Endgame

by Mia Downing

  Aaron nodded and looked the most sorry he had since he walked out of his bedroom. “I’m not very good at obedience and submission, am I?”

  “No. You’re a failure, and so am I at being in charge. But we’ve been at it for a whopping whole morning, so I think we can cut ourselves some slack.”

  He forced a pensive look. “How about if I punish myself? My mom used to do that when we were bad as teens. Make us choose.”

  She snorted. “I don’t think that worked out well for you.”

  “I guess not.” He thought for a moment. “I’ll go commando.”

  “Guys like to go commando. I went without panties in a short skirt.”

  “That’s fucking hot.” His pajama bottoms proved he indeed thought it hot. They tented outward in a delicious show of horniness.

  What she wouldn’t give to relieve that tent. Damn him for being a punk. “And if you were a good boy, I would dress for you that way if you requested it.”

  The wheels turned behind his devilish blue eyes. His mouth opened in amazement, then closed on the dirtiest smile ever created. “You’re going to be my girlfriend out of the house. You said so.”

  “So?”

  “A girlfriend with no panties is fucking hot. I’d be pretty damned good, all the time, for a commando Amanda.”

  Her pussy creamed and throbbed harder. Yes, she wanted that. No, wait. She didn’t. “Aaron, no. You’re topping from the bottom on this one.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m in charge; you can’t demand I go sans panties when we’re discussing your punishment.”

  He cocked his head. “Is that an English thing? Topping from the bottom?”

  “You wish.” She tapped a foot, so angry, so turned on she couldn’t see straight because her pussy pulsed like a bass drum. “Fuck it. I’ll punish you later.”

  Aaron nodded. “Good. Because we’re going out.”

  “What? No.” Jesus, did he like having balls? Because he was two steps from becoming a eunuch.

  He raised his brows with surprise. “I want ice cream and they make the best homemade hot fudge down the street. Would Ma’am like to come with?”

  It was eleven in the morning. He hadn’t had lunch. So crazy, this man. “You’re not going, and I don’t want ice cream.”

  “I didn’t get breakfast. One, you ate the pancakes, two, you put me on my knees and all that really good stuff. So, I want ice cream.” He went to the kitchen and grabbed his keys from the counter like a belligerent teen. “You coming or not.”

  Dead. Man. Walking. “You don’t get the obedience thing, do you? Or what dead means? Are you daft?”

  “Don’t call me names.” He jingled the keys with impatience. “I’m hungry. I’m a spoiled punk, and I want ice cream. I’m not sorry for any of it. Now, how are you going to keep me here?”

  “I can shoot you. Tie you up and make you sit in a chair all day. I could just knock you out.”

  “Go for it. Ma’am.” He walked out of the kitchen like he owned the world.

  She gaped. Strong, deadly men feared her. They trembled and counted their lucky stars when they still had one testicle to call theirs after she was done with them. She wasn’t the Dragon Queen for nothing.

  Charlotte knew then and there, as she stared at Aaron’s fine ass heading to the door—in pajama pants, no shirt, barefoot—that she was screwed. Absolutely, utterly screwed. Aaron James Anderson was the first man, ever, that she wanted to kill—badly—and couldn’t. Just couldn’t.

  “Wait.”

  He turned, his hand on the doorknob and arched a brow.

  “If you wait one moment, I’ll go. And you can’t go in pajamas and shirtless.”

  He snorted. “The hell I can’t. I’m Aaron James.” The panty-melting smile returned. “But I’ll change for you, Ma’am.”

  ****

  They came back from ice cream—the fastest run ever. Charlotte, to Aaron’s dismay and fascination, had eaten a huge sundae with four scoops, three toppings, and whipped cream. Every bite. She made him pay, whispering “punishment” as he counted change from his car because he couldn’t find his wallet. Of course, the teeny bopper server girl had recognized him, wanted an autograph, and took pictures of him counting change.

  Aaron had slunk home, embarrassed as hell, and spent the rest of the afternoon analyzing the roles played by Jake and Charlotte. Quickly, he decided they should be married or something and it made him jealous.

  They moved like a married couple throughout the house. Sometimes he started sentences, she finished them. They disagreed constantly, about everything. Jake got pissed, usually Charlotte cowed. Then Aaron would jump in and she fought Jake like a wolf with fresh meat. Odd. Weird. Aaron couldn’t help but feel jealous at the depth of their friendship and caring. He wanted that, too.

  But it was long enough for Aaron to learn what he needed to do. He needed to be in Jake’s presence in the house, so Charlotte would ease up. Jake wasn’t the least bit happy about Aaron going to his knees.

  Aaron also needed to get her out of the house, because the rules were she could be his girlfriend then. She’d been frosty going for ice cream, but he’d been so rattled by the experience that he had forgotten the rules. Girlfriend Charlotte would be a hell of a lot like sexy Charlotte, he bet.

  So as Jake got ready to go out late that afternoon, Aaron said, “Let’s go out, too, Ma’am.”

  Jake flinched and oozed vehemence at Charlotte. Aaron grinned.

  Charlotte turned her brown-contact eyes on him and pinned him like a dart to a board. “We’re not going anywhere.”

  “I’m going to the beach, because I need the sunshine and you need the fresh air, Madam Frosty. Would Ma’am like to come with?”

  “We’re not doing this again.” He could see her planting her mental feet, digging in for a battle. But she didn’t shoot or maim him earlier when he threatened to walk out, so he was fairly confident she wouldn’t kill him. At least not in front of Jake.

  Jake paused at the door, his hand on the knob. “The beach is pretty in winter, Char. Why not go? Take a blanket. Watch the waves.”

  “Whose side are you on?” she snapped.

  “Both. The beach is nice. Go.” And he left.

  Aaron grabbed his keys before Charlotte could snatch them off the counter. “Coming, Ma’am?”

  “I have no choice, do I?” She ground her teeth and yanked her purse over her shoulder. “Go get in the car, punk.”

  They walked outside to the driveway. Well, he walked. Charlotte stomped. He slid behind the steering wheel of his sweet, antique muscle ride, and she glared through the window on his side. Or maybe she hadn’t stopped glaring.

  “You can’t find your wallet.” She gestured for him to get out. “I’m driving.”

  “You can drive stick? And deal with a touchy antique? Stella is my main girl.”

  She snorted. “Can you die from cyanide poisoning?”

  “Only if Ma’am wills it.” He arched a brow and started the car. “You can shoot and drive, right? Because when they come gunning for me, I’ll be unprotected over there on the passenger’s side. Ma’am.”

  “Yes, I can shoot and drive. But I doubt you’re in that much danger.”

  He tended to agree, but he loved ruffling her pretty red feathers. “Chase sent you to watch me. You can watch me drive and look damned good doing it.”

  “I’m beginning to doubt Chase’s sanity.” But she rounded the car and slid into the passenger’s side seat, her purse on her lap.

  “No gun?” He eyed her up and down. No room for a gun in black leggings and a tight, bright purple top with a V-neck that pointed straight down to the forbidden fruit. She also had a light jacket tucked under one arm.

  “In my purse. Drive.”

  He drove and decided now was the time to get moving on his spy camp plea. “So, baby—”

  “Baby?” She stiffened in her leather seat, and he could just feel the frosty chill.

  “I’ve a
lways wanted to call my girlfriend ‘baby’ and since we’re out, you are technically my girlfriend.” She snorted, he grinned. “You didn’t mind when I was at the South Pole.”

  “I wasn’t listening. You were far away.” She waved him away with an annoyed hand. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to hold spy camp while you’re here.”

  “Spy camp?” Her nostrils flared, as if he’d farted or done something else distasteful.

  “Yeah. Teach me how to fight, disarm people, shoot like a gunslinger, stuff like that. Cool, spy stuff. I want to ace the next spy movie. I’m living with two spies, for Christ’s sake. I should get something out of you guys eating all my food and showering a zillion times a day. You two are the hungriest, cleanest spies in America.”

  “We have an expense account. Jake will give you money.” She glanced out the window in the mirror, then casually over her shoulder. Alert, his Danger Girl. “Have a deal for the sequel film already, do you?”

  “Signed and sealed, baby. Filming starts after the first of the year.”

  “Spy camp.” She snorted again. Coming from her, it sounded really cute. “I could take you down to the meanest, baddest corner in L.A. and leave you there. You’d learn twice as much, twice as fast.”

  “I want you to teach me. My own femme fatale coach, in bed and out.”

  She arched a perfect brow over brown-contact eyes. He liked the violet glare better. “You want sex camp, too? Greedy, aren’t you. Or did your mother deny you the chance to make someone else’s life a living hell for a summer?”

  “I never got to go to camp as a kid.” He tried hard to look sad and unfortunate. “I deserve two camps for my suffering as an underprivileged youth.”

  She thought for a moment and gave him a satisfied smile. “If you can get permission from Chase, I’ll give you spy camp.”

  “What? No.” He’d rather strike a deal with the real Satan than talk to Chase on the phone. “You don’t make deals with the devil incarnate. You just don’t.”

  “I need permission to instruct spy camp, and Jake doesn’t have clearance to give it.” Charlotte shrugged. “I’m not calling Chase for this, so you decide how bad you want your spy camp.”

  “Don’t tell him. Lie.”

  “He would know. He knows every-fucking-thing, and spy camp would fall on the outer edges of things I am definitely not allowed to do.”

  “What about sex camp?”

  “Smack in the middle of things I am not supposed to do, but at least it’s not breaking every clause in my contract.”

  He wanted sex camp more than spy camp. But he was greedy and would try for both anyway. What the hell. “And Jake?”

  “He won’t go for any of the camps, unless sex camp involved him watching. He likes watching.”

  “Hell, no.” Aaron frowned. He’d let this drop, for now. Somehow, he’d get her to agree.

  Chapter Seven

  They parked and walked down to the fairly empty beach, blanket in hand. A few people jogged along the water, and one guy waved a metal detector over the sand. But for a December weekday afternoon, it was a quiet, desolate stretch of sand.

  Aaron spread the blanket out and lay down on his side, watching the waves, the sun dipping down toward the horizon. Charlotte sat stiffly on the blanket, head up and at attention. She scanned the shore, up the beach, down the beach. It was subtle, but Aaron knew her well enough now to know what she was doing. His own sexy, private guard dog. All she needed was a spiked collar and the sic ’em command.

  “Baby, come lie down with me.”

  “I’m doing my job.”

  He glanced both directions on the empty beach. “I think we’ll see the hit man in plenty of time.”

  She pursed her lips, concentrating on a group of runners by the water. “Snipers?”

  Way, way too intense. “Can you run over to a sniper and disarm him before he kills me?”

  Her smile was frosty evil. “I think I’ll just kill you myself and save the poor man some work.”

  Aaron shrugged. “If you killed me, do you think the sniper would give you a cut of his money? Or would he just take it all himself, despite you doing the work?”

  “Are you for real?”

  “I hope he pays you.” He patted the blanket next to him. “Come lie down, baby.”

  “Stop calling me baby.” She scanned the beach more intensely.

  Damn it, she was ruining his girlfriend plans. So far, he noticed she’d start out in charge and the power would flip. He liked that. How could he jumpstart that flip, then? A challenge might do it. “How about a run on the beach? A race to the water and back? I bet I can win.”

  That got her attention. She narrowed her fake brown eyes on him. “You are going to race me.”

  “I’m taller.” He shrugged but knew he had better chance of having a ménage with nuns than beating her. “I run every day.”

  “Do you, now.” She scanned the beach again. “You realize I can just shoot you at the finish line and win by default?”

  “Yeah, but then there’s paperwork. More so, because we’re in a public place. The cops would be angry. Ma’am.” He cocked his head at her and stood. “Race me. If I win, I get something good. If you win, you get something good.”

  “Something good.” But she stood up, kicked off her sandals, and dusted the sand from her hands. “Okay.”

  He kicked off his sneakers and yanked off his socks. “To the water and back? Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Go!” they said together.

  They raced, shoulder to shoulder, then she pulled ahead. Damn, she was fast. She won, he pouted. She grinned, and the light returned to her smile, reminding him of how she looked after he kissed her in the kitchen. Girlfriend was just down the pipe. He could smell the victory. They raced again, back to the blanket, uphill, and she won again. She gave this cute end-zone dance that sent his cock into a raging fit, her ass wiggling back and forth.

  “Again,” he ordered.

  They ran back to the water. This time he was ahead, winning, until ten feet from the water she shoved him. Hard. He hit the sand and rolled while she attempted to dance victoriously in the chilly waves and shrieked instead, running out.

  “Cheater,” he taunted from his back, loving that she was no longer a guard dog. She was his girlfriend, and the radiant, dimpled smile she gave him was worth every ounce of sand in his pants.

  “You didn’t say I had to play fair. And I would have won even if I didn’t shove you.”

  “You’re plain mean.”

  “To the soul.” She grinned. “Again?” She held out a hand, and he took it but yanked. She tumbled onto his chest, gasping as she fell across his body.

  “You owe me for being a dirty cheater.” He kissed her, claiming her lips, praying the power had indeed flipped and she wouldn’t kill him.

  She stiffened, as if shocked, and then moaned against his mouth and kissed him back, her mouth opening under pressure from his tongue. His hands ran through her hair, pulling the ponytail holder out. Her hair tumbled down in his face, her face.

  He rolled and pinned her beneath him in the sand, kissing her harder. Their tongues battled, then twined and danced. She laced her fingers through his hair, then smoothed downward, her hands wrapping around his neck. Air had nothing on Charlotte’s kiss. He wanted her more.

  She must have grown a conscience because she pushed his shoulders. “There are laws about stuff like this.”

  “You think?” He ran a finger down her cheek and ground his cock against her crotch, hoping he hit the important spots. “I want you, Charlotte.”

  Her eyes widened, and she swallowed nervously. “I know.”

  She wanted him, too, though she’d never admit it. But he wasn’t going home yet. He needed her to remember what it was like to be someone’s girl. “Let’s go play. We have a bit before sunset.”

  Once Charlotte hit girlfriend mode, she was much more fun. She dug in the sand with her fing
ers, making a tiny castle that the waves crashed through as the tide rolled in, and instead of being pissed, she laughed. Aaron discovered she didn’t like crabs and chased her up and down the beach with a dead one until she threatened to pull her gun.

  Aaron found a piece of driftwood and drew a heart with Aaron & Amanda inside it. He was beginning to warm to her glare, so damned cute the way her lip crinkled and her eyes flashed when he turned to her for approval. “What? It’s a good heart.”

  She grabbed the stick from him, drew a very accurate pistol and shot a bullet through his name. Aaron grabbed his chest and faked dying, staggering about, then fell in a heap at her feet, tongue out.

  She shook her head, so annoyed as she stood over him, arms crossed over those ripe breasts. “Please tell me you don’t plan to die that way on film.”

  “Why? Wasn’t it accurate?” He knew it wasn’t.

  “No.”

  “What should I have done, then?”

  She pursed her lips, another gesture growing on him. “The bullet hits, you’d fall backward. Period. No staggering.”

  It disturbed him that she would know that, from experience. He’d seen her scarred body. She’d been shot before. And had killed people. She’d said so. But the look in her eyes was so odd in a way that grabbed his heart. Like the girlfriend part of her was just as horrified that she knew how that would go down, too.

  So Aaron jumped up, whooped, and grabbed her by the waist, giving her a sound smack on the lips. “That sounds like the beginnings of spy camp, baby!”

  “What? No!”

  “Yep. I knew you’d give in.” He kissed her then wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her close as he cast a glance out at the ocean. The sun was setting in a chorus of reds, golds, and purples. “Let’s hit the blanket. It’s time for the big show.”

  He stretched out on the blanket and this time she only hesitated a second before laying her head on his chest. He wrapped his arm around her and held her, feeling…content.

  But he didn’t watch the sunset. He studied her as she stared out at the ocean, gold and red dancing in her brown eyes. Her face softened in the fading light, warming the frosty edges, smoothing the cool, tense lines about her mouth. She looked like she had during foreplay, relaxed and sixteen instead of Danger Girl, void of all the things he wished she hadn’t learned as a spy.