Dark Lies (DARC Ops Book 6)

by Jamie Garrett

  It was his breath on her inner thigh that she felt first, then his mouth, his tongue lapping up along the inside, higher and tickling and driving her crazy. His hair brushed against her skin like a feather duster as she closed her thighs tightly around him. Macy held his face just where she needed it, using her leg muscles and then her hands to press against his head, his mouth, firmly against her. His tongue slipped into her, working upward in long, rhythmic curls that sent her body into a series of small, delightful convulsions.

  She wanted to tell him about it, about how well he’d begun. How it was just where she needed it. But her words came out too breathily, her mind, too stripped and mushy. Macy could only hold on to the back of his head as he licked her, bringing that warm feeling back, just like solo nights in St. Louis: hot and humid nights without air conditioning, Macy lying on top of the sheets, sweating as she touched herself while thinking of him. That warmth coming back, from images of Tucker in the shower room, from fantasies she’d kill to see realized, like tonight. A dream. A dream in the darkness. A hard body, and hard cock, and a firm, talented tongue making her come closer and closer to the edge. The feeling growing inside her getting hotter and tighter, her belly glowing with it now as his tongue lashed against her clit.

  There were sounds, now, her own. Groans escaping unbridled and raw, not words but grunts as he worked his mouth around her. Tucker seemed to know, feeling through her body, how close she was. She bit her lip as the waves of electricity rocked through her, her teeth pressing down on her bottom lip so hard she nearly drew blood. It would’ve been worth it, a little pain mixed with pleasure.

  She held on tight to Tucker as she shook with every wave of her orgasm, her body shaking until the waves and her breathing slowed and she collapsed back onto the mattress, her body drained and useless. She couldn’t even hold her head up to look down the length of her body, to see what had become of her pleasure provider—her old crush. At least one thing had become of him since St. Louis: the fact that he was now single. And apparently he’d grown up a little bit and become a man who knew exactly what needs were to be satisfied no matter the repercussions.

  Lying panting and sweaty, her mind went immediately to the repercussions. Would there be any after this? Would there be any awkwardness?

  But how could there be? What he’d given her was so beautiful and amazing and right . . .

  “Tucker,” she said, still catching her breath. “Oh, my God.”

  His breath puffed against her leg, his silent chuckle. And then his hand, sliding back up her thigh. She squeezed them together, stopping his progress. She wanted more, God did she ever, but her body was still oversensitive, the afterglow still too strong.

  “Wait,” she said, grabbing his hand instead and folding it into hers. And then she laughed with him. Just an hour ago, a simple holding of hands would have been like jumping off the deep end. Now after how he’d worked her body, it felt like nothing—almost. It felt old and trusty now, like that hand had been part of her life forever. His hand, and him, a familiar and loving presence. She felt that, too, back in her cop days. Only it was a different kind of love. Friendly. A helping hand, picking her up off the ground, grabbing something for her that was out of reach. How far they’d come now, that hand helping her in ways she’d only dreamed about.

  Tucker left his hand wrapped in hers while he pushed himself off and up the bed, up her body and lying face to face next to her. The room was still completely dark, but she could hear him, and feel the bed where he’d moved, smell his cologne and the natural and alluring scent of his body just inches away.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Tucker laughed and said, “What?”

  “Thank you for rescuing me.”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  She drew her hand from his, and let it fall down the length of his chest, over the front of his toned, rippled abs. “I don’t care what it’s called,” she said.

  “Neither do I.”

  Her hand was back to his pants, to where she’d unfastened them, to where there was still a healthy bulge waiting for her. If anything, his work with her had only made it larger. The anticipation, maybe. Maybe she wasn’t alone in waiting such a long time for this.

  Tucker rolled onto his back, giving her more room to play, letting her hand explore. He took a long hitched breath as she slipped into his boxers again. She was sad to have left the first time, now there was unfinished business to take care of. After all these years, there was Tucker to take care of, just as he’d taken care of her. He firmed up in her hand, an impressively healthy blood flow. Usually, for a tactical genius like Tucker, the flow would be flowing in the other direction. This time, Macy was happy to divert the attention somewhere else. The guy had had a rough few years, too. He could use the distraction.

  He helped her slide his pants off, and then lay back quietly as Macy hunched over him, hovering in the dark, her mouth hungry for it, coming in and finding the tip of him already a little wet, his balls filling her hand, stretched full and needing release. Tucker arched his hips in the air, mumbling something as she worked him in and out of her mouth, her lips each time sucking hard at his head like the tip of some delicious frozen treat. He’d tasted just as good, and she wanted to see what other flavors he had to offer.

  His hands moved to the back of her head, not pushing her down, but holding her firmly in place. Large hands, strong and squeezing, and then again as he leaned back, breathing and telling her yessss, a body going limp, one leg twitching out. Her hands massaged his balls, priming the pump.

  She took a deep breath and then took him in, most of it, her nose almost touching his torso, his cock throbbing and hard against the back of her throat. Almost close to enough to choke. She wanted that, to take him as deeply as she could, to give him the kind of pleasure he’d given her. She sucked him deep, until Tucker started making a strange little high-pitched sound as if he were in the greatest of pain. Like he’d been shot somewhere.

  It was time to finish him off, to reward him.

  Macy lifted her head up and let her lips slide over him, his heavy and wet cock sliding off her bottom lip and down her chin, burning everywhere it touched with his heat. She took him into her hand, holding him rough and hard and then jerking fast, using the natural lubrication of both of their juices together on his cock, using her hand to slip up and down as fast as she could pump it. Under her control, he writhed and squirmed like a fish over rocks, his hips rocking back and forth. She stroked him harder and with a slight curl of the wrist, a curving, rhythmic squeeze up and down until his breathing sped up, his groans stretching into one long continuous howl. It was a guttural sound that she could feel in her chest.

  He was so close.

  But then came another sound, outside of him and her and the sexy little world they’d created. A sound far away, as far as the door—which felt like miles away. A knocking sound, very faint, but there. She could barely hear it over the sounds of Tucker’s oncoming climax. He was obviously deaf to it. But she heard. And she stopped to listen again to the sound of another series of knocks at the door.

  “Shh,” she whispered to Tucker.

  “What? Huh?” He sounded drunk and confused, half-awake from a dream—perhaps the best dream he’d ever had. It had sure felt like a dream to her before. Unfortunately, the waking world had something else in store for him, Mr. DARC Ops: someone standing less than twenty feet away, on the other side of the door.

  “Someone’s knocking,” Macy said.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  His cock was still in her hand, twitching as he tried to process the information. Macy tried letting go but his hand rushed to hers, holding it against him. “No, please,” he said, begging for the dream to continue. “I don’t care.”

  The knock came again, louder this time. And then a voice: “Hey, guys.” A man’s voice. “Wake up call.” Another knock and then, “Room service.”

  There was no way she could kee
p going if that was one of his colleagues on the other side of the door. She drew her hand away and whispered, “Who the fuck is that?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just the wind.”

  “In the hallway?”

  “Yeah,” he said, feeling for her hand gain.

  She pulled away and started to straighten herself up, starting with her panties, collecting them between both ankles and pulling them up. “The wind can talk and sound like your boss?”

  “He’s not my boss,” Tucker said, grumbling a few curse words as he reached away and clicked the light switch. Macy took a look at him in the soft light, his face reddened and flustered. His erection still long and hard before he slipped his boxers back on, tucking it away with a wince. He looked away from her gaze, suddenly looking sheepish and shy. A big difference from when the light was out. And then Macy felt it, too, a sudden awkward embarrassment.

  The knock came again and Tucker started collecting his things with a sad little groan. He leaned his head back toward the hallway and said, “Just a second!”

  Macy hurried to find something other than the nightgown to wear, fixing up her clothes. “How did he . . . How did he know we were—”

  “We’re DARC Ops,” Tucker said with a wry grin. “Nothing slips past us.”

  “Great.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  They were both out of bed now, Macy fussing with the blankets to flatten them out while Tucker walked a little stiffly toward the door. His hand went to his crotch for a moment, adjusting himself.

  Another knock.

  “I’m coming!” Tucker said, not bothering to look around at Macy’s growing smirk. He was most definitely not coming, at least in the way he wanted. And with how happy he’d been to ignore the knock, whatever had started between them seemed to have taken importance over enriched uranium or “intelligence” or US national security. It was kinda funny, actually. Tucker the typical man, thinking with the wrong head. The wrong intelligence.

  When the door opened to the hallway, Macy was sure to step out of view. It was somewhat embarrassing. And she was sure that DARC Ops had at least some “intelligence” regarding what had just happened behind her and Tucker. Who would ever believe that they were just watching an innocent, shitty rom-com?

  Then again, she could hardly believe it, herself, what had actually happened and how it happened so fast. A quick spiral out of control. An amazing diversion. They both needed it. Though Tucker was probably needing it more than she was now.

  The door shut and Tucker came walking back into the room. He stopped at the foot of the bed and shook his head.

  “How bad is it?” Macy said with a wince. “Are we in trouble?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “But not for that.”

  “They don’t know?”

  “We’ll deal with it later,” Tucker said. “But for now, we’ve gotta pack up and go.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “They’re making a move on the uranium,” he said, getting his things together. “Tonight.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “We,” Tucker said.

  “We’re both going?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “To America.”

  16

  Tucker

  Tucker didn’t want to leave her room. But he knew he had to. He should make it quick, like tearing of a bandage. He had to leave whatever fantasy they’d just conjured up, and return to the world of DARC Ops, of uranium and the dangers of a hotly contested South-African-regime change. And when all of that blew over and the dust settled, he would have to regroup with Macy and try to figure out what had just happened between them. They needed to repair whatever it was they’d broken—the idea that they’d been merely platonic friends having been just blown to smithereens. Either that, or they’d make excuses, dismiss their little romp, and rationalize it all out. He didn’t want to dismiss it. Any of it. They needed to talk it out, and then decide if what they had together was worth the unavoidable trouble. If the lives they both led made it at all possible to be together. It had taken Tucker only seconds after laying eyes on her for the first time in years to decide that’s what he wanted. He wanted it now still, even when she looked his way with a confused look on her face, her eyes staring a thousand yards beyond him.

  She blinked hard, as if snapping out of it. Without saying a word, she walked around him, toward the bathroom.

  Alone, Tucker looked at the bed, then back to the door, and the takeout boxes stacked in the recycle bin. Macy left the bathroom a moment later, this time more clothed. “Should we . . . talk about it? Or no?” she said.

  “I’m sure we will, eventually.”

  She nodded.

  “But right now we’ve got some work to do.”

  “Yeah.” She was wearing a robe and looking as tired as ever.

  “At least I do. Before we can leave, we have to—”

  “You mean, leave Africa?”

  “Yeah. Tonight. But before that, we have to head to Pretoria and deal with some bureaucracy. And then we have to secure the shipment, and then . . .” He sighed, the long to-do list leaving him increasingly exacerbated.

  “Sounds like you could use my help.” Her smile returned to her face. Tucker was glad to see it. He was worried it had been tarnished somehow.

  “I’m not just good at running away from things,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “Or surviving.”

  “I know. You can thrive.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Maybe. But what I’m saying is that, I come with all the training that you have. And more, with the CIA. To quote you, I’m no slouch.”

  “I know.” Tucker could feel his own smile warming up across his face. For a brief second, things felt almost normal again, or at least as normal as they could.

  “So then you’ll talk to Jasper? I just . . .” Her words, and her smile, seemed to fade away into the abyss. She was just staring at him now, cold and hard. “I just can’t feel like I’m tagging along. Or like I’m some type of cargo.”

  Tucker rolled his eyes. “But you’d be the most beautiful cargo in the world.” And it was true, definitely true compared to a lump of uranium.

  But she didn’t seem to hear it. She scratched at her forehead, her eyes squinting. Was she trying to remember something? Finally, in a quieter voice, she said, “I know it probably looked bad. Your friend, I mean. Finding us in here like this and everything.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll just say . . . um . . .”

  “That we were watching a movie.”

  Tucker laughed. “It’s like I’m trying to explain it to my parents or something.” He looked around for a clock and then sighed, remembering. “Jesus, what time is it?”

  “Your phone’s on the table,” Macy said, turning to the window.

  Tucker looked there too. The sky had begun to go a slightly lighter shade of blue. God, was it morning already? He felt like he hadn’t slept a single second. “I can’t believe it,” he said, shaking his head at the miserable, oncoming reality. “Tomorrow’s already here.”

  Macy walked out of his line of sight, leaving him to look with almost fear at the approach of morning. Another day of adventure lay ahead. Great . . .

  “There is no tomorrow,” Macy said, her voice suddenly sounding soft and melodious. “Or yesterday.”

  “Only here,” Tucker said, appreciating the philosophy. “Well, should I order up some coffee?”

  “I’m already on it,” Macy fumbled with the in-room coffee maker. He watched how her hands worked the machine, those fingers. Just a few minutes ago they’d been on him, not so fumbly, but pleasuring him, working him. The whole thing seemed crazy, now.

  Macy looked through the plastic coffee packets, throwing one of them back on the table. She looked at it with disgust. “I’m guessing you don’t want decaf at 4:30 AM, right?”

  “Hey,” Tucker said, faking surprise. “You’
re right. You are helpful.”

  She didn’t laugh. And he supposed it wasn’t very funny to begin with, the demented product of his own fatigue and sexual frustration. He took a few steps around the room, pacing, planning the day that lay ahead, the steps he would have to take for everything to run smoothly . . .

  It only took him two minutes to remember the day’s first fuck-up.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “I’ve got to track down my laptop. I totally forgot about that.” Tucker went to move toward the door, but he stopped with the sound of Macy’s voice.

  “Wait.”

  Tucker waited. He turned to face her, watching her how hand played with the end of her robe belt, her fingers against the terrycloth. She was biting her bottom lip again, releasing it only to say, “You don’t want coffee?”

  17

  Tucker

  “I’m not even going to ask about it,” Jasper said, staring up at the hallway ceiling as he walked next to Tucker. Was he looking for anything in particular, or just a way out of the conversation?

  Tucker waited until they reached the elevator doors before replying. “We were just watching a movie, a rom-com, and then we feel asleep. I didn’t think that—”