The light was filtering in through the blinds in a way that cast zebra-striped shadows over Mitch's back. His breathing was deep and even, his body still. That of course meant nothing when it came to Mitch Rapp, the man had probably been awake even before she had, never one to let his guard down. Still, this was the closest chance she would ever get, the only time she'd have even a fraction of a chance to catch the assassin off guard. There was no point in trying to be stealthy, the man's instincts would have him pinning her down before she could blink if he sensed any calculated movement.

Best to keep it casual, she thought, stretching her arms above her head and letting out a quiet mewl of content. Using the arch of her back, she carefully slid the tips of her fingers along the nightstand until she found the familiar shape of the object she was looking for. Letting the air in her lungs escape through a quiet sigh, she stilled her body and brought the back of Mitch's head into her sights. As she did so, the rise and fall of his torso faltered ever so slightly, it was now or never.

*click, click, click*

Lightning fast, Mitch was on her and ripping the camera away. A wry smirk spread across his lips as he turned the lens toward her and snapped off a few pictures.

"Dammit Mitch, I just wanted a few for my own collection," a pout stained her face, "it's not like you're even identifiable from the back."

"I could put you in touch with several high ranking officials that would speak otherwise."

She squirmed beneath Mitch as he patiently took several more pictures. Fucking torture she thought, that's what this is, his modified torture technique to piss her off as much as possible. For the moment, she couldn't do anything about it. He had straddled her faster than she thought possible, managing to somehow pin both arms to her sides, while his strong legs encased most of her midsection. She could wiggle her fingers though and that could definitely be made to her advantage.

"Say Mitch," one feather light touch somewhere on his lower leg, near the ankle if she had to guess, "how much longer are we going to be holed up in this room?"

He leaned over to gently set the camera back in its spot on the nightstand, and then leveled her with a heavy gaze, "what exactly do you have in mind?"

Mitch had arrived only a few days prior with Scott Coleman and his team, which generally meant that nothing good was going to come of their visit to the small town. He had sought her out early on, and laid out the ground work for an op that would specifically require her photography skills. They needed some leverage on a senator whom they suspected was involved in the bombing of a secret service transport vehicle. Normally, Scott's team would set up some type of surveillance and gather a wealth of information on the Senator's dealings, hoping to find the incriminating evidence necessary to justify the actions that Mitch would inevitably take. They would then plan the extraction and subsequent 'justice' that Mitch dealt out on a regular basis to the assholes who dare threaten innocent lives.

The problem was that this Senator was a virtual recluse inside his expansive mansion, and only allowed certain people in for interviews, or meetings, and on rare occasions personal calls. He seldom made trips outside, handling his professional duties as much as he could via conference calls and email. That's where she came in, photographer for the local paper, having been invited into his home to capture some 'wholesome' images of the Senator. The article he had orchestrated to be written in his honor was big on the fact that he could relate to the general populous on matters of concern, because "he was no different from them".

"Well, I just thought that we could probably have a really great breakfast in bed…" her fingers tittered their way across his ankle, wrapping around the solid limb.

A deep chuckle resonated in her ears, vibrating down her spine, to land solidly in her groin. The man had no fucking idea what he could do to her. No other man had made her ache so strongly, or need so desperately, it was like being addicted to the danger he embraced and the confidence he exuded.

"I think I know exactly what I want," his breath was hot against her collar bone, his fingers tracing down the valley between her breasts, dipping into her navel, and stopping just above her apex, "what would you like to order?"

Mitch indulging in a little theatrical foreplay was the most panty dropping event she'd ever been in attendance of. Gone was the cold, hard assassin that knocked on her door at six in the morning to matter-of-factly inform her that her services would be requested at the Senator's mansion, and that Scott's team would set her up with all the necessary equipment. This is the Mitch that she could get used to being around, the Mitch that would have her second guessing all her hard-built walls and steadfast rules of engagement. Yes, this Mitch could have his way with her any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

"You, Mitch," her eyes were dark and a little unfocused, "screw the foreplay, I need you again. Right. Now."

He wasted absolutely no time in wrapping his arms under and around her, and encouraging her to flip their positions. He settled beneath her weight, slowly sliding his calloused hands along her thighs, then up over her hips and waist, to stop just below her breasts in a blatant attempt to frustrate her. She wouldn't let it bother her this morning, two could play at the game of torture Mitch Rapp.

"I like you in this position, all splayed out beneath me like a piece of fucking artwork." The words all came out in an embarrassed rush, heat rising to her cheeks, giving her feelings away.

Mitch reached one hand up to brush some stray hair away from her face, "You tend to curse when you get flustered, you'd never last a minute in an interrogation."

"Then don't ever let me be kidnapped, Mitch," she playfully swatted his hand from her face.

He gave her a lopsided smirk, before surging upwards to capture her lips in a surprisingly soft kiss. She sighed lightly into the press of his mouth and brought her hands up to gently run through his jet black hair. Using that as leverage, she tugged his head back and slanted her mouth across his, deepening the kiss and pressing her smooth body against the hard edges of his. Mitch had this incredible way drawing her into his corner, of never pushing or expecting or making her feel obligated, he just offered up what he could and accepted whatever she was willing to give in return. He was honest and open whenever they came together, and didn't hold back anything, and that was more than she could even expect.

Just as he was allowing her to press him down into the mattress, a phone started ringing from somewhere on the floor, "Ahhh fuck, is that your's or mine?" Mitch rolled her over, trapping her beneath the sharp cut of his pelvis and the biceps she loved so much. He lowered his forehead to hers, his lips millimeters away, and their breath mingling.

"It's mine, but I'm really debating on ignoring it…" His voice was low, punctuated by the press of his growing erection against her thigh.

Right on cue, her ringtone joined Mitch's buzzing, and the mood was lost as soon as it began. Mitch sighed loudly and rolled off of the bed to retrieve the phones. He stared intently at the blue light of the screen for a few seconds before frowning.

"Change of plans it seems, the Senator was just discovered dead in his residence."

*To be continued*