by M. S. Parker
There had been pain there, hidden behind a hard plastic facade. She'd been every inch the spoiled LA girl from her designer dress to her spiked heels. Her looks had screamed money and privilege, but her eyes had held something more. Not the vacant desires of starlets or heiresses, but something sharp and direct. She'd wanted more than what she had.
Just like I wanted more...of her.
Three and a half years, and I still couldn't get her out of my head. The few times I'd hooked up with some random girl while on leave since then, it'd been Leighton's face and body in my mind.
“Redheads aside,” Handley said, his expression sobering. “We've got work to do.”
Conversation died and nothing more needed to be said. We suited up and were on the trail within minutes. The cluster of farmhouses, no more than huts, was dark when we reached them. The fourth one, its threshold more worn and scraped than the others, hid a cache of weapons that we had orders to destroy.
Our team took up positions, ready to begin.
And then we all froze as a small line of soldiers came over the rise.
They carried crates of grain and pouches of clean drinking water. As we watched, they headed along the narrow path to the farmhouses. It was clear they'd missed the signs that I now saw with painful clarity. The absence of crops or animals. The fortified base of the fourth house. And the footholds up the canyon walls.
The guerrillas opened fire before my team could decide what to do. The soldiers dropped to the ground behind the remnants of a low stone wall. I heard cries of pain and hoped they were from superficial wounds. Then came the sound of returning gunfire, and I knew that at least some of them were healthy enough to handle their weapons.
“Hold your fire, soldiers!” Handley yelled at them. He was giving away his location, but his only other option was to risk friendly fire.
Gunshots kicked up the ground in front of him. He ignored them and signaled to us. He shot off a few rounds to keep the focus on him as we moved. We fanned out, up the steep canyon walls, knives out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a quick slice of silver and Owens dispatched one of the shooters. The rest of my team had already disappeared into the darkness, and Owens followed.
The shooters weren't my concern though. My job as the Medical Sergeant was to take care of those wounded soldiers.
While my team covered me, I skidded down the hill. When I was close enough, I called out my rank and name so I didn't get shot. When I got a response back, I moved around the wall to where the soldiers were crouched. Their pale faces were clear in the dim light, and I knew I’d have to take charge.
“You'll move out in pairs,” I said. I pointed to a man with a bleeding leg. He looked to be unconscious, but I couldn't see any other injuries. What I could see was that he was their commanding officer. I snapped my fingers at the two soldiers closest to him. “You two take him.”
They grabbed him under the arms and waited for me to roll over and deliver a few shots to keep heads down. Fortunately, my team had been trained to handle situations like this and firing without risking my men was almost second nature.
“Next two,” I said without looking at them.
The men moved out behind me until I had only two soldiers left, one of whom had been shot in the stomach. I could hear his breathing getting more shallow, more labored. I hadn't been able to take a good look at him, but I could see the blood soaking the sand. Even if I'd been able to get him into an operating room right this second, he still wouldn't have had much of a chance.
“Name, soldier?” I asked the young man who was crouched next to the wounded soldier.
“Machus,” he said. His green eyes were bright in the darkness. “Ian Machus.”
“We're going to move, now,” I said. I saw the kid look down, and I followed his gaze.
The soldier's breathing had stopped, and he'd already taken on that stillness that only came with death.
“He's gone,” I said. We'd try to take the body, of course, because his family deserved that, but we had to move now.
Even as I thought it, the guerrilla charged from the fortified farmhouse, an automatic flashing in his hands. His wild shots sprayed the dirt in front of us, skittering up the right side of Ian's body. The young soldier spun against me, and, on automatic pilot by then, I caught him.
Shit.
I fired once at the guerrilla, and the noise stopped. I was sure he was dead, but I didn't know if there was anyone else waiting. I needed to move.
While I hated to leave the soldier's body, Ian was still alive. I knew he was injured, but I still had a chance to save him. I hoisted him up onto my shoulder, and he groaned. He was still breathing, but I could feel hot blood soaking my shirt. I needed to get him out of there. The rest of my team would take care of the initial objective.
I'd only made it two steps when the first explosion knocked me off my feet. Ian fell in front of me, and I didn't stop to think. I heard the second explosion even as I threw myself over the young soldier and prayed that at least he'd make it out alive.
3
Leighton
“It's the key to my heart,” Ricky said, sweeping the diamond-encrusted necklace around my neck.
“If you had a heart,” I said, almost to myself.
“Maybe that's my problem,” Ricky said, spinning me around. He gave me his patented charming smile. “You stole my heart, and now I don't know what to do with myself.”
“Everything I've seen says you know exactly what to do with yourself.” I glanced at his reflection, but was careful not to meet his eyes.
The necklace was beautiful, but I didn't smile at him. I had an entire jewelry box full of trinkets he’d given me over the years. An engraved jewelry box he gave me after photographs of his trip to Cancun three days after my nineteenth birthday appeared in full color all over social media. Three or more indiscretions were followed by something bigger and engraved, while one night stands cost him flowers and something shiny. At least Ricky was consistent. Though I had a feeling the necklace was less about his recent series of flings and more about what he wanted for the future.
An open relationship where explanations and apologies weren't necessary.
“You're the only one who means anything to me, Leighton,” Ricky said.
He'd always been careful never to mention the other women. He never denied what happened, but he wasn't the kind of guy who bragged to me or made comparisons. He knew better. Our friends did too. I knew they referred to them by identifying features. But no one ever talked about them to my face. Blondie, Short Legs, Booty, Black Braid, Brown Frizz, and Tube Top were the latest.
Never any redheads, I thought, pushing back my own short curls. I looked in the mirror again, this time focusing on everything but the necklace. I wore my new peacock blue wrap dress and sleek, black patent leather sandals. The blue made my naturally red hair even brighter while the sandals matched the black streaks I'd recently put back in my hair. I'd toyed with different colors over the past few years, mostly because it still pissed off my grandfather, but I always ended up coming back to the first color I'd tried. Raven black.
Sort of the same way I kept coming back to Ricky. We'd been a couple on and off for a little more than four years now, and he appeared to be the perfect boyfriend for me: two years older, from a wealthy LA family, charming, and handsome. And he was, despite it all, consistent. I knew that no matter what he did with other women, he'd always be there for me.
Being with Ricky wasn't just about fun, though. It took the pressure off. Being young and beautiful in Hollywood had its advantages, but it also came with disadvantages. While my family name offered protection, having Ricky around was easier because it didn't involve my grandfather. He'd also been there for me through one of the worst times of my life, supporting me in his own way. And he never reminded me of it, never tried to make me think about what had happened four-and-a-half years ago.
He ran his hand through his shaggy sandy hair and his light blue eyes darted t
oward me. He was bored. I could tell. While we always went through this little dance, this part wasn't exciting; he was always eager to get to the step that he liked.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“It's lovely,” I said, my tone almost bored. “And I think I'd love a drink at that new rooftop cucina everyone's been talking about.”
We were standing in the living room of Ricky's Malibu beach house. The sun angled sharply over the ocean, and the view was nearly blinding. The blank white walls glowed orange as I walked across the travertine tile. The beach house had been a gift from Ricky's parents two years ago, but he had yet to allow his mother's decorator to touch up the place. Ricky said he liked the empty space for parties, but I think he also enjoyed the anonymous feel of the bare rooms.
It definitely made bringing random women here much easier. No risk of them thinking the place had a woman's touch.
Four overstuffed pillows the size of twin mattresses were flung around the living room floor with assorted throw pillows on top. In the midst of the white pillows stood one modern leather armchair with a footstool. The light wood base of the wingback chair did not detract from its position as a throne. Only Ricky ever sat in it.
I put the chair between us as Ricky reached for me. We were getting to the part he liked. Hell, I didn't exactly mind it. It was just that a part of me had started getting tired of this song and dance. I wanted to move things along.
“How about we stay in?” he asked. “I have champagne.”
“Nothing cheap, I hope,” I said.
His eyes lit up. He knew as soon as I agreed to stay in, we'd be getting to the next step soon. He strode into the stark kitchen and pulled open the stainless steel wine cooler. The only thing he usually knew how to find in the kitchen were crystal champagne flutes, so I was surprised when he turned and opened the stainless steel double-door refrigerator. His phantom maid kept the spartan shelves stocked with strawberries to compliment the dry champagne, and he pulled out the bowl with a flourish.
I couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been planning to 'apologize' for whatever the newest girl's name was.
“There's chocolate too,” he said. He waggled his eyebrows in what I supposed was supposed to be a sexual gesture. “I also have whipped cream.”
“Paris said the new cucina was four-star,” I said.
He frowned, looking more like a pouting child than a twenty-four year-old. “Paris wouldn't know four-stars if they plummeted to earth in front of her.” He poured the champagne and held out a glass.
I took the full crystal flute from him and picked my way through the white pillows to the wall of windows. A tight knot of surfers bobbed on the bright orange ocean just below Ricky's deck, and I admired their tanned and toned bodies. As he came up behind me, he followed my gaze, and I felt him frown. He could flirt and fuck with whoever he wanted, but heaven forbid I actually glance at another man. Made me think his idea of an 'open relationship' would probably require some discussion before I could seriously consider it.
“Bet those bums live out of their van,” he muttered.
“Probably better decorated than this place,” I countered.
“You're the only thing I want in here,” Ricky said, dropping a kiss on the back of my neck. “But you can add anything you want. Who's that painter you adore?”
“Jackson Pollock,” I said, eyeing the blank wall to my left. “I think you'd like the chaos of his work.”
“I like what you like.” He kept nuzzling the back of my neck.
I spun on my tall heels and sauntered to his white leather chair. I slipped into it, one heel on the footstool, the other on the tile floor. I let my leg sway and watched Ricky's eyes go to the shifting hem of my dress. It was time to move this along.
“I like you on your knees,” I said.
Sometimes I used different phrases, but they all ended up with him on his knees. He chased every and any woman, but he always came back to me. And this was always part of his penance. Not that he didn't enjoy it as much as I did. For all of his faults, he wasn't a selfish lover.
I let my knee fall to the side and tugged my dress further up my thighs. His eyes darkened as he watched me expose inches of skin. He took a long sip of champagne and kissed the inside of my open thigh with the bubbles still on his lips. He held up the bowl of strawberries with one hand as he stroked my leg from my ankle to the ticklish spot behind my knee. I took a strawberry and looked down at Ricky, raising an eyebrow.
“I only do this for you,” he said, bending to lick where his kisses left traces of champagne.
I didn't know if that was true, but it was what he always told me, and I'd never heard otherwise. So, I chose to believe it. He fucked other women, but he never went down on them. Until someone proved me wrong, I would pretend that this was something he only did for me.
His eyes burned brighter as I ate my strawberry and enjoyed the view. He nipped my knee as his hands continued to caress my skin. I pulled up my leg and put one sharp heel into his shoulder. He sucked in a breath, but didn't move away. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss against my knee. He kept himself there, teeth and lips worrying at my skin until I wasn't sure who would bruise first, him or me. Only when he finally eased back a bit did I hook my leg over his shoulder and draw him closer without the heel.
His hands went to the tie of my dress, his fingers making short work of it and then he pushed it open. It fell to either side, and he groaned when he saw that I was bare underneath. I'd known what would happen when I came to see him today, so I'd decided to forgo the undergarments to move things along more easily. His hands slid up my thighs and across my ribs until he covered my breasts with his hands, his palms rubbing against my nipples until they hardened. And then his mouth was there. I arched against his hands as his tongue touched that throbbing point between my legs.
He took another long sip of champagne and let the bubbles fizz against my slick, wet center. He licked me open with long, slow circles until I was moaning and pulsing with pleasure. Then he pushed my other leg over the arm of the chair and plunged his tongue deep inside me. Two long fingers followed, twisting and crooking as he thrust them into me, his tongue flicking across my clit more and more rapidly until I exploded.
The chair rocked back beneath me, then fell forward again. After a minute, I came down enough to move and I leaned forward. He grinned as I pushed against his chest. He let himself fall back as I went to my knees above him. He fumbled with his zipper, pushing his pants and underwear just far enough over his hips to free his already-hard cock.
He reached up and grabbed my hips, but I slapped his hand.
“Condom.”
No way was I stupid enough to let him go bareback, no matter how many times he swore he always wore protection with his flings. The closest he got was oral without a condom, and only after he'd tested clean.
He frowned at me, but didn't argue. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet. I took it from him and tore it open. I knew he liked it when I put them on him, but that was only a side benefit. I didn't like to admit the real reason, even to myself, but I simply didn't trust him.
I pushed the thought away as I rolled the condom over his swollen erection. Only then did I lower myself onto him. He groaned as I dropped down. He'd worked me open enough that he went in easily, our bodies fitting together the way they always did. I ignored the hands on my hips as I rode him. He knew better than to try to control me when we did this little dance. I kept my head up, eyes closed, as I moved, focusing on the slip and slide of his body and mine. We'd done this enough over the last four years that I knew exactly how this would go.
The pressure inside me was building, and I just needed a little more to get me there. I moved one hand from his stomach to my breast, twisting and pulling on my nipple the way I liked it. Ricky may not have been a selfish lover, but that didn't mean he wasn't clueless some of the time.
I shuddered as my head fell forward, and then his thumb was on
my clit, rubbing back and forth until I came again. Pleasure coursed through me and my muscles tightened, squeezing his cock as I felt him come too.
I kept my hand on his stomach, keeping me upright as I let my climax wash over me. It wasn't until his arms slid up to my waist and he started to pull me down onto him that I let myself go.
“So you forgive me?” Ricky asked, pulling me down to his chest.
He ran his fingers through my hair. It was never about forgiveness with Ricky. He was spoiled and entitled and would never change, I understood that. This was just the dance we did to get back to the beginning of our little circle.
I rolled away and sat up. “My glass is empty.”
Ricky groaned, but heaved himself up and grabbed the champagne. I stood up, not caring that I was standing naked in front of the sunset windows. I held out my glass, accepting the refill without looking at him.
“Now am I forgiven?” he asked.
This was another part of the dance. I shrugged and looked down at the only thing I was wearing besides my shoes. “The necklace is pretty.”
“And you think I'm spoiled,” Ricky said with a smile.
At least we were both relatively honest with each other in regards to our personalities.
“You don't have an allowance,” I said, changing the subject.
“The old man's making you budget, huh?” Ricky asked. “Not your favorite thing in the world.”
Since I turned twenty-one and the trust my parents had left for me had been released, my life had actually become more restricted. For the past year, my grandfather had put limits on my credit cards and forced me to sit down with him and go over all my purchases at the end of every month. While my parents had left my brother and me well off, since we had no other family, we'd be inheriting all of our parents' share of my grandfather's fortune.
Except Grandfather wanted to make sure I was responsible before he wrote that into his will.