by K. T. Samois
It should look ridiculous.
It doesn’t, and Ree’s done waiting. She closes the distance, pressing a kiss to the underside of him. Ree can feel his pulse thundering under her lips and takes a moment to savour it.
There’s no rush, Ree. You’re alive, he’s alive, neither of you are going anywhere, and you have all day. Take your time.
So she does, letting him feel her lips as she kisses her way up his shaft. She repeats the gesture on the very tip, a gentle tease of tongue and lips, and he makes a sharp noise of approval. Ree does it again and watches as muscles ripple along with the lightest of her touches. When she wraps her lips around the head of him and finally lets herself have a taste, Hardin makes a noise like she’s knocked the air out of his lungs. His hand tightens for only a moment in an instinctive flex before releasing.
“Riona,” he snarls, body a rictus of desire. “You are being a terrible cocktease.”
She doesn’t deny it; her only response is to hum in thanks and lick a wet stripe along the underside of his cock.
He arches into her mouth, thighs tensed like he’s riding a bull. He sits in their simple kitchen chair like it’s a throne, but she can imagine him in some elegant study, lounging in a tufted leather chesterfield with his legs spread for her to kneel between.
One day, she promises herself, I’m going to make that happen for us. And then I’m going to blow his mind.
She doesn’t stop with the lick up; on the way down, she lavishes attention on the head of him. Her tongue curls around the crown, and Hardin’s fingers flex and release in her hair. She does it again, to the same reaction. Feeling daring, she sticks her tongue out, swallowing him down as deep as she can.
“Riona!”
It’s the harshest she’s ever heard his voice. Hardin sounds as though he’s biting back every tell he can, but the ones that make it through speak volumes. Every breath makes his hips arch, and when she slides back down the length of him, he snarls. And he uses her name like an invocation.
“That’s good, Riona,” he directs her, hand in her hair flexing in time with her mouth. “Just like that. Ah, fuck, kitten, use your tongue — right there.”
Ree’s always been a teacher’s pet, so when he talks, she gets bolder. She tries teasing him with her tongue — first curling it around the crown, then flat against the vein as she follows it down. She presses reverent kisses to him, even as her hands stroke him with exquisite gentleness. She hasn’t had a lot of hands-on practice before Hardin, but he’s been a thorough and patient instructor. Now she uses every trick she’s written in her little red book to drive him right to the edge.
“Fuck, Riona,” he snarls, and Ree basks in the way he says her name.
“My Riona-” he repeats, and that’s what she’s been waiting for.
She slides down the length of him, relaxing as she goes. She hasn’t tried this yet, not with anyone. It isn’t easy, but she takes him almost to the root.
The noise she wrests out of Hardin with that trick is worth every single one of the cough lozenges she’ll need later. When he speaks, Hardin’s voice is thick with desire.
“Kitten, if you don’t pull off now, I’m going to come in your mouth.”
Yeah, that’d be the point, Captain.
She says nothing, because it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.
When he shouts her name as he comes, she’s sure the neighbours can hear it. Ree doesn’t care. She swallows quickly and pulls off of him, lips making an obscene pop as she does. She’s careful to dab her lips with the backs of her fingers before she speaks; Ree can see his pupils dilate at that.
“Thank you, Sir,” she says, and her voice is husky.
“Riona,” he snarls, surging down to lift her to her feet and kissing her like she’s water in a drought. “You are wearing too many fucking clothes.”
He strips his own shirt off of her body, tossing it to the floor to join his pyjama trousers. Ree grins into the kiss, possessive pride almost as good as the satisfaction in her veins, or the hard throb between her legs as his hand closes in.
See if you forget my name, she thinks.
***
There’s quiet music playing and the aroma of a home-cooked meal perfuming the air. Riona perches on one of the bar-chairs, playing sous chef as he cooks dinner. She seems to enjoy doing it, and he doesn’t mind an audience. It keeps his recipe cards pristine if she reads them to him instead, and she’s always happy to taste-test this pilaf or that Béchamel. It also doesn’t hurt that she seems to find a certain aesthetic appeal in the whole endeavour.
When the sharp trill of her cellphone interrupts the music, she glares at it like it’s offended her. When it keeps ringing, she slaps it to her ear.
“If this is about some ducts-” Riona snaps and then stops. Her spine straightens to a barre-perfect posture. “Yes, this is she. May I ask who’s speaking?”
Riona goes pale, and Hardin wonders what’s put that wild light in her eyes. It isn’t fear, but there is adrenaline in the way she’s hopped off of the counter and onto the balls of her feet. “Yes, of course. We can be available.”
We can?
“Wednesday of next week is perfect. Yes, I’ll advise him. Thank you, we’ll look forward to it.” Ree hangs up and stares at her phone for a moment.
“Who was that?” Hardin asks, and she looks at him with wide, bright eyes.
“That… was Gwen Copeland, with the Department of Defence. She and her partner are flying up on Wednesday to discuss the terms of our bid. Hardin. Do they usually do that? What does that mean?”
Hardin’s careful to turn the burners off on the stove before he turns around.
“It means you’re brilliant, Riona,” he tells her as he lifts her up back up onto the counter to savour her. “It means you were right.”
Chapter Nine
Ree knows who they are the second they step foot inside the tasteful Scandinavian-influenced lobby of the work-share boardroom she’s rented for the occasion.
Oh look, everyone’s wearing their uniforms today.
She’d agonized over Hardin’s indigo-coloured suit for hours, but it’d been a brilliant investment. It makes his tan look like gold, and his eyes look like a February sky. She’s dressed to complement; the white of her pearls matches the perfectly starched linen of his pocket square. Her dress and blazer are conservative cuts, but her nails are as red as her hair and the flag on the DEVGRU pin on his lapel. She’d pinned it there herself this morning, girding him for battle. Now she holds her hand out, using politeness as a shield.
“Ms. Copeland. Mr. Fisher? I’m Riona Araby, and this is Captain Hardin. It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Please, this way. We have a room reserved.”
Both bureaucrats are wearing shades of greige; Ree wonders if they’ve assumed protective camouflage. It’s like they’re trying to blend into the filing cabinets. It’s clear to see why Gwen isn’t in the field; there’s no way she can fly under the radar. The woman’s six feet tall if she’s an inch and built like an Olympian.
She’d be like a sunflower in a poppy field.
By comparison, her companion is so nondescript as to be wallpaper, but she can feel his eyes flicking over her when he thinks she’s not aware. It makes her feel slimy.
“Thank you.” she says when Mr. Fisher holds the door open for her. When she passes through, she’s careful not to touch him. She takes a seat on the wall side of the table, with Hardin on her right. She can feel him restlessly bouncing his leg under the table, so Ree hooks her foot around his ankle, and he stills.
“Now that we’re all settled, shall we talk shop?”
“Please,” Ms. Copeland agrees, and Ree knows she’ll be the one to talk numbers with. Ree gives her a friendly smile.
“Well, it’s simple. You’d like the best… but you don’t want to pay top dollar for it.”
“That is how these things work, Ms. Araby.” Fisher says, upper lip curled in disdain. “You think you’re the best?”
He sounds like he disagrees.
Hardin’s jaw clenches.
“Ms. Copeland.” he says, West Point precise. “We’re a new outfit, but I’m not a green soldier. We’re looking for a contract, not a favour.”
“You must understand our trepidation, Mr. Hardin.” Fisher skates over Ree and addresses Hardin directly. “Be reasonable. You’re a new firm. What makes you think you can handle the logistical challenges of a project this size? Your competition has infrastructure.”
“That’d be why you’re talking to us. Of course the competition has infrastructure. The question is — do you want to pay the overhead for it?” She needs to win this bid, and she won’t manage it being dainty. She goes for the throat instead.
“Our competitors are much more established. They’ll have larger teams with designer uniforms and all the newest toys. If you want to pay to keep them polished, I suppose I can’t stop you.”
Copeland’s looking at her with more regard now, but Ree’s targeted Fisher like a shark scenting blood.
“But all that also means benefits and payouts and transportation and per diem and building overhead… and then, of course, there're the bribes in destination and the lobbyists in DC. Poor you, stuck with the tab at the end of the night because the suits are nickel and dime-ing you to death, telling you to pull the impossible with half the budget.”
“The Department-”
“Is on a purse-string, Ms. Copeland, and needs to do this as close to free as possible. I watch C-SPAN. Call it our Opening Special; limited time only. But we can get it done.”
“An untested team, an untried commander-” Fisher interrupts, and Ree goes from distrust to dislike, quick as drawing breath.
“Mr Fisher, are you a civilian?”
“I am.”
Ree nods, and then drops the guillotine blade.
“Thank you for your candour. However, please understand — my partner is not. Captain Hardin has received enhanced military training to augment a skill set developed over decades in the field. He is not in any way untried. His experience as a private sector defence contractor following nearly a decade in uniformed service augments his reliability as an entrepreneur. Unlike our competitors,” she says, and the bite in her words could cut bone, “my Captain is not a keyboard commander. And you know it.”
Copeland looks at her, face expressionless.
“We do?”
“Someone must, to fly you both here.”
“Maybe we just wanted to come see who had the balls to submit that bid.” Fisher says.
“I understand if you’re feeling a bit nervous, Mr. Fisher. Ms. Copeland, Triskelion Security is prepared to offer the following assurances. We will accept 60% remuneration upfront as a deposit, with the remaining 40% invoiced upon successful completion of the mission.”
Beside her, Hardin has shifted forward minutely in his seat; he looks like a Malinois ready to lunge, all bristling awareness and restrained teeth.
“A 60/40 split?”
“You said it yourself, Mr. Fisher. We’re new. I’m prepared to play ball, Ms. Copeland. Are you?”
Ree can’t believe her own audacity. But if they weren’t ready to pull the trigger, they wouldn’t be here in Manhattan having coffee mid-afternoon.
“The decision will come from our superiors.” Copeland says, which isn’t a no. Ree smiles, gracious as can be. It’s not Copeland’s fault she has a dick of a coworker.
“Of course, we understand. Do you have a timeline for when we should expect a response?”
Her mind’s already whirling ahead on the logistics. There’s lots of planning and a short amount of time to get it done in.
“I’d expect to hear from us within a few days, Miss Araby, Captain Hardin.” Ree’s belly flops nervously at Copeland’s words.
It’s a lot to do but…
“Thank goodness,” Ree says.
Fisher’s eyes narrow.
“Why so eager?” Fisher leans forward in his seat, all but leering at her. She’s almost forgotten how petty some people can be, but trust him to remind her. It’s clear he thinks she doesn’t have two brain cells to bounce together — and that’s before his words sink in.
“There are civilians dying for want of water purification tablets and antibiotics, Mr. Fisher. Aren’t you eager to help? The news has been breaking my heart all week.”
Asshole, she adds, in her head.
At her side, Hardin snorts; it would appear he can read between the lines.
“Upstairs wants a push on this,” Copeland says, and Ree files that away for later. “Before we proceed, I have a few questions for you both. Mr. Hardin — you have extensive experience in several… flash-points.”
“I was a defence contractor for many years, Ms. Copeland,” Hardin says, voice tight. “They don’t send us to beaches.”
“Mm,” she agrees noncommittally. “Your work experience has been predominantly in the private sector. Why is that?”
Ree feels the spit dry in her mouth, but before she can think up a convenient lie, Hardin answers, wholly nonplussed.
“The money was better.”
Ree leaps in to provide air cover.
“What my partner means to say is-”
“That the money was good, Copeland. You work public sector; you know the difference in pay grades. The food was better, too. Weapons didn’t jam, cars in good repair, and nobody crawled up my ass about having a beer… or a woman.”
Ree fights the urge to glare at him.
“All of which I could easily afford,” he adds, clearly needling Fisher.
“Because the money was better.” Fisher says. It’s evident from his tone what he thinks about that. Hardin grins with all his teeth.
“Just so.”
Ree wrings her fingertips once in nervousness; nobody else notices, but Hardin settles back into his seat like she’s whistled.
“This is a humanitarian mission, Captain Hardin!” Fisher says, all offended dignity. Aren’t you glad I reminded you? Ree catches herself thinking uncharitably.
“No, it’s not.” Hardin replies, addressing Copeland directly. “It is a humanitarian cause. My mission is to ensure that your team can complete the objectives of said cause safely. They’re the carrot, Ms. Copeland. I’m the stick.”
“That’s not especially altruistic of you.”
“I suppose it’s not.” Hardin says, smiling at Copeland. “I suppose you could say I’m a little mercenary.”
“And I handle the PR,” Ree adds, because the thought of Copeland thinking Hardin has anything to do with their Twitter feed is alarming. There’s a terrible, interminable second, and then Copeland barks out a sharp laugh and nods.
“Clearly,” Copeland says with a wry smile, but Ree can feel the tension unspool. Hardin relaxes, and he’s kind enough to shoot Ree a rare public smile.
“Couldn’t do it without her.”
“A solid team is an important asset to have.” Copeland rustles her papers, a sign that the meeting is coming to a close. “That said, you’ll need more personnel for this mission. The higher-ups might stop squawking if they saw some other familiar names, Captain.”
“That can be arranged,” Hardin says smoothly.
It can? Something to follow up with him on.
“Indeed. Do you have any further questions for us, Miss Araby? Mr. Hardin?” Her businesslike tone is back; it’s clear they’ve got a flight to catch. Which is convenient. Ree’s got a Friday overnight shift and an entire company to get off the ground before then.
“None at the moment, Ms. Copeland, but if we do, I’ll follow up with you directly. I’ll look forward to hearing from you shortly.”
Copeland seems to appreciate her audacity; she shakes her hand firmly. “We’ll be in touch. Pleasure meeting you both.”
“Mr. Fisher,” Hardin says in a tone that could freeze-dry a penguin. “Ms. Copeland,” he adds, much more warmly.
Ree waits until the two suits are out of eye-line before linking
their hands and giving his fingers a squeeze.
“I don’t think Fisher likes me very much.” Hardin says, deadpan, and Ree’s still giggling when they make it to the roadster.
“Yeah, I doubt it. He sure doesn’t like your sense of humour. I like Copeland, though. It’s unfortunate that she’d stuck with him for a partner. He’s a human hemorrhoid.”
Hardin snorts out a breath through his nose, and Ree feels a bit wicked, so she braces her hand on his thigh, leans across the centre console, and kisses him. “For good luck,” she explains, and his smile widens.
“In that case…” he says, and leans over the centre console to claim another kiss. They lose a pleasant few minutes to the thrill of adrenaline, and in each other. When Ree pulls away, there’s a look of banked hunger on his face. It’s so nice to be wanted…
“So where to?”
“I have a few errands to run. Would you care to join me?”
“As much as I would love to watch you browse Whole Foods for a whole damn day” — and she really would, because watching Hardin select produce is like the world’s naughtiest cooking show — “Ksenia came down with a severe case of Someone’s Birthday, and Nico needs me to pick up a shift tonight. If you’re heading out, could you drop me off so I can grab an hour or two of sleep?”
“Of course, kitten.”
Ree can hear some relief in his voice, but she doesn’t fault him. After that meeting, he’s probably grateful for the time to decompress.
***
Muscle memory takes over during the drive to the Upper West Side and lasts until the Jaguar purrs to a stop in a space just down the street from the Araby family home.
He exits, tucking his driving gloves into his pocket as he goes. A neighbour, one of the City’s wealthiest venture capitalists, when he’s not tending to his roses, raises a hand in greeting as Hardin lopes by. He raises a hand in return. The house rises before him like the Parthenon, blinding sun reflecting off of white stone. Hardin ascends the steps, steels his nerve, and then knocks sharply on the door.