Games Girls Play

  Games Girls Play

  BA Tortuga

  Hands-on assassin Rose has the best job in the world and no issue at all with taking out the bad guys. In fact, the only problem Rose has in her life is the game of sexy one-upmanship she’s playing with her biggest competition, Jane. Jane is a sniper who likes to do her job from a distance, but no matter who manages to do the job first, the ladies get together afterward to argue over who gets the fee, and have hot make-up sex at the same time.

  When Rose is burned by the family of one of her marks, though, the game changes. When Jane’s handler tells her she gets the honor of taking Rose out, Jane knows she can’t just kill her best girl. Jane must rescue Rose in time to keep both of them alive, or their lust-filled contest will end with a very final bang.

  A Romantica® female/female erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Games Girls Play

  BA Tortuga

  Chapter One

  Rose checked her bustier in the mirror, adjusted a few pins in her carefully coiffed updo, freshened her Oh Fuck Me Now lipstick, and grabbed her flogger.

  Show time.

  “Señor Marquez? I am ready for you.” She headed into the playroom, the huge bank of windows staring out over the lights of Houston. She got a smile from the handsome man, kneeling for her on a pile of silken pillows, body bared and bound with a dozen leather straps.

  She smiled at him and sashayed over to the bodyguard who waited, arms crossed, staring her down. “So grumpy. You cannot play, señor?”

  He shook his head, eyes on her breasts, the nipples barely staying contained.

  Rose took a deep breath. Then another, leading his eyes in an up-and-down dance. She needed him distracted.

  “Shame.” She turned her back on him, shaking her tail feathers. Okay, the main door was closed, locked from the inside, and there wasn’t much surveillance, if any, if big, tall and nasty was allowed to watch.

  Rose slapped the flogger against her thigh, the sharp snap making Marquez jump, the heavy club of a cock filling. “Mmm. Someone is eager, si?”

  She kept her face calm, the urge to wrinkle her nose strong. Hairy pig of a man. Still, she had a part to play.

  A part to play and a job to do.

  She swatted one of the man’s nipples with the flogger, keeping it light, keeping it easy, and Marquez groaned softly.

  Perfect.

  “¿La musica, si?” She walked over to the Bose, looking at it, then over her shoulder at the bodyguard. “¿Ayudame?”

  He came over without a word, turned on the iPod, the music loud and driving, sudden, filling the air. Rose smiled at him in thanks, pulled a hairpin from her hair and tagged him, right through the trachea, then sent a second alongside, slicing the jugular with as little spray as possible. He blinked at her, blood bubbling on his lips, making not a sound as she eased him to the floor.

  Now for the rest of her job.

  She turned back to Marquez, staring at him, savoring things a moment. This setup had taken some serious work on her part, and she was damn proud of it. She started toward him, specialty hairpin at the ready.

  “Get your ass over here, chica. I’m waiting.”

  “Bossy, bossy.” She slowed her steps. “Thought I was in charge.”

  The violent son of a bitch was in the business of selling little girls. His specialty was the six to eight range. Anything older than twelve was out altogether and it was time for this shit to stop, no matter how much money and power his Columbian daddy had.

  “Get over here and do your fucking job, puta.”

  “That would be my pleasure, señor.” She was less than a foot away when the bullet sent his head back with a snap, the satin cushions flying as he fell.

  “Oh, son of a bitch.” Her eyes hit the big window, the tiny hole. Motherfucker.

  Rose never even hesitated. She hit the bathroom, stripping off her wig and leather gloves, bustier and heels, dressed in a turtleneck and sneakers before the bodyguard in the front room had finished bleeding out. She headed up into the maintenance tunnel, making tracks for the room she had rented as Cathy Martin, the music from the suite behind her getting softer and softer.

  There were four people on earth who could make that shot. Maybe five, depending on how many meds they’d given Crow. Four people and one was in Gitmo, one was working a job in Afghanistan. Out of the other two, only one got off on fucking up Rose’s life.

  Fucking bitch. It had been two years since that hard-assed, self-righteous twat waffle had walked out on her, bitching about how she was on the edge, living dangerously. Two years.

  In her room, she showered, the makeup changing her from Hispanic to milky white in seconds. Her hair was dry, the huge mass of copper-red curls encouraged to fly wildly. She went for a prairie skirt and a lacy peasant blouse, no makeup. Glasses… Glasses. Right.

  She took out the dark-brown contacts too.

  Better.

  Now instead of a statuesque Mexican Domme, she was a tiny Irish hippie, granny square bag and all.

  She slipped her piece in the foil lined hidden pocket and grabbed her room key.

  It was time to find Jane and find out why the fuck the bitch had taken her mark.

  * * * * *

  Jane sat in the corner booth, on the right side, which was easiest to get out of and slip into the back room, should she need to make an escape. It was entirely possible Miss Rose would decide she was tired of playing and take Jane’s happy ass out this time. Unlikely, but possible. She’d ordered a plate of Irish nachos, and she had a Guinness and an appletini on the table in front of her.

  She was waiting for Rose, pretty sure the stacked little redhead would show up. The last time they’d played this game had been less than successful, but Jane missed Rose, missed the quick wit, the sweet curves, the sound of needy moans.

  Jane smiled to herself, thighs rubbing together as the thought of her favorite on-again, off-again made her ache. Rose had been pissed off enough that Jane imagined you could smell the smoke coming out of her ears. She’d timed that shot perfectly, damn it, and she’d managed it from a hell of a distance. Honestly, you’d think after working as long as they had that Rose would have learned not to get so emotionally involved in her marks.

  Sometimes Jane had to just keep things from getting too personal.

  “What the fuck are you about?” The rainbow-colored purse hit the table first, then Rose’s fine, fine ass hit the seat across from her, right on the edge.

  “Is that an existential question?” Jane chuckled, sliding the appletini across the table. “Drink?”

  Nice long fuck?

  “That job was mine.” The palest blue eyes on earth snapped and crackled, and Jane could smell Rose’s soap—sandalwood and roses.

  Yum. She wanted to wallow in the scent, get it all over the hotel sheets. “You were taking too long.” Jane shrugged, casual as all get out.

  “Taking too long? I was trying to make sure the thirty assholes in the other room didn’t crash in.”

  “Uh-huh. Have I mentioned that you make a shitty Mexican?” Jane asked. “Your skin is all wrong.”

  “I’m going to hurt you.”

  Oh, Rose might try, but there were things they did better together. Like fuck. “Have a drink with me first.”

  Rose picked up the martini glass and sipped, smiling around the rim. Miss Rose did love a tart drink, the girlier, the better. They were a study in contrasts, she and Rose. Jane liked the earthy sourness of stout, the mouth-feel of a good steak. Rose liked vegetarian pasta. She was a hard-assed dyke, through and through, pure military, from her short hair to her ripped abs. Rose, though, she was all passion, all girl. They said opposites attracted, after all.

  They didn’t chat. What did they ha
ve to say, really? Jane’s bank account was happier by a half-million dollars; Rose was going to make her pay for that in flesh. She shivered, her nipples going hard. God, she’d missed her girl.

  Rose stared at her, pale-blue eyes blazing. “I should put an ice pick in your ear.”

  “You have an ice pick? Here?” Fucking A. How cool was that? “You know I always pay my debts, honey. Get over it.” Jane pushed it.

  “Fuck off, you bat.” Rose stuck her tongue out, and the sudden playfulness was incredibly, oddly erotic.

  Jane wanted to suck on that tongue and taste the apple.

  This was absolutely not the time or place for that, so she went for needling. “Why are you dressed like a hippie?”

  “Because I make a shitty Mexican.” Rose reached for the bar menu. “Did you order food?”

  “Irish nachos for my Fair Isle girl.”

  “Yours?”

  “Always.” Eternally. No matter how they fought it.

  The menu was placed on the table, and for a heart-stopping second she thought Rose might actually get up and walk away, then Rose started laughing, honest, deep, belly laughs.

  Jane grinned. Yeah, that was more like it. She watched Rose’s breasts bounce with the laughter. There was a beauty mark on her rib cage, right under the swell of her left breast. A scar marked a line right next to Rose’s bellybutton, and a puckered burn rounded out the curve of Rose’s left buttock. Jane knew that body all too well, every inch.

  Their eyes locked, and Jane had to fight the urge to pounce, to meet that fiery passion head-on.

  The nachos came, which broke the intensity a little. That was fine; they had to build through the night.

  Rose picked the peppers off, lapped the sour cream off her fingers, and Jane just watched, her focus laser sharp, just like when she was setting up a shoot. She wanted. No, she needed. More than that, she hoped Rose needed too. A touch slid up along her leg, surprising her, making her jump. Rose was usually hands off in public.

  Damn, that was a fine woman.

  “Nervous?” Oh, little tease. You’d never know, looking at the tiny girl, that she could take down a four hundred pound man in maybe ten seconds. Rose was a hand-to-hand expert, Israeli trained.

  “Nope. Just thought there was a bug.”

  The touch came again, bolder this time. “You have a room?”

  “I do. At the old Collins Hotel. The haunted one?”

  “How daring.” Rose licked sour cream off her bottom lip, the motion as erotic as it was painfully familiar. “Have you seen any ghosts?”

  “Nope. Hoping to see my favorite one there soon.”

  “Spooky.” Rose finished her appletini, stood, eyebrow arched.

  “You know it.” She munched one more nacho, making her lover wait before slipping Rose a room key on the way to pay her tab at the bar.

  When she turned around, Rose was gone, the table empty except for a martini glass.

  Time to go. Jane grinned. Oh yeah. She could blow off some steam.

  She could explore that tight little body and make Rose forget about however many thousands of dollars Jane owed her, make them both forget about the harsh words they’d shared well over a year ago. Jane hummed, checking her danger areas automatically before heading out the door.

  She slipped into the doors of the sister hotel to the one she’d rented a room. She went to the third floor, crossed to the skywalk, went up to the twenty-third floor and then down to fourteen.

  When she slid quietly into the room, she heard a round slide into a chamber. “Gonna shoot me, babe?” she asked.

  Fuck, Jane loved the scent of Rose’s soap mixed with gun oil. “Not today. Lock the door.”

  Jane locked the door, then checked the closet, bathroom and windows. Habit, not suspicion.

  Rose pulled the comforter off the bed, dumping it in a pile in the corner of the room, exposing the bed’s platform base. They checked the room quickly and quietly together. No bugs, no booby traps.

  Time for the fun.

  The peasant blouse landed on the floor, then the skirt, leaving Rose standing there wearing pink lingerie that hugged every curve, red hair like a halo.

  Jane reached for that tiny waist, loving how dark and strong her hands looked against Rose’s sweet skin. Rose wiggled slowly, rubbing against her fingers, sliding on her trigger callouses.

  “God, you’re pretty.” Jane smiled, moving close enough that her shirt snagged on Rose’s bra.

  “And you’re a fucking stud.” Pretty words. Pretty slutty mouth.

  “I am. A stud with boobs.” She rubbed said boobs against Rose’s, loving the little spark of friction.

  “Mmhmm.” Rose’s fingers slipped up her ribs, hard enough not to tickle.

  The laughter tasted good on their kisses, her lips sealing over Rose’s. Rose moaned for her, tongue touching hers, flicking like a tiny flame that slid down her spine, heading directly to her clit. Her girl. They clinched, and she pushed, toppling them to the bed.

  There was something incredibly erotic about being dressed while Rose was mostly bared, something delicious about it, and she pushed her knee between Rose’s thighs, giving that sweet, delectable cunt something to rub on.

  Rose gasped, legs spreading a little, humping against her, proving that Jane hadn’t been the only one to need.

  She leaned onto one arm, giving herself a little room to touch, to play. She wanted to pull away the scraps of lace covering Rose’s breasts. Rose followed her thought, fingers baring the freckled milky flesh, hard pale-pink nipples right there, ripe and sweet and ready for her lips.

  Perfect. She bent, lifting one in her fingers, the pretty round flesh fitting her hand just right. Jane wrapped her lips around Rose’s nipple, flicking it with her tongue to make it ache. The scent of sandalwood mingled with the salt on Rose’s skin, and she licked again, hungry for more.

  “Jane. Jane, lady. Don’t tease.”

  Teasing was what she loved. Rose knew that. Jane chuckled, blowing a puff of air against her girl’s skin. Goose pimples popped up, covering Rose’s torso. Her sensitive girl.

  Jane sucked that nipple in, giving Rose good, strong lovin’, drawing the hard bit of flesh against her teeth, letting it press. As soon as she started pulling, Rose’s fingers tangled in her short hair, holding her close. Her lovely did like a good hard tug. Sliding her hand down, Jane tugged at Rose’s damp panties, wanting them gone, but Rose was riding her leg, rubbing up on her, and the little scrap of lace was caught.

  A sound of frustration pushed out of her throat, and Jane snapped the side seam. She wanted naked Rose now. If Rose didn’t want her lingerie ruined, she shouldn’t wear it when they hadn’t fucking touched in months.

  Too long, in fact. Jane slid her fingers down Rose’s belly, down to the curls she loved.

  “Please. Please, lady.” Rose’s sweet cunt was slippery, the proof of her desire slick on Jane’s fingers, the little curls soaked.

  “I won’t let you down, Rose. You know that.” Jane would give all the pleasure she could.

  “Never.” Rose touched her face, her hair. “Just been too long, hmm?”

  “Definitely too long.” She grinned, feeling better that Rose thought so too. Her fingers trailed over Rose’s skin, touching the soft musculature of her belly,

  Muscles quivering, Rose gasped. So ticklish. Jane played a little, dipping her fingers into Rose’s navel and Rose curled up, proving how amazing those abs were, before settling back and spreading wide. “I need you. I need to come, and you do it best.”

  “What do you want, honey?” Jane licked her lips, knowing what Rose wanted and needing to hear it.

  “I want your tongue on my clit, your fingers fucking me hard.” Oh, naughty, wicked girl.

  Jane did like a lady who could verbalize her need. Hell, she just loved being with Rose. She knelt between those spread thighs, hands sliding up from Rose’s knees. She loved the way Rose’s body opened for her, pink petals of her cunt shining and slic
k, clit swelling and peeking from its hood, the heady scent reminding her of tangerines. Someone needed her now.

  Jane touched, pushing her fingers along the wet folds, opening Rose up even more for her mouth. She licked a long line up to that sensitive little clit, then flicked it hard, slapping it with her tongue and making. The sweet-tart flavor of her girl made her moan, hips rocking in the air. Rose’s taste made her dizzy, breathless.

  She went deeper, sucking, licking, working her fingers into Rose’s cunt. The tight muscles gripped her fingers, pulling at them, drawing them deeper. Sweet, wanton woman. God, Jane could fuck her all night. Rose called out, reaching for her, motions near frantic. “More. Jane, honey. Harder. Right there.”

  “Mmmhmm.” She licked hard, flicking her tongue back and forth. She curled her fingers and worked Rose’s G-spot, pushing it, making her needy girl wild. Rose wanted to come, and Jane was determined to make it happen ASAP. Like, now.

  She sucked Rose’s clit, pulling almost too hard, letting her teeth rasp, and her girl lost it, screaming her name, the sound better than shell casings hitting the concrete.

  The rush of moisture left her panting, her hips still rocking, looking for release.

  “Jane. Jane, honey…” Rose groaned and tugged at her, lips wrapping around her hard nipple and pulling so hard Jane bared her teeth, bit back the cry. Fuck, yes. Hard, steady, with a pull that sensations right to her clit, Rose knew what she needed.

  There was nothing better than this woman’s mouth. Nothing.

  Rose’s hands explored her, making her skin sing, but it was those lips that drove Jane mad, the suction steady, strong, never letting her breathe.

  She twisted, trying to get more, her hands on Rose’s shoulders. “Baby. Oh. Rose.”

  Her left nipple was deserted, the right getting attention now, while Rose’s fingers slipped against her clit, the touch featherlight, fluttering against her and her thighs shuddered.

  “Harder.” She squeezed her thighs down around Rose’s wrist.

  “Pushy broad.” Rose’s teeth scraped over her nipple as her clit was circled, teased and she fought to get her own fingers down, give herself the pressure she needed.