The Trapped Assassin
By SarahsSupplyCloset
Author's Note: Hi, the story continues. Thank you for reading and thank you for the reviews.
Disclaimer: I don't own CHUCK. I don't make money writing CHUCK fan fiction.
It was a Saturday morning and the beach was full of people—both tourists and residents of Nice—so it was ridiculous that when she'd heard the whistle, she'd automatically assumed it was Chuck teasing her.
Playing some kind of game.
She hadn't seen him in almost 30 hours, not since they parted yesterday morning, and he had been on her mind on and off since then. Maybe that was why she'd smirked and turned to grin at the whistler, inherently thinking she'd open her eyes behind the sunglasses to see the tall, curly-haired video game developer strutting towards her like a dork.
The smirk died quickly, though, when she saw it wasn't Chuck at all, but instead of a very French, very middle-aged mustache-wearing man returning from having taken a dip in the ocean. He had one gold tooth, like a 1990s kids movie bad guy.
"Mon cherie," he started, but she held up a hand and pushed herself onto her elbow, glaring at him.
"Non, merci," she said in a crisp, clear tone.
He stopped and smirked. "Ooooh, mon cherie…sois gentil…"
But before he could come any closer, there was an incredible outburst from over Sarah's shoulder. A woman maybe a few years older than Sarah was herself let out a string of curses in French, waving her hand viciously around, practically spitting as she demanded he leave Sarah alone and make love to a bedpost… At least…that was how Sarah had translated it. Had she really just told the man to make love to a bedpost?
He grumbled and brushed her off with a wave of his hand, apparently deeming the women not worth his time or effort, and he shuffled away, still dripping from swimming in the French Riviera water.
Sarah blinked and turned to look at the pretty brunette. "Merci," she called up to her, pushing herself up to sit properly and smiling politely. She hadn't really needed the assistance, but it had been amusing and she appreciated the gesture anyway.
"Eh. Fuck guys like that," she said in English, but with a thick French accent. "I see them intimidating and harassing American women, English women, tourists in general…all the time." She made a dismissive sound and rolled her eyes.
"Did you tell him to make love to a bedpost?" Sarah asked, biting the inside of her cheek.
The woman snorted and put her hands on her hips. "More or less, I tell him to fuck a bedpost. But I feel bad for the bedpost, eh?" She shrugged, then laughed with Sarah. "Anyway, I'll leave you to your sun. À bientôt."
"Oui. À bientôt! Merci." She gave a wave and watched as the woman moved away towards the shore, walking along the waters.
Sarah reached over and checked her phone, which she'd put on silent so that she could really enjoy the breezy beach morning without interruption. Even an interruption by the name of Chuck.
He hadn't called or texted, though, she found as she glanced at her phone, so she stood up and brushed herself off a little, fixing her bikini to cover her better and turning to the nearby Brazilian couple sitting in their beach chairs. She asked them if they could watch her things in their native Portuguese and when they agreed with polite smiles, she thanked them and went out to the water.
The sun was starting to warm up on this day that was supposed to be almost a little hot for Nice according to her phone and she needed to spend some time in the water. It was the perfect temperature, soothing to her overheated skin as she let it slip up to her waist, moving further and further into it.
She hopped a wave and then dove under the next one, popping up out of the water again and smoothing her hands back over her wet hair. It wasn't like she hadn't enjoyed swimming in the ocean before, but this just felt different. She didn't know if it was quitting her job, or the fact that she'd never get another envelope with a dossier and a figurative target over some mark's face. She would never have to touch anyone she didn't want to touch. She would never have to smile at anyone she didn't want to smile at. She would never have to assassinate anyone. Her actions were her own, her life her own.
And even with the cryptic and worrying message she'd gotten about meeting with Langston Graham when this vacation was over in about two weeks, she knew he wouldn't rope her back into the CIA again. She wouldn't be his trapped assassin. Never again.
She wouldn't be manipulated.
She'd tasted freedom. It tasted like champagne, the salty water she currently found on her lips, and…well, a good man. Frankly. A good man she was a little unsettled to realize she was currently missing. After only a little over a day of not seeing him.
No, she liked the way this freedom tasted, even if it made her a little nervous how heady it got her, and she wasn't going back to the trapped life. She'd kicked down the door of the box she'd gotten stuck in without realizing it in the ten years since she'd been blackmailed into service. And she wasn't going back into it. She left the box behind.
There was perfectly cooked lobster she could savor out here, hours' worth of video games (and she felt ridiculous for thinking about that of all things), cool crisp French Riviera waters sliding over her skin like silk, and really, really good sex. Sex she didn't have to sneak out after. Sex she didn't have to grade on a scale and end up just slightly satiated, satisfied enough she supposed. It was sex she could dive headfirst into, lose herself in, and when she emerged unscathed from the delicious drowning in his arms, she could fall asleep without fear.
Out here, outside of her CIA box, away from the rifles and knives (well, maybe not the knives, she was free sure but she would never give up her knives, she wasn't stupid after all), Sarah Walker—yes, Sarah Walker—could fall asleep with a man's arms wrapped around her and wake up the next morning with him cuddled up against her body. She could spend an entire morning languorously enjoying messing around and laughing, teasing, touching… learning. Learning how to make him laugh back. Learning where to touch him to make him groan, whimper, pant her name in that way of his that made her catch fire.
She could look at this man and not wonder if sometime in the future, she might have to put a bullet in him. She'd only ever killed a man she'd slept with once. It had been early on in her career as an assassin and it had left her in tatters—not because she'd cared for him that much, but because the juxtaposition of sex and assassination had fucked her up in the head so bad. She hadn't known who he was or what he'd done when she'd had sex with him. She'd found out soon enough, though, and she'd done the job.
That would never happen again.
Chuck Bartowski wasn't a spy. He wasn't a criminal.. There was no reason anyone could ever want him dead. And if they did, she wouldn't be the markswoman. She would be his protector.
She knew how serious it was all sounding suddenly, even in her own head, and she quietly breathed to herself over the waves, "Calm down, Sarah."
She was even using the name when talking to herself now. It was officially a home. How she'd build an existence, a life, off of it after this … ? Well, she'd just have to figure that out later.
Right now, she was enjoying the cool water. She moved herself out past the largest of the waves and just floated, letting the water rock her, her body swaying. And she found herself wanting him here, as much as she was enjoying this solo time to think and be grateful. She wanted his arms around her, his lips against her skin.
She heard a nearby yelp and her eyes snapped open, her hand going for her thigh, reaching for a knife that wasn't there.
But she saw it was just a teenage couple playing a few yards away, the girl dunking her boyfriend after he'd probably pinched her underwater or something. She smirked a little to herself, watching them tease, wrestling one another and disappearing under the water. When they came back up again, they were making out heavily.
And she decided maybe she'd stop staring, turning her body away from them altogether and starting to slowly make her way back to shore.
When she trudged up the sand back to her towel, she thanked the Brazilian couple again and gathered her towel up against her, dabbing her skin dry, then draping it around her shoulders, grabbing her bag, slipping her phone inside, and heading back up to the boardwalk. She strolled along, squinting out at the sea happily, pushing any lingering negativity and thoughts of the CIA and Director Graham out of her brain, letting her fingers drift along the boardwalk railing as she walked, feeling the sensation of the ground under her bare feet, her straw strappy sandals dangling from her other hand.
By the time she got closer to her hotel, the ground was actually almost too hot, so she slipped her sandals back on, having to hold onto the railing to step into them without falling on her ass.
She saw the hand before it touched her.
And the man had his arm yanked behind his back as she bent him over the railing, forcing him to stare down at his sandy doom a good twenty feet below. He was now whimpering in pain and fear instead of the handful of her bikini-clad ass which was what he'd been aiming for.
"This is the second time I've been objectified in the span of one hour, unfortunately for you." She yanked his arm even harder as he yelped in pain and apologized. A few passersby laughed at him, one woman even whistling and clapping, but Sarah ignored them as she pushed him even further over the railing.
"Non, non! I…I am sorry," he panted in fear. "Pardon, mademoiselle!"
"Are you every going to touch a woman like this again?" Sarah asked him, sticking with English. He obviously understood it well enough.
He shook his head quickly, eyes wide with terror.
"What was that?" She yanked on his arm and he winced.
"Non!" he yelled.
She relinquished her hold on him and shoved him away from her, picking her things up again as he rushed off, tail tucked between his legs. "What are you looking at?" she barked at a man who'd stopped riding his bike past to gape at her. She could read his gaping loud and clear, and at the moment, it really wasn't appreciated. She still wore just her bikini after all.
He gulped and sped away, Neil Armstrong status, as if she'd catch him if he didn't haul ass.
Good.
What was with today and the pervs?
Ruffling her hair, she finally neared the gate to the pool when she saw it.
Two men who were leaning against a nearby palm tree. One of them had shifted just enough for his blazer to part, revealing a Ruger SR-Series. She could tell by the sleek thin barrel. She paused, but not for too long, running her gaze over him and his companion for just a moment before she swiped her key and pulled the gate open, stepping into the pool area.
She could just let it go, whatever that was. Two men, at least one of them packing, were just hanging around here, talking in low voices. That wasn't suspicious at all. She wasn't CIA anymore. This wasn't what she did anymore. And yet…
Who were those guys? And what were they doing here of all places? She was about 70 percent sure they weren't here for her. But that 30 percent had her slinking along the backside of the lounge chairs set up in rows against the gate. She made a bit of a show choosing which chair she'd take up, all while inching closer to where the men stood on the other side of the gate.
"…and we're off the hook after this job." The shorter, skinnier of the two who'd had the Ruger was from England, definitely East End London, judging by his accent.
"Don't trust 'im," the second Englishman grumbled. He was a lot bulkier, the beef of the pair. "Mate, 'ow many times we been f'ru dis? We get in too deep wif da toss'eh an' 'e uses the shit 'e got on us to get us ta knock off a few pains in 'is neck. I'm f'ru wif it, 'Arry."
"Yeah, yeah. So'm I, but what you want me ta do? Think we can say no wifout ending up washin' up on the French Riviera tomorr'ah? I'd like to live to see my for'ies, man."
Not Harry huffed and shook his head. "Right. So when we make our move, den? We doin' it tonight?"
"Yeah, I reckon so. Fitch got a whole f'ing goin' wif one of 'is birds tonight, so he'll be distracted. Maybe 'e won't spend all night down our f'roats."
They moved away from her then, but she still heard the last bit of their conversation. Harry said something about a Kristof Ballard, and she immediately pulled the name up on her phone, Googling him. Alarm bells went off in her head as she realized she'd seen him before. He was an informant.
She hadn't been briefed on him in length, but he was protected status thanks to names he'd secretly given the CIA and Interpol to help take down a few massive players in crime rings that ran out of Riviera gambling houses.
Had Ballard been found out? Was this Fitch fellow forcing Harry and Not Harry to kill him now that he'd been pegged as a snitch?
God damn it, she needed to butt out. But how would she feel tomorrow if she saw Kristof Ballard's murder on the front page of a Nice newspaper? She'd feel like she had innocent blood on her hands. What could she even do about this, though?
And just like that, she was following Harry and Not Harry down the boardwalk. Cursing herself.
She wasn't an agent.
She'd quit.
She'd just waxed poetic about getting herself out of the trap, kicking down a wall of the box she'd been imprisoned in while she was a CIA agent.
And here she was doing what she would do if she was still an agent.
Ballard was an absolute asshole. He'd been just as bad as the rest of the criminal enterprise running shit heads up and down the coast, running gambling fronts while trafficking drugs and people under the table. But intelligence agencies were getting good information, important information from him. Information that was saving lives.
He was exactly the type of guy who'd end up inside one of her hit files Graham passed her over his desk with that look on his face, the one she knew too well. Another assassination assignment.
But she couldn't let these two-bit criminals take him out for this Fitch bastard, whoever he was. Not when he was so useful.
Now would be the time she'd contact Graham, fill him in on the situation, and get her orders. Maybe he'd have extra information she could use, an analyst on hand for her so that she had an extra set of eyes.
But that wasn't an option. There was no fucking way she was bringing Graham into this. She didn't even want to know what he'd say, the smug look on his face…
And how could she seriously quit after that?
No.
She had to do this on her own.
Whatever this ended up being.
Agent Walker gave them a wide berth, playing the part of a woman on vacation, simply strolling along the sidewalk in her bikini. Something she'd actually been…a mere 20 minutes earlier. She could be that again if she just stopped walking, turned around, and went back to her hotel room.
She followed them for a whole 40 minutes, formulating a plan. It was when the twosome stopped to buy food at a street vendor that she was hit with reality.
What was she going to do here? In her bikini, with nothing but her fists, sandals and a towel as weapons? She didn't have any knives, no gun. And she wasn't an agent anymore.
She stopped and leaned back against the stucco wall of a building, rolling her eyes at herself. At best, she'd find out where they were staying and hurry back wearing a disguise or something, corner them in their hotel room, and threaten them until she found out who they were working for and what they were doing here. And if they were tasked with murdering Kristof Ballard? What then? She'd probably kill them. It was what the Ice Queen did, wasn't it? But she wasn't the Ice Queen. She was Sarah Walker.
She didn't want to kill anymore. She didn't want to be this.
And what would Graham think when he got wind of two hired killers' bodies being found? He would know there was one killer still in Nice. A good killer. The best living killer there was. His one-time wildcard enforcer, his weapon. His assassin.
Sarah turned and watched them step away from the vendor, taking a bite out of their crepes. She didn't follow. She just kept watching.
What if she picked up the paper tomorrow only to find Ballard was dead?
That he'd died because she hadn't stopped Harry and Not Harry from murdering an effective informant for the CIA?
She stared after them until they disappeared around the corner.
And she just let them go.
The ex-assassin felt the pull, she felt it yanking her towards them. But she stayed put.
If she was going to make a go at this regular life, regular person business, she was going to have to cut ties with the CIA all the way. And that meant just…letting the world continue without the CIA assassin known as the Ice Queen.
Maybe…maybe if the person in danger wasn't a drug and human trafficker…?
No. She couldn't draw a line like this…because where was she going to end up drawing it?
She wasn't an agent.
This was for someone else now.
Sarah still felt the tug as she turned and walked back towards her hotel. And she felt guilt. And more guilt. Just heaped on top of her head. But this couldn't be her life. She couldn't quit…but only until she saw some potential wrongdoing…and then she jumped back in again…but then she got out again…
That was insane.
She needed to just deal with the guilt, compartmentalize. She was good at compartmentalizing.
It was the one thing she might be the best at.
That…and killing people.
Jesus, she thought to herself, shaking her head.
"…Sarah?"
Her eyes widened as she turned. There was Ellie Bartowski, surprise written all over her pretty features as she stood at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. She abandoned the crosswalk altogether and closed the distance between them.
"Ellie! Wow…uh hi." She grinned, probably a bit too widely. What were the fucking odds, out of everyone in the whole entire city of Nice, that it was Chuck's sister who'd spot her here, over a half hour's walk away from the hotel in nothing but a bikini, sandals, and a towel. What the hell?
"Hi!" Ellie leaned in for a hug. "We're meeting randomly on the street now. How crazy is that?" she giggled.
"Pretty crazy. Yeah." Clearing her throat, Sarah spotted the slightly confused look on Ellie's face and followed her gaze, looking down at her own state of general undress. "Oh! Oh. Right. Yeah. So…" I was stalking two potential hit men who might be planning on assassinating a CIA informant even thought I just quit the CIA a few days ago. "The beach is really nice over here so I just…walked all the way out here. For a swim. Water's a little warmer than over by the hotel."
Ellie made an aha face and nodded. "Then walked a few blocks away from the beach for…?"
"Ice cream. Really wanted some ice cream."
"Did you get it?" Ellie asked, letting out an amused huff.
"Definitely," Sarah lied. "I was just going to walk back now."
"Oh. Nonsense. I have a rental car just for today. I had to run a few errands and Devon's being a turd so I decided to just make a day of it—a little 'me time', ya know? Rented a car and took off. You can come back with me."
Sarah frowned a little. "You just rented a car for the day and…left your fiancé behind?"
"Well, when you say it like that, I sound like a jerk."
She laughed because she wasn't sure what else to do in response, but she still followed Chuck's sister to the crosswalk. She spared the two hitmen one last thought as she and Ellie started across the street. Any chance she had at following them was gone now. She'd never find them. And she might have to skip out on looking at the newspaper tomorrow. She didn't want anyone else's death on her conscious, not even a once human-trafficker. She had enough literal skeletons in her closet.
"He's blaming me for losing his dumb little disposable camera," Ellie explained as they slipped into a small parking lot behind a cafe.
"Camera?" Sarah asked, acting like she had no idea what Ellie was talking about. Meanwhile, said dumb little disposable camera was hidden away in her own room after she'd stolen it to keep pictures of herself from getting out.
"Yeah. Remember the other day when we went snorkeling? He had that 1990s-status disposable camera he kept snapping pictures with…"
"Ooooh," Sarah said, pointing. "Right. Yeah. What happened to it? He can't find it?"
She felt like such a complete asshole as she opened the passenger door of the rental car and set her towel over the seat, even though her bikini bottoms were mostly dry. Ellie would probably be returning this rental either today or tomorrow and she didn't want to be the reason Ellie ended up with an extra charge.
"Nope. He looked everywhere. I think he must have left it on the table at lunch or something. Or he left it at the rental place on the counter maybe. But he swears he brought it into the room and packed it in his bag again." She rolled her eyes. "Men."
Sarah giggled and shook her head as Ellie started up the car and started driving them back to the hotel. "Why's he blaming you?"
"I have this habit he hates of putting his things away when he leaves them out and around our place, that includes hotel rooms. But if he just put things away when he finishes with them, I wouldn't have to do that."
"Ahh. He thinks you misplaced it or something."
Ellie just rolled her eyes again and shrugged. "I haven't even seen that camera since he took that picture of you and my brother sucking face."
"Uh. Thanks."
The other woman laughed. "Sorry."
Sarah just snorted and smiled out of her window. "Sorry Devon's lost his camera. That's a bummer. Hope there weren't too many pictures on it."
"Oh he'll be fine. I told him I'd buy him a new one and we could just go back, just the two of us." She huffed. "But he was being a pouty baby and wanted to have a phone conference with the Woodcombs about the trip so I decided to just get outta there before I had to hear another Honey Woodcomb special: Oh, Ellie, honey, you look tiiiiiired. Are you getting enough rest? Are you using the essential oils I gave you? Really fixes that dry skin," she said in a stereotypical mom voice. And then she scoffed and shook her head. "If she says I look tired one more time, I'll reach through the facetime screen and strangle her with her own priceless pearl necklace."
That made the ex-assassin crack up. "Wow."
"Sorry. It's just been…her catchphrase. She means well, I'm sure. It's just…so rude. And then Devon and his dad smooth it over with their dull football team talk. Ugh. Anyway, I feel like a good half day apart during this trip is going to be good for us. Back in LA, we've both got those long hospital hours and sometimes we don't see each other for a while… I might've gotten too used to that. Getting away from that guy for a few hours, as much as I love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him, has been really, really nice." Ellie winced. "Sorry. Talking your ear off about TMI, right? You're just…another woman and it's so nice to talk to another woman after these last few weeks of being with just Devon and a side of Chuck."
Sarah laughed and waved her hand through the air. "Don't worry about it. You can talk about whatever you want." She shrugged. "I get it. I sort of…thrive off of alone time."
"Yeah, I guess so. I found you wandering the streets alone, like, way far away from the hotel." Ellie grinned. "You seem sort of like a lone ranger. I like that. I respect it."
The blonde shrugged. "Thanks. It wasn't really the plan in the beginning, but I guess life doesn't always work out the way you think it will." She blanched a bit at how easy it was for her to say that, but she played it off with a clearing of her throat.
"Ah. I take it your parents weren't around, either, then." Sarah just shook her head. "No siblings?" She shook her head again. "Sorry. That's awful. At least Chuck and I had one another. I'm in awe of you. If I hadn't had Chuck around to keep me on task, and how he was always there for me when I needed someone, phew…I don't know. I might've ended up in a way different situation than I'm in now."
Would she have become an assassin for the CIA, blackmailed into the agency by the later-to-be director himself?
Sarah doubted it.
"I wouldn't have minded having a Chuck," Sarah admitted quietly. "I mean, not…as a brother. As a… Wow, I don't even know what I mean now. Holy crap." She blushed and laughed at herself, shaking her head as Ellie laughed.
"No, no. I get what you mean, don't worry. And for the record, Chuck's always been this way."
"Super sweet, thoughtful, adorable?"
"And a giant goofball? Yep." Ellie smirked and nodded. "He's really good at being a rock." Then she made a face. "I feel like context is important there. He's been my rock since he was born, just about. And he's just…good at being there for people. You can depend on him."
"He does seem very dependable. He…er…" She cleared her throat and squirmed a little in her seat as Ellie weaved her rental car through the streets of Nice. "Well, when we make a date, he always shows up. And on time, if not a little early." Ellie chuckled as Sarah made a bit of a lame face in her direction. "I only met him, uh, like ten days ago maybe? So maybe I shouldn't talk."
Ellie made a dubious sound. "I dunnooo," she drawled. "My brother makes a really quick, really good first impression. And then it just gets better from that point on."
"Yeah, I sorta noticed that about him."
"I guess so. Otherwise you wouldn't be sitting here, huh?"
Sarah just smiled, letting herself blush a bit. She remembered what Ellie had said the other day in her bedroom, not knowing Sarah had been hiding beneath her bed listening to every word. She'd asked Chuck if he was doing his thing that he always did when he really liked someone. This was a woman who not only knew her brother well, she also had a vested interest in his well-being. It suddenly made Sarah a little uncomfortable, being in the car with the brunette. Just the two of them.
It got worse when Ellie continued.
"I have to be honest with you, Sarah…" Oh please God don't. Just keep up with the sort of awkward small talk, please. "My brother has been drowning in SOLO since he started programming video games and I don't think he has ever come up for air in, like…years. When Devon and I started planning this trip, I decided I needed to get Chuck to come…however I could get it done. He has needed a vacation for freaking years, Sarah. It's ridiculous." Sarah smiled in response. "But once he agreed, a large part of me was worried he'd disappear in his room watching Attack of the Slime Monster or whatever—I dunno, I made that title up—" Sarah laughed at that. "Or playing video games," she finished with a giggle, shrugging. "You have done a lot to keep my fear from becoming a reality and I am grateful, Sarah."
Without thinking about what she was even saying, Sarah said, "Well, it's been my pleasure."
The implications of what she'd just said hit her immediately and she winced as Ellie laughed.
"Okay, ew, Sarah. God," the brunette teased.
"I didn't mean it like that!" she tried, but she was already blushing, looking out of her window.
"He's my brother. I don't need to hear it."
"Stoppppp," Sarah groused, laughing.
Thankfully, they pulled up to the hotel and into the valet roundabout just then.
As they got out, Sarah was pleased to note that at least the valets were professional about her bikini, unlike the other assholes she'd dealt with today. They took Ellie's keys and tip and the two women made their way inside of the hotel.
"What are you doing for the rest of today, Sarah?" Ellie asked.
"I, um, don't really know."
"Well, you mind if I get Chuck to text you later? Only if something comes up. If I have some grand idea for something the four of us can do." She readjusted the shopping bags in her arms. "Or I might just…buy my future husband his camera and we stay in."
Sarah got the hint with that one and she laughed. "Well, okay! I won't be offended if you choose the latter option."
They stepped onto the elevator together and pressed the buttons for their respective floors. As they parted with pleasantries, Sarah gratefully made her way to her own suite, pushing inside and shutting the door behind her.
She walked right over to the sliding glass door that led to the balcony, unlocked it, pulled it open, and stepped out onto the balcony, letting the cool afternoon air smack her in the face and shutting her eyes.
It wasn't guilt she felt at letting Harry and Not Harry go anymore. It was just a feeling of… Well, it just felt so final. It really felt like an ending. It was an ending to that part of her life. An ending to the missions, following orders, jumping into action in the CIA's name.
Letting the maybe-hitmen go was an ending.
And while part of her was almost sad about it, she mostly felt relief.
She'd just essentially stepped up to a fork in the road. Either she went one way, followed the hitmen, acted on what she'd seen and heard…or she went the other way and truly left the CIA behind. She'd made the difficult decision. She hadn't let her nature take control. She'd done it. She'd conquered the hold Graham and his superiors had over her since she was practically a teenager.
It felt so damn good.
She took another deep breath and grinned.
—-
The Ice Queen tended not to put herself in public situations during missions—meaning she rarely ate or drank in public, and she kept to the shadows, as was her lot in life. That had been Graham's influence. She was inherently pretty, objectively eye-catching, no matter the color of the wig she was wearing, the contacts she put in her eyes to mask the vibrant blue of her natural eye-color, the clothes she wore, makeup she applied. He'd called it a "hindrance" back when she was still at an impressionable age, that she'd always draw attention instead of blending in the way a spy, especially an assassin should.
But she'd always known better than that. Her looks were a privilege, even as a spy.
However, that didn't mean she hadn't let the habit of laying low get into her blood. And so, going to a bar and having a drink, going to a club to dance with strangers, even eating at restaurants and cafes alone, tended not to be the norm for her. She'd done all of those things, but it was rare. And she'd made sure she stuck to shadows, didn't draw attention to herself.
She'd let those hitmen go earlier that day, brushed her hands of the entire intelligence agent urge to do a job, get involved in yet another mission. She'd resisted. And now she would step out from the shadows and sit at the hotel bar, in the light of day, afternoon sunlight spilling in through the wide uncovered windows of the room.
She smiled at the bartender as he slid a Long Island iced tea at her, letting him bask in her smile and bright eyes in a way she wouldn't have a few weeks ago, and she turned on her stool to take in the hotel guests milling about, sitting at the tables, drinking and talking, laughing, living their lives out in the open and freely. Like her.
She sipped her drink and enjoyed it, also enjoying the scenery out the window of the French Riviera, the sailboats gliding along the waters. She thought she'd like to be on one of those sometime. She'd never been on a sailboat. Yachts, yes. A cruise ship, once. For a mission. That had been a hard mission to pull off—murdering a heavily-guarded Russian human trafficker on a cruise ship with literally no chance of escape until they redocked in Acapulco.
Shaking that memory and the constant terror she'd lived through during that week-long journey free from her mind, she pushed a hand through her natural waves that hung down past her shoulders and ruffled said waves a little. The humidity was messing with her hair and she decided it was fine. What did she care? She was in Nice, for God's sake. Everyone had humidity hair, right?
"A scotch and soda, please."
She recognized the voice immediately and found herself grinning before she even turned to glance over her shoulder at him. He was still looking away from her however, and something in his mien told her it was purposeful so she didn't say anything, not even a greeting.
Instead she smirked and set her drink down on the bar, swirling her straw nonchalantly.
"A little humid today, isn't it?" he asked the bartender.
"Oui, monsieur. But the clouds have passed and it will feel much better tomorrow. Not as humid, eh?"
"You're right, you're right." The tall guest smiled and nodded his assent. "Not that I'm complaining. God, it must be hell for ya, living here," he teased.
"The worst," the bartender joked back, rolling his eyes. "Beach everywhere. Everyone so uptight because they're on vacation."
The guest laughed and thanked the bartender when he handed him his drink.
She waited for him to sign the drink price and tip to his suite's tab, pushing the slip back towards the bartender and taking a seat on a stool two spots away from her own. And then she kept waiting. He wasn't even acknowledging her, and she wondered what he was playing at.
Before she could send him a look or open the conversation herself, unsure if she'd be interrupting…some sort of game or something, he reached for his drink distractedly and knocked it awkwardly with his hand, sending it tipping over and splashing onto the bar top.
"Oh, shit!" he gasped as she yelped and leaned back. Thankfully, he and the bartender acted fast, sopping the liquid up with napkins and a bar towel, before it got anywhere near her or the sundress she was wearing.
"I'm so sorry!" he rushed out, holding a hand up towards her in apology. She wondered genuinely if he'd done it on purpose. Was he playing a game and this was part of it? Or had the goof legitimately just accidentally spilled his drink?
"It's alright," she said, waving it off. "I'm still dry, no harm done." She smiled.
"I'm such an idiot, oh my God," he muttered, wincing at her, and then turning to the bartender. "Seriously. So sorry."
"Not a problem, monsieur. I'll make you another drink right away."
"Put the second one on my tab, too."
"Monsieur, no, it—"
"I insist. Please. I hate wasting good scotch." The bartender looked reluctant to do so. "It's alright. I can afford it," the guest drawled then, smirking.
The bartender finally nodded his assent and went to fixing the drink.
She felt those golden brown eyes on her profile then. And she strove not to meet them. If he wanted to play, he was going to have to introduce the game. She wouldn't do it for him.
"Sorry again," he said. "I wish you'd let me pay for that drink."
Bingo. His opening. Clever. If not a little clumsy, a little corny too, she had to admit. But she liked it.
"It isn't necessary, sir, but I appreciate the offer." She swung her blue eyes up to meet his gaze. "I told you, none of it got on me. I'm completely fine. And it wasn't my drink you spilled."
"I'd have to work extra hard to spill yours from all the way over here."
She paused. And then she smirked. "So move a little closer and we'll see what happens."
His jaw fell open a bit, but he composed himself almost immediately, clearing his throat and squirming on his stool. "You, uh, you want me to move closer…?"
Sarah patted the stool next to her. "Why not?" When he followed orders, she pointedly moved her drink to her other side and made him chuckle. "I wasn't serious about you spilling my drink, though. Try not to do that."
"I make no promises."
She smirked. "Already been drinking? It's only…" She checked her watch. "2:45 in the afternoon."
"No, no," he chuckled. "This is my first drink of the day," he gestured to the drink the bartender passed to him before the experienced and professional bartender seemed to find something to do that took him far enough away from their conversation that he wouldn't hear whatever came next. She appreciated a professional bartender. "I'm just a colossal klutz."
Sarah giggled. "We've all done the same thing at least once at a bar."
He gave a doubtful look and smiled at her. "Maybe."
"I have. And anyway, apparently you can pay for a few extra drinks, so who cares?" She lifted an eyebrow.
"You heard that, huh?" She nodded and he bit his bottom lip before taking a sip of his drink. "For the record, I know how boasty and smug that probably sounded, but I didn't mean it like that. Like I'm showing off my money or something."
"By all means, show it off."
He looked at her like he was trying to figure her out. She liked how it felt. She liked how this whole conversation felt. And then he said, "Is that…something that appeals to you? Men with money showing it off?"
If he wanted a game, she'd play it, she thought to herself. She shrugged one shoulder and tilted her head flirtatiously. "What would you think of me if I said yes?" she asked in a tone laced with honey.
That seemed to stump him. He wasn't as good at this game as she was, and she thought maybe she'd never quite fully known herself all these years because she never thought that, of all things, would turn her on the way it was right at this very moment. A man trying to play a bit of a game, verging on roleplay, at a bar and doing it in such a sweetly amateur way.
She had to work hard to not outright beam, instead keeping to her character.
"No answer?" she goaded, sipping her drink. The bartender had made it strong, and in spite of boasting an excellent tolerance for alcohol, she could feel the delicious warmth in her limbs, her fingers and toes. It wasn't yet a buzz, but it would be by the time she finished her drink.
"You asked a difficult question and I don't know how to answer."
He really kept her on her toes, this one. He had an opportunity to go full into the rich, egotistical playboy role, and she wouldn't judge him for it, she might even like it if she was honest, and instead he was plain and honest. Even in roleplaying, he was managing to be sincere. Why was that so freaking sexy?
"How so?" she asked.
"I want to answer in the way that best pleases you, obviously. And I still haven't quite figured you out. So I don't know what would please you. My being into a woman who's honest about lusting after a man with money…or my being scandalized by the prospect." He flattened his hand against his chest in a sarcastic rendition of being scandalized, and she did grin at him this time. He was really something, this guy.
"Wow. You're extremely honest."
"Is that good?"
She nodded. "Mmmhm."
"Oh, good." He did his slow, toothy grin that wrinkled his nose and she melted. "So what is it you want to hear, then? How do I answer that in a way that pleases you?"
Sarah bit her bottom lip for his benefit, then raised an eyebrow, slowly taking the straw of her drink between her lips and finishing it off, setting it down on the bar and clearing her throat daintily. "I get the distinct feeling you know exactly how to please me."
She felt him go tense beside her, and she slipped her eyes up to catch his, letting him see the blatant invitation there.
"So confident," he breathed, his voice tight.
"I read people," she said with a shrug. "Just about the only real talent I've got."
"I may not be able to read people as well as you can, but I'm sure you have plenty of other talents."
"I don't know about that," she said, and then she leaned in close so that her chest was pressed flush against his arm. "But no matter what it is I'm doing, I tend to give it my all."
He shivered, and she heard him let out a long breath. "No matter what it is, huh?" he asked.
"Literally everything, but uh…some things more than others."
"What things?" he asked, turning to meet her gaze. He amber eyes were smoldering with fire and she thought she was kind of done with the game now.
She reached over and picked up his bill, pointedly looking at the room number he'd scrawled on there for the tab, so that he'd get the message. "Oh…just…things."
"Well, anyways, I can understand that," he said, his voice having gotten a lot deeper suddenly. She resisted lowering her gaze to his lap. If she saw anything there, she'd probably snap. There was such an intense tightness between her thighs now. And she really hoped there was a pay-off to this. "There are certain things I tend to approach with…a lot more intensity…than I do with other things. Things I put everything I've got into."
"Things, huh?" He nodded. "Like what? …Specifically?" She practically growled the last word, leaning in so close she watched one of his curls flutter with her breath. He shivered again.
His tongue flicked out to wet his incredibly inviting lips and he dropped all pretenses with whiplash-inducing suddenness. "Come to the suite number you just read off my bill in five minutes and you'll find out."
Chuck was apparently done with the game as well, because he launched up from his stool and left her sitting there alone, the warmth of him gone and in its space a cool breeze wafting in from a nearby open window.
Sarah went into her wallet, pulled out her money, left the bartender a massive tip, and left the bar behind. Chuck hadn't even finished his own drink, she saw, which made her wonder if he'd spotted her at the bar and approached her with this whole scenario in mind.
She liked to think he did, because the thought of it was such a damn turn on. As if she needed something to turn her on even more than she already was. She had two buzzes. A dull almost nonexistent one from the spiked iced tea that merely heightened her excitement more than anything else, and an almost violent one in her limbs, her head, and especially behind her belly button. She was letting that one take her into the elevator and directly to Chuck's floor.
Fuck five minutes.
He said five minutes for a reason maybe, but she didn't care. It'd be closer to three. Oh well.
She didn't want to wait an extra two minutes. She wanted him now.
Sarah hastened her step as much as she could in her heels without making herself look too desperate. What she wanted to do was full-on sprint to his door. But she wouldn't lower herself like that, and she merely walked at a clipped pace.
Inwardly snorting at herself, she finally got to his door and took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in her throat, smoothing a hand down her sundress, squirming a little in discomfort at how seriously tight she was wound up between her legs, and knocked on his door.
There was the sound of shuffling on the other side of the door and then it was whipped open.
He smirked, his suit jacket having been shirked, his button-up sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up a bit messily, like he hadn't really been prepared for her. "You're more than two minutes earl—"
Sarah didn't let him finish.
When she saw him standing there, something in her snapped.
And she charged at him, grabbing his face and kissing him hard, reaching back with one hand to slam the door shut hard behind her.
She felt any amount of control she normally had disappear completely, and instead a ravenous lust overtook her. So much so that she literally clamped her teeth down on his bottom lip and pulled it back, letting it snap out from her teeth again as she reached down with both hands between them and started unbuckling his belt.
Chuck froze for just a second…
And she felt the exact moment he snapped. He pushed her hands away from where she was now undoing his pants, grabbing her by her wrist, and he spun on his heel, tugging her after him through the main room of the suite.
He shoved the door to the bedroom out of their way and pulled her right to the bed. But instead of throwing her onto it like she thought he would, like she wanted him to, he instead grabbed her by her shoulders and made her step up until her knees pressed against the edge of the mattress. It was instinctual when she crawled up onto the bed on her knees, expecting him to follow her.
But he didn't follow her.
Instead, she heard the tell-tale sound of a zipper, shuffling of clothes…
Chuck grabbed the skirt of her sundress and shoved it up to the small of her back. Out of his way.
Fire erupted inside of her when she realized what was about to happen, and she welcomed it with open arms. He scooted her panties out of the way and was inside of her just like that.
She cried out, bracing one hand against the bed and dragging her other hand up and away, twisting her fist in the duvet and holding on for dear life as he began his tight, hard thrusts into her from behind.
His large hands curled around her hips and squeezed tightly, slowing down a bit as if he was forcing himself to have a little more control over his actions. She found she didn't much care if he lost control.
But the way he felt…
He held her still as he pushed deep inside of her, and then he began to roll his hips rhythmically. She felt him everywhere as she moaned, turning her face into the bed and muffling the sounds coming out of her mouth.
Then she felt the bed move and she peeked back to see that he'd crawled on with her, bracing his knees on either side of hers. His thrusts became quick again, still deep.
"Sarah," he groaned, his voice tight. "Ahhh!"
And then his torso was draped over her back and his arms wound around her lower stomach and he yanked her in tight, gyrating against her. When he readjusted his stance on the bed, she felt him shift inside of her, hitting her g-spot.
"Yes!" she gasped out. "Right there! Hnng!"
Chuck listened—a real habit in bed with him—and he continued to angle himself right up against it. She shook in his grip, the ecstasy so overwhelming she wondered if she might just burst.
She reached down and grabbed his hand, directing through the deep neckline of her dress and under her bra to hold onto her breast. He squeezed and she whimpered.
With his free hand, he lightly brushed her hair away from her neck and dropped a warm kiss there, groaning against the nape of her neck and moving faster.
"Chuck, it's so good," she panted. "Just like that!"
She was so close she could feel it, and when his thumb stroked over her hard nipple, she shook with climax. Opening her mouth wide, she let out a silent cry, shoving herself back against him hard to get more from it.
It was greedy, she knew, but it just felt so good, and she wanted more of him all the time. Like an addiction.
He slowed as the intense pleasure ebbed. But instead of pulling out, he backed off of the bed, her hips in his hands taking her with him as he stayed buried inside of her.
Standing by the bed, he then slipped her knees over the edge carefully, pulling her legs down so that she hung off the mattress, her front lying flat on it, her toes braced against the floor. One of her heels had fallen off at some point and she didn't care.
Because Chuck braced his palms on either side of her shoulder, and, with his body at a 45 degree angle to hers, he started his long, hard thrusts that lifted her up midsection up they were so powerful.
"Yes!" she breathed. "Oh, yeah! Chuck!"
"Nnngg!" she heard behind her. "I'm almost there…" He whimpered her name again, moving faster, starting to bounce himself down into her, as if trying to find his own finish.
Sarah decided to help him, reaching back with one hand and grabbing his ass in her tight grip. She squeezed and felt his body tense above her. She felt his seed inside of her then as he let out a loud groan, one of his hands clamping down on her waist to hold her there as he emptied himself.
"Oh my God," he breathed. "Oh, Sarah…"
His arms finally gave out and he lowered himself onto her back, kissing the side of her face, her neck, everything he could reach as they both panted for breath. He repeated her name over and over as she just grinned to herself at just how fantastic the game had made that. No man had ever done to her what he'd just done. Ever.
She wasn't sure she'd ever let any other man do that. She realized belatedly just how vulnerable this position had made her. And she hadn't thought twice.
They were in genuinely dangerous territory, she knew.
And when Chuck pulled out with a happy hum, she expected him to just flop onto the bed next to her. Instead, she felt his chest drag down her body, his lips dotting kisses down her shoulders, back, the swell of her backside… Before she could look and see what he was meaning to do, she felt it.
He knelt between her legs beside the bed and pressed his open mouth to her sex.
Sarah didn't know how long he stayed down there. It was like time had stopped. But she gave into it, she gave into him, let herself just feel everything he was doing.
Yeah, this was dangerous. More dangerous than anything she'd ever face in her life.
And damn it, she was embracing it with everything in her.
Who hasn't been tailing potential hitmen and accidentally run into the guy your sleeping with's sister? Relatable.
Please review or DM me so I know this thing still gets read. Thank you.
-SSC