Dangerous Desires

by Siren, Tia

  “Claire! Where the hell are you?”

  A crash came from her kitchen, and I hurried down the hallway. Furniture was turned over and glass was broken. I turned the corner toward her dining room table, and she was in the corner.

  She was gagged with a gun to her head, and Mandy had her by the hair.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Mandy said. Panic rose in my throat. The gunmetal glinted in the dim light, and Mandy’s hand was trembling. Tears painted Claire’s cheeks, and a wave of helplessness struck me. This wasn’t a fucking action movie where the hero magically knows how to fight and can make weapons from duct tape and barbed wire. I didn’t have anything I could stop Mandy with, and if I made a wrong step, I’d lose Claire forever.

  That thought petrified me.

  “Did you really think I’d let you rise to the top without me?” she asked. “Did you really think I’d let you walk out on me like that?”

  “Mandy, calm down,” I said.

  “You’d be nothing without me. I gave you everything! And you threw it in my face!”

  “No, I didn’t,” I said.

  “Yes, you did!” she shrieked. The gun pressed further into Claire’s head, and I saw droplets of blood work down her skin. The gun had cut into her skin and my heart lurched for her, but I had no idea what to do in this situation.

  But there was something I had that Mandy wanted.

  “I knew the only way to bring you back down to the level you deserved was to sabotage your little pet project. Poor little Patrick never even saw it coming. No family. No friends. No connections. It was perfect, until I realized he had a fucking sister! How did it feel, huh? To fuck your dead employee’s sister?”

  “Mandy, let’s talk about this,” I said.

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I stood by you while your company rose to fame, and the moment I was willing to give you everything, you turned me away. If I can’t have you, no one can.”

  She cocked the gun, and I thought I was going to vomit. I knew I had to play my card before Claire got hurt, so I pleaded with my eyes for her to forgive me before I started.

  “Mandy, the only reason I rejected you was because I wanted to give you the world. The company wasn’t ready yet, and I wanted to christen it with you by my side. It hurt me so bad when I found you with that other guy, but I still love you. I’ve always loved you. Claire was just to make you jealous. So you’d come back to me,” I said.

  “Y-you what?” she asked.

  “She was just to get you back, Mandy. Don’t you see?”

  Claire’s expression was terrified but relaxed when Mandy faltered with the gun. I knew I was onto something, so all I did was keep talking.

  “You’re the only one there’s ever been for me. I haven’t been able to sleep, o-o-or eat since you left. Mandy, I swear to god, Claire means nothing to me.”

  “You mean it?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said as I started to approach her. “For the love of god, I was going to ask you to marry me the moment we launched the idea for this prototype. Right there in the conference room in front of everybody.”

  “You were?” she asked with a smile.

  “But we can’t be together if you kill Claire. I can exonerate you from Patrick, but not if you kill her,” I said.

  She looked at Claire, and I could tell she was thinking about it. I reached for the gun and took it from her fingers, and when she released Claire I pulled her behind me.

  “Mandy?” I asked.

  “Yes, Leo?”

  “I could never love you, you bitch.”

  I railed her into the wall and pinned her down while I yelled for Claire to grab my phone from my pocket. Mandy flailed and screamed, even lunged forward to bite me, but the moment I had her at the wall, she wasn’t going anywhere. She thrashed until she couldn't catch her breath, and I didn’t release her until the police got there. It took entirely too long to give our statements and free ourselves from this whole nightmare, but finally, I walked outside with Claire and took her into my arms.

  “Why don’t you come stay with me for a little bit?” I asked.

  “Please,” she begged. “Please don’t make me stay here.”

  “It’s over, Claire. It’s done,” I said. “No more case. No more terror. No more questions.”

  “She killed my brother,” she said through her sobs.

  “And we’ll get through this, Claire. Together. Just like we’ve been doing.”

  I held her in her driveway underneath the stars while the police scoured her home. Who the hell had I been fooling? Obi was right. I was completely in love with this woman. Never in my life had I ever felt this way for anyone, and the moment I saw that gun trained on her head, I would have done anything to save her.

  Anything to heal her.

  Anything to keep her.

  “Let’s just go. You can sleep in some of my clothes, and we’ll go buy you some in the morning.”

  She nodded her head before we started slowly for my car.

  20

  Claire

  6 Months later

  I woke up that morning and rolled over to see Leo. I had no idea that my going home with him that fateful night would result in selling my house, but I knew I’d made the right decision. He bought me a few outfits to keep here, and a few outfits turned into a few toiletries, which morphed into a few pairs of shoes. Soon, I had taken up half his closet and had slept most nights in his bed, and he said it made no sense for me to continue paying rent on my home if I was never going to sleep in it.

  “Hey there, beautiful,” he said.

  “Morning,” I said, smiling. “There’s good stuff in the news today.”

  “The implants?” he asked. He picked up his phone and scrolled through his news, and when the smile bloomed across his face, I giggled and cuddled into him.

  “They’re selling everywhere, Leo. You did it.”

  “My god, and we only launched two months ago! How did this happen?” he asked.

  “When you make a product that works and fulfills a need, it sells itself. You should know that, idiot.”

  “Good thing I’ve got you here to remind me,” he said with a grin.

  “And look at this,” I said. “North Carolina just signed a bill into office making the chips mandatory for police officers. You’re starting a revolution, Leo.”

  The implants debuted on the stage a week after the case was wrapped up. It launched to a few top companies, and within the first month every major company in the U.S. had them as an optional incentive for their employees. Soon after that, they were launched internationally, with major corporations in allied countries wanting them for their own workers, and then those workers started wanting them for their children.

  Now, states were mandating that governmental employees have them as part of their health insurance, and Leo was looking at single-handedly driving the cost of health insurance down because of his product.

  “This is incredible,” he said. “I-I just can’t believe it.”

  “Well, believe it. Because it’s real,” I said. “I’m proud of you, baby.”

  “I love you, Claire.”

  “Wh-what?” I asked.

  “I love you. I’ve been in love with you for—god, what has it been now?—a few months. You are spectacular. You complete me in ways I can’t even describe. I love you, Claire Danes.”

  It was the first time I’d ever heard him say it. I could feel it in his body every time we had sex, and I could see it in his actions every single day I lived with him, but to hear it?

  I couldn’t contain myself.

  I rolled him over and felt his morning wood pressing against me. I slid him in just to see his eyes widen. I planted my hands onto his chest and began to roll my hips, but soon after I started, he rolled me over onto my back.

  “Not this time,” he said.

  Slowly, he started thrusting into my body, and his eyes kept hooked onto mine. His breath was hot against my lips, and his voice
was still rough from sleep, but his muscles kept rolling over my body, and I couldn’t contain myself. He pushed into me, deep and slow, and our bodies moved in tandem with one another’s while the sun streamed through the curtains. His lips connected with mine, and slowly, the world faded to the background while my fingertips dug into his back.

  “I love you, Claire,” he said. “I love you so much.”

  I rose my hips to meet his and that’s when our bodies found their rhythm. We rolled and dipped while our groans knocked into one another’s, and I couldn’t stop peppering his lips with kisses. His hand came around to cup my bare breast before he slipped my nipple between his teeth. I arched my back into his lips, wanting to feel all of him. But it wasn’t enough.

  I couldn’t get enough of him this way.

  I reared up and sat him back onto that sculpted ass of his, then I straddled his lap and held his gaze with my eyes. My juices slowly dripped down along his throbbing cock, and I cupped my hands around his lean cheeks, bringing his gaze straight up to mine.

  “I love you, too, Leo.”

  His eyes lit up with my words while his hands rounded down to cup my ass, and as he moved my hips on top of his, I pulled his body close to mine. His face buried into my breasts while his hands smoothed out over my back, and my skin was electrified with each stroke of his fingers. Our hips knocked together and our bodies shook in pleasure, reeling from the news this morning and fueled by our admissions to one another. I bounced on his hips, wanting more friction against my wet folds, but he held me steady and guided me back to rocking.

  We rolled our bodies together in a steady rhythm until sweat appeared on our brows. The sweat trails finally began cascading down our backs, condensing from the hot breaths we exchanged, and then, he picked me up with his strong arms and carried me to the shower.

  I reached down and turned on the hot water, watching it flow over the ripples and dips of his body, and that’s when he pinned me to the wall. His hips thrusted up into mine while his lips danced over my neck. I wasn’t going to last much longer. I smoothed his wet hair away from his face while his rock-hard dick thrust deep into my body, and before I knew it, I was mumbling his name into his neck and hanging on for dear life.

  “Leo. God, Leo. I love you. I love you. I love you so much.”

  He rolled himself deep into me and lost himself. It was passionate and raw, not like the pounding he usually gave me when he bent me over his desk. His body pulsed with fire and roared to life between my legs. Every thrust hit deeper and deeper, and just as my pussy began clamping down on him in wanton lust, I felt his cock jump to its end.

  He captured my lips while we came together in the hot steam of the shower. Our bodies writhed and shook against one another’s before we slowly slid down to the floor. We breathed each other’s air through our kisses while the water washed away the evidence of our love for one another, and all we could do was tremble in each other’s arms. We had been through so much and endured so many trials, but as we sat there and collapsed against one another’s bodies, I knew the fight was finally over.

  I captured his lips in another kiss before he slid my back to the floor of the shower.

  “I adore you, Claire,” Leo said.

  I’d finally found my new family, and that new family loved me like I loved him.

  * * *

  THE END

  Dark Nights

  Tara Wylde & Holly Hart

  1

  Sam

  I had the strangest dream last night. It started out like an ordinary day in my life: shower, coffee, sleepy commute. Indistinguishable from reality, till I stepped off the elevator and into an Army barracks, familiar from basic training. It was just like I remembered, right down to the vague odor of feet and disinfectant. Right down to the snoring of twenty recruits, tucked away for the night. No—nineteen recruits. My bunk was empty.

  Dazed, I made for my bed. There was a lump under the covers. When I pulled the covers back, that lump proved to be an alarm clock, which immediately went off. I smacked it, searched it for a switch, smothered it with the covers, but it only got louder. Soon, everyone was up, shouting and throwing things.

  It was all in vain: even stamping on the alarm didn’t kill it off. Soon, the elevator dinged, and R. Lee Ermey stepped out, dressed like the sergeant from Full Metal Jacket.

  “You’re late,” he said.

  I woke up.

  I wasn’t late, but it was a weird day at work: long, frustrating, hard to concentrate. Hit the road as soon as I clocked off, and now here I am. Here I am, miles from civilization, and still thinking about work.

  I go to the window. The rain’s coming down in sheets. It was spitting on the drive from Boston, drizzling on the way up the mountain, and now, it’s outright pouring.

  “Looks to be a stormy one,” I say. When I get nothing back, not even a snuffle at my ankles, I realize I’m talking to myself. Boone’s deserted me, probably at the first rumble of thunder. I should go wheedle him out from the closet, or the laundry hamper, or under the bed—wherever the mutt has stowed himself away this time.

  I should get away from the window. It’s not safe, during a storm.

  I should light the old wood-burning stove, in case the power goes out.

  Or...I could stand here a while longer, admire the rain-halo around the porch light.

  I shake my head. I’m not tired enough to be woolgathering like this. What’s the matter with me? (Working too hard, an unhelpful inner voice supplies. Forgotten how to deal with spare time. Set up the stove; comfort the dog. Then a nice night by the fire. Easy as pie.)

  Easy, indeed.

  I tear myself away from the window—a little reluctantly; there’s something hypnotic about the way the rain’s battering itself against the light. I don’t often get to just...stand and appreciate something pointless. Can’t even remember last time I came up here. Long enough that I walked into a truly impressive cobweb on my way up the steps.

  I resist the compulsion to brush at my head and shoulders again. I’ve showered, since then. There’s absolutely, definitely no spider in my hair. Or down my collar. Or…

  “Eugh.” I bat at myself anyway. There’s nothing unmanly about hating spiders. They deserve to be hated, with their big bodies, and their fangs, and their multiples of everything. What needs eight eyes and eight legs? Nothing good—that’s what.

  I definitely don’t think about all the spiders that might’ve been in the woodpile, as I set to work on the fire. I concentrate on how cozy it’s going to be, on the couch, with a snifter of brandy and a record on the turntable.

  Boone can warm my feet—or, more likely, my lap, given the storm. I’ll turn down the lights, watch the fire flickering through the star-shaped vents in the side of the stove. I won’t think of work. Or spiders. Or the clunk my car made, when I hit that pothole on the way up the driveway. I’ll have to deal with that in the morning. Probably have to—

  Damn. I’m doing it, again. What do people normally think about when they find themselves with time to kill?

  I poke another cube of firelighter between the dry logs. It pops out the other side, and tumbles into the ashes. I fish for it and come up with black fingertips.

  Back when this was still Grandpa’s cabin—two rooms and an outhouse—he used to send me down the mountain for supplies. I’d pedal past the old folks on their porches, taking in the sun. They’d be stretched out in their rocking chairs, mostly with a folded-up paper or a book face-down across their laps—but I don’t think I ever saw one reading. They’d be smoking, or sleeping, or watching the road. They’d holler out “Morning!”, and maybe offer me a buck to mow their lawns.

  I’ve never been able to space out, like that—if that’s what they were even doing. Maybe they had some kind of rich inner life, some kind of imagination I missed out on at birth.

  Or maybe you’ve got to be old to unravel the secret of just sitting still for a minute—get out of my hair, would you?

  Per
fect. Now the voice in my head belongs to Dad.

  I light a match with my thumb. The fire kindles on the first try. Well, hey!—things are shaping up. Thunder rumbles again, closer this time: . bBetter rescue the dog, before he shivers himself into a heart attack.

  True to form, I find Boone squeezed into the tightest spot he can find: in this case, between the couch and the wall, in the guest bedroom. He snaps at me when I reach for him.

  “Who’s a good boy?” I try.

  He whines.

  “Who’s a big, hairy coward?”

  His tail starts to wag.

  “Who’s about to get his fat rump stuck, again, if he doesn’t come out and get a treat?”

  I’ve as good as won. Boone’s still wedged into his little thunder-fort, but he’s got the beginnings of a dumb spaniel grin on his face, and he’s quit with the trembling. Any minute, now—

  The sound of a shotgun rings out, far too close. Boone backpedals, till his butt hits the wall. So much for my brandy, my fire, my quiet mountain retreat. That shot was on the property—down the hill a ways, but still far too close. It’s too early in the year, and too late at night, for a lost hunter. Somebody’s up to no good.

  My deer rifle’s hanging over the fireplace. It’s mostly decorative, these days—Dad was always the hunter of the family. But I still keep it cleaned and oiled. I load it as I move toward the door. By my first step off the porch, I’m cursing myself. My jacket’s too thin, my boots not nearly waterproof—when did I become such a city boy?

  No time to think about that.

  I kill the lights, and head into the storm. The woodpile’s a blacker shape, in the darkness, and I head toward it, keeping low. The lightning holds off just long enough for me to take cover. The brief flash I get of the dooryard’s enough to tell me there’s nobody there. Not that I expected there to be: the report came from the bottom of the hill. No one could get up here that fast.