She was good. August didn't give credit to many agents, but he gave it to her. A CIA whore, to put it bluntly. She got to her marks through their pants. He'd worked missions with her before. Whenever a cocky, sex-crazed man needed to brought down to his knees, she got on hers. It never failed. She was whatever they wanted her to be. Smart, ditzy, flirty, dominant. A mask for every mark.
But August saw her slip. Just once. He was there to make sure the mark left with her. He saw the shift in her as they arrived and split up. Her eyes dimmed. The walls went up. She played it cool, but the truth was that the job pushed her deeper into herself.
After that, he watched her closer. She never slipped again, but now he knew. It was easier to spot. The distance between her and the whore. He wondered how much that distance shrunk each time she did it. Or maybe it grew. Maybe she regressed deeper and deeper each time.
How long until she broke? How long until a side won out? The whore, or the agent? All August knew was that he would be the one to break her.
He'd made a move on her once when a mission went long. That was back when he bought the whore act. Years ago. Now she was wearing thin. Glances from the corner of her eye when she knew he was watching. Once, while a mark sucked on her neck, August fought back a smirk when her eyes locked onto his from across the room. Breaking her down now would be easy.
Each mission they worked together, August put himself into her space. Standing too close in an elevator, sitting too close in briefings. She put up the walls less and less, until finally, he saw his chance.
The mission was over, but it had gone so well that they didn't have to immediately leave the country. August booked their rooms, and made sure there was an adjoining door. Not an uncommon practice for partners who may need a quick escape if their own room is compromised. What was uncommon was when August walked in on her without knocking.
"What the hell?"
She had a towel wrapped around her, her hair wet from the shower.
She backed away as August strode across the room, and pinned her against a wall.
"You've been playing the one who likes to get caught for too long," he said. "Backed yourself right where I wanted you." He leaned a hand against the wall and towered over her. "Or maybe you wanted me to catch you."
"Get the hell out."
"What's wrong? I thought you wanted people to believe you like playing the whore?"
He should have expected the slap, but it surprised him anyway. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward his room.
"Let me go."
"Don't pretend you don't want me. I've seen you watching me." He stopped and pulled her against his chest, her wrist still tight in his hand. He leaned down, his lips a breath away from hers. "You know I've wanted you for years. Time for you to fess up."
August pulled her to the threshold, then kissed her hard. When he pulled away, he pulled the towel with him and backed into his room. He expected her to flinch. To cover herself. She just stood there letting his eyes linger until they connected with hers again.
"Come on," he said. "No one has to know."
He backed toward the bed as she followed him in and shut the door. She shoved him into the bed and straddled his thighs.
"You know the funny thing about being a CIA whore?" She pulled his bottom lip between her teeth and he groaned. "I rarely ever have to fuck anyone."
The pinch in his neck made him jump to his feet, but he fell right back down. She stood from the floor as he gasped.
"People tend not to suspect a naked person."
August tried to slow his breathing as the room turned dark.
"Who knew August Walker would break so easy?"
