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UNDER COVER
A Spyder and the Spy Erotic Short Story
by Kameron Scott
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The Spyder and the Spy
PHILLIP HAD TIMED IT perfectly...
Meticulous planning was the key to any successful mission, and he had planned this one carefully. Now the execution had to be perfect.
The party was still going on downstairs. He waited for the perfect moment to slip away with care. The elevator leading upstairs was only accessible from the wing of the modern office building that was closed off to guests and patrolled by security. But he did his research and knew the layout by heart. With his own brand of careful planning, he had easily slipped by the roving security patrols and video cameras and made it to the upstairs hallway.
His compatriots knew all about his penchant for planning everything down to the last detail. They recognized its worth in their line of work, even if some of them—well, one person in particular—thought it meant he was a stodgy stick-in-the-mud, but no one could argue with his results.
The layout upstairs was just how he had pictured it. Five steps down the hall, then turn the corner and wait fifteen seconds for the security camera to pan. After that, he'd have exactly thirty-two seconds to make it to the door, disengage the lock, and get inside. From there he'd have forty-seven minutes to get the files downloaded, get out, and return to the party.
Bruce Willis had made a movie once where his character timed a robbery to the song "Swinging on a Star." No offense to Bruce, but this kind of work was never that simple.
Phillip had all the skills of a master cat burglar. In his younger days, that's how he had made his living. It had been a terrific lifestyle until he had been caught and cornered by an agent from one of those government agencies that named themselves with three letter acronyms. He had been given a choice: work for us, or go to prison. He had actually considered prison as an option, but only briefly. What the agency could offer him was intriguing. He could do good for his country and the people who lived here, while still getting to make use of his very particular skill set.
He grinned to himself a bit as he stepped out of the elevator into the deserted hallway. Everything was on schedule. The silence on this floor was something of a shock after the noise of the reception downstairs, but he was grateful for the quiet. It would allow him to concentrate.
He stepped to the row of green marble tiles that marked the starting point of his painstakingly timed route, and waited for his watch to count down to the 'go' mark. Right on the dot he took his first step and followed the carefully planned choreography to a tee.
Having reached the door, he crouched on one knee and took out a small device. The computerized smart card was attached to a small processor by a strip of wires, and it would allow him to crack the electronic lock. He slipped the dummy card through the key card slot and rested his hand on the bar of the door's handle, waiting for the soft buzz that would come when the lock disengaged.
Something wasn't right.
The door never buzzed open. He pushed down with gentle pressure on the handle and felt it give. The door wasn't even locked although he knew it should have been.
He glanced at his watch. He had nineteen seconds to get out the way he had come, or else go through the door and follow through with the plan. There wasn't much of a choice, really; he had to have those files.
If someone had beaten him to the punch, then he needed to find out who it was. There were other agents from other acronym groups out there who would want this information for less than worthy reasons. So he returned the lock-breaking device to the outer pocket of his tuxedo jacket as his watch counted down the last few seconds he had to wait and think about it. He took the last two precious seconds to try to hear something from behind the door, but no sound came through.
Taking a deep breath, he settled his hand on the handle and opened the door as quietly as possible. Inside, the room was dark. He saw nothing but the soft glow of a computer monitor sitting on the desk and the quick flash of a small fist hurtling toward his face before everything went black.
* * *
He awoke sitting in a large, rather comfortable office chair. The wings on either side of the chair's high back were a nice touch, especially since one of them was holding his head up.
He tried to move but couldn't. Glancing down he could see that his hands were bound to the arms of the chair with what appeared to be standard-issue tape from the dispenser on the desk in front of him. His upper arms and torso were also firmly secured to the chair by coils of a thin nylon rope. As his senses started to sharpen, he noticed that his jaw was being held open wide by the tie from his tux stuffed into his mouth as an impromptu gag.
When his vision finally cleared, and he was pretty sure he was still hale and hearty, he lifted his head to assess the situation.
Phillip hated surprises. He was trained to deal with them, but he hated them.
He'd had no idea that anyone else was working this same angle. His employers were usually fairly upfront about potential competitors when they gave him an assignment. More worrisome, though, was that his own intel hadn't revealed anyone else he'd needed to be concerned about.
There was someone seated at the desk, behind the computer's monitor, typing away at the keys. It was their soft clack-clack that had woken him from his involuntary nap. From where he was sitting he could see the dark, wavy hair pulled back into its elegant knot and held in place by two Japanese-style hair pins.
The woman looked up at him. Then she leaned to one side of the screen so that he could see her face. The light from the computer screen worked magic to illuminate her skin with gentle radiance. He had always found her to be one of the most beautiful women he'd ever known. He'd told her that more than once over the years that they had been acquainted. His comments had always been met with a knowing smirk. She had the same satisfied smirk on her lips right at that moment.
"Oh good," she said to him, lacing her fingers under her chin. "You're awake. I was beginning to think you would sleep through the whole thing."
He fought against a particularly strong desire to spew out a cutting, sarcastic comment, but he was not in a position to be smarmy. This was worse than he'd feared. Much, much worse. Of all the spies in the world, why did it have to be Christine Cole he was up against? He'd made the biggest blunder of his career—well maybe the second biggest, and he knew the mistake would haunt him for the rest of his days.
Christine had tried to get the drop on him more than once over the years, but had only succeeded once before. For the most part they just kept out of each other's way, as a professional courtesy, but he'd never live this one down. He didn't know if it was a scientific fact that a person could die from embarrassment, but he knew that she would have something else in mind for him, if it wasn't.
He closed his eyes and tried to center his mind. Anger and annoyance and anxiety all reared up; he had to concentrate to control himself. He needed a calm, clear head if he wanted to have any chance at all of turning this around. He took a few shallow breaths through his nose and counted to ten.
After all, it wasn't all bad. If he was going to be caught by an opposing agent, at least it was one with a body like hers. He let his eyes drift over her figure as she stood up and walked around the desk with slow, elegant grace. He admired her delicate feet in ridiculously high heels and
her long legs in their silk stockings. His eyes moved up to her hips and waist hugged by her immaculate black dress, and stopped at the diamond encrusted spider brooch at the bodice of her dress.
The brooch was unique, Victorian probably. It was her signature—her trademark—and she wore it religiously. For a moment, his thoughts wandered, as he marveled how every time he saw her, she wore it differently. He was particularly fond of the way she wore it tonight. The subdued sparkle accentuated her cleavage quite nicely.
The sound of a single beep from the computer behind her quickly brought his thoughts back to the current predicament.
The lights on the portable drive she'd attached to the computer's USB port lit and blinked in sequence. She was already downloading the information that he was there to retrieve.
She crossed her arms and cocked her hip a little to settle against the edge of the desk. Her smirk turned into a full-blown smile as she said, "I don't think you're going to make it home in time for dinner with the missus."
He rolled his eyes, and her smile turned into a small laugh. The pointy toe of a shoe reached out to nudge the arm of his chair, moving him back and forth just a bit on the chair's swivel. She was taunting him and enjoying every damn minute of it. He knew this wouldn't end well.
He cocked his head as he looked at her and took two deliberately loud breaths through his nose, hinting to her that the tie in his mouth was interfering with his breathing. She knew better, of course, but she took mercy on him anyway. A perfectly manicured hand with long red fingernails reached toward him and plucked the cloth from his mouth. He nodded his thanks but didn't say anything.
She raised an eyebrow at him, surprised by his silence. A shadow crossed over her features, unexpected worry for her captor. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"
The quickest way to escape would no doubt be to answer in the affirmative and play on her concern. He didn't do that, though. For one thing, it would be like cheating. Not that he was above that, in the right circumstances. For another, he didn't like to see her face pinched in anxiety like that. It marred her natural good looks. The smirk was bad enough, but the little lines of worry that formed between her brows in moments of true anxious concern were worse.
He's studied her face enough in the past to know. She had a face that merited study.
He shook his head slowly and answered, "I'm fine, considering I've been punched in the face and taped to an office chair."
The smirk slowly reemerged. "Aw, that's just your pride hurting, baby. I have it on good authority that it's not fatal."
Phillip shook his head. She had him, and she knew it. Giving up on any pretense of salvaging this situation, he gave in. "What the hell are you doing here, Christine?"
"What does it look like, Phillip?"
"Fine. Then why you?" he rephrased.
Suddenly, she was all business. "We've been working on infiltrating a small but prolific cell of weapons smugglers. We've nabbed a lot of minnows, but these records should give us some of the big fish. We think this firm has been laundering money for them for close to two years."
That was a surprise. Nothing he'd run across had led him to believe the firm was laundering money for the illegal weapons trade. They had, however, been funneling money into a number of active and well-known terrorist fronts in Eastern Europe. Big fish, indeed. Bigger than either of them had realized, it seemed. He explained as much to her.
She arched her delicate eyebrow again. "And you're just going to share this information with me?"
"Well, you do have me tied down to a chair. With tape, no less."
"The rope I had in my purse wasn't enough to tie all of you up."
"I wondered where you had this hidden." He tugged against the rope again with his body, but to no use. She had tied him down securely. "Kinky."
Christine pursed her lips. "If wanted to torture the information out of you, then you would have seen kink." She took the information he had just handed her with more equanimity than he'd imagined she would have. She simply nodded at him. "Well, fair's fair. I'll give you a copy of the information when I'm done, and we'll both get another gold star for a job well-done. Maybe we'll even get to put the bad guys away for a change."
He was immediately suspicious. Oh, he'd expected her to hand over the info once she heard why he wanted it, but he hadn't expected it to be so easy. She'd mentioned torture, after all. Before he could say anything about it, though, she glanced down at her watch and nudged his chair again.
"Of course, that only gives you a little more than ten minutes to earn your share."
There it was.
He felt a distinct stirring in his trousers as he watched her red lips spread into a grin that showed her perfect teeth and was positively wicked. That was the Christine he knew... and loved. God help him.
"Now," she continued, looking ever more thoughtful, "we just have to figure out some logistics."
"The logistics of what?" he asked, hoping the exasperation he'd injected into his voice disguised the creeping hint of excitement and arousal.
It was her turn to roll her eyes. "Of what? Please. Those people you work for now haven't completely sucked all of the adventure out of you. Yet." She tagged that last on distractedly, clearing everything off the desk but the computer equipment and checking her watch again. She grabbed the arms of his chair and rolled him closer to her. Finally, she gave him another saucy grin and straddled his lap, her trim legs fitting tightly around him in the chair's seat.
His hands were still bound, of course, and it didn't look like she was planning on cutting him loose anytime soon. The way she was moving on him, it looked like she was moving straight to business. "You know, this would probably work better if I had my hands free," he suggested, wiggling his fingers.
"I don't know. As I recall, you're pretty damn resourceful."
His body reacted in a very predictable way to her actions. It was her words, not her sensual advances, that he made him shake his head. "I keep telling you, I'm not the bad boy you remember from my younger days, Christine."
She leaned in, the chair rocking back as she whispered in his ear, "Yes, you are. I bet we can manage like this just fine." She settled herself down firmly against his crotch, and clearly felt his body's nonverbal assent. She squirmed against his hardness just a bit before adding, "I'm glad you agree."
There was really no sense in fighting it. He had a lap full of smart, beautiful, powerful, insanely alluring woman. He didn't want to fight it. Besides, he was never going to live this night down no matter what he did, so he might as well get some enjoyment out of it.
He tipped his head up and caught her mouth with his own. He ran his tongue over her lower lip and nipped at it softly. He felt her tongue slip out and lick across his own lips, dipping slightly into the moist heat of his mouth. She teased him with little advances for several moments before pressing in closer and sliding her tongue all the way into his mouth.
He could taste the hint of the champagne she must have had at the reception downstairs. It was far more intoxicating coming from her than it could ever be straight from the glass. He moaned quietly into her mouth and she pulled her face back a bit and smiled at him. She settled her hands on either side of his head and tilted it just so, leaning back into him at the perfect angle. Their kisses grew hotter and hotter until he was straining against his bindings, trying to get closer to her.
She sat up at last, pupils dilated and lips swollen from their shared heat. He was tugging his arms against the tape that held them trapped, his eyes asking the question, but she shook her head at his implied request. He was frustrated and incredibly aroused at the same time, and damned if she didn't know it. No, she didn't just know it, she relished it. His eyes flashed a warning that he'd get his revenge soon enough. She just laughed at him quietly, less than concerned at the idea of having the tables turned at some later date.
She pushed herself up onto her knees quickly, the chair rocking him back and forth as she did. She caught it a
s it started to spin him around, and pulled him around the desk, to the alcove at the back that the chair was meant to fit into. She pushed him into it now.
"Um, what are we doing?" he asked.
"Shhh. I'm working."
She kicked her heels off as he watched, and wiggled her hips to hike the skirt of her dress up and over her hips. His eyes widened as he realized she wasn't wearing any panties.
She saw him looking. "Panties ruin the line of the dress. Can't have a visible panty line, can we? People remember things like that."
He supposed not. At any rate, he certainly wasn't complaining. Tied to a chair, with an alluring secret agent about to force herself onto him. Life was strange that way.
Christine sat down on the desktop and sidled her ass back until she could lift her left leg over him. Her legs went onto the top of the chair back and then she was able to slide herself forward, her legs around his head, and carefully place her crotch in his face. He inhaled the intoxicating aroma of her arousal.
She glanced down at her watch again and turned her head to check the progress of the computer dump. "You've got seven minutes now," she announced in a husky, alluring voice, lying back against the desk and offering herself up to his gaze...and more.
He huffed a quiet laugh against the inside of her bent knee before kissing there, licking the delicate skin and setting off a small shiver through her. He trailed a line of kisses down toward her sweet opening, taking in the stronger scent of her here, enjoying the subtle heat pressing against his skin. He licked and sucked at the soft flesh until she was squirming insistently. He raised his head and murmured, "Be still."
She looked back at him, frustration blooming on her own features now, "I can't. Get on with it, Phillip. We don't have all day." He noticed how breathless she already sounded. The knee thing got her every time.
Still, no matter how he wanted to take a leisurely stroll through some of his favorite territory, now really wasn't the time or the place, for that matter. Well, he could do quick and dirty too. He really was as resourceful as she thought he was.
Under Cover: A Spyder and the Spy Erotic Short Story Page 1
