Cries of Penance (3 page)

Grabbing my hips, he thrusts deep again, as deeply as he can thrust. It is stil slow and easy, not forceful, just deep. My body responds with the same life-altering climb and plummet.

“God!” I shriek, growl. Primal emotion wraps my chest and squeezes.

He withdraws as my orgasm eases, and with slow methodical pressure fil s me again, pushing deeper and deeper. He hits the wal of my insides and something breaks within me, not physical y, but emotional y, spiritual y. It is like the first night we were together. Exactly like the first night he owned me.

“God! God! God!”

Am I praying for grace?

Am I praying for release?

There is no release. There is only my orgasm, wrapping me, lifting me, dropping me, again and again, at my Master’s whim.

21

Cries of Penance – Roxy Harte

“…there are quiet victories and struggles, great sacrifices of self, and noble acts of heroism in it—even in many of its apparent lightnesses and contradictions.”

Charles Dickens, The Bat le of Life

Washington , DC

A wintery mix of rain, sleet, and snow fal s simultaneously, my welcome to the capital city. I’m not sure how I managed to land in the taxi with a driver who is capable of cursing in three languages simultaneously, but it’s actual y comforting he does. Of course traffic is a nightmare, adding further to my tardiness, and if not for the weather I would walk and get to my destination quicker.

Washington DC is a far cry from San Francisco, or more specifical y Lewd Larry’s, the BDSM fetish fantasy nightclub that has been my home away from home for more than a decade as I’ve stayed hidden from those who wanted me dead. I’m stil hiding, though now I hide in plain sight. Spy. Secret agent. Black ops soldier. Assassin. That’s who I am, not what I do, and yesterday that truth dawned very clear in my mind as I left Garrett and Celia, the two I love more than life itself, behind for the cal of duty. I cut off my shoulder-length hair and shaved my goatee, put on the black suit, tie, and bright white shirt that wil be my uniform for the next—God only knows how many—months, years.

I don’t recognize myself in my reflection. Lex Karros. My latest alias seems ridiculously contrived, like a Hol ywood actor, but is actual y more agreeable to 22

Cries of Penance – Roxy Harte

my ear than Thomas Stephanopoulos, the name I used in San Francisco. The name my wife knew me by, my children, my lovers…

Al except Celia…

Her eyes were closed, her head sagged so that her face rested heavily in my palms, and her tears dripped into my hands. I kissed the top of her head, trying to console her . “I’m sorry I’ve caused you dif iculty with Garret ” but she didn’t respond. “I don’t know how to fix this. I need your loyalty, I need to know that I can count on you and trust you, but I don’t want to ruin things between the two of you.” Stil , no reaction and I was feeling so frustrated. I was failing her. “No one ever promised you it would be easy serving two Masters.”

Final y, she opened her eyes and met my gaze. She said, “Tel me what to do.”

“Be good to Garret . Love him while you’re waiting for me.” I kissed her, fil ing her mouth with my tongue, claiming her. Her tears left both our faces drenched.

“I. Love. You. With. Al . My. Heart. And. Al . My. Soul.”

“I love you, Lord Fyre. Thomas.”

I cringed inwardly. I didn’t want the woman I loved so deeply to cal me a name I detested so much. I wiped her tears away with my thumbs, as I stil cradled her face in my hands, and I told her a truth few knew. “Ari. My real name is Demetres Aristotle Velouchiotis. In private I’d like you to cal me Ari.”

She repeated my name, “Ari,” and made my heart soar.

I don’t regret trusting her. Even if someday that trust could get me kil ed.

Hearing her say, “I love you, Ari,” was worth everything to me. Taking a deep 23

Cries of Penance – Roxy Harte

breath, I linger in the back of the taxi a moment longer and watch ice chips clink against the window.

“Sir?” the driver asks.

“Drive around the block a time or two.”

She’d sobbed against my mouth as I caught her lips. She’d begged, “Please don’t say goodbye.”

I couldn’t believe she was stil professing doubt after I’d revealed my soul to her. “You carry my child and I have just professed the depth of my love to you, I wil never ever tel you goodbye. You are my heart. I could not live if I didn’t have your strength to hold me together.”

It was the night I’d learned she carries my twins, and now I’ve left her.

As the taxi pul s back into traffic, I al ow myself the luxury of a daydream. I imagine Garrett and Celia stil sleeping and wrapped in each other’s arms. I doubt that is the truth of it. More likely, Celia was so distraught over my leaving, Garrett had to restrain her. Under normal circumstances, I would think she might be locked in a body conforming cage she finds most comforting but since her pregnancy there is not enough room to contain her bel y.

I expect Garrett to hold together the pieces until I return, knowing it may be years before I am able to. The question worrying me is whether I wil be welcomed back into their arms when I do come home to them.

I know they can’t understand. They couldn’t possibly. I think only another soldier could understand the things that make me tick: danger, duty, honor, loyalty. And though the duty I rushed across the country to fulfil has little 24

Cries of Penance – Roxy Harte

chal enge and only a miniscule amount of danger, it does have everything to do with loyalty and honor.

I trust Garrett to honor our ménage. To keep both his and her love for me alive while I am away and to raise my sons to know me even though they may have to wait years to meet me.

I cal ed them from the airport to let them know I arrived safely, and Garrett assured me they would be fine. I reassured him I would keep in touch and didn’t ask to talk to Celia. I know my strengths. I know my weaknesses and for Celia I would turn my back on everything else. My sense of duty is strong but my loyalty to family is stronger, and so I dare not tempt myself with the possibility that there could be any escape from this assignment. There is too much at stake.

A glance through the window proves snow is now fal ing in earnest, large flakes that are quickly covering the pavement and sidewalks. It is easy to understand my driver’s irritation with my refusal to exit.

The storm which is blanketing most of the nation east of the Rockies delayed my arrival by several hours. So much for being in the office by seven, seeing that local time is nine a.m. Lucky for me it won’t be my new boss’s first impression of me.

No, I am very wel acquainted with the woman to whom I am very shortly to be in complete servitude. Glorianna. Not her real name of course, rather her agency name as director of The Guardians, a US supported covert organization.

A decade ago she found me when I was a burned agent on the run. With over a dozen countries preferring me dead rather than alive, I’d faked my death and left my then agency support, the WODC based in Paris, to hide. She found me and 25

Cries of Penance – Roxy Harte

offered me a fresh start. By becoming a guardian of US interests, a safe-keeper of her interests, I would have her protection.

I glance down at the damp newspaper gripped tightly in my hand. The headlines make the nightmare real.

SAN FRANCISCO, Senator Abigail Wainwright-Ful er of California announced her bid for president Saturday, a single woman hoping to unite the nation and a Republican portraying herself as being singularly dedicated to the task. A widow for over twenty years, she has chosen to dedicate her life to public service and if elected would be the fourth president to enter the White House single, fol owing James Buchanan, Grover Cleveland, and Chester Arthur.

The Republican party may be embracing her, but there are many who do not want to see her elected based solely on the fact that she is female. That she is also a single woman is salt in the wound. I am here to be Glorianna’s…Abigail’s…personal aide, protector, and secret lover since she dare take no other, the reality of the situation being that she wil be under intense scrutiny. A woman with many secrets, safeguarding the fact that we wil be having kinky sex wil be the easiest of my tasks.

In exchange for my service, she has promised me retirement from the profession that rarely offers an escape other than death. She has offered the same to my twin brother, Nikos, who for the last decade was deep undercover, fulfil ing my obligations. If for no other reason than to see him free, to give him his life back, I would have taken this assignment.

26

Cries of Penance – Roxy Harte

My driver pul s up to the curb and glances over his shoulder. Reluctantly, I pay him and climb out. Lifting my face, I welcome the sting of ice.

As I approach the mountain of concrete steps that lead to her building, I know the only way I am going to get through this assignment is to trust Garrett and leave the worries I left in San Francisco behind me because there is no room for error in this town or with the woman I serve.

I run the steps, making quick work of them, and am not even breathless when I reach the heavy doors marking the entrance to her building. Inside the large foyer, I take off my trench coat and straighten my suit and tie before daring report to her office. She doesn’t like excuses, and she doesn’t accept tardiness. A metal detector and first line security officers pose further delay and the minutes tick by before I am al owed to even enter the elevators leading to her office.

Exiting onto her floor, I note two bodyguards, a man and a woman, guarding one of many doors. I assume their presence marks her office, since in al the time I have known her; I have never known her to be without an entourage of protection.

I should report to the reception desk and al ow a secretary to announce my arrival, but I go in without waiting for confirmation. Neither agent confronts me when I pass them and pul open the door. I’m disappointed that I am al owed to stride into her office without chal enge.

Glorianna is sitting behind her desk, as regal y as a queen. With her blond hair tucked neatly into a French twist, she looks the image of Grace Kel y as I once saw her portrayed in a framed portrait hung in a retro shop. Her eyebrows 27

Cries of Penance – Roxy Harte

are perfectly arched, her eyelashes incredibly long, and her cupid lips perfectly lined. I don’t tel her how beautiful she looks.

I can imagine the world embracing her as England once welcomed Princess Diana but am not so certain the US is ready for a female president.

“You could be dead right now,” I scold, closing the door behind me. I approach her desk. “I could be anyone, an assassin.”

She stands, scowling at my tone and keeping the desk between us. “Except it is you. The agents wouldn’t have let anyone else come in.”

I shrug. “You’re the one who believes someone wants to kil you.”

Her eyes widen and her mouth opens to say something but she doesn’t speak, seeming to change her mind. She walks around the desk, leaving a smal distance between us. “I have you here to protect me now...even though you are late.”

“Not even I can control the weather.”

“You could have planned for it. Left earlier.”

I close the distance between us, but make no move to touch her. Her breath hitches, and she licks her lips. How does she ever think we are going to work together? Our relationship has always revolved around pure, unbridled passion.

Looming over her, I can feel the fear she has of me radiating off her. Stil .

After so many years. “I’m here now.”

“Yes. You are.” She turns away, but I grab her elbow and swing her back around to face me, making her gasp.

“Perhaps we should discuss exactly what my obligations and duties are to be in my role as your personal assistant.”

28

Cries of Penance – Roxy Harte

She tries to keep her tone light as she says, “Manage my schedule. Keep me alive. Make certain absolutely no scandals make the nightly news,” but her voice cracks, shattering the il usion that she is as relaxed and confident as she pretends to be.

I lean closer. “By any method necessary?”

She nods curtly.

“Let’s talk about your schedule, because I won’t brook complaint when it comes to meeting your needs.”

She swal ows, sexual tension swel ing the room. It is less my nearness than the chemistry we share. I doubt she understands the need that makes her want me so, nor do I profess to have any mystical insight on why I desire her.

She looks away. “What do you see as my needs?”

“Eight hours of sleep, three regular meals, two hours for sex.”

“You just wiped out half a day.” She chuckles nervously and shuffles through some papers on her desk. “That isn’t feasible on the campaign trail, and you know it. I’l be happy with meals on the run and six hours sleep.”

Noting she had no argument to two hours of sex, I shake my head and lean even closer. She takes a step backward, bumping the desk.

“We do things my way,” I tel her, my tone warning against further argument.

Leaning close enough to catch the scent of the perfume she’d dabbed behind her ear, I whisper, “Admittedly, it may be hard to focus two consecutive hours for sexual release. We might have to content ourselves with quickies.”

She gasps as I rub my hands up her hosiery covered legs, sliding under her skirt to find she is wearing pantyhose, even though she knows how much I detest 29

Cries of Penance – Roxy Harte

the things. “I think one of my first duties wil be to shop for more appropriate undergarments for you, a garter belt and stockings for starters.”

“Impractical. Floozies wear stockings.”

She fidgets as my fingers hook into the top of her pantyhose and pul them down.

“The door!” she says panicky.

“Locked when I closed it.” Chuckling, I kneel in front of her and rub my hands over the bare skin of her thighs. Leaving her pantyhose and panties at her knees, I push up her dark brown pencil skirt to reveal a golden triangle of pubic hair covering her privates. If there was any doubt as to whether she was born a blond, one only need look here. I push my thumbs through the soft down, exposing her clit. My breath fans over her bared sex when I dispute her.