by Lauren Esker
Debi turned the ring over and over in her fingers. "That doesn't sound like the Fletcher I know."
A soft snort. "You've known me for less than a week."
"Maybe that's so," she admitted, dropping the ring into her pocket. She reached out to touch his hand lightly. "But I don't think the man who was raised by a single, disabled dad in a run-down neighborhood, who started with nothing and built a successful company out of sheer determination and smarts, is going to give up. Not when the most important thing in your life is on the line."
"The most important thing in my life," he repeated wryly. "So I've always believed, but I'm starting to wonder. My lawyer keeps telling me to sell it off, and I have to say, the harder it gets—"
"Fletcher, I don't meant the company. I mean your daughter."
"Oh," he said quietly. "Oh." He turned to look at her, molten gold in his eyes. His hand came up; his thumb touched her mouth, and her lips parted at the gentle touch. "How do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Tell me what I need to hear. You know, Teddy—my lawyer—said the same thing to me the other day. Give her the company, he said, and maybe she'll compromise on Olivia's custody. The social worker even brought it up today. I wasn't ready to hear it. But you say it, and suddenly ... suddenly everything's clear, isn't it?" He seemed to be talking to himself now, more than to her, but his hand still cupped her face, and she couldn't have moved away if she'd wanted to. "The company is stuff. It's all just stuff. I built it once. I can build it again. Olivia, though ..."
"You can't replace people," Debi whispered, her throat aching.
The loss of her pride, her family, was a hole carved in her heart. She'd papered it over with promises of getting it back. But it wasn't coming back.
Things could be replaced, but what was left when the people you loved were gone?
She closed her eyes to stop the tears. Fletcher's hand brushed her cheek, and she opened her eyes again to find his face close, very close. The blaze of sunset's fire limned his hair, his lashes.
"You look so sad," he murmured. "You've just cut straight through the biggest dilemma in my life; you've shown me where my heart is. How can I give that back to you?"
"You can't," she whispered, "but you can help me feel something else for awhile."
She opened her mouth for him, and he sealed his lips on hers. One hand cupped the base of her skull, pulling her in as he kissed her as fiercely as any lion, teeth clashing, tongue exploring her mouth.
With Fletcher kissing her, she couldn't think about anything else. Eyes closed, she sank wholeheartedly into the heat of his mouth on hers. One of his hands brushed against her waist, pulling out her blouse where she'd tucked it into her slacks. His fingers found a gap, and she gasped into his mouth as he touched her skin, and felt Fletcher smile against her lips.
His exploring hand moved across the gentle curve of her stomach, up to her breasts, teased over the silky fabric of her bra. She arched her back and pressed into his touch, every stroke of his hands lighting up her nerve endings. Her hands seemed to move without her conscious control, gripping his waist and pulling him toward her.
Fletcher fumbled behind her back and unhooked her bra, his lips never leaving hers. Her breasts swung free, the suddenly loosened satin slipping over her stiffening nipples. She pulled Fletcher's shirt out of his waistband so she could slide her hands under it, finally getting a chance to run her hands over his ribs, over the firm muscles of his abdomen and his back.
She was half in his lap; she wanted to touch him everywhere, to feel him everywhere. It wasn't until Fletcher began to unbutton her slacks that she suddenly came back to herself, the reality of the situation catching up with her.
What am I doing?
If he took her pants off, he'd find—
So what was she going to do, hide it for the rest of her life? Never have sex again?
Please don't get your hopes up, Nia had told her. Like it or not, this was her life now, and the tracking monitor was part of that, at least for the time being.
She became aware that Fletcher had stopped kissing her and had pulled back to give her a questioning look. She hadn't had to go so far as to push his hands away, but he had still noticed her sudden unresponsiveness.
"Is everything okay? If we're moving too fast—"
"No, it isn't that." She shook her head vigorously; loose hair tumbled into her face. "It's really, really not that. Fletcher, I want—believe me, I want what you're offering. But before we go any further, I need to tell you something."
"Anything," he whispered.
"It—it might change how you think of me."
He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. "Nothing could ever do that."
She tried not to take that promise into her heart. It hurt less to reject hope than to have it betrayed. "I need to tell you why I didn't go home with you last night."
He inclined his head: listening. Listening with his whole body, his whole self, the way he could do—making her feel like the only thing in the world.
"It's because of this."
Debi hooked a finger under the hem of her loose, flaring pants leg, twitching it up to reveal the monitor anklet.
She was braced for shock, horror, distrust. Instead she saw only curiosity.
"What is it? No ..." He interrupted himself with the answer. "I've seen one of those before. I had an employee who got a DUI and had to wear one. It didn't quite look like that, though."
"This one's special. Made for shifters." She curled her fingers over the cool surface, a rugged plastic housing over a metal core. "It reports my location and stops me from shifting."
"Stops you? How?"
"I'm a lion. Have you ever seen how big one of those is?" She smiled without humor. "Now imagine what happens if I shift with something like that on my leg. It'd crush every bone in my ankle."
Fletcher whistled softly. His face showed the very last thing she'd expected—a soft-eyed sympathy. In a gentle tone, he asked, "May I touch it?"
Not trusting her voice, she nodded.
Rather than reaching for it directly, he glided a hand down her leg until finally he touched the monitor, turned it to look at it more closely, and at last curled his fingers loosely around her ankle. "You know," he said, "I was right all along."
"About what?"
"You have very pretty feet."
"Fletcher." She wasn't in a mood to be teased. "It's a tracking monitor. You understand what that means, right? I'm a criminal."
"I know." He rubbed her ankle gently, right along the edge, where the monitor always seemed to press in and make her itch. "But remember what you told me earlier, that you know me—not who the world sees, but who I really am. It works both ways. I also know you. Maybe there's something in your past you're ashamed of, but the person I've gotten to know is worthy. Honorable."
Unshed tears pressed painfully at her eyes. "That just proves you don't know me at all."
"No? Maybe I know you better than you know yourself."
"You haven't even asked what I've done."
"I don't care what you've done." He went on rubbing at her ankle, fingertips gliding over the hollow above her heel. "You can tell me if you want to. But you don't have to. Whatever it was, it's in your past, and what matters to me is you, here, now."
His kiss this time was gentle, sipping at her lips, drawing a slowly rising response from her body until she was leaning into him again. One of her hands wrapped around the back of his neck, and the other found the enticing gap between his shirt and the waistband of his pants. He still held her ankle loosely, and somehow in her mind it was as if the ever-present, ever-hated weight of the anklet was overwritten by his gentle touch, transformed from a symbol of her imprisonment to a reminder of being held and cherished.
Her loose bra was starting to annoy her. She squirmed in his lap and stripped off her silk blouse, the bra following it an instant later. Relief! She stretched her arms above her head, grinning at Fletche
r's expression, which was all she'd hoped for and more. "Well, don't just sit there and admire them. Let's get some action here."
"Wow," Fletcher murmured. He cupped a breast in each hand and bent to lap at first one erect nipple, then the other. Shivers coursed through her at each stroke of his tongue.
Looking up at her, flushed and tousled, he murmured, "You have the world's most gorgeous breasts."
"You're only saying that because they're in your face." She began to unbutton his shirt. "And you're wearing too many clothes. I think it's time to do something about that."
Fletcher laughed softly. He kissed her neck, pressed kisses to her collarbone and shoulder. At her wordless urging, he held out his arms so she could peel off the dress shirt, followed by his undershirt.
He was nicely built, as she'd thought from the way he wore his suits. Not overly muscled, but strong, with defined shoulders and arms that were strong enough to raise her—as he now did—bringing both of them up to their knees.
She was just a little taller like this, just enough that he had easy access to her sensitive nipples, while she bit at the back of his neck and kissed his shoulders. Fletcher ran a hand across her inner thigh. She was still wearing her pants, but she spread her legs eagerly. She shivered when he cupped his hand over her damp mound, the touch to her sensitized clit electric even through two layers of fabric. Hooking a leg around his thigh, she spread herself further, grinding into his hand.
She couldn't help wondering if any late-working office workers in nearby towers were getting a show. But, no—the angle of the setting sun would hide Fletcher's office behind a sheen of fire.
Not that she cared right now if anyone saw them or not. Fletcher's hands were all over her, and hers were all over him, their bodies writhing together as they kissed and bit and licked. He was lean and golden in the setting sun's light. She wanted him to take her, to pound her, to bend her over his desk. She wanted to take him; she wanted to make him beg for her touch.
"Now," she gasped, fumbling at his trousers, half pulling them down.
"Wait. Got an idea—"
He stood up with Debi wrapped around him. His erection tented out the front of his trousers, now unfastened and sagging over his narrow hips. Together, tangled up in each other, they stumbled to the desk until it hit the backs of her legs. She rested her backside against it.
Fletcher hooked a finger in each side of her waistband and pulled down her slacks, sinking to his knees as he did so. Her silk panties followed, and as she sank her fingers into his hair, he lapped at her inner thighs and then buried his tongue in her.
Debi moaned. Braced against the desk, she managed to keep herself from falling. Every stroke of his tongue went straight to her hot molten core.
He pulled back long enough to lick one finger before sliding it into her slick entrance. She threw back her head with a drawn-out groan. Another finger followed. He stroked in and out while his tongue explored each fold and flicked the heated nub of her clit.
She'd never had a guy go down on her before. Never thought she'd like it. Sex for her had been fierce and fast, a temporary melding of bodies, over all too soon.
But Fletcher seemed determined to make it last. Debi had to push back her rising pleasure, struggling for self-control. His fingers weren't enough. She wanted to feel this forever—she wanted it now—she wanted—
"Fletcher," she gasped out. "I want you in me—now!"
Fletcher sat back on his heels, looking up at her, wet lips curved in a grin. His eyes were dilated with arousal. "You sure you don't want ..." His fingers moved in her, drawing out another gasp.
"You," she panted. "I want you. All of you."
"The lady's wish is my command." He drew his fingers out of her and she moaned again with the feeling of it, slipping away, leaving her empty. "Hang on. Condoms in the desk."
"Why do you have condoms in your desk?" she managed to ask as he leaned over it, and past her, to rummage through the drawers. "No, nevermind. I'm pretty sure that's not something I want the answer to." In her present state, the last thing she wanted was to hear the word Chloe.
Fletcher grinned triumphantly as he came up with a box of Trojans and turned to kiss her shoulder. "Trust me, I don't make a habit of having sex in my office. That doesn't mean I want to be unprepared if the opportunity should, so to speak, thrust itself upon me."
"I'm having sex with a man who's making bad puns while I'm standing here with my pants around my ankles."
Fletcher kissed her thoroughly and pressed the box of condoms into her hand. "Here, do the honors—for efficiency," he explained as he shimmied out of his pants.
Debi ripped open a condom packet with her teeth. She was hovering on the brink, her whole body thrumming like a plucked guitar string. Dark clouds, rolling in from the ocean, had swallowed the setting sun, and her eyes dilated to use her feline night vision to pierce the growing twilight inside Fletcher's office.
"You want a light on?" he murmured, turning to her.
"No. I like this."
He was uncut and long. She went to her knees with the condom in her hand. A quick stroke of her tongue over his salty tip made him gasp. She smoothed her tongue up his shaft from head to base, and followed it with the condom, rolling it inch by inch.
"Gotta be thorough," she remarked indistinctly, rolling her tongue around the tip of his cock as it strained against the rubber, and then took his head into her mouth.
"This is ... payback ... isn't it?" Fletcher gasped out.
"Of the very sweetest kind." She rolled his balls gently in her hand as she laved the tip of his cock thoroughly. When she'd licked it to throbbing rigidity, she straightened in a single fluid motion, turning around to bend over the desk.
"Holy crap," Fletcher muttered. He covered her from behind, his warm weight pressing against her back. With one hand, he guided himself into her wet, eager entrance.
Oh yes. She thrust her hips back, jamming her ass against him. Fletcher wrapped one arm around her to fondle her breasts, the other braced against the top of the desk to hold himself upright as he pounded into her. His first strokes were still finding his rhythm, still feeling out how much of him she could take. The answer was all of him; she spread her legs, opening herself, wide and willing. Fletcher thrust deep, biting at the back of her neck, and she growled instinctively as the sensation tugged at her primal nature.
All of you, she thought dazedly. Sweat slicked both their bodies; she moved in rapid rhythm with him. All of me.
Tension mounted in her, and then Fletcher's hand settled between her legs, fingering her clit, and she came with a burst of pure white-hot sensation that made sparks dance behind her eyes. Fletcher followed her a second later, his body stiffening against hers as he found his release.
They came down together, shivering with reaction. Fletcher wrapped his arms around her and slowly bent his knees to take both of them down to the floor, even as he slid out of her. They ended up curled together on the deep pile carpet.
Outside the window, darkness had come down on the city, the clouds closing in on the last streaks of light in the sky. The most distant of the city lights looked hazy. Rain, Debi thought, rolling in from the sea.
A moment later the first drops rattled against the window, blurring the lights beyond. Fletcher let out a long sigh and nuzzled against her neck.
"Feeling better?" she murmured.
"Feeling no pain, that's for sure."
He peeled himself reluctantly off her to ball up the used condom. Debi sat up and watched him tuck it deep into his office wastebasket, covering it with a wad of crumpled printer paper.
"Perish the thought the janitor should discover we were fucking on your desk."
Her night vision was good enough to see Fletcher blush all the way down to his collarbone, though a human would not have been able to. "Hey, I often work late enough to chat with the custodial staff in the elevator. I want to be able to look them in the eye."
Because of course he was
the kind of person who talked to the janitors. Debi sat up, feeling chilly, and not just because of the sweat drying on her skin. Had she ever even met the janitors at Lion's Share? She certainly hadn't known their names. And she hadn't thought about what had happened to them, about what had happened to any of the staff who'd been suddenly let go when the business was dissolved.
It was a lot more than just our victims who were affected by my family's crimes.
And the same would be true of Fletcher's business if it went under because of Chloe's mismanagement. They employed a lot of people, people like Janice, who needed this job to afford health care for her son ...
Debi squeezed her eyes shut. Life had been so much easier when she'd only worried about herself.
"Hey." Fletcher's voice was soft. He lifted her chin with his hand, and she opened her eyes to return his calm gaze. In the near-darkness, she must have seemed like little more than a study in chiaroscuro to him. "Are you cold? You're shivering."
It was an out, and she gladly pounced on it. "A true gentleman would hand me my shirt."
"Oh, well in that case ..." He tossed her balled-up silk blouse to her, followed an instant later by her bra. "And for these ..." Her panties dangled from his hand.
"Those too."
"Only if the ransom is paid."
"I'm guessing the ransom involves some part of my body."
"Just your lips," he murmured, leaning in for a kiss.
They dressed with the languid slowness of the sexually satisfied, stopping now and again to trade kisses. Debi couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like this without—or even with—alcohol: relaxed and happy and content.
"Dinner?" Fletcher asked. "I don't have plans for tonight, and Chloe has Olivia." The mention of his ex darkened his face briefly, but he managed to shake it off. "You pick the restaurant this time."
"I don't know, I liked your choice last time."