Operation Owl (Beyond Fairytales)

by Tara Quan

  “I thought we also established I’m not a wimp.” She gave him a scathing look. “I can walk.”

  Turning around, he patted his own shoulder. “Even Wonder Woman can have princess feet. Come on, you know you want to.”

  He heard what sounded like a splashing stomp but soon felt her little hands against his back. “Fine, but only because this is all your super-paranoid fault. The bus would have been just as safe.”

  Bending his knees so she could grab his shoulders, he reached back and hooked his arms under her thighs. Needing a distraction from the warm, smooth skin against his palms, he argued, “I learned a while back caution pays off. I didn’t want to take any chances.” Not with her safety on the line.

  She hopped up and looped her arms around his neck. “I’m heavier than I look, aren’t I?”

  Having her luscious body pressed up against him, her breath warming his nape, bothered him a great deal more than the added weight. “I’ve heard muscle weighs more than fat.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere.” She nipped his earlobe.

  Blood rushed to his groin. Fearing he might drop her, he took a calming breath. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “What do you think?” Her lips continued to graze his ear.

  He put one foot in front of the other. “I’m glad your mood’s improved, but stop playing,” he gritted out. “If we want to stay friends, we need to be careful. You know it as well as I do.”

  She rested her chin against his shoulder. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The time to put his cards on the table had come and gone but better late than never. “You know damn well I want to kiss you.”

  “Of course.”

  He almost tripped. “What do you mean, ‘of course’?”

  He couldn’t see her, but somehow he knew she was rolling those big, beautiful eyes. “Well, you almost kissed me on the Orange Line, then again on the Red Line, once on the Yellow Line, twice on the Blue Line, and then there’s the bus and bike racks. I mean, if someone is watching security footage of us, they’d probably think you’re a tease.”

  He wasn’t sure if the line of liquid running down his spine was rain or nervous sweat. “I didn’t do any such thing.”

  She adjusted her position, the movement sliding her soft breasts between his scapulas. “What do you call leaning in and hovering a few inches from my mouth?”

  “A mistake?” Had he said that out loud?

  She twisted his ear, confirming the suspicion. “What’s so wrong with kissing me?”

  “Damn it, Maya. I’m not that interested in you,” he lied.

  She snorted. “So why do you have an erection?”

  Stopping, he glared down at his crotch. Despite his sodden jeans, one body part seemed to have more than its fair share of circulation. “I’m a dude. What can I say?”

  She leaned over his shoulder, caught his chin, and twisted his face until their gazes met. “You can admit there’s something between us. You can tell me I didn’t misjudge the situation five years ago—that you wanted to kiss me then, and you want to kiss me now.”

  The memory of having her soft, yielding body spread beneath him heightened his state of arousal. His throat went dry; his skin tingled. He hated she knew him this well.

  She looked into his eyes as rain drops glided over her long lashes and slid down her cheeks. The stark vulnerability on her face made his stomach turn. “All this time, I thought you didn’t see me that way—that I did something wrong when I kissed you. But I didn’t, did I?”

  “Hell, no.” He looked away. “I was the one who messed up.”

  “It’s nice to hear you say that out loud. Please, continue.” She rested her head on his shoulder, her soft skin sending odd sensations from his nape to his crotch.

  He walked forward in silence, waiting for her to break it. When she didn’t, he took a deep breath. “Five years ago, I ran because I was scared. I knew anything between us would be serious—that it would be life changing. I wasn’t ready. Not back then.”

  “And now?” She brushed her lips over his neck—a soft, fleeting caress that threatened to turn his resolve into smoke.

  “Now I’ve royally fucked up my life, and I refuse to drag you down with me.” He heaved out a pent up breath. “Whether or not we manage to make this conspiracy public, I broke the law. Worst-case scenario, they catch me and I get sent to Guantanamo Bay. Best-case scenario, I leave the country and petition for asylum somewhere far away from everyone we know or love. You don’t want your future tied to a guy like me.”

  She whacked the side of his head.

  “Oww….” If he weren’t holding her legs, he would have rubbed his cheek.

  “Our future is already tied, you idiot. What do you call the armed men who broke into my apartment this morning?” Her voice was loud enough heads turned in their direction despite the din of rainfall.

  He cleared his throat in warning.

  “You don’t get to decide who I can or cannot kiss,” she hissed into his ear, “and that includes yourself.”

  “I’m pretty sure I can,” he muttered.

  “And by the way, we’re so going to have sex. It’s five years late, and I’m not waiting a day longer.”

  His spine straightened. “There’s no fucking chance—”

  “I’ve decided. It’s the only way to stop your Mr. Darcy routine.” Her chirpy tone didn’t bode well.

  He breathed a sigh of relief as the bridge ended. He turned left, then right, heading up a small hill. “I don’t even know what that means, and even if I were interested, I’m too damn tired to get it up.”

  “Then we’ll just have to see who wins.”

  Zack’s stomach knotted. As much as he hated to admit it, Maya had beaten him at every game they ever played.

  Chapter Five

  Maya stepped into the tiny studio apartment. “Nice place.”

  The small room had an open floor plan, with a kitchen to the right and a closet door to her left. Looking around the corner, she surmised the bathroom was located on the other side of that closet. A queen-sized bed sat in the far left corner, bordered by a wall of sliding bamboo doors. A square glass table and two chrome chairs separated the cooking and sleeping spaces.

  Considering the location, modern kitchen appliances came as a surprise. Despite being one of D.C.’s busiest shopping districts, rental properties in Georgetown comprised of repurposed brownstones and townhouses, most of which had more character than comfort. Situated in the basement of one such brick-faced building, this unit showed signs of recent renovation, which was a good indication there’d be ample hot water.

  Zack bolted the door behind her. “It’s one of the few places I could sublet in cash. The owners are out of the country, and the management company was too eager to be thorough.”

  Dirty dishes filled the sink. An open box of cereal sat on the table, and a torn mesh hamper leaned against the foot of the bed, overflowing with what looked like recently dried clothes. “You’ve clearly settled in.”

  “Yup. I’ve been here a week.” He’d either ignored or missed her sarcasm. “I figured the longer people had to forget my face, the better, and I wanted to have a fully functioning safe house before I contacted you. You know, in case things went wrong.”

  He sounded so guilty she couldn’t help but turn and reach for his hand. “Everything turned out fine, considering the circumstances.” She squeezed his fingers. “So this place is safe?”

  “There’s nothing linking it to you or me, and no one followed us here.” He shrugged. “Best we can hope for, I guess.”

  Outside, it had been warm enough for comfort. With the air conditioner at full blast, her wet clothes threatened to freeze. She shivered.

  “I bet you’re dying for a hot shower. Let’s start by taking those sandals off.” He reached to their side and opened the sliding closet door. Within the enclosed space stood a multi-tiered shoe rack. To its left she saw a stacked washer-dry
er.

  “Okay, now I’m impressed.” In-unit laundry appliances weren’t standard in converted buildings. She contemplated her next move as Zack yanked off his wet sneakers and dripping socks. Steeling herself for pain, she detached her sandals’ back Velcro straps and tried to step out of what had turned into instruments of torture. She winced when a blister scraped the side of her foot.

  He knelt in front of her. “Here, let me help.”

  With infinite care, he slipped one foot free and set the shoe aside. The other one came off with even less discomfort. As if afraid of looking at her legs for too long, he leapt to a standing position. “All your skin is intact. It doesn’t look like you’ll need Band-Aids.”

  She took a step back to stand on the floor mat near the entrance door. “I should strip here so I don’t drip everywhere.”

  The panicked expression on his face almost made her laugh. “I’ll get a towel—”

  She grabbed his wrist before he could turn. Having thought through this moment ever since she threatened to kiss him back on the bridge, she knew what she wanted to do. But now that the time for execution had arrived, fear of rejection kept her from making a move. What if she got naked and he still pushed her away?

  Pulling her shoulders back, she filled her lungs before letting out a calming breath. Sometimes, a girl must take a leap of faith. “Stay here…. Please.”

  Seconds ticked passed, marked by the sound of water dripping off their hair and clothes onto the hardwood floor. He clenched the hand she held into a fist, his brows furrowing as if in concentration. If he yanked free of her hold, that would be that.

  But he didn’t walk away. For now, it had to be enough. Without releasing him, she used her free hand to pull down the zipper of her sweatshirt.

  He followed her slow progression with his gaze as the waterlogged metal hinges came apart. His forearm muscles tightened in her grasp, which she took as a positive sign. When the zipper reached the end and detached, the hoodie’s heavy sides separated to reveal her camisole.

  Heat flooded her cheeks, but the moment of brazenness brought him a step closer. Inches away from each other, she could feel heat rolling off him in waves. The scent of rain, minty aftershave, and something uniquely Zack overwhelmed her senses. His labored breaths and heightened color urged her to continue despite increasing self-consciousness. Something—female intuition, perhaps—convinced her she held the upper hand.

  He came even closer, bringing them toe-to-toe. “I’m not going to kiss you.”

  She looked down at their bare feet, noticing the difference in size and shape. Her toes were round and short; his were longer and bony. Her skin was several shades darker but smooth enough to glisten under the dim hallway light. Though pale, the top of his foot was covered in a light dusting of hair, making the texture appear coarser and more masculine.

  She lifted her head and followed his gaze to her chest. Water slid off her hair, falling in lines over her bare shoulders and into her cleavage. Her areolae appeared as dark circles underneath the light pink top. The wet cotton attached to her skin, contouring over her puckering nipples as well as the V between her legs. Her underwear visible through soaked shorts, she might as well be naked.

  And despite her less than noble intentions, despite the absolute rightness of this decision, her face grew warmer. She’d read plenty of raunchy books, watched love scenes in movies, and fantasized about this moment countless times. But it terrified her to expose her body to the one man she had ever wanted.

  Did his heart pound in rhythm with hers? Did he also find it difficult to breathe? The sodden dark T-shirt molded over his broad chest and shoulders. Damp curls plastered to his skin and framed his angled face. Looking at him made coherent thought difficult. She needed to know she affected him the same way.

  Placing one hand on his nape, she drew his head down and lifted onto the balls of her feet. He resisted, the silent rejection demolishing her resolve. As if scorched, she jerked her arm back.

  Lowering his head, he muttered a string of curses. “God fucking damn it. I said I wasn’t going to kiss you.”

  He sounded so annoyed, the corners of her lips lifted a moment before he fused his mouth with hers. His hands crashed into the thick wood door, fisting on either side of her head. The rush of triumph, of being proven right, didn’t compare to the inferno taking over her body. She’d yearned for this kiss—dreamed about it since the day he’d given her a taste before walking away—and now she didn’t know if she could handle it.

  His tongue taunted hers into action, pushing with an intensity that eclipsed the memory from years past. Her vision hazed red, her lids growing heavy as he drew out the caress. She forgot to breathe, to think, to do anything but follow him into the crimson storm. She bunched up his T-shirt in her hands, her fingers digging into hard muscle. She wanted his skin against hers, needed him to touch her in more ways than one. She bent her elbows, pulling hard in an attempt to bring him closer. But he stood still as a statue, his teeth scraping, taunting, and teasing her swollen lips. She grabbed onto his shoulders, tilting her head back in a silent demand for more.

  When the kiss ended, the room spun. Her knees shaking, she managed to remain upright by gripping his deltoids. But he didn’t stop. His breath warmed her skin as he trailed his mouth over the side of her cheek, the column of her neck, and the line of her collarbone. Then he pressed his teeth over the sensitive flesh above her pulse point. He sucked hard enough to sting—to leave a visible mark.

  She opened her mouth to protest—a lifetime of modesty struggling to break through the fog of sensation. But then his tongue pulsed over the spot, and what should have been coherent words turned into a surrendering whimper. Her abdomen tightened, her hands dropping to her sides. The illusion of control shattered, leaving a delicious vulnerability. She’d pushed him over the edge; now he called the shots.

  His hands lowered to her shoulders. A harsh yank sent the oversized sweatshirt sliding off her arms and onto the floor. Her camisole strap fell victim to a swift tug, the lace snapping as he pulled it aside to mark yet another part of her. In the back of her mind, she remembered not being in possession of any other clothes, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. He disposed of the opposite strap in the same fashion. Then he knelt, peeling the cotton tube alongside his descent.

  Cold air circled her breasts, prompting her to cover them. He grabbed her forearms and manacled them to the door.

  “You’ve got what you wanted. Now don’t move, and let me look at you.” A gruff demand, voiced in a tone she didn’t quite recognize. She stared at a face she knew almost as well as her own, trying to see past the unsettling mixture of hunger, need, and possession. The sliver of tenderness she glimpsed in those jasper eyes gave her the fortitude to remain still.

  The chill tightened her nipples and sent goose bumps over her damp skin. Not moving might be the most difficult thing she’d ever done. Bare from the waist up, her top in tatters above her hips, her almost naked body trembling from both sexual awareness and the cold, she had no idea how she presented. She leaned against the door, her hands clenching into fists as she tolerated the unsettling scrutiny.

  Tempted to break free and hide under the covers, she tried to read the man examining every inch of her exposed body. Wet, his brown curls appeared close to black. A slight tint stained his cheeks and neck, adding color to his pallor. With his pupils dilated, his irises appeared as rings of gold under the yellow light. His broad chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm, the fingers circling her wrists so warm she felt branded.

  He released her to trail his palms along the side of her hips before circling her waist. Then he pressed his lips under her navel and sucked. Her unsteady knees buckled, but his grip kept her in place. He pushed, pressing her against the cold wood at her back. Then he hooked his index fingers under her torn top, pulling it along with her shorts and panties down to her ankles.

  Tossing the scraps of clothing aside, he cupped her bottom, flexed his
hands, and urged her legs apart. With him kneeling, his breath tickled the sensitive spot behind her left knee. He lingered there before his lips moved up, his tongue drawing circles. Her legs no longer functioning, she braced her weight on his shoulders, steadying herself as he bit and sucked a torturous path. She jerked her hips back when he reached her damp folds.

  Pausing, he lifted an eyebrow and looked up. “I thought you wanted to be kissed?”

  “I—” Her brain seemed to have lost the ability to form sentences.

  He lowered his head and lavished his attention on her neglected knee. “You don’t get to choose where.”

  Hot wet kisses along her inner thigh, strong fingers kneading her flesh, muscles rippling against her palms—the exquisite torment dragged on for an eternity, his mouth progressing inexorably higher. “Zack…. I haven’t…. Not there…. I don’t think….”

  His breath grazed her opening. “But you clearly do. Why else would you shave?”

  “Good…hygiene?” She managed to get out between pants.

  His tongue slid between her lower lips, sending an electric jolt up her spine. “Are you sure you want me to stop?”

  She nodded, realizing too late he couldn’t see. “Yes…. No…. I….”

  He pressed his mouth into her flesh. “Good.”

  She bit down to mute a scream as he sucked on her clit. His teeth grazed, his tongue circled, the too-direct stimulation causing the already throbbing bundle of nerves to pulse. Not accustomed to ceding control, she tried to close her legs. But she couldn’t do much with his shoulders wedging them apart. Then he shifted his hands to push her thighs against the door.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as a finger probed for entry, the ease with which he penetrated her betraying the extent of her arousal. Another digit followed, stretching her almost to the point of pain. But then his tongue renewed its torment, sending every other nerve firing in a cascade of pleasure. As her inner muscles contracted, she threw her head back against the door. White light bloomed over the back of her closed eyelids, the slow burn between her legs blazing into orgasmic flame.