Taking Fire

by Radclyffe

  “Kissing you won’t burn me up.” Max’s chest felt as if a grenade was about to go off inside. “I think…” She gasped. She was so hot everywhere. So hot, so parched, as scorched as the land that had seared her soul. Rachel’s lips were so cool against her skin. “I think kissing you will be like falling into cool clear water.”

  “Find out,” Rachel murmured.

  Max groaned softly and covered Rachel’s mouth with hers. Rachel leaned into her and their lips reformed against one another, reshaping, fitting together, exchanging softness for softness. The tip of Rachel’s tongue skated over the surface of Max’s lower lip and was gone too soon. Max slid her palm around the back of Rachel’s neck and held her still, changing the angle of her kiss, tugging Rachel’s lower lip between hers, savoring the silky fullness between her teeth.

  Rachel moaned softly and pressed closer until Max fell back on one elbow and pulled Rachel down with her. Rachel sprawled across her chest, both of them with their feet still on the floor, hands and mouths grasping and seeking. Rachel half crawled on top of her and Max groaned.

  Rachel gasped and tried to sit up. “Oh God, your arm. I forgot about your arm!”

  “My arm’s perfect.” Max pulled Rachel’s mouth back to hers. She’d been right. Kissing Rachel was like sliding naked into a crystal-clear mountain lake, brisk and refreshing and incredibly exciting. Every cell vibrated with energy, her nerve endings tingled. She felt clean and alive in places she hadn’t realized had been numb and lifeless. She wanted to be naked. She wanted Rachel on top of her, under her, sliding over her like water cascading down a mountainside. She wanted to drown in her.

  Rachel pushed up Max’s T-shirt and stroked her stomach, making Max’s hips jerk and her clitoris tense beneath the thin cotton of her boxers. Rachel took her time exploring Max’s body, slowly edging the T-shirt up to the undersides of her breasts, stroking her fingers up and down the center of her belly. Max struggled to stay still, to let her look and touch, to expose what she kept hidden. When Rachel’s thumb brushed under the cotton and over her breast, she shuddered.

  “Rachel, I can’t—”

  “God, you have a beautiful body.” Rachel’s gaze was locked on Max’s body, her expression fierce. When she looked up, the hunger in her eyes stole Max’s breath. “I can’t believe how amazing you are. I want to see you naked.”

  “Rachel…”

  “I know.” Rachel’s eyes burned into hers. “It’s crazy. I know. I don’t do this sort of thing—no, that’s a lie, I do, I have. But never like this. God, Max. I’ve never wanted to touch anyone so much.”

  “It’s—”

  Rachel pressed her fingers to Max’s mouth. “I don’t care what it is. I don’t care if it’s the aftermath of stress or the reaffirmation of life or laughing in the face of evil. I don’t care about any of that. I think you’re gorgeous and sexy and strong. I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited in my life. Don’t stop kissing me.”

  “I won’t.” Max couldn’t stop. If she pushed Rachel away, the last struggling remnant of her soul would wither and she would be nothing but a shell. She dragged Rachel all the way onto the bed until they faced each other on the rough military-issue blanket, heart to heart, body to body. She kissed her. “I won’t stop until you tell me to.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Rachel couldn’t bear to lose touch with Max’s lips. Max’s mouth was as captivating as her eyes—intense and commanding and exquisitely gentle. She felt as if she’d never been kissed before. She hadn’t. Not like this. Not when the merest brush of flesh on flesh drove a spike of pleasure into her depths, sharp and bright and brilliant. She traced the sweep of Max’s cheekbones with her fingertips and wove her fingers through her hair. Max was the heat she hadn’t known she wanted—the flame that pushed back the dark. She arched against her, craving the pressure of Max’s body against her breasts, her belly, her thighs. Max was strong, all hard muscle and bone, and breathtakingly tender, her hands and mouth gliding over Rachel’s face in soft benediction. Max and only Max had ever wanted to see her, know her, touch her. Closer. More. Her clothes were in the way. Max’s clothes were in the way. She wanted to climb inside her. She wanted Max inside her. She couldn’t get her breath.

  “You feel right.” Max stroked Rachel’s throat and slid one hand lower, lightly skimming over Rachel’s breasts to her waist. “Holding you feels right.”

  “Yes. No. Not enough,” Rachel gasped. “I want your hands on me everywhere. God, I’m losing my mind.”

  Max opened the first button on Rachel’s shirt and slipped her hand inside. “Maybe you are. But if you are, so am I.”

  Rachel grinned. “Good. Because I don’t want to be crazy without you.”

  Max laughed and nipped at Rachel’s chin. She kissed her throat and teased her fingertips beneath the cotton stretched tight across Rachel’s breasts, circling closer to Rachel’s nipple with each stroke. “We might want to slow down just a little, though.”

  “Why? I can’t think of a single reason.” Rachel pulled Max on top of her and arched when Max’s thigh came to rest between hers. She covered the hand Max had slipped under her plain dark military-issue bra and pressed Max’s fingers into her breast. The pressure made her want to come and for a second her mind blanked. She groaned and her vision swam. She was too close, too soon. “I can’t think at all.”

  Max braced herself on her good arm and looked down into Rachel’s eyes. “All those things you said earlier. About stress and laughing at death and all that. I don’t want you to regret—”

  “Do you always worry so much when you go to bed with a woman?”

  “No, but this isn’t like that.”

  Rachel stroked Max’s face. “I know. I don’t know what it is, exactly. But I know it’s like nothing else.”

  “I feel like I’ve never touched a woman before,” Max whispered.

  Rachel jolted, her clitoris swelling so fast she nearly came. “And you think I could stop now?” She yanked Max’s mouth back to hers.

  Max’s kiss was like her—strong and gentle, slow and deep, a kiss that touched her in places where nothing ever had. Rachel pushed both hands under Max’s T-shirt and caressed her back, smoothing her palms over the columns of muscle and bone and smooth skin. Even with her eyes closed, she could see Max with every stroke. Sensation was everywhere—immeasurable pleasure, wonder, and fearsome awe. She kissed Max’s throat, tasted her—clean and vital. “What is it? This power you have over me?”

  Max shook her head. “No. Not me.” She rested her forehead on Rachel’s. “It’s you. I can feel you inside me, filling up all the empty places. I don’t want to stop.”

  “Then don’t.” Rachel wrapped her calf over Max’s leg. Max’s eyes were so deep and so dark Rachel should have been afraid of getting lost in them, but she wasn’t. This was a darkness that thrilled her. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Make love to me, Max.”

  Max opened the rest of the buttons on Rachel’s shirt, parted the fabric, and rubbed her cheek over the valley between her breasts. Rachel’s nipples tightened beneath the material that restrained her breasts. Her breasts ached and she clasped Max’s head, guiding her to the spot where her nipple peaked. “Please.”

  Max cupped her breast, long fingers closing around her sensitized flesh, squeezing, spearing the pleasure into her core. Rachel moaned. Never like this. Never. Max’s teeth closed around her nipple, tugging it through the fabric. Lights burst behind Rachel’s closed lids. Her heart pounded. Her breath fled. She stiffened, gasped. Panic raced through her. Explosions, screams in the dark.

  “Oh my God!” Rachel jerked away.

  “Rachel?” Max raised her head. “What just happened?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Rachel clung to Max and buried her face in the curve of her neck. “That was—God. For a second, I was back there. The explosions, the blood, the…dead. I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, what are you apologizing for?” Max held her
tightly and rolled onto her side, keeping Rachel close against her. She kissed her temple and wrapped one leg over Rachel’s hips to pull her into the cradle of her body. “I see them too sometimes. Most times.”

  Rachel shuddered. “How do you make it stop?”

  “You don’t. At least I haven’t.” Max ran her hands up and down Rachel’s back, stroking and stroking, not knowing what else to do. “Sometimes I drink. Well, a lot of times I drink.”

  Rachel raised her head. “Does it help?”

  Max grimaced. “No. But it’s better than walking outside the wire and waiting for an RPG to fall on my head.”

  Rachel pushed herself up and ran her hands through her hair. “Have you tried that too?”

  Max hesitated. They’d already gone so far past anything she’d ever shared with anyone, physically and in every other way. But this—this was her secret torment. Her secret shame. Hers was a false bravery, born not of valor but out of a need to prove her own worth. She couldn’t even honor their sacrifice with true courage. If Rachel knew she was no warrior but a reluctant participant haunted by nightmares and regret, what would she think? And if she didn’t tell her, everything between them would be a lie. “A few times, yeah. Tempting fate, maybe. I don’t know, maybe I thought I didn’t deserve to still be around when so many weren’t.”

  “Oh, Max.” Rachel sighed and stroked her face. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Listen, I’m okay. At least no worse than anyone else. And you—you have nothing to be ashamed about.” Max sat up and clasped Rachel’s hand. “What happened out there, you weren’t ready for that. No one ever is, but at least we’re military. We train for it, we know it might be coming, we have more time to prepare. Now you’re exhausted, stressed, and in mourning for those you lost. I’d be surprised if you weren’t having flashbacks.” She squeezed Rachel’s fingers. “When you’re home, if it keeps up, you can talk to someone. Okay?”

  “Is that the doctor saying Do as I say or do you actually take your own advice?”

  Max glanced at the half-empty bottle on the floor. “Not all the time.”

  “Well,” Rachel said, her voice sounding a little stronger, “I will take your advice when I get home. For now, I wouldn’t mind a little of your remedy.”

  Max laughed and reached for the bottle. She uncapped it and handed it to Rachel. “Sorry I don’t have any—”

  Rachel took the bottle, swallowed a healthy amount, and coughed violently, tears forming in her eyes. “Yep, just as vile as I remember.” She handed it back to Max. “Thanks. I think.”

  Max set the bottle down and slipped an arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “Better?”

  Rachel caressed Max’s thigh and rested her palm on the inside of her bare leg. A faint scar ran across the muscle, doing nothing to mar the beauty. “You’ve been taking care of me for the last two days. I appreciate it.”

  “I don’t want your gratitude.” Max cupped her face. “I’d like to kiss you again.”

  “Yes,” Rachel whispered, “I’d like that very much.”

  Max’s kiss was a slow, lingering kiss that feathered along the torn and tattered edges of Rachel’s soul, soothing her, comforting her, kindling the fire again. Rachel gripped Max’s shoulders and kissed her harder, delving deeper, pressing her breasts to Max’s, sliding a leg over Max’s hips until she straddled her in the middle of Max’s bed. “I want you.”

  Max cupped Rachel’s ass and pulled her tight against her hard abdomen. Rachel rolled her hips and felt her control fray. When she would have pulled back with anyone else, she thrust harder, willing her body to explode. Max pushed both hands under her shirt and clasped her breasts, and Rachel threw back her head and laughed. “You do things to me with all my clothes on I’ve never felt naked.”

  Max kissed between her breasts. “I’d just as soon have you naked.”

  “God, yes.” Rachel stripped off her shirt, pulled off her bra, and threw them onto the floor behind them. She pressed her breasts to Max’s face. “Put your mouth on me.”

  Max lifted Rachel’s breasts in her hands and sucked her nipple into her mouth. Rachel’s clitoris pulsed and she rocked harder against Max’s belly. “Like that. Just. Like. That.”

  “You like that,” Max said, her voice low and self-satisfied.

  “Oh yes.”

  Max’s fingers closed over her other nipple, squeezing one as her mouth tugged the other.

  Light exploded behind Rachel’s eyelids, bright bursts of white and red and yellow, and she wasn’t afraid. The dark gave way to light and pleasure rolled through her. “Max. Max…”

  Max gripped Rachel’s hips and pulled her tighter against her body, her mouth and fingers working in time to Rachel’s thrusts. Rachel clenched her fists in Max’s hair and watched Max make her explode. “Oh my God.”

  Max pressed her cheek to Rachel’s breast and held her close until her shudders stopped. When Rachel collapsed, she kissed her. “You’re so beautiful I think my heart stopped.”

  Rachel couldn’t move. She was completely demolished. “My God. I’ve never…I didn’t…I have never come like that in my life.”

  Max laughed. “I said you were amazing.”

  “I think you did all the work,” Rachel said, her words lazy and slow.

  “Believe me, that wasn’t work.”

  Rachel licked a drop of sweat from Max’s throat. She tasted salty and powerful. She wanted her again. She was losing her sanity here. “All the same, you have no idea what you do to me.”

  Max kissed her. “I think I might a little. Because you…you make me feel like a god.”

  Rachel braced her hands on Max’s shoulders and pushed herself up until they were eye to eye. “I might’ve called you God there a time or two—okay, maybe ten—but don’t let it go to your head.”

  Max nipped at Rachel’s chin and kissed her again. “You can’t put the genie back in the bottle.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to put it back.” Rachel kissed her hard. She was half-naked, totally exposed in every way, and incredibly alive. Max had been the first to see her as she was, the first to touch her where it mattered. The last thing she wanted was to undo any of it. Desire rose again, hot and hard and fast. “I want to do it again. I want you.”

  “Let’s start with the getting you naked part.” Max reached for the button on Rachel’s pants.

  “Not just yet.” Rachel shifted onto her knees and pushed Max back onto the bed. She grabbed the bottom of Max’s T-shirt and shoved it up over her breasts. She wore nothing under the shirt. Her breasts were small and firm with perfectly centered pale pink nipples. Rachel’s throat went dry and she tugged at the shirt while she stared. “Off.”

  Max grabbed the bottom and had it halfway off when a sharp rap on the metal frame ricocheted through the space. Max froze.

  A deep male voice called, “Commander de Milles. Open up, please.”

  Max half sat up. “Rachel, stay back here.”

  “Why? Who is it?” Rachel whispered.

  Max gripped her around the waist and moved her aside as if she weighed nothing. “Get dressed.”

  Suddenly chilled, Rachel fumbled for the bra and shirt as Max yanked on a pair of pants and shoved her feet barefoot into her boots. Max glanced down, saw that Rachel was dressed, and said, “Just stay here. You’ll be fine.”

  “Max—”

  Max strode through the CLU and pushed open the door, holding it at arm’s length. Rachel followed and looked over her shoulder. Two bulky men in blue camo BDUs stood at the foot of the steps with their arms folded across their chests. Both wore caps pulled down so low their eyes were barely visible. Neither smiled.

  “If you’ll come with us, Commander,” one of them said.

  Nothing in their expressions indicated they even saw Rachel.

  Max didn’t move. “Ms. Winslow will need transportation to her quarters.”

  “We’ll arrange for that, Commander.”

  Max turned to Rachel. “Wait here. Someone w
ill come to take you back.”

  “What’s going on? Who are they?”

  “I have to go.” Max smiled, her smile crooked and weary. “Go home, Rachel—get out of this place.”

  Another Humvee pulled up behind the one idling in front of Max’s CLU. A man and a woman got out, both dressed in desert khakis. Both were white, trim and tanned, in their early thirties. Both looked a lot like Carmody. The woman, a brunette with a perfect face that registered absolutely nothing, walked up beside the uniformed men. “Ms. Winslow. We’ll take you back to your quarters.”

  Rachel gripped the back of Max’s T-shirt, as if she could keep her there, away from these strangers. Keep her safe. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I’m going with Commander de Milles.”

  Max reached behind her back and gently eased Rachel’s fingers free. “You’re not part of this, Rachel. Go home.”

  “But—”

  Max strode down onto the hard dry ground and said to the two men, “Let’s get out of here.”

  Rachel watched them pile into the Humvee and drive away. Max never looked back.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The Humvee disappeared around the corner, and Rachel was left standing on the steps of Max’s CLU in the hot, bright sun. A burst of annoyance helped push aside the wave of sadness left in Max’s wake. Max saw her as she wanted—needed—to be seen, but she still had more to learn if she believed for a second Rachel would leave her now. Squinting into the glare, she looked down at the two people regarding her impassively. “Who are you?”

  The woman held out her hand. “Abigail Kennedy.”

  Her accent said New England, her carriage and demeanor said privilege. She was in her early thirties, with medium-length, sun-streaked brown hair, professionally cut into a casual, layered, easy-to-care-for style that would look good out in the desert or at a cocktail party. Clear, straightforward blue-eyed gaze. Perfect heart-shaped face, nicely proportioned straight nose, full-lipped smile. Very pretty and trying to play it down with the absence of any makeup, no jewelry of any kind, and the same neutral-colored shirt and pants everyone wore in one form or another. Her attempt to blend in couldn’t quite hide her breeding or her background. Rachel had seen a thousand like her growing up in DC, at prep school, then college, and later at diplomatic events she’d been obligated to attend with her parents. Women like her generally wanted to be in charge, but they’d never go outside the wire, as Max would say. They’d order someone else to do that. Under other circumstances she might not have judged her quite so harshly, but right now she wasn’t given to being nice.