The Concubine Terrorist | Undercover Among Religious Extremists - eBook - Book 6

✔ Female assassin thrillers
✔ Undercover espionage
✔ Religious fanatics and terrorist conspiracies
✔ Dangerous seduction
✔ Deadly Kung Fu skills
✔ Intensifying suspense with no boring bits

SHE'S A NATURAL-BORN KILLER.

SHE'S A TALENTED HONEYTRAP.

AND SHE'S ABOUT TO PLAY THE PERFECT CONCUBINE.

Camilla Lee has gone undercover before.

Never like this.

The world's deadliest honeytrap assassin is about to enter a world of religious fanaticism, dangerous secrets, and unspeakable cruelty.

Her mission?

Infiltrate a terrorist network and help ASIO uncover its involvement in the Bondi massacre.

To expose the men responsible, Camilla must penetrate their secretive inner circle, where unquestioning obedience is demanded, women are treated as possessions, and the consequences of stepping out of line can be brutal in the extreme.

Simple, right?

Except her presence gives one particularly ruthless terrorist an idea for a fresh atrocity. A wicked plan designed to claim hundreds of innocent lives in the heart of Sydney.

And at the very heart of his murderous scheme?

Camilla herself.

Unable to extricate herself from this dilemma, she has no choice but to obey.

For once, the honeytrap is the one being trapped. Morally conflicted, much like her father, she must choose between two terrible evils. Either way, innocent lives are on the line.

For an assassin who takes orders from nobody unless she absolutely has to, this could be a problem.

A very big problem.

But Camilla has a few advantages her enemies know nothing about.

Beneath her petite, seemingly harmless exterior lurks a woman who can kill without hesitation when the circumstances demand it.

A woman whose sexual confidence and honeytrap expertise could prove as dangerous to herself as they are to her enemies.

The trouble is, none of her talents will save her if her prey discovers her true identity too soon.

As she navigates a dangerous world of fanaticism, sexual exploitation, corruption, and murderous ambition, Camilla must resist the temptation to do what comes naturally.

Break the rules.

Lash out and tell the men in charge exactly what she thinks of them.

Because this time, hundreds of innocent lives depend on her getting it right.

Packed with:

• High-stakes undercover espionage
• Ruthless religious extremists
• Terrorist plots and deadly conspiracies
• A fiercely independent female assassin
• Dangerous seduction and sexual intrigue
• Explosive action
• Dark humour and outrageous defiance
• Shocking revelations and unexpected twists

The Concubine Terrorist is a daring, provocative espionage thriller that plunges readers into a dangerous world of religious fanaticism, hypocrisy, and international terrorism.

From Australian thriller author Jerry Furnell comes the sixth instalment of The Naked Assassin Series, featuring Camilla Lee at her most daring, defiant, and deliciously unpredictable.

Six spicy thrillers. One uncontrollable woman.

They thought they'd acquired a submissive concubine.

They had no idea they'd invited a tiger into their midst.

Reader Advisory

The Concubine Terrorist contains strong adult themes, explicit sexual content, religious extremism, violence, and disturbing subject matter.

This is a provocative, action-packed thriller intended for mature readers who enjoy spicy suspense, dangerous intrigue, and an unapologetically unconventional heroine.

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THE CONCUBINE TERRORIST

One

Our in-house psychologist, Julia Chang, continues to play a double role in my life. She claims to be my strongest supporter, yet comes across as my greatest nemesis. All I want is to get back to work, but she seems determined to see I never work as a honeytrap assassin ever again.
‘You must really hate me,’ I say. A statement, not a question.
‘Camilla, I only want what’s best for you,’ she replies, in an uncompromising fiftyish voice, a dry crackle infused with saccharin sweetness.
‘So, why destroy my career?’
‘To keep you alive.’
‘Phooey. Doing my work is the only thing that makes my life worth living! Can’t you see that, you stubborn old stick in the mud?’
‘Ah… so we’re back to name-calling again. I thought you’d matured.’
‘Fuck off.’
Julia lowers her iPad and stares into my eyes. There’s no animosity or anger, just the usual motherly patience. I give it thirty seconds, look away, then mumble, ‘Sorry, Julia.’
‘Apology accepted.’
I sigh. ‘If you really want what’s best for me, understand this: your meddling is making things worse, not better. I’m going stir-crazy sitting on my hands when I could be out in the world making it safe from child traffickers and paedophiles.’
‘You sound so altruistic.’
I shoot her my best glare. ‘What? You think I’m full of shit?’
‘You enjoy killing.’
‘Killing you would be fun,’ I mutter under my breath.
‘I heard that.’
‘Yeah? And are you scared?’
‘Of course not. You’re just as frustrated with me as I am with you.’
I release a low growl, then say, ‘So, what do you want from me? Spell it out again. What must I do for you to allow me to get back to work?’
‘Why don’t you tell me, and I’ll tell you if you’re wrong?’
I rub my eyes and shake my head, then, returning her steady gaze, say, ‘You want me to rein in my sexual proclivity.’
She pouts and shakes her head.
‘But,’ I splutter. ‘You’re always telling me I’m sex-mad, like it’s a bad thing?’
She shrugs. ‘For most people, it is. And yes, I still think you should “moderate” your sexual appetite, but… as we both know, you’re different to most women. Sexually gifted, some might say.’
‘But you see it as a handicap?’
‘Handicap? No. A problem, maybe. After reading your father’s story, I figure your unrestrained promiscuity is simply part of your genetic makeup.’
Wow! Finally, she gets it.
Her eyes sparkle and she says, ‘Ah… now, there’s the smile you’ve kept from me for so long.’
And I guess she’s right. I don’t remember the last time I smiled during one of my therapy sessions. It’s hard to smile when you feel at war with the person probing your thoughts. Still smiling, I get up from the sofa, rush across to her chair, and kiss her full on the lips. It’s been a long time between kisses. She doesn’t immediately pull away as expected. I’m astonished. Where has she found the resolve to let my teasing play out? Not that she’s a great kisser or makes any attempt to return the kiss with passion. What she does is search my face for sincerity while she allows me to finish. It’s another surprise. It’s been months, but normally she’s the first to curtail our rare moments of passion, calling them unprofessional errors of judgement or some such twaddle.
Not wishing to waste an opportunity and sensing I have her permission to continue, I slip a hand behind her neck and deepen the kiss, pressing my tongue between her lips and into her mouth. For a few seconds she remains cool and aloof, her eyes still studying mine, but then she blinks, slips her hand behind my head and returns the kiss with unexpected passion. Our tongues dance until breathing becomes impossible. Easing my posture, I settle across her legs. Her other arm draws me closer, and between shared breaths, we continue to lose ourselves in the kiss.
Expecting her hand to slap mine away, I unbutton her blouse. Her lips tense for a second, then soften with submission as I slip my hand under her bra, find a fat nipple and pinch it ever so gently. She moans and pushes her tongue against mine. Only now do I dare break the kiss. We’ve gotten this far before, and I know she’s prone to sudden panic. Julia can shut me down in a heartbeat. It is why I nicknamed her the Ice Queen.
Catching a breath, I kiss her chin, then return to her mouth. For the first time ever, she reciprocates with more than just a kiss. Her hand slides under my t-shirt and claims a nipple. Mine are mere peas compared to hers, but she latches on with a gusto so hard I grunt in painful pleasure.
‘Too hard?’ she asks, taking a breath.
‘No. That’s perfect. Don’t stop.’ I return to the kiss, move my hand to her other nipple, and tug it hard. She does the same. In the back of my mind, a part of me wonders: what has changed within her and between us? Why is she suddenly so responsive to my overtures when for the past year she has rejected me outright? I promise myself to find out, but only when we’re done. The Ice Queen has frozen up before. I refuse to let her retreat this time.
Taking a chance, I break the kiss, remove my t-shirt and offer a tit. This is the moment she usually comes to her senses and bails, but not today, thank God. Eagerly, it seems, she latches on, nipping and sucking like her life depends on it. In the past, I took control, and things never made it past the opening stages. At some point, Julia’s jitters always grew until she became overwhelmed and ended it.
I decide to try something new. Rather than undress her, which I’m keen to do, I’ll let her think she’s controlling the pace.
Nodding at my shorts, I lift my bottom and suggest, ‘When you’re ready, help me off with these.’
Releasing my nipple from her teeth, she looks at my shorts, then back to my face. Eyes awash with uncertainty, she hesitates, so I blip my eyebrows, reach down and make a start by pushing my shorts off my hips. Her forehead creases with uncertainty, so I kiss her until her resistance softens. She responds with hot, fervent lips. Sensing her renewed commitment, I guide her hand to my shorts and release it. She moves it back to my nipple. I let her twiddle it for a while, then try again. This time, praise God, she grips my waist elastic, so I raise my bottom, and with clumsy hands, she draws them down to my ankles. With a giggle, as if it’s no big deal, I playfully kick them off, then return to kissing. Of course, it was a big deal for her, and I’ve gotta keep her moving forward and not bailing out.
However, Julia is not one to be rushed. In the past, I always pushed too hard, too fast. The moment things became real, Julia panicked and shut everything down. I wanted to please her, win her over, make her mine, but failed. I never cared if she pleased me in return, always figured we could get to mutual pleasuring later, only there was no later.
Opening my legs, I take her hand, guide it down to my need, and say, ‘Please go slow.’ Yeah, the words are a crock, but I know better than to push her. Rather than simply releasing her hand, I slide my fingers up her arm and back to her neck, then deep into her hair. She leans her head back into it. I draw her forward to kiss me, and hallelujah, her hesitant fingers come to life and slowly set about exploring. Her touches are hesitant and awkward — unmistakably the hands of a woman unfamiliar with another woman’s body.
Her caresses continue, as does our kiss. Alas, it’s the most inept fingering of my life. Julia really is clueless, which probably accounts for her reluctance. Placing my hand lightly over hers, I guide her to my clit and moan with approval when, with a little help from me, she circles with just the right pressure and pace. Breaking the kiss, I take a heavy breath, look down and say, ‘That’s perfect. You’ve got it. Now, don’t you dare stop.’
As the minutes pass, I watch her professional and personal discomfort abate. Awkward, unsure glances at my sex begin to linger longer and longer.
‘I love your focus, but you needn’t worry about doing it perfectly. This is for fun, not a task,’ I say, keen to free her from her fears and push her past her boundaries.
She glances up at my face, finds the permission she needs, and returns her gaze to my sex. Only now, she studies me with a lover’s interest, rather than a clinical one.
Catching her biting her bottom lip, I ask, ‘What’s up?’
‘Your clitoris. I don’t mean to sound rude, but compared to mine, it’s… it’s… so… big.’
A quiet laugh escapes me. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. As you well know, I believe the universe gifted this little honeytrap with a unique flower of unusually generous proportions.’
‘Generous indeed. I can see why men find you irresistible.’
‘You flatter me. And what about you? Do you find me irresistible?’
‘If I didn’t, do you think we’d be doing this?’
She lifts her hand away and seems to think better of it. Crumbs, shouldn’t have broken the spell by engaging in conversation.
‘The feeling’s mutual. There’s something about you I too find irresistible. Listen, let’s not stop just yet. Let me guide your fingers for a few seconds, okay?’
She nods.
I take her hand, return it to my flower, place her thumb and index finger either side of my hood and set her to rolling it back and forth across my cherry. Now you see it, now you don’t. She squeezes with gentle pressure, and I purr, ‘Oh yes, that’s just right.’
After a few moments, she pauses and says, ‘I’m getting weirded out. Maybe it’s best if we stop?’
Shit. Here we go again. ‘Maybe we should continue,’ I say, then cup her chin and turn her face back for a kiss.
It takes a few seconds for her lips to soften, then a minute before she resumes fondling, only now she’s improvising and finding some delightful new ways to stimulate my clit. From the way her tongue is dancing with mine, it’s plain she’s attuned to my heightened arousal and surprise–surprise, is herself becoming more than a little aroused. My orgasms usually arrive quick and fast, but the buildup to this one is as intense as it is long. When at last I climax, it is with a giant gasp and a mind-blowing shudder.
‘Oh, Julia, you did that so well. Your touch was incredible, a gift beyond measure,’ I say, then open my eyes to discover an uncharacteristic grin cracking her usual poker face.
‘Happy?’ I ask. ‘Be honest.’
‘I enjoyed watching you work your magic on me.’
‘Is that a yes?’ I prompt, keen to keep her from reverting to her professional role and assessing me like a therapist.
She nods. ‘It was my pleasure to pleasure you.’
I’m tempted to offer to return the favour, but after recalling my past failures versus this somewhat revealing confession, I figure she much prefers being the giver of sexual favours than the receiver. Determined to test my theory, I slide off her lap, pull her to her feet, kiss her, then ask, ‘Would you like to pleasure me some more?’
Her expression turns coy. ‘Um… maybe next time. I think we’ve gone far enough for one day.’
I shake my head with disappointment, pull her close and kiss her with all the love and passion I can muster. Not to brag, but my kisses are second to none, and when I finally break it off, I ask, ‘How about now?’
Catching her breath, she sighs and says, ‘You really are a temptress.’
‘And you really want to play some more, admit it.’
She bites her lip as if deciding, then smiles with amusement and says, ‘Sure. Let’s play. Tell me what to do.’
Her words surprise me. I’ve misjudged her libido. She’s no ice queen. A frosty soul would never have allowed a single one of our many kisses. I thought we were opposites, but it turns out, she’s simply kinky in a different way, and I’m beginning to think I might have her figured out.
Could it be that Julia’s psyche demands domination?
It seems at loggerheads with the bossy persona dishing out therapy. However, this is no longer a therapy session, and she is (for the moment) under the spell of this world-class honeytrap, and I know exactly how to play the dominatrix.
One rule—never ask, always demand.
Breaking all my usually considerate rules, I whisper, ‘On your knees, bitch.’
The barest flicker of enmity turns down her lips, but is instantly replaced by an expression filled with acceptance, resolve, and most importantly, desire.
She kneels and raises her chin. I see a new fire in her eyes. I’m taking her somewhere she’s never been before. Down a dark road. To a place she’s always wanted to go, but never admitted, even to herself.
I slap her cheek. Hard enough to sting, but not to injure.
She turns her head back slowly. Her eyes find mine. Her lust and resolve are all too clear. She’s in her element and keen for more.
I slap the other cheek, shuffle forward, take her head in my hands, part my knees, and pull her mouth to my sex. She trembles. Her warm breath feels good, but I want her mouth and tongue.
‘Taste me. I know you want to.’
Her head shakes and tries to pull away, but I grab her hair and ears and hold her in place. ‘Do it.’
Tentative at first, her mouth opens and her tongue takes a tiny lick. I know I taste good, so I wait. She takes a second lick, then a third, each a little longer. Committing fully, she grabs my bottom and buries her tongue. I release her hair and drop my hands to my sides while she devours me with shameless abandon.
Her eyes lock with mine and she says, ‘You taste fabulous, mistress.’
I love the mix of surprise and huskiness in her tone. As for calling me mistress; that confirms her need to be submissive.
Sensing she likes it rough, I grab a handful of hair and drag her, still on her knees, over to the interview chair that only she uses. Releasing her, I sit in her sacred place, roll back, hook my ankles behind my head, and demand, ‘Come, you old bossy-boots. Pleasure me some more. And be quick about it!’
Her eyes go wide with affront. I see the battle in her head and struggle not to laugh. The frosty Julia I thought I knew so well sees me on her precious chair and wants to end it. Wants to get up, kick me out, and gather her wits. But the hidden masochist within her cannot resist complying.
Shuffling forward on her knees, Julia stares at my glistening flower for a moment, grins, then sets to work. Well, well. Her usually icy tongue has thawed into something slow, sweet, and dangerously hot — like molten honey on bare skin. Better yet, she takes direction well. Over the next half-hour, I gush five fabulous orgasms, and with each one, her delight at pleasing me grows. So too her enthusiasm. As with many moral inhibitions, once the dam bursts, there is no going back. I own her. No longer do I need to coax her into anything not in her playbook.
Still shuddering from my last climax, her fervent eyes glow with lust and gratitude. Perhaps she’s grateful I’ve freed her from a lifetime of self-imposed sexual shackles?
‘Take off your blouse.’
She does, if a little shyly.
‘Now, your bra.’
‘Yes, mistress.’
For someone in her mid-fifties, she has outstanding tits. Full and only a little saggy, but not so much that you’d notice. I want to compliment her, but it would be a mistake. Better to save it for later, after I’m done with the seduction.
‘Stand. Lose those ugly old woman trousers.’
She obeys. Rising slowly, still clearly far from comfortable, but it is the kind of discomfort which appeals to her inner slave. She kicks off her shoes, then works off her tight-fitting trousers to reveal a boring pair of beige cottontails. Two things stand out. The giant wet patch soaking the gusset, and the immaculately trimmed heart-shape of her pubic hair. I want to ask about Sonny since no doubt she keeps it that way for him, but I don’t want to distract her from this moment, so I stand, point to my sofa, not her chair, and say, ‘Take a seat and be quick about it.’
‘Yes, mistress.’
Suppressing my glee and stepping lightly behind her, I follow, wait for her to sit, then straddle her lap and plant a kiss. Got to keep the fire stoked. What comes next will be her biggest hurdle. Anything after that will be all downhill.
We break the kiss and I move to her breasts, taking my time with each before slipping off her lap, onto my knees in front of her, just as she had been with me. Hooking my fingers in her panties, I command, ‘Lift your skinny old arse.’ My guess is that if I’d simply asked her to take them off, she might have reverted to form and refused. But lifting her bottom is an order she can, and does, follow.
I whip off her panties and consider my next move. So far, she’s been all about pleasuring me. In the past, when I’ve tried to pleasure her, she’s panicked and pulled the pin.
Figuring to try a different tack, and sticking to her need to be told what to do, I say, ‘Move your bottom forward and part your knees.’
She hesitates, so I say, ‘Don’t make me get rough.’
The threat is enough to overcome her reluctance.
‘Sorry, mistress.’
Keen to succeed, I start by kissing her inner thighs. However, instead of being soft and compliant, they are tense with old fears and uncertainty, so I break off, slide up and kiss her, and kiss her some more until at last, I feel her relax. Satisfied she won’t freak out, I dip to her breasts, and after what seems forever, she takes my head and pushes me down to her sex.
This breakthrough is a tremendous step for her because she took it of her own free will, and not because I commanded it.
Parting her labia, I do what I do best. I’ve had the best teachers, and Julia is in for the treat of her life. Despite her time with Sonny, I can tell she is unfamiliar with orgasms. A less experienced lover might call her a lost cause and give up, but not me. After almost an hour, Julia howls so loud with ecstasy I fear someone might rush in to see if she’s okay.
Face flushed, her eyes spinning, she gasps, ‘Unbelievable’ and ‘Thank you mistress,’ over and over.
‘Let me show you unbelievable,’ I say, then force her legs way back and dive back in.
Ten minutes later, I bring her to her second and final orgasm. She is too weak and too lost to pleasure to resist as I keep licking and teasing, and extending her orgasm until she blisses out on erogenous tingles she never knew were possible.
I find it as rewarding as she does. She’s spent weeks trying to free me from my self-indulgent nymphomania, and now I’ve turned the tables and freed her from her sexual shackles instead.
Both of us satiated, I join her on the sofa for a cuddle and kiss.
After fifteen minutes coming back to earth, she says, ‘I’m sorry for making your life difficult, but I care, and I don’t want to lose you. You’re too wild, too ready to risk everything, too—’
‘Shush. Let’s just be in the moment for a little longer.’
After what seems a minute’s silence contemplating our past fights, she says, ‘I love you.’
‘I know you do.’