The Gender Fall

by Bella Forrest

  The kiss was teasing as well, a flitting series of tastes that were like fire across the sensitive nerve endings of my lips. I moaned in wordless demand, wanting more, but he denied me. Instead, his mouth moved over my cheek and chin, then down the soft skin of my throat. I shuddered as the rough whiskers of his face scraped against me, and decided I liked the roughness.

  Trying to get closer, I rotated on the bed next to him, throwing my leg across his, so that I was facing him while straddling his lap, a desperate hunger awakening inside me. One of Viggo’s arms curled around my backside, securing me, but he pulled his torso back from me, his eyes concerned.

  “Violet, maybe we better—”

  “Shut up and kiss me,” I demanded huskily. I wasn’t sure where this compulsion was coming from, but I needed this to continue. I knew that even though I was feeling better, my strength and stamina would fade quickly, but I wanted to take advantage of them while I still had them.

  Yet it was also more than that. I needed confirmation that I was alive, and his mouth was reminding me that not only was I alive, I was loved. After being so afraid, so confused, so lost in everything that had happened, been happening, for so long, I hadn’t realized how much I craved physical contact, if only to reassure me this wasn’t the end for us. He’d be back and safe and…

  As if in response to my intensity, Viggo growled possessively as he kissed me again, this kiss growing deeper and harder. I moaned, shifting my hips, needing more somehow, and Viggo seemed to know exactly what was wrong. Carefully, he encircled my waist with both hands, then flopped back onto the bed, effortlessly pulling me with him, so that I ended up on top of him, our hips pressed together. There was a twinge of pain from my ribs, but I didn’t care.

  As long as Viggo kept touching me, I would never care. I rested my left hand next to his head and kissed him back, using my tongue to tease his mouth as he had mine. He gave an approving grunt, his hand finding my hip and holding it firm.

  Without letting my lips leave his, I began fumbling with the buttons of the white long-sleeved shirt he was wearing, but it was hard with my left hand. It took me over a minute to get the first one undone, and after that, my patience was gone. I grabbed the fabric in my hand and pulled, rewarded by the sound of buttons striking the floor. Viggo’s eyes darkened as he watched me rip his shirt open, and I felt a thrill of excitement at the hungry look in them.

  I stroked my hand over his chest, tracing the lines of his fit body. My fingers felt him lightly, caressing each little line and divot that made up his well-muscled physique.

  Viggo broke our next kiss with a shuddering gasp as I touched him, but I wasn’t done yet. So I lowered myself down on him, tasting the skin of his neck. His hand tightened on my hips, but I didn’t stop, my lips meandering down to his collarbone. I heard the breath catch in his throat, and it encouraged me to press lower, moving over his pectoral muscles, then farther down. Stopping momentarily to glance up at him, I was amazed at the look in his eyes as he watched me.

  He was gazing at me with a primal hunger, his green eyes vibrant and bright. As my lips skimmed the topmost ripple of his abs, he whispered a curse, his stomach jerking away from me. I hid my smile with another press of my lips.

  To be honest, I had no idea what I was doing. I was driven more by instinct than anything else. I understood the rudimentary concept of sex, or at least what some of the staff at the correctional institute had felt compelled to teach us so we wouldn’t be completely ignorant of that aspect of life. To be honest, when they had explained it to us, I had completely understood why many women chose to have Matrian doctors artificially impregnate them. Gross.

  But none of those lessons had ever explained that it could be like this—this rush of need, the promise of pleasure compelling me to press my lips to Viggo’s naked chest. It was running slipshod over my every rational thought, even any threat of pain from moving too much. I suppressed the urge to tease Viggo about harassing a sick girl, knowing that if I did, his reason would take over and he would make us stop—and I was not ready for that to happen.

  I moved down to another row of his abdominal muscles, this time taking a chance and flicking my tongue out to lick him here and there. Another growl trickled from Viggo’s lips, and I looked up at him to see the hunger in his eyes had grown, his pupils fixed and dilated. He gazed at me in pure intensity, and as I looked at him, he raised himself up slightly, leaned forward, and slid his hand down my thigh.

  I shivered at the sensation. His hand was like fire, burning so hot I could feel it through the thickness of the pants I wore. I gasped as his fingers pressed into my skin, letting me feel the strength in them. He dragged his fingers up my thigh and hip, settling them almost gently against the bare flesh of my side, just under my shirt. Where the press of his hand over my pants had made me shiver, the light touch of his fingers on my bare skin was electrifying—infinitely more pleasurable. His fingers slipped just under the loose band of my pants and…

  It was a curious sensation—after all, he had touched my naked skin before, when he’d had to patch me up our first time in The Green, when he’d still been on his mission from King Maxen to retrieve me. This was different, obviously, but it was still strange. I would dwell on it later—reason had deserted us. I had no comparisons, no complaints. All I could think to myself was yes and more. This was finally happening, and I didn’t want it to stop.

  I felt myself stretch my back like a cat, trying to press back into Viggo’s hand. He rewarded me by sliding his hand up a fraction of an inch, tracing invisible lines into my skin, lightly pressing the blunt edge of his nails into my flesh. A moan escaped me, and I blushed in surprise, risking a glance up at him without my lips leaving his body.

  His face had become feral and possessive. As I watched, his abs tightened under my mouth, and he leaned closer, hooking me under my arms and dragging me up the front of his body with a growl. I shivered from the intensity of it, my body quivering in anticipation as he tilted his chin toward mine in a silent demand for a kiss.

  Powerful and sexy—that was how he made me feel. I had never felt that way before. I probably should’ve taken more time to explore it, but I was trapped in the moment. I slowly lowered my mouth to his, knowing this was it… it was going to happen.

  Then, suddenly, it all stopped.

  Viggo pulled back, letting out a harsh breath and ran a hand through his hair. At my confused and frustrated moan, he said, “We’d better stop.”

  “Really?” I asked, just a little bit hurt.

  “Really,” he said ruefully, plucking at the sides of his shirt. “We were getting a little… out of control there.”

  I reluctantly rolled off him and stretched out on the bed, chuckling. “Would that have been the worst thing?” I asked.

  His eyes traced over my body as I stretched, and I bit my lip as I saw the sparkle in them. He met my gaze, and I noticed a dull red accentuating his cheeks.

  “It’s probably for the best,” he bit out again, and I suppressed a laugh. I had seen Viggo caught in a myriad of emotions, but flustered had never been one of them. “Besides, I sort of promised myself we would wait until marriage.”

  I gaped in mock outrage. “Without consulting me?” I gasped. “That’s a bit presumptuous of you!”

  His eyes narrowed in disapproval, but the smile on his lips grew. “Damn straight,” he replied. “You’re going to have to wait. I’m not that kind of guy.”

  I laughed, but in truth, his words sent a thrill through me. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he loved me. Ultimately, it didn’t bother me to wait, but it did make me eager for us to get married. Extremely eager.

  “I never knew you were such a romantic,” I teased.

  His eyes narrowed, but there was a smile tugging on his lips. “Yes… a ‘romantic.’ ‘Cause that is totally what I am.”

  “Hmmm… a traditionalist?”

  “Also that,” he said, crossing over to the drawer and pulling out a new shirt. �
��You demolished another shirt.”

  “Well, give me time, and I’ll be able to fix it,” I retorted.

  A knock on the door interrupted our banter, and without waiting for a response, Amber swung open the door with a lot more exuberance than necessary.

  “Ms. Dale said you two should knock it off with the hanky-panky in here and get out there, so we can go over the plan one. More. Time.”

  She rolled her eyes dramatically and then gave me a lecherous waggle of her eyebrows before flouncing out. Viggo had his eyes tilted toward the heavens, and it was all I could do to keep myself from dissolving into a never-ending giggling fit.

  “You are a terrible influence on me, Violet Bates,” he said in mock anger, jerking his shirt over his lean torso.

  “Yes, but you love it,” I replied with a wide grin. He squinted at me, but I just smiled as he diligently helped me out of bed and onto my feet.

  “Indeed,” he drawled in my ear as he escorted me out into the hall. And I couldn’t help but notice that as we walked, he kept his hand glued to my hip, where his clever fingers had been stroking earlier.

  33

  Viggo

  I had been doing this long enough to know nothing beat being lucky. Ms. Dale’s idea to lure an ambulance from the city had gone like clockwork. In truth, I’d expected it to be a bigger event than it actually was. But we had traveled back to Mr. Kaplan’s empty, torn-though farmhouse (despite the guilt that nudged me at the thought), called for emergency medical care, and then waited. Once one of our guards had spotted the incoming vehicle, we had set fire to the house, while Ms. Dale and Amber had lain down on the ground, smudged up with grime and soot.

  The medics had fallen for it easily, rushing to their aid, allowing Cad, Thomas, Lynne, Morgan, and me to close in around them, pistols drawn. We took their uniforms, but left them with most of the medical equipment they might need in case a real medical emergency occurred. Lynne and Morgan stayed behind to act as their guards while we drove away. While no plan usually survived first contact with the enemy, this one had defied the odds.

  From there, I’d expected crossing into the city to be difficult—but the tense silence of the ride, the glances at the road behind us, had all been worth it. Jeff had been right about the authorities not wasting any time waylaying medical units. With Ms. Dale and Amber hooked up convincingly in the back, oxygen masks set over their faces, we had been waved through the line of vehicles waiting at the checkpoint. As we drove on past, I had been confronted with the paranoid thought that it was too easy, the sneaking suspicion that we were, once again, being lured into a trap. It wouldn’t have been the first time, and no matter how well things went, my skin crawled every time we passed a Matrian vehicle.

  Yet, as we pulled up in the parking lot at the back of the hospital, there was no one waiting to stop us with flashing lights and weapons drawn. No sign that anyone even registered us as out of place.

  As I wheeled Ms. Dale toward the double sliding doors leading into the hospital, I looked down at the older woman and noticed that, under the oxygen mask, her mouth was pressed into a tense, tight-lipped line.

  “Relax,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if it was more to reassure her or me. “You look like you’re choking on something sour.”

  She let out a soft snort, and I hid my grin, feeling a little better. Ms. Dale’s demeanor had relaxed too—as much as could be expected for someone pretending to be in dire need of medical attention. I wheeled her gurney onward, the doors drawing open as I approached. We entered the emergency room, the crisp white beds lining the walls separated by curtains that were mostly drawn closed. Doctors and nurses were moving to and fro, checking on patients. We kept our heads down, allowing our uniforms to blend us in.

  I angled the gurney toward the elevator in the back, just beyond the patient beds. I checked over my shoulder again, making sure Thomas was right behind me, and Cad was still pushing Amber on her gurney just behind him. They were, but the reassurance did little to unravel the tension twisting my gut into knots. Sweat was forming at the back of my neck by now. One wrong glance from a doctor could be the end of our expedition. Yet, as I drew nearer to the elevator bank, no one moved to stop us.

  Thomas huffed as he moved around me, making a beeline for the buttons on the wall. I pulled Ms. Dale up short as the small man hit the button, and then watched the numbers on the digital readout count down from five. I hid my impatience by checking my watch for the time. It was just after four, which meant we had a little over fifty minutes before the final broadcast of the day.

  Finally, the bell over the elevator dinged, and I looked up as the silver doors, shining bright as mirrors, spread open before us. A doctor was already inside, and he gave me a politely bland look as he stepped out, like he was suppressing curiosity. He held his hand against the door for us to keep it from closing.

  “Much obliged,” I said, trying to stop my teeth from clenching while positioning Ms. Dale to one side of the elevator to make room for Amber’s gurney. Cad slipped in beside me, followed by Thomas. The doctor withdrew his hand, turning his face away, and then, thankfully, headed out into the emergency area. I exhaled and hit the button for sub-basement three, the lowest level of the facility.

  “What was he staring at me like that for?” I snapped as we went down. “Is part of my uniform on backwards or something?”

  The rest of the crew gave murmured versions of I don’t know, but Thomas spoke up thoughtfully. “It is possible the man was surprised by the bruising on your face,” he suggested. “I doubt most EMTs work sporting such injuries.”

  I huffed, thinking out loud. “We’ll have to say it was a domestic dispute, and things got violent.”

  “Those things happen,” Cad said eagerly. “I knew a guy who was an EMT once. Some crazy stuff happens to them sometimes. Once he told me that—”

  The door dinged, and Cad stopped halfway through his sentence, joining the rest of us in staring at the door as it opened. If there were people on the other side, they might very well question the plausibility of us descending to a level far, far from triage. It seemed the door couldn’t open fast enough—but finally, the metal wall drew back, and we saw an empty hallway.

  As soon I nodded, Cad was moving. Turning the gurney, he pushed left down the hallway. Then I pushed Ms. Dale through, following Cad through the doors.

  Violet’s cousin remembered the layout we’d studied in blueprints perfectly, navigating us confidently through the gray concrete hallways filled with pipes sprouting from the ceiling and humming electrical boxes scattered on the walls. This was the maintenance level, where the backup generators, oxygen controls, and water mains for the hospital were all located. Despite Thomas’ assurances these rooms did not have any security cameras, I carefully scanned the walls and ceilings as we moved.

  This time he was right, and we made excellent time locating service room three. Cad flung open its door and wheeled Amber in. I followed quickly, with Thomas bringing up the rear and closing the door.

  Once we were inside, Amber and Ms. Dale hopped off the gurneys, and from the storage space underneath them, we began pulling out the duffel bags we’d stowed our gear in. Within minutes, we’d all changed into respectable street clothes. The suit I was wearing was a bit too snug in the shoulders and crotch area, and the shoes pinched a bit, but it would have to do. I took a few painstaking moments to gather my hair into a ponytail, and then placed a pair of spectacles over my nose. The final touch was a round bowler hat atop my head.

  I couldn’t be sure how I looked; I just hoped it was enough to make me unrecognizable to Cruz. I’d had my fair share of fame in the fighting world, so it was a risk. One I was prepared to deal with if things went south.

  Tucking the gun I’d brought into the special holster at the base of my back, I added four extra clips into the holster’s built-in pockets, then took out the plastic box holding our video chip and slipped it into my back pocket. This one contained an edited version of Vi
olet’s video that Thomas had cut together, hopefully making it more comprehensible to the public.

  By the time I had finished, Ms. Dale and Amber had lined up their guns on a gurney and were in the only slightly ridiculous process of tucking them into various hidden pockets in their long, modest dresses. I tried not to stare, but not for the obvious reason—I’d had no idea how ingenious Patrian women’s clothing could be. How could a single dress fit so many weapons inside? I was never going to look at a conservatively dressed woman on the streets of Patrus the same way again.

  “How do I look?” I asked them all, adjusting my spectacles.

  Cad looked up first and gave a low wolf whistle. I gave him an incredulous look, and he shrugged and smiled. “It’s what my wife would’ve done.” I rolled my eyes, and turned to Ms. Dale and Amber.

  Amber gave me the onceover, her eyes roaming up and down my body. “I mean… you’re not my type, but damn, do you make glasses work for you. Does Violet know this look exists? Because if she doesn’t, I’m going to have to tell her immediately.”

  “I am not going to play dress-up for my fiancée,” I muttered.

  “Yes, you are, once she hears about Nerdy Viggo.” Amber turned back to the weapons on the table with a smirk, sliding a thin knife into a thigh sheath before lowering her skirts.

  Annoyed, I looked to Ms. Dale for an actual answer to my question. She gave me an approving nod, but I could tell she was biting her cheek to suppress some comment, and to be honest, by this point I was glad for her restraint.

  “All right, it’ll have to do,” I grated out. “Let’s go over our identities one more time.”

  Ms. Dale picked up a gun, chambering a round, and then slid it into one of the deep pockets of her gown, tugging at her skirts. “I’m Abigail Marks, beloved auntie to my two favorite nephews, Jeff and Jacob.” She gave me a little nod as she used the name I had chosen as my alias. “I am also a distant cousin, several times removed, to young Vivian here.”