Page 113 of Exit Strategy
I was so wet, and I didn’t remember that happening, at least I wasn’t right away… just enough to fit him inside me, but now? Now I could feel it between us, slicking our skins and making things so much better the more I ground on his cock. I panted, the pleasure rising again, expanding like the heat death of the universe from the center of my being outward and I let out a strangled almost sob with how desperately I wanted to come. With how much I wanted to feel somethinggoodand Kurt? Kurt wanted that for me almost as much as I did.
“That’s it, Callie girl,” he murmured, encouraging, voice pitched low and husky, sexy and seductive. “That’s my girl, come for me,” he murmured, and it put me close and closer still.
“Yes,” he moaned as I tightened up just that little bit more and reached between us, gathering my gown out of the way, putting my fingers against my clit.
“That’s it,yes,” he encouraged and I touched myself, pressing in tight, making rapid circles, massaging my clit to drag the pleasure out of the dark and releasing that light inside myself. Kurt worked his hips as best he could beneath me and touching off that spark that set the fire that burned me from the inside out, unmaking me, consuming me, turning me to a pile of panting ash against his chest as his strong arms went around me and held me tight.
I lay there, gasping, slowly coming back to my senses, as Kurt whispered gentle praises against my hair and kissed the top of my head… and through his love, I rose once more, a phoenix rising; a new life ahead of me if only I was brave enough to seize it, and I wouldnotdisappoint.
There was still so much to do to unmake New Eden and with Kurt’s continued strength, continued grace, I knew what I needed to do, and I would get it done.
I had such a fire inside and I was going to use it to burn New Eden to the fucking ground.
I sat up and looked down into my lover’s eyes as he smoothed back some of my red curls and he smiled.
“I love you,” I murmured, and his smile grew.
“I love you, too.”
I lay back down in gratitude and cuddled against his chest. He held me tight and tighter still.
I could do anything… anything… but it would all be nothing without Kurt.
Thank God, he was safe.
31
Kurt…
“You know, if I had done that in the service, I would be getting a Victoria Cross,” I said.
“Aye, or you’d be getting court martialed for mass murder and looking at a few dozen lifetime sentences at Wakefield or Millbank Prison,” the captain said. The look on his face was complicated.
“You want to give me the bit about not being the, what’s the Yank phrase? Judge, jury, and executioner?” I asked.
“Oh, the thought is foremost in my mind,” he said.
“Aye, I’m sure it is,” I said.
“How are your feelings on this, mate?”
“Clear as a bell and steadfast as the Queen. The world is a lighter place for however many creatures went into the pond. If there’s anything that might trouble my conscience, it’s that one of those big ugly caravans might have hit a turtle or a whale on its way to the bottom.”
“Can you be sure they were no other innocent people in the cargo bay when you had them dumped from twenty-five thousand feet?”
“No, I cannot say with complete and utter certainty that there were no other innocent people, but it seemed at the time, if there were any civilians in the strike zone, that was an unfortunate accident on their part,” I said. I could see his eyes harden.
“You know it galls me to have my own words handed back to me,” the captain said.
“We knew for a certain that there were multiple civilians at that bridgehead. The call was made, and the Yanks turned that place into a burning crater, because of that call.” I carefully left out that it had been his thumb on the mic. It was Captain Conan Roan who called the Yank’s B-52s to change course and carpet bomb a nameless village. We both knew the place was crawling with Talibani, and that it wasn’t just Jihadis with AKs and IEDs, they were serious combatants with machine guns, RPGs, and several field guns.
“When the bill comes due,” I began. “I’ll settle up with the bloke at the Pearly Gates, and either he’ll decide I did enough good to let me in, or he’ll give me a shake of the head and down I’ll go, right back to North Yorkshire.”
“Pretty sure Saint Peter sends you down to hell,” he said.
“If Old Scratch had North Yorkshire and Hell, he’d rent out the York and live in Hell.” I gave him a grim smile. “Besides, it’s hard to have the high ground when you’ve retired from Her Majesty’s service and are a freelance killer in the colonies.”
“It is a gray area,” he said.
