Models and Super Spies Ch. 10

She tried to break his hold, wanting to suck him faster as her mind dealt with her confused sexuality. Truth was, she loved the experience. Part of her even wished Vincent was a woman so she could try it again. Sucking cock seemed like a great way to stave off those bisexual thoughts.

She struggled off his member and stood. With her hands shaking, she untied the laces of her corset bodice, yanking it open impatiently. His eyes drank in the abundant tit-flesh. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine. He was a bad man. A traitor. The enemy. And she couldn't wait to fuck him.

Liz managed to unzip her black jeans before Vincent was able to struggle out of his chair. She turned her back to him as she yanked the skintight denim over her hips.

"Tsk, tsk," he playfully scolded, sliding up right behind her small body. "No panties." She felt his touch between her thighs, gasping as he slid it up into her damp sex. "Is it me that made you this wet? Or memories of last night?"

"Uhn!" she moaned as he pushed a broad finger into her pussy. "Doubt it's you," she said through her gritting teeth. She leaned forward, tits and hands resting on the desk. His hand retreated, but the heat of his body remained. She knew what was coming next.

"So you think you don't need cock anymore?" As he said "cock," he rested his saliva-bathed dick against opening and pushed forward. "This doesn't do a thing for you?" She felt his balls slap against her sodden clit. Fuck, that felt good.

"Not a damn thing," she squealed. She tightened her fingers around the edge of the desk as he retracted. She was able to draw a half breath before he lunged back into her, harder than the first. The desk creaked in protest.

"Well that's too bad. Pretend I have tits and this is a strap-on," he huffed as his driving hips picked up speed.

"God, yes," she moaned, resting her head on the desk so she could comb her fingers back through her hair. She lifted up on the balls of her feet, pushing her ass up higher as their bodies slapped and their throats moaned. The muscles in her legs screamed, growing tight. How could this be? Not even 12 hours ago she'd been on her back, sucking Trey's balls as Sarah performed miracles across her cunt and now she was screaming for more.

"Uh, uh, uhhh fuck!" Her face twisted as the orgasm shot through her. She bit her lower lip, attempting to stifle her torrid climax. The man behind her was a brute, his thrusts coming so hard she had to go up onto her toes.

He pushed down on the small of her back, shoving her against the desk edge and harder onto his cock. The new angle put the path of his cock head right up against her clit. With each pass, the swollen ridge nudged over her love button. It was driving her insane.

"Oh jesusgodfuck!" she cried, unable to catch her breath. Her body was as hot as an effigy, drenched in oil.

Feverish, she felt him pull out of her. His large hands flipped her onto her back. She felt papers stick to her back. She glanced up at Vincent Silva, whose sweaty brow and dark eyes made him look like a villain. He casually slotted his slick meat back into her.

He'd pulled off his shirt at some point, his darkly haired chest matted and glistening. Couldn't be much more man than this specimen. He thumbed across her sensitive mound, roughly finding the knotted bundle of nerves.

"Oh Goddd!" she moaned, writhing at the end of his cock on the desk. Her hard body bent like a springboard holding the weight of a diver at one end. Vincent's left hand sought her nipples as his right returned to torment her clit.

"Maybe after…" he said between great, heaving breaths, "we put this mission to bed…" He grimaced down at her, his own released teetering on the edge of a knife. "Maybe then you can show me how much you like pussy."

Liz's body went woozy at the thought. She felt drunk on the fantasy. Incredibly, she felt herself cascading into yet another fucking climax! But before she was lost to oblivion, she smirked up at her old partner and added, "How about you, me, and Alicia's sweet, naked body?"

She practically giggled in glee as Vincent's face tightened, his eyes drowning in desire. Then his cock went off in her buttery cavity and the world was bathed in a red haze. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" she cried, her body swooning in great, exaggerated ripples with each hot spurt.

He seemed to cum forever. It filled her like molten lava. She felt it leak around Vincent's buried meat and dribble along the curve of her ass.

When he was finished, he pulled himself free with a fleshy pop, slapping his softening member against her bald and overworked sex. Liz shuddered. Too much. She felt like she'd taken a shower she was so drenched. Vincent rested on the side of the desk, huffing wordlessly.

Liz couldn't be certain, but she wouldn't be surprised if his mind was still lingering on the fantasy threesome with Alicia. It would never happen, of course, but she was no longer going to deny that the thought was enticing.

"I need to get going," Vincent said at last, his voice gruff. "And I imagine you do, too?" He searched around for his discarded clothing. His office was a mess.

"I need to write some reports before the day is out." She found her top, pulling it on and loosely lacing up the front. Business had returned to usual. "As exciting as all this is, there's always paper work, right?"

Vincent laughed. "Never have too much fun."

They dressed together and left the room, only a little embarrassed by the secretive smiles the rest of the employees shared.

***

Liz made sure that Vincent had left headquarters before sneaking back into his office. She'd palmed a micro-camera from her desk. Vincent may be the bad guy here, but he was still trained as meticulously in espionage as she was. She couldn't leave a single piece of evidence that his office had been disturbed.

Actually getting into his office was easy. Without Emily Lester there to guard it and no other desks stationed around it, all she needed to do was walk in.

He'd straightened the desk up a little since their tryst, although the neat little piles they'd been in earlier were now in disarray. That actually made gathering evidence harder, since she had to be extra careful when she moved items to the side.

The brunette immediately went into information gathering mode. Every file on his desk got a quick snapshot. She barely looked at what it was she was shooting. That could be worked out later, when she had more time.

Her senses were hyper alert as she indexed everything, making sure this paper was askew just so, and that was hanging off right there. Liz didn't put it past Vincent to have left something out of place on purpose. She would have done the same.

Confident that everything was left the way she'd found it, she slipped out of the office, narrowly missing a group heading to the conference room. She gave them a quick nod, hoping she didn't look as sweaty as she felt, and headed for the exit.

In the fresh, late afternoon air, she finally let herself relax. From the moment she'd woken up, things had been moving too fast to really wrap her head around. The three independent data centers. The connection with Alicia and Vincent. And most troubling of all, Emily and Alex's disappearance.

She didn't want to admit it, but the last piece of news had her stomach in knots. Right now, she needed Alex more than she realized. She felt lost and alone, a little girl in some dark fucking woods.

"Just keep going, girl, he'll turn up," she whispered under her breath as she tore out of the parking lot, heading for Trey's. It was time for her to get another ally. If the quick glances at Vincent's files were true, then her new partner and trainee was about to lose a game he didn't even know he was playing.

And his wife, it appeared, was the prize.

***

Trey's the traitor?! Alicia couldn't believe it. She felt shell-shocked, barely able to stumble to her lipstick red convertible and get the hell out of there. Trey is the fucking traitor?! She screamed as the Benz peeled out and off down the road.

"Get the fuck out of my way!" she screeched hysterically at a couple of jay-walkers who had to dive away from the accelerating car. When Vincent told her that his mole would approach her soon, how the fuck—

"TREY!?"

Her cheeks were damp with tears at the stunning betrayal. Her powerful car screamed down Santa Monica Boulevard, heading for the highway. She needed a long stretch of asphalt to speed on before she killed someone.

Trey was so many things. So many fucking things. A good guy. A loving guy. A hard worker. He was sometimes too smart for his own good. Too quiet. He could be social, but never liked the social events she'd dragged him along to. He would have hated that gala last night.

But a spy? A fucking spy?! She could see him working a desk at the CIA. Maybe fixing up their books or whatever. But not in the field, like he implied. Not a "special agent," or whatever they called them. And on top of that, a traitor.

As the RPMs ramped up and the engine's roar started to sound panicked, cold reason brought Alicia's heart back down to earth. She started thinking about the last five years with her husband. About all those days and weeks he'd needed to "work late." About how Bank One never had holiday parties and how he never talked about his coworkers.

And then there was the last month and his mysterious business trip that took him away on the eve of their five-year dating anniversary. His secret life had taken him away from her when she needed his support the most. Not only that, but it was because of his secret life that she was entangled in Erin Small and Alexander Mishin's sordid machinations.

None of that mattered. Not anymore. Trey Kennedy, the man she'd married three years ago – the man she'd turned to when her life came crashing down around her the last time – was a traitor. He was helping some very bad people sell a very dangerous list. He was betraying his country and the men and women that served right along side of him – men and women she didn't even know he had until now.

It chilled her heart. When had he turned? How long had he known? She'd been sleeping with the enemy for how fucking long?! And how the fuck could he sleep soundly?!

Her blood boiled once again. Once again, her heeled foot jammed the accelerator to the floor and she tore off through LA.

Trey had asked for her trust, but right now, she couldn't see ever giving it. Not with the knowledge she was armed with. Not with all that she knew. And besides, she had her own problems. Tonight, even. She had to fuck some rich guy to maintain her cover so she could bust her husband and his cohorts. If anything, he was to blame for whatever happened.

Had he been hiding it the whole time he'd known her? Had there always been that coldness from him? A barrier, a wall he kept up. She should have known he was hiding something. Just never realized it was this great.

Erin had given her the keys to a room at the Beverly Hills Hilton and a credit card so she could buy her outfit for the night. The man, her john, wanted a classy evening. Expensive dinner. A private booth at the ballet. And then a wild time back in his room.

Despite the depravity of her situation – the disgusting compromise she'd soon find herself in – she felt a flush climb up the soft skin of her neck. Was this the thrill her husband felt every time he was on assignment? The feeling of adventure, riddled with danger?

Alicia tossed her blonde hair in the breeze as she thought of herself as a spy. "Spy versus spy," she mused, thinking of a showdown with Trey when this was all over. The climax of their shattered relationship.

The brief smile fell from her lips. It was a sad thought. This wasn't a movie; this was her life. Or was. Or whatever.

Somewhere, hiding out in the back of her mind like a child who didn't realize the game was over, was the thought that the two of them could be so much more. A husband and wife team of international super spies.

***

Trey's marriage was dead. His wife had looked at him like he was a lunatic. It was worse than being seen as a stranger. In her eyes, the man he'd become was frightening, scary. A complete monster.

He sat on the bench for a long time. He listened to the laughter of people as they walked by. He grew resentful of their smiles and their inane conversations. They had no idea what pain was. He did.

When he finally peeled himself off the bench, he had a plan of action. Last time, he'd drowned his sorrows in drink. This time, he didn't want to feel numb. This time, he wanted to pour salt in his wounds. To see how much pain he could take.

"I need another favor," Trey spoke into the phone. He put as much confidence behind the request as possible. This one wasn't something up for negotiation.

"What's up?" Caroline Aurora Turner's southern twang asked on the other end of the line.

"Can you to track Alicia's cell for me again." She'd already done it earlier that day and had been good about not asking questions. He hoped she'd be just as accommodating now.

There was a long pause. "What's this all about, Trey?"

"I can't explain now," Trey replied urgently. If she thought this was for business, then maybe…

"Try," she said sweetly, although he could hear the steel in her response. This wasn't going to go anywhere.

"Fuck it," he barked, snapping the cell shut and powering it down. He knew where she was staying – some room at the Hilton Beverly Hills. He'd just go there and stake out the lobby. Eventually, his wife would show up.

He looked at the blank screen of his mobile. "And no one's going to track me, either," he grumbled. He'd stay off the grid as much as he could. Now that Caroline was aware of what he was trying to do, he got the impression that she'd also be trying to stop him from doing something stupid.

And right now, Trey was overflowing with a desire to be stupid.

***

Trey wasn't at his apartment, and when Liz tried to reach him on his phone, it went immediately to voice mail. First Alex, now her trainee. Things were getting weirder by the moment.

The brunette easily picked the lock and let herself in. She needed somewhere private to go over the images she'd taken from Vincent Silva's desk. Trey's place seemed about as random as any.

Pulling out her armored, field laptop, she sat at his kitchen table and quickly downloaded the snapshots. There was plenty to go through, and it took her the better part of two hours before she'd digested it all. She couldn't quite get the full scope of the man's plans, but she was able to puzzle out most of it. All of it appeared to be falsified documents, a paper trail all pointing to…

"Trey?" she asked aloud, shocked as it all came together.

If the documents were to be believed, then apparently Trey Kennedy was working in close network with Alexander Mishin to sell a list of the names and locations of CIA operatives working around the globe.

Fact of the matter was that much of the evidence hadn't happened yet, according to the date stamps on them. They were set to occur… shit, they were set to occur tonight!

Liz felt her skin crawl. A meeting had been set up for tonight, in the basement of the Green Fairy. News of the meet wouldn't leak out until around midnight; a last minute "discovery" would come in, C.L.O.A.K. would scramble a strike force, and they'd raid Erin Small's absinthe club. What they'd discover wasn't clear from the documents Liz had, but it wasn't good.

An "intercepted" e-mail exchange between Alexander Mishin and Trey was also included in the files. Allegedly, Trey had been ordered by the Modeling Agency mogul to sell off the list to Samuel Smith, a self-made gangster operating out of Vegas. A further report concluded that Mishin had disappeared: "most likely fled after he'd caught wind of Trey's demise."

Trey's demise. Jesus Christ. Liz shivered. What the hell was going on?

Vincent Silva came off as a hero in his revisionist history, and Trey the villain. And with Tango #1, Alexander Mishin, being at large, there was a reason for C.L.O.A.K. to remain vigilant (and more importantly, solvent).

Oddly enough, there was no mention of Erin Small's involvement. Or Gabrielle Dubois. Or, for that matter, any kind of high-end call-girl service. Liz knew that this business of "a list of the names and locations of CIA operatives abroad" was smoke and mirrors. In his reports, the list gets conveniently destroyed, something with which the CIA would have absolutely no problem. What Vincent was really covering for was access and control of the real list – the blackmail list. With that in his possession and an off-the-books arm of the CIA, he'd be unstoppable.

What Liz didn't quite understand was how he was planning on actually getting it from Erin. The challenges were steep: three locations with separate, dependent servers; a contingency plan protected by a password that only Ms. Small knew; and the need to keep all of this from the eyes of every party but his own.

Liz herself was still trying to puzzle out how to do it from Small. Or Silva. Or whoever had it when she finally moved. "Which has to be soon, girl," she said aloud as if giving the thought voice gave it more urgency.

Alex's disappearance became even more troubling after reading it in Vincent Silva's reports. If Silva knew that Alex would go missing, then he must have something to do with it. Assassination wasn't beyond the espionage director. He'd done it before when assets became liabilities, or certain obstacles needed to be removed.

In the name of her country, Liz had been able to deal with that aspect of her covert life. But Silva was no longer acting in the name of her country, and an innocent man – a good man? – may have been killed. It made her ill. And when she worked through the feelings of nausea, she felt angry.

"You'll pay for this, Vincent." Again, she spoke aloud. Again, there was a need for urgency.

Her phone rang, shrill in the empty apartment. "Silva, Vincent" read the caller-ID. Almost like he knew she was thinking about him. Liz shivered.

"Agent Hawkins."

"Liz, I need you to do something for me. And I can't answer any of your questions."

"What else is new?"

"I've located the list. It's currently at the Green Fairy. I need you to recover it for me."

The game had begun. The chess pieces were now in motion. "Tonight?"

"Tonight. But I need you to wait for my signal."

"Why don't I just go get it now? The club must be pretty empty…"

"Can't have you doing that. Just trust me, OK? I'll explain later." Sure you will. "Wait for my call. When you get it, I want you to go to the Green Fairy. The list is being stored in an antique absinthe fountain. It's the centerpiece of the private lounge."

"K. But how will I get in?"

"Leave that to me. But it won't be hard. Just bring your credentials and they'll let you in."

"So wait for you, go in, and look for something in some antique?"

"Yeah. There should be a server in it. Take the hard drive. I don't care about the rest of it. And if you can do it discreetly, even better. Need to go. I'm counting on you, kid. Thanks."

Liz stared at the silent phone for a long time, feeling the moments slip by like commuters rushing to make their train. She took a few deep breaths, analyzing what assets she had. A "special agent" who was green enough that you could mistake him for a leprechaun. A businessman who'd gone missing the night before. And a surveillance expert that… OK, at least Caroline was both competent and available.

She glanced at her watch. 4 o'clock. She'd have to make due. And make due soon. Where the hell was Trey, anyway?