Crossing the Line

by Lauren Landish

  “Getting insurance for it has to be a bitch too,” I note, my body relishing the feel of the rich authentic leather seats. “This thing is cherry.”

  “You have no idea,” Rafe says, running a hand over the dash. “It took me years to find exactly the model I wanted. Anyway, I booked us a reservation at a restaurant in Half Moon Bay. Have you been there?”

  I shake my head as the engine rumbles to life. Give it to the Brits, they know how to make an engine that purrs. We pull out of the parking lot and head toward the Interstate which cuts across toward Half Moon Bay. At the first red light, Rafe points to the glove box. “Take a look at the tablet in there. The Pentagon would shit themselves if they knew about this, but I trust you. We can talk as I drive.”

  I turn on the tablet, amazed at the innovative, unique design. Not two, but four wings are arranged in a diamond pattern, and I don't see anything that would lead me to know where . . . “Wait, where the hell is the cockpit?”

  “There is none,” Rafe says, getting onto the Interstate. “The Cyber in CyberFighter isn't just a buzzword to make us sound cool like some idiot at the Pentagon thinks.”

  “So it's a drone?” I ask, raising my eyebrow. “You're designing a fighting drone?”

  “Yep. It’ll be cheaper to build—no need in building the cockpit, and no need in all the rigorous physical training for the pilots. With the upgrades in technology, it’s getting too hard to find and replace pilots. The human body can’t keep up with the airframes any longer.”

  “So you're going to turn front-line fighter aircraft duties to what, geeks on their Xbox One?” I ask, incredulous. “The Air Force isn't going to like that.”

  Rafe shrugs. “They might not, but they’ll have to get with the times. There were pilots who hated when we transitioned from pistons to jets. Besides, it’s safer. They’ll come around.”

  We get off the Interstate and he maneuvers us toward Half Moon Bay, the sunset reflecting in the Pacific in the distance. It's beautiful, and it's a part of California that I've never seen before. “This is amazing.”

  I notice that Rafe's looking at me intently, and he gives me a smile. “It is. Come on, let's have dinner.”

  The restaurant is small, no more than ten tables, and when we get there, the waiter escorts us to a private patio in the back of the building which looks like it may have been a house at one point, or maybe a bed and breakfast.

  “This is . . . a lot more romantic than I thought you'd ask me out for,” I note as Rafe holds my chair for me, pushing it in for me. “You sure the University isn't going to be pissed off?”

  “Sometimes, you need to strike out on your own in order to find your true potential,” Rafe replies, giving me another one of his heart-stopping smiles. There's intent, and the warmth that I've been feeling in my belly moves between my legs. It feels strange though. It's not the dirty heat that I feel when the demon's in control, and it's not the nasty, filthy heat that I feel at The Club. This is purer, and I'm not ashamed of it as I settle in, even if I am a bit embarrassed. I just have to make sure that it stays this way, and I’m the one who stays in control. “So what wine would you like? I'm not drinking. I'll make sure that you get home safe tonight.”

  “I left my Miata at school, so I should stick to non-alcoholic drinks as well,” I answer, looking for a menu. I don't see one, and I'm confused. “Uh, how do we place an order?”

  “We did as soon as we walked in the door,” Rafe says, sitting back and sipping his water. “This place is run by a former Michelin-starred chef. He does things his way, and the few times I've been here, I've never been disappointed. Basically, he goes to the farmer's markets around the Bay during the day and picks out whatever catches his eye. He then brings it back and cooks whatever he wants. You eat it or you don't. He doesn't really give a damn. A unique but always delicious experience.”

  “I see. So I have to put all my trust in someone else's hands,” I reply, smirking. “I'm not so sure if I like that.”

  “That's not what I've seen,” Rafe says simply, setting his glass of water down. “I’ve been watching you all semester, and I have to say, you're a very intriguing woman, Shawnie.”

  My heart flutters at the look Rafe is giving me, and I quickly take a gulp of water, sputtering when some of it goes down the wrong pipe, coughing until I'm sure my face is burning so much it's red. “Sorry. You caught me off guard.”

  “Don’t worry about any of that Professor-TA stuff. I have a feeling you’re not going to be my TA much longer.”

  I nod, calming myself. “You’re right. I’ll take your offer. On one condition.”

  “What's that?” Rafe asks, and I take a deep breath.

  “You explain to me why you're called Suicide,” I say, leaning forward. “That's not exactly the sort of nickname that you pick up for no reason at all.”

  Rafe hums and crosses his legs, smirking. “You think you're ready for that much information? Well, I'll give you part of the answer for now. You can earn the rest later. I've worked with the Pentagon before, and one of the things that I did when I was twenty was go through six months of pilot training. I already had my civilian pilot's license, so I was able to progress pretty quickly.”

  “Really?” I ask, hardly shocked but still pleasantly surprised. Is there anything Rafe can't do? “So it's a call sign?”

  “Assigned by the guys of my training wing,” he says. “It’s sort of a graduation gift that they give everyone.”

  I shake my head in amazement. “Next thing you're going to tell me is that you also spend your nights running around San Francisco in a bat costume fighting crime.”

  “Only on Saturday nights. Traffic’s a bitch the rest of the time,” Rafe jokes, and I can't help it, I laugh. “So are you in or out?”

  “I'm in,” I agree just as the waiter brings us our first of four courses. I don't know what exactly it is that the chef serves. I mean I can identify that the first course is a salad and the next course is some sort of seafood appetizer, but there are tastes and flavors I've never experienced before. It's amazing, and by the time I wipe my mouth to clean my lips of the last traces of the cherry tart-like dessert that wasn't quite a cheesecake but not quite a pie either, I know it's the best meal I've ever had.

  “So, what do you think?” Rafe asks after the last plate is cleared away. “I’d say it was more than worth the drive.”

  “I’ll say,” I reply. “So what else do you have in mind for me?”

  I don’t know where that comment came from, then it hits me. Inside, I can hear it chuckle, and I realize that despite my best intentions, it’s starting to work its way free. No, not tonight. Not with this man. Rafe smiles though, his eyes gleaming in the candle light.

  Rafe knows exactly what I’m asking. “Shawnie, you're not ready for that yet,” he says with a mysterious hint to his voice. “But I had a nice dinner. Let's get you home.”

  The whole drive back to Stanford is torture as I fight the demon inside me. I don’t want to wreck things. The heat inside me feels too good and pure. But it’s not letting me go. It’s too strong.

  Rafe, for his part, is quiet as we get back to campus, parking his Jag next to my car and turning to face me. “Shawnie, I know that you—”

  I cut him off by reaching across the small divide between us and grabbing his cock, both sides of me shocked by what we find. Mr. Perfect is perfectly hung. “I know that I want to suck your cock and have you come all over my face,” I growl, leaning over and kissing the bulge in his jeans. Rafe’s a man, and no man can resist that, but suddenly, I feel fingers in my hair, pulling painfully. “Ooh yeah, make it hurt, baby!”

  “Get out!” Rafe yells, yanking my head up from his crotch and staring at me. Before I can say anything, he gets out, coming around and opening my door. I get out, but before I can touch him, he steps back, pointing to my car. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  I try to say something, but Rafe storms around his car and gets back in, pulling away whi
le I’ve still got my body yearning and tears in my eyes.

  “Rafe . . . I’m sorry,” I whisper, watching his taillights disappear as he hangs a right out of the parking lot. “It wasn’t me . . .”

  But it was, and now . . . it needs to play.

  Chapter 7

  Rafe

  I'm shaking with desire and anger after I drop Shawnie off at the parking lot outside the engineering department back on campus, and I know that I need some relief. I'm not proud of what I'm about to do, but there isn't too much I can do about it.

  Does she know just how fucking sexy she was? Even the barely visible scars on her arms are sexy to me, making her look like a tigress.

  Dinner was foreplay in itself. Watching her wrap her lips around the panko crusted halibut with herbed butter was pure seduction, made even worse when the chef brought out the main dish, organic mutton chops raised right in Northern California. I don't think Shawnie's ever had mutton before, and the hungry, satisfied sounds she made as she chewed the rich meat sent tingles to my cock even before dessert.

  Then with one little question, a bit of flirtation, I watched as she changed. Gone was the sexy, seductive woman who’s shared an office with me for almost an entire semester, a woman who’s sexy specifically because she’s not trying, she just is. Instead, a different side of her came out, a side that most men would be all over, and even the animal side of me wants it. But that isn’t the Shawnie I want. I was hoping . . . I don’t really know what I was hoping for. I just know I need some sort of relief, and I know what I have to do.

  Instead of heading back to my apartment, I head back to the Interstate and drive quickly toward San Mateo. Club Paradise is not a place I go to often. I think I've been here four times in the past year, but it's close, and if I need, I can find just about anything I want under the sun. It's not quite as wild as The Armory or The Club down in San Francisco proper, but my tastes aren't quite as wild tonight.

  “Mr. Kent, nice to see you again,” the doorman greets me as I show him my membership card after dropping my car off with the valet. Like most of the sex clubs in the area, you have an alias, and as a play on my background, I'm Clark Kent. Sure, it's a lame alias, but I don't really fucking care. It could be worse.

  I go inside, taking from the coat check room one of the few things I do insist on when inside Club Paradise, and that's a mask after I drop off my sport coat. The one I choose tonight is a shield shaped men's Venetian mask, full face. I'm not here to participate but just to relieve some tension before calling it a night.

  She was so close, and her body . . . I've never seen a body like it in my life. A body that couldn't be improved even if someone does finish research into gene therapy or . . . well, I don't want to think about that right now.

  But her beauty is also her danger. I have to maintain my control, and it's hard with Shawnie, especially after watching what happened to her at the end. The offer to join my team wasn't bullshit. If anything, it’s more important than ever. When she’s in the books, when she’s being an engineer, Shawnie can stand strong against whatever’s tearing her apart. But there’s the other side of her, the side I saw tonight. It could threaten the whole project. The Pentagon was serious about taking the next step. More importantly, it’s a threat to her. It could destroy her.

  She's not ready yet, and that’s a big problem. I can see it in her eyes, in the way she tried to cover her arms, the way she continues to roll her left shoulder like it still hurts. The pain is all in her head, stress and PTSD induced. And she’s in deeper trouble than I thought.

  The scariest part, I think as I settle in at one of the small booths in the elevated ring that surrounds the main floor of Club Paradise, is what it’s going to take. When I first developed my idea, I knew that a certain amount of intimacy would be needed. I knew I'd have to become fond of her and that when she was ready to move on, I'd feel a sense of loss. But I didn't anticipate liking her so much or that there's a part of me that wants her not just for helping her, but for my own desires and needs.

  I don't often make mistakes. And I can't think of ever making one this dangerous. It's not only my own feelings at stake, but Shawnie's future that I feel like I hold in my hands. If she can’t be healed, her life, her potential, so many things will be wasted.

  I sigh and signal a waitress, who comes over with a smirk, a thong, and not much else on. “Whatcha like tonight, Mr. Mask?”

  I'm not wearing a name tag, and the staff here is trained to avoid any sort of sexual terms, so Mr. Mask is a pretty good safe phrase to use. “Scotch and soda, double rocks, half scotch and double on the soda,” I order, speaking slowly so that she can hear my voice clearly despite the mask that covers my mouth. “I'm driving.”

  “Gotcha. I'll keep ya safe there, Mr. Mask. Gimme a minute.”

  Service is quick, and after taking a sip, I take a breath and sigh. Club Paradise has good scotch. It's damn near a crime to water it down with so much soda, but I know that right now, I can't trust my instincts, which are telling me to go and take advantage of Shawnie, to claim and conquer her for me, regardless of what it would do to her mind and spirit. That side of me wants her body, but there has to be more.

  To get my mind off Shawnie, I try to look around, seeing what’s going on tonight. Club Paradise is different than The Club in that everything, and it literally is everything, takes place in public. The only 'private space' is the unisex bathroom. The center of the club has a giant foam rubber cushion though. You can guess what goes on nightly, although a lot of it also happens in the booths as well. I chose mine because it's actually one of the only ones where you can't get up to sexual escapades unless you happen to have a flexible midget with you.

  Gratefully, the action is pretty tame tonight, two couples who still have their clothes on, although it looks like one of the women is getting her panties taken off by her partner, a decent looking guy that I recognize. He loves eating pussy. I don't recognize the woman, so she might be new, and if so, she's in for a treat. He peels her panties down her legs. She's not bad looking, but she’s a little skinny in the hips for my preference. He starts kissing her feet, sucking her toes.

  The effect is immediate, and I know she's never had the experience with this guy as she leans back onto the springy, spongy surface of the center area. He kisses each little digit, his hand running up the inside of her left thigh, never quite touching her panties. He's a master at what he's doing. Personally, I'm glad for the man, because unfortunately for him, he's got about a one-minute timer on his cock, but he gets lots of repeat partners precisely because of what he's doing now.

  Setting the foot aside, he kisses up her leg, taking the time to lick the sensitive area behind her knee, and the woman's already moaning thickly as his long red hair disappears under her business skirt.

  I watch, my mind fantasizing my head between Shawnie's thighs, when an electric hum runs through the patrons of Club Paradise. Whoever's coming through the door must be semi-famous. I say only semi-famous because the real celebrities who want to indulge in sexual games like this have to go other places. Club Paradise may use aliases, but it's got nowhere near the level of security that some of the other clubs in the area have, and it would be too great a risk for some of the politicians or business leaders to indulge in unless they eventually wanted to end up in the newspapers.

  I can't see clearly across the room, but the buzz becomes more pronounced as a woman makes her way around the far side of the club, stopping at the bar and quickly downing a drink before heading for the center of the area. As soon as she steps underneath the blue and black lights, my jaw drops. Shawnie?

  She's wearing a mask, but it's hardly there, a white lace piece that contrasts with her skin underneath the UV lamp but does little to hide the rest of her. She's changed clothes, wearing a pushup bustier and tight skirt that make her already generous curves look nearly ridiculous, curvier than any surgically enhanced model. She slips off her stiletto heels when she reaches the edge of the
foam rubber and walks to the middle of the floor, the only person with their eyes not glued to her being Mr. Oral, who's licking away happily it sounds like, his partner sounding quite entertained.

  Everyone else stops as Shawnie raises her hands up until she looks like she's crucifying herself and turns in a slow circle. When her eyes look in my direction, I'm shocked and disgusted. This is even worse than in my car. The woman I'm looking at now might have Shawnie Holliday's body, it might be the same beautiful shape and curly hair, it might even have the same plump lips . . . but the eyes . . . that isn't the same Shawnie I took to dinner tonight.

  “I need entertainment,” Shawnie says, her voice carrying through the room. “And I need to entertain.”

  Lowering her arms, she reaches for the zipper in the middle of her bustier, freeing her breasts and letting it fall to the mattress like a forgotten shell. For the first time, I see the extent of her scarring, the lines on her forearms only the beginning as thicker lines follow her ribs toward her stomach. Her breasts are already tight and her nipples hard as she unzips and lets the leather skirt she's wearing also fall off, and I see the X-shaped lines that cross her thighs. Underneath the UV black lights, they almost glow on her skin, and I'm torn, my own inner natures starting to war inside me.

  In front of me is the perfect example of a beautiful woman, from the shape of her delicate feet to her generous thighs that swell into a heart-shaped ass. I can even see the dimples in her lower back as she rotates, showing me the most perfect looking pussy I've ever seen. Her breasts are large but shaped like they were sculpted, perfect heavy raindrops that sit high on her chest, capped by nipples that call to me.

  At the same time, even while my cock gets hard in my pants—I didn't change from dinner and have only checked my coat—I'm frightened and sickened by what I see on her face. The succubus smile, innocent and naughty, but above it, tortured, dead eyes. It's even worse than I thought. She's not heading for a life of mediocrity. If I can't help Shawnie, she's heading for a life where she's going to be dead before she's thirty, either through drugs, violence, or suicide.