Chapter 29

When I wake up, it is to an empty bed. I glance around, my hands searching the sheets for any trace of his body. Figures. The happy humming in my skin that came from such an exquisite consummation goes flat and is replaced by a weight of sadness. He left without so much as a goodbye… If it wasn't for the lingering scent of his after-shave on the pillow, I'd be convinced I hallucinated the whole thing!

I climb out of bed and get dressed again. My stomach is growling with hunger, so I make my way to the kitchen. I start taking ingredients for stir-fry out, but when I open the fridge, I see a new bag of take out from the restaurant I usually order from. Confused, I pull the bag out: two orders of pad thai and fried rice. Inside, there's a post-it note with his handwriting.

Laila,

I'm sorry I left before you woke up. I had some things to take care of and didn't want to wake you since I figured you needed the rest. Thank you for a wonderful evening. I know I took away time from your dinner preparation, so I hope this makes up for it.

W. Skinner

I look at the bag more closely, some of the sadness from before lifting off me. At least he claimed he had a reason to leave without saying goodbye. And it was awful thoughtful of him to provide me with food (a few days' worth too). But he didn't even sign the note with his first name.

I sit down at a chair, head in my hands. This was probably a bad idea – no, it was definitely a bad idea, sleeping with my boss. And I haven't the slightest clue where that leaves us. A few hours ago he had denied any attraction to me whatsoever, and then a couple hours after that he fucked me senseless. And then an hour after that he left without saying goodbye…

Of all the boss-employee relationships in history, this one, given Skinner's M.O. of noncommunication, is likely particularly implosive. But, what's done is done. And while I have no idea where I stand with him now, even if this was just a one-time thing to him, and I can't quite bring myself to regret it. I mean, damn did he feel good.

But I'm going to need to play it cool for a while – if his behavior after we kissed the first time is any indication of what's to come, he'll be avoiding me and denying everything for a while until his resolve weakens again. Because it's become clear to me that as much as he knows this is a bad idea and doesn't want to want it, he can't help himself. Pressuring him, however, or coming on too strong during his regret/denial period will probably push him away. So, I don't call to thank him for the gift of the food even though I get his number fully dialed four times over the course of the night before I can stop myself.

In the morning, I figure I've given him space long enough, and I just can't stand the uncertainty. After I reach out, I'll get a better chance of where I stand with him. It's a Saturday, so I call his cellular phone.

"Skinner," he answers formally.

"Hi, it's Laila," I start.

"Oh, hi," he says with what sounds like a mixture of surprise and tempered happiness. My heart soars.

"I, uh, hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."

"No, not at all," he assures me.

"I just wanted to thank you for the food – that was rather thoughtful of you."

"Oh, I – you're welcome. I hope I didn't overstep; I noticed you had an awful lot of takeout containers from that place, figured you wouldn't mind a few more." That makes me laugh – sometimes I forget how it feels to be the brunt of an FBI agent's observation skills.

"You didn't overstep at all, and I was very glad to have food appear in my fridge without having to cook it."

"Well I'm glad I could help." His voice is soft and light, and I can hear a smile in his voice.

"How have you been feeling?" I blurt out to avoid a dreaded pause in conversation. "After all, you got hit a lot more than I did."

"I'm doing better, but even that first day it wasn't so bad. Nothing I hadn't felt before from boxing."

"Jeez, remind me not to take up boxing," I joke. And I'm rewarded by a soft chuckle that sends my heart beating double time. There is a slight pause. When he speaks again, his voice is more somber but still far more relaxed than I've ever heard while discussing work.

"Say, are you doing anything tomorrow night? There's this show in town at the Black Cat that I'd been meaning to see. It's a 70's cover band, so I'm not sure if it'd be up your alley, but-"

"I'd love to," I interject before he can talk himself out of the offer.

"Okay," he says, and I can tell the smile is back. "I'll pick you up at 7?"

"Wonderful – I'll see you then."

"Right. Enjoy the rest of your day."

"You too," I can't help but beam. I pump my fist in the air as soon as we hang up. Yes! Not only does he want to see me again, but he asked me on a bonafide date. That certainly can't be a bad sign. In between cleaning my apartment and paying bills, I spend the day agonizing over what to wear tomorrow. The venue is pretty casual, so in a way that makes this harder. Do I wear something revealing? Or something less sexual, making this more of a romantic outing than purely animalistic? Should I try to dress for the occasion and go all out in 70's attire?

In the end, my apartment ends up almost as messy as it was when I started cleaning simply from the piles of discarded clothes. But I ultimately settle on a black tank top without a bra paired with bell-bottom jeans and my most comfortable pair of wedges. I figure I look good without looking trashy, and I'm showing him a side of me that will never come out at work. With luck, he'll like that side and want to spend more time with me outside of work.

At exactly 8:00, my doorbell rings. I answer it, and my breath catches a little. He's in a skin tight sweater that's bound to catch the eye of every woman he passes.

"Hi," I finally say after a few seconds being distracted by the sharp outline of his shoulders. Thankfully, he hasn't seemed to notice my distraction, being transfixed himself. But his gaze is caught a tad lower than my shoulders.

"Hi," he replies somewhat stiffly, bringing his gaze up to mine. I swallow hard, resisting the urge to proposition him in the middle of the hallway. Before I can change my mind, I lock the door and start towards the elevator. I realize I'm at a loss of what to say to him – it seems there is too much between us to even know where to start.

"Are you a vet?" I blurt after noticing the bill of a camouflage baseball hat in his pocket.

"Yeah," he answers a little softly. "Vietnam." I do some rough estimates to get at his age – that's something I've dared not ask lest he be frightened away by what is at minimum 10-year difference between us.

"Was it hell?" I ask. I know a lot of veterans don't like to talk about their time there, so I certainly don't want to pry.

"Worse, actually," he says with a slight smirk. "But I admit the part of why I wanted to go to this concert was to relive the simplicity of the times when I took orders instead of giving them." We're in my elevator now, and I turn to face him properly.

"I'm surprised. You seem rather comfortable giving orders – and good at it." He shrugs, and I can see every muscle ripple. I realize I've been staring and pull my eyes away.

"I don't think I could go back to such a rank without losing my mind, but there is an appeal to not being the one everyone looks to for direction." That makes me laugh a little, and he looks at me inquiringly.

"Ironically, I think your job might be a little easier if a certain agent took to your directions more." He joins my laughter and flashes me a smile that makes him look even more handsome.

"You're telling me," he teases as he opens the passenger side door of his car for me. I thank him and briefly lay a hand on his bicep as I slide past him. As he shuts the door, I glance into his eyes and am rewarded with a shimmer of lust. Good.

On the drive over, I make conversation about boxing, asking him how long he's boxed, where he learned it, if he still keeps up with it, and anything else I can think of. It seems so long as I keep Skinner talking he's cheerful, but whenever we lapse into silence, he gets this distant look in his eyes like he's looking past me. I get the feeling he is running calculations in his head about the ramifications of what we're doing. But I really don't want him doing that because I'm worried they won't add up in my favor.

By the time we get to the venue, I'm bee-lining for the bar to get something to calm my nerves. I feel like I'm taking an exam in a class I skipped the whole semester. I battle my way back through the crowd to the stage area, meeting back up with Skinner.

"How's your drink?" he has to lean down to yell in my ear over the din of the crowd.

"Good," I yell back. "Want me to get you one?"

"I'm good for now, thank you." Before too much longer, the band comes on stage, and the crowd screams. They start up right away, and I'm glad I've got alcohol in me or I wouldn't be too impressed. As is though, I'm swaying my hips to the beat and waving my hands. Without intending to, I slip in front of Skinner for a better view. As I'm dancing along, to my surprise, I feel his strong arms wrap around my torso, bringing me up against him. I gasp with surprise and pleasure, and I grind my hips against his. His grip tightens on my waist.

"We really shouldn't be doing this," he says into my ear. I turn around, grabbing his face to bring in him for a kiss.

"I know. But let's forget about that for tonight. I want you, you want me. Let's enjoy ourselves. And then, later," I pause and get closer to his ear, "I want you to destroy me." I pull back slightly to gauge his reaction to that. His face is somewhat flushed and his eyes spark. He grabs me back into another deep kiss that leaves me breathless and craving his more of him. We break away as the song ends, and for the rest of the concert, manage to keep our hands more or less to ourselves. It turns out I'm highly aroused by the tension and suspension of being surrounded by a crowd and unable to act on our lust. I spend the entire encore finding every excuse I can to edge us towards the door and press myself against him, relishing in his firm, masculine body. When the show wraps up, we both race to the car.

"Do you think I can put the siren on?" He jokes as we sit at a traffic light. I laugh freely.

"I wish. I'm glad I'm not the only one dying to get back to my place."

"Of course not. Laila, you look…absolutely ravishing." His eyes run over my body, and a feel a jolt of electricity course through me at the sight of him openly appraising me – and clearly enjoying what he sees. I reach my hand across the space between us to touch his thigh, only lightly. He moans softly and then grabs my hand, pressing me more firmly against him and then guiding my hand up. I gasp at the feel of his arousal.

"Is that okay?" he asks, immediately loosening his grasp on my hand.

"Yes," I sigh, pressing my hand against him. "Walter, I-" A horn sounds behind us, and he tears his eyes away from me and back to the road. I pull my hand away so as not to distract him. But I'm fiddling and fidgeting in my seat the whole way back to my apartment. I can't think straight I'm so aroused.

When we finally get behind the closed door of the elevator, I pounce on him, but he grabs me and holds me back. Confused, I stare at him, my hands clutching at his sweater.

"Cameras," he whispers. Oh, yeah – subtly.

"Right. Sorry," I whisper. I sigh and bite my lip. I'm practically tearing my hair out. I am so excited that I can barely get my key in the lock. When I finally get the door open (and closed), he tears into me like I'd been wanting him to all night. He gathers me into my arms and kisses me until I can barely focus. My clothes are gone in a matter of seconds, and then so are his. We're still in my kitchen, so he easily picks me up and carries me into my bedroom and tosses me on to my bed before climbing on top of me. I can already feel his erection between our bodies, and I moan loudly in anticipation.

"Walter," I moan while he's hovering above me, lavishing kisses on my breasts, my stomach, and…lower, making me tremble. "Walter," I cry out when he licks me, his warm tongue gliding across me in the most pleasing way. One of my hands moves to press on the back of his head, bringing him closer to me. His hands wrap around me, and he gathers two handfuls of my ass, moaning appreciatively against me. I moan again when he hits a particularly sensitive spot, and in minutes of his ministrations, I'm seeing stars and screaming his name.

He torments me on the way to my release, pulling back sometimes, slowing down just as I'm about to go over the edge, drawing out my pleasure. Until, finally, I'm right there, crashing up to a shattering climax, quaking and screaming wordlessly as every fiber of my being clenches and releases in unison. I collapse into the bed with a final moan, pulling him up so that I can kiss him senseless.

"Oh, baby, you were fantastic," he moans when I finally let him breathe again.

"Me?" I sputter. "All I did was lie there while you…oh, Walter, my god. You were unbelievable." He kisses my neck, gathering me into his arms.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. Are you ready for more?" he asks. At first I don't understand, but then I feel the tip of his hard cock pressing against me.

"Oh, god, yes. Please."

"You sure? I'm not going to be gentle."

"I didn't ask you to be," I reply, my voice low and dark. With a grunt, he thrusts himself in one go until he's buried entirely inside me. I cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain while he continues thrusting inside me. "Oh, Walter," I call out as he hits what feels like every nerve in my body, pleasure sparking through me. I spread my legs as wide as I can for him, letting him penetrate even deeper inside me. I pull him down for a kiss while he fucks me relentlessly – that hard, thick cock filling me completely and making me forget everything but the man in my bed.