"That's my sweet girl," he laughed.
She was a little rough with the fastenings on his BDUs, payback for that slap, but
it was more or less perfunctory.
"Shut up," she muttered, tearing at her own kit. She was in a hurry.
Rumble and shudder, wheels-up, and she had him pinned. A year and more of
artful moans and sham ecstasy might have explained it, but he knew better. Poor
Michael Vaughn, whose well-bred wife couldn't get off without the kill, the
kiss-off, the Judas move. He'd known what she would want on the way to Sloane's
little Chechen charade.
He'd felt it, running his hand up the back of her neck, with Vaughn stripped
and bleeding, flat on his back a few meters away. She'd rather have had her
dupe of a husband between her legs and he was half-sorry he hadn't indulged
her, but time was a factor. Definitely a factor. He bit his lip. She was really
in a hurry.
Light combat gear is nevertheless not easy. She shoved things down and out of
the way as much as possible, went up on the toes of her boots. He pulled her up
and onto him with a little gasp at the hot slide of her weight against his
erection.
His own responsiveness still amused him. Typical, he supposed; useful,
certainly. The other men were watching with varying degrees of interest. A few
already had their hands busy under their flak jackets. The back of his head hit
the webbing strung up against the bulkhead as she pushed herself down hard.
"We're on the clock, love," he gibed, trying to be still. She canted
her hips and leaned into him, moving frantically, gripping the nylon mesh
behind him. The vibration of the steel wall against his spine made another layer
of sensation.
He let her work herself to the brink, thighs braced in his supporting hands.
She was cursing in frustration at the gear they both wore. He didn't move,
except to put his mouth to her ear. The change of angle shortened his breath.
"When it's Sydney's turn, I'll let you play," he said, voice pitched
under the sawing of the engines, and that was enough. He watched her face go
blank, felt his own awareness start to fray as orgasm rolled over her. Christ,
she was strong. He couldn't hear the word her mouth shaped as she let go a
long, satisfied breath, but he knew what it was: Daddy. He smiled.
He'd seen her short the final dose an hour ago; she'd loved killing her
husband. Perhaps she wanted to kill him again. That was fine for the moment.
She wanted him on his back, then, but instead he turned her around, bent her
over the rack bolted to the cabin divider. Someone was smoking one of those
foul Russian papirosi. He used the smell to focus. They'd reached
altitude and needed time to brief the team.
It wasn't eight hundred million dollars nor even much of a distraction, as
these things went, but one game was much like another, at least until this
latest Punch-and-Judy affair wound to an end. Lauren pushed back against him,
impatient. He finished quickly, thinking of other things.
That which I never had, and promises. He'd made a few himself, since
then.
[End]
April 25, 2004