11. 11
We’re running on a track that’s in a park near the office later that week. Me and the tac-team do so a few times a week, work on some team building, get a good workout in. Everything is normal, besides the fact that Chester has decided to join us. I’ve never seen him work out before other than swimming, but somehow he decided to come along today.
Alex, who used to be a commander in the army before going private and helping me out, usually sets up some kind of parkour and then drills our asses through it, but today we’re just doing laps.
The guys are nice enough to adjust their pace to Chester’s. He might have the stamina, but his muscles aren’t used to the resistance that usually doesn’t impact him when he’s gliding through the water.
“Fucking hell,” he swears.
“Use your air to keep running at this crawling pace you’ve got going, Von Liechsenfield, if you’re still swearing you’re using your air for the wrong things.”
Yeah, Alex really still is a commander sometimes. He has the right frame of mind, but also takes extreme pleasure in physically beating us to hell. Today I’m just happy I’m getting off easy. The big, tall man doesn’t even have a drop of sweat on his skin right now, while we usually would be dripping right now.
Scott and Dylan are running behind Chester and me, chuckling at everything that’s going on. They seem to enjoy the easy-going pace and are giggling like two high school girls.
“What’s so funny, boys?” Alex says in that deep voice of his. “Remember, we all had to start from somewhere. Why don’t you run ahead? Finish two laps before we finish this one.”
“What happened to team spirit and team building?” Dylan whines.
“You thought laughing at someone who’s giving their all is teamwork?” Alex chastises them. The glare he gives them would be enough to make me shit my pants. I’m glad I’m on Alex’s good side, because I don’t think I can take on this man. Good thing I’m his boss too.
Scott and Dylan take off, while Alex and I keep running with Chester. He looks like he’s in agony.
“What’s up buttercup?” Alex asks him.
“Muscle acidity is a motherfucking bitch of a biological process and I need like an overdose of endorphins right now.”
“That’s because you’re a fucking idiot,” Alex says, giving him a crooked grin, stopping Chester in his run.
“What?” he says, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “What happened to team building?”
“We run multiple times a week, work out daily, and you think you can just tag along like you’ll be able to keep up?” Chester silently stares at him. “I thought you were the genius.”
Chester grunts, and I chuckle, earning me a very stern look from Alex.
“Tap out,” he says, as he points at one of the benches. “Knowing your limits is lesson number one. Good job on pushing through and making it this far.” His dark brown eyes fall on me and I doubt it means anything good. “Hundred burpees and then join Von Liechsenfield on the bench, Wilder. Count out loud, let Von Liechsenfield check if you’re counting correctly. He’s good with numbers.”
“Fuck you, Alex,” I say, “remember who pays your paychecks.”
“Rich old fuckers,” he says as he starts running the track and follows Scott and Dylan, “But I love you anyway, Wilder.”
Grunting, I start the burpees, counting out loud as I make my way through the exercise of hell. Burpees were invented the day Satan had his first period and realized there was no ice cream or chocolate in hell to help make him feel better.
I’m panting like crazy when I’ve done all hundred burpees, and practically fall down on the bench next to Chester. I force my body down onto the ground by pure will, because I’m always more comfortable on the ground than on whatever seating there is, but fuck if it isn’t hurting every single part of my body to sit down.
Chester moves behind me, putting one leg on each side of me, making me sit between his legs as he puts his hands on my shoulders and starts massaging them. And damn if he isn’t good with his hands. Must be all the typing he does.
When I find some strength in my arms again, I grab his calves and start squeezing them back, making him grunt.
“Underestimated our runs a bit?” I ask him, genuinely curious and not judging whatsoever.
“You guys are fucking nuts. That’s not normal, Abs. One hundred burpees after running? That’s not healthy. That can’t be healthy. When are you ever going to have to be able to do a hundred burpees? Is there going to be someone taking you hostage, holding a gun to your head, saying he’ll shoot if you don’t do a hundred burpees right now? Nah. You guys are nuts. And Alex is sadistic. You should have him tested. He’s having way too much fun making you guys go through all of this.”
I snort. We sit in silence for a while, both of us rubbing each other’s sore muscles. I watch as Alex makes the other guys go through some drills and indeed grins like a madman when he watches them do it. He does all the exercises along with them though, he’s a good team player. But he does enjoy making us hurt. It makes us faster, better and stronger so he gets away with it.
“So, what’s up, Ches?” I ask when my heart rate has finally returned to normal.
“Nothing’s up, why?”
“You’re driving a car, you’re shooting a gun, you’re working out with us. Something’s up. Don’t you dare tell me otherwise, because I’ll let Alex kick your ass if you lie to me.”
He takes his hands off my shoulders.
“It’s just…”
“It’s just?”
“Well, what if the serial killer comes to our house, and who knows what happens to you and you can’t kick his ass. What am I going to do? Throw my keyboard at his head?”
I silently laugh at the visual that gives me. “It’d be a good defense mechanism if you’d be able to hit him with the keyboard. I haven’t forgotten dodgeball in boarding school. You’d miss him by a mile.”
“I’m serious, Abs!”
“So am I,” I joke, but he scowls at me. “Look, I think it’s a good thing, you thinking ahead, wanting to be able to defend yourself. And me. But it’s not going to happen overnight and I think you should at least stay true to yourself. Your best weapon is your brain. Use it, so you don’t have to use any other weapons.”
He rests his chin on the top of my head. “Still feel like I should work harder at the other stuff.”
“You wanna join us again the day after tomorrow?”
“Hell no.”
“Well, then there you have it.”
“Hello darling,” I answer my desk phone as Miranda calls while I’m working in my office a couple of days later. “What’s up?”
“Heya sweetie, I’ve got Special Agents Luta and Sanders here. Can you meet with them?”
“Yeah, send them up. Could you send Chester up too and make us all some coffee? I’ve got no idea how the Agents drink theirs.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
I close the documents I was working on that afternoon. I’ve been going through some files about the missing children from the foster home, mainly looking at how local newspapers reported on their disappearances. But there isn’t anything to find. Anything. And it infuriates me. Why the fuck are we not outraged about kids disappearing? Why aren’t we doing more? Not just us the FIX Foundation, but all of us, as decent human beings.
The door opens and Chester walks in first, cocking his head at me with a raised eyebrow as he sits down in the windowsill. I shrug, having no clue as to what they’re coming to do.
They walk in and Special Agent Luta smiles sweetly at me, creating a smile on my own face. Then Beckett’s eyes land on me, and he actually gives me a half smile. What’s up with that? Did he think I was smiling because I saw him coming in? Because hell no.
Miranda walks in with a tray of coffees and hands everyone their drink as they sit down. She serves Beckett last, making me chuckle. Guess nobody forgot the last incident where he ignored her and she’s having her own special kind of way of payback.
She leaves the room and closes the door behind her as I hold the warm coffee cup in my hands. We’d been through a run in the rain that morning and I was still warming up after that. The hot coffee helps.
“Thanks for having us,” Agent Luta says as she grabs her cup and blows some of the steam off it. “Some results came back in, and we thought we’d bring you up to speed.”
“Before you’d get ideas and hack our servers again,” Beckett grumps, as he sits back in his chair and spreads his legs so wide the poor armrests of the chair must be straining.
“Who? Me?” Chester asks, feigning innocence, grabbing his chest. “I’d never do such a thing.”
“I saw you do it,” Beckett snaps as he stares over his shoulder.
“Uh, no, you were too busy rubbing your body against Abby. Anyway, you don’t have any proof.”
This earns Beckett a raised eyebrow from Agent Luta and somehow manages to make my cheeks heat.
“Well, if you boys are done with playtime, let’s get to it,” the gorgeous Native American agent says.
“What did you find, Special Agent Luta?” I ask, making sure I look solely in her direction and not at the two men who are still trying to out-alpha each other.
“Please, call me Winny,” she starts while cringing. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other the coming time, fuck formalities.”
“What a coincidence,” Chester says flatly, “I started calling Special Agent Sanders Becky, but he didn’t seem to be very happy about it.”
I try to hold back a laugh, while Winny’s sip goes down the wrong pipe and Beckett inflates, suddenly taking up twice as much space as before, almost growling at Chester. When Winny catches her breath again, she scrapes her throat.
“Well,” she says, “as I said. Some stuff came in. Mostly results of physical evidence. And sadly there isn’t too much to go on. All the victims were wearing necklaces, shaped like Celtic knots, symbolizing family. They’re not from any factory, as far as we know they’re hand shaped. There’s no single trace of DNA, no sign of sexual assault. The limes found in the graves are generic, not telling us anything. The envelope and the package the killer sent you? Nothing. Traces in the house? Zilch.”
She sighs as she combs a hand through her long dark hair, looking exhausted as she closes her eyes for a second.
“We know our dogs caught the killer’s scent, but he ran out in the woods, and went down into a ravine where we couldn’t follow him. He cut the lines he used to get down. Everything, all generic, from the rope he used to the knife he used to cut it. The partial footprint we managed to find was from a generic brand of shoes, and we’re not even certain if it’s a print from the killer of just some random hiker. Everything in the house was cleaned meticulously with bleach, leaving no trace, no clue. Of course, generic brands. We know he’s out there, we know he exists, we just haven’t got a lead on how to find him.”
My shoulders slump, a heavy sigh leaving me.
“There’s got to be some evidence,” Chester says, his eyebrows creased together and his mouth a thin stripe. “I could tie him to his dark web searches on the kids being held in the house next door.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t lead us anywhere,” Beckett concludes, looking pained. It feels like he’s taking the lack of result as a personal insult.
“You’re not telling me a fucking serial killer is on the loose and you’ve got no fucking clue as to who he is, where he is, or what he’s going to do? He’s after Abby for crying out loud! This is unacceptable. I’ll do it myself, fucking useless prick.”
He gets up from the windowsill, storming out of the office and making his way to his desk, where he very aggressively starts up all of his screens. Beckett tries to push himself out of his chair, staring out the door as if he’s mentally trying to force Chester to stop, but Winny puts a hand on his arm.
“Let him do his thing. Chances are he’ll run into the same dead ends as us. Best case? He finds us a lead we missed.”
She seems to be the voice of reason within this duo and I have a feeling I’d like this woman a lot on a personal level as well. Beckett and Chester seem to be on a personal mission to become each other’s archnemesis.
“If that’s all?” I ask the agents, feeling tiny and deflated. I’d really hoped there’d be some sort of evidence to point us in the right direction. Then again, if there was something to be found, Chester would find it. He might not have the same training agents of the special behavioral analysis unit had gotten, but I was willing to bet he’d been catching up on reading about everything serial killer he could find.
“That’s all for now. You think we can help Chester out with anything right now?” Winny asks. The first notes of Meshuggah’s Bleed start blasting through the whole office floor, and my face contorts.
“No, he’s in the foulest of moods. Let him just… be him for a while. I’ll call should anything come up.”
And on that note, the agents go, leaving me feeling emptier than when they arrived.
Me: What’s your address?
With a pounding heart, I wait for the two blue marks to appear. I need to get out of here, and I don’t want to solo drink at some bar. The three dots appear, indicating Remy is typing back.
Remy: Martin Luther King Lane 552. Why? Can I expect a dozen red roses and a box of chocolates?
Me: That depends on whether you’re home right now.
Remy: I’m out back chopping wood. Why?
Me: Need to get away, coming over. Keep chopping. I need to look at you going all lumber.
I don’t wait for his response, I just jump in my car and take off. I don’t even care that I’m still wearing work attire. Dark blue slacks and an off-white sleeveless button-down. Could be better, could be worse, but for an impromptu meeting it’s fine.
The drive over to Remy’s house clears my head. It’s on the outskirts of Portland and the road leading to his home is gorgeous. Driving in the shade of the tall pine trees that surround the forest somehow soothes me. I’ve always loved the solitude of the forest, giving me the chance to retreat from the evil world I tend to live in, and go back to my roots.
Before I know it, I pull up to a huge mansion, surrounded by large trees all around. It’s an old mansion style kind of home, and it’s gorgeous. Chester’s parents and their money have given me a hatred against everything that has to do with the world of the wealthy, but I have to admit they do know how to live in style. I park my car somewhere in front of the house, seeing as there’s no designated spot for it. Mustn’t be a problem right? It’s not like he’s expecting a lot of people over.
Me: Where are you?
Remy: Out back, right side of the house.
Walking around the house, I try to peep inside, but the windows are too high for me to look into. The first floor is higher up from the ground, which is pretty but kind of bums me out, because I’m curious to find out how Remy lives. I’ve seen him at his studio in the worst part of town, he’s been at my home and at the office and I’ve seen him at a function, but I’ve never seen him in his own surroundings.
When I turn the corner, I find Remy literally chopping wood, in a plaid shirt, and my fucking God, he looks like he just walked out of some of my naughtiest fantasies.
“Hey there, wood-chopper,” I say as I make my way over to him. He holds the ax above his head, straining the muscles in his arms before he forcefully lets it come down, splitting the log in two.
Be still my heart. Is there drool coming out of my mouth?
“Bonjour magnifique,” he says as he starts pulling off his shirt, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“What happened to calling me little fire?” I ask, as I stare at the marvel that is Remy’s bare torso. “And I needed to get away for a while.”
“You didn’t seem to like my little fire nickname, so I’m trying new ones until I find one that sticks,” his chest is gleaming with sweat and I’m mesmerized. “I’m glad you chose here to run away to. I don’t know what happened, but if it gets you here, I need it to happen more often.”
My stomach churns when I think about earlier that day, and I push all thoughts about it away. That’s a lot easier with such a great view to admire. When I don’t answer him, he cocks his head.
“Let’s go inside, I’ll start a fire and then put on something less sweaty.”
“Why the hell would you do that?” I ask aghast.
“Start a fire?”
“No, put on something.”
He roars with laughter and is still chuckling as he puts away the ax in a nearby shed and grabs a couple of logs that have dried from the neat stack next to the shed before he starts leading me inside. We enter the house through a side door that we have to reach by climbing a few steps. It leads to a modern kitchen that seems out of style with the outside of the building.
“This used to be my parents’ house,” he starts telling, noticing my curious glances. “They liked modern. I’m slowly changing it to my style, but I haven’t had that much time in the year since I’ve started living here.”
We walk into a large living room that”s more in style with the outside of the house. Broad oak wooden planks cover the floor of a room that’s so big you could probably house a family of six inside it. There’s a huge comfortable looking sofa in front of a fireplace.
“I’m guessing this is your work?” My eyes fall on some cabinets filled with gorgeous leather bound books and a wine rack filled with bottles.
“This room is done, yes.” He walks to the fireplace and crouches down to start building a fire. “There’s whiskey in the drink cart in the corner. It’s barrel aged and from Scotland.”
I don’t know why that surprises me, Remy has been considerate every time I’ve seen him, but having my drink ready for me comes unexpectedly. I walk over to the cart and help myself to a glass of whiskey while Remy manages to create a fire. I swirl the whiskey in my glass, getting a whiff of a very earthy tone, which I love.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, pointing his chin to the couch. Automatically I kick off my shoes and sit down on the ground before the couch. There’s a very soft rug in front of the couch, and that’s where I make myself comfortable, leaning against the seating.
Remy finishes the fire, walks to the wine cooler next to the drink cart and pours himself a glass of white wine. Then he sits down on the ground next to me, still shirtless. He’s such a good boy for listening to me and not getting dressed again. There’s still a slight gleam of sweat on his body that glistens in the light of the fireplace. I can’t stop myself from looking at him. The Hungry Wolf in Little Red Riding Hood has got nothing on me and the hungry look in my eyes.
“So, what are we doing today? Besides day-drinking of course,” Remy asks me, a crooked smile on his face as he intently watches me stare at him. His eyes are just as lust-filled as I am in that moment. I throw back the contents of my drink at once and set the glass away on the ground.
“Screw this,” I murmur, more to myself than in answer to Remy’s question. I climb in his lap, straddling him, and grab his head in my hands. He tries to put his own glass away, but he only manages to tip it over, spilling the contents of it on the floor. Good thing he was drinking white today. He doesn’t even flinch, not giving a crap about a drink on his nice new wooden oak floorboards.
His hands grab my hips and pull me closer to him, our bodies flush against each other. He opens his mouth for me, and for a moment the taste of his tangy wine mixes with the earthy taste of my whiskey.
Our tongues tangle like it’s the only thing that even remotely matters in this life. My hands roam over his bare torso, searching out every hard edge of his muscles. A moan leaves my mouth, as I shift my hips forward and grind myself over him. He pushes his hips up, and I feel his hard-on through both our clothes.
His hands glide from the back of my legs to my ass, making me grind into him every time he does so, until he grunts as well. His mouth leaves mine, and he starts kissing me beneath my ear, working his way down to the nape of my neck. I throw my head back, granting him access to all the delicious places he can reach.
When he kisses me on my collarbone and works his way to the mounds of my breasts, his hands leave my ass. Pushing me back a little, he grabs the collar of my sleeveless button-down, pulling it open in one swift motion. The sound of buttons that get torn from my shirt and scatter over the ground fills the room.
Remy practically attacks my breasts, getting one of them out of the cup of my bra, taking my nipple in his mouth, making me gasp.
“God, you’re acting like such a caveman,” I pant.
“You have no idea how caveman I want to go on you right now,” he mutters, my nipple never leaving his mouth. He isn’t being gentle with me, which I’m absolutely down for. I’m not some princess that should be handled with delicacy. I want raw passion. No holding back.
His hands find the clasp of my bra and he quickly unhooks it. I take my arms out of it before he throws it across the room.
“At least now we’re at a level playing field,” he says, massaging my breasts, again not going easy on me. I don’t know what it is, perhaps I haven’t had sex in a while, perhaps it’s the connection we share, but I need more and I need it now. Fuck going slow, throw all the caution to the winds, give it all to me now.
“Well, prepare to take your pants off, because I’m about to wiggle out of mine, get naked and crawl back in your lap. If you want a level playing field, I need you to be a team player.”
He laughs a warm, rich laugh that intensifies the tingling in my stomach. I refuse to call them butterflies, they’d die if they’d live inside of me. I untangle myself from his embrace and get naked. He seems to be on board with my plan, because he’s all undressed in no time.
“Now what, chef?”
“Sit your ass back down, I liked what we had going.”
He doesn’t even hesitate before he sits back down, his knees pulled up and I crawl back in his lap again. The warmth of the crackling fire on my bare back is like a warm blanket, while the hotness that is Remington Ashburn is like an inferno beneath me. I feel his cock between our stomachs, and it’s hard as all hell. I can feel how aroused I am myself, everything practically throbbing for him to get on with this.
I squeeze my hand between our bodies, grabbing his dick and stroking it from base to tip. My thumb glides over his crown, forcing a moan out of his mouth. Meanwhile I practically rub my slick pussy all over him. Our mouths seem to be living a life of their own, kissing every part of the other we can find.
“Birth control?” his warm voice moans as his mouth is next to my ear.
“Taken care of,” I pant, thinking about the contraceptive implant in my arm. “I don’t fucking care about anything else, just start taking me right now because I can’t handle any more of this.”
I lift myself up on my knees, guiding his cock to my opening and letting myself glide down on him as he pushes himself up, bottoming out in an instant. For the umptieth time that day I gasp, arching my back in delight and pressing my body flush against him.
He kisses my neck as he starts guiding me up and down by holding my ass and making sure I take a pace he likes. Again, not being gentle with me. I wonder if he’s used to going rough from his dates with men. Perhaps I should date bisexual men more often.
My hands go over his back, through his hair where I tangle my fingers and grab him with some force, demanding him to look up at me. His eyes are hooded and he’s out of breath, but his blue eyes are shining brighter than I’ve seen it shine before.
He manages to push one of his hands between us, finding my clit without needing any help, and I could just about squeal in delight. The times I’ve been let down by a potentially great fuck that didn’t have a clue how to please a woman and only had some fun themselves were way too plentiful.
Instead of squealing, I’m just moaning. When I tilt my pelvis forward, he hits a spot inside me that makes all of my insides tighten. The circles he’s rubbing on my clit and the spot his dick hits makes me ignite instantly. An orgasm crashes through my body like I’m getting hit by a train, and for a blissful moment I can’t do anything but ride it out, my mouth hanging open and my body practically going limp.
I don’t think I manage to suck in air the entire time I’m coming.
When the last traces of it have disappeared, he throws me on my back. I land on the soft rug and feel the heat of the fire on the side of my body. Remy hovers over me before he starts kissing a way down my body.
“Putain de merde, that was hot. Do it again,” he says, before he buries his face in my pussy. Kissing, licking and sucking my folds and my clit. He takes one of my legs, and lays it over his shoulder, opening me up for him completely.
Normally, I’m not too big a fan of oral. I like to be in charge and I don’t have the patience for some idiot trying to give me pleasure while I’m mentally thinking what groceries I should get. But that’s the very last thing on my mind right now. Despite the fact that I just came, I’m enjoying the shit out of whatever magic he’s creating with his mouth.
He sucks hard on my clit at the exact moment he sticks two fingers in me. My fingers try to grab the rug, but I come up empty. So I grab Remy’s hair instead, practically pulling his head against me. Not that he needs the incentive, he’s working me like he’s on a deadline.
When he puts a third finger in me and curls his fingers, I feel myself starting to build again. I feel myself convulsing once, almost coming but not falling over the edge. The sadistic French-speaking bastard only starts licking me slower, making me chase the feeling.
I’m so fucking on edge I start grinding myself against his face. He starts grinning, I can just feel the corners of his mouth curl up, but I don’t care. He gives in to my wordless plea and starts sucking me like he did before again, pumping his fingers into me harder than before.
I fucking love how rough he dares to be with me. Men tend to think I break easily, which couldn’t be further from the truth. But if your sex life mostly consists of one night stands, you don’t tend to educate the poor bastard who’s trying his hardest but failing miserably.
Remy isn’t one of them.
He makes me shatter into a million little pieces until I don’t know whether I’ve died or I’m still living and breathing. I can feel myself squeezing his fingers while he makes sure to get everything that’s humanly possible out of me.
“You’re so incredibly beautiful when you fall apart for me,” he says as he crawls over my body.
“Well, you’re just very talented,” I manage to mumble, still a little out of breath. He kisses his way up over my sweat covered body. I guess it’s a combination of lying next to the fireplace and our current activities.
“Yeah, it’s a combination of natural born talent and a lot of practice. Kind of like my dancing.”
I chuckle, but as he lines himself up with me again and thrusts into me, my chuckling stops and turns into a moan. He uses a hand to swipe the sweaty raven dark strands of hair out of my face. I stare into his vibrant blue eyes, before he wraps a hand around the side of my neck, his thumb lifting my chin up and he starts going to town on me, making my eyes roll back in my head.
My back arches, and our bodies glide over each other, slippery from the sweat. Remy keeps going harder and starts making more frantic moves. I meet him thrust for thrust, helping him chase his orgasm which I desperately want to give to him. The tips of my fingers are pressed into his shoulders so hard I think he might have some bruises tomorrow, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
When I wrap my legs around his waist he tenses up, giving me a last few hard thrusts as his face contorts into a mix of ecstasy and bliss when he climaxes. He starts going slower and slower, before he lets himself fall down on me, totally spent.
We’re both trying to catch our breaths as I slowly start making circles on his sweaty back. I could lie here for days and die happy, all my worries evaporated for the moment.
Yeah, this was a perfect way to spend my afternoon.