The Assassin In 5F Read online

  Instead, all I did was whimper and tighten my hold on the strands of his hair, pulling him down to me.

  Because I was a glutton for punishment. Even though I knew the truth was that he hadn't wanted me, that I was a mark, I still wanted him badly enough to make this choice that was terrible for me. I was basically hooked on him. I had been jonesing and buzzing and needing him since that moment when we met on opposite sides, me with a gun in my hand. I'd wanted him then. I'd shot him, hoping that he would survive. Which told me I didn't know what was good for me because I was a moron.

  And because I loved him.

  Marcus rocked his hips over mine, hitting that spot just right, and I arched my back, trying to get closer, moaning as he nipped at my jaw.

  “Fuck, you smell good.”

  “Hurry.”

  “Yeah. Next time we'll go slow.”

  Even his choice words of ‘next time we'll go slow’ should have set off alarm bells in my head. But in the heat of the moment, all I could think was, Now, dear God, please now, make me feel good. Make me feel like I am on top of the world. Make me feel amazing. Because I wanted this. I needed more. And only Marcus Black could get me there.

  Stop overthinking and just enjoy this.

  It was impossible to shut my brain off. I didn't know how. But somehow, with Marcus's hands all over me, sliding, gripping, caressing, pinching… It got much easier.

  When his hand slid up my rib cage and his thumb slipped over my nipple, my breath caught, and I bit out a curse. “Marcus. I need—”

  His voice was more a rumbling vibration against my skin than actual words. “I know what you need.”

  That was all we said before we were tugging at each other's clothes. I could hear the tearing of fabric and feel the hard planks of wood beneath my shoulder blades promising me bruises later. But I didn't care. Because holy fuck, Marcus was alive, and my brain only cared about how quickly I could get him inside me.

  Later there would be different words. Worried words, shameful words, but I didn't care right now because what was happening was louder, stronger, a cacophony in my brain. Marcus was licking at my skin with a sure tongue, teasing along the edges and the underside of my breasts. And I couldn't think. I couldn't even drag my eyes open because all I wanted was to let the sensations wrap around me and make me forget that he was the enemy, that I had been forced to do my job and shoot him. I wanted to forget that I could have lost this feeling. And suddenly, the relief of him being alive, the pain of the betrayal, and the driving need for him all hit a fever pitch, and I didn't know what to grab next. One second, I was tearing at his shirt, and the next, my hands were at his hair, tugging him down to me, desperate to have his lips back on mine.

  Finally, I gave up on the shirt and just went straight for his belt.

  I didn't even try and get the rest of his clothes off. I just unbuckled, unzipped, and slid my hand down into his pants to find him commando with a thick fullness jutting out to meet me. He hissed and then dropped his forehead to mine as he dragged in harsh breaths. “Fuck. Fuck, Lyra. Fuck me.”

  “I'm working on it.”

  Even his chuckle was a harsh gasp for air.

  I stroked the silken hard length of him from tip to root, and when I reached that spot just on the underside of his crown and stroked my thumb over it, his entire body shuddered over mine. “Jesus Christ, Lyra. Do that again and I'm going to come.”

  I teased him once more. “You're not coming.”

  “You are a naughty thing. You know that, love?”

  The pang of that word, love. I knew it was just a Briticism, a piece of slang. I knew it wasn't true but still, hearing him say it made something inside me twist. Had we been different people in different circumstances, that word could have meant something. But it didn't. Right now all that mattered was us together. What we could get from each other right now.

  Pleasure.

  He reached for my hand, and I loosened my grip. “Fuck, if you keep doing that, I can't think.”

  I opened my mouth to argue with him that I didn't need him to be thinking. But then his mouth was on mine, and I could hear the tear of more clothing. Next thing I knew my shirt was torn open and he was working on my leggings. He tugged them part way before his hand crept down my belly, under my panties, and he slid two fingers inside of me.

  I threw my head back and arched my back. “Oh my God. Oh God, yes.”

  “Did you miss me?”

  I couldn't even find the words. All I could do was nod my head and grunt. “Uh-huh. Missed you.”

  “Yeah. I missed you too. You haven't been letting anyone else poke around down here, have you?”

  His fingers drove deep, and I screamed, “No. Fuck no, it's you. It's only you.”

  “Yeah, that's what I thought.”

  And then he rewarded me, or punished me, however you wanted to look at it, with a stroke of his thumb over my clit.

  I squirmed against the pressure. I wanted more. I wanted him to slow down. I wanted him to stop.

  No, not stop. Keep going. But God, I wanted control. That's what I wanted. Control over the situation, control over what my body was feeling, a way to look at this from a fifth-story view. But Marcus was demanding so much more. He was demanding a ground-level view, a harsh look. Because he was driving me toward the outcome that I needed so badly. The one I thought was spiraling away from me. And then as suddenly as he’d started, he slowed and then stopped. I whimpered. “Hey.”

  He lifted his head up and kissed my nipple then grinned at me. “Oh, you didn't think I was going to let you get off that easily, did you?”

  I wiggled my hips, and he laughed, bracketing one hand on my hip to keep me still. “Oh no. When you come, it's going to be around my cock. I just wanted you close to the edge quickly.”

  And then he pulled back, pressing a brief kiss to my hip bone before sliding down my body and pulling my leggings completely off, tossing them haphazardly across the room.

  He only managed to get his cargos partway off his hips before his cock jutted out. I stared down at it. Proud and thick and long, knowing exactly how he'd fill me up. Exactly how there'd be that slice of burn upon entry. How I'd have to accommodate his size.

  How he'd take his time and then speed it up. How I'd beg, whimper, ask for anything.

  I knew how this went.

  He settled between my legs, gripping his big hand around the base of his cock and lining himself up to me. He teased my slickness and rubbed the tip of his cock against my clit, making me shake. “Fuck. I'm so mad at you, but I can't not have you.” The words tore out of him.

  I raised my hips, trying to get him exactly where I wanted him.

  And then he stilled. “Fuck. Condom.”

  He reached for his wallet in his cargos, quickly sheathed himself, and then with no preamble, he notched himself against me and drove home.

  The litany of curses that fell off his lips would have made me blush if I hadn't been too busy teetering on the edge of orgasm and screaming, “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

  He seemed to agree as he whispered, “So fucking good. Jesus. I'm done for. Absolutely done for.” And then he dropped his lips to mine in the most tender kiss we’d shared since I shot him. It was more a mingling of breaths with a light dusting of our mouths. And when he started to move, he cradled my head. Then, bracing himself up on his elbows, one hand scooted under my back and cupped my ass, bringing it closer to him but also protecting me as much as he could from the hard floor. Neither of us suggested moving, though.

  Oh no. We were screwing on the floor of his living room on the hardwood. So desperate to get more of each other, desperate to chase the high. And that's what it was, a high. As he rolled his hips and kissed me and growled, one hand tugging my hair, the other holding my ass, bringing it closer and closer with each thrust of his hips, his lips laid claim to mine. Banished any thought I had that I wasn't his or that we weren't real. With bruising and punishing kisses, long slides of hi
s tongue into my mouth, the ownership was complete. No matter what happened from this point forward, I belonged to him. After all, he'd licked me, hadn't he?

  This wasn't lovemaking. It wasn't even just sex. It was possession. Because even though I'd shot him, he still wanted me, and I still wanted him. And that's just the way it was.

  He set a punishing pace with me just grabbing onto his shoulders for dear life and trying to hold on. He didn't relent until I started to quiver inside. The angle he held me at helped too, because with every stroke forward he brushed my clit, and I shuddered. He tore his lips from mine. “Come on, Lyra. Just give me what I want. Just give it to me.”

  I didn't even know what I needed to give him until he kept rolling his hips and driving into me. Making it impossible for me not to— “Marcus. Oh Jesus.”

  The orgasm came from left field, a complete surprise as I was just trying to hang on for the ride. My brain was still too focused on all the things that weren't quite right. But that orgasm snuck up behind me, chased up my spine, and then bitch slapped me so hard I saw stars.

  All the while, Marcus just drove forward. Making love to me, owning me. Loving me. “Yeah, that's it. Let go.”

  And let go was the only option I had.

  Because all around me as the earth shattered, all doubt fell away, all worry fell away, all anger fell away. And I knew where I belonged.

  Even as I screamed out his name, Marcus buried his face in my neck and inhaled deeply. “Fuck, yes. Yes, Lyra.”

  It wasn't until the aftershock began to take me and I started to come down off my high that I realized he'd stilled. He held himself completely stock-still as I rode out my orgasm. “Marcus?”

  “Yeah, baby?”

  Again, his voice was more of a rumble against my skin than anything. “But you didn't—”

  “Oh, we're not done.”

  He picked me up easily, keeping himself inside me as he rose and moved us to his couch. He sat with me on top of him and said, “Oh, this is perfect.”

  Still more aftershocks took my breath away as I settled over him and he hit so deep inside me. My eyes went wide, and all I could do was blink and watch him.

  His smile was slow. “Now, love, why don't you show me all the ways you wanted to punish me.”

  I knew I should be mad. So mad. All the mads. But in this position, with him hitting so deep I could feel another orgasm riding, being mad was the last thing on my mind.

  I notched my hip just so, and his eyes rolled in the back of his head as he muttered a curse and his hand slid up to cup my breasts. At one point I stopped and reversed the motion of my rolling hips, and his head snapped up. His eyes narrowed and became hyper-focused on me.

  “You're evil, woman.”

  “Am I?”

  We watched each other, our gazes locked, as I made him feel how he’d made me feel. Owned. Like there was no other alternative for him but to be mine forever, even if he was the enemy. I could feel him expand inside me, getting even harder. He was losing control.

  When I leaned forward, he matched me, bringing his lips to my nipple and sucking gently, making me gasp. Oh God, that felt so good. But it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to look at him as he came.

  With my hands in his hair, I tugged his head back right before I stopped all motion and deliberately massaged the length of his dick with my internal muscles.

  His eyes went wide, and his hands went to my hips, digging in. “Lyra.”

  I kept up the little massage, the tiny grips of his cock until suddenly he was moving his hips. And then we were moving together. Eyes locked in this game of who would give up control first.

  And the good news was it was neither of us. Because the only way for either of us to have real power was for us to share it.

  His lips fell open and I leaned forward to nip them. His hands dug into my hips, and I could feel him stiffen in my arms. I heard him whisper my name on his lips over and over and over as a reverent chant. “Lyra. Lyra, oh my God. Lyra. Lyra.”

  And as he fell over the edge of oblivion, I wanted to maintain my smugness, but I couldn't. Because I was falling right over with him.

  I was done for. I was completely in love with Marcus Black, and he was the assassin in 5F.

  * * *

  Marcus

  I had no idea how long we sat there. The two of us, panting, trying to catch our breath. Every movement triggered an aftershock, and one of us would shudder and just grip on to the other.

  This was the kind of sex you read about. The kind of sex your friends tell you about that you've never experienced before until you found someone who was a near fucking perfect match.

  Jesus. Every time she moved, I could feel the tremors in her sex along the length of my cock, and I groaned. “Oh fuck, do you need to do that?”

  “I'm not doing it on purpose.”

  She might not have been doing it on purpose, but my cock liked everything she was doing.

  My bloody cock couldn't be controlled. And he twitched awake.

  Oh fuck.

  She stared at me. “Again? We've done that twice.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I pulled away from her, hissing at the sensitivity.

  But the moment she was off, she darted for her clothes, and I went to the bathroom.

  Once I was rid of the condom, I grabbed a spare change of clothes from my room.

  I came back to find her dressed and holding her gun again. “Ah, back to that. Okay, well, where did we leave off? Oh yeah, you had just shot me, and I was on the ground. Begging for mercy.”

  “Why do you work for Exodus?”

  I stared at her. “Me? Why do you work for The Firm?”

  “You know I have to take you in.”

  “Oh yeah? How are you going to explain why I'm still alive?”

  “Because they don't know that you were the Exodus agent I shot.”

  “Oh, and you expect me to quietly not tell them?”

  “God, why is this happening?”

  I softened my voice. “I don't know. But Lyra, I'm not the enemy.”

  “Right. So you keep telling me.”

  “Look, I know you don't believe me, but it's not what you think. I'm not working for terrorists. Look at who you're working for.”

  “You wouldn't dare tell me that the firm is a terrorist organization.”

  “No, I'm not going to tell you that. I'm going to tell you to look at it for yourself. The girl we were both there to rescue, she's a pawn. Logan Brodick wanted to leverage Max Teller. I'll bet you anything that when you returned her home, Teller agreed to the merger for TBC Oil with Franklin Oil. And taking his daughter was a way to make him cooperate. Fall in line.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “It was supposed to look like a simple kidnapping and rescue, but it's more complicated than that. I'm not lying. Have a look for yourself. You'll see I'm telling the truth. The Firm isn't as squeaky clean as they'd like you to believe.”

  “And I should just take your word for it?”

  I shook my head. “No, of course not. That’s not who you are, and I wouldn’t respect you if you just took me at my word. Do some digging for yourself. You'll see I'm telling the truth.”

  “Fine, I’ll do some digging, but I’m not saying you're right.”

  “Of course you're not.” I chuckled low. “What I'm saying is, you're smart. You're going to go look and see if anything I say rings true. You know what to do with that. All I'm trying to do is get you to ask some questions.”

  “You don't know me as well as you think.”

  “Yeah, I do. Present activity notwithstanding, you're too smart to sit down and just take it. So figure it out. Figure out what's going on.”

  “So what, you're not just going to jump out and say you're alive?”

  “No. Because right now The Firm doesn't care. They don’t know me or that I was the one you shot. You didn't tell anyone the agent you shot might be alive. And
I don't think you're going to tell them now that I am.”

  “That's an awful lot of trust.”

  “Yeah. But I know you. You're going to do the right thing. You always do.”

  “Like I said, you don't know me as well as you think you do.”

  “You know what's interesting, Lyra? I may not know you, but I also feel like I've known you forever. Have a look for yourself. If you don't find anything, don't believe me. But if you do find something, come find me, and we can talk about it.”

  She glared at me. “I'm not going to find anything.”

  “Yeah, if you say so.”

  And then I let myself out of my flat, still feeling the buzzy side effects of being inside her. I knew what had happened between us couldn't happen again, otherwise, I’d be endangering my whole team. The next time I saw her, it was going to be strictly business.

  Liar.

  Chapter 3

  Lyra

  I lay awake in bed for hours afterward. I could still feel him all over me. And even though I'd showered in an attempt to wash off his scent to try and pretend that hour in his apartment had never happened, I could still feel him.

  Marcus Black was in my soul. And considering that I had shot him and he hadn't died, he was like some kind of avenging angel hell bent on revenge. And the revenge he planned for me involved several hours of torturing me with orgasms.

  How could you do it?

  I wish my subconscious was asking how I could have had sex with him knowing who he was. What he was. But really, the question, if I was being honest, was about how I could have shot him. The relief I had felt when I saw his face coming out of the shadows was palpable. I could taste it. Hold it between my fingers. It wasn't ephemeral. It had weight.

  And it had meaning. Because it meant that despite trying to hold back, despite trying to distance myself and my heart, I cared about him. Marcus Black was under my skin.

  And even knowing how dangerous that was didn't seem to engage my brain into stopping this from happening. Because it was already too late. I wanted to believe him. I wanted a world where I could still have what he'd given me on that floor. The heat, the desperation, the complete and total ownership.