by Kitty Cox
"Mm." He kissed inside her thigh as he settled into place. "And I'm gonna make sure you want to do it a lot. Hold onto something, Sugar, because I'm gonna rock your world." And he licked right along the center of her being.
Dez gasped, feeling sparks shoot right up her spine, and bucked into him. "I'm sorry," she breathed.
"Should I stop?"
"Oh fuck no!"
He chuckled, then licked her again, this time pausing at the spot she liked the most. "Then don't be sorry. Turns me on when you squirm." And then he sucked.
Dez couldn't think. She couldn't talk. All she could do was give in to the insanity between her legs, shoving herself closer to the heat of his mouth. He licked, he sucked, and then she felt his hand slide along her soaking wet lips, right into her core. Tormenting her from both sides, she'd never felt anything like this. Making love to Chance was amazing. It felt so good, but his mouth was even better. She just didn't know what it was she was supposed to do.
Until she couldn't think enough to care. Each twitch of his fingers made her buck. Every flick of his tongue made her moan. Over and over, he strummed her body until she couldn't take any more. Shoving her hand over her mouth, Dez broke, clinging to the sheets as her back arched away from the bed and every nerve pulsed in unison. She was spent, unable to wrap her mind around such bliss.
"Still with me?" he asked, moving higher.
She giggled. "Nope. I think I just flew away."
He kissed her belly. "Need a minute, or you done for the night?"
Reaching down, she caught the back of his neck and tugged. "You. What I need... is you."
"Forever and almost always," he swore, surging high enough to kiss her.
She could taste herself on his lips. His body held her down. Against her oh so sensitive body, his dick was as hard as rock, shifting ever closer to exactly where she wanted him, but he was kissing her too hard. She couldn't keep track of everything. She just knew this was ok. This was always going to be ok. He'd make sure of it. And then he slid inside. It didn't hurt, but she felt her body stretch to hold him. Dez gasped, pulling her mouth away, and her eyes opened – to find his waiting.
"I love you," he whispered. "Love the way you feel. Love everything about you."
She lifted her hips, wrapping a leg around his hip. "Shut up, Chance, and prove it."
"Oh, fuck yeah."
And he did. Slowly at first, but when she didn't fight him, he thrust deeper, harder, and much, much faster. Face to face, she could see his eyes, could feel his breath, could hear the sounds clinging to the back of his throat. It felt good. She wasn't scared. She wasn't some broken little girl. She was just like everyone else, and this felt amazing.
Their bodies writhed, flexing to match the other. She pushed, lifting her hips into him and he thrust, diving so very deep inside her. The bed creaked, complaining about the intensity, but neither of them cared. Her body grew slick, sliding along the sweat on his skin, but that only made it better. She wrapped her fingers in his hair and kissed him, feeling his body rock hers into the bed. She loved him. She loved him so much. This man, the one buried inside her destroyed little body, was the one thing that kept her sane. He was what made her almost normal, and she loved him. She loved him like a real person, and it felt so damned good.
Dez yanked her mouth from his and pressed her face against his neck, clinging to the hard muscles of his shoulders. She rocked, she tensed, then she exploded. Her nails pressed into him. His body held in her cries. His arms pulled her tight to his heart as her muscles clamped down around him, wringing a groan from the center of his being.
And she didn't even care that he was holding her down.
"That," he panted, "was the best sex I've ever had."
She pushed, nudging him over, and they slid apart. Without hesitation, Dez scooted closer, claiming his chest as her pillow. "Me, too."
He laughed. "Yeah, and the cuddling is almost as nice. Go to sleep, Sugar. Tomorrow, all of our dreams become real."
"Already have," she mumbled, letting her eyes close.
"Yeah," he agreed.
Chapter 40
Cradling her cup of coffee, Dez wandered down the stairs. It was still dark out, and not even the lights inside could hide that. The sleepy voices of people making their way into work didn't dispel the feeling that it was much too early for any of them to be functioning. And then there was Amy.
She sat on the centermost desk, swinging her legs beneath her. The combat boots clanked loudly when she clipped one of the legs, but she didn't seem to care. Her attention was on a piece of paper in her hand. Like always, her eyeliner was thick and heavy, her lips were painted perfectly red, and she looked ready for the cameras. This time, Dez wouldn't mind a little media attention. Not if it meant their release went as well as she hoped. Deviant Games was about to put their mark on the map.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dez grumbled, claiming the chair that was supposed to go with Amy's desk.
She flashed the paper around but didn't give Dez enough time to read it. "Memorizing the talking points. Indie developer, overcoming the odds, refusing to back down in the face of harassment, you know, the phrases to slide in when I can."
"Mm." Dez took another drink. "We have any problems yet?"
Amy grinned. "Some asshat was on Twitter saying that Silk will never compete with WoW, but that's about it. Said we're just another WoW clone."
"Not at all."
"I know, right?" Then Amy looked at her watch and hopped off the desk. "Morning, everyone!" she called out.
"Fuck your morning," Dez replied, kicking her feet up where Amy's ass had just been. A few people chuckled.
Amy flapped her hand, dismissing that. "In an hour and a half, all hell is going to break loose. Media team is myself, Mark, Jeff, Braden, and Sam. Anything you need to escalate goes to one of us. If Chance or Dez needs to see it, we'll bump it to them. Bug team, you need to perform triage. If anything is game-breaking, it goes to Mark. Everything else goes to either Andy or Braden, depending upon type."
A woman at the back lifted her hand, drawing Amy's attention. "How are we handling the server backlog? I mean, we all know there's going to be a queue to log in."
Dez answered. "I've got extra login servers working for the first two weeks. We shouldn't see anything, but there may be reports of lag in the starter areas. That goes to Tim."
"And anything else that doesn't fall into a neat category," Amy told the team, "comes to me or Mark. If we're busy, grab the closest team leader and let him or her decide. Now refill your coffee, run the last minute checks, and let's make this happen, people!"
Sarcastically, Dez lifted her cup in salute. "Go... Team!"
Amy just rolled her eyes. "God, you're a bitch in the morning."
"Haven't had my first smoke yet."
"Why not?"
Dez gestured upstairs. "Chance is shaving. Braden's not here yet. I'm not allowed outside without a babysitter, remember?"
"Oh, Jesus," Amy grumbled. "C'mon. Let's go. Besides, Braden said you have some interesting stories to tell. Rumor has it you've been touching people."
Finally, Dez found a reason to smile. "Yep." She heaved herself out of the chair and beelined it for her desk.
"Hey?" Amy asked. "You ever going to quit smoking?"
"Prolly. I mean, I gave up opiates, being freaked out all the time, and cut back on the hard alcohol. Figure cigarettes are next, but heard it's a lot harder." She grabbed her pack from the top drawer, pulling out a smoke and a lighter, then put the rest back in place.
"Dunno. With what you've already done, I think you can do anything." There was honest admiration in Amy's voice.
Dez shoved at the heavy metal door, smiling over her shoulder. "Thanks."
From the other side, a man asked, "For what?" And something clicked.
Dez spun around with a squeak and jumped back. Unfortunately, that meant away from the safety of the door. "Chris!" That was the guy's name. The one she'd fi
red just the other day. The gun in his hand made it a little hard to think straight.
Amy gasped, but she was smart enough to duck back inside. Dez heard the lock snap into place and lifted her hands. Thankfully, Chris wasn't pointing it at her. He was just sitting there on the same bench she always used, holding the weapon in both hands, almost as if he didn't know what to do. Silence hung between them, broken only by the sound of the last night-loving bugs throwing themselves against the lights.
"You know how hard it is to get a job in this field?" he asked. "You fired me like it was no big deal. Never even thought about how that's going to affect my family. It's all about you, you, you, isn't it?"
Dez stepped back, wondering if she could make it to the edge of the building. "And what about the others working in there? Chris, you were trying to destroy the entire company. Was I supposed to just ignore that? How do you think they're going to pay their bills?"
"It's just a damned game!"
Slowly, she lowered her hands. "Yeah, but it can't go both ways. It's their job. It was yours."
He cut her off. "And now I have nothing!" He flicked the tip of the gun, gesturing for her to move the other way. "They said you'd ruin everything, and now you have. See, this is what happens when the dumb cunts start to take over. You think you're good enough to run this company?"
"No," Dez whispered, barely able to get the words around the constriction in her throat. "That's what Chance does."
"A man." Slowly, all too deliberately, Chris heaved himself off the bench she'd used so many times. "So what good are you?"
She wanted to cry. She wanted to pass out. For the first time in her life, Dez had actually thought that everything was going to be ok, and now this? It was like every time she turned around, the world was trying to poop in her Cheerios. She just couldn't get a break. No matter how hard she tried, something always went wrong. It always went bad.
"I just wanted to make a game," she mumbled. "I just wanted to be a gamer like everyone else."
"Shoulda stuck with your dollies."
He lifted the gun, the amber light of the loading dock playing along the barrel, and Dez knew her life was over. She just hoped that it wouldn't hurt. She was so tired of hurting. If her life was going to be complete shit, then maybe it was better to just get it over with, but she didn't want it to hurt when he killed her. Sucking in a breath, she closed her eyes, bracing against the bullet she knew was coming.
"Chris?" From the left, a kind voice made Dez's eyes snap open.
"Shut up!" the man yelled.
Agent Bradley Matthews slowly stepped around the side of the building. His suit jacket was gone and his sleeves were rolled up. The way he held his hands in the air made it easy to see that he wasn't armed.
"The police are coming, Chris. They don't really like it when you're holding a gun on someone."
"Ya think?"
Bradley took another step closer. "Yeah. So why don't you just put that down?"
But that was the wrong thing to say. The odds were no longer in his favor, and Chris was desperate. He lunged, grabbing a fistful of Dez's shirt, and jerked her against him. The cold metal of the gun pressed into her temple keeping her from screaming. At least she'd die fast, she thought. If he put a bullet through her brain, she wouldn't even feel it.
"Don't..." Bradley begged. "We're just talking."
The gun trembled against her head. "And no one's fucking listening! We tried to tell you. We made it pretty damned clear. You let women take over and everything goes to shit. Now I don't have a job and it's her fault." He pressed the gun harder into her skull. "Her fault!"
"Why's it her fault?" Bradley asked, catching Dez's eye.
He wanted her to be quiet. She could see him begging her to keep her damned mouth closed. What he didn't understand was that it was her only option. Her throat was pinched so tight she couldn't even whimper. With this guy's hands on her, all she could do was stand there like a rag doll, waiting for whatever they wanted to do to her next. She wasn't tough. She wasn't some hero. She was the victim and she'd always be the victim. Dez struggled to find air, but it was gone, long gone.
"She's the one that fired me!" Chris snarled. "Wasn't Chance. Hell, he even told her to stop being a bitch."
"Maybe she can't help it?" Bradley took another step forward.
In the distance, sirens were starting to pierce the air. As the sky shifted from the black of night to the lavender of false dawn, all Dez could think about what how bad this would delay the release. Would Chance postpone the game if she died? Would he cancel it? This bastard was going to shoot her, and then someone would shoot him. Did that mean they'd close the entire building? Would the off-site servers be enough? Could they handle the release through the internet, or would it be impossible without their network?
"Of course, she can't!"
The sirens were getting loud. Dez could even hear the sound of the cars. Bradley, however, ignored it. His face was perfectly calm, but his attention was locked on the man holding Dez against his chest.
"So how do we fix this, Chris? If she can't help it, how do we make this better? What do you want us to do?"
"Fire them!" He yelled the words so hard, spittle flew over Dez's shoulder, droplets hitting her cheek. Her skin shivered in disgust but he didn't notice. "They're ruining the games. They're taking our jobs. These cunts just want to impress some guy and think pretending to like games will do it! They're ruining everything, and I can't get a damned job because of her."
"Dez?" Bradley asked. "She's keeping you from getting a job? Maybe we can get her to write you a nice referral. I'm pretty sure Chance would."
"She's got him snowed. Probably sucked him off and now he'll do anything for a piece of ass. You saw the article, didn't you? MMOweekly. Chance Hunter can't think unless some bitch is telling him what to do!"
"So what about someone else? Braden? Maybe Andy?"
"Faggot," Chris hissed.
"Ah." Bradley looked confused. Then again, he hadn't really had enough time to learn all the quirks of the team. "What about the big guy? Tim, I think?"
"He's fucking one of them." Police cruisers were pulling into the parking lot, the red and blue strobes of their lights turning the situation surreal.
Bradley took a half step closer. "I know. Jeff. He's not dating anyone. I can call him if you'd like, get him to write up a nice letter and post it wherever you want it, but you have to let her go."
Chris just laughed. "Dream on, pig."
"I had to try," Bradley said, his voice so very calm. "We both know the police are here, and you know that means this won't end well."
In the distance, someone was calling her name. Wailing it, as if the word hurt. "Dez!" The sound was primal. She knew, though, that it was Chance, but she couldn't answer. She couldn't do anything.
And then the first group rounded the corner of the building. Dressed all in black, their body armor emblazoned with the word "POLICE" in capital letters, five men had their weapons at the ready. Bradley lifted his hands, waving one back toward them.
"Special Agent Bradley Matthews," he called out. "The situation is under control!"
"Pull back," one of the cops ordered.
The unit shifted but didn't move out of sight. Behind them, two more police cruisers drove onto the grass, stopping in a line. Dez knew it was a barricade of sorts. In the open grass behind the building, those cars were the only thing between them and the crazy man still holding a gun to her head. She looked over to Bradley and he met her eyes, the corner of his mouth flicking up as if he was trying to smile.
"What now?" he asked Chris. "Where do we go from here? You're in charge. You're the one with the gun, which means you're in charge."
"I can't let her ruin everything." The anger was fading from his voice, but it still trembled.
"How can she ruin anything? She's just an addict. No one's going to listen to her anyway."
Chris lifted his arm, pushing her head against her shoulder with th
e barrel. "She's already ruined everything. We're going to lose the house because she fired me."
"I'll help you work that out," Bradley promised.
Behind him, one man walked slowly toward the farthest cop car. The first hints of pink in the sky tinted his hair, proving it was a very sickly shade of blonde. He didn't walk, though. He stalked, like he had a purpose. All around her, everyone held their positions except him, and Dez couldn't look away. It was Jason.
The strange geek she'd spent the day with talking about chasing IPs, was assembling something. He worked like he was on autopilot, as if his body knew this like it knew nothing else. Her eyes flicked back to Bradley. He dipped his head slightly, almost a nod, and she was sure. This was why he was stalling. He knew Jason was there. He'd planned on it.
Suddenly, the thing in his hands made sense. It was a gun. A very long one, like a rifle. She'd played enough games to know exactly how this would go. Bradley was the distraction. Chris was the target. Jason was the sniper. And her? She was the victim. Dez was so tired of being the victim, but by now she'd perfected it. Nothing this bastard could do would be worse than what they'd done before. For years, she'd prayed for death, hoping for an escape from the torture in her mind. It wasn't fair that it finally came just when she wanted to live, but that's how things worked. Murphy's Law, and all that. There was only one problem - Dez wasn't alone.
She might be flawed. She might be the most fucked up person she knew, but she wasn't alone. Somewhere out there, Chance loved her. Amy and Braden were her friends. She had her entire team, ready to make dreams into reality, and now there were two more. Bradley stood there, taking the risk of getting shot to help her, while across the way, Jason was fighting back.
She'd played this game before. She knew how it ended. The good guys always won. Yeah, sometimes a few people died, and she knew that meant her. She was the damsel in distress, waiting to get axed so that Chance would spend the rest of his days trying to make things right, but she'd still matter. Maybe it wasn't the storyline she'd wanted. It certainly wasn't the one she'd write for herself, but it was one that couldn't be forgotten. Dez took a deep breath, finally finding the air that had been eluding her since she'd first seen the gun, and lifted her head. The gun pressed harder.
