The Kite, page 7
“Thank you, professor,” Asher said with a nod. This time he stood. “We’ve taken enough of your time.”
She stood also, though made no offer to walk them out, and Asher didn’t blame her. They made their way out of the main building, down the steps, and quickly crossed the street, walking at pace.
“That has to be a connection, right?” Harry asked. “That he lived a few miles outside of Algeria’s biggest gas and oil fields.”
“Hm,” Asher agreed. His phone vibrated in his pocket at that moment and he pulled it out, reading the message on the screen.
He stopped walking.
Harry pulled him into the shadows of an alley. “What is it?”
Asher looked up at Harry. “The fisherman who took us from Gibraltar to Tangiers was found dead. They have the car, footage from a highway camera, and you and I are wanted for his murder by the police in Gibraltar.”
Harry stared at him, disbelieving. Because Asher knew that Harry knew that meant one thing: murderers crossing international borders—and not just any murderers, but one Australian government mercenary and one nomadic assassin—now put them on a different kind of radar.
“Interpol?”
Asher nodded. “At the request of the Royal Gibraltar Police.”
“Fuck.”
Waiting until it was dark to leave made sense. There is very little option, Asher told himself. He was quite content to sit on the bed patiently and wait.
Harry, on the other hand, paced like a caged tiger.
“Sit down,” Asher said. “You’re only hurting your ankle more with all that stomping and turning.”
“I’m not stomping,” Harry said. “And my ankle’s fine.”
Asher sighed. Whatever. “Being on Interpol’s radar makes no difference.”
“Except now we have to avoid the police everywhere we go.”
“Did we not avoid them before?”
Harry growled at him. “They weren’t actively looking for us before. This is just one more fucking hassle.”
Asher kept his voice calm. “I sent everything we found out at our meeting to my informant.”
Harry stopped pacing to stare at him. “Do we even keep chasing that information? Now that we’re on Interpol’s shitlist, hasn’t the game changed?”
“The game hasn’t changed at all. We keep focused. We head to Ghardaïa and hopefully—”
“The only thing we’ll find in Ghardaïa is a dead man’s wife and three kids and the pool of dried blood outside their family home.”
Asher stood up from the bed so he could look Harry in the eye. “You did nothing wrong.”
Harry snorted out a laugh. “I shot him in the head.”
“You carried out an order from your government. You’re a soldier they placed on the other side of the planet to use like a remote-control gun. A kite whose strings would be cut as soon as you became an inconvenience. Gone with the wind and no ties to your country.”
Harry’s jaw clenched, his eyes turned to blue steel. “Stop calling me that word.”
Asher raised his chin. Now was probably not the time to goad Harry, to push that limit he’d wondered about earlier. But Asher had never done things the easy way, and they did have hours to kill . . .
“What word is that?” Asher whispered. “Kite?”
Harry seethed. “Don’t.”
“What will you do to me if I say it again?”
“Asher,” he growled.
“Mm, I like how you say my name like that, like it starts at about here,” Asher murmured, putting his hand to Harry’s sternum.
Harry batted his hand away. He inched closer, taller. “Shut the fuck up.”
“If you want to put something in my mouth to keep me quiet,” Asher said teasingly. He licked his lips and drew his eyes down to Harry’s crotch and back up again. “Or you could bend me over the table.”
Harry closed his eyes and let out a measured breath through his nose. He said nothing.
“How long has it been for you?” Asher asked, keeping his tone light. Harry was close to snapping. He could feel it. “I’m gonna guess it’s been a while.”
Harry opened his eyes, his gaze fierce and dark. “You gotta death wish?”
Asher smiled. So close. “Depends on exactly how you plan on sending me. On my knees? Or bent over the table? I like it rough, just so you know.”
Harry took a step back and raised both hands. “You need. To stop. Fucking talking.”
One step more . . .
“How about you make me?” He slowly ran his hand down his stomach to his crotch and gave himself a squeeze. “God, all this foreplay turns me on so much.”
Harry fumed. His hands were fists at his sides. “Asher.”
Asher smirked, his tongue at the corner of his mouth, and ever so slowly, he dropped to his knees. He looked up at Harry licking his lips properly and opened his mouth. “Wanna shut me up, Harry?”
With a snarl, Harry took one large step toward him. Asher thought for a brief second Harry was going to follow through with a knee to Asher’s face, but no. He yanked down the fly of his pants, pulled his cock out with one hand, fisted Asher’s hair in his other, and fed his cock into Asher’s mouth.
It happened so quickly, Asher didn’t even have time to inspect and admire Harry’s dick before it was rammed down his throat. He gagged at first, but Harry never stopped. He face fucked him, tightly gripping his hair and driving him home.
Harry was big. Asher had to open wide for him. He relaxed his throat and took him in as far as he could manage.
Harry didn’t mean to hurt Asher. He didn’t mean to just fuck his mouth without consideration or comfort.
The way Asher had prodded and prodded him, to get the reaction he’d wanted. The way he’d gone to his knees and licked his lips.
Harry was thrusting into Asher’s mouth before he’d even realised what he was doing.
My God. The way he’d closed his eyes and hummed, taking Harry into his throat. Warm, wet. Sucking him, tonguing him.
He loosened his grip on Asher’s head, guiding instead, but Asher had groaned in disappointment.
Christ. He said he liked it rough.
Harry wasn’t going to last long anyway. It was too good, too hot, too tight, and it had been far too long . . .
He feels so good. So damn good.
Harry looked down at him. The sight almost brought him undone. Asher on his knees, his eyes glazed with bliss through dark eyelashes, his pink lips around Harry’s cock. Fuck. “You want it?”
Asher smiled around the shaft, sliding his lips down to the base. Harry was in his throat . . . then Asher’s hands snaked around the back of Harry’s thighs and pulled him in closer.
And Harry surged, pleasure exploding in his core. He gripped Asher’s head in both hands, thrusting in, and came down his throat. He fed him every drop, pulsing again and again, and Asher fucking hummed as he took it.
The room spun, Harry’s bones went to jelly, and Asher released him. “Fucking hell,” he mumbled.
Asher stood up, pulled a chair over and sat Harry in it. He went willingly, his vision swam, his head pounded. Asher gently tapped his face. “You okay?”
God, he hadn’t felt that good in years. “Mm, yeah.”
“Good,” Asher said. He swung a leg over Harry’s lap, aligning his crotch with Harry’s face, and he unzipped his pants and pulled out his erection. He pulled back his foreskin, swiped his precome with his thumb, and gripped Harry’s chin so he could swipe his thumb across Harry’s bottom lip. “Open wide.”
Harry wasn’t used to being told what to do. Not in life, certainly not when it came to sex. But when Harry didn’t open wide, Asher slipped his thumb into Harry’s mouth and pulled his jaw down. Then he cupped his cheek, none too gently, and tapped his cockhead on Harry’s tongue before thrusting in.
Harry hadn’t given head in a long time. A really long time. He thought he might have forgotten how . . . but he closed his lips around Asher’s shaft, and instinct and memory took over.
The heat, the hardness, the tang; he’d missed this.
Asher pushed his hips forward, standing right up to Harry now, his thighs against his shoulders and his hand on the back of Harry’s head. “Fuck, yeah,” Asher groaned. He flexed his hips, not even thrusting. Just in all the way and trying to go deeper still.
So Harry gripped his ass and squeezed, his fingers right up near his asshole, rubbing and teasing through his jeans. Asher trembled, swelling in Harry’s mouth, and with a stilted cry, he shot his load down Harry’s throat.
Asher’s hands held Harry’s head, rubbing gently at his scalp, his neck and shoulders. Caressing and intimate, something Harry wasn’t really familiar with. Then, before he pulled out, he ran his hand up, cupping Harry’s throat, and he looked down.
“Now, that’s fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.
He pulled out slowly, enjoying the view, but he didn’t step back too far. He kept Harry’s chin raised and he wiped his lips with his thumb, groaning as he did. His eyes were heavy lidded, glazed over. “You feel better now?” he asked, his voice sexy as fuck. “Not so stressed?”
Harry really wasn’t in the mood for Asher to be a prick about what they’d done. After all, he was still standing, straddling Harry, with his dick hanging half-hard out of his pants. He made no attempt to tuck himself away.
Asher smirked. “Just so you know, next time you tell me to shut the fuck up, you best be prepared to shove your cock in my mouth. Got it?”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
Asher just laughed and ran his hand over his own chest and stomach, finally down to his dick. “That was so hot, I could almost go again.”
Harry’s dick twitched at that thought and he had to fix his fly.
Of course, Asher chuckled, low and throaty. “Now I’m sleepy. Considering we’ll be on the move tonight, we should get some rest.” Asher swung his leg over and walked to the bed and threw himself onto it. “I’m only offering once,” he said, patting the mattress beside him. “Or you can sleep on the floor.”
Harry looked at the floor, knowing all too well how uncomfortable it was and how little he’d slept the night before. But the idea of sharing a bed with Asher? It was absurd.
Even after what they’d just done.
He’d had Asher fucking Garin’s dick in his mouth. He’d just had his dick in Asher’s mouth. Harry realised in that moment they hadn’t just exchanged body fluids, but a whole amount of trust too.
A few hours’ sleep on a bed sounded pretty damn good.
Harry stood up and fixed his pants, then walked to the bed. “Doesn’t mean anything.”
Asher snorted. “Of course not.”
Harry sat on the bed first, and Asher tried to scoot over to the wall as far as he could, but when Harry lay down, there really wasn’t enough room for two. Asher had his back to the wall and his face resting on Harry’s shoulder.
“You take up the entire bed,” Asher mumbled, already half asleep.
Harry lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering how on earth he got to be sharing a bed with Asher. With anyone would have been insane enough, but Asher Garin?
Did he still think Asher might kill him in his sleep?
Well, it was still a possibility.
But did he think he actually would?
No. He didn’t.
Had what they’d just done compromised their objectives in anyway?
Harry didn’t know for sure. His head was telling him not to be stupid, but his heart was . . . well, his heart was now beginning to make decisions, and that scared the shit outta him.
He risked a look at Asher, his face pressed against Harry’s shoulder. His olive skin, his dark lashes, his pink lips . . . God, Asher’s mouth was nothing but trouble. Beautiful, talented trouble.
As he watched Asher sleep, Harry could feel something under his ribs, something he’d never felt before. A need, an ember to begin with but beginning to burn a little warmer.
The need to protect him.
Which was ridiculous, given their professions and the life Harry lived. Never saw the same person twice, no friends, no dating, no family.
And now this guy, who had intended to kill him, who infuriated him like no one else ever had, was under his skin.
Like a fucking tick.
Harry rolled over onto his side, pissed at himself for allowing this to happen. Only the dip in the bed made Asher roll inward and burrow against his back.
Goddammit.
But then Asher slid an arm around Harry’s waist, and it felt so good. So amazing, like everything he’d been missing in his life.
And it also felt a little bit wrong.
Grumbling to himself, a string of curses because, goddammit all to fucking hell, Harry wiggled and turned himself over so he now faced Asher. Stirring from sleep, Asher pulled back, alarmed. “What the . . . ?”
It was a good opportunity for Harry to lay his arm out, then he pulled Asher against him so Asher could use his arm as a pillow. “There’s more room this way,” Harry grumbled.
Asher sleepily chuckled into Harry’s chest.
“Shut the fuck up.”
NINE
Harry slept soundly for about two hours. He woke up with a start, disturbed by just how deeply he’d slept.
He’d not heard a thing.
Harry had slept with one eye open for a decade. But not now. Not with a warm body pressed against him, snuggled into him. Harry’s arms had been wrapped around Asher. His sleeping-body had betrayed his mind.
And Asher hadn’t moved. Not a muscle. Unless wriggling closer counted.
Harry had slept as though he’d been drugged. Albeit only for two hours, but still . . . someone could have picked the lock and crept into their room and shot them both, and he’d have not heard a thing.
At least you would have shielded Asher . . .
Christ.
That was the type of complication he didn’t need.
He looked so peaceful asleep in Harry’s arms. He fit so perfectly. God, it had been so long since Harry had had any kind of intimacy with a man.
It felt so unbelievably good. And so much more right with Asher than it should have been.
He peeled his arm out from under Asher and sat on the edge of the bed. He scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to get his head in the game.
“What time is it?” Asher’s voice croaked.
“Almost four. We’ve got three hours until it starts getting dark. Maybe we should look at some maps and begin working out a plan.”
“I can think of something I’d much rather be doing for three hours.” Asher stretched and ran his hand down to his dick. “Want me to roll onto my stomach, pull my jeans down?”
Harry stood up and stepped into the next room. He put his hands on the edge of the sink and said nothing.
Asher seemed far too pleased with this. “I’ve seen how big your cock is. Don’t think I’ll stop until you give it to me properly.”
Harry hung his head. His patience—and self-control—were getting mighty thin. He ran the water and splashed his face.
“I can be persistent.”
Harry peeled his too-tight linen shirt off and wiped his face with it. He wasn’t fond of it anyway.
Asher moaned. “Are you teasing me? Look at your fucking body.”
“You’re not persistent. You’re a pain in my ass.” Harry threw his shirt at Asher’s face. “And I’m not teasing you.”
Asher laughed with a sigh. “You know, I thought if we took the edge off, if I had a taste of you, I wouldn’t want you anymore. But now I just want more.”
“Asher, we need to focus. We need a plan. Several plans, contingencies, back-ups, rendezvous points if we get separated, that kind of shit.”
Asher sat up on the bed. “Rendezvous? So if we got split up, you’d miss me?”
Harry sighed. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”
Asher got up off the bed, fluidly, smoothly. Like his bones didn’t hurt like Harry’s did. Like he wasn’t feeling every ounce of tired. He washed his face too and dried it with the linen shirt. “I have a plan,” he said casually.
“You do?”
“Of course I do. And you don’t?”
“Well, yeah. For starters, we go to Ghardaïa, speak to the wife.”
“Widow.”
Harry stopped, sighed, and kept talking. “Speak to the widow. There’s an airport not far from there. It’s what the oil and gas bosses use, the tycoons and shit. We can fly out of there for the right price.”
Asher smiled up at him. “You’re not just a pretty face.”
“What’s your plan?”
“What you said.”
“That’s my plan, not yours.”
“Mine is the same.”
“It was not.”
“Was too. Except mine was better.”
Harry sighed. “You know what? I don’t care. Your plan is great. Let’s go with that.”
Asher grinned. “Really? So do you want me bent over the table or on the bed?”
“That’s not . . . That wasn’t the plan.”
“It was my first plan. Remember?”
Harry inhaled slow and deep, trying for patience, when a quick rap on the door shot them both into action.
Asher ripped open his duffle bag, took out a pistol, and threw it to Harry. It was a 9mm SR-2 Udav. “Where the fuck did you get this?” Harry hissed at him.
“Off the Russian who tried to kill you.”
Then, out of the duffle bag, Asher lifted out a freaking rifle . . . no, a semi-automatic . . . no . . . Harry squinted at him. “What the fuck is that?”
“It’s a Covert,” he whispered, walking toward the door. Then he spoke in Arabic. “Who is it?”
The man replied something that Harry didn’t quite catch—he spoke in a rushed whisper—then Asher replied something else.
“Open the door,” Asher murmured, then held his fingers about an inch apart. He stood behind the door, back a little, so he could see through the crack.
