by Tinnean
Once all the moisture had been absorbed, I draped the towel over the vanity and ran a palm over my cheeks. A glance in the mirror indicated that, sure enough, I did need to shave. I covered my cheeks and jaw with shaving cream, leaving my upper lip and chin free of it. I’d trim those afterward with an electric shaver.
I’d just removed a strip of shaving cream with the safety razor when there was a tap on my door. I wrapped the towel around my waist and called, “Come in.”
The door opened and closed, and from the thump step I heard approaching, I knew it was Mark. “I’m in the bathroom, babe.”
He hobbled in, and after propping the crutch against the wall, he leaned against the vanity and folded his arms over his chest.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Okay.”
“You don’t look okay.” In fact, he struck me as downright unhappy.
He hunched a shoulder. “Novotny had an easier time putting together that damned cat condo than I did.”
“But you did all the ground work.”
“Yeah. I guess. Hop up on the counter. I’ll finish shaving you.”
“You can’t. You’re right-handed. How do you plan to shave me without slicing my face to ribbons?”
“Well, shit.” The expression on his face had become cold. “I should have killed that bitch Anacapri.”
“Femme killed her hard enough.”
“You think?”
“From what I knew of Anacapri, she wasn’t a vain woman, but a gunshot to the face is bound to ruin anyone’s looks.”
“I still should have been the one to shoot her.” He nudged the tip of his shoe against the vanity, and I was relieved he didn’t use more force. “You’ll have to shave yourself.”
I could see how irate he was, so I tried to keep it light. “You may supervise.”
“Good idea. Leave the mustache and goatee.”
“I intend to.”
He stared at my mouth intently, and for a second, my breath caught in my throat. “Come on, Quinn. Time’s a-wasting.”
I turned, faced the mirror, and picked up the razor again. Mark stood behind me, and for a second, I had to close my eyes. I could feel the heat radiated by his body as he leaned full-length against my back.
“Mark?”
“I’m okay.” He reached around with his left hand and teased my cock with deft touches.
“Well, I’m not. How am I supposed to shave with you... with you...”
His erection pressed into the towel that covered my ass, and he rocked his hips, dragging his cock up, down, across. I swallowed, unable to think straight, unable to finish my sentence. Instead, I turned my head and kissed his mouth, nibbling on his lower lip, sucking in his upper lip.
The kiss tasted strange, and I drew back and opened my eyes. I started to chuckle. Mark’s lips were smeared with shaving cream.
“Maybe we should market a flavored shaving cream,” I murmured. I was tempted to tug the towel free from around my waist and use it to wipe the shaving cream from his mouth, but I reached for a washcloth instead.
“I have a friend who’s pretty smart when it comes to things like that.”
“Romero? That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
“How the fuck do you know about Romero?”
“Really, Mark?” I set aside the washcloth, then turned on the hot water and rinsed off the razor. “You’re not the only one who can discover things.”
“Huh.”
“Yes.” I tilted my head to the side and ran the razor over my cheek.
I thought he’d decided to let it go, but I should have known better. His fingers ringed my wrist, holding it still while he whispered in my ear, “I will get an answer from you.”
He closed his teeth over my earlobe, letting me feel the pressure but not hurting me, and I couldn’t contain a breathy moan.
Then he released my ear. “Your mom really likes Pita,” he said. He released my wrist as well, and after drawing in a deep breath, I resumed shaving.
“I’m glad.” I kept my tone nonchalant.
“So am I. What the fuck would I do with a kitten?”
“The same thing you’d do with me.”
“And that is?”
“Simply love it.” I inhaled the scent of the soap Mark had used when I’d helped him shower that morning. It wasn’t his preferred brand, which was Irish Spring, but was something French that Mother had found when she’d gone out shopping for some essentials.
I paused in the rhythmic scrape, scrape, scrape of the razor.
“I love the way you smell,” I murmured. I kept my eyes on my reflection in the mirror—although I found occasion to glance at him as he stood behind me, and now I noticed the blush that rose in his cheeks and the glazed look in his hazel eyes. “Mark?”
“All I want is to take you to bed.”
I felt my own eyes glaze over. “Oh God, yes! But your leg... your arm...”
“My arm’s not that bad. But I could jerk you off left-handed.”
“Or we could sixty-nine each other.” I dropped the razor, and turned and leaned toward him, nothing else on my mind except the bed not ten feet away.
“Yeah, tonight. But now...” He sank down to his left knee and stretched out his right leg.
“Mark, you’ll hurt yourself!”
“What’s a little pain?” He parted the towel and curled his fist around my cock. His palm was warm and rough with calluses from handling his Glock and from fencing, and the feel drove me toward the edge, even before he began to go down on me. God alone knew how he was doing it, but then again, he was Mark Vincent.
Between his mouth on my cock and his lubed fingers in my ass teasing my prostate—I didn’t bother asking myself where the lube came from—I was a puddle of goo within a matter of minutes.
My legs were like noodles, and I wasn’t much use in helping Mark to his feet. I fit my arms around his torso and rested my head on his chest.
“Is your leg all right?”
“It’s fine.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed him, but then I realized something else. “You didn’t come,” I murmured.
“An incentive for you to come home early. You can take care of it then.” A finger under my chin raised my face to his, and he kissed me, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
“Mmm.”
There was another knock on my door. “Quinn, you’ve got to get on the road in about ten minutes.”
“Thank you, Gregor. I just have to finish shaving and then dress.” Although I could see I’d gotten shaving cream all over Mark’s shirt.
“Okay. As long as you two aren’t fooling around in there.”
“Novotny, don’t you have to get dinner started?” Mark growled.
“Yeah, well—”
“Yeah, well. Quinn’ll be ready faster if you go away.”
I could hear Gregor doing some growling of his own from the other side of the door, but then he burst into laughter. “This is me, going away.”
“Damned Feeb,” Mark muttered.
“Never mind.” Gregor was right. I needed to be on the road soon if I was to pick up DB at the promised time. I’d step away from Mark. In a minute. “You were saying?”
“About what?” He nuzzled the hinge of my jaw, then nipped my earlobe and blew into my ear, and I lost my train of thought.
“What about what?”
He chuckled. “Hell if I know.”
I blinked and did a little nuzzling of my own while I searched my brain for what we’d been speaking about only a few minutes earlier. “I remember. Mother and Pita.”
“Right. I suggested Portia might want to change the kitten’s name, call it something like PK—Portia’s Kitty, but she likes Pita. And if you smile, you’ll wind up cutting yourself. Cooper’s going to think you’re a lousy barber. Or that you had a run-in with a vampire.” He leaned forward and this time he nipped my throat.
“You’re getting shaving cream in your mouth again
.”
“I could get used to the taste.” He turned me around and petted my hip.
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Want me to tell you?”
“I wish you would.” I shivered as he ran his fingers from my hip, up past my ribs, and pinched a nipple. I’d always had sensitive nipples—something he’d discovered early in our relationship, and which he tended to take advantage of.
“Because under it, I can taste you.”
“Mark!” I groaned and shivered again. I’d just climaxed. How could he make me hard—harder—with just a few words?
“Are you done?”
I nodded dumbly—although frankly I didn’t care—turned, and picked up the washcloth. The water was still running and if I didn’t get myself together, it would grow cool. I soaked and wrung out the washcloth, but all I could do was stand there with it in my hand.
“Okay.” For a second it felt as if I were on a merry-go-round, turning round and round and round—but then he took the washcloth from me, and ran it over my cheeks and throat. “Pretty enough to be kissed.” He tipped up my chin and murmured against my lips, “Tonight, babe.”
“Yes!” I couldn’t resist reaching between us and shaping his cock through his sweatpants.
“Get dressed.” He patted my ass. I was startled when I realized it was his right hand. I would have thought it put a strain on the healing wound, but perhaps he was right in thinking it wasn’t that bad.
“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the window seat?”
“Yeah, don’t mind if I do.” He caught up the crutch, hobbled to the window, and eased down, his right leg stretched out in front of him. “What are you going to wear?”
“I brought these clothes from home.” I gestured toward the bed, where I’d laid out trousers, shirt, and underwear. “They should be casual enough, don’t you think?”
He laughed. “Yeah, I guess you’d consider these Mann casual.”
“What’s wrong with them?” I beetled my brows at him, not that he saw, since that lock of hair that was forever falling into my eyes no doubt obscured my disgruntlement.
“Quinn, you’re going to the Rib Shack, not Raphael’s. These clothes are…”
Deliberately, I dropped the towel, gratified when his words petered out and he licked his lips. I reached for the black silk boxers, and stepped into them.
“Uh... Quinn?”
“Yes?”
“Those shorts are silk.” He scowled at me.
“Yes?” I pulled the black undershirt over my head, then sat on the bed and put on black socks.
“Who’s going to see them?”
I rose, picked up the forest green, button-down shirt, and slid my arms into the sleeves. “You, Mark.” I went to him, the shirt gaping open, and bent and looped my arms around his neck. “Only you.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course.”
“Okay.” He gave me a quick peck on the lips. “You… uh… you look good. That shirt brings out the green in your eyes.”
“Thank you.” I stepped into the black trousers and eased them up over my legs, then buttoned the shirt and tucked it in. Finally, I zipped the fly.
“No tie?”
“Mark! I would never wear a tie when I’m dressed in casual clothes!” I teased. “Especially since I’ve left the top buttons open to emphasize the casual aspect I’m aiming for.”
“Bullshit.” He got to his feet, made his way to the closet, and opened the door. “Ha! Just as I suspected.” He fingered a tie that hung from the rack fastened to the inside of the door.
“Really, Mark? Do I strike you as the type of man who’d wear a red tie with a green shirt? As if it was Christmas? I’m appalled!”
“Give it up, babe. If you weren’t willing to wear that skinny tie, it wouldn’t be hanging in your closet.”
“Skinny ties are for sex. Fat ties... aren’t.”
“Since when are you involved in bondage?”
“Since you cuffed me to my headboard.”
His eyes narrowed, and he crooked a finger. I approached him, expecting another kiss.
What I got was the top three buttons of my shirt slid into place in their buttonholes.
“That’s better.” His tone was so smug I didn’t know whether to hit him or kiss him. “No reason to tempt Cooper.”
“Cooper—DB is straight, Mark.”
“Yeah. I bet he stays up nights telling himself that.” He put me away from him and started toward the door. “I’ve got to get downstairs. Novotny’s making a Czech version of goulash with noodles. I tried it when I was in Prague a few years ago, and it’ll be interesting to see how his compares.”
“Just a second.” I grabbed up a shoehorn and worked my feet into a pair of black loafers. “I picked up something for you in London. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to give it to you.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“No, but I wanted to.” Earlier, I’d taken the gray suede dust bag from an inner pocket of my suitcase and placed it on my dresser. Now I picked it up, opened it, and spilled the lanyard into Mark’s palm.
And of course he spotted what I’d had engraved on the dog tag.
Suddenly nervous, I went to the dresser, picked up a comb, and ran it through my hair, watching him through the mirror.
“It’s beautiful.” He traced the words on the tag, rubbed the braided leather of the lanyard between his thumb and forefinger, and then looked up at me. “Yeah?”
“Face it, Mark.” I swallowed. “I love you, you love me—”
“Just don’t start singing that purple dinosaur song.”
I laughed and went to him.
“We’re together forever, Quinn. Remember?” In spite of the crutch under his arm, he gripped my waist with his left hand.
“Yes. Forever.” I didn’t wait until he pulled me to him, just took that step toward him myself.
He brushed his lips over mine, then leaned his forehead on my shoulder. I wasn’t sure I was supposed to hear his next words.
“God, I really lucked out when I ran into you at that warehouse.”
If it came to that... we both had.
Chapter 18
DB’s apartment was on the seventh floor of an eight story building in Annandale, Virginia. I’d been there quite a few times, to play poker, to barbecue, or simply to watch movies, and since DB was a science fiction aficionado, the movie usually turned out to be Aliens.
At a little less than nine hundred square feet, and with a single bedroom and bath, the apartment felt small to me, but he was happy in it. It had a balcony that offered a view of the pool and all the pretty people who used it in the summertime, and in addition to the pool, the amenities included a fitness center, clubhouse, and barbecue area.
It was only half an hour from Mother’s home in Great Falls, and I’d thought I’d given myself plenty of time, but that evening, traffic being what it was, it took me almost forty-five minutes to arrive there.
I pulled into the onsite parking DB’s apartment complex offered its residents’ guests, parked the Jag and strode to the front entrance, then pressed the button on the intercom.
“That better be you, Quinn.”
“It’s me.”
“Come on up.” He buzzed me in, and I took the elevator to seven, then walked down the long corridor to the rear of the building.
I was about to ring the bell when he yanked open the door. “DB.” I kept my expression cool, but I’d never seen him look so worn. Circles ringed his eyes, which were so bloodshot they could have passed for roadmaps.
“Quinn. Hi. Come on in.” He had a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair was damp. He stepped aside so I could enter, then shut the door and twisted the lock. He stared at me. “Why do you look like you’ve just been blown?” Color flooded my cheeks, but fortunately he didn’t notice. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where my mind is. I only got in twenty minutes ago. Jenner was on my case a
bout you. Jesus, I didn’t even have a chance to call the Rib Shack.”
“Don’t worry about that. What did Jenner want?” Uneasily, I recalled he also was aware that DB had managed to get moles into the WBIS.
DB shrugged and picked up a glass that was half empty. “He wanted to know where you were. You want a drink?”
“What? Oh, no, thanks. Why did he ask you?”
“I’ll be damned if I know. I’d have talked to Rayner about it, but he’d left early.” DB brought the glass to his lips, and in seconds it was totally empty.
“Oh?” Rayner had been called out to the California offices last year, but he’d no sooner returned when he’d had to take sick leave for a few months.
And now that I thought of it, I wondered if Edward Holmes had had anything to do with Rayner being away from Langley. That had given him the opportunity to take over Operational Targeting, and working in conjunction with Senator Wexler, he’d attempted to get me out of the picture so the senator could get to my mother.
Neither of them had succeeded, but while Wexler was on life support, Holmes was making the lecture rounds of colleges and other venues, bringing in a tidy sum. Mark was very unhappy about that—“Why should the son of a bitch be rewarded for screwing with you and Portia?”—but I’d made him promise not to get involved. Karma had a way of biting people in the ass, and I had no doubt it would eventually get around to Holmes.
“No, he’s fine,” DB assured me. “I’m gonna have another drink.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Huh? Oh, okay.”
I took the glass from him before he could change his mind and set it on top of the popcorn machine Mother had given him for Christmas two years before.
“He’s wining and dining his wife for their anniversary.” He regarded his empty glass with regret, then hitched up the towel around his hips.
“Who? Oh, Rayner. That’s right, they’ve been married twenty-five years. Well, no need to disturb him this weekend. I’ll talk to Jenner about this on Monday, and then I’ll bring it up to Rayner. Now, what about tonight? Do you feel up to going to the Rib Shack? We can order in if you’d rather.”
