Page 40 of To Curse A Knight

“You’re telling me you’ve never had someone rail your arse while you're balls deep in a woman? Fuck, Conan, you’re missin’ out on a pure taste of Heaven.”

He held out his wineglass, gesturing with it toward me before taking a long pull of the red liquid. “You can rail me while I rail her anytime. I love a quick trip to visit my pal Jesus.”

Biting my lip, I held in my giggle for as long as I could. My body shook in Aaron’s arms, before the girlish sound burst from my lips, evolving into a full fit of sniggering choked breaths.

Aaron held my wine as I writhed in his lap. Ab muscles clenching in fists, I laughed hard enough to fulfill an exorcism. The tension in the room, in my body, in our tiny little world broke completely.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Kellan muttered drily over my noise; I laughed even harder.

“I broke her.” Lucky chuckled, his eyes alight with amusement, the pride in wearing me down all over his handsome, boyish face.

“She cannot be broken,” Aaron deadpanned, but I caught a quirk of his lips in my periphery as I wiped away tears.

“You’re right.” Aaron handed me back my glass, and I drew a long swig before facing the three men, now completely entrenched in my life and my mission.

“I can’t be broken, gentlemen.” I raised my glass in a toast. “So don’t even try.”

“Bellamy, you dodgy prat, how are yeh?”

I held my cell between my shoulder and my cheek like Charlie Sheen in an eighties film as I adjusted my cufflinks, checking myself out in Blondie’s guest bathroom mirror.

Beard trimmed, hair styled, devilish twinkle in the eye at the ready? Check, check, and check.

I was getting pretty comfortable in my new digs; a beautiful rich and powerful woman had kidnapped me, branded me, and was now holding me hostage between her two boyfriends and buying me Christmas presents of my favorite American candy.

Terrible life, that.

I hadn’t heard from Bellamy in a few months, not since he’d handed me this assignment. I’d known him since I was a wee boy, him being one of Da’s dearest friends, and the man always gave me the best jobs.

“How’s the job, Locky-boy? Haven’t heard a word from yeh. Been taken in by the American beauties?”

One American beauty; quite literally taken in.

“Great work takes time, Bellamy, you know I don’t rush perfection.”

His rough laugh bellowed out from the end of the line, years of smoking fags like a chimney barking from his lips.

“Right,” he chortled, the sound suspiciously muffled by a long intake of breath–fags again–before his tone turned unnaturally serious.

“Wanted to warn yeh, son. Someone’s looking into your assignment.”

I stilled my primping and considered my words.

Hillary looking into me wasn’t surprising–expected, really–but I was confident she didn’t know my real identity. She was competent, crafty, and damn well brilliant when it came to busting balls and building empires; if she knew about me, she would have already crushed my tender babies like water balloons in her tiny fists.

My dick swelled in my trousers at the thought–fucking masochist.

But Bellamy hadn’t said ‘me’—he’d said ‘assignment’. Which meant someone knew my real identity, or someone knew someone had targeted Hillary.

“Oh?” I managed, needing more information before I hung myself with it.

“Six got a call a while ago–man looking to target your target and was right disappointed when he couldn’t get what he wanted. The odds of two contracts on the same person? Never happened before.” The hissy sound of smoke blown into the speaker filled my ear.

“Now, one of our networks was hacked–our guys tell us it was by a hired third party and traced back to an FBI server. Could be nothing, but I’d watch your back.”

“Can you send me all the data? I’ll run it through my own channels.”

Bellamy’s laugh echoed back at me. “Right, all your ‘techy’ stuff.” He emphasized tech as if it were a joke, but his tone turned solemn again.

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