Stop stealing my LJ! (auchic) wrote,
Stop stealing my LJ!

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fic you say? smut even? my word!

This took over a year to write. That's just...sad. Mostly because it sucks so hardcore.

Oh well. Read, review and laugh as we all go back to when Ky could actually write Sarkney.

Title: SD-Sex-Part les Deux
Author: Auchic
Rating: Totally NC-17. PWP. Sex, smut, porn, erotica, whatever you wanna call it.
Summary: Sark and Sydney have lots of nasty sex while Ky looks desperately for a plot
Spoilers: Set after 2.07-'Counteragent'
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine. Sark=mine.
Distribution: Ask and ye shall receive. My loyalties are flexible, but stealing from me is not. No touchy or I go all banner ad on your ass.

Author's note: The long awaited second part! Please don't judge me too harshly on my bad bad writing. Oh, and the end sucks, I know. Please don't hurt me for it. Also, the "fortune's foe" line is from Lifesaver Kat's 'Pineapple, Yum! Or, oh, Coconut!' an adorable little Draco/Hermoine fic that is not finished, but is good for a laugh. Go read. Part les Un of this tragesty is here, for those who need a refresher.


Boredom, confusion and annoyance. Those were very much the feelings that were currently occupying Sark’s brain. Had he actually sat back and pondered that, he would only be mildly curious about those particular feelings. Two of them quite often took up residence with him and were very comfortable in his head, but the other was one that he hadn’t felt in a very long time and didn’t often occupy his time like it was doing now.

The boredom was easy: it had been a very successful week for SD-6 and so to congratulate and “reward” them, Sloane had called a general staff meeting in the conference room. Seventy-five percent of the annoyance was being gravitated to the sadistic little monkey man as well, and Sark was sure that if the meeting lasted another half hour, he would kill Sloane out of sheer desperation to be free.

The other twenty-five percent of the annoyance and the full capacity of the confusion were aimed directly at the woman sitting across the table from him, ignoring him and looking just as bored and annoyed at Sloane as he was. Every so often Sark would look her way, just to see if she was looking at him, but either she was the world’s best at not getting caught staring at him or she was actually ignoring him. Fuck.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to Sydney ignoring him, because he was. Just not recently. After the episode in the elevator-which Sark now counted as being the best day he’d ever had-she had been paying much more attention to him, especially the close and naked and writhing attention she had given him in the elevator.

They’d christened over two dozen hotel rooms in LA county alone, not to mention various clubs, parks and other dark places where Sydney had been too horny to wait for a bed. Even their missions didn’t interfere with the copious amounts of sex they were having. On their most recent trip to Vienna, they had joined the Mile High Club somewhere over Illinois. The op had been a quick smash-and-grab, but they played it up as being much more difficult, so more time could be spent under the covers, over the covers, against the balcony doors, in the shower, bent over the sink…the list was endless. Sark was physically and sexually exhausted, but he wasn’t complaining.

On the way back, they managed to rack up enough hours in the airplane bathroom to qualify for platinum club membership. When they had returned to their seats, Sydney had curled up against him and he had spent the last two hours of the flight with a goofy smile on his face and constantly stroking her hair as she slept. Even though they hadn’t even breached the topic of ‘what in the hell were they doing’, Sark was quite confident that this wasn’t a retaliation fuck, nor was it just Agent Bristow sowing her wild oats. There was something building between them, even if she wasn’t willing to talk about that.

That feeling lasted all of two hours and 37 minutes.

Looking back, Sark seriously couldn’t see where he’d gone wrong. They’d exited the plane like professionals and as they’d waited for customs, they’d quietly planned to meet near the limousine rentals in forty minutes so they could sneak away together without anyone who may be watching realizing it. Sark had made it through flawlessly and after collecting his luggage, had found the designated spot and waited for her, fighting the urge to pace with anticipation.

He gave her a leeway of three hours before he finally admitted that she wasn’t coming. And because God had just that kind of sense of humour, it had started raining approximately two hours before, so Sark was cold, hungry, alone and hurt. Even if he wouldn’t admit to the last one.

Next day in the office yielded no answers. She was cold hard bitch Sydney again, with the nasty insults and frigid silences directed at him that had been very very absent the last little while. A very polite request to talk had earned him a fierce slap. He replayed everything in his mind about fifty thousand times and couldn’t for the life of him figure out what had happened. He tried to act like he was unaffected, but one glance at her and he was willing himself not to rush over, pin her to the wall and touch that body that he so sorely missed.

The confusion wouldn’t leave him, which is why he now sat in the conference room, actively hating Sloane and trying desperately not to stare at Sydney. He couldn’t help himself and his eyes flickered over in her direction. So beautiful. He wanted to bury his face in her hair while he slowly thrust into her heat. He wanted to rest his fingers along the curve of her breast while his mouth worshiped one of her pert nipples. He wanted her long legs wrapped around his hips as she bucked under him in climax. But mostly he just wanted to feel her naked skin against his as she slept and breathe in that unique Sydney smell that gave him a furious buzz.

Good lord, a few nights without her and he was becoming maudlin. He needed a good slap of reality upside the head, fast.

He hadn’t meant to keep staring at her while he tuned out and just as he realized that he was pretty much gawking at her, Sydney’s gaze met his and he was rewarded with her patented “bugger the fuck off” look. He rolled his eyes and looked away again. Damn, but that glare of hers was starting to bother him, in a non-erotic type way.

He settled back in his chair and tried to focus on Sloane again (or at least pretend to) when something brushed up and down his leg, very softly. He immediately straightened and looked around at the other inhabitants of the table. He doubted it was Jack or Dixon; both of them were situated in front of him, facing Sloane and backs to Sark. Sydney and Marshall sat across the table, but Sydney was too busy hating him and Marshall had his left leg crossed over his right. Sark stared hard at them, then fell back into his chair, his senses more alert.

Time passed and nothing happened again, and Sark was beginning to think he was going mad from pent-up arousal when it happened again, this time a bit firmer and a lot longer. It was definitely a foot, he was sure, a smallish foot without socks. He didn’t move this time and neither did the foot, so he just sat back and out of the corner of his eye kept watch on what must be the most likely perpetrator.

The foot began to make small circles along his calf, brushing up and down in a very enticing manner. Once it fell down to the cuff of his pants, and as it came up again, it slid under the material and ran directly against his skin. Then the other foot was doing the same to his other leg and Sark was trying hard not to squirm.

What he couldn’t figure out was why? Days of Ice Queen-ing him and now she wanted to play footsie under the table? He kept sneaking little glances at her, seeing if he could catch a smile or some kind of visual tell from her, but Sydney’s face was impassive as usual.

The foot along his left leg crept up higher, until it was running the length of his inner thigh. The delicate scrape of her toes was deliciously sensual and the days of abstinence were catching up to him and he felt himself getting hard. Damn, damn, damn Sydney. She’d better stop moving that foot before she…oh shit!

She was massaging his erection through his pants, the ball of her foot rubbing and pressing in just the right places. He stifled a groan and shifted himself so that his legs spread apart and his hips were tilted forward to give her better access. Better access indeed; the minute she had free range of his lower body, two toes managed to wrap around the zipper of his pants and pulled it down. Her other foot had joined the first and both of them parted the gap in his slacks, now stroking his achingly hard cock through his boxer material. He bit the inside of his mouth until blood coated his teeth to keep from gasping. Jesus Christ, but why didn’t anyone warn him that Sydney was such a sexual maven?

Oh. Oh no. It was not possible. While he had been fighting with himself, she had hooked her toes in the gap of his boxers and withdrew his cock through them, bringing it out and in direct contact with the hot skin of her feet. He choked on his tongue and blood, earning him curious glances from the other four men. He faked a couple of coughs and then fell back in his chair as Sloane continued to talk and Sydney continued to masturbate him with her feet.

Up down up down…it was too much. Sark closed his eyes at the sensations. He had experienced many different venues of eroticism throughout his young life, but nothing was so hot as Sydney Bristow jerking him off with her feet under the table of the SD-6 conference room. Her left foot had slipped into his boxers and was rolling his balls around while her right pressed his cock up to his stomach and pushed back and forth against the sensitive skin. It was incredibly brazen; he could see the tip of his arousal if he glanced at his lap and if anyone else had looked hard at him-especially Jack Bristow, who was a mere two feet in front of him-they’d see it as well.

Not that he cared much, because he was seconds away from climax and all thoughts of Jack, Sloane, Sydney’s odd behaviour and the mess he would ultimately make were pushed away at the anticipation of the upcoming release. He fought the urge to thrust his hips up, just concentrating on the job her foot was doing, so so so so so close and yes…

“Mr. Sark? Are you feeling well?”

Sark froze and opened his eyes. Sloane was staring at him with a slightly concerned look on his face. The others were looking at him as well: Dixon with a cocked eyebrow, Jack with a frown, Sydney with a smirk and Marshall with a cross between confusion and fear.

“I-beg your pardon, Director Sloane?” His voice was hoarse and crackly. He had been so close and now the nice feet were gone and he was stuck with a throbbing erection, pants open and exposing him and a classic Sloane interrogation. How wonderful.

Sloane frowned. “You’ve had your eyes closed for the last five minutes, and your face is flushed and damp. You’ve also been sitting very oddly lately. Perhaps you’re coming down with something?”

Sark touched his forehead and flushed even more at the thought of how he must have looked to them all. “I-yes sir, I have been slightly under the weather since Vienna…” Sydney let out a choked laugh.

Sloane nodded. “Maybe then you should leave, instead of infecting the rest of the office. As it is, our meeting is over, so everyone dismissed. Good work people, let’s keep it up.”

The doors swung open and everyone got up to leave save Sark, who laid his head on the table and groaned as he tucked his straining cock back into his pants. Damn damn damn Sydney! She’d done that on purpose. At least he hadn’t been caught with his pants down-literally-but now Sloane was pissed that Sark would get sick at a moment like this. Not to mention Sark had a very nasty erection that would not go away without a lot of personal attention.

Once he got himself under some semblance of control and figured that he could make it to his desk without anyone glimpsing the tent in his pants, he got up and moved back into the general SD-6 area. He sat at his desk and stared at Sydney, as if all the answers to his questions would come zooming across the room if he stared hard enough at her.

Did she think that he was her personal play-toy, to use and toss away at will? He sure as hell hoped she didn’t think that way, because he would show her exactly what kind of a ‘toy’ he could be. He still regretted pretty much telling her that he was infatuated with her, because now she had that to use against him at anytime. But just because he’d admitted to his hopeless crush didn’t mean that he was going to lie down and let her tease him to death like this. Oh no. Retaliation was necessary and soon. He was going to make her finish what she started, with a little bit of his own patented teasing for good measure.

Fortunately-for him-and his cock-his opportunity came sooner than later. He watched her stand up and followed her surreptitiously. She made her way down a seldom-used back hallway and…yes! Gold! She was using the so-called ‘executive’ bathrooms, just his very very good luck. Because he was a germ-a-phobe as well as a snobby prick, Sloane had set aside these washrooms for only certain staff that he deemed worthy. The washrooms were locked and each lucky person allowed in them had a key. To be fair, they were very nice washrooms, but Sark didn’t see the need to set apart different people in the SD-6 staff; Sloane was only serving to set up a caste system in his office that might hurt him later.

Oh well. Sark really wasn’t complaining; he found these better than the ‘public’ facilities. Plus, it was now very useful in fulfilling his ‘Sydney payback’ plan.

She was fumbling for her key when he crept up behind her and clapped his hand over her mouth. Before she could react, he snuck his other arm across her body, pulled her flush against him and bent his head close to her ear. “Keep still, or I will hurt you,” he muttered in his coldest voice and by the way she stiffened, he knew she had understood.

He found her hand and pressed his key into it, then maneuvered her to the men’s washroom door. “Open,” he demanded and she did, cautiously. When the lock gave, he pushed her hard through the door, then slammed it shut. She stood facing him, face red with anger and humiliation and body prepared for a fight.

Only Sark wasn’t going to let her take his control. Before she could beat the hell out of him he was in front of her again, pushing her body into the lone stall in the corner. She fell on the seat with a grunt and he straddled her legs, holding her shoulders flat and bringing his face as close as possible to hers. “That wasn’t a very nice little game you played back there, Agent Bristow.”

She gave him a smug smile. “Really? If I remember correctly, you seemed to be enjoying it a lot.”

His hand twisted in her hair and yanked it back so her head bumped the top of the toilet and she whimpered, a bit of fear flashing on her face now. “I think someone needs to teach you a lesson, Agent Bristow. For some reason, you happen to think that you can treat people any way you desire. Rest assured, after this, I’m sure you’ll find out that certain actions do have their consequences.”

He caught hold of her hands and, holding them with one of his, unknotted his tie from his neck. He pushed her hands behind her head and tied them to a thin but sturdy pipe running along the wall with his silk tie. She stared at him with an uncertain look, which quickly switched to wide eyed shock when he unbuttoned her shirt and bra and exposed her breasts, but didn’t touch her. He got up and dropped to his knees in front of her, rucking her skirt up to her waist.

He lightly ran his fingers along the damp part of her silk panties, watching her face as she bit her lip trying not to cry out. He wanted to smirk at that. She was already soaking wet; either from her little foot game or his forceful attitude. Brilliant. The pad of his index finger found her clit and he stroked it very very gently until she was pulling at her bonds. “Sark,” she moaned.

His left hand braced on the floor, he kept up his light fingering with his right and lowered his face to her bare stomach. He breathed in her scent and tasted the fair skin under his lips. As his fingers prodded, she let out tiny gasps of pleasure, with moans breaking through when his tongue slid in her bellybutton. Her legs parted further and she lifted and braced them against the metal walls of the stall, pushing her hips harder into his hand. He drew his fingers back and kept his touch light, as well as his mouth on her stomach.

“Goddamnit Sark, god-unh!” she panted, her body pulling hard against her bonds and her awkward position to try and get more stimulation. But he withdrew his entire body, standing and leaning back against the stall door. He smiled looking down at her, enjoying seeing her disheveled and aroused to the point of pain. She glared at him with a mixture of pure ire and lust.

“I should really leave you like this,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Exposed and vulnerable for all to see. Wouldn’t that be the perfect revenge, hmm?”

“Sark, no please no, don’t do this…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen, but please don’t leave me here, please, just come back please please let me come Sark, please,” she babbled.

He sighed. She must be closer to orgasm than he had thought. Otherwise she would have spit in his face, called him a prick, and he would have left her there and that would have ended their little ‘relationship’ spectacularly. But there she was, begging him to finish her off, and really, was he going to refuse her? He’d been dying for her for days now, and having her spread and willing in front of him was really hard to pass up.

Plus, this was looking to be a great way to get some answers from her.

He placed his hands on the white tank above her head and lowered himself until his face was millimeters from hers. She had literally stopped breathing, waiting for him to do something. He brushed his lips to hers gently, almost tenderly and she gave a little cry. As his lips caressed hers, his hand slid between them and fingers pressed between her legs again. She groaned, pipes rattling as she tried to pull her hands away. He kept his strokes even but still light, ensuring that she wouldn’t climax before he wanted her to.

When she made a keening noise that sounded like she was about to burst into tears, he hooked his fingers under the material of her panties and tugged them down her legs. She gave a relieved groan and raised her hips to aid. He stuffed the silk into his pants pocket, then traced his fingers up the inside of her leg, letting them stop and hover before they met with her wet sex.

“Sark,” she whimpered.

He knelt again and bent his head over her breasts. As his lips covered one enticing nipple, his hand dipped and found her folds again. He slid one finger inside of her as he suckled her erect nipple, causing her to arch closer, trying to get more stimulation from the single digit. He moved his hand up and down slowly, finger gliding in and out at a casual pace that, by the look of things, was driving her insane. He nibbled the taut little peak in his mouth while his tongue bathed the dusky areola surrounding it. She was blathering his name and he moved his head over to give her neglected breast the same attention.

His hand was still only moving gently between her legs, in contrast with her hips, which were violently undulating for more pressure. He added another finger, twisting and curving them against her inner walls. Sydney was making small noises with every breath exhaled, little helpless sounds that betrayed how close to the edge she was. Sark pulled his head up from her breasts and caught her mouth in a wild kiss until they were breathless. Finally he broke away and immediately dipped his head down to between her legs, where his hand was still moving inside of her.

He slid his fingers from her and before she could groan in disappointment, he spread her folds wide and licked her along her wetness. He kept his mouth away from her clit, knowing it would send her off in a second if he did. Fingers pressing into her soft thighs, he held her as still as he could while he explored her with his tongue and lips. Her legs tightened around his head and when he slipped his tongue inside of her she let out a startled laugh that gave him a strange shiver.

Sark had enough playing with her, and as he slid his fingers back inside of her, he swirled his tongue around her clit and sucked it between his lips.

Her response was instantaneous; she arched and cried his name as she came around his fingers. He never gave her a chance to come down, keeping up his thrusting and tasting while she writhed on the toilet seat. He sucked harder and faster and she came again, soaking his hand. He brought her to climax over and over again, only slowing a fraction when she sobbed, “Too much, too much…please, Sark.”

He raised his head, intent on undoing his pants and fucking her when he heard the unmistakable sound of the door being unlocked. He held his breath, perfectly still, until he heard the squeak of the hinges, and without thinking, reached up with his free hand and covered Sydney’s mouth.


Good God, of all the people at SD-6, it had to be Marshall. Then again, Sark thought, if it were Jack Bristow…he shuddered.

He tried to stay completely still, but he was caught awkwardly between kneeling and crouching, and if he leaned his weight on his free hand, he’d slam Sydney’s head into the toilet tank.

“Mr. Sark, I’m not trying to intrude, or anything, or spy on you, or…well, not spy, ‘cause I don’t do the spying, you do…”

Sark shifted so he could bring one knee down for balance, and it caused his one hand to press down on Sydney’s mound. She climaxed again around his fingers and her moan was caught in her covered mouth. She bit Sark’s palm and he smirked at her.

“Yeah! Well, okay, but…Mr. Sloane, well, he sent me in here because he wants to know, you know, why you’re in here for so long and if you’re really not feeling well, I mean, if you’re really being sick…”

It finally hit him how this must look to Marshall; on his knees before the toilet and weird sounds coming from the cubicle. He gave Sydney a wicked little smile and bent his head to delicately bite her clit. She arched and made a muffled guttural sound.

“Oh god…Mr. Sark…should I…get…someone?” Marshall sounded unsure and nervous.

“No,” Sark said quietly before flicking her clit rapidly with his tongue.

“Okay, well…Mr. Sloane, he said you should just go home when you’re, um, done. He thinks that would, uh, be…best.”

The only answer Marshall got was Sydney’s growl, a sound she made when Sark curved his hand and pulled it free from her body. Sark heard him squeak, and then the happy sound of the door closing and locking. He removed his hand from Sydney’s mouth and stood, looming over her.

She was sprawled out, disheveled and panting. Her lips were swollen and slightly bloody, her eyes were glazed and she was glaring at him frustratedly. He resisted the urge to make some wry comment and instead just undid his belt and pants, shoving it all down over his hips. He grabbed her legs, lifting her hips, straddled the toilet seat and positioned himself so he slid deeply inside of her.

“Aw, fuck,” she groaned, pulling at her bonds. He wrapped his hands around her thighs and squeezed as he thrust. He hated how good it felt to finally be fucking her again, how right it felt to be there. His hands fell and wandered, grabbed her breasts and played with her taut nipples. He could feel Sydney clenching around his cock and he knew she was coming again. He pumped harder and faster, making Sydney cry out as her shoulders slammed the tank behind her. As his balls began to tighten, he turned his head and bit her ankle so she could make the sound he needed to hear as he ejaculated.

He felt so dazed, so euphoric and so sexually satisfied that he hadn’t realized that he had collapsed on Sydney, squishing her. He had his face buried in her hair and was contemplating a nice long sleep when she brought her knee down and kicked him in the side. “Ow! The hell?”

“You’re crushing me,” Sydney tilted her head so she could speak clearly. “And my hands hurt.”

He took pity and sat up to undo his tie from her wrists. Within seconds she had him flat on his own back on the floor. He watched as she adjusted her skirt down her hips and did up her blouse, only watched because she had her one foot on his chest and the other resting its heel on his neck. Not that he was complaining; it gave him a great look up her skirt. Apparently she’d forgotten that her panties were still tucked in his pocket.

She gave him another half-hearted kick to his side before she went to the mirror to fix her hair. Sark sat up warily and did up his pants before anything else; when quiet, Sydney was unpredictable and he didn’t relish getting his cock and balls mangled. He smoothed his shirt and wrapped his tie around his neck, but didn’t retie it. He just watched her, waiting.

She finally turned and gave him an arched eyebrow. Sark mentally made sure his privates were somewhat safe and then smiled. “Shall we say same time tomorrow, love?”

“Yeah, that’ll be hard to do when you’re locked up in US custody,” Sydney snorted.

“Please,” Sark rose smoothly to his feet. “Even if you run out of here screaming “Rape” at the top of your lungs, Security Section would be hard-pressed to prove it, considering that you’ve sorely kicked my ass on several occasions and are publicly known to believe that you could do so again. It wouldn’t be long before someone puts two and two together and comes up with 47.” He pulled her panties out of his pocket and swung them on his finger. “Plus, I’ve got these.”

“Give me those!” she snatched at them, hiding the scrap of silk behind her back.

“Take them. I’ve got plenty more, which should be enough proof that anything sexual happening between us is consensual.”

“Or it could just mean you’re a perv who breaks in and steals my underwear.”

Sark rolled his eyes. “Fine. Go spin your lies about me.” Sydney made for the door handle but Sark’s words stopped her from leaving. “But what if I had more…substantive proof than silk panties?”

Sydney froze. “You’re lying,” she said.

“Try me.”

“No.” She let go of the door handle and plucked a pen out of her pocket, clicking it as she did. Bug killer, interesting, Sark thought. “If…anyone had something like that on you, it’d already be out there and so would you.”

Shit shit shit. She knew something, something big, and he’d been too damned distracted to notice. “What do you know, Sydney?” he crossed over to stand close in front of her.

“Security Section’s been keeping a close eye on you,” she said in a rush. Funnily enough she sounded nervous. “They’re not convinced you’re loyal, that you don’t have another agenda for SD-6’s resources. They needed to keep you unaware of their suspicion.”

“Well of course I’m not bloody loyal, anyone could have told them tha-” and the words started clicking together in his head. “That’s why you abandoned me at the airport,” he stepped back from her, musing aloud. “You were the distraction, and when the plane landed, your job was done.”

He didn’t actually feel his heart break, but there was a tugging in his chest that he’d never felt before, along with the more common aches of fear, anger and adrenaline that he felt when he was in danger. The tugging eased a bit when he saw a flash of misery on Sydney’s face as she nodded. Good.

At this point, he decided, he had two choices. Knock Sydney out and get the hell out of LA, or play the martyr so he could sit in a cage for the rest of his life, sobbing “I am fortune’s foe!” or something equally foolish, and hope that Sydney will be so overcome by his turn of cheek that she would fall lovingly into his arms and they’d be happy ever after. With him behind bars.

Yeah. Not happening.

Fuck him for being so damned transparent with his feelings! He was admiring Sydney for her cunning and cursing her for it at the same time. And unless he went the noble route, which was NOT happening, she wouldn’t have a chance to know how real his feelings were. Not that he wanted to give her more leverage in the future, but to destroy her fucking self-righteousness so that her conscience would never let her forget him.

Fuck fuck fuck. And now he was wasting time bloody contemplating. Was there something in the smog that was making him so goddamned amateur?

He grabbed Sydney by the lapels of her shirt and pulled her towards him. Before she could smack him good, he bent his head and claimed her mouth almost violently. She kissed him back with the same passion, clinging tightly to him. He made himself memorise the taste of her lips, the stroke of her tongue against his, made himself remember that this would be their very last kiss and so he’d better enjoy it. He wanted it to go on long enough to sit her up on the sinks and fuck her again, but he wasn’t stupid. Well, not anymore.

He pulled back and waited until Sydney opened her eyes. “Call me, love,” he murmured and then brought his hand up and punched the side of her head. He made sure she didn’t crumple to the floor in a heap, but gently propped her against the wall so she didn’t hurt herself more. He tucked her hair behind her ear and then left.

He gathered as much as he could from his desk, not that he had anything there that was important. He stayed long enough to wipe his area free of fingerprints and the like, all the while feigning a sickly stance. Not that people really looked his way anyhow, but it never hurt to be safe. He closed his briefcase and got the hell out of Dodge, so to speak.


Irina found him in his favourite room, throwing darts at a picture of Michael Vaughn. “Why Julian, one would think you’re jealous.”

“One would be right,” he growled. “Don’t patronize me.”

Irina sat on his bed. “Every good relationship has its boundaries to overcome,” she mused.

He scrunched up his nose and threw his last dart right dead center in Vaughn’s left eye. “I hate feeling like a fucking teenager,” he groaned. He fell stomach first on the mattress, internally berating his stupidity and his lack of professionalism at the moment. His inner emo-boy, however, didn’t care and Sark wished he could pull all his little inner persons out so he could thrash them.

“I find it interesting,” Irina smiled, “that she told you her mission, essentially warning you. You could find some comfort in that.” She stood and prodded his leg. “I’ve let you wallow for too long. Get up; I have work for you.” With that she left him.

He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Irina was right, and eventually he’d get up and follow her and be good old-or rather, bad old-Sark again, but the emo kid deserved one more moment. He closed his eyes and relieved that last hot kiss and the feel of her body against his. He kind of wished his last words had been something more snarky and memorable than “Call me” but as always around her, he’d been half thinking with his cock, which always produced the lame lines. Call him, indeed. Not a chance in hell.

His cell phone rang.

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