Stilettos, Inc.

by Lexi Ryan

  When she opened her eyes again and caught him ogling her—not her breasts this time, but that enticing darkness between her legs—her eyes blazed.

  “You cocky son of a bitch!” she muttered before tackling him, shoving him against the weeds of the bank. She restrained his hands on either side of his head and straddled his waist. “First, you distract me from my mission by projecting your memories—”

  “At the inaugural ball? You’re still angry about that?”

  She scowled.

  “I wasn’t trying to distract you,” he explained. “I was trying to figure out what you were up to.”

  She thumped him lightly on the chest. She wasn’t done. “Then you get in my bed and in my pants and do things I can’t stop thinking about, so I’m all hot and bothered for you before I even step one little toe on this island.”

  Well, that was good news. “That doesn’t sound like such a crime to me.”

  “You spied on me,” she spat.

  He shrugged. “I hardly think that counts when I was just following orders. I never believed you were working with Collin.”

  “You planted something on me and my friends so we’d be detained at the airport.”

  He frowned. “I don’t want you hurt, Paige. I don’t see why that makes me such a bad guy.”

  She ignored him. “And then you steal my clothes so you can look at me like some depraved sexual deviant.”

  “I didn’t steal your clothes. And if I only wanted to look at you, I have a very good memory where I can do all of that I want.” He put his hands on her waist and showed her just that.

  He thought about their first night together. The night she’d come to his hotel room and he’d made her come with his hand, his mouth, and finally with his cock deep inside her. For the first time since showing her that memory, he didn’t skirt past the lost look in her eyes, past her desperation. For once, he showed her the tenderness that had welled up in him when he’d seen those eyes.

  A pained look flashed across her face. “I’ve never asked anything from you,” she whispered.

  He didn’t respond. Instead, he thought about the moment she’d spread her legs for him and let him look at her. Wet, swollen, practically pulsing with need. He called up the memory—never very far from the surface—of parting her labia and grazing his thumb over her beautiful clit. Of her breathy pleas for more.

  She thumped her palms against his chest again. “That doesn’t count.” A little harder this time. “Stop it.”

  She could have moved and she didn’t. He smiled.

  “Where are my clothes, Lorring?”

  He knew it would only piss her off more, but he smirked. “Would you mind explaining to me how—if I had stolen your clothes just to look at your body—this reaction is supposed to make me sorry for it?”

  Her cleavage was fully exposed to his view, rising and falling with her rapid, angry breaths.

  “Are you some kind of pervert? Do you get off on stealing women’s clothes? Or are you just some sort of masochist who enjoys being on the receiving end of a pissed-off woman?”

  “I certainly can’t complain about the second.”

  Oh, she was pissed. But she was also aroused. He was no empath, but he could read Paige pretty damn well, and the flush in her cheeks was from more than anger. Her pupils had dilated and her gaze kept drifting down to where his shirt was plastered to his chest.

  “Oh, fuck it,” she mumbled under her breath. Then she released his hands, drove her fingers into his hair, and lowered her mouth.

  She assaulted him, the angry and unrelenting attack in sharp contrast to the softness of her lips against his. He took it—her mouth, her passion, her anger, all consuming him. He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth and sucked. She moaned and swiveled her hips against his already pulsing erection.

  He wanted his hands all over her, but he patiently kept them at her waist and circled her navel with a thumb as she punished him with her kiss.

  She grabbed his hand from her waist and guided it up her torso, leading him to her breast where her nipple was a hard pebble beneath his palm. He wrapped the other hand around her and found her ass, curling his fingers into the toned flesh there.

  She groaned against his mouth, a sound that was half moan of pleasure, half frustrated growl.

  Her breast was soft and full in his palm and her mouth quickened against his in response to his touch. The material that separated his hand from her breast was thin and saturated, but it was still too much. He wanted to test the heat of her skin against his without the barrier, without anything but the slickness of their skin between them.

  He dipped his hand into her bra and she immediately arched her back in response, pressing her breasts against his chest. She wriggled her body down until his dick was cradled between her legs.

  He plunged his tongue into her mouth again, tasting her, savoring and memorizing her. He wanted more. He wanted to taste more of her. He moved his hands behind her head and rolled them so he was on top. She grunted softly but didn’t complain. Instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist and gyrated against him, making his cock throb even harder, making him need her even more.

  He moved from her mouth, nibbling a trail down her neck. She found his hand again and led him to her breast. He chuckled softly against her collarbone as she arched into his touch. He’d dated women who enjoyed having their breasts touched and some who didn’t care, but Paige could come apart with his mouth on her breast alone.

  He slid down further, tasting the fresh river water mingled with sweat. He latched on to her breast through her bra. She cried out. Her hands were between them, searching for the button to his jeans.

  When she’d freed him, she took his dick in both hands and his body bucked in pleasure.

  Then she stopped and stared at a spot above his head.

  Lorring pulled back. His breathing was labored and choppy. “What?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  She released him and he groaned. He followed her gaze.

  In the tree above them, a howler monkey stood as if mocking Paige, her pants on its head like a hat.

  Paige rolled out from under him, and Darian buried his face in the vegetation for a long, self-pitying second.

  When he looked back up, she was standing, hands on hips, wet panties sagging off her glorious ass, as she glared at the monkey and spoke to it like it was an unruly child.

  “You get down here with my clothes this instant, Mr. Monkey. Don’t make me come up there!”

  Did monkeys laugh? Because Darian would swear the sound that came out of that little shit’s mouth was a laugh.

  He got to his feet and came up behind her, pressing her back against his chest and slipping his hand down the front of her panties. As he found her clit, she leaned her head back against him, closing her eyes and moaning softly.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he whispered. “We pick up where we left off and I’ll kill the goddamned monkey myself.”

  “Monkey murder has to go down in the books as the worst pillow talk ever.”

  He groaned. “Then forget I mentioned it.” Goddamn, he wanted to be inside her. She was so slick and wet. He slipped his hand down and slid a finger inside her and she pulsed around it.

  She rocked against his hand and rubbed her ass against his cock.

  “You’re killing me, Paige.” He withdrew his hand.

  He pulled a condom from his pocket and slid it on.

  She turned to face him. “Sure of yourself much, Lorring?”

  He raised a brow. “Am I wrong?”

  Reaching behind her, she unclasped her bra. “Hell, no.”

  Her breasts fell free and he froze. Was there anything more beautiful than a woman in nothing but her panties? He only knew one thing. “Take off your panties,” he said. His voice was gruff.

  Her mouth curved into a smile. “Yes, sir.”

  She hooked her thumbs in her panties at her hips and, too slowly, shimmied them
down, keeping her eyes locked on his the whole time. “I forgot how much you want me to start taking orders instead giving them.” Her smile was wicked. “You should know I don’t refrain because I’m not capable. In fact, I’m pretty good at taking orders,” she whispered. “What would you have me do next, Agent Lorring?”

  His pulse kicked up and his breathing was ragged. “You’re sure you want to play this game with me?”

  “It’s not a game,” she said. “It’s very serious.”

  He studied her body. The beauty of it always imprinted on his mind. The curve of her breasts, the hard edges of her hip bones, the dark, narrow thatch of hair between her legs. Every inch of her, he’d memorized, dreamed about, kissed, sucked.

  Her breasts rose and fell at an increasing beat as he studied her. He didn’t know what he’d enjoy more: having her do as he asked or watching her get off while taking orders.

  “Sit there,” he said, motioning toward a large, smooth-surfaced rock.

  That same wicked smile stayed fixed on her lips as she lowered herself down. “Yes, sir.”

  “Lie back,” he said.

  She didn’t hesitate, but as she lay down, she crossed her legs, taunting him, forcing him to ask for everything.

  “Spread your legs.” He ground the words out, hard as hell as he watched her breathing quicken with every order.

  “Are you wet?”

  “I am.”

  “How do you know?”

  She pressed both hands against her breasts, let them glide over and down her belly. Only one hand slid between her legs, hovering over the dark curls there. She parted her labia and slid her fingers over her clit, rubbing herself, her chest rising and falling with faster breaths now.

  “Are you wet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Finger yourself.”

  Her lids floated closed as she rubbed herself slowly, circling around her sex before sinking two fingers inside. She arched into her own touch, moaning lightly and rocking against her hand.

  Darian watched her as long as he could. Beautiful in every way—the color of her ivory skin in the dappled sunlight, the pleasure coloring the expression on her face, her green eyes locked with his as she allowed herself to enjoy her own expert touch.

  She was close to the edge when he stepped in front of her and removed her hand.

  “Open your legs,” he whispered.

  She obeyed, and as she did so, reached for him.

  When he finally slid into her, he damn near shook with the pleasure of it. He couldn’t have wanted her more than this, and now that they were here, he didn’t want it to end.

  “Wrap your legs around me.”

  Her hips bucked as the pleasure of the gentle order whipped through her.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair and locked eyes with him. “Don’t hold back. I want to feel it. I want to feel you come.”

  How could he have forgotten that every sensation of his she experienced too? He rocked his hips harder into her, and in his mind, licked her clit.

  She whimpered under him. “Come with me.”

  He continued to torment her, bringing her higher and higher and denying his own release until finally she squeezed around him and he exploded against her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Paige wanted nothing more than to fall asleep with the weight of Darian on her. Was there anything as sexy as a man’s weight on top of her? She ran her hands down and over the solid muscles of his back. Despite the anxiety of not knowing what would happen, not knowing whether or not they would be able to save the president, despite the frustration of not knowing Collin’s plan, contentedness filled every hair follicle, every finger and toe. She could just relax here for...

  She groaned. “You’re doing that, aren’t you?”

  Darian pushed up to his elbows. “Doing what?” he asked, mock innocence shaping his features. He traced her cheekbones, the edge of her jaw.

  “You’re projecting. You’re projecting to make me relax.”

  He frowned. “Is that so bad?”

  She sighed. It was fucking blissful, but she wasn’t sure it counted if it wasn’t her own. “It’s not so bad,” she conceded after a long, silent moment.

  It seemed almost silly to waste his freshly recharged power on this when there was trouble on the horizon. In fact—it was her turn to frown. Darian projected when he was trying to hide something.

  She rubbed her hands over him again and pushed a little deeper—beyond the contentment.

  “Oh, fuck.” She pushed at his chest, and he rolled away so she could get up.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or are you just going to run away again?”

  “You found something!”

  Darian shook his head. “We don’t know for sure.”

  He was still holding back! She knew he trusted her loyalties. But he didn’t trust her abilities. Wasn’t that fresh?

  She growled and walked away, hands on hips.

  “Do me favor, Paige?”

  “What’s that, Lorring?”

  “When this is over, when we’ve saved the world again, don’t pretend what happened between us didn’t mean anything.”

  “Sure. We’ll live happily ever after, and you’ll get me in some safe little desk job. Right?” Where were her clothes? Shit. The girls needed to know the guys had found something. Why couldn’t Paige just read minds? This would be so much easier that way.

  She glanced above her head and the monkey was there. Taunting her. Goddamn monkey. Now she didn’t even have a bra and underwear to walk back in.

  “Please, give me my clothes,” Paige pleaded with the monkey. She was a little embarrassed that she’d blamed Darian. It hadn’t occurred to her that a different primate might be the culprit. “I’ll give you all the bananas you can eat.”

  The monkey screeched. Laughing at her. Goddamn monkey.

  She was standing there buck-ass naked and trying to reason with a monkey when, out of the thin air, her sister appeared before her.

  * * * *

  Winston excused himself from his security briefing and stepped into the oval office. They were scheduled to arrive on Eden in the morning, but before he officially arrived on the island, he wanted to make an unofficial visit and make sure everything was going according to plan.

  He shut the blinds and locked the door. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated.

  Five seconds later, he was in the secret tunnels below Eden Resort, where his men were waiting for him.

  “Everything’s prepared, sir,” O’Leary said, leading the way to the underground auditorium.

  “They’re here?” Winston asked.

  O’Leary smiled. “Yes, sir. All three Stiletto Girls and the top three SIA field agents.”

  Winston licked his lips at the thought. The power those six would bring him... “Thank you for arranging that. Their powers will be useful. What about Collin and Rider Raines?”

  “There’s no sign of them. We expect them to arrive shortly.”

  He’d met Collin and Rider many years ago. After they had escaped the scientist and his tests, they’d come back and helped Winston escape by teaching him everything they knew. They taught him how to make his powers stronger.

  They’d taught how to take another Special’s powers.

  They’d even helped him kill the scientist who had made all their lives hell. The scientists were the first powers Winston stole, and he always wanted more after that first taste.

  He and the twins had plotted, planned and schemed with him before any of the three of them was strong enough to make good on their plans. Collin and Rider, his old friends whom he wasn’t sure he could trust any longer.

  “Any sign of wavering loyalty?”

  O’Leary stopped outside the back entrance to the auditorium. “Our men have been trying to get close enough, but none of their abilities works around Collin’s. He surrounds himself with Specials whose abilities cover his weaknesses.”

  Winston smi
rked. Collin was the one who had taught him to do that. “It doesn’t matter. We’re bigger than them. Everything is going too perfectly.”

  On the other side of the auditorium door, a crowd began to cheer. These were his people. He had the devotion of the common, non-Special American, but that was beneath him. Beneath all of them.

  “They’re waiting for you, sir,” O’Leary said.

  Winston pushed through the doors and inhaled deeply. His latest gift was the ability to sense what powers were near him through his sense of smell, and the room was filled with powers—some weak, some strong, some unique, some common. He clenched his fist as he fought the instinct to take the powers as his own.

  The more powers he took, the stronger the instinct was, but he was stronger than any urge.

  Cheers rose as he walked onto the stage. Winston smirked. On the soil above them, vacationers thought their blow job was the most important thing happening on the island. They had no idea what was forming beneath their feet. Winston was in the process of changing the world for Specials everywhere.

  He reached the microphone and gestured for silence with his hands. The crowd obeyed. His people obeyed.

  “Are you ready for the revolution?” he asked, and a roar filled the space, echoing.

  A young man touched his fingers to his lips, then reached up as if toward God.

  “Why do you do that?” Winston asked.

  The man’s eyes widened. “What, sir?”

  “Who do you thank? Some supposed God?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Winston shook his head. “Young man, we are the gods.”

  The crowd cheered.

  Winston held up a hand. “We bow to no one. We’ve been taking orders from weaklings for too long. We’ve been letting the powerless lead the powerful.” He shook his head. “No more. With your help, we put a Special into the office of the president for the first time in known history. This is the beginning of a new era. Tomorrow, we will take down those who would defeat us. We will take their powers as our own, and we will lead. We will let the weakling humans believe they’re in control, but they will serve us. They will fuel us when we are hungry. They will strengthen us when we are weak.”