Page 7 of Rogue Doll

Perfect.

I straddle him, taking control without seeming to. He's already hard—impressive recovery time for a man his age. Must be all those vitamins and personal trainers (or maybe the little blue pill, who knows). I lean over and grab a fresh condom, only this time, I do the honors, rolling the thin sheath onto his cock with familiar ease. This is something I didn’t need Killion’s training for —I could do this in my sleep.

"My turn," I whisper against his lips, “my pace,” as I guide his length into my dripping pussy.

He laughs, hands settling on my hips. "By all means."

I rise and fall on his cock like a piston in an oil rig—mechanical, ruthless. His eyes lock on mine, greedy and needy, drinking in the porn show I'm giving him. I bite my lip, flutter my lashes, gasp at all the right moments. It's all bullshit—a performance calculated to his ego. I’m bouncing on his dick like it’s a fleshy pogo stick and he’s eating it up.

His rough hands maul my tits, clumsy and grasping. His thumbs drag across my nipples, sending actual sparks of pleasure shooting down to my clit. Fuck me for responding to this asshole.

"So responsive," he grunts, staring at me like I'm some kind of science experiment. "So real."

I almost laugh in his face. Real? Nothing about this is real except the mission. But I swallow the laugh, twist it into a moan that would make a porn star proud, and arch my back to give him a better view of his cock disappearing inside me.

"Touch yourself," he barks, trying to sound commanding but coming off desperate. "Let me watch you cum.”

I comply, fingers circling my clit as I continue to ride him, pace quickening. His breathing roughens, hips thrusting upward to meet mine. We're building toward something together now—a shared crescendo, a mutual destruction.

"Tell me your real name," he says suddenly, the words startling me. "Not the one you gave at the bar. Your real name."

My rhythm falters, but I recover quickly. "Why? So you can find me after this?" I lean down, breasts brushing his chest, lips ghosting across his. "Wouldn't you rather keep the mystery?"

His hands grip my hips harder, taking back some control. "I like to know who I'm fucking," he growls. "Who's making me feel this good."

It's a test. A trap. If I give him Landry, he could trace me—back to Isaac, back to my old life, back to complications I can't afford. If I insist on Lydia, I confirm his suspicions that I'm hiding something.

So I take a third option.

"Nova," I breathe against his lips, the name Killion gave me, the identity that's becoming more real with every mission. "My name is Nova."

For a jarring second, recognition arcs through my body like a red-hot flare but it’s gone in an instant. It’s nearly enough to throw me off my game but I recover before my mark notices.

Hell, I probably could’ve sprouted horns and a pointed tongue right in front of Victor’s lust-glazed eyes and he wouldn’t give a shit as long as he’s buried hilt-deep inside my body.

Satisfaction flashes in his eyes. He believes me—or at least, believes I've given him something true. His pace quickens, driving deeper, harder.

"Nova," he repeats, testing the name on his tongue. "Beautiful. Dangerous. A star that explodes."

"Ready to explode for you," I gasp, fingers working faster, body genuinely responding to the friction, the fullness, the danger of the game.

His thumb joins mine, adding pressure to my clit, and the dual sensation pushes me over the edge. I come with a cry that might be his name, might be gibberish, might be nothing at all. He follows seconds later, hips jerking, a groan torn from his throat as he empties himself inside me.

I collapse against his chest, feeling his heartbeat thunder against mine, our sweat mingling, breath synced. For a moment—I forget who I am, why I'm here, what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm just a body floating on endorphins, adrift in the aftermath of pleasure.

But reality floods back too quickly. The mission. The code. The reason for all of this.

I roll off him, stretching like a satisfied cat, giving him a smile that's all smoke and mirrors. "That was worth the knife at the bar," I say, voice honeyed with fake affection.

He laughs, the sound more genuine than before. "You're something else, Nova." He reaches for his phone again—checking the time, I think. "It's late. You should stay."

“What about your engagement?” I ask, feigning concern. “I’d hate to keep you from your plans.”

“Fuck my plans. I’d rather be here with you.” He reaches for me, pulling me closer, so he can slowly turn me around. His finger drags down the sweaty crack of my twin halves. “What if I want to fuck you in the ass next. You good with that?”

“Sounds like a party,” I respond with a wicked grin. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind backdoor action but I know for a fact, that ain’t happening tonight.

Perfect. Exactly what I need.

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