Bound by Steel

by J. B. Havens

  “Hey, Flyboy. How’s it hanging?” Her voice was like silk in the night, cool and slick. It felt amazing sliding across his skin. Goosebumps raced down his spine and the hair on his arms stood up.

  “Red?” He nearly choked on her name, the lump in his throat was so thick.

  “The one and only.” She laughed and his dick twitched in his pants like a teenager.

  “Hang on a sec; let me go outside where I can hear better.” Leaving the bar and the other girl behind and ignoring the looks from Pierce and Jones, he hurried out into the chilly night air. “Still there?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why exactly are you calling?” It was abrupt and rude, even for him.

  “Can’t I call to check up on my favorite Flyboy?”

  “Stop calling me that, dammit. Maybe you called to gloat.”

  She laughed in his ear. “I don’t gloat, Flynn.”

  “Seriously, why the call? And where did you get my number, anyway?”

  “Liam of course.” She paused and he heard her draw a breath. “I wanted to call… because I want to see you again. I’m too old and impatient to play games.”

  “W-what?” He stuttered like a fool, unable to comprehend what she’d just said. Was she asking him out?

  “What do you think? I like you. Even though I’m too old for you. Maybe it’s a shot in the dark, but I figured there was no harm in asking.” Her signature confidence slipped for a fraction of a second, showing her insecurities.

  It gave him courage; maybe she wasn’t as unattainable as she seemed. “You’re not too old for me.”

  “That means you’ve thought about it—and me.”

  “Maybe.” He chuckled, knowing she had him there. Leaning against the wall of the pub, he was oblivious to the cold. All of his attention and focus were on the voice speeding across the phone toward him. “Since you brought it up, how old are you? Exactly?”

  “If I tell you, will it make a difference?” She was being cautious now, her bravado weakening.

  “Not in the least.”

  “I just turned forty-four.” The hesitation was plain in her tone. She was afraid.

  “I see. Well, I always liked my women with experience. More fun that way. You’re only a little over ten years older than me. If you were the guy and I was the chick, this would be no problem. So, there is no problem. I don’t give a flying fuck about your age.”

  “Cocky as ever. Maybe I just want to talk planes.” She was relaxing into the conversation, her tone softening.

  “Or jets? Bi-planes? Stealth bombers? I could go on.”

  “I like it when you talk dirty.” Her husky tone would do any phone sex operator proud.

  “That’s not dirty. If you want dirty, I’ll do my best to make you blush.” His mind quickly filled with images of them wrapped together, their limbs tangled and gripping each other tightly. He’d had plenty of time lately to imagine them in every known position and maybe a few unknown ones.

  “I don’t blush easy.”

  “All the more fun for me then. I like a challenge.” His smile was wide, so much so it nearly hurt his face. “To be honest, I was just thinking about you.”

  “Were you now? That’s intriguing. Anything good?” There was rustling on her end, like she was repositioning on her couch or something.

  “Well, I was talking to this bartender; young, pretty…”

  “And?”

  “I found her wanting. Her tits are too big, hips too wide, laugh too loud. I kept comparing her to you and she fell far short. Then boom, out of the blue, you call. Weird, huh?”

  “Indeed it is. Back to us seeing each other?”

  “We’re booked with clients right now. I don’t know when I can get away.” He didn’t consider inviting her to the castle. He didn’t want her there, subjected to the team. There was something about Red that fascinated him, maybe because she had kicked his ass or because she didn’t take his shit. Most of the women he’d been around had been a quick fuck before deployment and nothing more. He knew absolute dick about relationships; wasn’t sure if this thing with Red would even head in that direction. He wanted to find out though and that’s all that mattered at the moment.

  “After the holidays?” Her voice was hopeful and more than a little nervous, much like he suspected his own was.

  “You can count on it. Where are you, by the way?” He fiddled with the change in his pockets, the clinking of the coins a small distraction from the anxiousness gripping him.

  “London. Half a day’s train ride away from you.”

  “One last question before I go. What’s your real name?”

  A hand on his arm jerked him back to the present. “Flynn?”

  Red’s face was close to his own. Her eyes shining in mirth and excitement, she didn’t seem nervous in the least. Unlike him. He was a basket case of nerves and indecision. What were they doing?

  “You wanna go somewhere? I can give you a tour, find you a room.” It felt like his voice was going to crack under the weight of the words.

  “Lead the way.” She stepped back and let him walk ahead out of the great room. They were both ignoring the strange looks coming from the others. He caught Pierce’s eye as they passed through the stone arch; his mouth was hanging open in pure shock. Winking at his best friend, he led Red to the curved stone of the grand staircase.

  “Liam told me it was a castle; I thought it was one of those crazy re-vamped manors maybe, not an actual fucking castle.”

  “Do you really want to talk about the castle?” Reaching the landing, he looked over his shoulder at her, arching a brow in question.

  “Not really. Where am I sleeping?” She had a small duffel slung over her shoulder. He didn’t know where it had come from or how he’d missed it. Scratch that, of course he knew. She was standing here in front of him; everything else could bugger off, as the locals would say.

  “Where do you want to sleep?” His voice was husky, thick with need and the thought of her in his bed with nothing between them. He didn’t know how they’d gone from bickering and coming to blows to this desperate desire to unleash the crazy passion they’d been blindsided with.

  “In a bed. But a couch will do in a pinch.” Laughing, she continued. “Though I’m sure a place this big has a spare bed somewhere.”

  “Fuck this.” Grabbing her by the wrist, he tugged her after him, not giving her a chance to respond or protest. Stop being an idiot, dip-shit, and go for it. She wants you as much as you want her.

  Red was laughing in delight, stumbling after him as he started to run down the hallway, their footfalls slapping and echoing on the stone. He gave a brief thought to all of the couples over the decades that had raced down the same hall with the same intent in mind. Then they were at his door and he was flinging it open, slamming it shut, and bolting the lock. Flynn backed her against it, then bent and grabbed her thighs, hoisting her up high against him and pinning her in place with his hips. “We’re not sleeping for a bit…”

  “Sounds good to me.” She grinned and pulled his face to her own, devouring his mouth. All lips and teeth, she was fierce. Her taste exploded on his tongue, coffee and sugar laced with something uniquely her; she was delicious. That thought led to other things that he was anxious to taste.

  “Slow down…” Taking her weight, he walked backward to the bed until his knees bumped the mattress. “What’s the rush?” He sat with her straddling him, his hands palming her denim clad ass. She fit against him like she was made for him, the perfect size in every way. Her scent was intoxicating, his new addiction. “You smell amazing. I want to savor this; we’ve got all the time in the world. Unless you have somewhere else you need to be? A boyfriend perhaps?” Joking with her right now felt forced, but he was clueless as to how to deal with this well of emotion inside of him. Her flowery shampoo, combined with her own unique spice, surrounded his face as he tucked it into her neck, licking and biting his way along her skin.

  “No boyfriend, Fly
boy. Calm your tits. We can do slow later; I don’t have the patience for it right now.” She growled in want, jerking her shirt off over her head, followed quickly by her bra. He didn’t see where they landed, nor did he care. His hands, eyes, and mouth were busy exploring every inch of her exposed skin.

  “Tits? You mean these?” Her breasts were small, but filled his hands just right. “You’re so damn soft…” Unable to help himself, he pushed her breasts together with his hands and pressed his face between them.

  “Your turn.” Leaning back, she tugged his shirt off, flinging it behind her with careless disregard.

  Twisting his hips, he flipped her over and underneath him. He braced his elbows on the bed next to her head and took a moment to look into her eyes. Twirling a length of her hair around his fingertips, he tried to find words to express what he was feeling—thinking—wanting, and found that he couldn’t. “Fancy finding you here.” He grinned in an attempt to lighten the moment, to release the aching in his gut.

  “Yeah, fancy that.” She trailed her fingertips down his cheek, her nails lightly catching on the stubble there. “I like the scruff. Fits your bad boy look well. I know the truth; but don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” Threading her fingers deep into his hair, she pulled him down to her once again. At the touch of her mouth and taste of her lips, his thoughts fled. His entire focus was on bringing more gasping moans from her. He wanted it all, every whimper and sigh.

  Chapter 9

  I came back in just as Flynn and Red were leaving the room, oblivious to everyone around them. Seeing them brought to mind all of the changes our team had been through in such a short period of time. Just months ago, relationships were beyond our reach. And now, here we were, Jordon and I committed and Flynn on his way. Rook and Roza, Jackson and Aunt Beatrice. Normal lives for us, popping up like flowers in the spring. It was the natural order of the world, I supposed.

  “That’s weird;” Pierce commented as the echo of their footsteps disappeared.

  “What is?” Jordon asked, drawing me down next to him on the large couch. We hadn’t had it all that long; it was one of those large sectional-style designs. Plush and leather, it could easily sit most of us. Leaning back, he kicked his feet up, resting them on the slate-topped coffee table.

  “Flynn. I’ve known him all my life and I’ve never seen him so nervous.”

  “Jones, why did you invite Red anyway? Not that I’m opposed to her being here.” I was surprised by her presence. I wasn’t aware that she and Flynn had been having any contact. The way that they’d acted together said otherwise.

  “Flynn let it slip that he and Red had been talking. He was asking about the client schedule, how far in advance he’d have to plan if he wanted to get away for a few days. So, I took it upon myself to invite her.”

  “Pretty slick of you.” I leaned my head against Chris’s shoulder, the conversation with Jackson weighing on me. Jackson was standing next to the fireplace, staring at the dancing flames as if the answers to all of life’s mysteries were held within their depths.

  Chris’s mouth was warm against my ear. “What happened in the kitchen?”

  Shaking my head in response, I let my thoughts wander as the conversation ebbed and flowed around me. The rumble of Jones’s laughter and the soft tones of Roza’s accented speech. The thud of Nickoli’s leg as he walked to the bar. The threat of Russia was looming and I knew that it would only keep for so long before I had to face it once again, head on, just as I always did. I had grown weary of the fighting; instead, I wanted days and nights like this. The warmth of family and the comforts of home, those small things that we had all been sacrificing for more than a decade. It was something that I hadn’t even known that I wanted until now. Domestic tranquility had always been a foreign concept, reserved for others and never a peace I could call my own.

  “Stop thinking so hard. Relax.” Chris kissed my forehead, jerking me out of my sullen mood.

  “Isn’t this weird for you? We’re acting like normal people, having a normal Christmas. I don’t know how to handle this.”

  “None of us do, Mic. This is all new and it’s not just Christmas. Sleeping in the same bed every night, no patrols or radios going off. Relative safety… we’re all adjusting to being civvies.” Jones rarely spoke, but when he did, it was often profound and worth listening to. “For most of us, we haven’t had this many normal days since before we shipped out for basic. The smell of rain on a lazy Sunday morning when we have nothing more pressing to do than drink coffee and watch the game. Going to the store to grab some beer and chips, without a second thought. We had a lot of freedom in the States, but we were still military, still in the game all the time. Now we’re not. Home isn’t a building of brick and mortar, it’s not a physical thing; it’s a feeling in your gut when you walk in the door. Knowing that you’re where you belong.” He paused to take a drink, clearing his throat and adjusting his hat. “This, right here, is what we signed up for, the defense of home and country. I know that each and every one of you would do it again in a heartbeat. We might need to fight for our home again soon, but I know we’ll do it together, just as we’ve always done.”

  “I think that calls for a drink. We need to lighten the mood a tad. Where the fuck is Flynn when you need him?” Pierce walked around with the bottle, topping everyone off, even Aunt Beatrice. She’d just rejoined us from the kitchen, her Christmas apron cheerful and bright. Where she’d gotten it, I had no clue. The woman was a marvel.

  “To Steel. To family and home. To those we’ve lost.” Pierce raised his glass and drank, each of us following suit.

  “Aunt Beatrice, when will dinner be ready?” I was desperate to change the subject.

  “It’s ready now, dear. I would call Flynn and his lady down, but I assume they are otherwise occupied. Their loss, they’ll just have to eat the leftovers.” Tucking her arm into Jackson’s, she led the way to our rarely used dining room. More often than not, we ate in the kitchen or the war room. The large gleaming oak table was set perfectly; matching dishes, silverware, chargers, and candles graced the surface in a stunning table-scape of holiday cheer. Mountains of food were tucked into every available inch of space, the golden brown turkey taking center stage. Jackson stood at the head of the table as Aunt Beatrice handed him the carving knife and fork, wordlessly commanding him to do the honors. We watched in anticipation as he began to slice.

  “What the hell?” I focused my attention from the food-laden table to Jackson. He was holding a small pouch, a look of confused disgust on his face. “Beatrice, what the hell is this thing?”

  “Jesus Christ!” She exclaimed, jumping up and taking the offending bag from him. “I thought you dressed the turkey, Fisher!” Her face was beet red with embarrassment and anger.

  “What the hell does that even mean?” He grumbled.

  “You take the damn giblets out of the cavity! Obviously you didn’t, because that’s what this is. The bag of organs!” Her voice pitched an octave higher.

  “How the hell was I supposed to know that? I’ve never cooked a turkey in my freaking life!” He was holding on by a thread, keeping his language carefully in check. “What the hell are the organs doing in there anyway? Who uses that crap? Dammit all to hell…” He took the wet and disgusting bag from her hands and rushed through the door to the kitchen with Aunt Beatrice close on his heels.

  “Well… damn… I have to say it again. Where the fuck is Flynn when you need him?” Pierce started to laugh, throwing his head back and rocking his shoulders. Soon the entire table erupted in kind.

  “Oh fuck,” I gasped, tears streaming down my cheeks. “The giblets… I’ll never forget Jackson’s face.”

  “Why throw them out?” Nickoli asked in confusion. “It’s just the heart and liver. They are good for you.”

  “Be that as it may, I don’t think you’re supposed to cook them inside the bag they came in, inside the damn turkey,” Rook added.

  “Nickoli is right. They
are wasting them. Put them in the gravy.” Roza looked at our laughing faces, not understanding our disgust. Shrugging her shoulders, she stood and took over where Jackson had left off, expertly carving the meat into proper portion sizes.

  “You’ve got a good woman there, Rook. But it looks like she knows her way around a knife. Don’t piss her off,” Aunt Beatrice said as she came back into the room, Jackson following behind. “Next time, I’ll ask you to help me in the kitchen, dear, and leave Fisher out of it.” Aunt Beatrice patted Roza’s hand in that loving way she had for everyone.

  “I would be happy to help, of course.” Roza smiled, her delicate features lighting up under my aunt’s approval.

  Dishes were passed and plates were emptied, then filled again. The afternoon passed into evening; Flynn and Red rejoined us shortly after dinner. His eyes softened each time he looked at her, so similar to the way Chris looked at me and I at him. Chris was right; it was a frigging soap opera around here. The firelight reflected off of Phillips’s star on the wall, the silver glowing a warm orange. I liked to think that he was here with us, that we were honoring him. My feelings for Jackson and his part in Phillips’s death hadn’t changed, but I allowed my stance to soften slightly. For my aunt’s sake. We were a family, for better or worse. Tucking my arm around Chris’s waist, I leaned into him. “Merry Christmas, Chris.”

  “Merry Christmas, Bea.”

  Chapter 10

  My eyes opened and zeroed in on Chris sleeping inches away. It was Christmas morning and for the first time ever, I was excited about it. Steel had always partied on Christmas Eve and recovered from hangovers the following morning, but this year we were doing it up. Aunt Beatrice and Jackson slept just down the hall and everyone was gathered here for the holiday.

  I slowly slid out of bed, doing my best not to disturb Chris. I didn’t want him to catch me retrieving his present. I slipped on yoga pants and a baggy t-shirt, then tiptoed to the dresser in stocking feet. After carefully pulling open the drawer a millimeter at a time, I dug out the small box wrapped in red paper. I had a few other gifts for Chris, but this was the one I was the most nervous about. It was a huge risk and could quite possibly blow up in my face like a charge of C-4. I wasn’t even this nervous the day I had shipped out to basic. Glancing over my shoulder at him, I knew I had to try. With the box clutched in my hand, I left our room to sneak downstairs. I wanted to save this gift for last and needed to hide the box somewhere in the great room by the tree.