Brian Freeman - Stripped

Claire shifted onto her side, too. Without an invitation, she slid her body across the bed and spooned against Serena’s back, molding her skin against her. She didn’t say anything. Serena felt Claire’s breaths in short puffs on her neck, and her blond hair tickled Serena’s ear. Claire’s nipples were erect. Serena could feel them on her back. Her skin was smooth everywhere it touched her.

“Is this allright?” Claire murmured.

“Yes.”

Claire’s arm came around Serena’s body and rested lightly on her stomach. “You feel good.”

“So do you.”

Claire’s lips brushed her neck, kissing her. It was tender and erotic. They lay there like that for several minutes, connected, not moving or talking. Serena could feel warmth, love, and desire emanating from the woman behind her.

“I’ve never felt anything like this,” Claire told her.

“It’s nice,” Serena said, closing her eyes at her lame reply. Claire was telling her she loved her. She didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“You have a beautiful body. So strong. I can feel how strong you are.”

Serena didn’t feel strong at all.

Claire’s fingers came alive and began gently brushing Serena’s stomach. She was testing, waiting to see if Serena would stop her.

“Do you want me to leave?” Claire asked.

“I don’t know what I want” Not saying yes. Not saying no.

“I think you do,” Claire said.

Her hand seemed to fly, and when it came down again, it cupped Serena’s breast. Serena tensed, and Claire stopped.

“Too fast?”

‘Too everything.”

“I can go.”

Serena felt the heat of Claire’s hand over her breast “No, don’t go”

Claire’s hand began to move downward. Serena realized she was holding her breath.

“Relax,” Claire said. “Let it happen to you.”

Claire found her way between Serena’s legs. “Do you like this?”

Serena heard herself sigh with pleasure.

There was only one thing to do next, to let Claire inside, where she would find her wet and wanting. To open her legs and let Claire bring her to climax with a few quick circular caresses. That was all it would take. That was how close she was.

She felt Claire’s middle finger explore and could hear the rumble of satisfaction in Claire’s throat as she discovered her arousal, her folds supple and damp.

Serena bit her lip and cried out.

Then she was blinded as the bedroom light went on.

The black van rumbled down the street, slowly, as if the driver were looking for something in the adjacent buildings, but its headlights were off. Flaking paint on the side of the van read MEADOWS CLOTHING AND CASINO SUPPLY, although several of the letters were missing. It drifted to a stop across the street from Blake’s twostory apartment complex and waited there with its engine running.

Stride was squeezed into the back with eleven other cops in body armor. All men. Tension and pent-up adrenaline buzzed among them. Sawhill had made the decision to go in, and they were waiting for the green light.

He heard chatter on his headset.

“The street is clear. No civilians. We’re good to go.” That was the driver of the van.

Sawhill radioed back. “Tammy, you concur?”

Tammy was an undercover cop who had been staking out Blake’s building from a complex across the street for more than an hour. “Right, no civvies. Nice to do this in the middle of the night, guys.”

“Alonzo, any movement in back?”

“Negative.” Alonzo had slipped into position in a yard behind the building and was watching Blake’s apartment.

“Lights from inside?”

“Negative.”

“Okay, insertion team, stand by.”

In the van, they continued to wait, anxious to get started. The vests were warm, and their bodies were in close quarters.

They had caught a break shortly after the cordon was set up on the surrounding streets. A Vietnamese man returning from his job in a downtown casino had approached them about access to his apartment. It turned out that he lived in Blake’s building. He was able to identify Blake from their sketch, pinpoint the location of Blake’s apartment on the second floor at the rear of the hallway, and give them a thorough map of the thirty-unit building itself.

The warrant had arrived fifteen minutes ago. They were ready to go.

Sawhill’s voice crackled on the radio. “One more time, people. We go with four in back, Rodriguez and Holtz on the north, Han and Baker on the south. The perp’s balcony is in the dead center of the building, count three from the north or south, one two three. Got it? Be ready if he tries to go over the side.”

Several voices in the van grunted affirmatively.

“Lee, Salazar, Alexander, Odom, Stride, Angel, you’re the assault team. Down the hall quick and quiet, then Lee and Salazar, you take the door, Alexander and Odom, you go in first, Stride and Angel, you’re behind them. Remember you’ve got a potential innocent party in the room with the perp. You’ve got a living area straight in, with a bedroom and kitchen on the south-side wall.”

“Copy that,” Stride replied.

“Kwan and Davis, you’re in the rear. Kwan, you take the upstairs hallway and keep any residents inside their apartments. Davis, you’re backup in front of the building.”

“Roger.”

“We go on my signal in one minute.”

The seconds passed slowly. It gave Stride time to think about Amanda again-and Serena. He had been on a limited number of major raids in his career, mostly drug related. They were always risky.

Sawhill’s voice came over the radio without fanfare. “Go.”

The van’s rear doors opened on greased hinges, and the team piled out. For large men, they moved with grace and speed. The first four peeled off, two heading to the left side around the rear of the building, two repeating the maneuver on the right side. They all carried automatic weapons. Stride moved with his team of six across the street at a jog and up the sidewalk to the building entrance. The outer door was open. Alexander and Odom, carrying assault rifles, went first, moving inside the building and then signaling behind them an all-clear. The two policemen began slowly climbing the stairs to the second floor, their weight causing the wood steps to creak.

Stride heard a voice on his radio. “We’re in position in back.”

Two cops with battering rams followed up the stairs. Stride and Cordy went next. The last man held position at the top of the stairs while the others proceeded down the hallway, hugging the walls. Stride heard few sounds from the apartments they passed. It was the middle of the night. He counted five doors on either side, and ahead of them, less than a hundred feet away, was an identical door at the far end of the hallway.

Blake’s door.

They tried to be silent. It was almost impossible. The complex was low-end construction, and the floors groaned as six bulky men made their way to the rear. If Blake was awake and alert, he’d hear them coming. Alexander and Odom had their rifles aimed at Blake’s apartment, and they picked up the pace, knowing they couldn’t make a quiet approach. Stride saw a spy-hole in Blake’s door and wondered if he was there, watching them. If he was, he had to know he was trapped and outgunned.

As Stride passed one of the apartment doors on the left, it suddenly opened inward.

He spun and was bringing his gun up when he saw an old woman in the doorway, her eyes bleary. She wore a tattered white robe. When she saw Stride, her mouth fell open in fright, and she was an instant away from screaming when he quickly pushed her back into the apartment and covered her mouth with his hand.

“Hold,” he hissed into his radio. Then, to the woman: “Police, ma’am. It’s okay. Stay in your apartment. Don’t open the door.”