Models and Super Spies Ch. 13

Liz could practically see the lazy minglers who'd inhabit this lounge later tonight. Beautiful intellectuals talking nonsense – an art show without the art yet amped up on the sensuality. The fleeting vision brought a tingle to her spine. Her nipples tightened, even through the wetsuit, and she had to shake her head to focus.

She pushed the hood over her head, releasing her long, copper locks. She'd had them brushed out at the salon just before making her trip out here and hoped that they looked half as glamorous.

She caught her reflection in the darkened glass entryway, laughing to herself as she slowly slid the zipper down the front of the suit. Was this how all these models felt, she wondered, as first her hefty cleavage slid into display, then the flatness of her stomach.

Beneath, she wore a simple – although expensive – black string bikini. Her job tonight was to blend. Nothing too understated, nothing too outlandish. The mask she removed from her bag fit the criteria: porcelain white and detailed with purple and gold gems beneath the eyes, it covered her forehead, nose, and cheeks before sweeping up in a bouffant of purple black feathers.

Liz tossed the wetsuit over the side once her mask was in place. Once she'd dug her black, clutch purse and her open-toed sandals from the bag, she discarded that, too.

Now the cameras.

Both were set to sweep the area, swinging back and forth in 120-degree arcs. It took her a few minutes to work out their pattern, and another few minutes to realize that there was about a 10 second window when she should be able to cross the room without being seen by either.

Taking a deep breath, she let the first window pass without going. Nerves. Two minutes later and she made her dash, realizing as she was out in the open that if the door was locked, she'd be screwed. Her adrenaline spiked; a flash of heat licked across her body.

Holding her breath, she reached for the brass latch and pulled. For a second, it didn't budge. Her heart skipped a beat. She glanced at the camera above her, watching it arc back in her direction. Pulling harder, she felt it give. Hands shaking, she yanked it open enough to fit her petite frame through and snapped it shut.

Only when she was inside, in the darkness, did she let herself breath easily. "Jesus Christ, Liz, that was stupid," she cursed quietly to herself. The next time she was that careless, maybe she wouldn't be so lucky.

Listening, she could hear the distant chords of an orchestra. The redhead had studied the floor plans of this ship again and again. She'd committed every corridor to memory. But finding the main hall would be easy. Follow the sounds. She could feel the reverberation under her feet. She could almost smell the money and decadence.

Slotting nearly invisible earbud into her right ear, she tapped it once to test it. "Dorothy has just landed in Oz," she vocalized over the Comms.

A crackle later and the return. "There's no place like home." It was Alex's smiling voice on the other end. "Welcome to Oz, Dorothy."

Liz warmed at his familiar accent. Last night's dalliances were still fresh in her mind. "Thank you, Tinman." It was a sad, private joke, when assigning names. As much as she liked Alexander Mishin, she knew that deep down, he was incapable of love. At least, incapable the way she wanted. "And Toto?"

Alex snickered at the name she'd given Trey, although her young protégé didn't check in. That was troubling. "I think your boy has wandered off, Dorothy. But he'll be back later on." The man's snicker turned into a laugh.

"Moving into position now," she muttered, flicking the mic to mute.

Light beneath a set of double doors. Success. Liz crept closer, putting her ear against it. On the other side was definitely the rest of the party.

The spy extracted a fiber optic camera from her purse and slid it under the crack, checking to see if anyone was there. When she was satisfied that no one was, she tried the handle. Unlocked again.

Deep breathe, purse in hand.This is it, you belong,she told herself. Opening the door, she stepped out into the party like she had every right to be back there. If anyone asked, she was using the ladies room. No one did.

She was on the upper most balcony, overlooking the warren that was the ballroom floor. It was a sight to behold. The full orchestra, playing next to dramatic staircase right out of the movies, had several en-masked guests waltzing across a parquet floor like they'd been choreographed. Despite the lack of wide ballroom gowns – or any clothing, really – they looked elegant and in their element.

Liz let her fingers trail along the warm, wooden banister, taking a glass of champagne from a passing server, and began looking for her marks. She was so busy glancing down into the crowd that she nearly ran into one of them. The most dangerous of all.

Vincent Silva was leaning over the railing himself, people watching not twenty feet from the door she'd entered. Taking up position behind a pillar, she watched him for a moment, looking for a chance to get away without being seen. If she was recognized, their mission would have failed before it had even really begun.

That was when she noticed it. The movement in his jaw. The unnatural way he was swallowing. He was talking to someone on his own comms. He wasn't alone.

***

Vincent Silva could taste it. Victory. Success. After so much scheming, he was nearly there.

He watched from above, alone but for his flute of champagne. He watched them all below him, hiding behind masks that didn't disguise their true identities.

Vincent found Trey just as he was dragged into a side room with some Asian slut. The man had a sad story and it was only going to get worse. All the evidence was already in place. No matter what happened tonight, the young analyst-turned-agent was going to take the full brunt of the blame. Someone besides Vincent needed to, and Trey had been his scapegoat from day one.

He watched Alicia and Gabrielle Dubois flitter about the main floor, chatting up the top designers and fashion representatives. From above, he could practically see the ripple effect around them as heads turned to the beautiful women, envious or lusting. Alicia's end game was different than his own, but the two would meet up when this was all over and take the stage as the hottest couple LA's ever seen.

Alexander Mishin was with them, but that was to be expected. The man had proven a more worthy adversary than he'd thought. Despite the thick file the CIA (and probably the FBI) had on him, the man was nothing more than what he appeared to be: a shrewd businessman and playboy. Unfortunately, that shrewdness had nearly endangered the mission.

"I'm in place," a soothing feminine voice whispered into his earpiece.

Vincent smiled. It was good to hear Emily Lester's voice. When Mishin showed up alive, he'd assumed the worst. It had taken some pretty hefty strings to track her down, alive, but they would be worth it. Now she washissurprise and having someone on the inside only ensured his success.

"Wonderful," he returned, smiling into the open air of the ballroom. "Are we clear?"

"We're clear."

Mishin detached himself from the blonde, leaving her with Gabrielle and fragrance guru Leonardo Garza. Harmless, although Alicia was most likely in for a wild night in the company of those two.

"Excellent." Again, he could taste it. Like a cold beer after a long, hard day. "How long before you're able to hack the doors to Erin's suite?"

Emily and one of C.L.O.A.K.'s muscle had smuggled aboard the ship before it launched, located the central surveillance and computer room, and had taken out the security guard there. Vincent had a good idea what the security code was to Erin's infamous "list," he just couldn't get into the damned room it was being held in.

"It's more complicated than I thought. I got in touch with support back at C.L.O.A.K. and they sent me a cipher. Maybe an hour?"

"An hour? Christ, why so long?"

He could practically hear her shrug over the phone. She didn't respond.

"OK, an hour then. The party shouldn't have moved there yet." When Erin began entertaining in her boudoir, it would be impossible to take the database without force. And he didn't' want to do that. When this was all over, he wanted Erin on his side, although in a much more subservient role. "Keep me posted."

"Of course, sir." Emily's voice was laced with sarcasm.

***

Shit, Liz thought.Someone's inside and they're going for the list right now!So much for waiting and watching. Vincent seemed a little displeased with the hour delay. She recognized that scowl on his face, but usually associated it with when the guys they were after were winning. Not the other way around.

Stiffly, he marched over to the stairs and began to wander back down to the main floor.

Liz allowed herself to relax a little, stepping out from behind the pillar and going to the rail herself. She had an hour. An hour to stop them.Or delay them,she considered.

There seemed to be a miniature exodus toward the great staircase below. Not everyone was leaving, but there definitely seemed to be a flow up and out. The first of the VIP receptions had begun, perhaps?

"Dorothy to Tinman, we've got company."

Scanning the crowd, she spotted Alicia and Gabrielle Dubois first, ascending the stairs on either side of a burly, older gentleman. They had their arms looped in his like they were walking the carpet at a movie premiere. A fitting image.

She found Alex, also on his way to the next, exclusive party. He wasn't one to miss something like that. Pretending to scratch his ear, his voice crackled through the comms a moment later. "What kind of company?"

Liz quickly explained what she'd overheard: how Vincent was already making his move and could have the list within an hour. By the time she'd finished, she felt hysterical. It didn't help that Alex's only response was a smug, "That's all?"

"What the hell do you mean, 'That's all'?!" she practically screaming. A couple party-goers gave her queer looks before shuffling further along the balcony, away from her.

"Trust me,Dorothy," he whispered. Below, he began moving up the stairs again. "If Ms. Small's bedroom is in use, then hacked locks or no, Vincent's not going to waltz in there."

Liz wasn't so sure. He'd come this far. If a few innocents had to be sacrificed for his ultimate power, then she didn't think it would weigh too much on his conscience. She said as much.

Again, that maddeningly self-assured laugh. "Then we'll make sure that the occupant is someone he cares about, yes?" Liz followed his eyes up the stairs, finally connecting the dots. He was looking at Alicia as she passed through the grand arches out of the ballroom. The redhead was glad Trey wasn't with her to catch his true meaning.

***

The door had barely shut behind Trey before the tall Asian had her light brown body wrapped around his. He caught the glimpse of brass-rimmed portholes, a lacquered, low-sitting table, and satin pillows of purple and red. Then his vision was consumed by Michelle's lustrous black hair and full, kissable lips.

"I need to get fucked," she whispered huskily into his ear. Her hands were already tugging his white Speedos over his thickening member. "And so do you."

It was like being kissed by a lightning storm. He was defenseless. Impatiently, the Asian model tore his mask from his face and threw it into the corner so she could rake her long nails through his short red hair and maul his lips even harder.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked, pulling away abruptly so she could reach behind her and untie the black bikini top. "I'm a star! A supermodel. And right now," she smiled wickedly, dropping down to her knees, "I'm going to suck your cock."

"Fuuu..." Trey groaned as she swallowed his entire length at once. There was no easing into this blowjob. The girl had no gage reflex. Before he could get a word out, the head of his manhood was sliding down her talented throat.

In the center of the room, Trey barely remained balanced as she sucked him. Her nails pricked along his flexing buttocks, squeezing with each bob of her head. Another minute of this and he'd be through. Maybe not even that long.

"You like that, don't you," Michelle asked, pulling off until just the tip was in his mouth. She tongued the purple crown, toying with him as she looked up into his eyes with those mischievous amber irises. "You like it when a supermodel blows you, don't you?"

She was looking for an answer. He nodded vigorously, and not just because Tia would have ordered him to. He'd had his dick sucked by too many mouths recently for a man that was technically married, but this model's was by far the most energetic.

"Then you're going to love fucking one," she winked. Sliding to her feet, she made sure to his cock passed in between what had to be store bought tits. He didn't care. Fuck, at that hypersensitive moment, all he cared about was getting his dick wet.

Michelle kissed Trey again. In heels, she was nearly as tall as him. Taking his hands in hers, she placed them on the ties on each hip. The ties of the string bikini. He knew exactly what to do.

Yanking them hard, she broke the kiss and moaned at his show of strength. Keeping his hands on her hips, he positioned her just in front of the low-sitting table and shoved her across the polished wood. Her eyes danced with excitement as she spread her legs.

Her oily smooth cunt was ready for him, already opening like a flower in spring. Setting his knees at the edge of the table, he leaned into her, cock in hand. Her pussy swallowed his thickness up like a milkshake through a straw: slow and satisfying.

"Fuck!" she cried, tossing back her shimmering black hair. It fanned out behind her on the table. Perfect as a picture. He pulled free until most of his shaft was exposed, then lunged forward, sinking ball-deep in her slippery snatch.

"God, fuck me! FuckME!" she cried, grasping at the edges of the table. Trey panted above her, surveying her splayed, naked body. It was flawless. No excess fat. Nothing but lean, tawny skin that shimmied and shivered with each deep thrust.

The table scraped along the floor as he pushed into her, going up onto her toes to change angle. "Yes!" she screamed as his shaft stroked directly across her swollen clit. "YES! YES! YES!" She thrashed as she came, the wall of her cunt crashing around his cock.

His balls slapped heavily against the slippery-soft space between her legs. He angled higher, feeling the padding grow softer. Wetter. He jammed into her hard, compressing his testicles against the engorged petals of her labia. The pressure was all it took.

"Cumming, baby?" she asked shrilly.

Trey lost it. He couldn't hold back any longer. His balls emptied themselves into Michelle's velvet cavity. "Ah – fuck!" he cried, clipping his exclamation like someone flipping through the radio stations. He couldn't contain it all.

Michelle writhed across the smooth surface of the table as she accepted his cum. "That's it, baby. Fuck your supermodel!"

***

The crowd of masked partiers moved down a wide, mahogany-dominated hallway. This was the central boulevard of the ship, connecting the ballroom with the smaller lounges and, ultimately, the bow, where the largest of the lounges was housed. Right now, that forward lounge was the only door open, and it was where everyone was going.

Halfway down the corridor, Alexander could hear the thumping bass and female vocals. The guitars had a slightly bluesy quality to them, although this was no country-western bar he was walking into.

The bow-side club was an intimate one and was already filling up to capacity. Alex knew now why each guest was checked at the door before he or she was allowed entry. Later on, it would be open to all, but for now, it was invite-only.

Shaped like a wedge, the low-ceilinged room narrowed with the hull. On the far side of the room, at its narrowest point, was the slightly raised platform of the stage, where the band was playing. Alexander immediately recognized the lead vocalist.

"What's that smile for?" a familiar, refined voice asked behind him. Alex felt a soft, warm hand squeeze his tattooed biceps as Erin Small stepped up next to him.

"Lisa Welles? You really pulled out all the stops."

The strawberry blonde laughed openly, running her fingers through her light, page-boy haircut. "When did I ever install these 'stops,' darling?"

"Fair enough." Together, they entered the loud chamber. The band must have just started playing, but already the dance floor was packed. He searched for Alicia and Gabrielle, finding the two of them cavorting amidst the crowd, sandwiching Leo Garza as the older man laughed.

Lisa Welles's energized lyrics brought his eyes back up to the stage. Despite all he knew about Erin and his many years of working with the former supermodel, this was still impressive. The country acid house solo star had three number one albums in the last two years and was the hottest ticket since Britney Spears in her prime. And that was nothing compared to the following she had in Europe.

The petite songstress bounced her slim hips to the bass, holding the mic in both hands as she hypnotized the crowd with her voice. Yet as pretty as that was, it wasn't her sound that had Alex hypnotized.

"The swimsuit dress code was brilliant, Erin," he smiled as he admired Lisa's little, black bikini. He became mesmerized by the sway of her hips, encased in her low-sitting boy-short bottoms.

The club-owner looked down at the bulge forming in his own tight suit and nodded. "You can thank me later," she winked.

Her accessories were almost as intriguing as her bikini. Unlike everyone else present, the blonde wasn't wearing a mask, although her signature, oversized aviators were more concealing than some of the other masks he'd seen. Paired with the turquoise, gossamer shawl she'd wrapped about her long neck and the black cowboy boots, she projected attitude with each step.

The crowd swooned as the guitar riff broke into a solo. The stage-lights jumped in time with the beat, catching in the rotating disco ball above the dance floor. A muted cheer went up, barely heard as the guitarist went to town.

Lisa paced across the stage in her boots, wide strides, mic still clutched in her little fists. She clapped with each heavy thump, getting the crowd into it. Wiggling her hips. Light caught in the jewel that dangled from her belly button.

"Do you want to fuck her?" Erin asked, never forgetting her role as the tempting snake in her self-created Garden of Eden. Her hand ran across his semi-hard erection. "You do," she purred.

Alex grew harder as the blonde retook center stage. She stood with her back to the crowd, legs spread wide, arms stretched high above her head. And still her hips continued to bounce. Alex drank her deep tan, following her long blonde hair down to the deep dimples of her lower back. This girl knew how to work a crowd.

The heavy, almost gravelly music built. The DJ manning the keyboards twisted a knob and pushed up some sliders and the crescendo grew. The guitarist's fingers flew from chord to chord while the drummer dialed back all but the driving bass and an occasional flirtation with the snare.

Lisa Welles tapped her booted foot, knowing that all eyes were on her. The crowd mimicked her sway, grinding and bouncing in time with the bass and her perfectly formed ass.

And then she spun, the music went up, and her voice returned in force. The crowd went wild.

"You could arrange that?" Alex asked, practically out of breath at the thought of taking the performer's tight, little body.

"Do you really have to ask?" Erin smirked. "She's not scheduled to sing all night. Maybe you'll bump into her... in my bedroom..." Her hand hadn't left his crotch, and when she felt him grow to full size in her palm, she nipped playfully at his ear.