When I pick Bebe up, her legs wrap around my waist, her warm pussy settling against my cock. “Let’s go back to bed.”
“Shower,” she mutters with her mouth against mine.
“Not practical,” I remind her. “Condoms in the other room.”
Giggling, and with her lips fluttering over mine, she says, “You’re so freaking smart.”
“Not as smart as you,” I say as I turn from the bathroom. When I reach the bed, I put one knee to the mattress and lower our bodies down.
It doesn’t escape my notice that even though we aren’t yet joined, every part of her fits against every part of me extremely well. That even goes beyond the physical. Bebe has become important to me in a short period of time, which makes it all the more imperative we take Bogachev down sooner rather than later.
He’s not just a threat to Bebe’s security anymore. He’s a threat to my future happiness.
?
I follow Bebe to the freight elevator. She’s in work mode now, which is about a hundred and eighty degrees away from where she was just an hour ago when she was underneath me in the bed.
We made love and I was gentle with her, compensating from a night of being rough and fervent. I vow to leave her alone tonight, but I know I’m lying to myself if I think I can keep that promise. I’m already imagining it, and it vexes me because I’ve never had a woman take such hold of me before.
It helps though… that Bebe’s back in professional mode. She has an urgency about her to get this done so she can get back to a normal life.
Of course, I have no clue where I might fit into her normal life, and that’s not something I can afford to dwell on. Right now, as we work side by side during the day and spend our nights together, our bond is growing. When this case is over, I’ll head back to D.C. where I’m based out of, and she’ll continue her life here in Pittsburgh. Which implies this may only be a fling, but fuck if it feels like that.
We take the elevator down to the abandoned first floor, then move to a separate elevator that takes us down to the Research and Development area where Bebe works out of. I had thought it might look like something straight out of a James Bond movie, the subversive research and development division of British Secret Service with cinder block walls and concrete flooring. Bebe, of course, is the equivalent of Q, so I expected a basement filled with people conducting experiments with all kinds of cool gadgets.
Instead, I walk into a room that looks like it was pulled straight off the movie set of Black Panther. Bebe isn’t Q, but rather T’Challa’s younger and insanely brilliant sister, Shuri. Despite being stuck one level down below the earth’s surface, her R&D facility is bright—almost luminescent. Gleaming white tile floors, glassed walls, and sleekly designed standing desks also in white with chrome detailing. The computer equipment is white, and it’s so elegantly designed it looks almost alien. There’s even a clear acrylic thought board where they’ve written out equations and design ideas in neon blue chalk ink. Long tables—all made of stainless steel—are parceled throughout the room. They look to hold various technology items. I see weapons, electronic devices, and other gadgets that I have no clue what they are used for.
Dozer is bent over one such table, tinkering with a black box he has cracked open that is filled with circuitry boards.
He glances up, giving us both a short but welcoming smile before going back to his task. Clearly, he’s a multitasker because he talks to us as he works. “Morning. Been brewing an idea about how we can upgrade that USB stick Griff planted on Bogachev’s TV.”
“Yeah, sure,” Bebe replies vaguely, moving over to what I assume is her desk. She presses a button on her desktop unit, and it starts to cold boot.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dozer asks, his gaze now locked on her. It’s a testament to how well he must know her, because he’s deduced something’s wrong just from her body language and the tone of the two words she uttered.
But I could also tell she was a bit withdrawn as we left her small apartment and headed down here.
“I found Mercier,” she admits, and Dozer gives a low whistle of surprise.
“Where?” he asks.
“Antigua.”
Mercier is clearly the man she had told me about a bit ago after the alarm on her phone went off. Bebe obviously doesn’t care if I know the name, throwing it out there so freely to Dozer.
“Have you told Kynan and Saint?” Dozer asks.
“I sent them a text a bit ago.” She cuts a look my way, clearly not wanting to say much in front of my Fibbie ears. “So they may want to call a meeting on that this morning.”