by PM Kavanaugh
“How much pawing took place?” Gianni’s tone was grim.
“Not much,” Anika said, shaking her head. “No clothes were removed during the...um, encounter.”
“The guy sounds like an amateur.”
“Lucky for me.”
“Lucky for him,” Gianni replied, his voice tight.
Their eyes met.
The heat in his gaze was fueled by something different than anger, but equally primal. Possessiveness. Desire.
Anika’s skin prickled in response. She wanted to feel his skin on hers; she didn’t care if she got burned. She pushed away from the wall and stumbled toward him.
He caught her by the shoulders, steadied her.
She leaned against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He felt as solid as the wall. Only much, much nicer to hold onto, even if his nearness made her head spin more than the alcohol. “I should have said yes.” She pressed her lips to his.
His mouth parted and his arms closed around her, setting off sparks.
She drew back. Took his face, his gorgeous face, between her hands. “Yes,” she repeated, drinking in the sight of him, delighting in the feel of him. “On the tarmac. Yes. To the café. Yes. To us. I’m saying yes now.” She buried her face in his chest, reveling in the warmth of his hands at her waist. “Yes, yes, yes.” She couldn’t seem to stop saying it. She’d waited so long to be able to say it, and wanted to be sure he heard her now. She needed him to know how much she wanted him.
He placed his hand under her chin and tilted her head up. “I’ll help you upstairs.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Fireworks of joy and desire exploded inside her. Her dream was coming true. Gianni was here, with her, in her apartment. He was holding her hand, leading her up the stairs, toward the bed she had bought for the two of them. She started laughing. “Yes, yes, yes.” He led her higher and higher. Then he was helping her sit down on the edge of the bed, taking off her boots, swinging her legs up and over. She stretched her arms overhead, sighed, and closed her eyes. They were entering the best part of the dream. The part where he would take off the rest of her clothes, then his own, then lie down next to her. Or, better yet, on top of her. Press her body into the mattress with the weight of his own. She would wrap her legs around him, mold her body to his. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“Drink this.”
Her eyes blinked open. It took a moment for her vision to clear. She saw the bottle of Dry Out in Gianni’s outstretched hand. He still had his clothes on. So did she. “Wha—”
He brought the glass to her lips and tipped its contents into her mouth.
The taste of cherry chalk coated her tongue and cheeks. She shuddered and swallowed.
He set the bottle on the attached side table. “Remember, briefing at oh-six-hundred hours.” Then he returned to the head of the stairs and disappeared down into the darkness.
Chapter 10
“Cut! Cut!” The director of the sex vid sounded exasperated. “Take five. We’ll go again.”
The room’s lights brightened. The director jumped up from his chair and led his crew of three—visual engineer, sound technician, and wardrobe consultant—out of the room.
Anika lay back on the bed and snugged the sheets around her almost-naked body.
Before the shoot had started, the wardrobe consultant had applied ThickSkin spray-on material to her ass and her pelvis, below her hip bones. When Anika had asked for more covering, the woman’s hot-pink eyebrows scrunched together as she seemed to be considering the request. After a quick nod, she got to work decorating Anika’s breasts with a multi-colored serpent design, then spritzed her with a bronze mist, touched up her lip stain, and announced, “She’s ready.”
Now, Anika didn’t know if she wanted to cry or to scream. Or to strangle the operative, Guang Lin, who lay next to her. They had been rehearsing for more than two hours and, so far, had nothing to show for it.
“I’m sorry,” Lin whispered.
She looked over at the man who was her partner on her newest mission. His pale skin looked even paler in the bright lighting. Sweat beaded his scalp, visible through his dark spiky hair. A wet trickle ran down the side of his face. He was a Level 1 operative from her same class. She had sparred with him a few times during fight training. He had some decent moves, but once she had learned how to counter them, he never won a match against her. She didn’t remember him excelling in any of her other classes or seminars, and, at the time, she had doubted he would graduate. Apparently, she had been wrong.
They had been briefed this morning, then ordered to report here to start preparations for their upcoming mission as undercover husband-and-wife assassins who had been married for two years. They had been informed they would need a souvenir video, a sexual one, to add credibility to their cover. Most couples, married or not, stored at least one sex vid on their handhelds and/or in their personal archives. Some recorded their first time together as casually as they recorded their first date, first kiss, first house, and first child. Others held off on a sex vid until they were serious about each other, even waiting until their honeymoon to make one as a symbol of their commitment to each other.
Anika had recorded a few kissing videos with the other kids, both guys and girls, in the orphanage. They had been innocent adolescent experiments. But there were no recordings of her experiences with lovemaking. She didn’t want a tangible reminder of the disappointing ones, including her first with a popular boy in her class who admitted, after a rushed and unsatisfying encounter, she was his first “federal.” Those worth remembering, she preferred to relive in her mind rather than on screen.
When she had learned at the briefing that shooting a mock sex vid was part of mission prep, Anika’s stomach had clenched in dismay. She didn’t want to do it. While her trainers had discussed the potential need for these kinds of videos as part of fieldwork, no recruit had been required to make them during training. The agency was more focused on fighting and shooting and surveillance drills.
Lin had seemed equally dismayed at the mention of a mock sex vid. He had tried to object by questioning how a video could be made today, with an accurate timestamp, when, in reality, their aliases’ souvenir sex vid would likely have been recorded earlier in their two-year relationship.
The briefing agent had been dismissive, even belittling, in his response. “Because we’ll scrub the date and time indicators. I’m surprised you don’t remember that from your training. Any more dumb questions?”
Anika had charged out of the room, with Lin trailing behind. If they had to record a mock a sex vid, she wanted to get it over with.
She knew she didn’t have a choice. The briefing agent was right. Having a sex vid would strengthen their backstory as a married couple. They might even need a variety of souvenir videos to “document” their relationship history. The thought of recording multiple fake romantic scenarios with Lin made Anika cringe, but she couldn’t afford to object. She had narrowly escaped discipline, or worse, for her failure to shoot during the Belgrade mission. She had to prove herself with this new mission. That meant no protests, no refusals, no missteps.
The director and his three-person team had all tried coaching Anika and Lin through their miming various moves in an attempt to capture realistic-looking foreplay and intercourse.
Lin was a terrible performer. Awkward in the extreme, his arms and legs twitched and jerked like a malfunctioning toy robot with every cue by the director. He had gotten hard and ejaculated within two minutes of climbing into bed with Anika.
She had tried to be sympathetic. Lin didn’t want to be here anymore than she did. And her own performance wasn’t much better than his. She couldn’t seem to stop her muscles from tensing every time his skin touched hers. But, in the moment, all she had felt was queasy and resentful at the delay. She wanted to put this embarrassing, uncomfortable session behind her as quickly as possible.
After Lin had cleaned up, they had tried again. And again.
Finally,
in frustration, the director had ordered endorphin shots for both of them. But the induced euphoria didn’t translate to persuasive passion on screen.
At one point, the director had yelled, “No, no! You’re about as convincing as first gen droids.”
Now, as she lay next to Lin, Anika wondered what she could do to at least improve her own acting. Earlier, she had tried pretending Lin was the man she really wanted beside her. Bad idea.
When she had closed her eyes and conjured an image of Gianni’s face, she remembered what had happened the previous night. How she had clung to him, saying yes, yes, yes over and over, like a schoolgirl with her first crush, only to be humiliated when he escorted her upstairs to her giant bed and then left her alone in it. She had lain awake, staring at the ceiling, until 0300 hours when she had finally taken a soother. The two hours of sleep before the alarm jolted her awake had helped, but fatigue still pulled on her, like weights made of osmium attached to her limbs.
She wanted nothing more than to roll onto her side, curl into a ball, and drop into a dreamless sleep. But if she did that, it would be over. She would fail the mission, the agency, herself. Not going to happen. Not after she had worked so hard to be chosen, to belong. She had to help Lin get over his discomfort. Get him out of his head and into his body. Then, let nature take over. Resolve chased away her fatigue.
“Lin,” she whispered. “It’s okay. There’s nothing to be sorry about. This prep is really hard. But if we work together, I know we can do it.” Lin didn’t respond. “Come on. Look at me.” He turned his head, but his gaze landed somewhere above her shoulder. “No, Guang, look at me.” His frightened-animal gaze skittered down her face, shot back up, then down again, then back up. She lay still until his gaze finally settled. “It won’t be long before they come back. Forty-four seconds, I think.”
“Forty-one,” he said, machine-like.
Clearly, Lin had been practicing his time tracking. She was still working on perfecting her technique. “Right. Forty-one. It’s just us now. No one else. No camera, no crew, no director. So, relax and sync your breathing with mine. In-two-three. Out-two-three.”
“Why?” Lin asked.
Anika’s lips compressed. “Just do it. In-two-three. Out-two-three.” She watched Lin’s chest expand and contract in time with her breath count. “That’s it. Keep going. Whatever happens, just keep breathing.” She rolled onto her side and scooted closer to him. His eyes widened and his nostrils flared, but his breathing stayed even. “Good. In-two-three.” She rested her hand on his chest. “Out-two-three. I’m going to place my lips on yours. In-two-three. Out-two-three. And when I do, open your mouth a little and...taste me. Okay?”
Lin’s gaze locked on her mouth as if it was a lethal weapon.
“Look at me. Watch me.” His gaze moved up. He had nice eyes, she noticed. Light brown, with a gold rim around the pupil. “Keep breathing.” She lowered her head until their lips touched.
Pain, hot and sharp, shot through her lower lip. Anika reared back. “Ouch,” she yelped. “I said ‘taste,’ not ‘bite.’” She pressed her fingers to her mouth and wiped away blood. Her lower lip was already starting to swell.
The door opened, and the video crew filed back inside. “What the hell?” the director yelled.
Anika looked up and froze.
Gianni had joined them. “Are you all right?” he asked. His tone was professional, but Anika detected a flash of concern in his gaze. At least, she hoped she did.
She pulled the bed sheet around her and nodded.
“What happened?” the director asked, arms crossed, legs wide.
“We were trying to...relax-sh.” The last word came out with an extra syllable from Anika’s swollen lip.
“This isn’t supposed to be a rough sex vid,” the director said. “Although, at this point, I’d settle for anything that looked halfway decent.”
“Let me see.” Gianni walked over to the monitor. “Play back,” he ordered. The light from the monitor shone on Gianni’s face as he watched a few minutes of the session. His expression remained impassive.
Anika sank onto her haunches. Sweat rivulets slid down her back. She wanted to disappear from embarrassment. What was Gianni thinking as he watched her with Lin? Did she look like a complete amateur? Last night, he had been jealous when he saw her with JoJo at the bar. Was he jealous now? Or did he consider this just part of the job? She couldn’t detect any emotion from him.
Gianni looked up from the monitor. “Lin, report to the sim lab.”
Lin didn’t move.
“Now,” Gianni said.
Anika nudged him.
Lin bolted from the bed, into his clothes, and out the door.
“We were making progress,” Anika said.
Gianni studied her puffy lip. “Yes, I can see that.”
Annoyance darted through her. Did he think this was easy for her? Had he ever made a mock sex vid?
“Give us time,” she said. “We’ll get there.”
“There’s no more time. We’re going with a different scenario.”
“What scenario?”
“I’m replacing Lin.”
Anika’s pulse jet rocketed. She tightened the sheets around her. God, no. Please, no. “You are?”
Gianni turned to the wardrobe consultant. “Get me ready.”
“Behind there,” the woman replied, nodding at the hinged dark screen in the corner of the room. “Everything off.”
Gianni disappeared behind the screen. The consultant followed. The engineer and the director huddled near the camera and monitor, murmuring back and forth.
Anika wished the bed would swallow her so she could escape what was coming. Not like this, she thought. Not for our first time. For months, she had dreamed of being with Gianni, in bed, their arms and legs wrapped around each other. This was as far from that dream as she could imagine. Their first time, taking place in front of a film crew, being recorded as cover for a mission in which they were pretending to be other people. Assassins. Contract killers. Her stomach churned and she prayed she wouldn’t be sick.
The wardrobe consultant reappeared and approached Anika, a tube in her hand. “I need to fix that lip.” The woman dabbed a gel that smelled of honey and disinfectant on Anika’s lip. The pain and throbbing vanished. She applied more lip stain, studied Anika through narrowed eyes, and nodded. “That’ll do,” she said.
Gianni stepped out from behind the screen.
Anika’s gaze darted across his face, chest, groin, and legs. He wore nothing except for some ThickSkin over his groin. Even the silver chain was gone from his neck. Her quick scan had confirmed a glorious image of taut muscles, sharp angles, and smooth hollows. She couldn’t bring herself to look into his eyes. Instead, her gaze fixed on his bare feet. They looked solid, strong, with well-defined tendons extending from the base of each toe.
“Where do you want me?” Gianni asked the director.
“Behind her. Start by kissing her neck and shoulder. We’ll go from there.”
Anika watched Gianni’s feet pad across the floor toward the bed until they disappeared from her peripheral vision. Her fingers clenched the sheets so tightly they started to cramp. The mattress dipped as Gianni sat on it. She could feel the heat from his body warm her back.
“Action,” the director said.
Gianni’s lips brushed the right side of her neck.
Anika jerked and gasped.
“Cut,” the director said.
Gianni pulled away.
“Sounds are okay,” the director said, “as long as they convey you’re enjoying yourself. Not that you’re being tortured. Got it? Let’s go again. Action.”
Gianni spoke into her ear. “Close your eyes. Pretend it’s just us.”
Anika turned her head to look into his eyes, searching for the man inside the operative. For a few precious heartbeats, she found him. It reassured her. Maybe she would be able to go through with this after all. She let her lids fall shut.
/> This time, when his lips touched her skin, Anika focused on the dual sensations of pressure and warmth. His nearness caused her pulse to quicken, her heart to pound. Her head rolled back against his shoulder and she gave a soft moan. As his lips planted open-mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulder, her mind cried out yes, yes, yes. She flashed back to last night when she had said that word. Out loud. Over and over. Waves of remorse and humiliation rose inside her and doused the glow from Gianni’s touch. Her head snapped upright.
“Cut!” the director yelled.
Anika squeezed her eyes shut and knocked her fist against her forehead. “Sorry,” she muttered.
The mattress dipped and rose as Gianni stood and walked over to the director.
Anika scrambled out of the bed, dragging the sheet with her. She stood against the wall, and tried to recall the calming techniques from her bio psych seminars. She concentrated on a mark in the paint and forced her breath to slow to an even count. In, out, in, out, in, out.
After a few minutes, the crew started packing up the equipment and Gianni stepped back behind the screen.
“What’s going on?” Anika asked. “Aren’t we going to try again?”
Gianni reappeared. He had changed back into his dark pants and T-shirt. A length of silver chain peeked out from the neckline. He approached her. “How’s your wrist?”
“What? My...it’s fine. Don’t we need to try again? I can do this.” Anika grabbed his arm, letting the sheet slip from her shoulders. “Please.”
“How much function have you recovered in your wrist?”
“Eighty-eight percent.”
His gaze tracked over her, seeming to catalog every drop of dried sweat, every line of fatigue. She must have looked like hell.
“Do another PT session,” he said. “Study up on your alias. Get some sleep, a solid eight hours at least. Or spend time in a relaxation tank.”
“What about the vid?” she asked.