Now I need to know what she’s really up to.
Is this real to her or just a fucking game? If it’s the former I’m all in, because that’s always what it was to me. If it’s the latter? I try and think of all the things I’d do to her to make her understand my pain if that’s the case, but no matter hard I try I can’t.
There’s just something about her. Even if she’s fucking me over on a grand scale I could never harm her. Whenever I see those eyes of hers it just makes me think of protecting her…pulling her in close and letting her know I’ve always got her.
I keep reading the incident report. Damn, they were shot right in front of her. Then I get to the bottom where it lists all the names involved.
A juvenile? It shows that a juvenile shot her parents?
I’m so fucking sick and tired of kids being involved on both sides of this kind of senseless violence. So damn pissed off about it.
I want to huck my mouse against the wall, shattering it and watching it break into a million pieces because I never want to see this kind of bullshit again. Never.
But I have to know. I have to know who did this to her parents, to her.
To make it right.
I click on the link and it asks me to reenter my administrator username and password.
Finally, somebody did something right here with this system.
I quickly pound out the credentials on my keyboard and slam down my thumb on the enter key.
And then it feels like a sledgehammer has come slamming down right in the middle of my chest.
The name of the killer?
Is mine.
CHAPTER 13
Amanda
I spend the rest of the morning and afternoon at the beach, just sitting there thinking how I can make all of this work.
I try and prioritize the things The Bureau wants me to do, but the things I want to do with Vasily keep getting in the way.
There’s no way I’d ever drop out of training or give up my life mission to protect and serve, to fight for those who can’t, and as cheesy as it sounds to make the world a better place. I really believe in that.
And I believe in Vasily and I too.
Before I know it it’s five o’clock and I head back home, if home is the right word for the place I’m currently lying my head down to sleep.
I enter the house and throw my keys on the table next to the entrance and quickly make my way inside.
“Stop right there,” the booming, gravely voice calls out causing me to jump. It’s a voice I recognize right away.
I squint and look, seeing Vasily sitting in a chair in the middle of my living room. In the lack of light this time of year it’s like his eyes are black, sparkling, and he’s more than menacing even though he’s sitting and I’m standing.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, angry that he thinks he can just break into my house.
“The question is what are you doing here, Agent Andrews?”
My eyes move to his lap where I see the muzzle of a gun tapping against his leg. Even from this distance I can see it’s a Glock 23, the compact version of the Glock 22. The 22 is usually carried by male agents, while female agents carry the 23 or even the subcompact 27, in rare instances. Most importantly of all the weapons he could have in his possession right now he’s got the most common one issued by The Bureau to female agents. As a man, and a big man, no doubt he’d opt for the 22, if left to his own devices.
“Yeah. I’m sure you know what this is. It’s the one you had stashed in the kitchen. Took me a damn hour to find it too. You hid it real good, but not that good.”
Shit! I had no idea there was a weapon in the house. I’m not authorized to carry one yet, but maybe the F.B.I. stashed one for me in case things went sideways. Well, things are going sideways fast and their little surprise gift has found its way into the wrong hands.
“You government types are so predictable. I can’t believe I missed it at first. See the thing was I was so blown away by you, and I still am, but now all that…I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re capable of anymore, and what you really want from me.” He pauses. “So you’re going to tell me. But first you’re going to show me.”
I don’t say anything as I haven’t received training for this type of situation yet, not to mention I don’t want to agitate him more than he already is. His words are direct, his breathing doesn’t seem elevated or erratic. This all seems very simple to him, like he’s been in this position before.
And obviously he’s walked out of it before. I have no idea about the other party, or parties, involved.
“Despite what you really think about me, or what your agency may have told you, I am a gentleman. And in being a gentleman I don’t believe in putting my hands on a woman against her will.”
I breathe out slightly at the small relief I think his words mean.
“So you’re going to do it for me.”
Fuck.
I imagine cutting off my own arm or some Hollywood stuff like in The Departed when Mr. French slams Costigan's arm on the table until the cast breaks, while Costigan, played by Leonardo DiCaprio, screams in pain. I just imagine having to do it to myself, or something like what happened in 127 Hours when Aron Ralston, played by James Franco, amputates his own right forearm with a dull pocket knife in order to free himself from a dislodged boulder which had him trapped on Blue John Canyon for six days.
“Yes, sir,” I say. My head jerks back wondering why in the hell I just called him sir. Was it because the last man I spoke to today had me yelling sir at the top of my lungs? Or is it because I’m trying to show him respect because I need him to show me some mercy?
One of his eyebrows jerks up as his head cocks to the side. “I’m glad you know who’s in charge now. Flattery will get you nowhere, but respect will get you everywhere in my world…or at least as high as you can go after your misdeed of withholding information and pretending you were interested in something more than just taking me down.
“I was interested in—“
“Silence!”
My entire body jerks this time before my shoulders roll up and my eyes clamp shut as I squeeze them tight. It’s a primal response and much different than the primal response he gave me just one night ago.
“Lying won’t be forgiven, but you see the thing is…I don’t know to what extent you’ve taken it…what extent you’ve gone to with this little charade of yours.”
I want to say something so bad, but the man just yelled at me to keep my mouth shut and he’s holding a gun, one that can be traced back to me if it were to fire. I’m not exactly building a good case right now and my words just this morning to Special Agent Piro have quickly turned into empty promises.
“So since you like to dress up and play games, it’s time you step into another character.”
What is he talking about?
“Take your clothes off…slowly.”
My panties dampen instantly as my heart thuds in my chest so hard I can feel it in my back.
“That’s right. You’re going to be my own little private dancer, and if when those clothes of yours come off I see a wire I won’t be tucking dollar bills in your panties…oh no. I’ll be tucking the barrel of this weapon deep down your throat and then you can start singing, telling me everything I want to know.”
Ho-ly shit! If The Bureau had enough foresight to stash a gun here for me then I sure as hell hope they had enough foresight to set up some recording devices and are listening or watching this because I need them to break the door down right fucking now! A little backup, please.
“Let’s go. I don’t have all night…and neither may you.”
My stomach does a summersault as my nipples harden in my top and my breath hitches as I inhale deep reminding myself this is all just part of the job. Get the guy no matter what, right?
But is this an attempt to get him for The Bureau, or get him back…for me?
I reach for the top button of my shirt and undo it. Immediate
ly I hear a deep rumble of approval from in front of me.
I look up and see he’s already got a white-knuckle grip on the grip of the gun.
“Slowly,” he commands, and my fingers fumble with the next button before taking more time to undo it.
His ass slides forward in the seat and I see his need rising up, even with the lack of light. There’s a bit of ambient light coming in through the windows. It’s just enough to create one hell of an erotic scene. This is practically Basic Instinct except he’s the one in the chair and I’m the one on trial. Regardless he’s just as brash, brazen and cocky as Sharon Stone ever was…except he’s a man, a real man, and I’m turned on beyond belief.
I reach the bottom visible button and then untuck my shirt so I can slowly unbutton the others.
I can see his free hand shaking on his lap as his toe taps the floor in rapid successions.
I don’t know whose heart is beating faster and who’s more turned on by this…him or me?
“Keep going. Don’t stop,” he says, once I get that last button unhooked.
My hands come up to my shoulders and I pull them back, sticking my chest out further as I let my top slide down my arms.
“Yeah,” he growls. I freeze at the sight of him looking like he’s in a daze as he stares at me. “Keep going!” his mood changing on a dime like he’s a child and someone just took away his favorite toy…me.
My hands slide back to my bra and I go to unhook it.
“No…the pants first,” he says.
I do as I’m told, unzipping them and then shimmying them off my hips. When they hit the floor I bend over to take off one shoe.
“Face the other way,” he orders, sending me waddling in a half turn.
Knowing he can practically see up my ass thanks to the thong I wore today has my hands shaking as I go to untie my shoes. I’m so wet and I know he can see it, along with seeing part of my lips and maybe even my butthole too. I’m disgusted, embarrassed, and humiliated…and wet as fuck.
I hear the sound of his belt buckle unclasping and the leather slide through the loops.
“You’re a bad girl and I should really spank you right now.”
I whimper, and I’m not sure if it’s in fear of what a spanking from him consists of, or a sound of approval that I’m definitely up for it. Probably a lot of both, erring on the latter.
I manage to get out of my shoes and then pant when he immediately says, “Grab your ankles and slowly turn back around.”
I do and even though I keep my head mostly down I raise my eyes up, catching sight of him as I come back to facing him.
He’s holding the belt in one hand, the leather looped in half, hanging vertically in line with his hand and arm, the end of the belt touching the ground as he grips the buckle. His chair is leaned back as he holds the gun with the other hand, also pointing down.
But something else is definitely not pointing down. His cock
The fabric of his underwear strains to contain him. His pants are completely unzipped and he’s pulled them down to mid thigh, his dick standing straight up like a flagpole.
“Yeah, that’s right you naughty little girl. After last night I knew I was going to give this to you…all of this,” he says, nodding down towards his dick. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself either. And it looks like nothing has changed…except the way you’re gonna get it. No fancy hotel with champagne and candles. I’m thinking really hard about stuffing this cock in your F.B.I. pussy and coming inside you so long, hard, and deep with this mafia dick that Little Miss Goody Two Shoes has her very own mafia baby. Try explaining that one to the Special Agent in Charge.”
I moan at his filthy words and I can’t bite my tongue any longer. “What happened to being a gentleman?”
“Oh, you brought out the animal in me a long time ago. That time has come and past.” He pauses. “Stand up!”
The way he changes his voice with these damn random yells has me on edge. My cortisol levels are spiked beyond belief, but so is my adrenaline…and my need.
“You think The Bureau would give you maternity leave for our little mob baby, or would they give you a boot in your ass and put you on leave permanently?”
“I’m not an agent. I swear.”
“Agent. Trainee. It’s all the same. I just wonder how you pulled a Clarice Starling and got assigned to my case in the first place…and why I have a case at all…why I’m a person of interest.”
It’s a statement much more than a question. And if it was a question I couldn’t answer it anyway.
“Now the bra and panties,” he says. “And go slowly.”
I reach around for my bra clasp for a second time and unhook it. I slide my hands around to the front, not sure what to do next. I could just drop it to the floor and frown, trying to kill his vibe, but just exposing myself is not who I am.
I release the bra but opt for the hand bra.
“Ut uh uh…are you shy?”
I nod.
“Don’t you ever be shy about that perfect body you’ve got…the one you’re going to show me right now,” he commands.
I slowly move my hand to the side, feeling my nipples underneath my fingers.
“Keep going. Show me what’s mine.”
A shiver runs through me as I slowly inch my hand away until finally my wringing hands are in front of me awkwardly as my breast are on display.
He groans and I see his cock twitching in his black boxer briefs even from here.
“Now the panties.”
Considering he had his face buried in my lap last night I oddly feel less insecure about showing him my pussy. I’m not sure if that makes sense, but then again none of this makes sense…none of it ever really did.
I hook my thumbs in the sides of my panties and slowly slide them down my legs, keeping my eyes locked on his as I watch him squirm in his seat. As I watch what my body is doing to him, how my body is literally a weapon, now I completely understand why strippers feel so powerful.
Being able to diminish this big, strong, alpha male into what’s in front of me now is mind-blowing...liberating. I’m oozing sexual power and control. That’s what it’s all about at the end of the day for most men anyways, right?
Control.
And I feel like I’ve got him under my thumb right now, even though he’s the one holding the gun and the belt, which practically looks like a thick, nasty whip the way he’s holding it.
“They say our Russian Red Sparrows are the most beautiful honeypots in the world. They were wrong…very wrong.”
He stands from his chair and places the gun on the seat. With his now free hand he holds his pants, keeping them from falling to the ground because there’s no way he’s getting them zipped back up with the size his cock is now.
“See, no wires. I told you. Now are you happy?” I raise my palms in the air but he just keeps coming. I slide one foot back ever so slightly, getting my weight repositioned so I can deliver a swift knee to the balls when the time comes…if the time comes.
And more importantly if I really want to do that.
I’ve never been so horny in my entire life, and knowing that no one has my back and no one is coming for me means that I can do whatever the fuck I want right now. And what I want is him…inside me.
It’s well past the point of questioning my messed up desires. This is primal now. There’s no amount of reasoning or logic that can take away the need I have for him…the man who’s now standing right in front of me, his eyes raking up and down my body.
“Perfect,” he says softly, quickly followed by, “mine.”
He continues past me, leaving me a clear path to the gun.
Is he fucking crazy? Is this a trap?
Before I can decide if I want to risk it I can smell his scent just behind me right before the tip of his finger traces along my upper back. Goosebumps form instantly, but he silences them when I feel a coat brush against my body.
I instinctively slide my arm in and
then the other.
“Button it up.”
I do, the long trench coat covering me entirely.
The minute the last button is buttoned I feel his hand grab the fabric at the small of my back, pulling me in close to him, his erection grinding into my back.
“Time to take a little trip.”
CHAPTER 14
Russian Next Door Page 7
