Chapter Text
Ladybug thanked the driver with a nod as she left the back seat. She tightened the thick sash across her waist, tucked her left hand in the pocket as she climbed the ridiculous amount of steps to get to their location. Every month they rotated out different locations— harder to track, harder to locate, if most of her workmen didn’t know where to go unless she sent out a coded message— and this particular mansion was the worst.
She hated the steps on this one.
Long marble steps to get up to a vast double door made entirely out of glass made it all the more easier to watch herself grumble under her breath as she climbed the steps up to the front door in her heels. Ladybug would have commissioned someone to fix the steps to this particular base if she didn’t have to keep up the appearance that this place was expendable.
She didn’t technically own the house. It was just a front for their operation.
But the stairs were horrible and should be nuked. She had half a mind to pull the steps out with her own hands, manicure be damned.
She nodded a thank you to the silent worker who pulled the door open for her, keeping her aching and puffing breath to herself. No one needed to know that she— Lady Luck, effeminate reincarnation of retribution and justice— was winded from a pair of steps. She took in the scenery of this particular house in front of her: the lavish chandelier hanging from a chiseled ceiling, the console table able to seat twenty comfortably should the need ever arise, and an even larger rug that framed the foyer.
Her heels sank lightly into the rug. Warm fireplace air enveloped her from the cold, and she sighed silently in gratitude. Even with the setting sun blazing at her back, Ladybug was susceptible to the cold. She pulled her coat open, and passed her purse to the same employee, her gloves shining in the afternoon sun through the glass door. She slid out of expensive red cashmere and passed it off to the man, and handed him the thick rim of her sunglasses.
She wasn’t afraid of any tampering that might occur— if this employee toyed or bugged any of her garments, she would know the difference in weight immediately down to the gram.
“Is he here?”
“Yes, Madame.” The man folded her coat into his arm, keeping a respectable distance from her, but making sure to be attentive. “He is in the living room.”
Perfect.
“That would be all. Take half a packet.” She nodded once more to the employee, slipping past him and curving behind the stairs that led to the second and third floors.
The man with her coat left her to an undisclosed room, staying near to where she was as a preventative in case there was a coup, but not close enough to hear the resulting conversation.
She looked to the living room— slightly closed off for privacy with a dividing screen nearly the size of the tall walls surrounding the area— and smiled to herself at seeing broad shoulders, a long arm wrapped around the back of the sofa, and blonde hair peeking out from the other side of the couch.
“Chat Noir.”
At the sound of his name, he turned his head slightly to face her, his chin tucked into the grooves of his leathered fingers. He was unmasked, like she’d hoped him to be.
No visitors.
No guests.
Tonight, it would be just the two of them.
His ring glinted in the fireplace light as she rounded the sofa and found herself longing to know the weight of his hands on her body. She kept her smile safe and guarded, a plaster of charm and elegance an easy mask to slip into when she was confronted with feelings of this kind to this man. She took on the appearance of his ankle crossed on his other knee, a smooth line of black slacks leading up to an even blacker button down.
This man would be the death of her. Hopefully.
Chat Noir was nothing short of handsome. Tall, blonde— golden hair and peeks of tan skin that glistened appreciatively whenever his button down was popped open at the top— she fell in love instantly when she’d first met him. A full decade of their relationship had made the young adult into a solid man— filled with sinful smiles, playful banter that always got too close to warming her core insatiably. There was a never-ending fire within her whenever she looked at him, and took note of his unwavering loyalty.
She could burn her entire empire to the ground, and leave with nothing to her name, and Chat Noir would be willing to follow. She didn’t deserve this.
Chat Noir’s gaze flitted over her, taking in the floor length evening gown— black, his color— that made her look taller. An expressive eyebrow rose up to his hairline when he recognized the dress, his green eyes dancing over her exposed decolletage to the thin straps around her shoulders.
His eyes finally lifted to look up at her and the parting of her black hair that framed her face, and rested on her red lips. A private smile found its way onto his face, slightly hidden from behind his fingers, but it was enough to make her entire body sing. “My Lady.”
She sat across from him on the other sofa, crossing her legs slightly to create a better silhouette for herself, giving him the impression that she didn’t see the subtle shift of his legs. Immediately her body was starting to feel like a strummed string while in his presence.
She eyed the bottle of wine on the low table in front of them, the cork near the glass closest to him. His black domino mask near his glass, folded ribbons tucked in. She poured herself two thumbs of liquid with the empty glass closest to her, bringing up to her nose to smell. She was proud of herself for not stalling any longer. “I hope everything went well?”
Chat Noir’s chest puffed as he dragged his shoulders down, a thick black smudge against the cream sofa. The sound of his leather gloves was music to her ears as he clenched his right hand into a fist near his lap. “Yes. I’m officially a free man now.”
She gave a noise for him to continue, distracting herself by swirling the liquid in her glass.
“The target was found nearly hours after you assigned him to me. The states were harder to get into, to be honest. Visas are hard to come by for people as handsome as me.”
“I’m sure they are,” She spoke into her glass, humor taking shape on her face.
“Within the week I had the target in a bag, and disposed of using the contact you’d given me.” A wide smile showed beautiful glinting teeth, bordering predatory if she wasn’t accustomed to the way his eyes lit up in pride. “He struggled a bit. Never imagined he knew how to fight with a staff— thanks for forgetting to tell me about that, by the way. I thought staff fighting was out of style. There was a pointy end on one of the sides. Nicked me on the bicep real good. I had to get four stitches to get it back together, but I’m fine. I got back within the last couple of hours.”
Chat Noir was excellent at staff fighting, ever since she’d met him. She’d seen countless times the way the staffs nearly disappeared from how fast he could move them. “I picked your last target well, then. I wanted you to get as much use out of your favorite weapon, and I wanted it to come of a surprise to you.”
“Of course,” He chuckled. “It was a wonderful present.”
She glanced back up from her glass. “No jet lag or fatigue?”
His eyes narrowed at her, beautiful lips pulling into a smirk. “None. But if you’re offering for me to go to bed anytime soon, I’d gladly take your offer so long as you’re in it with me.”
Laughter came easily, but the searing in her body was hard to ignore. Thick tendrils of want curled so warmly in her core. “A newly freed man shouldn’t try to immediately go back to crime.”
He rolled his eyes. “Would it be a crime to have you, my Lady?”
Maybe she should indulge herself with responding.
“I’m sure it would be a crime to leave me afterwards when I’m through with you.” She paused at the slow inhale Chat Noir gave. Her hands never gave away how much they wanted to shake with thrill. She’d never given an implication that she wanted him, ever, always batting off his advances and flirting. She shrugged, trying to alleviate the build of tension. “Maybe I could have you tracked. Make sure that you’re not able to leave the country ever again.”
“You’d be that upset at me if I left? Assuming I would even be able to?” She wanted to run her hands through his hair the way he did now, the first obvious sign of his cool starting to break. Her best man she had, with more than four dozen confirmed kills, easily flustered by her the moment she responds to his flirting.
Oh, yes.
This was going to be fun.
“To the point of ruining your plans of retiring off in the West Indies, to never be seen again?” She did the best she could to imply that she was more put together than what her body was threatening to show, body warm and languid. “I would do anything in my power to keep you.”
Ladybug thanked the two faceless men who placed the tray of food in front of them, because of course she did. Ladybug always made a show to thank the people who she employed.
Chat Noir looked at his plate, then back at the two men who left the dining room quickly like they didn’t want to stay any second longer. It was likely that they truly didn’t— and he didn’t blame them. It was hard to stay near Ladybug without succumbing to her every will. The power that she had in her smile alone could bring a man to his knees. Best to stay away from his Lady while she was out for blood like she was today.
He could almost feel it on his lips the way her body was strung up. He was most likely one of the only people in the entire world that could read her this well— how the soft lines of her shoulders were held just a smidge too high. Her blue eyes just a touch sharper. How she fidgeted with her wine instead of sipping like usual. What years of working for her as her best hitter does to a man.
He hadn’t expected Ladybug to show in that dress. Black, form fitting at the natural waist with only the tiniest, delicate straps to hold up the entire dress— he’d recognized it almost instantly when he saw the peak of leg coming from the slit on the side. A recent Agreste gown produced in late spring of this very year, it hadn’t looked this beautiful on the model. With Ladybug, the gown was liquid on her skin, as was the feeling that pooled in his stomach. He was always blown away by how easy it was for Ladybug to look like she belonged. Her confidence was astounding, and it always served her well.
She was teasing him with the dress.
It wasn’t a coincidence that she had picked an outfit from a collection from his estranged father’s own fashion line. Of course not. Ladybug knew his real name— the only one he trusted to know his face behind the flimsy mask. The fabric on her body was almost glossy in the firelight, and in the dim light Chat Noir could see her chest rise and fall so softly under the panels of her dress.
Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
However, Ladybug was almost indifferent to the way she looked— she’d been on edge ever since she came in, thick red lips parting in one of the first genuine smiles he’d seen her give the entire afternoon.
His Lady was a serious woman, expected of her from her profession. She couldn’t be the head of the entire operation if she couldn’t stand her ground.
But even now there was too much edge to her— her eyes could cut straight through glass if she chose to. He wondered not for the first time tonight what exactly had Ladybug so stressed.
Chat Noir untied his mask when the two men left. He turned the silly venician mask in his hands, suddenly realizing that this would be one of the last times he would ever use it for the remainder of his life. He had a reputation to keep— and if he was going to retire starting tonight, this mask wouldn’t be of any more use to him.
Ladybug was the only person who knew who he was truly, name and all. It spoke volumes to him that he never feared the idea of her knowing who he was. She could break him into little pieces at the slight nod of her head— make sure that his face and name was plastered at every single targetbody listing across the world.
There would be nowhere to hide. And yet here he was sitting in front of her, Ladybug attempting to hide her nerves as if he was holding all the cards.
How peculiar.
He placed the mask down to his side. He smiled at their dinner, the sight of a lobster tail flanked by a bed of rice nearly singing praises in his body. The first food they’d shared when their relationship— professional or otherwise— had started. When she had first asked him to work for her, and he hadn’t processed yet that he hadn’t been set up when he came to find a young woman with the reddest lips he’d ever seen. Almost a decade ago his life had changed with this meal.
His heart warmed. “A parting gift, my Lady?”
“From your favorite place.” She picked up her fork, not exactly answering his question.
He chuckled. The lobster alone was worth almost as much money as his first ever hitman job. “You shouldn’t have.”
“This is the least I can do. I’ll miss you.”
Something was definitely up, if she was so willing to admit that.
“You know I’ll always be there for you. I’m always a call away.” He spoke into his dinner, trying not to choke on his food as he realized what he said.
He hadn’t meant his burner. Ladybug always knew what his real cell phone number was. He’d broken the burner on his way home, not needing it any more now that he was done with hitwork. The idea of Ladybug talking to him on his real phone nearly knocked the wind out of him.
He swallowed. “Drag me out of early retirement if you realize that you working alone sounds as boring as I’d told you. Or if you’re looking for a late-night body disposer.”
Ladybug was silent for most of the meal, placing well-meaning hums between lapses of his conversation to let him continue. She was silent most of the time anyway, and he was used to the pauses in their exchange when he couldn’t fill it.
She let him talk and comment on whatever he wanted, so long as he managed to eat whatever she gave him— an unspoken rule between them. Ladybug enjoyed seeing him dine with her. It just so happened that Chat Noir loved being in her company.
So he spoke more about the target— where he’d found the man, where he was tracked down to when he managed to get out the first time. How he’d had to find the backup that was on the roof. Every single video feed had been scrubbed. Nothing about his appearance or who he was could get out. The target was bagged within the hour of killing.
Chat Noir had instructed the recovery team to burn and bury the man with the staff that had gotten him. He’d stitched his bicep himself, sitting on the toilet of the apartment his civilian self had rented out, pulling suture wire through his flesh.
The fireplace’s glow danced along the table as he spoke as methodically as he could, trying to talk as much as he could with her before their time was up. He wouldn’t be allowed to enter this house— or any of the other safehouses ever again. Starting tonight, there would be a barrier between him and his Lady.
He wouldn’t know anything about her whereabouts.
Her conquests.
He wouldn’t know if she was still the most prominent underground figure. It would be almost complete radio silence for him. But he knew in his gut that she would be watching him, in the way she always did, always making sure that he was still there. Always making sure that her best hitman was always there. Always safe.
His heart warmed at the idea.
He watched the light of the fireplace crackle against the porcelain of her skin, and he frowned at her almost-casual distracted state. Her hands were starting to white around the stem of her glass, he was sure of it, even if he couldn’t see them because of her gloves. Her eyes were distant, plump red lips slightly parted as she exhaled slowly.
“My Lady,” He called after he had finally taken the last bite. Her eyes lifted to meet his.
“I am— I’m sorry. I am being terrible.” She shifted her shoulders. “On your last day, too.”
“You’re not being terrible.” He hoped he wasn’t overstepping. But it was likely that if she wouldn’t tell him what was wrong, she wasn’t going to tell anyone. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Ladybug pursed her lips, and brought her hand to rest underneath her chin. She used her other hand to roll the lip of the glass on her finger, toying with it. She scrutinized him with her gaze, picking him apart with ease.
Chat Noir didn’t hide from her, instead choosing to look at her in the eye the entire time, letting the silence settle between them, the space being filled with the singe and crack of fire. There was nothing that he had that she didn’t already know of, it’s true, but Ladybug had never debated on actions as much as she had now, in front of him. Whatever it was she was thinking about, it was clearly enough of a problem for her to pour more wine for herself.
She sipped quietly, staring into her glass. “I don’t think I can let you retire this week.”
Chat Noir didn’t let his face show confusion, knowing that there was more to the story. But she soaked it in anyway— heated gazes resting on his jawline. The strain was almost too much to bear. He’d have to cancel his flight. Unpack his luggage. He didn’t have a new place to stay. Postpone his trip to his new house. He’d been looking forward to seeing what the architect had done with the master bathroom after nearly two months of back and forth arguing about the bathtub placement with the workers.
He tried for humor, letting a smile grace his features. “One last-last request from me? Can you even afford to pay me for this one, my Lady?”
That eased tension off her shoulders. “I can assure you that I can. More than two hundred sixty times the last amount.”
He hummed. This target was somewhere in the eighty millions. How other fieldmen hadn’t gotten whiff of the scent at the amount of money put into play was beyond him. He sipped from his glass, “Some target you’re in need of assistance with. You don’t ever break your promises.”
“I do not.” She agreed, eyes tight and antsy. “But this is a– a special target. I’ve even gone through with updating your boarding pass. After this job, you’ll be leaving next Wednesday.”
The payment was more than enough to convince him. But it felt like Ladybug was stalling from letting him leave. Well. At least he didn’t have to worry about the customer service he would have had to talk to in order to reschedule his flight to Barbados. He hated being put on hold. “Is this someone you can’t take care of?”
“I can take care of them just fine,” Her mouth curled. “But I would rather have you do it.”
His eyes narrowed. “Will I have to stitch my arm back together again?”
“Maybe even more.” She laughed quietly to herself. He wished he could share the laughter with her.
He watched her get up and pace across the dining room, slim arms wrapping around herself as she looked into the fireplace in contemplation. She looked back at him, a black smudge haloed by a golden warm light that caressed all of her beautiful curves, her eyes nearly grey.
He had yet to show any expression on his face, but she smiled anyway, even if it was a little bitterly. “This might make or break you.”
Interesting. “Target name?”
“Not yet.” Her gloved fingers traced circles on the skin of her arms. The firelight made her body in the dress look all the more sleeker, the black silk fabric glowing at the edges. “Let’s enjoy this night a little longer while we still have the time. Put on your mask. I’m going to call them to take the plates away.”
He slipped the ties back on behind his head. The same two men who had served them had their gazes down when they reentered the room out of privacy and respect. Ladybug never masked her face, letting people know that she didn’t care if they knew what she looked like.
He’d yet to have seen anyone attempt to threaten her, ever since when she’d taken out the last man by herself in her own office. The gun hadn’t even turned cold before she had called him through his burner, voice slightly clipped. He’d stayed with her in the same safehouse for nearly a month, in a room beside hers, keeping watch and listening. He’d had been on the cusp of moving in entirely, forgoing his own house in favor of staying with her, before she’d sent him to find another target, and they had never spoken about it again.
His Lady was a strong one. He couldn’t help but worry about her anyway.
“Jacques,” She stopped one of the men as they left. The man stiffened at his name, and turned to her from the far entrance of the room.
Chat Noir heard the man swallow. “Madame?”
Ladybug tilted her head, looking at the mantelpiece above the fireplace. She dusted it off with her fingertips, rubbing the pads of her fingers together to try to take it off. “Tell Bourgeois if she wishes to see me about the latest processing case, she will have to do it next week. If she doesn’t contact me by then, she won’t be able to ever again. I will drop her and find another lawyer.”
“Yes, Madame.”
Her eyes burned liquid blue as she looked up. “No one is to come in for the rest of the week. As for everyone in the house currently, tell them to leave for the next week and a half. Everyone picks up a new packet. If I find out that anyone is still in this house after an hour, I will personally kill and bag them with my own hands.”
Jacques’s mouth twitched as he searched for answers between Chat Noir and her, never meeting their eyes. Chat Noir didn’t give him the luxury of seeing surprise on his own face.
Something was definitely up with this new target, to send everyone in the safe house away. There were probably a dozen or so people in the house, even though he hadn’t seen any cars when he had pulled up earlier in the day.
Why did she want everyone to leave? If the target was that big of a deal?
Jaques spoke slowly, poorly concealing his trepidation. “Yes, Madame.”
“You pick up two packets for the trouble of hauling everyone out of here.” Ladybug continued, waving her dusty hand in a manner to get him to leave. Her tone was absolute. “Leave for a month. Enjoy your time. I suggest Singapore. That is all.”
Jacques left with his head bowed. Chat Noir watched him go, fists curling in his lap. Curiosity chewed him through.
Who had Ladybug managed to get the attention of so heavily that she wanted them disposed of within this week, instead of the customary four-day break for fieldmen to have?
Someone that Ladybug had even broken her promise of letting him go after the final target on his list?
Someone that even she didn’t want to take care of?
The implication that he could do a better job than her at whoever this target was filled him with cold pride.
He didn’t want to disappoint her, and he couldn’t contain himself from the smile that pulled at his lips, knowing that he was the best in her selection. Slightly injured and all.
Ladybug sighed to herself, turning back to the fireplace, Jacques and the other employee gone. There was rustling just outside of where they stayed, indicating that people were starting to move out. “That was either the bravest, or stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my entire career.”
Chat Noir chuckled, pulling the ties off his mask. He folded it into his pants pocket, standing up to go join her, glasses in tow. He gave her the glass, watching her dainty yet powerful fingers curl around the stem with interest. “I can assure you I’ve done worse.”
“Of course you have.” Her laughter bubbled, a soft and gentle sound. “I’m appalled that you’re able to make me feel better so easily.”
“I’ll always be here,” He supplied, heat stirring in his chest at the sound of her amusement. “You and me against the world, my Lady. I’d do anything for you.”
“Yes,” she murmured, letting the silence linger, her smile nowhere close to leaving her face. “Me and you against the world.”
They watched the flames as they sipped, giving in to the need to be close to warmth. There was a small detriment to Ladybug’s plan to wear the luxurious dress, since it barely covered her back and the top of her chest. Her opera gloves were good to keep warmth, sure, but he could see the slow rise of goosebumps on her skin the more and more she entertained the idea of stepping further away from the fireplace.
“I’ve thought about this for a long while.” Ladybug spoke softly. She sipped slowly from the glass he presented her, nerves quietly eating at her. If he could, he would’ve petted her shoulders until they rested. Instead of following through with his idea, she pulled her glove that was covered in dust off by pulling at it with her teeth, letting the black silk fall to the floor by her feet after a faint woosh! noise.
He finally had the audacity to look surprised, looking down at her glove. “You mean, give me this name?”
“Yes,” She took another sip. “This name has plagued me for years.”
His brows pinched slightly. “Why did you wait until now to give it to me? You’ve had ten years.”
“I’m not sure.” Her eyelashes smudged her beautiful blue eyes as she continued to look down. It was hard to tell what she was feeling. “I guess I just didn’t believe that you’d one day actually retire. I guess I thought I had a longer time to deal with this.”
He huffed into his drink. “I’m good at not dying, you know.”
“Very good,” She agreed easily.
“But even sometimes the luckiest of us get caught.”
“Yes,” She quieted. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have waited so long. You know, I’ll miss you very much when you depart. You’re still here, and yet I’m already feeling lonely.”
He paused. Why was she being so… so forthcoming tonight? “I’ll do the job with a guarantee, my Lady.”
She looked up at him, a dark smile on her face. “Oh, Chat Noir. I have no doubt in my mind that you will.”
She was starting to get way too antsy. She could tell in the way her mind couldn’t stop thinking of anything except the way Chat Noir’s jaw moved as he spoke, how his lips look soft and bitter like the wine they consumed.
She wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel the heat of his shoulders against her palms as she slides against him, gasping into his mouth. The warm air that had been such a pleasure when she had originally arrived now felt stifling and hot in her bones as they moved back to the dining table on the prospect of her giving more details.
They’d stalled long enough. Conversation hadn’t come particularly easy for either of them, even if Chat Noir had put up a valiant effort to attempt to derail their thoughts to his next job.
Her mind was too distant— thinking about the liquid that pooled in her body, and the way Chat Noir looked at her with dazzled, wide eyes.
She’d gotten him interested in his final target.
Good.
She hoped she could keep the interest there. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if she lost him the moment she showed him the new name.
Chat Noir hissed lowly when his stitches slightly pulled under his sleeve shirt. Under the influence of her nerves, Ladybug’s mouth struggled to keep the thought of asking him to undress for her to check his wounds to herself.
If she was any more antsy, she might have started to shake her legs under the table. She needed to remain in control. At least until the very end. No need to give Chat Noir any implications of who it was until she was ready to give him the name.
“Do you know where the target is located?”
She nodded. Time for a little game. “Paris.”
“Close by in the city?”
“Could even get closer, if you so choose.” Ladybug nearly bit her lip, cursing herself out in her head. Stop trying to flirt while in the middle of playing with fire. Remain in control.
She couldn’t stop herself from looking at his hands. She wanted them wrapped on her shoulders, her sides. She wouldn’t mind the mark his ring would give her. She hoped that the stain would last for days.
“My Lady, take a breath.” He chuckled darkly. He reached over to her, long arms resting up against the table, his gloved hands attempting to pry the wine glass out of her hand. Maybe she was a little bit too out of it. Her entire arm sizzled with warmth as his large palm encircled her wrist with ease. He’d never touched her before, the leather felt wonderful on her bare skin. She wanted his hands on her entire body so desperately. “This name has you worried.”
“I’m not worried,” She lied, putting a bit of a fight to keep his hand covered on her. “Concerned, maybe.”
Concerned that he might get up and leave for good.
“Are they that much of a problem?” His eyebrows pinched at that, as if he’d uncovered a secret to her past— as if he’d somehow convinced himself that she was way over her head.
“No. A little hard to handle, according to some,” She found herself raising a brow. “But certainly doable.”
“But you’re over your head with them.”
“Who said I was?”
“To send out me?” His smile looked a little wicked, just a smidge too proud and greedy. “My Lady, you have so many other choices, but I’m your best one out there. Aren’t I?”
“That’s not true. I only have you.”
“That isn’t true at all, my Lady. Why not send more than just one person? Rena? Pegasus? I’ll even work with Ryuko, if you need me to.”
“I only need you.” It was too easy to confess it. “I’ve only ever needed you.”
Chat Noir was silent for a long time, and she watched him try not to take her words too literally, even though that’s how she’d meant it. “You need subtly?”
“I don’t want a crowd.” An audience would be mortifying, and she had long been done entertaining groups for a living.
“How quickly do you need the job done?”
Her lips curled. “Before you leave.”
“Do you need this to be done with any weapons?”
“A staff,” She tried not to smile at her own pun. “Hit hard— leave marks. Make it obvious you were there. Make it almost impossible to think of anything else except the pain, if they were to live.”
“I can do that.” Oh, there was no doubt in her mind that he could, and she tried not to shudder a breath as she watched him lick his lips, “What do you want the scene to look like?”
“Violent and passionate. You’re more than capable of doing that with your staff, no doubt, but I’m sure you can do it with your hands. They’re more than enough.”
He wasn’t catching on. The poor man. He had no idea just how much his hands in those gloves consumed her thoughts to the point where she genuinely couldn’t think.
“What do you need to be left behind?”
“DNA,” At this, she cracked a smile, and she felt a blush stain the sides of her face. She’d never felt this crude before, but it was addicting. She was hungry for more.
His eyes narrowed. “Am I framing someone?”
“No. The DNA will be yours.” She hoped. “You won’t be caught, but leave a trace. Leave many. Claw marks, bite marks, bruises, fluids– leave it all. I’ll make sure that we’re the only ones who know of it.”
Completely and totally clueless. She’d never seen such a confused look on his face, but he pressed on, following her to the bitter end. “Where does the target go to, usually?”
“Our safehouses.” She finally— finally— won the battle to keep the wine glass, transferring it to her other hand. She dared him to pull his hand away as she sipped, trying to ease her stuttering heart. His hand tightened subconsciously on her wrist, powerful and large, and oh, she almost had to kick herself to keep a moan from slipping out.
Chat Noir stilled at the implication that they knew who the person was. “Is it another fieldman?”
“Not quite.” She shook her head, placing her glass down. Maybe it was time, she probably wasn’t going to last much longer. She picked her purse up from the chair over, and opened the clasp with her empty hand, and pulled out a single envelope, sealed with her insignia— only allowed to be broken by the person she directed the envelope to. “Find out yourself, Chat Noir.”
Chat Noir broke through the seal of the envelope with ease of habit, letting go of her wrist, pulling out the cardstock she’d written on with her best cursive lettering.
Those envelopes with names were bartering chips. Constantly referred to as listnames, the envelopes contained the name of whichever poor soul ended up on the targetlist. The handwriting only exemplified the authenticity, but it was the seal that was the ticket. If someone collected enough listnames, or the listnames of people powerful in the community, they could barter for virtually anything in possession so long as they held the person’s name in their hand.
Chat Noir flipped the cardstock over in his hands, leather gloves crunching. Ladybug smiled, taking one last drag of her cup. The number at the end of the name was appealing, she knew, but it was the name that was snagging his eyes. “This is who you want me to hit?”
“Yes.”
“They work with us?”
“They work with you.”
“Who’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” Hearing the name come from his mouth felt like liquid sex, coils of heat burning through her.
She took a deep breath, trying to keep her heartbeat from lunging out of her mouth.
“Me.” She kept her smirk hidden in the glass of wine, long lashes coating her view of the way he stiffened on the other side of the table, shoulders squaring.
She’d wondered for nearly forever on what his reaction would have been to know just exactly what her name was when she finally told it to him— years of playful banter about how her greatest secret would be as plain and simple as his adoration to her.
Her hands clammed at the quietness in the room, but she pushed through it, keeping her eyes level with the man across the dinner table. “I want you to take me out.”
He inhaled sharply, letting the silence settle like a thick fog between them.
“With a gun?” Chat Noir grimaced, finally speaking, leather gloves squeaking as he fisted his hands. “Or out on a date?”
“Surprise me.” She laughed at his eyes widening, at the way his lips parted.
Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she shouldn’t have sent everyone out of the house. She knew he had his favorite gun tucked under his arm, had seen the ceramic firearm glint in the firelight. She was the sharper shooter between the two of them. However, that didn’t matter when it came to being so close to each other. A hit was a hit. She wondered if she would be able to get her gun in her purse in time.
No. There wasn’t any need— Chat Noir wouldn’t pick killing her.
She was almost certain that his flirting and advances weren’t for ass-kissing. She’d seen the way he looked at her, had pledged to stay with her for years and years even after her not-so-subtle pokes and prods to give him the opportunity to retire from the hell she’d created.
Even so, she couldn’t stop herself from shuddering, from worrying her lip between her teeth. “I thought it was time for you to have more than just my word that you’d be free from me.”
He swallowed, words slow in his mouth. She’d officially caught him off guard, and she found herself loving the power that came with it, watching him shift through a quarter-million sentences, trying to respond. “I do trust you.”
She could eat him whole. She didn’t deserve this unwavering loyalty.
“You need more than that. You have my name now.” She shook her head, more to herself, tilting her head in an invitation for him to challenge her.
And because Chat Noir will always and forever be the only person to get even close to her level, he did. The way he licked his lips— the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as it dawned on him that she was serious— that the name in his hand was true and real and he held her entire world in his hands, he leveled the playing field with a firm and obsessively attractive: “I don’t need it.”
“Two choices.” She lifted her fingers on the bare hand. “Kill me. Or fuck me. And the listname is yours.”
His eyes went wild. “My Lady—”
“Furthermore, there are only two rules.” She continued, forcing herself to speak over him, trying not to stutter over her antsy mouth. “First. My family doesn’t get involved. If I hear anything about you introducing yourself to them, trying to find me through them, I ship you all the way to Bridgetown Barbados in a crate with nothing to your name. I guarantee you that you will never be able to step foot in France ever again.”
His brows furrowed, trying to keep up. “My lady. I’m not going to kill you.”
Ah. She lifted herself up from her chair.
Chat Noir pulled his own chair back to get up, but she was quicker, sliding her leg out of the slit of her dress and propping a knee in between his legs, want and need soaking into every fiber of her being at the sound of a gasp escaping from his lips. She gripped his chin in her hands, peering down at him through thick lashes. She placed her other hand on his shoulder, fingers digging into the flesh to relieve tension.
Oh.
Delicious.
Firm, sculpted muscle underneath her fingers— and she caught herself enraptured by how easily it was to place her thumb pad just below his bottom lip and slightly pull apart his lips. He let her— he let her touch and feel him, matching her gaze, never once faltering or shying away.
Her Chat Noir never faltered when it came to her.
His hands held firm at their sides, relaxed on their arm rests, giving the illusion of cool. She smoothed her thumb towards the side of his mouth, adoring the way he felt under her bare fingers for the first time ever. She smiled down at him, liking how his eyes tracked exclusively at her lips. “Secondly, I want this to be done within the end of this week. If successful, I have it in place that you will receive my entire bank account funds.”
“My Lady. I’m not going to kill you.” He repeated, his sharp green eyes cutting through her core, dragging heat further and further to the edge. She wondered if he would back away if she attempted to sit in his lap.
She hummed, captivated by the way his pupils blew open when she traced his lips with the tip of her finger. “Has anyone ever told you that your eyes look like fire when you have a new listname? I’ve always wanted to tell you. They almost glow. You’re so full of life when you have a purpose, my little kitty. It’s enough to make me squirm.”
“My Lady,” He paused when she shushed him with a look.
“I think about you every night,” She laid it on as heavy as she could, trying not to smile as he went perfectly still. He was never one for subtly, try as she had. “I touch myself, thinking of you.”
Haggard breathing took over his body. “You— you do?”
“How you’d feel beneath me,” She continued, relishing in how he looked so much in agony at her words. “How nice it would be to finally give in and do everything I’ve ever wanted to do with you. Ride you for hours until I couldn’t feel my legs and you couldn’t remember your own name— how good your face would be between my thighs.”
“I–”
“I’d keep you with me for days.” She smiled. “My dearest partner in crime reduced to nothing but just something to keep. Something that is mine.”
“My Lady, take the listname back. Burn it. Throw it into the fireplace. Please.” He grew desperate, and tried frowning, but her thumb wouldn’t quite let his mouth curve that way. She shook her head, scratching the stubble on his jaw with the tips of her fingers. Her breath hitched when he caught her thumb at the side of his mouth, biting lightly with his teeth.
She really did moan then, a soft breathy noise that barely escaped her. “That’s… that’s your third option. Fuck me, kill me, or forfeit this listname, and walk out like this never happened. I promise you that you’ll never hear of me, our group, or this subject ever again. I’m not going to force you to do any of your choices, you’ve worked too hard in your life for you to be forced. A freed man deserves to choose. You— you deserve to choose.”
“Marinette,” Finally— finally— Chat Noir moved his hands. He pulled his left glove off with his teeth, letting the glove fall to the floor when his hand was finally free. Long fingers curled into the flesh of her exposed thigh, her body littering with goosebumps at the coarseness of his hand. Finally.
Finally.
She shuddered at her name, sliding her knee up even closer between his legs, surprising herself with that thick line of heat pressing up against her thigh. He groaned, “How— how could I ever give you up? After all these years? Ten years of wanting you— ten years of needing you— ever since I met you I’ve wanted nothing more—”
“Then promise me.” She pillowed her lips up against his brow bone as she whispered, enjoying the way he inhaled. “Promise me, that by the end of this week I’ll either end up in your bed or in the ground.”
He nodded, eyes lost in the way his fingers found endless amounts of soft as he trailed higher and higher, grin lopsided and crooked and perfect on his face. “I promise. Definitely bed, it’s not even a competition— don’t even joke— I’ve waited for so long— I promise that I’ll do anything to get you there.”
“And promise me,” Her eyes fluttered shut when his hands found the waistband of her panties, how his fingers hooked to pull it down. “That whichever one you end up choosing, you’ll be as aggressive as you want.”
He shot out of his seat at that, surprising her as he forced her to sit on the table behind her. She gasped, eyes fluttering hard as he kissed her, curling his tongue into her mouth. The taste of wine— of saltwater and garlic from the lobster tail still fresh in their mouths— soft gasps escaping her as he towered over her— pushing her almost flat against the surface of the desk with his ungloved hand.
Her eyes rolled behind her lids as he kissed, and kissed, and kissed— hard enough for her to see stars warping and her legs start to shake, hard enough for her to whine as his hands followed the natural curve of her waist down to the slit of her thigh, hard enough for her to shiver as she started to push herself to the edge of orgasming.
“I promise,” Adrien whispered, his voice deep and low. “Of course I promise, Marinette.”