Agent of Desire (Jessica Booker) (5 page)

I straddle him and push myself into his cock. It is so big and hard. Sims unhooks my bra in one swift motion and lies back so that he can watch me as I grind against him, my panties wet with my desire.

He cups my breasts in his hands, playing with my nipples, twisting them a little, pinching and tugging at them, sending jolts of pleasure pulsing through my body. I get to work on his pants, unable to unbutton and unzip them fast enough.

His cock is so big. I don’t think I’ve ever taken in anyone this size before. The walls of my pussy ache to try it.

I move his hands off my chest so that I can go get a condom.

“Where are you going?” he asks, grabbing me around the waist.

“To get a condom.”

Smiling, he reaches into his pants pocket and pulls one out. “Get back here. I still have some things to teach you.” He rolls me onto my back, lying between my legs.

“Will there be a test?” I ask.

He nods.

“Then I better pay attention.”

“And if you don’t get it right the first time, we will do it again and again until you do it perfectly.”

“Yes, sir.”

He leans his head down and takes one of my nipples in his mouth, sucking on it hard. I gasp, arching my body as shocks of pleasure ripple through me. I should throw him back down and take control. But I can’t—my body wants him to devour me. All I can think about are his hands, his mouth, his….

He removes my pants, and then his own. “See this,” he says grabbing his cock. “It’s going to go inside you.” He strokes it. Even in his large hand, it looks huge. “You want this, don’t you?”

I nod, biting my lip.

He slips on the condom, then spreads my legs, exposing me. He puts the head of his cock against the mouth of my opening and slides just the tip in, pulling it out again. So good. I groan in frustration, wanting more.

“You like that?”

I nod.

“You want more?”

“Yes,” I plead.

He teases me again, pushing the tip of his cock inside me and pulling it out again. He rubs it against my clit, making me moan, then slides himself halfway in. I’m tight, and he fills me up. Still, I want more.

He pulls out then thrusts in again, but he’s still holding back, his arm muscles bulging from the strain as he hovers over me. Just as I try to imagine how I could possibly take the entire length of him, he thrusts all the way in with no warning. It hurts, and I shout out. But the next thrust hurts less. He thrusts in, again and again. My insides sing from the immensity of his cock. The repeated assault makes me come so hard I almost cry out. He continues to thrust faster and faster through my spasms, bringing himself to climax.

When Agent Sims rolls off me and passes out after sex, I’m more relieved than offended. I let myself out and return to my own room, only to find that it’s been tossed. My clothes are strewn across the floor; the chair cushions have been slashed. My bags have been cut open and the mattress is now more on the floor than the bed. The bed sheets are in the bathroom. The small desk is on its side, with the drawer hanging open.

“What the,” I say and start looking for my computer. That’s the only thing I have that is worth this amount of trouble. I dig through the mess, but it’s not there. It would take a tech genius to crack into the security on that thing. All that’s in there is a bunch of unclassified emails and the email for the mission I just failed.

Even the secured files are old news. The worst part of it is that I will have to fill out a report to get a new computer. Until then, I’ll have to make do with my agency-issue cell phone, which has almost the same capabilities and securities as my laptop.

I survey the mess again, trying to figure out what else might have been taken. And, more importantly, who would have taken it. The calla lily is on the floor. It’s been stepped on. The rose lies next to it, untouched.

“What happened?”

I jump at the sound of someone behind me. I’d left the door open, and Mr. Drunk American, Lincoln, is standing at the doorway surveying the mess.

Crap
. “Hi,” I say, as I try to think of a cover story.

“Did they get your agency laptop?” he asks.

I look at him sideways. Did he say “agency”? That’s how we refer to the CIA. “What did you just say?”

He steps in the room without waiting for an invitation, and starts sifting through my stuff. Now that we’re both sober, he looks older. Come to think of it, he’s dressed a lot better now, too. He has on a white button-up shirt and a pair of navy pants.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m looking to see what intel they have. Did they get your key?”

“My what?” I’m so confused. Why is he talking like he’s in the CIA? These are shop terms that agents and handlers use. He’s supposed to be the drunk American I almost had casual sex with last night.

“Stop asking me stupid questions and think, Jessica.”

When he says my real name, I absolutely know I’ve missed the memo. I do as he says, thinking hard. What did I miss? There was another agent at Intelex when I went to break in. “Are you the other agent’s handler?” I ask.

He stalks over to the opposite side of the room and reaches down, picking up the rose he’d given me last night. “No, Jessica. I’m
your
handler.”

“Sims is my handler,” I argue. “You were just…”

He smiles and blushes. “I was what?”

“You were drunk. You…we almost had sex.”

“I wasn’t drunk, I was acting drunk as a cover, and yes, we did almost have sex. You jumped me, though, if I remember correctly. I must admit I was a little bummed when you ran out.” He smiles coyly, making me blush. I think back to our brief encounter and can’t help but see him with his shirt off, lying on his back, waiting for me to take him. My insides warm at the memory.

He clears his throat and my eyes snap back to his face. “Did you get the assignment email?” he asks.

As my head clears, things start snapping into place. There was a second email. I couldn’t open it though.

“You didn’t give me the key,” I say.

“I gave you my number, do you still have it?”

We dig through the mess until we find my purse. It’s been dumped out, and the small scrap of paper with his “phone number” is missing.

I pull out my phone and open the mission email and the encryption key box pops up. “What’s the code?” I ask.

He rattles out
a long list of letters and numbers from memory and I type them into my phone. Sure enough, the key is correct. The email unlocks.

This mission email explains that I am going to be going on a fake mission for Agent Sims who they suspect is a mole. I am to find out who his target is, and bring that information back to await further instruction.

“Fuck!”

I run out of the room, down the hall, and down one flight of stairs to
Sims’s room, ready to crash through the door and smash his brains in. But when I get there, the door is wide open and he’s gone. I left his room less than twenty minutes ago. He wasn’t sleeping after we had sex—he was waiting for me to leave.
Asshole
.

Lincoln has caught up to me and stands behind me.

“He’s gone,” I say.

Lincoln puts a hand on my shoulder. “Of course he is. And now he’s got your computer and the key. Once he gets inside, he’ll find out that we suspect him, if he doesn’t already know. What’s his target?” he asks.

“He had me breaking into Intelex with Geoffrey Pinot’s access,” I say.

Lincoln runs his hand along the back of his neck as he sucks in a breath. As agents, we are trained to hide our emotions. If he’s reacting to what I just told him, that means this is
really
bad.

“This is really bad,” he says. “When Sims requested the mission in Paris, Langley ran through a list of possible targets he could be after. This is, by far, the worst.”

“What’s the big deal?” I ask. “He created a computer program that can shut down websites, but the French have it, and they’re our allies so surely they know how to stop it.”

“Jessica, that was
Sims’s decoy mission. Geoffrey Pinot is a computer genius. His knowledge in IT is why NATO chose him to develop a storage unit for classified secrets. Sims isn’t after a computer program, he’s after ally military secrets stored at Intelex. Where is Geoffrey now?” Lincoln asks.

“I left him at his office. He’s probably still there filling out some sort of police report or something.”

“You need to get back there, Jessica,” he says. “Now that the French know someone is after the secrets, they’ll beef up security at Intelex. The only way left open for Sims will be to go straight to the source. They’ll target Mr. Pinot. Because if anyone has another way in, it’s him. You have to be there to stop them.”

I’m pretty sure the security guards saw me so I can’t go back to Intelex. I change into jeans and a T-shirt and grab a light coat. After packing a bag with my passport and gun, I call Geoffrey.

“
Allo
,” he says. I’m almost surprised he answers.

“Geoffrey,” I say.

“Lori? Is that you? What the hell is going on?”

“Geoffrey, you’re in danger. Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”

“You just broke into my office and disarmed me like some sort of ninja, and you think I’m going to go meet up with you?” He pauses a moment, then sighs. “Fine, tell me where you are. I’ll come to you.”

“I’ll be in front of Notre Dame in twenty minutes,” I say.

“I’ll see you there.” He hangs up. I check the time. It’s eleven thirty. I can just make it. I jog down the Boulevard St. Michelle toward the river. The night is mild and the tourists are out enjoying the Paris nightlife. I weave in and out of the clusters of visitors, pushing them aside. One of them calls out after me, “Hey!” I don’t stop—I have to get to him. I’ve already screwed up the beginning of this mission. My only hope of redemption is to protect Geoffrey. That’s what I will do.

At the river, the immense structure of Notre Dame announces itself, towering over a square. I cross over to L’Ile de la Cité, the island in the Seine that holds the ancient church. The square is filled with tourists who’ve gathered to appreciate the beauty of the church’s double spires and amazing gargoyles fantastically lit up.

I stick to the shadows and keep moving, heading across the island to the bridge on the other side. By the time I make it across the bridge, it’s 11:46. I find a good vantage point from which to watch. Any minute now…

Flashing lights speed towards the island from all directions as the Parisian police descend on the square in front of Notre Dame.

They block off all entrances and exits to the island and begin their manhunt. That should keep them busy for a while. I walk away from the river a few blocks before switching on my phone again. I pull up the last phone number dialed and turn on my locator app. Any time I call someone from my phone, it sends a tag to the receiving phone. The app pulls up a map of the area and locates Geoffrey. He’s gone home. Stupid, but why would he know any better?

I haul ass, praying as I run that I’m not too late.

Rather than waste time with the elevator, I take the stairs of Geoffrey’s building three at a time, making it up to his floor in record time. I listen at the door of his apartment for any sign that he might have company, but it’s quiet on the other side.

I pull out my lock picking tools. Most locks in Paris are antique and hardly pose a challenge. Geoffrey’s is no different. The mechanism in the lock twists and pulls in the bolt. I ease the door open, and liberate my gun from its holster. Tuning into the noises of my surroundings I creep into his apartment searching for any sign, even the smallest hint, of a struggle.

The front hall is dark, but light comes in from the living room. I head towards the light. Geoffrey sits at a desk off to one side, crouched over his computer. He need only turn his head a fraction and he will be looking at me. But the hallway is dark, so I have the advantage. I consider just announcing myself, but after he held a gun to me and then tried to turn me over to the police, I want to make sure he really is alone and unarmed before saying hello.

I drop behind the couch and move behind him, scanning the room as I go. There is no one else here. At least I’ve made it before Agent Sims. I holster my gun and cross the room, staying low to the ground until I’m a few feet away, directly behind him. His handgun is on his desk next to his mouse. The second he realizes I’m here he will reach for it. I need to get to him before he gets to the gun.

I cross the distance in a fraction of a second, but he sees my reflection in the window and makes it to his gun first. I grab the barrel, twisting it up just as it goes off. The bullet hits the ceiling and I disarm him, taking his arm and twisting it so that he is forced facedown onto the floor. I jump on top of him and he struggles, but he’s not going anywhere. He might be big and strong, but he is not a fighter. His muscles are no match for my training.