I Spy a Dark Obsession (21 page)

Authors: Jo Davis

Tags: #Intelligence Service, #National Security, #General, #Romance, #Erotic Fiction, #Suspense Fiction, #Suspense, #Erotica, #Fiction

BOOK: I Spy a Dark Obsession

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“At the club the other night, how did Michael take you?”

Her eyes rounded. “What?”

“How. Did. He. Fuck. You?”

She licked her lips. “With me facing the wall in the alley, legs spread. Why?”

He gave her a feral smile. “Good. Because I’m going to fuck you differently. Not in the dark, but in the light, where you can’t hide.” Sweeping his arm across her desk, he sent pens, pencils, and papers clattering to the floor. Then he eased her onto her back on the surface, spread her knees, and stepped between her legs. Rubbed his cock on her mound. “You’re going to look into my eyes while I bury myself deep in your hot pussy and fuck you until you can’t see straight. Sound good to you?”

“God, yes!”

Reaching between them with one hand, he parted her folds and slipped a finger into her channel, making sure she was nice and wet. Ready for him. Satisfied, he replaced his fingers with the head of his aching cock and pushed inside, sliding all the way to the hilt.

“Bastian,” she said hoarsely, eyes wide. Hazy with desire. “Fuck me.”

With great pleasure.
Hooking her legs over his shoulders, he grasped her hips and readjusted, settling into the cradle of her heat. Withdrawing, he paused, then pushed home again. And again. Reveled in the snug clasp of her pussy walls massaging his dick, making him damned near cross-eyed with pleasure.

“More! Harder!”

“Christ, baby.”

He complied, giving it to her strong enough to shake the desk, fingers digging into her pale skin as he drove inside. Pumped her with abandon, her little cries of ecstasy spurring him on, calling to him on a deeper level than he’d ever experienced with any woman. Even in the throes of white-hot lust, one word emerged in his mind, defining the feeling that went deeper than sex.

Connection
. He felt connected to her in a way that was almost spiritual, a bond he’d yet to achieve with Michael, as much as he wished for it. But Katrina was wide open to Bastian, trust and something more shining in her blue eyes, accepting what he had to give with everything in her. No hesitation or shame.

The realization drove him over the edge and he exploded with a shout, pulsing his release into her. Distantly, he was aware of her clinging to his shoulders, spasming around his cock, finding her own reward. They held on to each other as the tremors subsided, coming down from the high. All too soon, reality intruded, and with it a ball of guilt that sat heavy in his gut.

He’d fucked his best friend’s lover. Would Michael forgive him? Despite Katrina’s earlier assurance that Michael wouldn’t mind, Bastian wasn’t so sure.

Despair joined the guilt, vying for first position on the topten list of stupid shit Bastian had done lately. Kissing Katrina’s neck, he withdrew carefully and straightened, reaching for a box of tissues he’d knocked to the floor. Quickly, he removed the condom, disposed of it, and cleaned himself, not meeting her eyes. He put himself back together while she did the same, and then stood awkwardly, wondering what to say next.
Thanks
seemed a little strange.

Stepping in front of him, Katrina hugged him around his waist, snuggling into his chest. “Thank you,” she said with a contented sigh. “I’ve been wanting you forever, it seems.”

Funny, coming from her it didn’t sound strange at all. Still, the complications of their situation weighed heavily on his mind. “What about Michael?” The tightness in his voice belied his anxiety.

Pulling back, she stared earnestly into his face. “Michael, too. I’ve wanted you both. And now I don’t know if I can give up either of you. Maybe I won’t have to.”

He stared at her, trying to assimilate what she was saying. “I don’t think my best friend is the type to willingly share a woman with another man.”

“I’m not talking about just you two sharing me. I’m saying . . . what if the three of us could be together, for real?”

Hope soared for a few seconds, until he pictured Michael’s reaction to such a suggestion. The man’s withdrawal after the blow job in the limo had been painful enough. His spirits plummeted. “Honey, if you think he’ll go for a happy threesome with me involved, you’re deluding yourself,” he said sadly. “And I’ve had enough of him hurting me to last a lifetime. Even if I—No. There’s no point in discussing this any further.”

“You might be surprised. Do us all a favor and don’t give up.”

“What if you had to choose between us, sweetheart?” he asked quietly. “What if it came down to him or me? Which one of us would it be?”

She didn’t answer. Or couldn’t. Her eyes filled with tears, and his chest felt like it had caved under the pressure of agony so horrible, he wanted to run. Hand in his resignation right then and keep walking.

Which he would do, immediately after the job with Dietz was done.

Showtime.

“Okay, guys. Going in,” Bastian said for the benefit of his backup. “And if anything I do ends up on the Internet? Remember, I take notes on you idiots, and paybacks are a mother.”

The other agents snickered. Michael wasn’t amused.

“He’s going to get his ass killed.” Michael would have paced like an animal in a cage, but in the surveillance van, there was nowhere to go. No room to maneuver.

“He’ll be fine, boss,” Ozzie said, giving him a sharp look. “Give him some credit.”

The unusually sober comment from the normally outgoing agent gave Michael pause. He needed to be careful about expressing worry in front of his men. They might take it as doubt about Bastian’s abilities, which wasn’t true. “You’re right. He’s my friend and I’m concerned—that’s all. He’s not used to being in the field anymore.”

“It’s like riding a bike,” Agent Willis said, trying to placate him.

Not really. Every case was different, took on a life of its own. There was no such thing as a normal or routine case.

As Bastian entered the club, they all fell silent. Ozzie adjusted the sound to mute the roar of the crowd and the music, and they watched the monitor as he pushed through the crowd. The video feed wasn’t terrific, but that was due to the dark interior of the establishment. They could make out faces, barely, and could pause the video and snap still photos if they spotted Dietz or one of his men.

This particular club wasn’t one Michael had ever frequented, but it had a rather rough reputation. Dark, a little careworn, any poison could be found here. Stout drinks, a pill for every color of the rainbow. Anything-goes sex to be had for those in the market.

He wanted to storm into that shithole and drag his best friend out by the hair.

However difficult he’d imagined it would be to watch and listen to Bastian get into his role as a spurned lover on the make, the reality was far worse. He sat riveted, unable to do a damned thing as the man worked his magic.

People were attracted to Bastian, no question. Michael had always known that, but it was a rude awakening to see men and women putting the moves on him. Smiling, groping, fawning over his golden beauty. Each hoping to be the one he chose for some down-and-dirty sex in a back room somewhere. Frankly, it was humbling.

Why does he love me when he can literally have anyone he wants?

On the screen, Bastian worked the bar for a while, then the dance floor. An hour later, he was at the bar again when a new male voice came through the feed.

“Hi.” Shy, hesitant. “I’m Cory. Can I buy you a drink?”

The camera panned to the right, showing a cute little blond twink smiling hopefully at the object of his interest. Michael snorted. As if the squirt stood a chance.

“Sure, Cory. I’m Bastian,” he replied. Male interest returned in kind.

What the fuck?

“What’ll you have?”

“Scotch on the rocks.”

The bartender was signaled, the order placed, along with a beer for the twink—who didn’t appear to be anywhere near legal. Michael made a mental note to call one of his buddies in Vice and have them plan a raid.

“Do you come here often?” Cory asked.

Michael curled his lip. What a stupid line.

“Not nearly often enough, angel.”

Angel?
He needed a Tums.

“Problems at home?”

“Home, work, sleeping. Name it. But, hey, who doesn’t have garbage they need to toss?”

The drinks appeared. “Here’s to tossing our garbage!”

“A fine idea,” Bastian said. Was that a tinge of bitterness?

They toasted, and Michael started to feel sick. More than a Tums could handle. The two enjoyed their drinks and made small talk. But it was the natural progression of events to the inevitable conclusion that almost made him open the door of the van and hurl. He would have if his eyes weren’t glued to the screen as though he were watching a train wreck.

“I have to know something. . . . Is that mouth as sweet as it looks, angel?”

“I don’t know,” Cory said shyly. “I’ve only done it twice.”

Little stinking liar. Surely Bastian didn’t fall for that.

“Why don’t we find a more private place for you to practice?”

The crowd parted, the camera moving again. To the back of the place, down a hallway. Into a small, dark room. A door closed. The shadowy form of the twink moved up to Bastian, too close, blanking out the picture. Sounds of kissing reached their ears, and then the younger man slid to the floor, out of sight, giving them a view of the wall. A zipper was lowered.

Bastian’s groan echoed through the van. Nobody breathed.

The kid must’ve been good, because his friend fucked the twink’s mouth for all he was worth. Flesh slid wetly, noises of pleasure rose, and Michael’s dick hardened in his jeans. He wanted to be the one in that room with Bastian, wanted to slide to his knees.

He wanted to tear Cory the Angel’s pretty little head clean off his shoulders. Rip out his heart and spit on it.

Finally, a shout of release, followed by another. For a few seconds, only heavy breathing cut the silence.

“Can I see you again?” Cory asked.

A pause. “Be here Friday night. We’ll hook up then.”

“Cool.” The twink was happy.

Michael wasn’t. He was in hell, and the kicker was it was all his fault.

And he had no clue how to make things right.

Dietz looked up from his laptop as the door rattled. Tio came in, pockmarked face stoic, as usual. “Well?”

“Seems like Chevalier has let down his guard. Hooked up with some kid tonight, got his rocks off. If it’s a setup, his team is watching from Mars or some shit. Can’t find a trace of ’em.”

“Oh, they’re watching,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m sure of it. The trick is to beat them at their own game.”

“How?”

“By practicing patience.” Quickly, he outlined his plan. “By the time Michael figures out I’m one step ahead, it will be too late.”

Soon, Bastian would be as dead as Maggie Ross. And this time, there would be no mistaking who dealt Michael the blow.

Nine