Seducing Two Serial Killers

by Hutchins, Hollie

  “I suppose not.” She still appears irritated at being bombarded by my information, however. “It's common knowledge I suppose that Forge and she got on well together.”

  “He's looking for someone as well. His brother. Well, he believes his brother's dead, but they never found the body. That's why he's connecting with me.” I allow a malicious grin to spread over my lips. “If he can't punish the one who took his brother directly, then he'll be damn sure to let me get on with it.”

  “Hmm...” Emma's studying my tattoos. “You're a criminal.”

  “Career criminal.” I nod to her. “But your job isn't to apprehend petty criminals in a foreign state, is it?”

  “I suppose not.” She sucks at her teeth thoughtfully. Processing. “And he's working with you. But you want dirt on him. In case he rats you out?”

  “Something like that. Meanwhile, I'll fish out for you. Fair's fair, right?”

  I can see confusion building behind her eyelids. Contrary to what she might think, I'm not that prepared to sell out my own kind. Not if a true crime happened to this senator girl. Relations are flimsy enough. I'll just pretend to look. I'm not actually interested in ruining business.

  Unless it's for my own gain.

  Richard must know she's a spy. He'd be stupid not to see it. Humans aren't bright about the whole business when it comes to shifters. They don't even bother to learn how we work. They think our honor system's a butchery, but it's not.

  At least, not in the way humans treat their animals. Crammed in little barns, clamped in place, never allowed to live their lives.

  “I don't really trust you, but I doubt I have a choice.” A sigh. “Better to be asked nicely, than bludgeoned into it.” She appears sour as she finally tries the orange juice. “My agent essentially expects me to fuck my way into Forge's confidence, no attempt at dating whatsoever.”

  “Well... it shouldn't be hard to do. He'll go after anything with two legs and a pretty face. You could have been a male. He wouldn't care.”

  She snorts at this. “Or a bonobo monkey.”

  “Pushing it, there.” I smile at her, scratching at an itch under my ear. “It's easy to play him. He's used to authority. Doesn't like being challenged. You challenge him a little too much, you take charge, he'll be happy to squirm with you. But you gotta be good. He hates virgins and pillow queens.”

  At least, according to the long string of broken hearts he's left. And the type of women I've seen him select in one of my brothels. He likes a bit of kink, that one.”

  “Fuck,” she says softly.

  “You a virgin?” I raise an eyebrow. A spy virgin? That'd be a first.

  “No, but...” she gives an awkward shrug of her shoulders. “I might be the wet rag.” Now an ugly, splotchy red creeps over her skin. Similar to the wine she spurted out in the restaurant before.

  “What's your sexual experience, then?”

  “One boyfriend.”

  “One?” Now I walk forward, the dragon inside me intrigued. Hissing that there's a prime target. Reaching out to her. Best not to loom over her. I don't want to intimidate her. Yet. “Experienced?”

  “He was a virgin as well.” She flushes again. “Neither of us... really knew what we were doing. Needed to get morning after pills the next day. Then I ghosted Tommy. Didn't want to...” she wriggles like a teenager caught red-handed in a lie.

  “Wow, he must have been terrible. You've orgasmed, at least?”

  Judging by the intensifying scarlet of her cheeks, apparently not. “Yeah, you're not gonna keep him after the first fuck. You must have known what you were going in for?”

  “Well, yes... but I can fake it, I'm sure. I've watched movies.”

  “But you've never come. If you don't even know your own body, how do you expect to please a big fish like him?”

  She stares morosely at the ground. “No need to remind me that I'm not cut for this job.”

  Interesting. Some crippling self-doubt, there.

  “I just wanted to be a damn Profiler. Instead, I end up in some shitty private organization that tried to make itself sound like it was the CIA or something. Still, good wages.” She kicks herself back into the brown leather sofa, and it creaks and groans under her slight weight. “I did actually suspect that, reading his profile. He'll want something with spice. But, you know, lump sum of money. Told myself I'd wing it.”

  “Well, you should have got a few practise sessions in at least.” I grin now, allowing it to become predatory. Nice she's opening up. She'll be a good pawn. “But you are missing an opportunity here. You want someone to teach you?”

  She catches my grin and stiffens. Her body's poised for flight. Maybe fight.

  “I own a brothel or two,” I say. “I can book you in with one of my most experienced male escorts. Alternatively, I'm up for the job as well. Might be nice to see if an immune really does feel different. No pressure, of course. Unless you want to keep your little councildragon dangling off your arm... and after that fiasco in the restaurant, I bet he's having second doubts.”

  “Bastard,” she hisses, face tight with rage.

  “Your choice.”

  “You wanted this.” Her voice comes out accusing, high pitched. “You wanted to fuck him over more by this.”

  “Well, it's amusing, for sure. But I am serious at the same time. You won't get him unless you know what you're doing.”

  Let her make of that what she will. “You can leave. I won't stop you. But if you change your mind... you know where I live.” I glance at the clock on my wall. Two hours before Forge's due to come. It's too much to presume she might jump on my cock here and now. Not with that time frame. But there's an edge of desperation on her as well. Like she's being squeezed in from all sides.

  Like she's not sure if she has any places left to run. Turning my back on her, I return to the simple, small kitchen. Equipped with so many automated things that I don't really need.

  It's all a song and dance, this life. Finding the people whose strings can be tugged. Spicing things up with that edge of risk. Keeping one step ahead of law enforcement at every possibility. Manipulating immunes right into the bed.

  All in a day's work.

  My fingers drift over a small picture frame that's by the coffee jar. Dark eyes, lost and big. Chub still around her cheekbones, not quite grown.

  Never would, either.

  It takes me a second to unravel the knot in my throat. To adjust the coffee jar so that it covers her picture.

  Lost and alone.

  “Hey.” Emma's voice cracks from behind. I turn in expectation, seeing her knuckles bleach white as they clutch the cutting surface.

  My lips bloom into a leer.

  Emma

  Out of the sea of regret I already drown in, what's another splash of water? He's right. Tarren’s fucking right. I hate it, and it burrows into me like a maggot in an apple, but I knew from the start that Richard Forge has types. Odd tastes.

  Always told myself to do the effort for it. Barely made it past Fifty Shades of Grey without erupting like a thrown tomato. That's not me.

  Yet I told myself I could do this. Seeing that fat pay-check waving in front of my eyes. Telling myself it's for a good cause – finding someone's lost child.

  No. I'm here because I'm really, really good at lying to myself. “I'll do it,” I croak.” Not sexy at all. Not seductive at all. I just want to be in my hoodie, spooning ice cream out of a tub as NCIS or something blares on my screen.

  “Now?” Tarren's voice has dropped to a husky growl. He has that hungry expression on his face again. Imagining devouring me. Imagining eating me alive.

  No is the first thought that comes to my head. Just back away. Don't do this. Don't be an idiot and fall more into his grasp than I already have. Save myself for Forge, find a way to take him, and keep him. Try to remind myself of how horrified my mother would be, to discover I'm screwing for money.

  No dignity in a woman like that, she always says.

/>   “Yes,” is what I answer. “You better have condoms, though.”

  He snorts. It's just sex, I tell myself. Not selling my soul. Not tainting myself with a permanent black mark. Just sex.

  “Okay. Get to my bedroom. It's the end door.” He jabs his finger towards a black door on the other side of the living room.

  Feeling like I'm about to be sacrificed on an altar, I stiffly move towards the door, heart leaping when I see the rumpled bed. White sheets. A bedroom with a huge flatscreen television, on a stand nailed to the wall. Perfect for a Netflix and Chill. The door closes behind me with a rather final knell, and everything inside jumps. Trying to escape.

  Just say no. Say I've changed my mind. Instant regret's a thing.

  My boss's voice, reminding me to fuck Richard, hisses at me. I see his pudgy face, the roll of fat under his chin whenever he looks at something with smug pride. I can see the check wedged in his chubby hand. Ready to be torn up if I fail my simple duty.

  “First off, if you're expecting the sex, it's best not to freeze up like you've been in a snowstorm all night.” He prowls in front of me, purposeful, his chest and those swirling tattoos consuming my attention. Such big muscles. Imagine those on top of me. My back into the bed, my knees pointing to the ceiling, watching him grunt above me.

  I flash back to Carl, to the most awkward sex I've ever had, and those stupid, unattractive faces he pulled as he sweated his way to ejaculation. That image consumes me now, and I realize just how ill prepared I am for sex.

  “Second, tensing up like this is not going to help you come. Your body needs to be relaxed, not forced into it. Look, strip down. I'll do the same.”

  It's odd, but he's almost clinical in his regard of me. The brisk, teacher-like tone he adopts has me slowly taking off my clothes. Top, bra, jeans, underwear. Socks for good measure. Until I'm left trembling in a puddle of my clothes, my legs clamped together. There's a warm, damp feeling between my thighs. A faster heartbeat now pounding in my ears.

  He strips as well, letting me feast upon the perfect specimen of a male body. His blue eyes have that cold, dominant appraisal in them. He might have been a Viking lord of old, with that stature. My breasts hang heavy, nipples prickling from both fear and arousal.

  Tribal tattoos coat his chest, shoulders, arms. Pure black, with some dabs of red intermingled. Mainly around the tattoo that denotes his species shift. His cock lies between his legs, not quite ready for action, which for some reason, disappoints me. It's hard to gauge the length, but it actually seems small. Which, considering the rest of his appearance, is odd.

  Not that length's really an issue when I can barely tell my left nipple from my right.

  “Look at me. Walk around me. Do I scare you?”

  Odd request, but there's nothing but seriousness in his eyes. So, nervously, I prowl. Inspecting his clenched buttcheeks, his thick thighs and spreading muscles on his back. A tiny line on the nape of his neck as he stands tall. Those arms, though. One bicep along must be almost the same size as my face. I can't help it. I have to touch.

  “Good,” he growls,” as my fingers flutter over his left arm. “Body types vary, of course, but generally, you shouldn't be so scared of seeing this. Now this...” he gently taps his furled cock, “I'll be honest. It's not a pretty thing. Sexual body parts are unattractive, sticky, nasty. Some people like them. Maybe you'd be the kind of person who'd have cocks glued all over their walls, I don't know. But for the most part – you don't want to be staring at these things all the time.”

  I laugh. Funny enough, I did actually think that. Everyone's fascination with how beautiful and attractive a guy's dick can be, and all I saw was this ugly, wrinkled, sperm machine. The thing between my legs isn't much better. I have big lower lips. So big, I can't really hide them unless my legs are clenched like this. I hear people getting operations to reduce labia size. I hear all sorts of things to pursue the beauty ideal. I've even heard my boss boast that he wouldn't fuck his wife unless she'd gotten herself a Brazilian shave down there.

  Strange thing is, with the way Tarren's treating this, I actually find myself relaxing.

  “I did actually wonder if I might be a lesbian for a while. I didn't enjoy seeing my boyfriend's dick.”

  “Don't come into sex with the expectation it's going to be anything like the movies,” Tarren says then, wearing a rather lazy smile. “You'll be disappointed. Don't expect to magically know everything, either. People are still getting it wrong even today. And shifters are no different. Okay, let's have a look at you...”

  He now stalks around me, after gently shrugging my fingers away from his shoulder, examining every inch of my body. His nostrils are flared, his eyes dilated, and now I see his cock swelling, coming to life under the influence of my presence.

  “Foreplay comes first,” he says then, breath hissing on my neck, making me shudder with unexpected warmth. It zips right into my spine, my stomach. “But for every person, it's different. If you touch me here,” he says, now seizing my hand, pushing it to his left nipple, and letting me touch it, “it doesn't really do anything for me.”

  I don't know about him, but it's certainly doing something to me. I barely breathe, scared to move my fingers even an inch.

  “Don't be shy. Touch it. Stroke it.” I could punch that lazy grin off his face. Still partially convinced I might be ruining everything forever, I force my fingers to move, fondling the rubbery texture of his nipple. Wondering how he doesn't feel like this does anything for him, because even a brush of my elbow against my nipple sends electric jolts inside.

  “For everyone, it's different.” He smirks, amber eyes twinkling, expression brimming with confidence. That confidence alone is a killer, making me want to take one step close, to widen my stance so that I feel strangely vulnerable from exposure.

  My fingers continue brushing the soft skin there, even as he whispers, “Erogenous zones. Everyone has a different place. Once you know where yours are, you'll find it easier to get into the act. When I touch you...” I shiver as his hand finds my shoulder, “I want you to tell me what you like and what you don't.”

  Concentrating becomes hard after that. Everywhere he touches me seems to trigger something deep inside. My ear. My chin. My neck. The thin hairs upon my arms. The soft touch of his lips upon mine. Everything's just so wonderful, I want to drown in it. I'm always nervous to reciprocate the motions to him, and he has to keep reminding me, that I should be exploring, I shouldn't be keeping my hands still. Don't be afraid to touch everything there.

  I notice how he stops breathing when I press my lips against his neck, like he did with mine. I notice how hot my stomach becomes when he whispers into my ear that I'm sexy, that he wants me, as an example of the kind of things a guy might say. He tests me further with filthier language. Lick my pussy. Fuck me like the whore I am. I don't find it quite as sexy, but I'm turned on enough to probably accept everything but the most explicit.

  “Note that,” he tells me. “That when you're turned on, your barriers are down. But remember that someone like Forge will likely use language like that. Degrading language. To stir that sinful, decadent soul of yours. Of being dominated. That's the kind of things he likes.”

  I do note it. I'm not a fan of the talk, but I can endure it. The way he whispers these explanations continue to ripple arousal through me, until I'm at fever point, wanting nothing more than to just have him shut up and do something about the heat between my legs. All this touching, this rustle of arms against body. It's addictive.

  He hasn't even gone near my pussy, and I'm already begging for it in my mind.

  “The other thing someone like him might do is to spank you. Be harder and rougher with you than usual. Like this.” He dips his mouth onto my neck, sucking hard, so hard that I know it's going to be a bruise, and pinches my right nipple, squeezing my breast. The stab of pain is washed away with the contact of his body. The stinging slap of his hand against me makes me gasp. It hurts, but it doesn't lower m
y arousal at all.

  “He might turn you around, like this...” he spins me, and shoves me hard onto my knees, onto the bed. Then his hips slam into me from behind. I gasp, but he's not entered me. He's just shocked with the force of his thrust. “Rough and hard. He might stop you squirming.”

  Tarren flips me onto my back against the bedsheets. He pins my hands above him with ease, so I can't move at all. “And he might blind you.” He drags part of the sheets over my eyes and continues caressing my body. Without sight, I'm even more focused on the motions of physical touch. Shivering, whimpering.

  “Good,” he whispers. “Be vocal. Move to show your eagerness, like raising your torso. Yes...”

  Everything's swirling around. I'm drunk. I'm confused. One moment I was hesitant and unsure, like a virgin. The next I'm still a little hesitant and unsure, but I do know I don't want this to stop.

  “He might choke you.”

  He lets go of my wrists, and now a hand wraps itself around my throat, squeezing. At first, I panic, but he does it only in a short burst, allowing me to breathe within seconds. “The dizziness that comes from that can add to the euphoria.”

  I swallow, unsure if I liked that. Unsure if I like this heavier side of sex at all. He asphyxiates me three more times, testing my endurance, rubbing against my body the whole time, as I adjust to the sensation.

  “I'm sorry, but I need to get you used to something like that. If you feel harder pressure, you should get them to stop. That's where safe words come in. So couples know when they're going too far.” His teeth rake my ear, and the bedsheets finally move so I can see the light brown ceiling again, see his body caged around mine. “He might even use a knife against you.”

  “A knife?” I yelp, momentarily stunned, breaking out of the sexual haze I had sank in.

  He laughs, a low rumble that starts in his diaphragm. “It's the thrill of having something so dangerous touching your skin. Some like just the feel of the blade tickling, being under their partner's mercy. Others actually want the prick of blood. But something like this will always be discussed with the partner first. If he or she whips one out without your consent, you have permission to run away screaming.”