Code Hot Agent

Prologue

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Melissa

Even though the universe had been extremely kind to me- please note the sarcasm- I actually thought my life couldn't get more horrible. Then of course, the universe had to come back to its senses and completely fuck up my already fucked up life.

Why would it even let me live a life of peace?

After all, I am Melissa Jones- the normal, sarcastic, awkward, and probably too trusting mailman. And really, a mailman can totally arrange a packet of drugs and deliver it- while falling down rocks on a secluded property, let's not forget- and think about getting away with it.

Because I fucking knocked on a door- to do my job.

And it was completely fine, too! This hot guy had asked me to come with him in this really seductive voice from a secluded van on the dark road outside the house.

I thought I got lucky.

Le sigh.

No, really. He had grabbed my waist and whispered something in my ear harshly (probably in Italian). I had already seen him ogling me through the van. I blew a kiss before, and signalled him to call me flirtatiously. God, was he hot. He was everything I had ever wanted in my man- with tousled black hair, and dark blue eyes, and so muscular, I was actually beginning to think it was gross.

But there's a catch. He didn't think I was attractive, or anything. I didn't like him either now. I don't like guys with a stick up their ass.

I looked at him before glancing at the technologically decorated van. Some screens had random codes and IP traces running through them. Others, I suspected, were used for something more... personal. He stood in front of me, with his hand on his delicious hips. His muscles flexed as he not-so-inconspicuously picked up a knife. His vest read FBI in large letters. Didn't I have rights?

"Ho intenzione di chiedere a voi l'ultima volta. Chi ti ha mandato qui? Chi è il padrino?" He asked huskily. His voice was like a smooth melody. Maybe this could work out. Me, the mailman, him the deliverer.

Wait a second. What does that even mean?

"What does that mean? I don't volta. I dance. Do you dance?" I smiled brightly at him and leaned on my hand which was on the table. My elbow accidentally touched the keypad of the laptop and something beeped. 

His face went angry in a moment of seconds. It was like that moment when Aunt Rosa's 'pet' leopard started running after my five year old self. His muscles flexed more if that was possible, and I found myself slightly speechless at this perfect male specimen in front of me.

I gulped slightly.

"...Which is totally fine even if you don't. Hey, I can volta! And I've done chi ti! You know, you said chi ti, the Japa-Chinese therapy tea thing? Yeah, been there, done that!" I chuckled nervously, looking away from the angry man in front of me.

There was a colourful board behind him. Pictures decorated a world map with colourful rubber bands joining one pin to the other. 

"Dont lie. Maybe you don't speak Italian. But you are definitely involved in this." He said huskily and took a threatening step forward. My eyes immediately went wide as I noticed the slightly aggressive position. He had previously spoken perfect Italian. And now he was talking like he'd been living in The States since he was born.

"Okay, boyo. Time to stop this bullshit. Just because you're FBI doesn't mean that I can't bust some ninja moves." I said determinedly. His lips twisted, as if he couldn't wait to have a good laugh.

"Jesus effing Christ! They're hands, alright? Not some fucking weird ass-"

He had grabbed my hands and pinned them behind my back in a painful hold. I screamed out loud and tried to kick him in the thingy. 

MUST. KICK. HIS. THINGY. 

"Oh my God! In the movies, this badass girl always manages to kick the man's groin! Why the fuck can't I kick yours?" I lifted my leg up to kick his groin but the pain in my calf stopped me. 

Yeah, I don't exercise much... 

My rant was cut short by a slap of tape on my face. I narrowed my eyes at him before he admired his work on me. He nodded approvingly and pushed me back to the ground. I flailed around, but he was already in the driver's seat. I caught a good look of his midriff and firm butt before he turned around, though.

"I believe the answer to that question is stretching, sweetheart." He patted my stomach patronisingly and smirked like a sly dog. That he was.

Oh shit, the tape is going to hurt my mouth when it's ripped out of my face.

At least I could still look at a hot man's butt.

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Well, tell me if you like this! 

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What do you want me to do in the future to this story?

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