Dark of Night (2 page)

He wasn't sitting down this time—there was no bar stool to keep her from pressing herself fully against him, so she did and it was all he could do to keep standing. He was still aroused from those first kisses, a fact that he was no longer able to hide from her. Not that she seemed to mind.

In fact, on the contrary, she looped one leg around him, as if she wanted him closer, and God, now his hands were on her perfect rear end, pulling her more tightly against him as he kissed her and kissed her.

He could feel her pull his T-shirt free from his jeans, feel the coolness of her hands against his back as she pushed the shirt up in an obvious attempt to get it off.

It made sense that she would want to undress him—she was in control, this was her choice. And he had just decided that he'd stand there, doing the one thing he was certain she liked—kissing her—when she pulled her mouth free to whisper, “Help me.”

So he did, yanking his shirt up and over his head, while she rid herself
of her own shirt, then kissed him again, as if she couldn't bear to spend too many seconds without his mouth on hers.

He was living his most cherished fantasy. He'd been granted his heart's one desire. No doubt about it, at some point during this past total suckfest of a day, he'd done something really right to be here now. His mind raced as he ran his hands across the softness of her back, her shoulders, her arms, aware as hell—despite the fact that his eyes were closed— that Sophia was pressed against him, nearly skin to skin, in her bra. Which, for the record, was white and sweetly lacy with a tiny pink flower sewn between her perfect breasts.

He could feel her hands at the waist of his jeans. She opened his belt buckle like a pro—okay, don't think that—unfastened the button, found the zipper pull and…

Famine, disease, drought. Dave fought to focus, but it wasn't until he conjured up a picture of James Nash, with a white sheet being pulled over his head, that he knew for sure that he wasn't going to embarrass himself by coming in Sophia's ridiculously soft hands.

Of course, now he had to fight not to cry, and he was certain, without a doubt, that bursting into tears would be far more embarrassing than ejaculating within three seconds of Sophia's touch. Although both were to be avoided, if possible.

So he gently moved her hands to a less sensitive spot, as he lifted his head and admitted, “It's been a while, and I'm … afraid that …”

She stepped back, stepped out of her pants while he did the same. She hesitated, though—even if only briefly. Anyone who didn't know her as well as he did might've missed it. But she
did
hesitate, glancing over her shoulder at the mirror behind her before unfastening her bra and slipping her panties down her smooth, perfect legs.

The mirror behind her…

The light was dim enough that he could barely see the scars from her captivity—the largest one being on the small of her back. But he knew— as she did—that they were there.

And Dave also knew, with a seemingly brilliant stroke of insight, what to do, what to say to this gorgeous, naked woman standing there, so vulnerably, before him. “In truth,” he said, his voice raspy, hoarse to his own ears, as he pulled her close and touched her, skimming his hands across all that
gorgeous, gleaming skin, across her breasts, her stomach, her back, and yes, even her fading scars, “it has nothing to do with how long it's been and everything to do with you. I've always found you completely irresistible. Always.”

She lifted her head to smile up at him, but her trepidation was still there, in her eyes.

So he kissed her—kissed her and tugged her back with him, so that they fell, together, onto that bed. Deep in the recesses of his brain, he knew he should be careful not to be on top of her. He should loosen his grip so that she never felt restricted or overpowered. He should let her remain in control.

But she clung to him, opening her legs to pull him closer, wrapping her arms and legs around him, her hand on his butt, pushing him even more tightly against her, her breath hot against his ear as she reached between them with her other hand. “Dave. I want …”

Her fingers closed around him, leaving no doubt in his mind exactly what she wanted and when she wanted it—him, and right now. She shifted her hips and he felt her yield to him. She was soft and slick and tight around him, and as he slid into paradise he knew there was something he had yet to do or say, but when he opened his mouth, “God, I love you,” came blurting out.

They were the exact same words that had gotten him here, and once again, it was the right thing to say. Sophia laughed, but there was a catch in her voice, and he lifted his head to look into her eyes as she held him there, tightly inside of her, as intimately joined as two people could possibly be.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For saying that.”

“It's true.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached for him, pulling his head down and kissing him, moving against him, beneath him, as best she could with his weight on top of her.

But the sight of those tears haunted him and he had to ask. “Are you sure you're—”

“I'm good,” she said. “I'm great. I'm unbelievably … Oh, Dave, I need … More … Of you. … Please …”

More of him. Okay.

He moved with her then, carefully, slowly, and she seemed to like that—“Oh, yeah …”—so he didn't speed up. The friction was incredible, the sensation sheer bliss—as if he were being stroked by the softest of hands, except not really, because it was even better than that.

Kathy/Anise had liked sex hard and fast, and she'd always,
always
been running the show, even when she'd been beneath him. It had been 180 degrees different than these long, slow withdrawals, and equally endless deep,
deep
thrusts that made Sophia moan—dear God, much more of this and he was going to lose it—except what the hell was he doing thinking about Kathy now when he was making love to Sophia—Jesus, he was making
love
to
Sophia.
Dave wondered inanely if she were thinking of Decker or maybe her dead husband, Dimitri, or even some distant, long-ago lover that she'd let slip away, and there was no way he could compete against any of them, except now he was
way
too much inside of his head so he tried to clear his thoughts of everything but this intense, mind-blowing pleasure he was feeling—that she was feeling, too.

“So good …,” she breathed.
“So
good.”

Good didn't begin to cover it, but good was better than bad, it was better than get me out of here, don't touch me, get your fucking hands offa me…

Good couldn't kill you, except Dave
was
dying, he was choking, he was
drowning,
and he didn't want to die, but Jesus, he didn't want to go back to that basement with the bright light and the questions and the pain.

They'd taken all of his fingernails off his right hand and had made it clear they were ready to start on his left because they hadn't caught on that he was stronger than anything they could throw at him. The waterboarding, the electric shocks, the blows to his face and body…

He just ran to Sophia in his mind, losing himself in his vivid memories of the too-short time they'd shared. Seven weeks. It had been slightly more than seven weeks since that first night.

His favorite escape was to go back to that night, to that very first time they'd made love. While it wasn't the best sex they'd had—because God, they'd had a lot of sex in seven weeks, even with both of them out of town for part of that time—it was, for him at least, among the sweetest.

Although this time the monsters had gone too far but then pulled him back before he'd had the chance—in his mind—to reach his very favorite part. To make Sophia come. Which pissed the shit out of him.

They yanked the rag from his throat, hauled him up, and bent him over so the water they'd forced into him left his stomach and lungs as he coughed and choked and vomited his way back to reality—which sucked ass.

He fucking hated it here, yet his body gasped for air, tears streaming down his face as he puked even more, as he spit out a tooth that he must've broken as he'd savagely bit at that rag they'd stuffed in his mouth.

Here in the land of light and pain, those beautiful weeks that he'd spent with Sophia seemed distant and blurred, like a rapidly fading dream—only he knew it had happened. He knew that, in her own way, Sophia loved him, that she'd been ready and willing—and yes, even eager—to spend the rest of her life with him.

Dave clung to that truth, like a distant echo of the most beautiful, pure music cutting through the cacophony of angry demands and the shrill buzz of pain.

It was his love for Sophia, his memories of their time together, that was keeping him sane, keeping him alive, although it wouldn't help him for much longer—he knew that, too. He could feel his already damaged body weakening—the infection from his knife wound getting more severe with each passing hour. And each time it was harder to come back.

But back he was, and he waited, still gasping and coughing, for the questions that would come. And for the blows that would follow when, once again, he failed to give his captors the information they wanted.

His world had shrunk to four absolute truths.

He loved Sophia—heart, body, and soul.

He would die before betraying his teammates, his friends.

He
was
going to die. He knew that when these monsters who were torturing him finally realized that they could not break him, they would, unflinchingly, put a bullet in his head or slash a knife across his throat.

And the fourth truth?

Dave knew that Sophia was—at that very moment—in the company of Lawrence Decker. Deck—who loved her almost as much as Dave did.

And the jealousy and resentment he'd always felt, the green monster that, for years, Dave had never quite been able to tame, had changed. Over the past nightmarish blur of hours it had been twisted and crushed and turned into something hard and gleaming and clean. A gem of emotion—pure and brilliant.

It shone through his pain, brighter even than any of his other truths.

Because Dave knew with faith as solid as stone that Decker would keep Sophia safe from harm.

And for that, Dave would be eternally grateful, even after his last breath had left his lungs.