Inside Out (26 page)

“My mother.”

“I mean killed.”

“No.”

“Well, seeing a dozen or so people shot to death in front of your eyes is shocking even if you’ve been prepared for it.”

She nodded and didn’t answer.

He got up and squeezed her shoulder gently. “Going to take a shower. Be back in a few.”

He brushed his teeth, then took a scalding shower, soaping up and scrubbing off the day’s sweat and grime, the hot water loosening up his muscles and accessing the fatigue underneath. Post-combat parasympathetic backlash was a bitch, and he was coming down from an entire day fueled by adrenaline. His mind was still on fire from all that had happened, but his body was starting to get the upper hand.

He pulled on a hotel robe when he was done, turned off the light, and went back out into the bedroom. Paula had turned off all the lights but the little one on the desk. She was lying on her side on one of the beds and Ben thought she must have fallen asleep.

He walked around to the side of the bed to see if her eyes were closed and was surprised to find her awake, her face streaked with tears that shone amid the shadows.

“Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer.

He squatted down next to the bed and put his hand on her arm. “What is it?”

She shook her head. “I just don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

He didn’t know what to say. He tried, “You’re doing fine.”

“I mean, I’m a law enforcement officer. Fourteen people were killed today. I saw you kill two of them. And I’m not doing anything about it.”

“There’s nothing to be done.”

“I don’t know what my role is anymore.”

“You’re doing a good job. I didn’t mean it cruelly before when I said you’re out of your element. You’re law enforcement, and you just got dropped into a combat zone. You’re trying to learn your way.”

She nodded and a fresh flow of tears ran silently down her face.

He squeezed her arm. “Paula.”

She didn’t answer.

He got up and walked around to the other side of the bed, then lay down next to her. He stroked her arm.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she said. “I can’t get it out of my head.”

“I know.”

“His … his brains …”

Her voice rose on the last word and then choked off. She curled up and shook with silent tears.

“Shh,” he whispered. “I know. I know.”

A sob caught in her throat and she cried harder.

“That’s it,” he said. “Let it out. Let it out. That’s what I do, when I can’t take it anymore.”

She coughed out a laugh through her tears. “You do not.”

“Of course I do. All soldiers are crybabies, because we deal with so much shit. We just don’t tell anyone. It’s bad for our image.”

He realized he’d acknowledged he was a soldier, but decided it didn’t matter.

She laughed again, then cried harder. He put his arm around her, took her hand, and pulled her close. “Shh,” he said again. “It’s okay.”

She gripped his hand and pressed back into him. He was suddenly acutely aware of the feel of her ass through the material of the robe.

Oh, fuck, this wasn’t good. He didn’t want to let her go—it would have been awkward, and anyway he seemed to be making her feel better, but …

She shifted slightly, and the feel of her body moving against him was like a current of electricity against his skin.

Post-combat hard-on
, he thought.
That’s all it is. Should have seen that coming. Don’t be stupid now
.

She shifted her hand to the back of his and pulled him closer, pressing his forearm across her breasts. A shock wave of lust coursed through him.

Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid …

She moved his hand lower. “Please,” she whispered.

“Paula … ,” he said, his mouth close to her ear.

“I just … I need to feel something. Please.”

Somehow his hand had slipped under her robe. She pressed it tightly against her breasts. Her skin was warm and smooth. He could feel her heart pounding.

“You’re upset,” he said, his voice low, his throat thick. “I don’t know if … I don’t think we should …”

He stopped, not sure what he was saying, feeling like he was babbling. His hand moved. He felt a hard nipple against his palm. He wanted her so much it made him groan.

“No,” he said, panting. “No, no, this is a bad idea. A bad idea.” Somehow he pried his hands off her and sat up. “Paula, no.”

She sat up and turned to him. The robe had opened partly, and in his peripheral vision he could see the muscles of her neck, her breasts contoured in shadow, the skin smooth and dark against the white terry cloth. He was massively hard and knew he’d never done anything as difficult as not reaching out and tearing the robe off her and throwing her back on the bed and—

“Fuck you, then,” she said.

He shook his head, not comprehending. “What?”

She slapped him. Hard. His head rocked back and he saw a white flash behind his eyes. He was so stunned by it that she managed to slap him again before he could do anything to stop her, another powerful, stinging shot from the opposite side. A red haze misted his vision and he felt his scalp tighten with anger. She drew back her arm again, her hand balled into a fist this time, and as the punch came forward, he snaked an arm inside and deflected it. He pushed her onto her back and straddled her. She twisted an arm free and punched him in the mouth. She couldn’t get any leverage behind the blow but it smashed his lips into his teeth and hurt like hell.

“Bitch,” he said, turning his head and spitting blood. She tried
to hit him again and he caught her wrists and pinned them to the bed next to her head.

She struggled and kicked. He slid down onto her thighs to control her legs and looked down at her breasts. He couldn’t think anymore. He lowered his head and took a nipple into his mouth. She sucked in a breath and her pelvis arched and he almost let her go but then thought no way, he wasn’t going to let her hit him again.

“Fuck you,” she said again. “Fuck you.”

He moved his head to her other breast and she moaned, and the sound of her own pleasure seemed to incite her.

“You want this, don’t you?” he said, past caring about the consequences. “All right. You win.”

He let go of her wrists and she hit him in the mouth again. There was a shock of pain and his head rocked back. He grabbed her wrists again and pressed his body down onto hers.

“You want to play?” he said. “Fine. Fine with me.”

He slid his right hand under her waist and fed her right wrist into it. She struggled and tried to bite his ear, missing it and scoring her teeth against his scalp instead. He sat up and jerked her arm around, turning her over onto her stomach.

He sat on her thighs and with one hand pinned her arms behind her back. She kicked and struggled underneath him. He pulled the belt off his robe, slipped it under her top wrist, pulled it around, and yanked it tight with his teeth and free hand. He tied it off in a square knot, then wrapped it around her other wrist and repeated the operation so that her bound wrists were side by side.

He slid lower over her legs and tore her robe out of the way. She grunted and tried to twist loose.

He lay down on top of her and pushed his knees between hers. Then he sat up and spread her legs with his own. Her ass was a ripe, dark peach, the shadow between her legs maddening, beckoning. She turned her head and looked back at him and again said, “Fuck you.”

He didn’t answer. He put his weight on her bound wrists with
one hand and with the other began to touch her. She was completely wet. He eased a finger inside her and she groaned.

His heart was slamming away in his chest like a battering ram. Panting, feeling like he’d lost his mind, he flipped her over onto her back. He got his knees between hers again and spread her legs. He bent to kiss her. She jerked her head to the side and again said, “Fuck you.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that’s right.”

He moved lower and took a nipple into his mouth again and touched her with his fingers and the sound of her moaning made him insane.

He slid lower. He got an arm under one of her thighs and forced her legs farther apart. Then he put his mouth against her belly and bit her, the way she’d tried to bite him. She cried out, and before the cry was done he’d slipped his other arm under her so that her thighs rested on his shoulders, and he pushed his mouth against her so she could feel his lips and his teeth and his breath, and he slipped his tongue inside her. She gasped and the sound of it made him dizzy, the sound and her taste and how hot and wet she was against his mouth and face. He moved one hand up and rolled a thumb around her nipple. With the other, he started touching her with his fingers in time with his tongue.

She groaned. His lips hurt and his heart was pounding and he was so hard it ached.

He glanced up at her. She was watching him, panting, her head off the pillow, the muscles of her neck straining. Her body was slick with sweat.

He paused and put his fourth finger in his mouth, coating it with his spit and her juices. He lowered his head and started up again. He kept his eyes on hers. He slid his slicked finger slowly into her ass.

Her eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. He felt her muscles clench. He worked her with his mouth and fingers. He didn’t take his eyes off her.

Her panting grew faster, deeper. A low sound came from her throat. He kept going, out of his mind with the need to fuck her.

The sound deepened and rose and changed into a drawn-out cry. She squeezed his head with her thighs and pushed her pelvis into his face and shuddered and arched and cried out. Her back arched farther, and farther still, and then suddenly all the tension in her was gone and she collapsed back to the bed. There was no sound but her breathing.

He brought his arms around and moved up between her legs.

“Kiss me.”

She didn’t answer. He took her face roughly in his hands and looked in her eyes and pressed himself against her. She struggled but there was nothing she could do, she was too wet and too tied up and he was holding her too tightly. He pushed forward and moved a little inside her and somehow made himself stop. She grimaced and pushed back against him and he slid in a little farther. He watched her, their faces an inch apart.

She groaned again, her mouth open, her head tilted back. He eased away, then clenched his stomach and ass and drove his hips forward and buried himself inside her. She cried out and he pressed his swollen lips down on hers. She groaned into his mouth and he held her face in his hands and spread her legs wider with his thighs and he fucked her, long and deep and desperately hard, and he forgot where they were and why they were here and what had happened that day and he fucked her, and when she started kissing him hungrily and hard and fucking him back it was too much, he couldn’t stop, and there was nothing else in the world but her face in his hands and her body pinned beneath him and he gripped her harder and cried out into her mouth and he came, he came and she sucked on his tongue and it went on and on until he had spent himself inside her.

When it was over, his exhaustion was so sudden and complete that he felt momentarily unsteady. He pushed himself away from her slightly, his breathing ragged, and looked into her eyes.

“Damn,” he managed to say.

Her breathing was as rough as his. She said, “Untie me.”

He touched a hand to his swollen lips. “Not if you’re going to hit me again.”

“I think I’m done with that.”

“What the hell got into you?”

“I don’t know.”

He turned her on her side and untied her wrists, then lay down facing her. “Were you trying to provoke me?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I liked it.”

“Yeah, I could tell that.”

“Why, though?”

“I was just … mad. You were being so nice, it made me lower my guard. And I could tell you wanted to, and I told you I needed you to, and then suddenly you got all high-minded on me … it just really made me angry.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. You know I wanted to. I just thought it was a bad idea.”

“Well, you changed your mind pretty fast.”

“Maybe it was all that talk earlier about interagency cooperation.”

She laughed. “Yeah, we’re a model for the way Uncle Sam should function. ‘Make love, not war.’”

He ran his hand gently along her face and the side of her head.

“I like your hair. The way it feels.”

“You’ve never been with a black woman before, have you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not supposed to touch a black woman’s hair.”

He thought for a moment. “Now that you mention it … I did get that vibe a few times here and there.”

“They were straightened, right?”

“Yeah. You know, not like yours.”

“You can touch it if it’s natural. It’s the straightened and hair extensions and wigs that can get you in trouble.”

He eased his hand around to the back of her head. “I like yours better.”

“You wouldn’t believe what it takes to make black hair straight. I don’t have time for it. Besides, I’d rather just be myself.”

They were quiet for a moment. He said, “So … I guess we can sleep in the same bed tonight?”

She laughed again. “I guess so.”

“Good. Because I’m so tired, I’m going to pass out.”

“That sounds good.”

“Tell me something first.”

“What?”

“Why wouldn’t you kiss me?”

There was a pause. She said, “It was too intimate. I wanted you to fuck me, not make love to me.”

He’d never thought of it that way. “Does that mean you won’t kiss me now?”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“You’ve got some pretty finely parsed notions about what separates a good idea from a bad one.”

There was another pause. She touched his cheek with a hand and kissed him, long and tenderly. His lips hurt but it was delicious anyway.

She broke the kiss and looked at him. He said, “Was that so bad?”

She shook her head. “It was okay. But it was the first part I really wanted.”