Sleeping With the Enemy

by Adaire, Alexis

  “We were right here in Amman,” Demarco said. “We’ve been teaching a special course on interrogation techniques to Jordanian agents for the last few weeks.”

  “Sills called us and told us what was up,” Rogers explained. “We were less than fifty miles from you. We didn’t have much in the way of support, as the Jordanians didn’t want to get involved in a matter with their next-door neighbors, especially since they’re backing most of the rebel groups. Luckily, we had contacts in Daraa and gave Sayid here a call.”

  We got Sills on a speaker phone and filled him in on everything. He was thankful they’d gotten me out alive, especially since we’d already lost one agent. He ordered me to get checked out by a doctor at GID, then told the three Americans to get hotel rooms and spend the night. We could fly back the next day if the doctors gave me the green light. Lastly, he thanked Sayid Kousa for putting his life on the line. “We’re forever in your debt, Sayid. Let us know if you ever need anything.”

  I went directly to a doctor in the building and his examination revealed I did indeed have a slight concussion, as well as a mean lump and a tender bruise on the back of my head. By then, the headache had diminished and the nausea was long gone. He said there was no issue with me flying, but warned that the flight might make the symptoms temporarily worse. Fine with me, I’d gladly suffer another headache to get the hell out of the Middle East.

  Kousa gave us a lift to a nearby expensive luxury hotel, where we knew they’d have a bar that served alcohol. We said our goodbyes to Kousa and I gave him a big hug and told him I’d never forget him risking his life for me. “If I have a son, I will name him Sayid,” I told him, getting an ear-to-ear smile in return. Then he climbed into his car and drove off in the direction of his war-torn country, and I knew I would probably never see him again.

  We checked into the hotel, getting three rooms at the same end of the hall on the fifth floor of the hotel. It was approaching noon and we were all beyond exhausted. We decided to sleep for a while, then meet for drinks and food in the hotel bar that evening.

  Krause entered his room first, then I put the card key in my lock. Before I could open my door, Demarco took me by the wrist and pulled me toward his room, opening the door and gently pushing me inside.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “First I’m going to get you a drink that you desperately need,” he replied, walking straight to the minibar. “While you’re drinking it, I’m going to get you out of those new clothes.” Demarco removed a bottle of vodka and opened it, pouring it into a glass. “Then you’re going to take a long, hot shower.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I said, admiring the lovely room with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Amman.

  “Then you’ll be ready to get some sleep,” he said, handing me the drink, then adding, “And when you finally wake up again, I’m going to have my way with you.”

  “You’re breaking Agency regulations, Agent Demarco,” I said as he lifted off my shirt and turned me around to unclasp my bra, “and I’m not the only one in serious need of a shower.” The bra fell away from my breasts and I felt his eyes on me. Demarco looked carefully at the side of my face where al-Ansar had slapped me.

  “Did anyone try anything in that room?” he asked, “Except for your target, obviously.”

  “No,” I assured him, “they just kept me naked and stared a lot.”

  I took a gulp of vodka as he dropped to one knee and gently slipped off my shoes and socks then unzipped my jeans. In one continuous motion, he tugged down on both sides and had me stripped naked.

  Standing, he led me to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Demarco tested the water as he looked me over, making me blush crimson, then he said, “Okay, get in there.” The shower had an opaque glass door, and as I let the hot water spill over me, I saw him slipping out of his own clothes. I waited breathlessly until the door opened again and he stepped in, his beautiful naked body sliding under the water next to mine.

  “You were right — I need a shower, too,” he said. He guided my head under the shower spray, thoroughly soaking my hair, then using his hands and a bar of soap, lathered my body. Demarco soaped up my breasts, spending extra time on my nipples. He moved downward over my belly, then between my legs, sliding a deliciously slippery finger between my lips. I saw he had an erection and when he abruptly turned me around and told me to put my hands on the wall, I sucked in a breath in anticipation.

  He soaped my butt, moving his finger across the opening in a way that had me hungry with desire. I assumed he was ready to take me from behind like he’d done in London, to claim my body as his property to be used however he wanted. Instead I was shocked when he moved upwards, cleaning every inch of my back, then slowly soaping my shoulders and arms as well. He paused for a moment, and I melted serenely when I felt him working shampoo into my wet hair.

  As Demarco turned me back to face him and rinsed out the shampoo, I realized that all he’d done was given me the most amazing shower, yet I was incredibly turned on. I reached for his hard-on, but he wordlessly removed my hand and slipped down to his knees, burying his face between my legs as the hot water continued to cascade over our bodies. His tongue deftly flicked over me, steadily working me into a frenzy. Demarco’s hands grabbed my butt and pulled me into him and before I had time to react I felt myself giving in to an orgasm, wave after intense wave coursing through my body. He didn’t let me go until I couldn’t take anymore and pushed his head away.

  Without showering himself, he turned off the water and wrapped me up in a towel, gently patting my body dry and toweling off my hair. I felt so good, so relaxed and pampered after my ordeal.

  The ordeal — for a few brief minutes I’d actually forgotten about it.

  I began to cry, gently at first, then suddenly collapsing in Demarco’s arms in a flood of hysterical sobbing. He picked me up and carried me to the bed, propping me up with pillows and pulling the blanket over me, then retrieved another vodka from the minibar. As I drank, he sat next to me on the bed, naked, talking quietly about his first operation for the Agency, which he’d bungled so terribly he thought they’d fire him. Soon my exhaustion had given way to a strange euphoria. I was alternately elated to be alive and to be in that hotel room with Ryan Demarco, then just as quickly distraught again over the events of the last two days. Demarco sat next to me and continued to talk softly while gently stroking my hair until I finally fell asleep.

  I vaguely remember hearing the shower running, then Demarco kissing me on the forehead and leaving, telling me to rest, that he was going to meet Krause for dinner and would bring something back for me.

  I woke up once, in the middle of the night. Demarco wasn’t in bed, and I looked around the room to find him standing naked in the window, looking out at the lights of downtown Amman. I watched him silently for a few minutes, staring at his naked body, illuminated by the glow of the city lights. I sneaked up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my breasts against his back. Then I slipped in between him and the window, sinking down to the floor and taking his cock in my hand.

  “What are you doing, Mercer? You’re supposed to be asleep.”

  “I’m thanking you for saving my life,” I replied, “the best way I know how.”

  My lips were on him before he could argue with me, and I felt him grow to a full erection in my mouth. A few intense moments later he groaned quietly and came hard. After swallowing, I continued to pleasure him for a while before rising up and kissing him ardently. “You’re a good man, Demarco,” I whispered, hugging him tightly and relishing the perfect safety of being enveloped by his strong arms. Then I suddenly felt exhausted and collapsed on the bed again while he continued his nighttime vigil.

  I woke up just as the sun was rising and found Demarco on the bed next to me. I snuggled up against his naked body and was soon wide awake, a haze of warm feelings swirling around me. Demarco’s arms were wrapped around me and I wiggled my butt, pushing i
t back toward him. Soon he was kissing my neck and nibbling my earlobe as I felt him growing hard against my ass.

  For the next two hours, Demarco and I had glorious, profound sex. Unlike London and Moscow, there were no pretenses; it was just the two of us, exploring each other in a way we’d never really had a chance to.

  When housekeeping entered my vacant hotel room later that morning, they had nothing at all to do.

  Thirty-One

  Immediately upon my return from Syria, Sills forced me to take a one-week vacation. I dropped hints to Demarco about him taking some time off with me, but he was subbed in for another agent that week on a trivial operation in Austria and had to leave immediately. I was disappointed, but used the time off to visit my parents in Maine and was able to decompress a little.

  Over the next month, I was given a commendation by the Agency for my work in Syria and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. At that ceremony, Sills also mentioned he had just received word that Aniceto Arambula, the head of the Los Alfas Mexican drug cartel, had been apprehended while vacationing in Aruba and was being extradited to the states to stand trial for his part in the 2005 murder of three DEA agents. Dante Gutierrez had unwittingly provided the intel that made the capture possible, and Sills told the room that I had been instrumental in helping to break that case.

  Despite the commendation, Sills kept me close at hand, wanting me to remain stateside for a while before venturing out on assignment again. I guessed he just wanted to be convinced I was in the right frame of mind after my ordeal in Syria.

  Demarco, though, seemed to want anything other than to keep me close at hand. He had skipped my commendation ceremony, even though Krause attended and warned those gathered that while I was an exceptional agent, I was not to be taken lightly at strip poker. I received an email from Demarco the day after the ceremony:

  Sorry I couldn’t be at your thing. Congrats, though. :)

  Was the smiley face supposed to make me feel better? Demarco and I had been intimate three times at that point — London, Moscow and Amman — and the last two times I’d done it willingly. Hell, more than that: I had wanted it, wanted to be with him. And every time he seemed to be wrapped up in the moment as much as I was. Then he would disappear afterwards, keeping me at a distance.

  I was tired of it, exhausted at not knowing whether or not this man was interested in me other than as an occasional work hookup when we were away from home. Once we were back stateside, he always seemed to have other more important obligations—

  Oh. My. God. Could I have been any more stupid?

  Staring at that smiley in the email, I suddenly knew beyond a doubt that there was someone else in Demarco’s life.

  He’s married, I thought. Maybe with kids. At the very least he has a girlfriend with whom he spends all his non-work time.

  I knew almost nothing about the man, apart from the obvious. I felt so incredibly used, so taken advantage of. But mostly so overwhelmingly stupid not to have realized what was going on. It all made such perfect sense.

  Before I could stop myself, I dashed off a reply to his email.

  Fuck you, Demarco.

  Not feeling good enough, I sent another.

  Go to hell.

  Then I turned off my computer.

  I went to the gym to work off the anger, but with every punch I threw at the punching bag I just got more pissed off. After half an hour I was drenched with sweat and furious. I had to know if I was right about him, but didn’t know who to turn to. His marital status was in his classified file, which I couldn’t access, and I didn’t want to ask any other agents because it might get back to Demarco.

  Then I thought of Morello. She would probably know, or could at least find out. And I knew I could get her to tell me if she thought it was bothering me enough, possibly making me less effective as an agent.

  I didn’t bother to shower and headed to Morello’s office with my hair pulled back and my workout clothes wet with sweat. I knocked on her door and got no answer, but I heard a voice inside so I knocked again. Morello opened the door and said, “Anna, I’m in a session right now. Can you come back in half an hour?”

  I responded by bursting into tears. What the fuck was wrong with me?

  “Okay, wait out here,” she said. “I’ll wrap this up and be with you in just a moment.”

  She went back into her office and I took a seat. Not a minute later the door opened and out stepped Demarco, an odd look on his face. He seemed as startled to see me as I was to see him, but recovered enough to throw me a dirty look before he continued on his way.

  “Okay, come on in,” Morello said as I watched Demarco walk away.

  I took my usual seat in her office and hated that the chair felt warm. His warmth. “What was he doing here?” I asked.

  Morello sat behind her desk and looked me over. “You know I can’t tell you that, Anna. My conversations with the agents are private.”

  I thought Morello only worked with Extracurricular Affairs, not with SOG/SAD agents, too.

  “But let’s talk about you, not him” she said. “What’s bothering you?”

  “Ryan Demarco!” I said angrily.

  “What about him?”

  “Is he married?” I demanded.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “I need to know!” I shouted.

  “I understand that, but I have to follow regulations,” Morello said. “You need to ask Ryan.”

  Morello wasn’t going to budge. I stared at her, my eyes pleading for an answer as I forced myself to hold back the tears.

  “I apologize, Dr. Morello,” I said, trying to regain my composure. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but please don’t think this affects my abilities as an agent.”

  Morello laughed softly. “I’m not the slightest bit concerned about your skills, Anna.”

  I looked at her and said, “I appreciate the vote of confidence. I would hate for Sills to think I can’t be effective in the field.”

  The doctor smiled. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

  I had no idea what she was talking about. “Get what?”

  “Sills is giddy at his good fortune to have stumbled upon an agent like you,” she said, “He told me you’re as clever, resourceful and enthusiastic an agent as any he’s ever seen in EA. He already thinks of you as an elite operations officer after only a year on the job, which is damn near unprecedented.”

  I was stunned by the revelation.

  “Everyone in EA and all the way up the chain in NCS is amazed at how far you’ve come so quickly. They already talk about you in a manner usually reserved for agents who have been around a lot longer.”

  I couldn’t process the information with all that was going on in my head. Was she saying this to make me feel better? Or was it actually true?

  “Agent Mercer,” she said, apparently marveling at my naivety, “you’re going to be a CIA rockstar and you don’t even know it.”

  My head was spinning. “If I’m doing so well, why do I feel like my life is falling apart?” I asked.

  Morello stood and walked over, taking a seat in the chair next to me.

  She spoke more softly. “Do you know why you are so good at your job, Anna? Why you’re the perfect female EA agent?”

  I didn’t have a clue what she alluding to and shook my head.

  “You’re not bothered about being intimate with a target because you’re not intimate with anyone. You have built yourself a life in which you can have sex anytime you want, with anyone you feel like, without actually sharing yourself. For you, sex is not an intimate act.”

  I knew Morello was right, though I didn’t want to admit it. I felt the tears begin to well up again and looked at the floor, afraid I would be unable to hold them back.

  “And then Ryan Demarco comes along and for the first time in your life, you feel like someone can see the most private parts of you. And it scares the hell out of you to be so open and exposed.”

  I looked into Dr.
Morello’s eyes. She had nailed it. The tears began to flow again. That was when she dropped the hammer.

  “I hate to break the news to you, Anna, but you’re in love.”

  “But he’s married!” I shouted.

  “You’ll never know that for sure unless you ask him,” Morello said calmly.

  Then she added, “Go.”

  I looked at her, confused.

  “Go ask him,” she clarified.

  “Right now?” I asked.

  “Yes, right now!” she said. “Go. Get this over with!”

  I dried my tears, then walked towards Demarco’s office in the SOG/SAD wing. I thought about stopping in the restroom to clean up a bit, but decided not to because I felt some sort of momentum building. I was going to walk right into Ryan Demarco’s office and ask him if he was married.

  By the time I got to his office my pulse was racing. The door was closed, but I opened it without knocking and walked in to find him sitting at his desk. Before he could open his mouth, I shouted at him.

  “Why were you in Morello’s office?”

  I knew it wasn’t the question I’d come to ask and realized I was afraid to ask the real question.

  “That’s private,” he said coldly. Demarco was obviously pissed off.

  “Was it about me?” I asked. I didn’t even know where that question came from — it was like my subconscious had taken over.

  “That’s private, too,” he shouted, then stood and closed the office door behind me.

  “Are you married?” I demanded. Finally my subconscious had cooperated.

  “Are you crazy?” he replied in kind.

  “Answer the question, Demarco!” I shouted.

  “Of course not!” he shouted back. I was so certain he was going to say “yes” that his answer stunned me.

  There was a knock on the door. “Everything okay?”

  “Everything’s wonderful!” Demarco yelled, aggravated.

  I asked the next logical question. “Do you have a girlfriend?”