Shadow Ops: Danger's Desire (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Shadow Ops Novella Book 1) (2 page)

The Old Absinthe House was notoriously central to the French Quarter’s social scene. Above, among the 200-year-old exposed cypress beams, hung antique chandeliers intermixed with helmets and jerseys from some of football’s greatest legends.

Hollywood squinted through the thick cigar haze to find a giant hand waving from across the dimly lit barroom. Again, it was the glimmer of light off Fats’ gaudy pinky ring that caught his attention. High-back leather chairs had been pulled into a crescent. Hollywood didn’t recognize anyone but his old Navy buddy. He took a seat, wishing he’d gone home instead.

“My man, Hollywood, the American hero. Glad you changed your mind.” A cigar hung between Fats’ left-hand fingers like a limp prick as he balanced the half-full glass of bourbon and reached up with a welcoming hug.

“Hey Fats, thanks for the invite. Where’s the party?” Hollywood fanned a clearing through the smog. He peered over the backs of two chairs anticipating beautiful ladies—but the chairs were empty.

His shoulders slumped as his mouth feigned a smile to disguise his disappointment. He coughed. “Alone?”

“Dance floor.” The NOPD Detective nodded toward a distant corner. “Sit down—let’s chat till them whores return.”

Hollywood made a
tsk tsk
sound and wagged his chin—even he didn’t like to refer to women like that. Fats was tactless, and usually had to resort to paying for sex—little wonder why.

“What you running from, Hollywood? Abbottabad is a long way from the Big Easy brother. Time to leave Pakistan behind.” His heavy hand patted Hollywood’s thigh.

“Shit, Fats, where’d you get that cheesy ass ring?” Hollywood changed the topic, and craned his neck to look for the rest of their party. He reached for his friend’s hand to examine the huge rock that glimmered at the center of an odd design that resembled a wolf and sickle. “You a Mason or something?”

“Deeper.” Fats whispered, and then hid his hand beneath his meaty thigh.

What the hell did that mean?

“Now why you here, Dwight?” They went way back, and Fats understood when to cut the crap and that meant no more Hollywood or hero. Smoke ringlets paraded out of the same odd circle his mouth had made at the training facility.

“Lost my edge, Fats. Not the man I used to be, so I wanted field ops time to get it back. We’ve been hot on the trail of an organization and finally whacked off the head of the snake. Almost lost good agents—Chase Westin and Lucky Cavanaugh—in the process. Meanwhile, I plopped my fat ass behind a desk pretending to make a dent in the threats against national security. Only thing I dented was the office pizza supply.” Hollywood pressed his shoulder into the soft flesh that covered his friend’s triceps.

“Why here, my friend? Why now? Mardi Gras is about to turn this place upside down. No safe quarter and no time outs.” Fats looked away, into the burgeoning crowd of weekday partiers.

“I don’t need the attention. That’s why I went underground to NCIS Intelligence, but once that movie exposed everything, I had to go deeper—away from the Navy. Behind a computer screen—where no one knew me by anything other than a password.” Hollywood simulated typing on a keyboard.

“Yeah, JW broke the code all right, but why here damn it?” Fats bounced his fist off the water-marked coffee table. Empty rocks glasses rattled.

“Here is far enough away so no one knows me. There’s also the Belle Chase Naval Air Station, so I’m around a familiar setting if need be. But mostly because of you, Alphonse.”

“Me?” His jowls rose along with his eyebrows.

Hollywood fist bumped Fats’ calloused knuckles.

“I trust you.” Hollywood said in a low voice and then eased back into the plush chair. He rolled cubed ice around the glass then downed his first round. The scotch burned his lips. Fats waved the waitress for another.

“Trust—I’ll buy that. I also trust you still like to mow down the ladies? I guarantee these two are worth watching.” Fats licked his lips until the appearance looked distorted. Hollywood eased his chair away, closer to the coffee table.

Of course, I came hoping to find Voodoo again, and I did.
But he didn’t voice that thought to Fats.

Jumbled bodies crowded into a far corner. Dancers thinned as the music slowed. He spied the ladies then. His mouth went arid with short breaths. He guzzled the scotch. Embraced, the women gazed into each other’s eyes. Slight smiles and parted lips, the music rocking their bodies in a slow zydeco groove. Fats’ words hummed against his ear but were lost in his focus across the floor.

Their figures mismatched in every way, wove together perfectly in the motion of swing. It wasn’t the college-boy fantasy of two women that turned up Hollywood’s heat—it was the sensual attraction radiating from their human connection. Primal. They looked as if there were no other people on the entire planet but them—and they could’ve cared less if someone showed up.

Hollywood lifted his tailored shirt by the thumb and forefinger to fan his chest. The thump of his heart roared beneath the button down. His mind raced in fantasy while his erection poked against his boxer briefs. He leaned forward with a rigid spine—tongue tracing his lips.

“Nice, huh?” Fats’ hand polished his chubby cheeks.

“Damn, Fats. Who’s that?”

“Our guests.” His laugh carried a sinister pride of devilish accomplishment.

“Hookers?” Hollywood broke his stare. “Never paid, never will. Don’t have to with this smile.” Hollywood flashed his patent lady-killer grin.

“Sit back, my friend, and relax. You’ve had a rough go of late, and deserve time off.” His words charmed the snake of anxiety Hollywood struggled with daily. Did he deserve to relax, or had he been on a break over the last two years while working with the Special Threats Response Team?

Two figures emerged against the flashing strobes behind them. Hollywood peered to see features apart from their differing heights, but was limited thanks to an amateurish light display. He eased to his feet, straightened his jeans and extended his hand. Silent, his smile was effortless and often all the communication needed to land women in his bed.

“Hi there. Join us, please.” His pulse raced. It’d been a few weeks after all and for a stud who viewed sex as exercise without emotion that was long enough without.

“I’m Bonny,” said the taller of the two, touching his hand. Bonny smiled, tucking a loose strand of short blonde bob behind her ear. Her crooked smile made her look more sincerely beautiful than dolled up. Hollywood equally appreciated a woman’s outward appearance as well as her attitude, and this one’s sexual aura radiated. Bonny beamed it like the sun.

“Hi Bonny, glad to meet you. I’m Hollyw… I’m Dwight.” He grinned at the purposeful mishap. Her hand secure in his, he swept his spikes of sun-drenched blonde hair in an orchestrated wave with the free hand. Her eyes averted, but finally locked into his—
gotcha
, he smirked.

“I like Hollywood better.” Bonny giggled and pressed her right shoulder against his flexed chest. She smelled like lilac.

Just like that. Just like old times. I’m gonna land these two in Hollywood heaven.

“And you are?” He looked to her friend. His smile bright and gaze especially charming, Hollywood ran a once over before he locked eyes with Bonny’s partner. His left hand pressed firmly between the shorter woman’s shoulder and right triceps. He purposely created a close triangle between the threesome then lifted his face with a rehearsed expression that usually swooned his targets.

“Hello, magazine model, good to see you again,” Voodoo shouted over the music. She bounced on tippy-toes and patted the left side of his face. “Not tonight bad boy—not tonight.” She laughed and then intertwined her fingers with Bonny’s.

Overwhelmed, Hollywood’s confidence took a nose dive. Fate sure enough had it in for him. A sleeveless silk top clung to broad shoulders, and parted to reveal Voodoo’s pierced belly button when she swayed to the music. Bold splashes of ink covered her right arm from the shoulder to about two inches below her elbow. The patterns were hard to decipher in the dark, but he saw the sweeping images and shapes against her smooth skin. His gaze traveled over low-slung jeans and black open toe sandals.

He blinked to avoid looking creepy—probably too late. His nose crinkled as he saw their held hands dangle. Bonny’s bright white teeth glimmered as she bit her bottom lip with a come-on glance. Her alert eyes dared Hollywood to join them.

Hollywood mashed the key fob twice to activate the Cayenne’s alarm system. He also alerted the neighbor’s dog as he and his escorts crept into the ladies’ condo.

“Damn thing never shuts up,” Voodoo grumbled. “Police K9, but the handler’s a Lafourche Parish cop who doesn’t give a shit about the nuisance ordinance against barking dogs.”

“Maybe he should put a collar on his pet and teach it to obey,” Hollywood said, his right hand circling the front of his neck.

“You think a collar would do the trick?” She batted her lashes flirtatiously. His erection twitched at the possibility of her intention.

Hollywood relaxed against the kitchen island.

What happened to Bonny?

His tactical instincts were always on ready alert. He quickly scanned the modest home. Random placements of local looking art and box-store pottery dominated the decor. It was neat and smelled fresh—no inside pets. Still, no Bonny.

“Yeah, and maybe a leash to whip that ass.” Hollywood pushed the envelope, his pulse ticking up a beat. Voodoo gazed at him with those hypnotizing green eyes. Her dark complexion framed a beautiful white smile.

“Hmm.” Her thick, full lips vibrated with the sound. Almond-shaped eyes darted left to an open door. Hollywood hoped it was a bedroom—maybe a shared bedroom. His breathing shallowed but his pulse raced. His mind remained sharp through the lull where opportunities are taken. The sound of water from a shower tickled his ear—had to be Bonny.

“Why so tense?” His eyes ached with fatigue.

Poised, she stood just as defiant before him now as she had at the SWAT training complex east of New Orleans.

“You make me edgy, don’t want to have to kick your ass like I did at SWAT,” she teased him as her body swished to imitate a fighting stance. He growled. She playfully hopped a step back.

“I was just rusty, but I’ve got more SWAT experience sorties under my belt than you’ll see in a lifetime of dime-bag drug busts.” He ran fingers inside his waistband to straighten his shirt.

“Yeah, right, I forgot. You’re some sort of hero. Tell me about it, pretty boy.” She smoothed her palm across his chest and shoulders. “I’m so impressed.”

Tension both eased and increased as he watched her hand roam. Her caress lingered across his forearm and sent a twinge through his hardened triceps. The contrast of skin tones blended beautifully as his pulse picked up at her touch.

Her curvaceous body drove him wild. Consistent with the tough-girl image, her hair was short. Hollywood liked the way one side and the back of her hair were sheered close to the scalp, while the other side swooped long across her round face and right eye. Made her look like a badass—but could she walk the walk?

“Damn dog is driving me crazy.” She sighed and turned toward the bedroom door. She seductively pointed a finger and commanded him to stay. He remained against the kitchen counter. His throat clamped dry as he watched her slip across the threshold and out of sight. His hips rocked against the marble countertop—he wanted to fuck her so bad his balls ached.

“Oh that animal is a bad boy.” Voodoo’s sharp declaration glided from the bedroom. Hollywood strained to listen, but heard no more barking.

“Yes, he is.” Hollywood played along. He cared nothing about the neighbor’s K9, but his curiosity was piqued, along with his libido. His eyes scraped the dim lighting for Bonny. Damn, would he love another threesome. He heard the scuff of wood across wood—a drawer slammed shut.

“I’m talking about you, not the neighbor’s mutt, hero.” The low and enticing tone of Voodoo’s voice immediately drew his gaze. He sucked in a breath at her naked body framed in the threshold. His cock jerked in response. She had the type of body he loved. Small waist, flaring to perfectly rounded hips and a plump ass.

She fit Hollywood’s perfect woman image. He found standing still difficult, fighting the powerful desire to rush into her arms. Yeah, razor-thin Bonny turned him on, but she was built for speed. Voodoo was made for comfort.

“Oh, I’m a bad boy?” Hollywood chucked out something between a laugh and a gasp. He coughed to clear his parched throat. Moist palms brushed along jeans. His boot heel clicked against the ceramic tile. His feet wanted to move—he was ready to receive her.

“Didn’t you say a collar was best for taming?” Leather smacked across her palm.

“That I did.” Hollywood’s reactions were delayed. Voodoo had caught him off guard—off his game of expect the unexpected. Damn, that was twice today.

“Good, then I have something for you.” Voodoo’s back arched slightly. Smooth shoulders rolled and coiled with the swing of voluptuous hips as she sashayed across the tile floor toward him. This little vixen exuded sheer, raw sexuality. Primal instinct was her seduction. Softened by the low light, her eyes captured his gaze, growls pulsated through parted lips. Her tongue teased him with soft dabs across a pouting mouth.

“Earlier at the club you said ‘not tonight.’ Couldn’t resist me, huh?” Hollywood’s natural arrogance took over. It always came through as an aphrodisiac, or so his past lovers confessed.

“I promised my beau I’d behave last night. It’s midnight, so last night’s over.” She winked with pouted lips.

Damn, she’s dangerous.

“Boyfriend?” Despite what his friends may have thought, Hollywood had a code.

“Friend,” she said.

“How good of a friend?”

“With benefits. It’s complicated.” She sighed.

“Okay.” Codes could get confusing.

“Tonight, you’re my hero.” There was sincerity in her words.

“Good, you’ll need rescuing.” His right hand extended, trembling as his muscles seared with adrenaline. She dropped to her knees below his open palm.

Hollywood stroked her bi-level haircut and closed his eyes—let his fingers trace her soft chin. His chest heaved at the sight of his earlier adversary, now servant at his feet.

“Give yourself to me, hero,” she whispered. Toned arms flexed as she tugged off each cowboy boot. Willing hands shimmied his jeans to the floor. Shredded abs twitched in anticipation as she ran fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers. They’d taken a beating trying to contain his raging hard on—they went next. She was certainly not the first woman to undress him. Why such a strong reaction to her?

Dizzy with desire, he stirred as she moved her welcoming mouth inches from the bouncing purple head of his cock that begged to enter her throat. She eased forward, licked glistening lips. Her breasts heaved as she sucked in energy-charged air. Her lips puckered and she pressed a light soft kiss on the head of his dick.

“That’s all for tonight.” She smiled and flicked her tongue at the thin strand of semen connecting her mouth to his manhood.

“Fucking tease.” Veins tore through his forearm as he strained to encourage her mouth over his dick where it needed to be. She giggled and pulled herself up by his narrow hips. She clung close against him. Close enough that he felt the cold stainless steel rods crisscrossed through each of her firm nipples.

“Am I really a tease, hero?” She turned her back and presented an offering – herself.

“You’re driving me crazy. I’m going to show you what teasing me gets you.” Hollywood’s cock wrestled to press flush but raged against her warm thighs instead. She laid the worn leather collar in his palm and slowly rolled her sleek hips against him.

“Should I thank you now?” She glanced back and winked as her bottom lip bobbled between perfectly white teeth.

“Sure, and then you’ll beg me later.” He laughed at the tacky macho talk. It was a game they both seemed to enjoy playing.

“Your wish is my desire, hero.” Her ass still tight against his pelvis, she’d meshed their bodies. Not fond of hugs, he couldn’t help but melt into her body and wrap his arms around her waist. Damn temptress created confusion within his soul. He longed to treat her like he’d never treated any woman before, yet in some ways, the very same.

“You’re going to spoil me, Krystal.”

“You’re already spoiled hero. We’ll see who the big shot is after I’m done teaching you a lesson.” She challenged, and he sighed as the arc of her shapely ass tempted his dick.

Long strands of soft hair hung loosely across her face. Hollywood gritted his teeth. He resisted the urge to take her from behind as his fingers fumbled with the collar’s metal buckles.

“How you gonna teach me anything? I got the collar, and I’m in charge now.” His voice wavered to sort through the stream of logic—his legs pulsed between surges in his groin.

“Hero, submission isn’t about surrender, it’s having complete control to just let go. Can you let go?” She reached behind and gripped his penis. Muscles flexed in her wrist. He moaned. Hollywood’s knees buckled. His body hurried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of ecstasy.

“No, I’m a control freak. I don’t let go.” He murmured into the soft space between her ear and neck—his tongue filled the gap with slow strokes. She quivered.

“Too bad. You’ll never know how fucking amazing it is to not give a shit. Hero, I’m going to fuck up your whole stay-between-the-lines way of thinking.” Her hands rested on the kitchen island while she bopped her hips under his hands. The stainless steel ring inside the collar’s clasp clinked as she moved.

She just might do it.

Hollywood had been in a drought. Thanks to chasing down the Preacher’s terror network, he’d not had sex in weeks. His hormones begged him to stop talking and start fucking, but his heart itched at a new sensation he couldn’t describe.

“How’s the lesson progressing, hero?”

“All I give a shit about right now is fucking you. Enough of the horny Zen lessons.” Hollywood shut his eyes to refocus on the sex, forget the metaphysical bullshit. Don’t get emotional—a few days temporary duty down south, and then back to D.C. Down deep, he knew better though.

He snugged her collar and she sighed. Voodoo’s primitive reaction to every touch increased his excitement. Hollywood’s eyes waxed in imagination as thoughts of her submission tantalized with possibility. His head rolled back—he sighed an ominous sigh.

“Enough talk. I want you. Right now.” His fingers tightened the leather—the strap cut into her throat. She whimpered and hopped up on her toes to ease the strain.

“Too tight?” He whispered against her spine.

“Tougher than you think pretty boy,” she purred, hair floating against her right shoulder. His fingers slid around her voluptuous hips to guide his dick against the cheeks of her ass. She groaned louder as he pressed himself against her.

“You carrying?” she whispered.

“Glock, model 17, why?”

“Condoms.” A light laugh eased the misinterpretation, and she retrieved one instead.

Hollywood’s knees gave way once the head of his cock breached her pussy. Guttural moans escaped him, his left hand dug into the dip of her hip. She winced.

“Too tight?” She flipped the question on him, and pressed her fingers into his thighs as he slid inside of her.

“Just the head of your cock baby.” Her skin glistened with a sheen of moisture. His moist palms roamed her muscled buttocks. Moans intensified as her toes flexed for balance—he held onto her collar.

“Good girl.” The sensation of her submission began to appeal to him. He smiled delighting in her gasps and pleas to stop. He cranked back on the collar with his right forearm pressed along her spine.

Drawn into an unnatural bend, her breasts hoisted the double-pierced nipples into the chilled air. His fingers roved her ribcage, reaching for the stainless steel rods. Rolling them against her erect nipple drove him mad for more.

She sucked air through her teeth and pulled back against his hold.

“You okay, Voodoo?”

“You’ll break before I do.”

A wavering shadow alerted Hollywood of another’s presence. His head spun left at the sound of a throat clearing—Bonny dawdled against the refrigerator. Light shone through her sheer gown flaunting her slender, athletic physique. Tussle-dried hair swept across her tilted head, and the sexiness of her Lauren Hutton smile contrasted with the cheerleader type that had drawn Hollywood to Voodoo.

“Walk her,” Bonny said, arms folded in defiance, she exuded sensual dominance.

“Sorry?” Hollywood leaned toward Bonny.

“Walk her—like a pet.” Her body stiffened rigid in the command—Bonny’s smile vanished. Hollywood expelled an uncertain breath. His gut tensed. He’d bitten off more than he could chew.

“That’s a bit much, even for me.” He gestured with a hand held above his head. He loosened the grip on Voodoo’s collar and let his hand slide over her shoulder.

“You want to be in control, then there’s a responsibility that comes with it.” Bonny’s parochial voice returned him to the days of his youth and the high-minded nuns who taught him through grade school.

“Bet you thought you were coming here to get a quick fuck? Didn’t expect a lesson in respect.” Bonny challenged again.

“Actually, yeah. I was dying to fuck the both of you.” His penis regained its glory as his ego pressed the point. He wasn’t at all interested in walking or training—he wanted two pieces of ass, and then to hit the road.

“At least the hero’s honest,” Voodoo said, smiling. Her hands still pulling at his waist—his shaft glided deeper into her pussy.