****
Rachel woke up abruptly, head throbbing, in a dark and unfamiliar room. After a stubborn moment, memories came back to her in a patchy trickle; Dylan had gotten her superbly drunk, pouring shot after shot and letting her smoke all of the cigarettes she wanted until the world was spinning around her. At one point, he had cracked the living room window to give the rising smoke somewhere to go, and when he had returned to the floor where Rachel had decided to stay. She had sprawled against him, laughing and crying as the full impact of the situation hit her. “For someone as wealthy as I now am,” she had said, the hilarity and tragedy of it filling her up until she shook, “I don’t have a goddamned thing.” Dylan’s strong arm had snaked around her, steadying her as she trembled.
“Look at the silver lining, Love: not many people get such an easy pass to start over again.”
Her brain felt as though it had been replaced by tightly-packed cotton, and Rachel tried to remember how she had gone from the floor of Dylan’s bedroom and into a bed. He had let her cry herself out, nodding solemnly at her half-coherent review of How We Got Here. She had eventually stopped talking, too overwhelmed with whiskey and grief to do anything more than lean against him, trembling slightly, while the room spun. “You need to get some sleep,” Dylan had told her. “Up you go.”
Rachel realized that while Dylan had kept her glass constantly topped off, he only had a few ounces himself; he was nearly sober as he led her to the bedroom. Dylan had left her alone and somehow Rachel had managed to change into the nightgown she had grabbed out of her dresser, barely remembering how to tie the sash on the robe that went over it. Dylan had knocked before coming back in, and Rachel could remember him guiding her weaving, unsteady steps to the bed, pulling the blankets up around her. He had left without a word, leaving the door open a crack as he went back into the living room. Points to him--he didn’t take advantage of a drunk girl, Rachel thought bleakly. Her legs were tangled up in the sheets, and she spent long moments extricating herself from the bed, standing up on feet that didn’t seem to be quite real underneath her.
She padded out of the bedroom, moving through the short hall; Rachel could hear the soft sounds of Dylan’s breathing coming from the couch, steady and slow. She checked, wincing as the movement jarred her tight skull, and veered towards the kitchen. Water. Water will make it all better. Somehow. She looked around, opening cupboards until she found one containing glasses, and turned to the sink. It might wake up Dylan; if he was as good at protecting people as he hinted, he was probably a light sleeper. Rachel decided that if he woke, he woke, and she wasn’t going to hold herself responsible for interrupting the sleep of a man who was being paid to make sure she wasn’t killed in her own drunken stupor. She turned on the tap and filled the glass, drinking it down before filling it once more.
“Something wrong?” Dylan’s voice carried to her from the direction of the living room and Rachel shrugged. She turned off the water and sipped from the glass as she made her way towards him, sinking down onto the small empty space on the couch near his feet.
“Well, for one thing, I’m not drunk anymore,” she observed.
Dylan chuckled lowly in the semi-darkness. “There’s more whiskey if you’d like it.”
“I think if I have any more whiskey I’m probably going to throw up. Not the desired outcome.” Rachel sipped at the water again, willing the throbbing in her temples and hot needles behind her eyes to recede.
“Did you want to talk?” Dylan asked.
“Not particularly. I just…” Rachel drank the last of the water and put the glass carefully down on the floor at her feet. “Why weren’t you surprised that they burned down my apartment building?” The couch creaked and shifted underneath her and Rachel saw Dylan’s shadowed body sitting up. His shadowed body emerged into the meager light provided by the lamps outside, and she saw that at some point after he put her to bed, he’d taken his shirt off. She swallowed; he was even more muscular than he had originally appeared, ridges and valleys forming under the skin of his chest and abdomen.
“Not much surprises me anymore,” Dylan said quietly. “Though I have to admit, the sight of you stepping out of the hall, soap dish in hand, ready to cold-cock someone…” he chuckled. “And don’t think I missed the fact that you were going to slug me with keys in your hand at the car. You’re a lot tougher than you think, Rachel.”
“A lot of good that does me,” she said bitterly. Rachel wished that she could tear her gaze from Dylan’s muscular body, that she could focus enough to take herself back to bed. The morning was going to be bad enough without spending the rest of the night plagued with inconvenient mental images.
“It’ll serve you well,” Dylan told her. “You need toughness. It’ll make my job easier, at any rate.” He leaned in closer to her.
“I don’t want to talk about any of it,” Rachel said.
“Well, what would you like to do instead?”
Rachel looked at him for a long moment, pondering the question. She came to a wordless decision and leaned in, closing the distance between them. She pressed her lips to Dylan’s, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pushing her body against his. Dylan’s arms coiled around her as he returned the kiss for a moment, and Rachel moaned, her nipples hardening at his touch, her body heating up. She could feel her muscles tightening; she felt the damp warmth forming along her folds.
Dylan broke away from the kiss abruptly, holding her back with surprisingly gentle hands. “You shouldn’t,” he said, his voice soft in the darkness. “You’re not in the right state of mind.”
Rachel shook her head, bringing her lips against his once more. “I’m not drunk, and you asked what I wanted to do. This is what I want to do.”
Dylan’s arms tightened around her, and Rachel shivered as his hands came to life, trailing along the curves of her body, sliding over her through the thin fabric of her clothes. He broke away again, and she realized she was already breathing more heavily. She felt the blood rushing through her veins, her heart beating faster, her skin tingling.
“I am not going to do this on an old, ratty couch,” Dylan told her. Rachel started to protest; before she could object, Dylan lifted her up, standing in a fast, graceful movement. He shifted her in his arms, carrying her along the short hallway towards the bedroom. Dylan kicked the door fully open and strode across the floor, letting Rachel fall carefully onto the bed before he covered her body with his own. His hands trailed along her body, finding the sash to her robe and tugging at it until it came untied, peeling the soft fabric aside. He cupped her breasts over the nightgown, and Rachel moaned, arching up into his touch.
She could feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her thigh as Dylan brought his lips down onto hers, kissing her hungrily. He teased her nipples through the fabric of her nightgown, rolling and twisting them, sending sharp jolts of sensation seemingly straight to her pussy, making her wetter and wetter by the moment. Dylan rocked his hips against her, tugging the neck of her nightgown down to expose her breasts. Rachel’s hands floundered over his back and along his chest, fumbling to find something to take off him. She suddenly had no greater need than to feel his skin against hers—to feel him inside of her.
Dylan lifted her up, tugging the robe off and casting it aside to some unknown part of the room in the darkness, and Rachel’s hands latched onto the waistband of his jeans, seeking and quickly finding the fly. She heard fabric ripping, but then Dylan’s hands shifted against her; in a matter of moments, Rachel was slithering free of the last constraints of her nightgown, pushing her body against Dylan’s in the darkness. She tugged and fumbled with the button and zipper on his fly, and hooked her fingers in the tough denim.
Dylan chuckled, nuzzling against her neck, nipping with sharp teeth along the column of her throat. “Want some help with that?” he asked her, his low voice nearly a purr in her ear. Rachel started to shake her head, but felt Dylan’s hand brush against hers, moving his jeans down over his hips, leaving nothing between them but the thin cotton of his boxer-briefs. She muttered a frustrated curse, grabbing at the elastic waistband. Dylan chuckled again and in a moment, the last barrier was gone. She felt his hot, glistening skin pressed against hers; his hips shifting down between her thighs.
“How long has it been for you?” he asked her, bringing his lips up to her ear. Rachel gasped as she felt his teeth dig into the tender flesh of her earlobe, the swipe of his tongue following it. His hot, hard cock brushed against her slick folds, teasing—tantalizingly close. “When was the last time anyone made you scream their name?”
Rachel swallowed against the dryness of her throat, pushing her hips down, struggling to get better contact. “No one’s ever made me scream their name,” she managed to say, panting as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“Pity, that,” Dylan said. He rocked his hips, his cock rubbing against her heat, the tip barely touching her clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. “A beautiful woman like you ought to be screaming some lucky sod’s name every night of the week.” He shifted his hips, and Rachel gasped as she felt the hot thickness of his cock pushing up into her slowly.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing her hips down to meet his thrust. Rachel moaned long and low as Dylan moved deeper and deeper inside of her, rocking his hips against hers, letting her feel him inch by inch. Rachel turned her head, seeking his mouth, grabbing at his hair to pull his face to hers. Dylan groaned against her lips as his hips pressed flush to hers, and Rachel arched up against his body, biting down on his full lower lip as the minute movements between them increased the friction against her clit.
Dylan pulled his hips back slightly, and Rachel sighed with disappointment as she felt his cock sliding out of her almost completely; the sound turning into a deep moan as he thrust into her once more. Her inner muscles rippled and flexed around him, as if her body itself couldn’t stand to let him leave. She found herself falling into his rhythm as Dylan began to gradually speed up. He cradled her in his arms, holding her by the shoulders as he thrust into her harder and faster, his lips moving over her face, kissing along the column of her throat. Rachel gripped his sweat-slick shoulders, digging her fingernails in, struggling to hold onto him as she writhed and twisted, her hips moving in a tidal rhythm she couldn’t have resisted if she wanted to. He felt so good—thick, hot and full inside of her, pushing deeper along her inner walls, the tip of his cock barely brushing her g-spot and then retreating. Any thoughts of anything other than the feeling of his body against hers, his cock inside of her, dissolved.
“God, woman,” Dylan murmured, panting as he lifted himself up slightly, changing the angle of his thrust and driving up against her pleasure center. Rachel cried out, her legs tightening around him convulsively, her head falling back amongst the pillows as every muscle in her body tensed with reaction. “Any man who couldn’t be bothered to make you scream is a fool.”
Rachel felt his arm moving from underneath her, shivering as Dylan’s hand trailed down along her waist to slip between their bodies. He found her clit by touch and began to stroke her in time with his thrusts, kissing her hungrily on the lips and along her throat. Rachel found herself moving with him mindlessly, her pleasure mounting more and more every moment, until she couldn’t hold back any longer. She moaned his name, louder and louder, crying out as wave after wave of sensation racked her body. Rachel didn’t quite scream, but her whole body rippled, muscles flexing and relaxing in spasms as she moaned out again and again.
She felt Dylan’s cock twitching inside of her, and buried her face against his neck as she felt his hot release flooding into her, his body vibrating as he moaned long and low, murmuring her name between gasps for breath. After a few more moments, his body went slack against hers; Rachel sagged against the bed, panting as her heart raced, tingling all over in hot and cold bursts of sensation.
“Not quite a scream,” Dylan said, dragging his lips along the line of her jaw and stopping at her mouth. He kissed her lazily before lifting his weight off of her, tumbling onto the bed less than an inch away. Rachel chuckled, feeling the reassuring weight of his arm coiled around her waist as she recovered slowly, her breath gradually returning to normal. “But then, it was a first attempt.”
Rachel curled up against him, feeling the lingering soreness between her legs, the jelly-like feeling just below her hips. “Depending on what time it is,” she said, turning her head to peer up at him in the darkness, “I’m more than happy to let you try again.”
“What does it matter what time it is?” Dylan asked her, one hand moving up to brush a lock of hair away from her neck where sweat had plastered it. “Neither of us have anywhere to be tomorrow. We could spend the next twelve hours figuring out what I have to do to make you scream my name.” Rachel saw the white flash of his teeth as he smiled. “And then, of course, we’ll have lots of time in whatever exotic locale we escape to.” Rachel frowned slightly, remembering that in spite of the pleasure she had just received, her life was in shambles. “If you’ve got to be an unwilling expat, might as well enjoy yourself.”
Rachel chuckled lowly. “I can’t just spend the next…who knows, maybe the rest of my life, screwing my brains out.”
Dylan pulled her close, reaching down and tugging the covers over them. “Sure would be fun to try, don’t you think?”
Rachel shook her head, laughing in spite of herself. “Isn’t there something in your code of conduct about not sleeping with clients? I thought I remembered that about mercenaries.”
“First, I’m not a mercenary--I’m on retainer. Second, you’re not my client. I can sleep with you as much as you’d like,” Dylan brought her face up to his, kissing her hungrily. Rachel felt his cock beginning to harden, pressed against her hip. “I don’t think either of us is going to be sleeping much in the near future, do you?”
Rachel giggled. Considering that she’d lost everything in the span of less than a week, she felt oddly optimistic. “Five minutes. Then you can try and make me scream again,” she told Dylan. “We can plan out the rest of my life tomorrow.”