thrownhammer, posts by tag: bourne - LiveJournal

Paris, France

Dec 24, 1999

As Nicky Parsons walked down the sidewalk outside the line of boutiques she had been patronizing for the better part of the day, she knew that she was being watched. She had felt nervous the whole day and it finally got the best of her. She pulled out her phone and flipped it open and dialed the number listed as AAA, but was a far cry from an automotive service.

“Yes?” the voice said simply.

“Please tell me that it’s you Bourne…”

“It’s you…”

“What? Seriously. Are you following me? I’m totally freaking out!”

“You don’t look like it.”

“Jesus! Don’t do that.”

“When did you first know you were being followed?”

“I didn’t. I felt like I was being watched.”

“When?” he insisted.

“All day.” He couldn’t see her but could tell she was turning her head, looking for him.

“You shouldn’t have waited this long. Call immediately next time, even if I am out of the country. That way we can set up a call back. I thought the black nightie was a better choice.”

“What? You’re guessing. There wasn’t anyone else in there, you couldn’t know that.”

“Do too. You bought the purple one, because you wanted it to match the eye shadow you like.”

“What the- am I wired?”

He laughed, “No. I went in after you and told the lady you were my girlfriend and I was looking for stocking stuffers- get it?”

“Yeah, very clever,” she huffed as she stormed to her car.

“I thought your underwear selection was limited to ones with superheros on them.”

“…and the bras?”

“Well maybe not superheros, but I’m sure they make My Little Pony and Barbie in your-”

“Bourne,” she snapped, “You finish that sentence and the next time I give you pills, they’ll be what they use to chemically castrate dogs.”

“Not funny Parsons… Have a nice Festivus.”

She didn’t understand the reference, but chose not to ask. “You too,” she snapped and closed her phone. She walked quickly down the sidewalk as carolers sang, the street lights and Christmas lights came on. She lamented not knowing any of the songs in French.

She walked quickly, in anger, and opened the trunk of her car to find it empty; the bags from the other stores had been stolen. She hurled her things in the trunk and slammed it. She drove back to the safe-house through a nightmare of Friday night / Christmas eve gridlock.

Most people in her situation would have been lamenting their lack of family and friends, but she had always been alone. Her father was an aloof businessman who was never there, her mother had died in childbirth, and she had never really had friends. There would be no Christmas tree, presents, or merriment. She would continue her tradition of Chinese delivery, a hot bath, a good book, and some hot chocolate before bed.

She arrived at the safe-house, got her remaining parcels from the boot, and froze as she started to unlock the door. She had a key ring pad to arm and disarm the houses alarm and defenses, but when she pushed it nothing happened. She didn’t hear the buzz on the inside to indicate that it had worked.

Suddenly the door opened so fast she jumped. It took her a moment to realize it was Jason Bourne in front of her wearing an apron, a hideous Christmas sweater, and holding a ladle.

“Ah, Nicky. You’re early. Let me take those,” he said as he took her parcels as if it were his home.

There was nothing different about the way that he said her name, but it was the fact that he called her Nicky and not Parsons that clued her into the fact that they weren’t alone.

It had been almost a year since they first met, and not once had he used her first name. She had projected enough icy glares his way after their Clintonsk sexual encounter, so that there had never been a repeat performance. The first few weeks after she had felt the tension in him and kept waiting for him to grab her a kiss her like some 1950’s movie. Then she realized that the tension within him was always there; it wasn’t her. She had never noticed it before, but he was always on alert; as if a someone was going to kill him at any moment.

She saw that there was a fire going, smelled all kinds of things cooking, and saw two of her other agents there as well. Padre, her most senior asset, was putting the finishing touches on a Christmas tree while wearing a Santa hat. The other, Jarda, was wrapping what she quickly realized were the items stolen from her trunk.

“Let me take your coat…” Bourne said as if it were his home. He took the coat, hung it on the rack, dropped the other bags with Jarda. She heard a buzz and he took off to the kitchen.

She turned to close the door and was shocked to see the Professor, her Barcelona man, in the doorway. “Merry Christmas Nicolette,” he hugged her before she could protest. “I was the one keeping tabs on you this afternoon,” he explained. “Here is a little something.” He handed her a small present as he pushed passed her. The Professor was probably her favorite asset, or at least he was the most like her. He was quiet, well read, a musician, and very cultured despite his cockney accent. After pouring himself a drink he settled in at her miniature piano and started playing Christmas music.

“Biscuit Nicolette?” Padre extended a plate of cookies and a cup of peppermint tea.

She fully intended to take a bite of the cookie out of politeness and discard it later, but it was still warm and very delicious. She vowed to run a mile as punishment as she forced herself to nibble at it, to savor the experience. She laughed when she noticed he was wearing a tacky Christmas sweater with snowmen on it. “Ah, silly I know, but de rigueur given the occasion.”

“Of course.”

“I made one for you too…” he held up another sweater with Rudolph on the front complete with red bulbous nose. “Arms up. Come on, I made it myself- that means you have to wear it.” He pulled it over her head even though she refused to raise her arms.

“Oh, you really shouldn’t have,” she laughed. “And I thought my wardrobe was comprehensive.” She laughed again at the look of horror on Jarda’s face; he was also a clothes horse and would clearly rather die than wear something like that.

She wandered into the kitchen and saw that Borne was using every surface for food and must have a dozen dishes, several pies, and two plates of cookies.

“Jesus, you cooked all this? It looks… perfect.”

“Yeah. I’m a chef.”

“What? How did I not know this?!?”

He laughed, “Because I wasn’t certified until a few months ago.”

“Well that explains why 90% of your assets are tied up in pots and pans,” she laughed. She had been to his apartment before, seeing to the place when he was on long assignments, and it was very barren except for the kitchen. She had been worried for his psychological health at the starkness for the place until she had seen the kitchen. As long as he had passion for something, and wasn’t dead inside, he was fine. “How am I supposed to eat all of this?” she scoffed as the doorbell rang.

She ushered in Castle, her man in Rome, and his local contact Marissa. As soon as she shut the door it rang again; it was Mannhiem and his local Stephine. Then the door rang again and again and again.

“I feel like Bilbo Baggins,” she muttered, lamenting the loss of her quiet evening alone as she opened the door again.

She had twelve assets and eleven local contacts that reported to her in total, she was the twelfth local- Bourne's. Eighteen of the twenty-four were there for the ‘off the books’ Christmas party.

She hadn’t really noticed before; all of the locals were women that seemed to match the assets in age, appearance, and style. She wasn’t sure who had thought of it, but it was really quite brilliant. They could meet anywhere and even if someone were tailing one of them, meeting a woman that seem to match them perfectly wouldn’t seem out of place. She was surprised that some of them knew the others, and it was clear that some of them didn’t like each other, but in a group this big it was bound to be the case.

The shear number of people was staggering. When she saw all the food Bourne had made, she thought that it would take her a hundred years to eat it all, but the descended on it like locusts and her own larder was invaded as well.

Everywhere she went there were people. She was use to being alone and the jolliness soon began to wear on her. Bourne could sense it and kept her wine glass full.

Towards the end of the evening Bourne spoke up from the crowd, “I know what we forgot… Christmas music.” He held up Nicky’s violin case.

“Oh, no… Bourne! I haven’t touched that in years…”

The Professor laughed, “Liar. Your fingers are still callused.”

Padre whispered in her ear, “The more you fight it, the worse it will be. Smile, play a song and move on…”

After another minute of prodding she agreed to play one song, she was lamenting it immediately. She powered through Ode to Joy with her eyes closed and couldn’t keep from crying. The room was silent and when she was finished the entire room was gawking at her. Normally it was an uplifting piece, but when she played it the piece echoed with sadness and and loneliness.

“Sorry. I always cry when I play.”

“No need to apologize Nicolette; you’re quite good,” offered the Professor offered as he started playing Moonlight Sonata on the piano, thereby freeing her from further obligation.

She excused herself to put her instrument upstairs and took time to collect herself. When she came back down most of the guests had left. She looked for Bourne but didn’t see him. “Did Bourne leave?” she asked the Professor.

He raised an eyebrow as if it were a test.

“The chef.”

“Ah, yes. He was the first one out.” She didn’t bother to hide her disappoint, it would just make it more obvious how much she wanted to see him. The others thanked her and left all at once. She sighed deeply and when to the kitchen to start working on the mountain of dishes and saw they were all done. The office was immaculate.

She continued with her ritualistic bath and hot chocolate, before reading ‘At the Mountains of Madness’ by HP Lovecraft.

Nicky lay in the dark trying her best to go to sleep, but was failing miserably. She hadn’t realized what she had been missing every year until tonight; now she knew that Christmas’s in the future would be painful if she were alone.

Looking out the window she saw snow swirling. It had been windy all day, but she didn’t think it was going to snow. She knew that it probably wouldn’t snow long, or last on the ground until morning, so she jumped up and pulled on her coat and shoes.

She opened her window, and looked at the sky, then at the street below as her room was on the third floor. Every once and awhile she would hear talking and figured someone left their TV on.

She leaned all the way out to see the tip of the Eiffel Tower that was barely visible behind a building; it was something Bourne had pointed out to her. That happened almost eleven months ago. He had held her as she leaned out to see it; the experience culminated in a stunned display of cunnilingus and nearly to the consummation of their relationship- until she had opened her fat mouth.

She rolled her eyes at her own idiocy. Even now she was detached: cunnilingus and consummation? The doctor in her just couldn’t let go. She had instructed him to be forceful with her because she was asked on lie detector tests if she ‘willingly initiated’ sexual relations with any of her assets. She had been such a fool. He had left of course, without telling her.

Bourne’s entire existence was predicated on violence and death. The last thing he wanted was to be violent when they made love. She huffed. Made love- screwed, Nicky. Fucked. They weren’t even on a first name basis, before or after. She hadn’t even kissed him before then. Hell he probably thought it was a trick or test of some kind.

Neither of them had spoken about it since. It fell squarely in the ‘never happened’ category.

-----------------

She wasn’t sure what caused her to do it, but she stepped out onto the fire escape, then climbed over the railing and onto the roof. The footing was precarious for a moment and she almost slipped on ice.

She heard the talking again and knew she was right; it was Bourne. She rounded the corner and saw him huddled in a tight ball muttering what sounded like a recipe for a cake.

“Bourne?” he sprang up so fast that she back peddled and would’ve gone over the edge if he hadn’t seized her with an ice cold hand.

“What are you doing here?” he croaked.

“Me? I live here. Are you crazy! You’re going to freeze.”

“Been in colder.”

“In this kind of wind- on a roof? Jesus. You’re going to die. What the hell are you doing?”

“They might come back.”

“Who is ‘they’- the other assets? They aren’t coming back,” she insisted as she pulled him to his feet.

She tried to help him inside, but he refused her assistance. She pulled him into the bathroom and turned the shower on hot, “C-can’t do that,” he stuttered. “Gotta heat from core out. Hot skin fools body into not heating core.”

“Oh. Okay. Well the steam will help. I’ll make you some tea.” She hurriedly went downstairs and started the water.

She turned to get the tea and suddenly she seized from behind, around the waist and flung against a wall. She felt one of the icy hands move from her waist to wrap around her neck- or rather under her chin and pulled her head backward forcefully. The other hand slid up her shirt, raising goosebumps on the way to cupping her breast.

“Bourne! Stop. Last time was… ill conceived.” She shuttered, not at his hands but at his warm breath on her neck. She felt a swell of shame as he worked his way down and found her ready.

She jerked away and spun to face him, she slapped him hard and barked, “Move.” He bent and seized her behind each thigh and lifted her. She couldn’t resist wrapping her legs around him as he carried her several feet to the stairs where he deposited her.

She moaned as his rough hands poured over her flesh. He yanked at her coat and night shirt, as she kicked off her shoes, leaving her in her underwear- she hadn’t gotten fully dressed to go outside.

She had read once that some women put their glass sex toys in the freezer and never understood the appeal until that night. Her skin was hot and flushed and his was frozen and ridged. She squeaked involuntarily as he ripped her underwear off, not wanting to chance her getting away.

“Bourne, really… we can’t do this.” She saw his eyes and they were cold- primal. It wasn’t a killers gaze, it was primal lust. He put his arms behind her knees and pushed forward until they met her chest. “Jason…” she whispered and still saw no change. She quickly reached in between them both, he thought it was to guide him in, but she covered herself- denying him admittance.

He saw her nostrils flare and she swallowed hard before squeezing her eyes shut. She stuttered shamefully, “I- I love you. If we do this, it will be more than sex- for me.”

He didn’t move at all. He didn’t relax his stance, nor advance. Finally she opened her eyes again and saw that he was studying her. He nodded and whispered “I know.”

Her hand slipped away and suddenly he was in her. She had waited almost a year for this and although love in any form was alien to her, she felt him against her a knew he had desperately wanted this as well. Suddenly she realized the amount of lust he had for her and wondered how long it had for him.

He increased his pace and she felt the stairs dig into her spine and blurted, “Jason-”

“David…” he whispered as he clutched onto her, lifted them, and she thought he was going to carry her to the bed, but he only made it to the top of the stairs.

He saw an odd look on her face, “You didn’t know?”

“No.” She purred into his ear, “Constance,” then bit his earlobe playfully.

He laughed until she glared at him, “I like it. It just fits you perfectly.”

It took them three position changes before they finally made it to the bed.

-------------------------------

She felt the warm sun on her bare skin and recalled the events of the prior evening. She started to wonder if it was a dream until she felt the rug burn on her knees and back. She stretched and purred as she rolled over- knowing he would be long gone.

She was startled to see him sitting in a chair by the door- watching her intently. She saw he was fully dressed including his shoes and coat. She fought the urge to cover herself, “Hey you. I figured you would’ve pulled a disappearing act.”

He seemed suddenly embarrassed to be staring at her and his gaze flitted across the room. It was anything but lavish and like most college aged people her mattress lacked a frame and was on the floor. She had the quintessential random strand of Christmas lights, sheets with lurid colors, an ancient TV, and dirty clothing scattered around.

He had been in her room many times for numerous reasons- both with and without her knowledge, but she seemed to now be going through a rebellious phase as far as the cleaning department. He knew the room was more than that, it was her trying to be young. Nothing about the room appeared to be ‘Nicky Parsons’. He saw her as ridged and professional. This looked like a dangerous backlash.

“Sorry, I didn’t know I was having guests. I would’ve called a service…”

He laughed genuinely, now that was Nicky Parsons. “I didn’t realize you were awake. I wiped the place down- for prints. They shouldn’t know I was up here. Always make sure you wash the sheets immediately.”

He stood abruptly and walked quickly from the room. She started to run after him, but quickly grabbed the sheet to cover herself. She was able to catch at the door, “Jason, I promise I won’t let it get weird.”

“Get weird?” he fainted ignorance. “The place is bug free. I’ll see next week.” He paused, “You were trying to make your room look like a twenty year olds?” She nodded. “Well don’t. It looks like you had a psychotic break. Order some expensive pretentious furniture and bill Conklin.” He turned and left quickly and she was careful not to be seen from the street.

As soon as she locked the door she sprinted upstairs and ran onto her mattress. She snatched up his pillow and inhaled it- smelling him.

Most women would be upset about his abruptness, livid at the lack of goodbye kiss, or any indication of the prior nights events. As she rolled on to her back she stamped her feet rapidly on the mattress in elation. She was focused on one word he had spoken- and knew he hadn’t realized how much it meant. “Always…” she purred as she beamed from ear to ear. Always wash the sheets.

That meant that it was going to happen again…
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*Not sure this is the final version. Might change some things before posting to Fanfic sites.

Okay, so in this clip Nick Cage is the writer for Dexter's last season pitching to me (Brian Cox)... {this should go unspoken but there is a language and volume warning here, lol}

(This might be the last naughty J/N chapter you read since I guess no one writes them anymore but me. Ladies- Open a glass of wine, lite a candle, and put on some romantic music. Fellas- I really don't care what you do, lol)



I recommend for Paris:a vanilla candle and a piece of chocolate or a cookie (lol)
Suggested listening:
In Paris anything with a French singer or with a violin.
Alizee: Amelie M'a Dit (it's nice and slow) with http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qO…

For present day: Lots of Rum and Coke and dark room with a muted TV
Royal Wood -Juliet (Male/ Piano) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cnA…
Tori Amos: - China http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cD7…
Josh Ritter - Change of Time http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYE…
Concrete Blonde - The Ship Song (for a duet) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c8C…
Mark Knopfler - Storybook Love (Male) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8if…

He was searching around the bay window for bugs and laughed, “You have a view of the Eiffel Tower from here…”

“No I don’t…”

“Here… you have to lean all the way out.”

“I’ll fall, you’re taller.”

“I got you. Lean all the way out, then look above the white satellite dish.”

“Wow, you’re right! I can see one inch of the lightning rod,” he had been holding her around the waist; she leaned back in and felt him pressed up against her whole body like a glove. “How romantic…” She had fully intended the words to be sarcastic, but when spoken as she looked over her shoulder at him, they sounded entirely different.

He felt the warmth of her breath as she stared into his eyes, then he saw her eyes flit down to stare at his lips. He knew that meant she was thinking about being kissed. Her whole body seemed to gravitate toward his lips and he bowed his head an inch to meet her the rest of the way. She kissed him slowly; he wasn’t surprised that her tongue had a pointed tip which was supposed to reflect a rigid physical condition and an aggressive or even offensive mentality.

She reached back with one hand rubbed the back of his neck, then grabbed his belt with the other, and pulled him more tightly to her. She felt him yank her underwear down and she managed to free one foot from them. She moved forward to put her knees on the window seat and a hand on each side of the window. She felt him nudge her feet with his knees and she spread her legs. “Farther- as far as possible.” She did as he instructed and she waited to hear the sounds of his belt, but it didn’t come.

He knelt quickly behind her, ran his arms between her legs, reached around her torso, grabbed the small of her back, and exhaled deeply across her exposed flesh. He inhaled deeply, drawing the cold Parisian air over her, and then repeated it while he kneaded her back with iron hands. He marveled at the smell of her skin, it was an odd cross between vanilla and chocolate- she smelled like cookies! She must have showered just before bed and used some sort of product to get the smell. He guiltily felt his stomach rumble- he had missed dinner.

As she felt him inhaling and exhaling across her… her… “Fuck…” she sighed. The area between her anus and vagina… what the hell was the name she thought, as the doctor in her tried to retain the ability for intellectual thought… the Perineum! She knew she was already wet and suddenly she grew very self conscious, thinking something was wrong and started running down a check list in her head. She thought he growled for a moment, like a caged beast and then realized it was his stomach. Something clicked and she sniffed her arm; she had used vanilla bath salts and chocolate body scrub tonight. She giggled girlishly, never having expected anyone but her to smell it. “Sounds like someone’s-” and he plunged his tongue into her, “-hu…ng…rrry…”

She tried to pull away and realized that she had nowhere to go except backwards: her legs were spread wide, arms were clutching the window to prevent a three story fall, and his arms tentacled around her body prevented upward motion. He yanked her back onto his tongue; she tried to adjust herself to prevent his nose from going places that she’d rather it not and lowered her front half slowly until her forehead was on the window seat. She realized too late that it just seemed to open herself further. He was more than skilled in cunnilingus, but she guiltily relished the back rub more. Her whole lower back was tight as a drawn bow from moving boxes and furniture all week. She was positive he knew it and was doing it as an added service.

He slowly worked her labia in a circular pattern, one rotation clockwise, then one counter; he was very careful to avoid her clitoris. She kept trying to adjust her body motion to include it but he merely built her small thrusting motions into his routine. “Jesus…” she breathed again and suddenly he removed his hands and face. “Please…” she purred expecting him to enter her, but he wasn’t doing anything of the sort. He sat on the ground, spun around and craned his neck backwards so she was virtually sitting on his face.

She self-consciously tried to move away but his strong arms kept her in place. “I’m going to hurt you…” to which he laughed and tried to pull her down to him. “You’ll suffocate…”

“I can hold my breath for over six minutes…”

“In water! It’s halved on lan-”

He suddenly took her clitoris in his mouth, trapping it between his lip and tongue. He reached up and as if he had know her body for years and lightly brushed her nipples without touching her breasts.

She shuddered as she tried to pull away. His fingers on one hand found her and entered her as the other rubbed her breast, his thumb working her nipple. She clutched the windowsill so hard that she wondered if her nails were leaving furrow marks on it. Suddenly he stopped and retracted his head and other extremities. She waited for him to grab her around the waist, but he did nothing of the sort. He reached around her, took one of her hands and turned her. He lifted her from under her arms and she wrapped her legs around him as her carried her to the desk.

He paused abruptly having realized that she was avoiding touching him with her hands, “What?”

“You have to be forceful… They told me that they were going to ask me on my next polygraph if I willingly initiated sexual contact. You have to be aggressive with me; then I’ve been ordered to go with it- to keep from getting hurt,” she panted in his ear.

He reared his head back, looked at her, turned and walked into her kitchen.

She watched him go and quickly looked all around her, as though she were on Candid Camera, “Is this really happening?” she whispered. “Bourne?!? OH!!! I get it…” she smiled gleefully as she retrieved her panties and returned them to there full upright position.

She crept to the corner and peered around it suspiciously, “Okay… I’ll play.” She ignored the impulse to start outright searching the house for him and proceeded to preform a litany of tasks where she employed grossly over sexualized poses.

She swept the floor in the kitchen and used the dustpan by bending over fully without bending her knees as she shifted unnecessarily from one hip to the other until even the smallest bit of frust was gone. She ate a banana in an entirely inappropriate manner. She flipped through a magazine while laying face down, naked, on the bed. She examined her body in a full length mirror from every lurid pose imaginable, some unknown to even Erin Andrews. She tried on her sexiest clothing; which sadly was the only part of her wardrobe which could be considered neglected.

She walked downstairs and sighed, “Bourne- this isn’t fun anymore?”

She frowned, “Shit! Did he really leave?” An idea suddenly dawned on her. “What a fucking asshole!” she fumed as she feinted anger and stormed up the stairs. “You cretin. He wasn’t the good anyway… It probably saved me a lot of time; who am I kidding- sixty seconds is more likely.”

She stripped as she got into bed, “Right Nicky, sure, throw away your vibrator- you wouldn’t want customs to find it: fucking idiot… I guess I’ll have to do this the old fashion way…” she cursed as she proceed to masturbate and moan at such an unnecessary volume that a man, in the next building over, screamed at her to shut up.

“Son of a bitch…” she cursed after awhile. “This really isn’t fun anymore… Bourne?!? Come get me now or never- I’m so over this!” There was nothing but silence. “I have a gun Bourne!” She groaned, “You’re kidding me… He left. He really left.”

She tried to fake being asleep, like a child staying up for Santa, but of course failed. She fell asleep with just a sheet and was freezing. She remembered shivering but not wanting to get up to: close the window, get dressed, or unpack a blanket.

She woke up the next morning and groaned. “Idiot…” She put a hand on each side of her aching pelvis, “Great… Women can get ‘blue balls’. I bet my ovaries are the size of plums… What a jerk!”

Suddenly she realized that she was warm. “Huh?” She looked down and saw that she was wrapped in an old quilt. It was faded, warm, and very soft. It was never something she would have purchased- ever. She sniffed it and it smelled like him. She saw a sunflower on the bedside table with a note that she snatched up, enraged.

Parsons-

You looked cold. “Looked cold?” I enjoyed the show. “What?” I took the rest of the cameras down. “SON OF A BITCH!” I’m really not there right now… Enjoy breakfast.

-Bourne

“Great! We aren’t even on a first name basis! Great, just great Nicky! Aaugh,” she screamed in frustration.

She stormed downstairs and saw a bag on the kitchen counter that obviously contained the breakfast he had left for her, “Fucking asshole!” Looking around she remembered that she hadn’t found a coffee pot yet; Conklin had their old safe-house packed up and shipped here. She knew the bag contained coffee, but she grabbed it and flung it in the trash without looking in it.

She stormed over to the bad coffee shop next door, placed her order, and barked at the barista, [Don’t give me that tourist swill again; I will come back there and cut you- bitch don’t fuck with my coffee!] The little man did a triple take and saw how angry she was and gave her it for free.

Back in the present:

Bourne had been laughing uncontrollably for several minutes, as he toweled his hair; he had showered as she spoke. She knew some of his laughter was him trying to deal with the days events.

She laughed, “Well I’m glad you’re amused. God, I was so pissed! So, that’s how we first met…” she concluded.

“You going to reenact your posing in the mirror?”

She blushed furiously, “Nope.”

“So, when did we get together?” he asked eagerly.

She smiled slyly behind her glass as she took a sip of her drink, “That wasn’t your question Mr. Bourne.”

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” he asked, clearly concerned.

“Enough…” she handed him the glass and he put it on the nightstand as she shifted on the bed so that they were both sitting. He brushed her hair behind her ear. They both knew they were filled with lust and apprehension. “Do you want this; I mean are you ready?”

He nodded and suddenly looked tormented, “Malana…” she raised an eyebrow. “She’s going to stay with me a long time. I sat next to her in a briefing for a day and she was one of the three people I’ve known the best in four years. How sad is that? Two of them are dead now…”

She nodded and placed her goodish hand on his cheek, “That’s normal- what you’re feeling…”

“…and Khanh Nazari…”

“I should have let you talk to him…”

He shook his head, “No, you were right. He was pissed.”

“I know what you’re going through. My entire life is like that. I can count the number of people that have ever loved me on one hand- either one!” she laughed.

He inched closer to her and he leaned his head onto hers and their noses brushed. “I can’t take anymore.” She opened her eyes and saw tears running down his cheeks. “The killing. The death. The constant running. I feel like I’m going to implode. If anything happens to you…”

“I know. I promise- no more secrets. I should tell you everything… In case something does happen to me.”

He sighed in utter sorrow, “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Shhh…” she cooed as their lips touched and they kissed gently at first, but it quickly turned frantic. She clawed at his undershirt which he pulled off for her and then followed suit with hers as they moved backwards on the bed. She slid her underwear off as she went and he followed suit.

She half pulled him up her body and when he made to stop halfway up. She spurred him onward, “Please… I don’t need that. Trust me, with our luck someone will come barging in here in about five minutes.”

In answer, he moved up her body, giving her goosebumps on the way. He reached over to get his backpack and unzipped it. She tugged on his arm, smiled mischievously, took his bottom lip in her mouth, and bit it gently. His resolve for safety crumbled as she gyrated her hips, nudging him politely.

“Are you going to remember this in the morning?” he breathed.

“God, I hope so.”

“I’m serious…”

She pulled away slightly, so she could see his face, “What if I don’t- aren’t you entitled a memory of us that I don’t share?” She blinked several times, her head clearing, “You changed your mind. It’s okay… It really is. Come on…” she nodded to the side for him to roll off of her.

Suddenly he surged forward and was in her and she seemed to exhale more air than she was capable of holding, “Oh God…”

She locked her feet behind his knees and wrapped both arms around him as tightly as she could; suddenly he felt as though he was just ensnarled by a huge carnivorous plant and he laughed at the thought. “Why do I feel like I wouldn’t be able to pry you off?”

She laughed too, “Hey, you had your chance to run buddy…” She spurred the back of his thighs as though he were a horse and he increased his speed. She kissed his neck and then licked around the edge of his ear before beginning to lustfully whisper in his ear.

At first he thought she was going to whisper romantic loving things, but the litany of perverse words and thoughts that poured out of her mouth caused him to recoil and look her in the eye. “You’re drunk…”

“Nope, if I was drunk I would want you to do this…” she leaned forward and whispered some more.

“I think I need to go to Home Depot for that…” to which she giggled. “Don’t hold anything back on my account… I like it furious!”

They pounded on each other with reckless abandon and as she had predicted her phone rang around fifteen minutes into it; his phone rang at the twenty minute mark. She was on top of him and he tried to reach it, “I swear to God Bourne; I will cut it off and keep it if you touch that. If it’s serious they’ll knock. I bet it’s just Ash… We’ve earned this!”

She pounded on him relentlessly and he was impressed by her stamina. Her arms weren’t toned so he assumed she wasn’t in good shape, but apparently she was a fan of running and sit-ups. He wondered if she didn’t work her arms on purpose, as a ruse. After several position changes, he felt himself drawing close. “Nicky we need to move, or change gears…”

“I’m more than satisfied- if you’re good?”

He nodded.

“How do you want to finish? The distinguished gentleman from Missouri has the floor…”

He held her tightly and rolled over on top of her and looked at her with such a profound since of longing that she blinked three times rapidly. He moved with infinitesimal slowness for several thrusts. He was drinking her in with his eyes she felt every muscle in his body start to tighten.

She watched as he gazed at her with such longing and desire that her mouth fell open as she realized that he was going to orgasm just by looking at her. She felt tears roll out of each eye and suddenly she felt her whole body constrict and she bore down and clenched him as tightly as she could feel his entire body relax and heat spread through her.

Her body finally relaxed and their eyes locked in post coital bliss. “Was it always like this?” he asked softly.

She laughed politely and smiled showing more teeth than he knew she had, “No,” she sighed. “This was special…” she whispered as she wiped the sweat from his cheek.

“Were we in love?”

Still locking eyes, she whispered, “No.” She continued with a halting voice, “I once loved David Webb so much that I would’ve jumped into a volcano if he asked me to.” He started to speak, but she held her one good finger to his lips, “Did he love me? I don’t know.” She smiled with great warmth, “He went to great extremes to prove that he didn’t, but that just proved to me how much he really did…” she kissed him gently.

“…restraining orders are just another way of saying ‘I love you’?”

She laughed so suddenly and with such force that she pushed him out of her, “Yeah. It wasn’t very healthy… I was a whole boat load of crazy for you. It was very difficult for me… with you…”

“…and Jason Bourne?”

“You’re different now. Just like your brother is different. As far as I’m concerned there are three of you. I’m bottling my emotions up for Jason Bourne and I’m keeping a firm stopper in that bottle this time, until you pull it out. Once the genie is out though, there is no putting it back.”

“Fair enough. He did you know… I know he did… How could he not?”

She looked absolutely twitterpated but before she could answer, there was a loud knock at the door. Jason rolled off of her, gun in hand and crept to the door.