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So I do the only thing I can manage to exert any kind of control. I clench deep inside. Another voice joins mine, harmonizing in ecstatic release. Just when I think the onslaught of my orgasm might end…

Gushing volcanic love fills me up. Ero somehow manages to feel even deeper, consuming me with only the feeling of him. Another climax rolls toward me, shatters what’s left of my world…

And I no joke fucking black out.

11

ERO

“Tell me again what you’re going to do to me when we finish this?”

“I’m going to spank the shit out of you if you don’t quit distracting me,” I rasp, forcing down my body’s response to her smoky voice. Down, boy.

“Mmm…as long as you tie me up first.”

A highlight reel of the past few weeks loops through my mind at the suggestion. We’ve been on a roll since our initial rocky start. Nonstop jobs. Check-ins with the boss. Ananke.

Now there’s an instant boner-killer. My thoughts snap back to Circe.

Her flawless figure. The rampant sex.

I hold my breath as a guard shuffles past, no more than a foot from my hiding place. A step to the right…

Circe slips out of the shadows, jabbing a knife into his neck. I step out, catching the falling body, hauling him into a locker. Check our six. Clear.

“Prisoners are up ahead,” Cirs mutters, scanning the tunnel while I guard her assessment, peering around a load-bearing pillar.

“How many?”

“Infrared shows three more Numbers gang thugs patrolling the cells. Most hold four or more Zef-Con. Tight quarters. Lot of cross fire. Terrible backstops.”

The gangs of South Africa have been at war for decades. Not sure why we’re here to single out and help one in particular. I’ve reconciled not asking anymore.

“Roger that.”

Circe shakes with suppressed laughter. “Ten-four, Big Bear, we got bogies on our tail.”

“Your southern accent is terrible.”

“My worst is still better than your best.”

Bitch. I tap her shoulder, ready to breach.

The rest is autopilot.

I trigger the blast, blowing the door. Circe tosses a smoke bomb, I lob a flash-bang.

Slash, bang, boom. Mostly just slash, slash, stab.

All three guards are down. The Zefs handle the rest once we disable the electronic locks on the holding cells. Twenty minutes later, the whole abandoned prison is back under their control, and Circe and I are speeding away in a Jaguar without a second glance.

I know it seems calloused. Abrupt.

They always want us to stay. To help them fight.

It was the same in Beirut. And in Thailand. Eliminate a rebel leader. Rescue the son of a politician. Steal a priceless tapestry from a slave merchant in Indonesia. Each time, it’s very specific.

They offer us money to help them with other targets, or uprising, or drug smuggling. Every time we run it up the ladder, Ananke tells us to move on.