At Any Cost (13 page)

She lolled her head against his chest. “How do you want me?” she rasped.

Tough question. He wanted her in every position, sweet and filthy, slow and fast and frenetic. He could think of approximately two thousand ways to fuck her that would be just perfect. But he needed to prove to himself that this was a fuck, purely physical. Two animals fucking for pleasure. Best way to do that was …

“From behind,” he said.

Fallon looked surprised. “Oh. Okay… ” She slid off him. “How …”

“Hands and knees,” he said.

“I'm not really … I mean …”

“You'll love it,” he said, ignoring the timid look on her face. “You have such an amazing body. I want to see it while I'm fucking you.”

Fallon kneeled up to kiss him. He gently kissed her but didn't linger. After watching her crack open like that, he couldn't luxuriate in the aftermath. Slowly, Fallon lay down on her tummy, then came up on her hands and knees. Tom positioned himself behind her, admiring the bright gold of her hair brushing her upper shoulders, drawing attention to her strong, straight back, tiny waist, and the high, round globes of her perfect ass. So pretty. Everything about her was so feminine and beautiful.

Her sensitive pink slit was wet, glistening. He rubbed the head of his cock up and down, his whole body preparing for that hot, tight glide into her. He drew in a sharp breath, his muscles trembling with restraint.

“I feel … Tom … this isn't what I wanted.”

“Relax, Fallon. I promise, it will rock your world.”

“Tom …” He heard a note of genuine distress in her voice.

“What is it?”

She sat down and turned around to face him. “You seem different,” she whispered. She looked scared, and his heart split. Was she seeing that ruthless side of him, the side he'd done his best to hide because he knew it was ugly and he was ashamed of it?

He wanted to believe he had succeeded in erecting an emotional wall between them, but it was suddenly obvious that the pretense was only self-delusion. Fucking her from behind like she was anonymous and acting like an uncouth rogue would not mitigate the emotion he felt. Wouldn't subtract from the intensity he felt. It would just be another lie.

He suddenly lunged at her, pushing her back against the mound of pillows. He covered her mouth with his, trying to apologize with his kiss. He lifted his head, then slid down her body, caressing her soft breasts, kissing her belly. He shifted between her thighs and pressed his face into the soft, tender flesh, inhaling her scent. He licked up the syrupy slit, intoxicated by her taste. Honey. He would be content to simply lick her all night if that was what she wanted. He wanted to prove something to her, something about his character, and this was the only way he knew how to do it.

After several long moments, Fallon whimpered. “I want to come.”

“Come, baby,” he growled, licking her with feverish, tender ferocity.

“No, with you inside me. Hurry, please.”

He tore himself away and looked up at her. The naked desperation was obvious. “Please,” she whispered.

Fallon reached for him, and he hovered over her. “Hurry,” she said against his mouth guiding him into the slick sweet grasp of her body. Pure heaven. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held him tight.

He was astonished at her kindness, her generosity. He did not deserve her. He did not deserve this. But Fallon kept giving it to him. He didn't know how to make her stop. And now he didn't want her to. God, he wanted all of her. Her forgiveness, her sweetness. He tried to convey all this in the feverish thrusts of his cock inside her.

Fallon's eyes fluttered open. “I'm going to come again, Tom. Come with me, please …”

The beg in her voice is what did it. That sweet, plaintive “please.” He nuzzled into her honey-scented hair and finally let himself be swept away in the frenzy. Fallon held on to him, but he was also holding on to her, clinging to her, to the past, to the present, afraid if he let go, it would be gone forever. The pleasure seemed to belong to both of them at the same time, an incredibly powerful force pushing them into each other.

It took a long time to remember himself. Fallon clung to him, her face in his chest, her arms around his back. He gently rolled over to his side, holding her close. She folded into the crook of his arm naturally. He pet her silky hair, rubbed her neck, anything to keep his hands moving over her shaking, sweating body. She held him tight, like she was afraid to let him go.

Tom pressed a tender kiss to the top of her hair and shut his eyes. He'd given this up, he reminded himself. Women, sex, love. He'd abandoned that particular brand of trouble. Except for Fallon. A deep thrum of constant anticipation had hummed in the back of his consciousness all day. Now that he had her, he wanted more. Wanted to play with her, to really enjoy her. Not just in snatches of time but for an extended period of time. Like in Paxos. She was right; he was different. But until this moment, he didn't realize just how different. An ache in his gut felt remarkably like fear. Fear of knowing that he was breaking his own rules, and he was exposing himself to Fallon's magic. The savageness was gone now. Only tenderness remained.

His cock twitched, lengthening and thickening between them.

Fallon made a soft, approving sound and then gently gripped the thick shaft. She pressed a kiss to his throat. At the caressing warmth, Tom moaned.

“How can you be ready for more after that?” Fallon whispered.

“It's you,” he replied honestly. “You do this to me.”

Tom gently rolled her onto her back and then propped himself between her legs. He wanted to look at her. To admire her.

Gently, he slid his fingers over the plush labia, wet with their juices. She bit her lower lip, but as his thumb began to caress her clit, she sighed luxuriously, letting her knees fall open in trusting surrender. Wide open. Defenseless. The look of gentle hope and admiration and pleasure on her face made him want to be worthy of that esteem. He touched her reverently, tenderly.

Her hips rolled eagerly as he dipped a slick, gleaming finger into her. He glanced up at her face to see if he was pleasing her. Her face was very grave. Her lower lip, swollen from his rough kisses, trembled. Her gaze met his evenly, then her eyelashes fluttered closed. Her flushed cheekbones, the sooty sweep of her lashes, her trembling mouth were intensely erotic. Fragile and strong at the same time.

She found a rhythm, working herself against his thrusting fingers with increasing urgency until her hips were rolling sensually against his hand as she was straining for release. She shook with shuddering tension.

“Can I have it,” she rasped out. “Your … cock … please,” she panted, her thighs clenching desperately around his hand.

Tom hooked her knees around his elbows and began to rub the swollen head of his cock against her slit. She was dripping like an exotic fruit, but even so, it was a slow, tight entry. Inching in by slow degrees, she quaked and sighed. He leaned forward, kissing and nuzzling into her neck as she stretched around him.

He held himself inside her, letting her get accustomed to him again. Tom pressed kisses to her forehead, her jaw. Fallon began to move against him, her breath coming in slow, hitching gasps. Tom looked down at her gorgeous breasts, her tummy, the trim nest of curls between her legs where they were joined. Physically and emotionally joined, he thought. They'd always been joined. Always had these fine interconnecting wires between them, and no matter how far away, they were always aware of the other. He gently let her legs down, and her arms came around him, holding him tight.

He felt her body ramping up to orgasm, and he forced himself to hold his own back. She gripped his upper arms, wrapped her legs around his waist, and cried out. He felt the soft fluttering of her inner muscles hugging his cock, watched her face transform as she began to climax.

He felt his own climax gathering at the base of his spine.

“Wait,” Fallon gasped.

Tom, breathing hard, stopped thrusting, afraid he'd hurt her. He pulled back and looked into her flushed face.

“Wait, get up,” she said, shoving at his shoulder.

Confused, he shook his head. “Why?”

“Just do it,” she said.

Reluctantly, he slid from the sweet hotness of her pussy and sat up on his ankles.

Fallon turned over, getting on her hands and knees. Tom swallowed hard against the emotion that was twisting through his throat.

“Like this,” she said.

“You don't have to …”

“I want it,” she said. “I want to give you what you want.”

He couldn't argue. He had to be inside her. He positioned himself behind her, then slid inside. He tried to be gentle but he was already on a knife's edge.

“Oh God,” he thought she whispered as she clenched around him.

“You're so beautiful,” he said.

“Do you like it?”

“Mmm-hmm.” The physical sensation was intense, but the emotional component was much more compelling. He recognized this was a risk for her, and it was a test for him. It was a sneaky opportunity to switch off, to look at her like a faceless, meaningless fuck. But he couldn't do that now. She was Fallon, and she was trying to make him happy.

He gently grasped her hips and began to thrust. Fallon began to rock against him. The sensation was outrageous. Silky, sweet friction. Her sensual energy driving him deeper and deeper, further away from himself.

When he came, Fallon cried out. That was the last thing he remembered before the long soul-smashing orgasm seized him. Fallon fell forward, and he lay down on top of her, unable to move.

Fallon giggled, with her face smushed in the pillow. “That was crazy. I could feel your … um … semen.” Tom gently rolled off her. She turned and looked at him. “I mean, I normally feel it, but that was really intense.”

Tom smiled, pushing her hair back so he could see her face, which suddenly grew serious. “Is it always like this?”

Tom shook his head slowly. “Not in my experience.”

It was little more than an hour later and Tom was walking home. It was cold and it had rained earlier in the day; he hardly noticed the chill. His legs felt weak, but his chest felt strong. Hell, he felt like he could run down the street, take off, and fly. His phone buzzed and Leah's phone number appeared on the caller ID. He discovered right this instant that he was eager to talk to her. “What are you doing?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Writing and watching television. What are you doing?”

He avoided the question by asking one of his own: “Want to meet me at the sandwich shop for a late supper?”

Leah, always a little hungry either because she couldn't afford food or because she was dieting, enthusiastically agreed to meet him in the Plaza in five minutes.

As he turned the corner, Leah came into view. She stood in the plaza looking up through the rain-lashed air to the invisible sky. At this distance, in that pose, she appeared to be a very young girl. Her hands were tucked deep in her pockets, her face lifted in three-quarters profile against the muzzy background. Leah wore a black knit cap, which mashed down her brown hair and forced pretty copper curls to explosively emerge from her temples to her shoulders. Her narrow silhouette reinforced his impression of a twelve-year-old child.

When she noticed him, she smiled broadly and jogged toward him. Tom hugged her warmly, inhaling her sweet female scent, as she warmed up next to his big body. Together they walked toward the sandwich shop where Leah could get the sandwich she liked: turkey with no mayo and plenty of hot peppers on “skinny bread.” She was phobic about carbs this month.

The little café was nearly empty with only one other patron, an older gentleman hunched over a newspaper open to the business section. Tom and Leah sat down with their trays of food.

Tom intended to ask Leah more about her thoughts on Campbell's suicide, but before he could start, he noticed a dark blue late-model Volvo idling across the street, ghostly plumes of exhaust visible in the cold, wet evening.

Leah waved her hand in front of his face. “Hello? You okay?”

“I'll be right back,” he said, but he was already halfway to the door. As he opened the door, the car speeded away.

Tom stared after it, seething, his adrenaline pumping.

“You okay?” Leah had appeared beside him.

Tom dragged his focus back to Leah. “Yeah, just … thought I saw a friend.” Leah looked at him thoughtfully. She knew him well enough to know he was lying, but also knew him well enough to not to probe—not when he was in that focused, scary state.

“Come on,” she said, pulling him back into the café.

“Why did you want to meet me?” she asked.

He looked out the window, dragging his attention back to her.

“You okay, Tom? You look … electrified.”

He felt it too. From Fallon. From that Volvo.

“I need a favor,” he said grimly.

Leah chuckled. “It is strange hearing you say that. Usually I'm the one asking you for favors.”

Tom leaned in close. “Fallon received a call from Antoine Campbell right before he jumped. He said he had some national security information and he urgently needed to speak to her. Fallon and I went to meet him, but he never made it.”

Leah's features sharpened and intensified. Her attention was total. “And then he leaped from that short building,” she whispered.

“It doesn't make sense,” he said. “Right after the jump, the FBI served a search warrant on Fallon at her office accusing her of murder, which has contributed to the general state of paranoia.”

Leah's eyebrows knit prettily together. “And you think they're related?”

“It's all very strange.” He hesitated, trying to decide whether to tell her about the Volvo and the snowy footprints in his bedroom.

“What can I do?”