The Assassin's Salvation (Mandrake Company) (35 page)

“Toys?” Jamie asked, clanking at something.

“Ah, never mind. We can explore such things later, if you wish.” He grinned, delighted anew that he would get to be the one to introduce her to variations on sexual activities, if she so wished. Though he would be absolutely fine with keeping things simple. Some people’s ideas of
toys
were enough to make one cringe. He shuddered, images of those damned counselors—and Laframboise—flashing through his mind.

“All you all right?” Jamie had stopped tinkering and put her tool away. She frowned up at him with concern.

“Yes. I was just, uhm. I’m looking forward to a wonderful night with you, that’s all.”

She laid a hand on his forearm. “Maybe I should give
you
the massage.”

She read him too well. But maybe it was just as well that she already knew all his secrets, all the nightmares that haunted him, and that he didn’t have to hide anything from her.

“No, I’m looking forward to this.” This time, Sergei succeeded in resting his hands on her hips and leaning in for a kiss.

“Kissing me or massaging me?” she murmured against his lips.

“Yes.” Sergei forced himself to draw back, lest his body try to put its needs ahead of her modest desires. “Why don’t we get you out of that dress and onto the table?”

“Sounds good, but you’ll want to put on your massage outfit first.”

“Massage… outfit?” He squinted suspiciously at her. “You didn’t get one of those bulge-hugging swimsuits like they had at the spa, did you?”

“Not exactly like those. Ankari helped me pick it out. At the same time she was picking out one for the captain.”

“Oh?” Sergei said carefully, though he couldn’t imagine Mandrake wearing anything skimpy or otherwise ridiculous.

Jamie rummaged through her luggage, peered in, pushed her nightclothes around, then rummaged some more. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be very big, not if it had been lost in such a small bag. “Ah, there it is.”

She held aloft an orange string. With a thin fabric… pouch. No, make that a sling. Pouch was too generous a term for the tiny scrap of fabric.

Sergei pointed at it. “You’re telling me that
Captain
Viktor Mandrake, leader of a company of bloodthirsty mercenaries, is going to be wearing one of those tonight?”

“He’s probably putting his on right now. It’s pink.”

Sergei snorted. “There’s no way she’s getting that on him. It wouldn’t matter if it was jet black with spikes coming out of it.”

“Well, you wear what you like.” Jamie’s eyes crinkled, and she unfastened her dress, letting it pool on the thatch mat at her feet. She was wearing the female equivalent, a string bikini with fabric that covered very little. “I’m ready for my massage.” She scooted onto her belly on the table, leaving him holding the orange thong and gazing at all that magnificent exposed flesh.

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to change right now.”

“Good,” she said, her voice muffled since she had placed her face into the hole in the table. “I’m waiting for your touch.”

Sergei kept himself from saying something dirty—barely. He had been promising her this massage for long enough now that he owed it to her to do a good job. Not that he didn’t plan to enjoy the experience too.

Smiling, he opened a drawer in the table and found a number of oils and lubricants. Perfect.

He tugged off his shirt and trousers, nearly pitching into the fountain because he was admiring her sleek form instead of paying attention to what he was doing. Some lethal assassin he was. Once his shoes and clothes had joined her dress on the floor, he picked up the tiny swimsuit and regarded it dubiously as it dangled from the tip of his finger. No, a man just couldn’t do such a thing to his favorite body part. He tossed it into the closest bougainvillea, trusting that Mandrake’s would end up in a similar place.

It wasn’t as if Sergei and Jamie were heading off to some public swimming hole. Everything they needed for the night was here. He plucked up one of the oils labeled
Sexual Scents: Tropical Kiss
. That sounded promising.

Before applying it, Sergei untwisted Jamie’s loose braid of hair, pleased to see gooseflesh arise as he took his time, combing his fingers through it and massaging her scalp.

“I’m already liking your ministrations,” Jamie said.

“Good.”

Sergei let his fingers roam a little longer, then shifted the mass of soft blonde locks to the side of her shoulder. He dropped some of the goop onto his hands—surprisingly, the subtle coconut and flower scent
was
appealing—then rubbed them together and laid his palms on Jamie’s back. He wasn’t actually all that experienced at the masseur role, but he had been reading up and watching videos on the network. For warm up, he ran his hands across the muscles of her back, then up to her shoulders, applying pressure but not too much. He untied the string of her suit, so it wouldn’t get in the way. He slid his fingers over her deliciously smooth, soft skin, and it didn’t take more than a few seconds before his eager shaft was pressing against the side of the table. He sighed at himself. He had to have the most ridiculously active libido. At least this time, his penis was focused on the
right
woman.

“That feels wonderful,” Jamie murmured.

His first thought was that she meant his penis, but he gave himself a mental kick and called himself an idiot. He was being careful to keep that against the table, not her hip. No need to reveal that he had tossed her gift away prematurely.

“I’m glad,” he said, moving his hands in the techniques he had read about, searching out knots of muscle that he could gently knead into a smooth and relaxed state. She didn’t have nearly as many knots as he did. He imagined he would be quite the project if she offered a return massage.

After a while, he spoke again, bringing up a question that he had debated whether to mention tonight. With Jamie sighing enthusiastically and making contented murmurs at his touch, he thought it might be a good time. “There’s something I’d like to ask you.”

“Yes?” she said dreamily.

“When I first flew with you to the
Albatross
, you were talking to Ankari about wanting to return to school, about applying for the next semester.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice less dreamy.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I have these stalker tendencies, you see. A bad habit drummed into me by the job.”

“Really,” she said dryly.

At least she sounded amused, rather than annoyed. Not that he had yet had her annoyed with him. It was inevitable that she would be someday, but he loved her even temper, her lack of judgment, her calm acceptance. With his hands kneading her shoulders, he leaned in close and kissed her on the back of her neck, savoring her warm scent and the taste of her skin. Or maybe that was the
Tropical Kiss
lotion
.

“I wanted you to know,” he said, “that I would miss you immensely if you left, but I’d understand your desire to study and to do something else with your life besides roaming around with mercenaries. And I’d wait for you, if you wanted to leave and maybe come back someday.” He kept himself from admitting that he would be crushed if she left, going someplace like a university in the hyper-civilized core of the system where an assassin would be shunned, if not shot outright. He didn’t want to sound too needy, too vulnerable. She thought he was strong, her thorn. He wanted her to go on thinking that. He kissed her again, savoring this moment in case it wouldn’t last forever.

“That’s sweet,” Jamie said.

Sweet? Hm. Why did that sound like the start of a sentence that would have a
but
in it?

Sergei ran his hands down her back and to her legs, lovingly kneading the muscles in her hamstrings and calves, while wondering if there was any way he could tempt her to stay, to make her dread the idea of leaving him.

“But,” Jamie said, and he winced, “I was thinking I might wait another semester or even a year before applying.”

Sergei’s chest swelled with hope, though he kept his hands steady, his voice casual as he asked, “Oh?”

“I’ve been learning a lot on the job—and while sneaking into enemy fortresses too. And I’ve developed this odd craving for going off on adventures with this strange man.”

“A very strange man.” Sergei pressed his thumbs into her calf, rubbing at a tight spot. “What about that other problem that you wanted to escape? Leering men with wandering hands?”

“It’s the oddest thing, but it hasn’t been a problem at all these last couple of days. Men have been looking at my eyes instead of my breasts when they greet me, and Striker passed me in the corridor yesterday without jostling me or saying anything lewd. He even stood aside so I could go around him.”

“Is that so?”

“Think it has something to do with the fearsome assassin I’ve been wandering around the ship with?”

“I think it has more to do with that mercenary you threw over your shoulder and onto the table.” Sergei slid his hands up to massage the backs of her thighs, ostensibly working on the muscles there, though his fingers had a tendency to stray inward for light, teasing strokes. “That’s usually how it works with bullies. I should know. We had a number of them prowling the corridors of the space station where I grew up. You beat up someone they respect, and that’s usually all it takes to get them to leave you alone.”

“I didn’t beat anyone up,” Jamie protested, shifting her legs farther apart. Inviting him to explore that sensitive inner flesh more? Gladly. “I just wanted to leave, and he was in the way.”

“I believe the story may have grown in the telling, but if you would like to continue your self-defense classes, I would be glad to teach you.” He leaned down and kissed the back of her thigh as his fingers rubbed and roamed. The kiss turned into a nuzzle, and he inhaled deeply, wondering how long she would want the massage to go on before she was ready for something more vigorous.

“I would like that. Thank you.” Did her voice sound a little hoarse? Maybe she was already thinking of more than massages.

He let his thumb brush her suit between her legs and found the material damp. His groin flexed against the table.
Easy boy
, he told it.
We’re taking our time, making sure she never wants a massage from another man.

He drew back, fighting the urge to focus his rubbing fingers on that tiny area covered by her suit.

“Do you want the front done?” Sergei asked. Damn,
his
voice was hoarse.

“Yes, please.”

Jamie shifted onto her back, her breasts jiggling, distracting him from his thoughts of her lower regions, though he didn’t take his hands from her legs. As he kneaded her quadriceps, his eyes were locked on her pert nipples.

“Looks like my suit fell off,” she murmured, smiling, watching his eyes even as he watched her.

“Poor quality construction obviously,” Sergei said, his mouth dry. He wanted nothing more than to cup one of those breasts, taking a nipple in his mouth, sucking it and teasing it with his tongue. So long as he kept up with the massage, what was the harm? His groin agreed with the sentiment. More than that, it wanted him to climb on top of the table and test its sturdiness.

One thing at a time. He leaned forward, leaving one hand on her thigh, rubbing and stroking, and lifting his other to her breast. He opened his mouth, anticipating her taste.

“
Sergei
,” Jamie said, admonishment in her voice.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, feeling guilty.

“Your suit fell off too.” She grinned impishly at him, and he relaxed, realizing she was teasing.

“
Really
poor construction.”

Hopefully, she wouldn’t wonder how it had come to hang in that bush over there.

“Hm.” Jamie lifted an arm toward him, and he leaned down again, so she could slide her hand around the back of his head, fingers scraping through his hair. Another surge of blood flowed to his groin. She pulled his head down, toward the breast he had been ogling.

He went eagerly, his tongue slipping out to taste that dark pink tip.

A soft contented moan came from her lips, and she shifted toward him, her fingers still kneading his scalp. Encouraged, he sucked and licked as he slid his hand across her abdomen and up to cup the other breast, rubbing his thumb across her nipple. He relished the deep rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers dug into his scalp, sending shudders of pleasure through his whole body.

“I wonder,” she breathed, “if the bottom of my suit will fall off too.”

“It seems inevitable,” he murmured against her skin. “Due to the poor construction.”

“Yeah,” she rasped.

Sergei continued to stroke her nipple with his tongue, but he let his hands drift southward, finding the knots at the sides that held the suit. He had them undone within seconds and slipped the bottoms off, dropping them onto the floor with the rest of their discarded clothing. He returned his hands to her hips, her thighs, her inner thighs… and brushed her with a thumb again. This time, there was no barrier, and he more fully felt her damp eagerness. She moaned and bent her knees, shifting her legs wider, begging for his touch. He was happy to comply, though the feel of her shifting and squirming against his hand made
him
squirm. Barely conscious of his actions, he rocked against the side of the table, though the hard wood of the edge wasn’t what he wanted to feel against his naked shaft. He wanted—

“Sergei,” Jamie gasped.

He lifted his lips from her breast, meeting her eyes.

“I didn’t fix that table leg for no reason.”

“No?” he whispered, slipping his thumb between her lower lips, stroking her gently.

She gasped, pressing against his hand. He rubbed more quickly, and she groaned, arching into him. His cock was straining, and it was all he could do not to leap onto the table and take her right there, but he relished her soft moans, the way she looked at him hungrily. He wanted to tease her, to extend her pleasure.

“Why did you fix it?” he whispered.

“Sergei,” she panted, squirming harder against him, sweat gleaming on the quivering muscles of her belly.