Winter's Blade (Storm)
Alex figured she'd been through a lot, so when Em didn't say anything more, he didn't try to fill the void.
They were only a few miles short of the downtown exits when he noticed the warning light. "I need to get gas."
The blinding lights of the station were a welcome relief after the tunnel-like darkness back at the accident. The rain had let up, too, now just a gentle shower.
He'd just started pumping when Em got out of the car. She started to stretch and twist her shoulder around.
"You sure you're okay?" Alex asked.
"Fine. I'm just taking my coat off."
The shapeless raincoat slipped off one shoulder and revealed bare skin. The collar and other shoulder dipped revealing more bare skin. Her left arm slipped free of the garment, and the coat began to slide down and to the right, like a curtain opening to unveil a work of art. Alex's eyes followed the fabric down, down, seeing nothing but skin -- smooth, pale, perfect skin -- until two curves of dark velvet raced inward to meet at the small of her back. Something in the back of his mind said "parabola" and formed a new and very strong link between mathematics and beauty.
The perfect surface shifted, curves stretching and sliding, and Alex's eyes followed them slowly upward to her shoulder, inward and upward along her neck to her jaw and up her cheek to... see her looking over her shoulder at him.
Her eyebrow arched with equal parts annoyance and amusement. "Hey, quit staring."
Alex couldn't speak.
He couldn't look away, either.
Em shook her head and slid back inside the car. It seemed like ballet.
Alex had several gallons to think about what he'd seen. Oddly, he couldn't remember anything factual.
When he got back in the car, he made a point not to look at her. He knew she was looking at him, but her arms were crossed, so it probably wasn't good.
Once they were back on the freeway, she spoke. "So what kind of car is this?"
Alex felt such release at the broken tension that he blurted out, "1995 Toyota Supra Turbo." Too much information, geek...
"So it's fast."
Alex shrugged. "I guess." He'd geeked out enough already; he was going to shut up now.
But Em wasn't done with him. "So, Alex, what do you do?" Her tone was clipped, almost confrontational. Like this wasn't a conversation so much as an interview.
"I'm a writer." That was always his first answer.
"No, really," Em said.
"Really."
"What do you write? The little sayings on Taco Bell sauce packets?"
That was probably supposed to be an insult. "Movie reviews. For an online site."
Em scoffed. "Let me rephrase: what do you do to make money?"
Alex was used to that reaction, and it wasn't entirely undeserved. But: "It's hard to explain."
"Does it involve equations or chemical formulas?"
Point. "No, I just... wear a lot of hats."
Less hostile: "Those your words or your boss's?"
The question surprised Alex; it took him a moment to reflect. "His, actually."
"I get that too. It means 'I need to hire more people but I'm not going to.'" Alex wasn't sure, but he thought Em might actually be unclenching a little bit. Maybe. "So where do you work?"
"An office-slash-warehouse on Sunrise, few blocks off Industrial."
"This place got a name?"
He wasn't *trying* to be confrontational... "About a dozen. Ocean Wireless, Pan-Pacific Productions, Seven Seas Imports, Digital Ocean Webhosting..."
"Was your boss a sailor?" Was that a laugh he heard?
"I don't know. It's just his theme, I guess. Basically, if he thinks he can make a buck at it, he'll try it."
"Seven Seas Imports, that's not a shipping company, is it?"
"No, just for reselling junk."
"Good." Good? Maybe something to do with the busted crate in the back... "So tell me about the hats."
Hats? Oh, the 'hats' he 'wears'... "I help take care of the servers."
"So you really are a geek."
He didn't think she meant it as an insult, exactly. "I guess. I mean, there's another guy who configures 'em and stuff; I just check logs and swap tapes and... well, tonight I had to stay late to shut 'em down. Which won't make the customers happy, but we were running out of battery. Most of the systems go down automatically, like the customer websites, but a couple of the co-hosted servers don't have any software, and it doesn't work right on our own servers, probably because Tony keeps messing with 'em, at least that's what Sven is always bitching about...."
Alex realized he was rambling; she obviously didn't care about their servers. "And I also run the duplicators, and fix 'em when they break; format conversions; check orders and..." he didn't want to say 'shipping' "...paperwork. Sometimes I do DVD menus. I don't really have anything to do with the wireless business -- that's mostly Tony's cousin -- but I get a free phone. I also research credit card disputes for the billing service, just pull the usage, trace IPs and stuff -- Tony hates chargebacks. But mostly I'm all Labrador retriever," he finished with a dramatic flair.
If Em got the reference, she didn't let on.
The silence compelled Alex to try to explain. "You know, pick stuff up here, run stuff over there -- suppliers, customers, printers, bank, hardware store."
"Cleaners?" Em asked.
Alex grunted; picking up Tony's dry cleaning was the only task he really hated. "Yeah."
"I hate that. Like I really got a degree to get some bimbo's lipstick off my boss's shirt."
"At least you're not the bimbo."
"They get better perks."
Alex wasn't touching that one. "So what do you do when you're not picking up dry cleaning or dropping off medeival weapons?"
"I didn't know it was an axe."
"Ahh. Rule Number One: Never Open The Package."
"Excuse me?"
"It's a line from a movie. 'The Transporter.' Guess you didn't see it."
"What's it about?"
"This ex special forces guy who specializes in extra-legal transportation. He has a set of rules about his work. I guess you didn't see it."
"I guess you didn't notice these." She pointed to her chest.
"What, just because you're a girl I should assume you don't like action movies?"
She shook her head; then her mood seemed to snarl again. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about work. And I really don't want to talk about *that*." Her thumb jerked toward the crate in the back.
"Okay."
She stewed for a minute.
"And I really don't want to go to this stupid Christmas party."
"Okay."
It took Alex a minute to realize she was looking at him. It was a strange look, intimidating. Like she was sizing him up, grading him. "What?" Alex finally asked.
She looked out the windshield. "I wanna go to a club."
Alex stiffened up. He hadn't been to a club since... Theresa, and every time he'd gone with her he felt like she was shopping for his replacement. Besides, he didn't dance. Not that he was totally sure Emmeline meant 'I wanna go to a club *with* *you*' but if he had to guess from that look she gave him...
She looked at him again, this time with eyes narrowed. "You don't go clubbing, do you?" It wasn't really a question.
"I've been," Alex said a little defensively.
"Nevermind, I hate clubs anyway." She crossed her arms and stared at the floor.
Alex felt awkward. What was he supposed to do? Make suggestions? Ask her about her problems? Make small talk? Shut up and drive? Did she feel obligated to let him give her a ride, as thanks? That sounded backwards, and yet it made sense in a way. Was he part of the problem?
Alex hoped not. Because Emmeline Winter was the most... interesting person to happen to him in a long time. And his life could use a little adventure...
"We're going the wrong way," she seethed.
Alex suddenly snapped to attention. Did he go too far, miss a ramp? No, they were just coming over the hill, downtown's skyscrapers off to the right like a cluster of trees with their tops shrouded in ominous rainclouds.
"I don't understand," he said.
"GrrrrrrrrrRRRRAAHH!" She pounded her fist against the door. "Look, I'm sorry. I just..." She faltered, like the answer to whatever it was kept flitting just out of reach, her brow furrowed.
Alex didn't know the answer -- hell, he didn't even know the question -- but he knew he was getting off the freeway.
Em looked up, momentarily confused by the change in course. She looked at Alex, about to ask why, when her eyes narrowed.
"I need a drink," she announced.
"Um, I'm sure we can find a--"
"Not here," she interrupted. "You know some place else we can go? Some place quiet. I need to think."
Alex wracked his brain. He wasn't exactly a bar-hopper. But he'd met a customer once in the lounge of that airport hotel, and it seemed pretty quiet. "Back down by the airport, I think it's the Hilton, they have a lounge, and--"
"Quieter than that."
Quie-- oh.
"I know just what you need," Alex said with a grin.
Em gave him a "don't get cocky" look. "Oh do you now."
"Trust me."
"Just remember which one of us brought the axe."
It was a good fifteen minutes back the way they'd come before Alex got off the freeway.
Another five and they'd left behind the rigid concrete segmentation of urban landscaping and climbed up into the hills of upscale suburbia.
At the apex of the last gentle switchback, Alex nosed the car into a driveway, which shortly curved left to a two-car garage. To the right sat a low-slung house with an angled plane of a roof; it looked more than a little bit like a roadside restaurant from the '60s.
"My boss is out of town until New Year's," Alex explained. "He asked me to house-sit."
Once inside, he led her down a trio of steps into the living room. It looked like a villain's private lounge, where he would reveal his master plan before sending the hero to some elaborate doom. Alex picked up a remote and stabbed at a couple of buttons until the curtains along the far side of the room began to reveal an all-glass wall. Beyond, the patchwork of a populace still lifting itself from a blackout ringed the bay.
Em let out a low whistle. "You need to ask for a raise." Once the impact of the view had registered, she took a look around inside, noting the decidedly space-age furnishings. She gave Alex a smirk. In a bad Scottish brogue she asked, "Do you expect me to talk?"
Alex was halfway to the kitchen; he spun on his heel and bellowed, "No, Miss Winter, I expect you to dine!" He grinned. "I've got some leftover Chinese in the fridge; you hungry?"
"Sure, but first I need a drink."
"The bar's to your right. Help yourself, I'll be right back."
When Alex returned with a pair of open chinese takeout boxes, Em was still at the bar, pouring what looked like Yoo-hoo into a pair of glasses. Alex took a seat at the end of the couch, facing the picture window.
Em dimmed the lights, then came around the couch to stand in front of him, taking a sip from one glass while holding the other out in front of Alex.
Alex set the chinese food box aside and took the proffered drink. He expected Em to sit down, but she remained standing over him, waiting for his opinion. "Well?"
He took a sip. "It's... sweet." It went down smooth, but the scent burned his nose a little. "And potent. What's it called?"
"A Screaming Orgasm." He went to take another sip when she leaned down and took the glass from his hand. "Plenty of time for that later," she said, setting it down on the end table. Before Alex could protest, Em downed the rest of her own drink in one big gulp, sunk a knee to either side of him, and lowered herself onto his lap.
Emmeline's eyes locked with his. "Thanks for the drink," she whispered. Her hand reached out, thumb stroking across his cheek, fingers sliding back through his hair, cradling his head like one might cradle a snifter. Then she leaned forward and kissed him.
It wasn't a tender kiss; she seemed hungry, quickly breaking contact only to draw him deeper, again and again, until her tongue was tickling the inside of his cheek, and her grip on his head was like a pitcher working a baseball before accepting a sign.
Em was throwing nothing but heat.
Her free hand slid into his shirt, nails gently grazing his skin, just on the edge of tickling, making his breath ragged -- which put a trembling energy in their kissing that was driving him crazy. Just when he thought the tension would kill him, she would withdraw, nibbling his lip or nuzzling his cheek long enough to let him catch his breath.
Eventually he realized he wasn't doing his fair share. His hands found her hips and began working their way up her bare back, fingertips riding the valley of her spine, palms feeling her shifting shoulders as her hands roamed him.
Alex was happy to just lock lips all night. Sure, a part of him wanted more -- a very *hard* part -- but this kissing thing was so amazing he wasn't about to risk it.
Em was less risk-averse.
She cocked her hips forward, arching her back, drawing her body closer to his until her velvet-covered breasts grazed him. She raised her butt, slithering her torso up to a kneel that parked her chest right in his face. He breathed in her perfume, his nostrils flaring but not daring contact. Alex blew a hesitant teasing breath on a velvet-draped nipple, and Em leaned into him fully, forcing the turgid tip against his open mouth. He couldn't help but draw it in, feeling the fuzz of its fabric sheath with his tongue, then ever so gently trapping it with his teeth.
"Wait," she breathed, and Alex felt instantly discouraged, until: "Take it off."
He released her and she leaned back, again sitting on his thighs. His hands rose and centered behind her neck where he expected a clasp or a knot, but she quickly put her hands on his arms and guided him down toward the hem. He wanted it to be a slow, caressing journey, but she pushed his hands down impatiently until they were at her knees, then began pulling them up under the hem. Her eyes locked with his, watching him as if she was expecting something.
His fingers slid smoothly up her silken hose, her hands guiding his much more slowly now. And then his fingers felt a little bump, and then bare flesh. Oh! She was wearing stockings...
His hands continued their careful upward creep, shifting to follow the taut-pulled stockingtops to the garters that shaped them, then up the slender straps to their lacy conclusions. Nudity was overrated...
Satisfied that she'd given him his moment, Em grabbed the hem of her dress and began to lift. Alex took advantage and ran his hands right up her torso as the curtain was lifted until the webs of his thumbs found the curves of her breasts and cradled her nipples. The contact made her melt, and she fell forward against his firm hands. He just held her there, their pose reminiscent of a ballerina lifted to flight by her partner, until she recovered her wits and finished removing her dress. Em then rose up on her knees again, her arms wrapping around his head and clutching him to her chest. His tongue found and flicked a nipple, making Em twitch and gasp, but she never let go.
Alex's hands again roamed, snaking down her sides and settling in on the cheeks of her ass, thumbs locked beneath her garter straps. He squeezed the soft flesh in time with his tongue. All the while his aching-hard member begged for freedom, straining as if trying hard enough would let it reach its goal hovering hotly above it.
But it was Em's initiative that had put him in this passionate position, and she wasn't waiting any longer.
Her hands snaked between them, finding belt, then button, then zipper; Alex felt like he could raise the Titanic. She had trouble stretching his boxers high enough; he had a better angle and in a flash his dick sprang free. Wait, protection -- he began digging for his wallet...
Em leaned back, her weight resting on his knees; she brought something up to her mouth. Alex heard plastic wrinkle and then give way; she was opening a condom wrapper. Where did that come from?
The question was forgotten as her fingers shimmied their way down his shaft.
Recognizing a sense of urgency, Alex's thumbs hooked the panty strings at her hips and began to slide them down, only then realizing the mechanics of the situation would require her to get up, and only after that realizing that they were underneath her garter straps, which meant...
"They're side-tie," she whispered roughly.
Two tugs later, Em's last defense fell, and she lowered her hips to claim her victory.
Alex wanted just to watch his lover as she slowly took him inside her, but with the first inch his eyes rolled back in his head as all thought was lost. When he found focus again, she took him a little deeper, her body shuddering and gripping and relaxing and shifting around him, again overwhelming reason.
Alex felt tortured, and hoped it never stopped.
But once Em had all of him, she wasn't going to let him off easy.
She shifted and withdrew, hovering at his tip, teasing him for untold cruel seconds before slowly gliding back down. She did it again, resisting the pull of his hands on her hips, but holding out less and returning more quickly.
After a third time, neither could hold back any longer.
Hips moved back and forth, back and forth, more and more quickly, soon becoming an urgent thrusting, each of them breathing and grunting in time. It was a hungry, aggressive act, Alex bouncing up off the couch to meet Em bouncing down on him.
He wouldn't last long -- he couldn't; couldn't stop, couldn't speak, couldn't see, only feel his whole being drawing tighter within him with every staccato stroke. He wished she would control him, settle him, but she was past that, spurring him on, begging him to push her, so close, so close, now, now, NOW . . . and Alex felt that final clench and release within, and his muscles flexed and twitched, shivering, and locking, and collapsing.
Alex felt Emmeline fall against him, her whole torso spasming, driving the breath out of her, finally settling and letting her go.
Her hand trembled as it stroked his cheek.