Men On A Mission PT.1
Alex Cross x Peter Sutherland x Black Female Character, Justice
Inside, the air smelled of aged leather, cedar smoke, and very expensive whiskey.
Justice had chosen the booth at the far corner half-hidden behind a heavy burgundy curtain that could be drawn for privacy. She slid in first, black silk dress catching the low light like spilled ink. Detective Alex Cross took the seat to her left, suit jacket already unbuttoned, tie loosened by exactly one notch. Peter Sutherland claimed the right side, still wearing the faintly paranoid posture of someone who’d spent too many months expecting every shadow to move.
The three of them looked like they belonged to three entirely different worlds that had collided in the same velvet-lined booth.
A server appeared without being summoned—black vest, no name tag—set down a tray and vanished again.
Old Forester for Cross.
A mezcal neat for Sutherland.
For Justice: a coupe of something pale gold and faintly sparkling that smelled like danger and citrus peel.
Cross lifted his glass first, eyes flicking between the other two.
“To not getting shot tonight,” he said dryly.
Sutherland gave a small, crooked smile. “Low bar.”
Justice tapped her coupe against both of theirs. “Speak for yourselves. I like ambitious bars.”
Silence settled for a moment—comfortable, but electric.
Cross broke it. “So. You two actually work together, or is this one of those inter-agency blind dates where everyone pretends they’re not reading each other’s files?”
Peter leaned back, one arm draped along the top of the booth. “We don’t work together. We just keep ending up in the same exploding buildings.”
“Romantic,” Justice said, deadpan.
Cross snorted into his bourbon. “You should see his idea of a second date. Flash-bangs and duct tape.”
Peter’s mouth twitched. “You’re one to talk, Detective. Last time we crossed paths you had me zip-tied to a radiator while you interrogated a suspect in the next room.”
“That was professional courtesy,” Cross replied without missing a beat. “I could’ve left you in the trunk.”
Justice watched the exchange like she was enjoying a very private show. “You two flirt like you’re trying to arrest each other.”
Peter glanced at her sideways. “And you?”
She swirled the liquid in her glass. “I flirt like I’m deciding whether or not to burn the building down afterward.”
Cross raised an eyebrow. “That a threat or a promise?”
“Depends how the night ends.”
The curtain beside them rustled. A couple passed—murmuring, laughing softly then disappeared toward the back rooms. The lounge music shifted: slow, smoky jazz, double bass walking a lazy line under brushed drums.
Peter tilted his head toward Justice. “You didn’t bring us here just to drink overpriced liquor and trade war stories.”
“No,” she admitted. “I brought you here because this is the only place in a fifty-mile radius where no one is currently trying to kill any of us. That’s rarer than you think.”
Cross gave a low laugh. “Fair.”
Another beat.
Then Peter, quieter: “You’re still not telling us why you really wanted us in the same room.”
Justice met his eyes, then Cross’s. The mischief in her expression softened by just a fraction.
“Because the last time the three of us were within ten feet of each other, someone blew up half a city block. I figured… maybe if we tried sitting still for once, the universe might give us five minutes before it tries again.”
Cross studied her for a long moment.
Then he raised his glass again—this time slower.
“To five minutes.”
Peter clinked his mezcal against the others.
Justice smiled—small, real, almost unguarded.
“To five minutes,” she echoed.
And for the first time in longer than any of them cared to admit, the world outside the curtain stayed quiet.
-
The city lights bled through the half-drawn blinds of Justice’s loft, striping the king bed in slow gold and shadow. No one had spoken much on the drive back—words felt unnecessary after the lounge, after the way the three of them had sat shoulder-to-shoulder until the bourbon ran dry and the jazz turned to something darker, heavier.
Now the bedroom smelled faintly of cedar from the diffuser on the dresser and the sharp clean sweat of anticipation.
Justice stood at the foot of the bed still in the black silk dress, though the thin straps had slipped halfway down her shoulders sometime between the elevator and here. She watched them both. Alex leaning against the doorframe, sleeves rolled to the elbows, forearms corded and still; Peter already shrugging out of his jacket, tossing it over the armchair without looking.
They moved like men who had spent too long reading body language in interrogation rooms and kill zones. No wasted motion.
Alex spoke first, voice low and rough from whiskey.
“Take the dress off.”
Not a question.
Justice didn’t answer with words. She reached behind her neck, fingers finding the tiny hidden zipper, and drew it down in one slow drag. The silk parted like water, sliding over skin and pooling at her feet. Black lace panties underneath and nothing else. No bra, no pretense.
Peter exhaled through his nose, a sound that was half laugh, half curse.
“Jesus.”
Alex stepped forward first, close enough that she could smell the bourbon still on his breath. He didn’t touch her yet. Just looked painfully slow, deliberate, cataloguing every inch like he was memorizing evidence.
“Turn around,” he said.
She did. Slow circle. Let them see the long line of her spine, the dip of her waist, the faint scar that curved under her left shoulder blade from a blade she never talked about.
When she faced them again, Peter had moved closer too. They flanked her now, not quite touching, but the heat of them pressed in anyway.
“On the bed,” Alex told her. “Back against the headboard. Legs apart.”
Justice climbed onto the mattress without hesitation. The sheets were cool against her skin. She leaned back, pillows cradling her shoulders, and spread her thighs wide, unhurried, shameless. The black lace stretched taut across her, already damp at the center.
Both men went still for a second, like the sight had briefly short-circuited higher thought.
Peter broke first. He dropped to one knee at the edge of the bed, forearms braced on the mattress so his face was level with her hips.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice gravel. “So fucking pretty like this.”
Alex stayed standing, arms crossed, but his eyes never left her. “Wider,” he said.
She obeyed, knees falling open farther until the lace pulled tight and the outline of her was unmistakable. She was swollen, slick, aching under the thin fabric.
Peter reached out, slow, traced one fingertip along the edge of the lace where it met skin. Not pushing inside. Just following the line, feeling her shiver.
“Goddamn,” he breathed. “You’re soaked already.”
Alex finally moved. He sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that his thigh pressed against hers. He hooked two fingers under the waistband of the panties and tugged them down and just enough to bare her completely. The lace caught briefly on her thighs before he dragged them the rest of the way off and dropped them to the floor.
Now nothing between them and her.
They both looked.
Long, silent seconds of raw appreciation.
Peter’s hand returned first. His palm flat against her inner thigh, thumb brushing the outer lips, spreading her gently so they could both see how glistening she was, how her clit had swollen under their stares.
“Perfect,” Alex said, almost to himself. His voice was quieter now, reverent in a way that made her pulse jump. “Look how wet you get just from being watched.”
Justice’s breath hitched. She didn’t speak and didn’t need to. Her body was answering for her: hips tilting up, thighs trembling faintly.
Peter leaned in closer, breath ghosting over her. “You like us looking, don’t you?”
She nodded once, small and certain.
Alex’s hand found her other thigh, mirroring Peter’s grip. Together they held her open—wide, exposed, adored.
“Then keep them spread,” Alex murmured. “Just like that. Let us see every fucking inch of you.”
Peter’s thumb circled her clit once—light, teasin then withdrew so they could both watch her clench around nothing.
“Beautiful,” he said again, like he couldn’t stop saying it.
And for once, Justice didn’t deflect, didn’t joke, didn’t burn anything down.
She just stayed spread for them, heart hammering, letting them look their fill—letting them worship her with their eyes until the air itself felt thick with want.
The loft was quiet except for the soft rustle of sheets and the low, uneven rhythm of three people breathing too hard to pretend they were calm.
Justice stayed exactly as they’d left her: back against the headboard, thighs spread wide, knees bent and feet planted so nothing was hidden. Her chest rose and fell in shallow waves, nipples tight from the cool air and the weight of their stares. Between her legs she was flushed and glistening, every slow clench visible when their eyes lingered too long.
Alex moved first.
He shed his shirt in one fluid motion—buttons already half-undone from earlier—then unbuckled his belt with the same deliberate calm he used on a crime scene. Pants shoved down just enough. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already leaking at the tip. He wrapped a fist around the base and stepped between her thighs.
Justice’s eyes locked on him. Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip.
Alex dragged the swollen head along her slit slow, barely parting her coating himself in her slick. Up over her clit, then back down. Teasing circles that made her hips twitch.
She exhaled a shaky sound, half moan, half plea.
He pressed just the tip inside barely an inch then pulled out completely. A soft moan escaped his lips. Her entrance fluttered around nothing.
“Look at that,” Alex murmured, voice rough. “She’s already trying to pull me back in.”
Peter watched from the side, palming himself through his open fly, eyes dark. “Do it again.”
Alex obliged. Another shallow dip, just the head stretching her open, then withdrawal. Justice’s hips lifted instinctively, chasing.
Peter laughed under his breath—low, appreciative. “She’s so fucking greedy for it.”
When Alex stepped back, Peter took his place without a word.
He was longer, slightly curved, the head flushed dark and shining already. He gripped himself, gave one slow stroke, then leaned in and mirrored Alex’s tease: sliding the tip through her folds, nudging her clit until she whimpered, then pressing just inside—enough to feel her heat clamp down—before pulling free.
Justice’s head tipped back against the pillows. “Fuck—”
Peter chuckled, dark and pleased. He did it again—tip in, shallow thrust, out watching her body react every time.
“Look at how she keeps kissing my dick,” he said, voice thick with amusement and hunger. Another slow push, letting the head pop past her entrance before retreating. Her walls fluttered visibly around the empty space he left behind. “She’s so sexy like this. Chasing it. Practically begging with her pussy.”
Justice’s laugh came out breathless, edged with frustration. “You’re both assholes.”
Alex knelt on the bed beside her now, one hand braced on the headboard above her head. He reached down, spread her wider with two fingers so Peter had an even clearer view.
“Say it,” Alex told her quietly. “Tell him what you want.”
She met Peter’s eyes, defiant even as her thighs trembled. “I want you to stop teasing and fuck me.”
Peter grinned and pressed in again—just the head—holding still this time so she could feel every thick inch of him throbbing inside her entrance. Her inner walls pulsed, trying to draw him deeper.
He groaned. “Fuck, feel that? She’s sucking on me like she’s starving.”
Justice’s hands fisted the sheets. “Peter—”
He pulled out slow, deliberate, letting her see how her arousal clung to him, strings of it connecting them for a heartbeat before snapping.
Alex took his turn again immediately replacing Peter’s tip with his own in one smooth glide. Deeper this time, two inches, then three enough to make her gasp before he withdrew completely.
They traded off like that for long, torturous minutes: one teasing shallow thrusts, the other circling her clit with the head, both of them murmuring filthy praise every time her body answered.
“She’s clenching so hard,” Alex said, voice gravel. “Every time I pull out she tries to keep me.”
Peter’s hand found her throat—not squeezing, just holding—thumb stroking the pulse there.
Justice was shaking now, hips rolling in tiny, helpless circles, chasing whatever friction they’d allow.
“Please,” she breathed, the word breaking on the end.
Peter leaned down, kissed the inside of her thigh—soft, almost tender—then looked up at her with eyes gone black.
“Say it again,” he murmured against her skin. “Beg pretty, and maybe we’ll give you more than the tip.”
She didn’t hesitate.
“Please—fuck me. Both of you. I need it.”
Alex’s hand tightened on the headboard. Peter’s grip on her thigh flexed.
They exchanged one look—silent agreement.
Then Alex moved first, lining up again.
This time he didn’t stop at the tip.
Alex didn’t pull out all the way this time.
He stayed buried halfway—thick enough to stretch her open, not deep enough to satisfy. The head of his cock pulsed inside her, right against that spot that made her toes curl, while he held perfectly still.
Peter knelt between her spread thighs now, one hand braced on her hip, the other stroking himself lazily as he watched Alex tease her with shallow, maddening rocks.
Justice’s hands were above her head, fingers curled around the iron headboard slats like she needed something solid to hold onto. Her chest heaved. Every breath came out on a soft, broken sound.
Alex tilted his hips—just enough to nudge deeper, then back again. Barely an inch of movement. Enough to make her whimper.
“Beg,” he said, voice low and steady. “Tell us exactly what you want, baby.”
She tried to roll her hips up to take more. He pinned her down with one heavy palm on her lower belly, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
“Say it,” Peter added, thumb brushing slow circles over her clit—light enough to torment, firm enough to keep her right on the edge. “Use your words.”
Justice’s eyes fluttered half-shut. “Please…”
“Louder,” Alex ordered.
“Please—fuck me deeper. I need it. I need both of you inside me. Please.”
Peter’s chuckle was dark. “That’s better. But you can do prettier.”
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Tell Daddy how bad you want to be filled up. How empty you feel right now.”
Her thighs trembled. The word hit her like a spark.
“Daddy…” she breathed, voice cracking. “Please—fill me up. I’m so empty without you. I need you so bad.”
Alex’s control snapped first.
A low growl rumbled in his chest. “You want more, huh?”
He thrust forward—hard, sudden, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke.
Justice’s back arched off the bed, a raw moan tearing out of her throat. The sound was wrecked, desperate, dripping with relief and hunger all at once.
That moan—it broke something in both of them.
Peter cursed under his breath, hand flying faster on his cock. Alex’s rhythm turned brutal—deep, punishing strokes that made the headboard thud against the wall.
“Fuck,” Alex rasped, eyes locked on where they were joined. “Listen to her. That little sound she makes when she finally gets what she wants.”
Peter couldn’t wait anymore. He shifted higher on the bed, straddling her chest carefully so his knees bracketed her ribs. His cock hovered near her lips—thick, leaking, flushed dark.
“Open,” he said.
She did—immediately, eagerly. Tongue out, eyes glassy and pleading.
He fed himself into her mouth slow at first, letting her taste herself on him from all the teasing. Then deeper. Her lips stretched around him, cheeks hollowing as she sucked.
Alex kept fucking her through it—steady, relentless—watching her take Peter with something almost like pride.
Peter’s hand slid into her hair, not forcing, just guiding. “That’s it. Such a good girl. Taking Daddy so well.”
Justice moaned around him—vibrations that made Peter’s hips jerk forward involuntarily.
Alex’s pace faltered for a second. “Christ. Feel that? Every time you moan on him, she squeezes me like a fucking vice.”
Peter looked down at her—eyes blown black, lips shiny, cheeks flushed. “Want Daddy to fill you up?” he asked, voice rough. “Want me to come down your throat while he pumps you full?”
She couldn’t speak with her mouth full, but the eager little “Mhmm” she managed—muffled, needy, vibrating around his length—sent a visible shudder through both men.
Alex’s hand found her clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles. “Then come for us first. Come on my cock while you suck him off. Show us how bad you need it.”
Peter’s grip tightened in her hair. “That’s right. Come hard, baby. Let us feel it.”
Justice’s body obeyed before her mind could catch up.
Her thighs locked around Alex’s hips. Her back bowed. A choked, keening moan muffled around Peter’s cock as she shattered—clenching rhythmically, fluttering, soaking the sheets beneath her.
Alex groaned like he’d been punched. “Fuck—there it is.”
Peter’s control frayed. “Gonna—fuck—”
He pulled out just in time to paint her lips and chin, hot stripes that she licked at greedily even as she trembled through the aftershocks.
Alex followed seconds later—deep, grinding thrusts as he came inside her, filling her exactly like she’d begged for, groaning her name like a prayer.
They stayed like that for long seconds—panting, tangled, wrecked.
Peter leaned down first, kissing the mess he’d made on her lips—slow, filthy, tasting himself on her tongue.
Alex eased out carefully, watching his come leak from her with something possessive in his eyes. He dragged two fingers through it, pushed it back inside her, then brought them to her mouth.
She sucked them clean without being told.
Peter laughed—soft, breathless. “Good girl.”
Alex pressed a kiss to her temple. “You’re fucking perfect.”
Justice just smiled—lazy, sated, still trembling faintly.
And for once, she didn’t say a word.
She didn’t need to.
They’d heard everything she wanted to say.
Justice lay sprawled between them now, sheets twisted around her ankles, skin still flushed and slick from everything they’d already done. Her breathing hadn’t quite steadied yet—little hitches every time one of them shifted—but she wasn’t done. Not even close.
She turned her head toward Peter first, cheek brushing the inside of his thigh. He was half-hard again already, cock resting heavy against his stomach, still glistening from her mouth and his own release. She nuzzled lower without hesitation, nose grazing the soft skin of his sac before her lips followed—soft, open-mouthed kisses at first, then slower drags of her tongue along the seam.
Peter sucked in a sharp breath, thighs tensing under her palms.
“Fuck… yeah, just like that.”
She took one ball into her mouth gently, sucking with lazy pulls, tongue swirling while her hand wrapped loosely around the base of his shaft, stroking him back to full hardness. The low groan he let out vibrated through her.
Alex watched from the side, propped on one elbow, fingers tracing idle patterns over her hip. His own cock twitched against her thigh every time she hummed around Peter.
She switched to the other side—kissing, licking, sucking—until Peter’s hips rocked in tiny, helpless jerks. Then she dragged her tongue flat up the underside of him, slow and deliberate, until she reached the tip again.
Peter caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up. His cock bobbed inches from her lips—thick, flushed, beading at the slit.
He tapped the swollen head against her bottom lip once. Twice. A soft, wet sound each time.
“Open,” he murmured.
She did—lips parting, tongue flat and waiting.
He tapped again—right on her tongue this time—then dragged the tip across her lips, painting them shiny.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he said, voice wrecked and reverent all at once. His free hand slid into her hair, fingers threading through the strands gently at first—almost innocent, like he was just petting her, soothing her after everything.
Then his grip tightened.
Not rough. Controlled. Enough to hold her exactly where he wanted her.
He guided her mouth down—slow—letting her take him inch by inch until her lips met her fist. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard on the upstroke, tongue flicking the sensitive underside.
Peter’s head fell back against the headboard with a dull thud. “Goddamn, baby…”
Alex shifted closer, pressing a kiss to the curve of her shoulder, then lower—teeth grazing the side of her breast before he sucked a nipple into his mouth. The dual sensation made her moan around Peter’s length, vibrations pulling another curse from him.
Peter’s hand in her hair flexed—guiding her faster now, shallow thrusts that matched the rhythm of her mouth. Not forcing. Just taking what she was so eagerly giving.
“Look at her,” Alex murmured against her skin, voice low and dark. “Taking you like she was made for it.”
Peter’s thumb brushed her cheek—soft, almost tender—while his hips rolled up to meet her lips.
“Made for us,” he corrected, breath ragged. “Fuck… keep going. Just like that.”
Justice hummed in answer—eager, needy—sucking harder, tongue working him relentlessly while her free hand cupped his balls again, rolling them gently.
Peter’s grip in her hair turned possessive.
“Gonna come again if you don’t slow down,” he warned, half-laugh, half-growl.
She didn’t slow down.
Instead she looked up at him through her lashes—eyes glassy, lips stretched, cheeks flushed—and sucked deeper.
Peter’s control snapped on a choked groan.
“Fuck—Justice—”
He held her there, pulsing hot down her throat while she swallowed every drop, humming softly like she was savoring it.
When he finally eased his grip, she pulled off slow—lips shiny, a thin string of saliva connecting them for a heartbeat before it broke.
Peter cupped her face with both hands now, thumbs stroking her cheekbones.
“So fucking perfect,” he breathed, leaning down to kiss her—deep, filthy, tasting himself on her tongue.
Alex’s hand slid between her thighs from behind, finding her still dripping, still sensitive.
“Your turn again, sweetheart,” he murmured against her ear. “Or do you need a minute?”
Justice just smiled—slow, wicked, wrecked—and spread her legs wider.
“That may have been the best sex of my life,” she panted, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Alex plants a kiss on her shoulder. Peter gives her a peck on her forehead.
The three of them were just getting started.
