Pleasure Unbound

HARPER

He scoots up towards the head of the bed, keeping himself inside me as we move together. He collapses back on the pillow and hugs me close.

“Harper, God, I can’t believe we’re here.”

I scrunch my face up as I ponder that question. “What do you mean?”

He rolls, removing his cock from me, and then flips me around and pulls my ass up to his hips. “Sleep,” he says. “We’ll finish this in the morning.”

I frown as I lie here. Running all this back in my mind. His sudden appearance on the pier. The way he dove in after me. I guess it makes sense that he fingered me for the missing girl. But then… if he’s Number Six, he would’ve called this in immediately. If he knew who I was, then he’s asking for a death sentence by not calling it in.

“Sleep, Harper,” he says with a little more authority. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” I wiggle out of his grip and get up. “Where-”

“The bathroom,” I say back defensively. I suppose it’s a bad time to start using my head. I mean, I just gave him my virginity. The Admiral will go ballistic. And if James is Number Six, then he knows this. Maybe he’s on the run too? Maybe he’s my father’s enemy?

I close the bathroom door and start the shower. I feel dirty all of a sudden. It felt good, hell yes, it felt good. But now that my need has been satiated and my mind is clearing-I have questions. I have a lot of questions.

Like… how long has he been watching me? He hinted at months. Months? That makes very little sense. He said he killed his brother,

Number Five, and they needed him to take some downtime. Evaluate him. I can see that. You don’t kill another Company assassin with no consequences. And you certainly don’t kill your brother.

I would kill to have my brother right now. I’d do just about anything to have my brother.

I start the hot water and watch my naked self in the mirror as I wait for it to warm up.

Why am I still here? In this apartment? In this town? On land? Is it possible that the Admiral has no idea where I’m at? I mean, I was careful when I left. I poisoned the entire ship. They were sick as dogs, even the captain, so we were dead in the water about sixty miles south of Tahiti. I might even have killed some of them. I have no idea because our ship has a very nice tender boat. One of the nicest in the world, just like the super yacht that carries it. And since my entire life, from birth to that moment when I opened the garage door and lowered the tender out onto the sea, was spent sailing the oceans of the world on these massive yachts, driving it straight to the port all by myself was not at all difficult.

We’ve been to Tahiti lots of times. So many times I was recognized. And welcomed. Of course, I’ve never shown up alone before, but this was the day after my birthday, I told them with genuine excitement. The adrenaline coursing through my blood was making me jittery, but the local customs agent took it as nerves from being on my own for the first time.

I got everything in order at the dock and paid the fee. And took a cab straight to Faa’a International where I boarded a plane to Hawaii. I stepped off that plane Harper Tate and boarded the next one as Jillian Stewart. And when I landed in Los Angeles I was free.

I had one backpack, but it contained a key. A key my brother gave me the day before our eighteenth birthday. I have no idea how he got a hold of it, but I didn’t ask. Because that was our last day together and I was still in denial that he would leave without me.

It’s not like he had a choice. They took him. But he left behind the key.

There was an address and a number engraved on it. I took a cab to the UCLA Library and rode the elevator up to the fifth-floor quarter lockers. And found my future.

Thirty thousand dollars. A phone number. A phone. A flash drive in the shape of a fish. And a bottle of Ativan, with a warning on the outside from Nick not to take them unless it was necessary. It took us six months to wean me off them. It was a long process and even now, after being mostly clean for almost a year, I still run to the pills when things get overwhelming.

Then I took my money, called the number, took a cab to the address, paid the rent in full for one year, and sat down in that solitary chair in the living room and waited.

It took me weeks to settle in. I looked over my shoulder everywhere I went. I imagined my life if I had stayed one more day. Married off to some old man.Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

That’s what my father was planning. It was no secret that Nick and I would be separated on our eighteenth birthday, but they kept this little marriage deal quiet until I was sixteen. Then ever so slowly, hints would be dropped. Oh, Harper, you will make some lucky man very happy when you turn eighteen. Hints like that was how it started. But by the time I was seventeen, they were overt. Which dress do you like for your wedding, Harper? the shoppers in port would ask me.

But I am quiet. I don’t interrupt. And I pick and choose my battles. There is no point in fighting until I can win the war.

Have I won? I have a beautiful assassin in my bed. I’m still free. He didn’t kill me-he fucked me. I’m falling for him. He makes me feel safe. I want to be next to him. Even now, I want him.

But maybe he’s just as good at picking battles as I am.

There’s a small knock at the door. “Harper,” James says quietly. “Everything OK?” he doesn’t wait for my answer, just turns the handle and opens the door. I smile at him. I can’t help it, he’s so damn beautiful. “Shower?” he asks, nodding his head in the direction of the steaming hot water spraying down in the tub.

I nod and smile. He walks over to the shower knobs and adjusts the temperature, then pulls out the top drawer of my vanity and finds a new shaver. I raise my eyebrows at him. Not about shaving. I believed him when he said he’d do it. But the fact that he knows where I keep the shavers means he’s checked out my entire apartment when he was in here stalking me.

“Does that creep you out?” he asks like he’s reading my mind.

“Yeah,” I answer back, nodding. “Why were you watching me?” I try not to be accusatory, but that’s how it comes out.