Taste

It was all part of the job.

Warm body, soft mouth, firm hands… All part of the job.

The night was frigid for late spring, leaving her cold even as she pulled her fleece-lined coat closer around her shoulders and wished that home were closer than the two blocks she still had to walk. She had an old buick parked two streets over from her apartment, but unless she was going beyond the boundaries of the city she preferred to use the subway–the problem being the closest line was seven blocks away.

He had surprised her, tasting like smoked hickory (she fully intended to ask about that later). They had been walking shoulder to shoulder, eyes on everything but each other as passersby trickled past them. She had not seen the threat, hadn’t even known something was wrong until she felt his hands in her hair and her back against the rough brick of a building. His mouth had silenced her before she’d had a chance to protest, and it was only later that she had understood why. It was one hell of a kiss. All part of the job.

Her breath came in short puffs of white as she walked, painting the darkness in false light. She was supposed to be the senior officer but he had proved his five years as an undercover, sensing the trap before she’d led them both right into it. They’d been expecting cops, not a horny couple making out in the shadows. Moments later, they had both suspects cuffed and mirandized, police pouring into the alley from all sides. It had been his quick thinking that got them the sting and kept her from a bullet between the eyes.  All business, a great partner.

She smiled ruefully at the memory as she rounded the final corner, keys jangling loudly in her hand as she climbed the stairs to her front door. She did not expect the steaming cup thrust into her line of vision.

“Thought you could use it,” he rumbled, a smirk coloring his words. She looked up from her keys and matched the smug look with one of her own. Oryn was tall and dark, face covered in a rough layer of stubble that he did nothing to control, all sharp, chiseled lines. When he wore jeans and a t-shirt he looked like the perfect candidate to bomb a national monument and enjoy it.

“Car?”

He shrugged casually, sipping his own coffee as she tested hers. Caramel latte. The man was a god. “I keep telling you they’re useful. Your face looks like a five-year-old took a red sharpie to it.” Gods were jerks.

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to come inside, you asshole, but now I think I’ll just leave you out here.” She brushed past him and slid the key into the lock before a heavy hand landed on her forearm.

“Allie, about tonight–”

“Don’t worry about it, Oryn. It’s just the job.”

“I went too far. Sting or not, I took advantage of the situation.”

“You did what you had to.” She shifted so she could look him in the eye, smiling knowingly. “We all get caught up in the job once in awhile.”

His mouth was tight with something he wasn’t saying, but the moment stretched into awkward silence neither was willing to break. It was only when he released her arm that she realized she was holding her breath.

Almost instantly, she felt a wicked smile cross her lips. “Do you know that you taste like smoked wood?” He followed her inside with a wry shake of his head.

~ by eeratka on March 1, 2011.