Sheltering Dunes (15 page)

“I’ve been thinking about this since we talked last night.” Ash wanted to be the one to fill her, to satisfy her, to convince her she’d be there every single day from now on. She caressed Allie’s belly, stroking softly until Allie’s hips lifted and her legs went tight.

“Ash,” Allie murmured, half warning, half plea, “I’ve been ready since last night. If you’re not careful—”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to be very, very careful.” Ash slid her fingers between Allie’s legs, finding the silken path that took her home. She entered Allie in a long smooth thrust, and Allie gasped. Sometimes she took Allie slow, sometimes she liked to tease her until she begged, but after she’d been away a while, she took her fast the first time, reminding Allie of what was theirs alone. She kissed her mouth, pushed deeper, filled her until there was no space between them. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Allie murmured, her fingers digging into Ash’s shoulders. “More than I ever…thought…oh God, Ash, I’m going to come.”

“That’s right, babe, that’s right.” Ash clenched her teeth, her clit pounding, the urgency in her loins painting her vision red. She wanted to own her, down to her last fiber, she wanted to move her the way no one else ever would or ever could, the possessive passion driving her nearly insane. She picked up her pace and Allie came, squeezing down around her fingers, twisting and whimpering.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Allie cried. “I’m going to come again, baby. Don’t stop.”

“I know, I know,” Ash whispered. She slowed, but didn’t stop—moving deeper with each tight stroke. The tide of Allie’s pleasure caught her by surprise, and before she could get control, she went under. “I can’t…I’m coming. God Allie, touch me—hurry.”

Ash lifted her hips and Allie scissored her fingers around Ash’s clit. Allie squeezed erratically, her attention fractured by the orgasm breaking inside her.

“Harder,” Ash groaned. “I’m almost there. Harder, please. Please, oh fuck.”

“Ash!” Allie bucked under her and Ash exploded, coming hard in Allie’s hand. Her mind gave way, her breath gave out, and she crumpled, helpless and drained. Allie wrapped her up in her arms, and Ash closed her eyes. She’d wanted to comfort Allie and found peace instead.

*

“All set.” Mica grabbed her denim jacket from a peg on the wall behind the bar and swung around the end to join Flynn.

Flynn pushed her half-finished beer aside and they walked outside. The streets had come alive and were filled with couples strolling hand in hand, groups of boisterous club crawlers, families with tired children in tow. Despite the still-warm days, the nights were cool, and Flynn put her hands in her pants pockets.

“Cold?” Mica asked.

Flynn smiled. “A little bit.”

“You want my jacket?”

“Then you’ll be cold.”

Mica hunched a shoulder. “I don’t get cold that easily.” She looked Flynn up and down. “Except I don’t think it’ll fit you.”

“I appreciate you offering. I’ll warm up in a few minutes.” Flynn hesitated. “Although I suppose you could put your arm around me and get me warmer all that much faster.”

Mica laughed. “You are so obvious.”

“I need practice.”

“Seriously.” Mica slowed, seemed to study Flynn’s face. She wrapped her arm around Flynn’s waist. “Better?”

Flynn’s pulse jumped into the stratosphere. Mica was smaller than her, an inch or two shorter, more delicate appearing, but the arm around her waist was firm and strong and she liked the way it felt. “Much, much better.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Why? You think I need taking care of and you don’t?” Mica didn’t let go of her, but she sounded angry.

“It’s not that,” Flynn said. “I’m just not used to it.”

“Not used to what?”

Flynn sighed. “Being taken care of, I guess.” She’d never really been with a woman she could lean on. No one’s fault, but that hadn’t been her role. With her parishioners, she’d had to be strong. With Evelyn she’d had to be the voice of reason, although she’d failed at that pretty miserably. She and Allie had come together as two bruised souls, seeking solace in one another. They both had been a little too hurt to do more than hold on.

Mica’s arm tightened around her waist. “So enjoy it.”

“I will.” Flynn slid her arm around Mica’s shoulders, lightly cupping her upper arm. The position was intimate, more intimate than anything she could remember. The time she and Allie had walked home holding hands came close, but she hadn’t had any expectations that night.

She felt differently now. Even though she knew nothing was going to happen between them, a frisson of excitement stirred in her belly, and she let the thrill spread through her. Mica was incredibly beautiful.

“Something wrong?” Mica asked.

“No, why?”

“Because you’re shaking all over.”

“I’m really bad at this. I’m sorry.”

“At what?”

“Dating, I guess.”

“Oh man, don’t tell me you’re a—”

“No, I’m not.” Flynn laughed. “Everyone’s always asking me that. I just…haven’t had all that much practice either. And it’s kind of been a while.”

“Are we dating?”

“I’d like to.”

Mica gripped the waistband of Flynn’s jeans, as if she thought Flynn might go somewhere. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“That’s good, because neither do I.”

“Maybe it would be better if we just fucked.”

“I’m sure that would be great,” Flynn said, proceeding by feel as if she were in a blacked-out room without the slightest glimmer of light. She didn’t doubt for a second if she said the wrong thing, made the wrong move, Mica would flee like a skittish animal. She didn’t have a roadmap. She had no game plan. She had instincts that could barely be called instincts, based on nothing except the fear she’d seen in Mica’s eyes and the uncertainty she’d heard in her voice. “I think going to bed with you would be fabulous. But I’d sort of like to work up to it, so when we get there, we can do it more than once.”

“You mean in a row?”

Flynn laughed again, feeling as if she’d dodged one landmine only to face another one. “Well yeah, that too, but I was sort of thinking that I didn’t want it to be a one-time thing.”

“So what if that’s all I want—one time?”

“Then that would be good to know up front.” Flynn stroked up Mica’s arm, over the crest of her shoulder, and lightly clasped the back of her neck, letting her fingers rest against the side of Mica’s throat. She was so warm. So soft. “It’s your call, Mica. But I have to warn you, I have a feeling that one time is going to leave me awfully hungry. So I’d rather we wait and find out if we maybe could do it differently.”

“I don’t know if I want to wait.” Mica threaded her fingers through Flynn’s and pulled Flynn’s hand away from her neck and down inside her jean jacket.

Flynn’s palm rested just at the top of Mica’s breast. If she moved her fingers an inch lower, she’d be caressing the hard point of Mica’s nipple. The cauldron of excitement in Flynn’s stomach exploded and shot down her legs, through her chest, and out her fingertips. “Oh man, I don’t want to wait now either. You’re driving me crazy.”

“Yeah? I like that.” Mica rubbed her hip against Flynn’s as they walked, dragging Flynn’s hand down and molding it to her breast.

“No fair,” Flynn muttered. She tugged Mica into the shadows under the awning of a closed clothing store, tilted Mica’s face up with her free hand, and kissed her. Mica tasted sweet with a little bit of a tangy bite. Flynn had seen Mica take a shot of bourbon right before they’d left the bar, the only drink Mica had had all night. The whisper of whiskey tingled on Flynn’s tongue. She wanted to keep kissing her, but if she did she’d have to touch her, and she couldn’t do that here. “Sorry, I just needed—”

“Me too.” Mica wrapped her arms around Flynn’s shoulders and pressed against her, tilting her head back and giving Flynn her mouth.

Flynn kissed her again, deeper and more thoroughly. When she lifted her head she was gasping for breath. “Mica, we can’t—I’m sorry. I should’ve waited.”

“I think you should shut up and kiss me again.”

Flynn looped her arms around Mica’s waist and swayed with her in her embrace. “I want to. I really, really want to. But I’d rather be alone with you, somewhere private. Just in case.”

Mica grabbed Flynn’s hand and tugged her back onto the street. “Then you better hurry up. You already got me hot. Now you better deliver.”

Flynn practically had to run to keep up. She was getting dizzy, not from the pace, but from a lighthearted excitement she’d never known before. “Me?
Me?
It’s all you, Mica. You’re amazing.”

“Like I said, you’re crazy.” Mica smiled up at her, a blazing smile that made her look so young and so free, Flynn’s heart wept.

“No argument. I told you I’d be hungry.”

“It’s okay,” Mica said. “I like you that way.”

They passed through the center of town and into the East End, where the crowds thinned rapidly. Storefronts gave way to bed-and-breakfasts. The galleries along the way were all closed and dark. Soon they were alone. A block from Mica’s, Flynn noticed Mica glancing over her shoulder for the third time. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Mica said, but she sounded distracted and her expression was tight.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Mica’s smile was forced, all joy gone from it. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

They’d almost reached the alley where Flynn had tended to the woman who’d been assaulted when running footsteps bore down on them from behind.

Mica cried, “Flynn, run—”

Flynn didn’t have time. A heavy blow landed in the middle of her back, throwing her off balance. She stumbled forward into the darkened alley and crashed against the side of the building. She almost fell, caught herself with a hand against the building, and swung around, desperately searching for Mica. A man, judging by the size of the attacker, had Mica around the waist and was dragging her farther down the alley, into the dark.

“Let her go! Let her go! Help! Someone call the police!” Flynn charged, still yelling at the top of her lungs. She took a running leap and grabbed the guy around the neck, hoping the weight of her body would knock him down. He was twice her size and she didn’t have a prayer of taking him one-on-one. He grunted when she hit him, and the three of them landed in a heap in the sand and stones.

“Flynn,” Mica gasped. “Get out of—”

Mica’s voice ended in a strangled gasp. Flynn grabbed the arm circling Mica’s neck and yanked. A fist caught her just under the diaphragm and the air exploded from her chest. She couldn’t suck in a breath and curled into a ball, gasping and writhing. Her lungs were on fire. All she could think of was Mica. He had Mica.

Philadelphia

Dell rode the elevator to the third floor of the renovated warehouse in Old City where JT Sloan lived and, along with her business partner Jason, ran a cyber-security firm. Since the High Profile Crimes Unit had merged with Sloan’s civilian operation, the warehouse had become their headquarters. Dell liked that a lot better than a few desks shoved together in some corner at One Police Plaza. Here, she felt like they were in their own world, where Rebecca Frye led the team and they all contributed, regardless of rank or experience. She was still a rookie detective, but she felt as if she’d earned her stripes and the Loo treated her that way. Everyone did.

So it especially sucked when she wasn’t contributing. She hadn’t accomplished anything all day. She’d hit all her usual places, hunting up confidential informants, talking to the street girls, even spending a few hours at the Trocadero after dark, hoping someone had heard something about where all the action had gone. None of the drag queens, transvestites, or drag kings who frequented the Troc, and whose affiliations often crossed ethnic and cultural divides, had any intel.

Ever since the HPC unit had busted the human trafficking ring smuggling young girls from Eastern Europe into the country to fuel the porn and prostitution business for the Zamora family, crime had gone underground. None of the team believed they’d stopped the Hydra-like organization, even though they’d cut off one of its main heads. Kratos Zamora, one of the two brothers in charge of running everything from guns to crack cocaine to girls for hire, had been shanked in his jail cell before he even went to trial. His brother Gregor was suspected of having orchestrated Kratos’s assassination. Whatever information Kratos might have traded in a plea bargain to reduce his prison time had died with him. Gregor, so far, was untouchable. For all intents and purposes, he was an upstanding businessman.

The only rumor Dell had been able to pick up after pounding the streets for twelve hours was the same one she’d been hearing for the last six months—vague rumbles that new blood was moving in from Central America by way of the West Coast and challenging the long-established crime hierarchy on the East Coast. MS-13 and its offshoots were organizing, merging disparate cliques into cohesive gangs with solid leadership and better communication. Unlike traditional crime families that tended to specialize in one type of crime, La Mara would take on anything to turn a profit—drugs, guns, prostitution, pornography—and their currency was violence and intimidation.