Page 15 of Command and Control: GHOST Operative

"Hi, Vincent." Hearing my name come out of her mouth has my dick hard in under ten seconds. Especially the way she says it. The way her tongue curls around the last letter has me imagining all sorts of other things she could curl her tongue around.

"I have to admit, I'm a little surprised you’re here. I thought you decided you didn't want me." She keeps talking, and I'm hanging on every word, eyes fused to the screen.

This is why I never went after her. This woman has some sort of a hold on me. Has from the start. It's a miracle I had the strength to stop myself from hiring her all those months ago. But that miracle gave me a false sense of hope. Made me think I'd be able to come here, treat her like the problem she is, and fly back to continue my life.

It's what I should be able to do. What I have to do. But hell if it's not gonna be a whole lot harder than I thought.

Julieanne keeps talking, one hand smoothing across the surface of my desk in a slow stroke that has my cock straining, wanting the same sort of attention. "I'm assuming you're either here because you changed your mind and decided I'm a good fit for your team after all, or I pissed you off by doing what I did, and you're hereto punish me for it."

I’m definitely here to punish her, but the methods I’m coming up with now that she’s right in front of me are much different than the ones I planned. Watching her with that goddamned pink vibrator ruined me. I didn’t want to accept it, but now that I’m sitting here, considering rubbing one out to the sweet sound of her voice, there’s no avoiding exactly how fucked I am.

“I still absolutely want to be a part of GHOST. I know I have what it takes to be an asset to your team.” She leans forward, the move pushing the smooth skin of her tits even closer to the screen. I can’t look away, and I press down on my aching dick, looking for some sort of relief. “So, if you are here to hire me, that’s fantastic.” Her full lips twitch into the tiniest smile as one dark brow barely lifts. “But, if you’re here because you want to make me pay for hacking into your system, you should know I plan to make you work for it.”

She holds my gaze a second longer before standing up and moving off camera. I’m about to finally release the air frozen in my lungs when she pops back into view, a bright smile on her face. “Also,” she holds up the pink toy I swiped from her bathroom, “I’m taking this back. If you wanted to borrow it, all you had to do was ask.”

I’m still staring when the screens all go black again.

I wanted Julieanne to know I was here. Obviously, she does.

But I expected my presence to scare her. To make her rethink the choices she's made. Instead my little thorn has met me at every turn, pushing back against each move I've made.

And it's fucking bullshit.

I shove up from my chair—the one that's now taintedbecause I know she sat in it—my forgotten hamburger dropping to the floor as I get to my feet and storm to the door. Flinging it open, I don't bother closing it behind me. I've got tunnel vision, and it's leading me right to her stoop.

Julieanne needs to understand. She needs to know how dangerous I am. How dangerous what she's doing is.

I need her to fucking stop.

I'm halfway across the parking lot, the cold dampness of the snow littering the blacktop sinking through the socks on my feet, when I realize what's happening. I'm reacting. She's making me do it. I'm allowing her to control me and I have to get it together. Otherwise, I’m proving everyone doubting me right. That I'm not what I used to be. What I have to be.

What I am.

I rock my jaw from side to side, glaring at Julieanne’s townhome. After staring it down a second, letting the cold sink deeper into my skin, I turn and walk away. Slamming the door behind me, I stop just inside the apartment to peel off my soggy socks, letting them drop to the tile before going straight into the bedroom.

This is only happening because I'm tired. That's all. Exhaustion is making it impossible to think clearly.

Dropping to the mattress, I sling one arm over my eyes to blot out what remains of the afternoon sun. I just need a couple hours to reset. Then I'll be ready to make my next move.

And it will be a big one.

TWO HOURSLATER I'm back in front of my computer, rested and ready to do what needs to be done. What exactly that is, I'm not entirely certain, but I’m starting to think this might require a more hands-on approach.

Julieanne's made it perfectly clear she's missing whatever gene makes people want to stay alive. Discovering I've been in her house—not only when she wasn’t home, but also when she was—didn't seem to faze her. She also didn't seem to be bothered by the realization that I witnessed the show she put on with her little pink friend.

If you wanted to borrow it, all you had to do was ask.

I rake one hand through my hair as the hard-on I’ve been fighting since last night springs back to life. That pink fucking vibrator. Torture device might be a more accurate description.

Of it and its owner.

Julieanne was supposed to be exactly the way she appeared. Sweet and soft and fragile. Instead, she's a fucking menace.

I grab my keyboard, dragging it closer, preparing to come up with a plan. That's when I notice Julieanne didn't just take something while she was here. She also left something.

I pick up the business card. It's the complete opposite of the cards I've left at her house. The white stock has her full name, work phone number, and email address printed in gold foil across the front. I already know all three—had them all within minutes of our first conversation—but it's not what's on the front of the card that has me clenching my fist. It's what I know is going to be on the back.

I flip it over, glaring at the single word written in flowing script.

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