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When she first walked in, he was rifling through a desk door with a clenched jaw and strands of ebony hair impairing his vision. The moment her presence was known, he leaned back from his desk and combed his fingers through his hair, pushing it to the side.
“You’re awake,” he stated calmly, his eyes looking her up and down and taking in the pale, fitted sweater dress that had a slit up her left thigh. Very much not bed attire, but she hadn’t felt like sleeping quite yet.
“Anna told me that something had come up. I’d like to know if there’s anything I should be concerned about.” Partially a lie. She had overheard Anna speaking with Cain in the hall outside the room. In fact, Cain has been telling Anna not to tell Lane that Dmitry was leaving in the morning.
They had to stop meeting like this. In the middle of the night and a desk between them that hardly seemed like a proper barrier to keep them apart—not to Lane at least. They would stop meeting like this if Lane would stop barging in unannounced.
“I’m leaving in the morning to retrieve something that Cain has requested, and I need someone to come with me. To watch my back.”
Lane just watched him curiously, waiting for the obvious question behind his statement. Was she supposed to offer? Her first instinct was to tell him she was coming, but more than anything, she wanted him to ask first. Dmitry stared at her for a short beat, then sighed.
“Will you join me?” His voice did sound a bit strained, but she was pleased it wasn’t too difficult to get out.
“Yes, General.” She held her tongue from saying more. From sounding… desperate.
“Cain won’t be there to sweep you off your feet if you get into trouble.” And?
“Yes—”
He stopped her before his title rolled off her tongue once again. “Good.”
Was that a small smile on his lips? Whenever he tried to keep a straight face, his cheeks looked almost hollow, and his cheekbones became far more prominent. During those moments, she would fantasize about leaning in and dragging her fingers along that arch until he would take a breath and release the tension.
“Well, if that’s everything,” he said with a small wave of his hand, gesturing a finality to their formal conversation. He reached into a drawer in the desk, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
Lane raised her eyebrow, watching him carefully pull a cigarette from the pack. Her curiosity was not enough of a distraction to stop her from boldly snatching the lighter from his desk before he had the chance to pick it up.
“You're still smoking?” she inquired carefully. Her fingers brushed firmly over the cool metal until a flickering flame licked at her thumb. Her gaze drifted from the flame back to Dmitry.
His heavy sigh in response echoed throughout the room. “I haven’t seen one in some time. It was a gift, and it’s been a long day.”
Of course, he hated smoking. A weakness he'd have to own despite swearing he had few. It must have been a rough day.
Lane leaned in, folding her abdomen over the desk, resting her elbow on the very edge only inches away from Dmitry. He didn’t flinch as she struck the lighter again with her thumb and guided the flame to the unlit cigarette between his fingers.
He inhaled, then kept his eyes locked on hers as he tilted his head slightly back and blew the smoke upwards. After one more drag and exhale, she reached to take it from him.
She spread her index and middle finger into a V-shape and plucked the cigarette from his lips, placing it between her own. It took one small intake of breath, and she rolled her eyes before pulling it away from her face. He looked perturbed but not irritated with the action.
“It’s disgusting,” she whispered, holding the smoke in her mouth, then letting her breath guide it in a twirl around her tongue. Lane released the smoke through the small gap in her lips, blowing it softly to the right of him, away from his face.
When she looked back into his steel eyes, she pleasantly noted the disoriented look within them. He was… conflicted.
“Yes,” he agreed, tentatively. “Fucking disgusting.” He swept the lighter and smokes back into the drawer, slamming it shut.
He took it back from her and squashed it against the metal base of a lamp on the corner of the desk.
She slowly pulled back from the desk, standing upright and noting the disappointment on his face, as she was no longer close to him.
“Where are we going?”
“I can’t tell you, not yet.” Can’t… or won’t?
“And Cain is going to let me go?” She had been absentmindedly thumbing the pages of a book on the edge of the desk, her eyes caught on the fraying binding with embossed letters. But when she said Cain’s name, she looked back up at him curiously.
“Let you?” Dmitry’s eyes flashed with incredulous frustration. “Which one of us runs this team?”
Lane took a careful step to the side of the desk, only two steps left between them. His gaze quickly moved down to the slit in her dress once again, now that her left leg was pushed slightly forward. If he could lose focus over her thigh…
As if sensing her thoughts, he pulled his focus back up to her face and steadily held her gaze.
“You do?” Lane asked.
“Is that a question?” His brows were knit together, in frustration and perhaps curiosity about what kind of game she was playing. This amused her greatly.
She took one more step towards him. “So, you’ll tell Cain I’m coming with you?”
“It’s not Cain’s concern whether or not you’re coming,” he muttered back.
No, it wasn’t, at least as far as it concerned her . And from the way Dmitry’s hand gripped the arm of his chair, she was confident he felt strongly about that as well.
If he wanted to touch her, all he had to do was reach out and slide his hand through the slit of her dress. But he could be a patient man, even when his face betrayed his desires. Could she will him to touch her, to grip her ass and pull her close to him? To press his face between her breasts and inhale her like that cigarette?
She had learned not long ago that some things she just had to do herself.
“Isn’t everything Cain’s concern?” She lamented. “God’s soldier.” She was teasing, but she wasn’t sure if the grimace on Dmitry’s face was an indication that he wasn’t getting it or just didn’t think she was funny.
Both?
“Cain doesn’t have the authority here that he believes he has. Until I’m incapable of doing so, your orders come from me.”
Lane put the palms of her hands together in faux-prayer and said with utmost sincerity, “Yes, General.”
Lane lowered herself to her knees, keeping her eyes on his and her hands pressed tightly together.
“You’re mocking me,” Dmitry said in a low voice. Lane glanced down at his lap, lingering on the strained fabric of his pants against his leg. She tentatively reached out to touch his inner thigh, slowly sliding one hand over where his erection was tucked against his leg. She toyed with the cold metal zipper and noted that he didn’t take a single breath in or out.
“But you like me that way, don’t you?” Lane whispered with a devilish smile, taking advantage of the barriers that began to dissipate between them.
Dmitry pushed her hand away. Had there been a moment to be ashamed—dejected—she may have been, but to her surprise, he reached for his zipper himself. Leaning back in his chair, he unzipped his pants and began to slip a hand into his boxers.
Lane sucked in her breath, anticipating seeing him before her, having the chance to reach out and touch him, as he touched himself.
As quickly as the thought possessed her mind, a knock on the door made it dissipate.
“Dmitry,” Cain drawled, the doorknob turning with a soft click.
Lane ducked her head lower the moment she saw the panic flicker across the General’s face. She backed herself under the desk, enough space to hold her head up straight, but surprisingly enveloped by darkness, with minimal light slipping past Dmitry’s ankles and on either side of his chair.
Cain entered the room.
“You have the coordinates?” The formal way in which Cain spoke to everyone else was a bit jarring, what with the way his voice softened when speaking to her. It sounded even more foreign while she was under the desk, unable to see him only a few feet behind her.
“Yes, and I’m leaving when the light comes up. We’re going to take some of the weapons that Greg retrieved from the warehouse on Thursday, but he’s keeping enough ammo in case they have to go out while we’re gone.”
“We.” Cain repeated carefully. “Anna. She didn’t mention it when we spoke—”
“Lane,” Dmitry corrected.
Lane. Lane. Lane.
His voice echoed through her skull, and she bit down on her tongue to stop herself from making a sound. She loved hearing her name when he said it like that. The L rolled off the tongue slowly and deliberately, like a command that Cain couldn't possibly understand the meaning of. It was her and only her.
She snaked her hand up his thigh once again, using the minimal light to pull him out of his boxers. She pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, keeping her entire body unbearably quiet and still except for her wrist, adjusting to hold his cock tightly in her hand. The irrational part of her brain wanted to thank him for how good he felt; hot, thick, hard. She couldn't use her words, so she spread her free hand over his thigh and leaned her head closer to him. Dmitry was pressed tightly against the desk, as if someone had tucked his chair in for him, but Cain was an angel. Would he hear how Dmitry's heart rate sped up as Lane used her tongue to taste him for the first time? Would he sense the movement when she wrapped her mouth around the head and sucked gently before pulling back for a breath?
Perhaps Dmitry wondered the same thing, because his hand swiftly ran through her hair, grazing over the top of her head and grabbing a handful in its wake. He pulled, just enough to suspend Lane with her tongue against his tip. Perhaps he could even feel her smile. She tested his patience and resisted his grip by swirling her tongue around him.
He didn't resist, in fact, he shifted just slightly to allow her more movement with her mouth around his cock.
And so, her hair remained—wound tightly around his fingers, a tangled mess—and with each inch she took into her mouth, the base of her skull tingled. This was not pain, no, it was a test. How deep, how close to the depths of her throat, until she couldn’t bear the sensation any longer?
Perhaps his test was how long he could hold the reins before he couldn’t keep silent any longer, having to pull her back to stifle a throaty moan that would give them both away. She was sure his knuckles were pressed so tightly against the bottom of the desk that if he were to flinch, he’d lift the desk off of the ground.
Lane was not the submissive type, she was the type to flatten her tongue and slide it against his stiff cock—if it meant she would win, of course. She measured his self-control by keeping a hand against the inside of his thigh, feeling the taut muscles flex beneath her splayed fingers with every swirl of her tongue or dip of her head.
She almost forgot Cain was in the room.
“A few months ago, you wouldn’t have put everyone’s lives in her hands, and now you’re taking her alone?”
Lane paused, her brow furrowing at Cain’s pointed tone. She barely noticed the way Dmitry’s thigh shifted, perhaps impatiently. Was the angel doubting her capability, or was… he jealous? Lane recalled the General’s remark when she first came into his office: Cain won’t be there to sweep you off your feet if you get into trouble.
Was she imagining the tension between them?
“Don’t question my judgement,” Dmitry stated with cold infliction. “Lane can take it.”
With those words was the slightest release of his grip on her tangled hair. Lane’s head dropped lower, just enough to feel Dmitry against the base of her tongue. One more slight movement and his cock would be pressed against the back of her throat.
That would be a catalyst for giving themselves away. Lane didn’t dare breathe.
“I know what she is capable of. I’m doubting if you know. Are you going to protect her, if it comes down to that?” Cain’s words sounded like a warning, but perhaps it was coming from a place of fear. Lane didn’t know how to process that.
“Get out of my office,” Dmitry demanded.
"Just bring her home."
Cain left the room slowly but in such a way that Lane shuddered at the shift in the air as the door closed behind him. A weight was lifted, a kind of weight that she was unsure she understood the meaning behind. Before she could process another thought, Dmitry’s hand let go of her hair. It allowed his cock to glide further in her mouth, compelling her gag reflex to warm his tip with hot saliva. He moaned with open lips that she could not see—though she would memorize the guttural sound—and with a sudden movement, he shoved the desk over her head, far away from himself.
“Stand, Lane,” he demanded through grit teeth.
She complied while her hands pressed on either side of his thighs, gliding up his body as she slowly rose to a standing position. Her fingers lifted his shirt as she went, guiding it up the wide cut of his muscular chest and with fervour, forcing it over his head. She threw the shirt to the side; quite sure he wouldn’t need it for a while.
His own hands reached under her dress and lifted it above her hips. They moved back down to cup her ass, a tight squeeze, and with a fluid motion, he lifted her onto the desk as if she were a stack of weightless paperwork, demanding to be reviewed.
For a moment they were still—almost. Lane had her hands pressed against his back, her fingers brushing ever so slightly against the scars that marred his beautiful skin.
She looked up into his eyes and hoped he felt the sincerity as she said; “You are—”
“Human,” he said, matter of fact. Lane could feel her face fall, his words introducing her to a different side of her psyche that she hadn't anticipated from him.
“Beautiful,” she finished. “And human. What else could you possibly be?”
“No wings,” he corrected before quietly clearing his throat. “Just scars.”
Lane was bewildered at the admission, unaware that there was room for insecurity or comparison within the strict brain he boasted under usual circumstances. How deep did this run? Or was it simply a symptom of his feelings for her, to know that to return them, she would be choosing him over the possibility of anyone (and anything)?
She made a point of looking behind herself and then back to him. “No wings. Just shoulder blades,” she said with a shrug. He smiled, the first genuine smile she had received in a long time, and he reached for her face.
He traced her jaw on one side of her face and then ghosted his fingers along her lips, surely memorizing every curve of her body and face with those touches. Finally, he leaned down and firmly pressed his lips against hers. For such soft lips, his kiss was vigorous and commanding. He pulled at her bottom lip with his teeth and parted her mouth with his tongue, the heat instantly spreading through her mouth. Every fraction of a second with his lips against hers was more and more euphoric.
He reached between her legs and paused as he noticed her stiffen right as his fingers slipped underneath her underwear.
“I’m sorry—” she said with a blush, an unusual reaction for her, embarrassing herself even more. “I’m not usually this…” she pulled her gaze from his and looked up at the ceiling, wondering why she would possibly allow herself to sound so stupid around him like this.
“Wet?” His voice was low and carnal, enough to shock her eyes back to meet his gaze. He pushed two fingers inside of her and leaned in to moan against her mouth, “Fucking soaked, all for me.”
He pumped his fingers inside of her and with each curl, she swore his eyes became darker and darker. She tensed the muscles inside of herself, tightening around his fingers, and smirked at the sound of his sigh.
His ability to resist pushing her back and fucking her immediately was waning. He continued to kiss her and clumsily whispered against her mouth, “Will you take one more?”
Fuck. One more? Two? She wasn’t sure of many things, but with the utmost confidence, she could promise him that her body would accommodate his every need as her own. It wasn’t long after her body quickly adjusted to his fingers that she became intensely impatient.
“You’re going to fuck me harder than this though, aren’t you?” Lane taunted, as she slid off the edge of the desk and pressed herself tightly against him.
With a look of wonder on his face, he trailed his fingers up her spine, so gently it was merely a whisper of a touch. She developed a particular fondness for the feeling of her breasts against the contours of his abs. She could have stood like that for an eternity and not lost the pleasure of being gently held against him.
He finally reached for her hips again and spun her around to face the desk. She braced her palms against the hardwood and smiled to herself at the thrill. A hand was back on her spine, and with a deliciously careful and slow movement, he worked his way up her back until her palms had slid across the desk and she was flat against it. The base of her heels had lifted, just slightly, off the floor and she turned her head so that her cheek was flush against the desk.
One of his hands stayed between her shoulder blades, not holding her down, just maintaining a slight pressure against her skin. The other pulled her underwear from her hips and let them drop to the floor.
She felt his body shift; he had leaned down to where she was folded over the desk and then his lips sucked on the soft skin of her hip. His hair brushed against her bare skin and her whole body shivered in response to the sensation. She felt as though she were melting into the desk until there was nothing left of her to hold.
As if reading her mind, he sunk his teeth into her hip, sharply bringing her back to reality. The noise that came from her throat was a higher pitch than either of them expected. She was slowly losing control over her response to his everything.
When he pulled back up, pressing his hard cock against her ass, she resisted the urge to grind back against him. She couldn’t give him all the satisfaction, not yet, but this didn’t go unnoticed.
“Relax, Lane,” he suggested smoothly. His hand reached for her face, gently brushing her hair out of her face and behind her ear. “You just have to ask.”
If she could roll her eyes, she would, but that was a moot expression with half her face against the desk. Yes, she ached for him. Desperately. But if he still could hold back, then so would she. Couldn’t she?
He began smoothing his hand over one cheek of her ass, then pulled back before smacking it firmly. There was still something tentative about the action in an endearing way, carefully measuring her threshold for pain.
“Harder,” she prescribed. He swiftly complied, the sharp sting and force reverberating through her ass and down through her thighs. “Again.” The other cheek stung, deliciously.
“Are you ready for me?”
She parted her lips to exclaim yes, please. Instead, she responded through gritted teeth; “I don’t beg, General.”
With a painfully slow motion, he used his cock to spread her folds, sliding it over her opening teasingly. She could feel the motion of his hand rubbing her arousal down the member and preparing himself for her. Each time she was sure he would finally push himself into her and relieve her from the unbearable tension, he slid further up and rubbed the head of his cock against her clit.
It was utterly painful, the ache at her core pulsing relentlessly. Her thighs tensed and she couldn’t help but squeeze them together, trapping Dmitry’s hand and cock between her legs.
“Breathe,” he said while gently coaxing her thighs apart.
Was this feeling her eyes rolling back in her skull? She attempted to take a breath.
A shudder ran through her body and with her palms pressed flat against the desk, she shifted down. Her movement allowed him to enter her ever so slightly, enough to make them stifle a moan in unison. Dmitry still pulled back, once again, and bowed over her back, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder blade.
“I can ease your suffering,” he said before kissing her skin again. “I can make you whole.”
“Please.” It wasn’t a whine or pathetic moan; it was a demand. She could hear him fumble around in a desk drawer and pull out what she assumed was a condom. She gripped the edge of the desk in anticipation.
“Do you want me more than anything?”
Lane sucked in her breath. “Yes, General.”
He wasn’t painfully slow anymore, there was no need to be. She was ready for him, even if it took a few times, gliding in and out of her, to fully adjust to his size. Before he could ask, she spread her legs wider, allowing him to press himself flush against her. He pulled her hips down at a lower angle and thrust upwards, reaching a new depth inside of her. A small “Mmm,” came from his lips when she gasped at the sensation. She wondered if it were possible to be split in half, but she was quite sure she wouldn't mind.
She complied willingly when he made her flip her body around, allowing her to look at him again. She sat up on the very edge of the desk, placing her palms against the wood behind her and leaning back into them. His hair was more disheveled than she'd seen it after any fight, perhaps a symptom of running his hands through his hair while he fucked her. She saw beads of sweat along his hair line and across his chest, begging for her tongue to taste his skin.
Dmitry guided her legs to wrap around his waist, entering her again, tightly gripping her hip with one hand so hard that a tremor ran down her upper thigh. He used his other hand to support her back and keep her in the perfect position for him to fill her as deep as possible. She let her head curve back, opening up her neck to him, and he quickly took advantage of the position. He leaned into her and kissed her neck, allowing his teeth to graze her skin. He resisted the urge to bite into her, and instead left one small mark with his lips and he continued to fill her with each frantic thrust.
She could see how difficult it was for him to hold back, his pace more erratic and his eyes fixated on hers as if he didn't dare look away. She touched the back of his neck and guided his mouth to hers, biting down on his bottom lip.
"Fuck," he mumbled against her mouth, allowing her to slide her tongue against his and breathe him in deeper.
His hips continued to move, rhythmic and steady, pressing into her deeply until her entire body was trembling so violently that she feared she would phase through his palm on her back, even the desk, and fall to the floor.
She knew he was going to let go when he buried his face into her neck, breathing her in and moaning so loudly beneath her ear that it seemed deafening. She writhed beneath him as he came with a few final thrusts into her and his hand trembling against her back.
"Lane," he whispered almost immediately afterwards.
"Yes, Dmitry," she replied softly, saying his name with a open fondness she never wanted to hide again.
"I will never let you go. I promise, I will always bring you home."