by Meg Ripley
“This is not commonly available on the market,” he told her, unlocking the screen in a series of movements her eyes couldn’t quite follow. “It’s encrypted. It’s specifically designed to be as difficult to hack as humanly possible—though, of course, with enough time and effort anything can be hacked.”
Johan slipped the phone into his pocket as the gas pump stopped. He extracted the nozzle from the tank and hung it up on the stand, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “It also has an interesting feature: a non-static phone number. Every time I get a notification about what’s going on, it comes to me through a different contact number—which makes it that much harder for the people coming after you to track us down.” Chelsea had had to accept this idea, as strange and science fiction-like as it seemed. After all, presumably Johan was in contact with someone; she had heard the tail end of conversations he had with his contact—whoever it was—apprising him or her in a series of short, terse sentences about their progress. But who was he in contact with? She couldn’t quite fight down the lingering suspicion that she might have let herself into an enormous trap.
But then, Chelsea thought as she looked around her in the car, if Johan was trying to take her to people who would go on to murder her, why would he keep the ruse going up for days? “If I didn’t know that the CEO of my company was trying to kill me,” she said, stretching against the back of the passenger seat, “I would almost feel guilty for missing so much work without much notice.” Johan had decided that it was pointless to keep up the ruse of being home sick shortly after she’d let him destroy her phone. After all, if the thugs pursuing her had trashed her apartment, it was easy to believe that her boss was either in on the situation, or had been told that she wouldn’t be in the office anymore.
“You’ve always been somewhat of a good girl, haven’t you?” Johan asked her with a slightly leering smile. “Always at work on time, staying late when you have to, carrying your weight?” Chelsea raised an eyebrow at him, frowning.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest as defensive irritation crept through her body. Johan laughed, shutting off the ignition and lightly jiggled the keys in his palm.
“I think deep down you’re different,” he told her. “There’s another Chelsea—one you don’t let out often, and you probably should.” Chelsea’s eyebrows knit together as she stared at him in confusion. “I can see it in you when you get irritated with me,” Johan explained. “There’s a hellcat in you that you keep on a really tight leash. A woman who could shoot a man if she thought she had to. Or beat the shit out of him.”
“And yet you’re not the slightest bit afraid of me,” Chelsea observed, tightening her arms across her chest. In fact, she thought wryly, Johan had—over the course of their few days together—demonstrated just how little he was afraid of her, just how powerful he was, picking her up and carrying her, pinning her to the bed, lifting her into his arms and holding her tightly.
“You have yourself under tight control,” Johan said, shrugging. “It’s when you finally give into that—that Valkyrie you’ve got buried inside of you—that’s when I’ll be afraid.” Chelsea laughed, shaking her head at the image of herself as a Valkyrie.
“Let’s check in, already,” she said, glancing around the parking lot of yet another hotel. “I feel nervous out here in the open.” Johan nodded and opened the driver’s side door, unfolding himself from the seat as Chelsea unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out of her side. As they walked towards the ornate, opulent entrance of the third—or was it the fourth—hotel that they would be staying at, it occurred to her to wonder at the fact that they had yet to spend the night at a Motel 6, or a Howard Johnson—not even a Hilton. All of their overnight stays had been in impossibly luxurious hotels, in suites that would have boggled her mind if she had ever given serious consideration to places to stay before her life on the run.
Where was Johan getting the money for the expensive hotels? How was it that he managed to have access to a different, beautiful car whenever they needed to change vehicles? If she had ever imagined what life would be like on the run, Chelsea would have pictured dingy, dirty hotel rooms close to the interstate, places where the front desk clerk didn’t look up as he took the money and handed over the key. Certainly, she would never have imagined a plush, comfortable suite at a hotel that had a spa on the ground floor and a menu of exotic choices, an entrance flanked with burbling, whispering fountains and lush, meticulously-cared-for plantings.
Chelsea stood back as Johan conducted the business of checking them in, giving a fake name to the desk clerk. She glanced around the lobby, taking in the marble floors, the cedar-lined walls, the real leather of the furniture nestled in cozy, conversational clusters. She had no idea if they were even still in her home state; she had no idea what the name of the city they were in was. “Sweetie,” Johan said calling her attention back to the present. “Did you want to go right up to the room, or browse some of the shops?” Chelsea shrugged.
“We can come back down later,” she said, giving him a warmer smile than she felt. The clerk handed over the keys—real keys, not just a key card, Chelsea noticed—and went back to whatever he had been doing before they walked in.
Johan took her hand, giving it a light squeeze, and led her to the elevators. “I told the guy at the desk that since we were only here overnight, we didn’t bring anything in the way of luggage,” he said quietly. “We can go get our things later when the shift changes.” Chelsea nodded, still mulling over the opulence of their surroundings, confused at the strange level of comfort that had come along with her life on the lam. She stepped onto the elevator, not quite able to ignore the lingering touch that Johan’s hand left at her hip as he steered her forward. One thing that she could very easily believe was the amount of time they had spent having sex, over and over again, over the few days she had been away from her daily routine. It was—as Johan had pointed out their first night together—both an excellent form of stress relief and a good way to kill time. And it serves the added bonus of making me compliant, she thought wryly. The possibility that Johan was using sex to keep her in a state of ready belief for whatever he chose to tell her about her predicament had crossed her mind more than once. It was difficult not to believe that someone had your best interests at heart when they could make love to you like a house on fire.
The elevator chimed, announcing their arrival at the floor that Johan selected, and he took Chelsea’s hand once more, steering her off of the car and down the hallway. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” Johan told her lowly, his hand on the small of her back, giving Chelsea a very clear picture of just what he had been thinking about specifically. She smiled in spite of herself, feeling her heartbeat quickening in her chest, her body beginning to heat up. Questions about their lavish lifestyle started to trickle out of her mind as Johan unlocked the door to their suite, leading her through it in quick steps and closing it firmly behind them. Chelsea took just a moment to appreciate the sight of hardwood floors, a small gas-powered fireplace, deep and comfortable living room furniture; she hoped that she would never quite lose the pleased shock she felt at the splendor of the rooms they had at their disposal, even if she questioned the source.
****
Chelsea didn’t quite suppress the yelp of surprise that came out of her lips as Johan reached out for her, pulling her towards him with a strong hand. He brushed his lips against hers, his arms coiling around her waist, lifting Chelsea up off her feet slightly to press against him all over. “Did you know,” he murmured, his lips tickling hers as he spoke, his hot breath tracing against her skin, “that you look absolutely adorable when you’re curled up asleep?” Chelsea smiled, her skin tingling as Johan’s hands slipped and slid along the curves of her body, caressing and teasing her.
“Have I ever seen you asleep?” she asked; the question seemed distant—there were so many other, more important things to think about somehow. Joha
n chuckled lowly, sliding his hands underneath the hem of her blouse, making Chelsea shiver as he tickled her ribs. Chelsea draped her arms around Johan’s broad, strong shoulders, arching into him, pressing her body against his.
“I’m not nearly as cute as you,” Johan told her. His hands moved up to cup her breasts through the fabric of her bra, and Chelsea moaned softly as he gave the mounds of flesh a careful squeeze. Her nipples hardened, straining against the thin, lacy fabric. It was all too easy for Chelsea to remember what Johan looked like naked, the sight of his muscular chest, the flat ridges of his abdomen, deep creases at his hips and the delicious—irresistible—look of his hard cock standing proudly erect.
“Who—are you—kidding?” Chelsea asked, gasping as Johan’s lips left hers, moving down to the column of her throat. He kissed and nipped at her skin playfully, teeth grazing a spot just underneath her jaw where her pulse fluttered. She trembled, shivering as if she had been plunged into ice water, although Chelsea’s body was only getting hotter and hotter as Johan’s fingers twisted and rolled her nipples, sending jolts of sensation directly to her already-wet pussy. Johan’s tongue swept against her skin, and Chelsea’s breath caught in her throat as she tilted her head back, giving him free and ready access to her sensitive skin.
Somehow her shirt disappeared, falling to the floor before Chelsea could think of what was happening; her bra followed, and she realized that Johan was leading her through the suite, half-carrying her in his strong arms as their clothing fell away piece by piece, trailing after them through the living room. She dragged Johan’s face up to hers, kissing him hungrily as she let her hands wander over the planes of his chest and back, exploring the topography of his body as eagerly as she had the first time they’d had sex. Johan lifted her up into his arms almost effortlessly, carrying Chelsea the last few steps into the bedroom part of the hotel suite. He didn’t even bother to close the door behind them, instead bringing Chelsea directly to the bed and almost throwing her onto the soft, unbelievably luxurious surface. He reached down, gathering up the fabric of her skirt in his hands and tugging the waistband sharply down over her hips. “I’ve been thinking about fucking you all day,” Johan told her, his bright eyes darkening as he drank in the sight of her.
“We just had sex this morning,” Chelsea said, chuckling lowly as she squirmed and shifted on the bed, helping him to remove her skirt as he pulled it down along her legs. He tossed the garment over his shoulder, not even looking to see where it landed, and the next moment Chelsea moaned softly in pleasure at the feeling of his body covering hers as he pinned her to the blankets.
“Ever since then,” Johan murmured, kissing her hungrily on the lips. His hands left her body, but Chelsea could feel him moving and shifting on top of her, feel the heat of his body as he wriggled out of his thick, fitted jeans. Her breath caught in her throat at the feeling of the hot, hard ridge of his erection pressing against her, thin layers of fabric the only thing separating her from what she wanted the most. Johan rocked his hips against hers, rubbing against her, a hot rush of pleasure flooding through Chelsea as the friction crackled against her clitoris. Chelsea wrapped her legs around Johan’s waist, pushing down against him, her hands wandering over his broad back eagerly. No matter how many times they had had sex—and in how many different locations—Johan’s body was still a revelation to her, even days later. Chelsea gasped and panted as Johan hooked his fingers in the elastic waist of her panties, dragging them down from her hips. She fumbled at the front of his boxer-briefs, her fingers not quite catching the waistband, as she shifted and squirmed underneath Johan, hungry to feel his body against hers.
It seemed like only a moment later when Chelsea felt the heat and hardness of Johan’s cock brushing against her slick folds, sending a tingle of sensation through her. He held himself up, looking down into her face, smiling slightly as he rocked his hips slowly and steadily, teasing her with the feeling of his cock just barely grazing her, slipping against her drenched labia. “Do you want it?” he asked her playfully, pulling his hips back when she pushed down to try and rub herself against him more thoroughly. Johan’s smile deepened as he evaded her.
“You’re such jerk,” Chelsea said, her voice taking on a growling note of frustration.
“Answer the question,” Johan suggested, once more pressing up against her only to withdraw when Chelsea tried to get better contact. “Tell me you want it, and I’ll give it to you.” Chelsea squirmed, and Johan caught up her wrists in one hand, lifting her arms over her head and pinning them there against the mattress. “All you have to do is ask…” Chelsea groaned in frustration, struggling against his strength. Johan nipped at her bottom lip, carefully evading her attempts to break the hold on her wrists, to rub against him.
Chelsea let out a little scream of frustration, twisting her hips away from him, pouting up at Johan as she fought against the need that consumed her. “You’re such an asshole,” she told him, shivering as she felt his cock brush against her yet again. “I’m not going to do it. You’re not going to make me beg.” Johan chuckled lowly, his lips dragging against her jaw.
“You’re not patient enough to hold out, Chelsea,” he murmured lowly, nibbling sharply at the pulse point just below her ear. Chelsea shuddered, gritting her teeth as she fought against the absolute need to feel him inside of her. She wasn’t going to give in, she told herself; she wasn’t going to let him win. Chelsea tried to breathe slowly and deeply, but every movement brought the warm, sharp-sweet scent of Johan’s body into her nose, made parts of her body brush against him, sending a thrill of even deeper need coursing through her.
“Fuck! Fine—yes, yes I want it,” Chelsea said, panting. “I swear to god if you don’t stop teasing me, I am going to find some goddamned way to get out from under you and—and—lock myself in the bathroom.” Johan laughed, bringing his mouth up to hers, kissing her hungrily. He reached down between their bodies, and Chelsea moaned against his lips as Johan guided the tip of his cock up against her, rubbing against her clit for just a moment. He shifted, and Chelsea’s breath caught in her throat as Johan thrust inside of her slowly, pushing past the initial resistance of her body. He rocked his hips, the thick, hard heat of his cock rubbing along her inner walls, filling her up inch by inch as he moved deeper and deeper inside of her.
Johan let go of her wrists, holding himself up on his elbows, and Chelsea fell into his rhythm, pushing her hips down to meet his, taking him deeper and deeper. She kissed everywhere her lips could reach, licking his sweat-salted skin, writhing against his body as pleasure crackled through her veins like static. Chelsea moaned out as the tip of Johan’s cock barely brushed against her g-spot, a hot-and-cold jolt of sensation shocking her. She let her hands explore the planes and contours of his body, caressing and kneading, as she twisted and shifted her hips underneath him; every thrust brought his pelvic bones up to rub against her clit, every third push of his hips made her shiver as the tip of his cock barely rubbed against the pleasure center inside of her.
They moved together in an irresistible rhythm, exploring each other’s bodies, touching and tasting, and Chelsea felt her pleasure mounting every moment as the friction built up between their bodies. She clung to him in near-desperation, her hips rising and falling, twisting against his body, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she felt herself coming closer and closer to orgasm. “It’s worth it—isn’t it?” Johan murmured lowly against her lips. “I always make it worth it, don’t I, Chelsea?” She shook her head, resisting his words even as her body tingled all over with sensation. Johan pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, carefully worrying it as they moved together as one, sweat gathering and slithering over their skin as they both heated up.
Chelsea cried out as Johan began to thrust into her steadily, the tip of his cock rubbing back and forth against her pleasure center, every movement of his hips building the friction against her sensitive clit. She fought to hold back, wanting to savor the pleasure coursing th
rough her, wanting to deny the subtle, sexual power that Johan had assumed over her; but in the span of a few heartbeats, she felt the last of her self-control breaking, and Chelsea shuddered as wave after wave of sensation worked through her, blanking out all thoughts. She heard Johan murmuring something in a language she couldn’t understand, heard his breath hitch as her muscles tightened around him in erratic spasms, but all Chelsea knew was the pleasure flooding through her. She hit the apex of her climax as Johan’s cock began to twitch inside of her; the spasms of pleasure had only just begun to abate as the hot, sticky-slick gush of Johan’s orgasm rushed into her, even as he let out a long, low groan of pleasure. They moved together mindlessly, pushing their hips together, touching and clutching at each other, and Chelsea was only barely aware of her waning orgasm as she slipped into a warm, dark, humming doze, sagging against the mattress, her arms and legs remote and nerveless.
****
Hours later, after they had gotten their things out of the car, Chelsea found her mind once more turning to the questions that had plagued her earlier. “You should probably visit the salon here,” Johan suggested, sitting back on the couch while she flipped through the channels, trying to find something she wanted to watch.
“Hm?” Chelsea glanced at him; Johan had another book in his hands, and not for the first time she considered how utterly bizarre it was to think that a guy who carried multiple weapons on his person as a matter of course, who only had about three or four changes of clothes in a backpack to his name, somehow also had half a dozen books.
