The Swan & the Jackal (In the Company of Killers 3)

Like the rest of the bar, the area is dark, only the orange and red glow from various bar lights humming against the walls. The shadow plays against Gwen’s profile, accentuating the way her throat moves every few seconds when she swallows. And when my fingers slip behind the elastic of her thin panties in the bend of her leg, the shadow reveals her mouth parting even more with anticipation.

Grazing her little bead of sex, Gwen gasps lightly and both of her hands collapse around her glass on the bar, her fingers loose, but restless. Her legs part farther, giving me—begging me—more access.

I slide my middle finger inside of her and feel her tighten around me, wanting to hold me there. Her eyes close softly. Her back has straightened like a proper English girl. Her shoulders are slightly stiff, her br**sts heaving between them with every pleasure-filled breath she takes, but tries to contain for the sake of being in public. And only when she feels the sensation of my finger sliding carefully out of her does she turn her head to look at me again. Placing my hand over the top of my glass, I let my middle finger fall between the others and dip into the whiskey before taking a drink. I set the glass down, afterwards placing the tip of my wet finger into my mouth and tasting her.

She just stares at me. Lustful. Conflicted. Confused.

Then I stand from the stool and remove my long coat from the back of it, sliding my arms down into the sleeves. Gwen watches me quietly, intensely, still fighting with the angel on her shoulder which lost to the devil on the other side the moment I touched her.

I drop a fifty-dollar bill on the bar beside my glass.

And then I walk away.

I don’t look back as I make my way to the front exit, passing occupied tables and busy waitresses and pushing myself through thick wisps of cigarette smoke.

As casually as I had gone in, I walk back outside into the frigid air, pulling my coat together in the front as the wind brushes bitingly against my face. Before I step off the sidewalk and into the parking lot, I hear the music and the voices from inside the bar funnel from the front door as Gwen steps from it behind me.

“I’ll take my chances with the dumpster,” I hear her say and I grin with my back turned.

I turn to face her, my hands buried in my pockets. She’s wearing a long coat, too, with a faux fur-lined hood draped around her dark hair where loose strands push against her face by the wind.

She is quite beautiful.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I say matter-of-factly.

She smiles, breaking a little of the sexual tension for the sake of conversation. “You’re really…blunt.”

I shrug and gently purse my lips.

“I guess I am.” I smile faint and close-lipped, offering my hand to her.

She smiles back and places her fingers into mine.

Chapter Fifteen

Fredrik

We’re at my house after a ten minute drive. Gwen talks a lot. Maybe she’s just nervous after getting into a car late at night with a man she doesn’t know, but I couldn’t care less what she has to say or what she might be thinking. I brought her here for one thing and it isn’t conversation.

“Wow, this is a nice house,” she says when she steps through the doorway. “From the outside, I never expected it to look so…expensive.” She looks back at me with dollar signs in her eyes as I pull her coat off from behind. “Not that the outside looks bad, it’s just…well, very different.” She smiles.

I don’t respond to the mating ritual. Already this is beginning to feel like the start of a dating relationship—even if it’s just with my money. And I don’t date. In fact, I don’t do ‘normal’. This is very awkward for me.

I wish she’d just stop talking.

I needed a house under the radar to make it more difficult to be found by the Order. So, I chose an old, small brick house and redesigned the inside to fit my expensive lifestyle. But the large basement, it got the most treatment. I wanted Cassia to feel safe in my home…despite the imprisonment.

I pull both of my coats off and break apart the buttons of my dress shirt. Gwen watches me with vaguely concealed lust in her eyes, and a little concern, which won’t go away until she’s sure I only brought her here for sex.

“How long have you lived here?”

Kill me now.

“Take off your boots,” I say, just to derail the pointless chit-chat.

“Huh?”

I tilt my head slightly to one side.

“I said take off your boots.” My standard expression never falters.

Gwen’s eyes grow a little wider. She bites down on her bottom lip again.

I pull my shirt off and drape it over the back of the nearby leather chair.

Finally, to ease her fears and get this night underway, I lean in toward her mouth and say, “I won’t force you to stay”—I graze her lips and slip my hand up the bottom of her skirt. She gasps—“but if you’re going to stay, you’re going to do whatever I tell you to do. Is that understood?” My middle finger presses between her nether lips over the top of her wet panties. A small moan vibrates from her lips into mine as I slip my tongue into her mouth. Breathing in deeply, I kiss her with predatory intent and when I pull away, it takes a moment longer than it should for her to open her eyes again.

“Now take off your boots,” I repeat.

She steps out of them without reluctance this time, and then her close-lipped mouth turns up at the corners seductively as she waits for my next command. But what I really want her to do is to tell me to go f**k myself. I want her to be defiant and aggressive, just like Seraphina often was. I want her to hit me, but still want me to despoil her with lust and violence. That’s the kind of sex I need tonight, but I know I can’t have it because only Seraphina can give it to me the way I crave it.

But, this isn’t about me. This is all for Cassia.

I reach out with both hands and finger the buttons on Gwen’s shirt, slipping it off once the last button is undone. Her generously-sized br**sts are practically busting out of her black, lacy bra. The chain she wears lays neatly between them. I reach behind her and clasp my fingers around the back, unfastening it on the first try. Her eyes are looking into mine, but I’m not ready to return the gesture. She needs to earn it.

Her bra falls around her bare feet with her top and she stands before me halfway naked. Almost all traces of nervousness gone, leaving only anticipation and desire. She appears demure with her eyes lowered in a submissive fashion.

That frustrates me, but I ignore it.

Fitting my fingers behind the elastic of her skirt, I slide the material slowly over her hips and down her thighs. The fabric pools around her feet. Once she’s fully naked, I wind my fingers within the back of her hair, jerking her head back, shocking her into full submission. Her eyes grow wider, unsure, even a little afraid. But she says nothing and I walk her toward my bedroom down the hall, flipping the overhead light on as I pass the switch by the door so that Cassia can see everything without shadows and darkness impeding her view.