Mine to Mark Contest
Title: The Most Beautiful Mark
Word Count: 3,894
Summary: Edward knew he was going after Bella; he just didn't bank on the how and the why...
Warning: Sexy times and bad words. Reference to weapons and mild violence.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Twilight Saga, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, any other films/books with any similarities, or any works referred to herein.
"Eyes on the screen, people. This is who we're looking for." My boss, Berty, pointed at the technology centre in our current base.
It showed a stunningly sexy woman with pink, kissable lips, lovely bone structure, and perfect skin. This all seemed to contradict the cold look in her eyes, the "Come at me, bitch," attitude that seemed to emanate from her. But then it would; she had used her feminine wiles to win over a string of wealthy fools, finishing off anyone who had ever gotten in her way, Basic Instinct style. And now one of them had hired my firm to take her out.
"Oh, yeah! I'm not sure what I wanna do more, fuck her or fight her!" Demetri was very happy with what he saw.
"Shit, she's hot. But that bitch is going down, and I only mean that one way," were Mike's words.
"Well, I think I'll be the one to put her there." Paul said, pressing ahead with a plan.
"No, you won't. Not any of you. She's mine." She was the most beautiful mark I'd ever seen.
I studied up on her, tracked her, basically ate, slept, and breathed her, all the while working through ways to complete the task I'd set for myself.
I meant to sneak up behind her in a hired car and hit her from behind— Mmm...hit her from behind— but I failed to go through with it. I told myself it was because I wanted a more personal kill. I moved on to Plan B...
Bella Swan: sweetheart to those who raised her, ruthless witch to those she's ripped off, and random stranger to the people in this coffee shop. She ordered a skinny—gotta keep that shape—cappuccino with cinnamon (what the fuck? Weird...) sprinkles every morning to start the day. But she wouldn't be served that today. It was about time she learned she can't always get what she wants. And if I hadn't gotten into the whole hitman thing, I always said I'd have liked to go into teaching...
I'd paid off the teenager behind the till, and he'd taken my hot, pure espresso over to Bella, who had at least half that winning combo going on.
I swaggered over to her. How did I know this would work? Well, let's just say I've never had trouble hooking up with girls. And when they've given up the goods? I've never had anyone ask for their money back. My boys would tell you I'm a lady killer, something that was about to be put to the test.
"I believe there's been a mistake. This must be your coffee I have. You just can't get good staff these days!" I said, diving in to the operation with gusto.
"Oh, right," she replied. "Strange, what with them being such different drinks..."
"Yeah, well, maybe they were distracted. You are positively the most delicious thing in here, and I've had the double chocolate muffin." Cringe-worthy, sure, but it's all in the delivery.
"Well..." She stared at me, waiting for a name.
"Edward. I do prefer my coffee with a little milk. And my chat-up attempts."
"Ah, I see, so you like the shy, discerning type? I'm sorry, it probably was a bit strong." I made to leave, spilling some coffee on purpose. It poured onto her white V-neck T-shirt. I was taken with how the stain looked— like a smear, a symbol on her. From me.
"I'm so sorry!" I swept up the napkins she had sitting on the table and tried to soak up what I could from her chest area.
"Forget it!" She fought me off.
Fuck! Feisty, one we are!
"Allow me to make this up to you! Please, for my sake. I feel terrible. Let me take you out for dinner?"
"Do you find this approach usually works?"
"No, not at all. Then again, you seem...different."
"And what seems different about me?"
Dramatic pause. Then I pulled my prettiest, widest smile. "Everything."
I almost saw her shield split down the middle. Dinner date done deal. Phase one complete.
I'll let you in on a secret. You know that stunt that women pull where they're "fashionably late"? Well, it works for fellas, too. I didn't want to look like a Desperate Dan or a Keen Dean, even if this wasn't the real deal.
"You kept me waiting long enough." She was at our table, tapping her fingers on the cloth.
The only thing I wanted to tap was her.
She had on another V-neck, but this belonged to what I believed women referred to as the "Little Black Dress." What? Reading Cosmo is good for research purposes…This V dipped lower. Much lower.
Her brown hair hung over one shoulder. In the hand that wasn't worrying the tablecloth, she held a champagne flute up next to a fuck-hot pout. I almost forgot who I was let alone what I was supposed to be doing.
"My apologies, Ma'am." I was stunned to my silliest by the sight before me. And I'd once been tasered with 100,000 volts...
"Bite me" She said to my mock chivalry.
I took a seat opposite her at the table and asked the waiter for a whiskey; I was going to need it.
We ordered first and main courses, then made small talk till I tuned into the music playing.
"Might I bother you for a dance?" I did my worst with the dashing charm offensive.
"I thought this was about you sucking up to me after your mishap, and here you are asking me for more?"
Sucking up to Bella...Christ, I'm a hopeless deviant!
"Well, you can't hold it against me for trying."
I held her against me as we made our way around the dance floor.
"This music is wonderful!" With her out from behind the table, I could now admire her in full. She had a thigh-high slit in her dress, and the delicate straps of her shoes showed off her slim ankles. What was really wonderful tonight was her.
"The name of the piece"
"Oh. That's... appropriate."
"Uh... come again?" Or come once at my hands...
"Come on, you don't really think I fell for that come-on, do you? Didn't your research tell you I'm more than just a pretty face?"
I was floored. "What the fuck? You know? How? I mean, what do you—why would you come?" I felt like I could see right through to the core of her being at that moment. "Because you want to be. You like being marked." My mind swirled with this new knowledge.
"Do you have a weapon on you right now?" She seemed way too excited at the prospect.
"Please, keep it down?" We were not the only dancers on the floor.
She shimmied her way down to the floor and felt her way back up my body in a move that my work colleagues would call the slut drop. She made it look like a winner, though.
"Seems to me you're the one who needs to keep it down." She nodded towards my groin region.
"That's the deadliest weapon in my arsenal, woman."
We were starting to attract attention, so we ambled over to our table to find our first courses had arrived.
Bella studied her smoked salmon, then my face.
I pointed to her plate. "Seriously? You think I'd have you poisoned?"
She slowly picked up a spear of asparagus on the tines of her fork and held the tip between her lips before bringing her teeth down through it.
Oh, the phallic fuckery...
She swallowed before answering me. She might have been a hustler, but at least she had manners.
"Is poisoning not sophisticated enough for you? What approach did you decide to take instead? Do it after my last supper? Slyly tuck a knife down the side of the car seat? Are you going to drive me down a deserted road and stick it in me on the way home?"
I'll stick it in her, all right!
"I think the more important question is why exactly are you sitting here playing Come Dine with Me with a man you suspect wants to do away with you?"
You want to do her, more like...
She looked down to her lap then seemed to slip her mask back on. "Well, you're not about to carry out your hit here. You wouldn't want to make a scene. Besides, I suppose you're not the worst company in the world, and a girl has to eat."
"There's more. Tell me."
She took a moment to think, then said, "It's thrilling— to sip wine with someone who wants to kill me. It makes me feel free in a way I've never known."
"Free to do what?"
She dipped her head again then held my gaze. "To go to the bathroom, for example."
I gave her ten minutes to account for actually using the toilet, and any additional girly shit: make-up application, hair-fiddling, giving herself a mid-dinner treat to thoughts of me taking her down...
Then I was in the ladies room, ladies therein be damned.
Down in the last cubicle, a window was ajar enough to allow for the escape of one dainty but deadly lady in particular—a lady who had her own collection of weapons, including the art of seduction, and now, evasion.
I was so screwed.
And so it was, after that, Bella stayed off my radar, no matter how hard I tried to chase her down. It was as if she never existed. The agency was all on my dick about how I'd messed up my first target thus far in the line of duty, but I couldn't seem to care. All I could think about was what she was doing, who she was with... and why it wasn't me. And getting her on my dick.
Like with most things—keys, laptop passwords, clean pants—I found her when I was looking for something, or rather someone else.
I was filling my assignment car full of gas, getting ready to go after a guy I'd been given the go-ahead on, on the grounds of revenge for a rape that had gone unpunished in court. I glanced across the road where there was a motel, and caught Bella climbing out of the passenger side of a VW Rabbit—with some random boy in the driver's seat. Rewind!
Rabbit boy drove away, and with what I thought was stealth, I crossed the road, keeping my distance, and watched Bella disappear into an upstairs room.
Urged on by my rage at seeing her with another man, as well as visions of her with all those other others I'd studied up on, roused by my irrational attraction to her, I went up the stairs, searching for my Avanti 747 inside my suit jacket—just because my job involved a bit of blood and guts didn't mean I couldn't be a Gucci-looking motherfucker.
I made it as far as her motel door before going back to the stairs, where I sat down and ran my hands through my hair, more madman than hitman.
I sensed her before I heard her. "You can't do it, can you?"
We were beyond a worded answer to her question, but I had a question of my own.
"Who was he?" I kept my head turned away from her.
"Nobody. Some hick I sweet talked for a ride."
I stood up to confront her, the height difference between the step I occupied and where she stood bringing us eye-to-eye.
For a split second, the iciness in those chocolate brown eyes thawed, showing a mess of gorgeous chaos.
But, as always, the cold criminal came back.
"Would that make it easier for you, if I told you how his paws were all over me, wanting to make me his?"
That was like taking a bullet.
"Maybe you need more physical provocation?" That would be the part where she bitch-slapped me such a good one on my left cheek.
My brain broke; that's as scientific as I can be about it. I bent down, whipping my arms around her hot body, scooping her up. My goal was the bathroom of her hired room.
I ran the shower rather cold and threw her under it, fully clothed.
"Let's not take any chances. That's to wash him away if he has touched you. Now, you stay there and cool off!"
I could do with some cooling off myself. I lunged back into the bedroom.
Bella was not the type of woman to do as she was told at the best of times, let alone when she was soaking wet, shivering, and angry. And...horny?
She was hot on my heels, working her way out of her short dress, which was now stuck to her skin.
Yellow lace panties—bullseye!—were pulled off, along with a bra that completed the set. She presented her beautiful self to me, bare and unspoiled.
"Mark the spot you hate with an X. Aim and fire." She was pushing me.
I pulled up right in her face. "I only hate that you make me want you so much."
I grabbed her by the chin, and smacked the lips on her, sinking into the sweet feeling of surrender—a new sensation for me.
My white flag flying high, I flung her onto the mattress and grabbed a lipstick she had left on the side table.
"Femme Fatale Red," I remarked, reading the shade on the base. "Very fitting." I took off the lid and lined her lipstick up with her stupendous breasts. "Not such a bad idea that: X marks the spot..."
Still suited up, with her wonderfully naked, I marred her mind-blowingly flawless canvas with the screaming red color, like a plastic surgeon maps out a patient for constructive work—only I was mapping out her deconstruction. I was mapping out what was mine, what had to be.
One mark on each breast. Mine.
Down to the triangle of downy hair below her torso. Mine.
I made her turn over onto her stomach, and tainted her the two mounds of her ass with my magic marker. "I'm claiming that, too, at some point."
Oops! I'd said that out loud. And she loved it. She was practically humping sheet.
In turn, I took off my clothes, so I could rub up on her, not only instinctively, because I wanted to be inside her, but because I wanted to burn my skin onto hers.
Then came the biting. I bit her neck like I was her own personal vampire, her hips as they almost hit the ceiling, her cleavage, her cute little cheeks— both sets. In summary, everywhere I could sink my teeth into.
"Yes, bite me!' She echoed her sentiment form our first date. Sweet, but enough with strolling down memory lane…
I craved the satisfaction that came with bringing her pleasure every which way I could. My tongue invaded her mouth, my fingers her pussy. I even fed one finger into the mega tight hole further back from there. I never got to feed her up at our meal together; it was only fair I filled her this way. And much more fun.
Then I did a switcheroo, serving her one long finger from her pussy to taste, my tongue lapping at the luscious fuck holes between her legs.
I licked her off my lips as I straddled her stomach.
"What are you doing?" she demanded. "You're killing me. Kiss me! Fuck me!" She was frantic. Kill me, kiss me, thrill me?
"I call the shots." I would have taken the time for an intellectual titter at the irony there if I wasn't so concerned with searing my genetic code onto her very soul. Starting from the outside..."I have to fuck those tits." I held them around my huge hard-on, like they were hugging it. My hips were thrusting without any conscious thought on my part, making my wood work back and forth in her breasts' embrace.
That hugging had to end sooner rather than later since I didn't want to shoot my load yet—the only shooting I'd be doing in her direction. I had more areas to roam with my hard steel first. And I'm not referring to the barrel of my gun...
I rushed further up her front, finding my way into that fierce mouth of hers. It felt fucking fantastic to have her lips around my cock, gagging her. I got off on vindication.
"Got no snide comments now, have you, you exquisite little head-fuck? Just a mouthful of fat cock. Feels amazing to be the one to shut your pretty mouth for you."
Or open it wide, as the case may be...
My crude terms only fueled her on as much as the wild way with which I was attacking her. She moaned around me, making double the effort to swallow me down her throat.
It was time. I knew how I had to have her.
"Hands and knees."
She kneeled forward, hands splayed out.
So she can obey orders after all.
Ideas of taming her with my cock filled my head, as I hit my target quite literally head-on, tunnelling into her heavenly heat from behind. Best hit ever. I howled in victory; she screamed out in sheer, agonizing ecstasy.
"Is that your spot? Yeah, this is what you needed, what you've been missing, isn't it. Did none of those idiots have what it takes? Is that how you're such a tight little bitch?" It wasn't just my speech that was out of control. I fucked her like an animal, striking her ass hard enough to leave a red raw handprint. She wasn't the only one who knew how to land a slap. The view of her ass, squirming in response, was like red raw meat dangled in front of a tiger. I roared and took my thrusting to a furious level, the slapping sounding out now that of our skin smacking together, till she let go around my meat.
Difficult as it was not to detonate inside her, I made sure to get out in time to spray her as much as possible. The peak of our sex, then seeing the resulting streaks on her back and ass, aware that I'd put them there, made me feel more alive than I ever had, even when I'd narrowly escaped death.
I hunched over her, not caring about the carnage I was resting amongst.
I slept better that night than I ever had before—better even than those nights I'd finally brought down some asshole that had been hanging over me for too long, and sounder than any night before I got into all that shit.
When sunlight sneaked through the curtains, I caught her inspecting herself in the mirror, her hands caressing the bruises, bite marks, and other such evidence of our mating.
I made towards her from the place it all happened.
"I'm not even sorry," I said smugly, shifting her hair out of the way so we could get a better view.
"Me neither." She smirked back at me in the mirror.
She bent forward, hands to the glass, and we showed each other just how not sorry we were.
We stayed in that motel room for two more days, happy as pigs in our own dirt, fucking to drown out the voices in our heads that demanded we do, and then doing it some more, me leaving marks of ownership all over her soft skin and her thanking me for it.
But we couldn't hide much longer.
I had to face the consequences of my choices, just like the fuckers we took out at the agency.
Speaking of the agency, I had to finish the hit I was working on the day I checked into Motel Bella, and what's more, I had to carry it out pro bono to correct my wrongs with them. Then I had to bow out quietly, keeping Bella and myself on the DL so she could be believed dead. I didn't care too much about that; I'd paid my dues there. I'd miss not having to endure the daily grind of a typical job, as it was unlikely I'd be able to apply for the same gig elsewhere; it wasn't like being a sales assistant or something. I'd miss the guys, but I'd majorly fucked up, and they were a lot softer on me than they had any reason to be.
Besides, not to sound like some lame ad for women's shit, but what I got in the bargain was... worth it.
Bella and I both changed our images, so as not to take chances with being found out now that we'd found each other.
I went for a shaved head, which she loved to smooth her hands over. I had contacts in a lot, which irritated the hell out of me, and I had to cut down on the labels, but like I said, these were all small sacrifices in the grand scheme of things.
There were advantages to the new look. I was sporting some scruff on my chin, which Bella called the "Pussy Tickler." It made her purr like a trained feral cat when it scraped against her, and the scratches were another way to show where I'd been...
She dyed her hair darker and got a shorter, shaggier haircut, which just made me want to shag her all the more. She toughened up her wardrobe and went for a nose piercing. She was my little punk princess.
It wasn't like I didn't miss her old image, the one that had first struck me, but the new one was really something to behold, and she'd always be my Bella.
The day she danced through the door of our current digs, telling me she had something to show me, then lifting her tight denim shirt to display a small tattoo of my initials above her groin, got her another good, hard fucking from behind so I wouldn't hurt the new scar tissue too much.
We were like two teenage runaway delinquents. The fact that I now felt I was protecting her rather than pursuing her only brought out more possessiveness in me. That she was mine didn't douse the flames of our passion; they burned stronger. The pull between us was like that between magnets, the lust a beast that, when fed, only hungered for more.
Lust turned to love, as it often does, and still we couldn't leave each other alone. At first, it was enough to have my essence on her; the smell of me on her skin made everything bad in my world weak.
But even that wasn't enough anymore. She was like an addiction. Some might say it was unhealthy, even try to argue that we showed the early signs of an abusive relationship, but that would be shit-talking. All that mattered was that we knew what we had. It wasn't just about me having power over her; she controlled me just as much. Ours was a love that was at times jealous and inconvenient, but we wouldn't settle for anything less.
In hotels, motels, apartments, and hideaways scattered all across the country, I continued to have her every way I could, except that which my craving for had increased exponentially. We were experimenting more in the general area. Yep, I was going for my brown wings. And I'd get there— flap, mother fucking flap!
We even fooled around with bondage. Some tools of my old trade I still had in my possession proved useful. So sue me, I was a sucker for the way the rope marked her long after I untied her.
Ultimately, though, there was something more traditional we had to do to be happy that we truly belonged to each other.
When that day came, with her clad in an ivory shift dress, if not for long, I carried Bella over the threshold of a motel room much like the one I carried her over the day I staked my claim. She looked more breath-taking than ever. I repaid the favor by taking her breath away as the ink dried on the stamp of our marriage certificate, the mark that legally made her mine. Forever.