Out of control

The following night Cutler Beckett was determined to remain vigilant. With three daggers strapped to his inner arm - a cunning device Mercer had leant him - and a second pistol sewn loosely into the opposite sleeve, with the last cup of coffee on board and Mercer standing outside his door he was sure nothing out of the ordinary would transpire...



He woke to darkness as something soft tightened around his wrists. He had time to realise he was bound and draw breath to call for aid before a knife point pressed into the soft, sensitive flesh of his inner thigh,



"Did you know that there is a vein in your leg, just here" She, whoever she was, whispered as she straddled him, the knife moving up, "if I was inclined to cut it you'd be dead in three minutes" She lay down, the dagger pressing into the hollow of his throat, "please don't give me a reason to do that" Beckett stared upwards into a veiled face, seeing only the faintest hint of full lips. As surreptitiously as he could he began to tug at his wrists, finding them securely tied (with a silken something) to the bed frame, he then tried to reach for the knots,



"Who are you?" He whispered, trying to ignore the warmth of her pressing against him...his body was rather rapidly letting its opinion be known that it had been a long time since they had last made port,



"For now I am a friend" She replied, leaning towards him until the soft fabric of her veil brushed against his nose, startlingly warm. For a brief moment he considered asking how she treated her enemies if she tied her friends to their beds...and quickly dismissed it as all sorts of interesting images danced across his inner eye,



"A friend" He said flatly, eyes widening in the dark as he felt the tip of the knife trail from the hollow of his throat downwards, the icy cold flat of a blade pressing against his nipple - by accident or design he couldn't tell - cruelly cold even through the fabric of his nightshirt,



"Why did you have to involve Mercer?" She hissed, a sudden low anger in her voice, "I'm not here for him" Beckett opened his mouth to ask what she was talking about but the blade pressed into his cheek, silencing his quest for information, "they never told me you were pretty, you know" She murmured, the blade disappearing entirely from Becketts senses. Not that he was really paying attention. Her last comment had taken him completely by surprise. She was shifting against him, hips moving in a sensuous rhythm that was bringing his already half interested cock to full, aching hardness. Damn. It really *had* been too long,



"I thought you were an assassin, not a whore" He whispered, fingers scrabbling at the knots above his head. If only he could damn well get free...he'd soon show this harlot how to play *real* games. Her movements stopped briefly,



"Sometimes the two co-exist" She moved then, kneeling between his legs, urging them further apart with a knife point on his inner knee, Beckett contemplated what a useful talent it was to be able to make daggers appear and disappear at will...



"Business and pleasure in one go" He murmured, some distant part of him impressed that his voice sounded so calm even as warm, silk clad hands pushed his nightshirt upwards so slowly...there was a sharp jab with the freezing cold pommel of the dagger against his belly in warning,



"Need I remind you of what I can do if you make any further sound?" She whispered, her voice almost as calm as his own. Beckett lifted his head from the pillow, squinting in an effort to see through the dark but to no avail. He pursed his lips as a small, warm hand took hold of his cock, stroking from root to tip, silk covered thumb swirling round the slit, coaxing out a fine bead of precome before repeating the action. The rhythm she set was too perfect, leaving him trembling as he tried to suppress even the tiniest sigh. Legs splayed, muscles taunt, breathing deep and tied to his own bed Cutler Beckett tried to retain his wits enough to work at the knots.



The majority of his conscience saw this as an opportunity. After all, a talented would-be assassin was currently stroking him to madness, no doubt revenge would shortly follow. With that thought Beckett gave in to the sensations pummelling through him, his own hips pumping upwards in time with her strokes. A gasp escaped him when a hot, wet mouth closed over him, replacing the hand.



Raising his head again Becketts sight was still obscured by the damn veil, she had raised it just enough to free her mouth. He caught the briefest flash of red lips stretched round his girth (Beckett was a short man but more than made up for it in other ways) as she swallowed him whole, seeming to have no problem in doing so. Letting his head drop once more to the pillow, he concentrated on not groaning and thrust up into the welcoming, sucking, swirling heat as hard as he could. He wasn't far from completion when her hand reached up to fondle his balls in a manner that could be called loving if not for the situation. He grunted as he came, unable to stop it, eyes closing in bliss as he felt her throat spasm round him as she drank -



"Sir?" Mercers voice through the door - and the sudden crushing weight of reality - shattered the euphoria. She was lieing full length on him in a flash, her dagger pressing against his throat and her mouth still open as she tried to silently catch her breath,



"Just a dream Mercer" Beckett called back, looking up into the veil, "nothing to worry about"



"As you say, sir. G'night" There was a brief breathless pause before she slid off him, lieing beside him as she pushed his nightshirt back down. To his surprise she curled up close, one arm flung over his chest,



"Go to sleep, Cutler" She whispered in his ear,



"And how am I supposed to sleep like this?" He tugged at his still bound wrists for emphasis,



"Oh I'm sure you'll find a way" ...



Cutler Beckett woke alone and unbound the following morning. He had no answer ready when Mercer asked him about the strange marks on his wrists.