Kris DeLake - Spy to Die For

His breath caught. She didn’t normally do this either? Was that what she had implied?

He took her other hand and bent his head. She tilted hers toward him, and his lips touched hers.

This time, the kiss was gentle. He explored, tasting her, softly touching the inside of her mouth. She opened to him and didn’t move—not her hands, not her body—just her tongue answering his.

He took her arms and wrapped them around him. Then he tugged her as close as possible, feeling her athletic form against his. Her hands rose up his back, pulling him down just a bit more.

But if he bent farther, he couldn’t feel her against him, and he didn’t want to lose that. So he lifted her, settling her on his hips, letting her feel how aroused he was.

And he was aroused. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like this. He wanted to slam her into the wall, pull off her clothes, and take her right here, but he didn’t. He needed to move slowly, to remember this, to take it one step at a time.

She shifted against him, her thighs pulling her even closer. He could feel her through her very thin pants.

“Hurry,” she said against him.

“No,” he breathed. Then kissed her again.

“Please,” she said into his mouth.

He shook his head, deliberately taking his time, shaking with the effort to maintain control.

She yanked her head back, slid her hands around his front, and opened his shirt. Her palms pressed inside, her skin warm on his, and he nearly lost all control right there.

“Now,” she said.

“Bed?” he asked, not sure if he could handle more words than that.

“Couch,” she said decisively, then unwrapped her legs from him and put her feet on the floor.

He felt her loss as if he had lost part of himself. She tossed off her shirt, revealing small upturned breasts. As he reached for them, she slapped his hands away with a smile.

“You said slow, remember?” she said. Then she wriggled out of her pants. She was trim except for her wide hips. A small wedge of black hair pointed the way.

He reached for her again, but she danced out of his grasp. It took his sluggish brain a moment to understand: she wanted his clothes off as well.

He yanked off his shirt, opened his pants, and nearly tripped as he stepped out of them. His penis bobbed forward, announcing itself, and he wondered, with a flush, if he was too big for her. She looked so much smaller without clothes.

She grabbed him, and pulled him into her warm and willing mouth, and it took every measure of control he had to hold on. He was going to take his time, he reminded himself. He was. He. Was.

Then her mouth left him. “Pick me up,” she said, and he did.

She settled on him like she had before, only this time no fabric barred his way. He wanted to make sure she was ready, but she didn’t seem to care. She slid onto him, as warm and willing and wet as her mouth had been.

Then he lost all rational thought, moving with her, moving against her. She controlled the rhythm, or maybe he did, and she came against him, adding to it. She made a soft cry—not anything like he would have expected—her head flung back in sheer pleasure, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

He came too, losing himself inside her.

It felt like he was falling. Then he realized he was. His knees were wobbling, his legs giving out from the unusual effort. He staggered to the couch and sat naked on the rough fabric, her legs still wrapped around him.

She brought her head forward and nestled her face in the crook of his neck.

“My God,” she said against him. “You fit perfectly.”

And he did.

She had spoken out loud. She hadn’t meant to speak out loud.

But she was so shocked at how good she felt, and part of that was how good she felt with him still inside her .

When she had first seen him without his pants, she had a momentary thought: My God, he’s as long as he is tall . But she found that intriguing—she’d never ever really thought about tall men before or how they were built.

He was built beautifully. He didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, which surprised her, since he had worn such loose clothing that she had thought him out of shape. He wasn’t. He even had well-defined abs, which no one could get with enhancements. His broad shoulders accentuated his narrow hips and muscular legs.

He had to work hard to maintain that shape, and yet he had hidden it under bulky clothing. The clothing had also aged him. He looked younger naked.

Not that she’d been able to reflect on that much in the heat of the moment. In that moment, she had taken him in her mouth just to see if his length was an illusion as well.

It hadn’t been. In fact, when his penis had touched her lips, it had jumped just a little, as if it were trying to grow harder.

And—sweetly—he had wanted to take his time, probably to please her. She was already pleased, so she made sure she controlled things.

He hadn’t minded. In fact, he seemed to enjoy himself.

He held her against him, their hearts beating together. Odd that she noted the heartbeats first, before she realized that they were also taking breaths at the same time.

That had never happened to her before. Nor had she ever relaxed like this before, not after having sex, not after being so vulnerable.

Not that she had ever been this vulnerable before either.

That thought made her sit up and push some damp hair out of her face. His cheeks were flushed, his blue eyes even bluer. He looked open to her, and she had thought him open before.

Such a sweet man, such a gentle man.

The sex had confirmed her impression, not changed it.

She had an ability to see people clearly. Not necessarily all their flaws and faults, but their essences, their cores. She never lost sight of their humanity either, which made it impossible for her to become an assassin.

Her parents, with the help of the man they had hired to pretend to be her uncle, had dumped her on the grounds of the Assassins Guild on Kordita when she was ten, and the Guild had both saved her life and trained her to be an assassin.

The cost of the training, and the room and board, had left her indebted to the Guild. They had done this because they thought she was angry enough and smart enough and asocial enough to be an assassin. But she wasn’t. Angry, yes. Smart, yes. Asocial, no.

Something about her prevented her from seeing any human being as someone to be destroyed—no matter how evil. And she knew people could be evil. All of the targets of the Assassins Guild were supposed to be evil.

Everyone connected with the Guild, from the lowliest instructor to the Guild’s director, Kerani Ammons, had told her that as if they believed it. In fact, Director Ammons’s eyes had glowed with fervor, as if she had thought destroying evil was part of the Guild’s mission.

It was now Skye’s job to make sure the targets actually were evil. She vetted them. She had only two years left on her contract with the Guild, and then she was on her own.

She couldn’t wait for that.

She ran a hand along Jack’s face, the stubble on his cheek scratching her palm. She had never in her entire life been so attracted to someone. She certainly hadn’t admitted anything, made careless statements like she had done with him, or even blurted out her thoughts.

He shifted beneath her, putting his hands on her hips, and she realized he was adjusting her. He was growing hard again.

He smiled, then dipped his head down and sucked on her breast. Pleasure spiked through her all the way down from her nipple to her womb. She moaned again, and tried to move his face. She wanted to taste him. He lifted his head for just a moment, eyes twinkling, then captured the other breast.