"Keep me?" Carrie said, her voice rising. "Have you lost your mind?"
"Yes," he rasped. "That's what I said. I'm going to keep you." The erotic charge of the very suggestion lit the air like a lightning bolt. She could feel what he intended her captivity to be like, and was simulataneously terrified and excited.
She wriggled in the grip of his hands, as he clutched her upper arms, but he was too strong. His expression, previously so tender, had turned hungry, with eyes that looked to devour her alive. Peter's mouth, moments ago a tool for such pleasure, suddenly looked cruel to her. In the light of the swinging light bulb, in this nameless room, his eyes were darker, feral. He wrapped his arms around her and pushed her back away from the door, and to keep from losing her balance, she had to to reach up and hold his shoulders. He lifted her slight body and hustled her along. For a relatively slender, wiry man, he was extremely strong. But then, she thought, being helplessly backed towards the couch, it's all in how you use it. He carried her the rest of the way to the couch and forced to her sit, pinning her wrists in one hand, squatted in front of her on one knee.
"Quinn," she tried to reason. "You can't be serious. Let me go."
He smiled, and though he might have been trying to be reassuring, he had a wicked look in his eye.
"You had your chance," Turning and reaching behind him, he grabbed some of the plastic handcuffs he had left on the torture table. He frowned down at her small hands, clenched in his big ones, and seemed to seriously be about to apply the cuffs, and leave her tied up here while he went about his insane business.
"No!" she shrieked. He really had lost his mind. "Those will hurt! And anyway, you don't need to do this. Just let me go back to the embassy. I'll get on the next transport out," she pleaded.
"No, you won't," Quinn said, letting go of her wrists, dropping the cuffs next to his feet. At least her shriek of fear had affected him. He knelt completely on the floor, and moved his body forward to part her knees. Holding her wrists, he turned her hands and pinned them down on her thighs. "The minute you get out of my sight, you're going to gather a team and try to extract me. I know your tricks, Carrie. Lie, manipulate, exploit? Well, let today be a day for truth-telling. I'm not allowing that." He let go of her wrists, which she pulled away, but his hands remained there, rubbing her thighs, deeply massaging the long muscles with his palms on both sides. Up and down. Long strokes. Coming close to her pussy, and then tantalizingly moving back down and away. "There's not a great rush, anyway. Gerhardt will be four more hours at least while he tracks down the phone locations. We can stay here, and... discuss options. Find a... nicer way to restrain you, so I can keep you safe here, and stop you interfering."
His hands on her thighs were soothing, warm, maddeningly arousing. She gulped. "A nicer way to restrain me? Quinn..."
He leaned over to her, and slowly put his lips on her neck. He kissed and licked very softly upwards until his mouth was right outside her ear, moving slowly, his tenderness underscoring the nature of her captivity. "I'm not raping you, am I? Carrie, you know how I feel." He was suddenly more gentle, but the threat of restraint still rung in her ears. She remembered how dangerous Quinn was on the job, what his knowledge included, and shivered. His hands completed a long stroke all the way up her thighs, and this time, they paused at very top, with both thumbs coming into contact with her pubis. He pressed forward gently, then harder, with both of them, hands spread wide over her hips, nearly spanning her tiny body. Peter's thumbs began to rub in circles on top of her sore pussy, which was still craving him, even though he had half-killed it the night before. She moaned out in little breaths, gasps, eyes closed, and dropped her head down onto his shoulder in front of her. The smell of his skin inflamed her senses.
"No," she breathed, nearly crazy with the feeling of his hands on her, "No, you're not raping me."
"I know," he said. His voice shook. "I can't say that I haven't thought about this. About having you... surrender to me." His thumbs were doing extraordinary things to her cunt, she was already sopping wet. His voice in her ear was making her almost sick with desire. "I don't think that it scares you. I think you want it." His hands left her pussy, moved over the front of her blouse, grazing her nipples, and removed the suit jacket from her shoulders. He took it off and threw it aside, leaving her only in a tank top and dress slacks, and then jumped onto the couch beside her. As he sat, she could see that he already had a raging erection straining at his pants. She didn't object, or say a word, only sighed as he reached both arms around her waist from behind and turned her sideways, so she could lay back into the crook of his left arm, cradled, and the rest of her body could splay out, long on the couch, under the ministrations of his right hand.
She tried to close her legs, but Quinn's right hand slapped first at her right thigh, then at her left. "Keep them open," he instructed. His mouth finally came down on hers again, his left arm holding her close, secure, while his right hand covered her entire mons, and began to rub in slow, deep hard circles. Carrie moaned and held onto Quinn's shoulders for dear life. He was bringing her up, arousing her beyond belief, his tongue in her mouth. She squirmed, but he held her tight and kept up the pressure on her cunt. "Be still," he said, spanking her pussy once. "You need this." Again, that iceman voice. It was like her body was an Op and her orgasm, her pleasure, his eventual fucking of her cunt, was the objective. He was going to make her come, he was going to fuck her senseless. And she had opened the gateway by acknowledging she wanted it. The best she could do would be to hold on tight, come her brains out, and hope she didn't end up hogtied at the end of it. He was serious about keeping her here, or containing her somewhere.
A flash or two of rational thought remained, suggesting that she should be trying to escape a sex-crazed assassin who wanted to keep her tied up. But she pushed the thought back down - this was Quinn. Beyond any person she knew in this world, she trusted Quinn. Besides, while his aggressive manner and cool words turned her on like mad, his kisses belied his true feelings. They were tender, gentle. Touching. Quinn was an excellent kisser, she thought, an emotional, expressive kisser, who didn't give too much tongue but knew how to sensually stimulate her lips, her mouth, her neck, her cheeks, with soft attention. Butterfly kisses on her eyelids while he worked her. He sucked her tongue into his mouth, making her gasp. She felt his rock hard erection under her, and wriggled her body under the relentless attention of his massaging hand. He wouldn't stop, wouldn't let her close her legs. "I'm almost coming," she panted.
He held his head back and regarded her, a wicked smile on his face. "That's almost the idea," he said. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, and sensing her approaching climax, he stopped. "Oh, God, Peter!" she sighed, "Please."
"Not yet," he said. "Not yet." By keeping her orgasm from her, he turned her limbs almost completely limp with desire and compliance. He sat her up, and from behind removed her shirt. Unsnapped her bra and pulled it off. Compelled her to stand and removed her pants, underwear, and socks, so she stood completely naked, wobbling on her feet, while he unzipped himself, releasing his cock. He sat back down. "Get on top of me, Carrie. I want to see you. I want to watch you come."
She turned, and facing him, mounted his cock. As her heat and wetness covered him, he sucked in his breath, and closed his eyes. Laid his head back. She started to ride him, and his warm hands found her breasts. "Oh, Carrie, oh, God. I've wanted you for so long," he moaned, dropping one hand down to start to frig her clit with his educated fingers.
Nothing like a man who knew what he was doing, Carrie though madly, riding his cock and allowing his questing fingers to bring her off. Her anguish of the previous day and night was blown away and dispelled by the orgasm that ripped through, as she held onto Peter's shoulders tightly, clawing with her nails. His hands on her waist to steady her, she came down from her climax, head bowed over his face, curtaining their faces with her soft hair. He kissed her forehead. She finally became aware enough of herself and him to notice he was still rock-hard. "Peter?" she queried, getting her answer quickly enough.
"I'm not done with you," he said breathlessly. He slapped her ass, and lifted her quivering body off his prick, setting her on her feet. She stood submissive, waiting for his next command. Like some drug-filled hallucination, like a crazy dream, his voice filled her ears with fantasies so exotic they were almost depraved, as he stood and turned her around, quickly removing all his clothes from the waist down. Under the direction of his firm hands, she knelt on the couch and got on her hands and knees, his hand firmly pressing down on the back of her neck. She felt him kneel behind her, and dropped her head between her elbows as Quinn mounted her again, this time from behind. As he pushed into her, possessing her, squeezing a taut buttock in each hand, he filled her completely, and she let out a ragged moan. Almost a sob. As he begin to thrust, he spoke to her, statements of obsessive love that bordered on madness.
"I... have been watching you... for so long. Wondering ... what your cunt tastes like. Wondering how your nipples would feel in my mouth. How tight you would feel on my prick. And the things I have wanted to do to you..." He moved in and out of her slick passage, holding her waist and keeping his pace controlled, his voice stark. This was the Quinn of old, the iceman, observing her, thinking about her, falling in love with her. "That night, outside your house, I watched over you from the car. I told you I was at a safe distance. And I had to be, because this is what I wanted to do to you." She suddenly remembered that night with crystal clarity. God, he had loved her even then. He upped his pace, bringing a cry from her throat, and an answering sob from her, "I didn't know, I didn't know..."
"I ... have wanted you... since the moment I first saw you. To hold you, make you come, enter your body in the dark of night, bathe you, and wash your cunt with my fingers until you come again... fuck you until you pass out, and cradle you like a baby in your sleep... to make you mine, Carrie." He reached around front and began to work her clit again. Carrie had been around plenty, but she'd never been laid like this. She began to push back against his cock, encouraging his rhythm to intensify. He felt it, and started to pump her harder and faster. "I need you, need to take you, make you mine and fill you up, so you forget everything, everyone else, everything except coming on my prick..." He was ready to come himself, his voice straining.
It was all too much, and Carrie began to cry and moan, almost begging for mercy as his fingers brought her off again. With his other hand, he slapped her ass. "Oh, God, No, no no no..." Carrie screamed, coming again. Peter gave a groan of release as his shot his hot seed into her, filling her and falling forward over her back, in exhaustion. He stayed put while his cock pulsed, kissing the nape of her neck. They lay down as one, and kissed for breath. "Quinn," she sighed.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked quietly. He lay spooned behind her on the couch, his hands stroking her belly and breasts, his lips next to her cheek.
She turned so they were face to face, squashing his now-flaccid penis between their bellies. "No. You didn't."
He said nothing, only stroked her cheek. They lay still together, enjoying the afterglow, the mean surroundings detracting not at all from the golden warmth of their satisfaction. She was almost asleep, her last conscious memory Peter's lips touching her eyelids, whispering, "...love you," so quietly, like he didn't want her to hear. But all too soon, his voice called her back up out of a dream.
"And now we have to decide what to do with you."
"What?" she gasped. "You mean, all that talk about abduction, that wasn't foreplay?"
Quinn sat up and pulled on his pants, and leaned over her. "I'm crazy about you, but you don't get to do anything you want. Get your clothes on."
"Quinn!" she said.
"I'm serious. Either you're in, and you're helping me. Or I have a spool of rope back here that says you're spending the night on my couch." He waited a moment, and when she didn't respond immediately, just looked at him, frowning, he spoke again. "I would enjoy that, actually. I hope you choose option two."
Carrie didn't say anything, just got immediately to her feet and started to dress. As she snapped her bra closed, she snarked, "You sure know how to break a mood."
He looked at her sadly. "There's nothing I'd rather do than spend the next few days alone with you. But that will have to wait."
The last bit of pleasure between them evaporated, and the fear and seriousness of the situation fell back down over them like a curtain. Carrie finished dressing, as did Quinn. She walked to him as he stood at the desk, looking down at the phone records. She put her arms around him from behind and leaned her head on his back. He closed his eyes, put his hands over her hands. The ache in her chest, the sickness in her stomach, and such intense love for him, all mixed in heart and soul.
Quinn twisted in her arms until they were face-to-face, and pulled her to him, his eyes closed on his anguished tears. "Tell me what I can do," she said, her mouth against his chest. They drew apart, he looking at her steadily. He saw that she had made up her mind.
"I'll contact you later today to give you the basics of Haqqani's whereabouts. You go to Asaar Khan. Tell him you found me and give him a bum steer. And then you send Khan's goons as far away from Haqqani as you can. Then, get back to the embassy and wait to hear from me."
"On my new phone?" she said archly, raising her eyebrows. "Sorry about that," he said.
"Peter, I'm really scared," Carrie said.
Knowing how smart she was, how much they had been through and how completely she understood the situation, he knew better than to bullshit her. "I know," he said, "But I think... if we work together and you don't try to put me in a holding cell, it might be ok."
"Might," she said sadly, shaking her head. "OK, Quinn. Take me back."