by K Alexander
"Can we go to the bedroom, Claire?"
When she nods Ryan lets her lead to the main bedroom and the soft bed standing against the wall. Kneeling down the soldier unties her boots as quickly as possible and discards them along with her socks and jeans, leaving her in only her black panties. When she stands Claire cannot stop her eyes from roaming over the sensual expanses of pale skin and the long lean legs. Now, after the blinding haze of hunger for the soldier has settled down somewhat, she can see the star-shaped scar that decorates Ryan's upper bicep. When the lean woman walks towards her slowly she reaches out a hand and touches the raised skin carefully.
"It still hurts?"
Humming a low insufficient answer in her throat Ryan takes the hand trailing along her shoulder and pulls Claire closer, until there is barely a foot of space between them. Placing her other hand lightly on the doctor's side she looks down into the blue eyes.
"I'd like to kiss you. May I?"
The words are so simple. Nodding, Claire closes her eyes and tilts her head, slipping her arms around the lean shoulders as Ryan's warm mouth descends on hers. The kiss is less raw this time, more sensual, and even as she feels the soldier's hands slip under her shirt to brush over her lower back she runs her right hand up and twines her fingers in the short shaggy black hair. Ryan's mouth is firm yet gentle, her tongue asking for entrance before it explores her lips with a feather light stroke. Sinking into the sensation Claire lowers her hands and journeys them across the bare back, tracing the still slightly protruding bones and scars that feel like velvet under her fingertips. The soldier's hands begin to mimic her trail, caressing her back in sure swirls and touches, slipping up over the bra strap and under it. When Ryan pulls back her mouth Claire almost mewls in protest. The soldier's green eyes are heavy-lidded and quiet.
"Will you take off your shirt?"
The blonde's hands are trembling when she begins to undo the buttons, and once or twice she fumbles and has to try again, but the soldier does not move her hands from their resting place on Claire's lower back. It is only when Claire shyly opens the shirt and slips it from her shoulders that Ryan steps back a little. Her expression is filled with desire as she studies Claire's pale torso, her firm round breasts barely covered by the neat white lace bra. Reaching out Ryan extends a forefinger and trails it over Claire's lips, down the side of her neck, into the dip at the base of her throat, over the clear line of the collarbone, down the swell of her chest… Where the bra strap meets the cup she pauses for a moment before she traces the outline of the bra, dipping in ever so slightly, so that her finger passes barely half an inch above the rapidly hardening nipple. When Claire's back arches slightly the ghost of a smile creeps around her mouth.
"And this, too."
Claire reaches back with both hands to undo the clasp and the motion pushes her breasts forward sharply. Ryan's finger continues its trail down into her cleavage and up the other breast, but when the blonde lifts her hands and slips the straps from her shoulder to let the bra fall to the ground, the soldier lowers her hand to Claire's hip and pulls her closer. She gazes at the blonde's breasts in clear appreciation before she closes the gap between them, pressing her bare torso against Claire's smoothly as she runs her hands over the naked back offered to her. Claire's rigid nipples press against the underside of her breasts as the blonde arches into her. Kissing Claire's face and neck teasingly she begins to run her fingertips down Claire's side, each time brushing closer to the side of her breasts. When the blonde exhales shakily and lifts her arms to wrap them around Ryan's neck again, the soldier smiles a little and brushes her thumbs lightly over the side of the pale full breast so readily accessible, repeating the motion when it brings forth a soft gasp. As she repeats the motion a third time Claire moves out of her arms, her breathing strained. Reaching down she takes Ryan's hands in hers and places them on her breasts.
"Please. Touch me."
Ryan's hands are firm and tender, sensual as they stroke, and teasing as they nip and knead at the pale flesh. The soldier runs her thumbs lightly around the hard pink nipples until Claire is twisting uncomfortably, her body aching, and then Ryan abruptly leans forward and wraps her lips around the nub, teasing it further with her hot tongue. The blonde parts her lips and gasps, straining forward in an attempt to prolong the contact, and when the soldier's lips move to the other breast she wraps her hands in Ryan's hand and moans softly. Leaning back the soldier watches her unashamedly wanting expression hungrily before she slips a finger into the waistband of Claire's pants and pulls slightly.
"Off?"
In answer the blonde unsnaps the waistband without objection and pulls down the pants, stepping out of them and immediately into the soldier's arms again, her breasts pushing against Ryan's chest. The solider lazily runs her hands down Claire's side, over her ribs and fleetingly against the sides of her breasts, then strokes downwards again, back over her sides and down to her soft hips. Hooking her thumbs in the sides of the white lace panties she leans in for another kiss, this one searing and breathless, her hands splayed across the blonde's narrow hips, and when Claire presses herself against the lean body the soldier pulls her in closer, caressing the flesh under the material steadily.
Wrapping her hands around Ryan's shoulders Claire pulls her backwards to the bed, stumbling a little in her hurriedness and sighing in relief against the soldier's mouth when she feels the edge of the mattress pressing at the back of her knees. Pulling back, Ryan looks at the bed over her shoulder, and then at Claire, and when she moves out of the soldier's grasp to sit on the edge Ryan follows, propping one knee on the bed. Leaning forward she supports herself on her hands either side of Claire's hips and tilts her head for a kiss, surprised when the blonde slips both hands into her hair and pulls her closer sharply. Claire's mouth is insistent and demanding, and it is finally she who pulls Ryan down on top of her, sliding a hand down to the soldier's hip to hold it against hers. Growling, Ryan runs a hand down her side, dragging her fingertips over the smooth skin of her thigh before she slips her leg between Claire's. Her lean thigh shifts against the blonde's wet centre and the curvy body beneath hers jerks a little as the doctor arches her back with a low groan. Supporting herself on her hands above Claire Ryan leans down and captures her lips relentlessly, her hips undulating rhythmically and her thigh brushing against Claire's hot aching center insistently.
This time it is Claire's hands that shift helplessly along the bare heat of Ryan's spine, her back arching and her thighs clenching with every lazy thrust of the soldier's hips. Yearning is building inside her, tumbling low inside her stomach and throbbing between her legs, and the slow skilled motion of the body stretched out on hers and the thigh between hers is mingling with the inexplicable desire Ryan awakens in her. She lifts her hips a little in an attempt to feel more of Ryan's lean muscled thigh on the sensitive parts begging for it, and smoothly the soldier halts the delicious motion.
"Is this all right?"
The low voice sends a chill down her spine and involuntarily her body shudders. Licking her lips, she closes her eyes against the sudden lightheadedness and when she opens them her words are concise and unambiguous.
"Please. Take me."
And Ryan does.
------ It has stopped raining outside. The moon is bright and insistent, its beam focused through the window on the glistening bare bodies stretched out on the bed with an indolent lack of restraint. The lean woman has one hand propped behind her dark head. Her other hand is tangled in, and lazily kneading through, the blonde hair of the head resting on her torso just below her small breasts. The curvy blonde woman is lying on her back, her right arm stretched out along the lean leg so that her hand is curled around the knee, with her own leg draped off the side of the mattress casually. Occasionally she turns her head to kiss the breast closest to her offhandedly, a motion that causes a half-smile on the dark woman's face every time.
"That was fantastic."
Claire grins a little at the pur
red words. "It was better than that, Ryan. It was phenomenal."
"Phenomenon. Something exceptional. A singularity." The soldier nods once. "Yes."
Turning her head Claire shoots her lover a mock surprised look before she lightly nips at the underside of the firm breast. "Sex turn you into a dictionary?"
Ryan pushes the blonde head away from her breast with a short stifled grumble. "Stop that. You'll kill me. I need to catch my breath." Rubbing at the now stiffening nipple in a careless motion that causes the blonde to catch her own bottom lip between her teeth hungrily, Ryan continues. "I'm pondering the aptness of the word. You do something quite … foreign… to me."
"Should I patent it?" Rolling over, Claire eyes the flat stomach pensively before she begins to plant kisses along the defined ridge in the centre of it. The soldier groans and closes her eyes, slipping her fingers back into the blonde hair.
"No. Definitely not. People with less stamina than me would just explode."
"That's everybody." Halting the kisses Claire rests her chin on the hard stomach beneath her and raises her eyebrows devilishly. "It's lust, Ryan. Welcome to pure unfettered raw lust. I hope you have a lovely stay." She runs her hand teasingly up Ryan's leg. "Combined with a strong dose of emotional connection brought on by a forcibly vulnerable situation. It's a classic reaction to incredible stress, Ryan - simple adrenaline, amongst other things."
"You're sexy when you're talking shop." The soldier reaches out to caress the smooth shoulder blade with a light touch. "So that's what this electricity is? Adrenaline and lust?"
"Just my opinion."
"I can live with that."
"Sounds like you have your breath back. Good." Pushing herself up the blonde straddles the dark woman and leans forward, her shoulder-length hair brushing over the pale skin under her as she plants a hot kiss on a corner of the square jaw. The soldier's hands splay over Claire's thighs and then shift upwards to caress her small curved hips and smooth back.
"You're gorgeous."
In answer Claire shifts a little and begins to move her hips and her hands in a rhythmic action, and after that there is only the sound of adrenaline and lust, the movement of naked body on naked body, and the beam of moonlight that is gradually diffused by the rain.
------ When Claire wakes up it is raining lightly and she is alone. Everything is saturated with the recall of Ryan. Her muscles ache, her white sheets are disheveled and crumpled, her pillows are perfumed with the dark woman's scent. There is a long lean dent in the flat sheet next to her. When she stretches her naked body drowsily, for a moment she imagines that she can still feel the woman's fingers deep inside her. Ryan is everywhere, and Ryan is nowhere. Ryan is gone.
------ The next time she wakes she rolls over lazily, an appreciative grin on her face at the slightly uncomfortable sensations in certain areas, and pulls open the bedside table drawer to take out a remote. The pressing of one button slides open a rectangular panel in the wall to reveal a small LCD television, and another button switches on the streamlined gadget. Tousling her already mussed blonde hair with one hand she switches from a cooking channel to a nature show, and then yawns as she flips through a few more. The cartoon channel earns a skew amused grin, but she passes that by too, opting for the serious face of the CNN anchorman as he grimly intones something about Iraq. Even the grainy unsteady material flashing across the screen doesn't dampen her mood, and she is reveling in the languid state of her body when her eye catches something familiar on the screen. It is the face of Vice-Admiral Victor Banks. With a start she scrambles for the remote, almost knocking it off the bed before she manages to turn up the volume.
"… two months ago in Fort Benton. The assailant was a personal friend of Vice-Admiral Banks'. Local police believe that there was a scuffle after which Banks was shot at close range by her with his own pistol."
The picture behind the anchorman changes, and now it is Ryan looking out from the screen, her green eyes menacing and cold in the exceptionally bad grainy photo.
"Captain Leah Ryan is extremely dangerous and believed armed. She was last seen in the vicinity of Harlowton, Montana. Authorities caution the public not to approach or attempt to apprehend her, but rather to contact the local police, or General George Turner's office at the number shown on the screen."
The remote falls with a dull thud from Claire Walsch's boneless fingers.
12.
"Good afternoon, General George Turner's office. Anthony speaking."
"Good afternoon, Anthony - is there any chance that I could speak to General Turner?"
Pause. "I'm afraid not, ma'am. General Turner is not in at the moment. What is this in connection with?"
Silence as she thinks. "Anthony, this is Claire Walsch, and I desperately need to speak to General Turner with regards to the Ryan incident."
His modulated tone tells her that he recognizes her name. "Doctor Walsch, General Turner is not in the office at the moment, but if you should wish to leave your number I will make sure that he is informed of your call immediately."
She recites her number, twice for safety's sake even though Anthony sounds more than competent, and rings off with a silent internal sigh.
It is ten minutes later when her phone rings.
"Claire Walsch."
"Doctor Walsch, this is General George Turner. You wish to speak to me about Captain Leah Ryan."
"I do. Thank you for returning my call so promptly."
"Not at all." His voice is gruff, brusque, and to the point, even though he is clearly making an effort to be civil. "What is it you have to tell me?"
"General, I would like to talk to you about the death of Vice-Admiral Victor Banks."
"I see." He is silent for a moment. "Doctor Walsch, have you seen Leah Ryan recently?"
She has never been good at lying. "Yes."
"All right." There's no trace of surprise, and for the briefest moment Claire wonders if it's something these military types are taught. "I'll be at Naval Station Everett in three days, doctor Walsch. Please speak to Anthony for directions."
------
Traffic is heavy on Monday morning, and though Claire has the radio turned to her favorite station her thoughts are a million miles away. She is anxious, and somehow she is embarrassed that she feels that way.
Early this morning she has called Art Clarke to let him know in as casual a manner as possible where she is going, even though the call created confused questions which she could not answer. Art is not sure how to behave around her lately. It is fairly obvious that almost losing her has awoken him to new realizations. Claire tries to be understanding, but his suddenly tentative behavior and muted fussing drives her insane. She misses her funny relaxed friend, and yet, beyond being kind, there is nothing she can do to bring him back.
The DEX situation hovers in the back of her mind too. She has tried to imagine what Ryan will be doing next, what the possible subsequent course of action could be, but there appears to be nothing, no feasible plan or idea. It does not help that when her thoughts move into that direction they automatically shift to linger on the soldier, either. On the one hand Ryan has influenced her - more by example than instruction - in the manner she leads her life so fearlessly. On the other, though, she is supremely aware of how little she knows of Ryan. Of how the sudden emotional turmoil has thrown her together with somebody whose life is shrouded in ambiguity.
Nevertheless, now, when she thinks about Ryan, her obvious doubts are being nudged aside by the smoldering memory of the naked soldier with her head thrown back. It is a deliciously illicit thought, and one she intends to hold onto as long as she can.
------
General George Turner is a squat wide man, not fat so much as solid. His heavy brow and bushy grey scowl give him the air of an aggressive bull, an image that is further enhanced by the manner in which he holds his elbows away from his body. He is lacking in people skills, which Claire notes when he ushers her into his temporary office abruptly.
He indicates an old stiff-backed chair in front of the basic desk and Claire complies, churlishly wanting to resist because of his tone but having no real reason to do so. Instead of sitting down on the other chair he perches on the edge of the table, simultaneously looming over her and invading her personal space. She has no real doubts that this is the precise intent of his stance.
"So. Ryan. You have something to tell me."
"I do." Claire has been in the company of far worse, and she is not being flustered by this man. "Last night on the news I saw mention of Victor Banks' death. It seems that Ryan is the suspected killer."
"Yes."
"It can't be. I was with her at that time. She implicitly told me that he was still alive after we left his house."
Turner folds his beefy forearms. "Did you, in fact, see for yourself that Vice-Admiral Banks was alive when you left?"
Claire's first impulse is outrage, but even as she attempts to temper her anger she is already acknowledging the truth of Turner's question. Taking a deep settling breath she bites down hard before she replies. "No. I did not."