Flee (13 page)

"So
you
are
into handcuffs. Or are you just into control?"

"Today
I am." I tilted my head, watching him. "You're a little forward for
what you just went through. You aren't trying pull one over on me, are you
Victor?"

"You
really do have trust issues, don't you?"

I
didn't see the need to answer.

"So
I'm that obvious?"

"That
depends on what you're trying to do."

He
laughed, a sound not harsh or even at my expense, but one of simple amusement. "I
don't know if you really did feel something in our chats online, Carmen, but I
did. And I'll forgive all that other stuff  if I can just get what I've wanted
from you all along. What I was hoping you wanted from me."

"Sex?"

"A
chance."

I
forced myself to focus on my surroundings. The rumble of an El train passing
outside of the apartment. Mozart pawing through kitty litter in the bathroom. The
thrum of my pulse.

I am ice.

It
didn't work. I'd had a feeling about Victor since we'd first bantered in that
chat room. That he was unlike the men I'd met online or in bars. That as
different as our lives were, we operated on the same wavelength.

That
maybe, between us, there could be something real.

I'd
kept the feeling at bay, kept myself from hoping for something I could never
have. I didn't work in an office from nine to five. I wasn't even something as
normal as an EMT. In my profession, relationships weren't an option.

But
that didn't mean I didn't want to be with a special man. That didn't mean I
didn't dream of it at night when my subconscious broke free.

Which
is why I walked the hell out of there.

My
steps were shaky at first, but I made it out of the living room without turning
around. I continued down the hall and checked on Kaufmann. He was sleeping
fitfully. I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

"Carmen?
You're not afraid of me, are you? I'm the one with the handcuffs on."

My
stomach was in knots, but it wasn't from hunger.

Well,
not
that
kind of hunger.

I
reminded myself that life or death situations often played hell with a person's
libido. That after coming close to death, nothing reaffirmed life more than
sex.

Perhaps
Victor was feeling the same way right now.

Or
perhaps Victor was a spy who wanted me dead.

Nothing
looked good in the fridge. I slammed the door shut.

"Can
we at least talk about this? I'll forget about you pretending to poison me. I'll
even forget about you hitting me and tying me up. But it would mean a lot for
me if you came back here and we talked."

Shit shit shit
.

Despite
my better judgment, my feet brought me back into the living room. I stood in front
of him, my hands on my hips.

"This
is probably inappropriate," Victor said, "and I can't imagine the
kind of day you had. But,
damn
, you really are one beautiful lady."

My
heart gave a little jump in my chest. I took a step toward him, then another. I
must be out of my mind. I most certainly was, but I didn't care. After this day,
I wanted to give that chance Victor had asked for and take one for myself. I
wanted to know I was alive, to lose myself in a kiss, to feel the warm friction
of skin on skin.

I
wanted to look at a man and have him look back at me the way Victor was now.

I
leaned over him and brought my lips down on his. The kiss was effortless, all
hunger and heat. He tasted like he'd been drugged and unconscious for half the
day, but I didn't care. My senses, so trained, so honed, clamored and blended
until I couldn't tell one from another, like voices in a chanting crowd, like a
symphony where all the instruments blended into one transcendent music. I
wanted to get closer, to feel more, to lose myself in sensation.

He
brought his free hand up my cheek and buried his fingers in my hair. He cradled
the side of my face, urging my mouth closer, my lips harder on his.

Finally
I ended the kiss and pulled the t-shirt over my head. My bra hit the floor
next.

I
could feel Victor watching me, his gaze skimming over my breasts and down my
belly, sexier than a caress. He cleared his throat. "Is it hot in here?"

 "That's
just the niacin talking." I pushed the jeans down my legs.

"And
the old man?"

"He's
sleeping." I kicked off denim and slid my thumbs into the waistband of my
panties and inched them down.

"Who
is he, anyway? I mean really? Your father?"

His
assumption made me hesitate, my panties half way down my thighs. Earlier his
questions had been easy to brush off. But things had changed. Even though I
still had him cuffed to the radiator, I realized I'd crossed a threshold. I
trusted Victor. And more than that, impossible or not, I wanted there to be
more between us, more than I'd hoped with any man in a long time.

But
this question felt more intimate than the skin I'd revealed, more intimate than
any sex act could.

I
thought about the gift Kaufmann had given me before the amobarbital had dragged
him under. Except for my very different bond with Kaufmann, relationships with
men had always been elusive for me. Thanks to Cory, I'd lost any semblance of
naiveté about the subject of love before I was fifteen. But I'd never wanted
sex to be all about scratching an itch. I'd always sensed there was more, beyond
my grasp. I just hadn't had the courage to reach for it.

Not
until now.

I
let my panties drop to the floor and stood naked in front of Victor. For a long
time, I was still, letting him look at me, letting him see me. Finally I worked
up the courage to step over the edge. "Yes. The man I brought here, he is
my father. In every way it counts."

Victor
nodded, as if he understood, as if he sensed how much of myself I'd just
exposed, the chance I'd just offered. He skimmed my body with his gaze, then
focused on my face, and for the first time with any man, I felt like he was
really seeing me. "Thank you."

My
throat felt thick. "For what?"

"Trusting
me."

I
had his pants around his ankles before he could say another word. He was
miraculously quiet while I peeled his briefs over his hips and pulled them down
his legs. He was half erect, and as I sized him up, his cock flexed toward me
as if giving some kind of come hither.

I
leaned over him, kissing him again and using my knees to nudge open his thighs.
I knelt between his splayed legs and took him in my mouth. He was hard with one
stroke of my tongue up the underside of his shaft. Harder still when I
encircled him with my lips and took him full into my mouth.

He
tasted lightly salty and smelled of Dial soap and Claiborne For Men and his own
unique scent. The hair on his legs rasped against my breasts and teased my
nipples. I opened my throat and made his whole body shake in a moan.

I
wanted him at my mercy, every nerve in his body focused on what I was doing to
him, the sensations I was creating. I wanted him to turn himself inside out for
me. With each lick, each nibble, each rasp of my teeth, I wanted to make him
willing to do anything for me, be anything, anytime I needed him.

I
don't know if I felt guilty for what I'd put him through, but I doubted that
was it. I'd done worse things to men and had never felt the need to make it up
to them afterward, even if they were still alive. With Victor, I wanted him to
want me, to need me, to be loyal to me. I wanted the touch of my hands and
mouth to sear him like a brand.

His
hand moved through my hair, over my cheek. "Let me loose."

I
shook my head.

"I
hope you've figured out even if you let me loose, I'm not going anywhere."

"Maybe
I just have a thing for handcuffs." I flicked him with my tongue and
watched his forehead buckle with the effort to stay in control.

"I
want to use my hands on you. My mouth."

I
circled his tip with my tongue and then took him into my throat again. I could
imagine his hands moving over me, caressing my breasts, delving between my
legs. Shivers worked over my skin at the thought of his warm mouth suckling at
my nipples and scattering kisses over my belly. A small shudder took me, and I
could feel his tongue delving between my legs as clearly as what I was doing to
him now.

I
moved deeper between his legs and took his balls in my mouth. A shudder moved
through him and another moan. I looked up at him, past the tower of his
erection. His eyes were laser sights on me, drinking in what I was doing, and I
felt more satisfied than I had in years. He really wasn't going anywhere.

"My
turn," he grunted. "Please."

With
one last stroke of my tongue, I skimmed my body up his, his cock leaving a
moist trail between my breasts and down my belly. I claimed his mouth for a
moment in a rough kiss, my tongue delving into his mouth and tangling with his.
Then I rose over him and positioned myself against his lips.

His
free hand snaked behind me, grabbing my ass, pressing me to his face. The first
touch of his lips turned my legs into rubber. But his strong arm kept me on my
feet, kept me trapped against his probing tongue. At first, it was just gentle
licks, never staying in one spot too long, never allowing a rhythm to build.
Then stroking became softer, quicker, darting in and out of me, gently taking
my lips in his own, sucking softly.

I
grunted, deep in my chest. I felt the orgasm welling up inside me, the pressure
building. I wanted more friction. More contact. I moved closer, trying to
capture his flickering tongue, but he kept pulling away, kept teasing me, even
as I ground against him.

"Please,"
I urged. "
Please.
"

He
slipped his hand between my legs, his finger penetrating me, and he began to
give my clit the slow, fat licks that I needed, that I
craved
. 

Shudders
wracked my body, doubling and redoubling. I heard a scream and somehow
recognized the sound was coming from my throat.  Pure sensation crashed over me,
waves of pleasure ripping me to pieces and rebuilding me again. My legs shook so
badly, I couldn't stand up anymore.

I
sank down. Spreading my thighs to sit astride him, I let him enter, crying out
again at the delicious pressure. So full. Too full. It was almost pain, almost
too much. And then he began moving, thrusting upward with his hips, filling me
further, pushing me toward the edge of another crest.

Pressure
built, my body squeezing. I could smell our mingling sweat, sharp and clean,
mixing with the salty tang of sex.

His
hand circled to my buttocks, grasping me, lifting me, driving upward into me. I
arched my back and he buried his face in my breasts and captured a nipple in
his mouth, coaxing me, urging me to another climax.

I
shuddered, spasms tightening my body. He drove harder, faster, and I moved with
him. Heat built to burning. Our flesh slapped a rhythm. Our breathing blended
into one.

I
couldn't say how long we moved like that, thrusting into each other, yet one.
Dizziness spun over me. Something like happiness. I felt drugged, no longer in
control, no longer even wanting to be.

I
shuddered again and he gripped my hips, pushing me down onto him, filling the
hollow inside me. He cried out then, a feeling more than a sound. A tremor
shook him and held, held us both.

The
spasms slowed, then stopped. I sat still, his face in my chest, my arms wrapped
around his shoulders, his neck, cradling his head, clinging to him. I wanted to
soak in the feeling as long as I could, the tangible sensation of skin on skin,
his cock still inside me, the certainty of our connection. But all too soon the
fighting flutter of pigeon wings erupted outside the window. The scent of a
neighbor's slow cooked roast beef dinner teased the air. And I could feel the
heat and connection and certainty ebb like a retreating tide.

"You're human, so you'll want to form attachments. Once you do,
it's time to get out of the game. If you care about people, you can be
manipulated and compromised. Field agents have to keep relationships
superficial. Love kills."

I
climbed off Victor's lap. Without a word, I picked up my clothing and padded
out of the room alone. I could feel him watching me, sense his unspoken
questions hanging in the air, but I didn't turn back. I needed to think about
what had happened, what I wanted, what I'd felt. But my mind wouldn't
cooperate. Whatever bond might be growing between Victor and me, it was a
fragile one, slight as the remnants of a dream, and I couldn't shake the
feeling that if I examined it too closely, it would cease to exist.

I
took a shower and then studied my injuries in the steamy bathroom mirror. I'd
picked up new bruises thanks to the steps outside the John Hancock Center. My
shoulder had resumed its throbbing, and I gave myself another shot to deaden
the pain. A vague nausea claimed my stomach, and I wasn't sure if the cause was
physical or emotional. Or maybe it was just exhaustion. Not that it mattered. I
couldn't afford to rest. If my stomach settled, the best I could do was raid
Victor's fridge and hope a rise in blood sugar would do the trick.