MasterStroke

by Ellis, Dee

  Sergei brightened up considerably.

  “Of course. It will be interesting to work together rather than at odds.”

  Jack suggested he didn’t get too carried away. Sergei stood, collected the handgun from the coffee table and slipped it into a holster nestled under his left armpit. On a nearby sideboard were several bottles of liquor, glass and an ice bucket.

  “A beverage, as you Americans say? Jack? Miss Chalmeaux?”

  They both declined. It was time to leave. Jack stood and told Sergei he’d be in touch in the next few hours, hopefully with the information they needed. Sandrine followed him out the door, past a couple of lounging SWAT team members to the elevator. In the lobby, he took the commander aside for a hurried conference then joined her in the street.

  A dark SUV was waiting, its engine running quietly. They climbed into the back seat, onto cushiony leather seats, and the car pulled away from the curb.

  “I don’t understand. What was that all about?” she asked heatedly. Her scalp prickled with heat and her temper was dangerously close to exploding. “Up till now, the Russians have been working against us. Now, they’re your friends.”

  “In this game, you form alliances when the opportunity suits,” Jack appeared reflective. “That doesn’t necessarily mean I trust Sergei. I think he’d sell his mother to white slavers if the price was right. It’s just better having him close where I can keep an eye on him rather than rolling around the deck like a loose cannon. Besides, he may come in handy.”

  Sandrine didn’t quite know what to think. A game? A game? What are you thinking, Jack?

  “A game?” she pressed. “Is that all it is?”

  “I’m sorry. A poor choice of words.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Rest. You’ve been through a lot. You’re exhausted. There’s nothing else we can do until we get some more information.”

  It was at times like this that Sandrine’s natural stubbornness came to the surface. We can’t sit around waiting for something to happen. Poor Marcus. He’s being held somewhere, a prisoner, injured, terrified. All alone.

  “We need to find Marcus.”

  “Yes, we do but we’re no good to him in this state. It will take a couple of hours to get enough good intel to work on. We can better use that time getting something to eat, a shower, clean clothes and some rest.”

  She sat in silence as the street flashed by. Jack’s right, she thought sourly. But it’s just so frustrating.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Your place will be fine. Security won’t be a problem and we’ll pick up my car from behind the store. I have a change of clothes in it.”

  Sandrine was glad they weren’t going to a safe house as Jack had earlier suggested. Being home would make so much difference. It would certainly go some way towards feeling human again. Now that her adrenalin was ebbing, fatigue was setting in. She tried hard to stifle a yawn but resistance was no good. Her jaw opened so wide, it cracked. Her eyes felt like sand had been rubbed in them and her thinking was starting to get fuzzy.

  Jack pulled her close. Her nose wrinkled from the smell of Jack’s clothing, a sharp mixture of sweat and smoke and other things she didn’t want to think about. Almost as soon as she snuggled into him, her breathing slowed and she drifted off to sleep. He noticed how quiet she’d become, smiled and kissed her lightly on the forehead, smoothing her hair, oily and dank, from her face. It occurred to him that she looked quite angelic and at that moment his heart lurched.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Dinner was scrambled eggs folded through smoked salmon with buttered slices of toasted sourdough. Both Jack and Sandrine had showered and were fresh in clean clothes, Jack’s from a small bag he kept in the back of his SUV. Sandrine was too tired to dry her hair and simply combed it back from her forehead, giving her a wholesome, clean-scrubbed look. Jack, with his wet hair towelled roughly dry, had merely run his fingers through it. Although messy, Sandrine considered it sexily provocative.

  Hard choice which is more appetising. Dinner or Jack? I might have to eat both.

  They climbed into bed soon after dinner, Sandrine uncharacteristically happy to leave the dirty but rinsed plates in the sink for further attention in the morning. She was wearing an antique wrap in the palest apricot silk. Slipping the knot at the waist, it flowed off her shoulders and pooled on the carpet at the foot of the bed. She was naked and Jack, standing fully clothed in the doorway, silently eyed her body. Her beautifully pale skin was now blotching with bruises, especially across the thighs and buttocks, but she seemed unconcerned as she climbed between the covers. The medication had taken the edge off the pain but it would return, Jack considered. Tomorrow morning won’t be so blissful.

  Nestling into a soft feather pillow, she eased onto her side and almost immediately appeared to be asleep. Jack turned out the bedroom light and undressed by the soft glow diffused from the bathroom. His own bruises were not as raw as Sandrine’s, the legacy of his thick jeans and leather jacket cushioning the blast. He did have a sharp, grating pain in the lower back; being thrown across the room by the blast had aggravated an old football injury.

  Fatigue was setting in. His eyelids were heavy and his body sore, despite the painkillers he’d taken earlier. He left his clothes on the floor and climbed heavily into bed, careful not to disturb Sandrine. Jack wanted to pull Sandrine close to him and feel her body heat but was concerned he’d disturb her. Instead, he lay his head on the pillow and, like Sandrine moments before, allowed sleep to overtake him.

  Sandrine woke slowly and, while still wrapped in a warm drowsiness, was aware that parts of her body were tender. She winced as she moved out of her sleeping position. The room was half-dark, light filtering in from the bathroom, and it took her a while to realise she’d been awakened by the movement of Jack leaving the bed. His side was warm, the sheets ruffled and his aroma still achingly evocative.

  She lay on her back and looked across at the bathroom door, slightly ajar, the doorway edged with a slice of light staining the darkness. She was drowsy, hovering between a languid dream state and emerging consciousness, suspended in a cocoon that she wasn’t ready to shake off. If she closed her eyes, she knew she would easily sink back to sleep so she focused on the doorway instead, imagining Jack inside. Was he naked? The thought intrigued her and a flood of sensation seeped across her. She pushed the discomfort of her physical being, of the twinges of emerging pain in her legs and hips, to one side and concentrated instead of the picture that was forming in her mind and that was beginning to exert a powerful influence within her.

  Jack was naked, she was sure, and she pictured him standing in front of the bathroom mirror, examining his reflection. In her mind, he was unmarked and unconcerned, and her eyes caressed his powerful body and the curves of his well-muscled chest, shoulders and arms, his flat stomach, his tightly proportioned legs and, she’d tried hard to leave this until last, the dangling solidness of his half-erect penis hanging purposefully between his legs.

  From her mind’s-eye position, she was behind him and could also see his beautifully-defined back, his shoulders wide, narrowing down to a firm waist and his delicious bum. She had no idea what the muscles in his back and shoulders were called but recognised them as works of art and loved watching them move under his skin. Sandrine had never been attracted to the over-pumped bodybuilder type but Jack worked out, took good care of his body and was proud of it. This was all new to her but, she thought, that was so true of many things these days.

  As her imagination ranged across his body, the result was immediate and not unexpected. It didn’t take much to arouse her these days. Just the thought of Jack was enough to get her started, for her juices to rise. Thinking of him naked and knowing he was only a few moments away from climbing back into bed with her made the familiar feeling between her legs return with an ardent urgency she could taste as much as feel.

  As she lay there, the soft liquid heat at her core began to flo
w through her and her skin tingled delightfully. There was the sense that a moist dampness was emanating from between her thighs and she imagined her lips growing puffy and opening wide, like the time-lapse photography of a flower opening to the morning sun in some innocuous Discovery Channel documentary. Her nipples hardened, tightened against the soft cotton of the sheet, and she slowly drew the duvet from her body.

  Sandrine sat up, thinking she’d kneel on the carpet in front of the bed and wait for Jack’s return but a sharp pain in her hip bit and she thought better of it. Instead, she perched on the edge of the bed, her feet lightly placed on the floor. She ran a hand across her breasts, brushing the nipples, teasing them deliciously, down her stomach to her pubic mound, stroking lightly, a fingertip easing further below until it found the damp humidity dotting her labia and the hard nub of her clit, now demanding attention. She dipped a fingertip fractionally inside her, coating it, then circled clock-wise slowly around the very edge of her clit. Round and round, drawing a lazy boundary that infuriated her passion and brought a small inaudible gasp from her throat.

  With half-closed eyelids, her attention was focused completely on the door, waiting impatiently, willing it to open. Soon, she knew, Jack’s silhouette would fill the doorway and he would see her at the same time she saw him. As if she could draw him into the room with the sheer force of her desire, the door did open and he was there. He was backlit, a black man-shape haloed in bright light, unmoving.

  He chuckled, a wonderful sound that made her flesh prickle.

  “You shouldn’t be up,” Jack said.

  “I hope you’re up as much as I am,” Sandrine replied huskily.

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t want to know what you think. I want you to show me.”

  He started to move towards her, a hand climbing towards the light switch.

  “Please. Leave the light on,” she pleaded.

  He swung the door almost closed, muting the harshness of the bathroom, and padded to the bed, standing so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body and smell his spicy warmth. She reached out and leaned forward simultaneously. At the same time, he eased his fingers into her hair and pulled her face towards the thick, bobbing richness of his engorging cock. It was magnificent, as it always was, but she could never be complacent with this part of his anatomy. It drew too much attention and promised so much, reducing her to a fevered pulsing mass of nerve ends. As it grew longer and thicker, hanging so dangerously full of intent, she cradled his testicles in one hand and the base of his cock with the other and sank her mouth down until it nudged the back of her throat.

  The breath rushed from him, pushed ahead of a low lingering moan of approval.

  “Oh, yes, baby. I love your mouth.”

  She took her time, working slowly and deeply, back and forth, wanting him to pull her hair more sharply but unable to communicate beyond her own moan of pleasure. She knew it vibrated through his cock by the way it swelled in his mouth. How big can it get? she wondered. The head is enormous. The taste is so beautiful.

  Briefly, as she alternated between her own ministrations and Jack’s increasingly urgent thrusting, Sandrine considered sucking him to orgasm. But she eventually decided against it although she wavered several times before eventually easing his cock from her mouth. She needed more. She wanted to taste his cum and there were few things, as yet, she’d encountered more exciting than having Jack lose control and empty his hot salty juice down her throat.

  Jack had proved himself greedy for her in so many ways and she matched him. Their libidos were identical and neither wanted their sessions to end too quickly. Quickies, she knew, would be rare and oral sex would always be a prelude to much more.

  She pumped his hefty, wonderfully-proportioned cock with her hand, leaning back and looking at it with an undisguised admiration, then scooted up the bed, propping herself on her elbows so she could watch him, her legs spread wide in invitation.

  “Now, Jack. Fill me up. I need you,” she said.

  Need you so much. Like I need you all the time now.

  He kneeled between her legs and lay atop her, his mouth finding hers, kissing her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth the second his cock thrust into her. She was so wet, so ready for him, there was no hesitation. She groaned deeply into their hungry kiss. They stayed that way, fused together in a lingering kiss while his hips thrust hard fast and deep, spearing her, spreading her wide and seemingly inflaming all her nerve endings at once.

  She built quickly, faster than usual. There was no tenderness, lust overcame love, blindingly pushing all thoughts aside, just the emotion of desire propelling her forwards then, just as quickly, over the edge. By that time, he was kissing her neck as the thrusting continued aggresively. It was exactly what she wanted and needed. As her muscles gripped and contracted around his cock, her mind exploded.

  “Shit,” she gasped. “Oh, god. Oh, that’s amazing.” Sandrine had no idea she was talking and would have denied it totally if reminded later.

  Jack slowed and stopped, buried totally inside her, feeling her pulse around him, then slowly started again, deeply again but easing in and out at a sedate pace, propped on his elbows and taking most of his weight off her. He changed the angle of his hips, working only the head of his cock lightly and shallowly inside her.

  Sandrine almost immediately knew something different was happening this time. The tumultuous crash of her orgasm had receded but she remained highly aroused and, as Jack continued moving inside her, she felt herself building again. It surprised her but she was far beyond the ability to control her responses and, as intense as the sensations were, wouldn’t have any intention of it even if she could. She merely went along for the ride, as it were.

  Jack was totally in control. He was watching her face intently as he moved and a range of emotion flashed across it. It was like he was playing an instrument, certainly with the skill of a master, and the music, compelling and beautiful, was rippling through her.

  In reality, it wasn’t all Jack. He was teasing her with his shallow strokes, moving just the head of his cock into her each time before withdrawing slowly. Sandrine was getting increasingly desperate, angling her hips upwards and trying to engulf his cock further but unable to by the weight of his groin against hers. The more she tried to move, the greater her hunger, and she was teasing herself just as much as Jack was.

  As she was beginning to shake with the strain, as her eyes locked on his and she clenched her teeth with the effort, he drew back his hips and slammed deep into her, pumping with a savage intensity that, without warning, released another witheringly powerful orgasm that left her gasping.

  Jack pulled free and lay beside her, cradling her gently in his strong arms. Sandrine’s heart was pounding relentlessly and her breathing was ragged. Jack held her in a tight embrace until her breathing returned to normal.

  “Oh, oh, what is happening to me?” she asked, her voice cracked and hesitant.

  “Did you enjoy that?”

  She nodded, enthusiastic though weary.

  “Never, never had anything like that before.”

  “Seems like your body is far hungrier than you knew.”

  “Not sure I can handle too many more like that.”

  Jack kissed her affectionately on the forehead and traced a hand lightly down her body, playing with her breasts, circling the nipples, across her stomach and sketching a pattern on her pubic bone. As he leaned in to kiss her deeply, he scraped his fingernails up her thigh. She arched her body tightly into his and returned his kiss feverishly. Her arms latched around his neck and she crushed her breasts against his chest.

  “God, what are you doing to me?”

  “Experimenting. How does this feel?”

  His insistent fingers softly traced the contours of her labia, dipping shallowly inside her, narrowly avoiding her hard clit, before penetrating her deeply and moving his palm against her puffy lips. Jack toyed further, trying variation upo
n variation, altering angle and repetition, extending from gentle to rough and back again until he found the perfect combination, all the time watching her closely, an amused detachment in his piercing hazel eyes, until Sandrine shuddered through a series of climaxes. Eventually, she had to beg him to stop.

  You’ll kill me, Jack. I have no idea what’s happening, how you’re doing this but I love it. But Sandrine also knew her own body and what she couldn’t quite believe was it was continuing to respond. She was in uncharted waters. This had never happened to her before. She was losing control, her sex drive was becoming monstrous and it seemed likely she’d chase climax after climax and as many orgasms as she could achieve until her heart exploded from the strain.

  He held her again until her heartbeat settled. Sleep was beginning to wash over her. She was beyond rational thought, barely able to speak.

  “Jack,” she implored in a small voice.

  “Yes, baby?”

  “Did you get the number of the truck that hit me?” Sleep engulfed Sandrine in an embrace as warm and welcoming as Jack’s.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Jack was standing by the bed, dressed in dark jeans and a black turtleneck sweater, a bulky bullet-proof vest velcroed tight to his chest. Gradually emerging from sleep, Sandrine was confused. She assumed Jack was still beside her but, when she extended her arm across the bed, found she was indeed alone and it wasn’t the fragment of some dream. He really was dressed and looming above her.

  Momentarily shocked, she sat up and scooted against the quilted cream satin bed board. Multiple pinpoints of pain in her legs and hips were like suddenly being dowsed in ice water. She gasped and was dimly aware she was naked.

  Jack eyed her and smiled sadly, trying to put her at ease.

  “I’m sorry I startled you,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

  “No,” she argued. “What’s happening? What time is it? Where are you going?”

  “An hour or so before dawn. We have an address for Sylvester. It’s out of town, an old estate on the Sound. We’re organising an assault. I have to go.”