The Three Assassins — Hotel Hit
The van rolled quietly down the street the three women inside going over their roles in their minds. Janet the driver, a tall lean brunette with beautiful grey blue eyes and a Mensa intellect. She was the tech nerd and the teams chief interrogator. Thus far no man or woman had stood against her for long, her drugs and tech always opened their minds…and when it came to a targets demise, her methods were efficient, subtle…and always effective.
In the back was Amber, a cute curvy Japanese woman in her twenties who could easily look like a teen when needed. Her cuteness and friendly manner belied a deadly assassin. Her seduction had lead to the demise of many a target and tonight she was dressed to distract and seduce wearing a cute school girl outfit that would soon be put into action.
The final member of the team was Ella, a tall beautiful Scandinavian appearing blonde with legs that went on forever and the face and body of a swimsuit model. Ella preferred to seduce her victims to their demise always leaving them with smiles on their faces. The majority of her targets couldn’t believe she was there to eliminate them right up to the very end…tonight, she would be the lead for the group and their target Dan Peterson would soon enjoy some quality time with the deadly blonde.
The night concierge looked up from his phone noticing the pretty Asian woman bouncing into the lobby, trying hard not to focus on the open shirt and the jiggle of her ample breasts as she walked up to him.
“Ah I’m sorry I’m sure it’s in here somewhere” she started digging into her purse as she walked up to the station and around the corner pulling out a bottle of perfume…and spaying it into his face.
The smell…sweet…relaxing…was fogging his mind the scopolamine in the spray was opening him to her suggestions and the cute woman sat on the desk and leaned in, he tried to be polite and looked away from her breasts…only to fall into soft deep brown eyes.
“Hey sweetie, that’s it just look right up here for me…good boy.” She quickly inserted a cable and fob into the USB port on his computer, Janet would soon have access to the system.
“Now I want you to feel very, very good for me…” her had began to stoke his inner thigh and his hardening cock. “Just be a good boy for me and allow me to help you feel wonderful” her hand began to stroke his cock as he become fully hard.
“That’s it, just let yourself feel good, you enjoy what you are feeling right now, how hard I’m making you? Baby you know what happens when a man cum’s don’t you, he gets nice and sleepy, as a matter of fact its impossible to keep his sleepy eyes open isn’t it?”
“Hmmm, yes…impossible to keep my eyes open when I cum…” his sleepy response brought a smile to her face.
“Yes so when you come you are going to go to sleep for me and forget I was ever here, you will look and that you were watching porn on your phone and got a bit carried away… only that for me…” her fingers found the spot on the base of his cock and began to circle while her thumb circled the tip. He grunted soon after and she saw the growing wet spot. Using his face to open his phone she went to the private tab and was happy to see a page already loaded with porn, she opened up a video and sat the phone on the desk quickly removing the USB fob and returning to the van.
“You’re up blonde, knock em dead” Amber laughing at her own pun as she entered the vehicle.
The Obsidian, 12:51 a.m.
The lobby lights were dimmed to a bruised amber. The night concierge appeared to be sleeping, the security monitors quiet in the background.
She arrived like a rumor made flesh: black satin bias-cut dress, liquid midnight poured over skin, slit climbing so high the lace tops of her stockings flashed with every step. The stockings themselves were barely there, fifteen denier, the color of smoke after sex, scented with something that had no right to exist in the mortal world, burnt honey, night-blooming cereus, and a coppery note that curled straight into the animal brain. Her patent stilettos were five inches of threat, ankle straps so thin they looked ready to slice skin, Ella was a vision.
Dan Peterson walked into the building, he was already waiting for the private elevator to the penthouses, suit jacket slung over one arm, tie loosened, exhaustion and money radiating off him in equal parts. Forty-two, divorced once, eight-figure liquidity, and a pulse that hadn’t raced like this in years.
She stepped in first.
He followed, because the scent reached him before she did, and by then the doors were already closing.
Mirrored walls on every side. Infinite copies of them, repeating into black infinity.
She did not press a button.
She simply lifted one manicured finger and let it hover over the , watching him in the reflection.
“Which floor, darling?”
Her voice was low, warm, a note that vibrated behind his sternum.
“Forty… forty-two,” he managed out of a suddenly dry throat.
She smiled, small, private, and pressed 45 instead. Two floors above his. The car began its ascent.
Floor 3
She shifted her weight. The slit in her dress parted like theater curtains, revealing the full length of one sheer-stockinged leg. The dangling heel began its slow pendulum swing from her crimson-tipped toes. Back and forth. Back and forth.
His eyes tracked it without permission.
Floor 7
The shoe slipped free and fell between his feet with a muted, expensive thud. She made no move to retrieve it. Instead she flexed her foot, arch, toes, arch, toes, the nylon catching the low light like oil on water. The scent thickened, suddenly everywhere, as though the elevator had become a hothouse.
Floor 11
She turned her back to him, studying their reflections. A thousand versions of her spine under black satin, a thousand versions of his face already softening. She reached back, took his wrist, and guided his hand to the small of her back. Then lower. His palm settled on the curve where dress met skin on her hips. She pressed his fingers into the satin so he could feel the heat radiating through it.
“Breathe with me,” she whispered to the mirror.
He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. He inhaled. The burnt-honey scent flooded his lungs, sweet and dizzying. His next exhale trembled.
Floor 16
She began to speak, soft, continuous, a velvet ribbon of sound wrapping around his thoughts.
“In… and out… good… feel how the air gets heavier with every floor… thicker… warmer… like syrup sliding down your throat… like my stockings sliding up your skin…”
“See my eyes in the reflection look deeply into them, as you look and breathe for me, you will see your eyes reflected in them…”
Each word landed inside his skull with the weight of fingers. His eyelids fluttered. The mirrored copies of hers seemed to sway gently, though the elevator moved perfectly smooth.
Floor 21
She turned and her stockinged foot glided forward until her toes brushed his shoe. Then higher, inside his ankle, behind his knee. The nylon was damp from hours against her skin, warm, almost alive. Static crackled where silk met wool. He felt it in his teeth.
“Look at me,” she said.
He did. Her pupils were huge, blue as a summer day’s sky. The set of eyes directly in front of him seemed closer than physics allowed.
Floor 26
She leaned in slowly, satin whispering. The remaining stiletto made her tower. She stepped into his space until her breasts brushed his chest on every shared breath. One hand rose, fingertips tracing his jaw without quite touching, trailing electricity.
“You’re tired,” she crooned. “So tired of deciding. Let me help you decide tonight.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket, an alert about a scheduled transfer. He ignored it. Couldn’t have moved if he wanted to.
Floor 30
Her lips hovered a single millimeter from his. Not kissing. Just sharing breath. Each exhale she gave him carried more of the scent; each inhale pulled it deeper into his blood.
“Watch my mouth,” she murmured. “Watch how it shapes your name… feel how the sound strokes the inside of your spine…” He never stoped to wonder how she knew his name, he was transfixed by her beauty and lost in the seduction.
His name left her lips in a slow, rolling caress. His knees buckled a fraction; she steadied him with a hand at his waist, thumb circling through fabric.
Floor 34
She reached between them, unbuckled his belt with unhurried grace. The clink of metal sounded miles away. Zipper down. Cool air, then leaning back the impossibly warm slide of her stockinged foot curling around his length through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs her knee lifted high. He groaned, hips jerking forward into the silk embrace.
“Shhh,” she soothed, pressing one finger to his lips. “Just watch. Just feel. Just obey.”
Floor 37
She sank gracefully to her knees, satin pooling like spilled ink. Both hands slid up his thighs, pushing jacket and shirt aside. Her mouth closed over him through the fabric first, hot breath, then teeth grazing gently, then the cotton until it was soaked, adding to the wetness of his pre-cum. When she finally tugged the waistband down and took him in, bare skin to velvet throat, his head fell back against the mirror with a soft thud.
She hummed. The vibration traveled his entire length and detonated behind his eyes. “Hmmm that’s my good boy.”
Floor 40
She rose again, licking her lips shiny. Took his phone from his unresisting fingers. Used his own thumb to unlock it while her foot continued its lazy, hypnotic stroking, toe to root, arch pressing, heel teasing balls his hand resting on her knee. The banking app opened. She angled the screen so he could see the balance, eight commas, beautiful and obscene, then initiated a string of transfers that would leave him beautifully, perfectly empty.
Floor 42
His floor. The elevator sailed past without pause.
She signaled Janet in the van and the elevator car halted between floors with a gentle sigh. Silence, except for wet sounds and his ragged breathing.
She turned the phone so the little spinning wheel faced him.
“Watch it go,” she whispered. “Every zero that disappears is a chain falling off your soul.”
Floor 43
She crowded him against the mirrored wall. One hand braced beside his head, the other guiding his chin until he met her eyes again.
“Almost there,” she said, and finally kissed him for all she was worth.
It was slow, sensual, devouring. Her tongue stroked his in the same rhythm her foot kept between his legs, long, languid pulls that matched the soft sucking sounds she made against his mouth. He was lost in it, drowning happily, when she broke away and moved her lips finding the frantic pulse in his throat.
The first kiss there was gentle, exploratory. Second was deeper, teeth scraping. Third, she sealed her mouth over the vein and began her true work.
Slow. Sensual. Lethal. She was working to slow his heart, to trigger his demise.
One long, drawing pull, his vision flickered like a bad film.
Two. . . release . . . soft lick . . . His heart slammed against her tongue, eager.
Three. The mirrors began to swirl, his mind becoming foggy as oxygen to his brain was cut off.
She spoke between pulls, voice muffled against his skin yet perfectly clear inside his skull.
“Feel it, darling… how good it feels to give… how light… how perfect… every beat you give me is one you don’t have to carry anymore…”
Four. His hands rose, not to push her away but to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in silk-dark hair, pulling her closer the lack of oxygen and the feel of her body slowing his mind.
Five. A moan vibrated from her throat into his bloodstream. His cock jerked against her stroking hand and spent itself in thin, helpless pulses across the black satin over her thigh.
Six. The room tilted. He sagged; she held him up easily, thighs locked around his, mouth never breaking its slow, rhythmic kiss of death sucking deeply working to activate his vargus response.
Seven. His lungs forgot their job. He realized dimly he hadn’t breathed in almost a minute and didn’t care.
Eight. The scent was inside him now, blooming behind his eyes in crimson and gold.
Nine. He tried, one last flicker of survival, to turn his head away now realizing something was dangerously wrong. She followed effortlessly, lips sealed tighter, drawing harder, a soft, loving hum against his vein that said no, darling, stay with me.
Ten. His heart stuttered, frantic, then tried to match her rhythm because that was easier than fighting, the response she was seeking was starting…
Eleven. Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes. She licked one away, briefly breaking suction before returning her mouth to his neck.
Twelve. The transfer completed with a soft chime from her clutch. She smiled against his neck.
Thirteen.
The longest pull yet. She inhaled him, heartbeat, heat, future, everything, slow and reverent, as though savoring vintage wine. His body arched into her, spine bowing, a final, graceful surrender.
Fourteen.
A wet, hungry sound. His pulse fluttered like a dying moth against her tongue.
Fifteen.
She held him there, suspended in that endless draw, until the fluttering slowed… slowed… softened into silence.
Only then did she release him.
His body slid down the mirror in a languid collapse, expensive suit rumpled, eyes half-lidded and utterly peaceful, a dark, perfect bruise flowering where her mouth had been. She caught him before he hit the floor, lowering him gently until he sat propped against the corner, legs splayed, head tilted back, lips parted in a small, astonished smile.
She straightened his tie. Smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead. Retrieved her fallen stiletto and buckled it on, the tiny click loud in the stillness.
She pressed the button for the lobby.
As the car began its descent, she studied their reflections one last time, infinite copies of a woman in black satin stepping over a beautiful corpse, lipstick flawless, stockings scented with burnt honey and fresh death.
The doors opened to the empty lobby. The concierge still dozed.
She walked out without hurry, heels silent on marble, the scent lingering like perfume long after the woman was gone. She didn’t need to worry about the forensic evidence, the week before one of the cities crime tech’s was served a drink by a cute curvy Asian woman right before meeting a blonde knock out. He had the night of his life, or at least he thought he had as most of the night was only a foggy memory. The team however, had a back door into the cities evidence collection system and Ella’s prints and DNA would soon be replaced by Janet with those belonging to some other criminal in the city who conveniently would not have an alibi for the evening.
Behind her, the elevator doors closed again, taking the body and the evidence up to the forty-third floor where it would wait, patiently, for the morning to come. The three assassins had struck again and as always successfully got their target.