Under Covers

twenty-two | paris

A/N: y'all, this is my fav chapter so far and things are only getting ✨spicier✨ from here... please show me some Jake and Rayna some support in the comments, I miss hearing from y'all SO MUCH ILYSSSMMMMM xoxo Ami

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twenty-two | paris

the cabaret Le Moulin Rouge originated in Paris's red light district in 1889; it was the birthplace of the can-can dance, originally intended as a seductive attraction by prostitutes who worked out of the establishment

RAYNA

May 8th, 23:11 (GMT +2)
7 days until it happens

JAKE CARTS ME like a sack of potatoes through the shiny lobby of our four-star boutique hotel while I thrash in his arms, my face florid with humiliation. The clerk at reception gapes at us, but Jake flashes his MI6 badge and marches wordlessly up four sets of stairs, his fingers digging bruisingly into my thighs to keep me anchored over his shoulder.

He shoves open his room door and deposits me onto the armchair by the sprawling windows. Through the glass, millions of lights flicker across the city, the distant soar of the Eiffel tower beaming into the inky night sky.

He sheds his holster and drops both our guns onto the desk. I watch him shuck his leather jacket and hang it neatly in his ordered, pristine closet. (What a weirdo. My clothing is spewing out of my suitcase as we speak.)

Behind my back, the steel restraints nip into my wrists. I kick my restless feet against the ground. "Will you fucking uncuff me or do I need to yell?" I shimmy my bound arms uselessly. "Because so help me God, I will shout so fucking loud the goddamn Queen of England will hear me."

Blandly, he arches a dark eyebrow at me. "An empty threat, love. She's used to hearing women scream my name."

A tangle of warmth churns in the pit of my belly at the memory of his fingers pistoning into me a half-hour ago. I tuck my knees together, disgruntled and unsatisfied. "For someone so arrogant, your ego is pitifully fragile." My nose wrinkles. "Everything needs to be exactly the way you want it or else it threatens you, and you get all grouchy and moody! It's pathetic."

He stands there with his arms crossed over his lean chest, imposing, towering, and tall. "I don't give a fuck how you do something," he bites back, "as long as you fucking think before you do it."

I roll my eyes towards the ceiling with a loud scoff. "That's bullshit! You're a control freak."

His bristled jaw tics. "Plans exist for a reason. When people don't follow the rules, bad things happen. You're not invincible, Rayna. You're just lucky."

Even though there's obviously some deep-wrought baggage there, my blood broils. It's the same fucking shit everyone always says. I'm impulsive, not adaptable. I'm short-sighted, not a quick-thinker. The soles of my feet bore into the floor. "I hope you fall off your fucking high-horse and break your stupid neck." My voice goes wobbly. "We would not be having this conversation if I were a dude. Newsflash, Jake, I have bigger balls that you ever will."

Jake shakes his head and throws an aggravated hand through his tousled hair. "You'd be just as irritating with a dick instead of a pretty pink pussy, Rayna."

Thinking about his dick and my pretty pink pussy ignites a squirm at the crest of my thighs. The air between us crackles with a stormy metallic itch, like just before a bolting strike of lightening.