At long last Elliott and I managed to leave the party without too many undue comments.
“Happy sex,” Gunner called after us as we made our good-nights. “Don’t break anything else, El, or Alice may just spontaneously combust with sexual frustration.”
Elliott closed the door to the billiards room and looked at me. “Shall we have that race now?”
“Just stay out of my way,” I said before bolting. I beat him to the bedroom, but only because he let me. I snatched up the sexy nightie I’d left off earlier in the day, and with a look that had him pausing while standing on one foot, in the act of pulling off his shoes, headed to the bathroom while saying, “I expect you to be naked and ready to rumble when I return.”
He was.
“Is this ready enough?” he asked. He was lying naked on the bed, the captain’s hat on his head, and the parrot clipped to the headboard, where it hung down drunkenly.
I laughed aloud. “OK, that is sweet, you bringing the pirate hat back for wedding night number two. I came prepared, too.” I held up a bottle of massage oil. “Or rather, your mother did. She thought a little oil would make things easier.”
He looked concerned as I moved over to the bed, and popped the top off the oil. “Won’t that make a mess?”
“We will make a mess, but this?” I shook the bottle at him. “This is nonsticky, superslick stuff that is supposed to help you give the most amazing massages. And before you demand that I hand it over so you can use it on me, I’ll point out that it’s my turn.”
“It most definitely is not.”
“Well, either way, it’s the bride’s prerogative to pick who uses the slicky oil first, and I choose me.” I dribbled a line of it up both his legs, and knelt between his ankles. “Since I know you like organization, I’ll let you in on the schedule for this evening. First, there will be an erotic massage, mostly meant to relax some of your muscles which appear to be so tense, they’re about ready to snap.”
“It’s been a very long two weeks,” he admitted.
“I agree. Hence the massage. Following that, the oral sex.”
He smiled. “Was that a Monty Python reference, or do you mean it?”
“Both. Holy Grail is one of my favorite movies, but we’ll discuss that another time. And finally, the big finish in which you and I get down to business and see if we can beat our previous record.”
I put my hands on his calves, and rubbed the oil in, not able to do much in the line of a deep muscle massage since he was lying on his back, but if the state of his penis was anything go by, the erotic part was most definitely working.
“What record? Oh, lord, yes, right there.” He moaned softly when I used the heel of my hand on his thighs, his toes bobbing happily with each stroke. I had to say, the oil was very good, leaving no sticky residue, but providing a seemingly frictionless surface. I did the same to his other leg, then slathered a little oil on his penis and testicles before moving past them to his chest and arms.
“Hmm? The record in which we had the orgasm to end all orgasms last time. I don’t remember how long it took us, but it was quick. I think we can be quicker.”
“Most women,” he commented, his hands clutching the sheets when I oiled up his nipples and gave them a gentle tweak, “most women don’t like a man who’s quick. They prefer longer experiences. You’re the only woman I’ve ever met who wants me to be faster than I was before.”
“That’s because there’s such a nice payoff, and if you don’t spend all night doing it, then you have time to recover and do it all over again. OK, let me know if anything hurts. No holding back and being brave, all right?” I dribbled a little oil on his shoulders, and very, very gently rubbed it into the muscles.
“I promise I will tell you if my collarbone hurts, but right now, there are other parts of me that are aching, and yet you cruelly ignore them.”
“I’ll get back to them. This is supposed to relax you, first.” I looked down at him. He didn’t look relaxed. In fact, the way his eyes were focused on my breasts, he looked about ready to spring. “You are feeling the benefits of this, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Now take off that thing and let me oil you up. I know you said I couldn’t, but it’s my wedding night, too, and I have the right to oil you and make you relax.”
“How about a compromise?” I asked, setting aside the bottle. His body glistened in the soft light, every bit of his front from the neck down slick and inviting.
“What would that be?”
I peeled off the nightie and straddled his hips, pressing his penis between us as I lay out on top of him. The oil allowed me to slide in a very sensual way, one that not only stirred him to new heights of arousal, but made my body alight with need and want and all those things that only Elliott seemed to stir. “This. Look, I can slide around on you.”
He groaned and grabbed my hips to keep me from doing just that. “You’re about to have an answer to just how quickly I can break our previous record.”
“Well,” I said, thinking about all the things I had planned for that evening. “I’d hate to waste that, and since my motor has been running nonstop the last two weeks, I’d be more than happy to skip right to the main course, but that does mean you owe me the chance to lick you up one side, and down the other.”
He just stared at me for a second, then tipped his head back and laughed loudly. “You are the most amazing woman, Alice. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I thank god that you decided to put up with me. You may lick me another time. But for now . . .”
I was on my back before I realized what he was doing. He loomed over me, now wantonly rubbing himself on me, transferring some of the oil so that we were both wonderfully slippery.
“And now, as you said, the oral sex.” He gave me a roguish look before sliding downward, his breath hot and moist on my thighs as he spread my personal paradise, and went to town. So to speak. Between the heat of his mouth, the feeling of his stubble on my thighs, and his dancing fingers that seemed to know exactly where to touch, I was soon at the point of no return.
“Now!” I yelled, tugging at his hair. Luckily, he gave in to my demands, and slid upward along my oil-slicked flesh, taking my legs over his arms as he did so, and sliding into me with one long move. That was all it took for me—my muscles clamped down around him as I went soaring. I did something I never do—I yelled with the glory of it all: my love, the feeling of the orgasm, and, most of all, the knowledge that we were bound together in ways that went beyond a mere legal event. He was mine, my Elliott, my love, my family. He was the part of me that I’d been waiting for since I had become an adult.
It took him a little longer, all of another four seconds, before he, too, gave in to his own orgasm. He sprawled on top of me, his hips twitching a little with the lingering sensations of the moment, his breath hot on my neck.
I slid my hands down his back before wrapping my arms around him, holding him tight, tears burning the backs of my eyes.
“Alice?”
There was concern in his voice. I opened my eyes to smile at him. He kissed the edge of my eye. “Why are you crying, love?”
“I’m just so happy.” I couldn’t help giving a watery chuckle. “It’s stupid, I know, but I never thought I’d be this happy. I love you, Elliott Edmond Richard Ainslie, eighth Baron Ainslie, lord and master of all you survey, except me because I don’t go in for that business about men mastering women. Did we beat our record?”
He blinked at me, glanced at the clock, and then looked back down at me. “No.”
“Damn.”
He smiled then, a smile that lit up his eyes, and filled me with warmth that I knew was permanent. “We will have to try again. And keep trying, until we get there.”
“Absolutely. I’m so glad you see the benefit of not spending hours at this.”
“You really are the most
amazing woman,” he said, laughing a little as he rolled off me, pulling me until I was draped partially over him. “I will do my utmost to fulfill your every desire.”
“You already have,” I said, pulling up the blankets, and snuggling into him. “Except for the nipple clamps, and we’ll get there in time.”
Life, I decided as we drifted off to sated, happy sleep, could not be any better.
But three hours later, I had a chance to bitterly regret those words. I stood shivering naked, awkwardly clutching a blanket to myself, while I watched my husband get dressed at gunpoint.
“I don’t understand,” I said for what must have been the fifth time in as many minutes. “Why are you doing this?”
“You explain it to her,” Deidre said. She was dressed in a black pullover and black pants, and had her hair pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail.
I looked from her to Laura, who was holding the gun on Elliott while he pulled on his clothing. “Is this some sort of a weird joke that Gunner set up? Because I have to say, I don’t think it’s very funny.”
“It’s no joke, Alice. And I’m sorry that you had to be here to see this—I was hoping that we might be able to accomplish this without you witnessing it, but there’s no help for it. We can’t have you talking, you see. It wouldn’t go down well at all.”
I shook my head. “I really do not think this is funny—”
“It’s not a joke,” Elliott said, slipping on his shoes before standing up. He seemed to be much less fuzzy-minded than me. I was still having issues processing the fact that one moment we had been sound asleep, and the next Laura and Deidre had prodded us awake with identical guns, and a demand that Elliott get dressed. He turned to face the two women. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I assume you’re kidnapping me, no doubt in hopes for a big ransom.”
“We’re not kidnapping you for ransom, darling,” Deidre drawled, her eyes eating him up. For some reason, that really irritated me. Not only had she seen Elliott naked, but now here she was ogling him right after dragging him out of our bed. “Our handler wishes to talk to you. To find out just who you are, and who you work for.”
“Handler?” Elliott’s eyes narrowed. “You’re joking.”
Deidre waved her gun carelessly. “I never joke about work, darling. Now if you’d be so kind as to disable the alarm, I believe we’ll be on our way.”
“Elliott?” I asked, a sudden cold chill coming over me that had nothing to do with the fact that I was naked, and everything to do with the suddenly frightened look in his eyes.
“Your lover boy and I are going to take a walk,” Deidre told me, her teeth flashing in a cruel smile. “Since I’m a romantic at heart, I’ll allow you one last farewell.”
“What is going on?” I asked Elliott, my eyes on the two women.
“They’re . . .” He stopped, then made an abbreviated gesture. “For lack of a better term, spies.”
“They are?” My mouth dropped a good inch as I stared at Laura. “But . . . how can that be? Laura?”
“Sorry, Alice.” She gave a shrug. “I didn’t want you to find out, I really didn’t. But this was too good of an opportunity to miss. Once we told our handler about Elliott, he very much wanted us to bring him in for interrogation.”
“Is everyone in the whole world a spy but me?” I demanded to know, a headache suddenly blossoming at my temples.
“Who do you know who is a spy?” Elliott asked me. He had moved ever so slightly, I couldn’t help but notice, shifting a bit to the side in a way that blocked me from Laura. I suddenly realized a number of things, none of them good. Laura’s oblique references to me meant she was going to shoot me. They couldn’t have a witness running around, so she planned to shoot me right then and there.
“I thought you were my friend,” I told Laura, moving to the side so I could level a real quality glare at her. “I would never have told you about Elliott being a spy if I thought you were going to turn out to be one yourself. Oh! You’re a bad spy! You’re working for bad people, aren’t you? Oh my god, how could you do that? You seemed so nice!”
“I am nice,” Laura said, giving me an annoyed look. “I’m very nice, and I did apologize. But business is business, and capturing a British agent is just too good of an opportunity to let slip through our fingers.”
“What the hell is this about me being an agent? I’m not an agent. I’m a writer,” Elliott said loudly. “I write books about spies; I’m not one myself.”
“You’re not?” Was he lying to protect his cover? Or was he telling the truth? I thought back over the time Laura and I had followed him. “But you met with Gunner in Cologne. You gave him a mysterious paper, and you told me he was a spy.”
The look Elliott gave me was filled with questions. “When did I say that?”
“In Cologne. You said he was an industrial spy.” I clutched the blanket around me with fingers that were white with strain. “What was I to think but you were one, too? You knew all that stuff about spies, and Laura agreed with me—oh! That was because you knew what a spy would do, wasn’t it? You used me to follow Elliott!”
“We were just trying to discover if he was worth pursuing or not,” Laura answered, not looking the least bit contrite.
I couldn’t help but look at Deidre, who made a face. “Don’t worry your little head about me, darling. I have no interest in Elliott other than what he’ll bring us in terms of reward. I prefer the other team, as a matter of fact.”
“Well, hell,” I said, feeling extremely jaded, among other things. “So let me get this straight—you’re not a spy?” I asked Elliott.
“No. You really thought I was?” He moved slightly to the right, once again blocking Laura. This time, I didn’t move aside.
“I did. But you have to admit that you helped it along by being mysterious, and saying what you did about Gunner.”
“I was joking. He’s a photographer, not a spy.”
“Oh, Elliott,” I said, and moved toward him.
Laura protested, but I said, as I clutched him, “If you’re going to kill me and take Elliott to god knows what horrible foreign place to be tortured, then you can at least give me a minute to kiss him.”
His eyes were worried as I leaned in to kiss him, whispering as I did so, “You take Laura. I’ll go for Deidre.”
He didn’t even get a chance to protest. Just as our lips touched, Laura stepped forward to break us up. I threw myself to the side, whipping the blanket from around me, and flinging it and me onto Deidre, sending her stumbling backward into the heavy wardrobe. I had taken her sufficiently by surprise that I caught her off guard, but she recovered quickly, at least quickly enough to fire her gun. It bucked beneath the blanket as we fell to the ground. Pain burned along my rib cage, but I didn’t pay it any mind. I had to get that gun away from her no matter what, and I wasn’t going to let a little thing like being shot stop me.
“Ah, I see I’m a little late for the evening’s activities.”
The voice that spoke was male, coolly arrogant, and so familiar it had not only me stopping just as I was going to tackle Deidre, but everyone else in the room whirling around to look at the door.
Anthony stood there, a large gun in his hand, and a little smile that did not at all match the glint in his eyes.
“Drop the gun, please, Deidre.” He lifted his own. It had a long extension on it that I recognized from TV as being a silencer. “I deplore violence, but that doesn’t mean I won’t hesitate to shoot you if I have to.”
“What the—,” Laura started to say. She looked in confusion at Deidre, who was glaring at Anthony, but as the latter leveled his gun at her, she snarled something rude and tossed her weapon onto the floor.
“And you,” Anthony said, looking at Laura. “On the floor, please.”
Laura said something very rude, but also tossed her gun ont
o the floor.
“OK, now I’m lost,” I said, hobbling over to Elliott. “Why is Anthony standing in your bedroom with a gun on two women who are supposed to be travel agents but are really spies?”
“I suspect that is because there is more to comrade Anthony than appears,” Elliott said, giving him a speculative glance. “MI5 or 6?”
“I work for a branch of the latter, one concerned with tracking domestic espionage,” Anthony said, nodding toward the sisters. “We’ve had our collective eye on these two for some time. Now, my dears, if you will just lie down on the floor with your hands behind you . . .”
Elliott, clearly intending on helping Anthony, started toward him, but the blanket that was covering me got caught on Elliott’s foot, and sent him stumbling forward between Deidre and Anthony before falling to his knees in a tangle of legs and blanket.
That’s when all hell broke loose.
Laura lunged for Anthony, doing an odd sort of cartwheel toward him that ended with her kicking him in the face, which in turn sent him reeling backward until he slammed into the wall, and slid to the floor in a dazed heap. Meanwhile Deidre, grabbing the gun from the floor, turned back toward me.
I jerked enough of my blanket from under Elliott so that it caught Deidre behind her ankles. She fell forward, and I leaped on her, using the fact that she was immobile to grab her head and bash it against the wardrobe a couple of times until she lay still. I spun around, intent on helping Elliott.
He was dealing with Laura, attempting to get the gun that was pointed at his head out of her hands. I grabbed the chair next to the door, and lunged over toward them, slamming it into the backs of her legs. She fell forward, allowing Elliott to knock the gun out of her hands. She struggled against him, fighting and kicking, sending the gun skittering under the bed. Elliott pinned her down, snarling at her to stop fighting.
“Deck her!” I told him, moving over to see how badly hurt Anthony was. “Did you see that move she made on Anthony? She clearly knows all sorts of martial arts, so just knock her out!”