The Spy Who Loved Me...Sort Of by S. Doyle

Author:S. Doyle [Doyle, S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-05T05:00:00+00:00

10

Liza

We were just now entering the outskirts of Rome. We’d left Florence at the crack of dawn. After sleeping only a few hours. True to his word, Liam had woken me up and wanted to fuck me again. With my tongue, I’d flicked and played with the piercing on his dick until he’d groaned my name.

That had been fun.

Then he’d lifted me off the bed and fucked me against the hotel wall until we both came in a glorious rush. I had no idea sex could be both dirty and fun. Hot and playful. Earth-shatteringly good.

Maybe we’d slept for another hour after that. Or at least I had. When I woke up Liam already had a car waiting. When I asked him if he stole it, he said of course not. That he had ways.

I knew he was lying.

A little over three hours later and he’d just taken the exit for the airport.

We didn’t talk much, but every once and a while I looked over at him as he drove. Confidently, authoritatively. I thought about how he had tossed me around in bed like he owned my body, and wondered if he was that way with every woman.

Probably. Which was a mostly depressing thought. I was just some Bond girl he’d hooked up with and would most likely forget as he continued on with his mission to find my father before he croaked and took his work to the grave.

It was hard to reconcile this guy, Liam, with Ted. No hat, no glasses. Thick, wavy, black hair. Firm jaw, soft lips. And a lean, hard body with a dick that didn’t end.

“You look different today,” I told him.

“It’s the glasses,” he said, glancing at me. He was wearing aviator sunglasses that made him look like, I fucking kid-you-not, Chris Pine.

But that wasn’t it. “It’s something else. Something I can’t put my finger on.”

“I picked up some new clothes when I got you that dress.”

The sundress had been waiting for me when I stepped out of the shower, so I didn’t have to fly home in the cocktail dress I’d been wearing last night.

“When did you do that?”

“When I was getting the car.”

“And by getting you mean stealing. Which means you also stole these clothes. Along with a fake passport.”

“I wanted you to be comfortable,” he said. “And you need the passport to get back to the States.”

“You’re a very thoughtful spy slash thief.”

“You’re welcome.”

He was wearing a plain pair of khakis and another black T-shirt, but now the shirt showed off his pecs and biceps a little better. If I’d met him when he was wearing this shirt, I would have immediately known he was packing a six-pack.

I thought back to that first night we met when my impression had been that he was skinny, lanky, maybe even goofy looking with his ears and his glasses. This was not that guy. He’d probably been wearing clothes a size larger, just to give the impression he was lost in them. Bony, as opposed to jacked.

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