Chapter 36: Make Out On Kitchen Counter
We drank together, and I wished we had wine, so I would have to see to that next ti. The cola was almost flat from sitting in the cooler too long, but it was still cold and still cola, and on this side of the divide, that made it a luxury that no amount of credits could buy.
"We have a hacker," she said, with the satisfied air of a woman who had co to a market for vegetables and walked out with a Ferrari.
"We have a traumatized hacker," I corrected her.
She nodded hurriedly. "Yes, both. Both true. We will fix the second part. Slowly."
"You an I’ll fix it."
She shook her head. "I an we’ll fix it. I am extrely good at hitting things, sweetheart, and also, surprisingly, very good at being kind to people who haven’t been treated kindly in a long ti. I have practice with both. You would be surprised."
I looked at her sideways. "Would I?"
"Mm. We’ll see. You know, my whole life has been—"
She caught herself midway and stopped. She took a long sip of cola. "..ing back. Bit by bit."
I let that one rest. So questions weren’t for tonight.
I leaned over instead, pressed my forehead against her temple. She turned her face into mine, and we stayed like that for a quiet half-minute, and I felt her hand on my back tighten very slightly and then relax, the small, careful adjustnt she always made when she rembered to be careful.
"Zero," I whispered softly.
"Mm."
"I’m exhausted, and we just successfully kidnapped a hostage from a five-gang city, and you are sitting on my counter drinking cola in a sleeveless shirt, and I’m... having so thoughts."
"Are they unprofessional thoughts, sweetheart?" she asked in return.
"Highly," I chuckled.
"Mm. Tell
one."
I tilted my head, thought about it, then leaned in close enough to her ear that my breath moved her hair. "I’m thinking about what you would look like if I bent you over this counter and didn’t let you finish your cola."
The can in her hand made a small creak sound. She looked down at it, found a fresh dent on one side that hadn’t been there a second ago, and very carefully set it on the counter beside her.
She took a deep breath and said, "Lukas."
"Yeah."
She warned , "You can’t say things like that."
"And yet."
"You cannot." She wanted
again.
I grinned at her. "Counterpoint. You started it. With the eyes. And the leg. And the hand on my back. And the sitting."
"I’m always sitting." She rolled her eyes.
"You’re sitting with intent, Zero."
She laughed, and the laugh had a slightly ragged edge at the bottom of it that I noticed, and then she set the cola aside and turned and grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled, and my whole world tipped sideways for a second as I ended up half across her lap on the counter, with her hand fisted in my collar and her mouth on mine.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t the patient knock-on-the-wall version of her. It was the version of her that she usually kept on a very short leash, and the leash was, briefly, off.
Her teeth caught my lower lip. Her free hand slid down my back and underneath my waistband, and her grip on
was... careful. Painfully careful.
I could feel her holding back from the way the muscles of her hand moved, the way her fingers tightened and then imdiately loosened, the way every place she touched
was at about thirty percent of what she actually wanted to do, and we both knew it.
I gave it back to her in the only way I could—pressed her into the counter, hand at her jaw, teeth at her throat, with my full weight, since I was not the one anybody had to be careful of.
She made a small moan into my mouth that I was going to be thinking about for the rest of my life. My hand slid down and found her thigh, her hip, the curve of her, and then, because I am who I am, I gave her ass a sharp open-pald smack.
She went absolutely still for half a second.
Then she pulled back from my mouth just far enough to glare at , eyes blown wide, breathing uneven. "...Did you just spank ?"
I smiled, still keeping my hands on her perky butt. "You enjoyed it. Don’t lie."
"I’m going to kill you, sugar boy." She smiled devilishly.
"Worth it."
She kissed
again, harder, and I felt her left hand grip the edge of the counter beside us, and I heard, very clearly, the sound of laminate counter material cracking under her fingers.
She froze.
So did I.
We separated by about three inches and looked at the spot on the counter where her grip had splintered the surface like wet paper, and then we looked back at each other, and the wanting in her eyes had not gone anywhere, but it had been joined by a flicker of sothing else.
The careful look. The one she made before she set things down. She had almost forgotten about her strength.
"...Right," she said, quiet, breathing slow. "Right. Okay. We are stopping. Now."
"Yeah," I agreed.
"I’m not... I can’t yet, Lukas. You know I can’t." She looked down.
I stepped closer to her and said, "I know."
"Soon."
"I know that too. Don’t worry."
She rested her forehead against mine. Her breathing was still uneven. Mine wasn’t great either. After a long second, she gave my collarbone a small, almost apologetic, kiss and slid off the counter.
"Go ho, sugar boy. Sleep on Earth. Co back tomorrow."
"You sure?" I asked.
"I’m sure. If you stay another five minutes, I’m going to try anyway, and we both know how that ends."
"Right."
I kissed the top of her head, stole the last sip of her cola in retaliation, and made the jump.
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