Dance With Me

by Kristin Leigh

  Rebecca buried her face in his chest and sobbed. He was torturing her, the way he kept appearing, but it was bittersweet…she didn’t want him to stop, but she needed him to. She opened her mouth to tell him that, but before she could speak he’d tilted her face up and pressed his lips against hers.

  He kissed her gently, stroking his tongue against her lips before dipping inside for a brief taste. Rebecca cried harder.

  “God, I’m so sorry.” His voice splintered and Major tugged her harder against him. “Please don’t cry, please don’t. Not for me. I’m not worth it.”

  His cheek rested against the top of her head and Rebecca wiped her eyes on his shirt. He was worth it, was the only man she’d ever met who was, and that was why Rebecca sobbed in his arms.

  Major’s voice was low when he said, “If you stop crying…I’ll tell you my name. The one my mother gave me. My real name. But you can’t use it.”

  Rebecca gripped the fabric of his shirt in her hands as she struggled to stop her tears. She wanted that name, dammit. After several minutes her sniffling finally subsided and Major pulled away to look down at her. One corner of his mouth barely lifted and her heart jumped at that tiny smile. She watched him, waiting.

  Major sighed and pulled her cheek against his chest again. “I need to sweep your house first.”

  Rebecca frowned. Sweep her house? “What do you mean?”

  “For bugs.” Major rocked her gently back and forth.

  “Bugs?” Rebecca knew what he meant, that the bugs he was talking about weren’t the six-legged kind. But why would he think…Her thoughts trailed off as she realized why. Major trusted no one. Not even her. And to her surprise, Rebecca wasn’t even insulted. She understood. “All right,” she conceded. If he was going to tell her his name, he trusted her more than he’d probably trusted anyone in a long time. So if he wanted to sweep her house for bugs, he was welcome to.

  Major pulled away and held her at arm's length, his hands curled around her shoulders. “I need to go get something. It’ll take about thirty minutes. Will you be okay?”

  Rebecca nodded and sniffed. “Promise you’ll come back?” When he nodded, his jaw tight, Rebecca clarified, “Today. In thirty minutes. If you don’t…” The words hurt to say, caused a physical pain in her stomach, but Rebecca knew she had to say them. “If you don’t come back today, then don’t come back at all.”

  Major nodded and pressed a quick kiss to her lips before turning and walking from the bedroom. “I’ll be back. Today.”

  Rebecca watched him go, heard the sound of the lock turning, then the front door closing. She wondered for a moment how he’d gotten in and then rolled her eyes. The man could probably get into Fort Knox if he was so inclined. She drank the rest of the water he’d brought her and turned to take a shower. She had a mess to clean up before he got back.

  * * * *

  Fuck, fuck, fuck! The major cursed himself all the way to the motel. He’d promised to tell her his name, thinking he could just give her a fake name. But when she’d looked up at him, her brown eyes soft and red-rimmed, he’d lost his resolve. She was expecting a name and there was only one the major could give her.

  He said it aloud, trying it on for size. It felt like an old shoe he’d rediscovered in the back of a closet: comfortable and familiar but odd at the same time. Different. He’d been the major for so long that he didn’t know if he’d even turn his head if someone called his name.

  The major opened the rickety desk drawer and removed the RF receiver he’d used to sweep the motel room and immediately turned to leave. He wouldn’t need anything more sensitive than that. The likelihood that Rebecca was bugged was so low as to be ridiculous. But he had to be sure first.

  He parked the green sedan he’d bought three blocks from Rebecca’s duplex. He’d ditched the blue one along with Rick Jones. The walk was short, and he checked his watch to make sure he’d made it in time. Twenty-eight minutes. The major considered letting himself inside her house again, but decided to knock instead.

  Rebecca opened the door immediately and he scowled at her. “You could at least look out the peephole.” She rolled her eyes at him and the major felt a spurt of irritation. Very few people had the balls to disrespect him once they knew who and what he was. Rebecca didn’t care and God, it was fucking frustrating how much that appealed to him.

  The major removed the little black device from the pouch and stepped across the threshold as he flipped it on. He swept each room carefully, noting that she’d cleaned up her kitchen and living room. She’d apparently come home from the club and had a one-woman party but drank enough for three or four. Neat-freak that she was, the mess had probably driven her crazy.

  It took less than fifteen minutes to sweep the two-bedroom house and the major put the RF receiver back in the black case slowly. He was dreading this, but he’d decided to tell her…not everything, but a lot. If it got him killed, fine. He was so tired of the subterfuge and death that had taken over his every waking moment. It was exhausting. And if he only got to leave his memory with one person, the major wanted it to be Rebecca.

  She stood watching him, her hands clasped against her stomach. The major closed the snaps on the front of the case and laid it on her desk. He closed his eyes, turned to her, and took a deep breath.

  “Max.”

  Rebecca cocked her head at him and narrowed her eyes. “Does max mean that you didn’t find any bugs?” She gave a little laugh and said, “Did you really expect to?”

  He chuckled a little, then stopped as surprise filled him. The major didn’t chuckle, laugh, cry, or anything else. He just existed. He took another deep breath.

  “No. I didn’t expect to, and no, that’s not what it means.” The major put his hands on his hips and looked down at his feet. His voice barely above a whisper, he told her, “I was born September thirteenth. I’m thirty-seven years old. My mother named me Maximillian. Max, for short. I grew up in San Antonio, Texas. I have one sister, three years younger than me. She had a baby about the same time I…” He swallowed and squeezed his eyes closed. Admitting it to someone drove home how cold it had been to let his family believe him dead. He’d always known it, but had told himself that the cause was a good one. Huh. It didn’t seem that way when he said it aloud.

  “Max?” Rebecca’s voice was soft, and he turned away from the tears he heard there.

  But he didn’t stop, had to finish. His voice was gruff when he continued. “They told my parents I was missing in action. MIA. After a while they changed it to MIA, presumed KIA. They buried an empty coffin. I don’t…” He stopped, unable to continue past the lump in his throat. His hands had a fine tremor in them and he clenched his fists to hide it. “That was eleven years ago. I don’t even know if they’re still alive. I don’t know if I have a niece or nephew or what my sister named her baby. I don’t know.” The fact that he had a family made him different from most other Black Ops soldiers. It was a testament to the skills he’d displayed—skills that he wasn’t very proud of anymore.

  When the words left his mouth, Max’s body—not the major’s, because in that moment he was Max again—betrayed him. Voicing the words had made them powerful, and it was devastating to his peace of mind—if it could be called that. He sat down hard in the desk chair and buried his face in his hands. Eleven years of suppressed emotion tore through him and for once, he wasn’t able to stop it. Max’s shoulders shook as he fought to bring back the numbness, bring back the major. Because the major was emotionless. But Max wasn’t.

  He sensed movement, knew that Rebecca was getting closer, but didn’t move his hands. If he’d been crying, he wouldn’t have been ashamed of it. What he was ashamed of though, was that he wasn’t crying. Because that probably meant he had no humanity left in him at all.

  “Max.” Rebecca whispered his name, her voice low and husky. She wrapped warm fingers around his wrists and pulled his hands away.

  Max dropped his hands and looked at her, willing her to
see him, see all the ugliness inside. But Rebecca just watched him, tears spilling silently from her eyes. His gut clenched. He didn’t deserve her tears. Her scorn, derision, and hatred…yes. But not tears.

  He brushed the wetness from her cheeks gently and murmured, “Haven’t I already told you not to cry for me?”

  Rebecca reached for his shoulders and tugged. He complied, sliding out of the chair until he was on his knees in front of her. She wrapped her arms around Max’s shoulders and pulled his head to her breast. He hesitated for a moment before her tenderness broke the dam.

  Max crushed her to him and let go.

  Chapter 11

  Amaya groaned loudly and arched her hips frantically as the heaving, sweating man above her finished his disgusting orgasm. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide her distaste for him. He was swarthy and dark and covered in muscle. That wasn’t exactly to her taste, but Amaya could have handled it if she loved him.

  But she didn’t love him, not at all. She didn’t even like him. Not only was he a dirty American, he was crude, constantly telling her all the repulsive things he wanted to do to her body, and that disgusted Amaya. Her body was meant for one man: her husband. And her husband had asked this awful thing of her, commanded it. Bound by her vows, she’d had no choice but to obey.

  “I love it when you come with me, dulzura.” His nose nestled into her neck and Amaya bit back the need to vomit. His Spanish nicknames were insulting too, even though she had no idea what they meant. “Te amo, Amaya.”

  Javier lifted his head and smiled down at her. Amaya smiled back and nudged him gently. “Javi, you’re crushing me.”

  “I’m sorry.” He moved away immediately and Amaya took her first breath in over an hour that wasn’t pungent with his scent. He always took so long, drawing the act out by touching her and putting his mouth in places he shouldn’t even be seeing. Javier stroked his hand down her hip and she wasn’t able to stop the shudder of revulsion. He misinterpreted it though, as always. “I can love you again, cariña, if you need…”

  “No. I’m just tired. And cold.” Amaya turned away and pulled the blanket back over her.

  Javier was silent for a long time before he finally said, “Que sueñes con los angelitos, Amaya.”

  “Good night, Javier.” Amaya closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. It was a long time before he started that horrible snoring and she was able to get up and retrieve the sodium pentothal from the little locked jewelry box in the bathroom. The stupid Navy SEAL was only susceptible to it if he’d been asleep. If he was wide awake when she gave it to him, he kept his mouth closed, writing off the pinch of the tiny needle as a bee sting or nerve pain. But sex followed by sleep relaxed him enough that he seldom felt the needle. And the drug was effective if she woke him up about a half hour after administering it.

  It would be such a relief to do away with him and return to her husband. Soon, she promised herself. Javid had given her one final task before she could go home, and it would be freeing to watch the life fade from this coarse, repulsive man.

  Amaya crept back into the bedroom and lifted the blanket from him. She pinched a small piece of skin on his buttocks and stuck the needle in.

  In an instant, the needle was ripped from her hands and she was on her stomach with her hands forced painfully behind her back.

  “Javier!” she cried as she struggled against him.

  He laughed cruelly. “Guess it’s true. You fucking whore.”

  Hard bands wrapped around her wrists and tightened with a zipping noise. Amaya fought the restraints and pleaded with him. “Javi, please, what are…?”

  He fisted his big hand in her hair and jerked her up. “Shut up, puta. I know exactly what you’ve been up to. Took me two fucking years and a talk with Lieutenant Commander Paulson to figure it out. Did you think you were going to get away with this? That I would never know?”

  “Javi, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She played the helpless female well. After all, she’d been doing it for a long time.

  “You’ve got a choice here, Amaya. Keep denying it and I’ll call my team over to take you in without covering you. And they’ll see you tied up just like this. With my semen dripping out of that torn-up pussy. Tell me the truth and I’ll at least let you keep your modesty.”

  The truth? He’d kill her. No, better to keep to her lies. “Javi, baby, I don’t know what you want me to say. Please, you’re hurting me! Why are you doing this?”

  He laughed again. “Wrong answer. So be it. It was your choice.” He leaned down and whispered, his breath hot and sickening in her ear. “If you want, I could fuck you again, just for old time’s sake. It’ll be your last time, dulzura.” Amaya froze beneath him when she felt that part of his body become stiff again. “You didn’t think we’d let you go back, did you? Tell them everything you’ve managed to find out by drugging me? Let you get away with causing the capture, injury, and death of Americans? SEALs? Don’t be stupid, Amaya.”

  He climbed off her and stood then, still naked and aroused. Amaya looked up at him, helplessly bound by her hands and feet. When had he bound her feet? Javier’s expression was one she’d never seen on his face before, and it actually scared her. He’d shown her only kindness and gentility, spoken only words of love and passion. Now his eyes spewed hatred and anger. Amaya closed her eyes and prayed for death.

  * * * *

  Max’s head rested in Rebecca’s lap and his feet stretched out to hang from the end of her couch. He relaxed into her touch as she caressed his brow gently. She’d held him for more than an hour while he cried, telling her stories about his childhood and family. Stories he hadn’t allowed himself to think of in years.

  He lay there, his eyes closed and his heart pounding as she stroked her soft hand over his face. Max didn’t know how long he relaxed there, enjoying her touch, before she began to explore his chest and shoulders. He tensed immediately as his cock stirred.

  Rebecca trailed her fingers down his chest and to his abdomen, where she halted at the waist of his jeans. He opened his eyes to find her staring at the steadily increasing bulge. She brushed the swell in his pants and his dick jerked against her fingers. Rebecca yanked her hand away and looked at him.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you were asleep.” She looked nervous, guilty. Max tried to smile.

  “So you were taking advantage of a sleeping man?” She blushed and it was so sexy that Max knew he was seconds away from a full-blown hard-on. “Please, take advantage of me. I insist.” He grabbed her hand and pulled until it rested against his erection again.

  “I…” She halted as her fingers delicately rubbed. “I’ve never touched a man while he just laid there and let me.”

  “I won’t move unless you tell me to.” Max hoped he’d be able to keep that promise, but her questing fingers were probably going to drive him crazy.

  Rebecca remained silent, fondling him while they both watched. His dick swelled and surged painfully against the zipper and Max gritted his teeth against the urge to pull it out and beg for…something. Anything she was willing to do. But he remained still, his fingers linked together on his stomach.

  Rebecca tried to wrap her fingers around him but the denim was too tight. She encircled him as much as she could though and jerked him off through the jeans.

  Max groaned and lifted his hips. She slid her hand down his length and cupped his balls, kneading them through the heavy fabric. Max slid one leg off the couch and placed his foot on the floor to give her better access. She took advantage of it, caressing him from bottom to top over and over. Max battled the need to roll them both onto the floor and fuck her senseless.

  By sheer force of will Max lay there and let her touch him to her heart’s content. When his balls drew up tight and he was to the point of no return, Max grabbed her wrist and stopped her.

  “You’re about to make me come in my pants.”

  Rebecca stared at him, wide-eyed. Then her eyes narrowed and she smil
ed. Max’s stomach reeled. She didn’t speak, just tugged her hand free and unsnapped his jeans. She pulled the zipper down slowly and Max groaned when the pressure against his cock relaxed. He turned his face into her stomach and closed his eyes.

  Rebecca pulled him free of his briefs and wrapped her hand around him. Max jumped at the first touch of her soft fingers. She thumbed the head and Max felt the wetness of precum as the cool air hit him. He clenched his teeth and braced himself.

  Was she going to jerk him off? Or was she going to stop? Max didn’t know and it was an exquisite torture. Rebecca’s hands were small, her fingers unable to wrap around him completely. He wanted her mouth, her pussy to surround him and bathe his cock in her heat. But her hand kept stroking him, the rhythm slow and agonizing. Max arched his hips, fucking himself into her hand, but she slowed again.

  He groaned and shifted, desperate to come. She was dragging it out, and Max couldn’t take it anymore.

  He tried to sit up, but Rebecca pressed a hand to his chest. “Be patient.”

  Max collapsed back into her lap with an exasperated snort.

  She continued the teasing until finally—Oh thank God—Max felt the inevitable eruption. He jerked his shirt up and out of the way. He didn’t have another one with him and didn’t really want cum on in. And fuck, Rebecca was stroking a load from him that would ruin a shirt.

  “I’m coming,” he whispered heavily.

  She didn’t increase her pace, just kept rubbing in that same torturous tempo. Max twisted his body and shouted as he came in hard, thick spurts that coated her hand and shot all the way up his chest. His legs shook and he couldn’t breathe for several minutes as he flooded her hand with white-hot semen. Rebecca squeezed and tugged his cock all the way through his climax and then kept going.