“Fuck me afterwards and I’ll walk home with your cum dribbling down my legs.”
“So I assume your panties are staying here?”
“Of course.”
Releasing her legs, she held them back for me as I started to gently fondle her clit. I smiled as she reacted just how I wanted, her face lighting up with pleasure. I loved watching and making her orgasm. She made the most delightful noises, and when her pussy squeezed my cock, and generally helped bring on my own.
“Oh god, fuck me,” she moaned, “Harder! Harder! Schneller! Schneller!”
“She’s whipping out the German. She’s definitely turned on!” I whispered with humour.
“Fick mich mit diesem großen schwanz, du großartiger bastard!”
I fucked her harder, leaning down to kiss her. “Bestes stück Deutsche nuschi der welt.”
“So close, Nate… So fucking close… Firmer… Firmer…”
I rubbed her clit like it was going out of fashion. It simply depended on her mood what worked. But it worked like a charm as she practically convulsed underneath me, needing to release her legs and just spread them wide, feeling her hands grab my arse, pulling my cock into her. I blasted inside her within a minute, not relenting for a second until she rested a hand on my chest, the signal for me to slow down and finally stop but not to pull out. I didn’t do that until I was soft… if I did go soft.
Wrapping her arms and legs around me, the next series of kisses were tender, full of the feelings we undoubtedly now had for each other. She ran her fingers through my dark hair, having let it grow out, before she scratched my beard. “Getting rid of this soon?”
“Don’t like it?”
“I’m still getting used to it. And it does make you look a little older.”
“At least it doesn’t take long to grow one.”
I pulled out and offered my hand, leading her to the bathroom so we could have a shower before returning to bed, Jennifer cuddling into me. “Will you finish it tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow night. I’ll call in once it’s done. The cleaners are ready?”
“They are.”
“Won’t be the only one. I eliminate him, they’ll bring forward the timetable. Him disappearing will spook them.”
“Will they suspect you?”
“Doubtful. They’re convinced I’m one of them. They want to believe at least some westerners will support them in their ideals. Spout a few phrases from their book, speak their language, show respect, smoke and drink tea with them, and while some will always remain suspicious, those who need to believe will allow themselves to do so.”
“You handle him tomorrow night. What next?”
“Wolverhampton the night after, then I’ll do Leeds and Bradford in the one night. That’s four of them handled. That leaves the head honcho. Anything on surveillance?”
“He’s a cocky bastard. Thinks he’s untouchable and that we’re clueless about what he’s trying to do.”
“He’ll learn soon enough.”
Her hand trailed up and down my chest before she asked, “How did they look?”
“Happy.”
“Good. And you?”
“I’m going to keep an eye on them, Jules.”
“Just be careful.”
I kissed her forehead. “You know I will.”
She cuddled back against me. We knew not to fall in love, that would just be a bad idea. I think we were just about sticking to the ‘friends with benefits’ agreement we’d made.
The next morning was as domestic as it could be, both of us showering then dressing before eating breakfast together. I grabbed my coat and briefcase, heading outside where we parted ways with a kiss. She would head home, as in addition to her role as my handler, her cover was as a freelance web designer, working from home. I had to catch the Underground to Canary Wharf, joining the thousands of others who travelled there and back each morning and evening.
Grabbing a coffee and snack at Costa Coffee, I entered the building I ‘worked’, passed through security, heading up in the elevator to my assigned office. It was all a cover. I actually did nothing there to do with investment banking. No-one knew except the CEO, who obviously sent word through the grapevine that I was an independent contractor and not to be bothered. I did technically have a manager, but I didn’t report to him. I didn’t even report to the CEO. I was my own boss.
It was nice to live a somewhat normal life though, even if it was entirely fake. First time I’d ever really done that. I chatted shit with the guys about the football at the water cooler, though I knew fuck all about it. Apparently everyone in London was a Chelsea, Arsenal or Spurs fan. I knew the team names, no fucking idea otherwise. There were jokes about half of London supporting Manchester United otherwise. Must have been something I hadn’t learned during my time in the Marines, though I did hear them talk about soccer most of the time. I would enjoy the occasional afternoon in a nearby pub, and had even gone out for a day golfing. I just made sure none of it interfered with my real job.
My first assignment was to infiltrate a group who were plotting an attack somewhere in the UK, assumed to be London, an obvious target, though cities like Birmingham or Manchester would always be potential targets. I won’t say it was easy to infiltrate the group, but after visiting the mosque where they were known to congregate, it was surprisingly easy to approach them, enjoy a smoke and some tea at a nearby café, and once I gained their trust rather quickly, we’d be discussing all sorts of topics.
Within a couple of months, I had everything I needed to know. The man who was planning it. The man who would source then prepare the devices. The young men who would be committing the act. And the main man in charge. I knew MI5 and Scotland Yard would perhaps have knowledge as well, but Jennifer would be running interference, and we’d only let them know when I’d decided to let them live or die. The whole point of OGIS was that we didn’t want many of these pricks in court and being released out of prison in ten years’ time, further radicalised than when they’d headed in. There’d be no Guantanamo. No black site. No anything except them disappearing entirely. Reminded me of a movie I’d seen, about taking pre-emptive action before the crime actually happened.
The Director had asked me bluntly what I thought about committing such acts in the name of keeping everyone safe. “About fucking time,” I’d replied.
He’d nodded at that response. “It gets more difficult, Nick,” he said softly, “The killing… It wears on everyone in the end, and it will eventually ground you down. It sits on your conscience. On your soul. Most people would claim we’re the bad guys, that we’re not allowing justice to prevail by placing people like this in cuffs and handing them to the proper authorities. That we should allow these people their day in court, allow them to spew their ideology into microphones, and even the chance that they’ll be found not guilty, despite the wealth of evidence of what they intend to do. And don’t even get me started on the bastards who are successful.”
“They’re the enemy,” I replied simply, “Shot plenty of them already in Iraq and Afghanistan. They want to kill us. So we’ll kill them first. What these pricks are planning, the fact they want to kill hundreds of innocent people? Fuck them. I’ll live with it.”