PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  She sizes me up. “Don't you mean, 'love thy neighbor'?”

  I smile at her. “I'm willing if you are.”

  Her eyes glint as she leans forward. “Oh, thank god. I thought we were going to talk about our family history all night or some shit.”

  And just like that, it is time to go tattoo hunting.

  ***

  I'm far too drunk to be behind the wheel, so we take Syd's white Chevy Impala. I give directions and admire what's going to be wrapped around me in a few minutes. The more I look, the more I like. I'm sure she's smart and has a great personality and all that, but I don't intend to ever know.

  When we pull into my carport, I get out and come around to open the driver side. Syd chuckles as she pulls her purse out of the back seat and follows me to the front door. Come to find out, I can still manage the lock. I push the door open and stand aside. The lights are already on.

  Syd steps inside, scoping out the place but pretending she isn't. The house looks far more inconspicuous on the outside.

  “Not bad, right?” I shut the door behind us and head toward the kitchen, though I'm sure I'm staggering a little. “Want a drink?”

  “No, thanks.” She drops her purse by the couch. “But that answer might change soon.”

  I lean back. Her face is dancing with mischief. It's a good look for her. I grab a couple of water bottles from the fridge and nod for her to follow me down the hall.

  When I halt in the doorway, she is right behind and nearly bumps into me. I place the bottles on the nightstand and unload my pockets before sitting on the edge of the bed.

  I rub a hand over my face. “You sure you good with this?”

  She tips back her head a little and runs a finger up and down her slender neck. I would like to pin her against the wall and start from her jaw and work down. But I'm opposed to mauling a woman until she has settled herself on my bed. Seems less pushy that way.

  She straightens. “So, let's get the responsible out of the way. You clean?”

  “What?” I tear my focus from her neck and meet her gaze. “Me? Yeah.”

  “Me, too,” she says, though I could have guessed that since she started the conversation.

  “What about the getting knocked up bit?”

  “Got that covered,” she says.

  I inhale a deep breath and survey her again. She's so tight and made up and fresh. I, on the other hand, just came in from a kidnapping.

  “Since we're taking the less passionate route, I'm going to go wash up. Been on the road all day.” I pat the mattress and stand. “Come relax.”

  She smiles and crosses my path as I head into the bathroom. A quick splash-bath, some body spray, good to go. I leave my jacket and shirt on the vanity and step back into the bedroom.

  Syd is sitting on the mattress, feet planted on the floor, hands on her lap. She smiles up at me, and I'm pretty sure this isn't a typical night for her. I'll do my best to make it memorable.

  I lift her chin as I sit next to her and bring her mouth to mine. She tenses, and I keep the urge to strip her down in check. This needs to be on her terms, even if parts of me disagree. After a moment, she relaxes into the kiss. Her arm drapes over my shoulder, and she urges me forward as she lies back on the bed.

  My hand slides under her shirt and works its way up to massage her breast. She gives a soft moan, sparking all sorts of ill-mannered thoughts.

  I break from the kiss, my lips lingering near hers, and whisper, “I really want to fuck you.”

  “You make my girly bits tingle.” She smiles up at me. “But you're pretty drunk. Sure I'm not taking advantage of you?”

  “I wish you would,” I say. “That would require you to be on top, though.”

  She grins and wedges her hand under my chest to nudge me back. I lift up, and her eyes and hands trail down my chest. She makes a small approving noise.

  I reach for the bottom of her shirt and tug it up as she peels out of the jacket. The shirt comes off next. I unhook her bra, and she scrambles out of it then latches her lips back to mine. Her tongue slides into my mouth, warm and delicious. I catch the back of her head with one hand, pulling her closer until her breasts are tight against me.

  My other arm wraps around her waist as I guide her onto my lap facing me. I work down her collarbone then go for the lovely, soft mounds. They perk right to attention. Parts of me are perked too, straining to find a nice warm place.

  I trail my lips down her chest bone as she arches back. Her abdomen flutters a little, and her breath hitches. Something tells me there won't be a long wait for an invitation inside.

  My arms tighten around her to brace her as I maul down her stomach. I give a small bite under her navel, right before the waist of her pants. Her hips rock toward me. I lower my mouth to her crotch and tease her with firm nibbling. Her body clenches, her pelvis tilting.

  With a grin, I bring her back in for another long, deep kiss. As much as I would like to yank off her pants and see if she can remember my name, I kind of enjoy prolonging it. She's definitely a finer entree, and not just physically. She's somehow coy and bold at the same time. I never realized before how great of a combination that could be.

  It's such a shame I'm going to have to throw her out later in a way that guarantees she will never bother to contact me again.

  I lie back on the bed so she is straddling my waist. The position isn't by accident. She rubs her hips against me, and my mind fixates on one thought: how fast her jeans need to come off.

  I'm already undoing the button and zipper. So much for prolonging. She raises to her feet, towering above me. As she works her pants down, a glimpse of a tattoo peeks from the top of her panties. The further she undresses, the more the ink is revealed until she steps out of her jeans and tosses them to the floor.

  Two enormous roses spread across her toned right thigh. Leaves poke just over her hip bone. The entire image is a stunning display. She begins to lower back down to me, but I motion for her to stay in place for a moment longer.

  She smiles, but looks away. I might be too drunk and tired to keep her up the rest of the night, but I'll give it a go.

  I reach up and grab her hand, tugging her back down. Her hair falls forward as she plants her hands on either side of me. In one motion, I hook my arm around her waist and flip her to her back, reversing roles.

  She squeaks in surprise, but I cut off any words with my tongue in her mouth. I deepen the kiss as I wedge between her legs and push against her. I'm so damn hard. She rocks her hips, and it's on. I pull back, yank off her panties and toss them aside, then spread her thighs and French kiss between them. She sounds surprised, then her fists clutch the blankets. I move in deeper.

  “Oh, God,” she gasps. “Oh, my god, Dimitri.”

  Look at that. She does remember my name.

  My tongue prods so many delicious places, some with better responses than others, my hands pinning her thighs wide apart against the bed. Intoxication swirls my brain, but I can't tell if it's the alcohol or the fact this gorgeous woman is nearing the point of breaking already.

  When I pull away, her thighs come together, and she squirms as I strip the rest of the way down. She lifts her head with a gasp, then her eyes focus somewhere that is not my face.

  She lays her head back against the mattress with a soft moan. I crawl over her, hook one of her legs on my hip, and slide in. Her breathing quickens. All sorts of wonderful contractions spread through her and transfer to me.

  My fingers go to the areas my tongue mapped out and caresses the soft folds. She moans and squirms a little. I thrust into her harder even though I can't take much more of it. The intoxication in all its forms is getting the best of me. I spread her apart and make circular motions, growing faster as her gasps become more desperate.

  I consider pulling away, just to watch her reaction, but the game is about over. Instead, I give her what she's wanting, and she gives me a spectacular show of arched back and beautiful spasms in return.

&n
bsp; I lean over her and wrap her body against mine. Her lips are soft but demanding as she kisses me, her hands on my shoulders. I fuck her until the intoxication takes over, and I find myself gasping into her neck.

  Heart thudding, but body relaxing, I roll off and settle beside her. We are quiet for a while, staring at the ceiling fan.

  Then, she looks over at me. “I'm gonna go wash up, okay?”

  I nod and indicate the bathroom door, like she couldn't figure that out on her own. As soon as she's up, I stand and pull back the covers, then drop onto the sheet.

  Water runs, a cabinet door opens, and a few minutes later, she re-emerges. She's naked and ruffled. I had planned for round two, but it has been a long day. She also looks ready to collapse.

  With a hesitant glance at me, she starts gathering her clothes.

  My heart sinks a little. The truth is, I did something horrible today. I didn't want to, but I still did it. If she leaves, I'm going to think about it.

  I hate the silence.

  And she's so damn adorable.

  “Hey, Syd?”

  She looks up, shirt in one hand.

  I smile and tilt my head. “Wanna nap before you hit the road?”

  She pauses, then shrugs and lays her shirt over the foot board. She comes around to the other side of the bed and crawls up next to me.

  We exchange uncertain, but amused, looks. Then I grab one of the water bottles from the night stand and offer it to her.

  She wraps her hand around it, but doesn't take it. I don't let go either. We just study each other's faces, grinning. I'm not sure why, but I don't care.

  I lean in and kiss her before I realize what I'm doing. She buries her face in my neck. I think, for a moment, that she's ready for another go. But her head lays heavy on my shoulder. She takes a deep breath.

  With a small shrug, I move her off from me and bring her face back to mine.

  I kiss her lips, her nipples in turn, and then her forehead. “You're beautiful. Thank you. Now get some rest.”

  She smiles, then cuddles down under the covers and turns away to sleep.

  ***

  I wake in the morning to a buzzing noise punctuated with thumping.

  Then there's silence.

  To my right, Syd says in a hoarse voice, “Hello?”

  I'm lying flat on my back, naked, with one leg stuck out from under the blankets. The ceiling fan is blowing a small breeze over me. I couldn't be more relaxed even if I'd shot up some of those benzos myself.

  “Oh, God,” Syd says, in an entirely different tone than she had used last night.

  I turn my head to look at her. She scrambles out from under the covers, ass naked, and begins hopping into her pants. Her phone is wedged between her head and shoulder.

  “I'll be right there. I just—I, uh, I stayed over at a friend's house, but I'm heading out right now. Don't do anything. Just stay right there.” She drops the phone, zips up her pants, then grabs her shirt and pulls it over her head. “I'm sorry, Dimitri, it was great knowing you, but I got to go.”

  She grabs her purse and phone and shoes, then runs, barefoot, out of the room. A moment later, the front door slams.

  At least I don't have to get up to throw her out.

  ***

  When I wake again, the afternoon sun is shining through my window. My bladder is screaming to get my lazy ass out of bed, or else.

  With a groan, I pull to my feet and stagger to the bathroom. Might as well get on with the day. That usually includes a long hot shower, food at a random restaurant, and then either frivolous hours gaming online or more serious time at the private shooting range.

  After eight years, I'm a little bored of both forms of first-person shooters. Bored enough I would get a job if I could. Being summoned in the middle of the afternoon might be difficult to explain to the office manager, though. Not sure PTO covers my situation.

  On the other hand, I'm not exactly a puzzles and model planes type of guy. Sometimes I request tutors, usually in combat skills or language, but I haven't had any private instructions in over two years. Not entirely sure I ever want to again, either. Those one-on-one studies get pretty intense.

  My days are squandered waiting for Karl to need me. That is my full time occupation. No weekends, no vacations, and no conflicting interests. I live in this world, but I'm not a part of it. Never have been, never will be. That's just how my life is. I don't spend much time contemplating it.

  Except when I'm hungover in the shower.

  After I'm certain I have caused a water crisis, I towel off and dress, thinking about Syd's deliciously tight body. Too bad I have a rule against keeping in touch. She would definitely be on speed dial.

  I whistle a little tune as I unlock the safe bolted to the wall in my walk-in closet. Inside the safe are dozens of wallets, each labeled with the name of the setup.

  I return Leo Hartz, since no one busted him during the last assignment. Alan O'Neill is going out to eat today. I cram the wallet into my pants pocket with my phone, pluck my keys off the nightstand, and head out.

  The neighborhood is quiet, and that's how I like it to be. No one around here knows I work for Karl. No one around here knows me at all.

  I unlock my Corolla and slide in as the house cleaners turn in. I pull down the sun visor and then remember I need to have someone pick up the Accord and swap out the license plate. Safety measure. That and maybe a new coat of paint. I like to keep things mixed up. Throws the proverbial dogs off the scent. I'm not worried about authorities, but if they do sniff me out, I will have to uproot. I'm kind of partial to this house, since my father raised me here and all.

  Something tells me if I screw up and get people nosing around the operation, my next place will make a Medieval dungeon look like the Marriott.

  My stomach growls, returning me to the task at hand. I start the engine, then decide to head to a cafe across town. Laziness has been getting the best of me lately. Time to start circling wider before I become a regular to some waitress.

  Thirty minutes later, I pull into a cafe parking lot. My brain is pulsing. Damn hangover.

  Inside the cafe, the scent of hot coffee and grease greets me. I take a seat at an empty table near the door. A small check-out counter sits in front of the pass bar. Only two people are in sight, and one—an older guy—is adding up pennies. He uses a finger to jerk them aside, his mouth moving as he counts.

  The woman, about the same age, spots me, grabs a menu from a rack on the side of the counter, and crosses the small room.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” She lays the menu on the table. “Coffee? Orange juice?”

  “Yes, both.” I don't open the menu. “Blueberry pancakes, bacon well-done, hash browns.” I think of the cougar bartender and grin. “And eggs, over easy.”

  The waitress nods, takes back the menu, and strolls away.

  My pocket vibrates. I dig out my phone and touch the screen. I have a text message.

  Just wanted to apologize for leaving in a rush this morning. -Syd

  What the shit?

  I scowl and type back. How the hell did you get my number?

  After pressing send, I realize it's not the smoothest way to handle the situation, but a terrible feeling is brewing in my stomach. And it's not just the lack of food anymore.

  My phone vibrates again.

  Oh. When you were freshening up, I grabbed your number off your settings. Sorry if that bothers you.

  If that bothers me? Why the fuck was she snooping around my phone?

  Another message comes in from her. Sorry. I know it sounds terrible.

  I reply. It's fine.

  Nothing a call to the phone company won't fix. Change of number, and goodbye Syd.

  Hopefully she isn't bold enough to show up to my place uninvited, since I didn't get to be the morning-after asshole. God dammit.

  The waitress brings coffee, creamer, and a glass of orange juice. She leaves without a word. I stare at my phone, trying to underst
and how Syd had deemed it appropriate to lift my info.

  I text her again. Why did you take my number?

  A moment later, she replies. I thought you said it was fine.

  I lied.

  The text messages stop coming in. I probably upset her, but I don't feel bad about it. She rifled through my shit.

  No more house guests. I knew better, but I have no idea how to explain a hotel charge to Karl. Time to figure that out.

  The waitress brings the plates of food, and my attention focuses on the meal. Fluffy blueberry pancakes topped with a swirl of whip cream. Bacon cooked to a crisp. Hash browns...Well, they aren't really hash browns. Country potatoes, but it's all good with a little Tabasco.

  I pick up my fork to dive in, and my phone vibrates. So Syd decided to reply after all. With an irritated sigh, I poke the screen to read the message.

  I can explain it better in person. Want to meet for lunch?

  No, I do not. I want her to stop ruining the fun reel of last night replaying in the back of my head.

  I text without even picking up the phone, I'm over it. Have a good life.

  If she doesn't take the hint soon, I actually will have to change my phone number—and come up with an excuse to tell Karl. Dammit.

  I pull my plate closer and cut into the pancakes. They really are magnificent.

  The phone vibrates again.

  I drop my fork, snatch up the phone, and press the dial button. The line rings once.

  “Dimitri?” Syd sounds taken aback.

  “For fuck's sake, woman, what in the name of Beelzebub do you want?”

  She makes an “uh” sound. Then she seems to collect herself.

  “I'm not trying to be that girl. I know it was a one-night stand. But, I do feel bad for taking your number, and—”

  “So stop using it,” I snap.

  I hang up and go back to eating.

  The phone vibrates with an incoming call.

  I growl and answer it. “Go away, Syd.”

  “Now you're just being a jerk.” She sounds angry, but her voice quivers. “A lot of shit has gone down in the last twenty-four hours, and I just wanted to apologize to you. Go to hell.”

  She hangs up.

  My eggs are getting cold.