Desert Tryst (1Night Stand)

by Susanne Saville

  The next thing I knew a deep, husky voice called across the silence, “I warned you. He is mine.”

  My head jerked up, following the sound. Spotlighted by rays of morning sun, a man dressed all in black stood tall on a minimalist metal catwalk a few steps from a window that opened onto a lower roof. He’d pointed a gun at me.

  Recognition of the danger stabbed my stomach, concurrent with the flash at his barrel. The blast of the shot shattered the room. Heart in my throat, unsure if I was wounded or not, I sensed movement behind me and whirled to see a body fall, a bullet having plowed through his forehead. That’s the first thing I noticed. The second was he had a gun, one which would have finished me had someone else not finished him first.

  My gaze darted to the catwalk, searching for the shooter, my savior. He was still there, his gun still drawn. I couldn’t go for my Glock yet.

  “You’re….” The word was a croak. My throat was drier than this desert. I started again. “FBI! Down on the….” Still shaken, I skipped ahead. “You’re under arrest!” I called up to him.

  “And you’re adorable.” He grinned condescendingly, the cocky son-of-a-bitch, and ducked out the window with speed and coordination I’d have to call grace.

  Other agents and I gave chase, of course. Didn’t catch him. Never caught him. And, somewhere along the line, I stopped wanting to catch him for the justice system and instead wished to catch him for myself.

  He loitered in my thoughts and haunted my dreams. Talking about him perked me up faster than four cups of Bureau coffee. Talking to him, even as sporadic as that happened, was off the chart. He’s intelligent, quick, confident, and built. Sometimes I’d imagine—I figured it must be my imagination at the time—a flash of desire in his gaze, and the instant answering ache in my groin would shock me into silence.

  Consequently, when Madame Eve informed me of his interest…. Astonishment doesn’t begin to cover it. Much as I might—occasionally…sometimes…all right, often—lie in my bed fantasizing what it would be like if he were interested in me as an individual, I was fairly certain he viewed me as no more than an interchangeable cog in the machinery of law and order. He addressed his information to my name because it was more efficient than “to whom it may concern.”

  On top of that, I’m more familiar with his profile than anyone: ruthless, savage, and cold. Whether he was even capable of reciprocating another’s feelings was questionable. Well, Madame Eve didn’t say he reciprocated my feelings. She said he wanted a one-night stand with me.

  He wants to fuck me.

  End of story.

  If impersonal sex was all I’d get, I was okay with that. I like free, no-strings sex as much as the next guy. To have such a night with Dmitri…well, that was Christmas come early. Christmas for the next five years. Almost too good to be true.

  To make sure this wasn’t part of an elaborate set-up—for blackmail or bodily harm or the like—I investigated Madame Eve, her company, and every connection I could find, but it all came up legit. I even discovered one of my coworkers had used 1Night Stand’s services and found the experience ridiculously satisfying.

  So, I researched the rules on making a protected source out of an assassin and flew to New Mexico.

  And I still can’t believe I’m here.

  We’re here.

  In a bedroom.

  Together.

  Dmitri’s naked, and it’s really distracting.

  Dima. He said I could call him “Dima.” The thought fills me with hot, delighted pride. This is like being friends with a man-eating tiger.

  Dima’s almost scarily alpha—the sort of person you’d cross the street to avoid. I’m not certain I’ve ever seen him blink. How can someone so masculine still look so pretty? I drink in the forbidding perfection of his face, his body, the thick, heavy length of his cock rooted in dark curls.

  Watching Dima pull the woven Kokopelli bedspread all the way down to the foot of the oak slat bed, is like observing an apex predator—he’s a beautiful symphony of muscles and agility, even when performing mundane tasks. He glances at me, hesitating at the side of the king-size mattress, his stance and haunted expression similar to his demeanor after I kissed the scars on his back, and I realize he’s awaiting orders.

  Anger flares again in my gut and I want to kill every man who hurt Dima in the past. He’s only a year or two older than I am, and he thinks I’m unaware of what he’s suffered in his life. He’s wrong. I’ve read every document we have on him. They even cover some private things I’m sure he doesn’t realize aren’t secrets. He’s damaged in ways I can’t hope to fathom. By all rights he shouldn’t care if the world burns. Yet he’s had my back, even from afar. I’ve never protected him. From the state of his scars, he needed protecting.

  I stride around the bed to his side. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  He rolls his right ankle so his weight is on the outside edge of his foot, then quickly rolls it back as he sees me notice and adopts a feet-apart, braced-for-action stance.

  “I’m nervous, too.” I inch near him, and my mind flashes to various skills from the FBI hostage negotiation course, and I almost laugh. If ever there was more proof that I am my job, that’s it. I bet he can sympathize. I’ll have to ask him. Later.

  Dima inclines his head toward me. I bend forward so our foreheads touch. His breathing is heavy and quick. I cradle his nape, holding us together but making sure my grip is loose enough he could pull free if he wished.

  “I’m gonna…. How about…I’ll touch you, and you tell me if I do anything you don’t like.” Slowly, I run my fingers up and down his chest, carding through fine chest hair, and dip lower on each stroke. Visible beneath the vulnerable skin of his lower abdomen, his muscles flutter erratically in anticipation of my touch.

  I hesitate, circle his belly button then tease the narrow column of dark hair leading to his groin with light strokes. I hope I’m doing this right and that he likes it.

  His lungs stutter on an inhale. He grabs hold of my shoulders. His cock is rising, straining to meet my hand on his belly. The beat of my heart is so strong, it must be shaking my entire body.

  I stop teasing him.

  A soft moan escapes his lips as I stroke his cock. Heat radiates from his face, warming my skin. Our breath mingles, quick puffs, faster and faster. A subtle whine of desire builds deep in his throat. Suddenly, his mouth captures mine. He kisses so sweetly. I don’t know why I thought he’d be all frenetic motions and sharp teeth.

  Working his erection faster, through a haze of lust I try to remember what I like and do it on him, although it’s challenging to replicate in reverse. His grip on my shoulders starts to squeeze. Suddenly his hips lose the rhythm we’ve established. His muscles go rigid, and he groans, sharp and savage. He’s coming, spurting over my hand, and possibly the carpet. Elation erupts within me. I did that. He came for me.

  We stand together, only our ragged breathing breaking the room’s hush. I’m so hard I could stab right through my trousers. I want out of these clothes. I want him on his knees. I want to take him, have him choking on me….

  And I’d be no better than anyone else who has used him.

  I can’t. I just can’t.

  I’ve got to stop. Take care of him. I want this to be more than a one-night stand. I want him to trust me. Trust that I’m willing to give and not just take.

  I kiss him before heading for the bathroom to wash off and fetch him a damp towel.

  “D’you want a sandwich or anything?” I toss the warm cloth to him.

  He snatches it out of the air with one hand, and I envy his dexterity. “Where are you getting a sandwich?”

  “It’s a bed-and-breakfast. They’ve got a kitchen.”

  He starts to clean himself off. “Right. Well, you’re the investigator.” He performs a jaunty salute. “Go investigate the fridge. Find me something sweet.”

  When I return, he’s stretched out on the bed. All that skin and sculpted musculatur
e on display…. Have I mentioned he’s just as imposing naked as he is clothed in black?

  I brandish the plate I discovered in the refrigerator. “Chocolate-filled strawberries.” In my other hand is the neck of a champagne bottle I opened in the kitchen and the stems of two fluted glasses. “And Dom Perignon.”

  “Well, now. I do like chocolate.”

  He takes the plate while I sit on the edge of the mattress and use the nightstand to hold the glasses while I pour the drinks. When I turn to give him one, he’s enthusiastically sucking the chocolate out of a strawberry in a way that is both exhilarating and vaguely obscene. I could watch him do that all day.

  Catching me staring, he pops the entire juicy red berry into his mouth. How can a man look so sexy simply chewing? I admire the strong line of his jaw and the play of interconnected muscles that trace all the way up to his temple. I try not to think about the strawberry, about….

  Unbidden images of him gazing up at me with those appealing big green eyes while he sucks me off flood my mind. My fabric-threatening erection returns, the ache even worse for having been ignored. I lick my lips.

  His eyes glitter and narrow in response, and I have the distinct impression he knows precisely what he’s doing to me as he eats another berry.

  He grunts something around the food that sounds like, “This is good,” and swallows. “Try one.”

  He picks up a strawberry, holds it between his straight white teeth, then leans toward me. I can take a hint. Setting the glasses back on the nightstand, I lunge. It takes a lot of kissing, licking, and sucking before he surrenders the prize.

  My cock is beginning to leak. We continue to tussle for who gets to be on top, knocking the plate onto the floor in the process, and all the while still kissing. He reaches for my trousers; his fingers are warm sneaking inside the waistband, and he manages to unhook the clasp with far more speed and agility than I’ve ever displayed unhooking a bra. The purr of my zipper descending is a roar in the quiet room.

  Rolling onto my back, I lift my hips, and together we get my trousers and boxers down below my knees. Freed, my cock slaps up against my belly and pre-cum smears across my skin. I fumble with the buttons of my shirt in my haste to open it.

  While I’m concentrating on the stubborn buttons, I unexpectedly feel his tongue skim along my length. I jump. Dima lurches back off the mattress and stands in an instant.

  I snatch his wrist before he can retreat farther. “That was just surprise. Don’t worry. I like…. I like it. What you’re doing.”

  He stares down at his captured wrist. “You are much more sanguine about this than I assumed you would be.”

  I caress the delicate skin on the inside of his wrist with my lips. “I’ve had time to get used to the idea.”

  “Of us fucking?”

  He’s trying to shock me. I wink. “You bet.”

  The expression he gives me is an attractive cross between baffled and amused.

  “I’m not blind,” I continue, kissing the inside of his wrist again then releasing him. “You’re hot. I started dreaming of you in my bed from the moment I saw you, although I didn’t want to admit it. Which…can I ask you…why me?”

  He raises his dark eyebrows. “What?”

  “Of all the agents you must have run across…why me? Why save my life? You didn’t know me then. You’d never even laid eyes on me before.”

  Contradicting me, he shakes his head. “I’d seen you.”

  “Yeah? Where?”

  “Two months earlier. Corner of Central and Pickman. Morning rush hour. Lost dog. Scores of people hurried past. You stopped and waited, luring her over by giving her your sausage muffin. Then, you checked her tag and took her home. You were late to work and still solved the case you were working on that day.”

  “How….”

  “I was on a coffee run. I saw you help the dog.” He shrugs. “I got curious. Of course, I’m also not blind.” His grin is more of a saucy leer.

  “Y’know, in some worlds, that would have resulted in a ‘meet-cute’, rather than months of covert observation and reading files.”

  “You mean, rather than months of basic stalker activity.”

  I laugh. “Precisely.”

  He is silent for a while before murmuring, “Distance is safer.”

  Propping up on my elbows, I smile. “But less rewarding. For one thing, it makes sex difficult. That was all you were after, right?”

  “That was all I was after,” he repeats.

  I’m hoping he’s lying.

  Suddenly he’s on the bed and straddling my waist. He’s heavier than I expected—all that muscle—and I can’t fill my lungs. Wrapping the short end of my tie around his fist, he holds the knot with his other hand and tugs. The tie tightens around my throat. I freeze.

  “Lie back,” he growls.

  I obey, heart speeding.

  He leans forward, following me down, his face close to mine. “Breathe.”

  I gulp a bit, but find I can inhale, and take several shaky breaths. The tie isn’t as tight as I’d thought, I’m merely unused to this.

  After tracing my lips lightly with his tongue, he orders, “Arms up. Cross your wrists above your head and keep them there.”

  I do it.

  He keeps my tie wrapped about his fist so it maintains gentle pressure against the muscles of my throat. Then his mouth smothers mine, and I try to give back as good as I get. Our teeth clash, noses bump.

  Squirming beneath him, I want more. I’m burning. Sweating. Yearning.

  “Lie still.”

  When I comply, he releases the fabric and moves to lie full-length on top of me. His hand is exploring what parts of me he can reach: my sides, my neck, my hair. His touch is rough, but I want it. I’ve never experienced anything like this.

  The weight of him bearing me down into the yielding mattress is foreign yet exciting. Exotic. My legs are tangled in my clothes, and with my wrists above my head, I can pretend I’m sort of…trapped. And that’s exciting, too.

  He shifts his narrow hips so he can take hold of me, and I involuntarily buck up into his grasp at his first touch. With a flash of white teeth, he grins and starts pumping my cock. My eyes squeeze shut, and I whimper embarrassing, needy sounds.

  Then he’s murmuring Russian in my ear—soft, sibilant syllables that caress my skin. At the best of times I would only be able to pick out and understand a word or two. Now, it flows over me. I have no idea what’s being said, but I’m swept away by the tone and timbre of his voice. It’s taking me, he’s taking me somewhere good.

  Thrusting into his hand, I’ve abandoned all pretense of control. There’s an abrupt pause then the hot skin of his cock presses to mine. He’s got us both in his grip. We’re rutting against each other, and the delicious friction, the fact that it’s him—it’s all too much.

  His gravelly whisper still fills my ears, and I’m heading for possibly the biggest orgasm of my life. I moan his name.

  “Fuck me,” he whispers, the words a feverish breath tickling across the skin of my ear.

  That I understood.

  Enthusiastic but graceless, like I’m channeling gawky-teenage me, I tumble us into position so I’m on top of him, kissing then nipping the carotid pulse point below his jaw. He yelps, but it’s more surprise than pain. Driving my knee between his legs, I part his thighs. I must be inside him now or I’ll die.

  He chuckles and breathlessly says, “Doesn’t quite work that way.”

  Oh. Right.

  Panting, I let him up. He rolls to the side of the bed and opens the top drawer of the nightstand while I’m trying to get my brain to function.

  “Stocked precisely as I asked for it to be.” Dima retrieves a foil-wrapped condom and a small purple bottle of what I assume is lubricant. He tosses the lube to me.

  Amazed by the sheer number of words on the little bottle, I read some aloud, still out of breath, “Natural ingredients. Recycled packaging. Animal product-free. Made in the USA.�
� I glance over at him. “Can I say I’m pleasantly surprised by your oddly liberal and patriotic choice of lube?”

  Dima deftly tosses the brightly packaged condom up and down in his left hand. “Would you like to read the box this came from? A portion of the purchase price goes toward HIV/AIDS prevention and treatment in Africa.”

  “I’m learning so much tonight.” And I mean it.

  He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He’s relaxed. Happy. No more haunted look. No more hesitation. His happiness is mine, and I smile back, impossibly joyful.

  And hard.

  I toe off my shoes and struggle out of my half-removed, twisted clothing, scattering it to the floor. I don’t really care where it goes. Finally I’m free. Completely naked. He gazes at me appreciatively.

  “Here. Trade.” Dima offers me the condom packet and takes the purple bottle.

  I glance at the wrapping. “Does this say…flavored?”

  “Yep.” He dabs a little of the lubricating cream on his lips then re-caps the bottle and drops it on the sheet. “Chocolate mint.”

  “Why…?”

  “Because”—he takes the packet from me and rips it open—“I’m going to put it on you…like this.” He places the condom in his mouth, his lips gripping above the rolled sides, then, shoving me back against the pillows, he gives me a roguish waggle of one dark eyebrow, and….

  I shout and nearly come right there.

  The heat of his mouth as his lips push and unfurl the condom down the length of my cock, all the way down, is nearly my undoing. He forces me into the depths of his throat…. It’s incredible. I try desperately to grab fistfuls of his hair.

  With a blissful groan, I say, “Get up here. Kiss me.”

  He does, tasting of chocolate mint. From now on, I’ll think of sex every time I buy that ice cream.

  He breaks off the kiss. “I have to prepare.” His lips hover above mine. “It’ll be quick.”

  Turning away from me, he grabs the lube.

  “Can I…can I help?” I want to make certain he understands he’s not a commodity to me. This is about us. We’re in this together.