by PJ Adams
And then he looked forward, saw a big black SUV, men getting out. Bowler. Getting out and just standing there, staring, smiling, nodding, as if they’d never had a chance.
22. Sunita
Right up until Alex entered her room, Sunita had thought Bowler must be bluffing, that there was no way she had somehow sidestepped into a position where her own side might be out to get her.
But the look on Alex’s face...
He’d tried to assure her they were safe, that he could protect her, but that in itself only underlined what an awful position she’d somehow got herself into.
But even then...
They’d been allowed to walk out. Bowler’s people hadn’t dared stop them.
For a short time she thought this was it, a turning point, a chance to get away and then regroup, work out where to go from here.
The impact of the collision literally knocked the wind from her lungs. Her body slammed against the door as their car spun. She’d hit her head somewhere, her ears ringing, her skull aching dully over her left ear. She felt like a cartoon character, stars spinning around her head, lights flashing.
She sucked a deep breath, her ribs hurting on one side.
Her first thought, as she came back to her senses, was that the airbags hadn’t deployed, so the impact couldn’t have been as bad as it had felt – more a carefully timed contact to the tail calculated to spin the car and halt it than a full-on collision.
Her second thought was, why is Bernard Bowler smiling like that? What kind of maniac is he?
And only now did she realize, all the time up to now, no matter how bad things had been, she had been in denial, pretending things weren’t so bad, clinging to the belief that this was all some kind of misunderstanding and that there was a way back.
No more such foolish thoughts.
This was some serious shit.
§
Guns.
Sunita was British and the Brits don’t do guns. The sight of armed police at the airports and occasionally at big events was still a shock to her when she encountered them.
She couldn’t think of a single time she’d seen a gun in the hands of a normal person. Not that Bowler’s men counted as normal. And Alex Mitchell certainly didn’t fall into that category. She knew he was comfortable with a gun in his hand, knew that he must carry, knew he must almost certainly have used them, maybe even killed people.
But still...
Seeing Bowler’s two men with handguns drawn, trained on the car as Alex got out, reaching to his waist for his own gun was just about the most surreal, unbelievable sight she’d ever seen. Dreamlike, so that her brain simply wasn’t fast enough to keep up, lagging behind as she realized these people had guns drawn and this might turn into a gunfight and Alex was outnumbered, and...
She jumped from the car, her seatbelt yanking her back as the door swung open. She fought with it, released it, tumbled out, cursing her own clumsiness, her own slowness of brain that she was crashing out of the car in slow motion like this when Alex’s life was in danger.
She didn’t even think about her own.
“No!” she screamed. At the men, at the night, at Alex and at Bowler. “No. Just stop.”
Everyone stared at her.
“You!” she hissed, advancing on Bowler, regardless of the men around her, their guns still poised, muzzles swinging uncertainly toward her.
The look on Bowler’s face seemed to melt, that smug smile slipping, liquefying, his jaw sagging – perhaps the first time she’d seen that façade falter and any hint of understanding appear.
“How many times do I have to say it to get through to you? I’m not doing it. I’m not playing your stupid games. I’m not having me and my work tossed around like a rag doll. It’s more important than that. It’s more important than you.”
He had his hands raised now, as if to defend himself, as if he thought she was actually about to start hitting him.
“You can’t trust them,” he said softly. “They’ll kill you.”
“Then stop them. Do some good for once and stop them.”
She turned, reached a hand out to Alex, placed it on the arm that still hovered at his side, his hand over his holster.
She didn’t need to say anything, just met his look, saw the understanding there – and something else, she wasn’t sure what.
She pursed her lips, raised her eyebrows, and after a second or two he gave a slight nod.
They turned, went back to their own sides of the car. Climbed in, and only now did Sunita have time to pause, breathe deep, catch up with herself.
“Let’s go,” she said.
It had better damned well start, she thought, bizarrely. How embarrassing if they couldn’t start the car and smoothly pull away after she’d just faced down an entire fucking army like that?
§
She felt sick.
She’d just faced down an army.
“Breathe. Count and breathe.”
His hand on her thigh. His words in her head as she breathed deep, counted to five, let it go.
He didn’t need to say anything more. Didn’t need any more words. Just the contact of that hand on her leg.
They drove.
The car seemed okay.
After ten minutes, they pulled onto the forecourt of a small petrol station that was in darkness, closed for the night. Alex got out and checked the damage. He didn’t say anything about it, but the fact that they set off straight away again told her the car wasn’t about to fall apart.
“Where are we going?” The silence had been a relief for a while, her brain still racing. Alex had an uncanny knack for recognizing when words weren’t needed. But now she needed to know. Needed some shape to what lay ahead.
“A friend’s place,” said Alex. “We’d better look after it – this is his car, too. He’s going to hate me after this. He has a holiday cabin in Thetford forest. He said I could use it. It’ll give us time to work out what to do.”
“And what will we do, Alex? How do you ever get out of a situation like this?”
His silence told her everything.
She dipped her head.
Only two days ago... Her life had been normal. She had been working on her research, sitting in the occasional dull university committee meeting, and her biggest worry had been what to wear at the weekend for Vandana and Nikki.
Two days.
And Alex. He’d been doing his thing, whatever that was. Living his life. Not having it snatched away from him because of her.
His hand had moved across again, to rest on her thigh.
That contact... this thing between them. Was that ever going to be enough for whatever lay ahead?
Shock. She realized she was in shock. Delayed reaction to that face-off.
Now wasn’t the time to think.
She reached down, put one hand on his where it rested on her thigh. Stared out of the window at the passing lights, the houses, the other traffic. Concentrated on breathing, and that contact of hand on hand, hand on thigh, and not thinking much about anything else.
§
They parked in absolute darkness.
There were other cabins scattered through the forest here, but at this time of year, even at a weekend, there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. No lights on, no parked cars, no sounds.
“Alex?”
They’d been stopped for a short time now, but neither seemed willing to move. Even after close to two hours driving, everything still felt like it was in suspension, as if opening the doors now and getting out was the marker for the next phase, a landmark.
If the last two days had marked the end of something, then now was the start of whatever was to follow next.
He’d turned to face her, was waiting for her to say whatever she had been going to say, but her mind had gone blank again.
She put a hand to his jaw, just as she had done before. Leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips.
“Thank you.”
He didn’t ask what for. Didn’t seem to need her to spell out the heroism, the sacrifice, the way he’d committed everything to saving her, to getting her here, and all the massive price he must have to pay for that.
They climbed out of the car.
Alex went first, approaching the squat wood-clad building ahead of her. His hand hovered over his gun, and he gestured with one hand for her to tuck in behind him, even though surely this place must be safe?
They walked around the cabin once, thankful for the carpet of pine needles that smoothed the ground and softened their footfalls.
She wondered if she would have been better waiting in the car, but Alex seemed fine with her sticking with him. Perhaps that was the safest option, outlined in the handbook for being whatever kind of special agent Alex was: don’t split up, even when your accomplice is untrained and clumsy and doesn’t have a clue how to handle herself.
Although maybe that was unfair. That look when they’d got back into the car after she’d shouted down Bowler and his thugs – maybe it had been some kind of respect or admiration, an acknowledgment that she was able to hold her own.
She was over-thinking it again.
The place was in darkness, no sign of forced entry, the doors at front and rear locked securely.
Back at the front door, Alex found a set of keys in his pocket, opened the door and led her inside.
He shut the door and then–
His arms around her... It was as if everything had led up to this. As if everything was right with the world again.
He kissed her, hard and deep like he had in the car, releasing the sexual tension that had been taut between them for the last month. A month when they had held each other at arm’s length, talking and messaging and skirting around the subject of what was building between them, doing everything that was right even as they had avoided doing the one thing that was most right of all, as they had steadily, relentlessly fallen in love.
She kissed along the line of his jaw, the stubble rasping against the softness of her lips. Clinging to his jacket with both hands as if he might flee at any moment.
When she reached his chin she moved up to kiss him on the mouth again, felt his hard lips parting, his tongue pushing out to meet hers.
One hand cradled the back of her skull, and the sheer physical strength of that contact made something happen inside, made her tummy flip and her legs go weak.
Adrenaline. She understood that. The fight or flight response. The endorphins flooding her brain in the aftermath of danger. The body buffering itself, protecting her, healing from any trauma.
It was a biological response.
Maybe what she’d felt earlier was the same thing, too. What she’d told him. Everything heightened by fear and its aftermath. A rebound thing.
Over-thinking again. Her mind stepping back from the moment.
The moment when his other arm looped around her waist, drawing her hard against him. When she felt the lean toughness of his body, the hardness of ribs and hips, the firmness of muscle, the easy power of his embrace.
His looks were deceptive. A slim, tall man from whose body a suit hung well. But he was strong, too, his body that of a man of action.
She pressed against him, welcomed his deep kiss, the way her breasts squashed against his chest, and the hardness lower down, pressing against the softness of her belly.
Her hands moved over him. Over his ribcage, his hips, around to the small of his back, the hard slabs of muscle of his ass.
His mouth moved across her neck, the drag of teeth and stubble.
He slipped his hands inside her leather jacket and pushed it back, so that when she let her arms uncoil, hang free, the jacket fell away. His hands found her waist, before one moved up to cup a breast.
Her body was so alive to his every touch!
She raised her arms, and let him pull that big t-shirt up. The cold night air bit at her exposed flesh like a slap, and then his head dipped lower, his lips closing around a nipple as his hand pushed that breast up towards his mouth.
He sucked her in through pursed lips, and the sudden sharpness of teeth closed on that nipple and then eased.
She cried out, both hands moving to clutch his head to her, fingers lost in his hair.
Stabs of pleasure darted out from the contact of his mouth on her breast, the flick of his tongue. Pleasure that surged through her body and found a home in the pit of her belly, a growing tightness.
She pushed herself against him, needing more, so much more.
§
He picked her up, carried her through the cabin, bumping open a door that led into a bedroom. The place smelled musty, unlived in. She didn’t care.
Gently, he lowered her onto the big mattress. Dragged hands down her body as he straightened, fingers hooking into the waist of her jeans. He found buttons, the zipper, found the waistband again and tugged down. Her jeans and panties came down around her thighs, and then his head dipped down and she felt the firm ‘O’ of his lips on her mound, pressing and massaging, pulling that soft flesh from side to side, his chin pressing against her clit.
She felt dizzy. Felt as if she might black out at any moment. Felt that tightness in the pit of her belly intensifying, twisting into a knot that desperately needed release.
She reached down, struggled to push her jeans farther down so she could part her legs for him, take his face right against her.
Writhing against him, she managed to kick one of the ankle boots clear, then the other, and now he could rock back, straighten, pull at her jeans and draw them all the way down, free of her legs and feet, let them fall somewhere behind him.
She reached for him. Wanted his mouth on her again.
Fingers in his hair, she drew him against her, steering him farther down so that his mouth was fully against her now, and that long sweep of his tongue started by pushing deep into her and then drawing up through the folds of her sex, sliding across her clit, and finishing with a flick of the tip of his tongue before he drove deep again.
With every sweep of his tongue she groaned, cried out, made animal sounds she had never made before.
Every sensation was so intense, as if magnified. Everything focused on where his mouth closed around her sex and his tongue slid and probed and flicked.
She pushed him away. Just as that tightness in her belly was building up to something too intense to resist.
Took a handful of his shirt and drew him up the bed, as she shuffled back.
He came to kneel between her legs, towering over her as she reached for his waistband, released the belt, the buttons, dragged his trousers and shorts down around his thighs as his hard dick swung free.
Sat up, wrapping her hands around his shaft, twisting and pulling.
She needed this. Needed him inside her.
She pushed him back on his heels so he had to take his weight on his hands. Moved against him, straddling him, steering his shaft so that it lay against her and when she rolled her hips she felt that hardness sliding through her wetness.
Instantly, that knot in her belly was back, her orgasm so close...
She swung up and guided him against her, pressed the swollen head of his manhood against her opening and slowly, slowly lowered herself, taking him in, savoring every sensation as he drove deep inside her.
She dipped her head, a curtain of her black hair trailing against his chest.
That contact, where she bore down on him, where she felt his balls against her ass and the hard pressure of his pubic bone against her clit and his entire length deep inside...
It took her over the edge.
That knot in her belly spread out, reaching all the way through her body, every muscle tightening, clenching.
She pressed down, wanting more, wanting the dam to burst, and then she tipped her head back and cried out even louder.
Felt the muscles deep in her pussy quivering around his shaft, felt her whole body heaving and throbbing.
Pushed against him even more
, drawing it out even as those pulsings and tightenings became less intense.
Clung to him.
Clung to him, finally remembering how to breathe.
Clung to him.
§
And finally, she drew her head up from where it had slumped against his chest, and met his look.
How long had passed? She didn’t know. Had no way of measuring. It could have been only a split second, or easily much longer.
He was still hard inside her. Holding himself so that she was suddenly aware of every tiny throb, every pulse in his shaft.
His eyes fixed on her. Waiting.
She pushed against him, almost imperceptibly.
Put a hand flat on his chest, pushing him back onto his elbows, his legs uncoiling beneath them so he could lie and she was on top, stretched full length against him, her legs against his, a maximum of skin contact.
He was still deep inside her, and she started to roll her hips, squeezing and pulling at him with her pussy.
Her mouth found his, her turn to press and probe as she worked her whole body against him until she felt that tensing, that arching of his back, sensed the catch in his breath, as she used everything she could to bring him to a peak, take him right to that edge until...
She slid against him, taking him as deep as she was able. His back arched, pushing him even harder against her, and she felt that throbbing sensation, heard him groan, as wet heat exploded deep inside her.
And she clung to him.
Clung to him, as they both remembered how to breathe.
Clung to him.
23. Alex
She fell asleep almost instantly.
He’d like to be able to take some of the credit for that, but he knew she was simply exhausted. On the drive here, he hadn’t pushed, hadn’t dug. She would talk when she was ready, but right now, in the immediate aftermath of an encounter like the one they’d had with Bowler’s mob, she needed time to process, to not be rushed or pressured.
She’d talked a little though, her story spilling out in fits and starts before they’d reached Terry Regan’s cabin. That was part of the processing, too: a little talk, a little reliving, a lot of silent thinking.
He felt he understood what had happened. Bowler’s grooming process had been carefully executed, drawing Sunita in so that every step of the way she still felt like she was in control; so that even when she found herself stranded at his research center, she still couldn’t convince herself she was actually his prisoner. She’d got herself into that position. It was her fault.
