LOGINKirHis face is wet under my thumb.Three ruined orgasms in eighty minutes, and I have him exactly where I wanted him. Wrists held. Throat collared. The fight long out of him. The brattiness is still in him, because the brattiness never leaves Oliver, but underneath it is the thing I was looking for.The soft, scraped-open place where he’s completely mine and he knows it and he has no desire to pretend that he’s not.He’s shaking.He’s not even angry anymore that I’ve done this to him on purpose.I wipe his tears away and look at him for longer than I need to. He has nothing left to perform with. His eyes are red. His lips are pink and swollen from the way he’s been biting them. “Sir. Please,” he begs, hips rotating in small, desperate circles, pressing his aching cock against my thigh and hissing in pain.The rutting is hurting him, but he still chases that full release.I kiss him thoroughly. Plundering his mouth until we’re both panting. I knew the third one was going to b
OliverSunday night. Three days from the breach.I’ve been pacing the upstairs of the rental for an hour because I can’t make myself sit still. Tariq drove down from Beaufort this morning to check on me. He didn’t call it that, but he insisted on checking me over, told me my pulse was higher than he liked, asked me when I last slept, looked at the back of my eyes with a small flashlight, and informed me I was running on adrenaline and stupidity in equal measure. He told Kir the same thing. Kir nodded at him and said I know. That is his default. I’m insulted, annoyed and a little bit touched that Tariq cared enough to come all the way out here.That was at noon. The closer we get to D-day, the higher my anxiety is climbing. I can’t stop feeling like something is going to go horribly wrong.The first time I tried to hack Senator Augustus Scott, my entire life blew up and I was very nearly killed.What if he takes Kir from me this time?It’s now almost seven and I can’t stop pacin
DomThe cottage Oba has put me and the Virginia Beach team in is a little holiday rental in a forest clearing six miles outside Middleburg. Three bedrooms, a wood-shingle roof, a porch with two rocking chairs that look like they haven’t been moved in twenty years. The owner is a retired airline pilot who lives in Phoenix and hasn’t been to the property since 2019.The keys are under a stone lion at the foot of the porch steps. Max is sleeping in the front bedroom. Jozef and I took the two rooms at the back. He gave me the bigger one even though I don’t care.I’m spending pretty much all my time on the porch with binoculars and a thermos of coffee, watching the road through the trees that leads to Augustus Scott's estate four kilometers north of here. It’s eleven in the morning on day two of my recon. The pickup truck I’ve been waiting for comes through the bend at eleven-oh-three. Same as yesterday. Catering supply, white logo on the side, driver in a navy polo. He’s not actua
OliverThe hangar at Vienna-Schwechat is the kind that asks no questions. Oba's man at the desk barely looks up when we come in. The plane is a Bombardier with the registration plate covered in matte vinyl and a flight plan filed for Reykjavík that we will deviate from somewhere over the Atlantic. The pilot is one of two men Oba has used for this kind of work for six years and the co-pilot is a woman who has not introduced herself and never will.Eleven of us climb up the airstairs at four in the morning.Saint is the second-last on. Tariq is behind him, watching the subtle way he protects his left side. The graze across his ribs is healing clean, but Tariq makes him sit in the second cluster of seats and not the back where Saint usually goes, because Tariq wants eyes on him through takeoff."You’re fussing.""I’m not fussing, I’m keeping an eye on my patient. Stop being a big baby.""Tariq.""Sit."Saint sits. Tariq settles across the aisle from him with his medical bag in his l
OliverThe street the cab drops us on is in the third district, off a courtyard you would never find without an address, behind a heavy wooden door with no signage and a brass intercom that asks you to say nothing.Kir says nothing. The door clicks open.We are five days out from flying to the United States. The Scott file is on Chana's desk and Dom is running drills with the rest of the team in the snow.Tonight is mine. Kir told me this morning. He said pack a bag, we are going out tonight, you do not need to know where. I’ve been wound tight with excitement since lunch.The host inside the door is a woman in a black collared shirt and a pencil skirt. She smiles when Kir gives her the verification phrase, then walks us through a short corridor lined with framed photographs of doorways, only doorways, no faces, and into a coatroom where she takes our coats and asks us if we’ve brought our own implements.Kir sets the leather bag on the counter.She opens it. Inspects it. Closes
OliverBratislava is over and done with. Senator Augustus Scott is next and I honestly can’t wait to know he’s no longer breathing.There are a few things to take care of before we move on though.One is my mother.The other is sending the package to Kenzi Molina.The security firm we hired to guard her has been informed that the risk will be increasing soon and so should their vigilance.Chana spent the last two days running the package through every test possible.She sent it to my dummy inbox on Saturday. I spent six hours trying to trace it and got nowhere. It was annoying and impressive.Chana’s spent the past two days crowing about being a better hacker than I am, which is such obvious bullshit I’m not even going to dignify it with a response.We’re about as confident as we can be.We’re sending the package as a single encrypted bundle with a key that decrypts to a structured archive Kenzi can browse on her own machine.The cover note is one line.Use it as you see fit."Last
OliverI’m still floating in a bubble of euphoria when we arrive at the warehouse.A few hours ago, I was buried under Kir’s crushing weight. I was wrapped in the safest, warmest dark I’ve ever known, listening to the rough drag of his breath against my neck. For a few hours, the syndicate didn't
KirThe drive across the city feels heavy, like a storm looking for somewhere to break.My hands are clamped onto the steering wheel of the stolen sedan, the tension radiating in a hot, rigid line straight up to my shoulders. My gaze flickers between the windshield, the rearview mirror, and the si
OliverThe wait is absolute fucking torture.I can’t see a thing. The padded silk blindfold blocks out every trace of light, plunging me into a thick, suffocating void. My hearing dials up to a terrifying degree, picking up the faint, rhythmic hum of the building's ventilation and the slow, delib
OliverThe firm mattress barely dips as my back hits it, sending me a few inches up in the air again before I settle.Sprawling out, the cool air of the bedroom washes over my flushed, damp skin. Kirill towers over the edge of the bed, staring at me like I’m some amazing new species he’s just disc







