Love Me Better: No Such Unit Hopeless Romantics 1

by Kit Smart

  Unfortunately for me, the sip of tea, does not make the email disappear, and feeling only marginally improved by the caffeine hitting my system, I suck it up, and click on the first email.

  It is, as its headline proclaims it to be, a request for an interview with Owen. The magazine inquiring, details a plan to include him in a list of eligible bachelors ‘Hot and Hard Under Forty’.

  They also want, to do a full magazine spread of him posing in various intimate settings.

  “I don’t think he’s gonna go for that.” I tell my teacup.

  The second email, is a request, another request, for an interview—this time for a TV interview. There is no request, this time, for any sort of posing in any sort of intimate setting, and the writer of the email notes that this would be a great way to ensure additional media coverage for Courage After Fire.

  From the details of the email, I glean that the interview is for some sort of morning talkshow, or discussion panel centered around issues of male sexuality.

  “I don’t think he’s gonna like that either.” I can feel myself start to flush at the thought of subjecting Owen to either of these interviews.

  I had known that there was going to be some fallout from the events of Friday night, but I hadn’t predicted quite so much prurient interest. To be so titillated by what amounts to a perfectly natural function of the male body—it’s pretty juvenile. “Surely this isn’t worthy of news coverage?”

  Email number three is from a YouTuber. It’s yet another request for interview, this time for documentary about men who are oversexed. The author of the email notes that while the name of the documentary has not yet been decided upon they are considering going with something like’ Oversexed: Men at the Mercy of their Sex Drives’, or ‘The Monster in my Pants’.

  By the time I’ve made my way through the emails, it is midmorning and I have never been so glad that Owen is not in the office. Just stay wherever you are, doing whatever bizarre magic, time travel stuff you’re doing. I tell him mentally. Just stay away, until I can figure this out.

  Unable to think of anything else to do, I take another sip of tea and stare at my computer screen. There is no way to avoid telling him about this, I know it and yet, I frantically search my brain for a way not to.

  Ironically, the only thing I can think of, is to spirit him away to another time in one of the time machines that are apparently hidden in some secret location at Andersley.

  In the Bat Cave.

  Will probably have to hijack it…along with a pilot.

  Barring that, there simply is no way around telling him. Whatever I do—however I handle the situation—it’s going to have to involve him, and it’s going to involve the exposure of some of the intimate details of his life.

  There’s no way around it.

  He’s the public image, the very public face of Courage After Fire, the one we use to maintain the cover of the unit, and if sacrifices have to be made to maintain that cover, it’s part of his job to be that sacrifice.

  No matter what it costs him personally, professionally, or emotionally.

  Seri

  Amory arrives sometime before noon, with her own cup of tea and a handful of printouts. Taking a seat across from my desk she leans forward to pass me the printouts before tucking her feet up in the chair and taking a prodigious sip of her tea.

  ‘Tea Solves Everything’, seems to be going around this morning.

  The top printout is from an online journal, and shows a picture of Owen standing at the end of the runway with an arrow draw on it to highlight his very visible erection. The title above the photo reads: “Cock of the Walk”.

  Unable to take the idea of going through the sizable stack of printouts one by one, I look over at Amory. “Are they all like this?”

  “Some are worse.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “I take it that he’s not seen them yet?”

  “No—he’s off somewhere—” I flick my hand in the direction of the outside. “What the hell am I going to do?”

  “Head straight into the storm? Do the interviews.” Amory suggests wrinkling her nose in distaste.

  “We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile here. You know, in order to preserve the unit’s cover. How are the powers-that-be going to feel about us being in all the fucking papers?!” In the interests of not being dramatic, I resist the urge to drop my head against the desk and bang it repeatedly until I knock myself out. Instead, for want of anything else to do, and because apparently it is the thing to do, I take another sip of my tea. “Also, how the hell do you think I’m going to get the chief to agree to go on a press junket to discuss his—”

  “Junk?” Amory inserts with a crooked little grin.

  I glare at her. Easy to be funny when you’re not in the hot seat. “Penis.” I correct her.

  She raises her eyebrows at me. “Very clinical.” She says dryly. Shrugs. “I don’t think it will be that difficult Seri. I haven’t met a man yet, who is unwilling to discuss his—” she pauses for a second, levels a look at me. “Penis. It is, in fact, quite often their favorite conversation piece.”

  “Not for all men—not always.” I feel sick as I remember how reluctant Owen was to let me so much as touch his cock in the shower the previous evening.

  Amory raises another eyebrow at me and I mentally curse her sharpness. “There’s something you’re not telling me.” She declares. “Like where you got to after the auction.” She studies me closely over her teacup. “And who you got there with.” She tilts her head back. Stares down at me along the line of her nose. “Spill it sister.”

  I do my best to look innocent and confused. We haven’t even discussed whether or not to tell anyone about us yet. “Spill it?”

  Amory doesn’t buy it. Not that I really expected her to. “Yes. How is the chief between the sheets?” She raises her cup to her lips, regards me knowingly over the top as she does so.

  I think about lying in order to preserve Owen’s privacy, but it only takes me a moment to decide against it. Given how small our world is—particularly with us all quartered at the same estate—it’s a secret that won’t be a secret for long if we do decide to continue. And I trust Amory. I need to trust Amory.

  Also, there is a part of me, that wants to discuss the events of the night before—the ones that don’t involve a betrayal of Owen’s confidences—with my friend.

  Apparently sensing my dilemma, Amory shrugs, “We’ve all been there.” She raises her teacup slightly to indicate the office. “This world, it’s a small one, and one not easily understood by outsiders. They’d have told you, I think, in training, that dating within this world is something to be encouraged right?”

  I nod. They did, in fact, tell me that. Still, I consider my words carefully before I open my mouth. “The Chief, is magnificent in bed.” I admit.

  Amory grins. “I knew it.”

  Seri

  After Amory leaves, I make myself another cup of tea, and then return to the hell that is my mailbox.

  Opening up each piece of email individually, I begin to sort the interview requests into ‘Yes’, ‘Maybe’, and ‘No’ folders. Before I can reconsider my strategy, I send replies accepting the interview requests that I’ve sorted into the ‘Yes’ folder.

  I schedule them for later in the week.

  The best defense is always a good offense.

  Especially an offense delivered at lightning speed.

  17

  Seri

  It’s late afternoon when I hear Owen’s office door open from the hallway. I follow the sound of his footsteps as he walks past his desk to the door that connects my office to his.

  I look up just in time to see him pull open the connecting door and take in the intent, hungry look on his face as he moves into my office.

  He pulls the door shut firmly shut, and my heart begins to pound in anticipation of him.

  He pauses to lock the connecting door behind him, then moves to my main door and locks that as well.
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  In a few swift strides, he’s rounding my desk, and leaning down to brace himself on the armrests of my chair as he swivels me towards him.

  His hands skim across my breasts and down my sides as he pulls me up out of the chair, His mouth, hot and hungry, meets mine as he lifts me against him and backs me onto the edge of my desk my desk.

  He’s clumsy, urgent, desperate as he begins to ruck up my skirt and I have to grab his shoulders to prevent myself from falling backward.

  “All morning—all afternoon—” He growls against my mouth. “all I could think about was getting back here—laying you back on this desk and burying my head between your legs.” He pulls my bottom lip between his. “Sucking, licking, loving you as you scream my name.” He anchors me with one large hand behind my back as his other hand reaches below my skirt and finds its way to my panties. “Hold on.” He tells me as he leans me back.

  I hang on to his shoulders and obediently lift my hips up so he can slide my panties down. “Do you have any idea how fucking distracting that is?”

  “I think I may have some idea.” I tell him, as, desperate to feel his skin against mine, I reach down to yank his shirt from his pants.

  “Do you want me?” He growls against my lips.

  Unable to resist the temptation, I snag his bottom lip between my teeth and give it a gentle suck. Grabbing one of his hands, I guide it between my legs. “I’m soaking wet for you.”

  I bite my lip hard to stop myself from groaning as he begins to explore my arousal with gentle fingers.

  I almost tear the buttons from his shirt when he finds my clit.

  Very gently, he strokes me as he lays me back on the desk.

  I have a moment to mourn the loss of contact when he lifts his body off of mine and then he’s sitting in my chair and pulling my legs over his shoulders. I raise myself up on my elbows so that I can see him and catch him looking up the line of my body at me. “I know you want me.” His eyes blaze with emotion. “But I need you to tell me.” He says and then he lowers his head and it’s all soft breath and the gentle scrapings of his 5 o’clock shadow against the tender skin of my thighs as he takes my clit between his lips and begins to suck.

  Owen

  There is nothing more exciting to me than hearing Seri moan; seeing her writhe in pleasure and understanding that I am responsible for all of it.

  Being able to do this to her; listening to her gasps and whimpers as I stroke her with my tongue; the way she lifts her hips to bring herself back up to my mouth when I stop or adjust my technique; the way she grinds her clit on my tongue; listening to her breathing intensify and feeling her legs; the way she tastes—knowing that it’s all for me; knowing that she wants me and that I can satisfy her this way, makes me feel a thousand feet tall.

  My body thrums with blood, urgency and desire and I can feel the memory of her hands where they’ve explored my body. I’d been feeling it all day—brushes of phantom sensation across my nipples and at the corner of my jaw; the deeper, warmer pressure of a palm across the small of my back; the sensation of teeth along the patches of non-burned skin on my chest and back.

  By the time, I’d made it back to the office; back to her; I was one giant exposed nerve ending; a thundering, steaming freight train of raw need.

  I am in no position to protest, therefore, when bare seconds after arching up off the desk, her mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy as she shatters; she pushes herself up to sit on the edge of the desk and grabs the edges of my open shirt in her hands to steady herself.

  I feel a bit smug about how off balance she is, but this quickly dissipates in the face of the look she is giving me. “I want you.” She tells me as she slides to her feet. “I want you here with me right now.” Leaning forward, she takes one of my nipples into her mouth, and gives it a hard suck as she uses her hands against my chest to push the office chair back. “I want to talk to you.” She uses her knees to spread my thighs, and still sucking and nibbling at my nipple she falls to her knees. “I want to be with you.” Dropping her hands from my chest to my thighs, she slides them up toward my belt, and despite the way I am burning from the inside out, I squirm involuntarily at the thought of what she is about to do.

  She catches it. Stops. Pulls her lips from my chest to look up at me, gives me a chance to settle if I want to. “Okay?” She asks and after a moment, I nod.

  She begins to unbuckle my belt. “I want to lay with you.” She pulls open my pants and hooks her fingers into the band of my boxers. “I want to wrap my arms around you.” I lift my hips so that she can pull my trousers and boxers down and I remind myself that she’s seen me before. And then I am in her hand and the feeling is so good that I’m lifting my hips toward her as she lowers her head and sucks gently at the tip of my shaft.

  I arch my back and have to stuff my fist in my mouth to stop the sounds that want to come out.

  Her eyes burn with pleasure as she takes in my reaction. “I just want you.” She tells me as our eyes meet and then, eyes still on mine she guides me to her mouth.

  Seri

  He sits there, weight braced on his hands and his head thrown back as he sucks in air.

  I watch the way his chest and belly move as he breathes and am struck by the beautiful mechanism of his body.

  He brings his head forward and down to look at me and the joy in them makes me forget to breathe. I can’t think when a man’s ever looked at me like that before.

  I open my mouth to say something, but never get the chance as all in one motion, he stands, rearranges his briefs and pants and pulling me up into his arms, carries me to the sofa with swift, sure strides.

  I abruptly find myself sitting crosswise in his lap with his feet on the floor and mine extended out along the sofa in front of me.

  His left arm is draped across my lap, and his right arm is a solid warmth across my back and waist.

  I tip my head so that I can see his expression and catch him smiling at my surprised expression. “I’m tactile remember?” He teases.

  Raising my right hand to his shoulder I begin to stroke and massage the muscles there. “How could I forget.” I watch him respond by closing his eyes briefly as he sinks into the sensation. I love seeing the combination of residual sexual pleasure and the purely sensual pleasure of everyday touch on his face and in his body.

  “You’re going to melt my bones if you keep this up.” He warns me.

  “I’ll just stuff you in a wheel barrow and roll you home.” I tell him.

  He quirks an eyebrow. “Dare I hope, that you’ll take the time to divest it of manure first?”

  “Nope. I’ll just have to spray you down in the shower.”

  “I wouldn’t complain if you did.” He tells me softly.

  It occurs to me that I could sit here forever exploring and drawing responses out of his body. “I love how sensitive you are to touch.” I tell him.

  He laughs. “I used to hate that.” He tells me. “I thought it made me weak.”

  “Why?”

  He tilts his head aside to give me room to work on the muscle where his neck meets his shoulder. “Men aren’t supposed to be so responsive. And they aren’t supposed to like cuddling and—” He flicks his eyes down to my hand on his shoulder. “This sort of thing.”

  “Men are people too.” I offer. “I am almost entirely sure of it.”

  He smiles a little at that. “There was a period in my life where I went through a lot of women Seri.” He’s watching my face now; clearly expecting some sort of negative reaction.

  I look at him curiously wanting to hear more.

  “Relationships, and one night stands, and quick sexual encounters.”

  I nod. “Because you were seeking out the physical contact?”

  “Yes. Eventually, I stopped, got help.” The self-deprecation that enters his gaze is painful to see. “But I still crave it. Even after being burned, when I was in hospital and couldn’t bear to be touched, all I wanted was for someone to rub my
back and chest.” He snorts softly. “It makes me feel kind of stupid to be honest.”

  I consider that. “Not stupid I think. You were injured, in pain, pumped full of drugs, isolated in the burn ward, and subjected to the torture of debridement. That can’t have felt awesome. It seems pretty natural to want something that makes you feel good in the midst of all of that.” I offer him a raised eyebrow. “As for the women,” I tease him by letting that hang in the air between us for a moment, only to almost instantaneously regret it as his eyes cloud with worry and he stiffens slightly under me. When he tries to look away, I catch his eyes. Look at me. I keep working his shoulder. “There’s no shame in being hungry for another person.”

  As quickly as he’d stiffened, he relaxes. “Where have you been all of my life Seri?”

  It’s my turn to laugh. “Here, there and everywhere.” I tell him.

  “Will you tell me about that?”

  I shrug. “If you really want to know. But it’s a long, complicated story.” I warn him. “And there is something else I need to tell you first.”

  “Am I going to like it?”

  “Probably not.”

  He lets his head drop against the wall with a small sigh. “Let me have it.”

  Owen

  I focus on the rhythm of Seri’s hand against my shoulder and force myself to breathe evenly as I tell myself that there is no way this woman would be sitting here like this if she were about to jerk the ground out form under me.

  There’s no way she would have made love to me like that if she were going to leave me.

  You never know with people. The dark part of my brain tells me. It could have been a pity fuck. Or maybe she was just curious, just wanted a story to tell about fucking her limp-dick boss on her desk.

  “Shut up.” I mutter.

  “Pardon?” She says and I realize then that I’ve said it aloud.