Allan Folsom - The Hadrian Memorandum

“An hour or so.”

He sat up angrily. “Yeah, well, fuck. Conor White and your Patrice found out you were at the hotel. They went there looking for you.”

“How do you know?”

“I was there. White had the others waiting outside, for Chris-sake. I killed two of them.”

“What?”

“Kovalenko’s Glock. They came after me. So I shot them. One right after the other on a street near the hotel. Then I walked off still looking for you. I’ve been dodging the Lisbon police ever since.” Suddenly his anger deepened. “I’m out there in the rain with the police and you’re in here fucking sleeping.” He picked the hand towel up again, put it over his eyes, and leaned back in the water.

“I’m tired. Go back to sleep or whatever the hell you were doing. I need to think and try to put this all together, if that’s even possible. Maybe at some point you’ll do me the courtesy of telling me what was so damn important that you had to go out and get all this started. It might help, but I doubt it.”

“I want to have sex with you.”

He took the towel from his eyes and looked up at her. “What?”

“I said I want to have sex with you,” she said again and slipped out of the robe. Without a word she slid naked into the water, opening her legs around him and fitting into the confines of the tub.

“Hey.” He looked her in the eyes. “I’m mad at you. You did a hugely stupid thing going out like that. I nearly got killed because of it. You think I’m just going to forget about it and have sex with you?”

“I’m still mad at you for nearly strangling me in Berlin, but that has nothing to do with now.” She ran a hand along his thigh under the water, then leaned forward. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Like you did in Berlin. In the middle of the street with the police watching. I liked it.”

“You’re nuts.”

“Kiss me.”

“Aw, Jesus, Anne.”

The bedroom was dark, the bed wet from their bodies come straight from the bath. Marten made a sound as her lips encircled his penis. Slowly she began to move her head up and down the length of him; in time she let her hand join in, using it as well as her lips. He watched her for a moment, then leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. Lights from a passing car on the street below moved across it and then were gone, the ceiling dark again. Fire was rising inside him.

“Jesus, Anne,” he murmured.

She kept going, slowly. Her tongue circling the top of his erection, then bringing her mouth back over the top of it and taking it far down into her throat. He was going to explode and knew it. He tried to push her head away. He didn’t want to come now, not yet. She fought him off and kept on, hunching up a little as his hips began to rise, her breasts sliding across his thighs, her nipples as hard and erect as he was. He heard her moan. An animal sound. Then everything rose up at once. He tried to hold back. It didn’t work and he erupted. Still she didn’t stop. Soon pain overrode pleasure and he had to forcefully move her head away.

“It hurts,” he breathed.

She stopped and looked up and smiled seductively. “But it hurts good, doesn’t it?”

He saw her get up and go into the bathroom. There was a toilet flush and then running water, and then she came back with a warm towel to clean him. Afterward she moved up into his arms in the dark and kissed him. They lay that way for a long time, the only sound their breathing, which seemed to rise and fall in unison. Finally she slid her hand down and made him hard again, then looked into his eyes.

“It’s your turn,” she whispered. “Go down on me and then fuck me. Fuck me hard. And for a long time.”

How long had they been at it? Marten didn’t remember the last time he’d had sex like this. How many times had he come? How many times had she? And there had been something more. When he’d been on top she’d reached up and run her hands through his hair and held him, her eyes watching him as he watched her. Even in the dim light he’d seen pleasure, and escape, and maybe even love pass through her. Not just passed through but shared with him. He had never had any woman do that before. Not even his adored Caroline. He wondered how she could convey those exceedingly simple yet terribly deep emotions all at the same time without abandoning herself to any one of them.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he said finally. “Tomorrow-” He looked at his watch: 2:32 A.M. “No, today is going to be long and, I think, very dangerous.”

“I want more,” she whispered.

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“I’m not sure I-”

“I know you can.”

She reached down and stroked him until his erection filled her hand. Then she rolled over and got on top. She was still wet and slid him into her as if they’d never stopped. Then she began. The rhythmic sliding up and down, the smooth, steady pump of her hips. He tried to move with her, but she wouldn’t let him. This time it was all her. Her movements, her timing, everything. His rod, little more than her own personal tool.

Slowly her pace increased, the movements more intense, her breasts sliding up and down over his chest as she worked. The moans that had come from her before were now longer and louder, but somehow different, as if rising from some place neither of them knew existed. What had Raisa told him?

“Something troubles her a great deal. It’s why she left, to try and resolve it. When she does, or even if she fails, she will come back completely drained by whatever has happened and be looking for a release of the most profound kind. In my experience nothing does that better than a good fuck, especially when it’s done with someone you like and trust. Be gentle with her. But not too gentle. For a little while at least she will want to forget everything.”

Suddenly Anne picked up the tempo; with it came a series of powerful cries, nearly shouts. One after the other after the other. She was coming to orgasm in a way he’d never seen or heard or been part of, even with what they’d gone through in the last hours. She rode up and down the full length of him, again and again and again. Her breathing grew deeper, her cries unworldly. Then, with one final storm of thrusts, she let go a resounding wail and collapsed on top of him. To lie there in the dark, gasping and soaked with sweat.

For a long time he did nothing but lie beneath her, his arms around her, letting her recover. “Are you alright?” he whispered finally.

She gave no reply. Seconds passed, and he wondered if she had exhausted herself and fallen asleep. Then suddenly she let out a muffled sob, rolled off him, and got up, moving back away from the bed in the dark.

“What is it?” he said in concern and surprise.

Silence.

He sat up. “What is it?” he said again.

“Don’t!”

He could just see the wild starkness of her eyes as she shook her head and moved farther back, climbing into an overstuffed chair in the corner and cowering there, still naked, like some fearful animal. Then the crying began. Tears and quiet sobs at first, followed by a torrent of both, louder and far more pronounced.

He got out of bed and came toward her. “What’s wrong?” he asked tenderly. Her only response was a continuing rain of tears that were interspersed with wrenching sobs.

Marten was as much dismayed as he was concerned. This was something he never would have imagined, let alone expected-a strong, vibrant woman like she was suddenly coming apart in front of him.

“What is it? What’s going on?” he pressed gently. “Tell me. Let me help.”

“Fuck you!”

The crying and sobbing kept on. She was about as close to hysteria as anyone could get.