Hide & Seek

by Scarlett Finn

  Those fingers she’d seen flying over his keyboard were dexterous. Strike knew how to twist and stretch them in just the right way to make her pant.

  Struggling to contain her voice, Rora opened her mouth and yelped. She didn’t even realize he was on his knees behind her until his tongue dipped into her.

  “Oh, fuck me,” she exhaled.

  “Not a chance,” he said, squeezing an ass cheek in each hand and sucking her clit hard until she screamed. He spanked her harder this time. “Enough.”

  “Oh, Strike,” she said, her legs buckling.

  She managed to turn as she collapsed and somehow, she got her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back onto the carpet. Climbing up him, she yanked off her underwear and grabbed for his hands, gripping his wrists tight in her fists using every ounce of her ferocious appetite for him to hold him down while she pushed her mouth onto his and sucked her own taste from his tongue.

  Rubbing up and down, she was moving in the way she would if he was embedded inside her and it seemed such a waste that he wasn’t.

  Strike bit her lip hard enough to make her yelp and pull her mouth from his. “I said no, Cupcake.”

  Something was alight in him, it wasn’t the hatred or anger she usually saw; he was challenging her. “But you didn’t mean it,” she panted. “I thought you never noticed me. All this time, I thought you didn’t want this.”

  “I don’t,” he said. “But don’t trust me not to use you if it suits me.”

  “It suits me, Strike,” she whispered.

  He pulled out of her grip to reach down and spank her. “Stop saying my name.”

  “Strike,” she whispered, kissing him at the moment before he smacked her again. Her body jolted forward, pressing her mouth closer to his. “Strike.”

  The word was barely a vibration on his lips, but it was dare enough to make him spank her again. Then he crunched up and snagged her legs to twist her around so her body was draped perpendicular across his.

  Rubbing a hand across her ass, he hit one cheek, then the other, and she flipped her hair to peek at him over her shoulder. He was watching his hand stroking her ass. Spanking and caressing in turn.

  Bending her knees, she let her feet swing in the air. “Strike,” she said, daring him to follow through.

  He opened his hand and brought it down harder than he’d hit her yet. She hissed and her forehead fell to the floor. But it wasn’t pain that zipped through her, it was the unmistakable zap of pleasure.

  “Did I hurt you, baby?” he asked, squeezing his hand between her thighs to ease them apart so he could start to finger her again. “Does that make it feel better?”

  “Oh,” she panted. “Oh, my flame…”

  “Better,” he said, “call me that.”

  Just like that, he’d adopted another alias.

  Rora could never have guessed when she’d called him her flame that first time in Last Resort that they could end up here, lying on the floor of a motel room together with his fingers sliding in and out of her.

  Pulling the zip beneath her arm, she loosened her dress, and tugged it up, lifting only as much as she had to in order to shimmy it up over her head.

  “Don’t clench like that,” he said, planting a hand on her lower back to hold her still. “Gives me ideas.”

  Relaxing her nude body, Rora propped her chin on her fist and squeezed her inner muscles around his plundering finger. His eyes leaped to hers; he showed his teeth when he growled at her.

  “Bitch,” he said, but it was such a light-hearted insult that she wasn’t offended.

  Moving an inch, intending to go back to his mouth, she was diverted when Strike grabbed her hips and pulled her around, this time turning her body on top of his, to bring her hips up to his face. Tucking her knees in at his shoulders, he curled his arms around her thighs and directed her pussy to his mouth.

  “Oh, fuck,” she said when he began to flick his tongue over her clit. “Mmm…”

  It was so difficult not to push down into the pleasure he was delivering. He’d threatened to smother her, and here she was with her chance to return the favor.

  Death by pussy for Exile, that would be one to add to the legend.

  Thinking of returning the favor, she wriggled against him. Running her hands down the inside of his drawn-up thighs, she cupped his groin for a moment. He was hard. He was huge. She wanted him inside her. Now.

  But she hadn’t gotten very far with his belt when he picked up her hips from his face and planted his feet on the edge of the bed to push up, away from beneath her. She was still there, face-down on the carpet when she heard him pounce to his feet behind her.

  Rolling over, Rora rose to her elbows, while watching him adjust his belt. “Strike?” she asked, wondering what had changed so quickly.

  But he didn’t even look at her, he went to the metal box on the floor and bent to pick it up. “That settles our tab,” he said, turning the box over and over in his hands on his way to the bathroom.

  Rora was on the floor. “If you’re gonna jerk off, can I watch?” she called out, tipping her head back, but the bed was obstructing her view.

  “Get ready for bed, Ro,” he said. “I’ve got work to do tonight, and you’ll need your beauty sleep if you’re going to see your beautiful Benjamin tomorrow.”

  She gasped and flipped over, using the bed to help her scramble onto her feet. The bathroom door was open a crack, but she was so desperate to find out if he meant what he’d just said, that she probably could’ve bowled right through the thing even if it wasn’t.

  Running across the bedroom, she shoved the door back on its hinges. “Benjamin?” she asked. “We’re going to get him tomorrow?” Strike had his shirt off and was washing his hands. She’d never really looked at his body. The only time she’d ever seen it was the morning Opal zapped her and she’d had other things on her mind then. “Strike…”

  The marks on his back made her gravitate to him. Opening her hands, she wanted to stroke him, but was worried she might hurt him.

  “What?” he asked, reaching across to grab the towel to dry his hands.

  “Your back, what happened? Are they sore?”

  “That shit’s been there for years,” he said.

  The long straight scars varied in width and length; some licked right up to his shoulder blades, others disappeared beneath the belt of his jeans “Oh, baby,” she whispered and made contact. Running her hands down his back, she leaned in to kiss him with a feather-light touch, tracing her lips across and down each of the scars.

  “It’s no big deal,” he said.

  “How did you get them?”

  “Different times, different places,” he said and twisted away from her kiss to lift his arm. “This one was my favorite.” Showing her a long red scar that ran from beneath his arm down to his waist, he seemed almost proud of it. “It was so deep I could see ribs.”

  “Strike,” she whispered, her eyes stinging when she stepped forward to wrap both arms around him.

  “Cupcake, it’s no big deal,” he said. “You don’t learn to fight like I can without scrapping.”

  “This isn’t scrapping,” she said. “Knives and cuts, and rib bones, that’s not scrapping. That’s serious. You could have died.”

  “I could have died a bunch of times,” he said. “Most of the scars are years old, I haven’t had a serious injury for a long time. I got these when I wasn’t so good. I’m good now.” Closing her eyes, she squeezed him tighter and his arm relaxed across her shoulders. “Your tits feel good, but back them off.”

  Rora had forgotten she was naked, now that he’d reminded her, she realized this was the first time they’d been skin to skin like this. Tipping her head back, she met his eye. When he didn’t make a move, she reached up to cup his face, but he took her wrist to pull her hand away.

  “I have work to do and that ain’t happening.”

  “Why don’t you want us to have sex?” she asked.

  “Why do you
want us to?” he asked. “Hmm?”

  “Why? Because it will feel good. Because I’m curious. Because I like you. Because you’re a man and I’m a woman and—”

  “We happen to be in the same place at the same time,” he said. “Tomorrow goes to plan, you’ll get your Benjamin back, and this will all be over for you. Minimize your disruption. It would be a shame for me to come all this way just to have to kill Gallagher myself.”

  “Kill… why would you kill, Benjamin?”

  “If he comes at me for touching his woman, I’ll take him down. You’ve seen what I’m like when I have no patience. And if Bella’s around, assume that my patience gauge is in the red.”

  “Strike,” she said, but he urged her away and turned back to the mirror, scrubbing his hands through his hair and rubbing a hand over his stubble. “Benjamin and I aren’t together.” Bending over the sink, he ran the cold water and splashed his face. “Seriously, we’re not. Why would I get physical with a homicidal maniac and then take him to meet my boyfriend?”

  He grabbed the towel and dried his face. “Now who’s calling names?”

  “It’s an expression,” she said. “Can you deny that you’ve killed?”

  He shrugged. “No. But, Cupcake, come on… nuance.”

  “Ok,” she conceded and leaned against the edge of the shower stall when he went to the toilet in the corner to pee. “I’m sorry.” He glanced over his shoulder to make eye contact with her in the mirror. “I’m not sleeping with him.”

  “Doesn’t matter if you’re having sex or not,” he said, flushing and turning away from the toilet.

  She squawked. “Lid.” He twisted to put it down and then went to wash his hands again. “I’m not having sex with him. I’m not his.”

  “You might not have been having sex when he left, but no one does what you’ve done unless there’s love involved. I’ll get him back for you and in a couple of days you’ll be banging like bunnies. Guy like that, with his own department, he’ll marry you, knock you up, and it’ll be happy ever after for the Gallaghers.”

  Strike wasn’t that kind of guy. He didn’t have a steady job—at least not a legal one—he wouldn’t be getting married and settling down. But why were they even talking about that? They’d been talking about sex, not… fairytales.

  “And you and me, we don’t have the kind of genes that mix well,” he said, tossing the towel onto the vanity. “Those are dice we shouldn’t risk rolling.”

  Departing the bathroom, he left her standing there speculating on his meaning. Rora got with it and scampered out after him, finding him sitting on the short couch with his laptop on his lap and his feet stretched onto the dresser the TV was on.

  “You don’t want me to have your baby,” she said, climbing onto the couch. Her statement earned her a brief glare. “What? That’s pretty much exactly what you said.” She touched her chest. “I said, ‘Let’s have sex because it will feel good.’ And you said, ‘Let’s not because I’ll get you pregnant,’ like you have some kind of super sperm or something.”

  “What the fuck conversation were you listening to?” he asked. “I didn’t say pregnant or sperm once.”

  “It was implied,” she said and he side-eyed her, so she waved at him. “Right, ok, so you don’t imply, but it was in the undercurrent. You think I have faulty genes because my brother is a… homicidal maniac.” Another side glare. “But you don’t kill because you’re mentally ill, you do it to survive. I don’t see you going out at night to stalk student nurses or staring at me wondering if my severed, boiled skull would make a good salad bowl.”

  “There’s time,” he muttered. Leaning over, she rested a hand over the top of one of his. His hand tensed, holding hers above the keyboard. “Careful.”

  “What happens if Opal reads my fingerprints and yours at the same time?”

  He turned and they made eye contact. “She gets jealous.”

  “I’ve never had a threesome.”

  Bowing forward, she meant to kiss him, but he pushed her away and this time his scowl was deeper. “Quit fucking doing that… And why are you still naked?”

  “You told me to get ready for bed,” she said. “I always sleep naked and I figure now you’ve seen it, it doesn’t matter.” Huffing, he returned to his laptop. “I don’t think you said what you said about our genes because of your crimes.” Examining his profile, she hunched lower, resting the front of her fist against her temple when she put her elbow on his shoulder. “Is it true your mom killed herself?”

  He stopped typing. Although his chin moved a fraction toward her, he didn’t lift his head to look at her. “Who told you that?”

  “Bella,” she said. “That last time she called.”

  “What else did she tell you?”

  “That she didn’t mind sharing you with me… That you killed her family after they tortured you.” He slammed the laptop. “That you’ve been tortured since the day you were born.”

  “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you knew all this before?” he hissed at her.

  “I didn’t want to push you,” she said. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, baby.” Letting her fingers leave her temple, they drifted down the side of his face. “Why did she kill herself?”

  “Because my father raped her,” he said. “She knew the minute she saw me that she’d never be able to look at me without remembering how I’d been conceived.”

  “Oh, Strike,” she breathed out and looped her arms around his neck to pull herself against him. “I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

  “I don’t blame her for killing herself,” he said. “Never have… I just… There’s one thing I never understood, and fuck it, I wish I could ask her.”

  “Ask her what?” she asked, brushing a hand up and down his chest.

  After twisting toward him so they could make eye contact, she saw the return of his anger. “Why didn’t she take me with her?”

  Stunned, she could do nothing but explore the determination that bled from him. Shoving the laptop onto the dresser, he got up, pulling away from her. “Strike, why would she—”

  “It makes no fucking sense, I was the spawn of that devil, so why didn’t she just put a pillow on my face and end it?” he demanded, clenching his jaw. “I was a baby, I wouldn’t have fought back. I don’t blame her for leaving, but what the fuck life did she think I was going to have? I never went to school. Never went to college. Never mattered a fuck. Why the hell didn’t she just toss me out with the trash?”

  Unfurling her feet from beneath her, Rora climbed off the couch. “Because she knew you were going to achieve great things. That you were going to be brilliant. You are brilliant, Strike… More brilliant than any man I’ve ever known… even if it’s not in the traditional sense.” She smiled, but he wasn’t moving, so she opened her hand against his jaw. “I’m so glad she didn’t take you, Strike. I’m so glad that you are who you are and that you came into my life… that you let me into yours. Strike, you’re… you’re overwhelming and I… the way you make me feel, that’s something no other man has given me.”

  “How can you say that? Knowing what I do, what I’ve done?”

  “Easily,” she said, sliding her hands to his torso. “My life was a mess, nothing but heartache and tragedy. I’ve faced one after the other. Every day I could feel the resentment growing in me, I was so tired of being afraid. So tired of always wondering when the next tragedy was going to strike or when I was going to be the one struck down and then… I met you and… you stole my license and trashed my hotel room and… saved my life.” A blink of surprise on his face made his jaw twitch and relax a fraction. “You took my fear. The fear I’ve been running from all my life. It’s gone. When I’m with you… I’m not afraid anymore.”

  “This is temporary,” he mumbled, but was looking at her, into her.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” she whispered.

  “Everyone in my life is temporary.”

  “I won’t be,” she said
, stroking his arms. “I promise, Strike.”

  When he scooped a hand up over her jaw and into her hair behind her ear, she expected him to bow and kiss her. While he did stoop a little, his lips didn’t meet hers.

  “Aurora,” he murmured, pulling her up to the tips of her toes.

  “Yes, Strike?” she sighed.

  “What’s the point?”

  Jarred out of her emotional haze, she searched his face. “Seriously?” she asked, hoping more than anything that he was joking.

  “You don’t trust me enough to tell me?”

  “But, I…”

  “If you tell me, it won’t be a barrier between us anymore,” he said, brushing his thumb up and down her cheek. “We can really trust each other.”

  “You’re manipulating my feelings for you,” she whispered.

  “No, I’m on your side,” he said. The sinister twist of his lips made her shiver. “If I’d known my sob story would loosen your tongue, I’d have told you a week ago.”

  Shoving him with both hands, she growled and spun around to march away. “Go to hell!”

  “Come on, baby! I haven’t even told you about how my granddaddy beat me! I haven’t told you how I gutted him when he slept!”

  Hurrying around the room, she grabbed clothes and changed as fast as she could. “You’re a bastard, Strike! Bella was right about you!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, dropping onto the couch. “All men are scum and women don’t need ‘em for shit. Funny, ‘cause when that shit hits the fan, the first thing you do is call up the closest dick you know.”

  “Well don’t worry about me calling you or your dick,” she called out.

  “I won’t,” he said, retrieving his laptop. “You don’t have my number… I don’t have my number.” Growling at him, she grabbed the door and tugged it open. Laying an arm along the back of the couch, he looked over at her. “You want to save your precious Benjamin, be at the Banton Field Airstrip tomorrow at two PM.”

  “Airstrip,” she said, some of the bluster taken from her sails. “But I… I thought you were afraid of flying.” Another sinister smirk, and he turned back to his computer. She exhaled. “That was a lie. You aren’t afraid of flying.”