unloaded all his frustrations, his doubts, his humiliation, his anger — it all poured into my body until at last he slowed to a halt.
Sleeping With the Enemy Page 16
