SURRENDER
Grant was running late for work one morning and knew that when she arrived, the man who considered himself her boss would bitch her out good. She had tried putting on the charm, perhaps seducing him, but nothing she did worked. Turned out the prick was married and one of those choirboys devoted to his wife and children. Nothing she did swayed him and it was quite disappointing. Most of the other people around her were women and she wasn't into alternative lifestyles. She had lost count of the number of notes she'd sent Martel. He hadn't made one move toward taking her seriously. What would happen if she just walked up to the fucker? She knew where he worked and it could be easily arranged. However, she wasn't quite stupid enough to do that. If she came within five feet of Martel, he would most assuredly kill her this time. It didn't matter anyway. Her 'friendship' with Paige Harrison was well established. They had gone out more than once for drinks, especially when her fiancé was busy doing something else [which was almost nightly]. She remembered one night in particular. Harrison had one drink too much and wondered aloud if her husband to be was trying to ditch her. The moment she realized the words were out of her mouth, she waved them off and changed the subject. Grant smiled inwardly about that. She had seen Harrison and Martel together, sometimes following them, but staying well out of the way. Martel wasn't stupid. His instincts would tell him if he was being followed. When they were together, it seemed as if Martel was less than enthused with Harrison, but the poor oblivious girl didn't seem to have a clue. Perhaps she did, but didn't want to see it. Whatever. Soon enough, the truth would be revealed and the wedding ruined. It was all she wanted for now. The rest would come later. Her next project would be revealing his identity to his agents, finally giving them the information they so desperately sought.
When she made her way into the building, she ducked her boss quite efficiently and went over to her small, stuffy office. Grant immediately noticed that Harrison was busily working in the main archive room. Harrison had yet to notice her. She honestly didn't want to communicate with the weak bitch, but she knew she had to do it. After all, she was her 'best buddy' now. Shrugging away her disgust, she popped out of her office, mindful of the boss lurking about, and stepped into the doorway of the expansive room. Harrison was working furiously at putting away several files at once. Why in the hell was she working so manically? God, she hated people who worked like that. They made folks like her look bad.
"Hey, Paige," Grant called, "you look like you're possessed."
Paige stopped for a moment and turned. She smiled a little. "Well, I'm trying to get as much done by noon as I can. Frank and I have an appointment at one."
Inside, Grant was mocking her. Outside, a smile came across her wide mouth and her dimples deepened even more. "Ah, explains the whirlwind. So, what's on the schedule today? The wedding is what…four weeks away?"
Harrison nodded. "Yeah, about that. We're going for the final fittings and then I hope I can persuade my stubborn fiancé to loosen up and stay home for the rest of the day. I haven't seen much of him lately. He's been busy doing something, but he's not one to chat about his projects."
I'll bet he isn't. He's not one to chat about his true identity, either. Is he? She wanted to poke around Donovan, find out what he was doing. Was it something naughty? She honestly hoped it was. It would only serve as more fuel for her fire. Is that strain I see behind that veneer of happiness? You're smiling, showing your teeth, but it isn't quite reaching your eyes, now is it? What's ol' Martel doing to you, honey?
* * *
Larkin had locked herself in the bathroom. She and Donovan had been at each other's throats for the last month. It was to the point where she couldn't stand to look at him for five seconds at a time […and those five seconds are the best five seconds of your life]. Today, they had disagreed about something very, very trivial. Honestly, she couldn't remember what it was. Against her wishes [of course, he wouldn't have it any other way], Donovan had sent Alex in to poke around. She couldn't go in UC, of course, because Grant knew about them all. If she saw her too often or in a position at the office, she would immediately know someone was onto her. Larkin was the only one in the little group that Grant didn't know about yet, but Donovan refused to send her in. Have you ever gone UC, Larkin? I don't think so. IA agents aren't known for their undercover work. They spend most of their time hiding behind a mask and a computer screen. Oh that had been utterly cold and vicious. She was completely tempted to remind him about his mask. However, that was Grant's game and she didn't play that way. Although Donovan pissed her off on a daily basis, she couldn't truly hurt him.
Since the out of control kiss almost a month prior, nothing of the sort had happened like that again […don't like that…nope…sure don't]. However, Donovan was merciless with her. There was little she could do right, including breathing. You see what he's doing, don't you? He's trying to drive you away. He doesn't want you here, not because he sees you as a hindrance, but because of something else. She shook her head. No, not very damn likely. Hello, Jane. He has a fiancée. Their wedding is coming up shortly. She had inadvertently discovered the wedding date one evening as she prepared to go back to the hotel. Ironically enough, Donovan had parked close to her car. When she entered the structure, she heard him speaking to someone on his cell phone. Ducking back and away […who says I can't go UC], she listened to the conversation, all the while feeling like a heel. Paige, for God's sake, he began. The wedding isn't until December twelfth. We have an entire month to finish that. Whatever the fiancée had been complaining about, Donovan finally relented and hung up. She thought he had walked on, but when she stood, she saw him. She wanted to duck out of sight, but her curiosity got the better of her. Donovan stood behind his car with his hands planted firmly on the trunk. He was irritated, the kind of irritation he normally reserved especially for her. Amazed, he began to grumble, his words loud and completely understandable. This is not right. Why can't I say anything to her? I will not make it; I know this, if I don't do something now, it will be too late. She ducked quickly and then heard a distinct sound. He whacked the trunk of his car and spat out an indignant curse.
Screw it, she thought. She groused for a good ten minutes before she heard a knock at the door. "What do you want," she shouted. "It's occupied."
"Selena, it's Monica. Mind letting me in?"
Well, at least it wasn't Donovan […damn it]. She sighed and moved toward the door. After unlocking it, she walked away and leaned against the sink. Monica entered the bathroom and saw Larkin with her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest. When she made moves toward checking on the young agent, Donovan had basically told Monica to let Larkin have her tantrum in peace. Monica had shaken her head and began chewing at her lips. Sure, Boss. I'm a profiler, a behaviorist, and you think I don't see it?
"Sometimes you have to ignore him," Monica told her. "He can be abrasive, but then I suppose you've seen your fair share of that, haven't you?"
Larkin rolled her eyes and huffed. "What the hell kind of big ass bug does he have up his ass? I could about strangle him if I could reach his damn neck. If he would listen to me, I'd fix this and get the hell out of here, but he is caught up in this command mode. God, I can't stand him."
Sure you can't. I think you've forgotten what I do, too. "Yeah, he's well immersed in that 'I'm never wrong' mode. Take your time. Donovan won't complain too much, and if he does, I'll handle it."
"Let him complain. If he doesn't like it, I have a shoe that could just about fit in his mouth."
When she finally came out of the bathroom, it appeared that Donovan was making ready to leave. She noticed it was only around noon. Hmm…another meeting with his girl? Larkin was tempted to follow him, to see what they were doing. His wedding was close and she didn't know how she felt about that. She knew she didn't like it. Jane, why in the hell are you even thinking this way? I don't care. I don't give a shit and I shouldn't act like I do, because this insensitive prick asshole probably knows I truly do. She stood back and watched him leave, tempted to call him back. There were a few truths he needed to be told, but she didn't know if she should be the one to do it or not.
* * *
It was midnight and Donovan lay in bed wide-awake and wired up. He had gotten through a final tux fitting and Paige then began arranging for rehearsals and such. They had one month to wait, but would it all be ready in time? He couldn't pretend any longer. He didn't want the wedding, the fuss, the muss, and wasn't sure he actually wanted Paige anymore. Yet, it was much too late to back out now. How long had Paige stuck with him? Three years? How could he let another woman and a few jitters tear that up? You only want to go through with this because you think you owe her. Four weeks. It's enough time to break away clean before you do something to betray her. Damn it. He couldn't sleep. Donovan slipped out of bed. He needed to take a walk. Perhaps after a long mind-clearing walk, he'd be fine. He stepped out into the cold night air and put his feet in motion. Kira Grant was right on his tail.
What the hell is he doing out this late? Where the hell is he going? Grant didn't follow on foot. She went back to her car and intended to do it the easy [and warmer] way. When Donovan reached his destination, Grant saw this, and smiled. Cozy. What do we have here?
Larkin had just gathered some things to take with her for her shower when she heard a knock on the door. Jesus. What now? She took her things into the bathroom anyway and allowed her late night visitor to wait. Whoever it was could damn well give her enough time to get settled. Before opening the door, she stood on her tiptoes and peeked out. She sighed and rolled her eyes. Frank goddamn Donovan. She swung open the door and glared at him. Didn't he abuse her enough during the day? Did he want to get his jollies at night as well? Slam the door. Shut him out; don't let him in, because if you do, something will happen. Hasn't it been building up to this for a couple of weeks now?
"What do you want," she demanded. "It's past midnight."
"If you'll let me in, I'll tell you," he said sedately.
"The door's open, isn't it?" She stood back and watched him enter the room. Once again, he was clad in a jogging suit and athletic shoes. She slammed the door and turned to face him. "You're in, so let's have it."
It was his turn to sigh. "I've not been exactly nice to you lately," he began. He chewed on his bottom lip for the briefest of moments. "I've been under a massive amount of stress and I've probably taken out a fair share of it on you."
Larkin immediately noticed that his stance and demeanor were distinctly different than was normal. He was tired, and she hadn't seen him like this. She shrugged. "Sure, the closer a wedding is, the more stressful it becomes." Ooops, told off on myself.
Confused, he glanced at her. "How do you know that?"
Gulp. Oh shit. You are in so much trouble, Jane. "I've heard stuff here and there," she admitted, her face reddening the slightest bit.
Angered now, he balled his fists at his side. "You've been following me," he asked incredulously.
She rolled her eyes again. "You wish. No, I haven't been following you. I've just heard things accidentally. It's not like you've been exactly quiet when you're away from your team. I heard you in the garage a couple of times, not on purpose. I wouldn't follow you."
How much has she heard? This is incredibly awkward now. What to do? "Nosy, aren't you," he accused.
"Do you think I care what you and your fiancée do? Can I help it if my sense of timing is off balance? Just for the record, though, I think you should break it off."
His confused gaze turned quickly to rage. His lips drew up into a snarl. "What the hell kind of nerve do you have to suggest something like that? You are once again treading on very, very thin ice, Agent Larkin."
"Touched a nerve, did I," she asked lightly. "What I've heard, which has been little, is that of a man caught in a trap of which there is no escape. For a man whose wedding is about a month away, you don't seem very damn happy. Even if your feelings were stress derived, wouldn't you still be painfully happy? Goofy, perhaps? I see none of that in you. In fact, I've seen and heard nothing more than exasperation, and it's not the kind that comes from an overwhelmed man. It's more along the lines of one too stubborn to admit he's not truly in love anymore, if he was in the first place."
"Larkin, I suggest you shut up, and do it now," he said through clenched teeth.
She shook her head. "Hell no, I'm not going to shut up. You've gotten your licks in at me. Isn't it my turn? Who else can tell you the truth? Not your team, because they don't even know about Paige. Wake up, Frank, wake up and think about it. Her hair, her eyes, who does it make you think of? You don't love this woman at all, you just think you do. You only want to marry her because you think you owe her. You're holding onto an illusion, one that will fade the moment she wears your wedding ring and you see her for who she truly is. You're trying to recapture a moment that you can never relive again. Your record is impeccable; you are strong, efficient, and brutal in your work. You know exactly what you're doing and where you're going. It doesn't extend into your private life because you can't let go of a fantasy. You are living a lie."
Entirely confused now, Donovan didn't know whether to thank her or scream at her. Had he come here knowing that this would happen? He tried to tell himself that he only came by to apologize for terrorizing her for the last few weeks, but that wasn't exactly the truth. She was right. She was the only person who would tell him what he really needed to hear but couldn't face. Of course, he wouldn't stand for it. "As I've said before, Larkin, you know nothing other than what you read."
"Whatever, you bastard. Just get out, I'm sick of you," she said angrily.
She wasn't. He could sense that, he could sense that as plainly as he sensed her knowing certain truths about his life that he couldn't admit. She was no more sicker of him than he was of her. The only thing he was sick of was pushing her away. The line had been drawn weeks ago, but tonight, he crossed over it. When she saw him approaching, she moved to the door almost immediately. She had barely touched the handle before she felt the heat of his body against her. Larkin moved to open the door, but Donovan grabbed her hand first.
"No," he said softly, his voice drifting down toward her.
She felt a rush of tingles entering the pit of her stomach and branching up to her chest before subsiding. His grip on her hand was soft and light. What does he want? What is he doing? Duh. God. She was afraid to look at him. What would she see in his eyes or his demeanor? What if it wasn't what she expected to see? She released her hold on the door handle, but he didn't let go of her hand. He was working toward turning her to face him and she closed her eyes. She didn't want to see, didn't want to look. It didn't matter. He looked and saw. Her eyes remained tightly closed, even when she felt his lips on hers. The height difference was a little awkward, so the moment she felt his hand drifting to her buttocks, she made a sudden move and wrapped her legs around him. Face-to-face now, he held onto her tightly as he pinned her body to the door, making an audible noise, eliciting a grunt from Larkin that was buried in the kiss.
Not quite breaking the kiss, he began to move her away from the door. She felt her body drifting further and further away from the point of no return. She knew of nothing but his lips, probing tongue, and nipping teeth, didn't have an utter clue as to where she was going until her back hit the bed. Gently, he ran his fingers along her side, creeping them up slowly toward the side swell of her breast. Without releasing her lips once, his hand landed perfectly onto her left breast as if he were more than familiar with her body. His thumb brushed against the top of it, hardening the nipple immediately, causing it to strain desperately against her shirt. Although ending the kiss was something he was in no hurry to do, he broke it and tripped his lips lightly over her chin before barely grazing the arch of her throat. A sound escaped her [uh] as his teeth grazed the nipple that he had aroused with the slightest of touches. Her shirt still covered it. Good God, what would happen to her when it was off? When his lips stopped at the bottom edge of her shirt, he worked his hands beneath it, settling them just above the point where her waist began. As he slid his hands along her sides, the shirt moved up with them. Tons of chill bumps formed under his heated touch, but he was moving so painstakingly slow, that she was tempted to help him along. He had barely gotten the shirt past her breasts when she raised her arms over her head, eager to have done with it. Once it was discarded, she finally felt his lips and tongue on her flesh, not outside a thin cotton shirt. She couldn't move. Immobile. She was completely immobile.
Soft little sounds were leaving her, drilling into his brain, giving him an indication that it just might be time to stop and move on. He left a trail of moist kisses all along her ribs and abdomen as he rid her of the shorts she wore as pajama bottoms. His hands again left chill bumps on her body as he moved them along the sides of her hips, down her legs, and then to her feet. He placed gentle kisses, followed by nipping bites, up one leg. After a long, long trip down her tiny body, his lips found hers again. She turned to her side, facing him, and she felt his hands moving along her back, then down to her buttocks. She was nude before him, but he was still fully dressed. Before breaking away, she took hold of the zipper on his jacket and began pulling it down. He had no shirt on under it and she was profoundly grateful. Her fingers slid along the expanse of his chest and wandered over the firm, taut flesh down to his abdomen. He took her hand at that point and drew it away. He's ticklish. He broke away from her lips for a moment as he stripped out of his jacket and kicked off his shoes. He had barely had time to move back toward her when she sat up and took hold of the sweat pants. This was taking too damn long. She wanted them off and wanted them off now.
Although she'd die rather than admit it, she had imagined him naked a dozen times. However, no fantasy that she had ever had compared to the real deal. He was some type of sacred God with a perfect body marred only by battle scars. His body was long, lean, and muscular, but not so muscular that it was a turn off. He was no muscle head. Then there was the matter of the male part of him. Jesus Christ. Her lips didn't quite touch it, but they moved over his abdomen and back up to his chest. He took hold of her head gently to raise it up toward his. What else was there to say? What else to do? Speaking would only shatter it, ruin it. He kissed her gently, keeping one hand in her hair while the other moved lightly down her body once again. Her body was so small, yet every inch a woman's body, soft, supple and glorious. He deepened the kiss just as his hand fell upon her gently, stroking her as if he were stroking the breast of a noble bird. She moaned a little, desperate to draw away but he wouldn't release her, not until he was certain she wouldn't stop him. She sighed tremblingly and held her body completely still. At that point, he released her lips and she buried the side of her face in his throat, the top of her head just under his chin. He increased the pressure, the intensity of the touch, his fingers occasionally slipping inside.
She let out a shaky breath as his hand finally drew away. She felt the slight shift of his body and could clearly feel his hardness against her, demanding entrance. As he moved, she opened her mouth and let out a breath. "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," she whispered.
He looked down into her eyes. "Selena?" God. Don't tell me she's denying me now… in this stage.
"I…I haven't told you…I've not…"
Without her saying another word, he immediately knew. "We don't have to do this. I can leave any time you want, right now," he said.
"No," she said, her arms going around him, "I want you to stay. I want you to make love to me."
"You're sure? I don't want to push…"
"I'm sure," she told him.
He wanted to ask again, to clarify that she truly wanted him to be her first, but what other words did he need? What else was necessary? She wanted to give him the ultimate gift and he would accept it, he would accept it and hold it dear. He kissed her again, very gently, and after it was broken, he brought her leg up against him. She closed her eyes tightly as she felt the tip of him touching her, easing into her ever so slowly. He felt the resistance of her flesh as it began to accept an object it was clearly not accustomed to accepting. He pressed on gently and he heard a soft cry against his chest. Why did such a beautiful act come with a price of pain and tears? As her tight flesh slowly began to accommodate him little by little, the urge to lose control was great, but he held back. He didn't want to hurt her any more than he had to, never wanted to hurt her, period. Fully inside her now, he moved ever so slowly, knowing that after the initial entrance, the pain would subside to a dull ache that would become intense pleasure. Against him, she sighed softly, feeling the discomfort edging away. She could sense he wanted more, wanted to press forward madly.
"It's okay," she sighed, "Please. It's okay."
"You're sure?"
"Please."
His movements increased in tempo the slightest bit. No matter how 'okay' it was, he wouldn't push too far. There would be other times […would there]. The ache inside her changed to delicious friction and her body began to instinctively meet his as if she had made love to him many, many times. His hands, cupping her buttocks, released and squeezed, released and squeezed with each timeless move of their bodies. He heard the cries against his neck, felt the quivering inside her, and his control snapped ever so slightly. Had he ever imagined it could feel like this? She called out his name, ending the call with a strangled cry of intense pleasure, and she tightened her hold on him, digging her fingers into his flesh. He wanted this to last all night, all morning, and up into the next day. However, it was inevitable it would end. Human biology and physiology could not be stopped. For a moment, she felt the movements cease and a hissed sigh escaped him. She cried out a little when he managed a few final thrusts, harder than all the rest. His hold on her body tightened ever so slightly. He didn't want to move, to breathe, not for the rest of the night, not ever again.
____________________
To be continued…