0 comments/ 19434 views/ 12 favorites An Assassin's Weakness By: bluntforcemama Special Thanks to PF * * * * * A lone, solitary figure stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the thirty-seven-story building in the darkening evening. Rain poured down in thick, drenching sheets, slickening the salty streets of the sleepless city. High above her, perhaps on the top floor of the impressive skyscraper, a light flickered off. The solo feminine silhouette watched, wondering if it was the lightning that had caused the light to go out, or if the tenant was leaving, as predicted. She waited in the rain; the blue streaks of arching lightning from an angry storm illuminating her body and face. She backed away from the building and into the deep shadows that haunted the city, waiting for the man she intended to kill to emerge from the monolith that he owned and built. She had been called in the middle of the night about two weeks ago, her sister hysterically crying on the other end of the phone. “Meg?” she had asked the woman. “Megan, what’s wrong? Calm down.” A man’s voice in the background badgered commands. “Megan, who’s there? Who the hell is that? Where are you?” She asked the distraught voice simpering on the line. “I have a job for you.” A man’s voice cut through, Kelly’s whimpering became distant as she was pushed away from the phone. “I’m listening.” She told him. “Meet me at your office in half an hour… or Megan will be dead by morning.” She had hung up the phone reluctantly, unsure of what to expect. She caught a cab to the office, only to meet a man there, a short man with an evil gleam in his eye. He had written her a check for over a million dollars and gave her a name. She had glanced at the name, and recognized it immediately. “I don’t do high-profiles.” She warned the troll-like man. “Too bad, it’s a done deal. Or she’s dead.” He motioned towards Megan; she had been slipped a tranquilizer and was sleeping fitfully on the black leather couch on the opposite side of the office. “How long?” “Two weeks, max. We’ll be watching you. If you fail, you know what happens.” He avowed with no remorse, no hesitation. “And why did you choose me?” she asked, irritated. “He likes women, he’ll like you, and you’re the best for male hits. Rumor has it you trained with a few cells in the Middle East, and the Seals. Besides… that delectable body could tempt the most pious of men.” He snickered, and licked his lips. “Impossible, Seals only let men in.” She countered. “Then set us straight.” He growled, looking over her lithe, toned body, taking in the well-toned curves and hollows. “In your dreams.” She hissed, answering his questioning eyes more than his demand for accuracy. She had left the office, bent on finding the people responsible for this raid. They knew what she would and wouldn’t do, or else they wouldn’t have threatened her. She only took hits that were necessary. She laughed to herself in the shadows… Necessary, hell, you’ve never had to kill anyone out of necessity in your life, she told herself. Most of her hits were men, only a few women, no children. They were threats to governments, countries, nations. They were evil, she had done her background checks long before being assigned, knowing what to expect before she even got the operation. She’d never had a hit like this before. This man, a business bigwig from London was too high-profile, no threat to anyone besides other businesses and disgruntled husbands whose wives had fallen under the charm of this man to whom she was forcefully assigned. He wasn’t a necessity. She had seen his work; his life had been profiled on several TV biographies. He was in his early thirties, the CEO and soul owner of several dot com industries as well as a partner in more than a few import/export businesses. But she knew him better than that. He had pursued her several years ago. She had refused; she thought she was in love with someone, only to have it fall apart slowly over the five years she had given to the doomed relationship. She still thought of the man that had tried to win her heart, still held feelings for him, but was too ashamed to tell him that her attempt at loving someone else had failed. She had told him so many times that she loved, and not him. She had been so sure of what she was in for… She was propelled into the gates of the present as a man in an expensive gray suit emerged from the front doors and was greeted by a limousine. He glanced across the street; she had hidden herself well in the shadows. He didn’t see her. She wore all black, a tight leather cat suit, black gloves, black boots. The only thing he could have seen was the unsheathed, eight-inch gold stiletto knife strapped to her thigh, and her face, sallow in the blackness, seemingly hovering in the air, her glossed, full, red lips, and her large liquid jade eyes. Her hair was a dark shade of brunette, almost black, and slicked against her skull from the torrential downpour. If he had seen her, he gave no indication. He stepped into the limo, and was sped away into the humid night. It must have stopped raining while she was thinking of the past. She waited until the glow of the rear lights had given away to a foggy shroud of an eerie crimson glow in the steam that arose from the warm pavement. She stepped out from the shadows hesitantly, watching the dual ruby glow become more and more faint. She crossed the street, walking calmly towards the building. A basement window was her target as she circled the huge building. She had obtained the blueprints from a contact that owed her a favor. She headed towards the alley, turning into the dusky, poorly lit lane that ended with a chain-link fence. The tear in the fence had been made the night before. She had been here until the early hours of the morning, preparing for this hit. Either no one had noticed, or they hadn’t bothered to fix the fence. She wondered if they had found any others of her carelessly left evidence. She had been careless in hopes that security would be tightened and she might not be able to go through with the hit after all. No such luck, she concluded. She pushed through the hole in the fence, and walked over to the basement window she had found the night before behind a wooden plank and several metal bars that were welded to the frame. She had torn away the wood, and hacked through the bars, plucking them from the frame. They lay in a jumbled pile beside the window well. They hadn’t been touched, no one had noticed the breach. She leaned down, peering into the window, taking her time. She had at least three hours before he would return. And if security dared to become competent, she had a surprise for each one of them. She rolled onto her back and positioned her elbow against the left pane of glass. She pulled back and with a swift movement, her elbow crashed through the glass. She examined the broken shards, then looked at her elbow. Only a few cuts, but she would have to keep the blood from dripping. She reached into the well, and groped for a latch. She slid it out of place, and heard the clatter as it fell to the cement floor. The window fell open. She gripped either side of the window and ripped it off of the rusty hinges and dropped it to the ground. She eased herself onto her belly and climbed through the frame and into the basement. She felt around in the darkness, sliding onto the floor, crawling on her knees, lifting as she brushed the crushed glass and wet dirt from her body. She unzipped the front of her bodysuit, and pulled a penlight from between her creamy breasts. The light flickered on and she scanned the room. She found a set of stairs in the opposite corner. Beside the staircase was a box, just where she had told him to leave it. Her contact had been advised to leave a fur coat in the box, so that she could walk through the building without suspicion. She opened the box, pulled out a black fur coat that draped the floor. She hurried up the stairs and pried the locked door open with brute force. It led into a room for the janitorial service, which had been relieved for the evening. She walked around assorted boxes and cleaning equipment, making her way to the door that led to the lobby of the building. She opened the door, leaving it unlocked as she closed it again and walked down a short hallway that led to the lobby. The lights from the room temporarily blinded her eyes. She stopped momentarily, using the excuse to compose herself. She walked up to the desk where a thin security guard was reading a ragged paperback book. She tapped her red fingernails on the desktop, waiting for him to finish reading a sentence before he looked up at her. She looked a mess, she thought to herself. She should have tried to dry her hair, or at least comb it. She hastily ran her hands through the wet strands, pushing it out of her face and back. The guard looked at her, smiled as he looked away, and then glanced again. She smiled back at him, one of her devilish grins. She knew she was gorgeous; it was a weapon she used more often than not. The guard stuttered a bit as he spoke, obviously nervous. “C-can I help you?” he asked sheepishly. Ah, she loved it when men were weak. It made her job that much easier. “I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a tangle.” She admitted whole-heartedly as she leaned closer to him over the counter. “Oh?” he squeaked. “Well, you see, I was supposed to meet Mark Neilson here, I’m afraid I’m late, and I don’t know if he’s left yet or not.” “He left about fifteen minutes ago, Miss…?” “Kayd Kavanaugh. Oh dear, I have to see him. You see, I left my purse in his room this morning…. You know what I mean.” She smiled, knowing what he must be thinking.” “I’m sorry Miss Kavanaugh-“ “Kayd.” “Uh, yes, miss … I can’t let anyone up unless they have permission from Mr. Neilson. Let me see if he left any requests.” He started to shuffle through some unorganized papers on his desk. After a few more shuffles, he looked up at her, a slight disappointment in his eyes. “I’m afraid he hasn’t left any instructions to let you up to his office.” He explained. “But I need my purse! It has all my money in it, and I can’t pay for a cab back to my place, I live on the West End! That’s a fifty-dollar cab fare.” She pouted. “Oh… well, I have some money I can loan you, I’m sure that Mr. Neilson would want me to.” He exclaimed, happy to be of service to a beautiful woman in distress. “Oh, no, I couldn’t.” He handed her a fifty-dollar bill that he had pulled out of a drawer. Petty cash. She leaned into him, as if to tell him something personal. He leaned closer to hear what she had to say. As soon as he was close enough, she pulled a junkie’s syringe from the pocket of her coat… thank God her contact hadn’t failed her. She plunged it into the guard’s flabby arm and pushed the milky fluid down. “What the-“ He was out before he could finish his sentence. He’d be out for at least three of four hours. Just long enough for her to finish her job, or be caught. She rounded the desk and dragged the man into the hallway where she had emerged. She opened the door to the janitorial room and hauled the man into the room, yanked the keys from his belt, and shut the door behind her as she walked towards the elevator. She found a key that matched the lock on the elevator console and inserted it into the keyhole, turned, and pressed the button that would summon the elevator. She waited impatiently as it slid down the shaft, coming slowly towards her. She was startled by a ding, and the doors opened. She shoved the keys into her pocket just as an elderly woman dressed in a gray business suit smiled and transpired from the elevator. She looked at the unoccupied desk, then at her again. “Where’s Tom?” she asked Kayd. “I think he was called up to another floor for some minor emergency.” “Oh, well, I’ll find him later.” She announced and walked towards the whirling glass doors. Kayd watched as she slipped into one of the revolving doors and walked into the night. She stepped into the waiting elevator and pushed the top button. She caught her reflection in the steel of the elevator. She looked hollow, but she had ever since she had returned to the states. Life wasn’t worth getting up in the morning for anymore. Her red lips made her skin look like alabaster, pale and smooth. Her eyes were much too large, too green, and too hollow. Her dark hair lay clumped in damp curls against her face and neck. She opened her coat to look at the blade strapped to the leather-clad flesh of her muscled thigh. She knew that she stood out, no matter how she dressed. But when she dressed to please, she knew she was irresistible. It brought no satisfaction to her; she only cared about one opinion. He was the only person she wanted between her thighs. As the elevator hummed towards the top of the building, Kayd thought about her hit. Rumor had it that he stayed here, in his office building most nights. There had been an article about him in some magazine, as she recalled. He had admitted to having a bedroom adjoining his office. He worked late nights, and usually entertained several female clients and other women there. He had a home somewhere in the suburbs, but his visits there were far less than frequent. She had watched him for several nights, keeping tabs on his whereabouts, as well as his habits. He would return for the evening because it was a weeknight and he usually only went home on weekends. God, she hoped that she had been right about tonight. The stainless steel doors rolled open and she found herself in a dimly lit vestibule. A single lamp sat on a table beside the mahogany door that led to his office. She knew that this was his private office, where he rarely did work. It was more for uninterrupted study, and housed the bedroom and study area that she had found in the blueprints. She fumbled for the keys in her pocket, trying several until the locked clicked and the door stood ajar. She stepped inside, into the dark room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the lights of the city at night. She strolled around a white sofa, a few beige chairs, a table, and an antique wooden desk until she was looking over the sparkling lights. She smiled as she detected his familiar scent, the musky, spicy scent that marked him. It lingered in the air, overwhelming her with memories she had wished were dead. She looked at a gold-rimmed clock near the door. He wouldn’t be home for at least an hour and a half, maybe longer. She decided to investigate, do a little searching. She closed the drapes that lined the windows and turned on the lamp on his desk. A painting that she had made him so many years ago hung on a wall next to a doorway that led to his private chambers. She smiled again, knowing somehow that it would always be close to him, even if she wasn’t. She draped her coat on the back of the sofa and took off her boots. She pulled off her socks and sank her bare feet into the plush carpet. She padded across the room and into the adjoining chamber. The bedchamber was large, with full windows like the office. A king-size bed sprawled in the corner of the room, a table next to it with several scented candles on it. She walked over to the table, lifting a candle to her nose. She knew the smell… the smell of her perfume, of rain. She wasn’t sure if this could be unconscious on his part or not. Had he done this on purpose? Keeping her close in every way even if he couldn’t have her? The bed was unmade; the blankets were strewn across the mattress. She lay down on the cool, slick sheets, inhaling his scent. She had always wanted him pressed naked against her, though she never had given him the opportunity. The carnal thoughts surprised her as she thought of his body that had lain here only this morning. The pillow still bore the hollow where his head had been pressed against it. She thought of what his body must feel like pressed against hers, naked skin, hard bodies. She could feel the heat quickening between her legs. She thought back to the long nights they would spend talking about it, but never engaging in sex. She had wanted it so much, but she had reminded herself she was in love with another man, someone she was afraid to leave, someone who needed her. His words would filter through, revolve around her. She could almost feel his hands on her breasts, grazing her nipples, moving along her stomach and downward, to her wet and aching womanhood. She had wanted him there, to bury himself in her warmth. She could feel his lips on her mouth, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as she arched her back, pressing her breasts against the soft hair that sprinkled his chest. He would wrap his arms around her arching torso, and kiss her neck as her head feel back against the sheets, pulling her tight against him as he relentlessly pressed his engorged manhood into her wetness. He was the only person she shared her desires, her darkest needs with. He knew her inside and out, as though she displayed herself only for him. Sharing her body seemed the only thing left to give to him. Kayd pushed herself out of the dream quickly, knowing that it could never be. Remember Megan. She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge, peering down at the carpet. She let the blood rush to her head as it pounded his name in her ears, over and over. Oh, what the hell. She lay back down against the cool sheets, reveling in the feel of the soft satin against her bare feet, neck and face. She unhooked the golden blade that was strapped to her thigh, setting it on the table next to the bed, then unzipped her cat suit down to her navel and shrugged out of the snug fit, peeling the damp leather off of her arms and back. She lowered it past her toned stomach, down her shapely hips and long legs. She stepped out of it as it crumpled at her feet. She wore no panties tonight, wanting to feel sexy, even while she thought of that cruel and gruesome task she might have to perform. She never wore a bra. Mark had told her once how much he loved it when she didn’t wear a bra. After that day, she hardly ever wore one again. The feel of her nipples against the fabric of her clothing kept the back of her mind aware of his presence in her life. Every time her nipples hardened and men stared, she wished that it were his eyes that bore holes into her shirt and caressed her budding breasts. It was a small punishment for the hell she must have put him through, denying him time and time again, even though she knew somewhere deep within herself, she was killing something that deserved life. As she lay back down on the sheets, nude and vulnerable, she thought of him, of his warm flesh moving over her body, what it must feel like. She thought of the things she had told him, her innermost fantasies and wishes. He had never forgotten her desires, reiterating them when she felt the need for his lust. He knew what she wanted, how she wanted it, and when. He knew her mind and her body. He knew where she wanted his hands, his mouth, his manhood, the very heart of his masculinity. Kayd imagined him there with her, watching her, moaning softly as she splayed her hands across her stomach, roving over her bosoms and chest, pushing her breasts together, pulling them apart as her knees came up and she felt the cool air on the wetness of her femininity. He had always wanted to watch her, to sit on the edge of the bed as she put on a show for him. His eyes would have darkened in color, to a dark blue. His jaw would clench, as if he was straining to hold himself back. And tonight, he would have been especially pleased. She had shaved her mound for him, knowing that she would see him, even if he didn’t see her. Another small punishment. She tossed her head on his pillow as her fingers found the pearl of her clit, massaging it in a circular motion while the other hand rubbed her breast. She looked at the ceiling, wishing she could see his face above her, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed as he focused on bringing himself to an almost painful orgasm inside of her. She wanted to put her ankles on his shoulders as he drove himself into her uncontrollably, mercilessly. She wanted him to use her forcefully, to make her pay for the torment she had put him through, all those nights that he had to sleep without her, tortured by the memory of her voice, her words. An Assassin's Weakness She rubbed her bud harder, more quickly as she felt herself coming close to the edge. The hand at her soft breast squeezing and massaging moved lower, skimmed over her abdomen and lower, softly caressing her bare mound and still lower, over the fingers that drove her to the brink until she was slipping a finger inside of herself, testing the dampness that had accumulated there while she thought of him, of his strong, male body, of what she wanted him to do to her. She cried out softly, turning her head into the pillow to muffle the sounds of her orgasm that tore heartily from her throat. Her body went rigid, letting the pressure build until she felt the muscles of her pussy milking the finger that pressed inside of her. Wave after delicious wave of pleasure racked her body from head to toe as she panted on his bed. As the tumult died away she lay quietly, recovering. She stayed that way for what seemed eternity. At last she let her hands fall away from her body as she basked in the afterglow of her orgasm. She only came that hard when she thought of him. She gasped for air, trying to catch her breath as she realized that she must have been holding it while the climax came, only exhaling as she cried out. “Oh, Mark…” Had she called out his name? She could have sworn that she heard it. Then she heard music, the artist that she had always told him she loved. She wasn’t imagining this. He must have turned on the CD player. He had returned early, hadn’t he? Or had she been fantasizing about him for longer than she thought? She heard his laughter, accompanied by the throaty laugh of a woman. She sat straight up, instantly reaching for the knife that lay next to the bed. She reached for her clothing, but there wasn’t enough time. The laughter was getting closer. She kicked her leather suit under the bed and ran for the door that led to the bathroom. She looked around quickly, searching for a place to hide. She hadn’t thought he’d bring anyone home with him. Damn. Her coat was still draped over the edge of the sofa, her shoes next to her coat, and the drapes were closed. Perhaps they wouldn’t notice. She laughed at the absurdity and cursed for getting herself into this situation. She’d have to wait until the woman left. Kayd climbed into the cream-tiled shower, a large bath adjoining it, and softly slid the frosted glass door closed. She prayed it wasn’t loud enough for them to hear over the music. She lay down against the cold porcelain lest someone come in. They wouldn’t be able to see the shadow of her body behind the glass if she lay beneath the high edge of the tub. She set the knife on her torso; afraid it might clink against the tub if she held it at her side, clenched in the fist that wouldn’t ease its grip. The laughter became softer, sexier. Overcome by the sounds of a woman moaning wafting into the bathroom, filling her ears as a tinge of jealousy raked her nude flesh Kayd clenched her teeth. She was hoping against hopes that it was merely a meaningless conquest; she knew he had many of those. She had convinced herself she was one of those. She was afraid to believe that she meant more to him. She was afraid to give him her heart. The moaning became louder, they must have moved into the bedroom. God, she hoped that the sheets weren’t still warm from her flesh and damp with her juices. She heard his laughter again, then a sharp intake of breath. The woman must have taken him by surprise, perhaps taking his manhood in her hands, rubbing him through his pants. She wanted to be that woman, wanted to feel him in her hands, to feel him getting hard beneath her touch, to be the cause of his desire. She felt enough jealousy that she would be able to slit the woman’s throat happily, much less without remorse. The sting in her heart felt as though he was cheating on her, even though she knew he wasn’t a man who could stand by only one woman for long. It would make it that much more painless to complete this hit. Perhaps she should scare the woman into leaving, threaten her with the knife, and force Mark to make love to her before she killed him. She wanted him so much that she could feel the heat building again. She was afraid that if he took her just once, it wouldn’t be enough to quench her thirst for him. She needed to feel him inside of her over and over. She needed to share with him the baring of her soul. She could hear their voices, soft and muffled, the sounds of rustling fabric and the creak of the bed, giving under the weight of a body, or both bodies. She heard a louder moan escape the woman, a low, wanton moan that signaled need from a lover. She heard a gasp and then the drawn out sigh of Mark as he slid into the woman’s pussy. The bed creaked and groaned under the weight in time to the thrusts; slow at first, then picking up speed as their moans became more frequent and louder. Kayd lifted her hands to her ears, trying desperately to block out the sounds, even though the wetness that was gathering between her legs demanded a touch, a wandering hand to ease its need. She had forgotten about the knife clenched in her hand and it clinked against the side of the tub loudly as it simultaneously grazed her cheek. She froze, listening for sounds. The moaning and creaks of the bed had ceased. She could feel a trickle of warm blood running down her face towards her ear. She heard the woman protesting as Mark eased himself away from her and off of the bed, still engorged, thick, and hard with longing. “I’m sorry,…” he muttered after a curse. “You’ll have to go.” “What?” asked the woman incredulously. “Are you kidding?” “Just go.” He hissed at her. Kayd felt relief and anxiety welling in her closing throat. She was relieved that his female companion was leaving, but fear raced through her head as she came up with reasons as to why. Had he heard her? Had he noticed that the shades were shut? Did he discover her suit under the bed, the coat in the office? Her thoughts battled uncontrollably for attention as she distantly heard the scuffle of clothing and a few muttered obscenities. The music stopped. She heard a door click as it shut in the next room, making it seem very far away. She held her breath, listening for even the slightest sound, a hint of his presence while all she could hear was her heartbeat rushing, roaring through her veins, out of control, threatening to consume her. She lay still for several agonizing minutes. She heard nothing coming from outside her panic-packed mind. He had left with the companion. Perhaps he had known that there was a contract out on his life, had seen the evidence that she had left for him. She was giving him an out. Didn’t he see that? Kayd slowly sat up, her muscles screaming for movement as she listened for sounds other than her own. She stood gradually and slid the glass door open, letting the swooshing sound give anyone present the hint that indeed she was there. She climbed over the high wall of the tub and stepped onto the cold tile floor. Walking towards the door, she saw dim, watery light filtering through. He had lit the candles. Kayd inhaled the scent and gripped her knife to her side as she walked closer to the door. The flame from the candles made it hard for her to see past them, behind them in the shadows. She stepped into the light, letting its golden warmth flicker against her naked body. She shivered, fear was slipping into her mind like a snake. She still heard no noise, no indication that anyone was with her. She slithered into the room, nervously eyeing the candles. The flames were licking highly at the air, giving off the intoxicating smell of warm rain. She walked around the bed and peered into the dark office. Nothing. Not a sound, not a piece of evidence that he had been there. Her coat still lay limply on the back of the couch; her boots still set against the edge of the smooth material. The shades were still shut. She stood in the middle of the room, her knife lowering to her side, miffed. She brought her hand up to her cheek, where a shallow trail of blood had trekked. She looked at the gold stiletto knife in her hand. It was her trademark, the only way she killed, her mark of distinction. She had pulled it off of the first man she had killed. He was an international terrorist working two sides of the war. She hadn’t been assigned to him, but had stumbled upon him. The blood groove of the knife had glinted while she was breaking into a hotel room, catching her attention. The glint was red, the color of blood. Like a starving junkie she was instantly attracted to something that was so familiar to her. He had lunged at her, the knife high in the air, descending upon her and ultimately plunging into her shoulder as she turned away from him, trying to move his aim away from her heart. She had pulled the knife out of her shoulder and slashed his throat from ear to ear as deeply as she could. Rage had swallowed her sensibility and she had fought like a demon, newly unleashed from Hell. From that point on, a gun seemed senseless, hypocritical, impersonal. Death became an intimate thing, a precious deed needing delicate attention. She would not kill like a coward. Kayd had followed in her mother’s footsteps after her failed relationship, joining a terrorist cell in Iran, devoting her life to numbness and proof; proof to herself that she could withstand anything, anyone. She became a leader because she showed no alarm, no concern for life and death. She became an emblem to the cause and the heart of their revenge. She administered the sentence through her weapon, the blood on her knife was the trial, and the screams in the night were the pleas of the guilty. She was the calm in the eye of the storm. Numbness exuded from her, oozed from her wounds unnoticed until she had looked down to see a young woman lying limply at her feet; the woman she was protecting. Her target had shot her in the back with a silenced pistol, piercing her young heart. The woman’s eyes were cold and glossed. She stared into her lifeless face, sensing her life, the young victim’s vitality seeping into the maternal predator’s lifeless veins, reawakening the pain and misery that she had tried to purge. An instant later she felt a sharp pain in her stomach that crippled her. She toppled to the ground, falling on the woman’s limp body. Kayd realized in a moment of pure panic that she had lost not only the life of her ward, but also the life of the child she was nurturing in her womb. She returned to the states two months later, after spending the better part of the spring healing. Life was no longer numb, but raw, like a wound that kept rupturing only to have it bleed her dry until it closed again while it waited for her to regain her strength. She had too much notoriety to hide for long from the vultures that wanted her skill. She was poor, having left all of her monetary values with the people that had become her family. So she accepted a charge, a small job. After that, her popularity with the underground grew into gradual wealth. She had stability, a life. But pain remained. A small, muffled sound wrenched her into the present. She was standing in the center of the room, vulnerable and silent. If only he would lunge at her and damn her to the Hell she knew was waiting for her. She clenched her teeth at the thought. She had lost her edge. She wasn’t sure if she was losing her nerve, if it was only this assignment, or if she didn’t have the stomach for any of it. So many faces, so much death rallying in her mind. Death was so much a part of her, every day, every night, she looked it in its blackened, bloodied face, in its unresponsive eyes, its slack mouth. Was she even alive? Would they kill Megan if she just disappeared without explanation? They might think she had been killed in self-defense. Killed in action. No one would be able to identify her. She had no identification; she was no one to the people who wanted to see her in prison the most. It wouldn’t make the news; she’d do it in some back alley, in a river. Make it look like an accident, like a heart attack. She had the means. She had decided. Poison. The result resembled a massive coronary. She slipped back into the dimly-lit bedchamber and fell to her knees beside the bed, grappling for her suit. It wasn’t there. Chills ran down her back, blood rushed to her head and her heart pounded. The metallic taste of panic filled her mouth. She whipped her head around in time to see a hand come down, covering her mouth. The other hand slid down her arm, grasping the knife that she fought to hold on to, and threw it across the room. She brought her arm around, intending to backhand her attacker. It was caught in a vice grip; she turned it in his grasp, trying to slip her slender wrist free. The hand that covered her mouth moved to her back and shoved her into the carpet face first. She threw her hands against the carpet to catch herself. Mark took advantage of it; her gorgeous, firm ass was high in the air, his rigid dick aimed at her soft pussy lips. He grabbed her hips in his hand and pulled her back against him, impaling her in one stroke on his erection. He was long and thick, but slipped inside painlessly. She was wet, as if she was waiting for his invasion. He could feel her muscles milking him, taking him deeper. God, he’d never felt anything so incredible. He wanted to drive deeper, to be consumed by her flesh, to die willingly in search of fusing his soul with hers, into this beautiful creature. Plunging into her cavern felt like driving into hot silk. The need to empty himself into her became an obsession, a single-minded need to make her his own, to own her, to enslave her. He grabbed her shapely hips and pulled her roughly towards the junction of his thighs, plunging himself deeply into her wet warmth, feeling his balls tickling her clit with each slapping thrust. She pushed her hips back against him willingly, wanting to feel his manhood at the gates of her womb, wanting to feel life where she dying. He moved his hands to the front of her milky thighs, pulling her knees closer to his so that she was forced to spread her legs farther, bringing her closer to the edge with each thrust, closer to the infinite pleasure he could give her. He could heal her. God she wanted this, she wanted to feel him pulse and thicken inside of her, to feel him swelling to fill her, to fill the void that she could never satisfy, to give her his seed to nurture, to give her his love. She was consumed by the need, each driving thrust another swallow of her very existence slipping, meshing into his. The incinerating abyss inched closer, she felt his hand skimming her stomach, moving lower until she felt his fingers pressing against the bud of pure pleasure that made her a woman, made her a creature of delirious lust on the edge of orgasm. He leaned into her, his hand at her breast, filling his palm with her soft globe while he continued the torturous pursuit of making her climax with his fingers while he thrust his cock in and out of her, pumping like a man overcome with lust. She could feel his hot breath against her neck, his lips caressing her sensitive skin, nibbling at the supple flesh, suckling at her earlobe. She was falling into the abyss, plunging down towards the well of being. She cried out, a noise that came from the recesses of her heart and shattered in a sound close to a sobbing scream. She plunged into the deepness, overcome by sensation as her vision blurred. He was there to catch her, to hold her against him as she surfaced again. She threw her head back and cried out his name as he moaned his pleasure and assurance into her ear, groaning and gasping, spilling his seed deep inside of her as she milked him, convulsed around his cock as if she had her fingers around him, squeezing his cock like a pair of luscious lips, like a mouth around his cock swallowing furiously. He sighed heavily at the pleasure she was giving him and wrapped his arms around her as he pulled her up against his chest, trying to keep himself from taking her again as they both recovered. Her mouth was open, inhaling the sex-sweetened air, sweat making her skin glisten in the candlelight. He grabbed her jaw with one hand and made her face him as he took her mouth, plundering the soft crevices, exploring her mouth thoroughly, as if in search of something only she could give him. She moaned into his mouth as he captured the sound and echoed one of his own. He thought that she had just given him her soul. She pulled her mouth away, her lips swollen and red. She turned away from him. He continued to hold her, smoothing her hair away from her cheek and neck as he placed soft kisses along her cheekbone, neck, and shoulder. His other hand rubbed the underside of her breast, stroking it lightly as his cock begged for more inside of her. He moved against her slightly. Relishing the feel of her wet cavern sheathing his manhood. She pulled his hand free and lunged for the bed. He was so shocked by her sudden rejection of his touch that he didn’t reach out to claim her again. She stood up and walked over to the window, never looking back at him. His skin was slick with sweat, and she looked like an apparition in the dim light. She walked into the moonlight, casting her shadow against the floor. The city light below twinkled and winked at her as she thought about what she had just done. She wouldn’t let him see her face, he had kept his eyes closed when he kissed her. He wouldn’t recognize her, she’d changed so much, she was so thin, so hollow, so merciless. She put her clammy palms against the cold glass, willing it to infuse her with the frigidness she needed. She clenched her eyes shut, fighting the frightened girl that wanted to escape the hard woman she had become. She leaned her forehead against the window. She heard him behind her, as the sound of soft muffled steps came closer. He reached out and she felt his hands rubbing up and down her arms. They offered comfort. She imagined that he must realize she was tormented. She wished he would walk away from her and disappear. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her ear. She could see his dim, shadowy reflection in the glass, though she wouldn’t raise her face so that he could see hers. He left her momentarily and she thought to make her escape, but she couldn’t muster the courage to leave him… again. Abruptly she felt him once more, his arms wrapping around her, and moving up towards her tender, hypersensitive bosoms, up to her shoulders until she felt his hands on either side of her head. He held a white blindfold in front of her eyes, quickly tying it at the back of her head, careful as not to catch her tangled hair in the knot. She tried to struggle, a weak attempt, but he used his body to trap her against the window. The cold felt good against her overheated skin. She moved her hand to her face, but he grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them against the glass. He held her like that for several minutes, feasting his eyes on her delectable body. He noticed a pale scar then, a short thick line on her shoulder, a stab wound. He backed himself away from her, though she remained where she was, not moving. He kept his hands on her, grazing her delicate skin, softly touching it as he surveyed her. She had several more scars, he discovered. Three on her back, between her shoulder blades, long thin lines that paralleled each other, perhaps from a cat whip. Another on her lower back, a large, circular pink scar, as if it hadn’t healed more than a month ago. It was an exit wound. He felt sick. How could anyone do this to her, to this amazing creature? He suddenly felt rage, wanting to seek out her attackers, until he heard her whimper. She was crying. A tear streaked the side of her cheek. Her blindfold was dampening. He turned her away from the window and into his arms. He pulled her into his steely embrace, lifting her and carrying her towards the bed. She put an arm around his neck, seeking comfort in his grip as she turned her face into his neck and inhaled his scent. He lowered her onto the cool sheets and pulled the blankets off and threw them to the floor. He knelt beside her on the bed as she scooted away, making room for him. She felt him move, a brush of his hand and a slight breeze. She felt his mouth then, at her stomach. He was kissing the scar there, the entry wound of the single bullet that stole her numbing paradise. He licked the glossed scar, and then rubbed his open mouth against it. His lips felt wonderful along her skin, warm, giving, and tender. He moved lower, dipping his tongue into her navel, licking around the indentation, making her stomach muscles flutter beneath his touch. His hands roved over her ribcage and thigh, holding her on the bed as she made involuntary movements of lust with her hips. She could feel the intensity swelling again, the fire he had built in her that threatened to singe her if she dared to turn away from it now. She tangled her fingers in his thick hair, trying to pull his lips up to her mouth. He denied her and moved lower, caressing the soft rise of her bare pussy. She almost came off of the bed, but his hands held her down, massaging, reassuring. She had never let anyone kiss her there. Suddenly she was unnaturally self-conscious. An Assassin's Weakness “Shhh,” He hissed “let me, please.” His voice was low and hoarse. She complied with the strained sound of his voice, not his command. It seemed to her that he was at the point of breaking, of losing control. The thought relaxed her. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. She ceased thinking at all when his tongue traced the curve of her pussy lips, outlining the sensitive rosy flesh. She gasped at the sensation. She felt his breath cooling the damp skin as he repositioned himself between her knees, pushing them apart and up. His hands grasped her hips and she felt his mouth again. He kissed her thigh, nipped at it. She let a giggle escape her. He realized she was ticklish and nipped her again. Her legs almost managed to escape his hold. She was softly laughing. He took the advantage of her uninhibited state and plunged his tongue into the dewy folds of her sex. She cried out softly at the intrusion and arched her back. He pulled his tongue out and then plunged again towards the entrance to the core of her womanhood. He looked up at her to see her head tossing on the pillows, her breasts heaving with her labored panting. Satisfied with her response, he pulled her closer to his mouth and held her down as her hips started rising and falling. His tongue traced the cleft up towards her belly until he found the hidden essence he sought. He sucked the pearl of her desire into his mouth and pelted it with his velvety tongue. She cried out incoherently and he knew she was close to losing her sanity. He thrust a single finger inside of her and curled it upward until he found the button that made her strained against him and whimper. He thrummed the very core of her and sucked at her clit until she screamed his name and writhed on the bed, her back arching like a taut bow. He sat up and loomed above her, positioning himself between her dewy thighs while she panted beneath him. She was unaware that he was about to penetrate her. He looked down at his straining cock pointing towards her swollen pussy. He almost succumbed. He was waiting for her to gather herself again, but he looked at her mouth just as she licked her lips. He leaned down and stole her lips in a kiss that fused them, and then plunged into her before she could pull away. She arched against him, throwing her head back and dislodging his mouth. He pulled back and thrust again, his arms holding his chest away from her as he watched her chest rise and fall with her breathing. She moaned and pushed her hips against his. He took her legs and propped her ankles on his shoulders. He leaned into her until her knees were almost touching her shoulders, then trapped her hands beside her head, effectively pinning her to the mattress with little chance of escape. He scooted forward until the front his thighs were pressed against her bottom. He moved in her, pressing deeply until she thought he had found her heart and was slowing massaging it into loving him. Each movement was slow and gentle, and driving her mad. She tried to buck her hips against him, to force him to thrust into her with the same amount of passion she was trying to hold back, but he continued his slow rhythm. The heat was a crescendo to be sought, but only he could show her the way. She pleaded and begged, but all she got in return was the sound of his harsh breathing. “Please, I can’t…” she started to say, but was successfully cut off by his mouth. He forced his tongue deep into her mouth, simultaneously slamming his cock into her. He captured her cry with a deepening kiss and continued to plunder her mouth as his cock plunged recklessly into her pussy. The bed rocked violently beneath them, slamming into the wall, making the pictures rattle. She tore her mouth away for breath and screamed his name again as she came. The waves rocked through her, unsettling every emotion in her body. She wept and laughed, screamed and cursed. She felt him plunge into her and greedily accepted the warmth of his climax being released inside of her. He growled as he pushed himself up and threw his head back in a state of pure primal satisfaction. Suddenly he released her hands and pushed her long legs down as he gathered her to his chest and rolled onto his back with her in his arms. She lay on top of his damp body; her legs wrapped around his hips, his cock shuddering inside of her. Contentment settled into her heart, for he had made a place for it, a place for himself. His breathing was beginning to settle and she took the opportunity to slide the blindfold over her brow. It slipped from her grasp and rested against his chest. He glanced down at her then as she looked up at his face. Her eyes were shimmering emeralds, her dark hair damp, tangled and disheveled. Her full lips were swollen and deep red. Her cheeks were aglow with a soft, lively blush. She was the most incredible, gorgeous being he had ever beheld. “I’ve been waiting for you.” He whispered. A look of confusion washed over her face. He smiled and pulled her to his side so that he could look into her eyes and hold her face. “I know you came for me.” The confusion on her face settled into shock, and then sorrow. He watched the emotions playing on her face. He knew what she was feeling; he had been watching her for months and saw the pattern that was surfacing. “I can’t kill you.” She uttered against his neck. “I’ll find a way to get out of this.” He knew that she was thinking of suicide. “A coward, you are not, Kayd. You’ve always been strong, defiant. You walked away from me all those years ago, even though you loved me.” She started to protest at his last statement, but he kept going. “You did love me, but you probably didn’t know it. I lost track of you for almost a year, even though I vowed to keep you near me, even if you didn’t know it.” He paused, knowing that he might very well lose her again after his next confession. “I hired you, Kayd. I need you. I need to love you.” He whispered. There, he said it; his heart had just been wrenched into beating again while he waited for her to respond. Her look of surprise and then rage made him smile. She was defiant as ever and looking like a gorgeous enraged goddess. She pulled away from him as though his touch was like being burned. He continued to speak. “I saw what you were getting into, I kept track of you while you were in Iran, I knew what they made you into.” He paused, searching for the words to make her understand and stay with him. “You were so incredible, even then. But you don’t have the stomach for that kind of life. I’ve watched you struggle with it ever since you came home again. It has poisoned you, Kayd.” “Of course it has.” She hissed. “That was the point, to prove to myself that I could survive unscathed, that I could do anything and I would emerge victorious. I lost it all, everything. I couldn’t eat or sleep, anger was eating me up. I wasted years of my life on someone who was practically using me!” She raged at him, waving her hands and trembling. Suddenly she stilled. “Megan! Where is she? Do you know what they did to her?” She asked, suddenly worried. “Of course she’s fine. She’s probably home by now, sleeping off the pill that my man gave her.” He assured her. “That man works for you? What a disgusting little prick!” She bellowed at him. Mark laughed. The sound warmed her, released all of her tensions, all of the anger and hate. She began to feel weightless, her worries tried evaporated, but she struggled to hang on to her anger. “Megan’s alright, then?” “She’s perfectly fine, love.” He pulled her down to lie next to him. She gave up the fight and sighed against his neck as his muscled arm cushioned her head. “Kayd, I have to have you, I can’t think anymore without your memory seeping in. I need you. I love you, I still love you.” He felt a wet spot on his upper arm and realized she was crying again. “Good God, Kayd, I’ve never seen you cry so much in one day.” He chucked her under the chin. “I lost my baby.” She whispered brokenly. He went still, she could feel his heart pounding rapidly beneath her palm. His mind raced as he tried to think of when she could’ve been pregnant. “When?” he asked tentatively. “Before I came home,… March.” Her voice was almost unrecognizable, it was suddenly raw with pain. “March sixteenth.” She fell away from Mark’s grasp and stared at the ceiling, tears blurring her vision. He leaned up on his elbow, looking down at her pale, stricken face. He banished the feeling of jealousy that raged inside of him, knowing that another man had touched her. He laid his hand against her cheek, wiping the spilling tears across her cheek. “Kayd, stay with me, let me heal you. Let me give you another baby, another chance. Let me love you. You’re the only one I want.” His words reminded her of the woman that he had brought home with him. “What about the woman that was with you?” She asked him. “Someone who couldn’t fill the void that you left with me when you walked away from me.” It was the truth. He had tried to find satisfaction through sex with other women, but that’s all it was, just sex. He couldn’t find fulfillment, his soul ached for her. “You left me empty. I tried to move on, but I was starving for you.” She realized that instant that she, too, wasn’t whole without him. He was always there, in her head, becoming a part of her even as she drew farther away. She felt for the hollowness inside of her, the one she had learned to hunt and feed off of, but couldn’t find it. All she felt was a sweet drowsiness, a reprise from her life, a rebirth to start anew with love at her core and the half of her soul she was missing in her heart. Strength infused her body, healing, loving, wanting. Mark was her love, her soul, her need and ache. He recognized the acceptance in her liquid eyes and felt the tension lift like a vapor from his chest. She was solely his, and he belonged only to her. His angel, his goddess, his single weakness, his bliss had come home, to him. At last he was whole; she made him so.