by K. T. Samois
“Continue,” he murmurs. With her having offered him a choice morsel, he seems content to serve himself. Ree can’t help but appreciate his cleverness — with his mouth full, she’ll have no choice but to carry the conversation.
“I liked the way it looked in my head. It was like old gold. Gilt, and a little dirty. It was so refined, with beautiful people in exotic places — but it was also... sensual? She was beautiful, and he was stern and strict, and-”
...And he always wore gloves. Huh.
“You know, this explains a lot,” Hardin says, apparently reading her damn mind. Amusement and desire warm his voice. “You would have had a crush on the older one.”
“I prefer experience to enthusiasm,” she says. “Or at least, I think I do.”
“You think you do?”
“Yes,” Riona says. “I wouldn’t know. I’m waiting for marriage.”
“Waiting for marriage.” Hardin’s voice is very flat.
“Yeah.” Ree says, soldiering on. She won’t let him see her stumble. Not here. Not about this. “See? Told you you’d want to run screaming. It’s all sort of… tied together with the, um… kink. I don’t want to go live in some French chateau, but it, um…”
“Might be a pleasant place to holiday?”
“Yeah! Exactly. Only, maybe more like an extended stay. Permanent residency, maybe? I want to belong to someone. I want him to belong to me. It’s not just, um… hanky spanky?”
He stares at her, but is enough of a gentleman not to say anything.
“Oh, what would you call it?” Ree says, almost whining. He takes a sip of his tea, bemused.
“Anything but that.”
“Well, whatever you call it… I don’t want something casual. That’s not me. It’s never been me. I know I’m not exactly the most vanilla of cupcakes, but I’m not like, a swinging-from-the-ceiling sort of girl, either. I don’t… I can’t separate the two. I don’t want to.”
Mortification makes her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but Ree doesn’t back down. “I don’t want to be a little angel in the home or anything. Maid uniforms aren’t my thing.” She knows some subs are into that, but the closest she gets to being a domestic goddess is adding hot water to instant oatmeal.
When he makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a strangled laugh, she pins him with a look. “I just… I want to belong with one man, Hardin, and nobody else. I want him to be mine in return. Since I’m not into sharing…”
A busser chooses that moment to clear the table beside them, and Ree shuts her mouth like a beartrap. She spends the entire time he’s clearing the table wishing the ground would swallow her up. Once he’s gone, it takes her a moment to gather her courage back to her. She meets Hardin’s gaze and holds it.
“Waiting for marriage is the simple way to explain it to people who don’t get it.”
It’s a struggle to keep her voice firm. His eyes are bright and a shade of February blue that makes a shiver race down her spine.
“Sound reasoning,” he murmurs with warm finality in return, and Ree feels her shoulders ratchet down from where they’d crept up around her ears.
***
When he walks her home, it’s a beautiful rain-washed night in a neighbourhood full of new cars and the well-heeled people that drive them. Mid-rise red brick buildings dominate the tree-lined boulevard, while glass-walled luxury construction soars overhead. His date- no, his companion- fits in like it’s her native ecosystem.
They’re each carrying teas to go, and Ree has curled her free arm around his. It keeps him from making a beeline to the car the way he otherwise might. Her bright chatter as he escorts her to her front door warms him better than the hot drink does.
“You haven’t even tried your tea”, he says offhandedly, and Riona looks down suddenly as though just noticing that herself.
Eager to rectify her mistake, she sucks on the straw hard enough to hollow out her cheeks. Hardin doesn’t have time to warn her before a rush of bubbles disappears from the bottom of her glass. In that same instant, Riona’s eyes go wide as saucers, and she swallows sharply.
“Oh, shit!” Riona gasps, eyes watering. “That got me in the back of the throat!”
Her mouth snaps shut in horror. Riona scrambles for composure, making him think of nothing so much as an embarrassed cat pretending at dignity.
“You could have informed me,” she sniffs with high feline dignity. “They’re a little surprising if they get you all at once. They’re not bad once you get used to them, though. They’ve got an interesting mouthfeel.”
Mouthfeel—
His mind fills with a host of suggestions for places that his mouth might enjoy feeling. The arch of her neck where it meets her spine, for instance, or the curve of her throat where it meets her ear. The inside of her elbow where the skin is so pale it's nearly blue—
“That word is pretentious,” he tells her, because he can also imagine a few places he’d like to feel her mouth on. “Please never use it again.”
“Why not? Does it give you ideas?” Her voice takes a sly turn, as though she’d genuinely like to know.
“I’ll give you ideas, Riona,” he threatens. It doesn’t have the desired effect.
“Sure wish you would-” she says, and that’s more than enough for him.
He kisses like he plans on conquering; it’s as seductive as a thunderstorm. She traces the planes of his face with her fingertips, committing them to memory like a sculptor.
“Please,” she breathes, not even sure what she’s asking for. Whatever it is she needs, Ree knows he’s got it. It’s in the way he kisses her, like he has every right to. She replies in kind. Nibbling gently on his lower lip is a teasing start; her hands tracing along his shoulders is another. After all, two can play this game.
“Hardin, please.” She knows she sounds whiny with need, but he finds it endearing at the moment. He smiles at her and traces a thumb along her lower lip.
She shivers, helpless.
His mouth moves from hers, leaving her gasping for oxygen. Her knees quake, and she’s so turned on that her skin feels like it’s on fire.
His mouth is at her ear, and in that low, dangerous voice of his, he says —
“Good night, Riona.”
“Wait, what?!”
He crowds across her in the impersonal way of a bodyguard — except that he isn’t her security detail, and she wants to get her hands all over his body.
The door clicks open. He guides her in gently and shuts the door. Ree, still a little shell-shocked, allows it. She’s glad one of them is thinking with their big heads today. Only once she knows he’s walked away does she relax: the adrenaline leaves her all at once and she slides down the solid oak to the floor in a puddle of sexual frustration and serotonin.
“Wow.”
***
Ree’s one of the youngest in a pack of nosy sisters, which means she’s second only to a trained professional when it comes to sneaking into places. She’s sneaking into her own home, but that’s irrelevant. She just has to get from the front door to her bedroom, and then she’ll be home free—
Becca steps out of the kitchen, wearing a robe so small Ree wonders if she shrunk it in the wash, and pins Ree with a searing grin.
There’ll be no escaping this grilling, she thinks, but can’t feel too prickly about it. “Sooo,” Becca draws it out with all the decadence of melted caramel. “How’d it go?”
“So good!” Ree says, stepping into the kitchen. Becca’s got a cup of ramen cooking on the countertop; she’ll be on her way to work shortly. But she’d rather starve than pass up a bit of girl talk, and she’s been pumping Ree for details on Hardin all week.
“He’s so suave, Becca. Doors, chairs, everything!”
“The bill?”
“He insisted,” Ree says, shoulders hitching up just the slightest bit.
“Ree…”
And there it is — the genuine but unnecessary concern. Ree takes a breath in through h
er nose and exhales slowly.
“He insisted,” she says, voice brisk. “And I don’t mind. I thought it was very old-fashioned of him-”
“And you like that,” Becca says, as though that’s all there is to it. As though it were that simple.
Maybe it is.
“And I like that, yeah. He’s charming and a perfect gentleman, Becca.”
The other girl raises an eyebrow and gets Ree’s scowl in return. “He picked up the tab because he chose the restaurant, and because he offered. He opened the door and held my chair, and he didn’t stare at my breasts once.”
“Holy shit,” Becca blurts. For a moment, Ree fears she might have perhaps given away more than she’d intended. “Okay, that is impressive,” Becca says, brown eyes wide in surprise. “They’re pretty great.”
Ree shrugs a shoulder. “Right? It was just a wonderful evening. Even if I did make a total ass of myself on the way home.”
Becca’s face scrunches into a rictus grin. “Oh, my god. How?!”
Ree chuckles, waving away her concern. “He introduced me to bubble tea. Except… it didn’t occur to me they’d come whipping up the straw so fast. I’m pretty sure one just about ended up in my lung! But once I got it figured out, it was fantastic.”
“Oh jeez,” Becca spits, nose crinkling with disgust. “You like that stuff?”
Ree stares in surprise.
“Don’t you?”
“Fuck no. They feel like come.”
Ree freezes. The bubble tea in her hand weighs a ton; each delicious black boba at the bottom of her cup is now an indictment of her character.
“Pardon me?”
Becca expands on the topic eagerly. “Not the taste,” she clarifies, with the air of a trained connoisseur. “But the way they sort of slime around in your mouth? Yeah, babe, that’s semen.”
“I… am going to pretend this entire conversation didn’t happen. Good night, Rebecca.” She tries not to sound formal, but Becca laughs at her, anyway.
“You’re too cute, Ree. I’m glad you had a good time tonight. I should go get ready though, so I’ll catch you later!” She grabs her cup noodle and disappears.
Ree’s left feeling like she’s collided with a battering ram. Slinking into her room, she locks the door behind her with a sharp and final snap. She stares down at the bubble tea, sweet with lychee and creamy with milk, the colour of parchment paper, and peppered with little black boba at the bottom. She puts it down on the bedside table and tries to ignore Becca’s commentary.
It doesn’t last. Ree looks at the bedside table, with the innocuous cup puddling condensation on…
On the red leather journal, she’d put on her bedside table and hasn’t worked up the nerve to write in yet. Ree lunges for it, wiping the water off of it with her sleeve. She checks to be sure she hasn’t done it damage and breathes a sigh of relief when it emerges from its soak unharmed.
But now that she’s picked it up, the book needles at her. It’s a gift from Hardin, so she doesn’t want to take it for granted. She can always replace the journal within it, but something about the cover calls to her.
She takes another sip of her drink before she can think better of it. Settling on to her bed, Ree plucks a pen from the bedside table and opens the journal. The blank page greets her. Taking another slow sip of her tea, Ree writes.
Chapter Four
Ree grins in the semi-darkness of the laser maze entrance.
This is the best idea ever. He even makes that dorky vest look good.
Despite the flashing laser beacons on the vest’s shoulders, Hardin wears it with the ease of long practice. It looks like a flak jacket, and he enhances the resemblance with the straightforward way he inspects the laser hanging from an elasticized wire from its side. While he does that, Ree notices the appreciative looks from a pack of tequila-wasted twenty-something lined up for their own maze.
She’s about to take offence when she steals a look up at Hardin. She’s gratified to see him smirking down at her.
“Eager, Riona?” He sounds so dry that she can only assume she’s being laughed at. Still, his teasing is playful, and Ree feels her cheeks warm at the double entendre.
“Oh, yes,” she says, because two can play that game. “I used to play this with my sisters all the time growing up. We got competitive about it.”
She isn’t sure that’s the right way to describe Moira — Thing Seven, as Evie calls her — or her intensity, but she’ll let it slide. She thinks he might have noticed when he pins her with a steady look.
“Was your victim at least equipped with string to find his way out?” Hardin asks.
Ree rolls her eyes at him.
“Sure. It led us straight to him. Remember-” she says, as the teenaged boy responsible for the PA system gives a five-second countdown. “The highest score wins!”
In the spirit of friendly competition, she bounces up onto her tiptoes and presses a playful kiss to his mouth. She nips his lower lip for good measure. His only reaction is a measured look. Then the buzzer hits and she’s bounding through the fluorescent maze.
When she’d first suggested laser tag as a date, Ree had fretted that it’d be a bit too on the nose.
Yeah, she thinks, black humour flavouring a wry smile. Wouldn’t want him to feel as though he’s brought his work home. Now, of course, she’s wondering if maybe she’s gone and put herself at a disadvantage. Hardin enjoys his job. And now he’s disappeared into the maze and is definitely looking for you. You could always catch him first, Ree…
Using the little makeup compact she’d stashed in her pocket for the purpose, she checks around the corners. After the rest of the players thunder past, she slips out of her hiding spot and makes her way through the maze to the balcony level, laser at the ready.
Once there, she sees him.
Hardin’s shifting along the concrete stanchions, hiding within the shadows as he clears corners with tactical precision. Tucked up in her little eyrie, she can see his back glued to the colonnade. His finger hovers just over the trigger. He’s put his gloves back on and the total effect reminds her of a leopard waiting to pounce.
One poor bastard makes the mistake of running into his line of sight, and a pissed-off squawk lets her know he’s scored. In the black light’s glow, she can just see the white flash of his grin — and then, as though he has her on his radar, his head turns.
Their eyes meet, and he launches into a run.
Ree scrambles to escape, fleeing down the mirrored corridor to her left. I have the head start. This is my turf. I have the home team advantage. She makes her way through the maze with the ease of long practice. Ree still jumps a foot when she rounds a corner and runs into a girl dressed all in black. She’s pretty, with solemn features and long brown hair. Ree shoots, but the girl shoots faster. Ree’s shoulder light flashes like a strobe, and her whole vest shudders. She sprints away, trying to put as much distance between Hardin and herself as possible. She’s helpless for ten seconds, and that’s an eternity when she can’t return fire.
Now every shadow has a smile, and every footstep an echo. She feels hunted, and guards her corners. It isn’t enough, and she still flinches when her vest buzzes, letting her know she’s back in the game.
Hardin’s out here somewhere, and she would bet her last dollar he’s tracking her. Tucked away in the far side of the maze, she has a few seconds to strategize.
If I were Hardin — where would I be? What would I look for?
She can hear shouts to her right; those must be the drunk girls. One of them squeals, high-pitched as a dentist’s drill, and Ree feels her spine cringe.
Not that, she thinks with bone-deep certainty, and moves towards the left.
***
By the time he makes it to her sniper’s nest, she’s long gone. He doesn’t pursue — she has the advantage of home territory. It’s an excellent vantage point… but where is she?
Here kitty kitty…
It’s not as absurd a
comparison as one might expect; Riona reminds him of a tiger he’d met once on a contract. It had belonged to an unpleasant despot and been a beautiful — albeit lethal — beast. It had the same glass-green eyes and coiled stillness that Riona seems to wear like a second skin. Like that tiger, Hardin knows his kitten can hide in plain sight. Time to set a trap.
Hardin removes a boot-lace from his pocket; the black nylon is all but invisible against the black-painted floors. He lays it down across the hallway in a straight line and steps over it. He’ll know if she comes this way again.
It’s good luck that he’s still kneeling. There’s a sniper-hole in the drywall, and through it he can just see a mirror’s flash within the maze. The thrill of the chase lights in his stomach, and Hardin’s hands flex around the laser.
He looks up.
A concrete barrier runs through the centre of the room, holding up the inner drywall of the maze. It’s load-bearing, but there’s no simple way to reach it.
I guess they don’t want a suburbanite attempting something better left to the experts.
One smooth vault and roll later, he’s on the structure and dropping down to his stomach. Cheek pressed to the vinyl-wrapped concrete, he waits to feel his vest vibrate. When no incoming shots register, he grins wide as a jackal and surveys the scene below.
Riona stands out. Even in the neon dark, her hair is the colour of spilled blood at night, and her silhouette casts the sort of figure that could launch ships or inspire artists. She isn’t the first beautiful woman he’s had. She is the one that interests him most. That she’s prowling through the maze like that despot’s tiger isn’t much of a surprise. It is yet another point in her favour.
She makes her way towards him, eyes at ground level or scanning the balconies. Riona doesn’t think to look above her, but that isn’t her fault. Most humans don’t expect overhead attacks. She does, however, have a tidy way of clearing corners that he appreciates.
