My Time in the Affair (23 page)

He cursed some more and his hand went into her hair. His fingers twisted in the wet locks, pinched and pulled, but he didn't yank her away. He begged her to keep going. Begged her to never stop.

She wanted to make him come, loved when she could do that to him with her mouth, but then he changed his tune and he really did pull her away by her hair. She started to ask him what was wrong, but he leaned forward quickly and kissed her. All hot, gasping air and dominating tongue. Then he rolled them, till she was underneath him.

“God, yes, please, like that,” she begged when two of his fingers thrust their way inside of her.

Ever since Positano, sex had been soft, and sweet, and almost gentle.
Beautiful
. Anything else felt …
sordid
to her, after everything that had gone down. She had broken a heart, she shouldn't get to have multiple-sessions-crazy-animalistic-sex. Of course it didn't make sense, but it's how her brain worked.

But not anymore. Now she was feeling very fucking primal. His fingers had barely slipped inside her before they were being pulled away and a much bigger object was demanding entrance. She lifted her knees higher and Tal grabbed one, pulling her leg up so her calf rested against his shoulder.

“Goddamn, you're soaking wet. We should have '
emergency situations
' more often,” he growled, working his hips towards hers.

“Not funny,” she snapped. It was followed by a shriek, as he slammed his dick home.

“So good. You never stop feeling so good, Misch,” he groaned, pumping into her hard and fast.

She couldn't respond. Just moved her hands to her breasts and squeezed. He was pounding the oxygen out of her.
She loved it
. She had missed it.

Just when she felt a monster orgasm blossoming, he pulled out. She whimpered and immediately reached between them, trying to find the piece of anatomy that should've been fucking her into another emotional state. But Tal backed away from her, then grabbed her legs roughly and flipped her onto her stomach. She started moaning low in her throat, almost a purr, and she didn't even need to be asked – she just hiked her hips into the air.

“Oh,
fuck
. I love this. I love it,” she cried out when his hips finally met her ass.

“Then say it,” his voice said from behind her.

“Say what? I love it. I fucking love it, Tal. Please, fuck me, god, harder, whatever you want,” she begged. He chuckled and complied, slamming into her so hard she shrieked every time it happened.

“What do you love about this, Misch?” he demanded clarification.

“I love how you're fucking me.”

“And?”

“How hard you are, how big you are. Fuck, so fucking big …,”

“
And?
”

“And …,” she wondered if it was possible to get fucked so hard, a person could get brain damage. “How good you are. So good.”

“Not the answer I was looking for,” his voice sighed.

She felt his hand on her ass, and he gave her right cheek a sharp slap. She paid him back by tightening up on his dick, locking him into place. She heard him give a gasp that time. Then he slapped her on the right cheek one more time before both his hands came to rest on her ass.

“I'm so close, babe. So close,” she whined.

“I love you like this. It's so fucking hot, hearing you say what you want,” he growled, his hands smoothing over her skin, going lower. Spreading her apart, tugging at the tops of her thighs. She wanted to question what he was trying to do, but speech was difficult.

“What … are … you doing?” she managed to get out, laying flat on her chest but managing to crane her head around so she could see him.

“You have such a beautiful pussy, Misch. I'm going to give it a treat that it deserves,” he said, his voice almost soft as he slowed his thrusts, pulling almost completely out of her.

“I think you already are-,
FUCK!
”

Both thumbs. The man had
both thumbs
on either side of his cock. As he started to push back inside of her, she felt pressure at first, then realized what was happening. He plunged back in so slowly, but with his thumbs
and
dick driving into her. Fucking
spearing
her. Completely. Totally. Filling every last inch of her.

She screamed when she came, actually ripped a hole in his top sheet. Normally Tal was a gentleman, he would wait out her orgasms. Not that time. She'd only been caught in the explosion of it for about three seconds when his hands went back to her hips and he began fucking her hard again. Actually
harder
. Harder than he'd
ever
fucked her, his fingers carving into her hips as he pulled her back against him.

It was insane. Her orgasm regrouped and got bigger, spread farther. Her whole body went into spasms, and she couldn't do anything, couldn't fuck him back. Could only try to breathe and be in awe of the multiple-orgasms she was having. It had never happened to her before, ever. Not with any of her ex boyfriends, not with Mike. Not even with herself.

A man of many talents, Mr. Canaan.

She thought she was going to pass out, the orgasms went on for so long. Finally, he came with a shout, and she could feel him pumping inside of her. She gasped for air, begged him to stop, not able to go on anymore. Her legs went out from underneath her and Tal went with them, not breaking the connection between them.

“Fuck. Holy fuck, Tal.
Fuck.
”

“Thank you?” he chuckled, kissing along her spine in between panting.

“Thank
you
. God, if I was unsure about loving you before, I'm damn sure of it now,” she joked. He suddenly laid down flat, and all his weight was on her.

“Ah, there's the answer I was looking for,” he sighed. She smiled. She had thought it was just dirty talk, and there he was, looking for some romance.

“I'm so in love with you,” she whispered.

“
Not half as much as I am with you,
” he whispered back.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty, they say.

Fuck them. Give me foresight.

Sometimes, I wonder what it was – was it willfully done on my part? Was I just so desperate, so needy, that I was willing to do anything? Believe anything?

It seems the obvious answer is “
yes
”, but I really don't think so. Despite all appearances, I don't like to lie. At least, not to myself. After all, I'm the one I have to sleep with every night. I'm the one I have to look at in the mirror. Lying to myself would just make me feel shittier, and I don't know how much shittier I could have possibly felt.

I think … I wanted to be liked. Simple. Something everyone wants, especially girls. And that's what I felt like; when I look back, it's like looking at a young girl. A little girl, so lost in her fantasies, just praying for Romeo to find her.

But no one warns her that Tybalt is lurking around there, too.

I just wanted to be liked.

“
Don't fucking move! Don't fucking move!
”

“
Keep your hands where I can see them!
”

“
I said don't fucking move!
”

“
Get out of the bed! Get down on the ground!”

“
DON'T FUCKING MOVE!
”

Mischa had been sleeping. Tal had been next to her. One minute she'd been dreaming about the ocean, the next she was jerking upright to the sound of the door being kicked in. No, not kicked in;
rammed in
. As in with a battering ram.

It was like a professional football team had burst into the house. Large men dressed all in black were everywhere, running and shouting. They all had huge, automatic rifles with flashlights on them, and while Mischa screamed, she held up her hands to block the light.

Are we being kidnapped!? We're being kidnapped. I'm gonna be beheaded in the goddamn desert, and my father will watch the video on YouTube.

“What the fuck is going on!?” Tal demanded, leaping out of the bed.

“Just do what they say!” Misch screamed.

“Get the fuck down!
Get the fuck down!
”

Tal stormed out of the bedroom, right into the thick of their invaders. Mischa just gaped after him, wondering if he was really brave, or just really fucking stupid. There was more yelling, and several gun barrels were pointed directly in his face. But he didn't back down, he just kept demanding to know what was going on, not even a hint of fear showing in his face.

The men were all wearing bullet proof vests, she saw, as well as face masks. They were like shadows moving around in the dusky home. She shrieked when one man grabbed her arm and began dragging her out of bed.

“Please! Please don't hurt us!” she cried as she was shoved to the floor.

“Hey! Don't you fucking touch her!” Tal turned back and began striding towards her.

It took four men to stop him and bring him to his knees. Mischa was shoved against the bed, her wrists held behind her back, her captor's legs pinning her in place. She sobbed.

“I'm okay, just stop, Tal. Just stop,” she begged.

“Hey! I'm with
Ansuz!
I'm with
Ansuz!
” Tal began shouting, over and over again.

“Shut the fuck up!” was all he got in response.

Did they hit him? Does he have brain damage? Why does he keep saying that!?

“Look in my fucking wallet! On the table! Look! I'm with
Ansuz!
I'm with you!
” he barked.

There was more arguing, more being told to shut up, more of him insisting that they look in his wallet. He was being kept on his knees, his hands clasped on top of his head. One of the men in black stood behind him, holding Tal's hands in place. And of course, the obligatory knee in the back.

Orders were barked in Turkish, then Tal began yelling in what could only be Arabic. Someone answered him, there was more shouting, and finally, someone went over to the table.

The men in black poured over Tal's wallet. Mischa watched everything get pulled out, one by one, and dropped onto one of the couch cushions. She thought the wallet was finally empty, but then they pulled out one last card. It was large, and laminated, much bigger than a regular ID card.

Everything seemed to quiet down at once. The men murmured amongst each other and passed the card around. Eventually one guy held onto the card and wandered off with it, speaking in hushed tones over a walkie talkie. Not that it mattered, it was in Arabic, so Mischa couldn't understand him, anyway.

“Alright,” the man spoke in English as he came back to the group. “We take you now.”

Tal growled back in Arabic, struggling against his captives.

“Where are you gonna take us?” Misch asked in a sniffly voice.

“You only want me! She has nothing to do with this!” Tal switched languages again.

“We have our orders. You may stay here for interview. She goes to
Silivri
,” the other man stated.

Misch was abruptly yanked to her feet, and as if that wasn't shocking enough, Tal completely lost his shit. He surged to his feet, yelling and straining so hard she could see the muscles cording in his neck, chest, and arms. Two more men were added to the original four needed to hold him back.

“
You can't take her there! It's a fucking prison!
” Tal was roaring.

Prison!? I'm going to Turkish prison!?

“You do not make orders!” the guy who seemed to be in charge started pointing in Tal's face. “I make orders here! She goes for questioning! You sit down and you shut up!”

Misch was dragged to the door, her feet barely touching the ground, her wrists still pinned behind her head. She had pulled on an old long sleeve t-shirt of Tal's and her panties before going to sleep, but that was it. She felt so exposed. She struggled against the hands that held her.

“No! No! I didn't do anything! I don't want to go!” she began shrieking.

“I will fucking shoot each and every one of you! Don't you fucking touch her! Let her go!” Tal was becoming unhinged, and he managed to knock one man to the ground.

“Please! Are you going to hurt me!? Am I going to be okay!?” Misch cried.

Everyone was yelling, and no one was answering, so she pulled an old childhood move. She let her legs go limp, forcing the man shoving her to carry all her dead weight. He cursed at her and dropped her to the ground. Before she could scramble away, though, he was grabbing her, his black gloves scratchy against her bare legs. He clawed his way to her hips and hiked her to her feet, then got a better grip and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder.

She was crying. Tal was yelling. The last thing she saw as she was carried out the door was one of the men in black driving the butt of his gun into the side of Tal's head.

She started screaming again.

*

Mischa sat in a metal fold out chair, her legs bouncing up and down almost violently. Anything to release the tension that was running wild through her body. She'd finally done it, chewed her lip to the point it bled. She kept trying to stop herself, but mostly failed and just kept working at it, welcoming the taste of copper, the sting of pain. She kept her hands clasped in her lap, though she really didn't have anything else she could do with them.

She was handcuffed, and had been for the last eighteen hours. She was also still wearing the same clothing she'd been taken in – the panties and t-shirt. Her hair was crazy, her body was dirty, and every muscle she had was hurting; her brain, most of all.

Am I gonna be here for the rest of my life? Do my parents know I'm here? Does the embassy? Does
anybody?
Is Tal okay? God, he has to be okay,
he has to be okay
. I'll die if something happened to him.
Please let him be okay
.

Mischa hadn't been put in with the prisoners, and a translator had explained to her that she wasn't under arrest. She wasn't even necessarily in trouble. The handcuffs were just a precaution because of her behavior, when she had been brought in. Did she remember that during her extraction she had bit one of the agents? And that same agent had been forced to neutralize her?

“Neutralize” - translation, I got a gun rammed into my temple, too.

The agent had needed stitches, as Misch was often reminded. She explained that she'd been scared and upset for Tal. She asked about him, over and over again. Where was he, was he okay, was he alive, what had he been yelling about?
Ansuz
. What did that mean? What was he involved in?
What was going on!?

Please don't let him be terrorist. Let him be okay and not a terrorist. Please please please.

They had told her she'd been brought in for questioning, but no one asked her any questions. She was originally locked in an old office that still had a couch. She slept fitfully with the handcuffs on, and was woken up for a disgusting breakfast that she couldn't finish. Then she'd waited, till some guards came and took her to another room.

It was almost cliché, the room she was in; large, all dark gray, with a cheap card table in front of her, a bare bulb hanging above her, and a huge mirror on the wall across from her. Obviously a two way mirror, she watched “Law & Order”, she knew her stuff.

I'm going insane. Please, god, let him be okay, please, oh please, oh please.

“
Mrs. Rapaport.
”

Mischa jerked her head up and was shocked at who was walking into the room. She hadn't seen him since Rome, and on top of that, he looked so different, wearing a suit.

“
Ruiz!?
” she exclaimed. He nodded his head at her, but didn't smile. He sat down at a second folding chair that had been pulled up to the table.

“How are you?” he asked, placing a folder in the middle of the table.

“Is he okay? Please, tell me if he's okay. They hit him so hard. Tell me he's okay,” she begged, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“Canaan's perfectly fine. I'm sorry about our surroundings, they didn't have a safe house ready – the prison was the best option,” Ruiz said, as if it explained anything. Mischa let out a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“Oh, thank god. I was so worried about him,” she whispered.

“Mrs. Rapaport, please. We have a lot of ground to cover, and not much time. You need to answer some questions,” Ruiz informed her. She opened her eyes again.

“What questions? What am I doing here? Is this because of the shooting!? Tal said it was a terrorist thing. Was he involved with it?” she babbled. Ruiz nodded.

“He was not involved. Yes, it was a terrorist act. We need you to explain some things to us. Tell us everything you know about Peter Sotera.”

Mischa gasped.

“Peter?
Peter
Peter!? Peter,
my boss
, Peter?” she double and triple checked. Ruiz nodded.

“
That
Peter.”

“What could you possibly want to know about him? He's an insurance agent, a uh … uh … field guy, he gets sent to start new branches. He sells fucking insurance!” Misch exclaimed. Her mind was unspooling, slowly but surely, becoming a pile of frayed memories and split ends.

“Yes, he does that. He is also the U.S. liaison for a very violent and aggressive chapter of al Qaeda. He sells them information – advanced intel on NATO and Interpol and the U.N., not to mention the U.S..”

Misch sat back, stunned. Peter. Her boss, Peter. Slightly overweight, generally smelled like salami. Got drunk and groped her tits at a Christmas party once. Wore Hawaiian shirts every Friday.
Peter
.

“You must be joking,” she breathed.

“I wish I was. Mr. Sotera became involved with al Qaeda following the attacks on 9/11. He's actually spent a lot of time in Afghanistan.”

“But … but … he's from
Hoboken.
”

“Yes. He was a very influential insurance lobbyist in Washing D.C. for a while, where he made a lot of political connections. Then he moved to New York, where he used secrets and blackmail to get the info he wanted. He is responsible for sending information that resulted in the bombings of at least four U.S. convoys, that we can prove. We suspect many more,” Ruiz just kept going.

I'm having a nightmare. Wake up now, Misch. Wake up, and Tal will be trying to heat up waffles on the hotel's coffee maker. Wake up.

“Four bombings …,” all the breath left her body.

“We believe he moved to Detroit shortly after the failed '
shoe-bombing
' on Flight 253. Since then, he has been gaining more contacts within the terrorist organizations. He came on the C.I.A.'s radar a little over a year and a half ago, and that's how we were alerted to the fact that he was planning an overseas trip. Armenia, Turkey -,”

“
Italy,
” Misch finished for him, her voice barely a hint of a whisper.

“And Italy. Our contract is with the Turkish government. They knew he was coming here after Rome, so it was requested that we go ahead into Italy to gather more intel and to track his contacts,” Ruiz explained.

“You knew,” she gasped, her eyes finally meeting his. “You knew who I was. Before you met me, you knew who I was.”

“Yes,” he answered swiftly.

“That's why you were upset. That's why you didn't want us to be together,” she began connecting the dots.

“Yes. Above all else, the mission could not be compromised.”

“And I was part of the mission.”

“
Yes.
”

She knew she should argue. Knew she should be proclaiming her innocence, shouting from the roof top that she didn't know,
she didn't know!
She'd had no idea. She'd been busting her ass setting up insurance offices. Peter had been busting his ass trying to topple governments.