Radclyffe: Love & Honor

"Hello, Claire. Come in".

Chapter Five

Cam opened her eyes in darkness, warm breath on the back of her neck. A woman pressed close-full breasts against her spine, an arm curving over the crest of her hip from behind, fingers moving softly over her skin. She started to turn onto her back, but the hand on her hip pressed forward, preventing her. A throaty voice spoke in her ear, familiar and commanding.

"No. Don't move. And keep your eyes closed."

Still on her side, Cam closed her eyes and obeyed. Every cell was acutely focused on the knowing touch tracing the hollow of her hip, the curve of her ribs, and the long plane of her abdomen. Light teasing strokes drew the breath from her lungs in sharp, nearly painful gasps as particularly sensitive spots were tormented, then abandoned.

"Ahh"

"Shh."

Soon she was heavy and hard, and she tilted her hips back to allow the questing hand to journey lower, between her thighs. Fingers parted her, sought her heat, and brushed feathersoft over nerve endings already twitching with arousal. She heard herself groan, shuddering as the fist of release pounded between her legs, and knew that surcease from the exquisite torture was not far away.

"Do you plan on making me come?" Cam whispered, her voice catching as her breath stuttered over peaks of excitement.

"Eventually."

The touch continued working her length, tugging at sensitive skin and tracing tender folds-drawing forth her desire on a flood of urgency.

"Now? Jesus..."

"Be patient."

"It's not...up to me anymore," Cam managed, legs taut as the explosion gathered force. "You're...in command."

A husky laugh and the pressure of a thumb added to circling fingertips. "I've always been in command. Isn't that how you've always wanted it?"

"You always...know...just how...to touch me," Cam murmured, her hips lifting as her thighs parted, inviting entrance.

"Turn over on your stomach," the honeyed voice ordered.

"I'm so close. Can't I co-"

"Just do it."

Trembling, Cam turned onto her stomach, cradling the pillow in her arms, eyes closed tightly as she fought for control. She moaned as a hand slipped between her legs and claimed her again, this time entering her while sliding simultaneously over her clitoris.

"Oh, god-"

She was too far gone to contain the spiraling climax any longer-with another stroke or two, she would be gone.

"You're going to make me come," she warned, barely breathing now.

"I know. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it's what I wanted. God, yes... Clai..."

Cam shot straight up in bed, shocked into wakefulness by the imminent orgasm. Gasping, she threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, bracing herself with a hand on either side of her body, clutching the mattress as she struggled with her reeling senses.

"Jesus."

Legs shaking, stomach clenched in preparation for release, she rode the thin edge of orgasm, finally forcing down the swell of arousal. The red numerals of the bedside clock read 6:05. She'd been in bed an hour. She was quite alone.

Sweat drenched and breathing heavily, she stood on wooden legs and walked unsteadily to the bathroom. Viciously, she twisted the knobs on the shower, stepped in, and leaned her forehead against the cool tiles as water began to stream from the shower head.

"Jesus," she whispered again.

She couldn't remember anything like that ever happening before, and to have it happen now, after the unsettling visit the night before, numbed her brain. She trembled still with the unanswered demand pulsing in her depths, knowing that with the briefest touch, she could satisfy the physical need. Her body cried out for it, but her heart resisted.

Turning her face into the still cold water, she let it beat against her head and chest. Shivering, she placed her hands against the wall in front of her and lowered her head, soaking her hair and back. Finally, the churning pressure between her thighs began to abate and she flung her head back, rubbing her face with both hands.

She stood in the shower a long time-until her body was quiet and her head was clear, save for the distant echo of the ever-present headache. Thankfully, that was barely a distraction, because she would need all her mental facilities when she met with Carlisle and the others in less then an hour.

For the time being, she couldn't afford to think about what had just happened-or what had taken place the night before.

***

"Lets wrap this thing up", Stewart Carlisle said to the group convened around the conference table, coffee cups situated within easy reach. "The statements of the agents on scene all confirm the events as outlined in Agent Roberts report. Theres nothing new or contradictory in them".

The accumulated field reports generated by the FBI, Secret Service agents, and State Police teams present the night an unidentified subjectUNSUBhad lured a woman thought to be Blair Powell to a deserted location, had been gathered into a file two inches thick. A copy sat in front of each person along with an equally thick binder filled with preliminary forensic and laboratory results. Theyd spent the better part of the day going through them. Carlisle gestured to them as he spoke.

"I think we can all agree that the causalities were acceptable given the level of threat to the protectee. Acceptable and unavoidable".

The phrase was understood by all present to mean that no one was to be held responsible for the chain of events leading to the near fatal injuries sustained by several agents.

"My department in conjunction with the New York bureau field office will follow-up on the final ID, he added, handily glossing over the FBI investigative oversights that had allowed the perpetrator to elude the task force for months. By cutting the other agency a break, hed garner favors that he could call in when he needed leverage on something in the future. "So

"Theres the matter of the security breach in Central Park, Patrick Doyle interjected.

Warily, Carlisle regarded the blocky, thick-necked man who sat opposite him at the far end of the table. Hard blue eyes stared back from a broad, roughly handsome face. FBI Special Agent in Charge Patrick Doyle had headed up the task force formed to apprehend the man stalking the Presidents daughter after the first attempt on her life. Before Carlisle could respond, Cam spoke instead.

"Thats a matter for the Secret Service to review, Doyle. She was stating the obvious, because everyone present knew that the Secret Service never discussed procedures and protocol with anyone outside the Agency.Of course, Doyle knows that, too. So whats his game?

"I should think thattwo nearly successful attempts on a high-level protectees life would bring into question the adequacy of her security, Doyle said pointedly, his gaze still on Stewart Carlisles face. «After all, any time shes at a public function, its her security team that coordinates all the other forces, right? Police, Transit Authority, Tactical teamsthe whole ball of wax. So, if someone gets through all that, whos to blame?

"The Secret Service does not comment on procedure, Carlisle replied stiffly, but the gauntlet had been thrown. As the man directly overseeing the teams providing the First daughters protection, he couldnt ignore the implied criticism or the not so subtle accusation that her security had been lacking.

"I agree with Agent Doyle", Assistant Director, Robert Owens, the National Security Agency deputy director said. "My department also needs an accounting of events".

"Fine. Ill send you a report", Carlisle snapped.

"Perhaps something a little more formal is called for", Owens replied, "such as an impartial inquiry".

Cams hands, resting on her lap, tightened into fists. "An inquiry by whom?"