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“Grounded?” Stratt said in disbelief, clutching the strap of her tote bag so hard her knuckles had gone white. “What do you mean, grounded?”
“Exactly what it sounds like, ma’am,” the gate agent replied, nonplussed. “The FAA grounded all flights in the Bay Area until midnight.”
“Because of this drizzle?” Stratt asked, pointing at the nearest window.
A thunder ripped through the dark clouds, its crack reverberating through the airport terminal, and a loose branch hit the glass and slid slowly to the ground. The gate agent lifted her eyebrow. Out of the corner of her eye, Stratt could see Grace pretending to cough into his fist to hide his laugh.
She gritted her teeth. The pain in her neck that had started just before their meeting with the administrators at UCLA has since intensified and her muscles were now so tense she could barely move her head.
“What’s the nearest functioning airport?”
“Stratt…” Grace said weakly next to her, but she only shot him a glare, wincing as her neck flared up with pain at the sudden movement.
“Maybe Los Angeles,” the gate agent said doubtfully, typing at her keyboard. “But I would say it’s functioning for now. It’s the first time we got a hurricane so severe off the coast of California in, well, decades; traffic disruptions are to be expected throughout the state.”
“Surely there must be something…” Stratt started, only to be interrupted by Grace, who had the absolute gall to say,
“Thank you, we’ll figure this out.”
And then he pulled her away from the desk by the elbow and dragged her in the direction of a nearby recycling station.
“Let go of me,” Stratt said indignantly. “What do you think you’re doing? We can’t possibly be stuck here!”
Grace released her arm and let out a long suffering sigh, taking his glasses off to wipe them with the edge of his shirt.
“Have you seen the weather?” he asked rhetorically. “I don’t know how to break it to you gently, but California typically does not get hurricanes. No one is going to fly out in this weather. All today’s flights were cancelled.”
He gestured at the main departure hall around them, which was packed to the brim with disgruntled people in a similar predicament. The air had started to smell of sweat and rain, and the nearest vending machine was already half-empty.
“So we just wait here?” Stratt asked, curling her lip in disdain.
“Well, I’m not up for driving eight hours to Los Angeles, where we might get a chance to catch a commercial flight,” Grace replied in a clipped tone. “But I don’t want to stay here either. Let’s go to my flat.”
Stratt stared at him.
“What?”
“My flat, Stratt,” he replied impatiently. “I used to live in San Francisco, remember? And the rent for the apartment is still being paid, as you repeatedly assured me.”
“It is,” Stratt confirmed, narrowing her eyes. “And the maintenance company comes once a week. But…”
She trailed off, unsure what to say. But it’s inappropriate? Please.
Grace gave her a moment to think before saying, in a voice that suddenly seemed exhausted,
“Listen, we’ve both been awake for nearly twenty-four hours. We’ve suffered twelve hours of turbulence on the jet, we’ve sat through a terribly long meeting, and now we’re stuck in San Francisco, where all hotels are booked for the entire week because Taylor Swift’s on a tour. Our choice is to stay here, sit on the floor and catch so many different strains of bacteria that Lamai will make us the subject of her third PhD, or we can go to my flat, shower like humans and get some sleep. I’ll let you take the bed. Do you seriously see a third option?”
She looked at him for a second, considering her limited choices. With an FAA order, nothing civilian would depart from here until tomorrow; she could try the military, but she doubted they would be willing to drop everything just to give them a ride back to the Gansu. All the available airports were hours away and it was raining so hard that a car tip would be a nightmare. She had previously checked the hotels, during a meeting break, in case it was about to run over, and Grace was right, everything was booked, or priced so high that she couldn’t possibly justify the expense. And, perhaps most important of all, she was tired and aching all over.
Grace looked exhausted too, she noticed, glancing at him. The circles under his eyes were more pronounced, and his forehead was crinkled with visible effort to keep himself upright. Either that, or he had a headache, which was entirely possible, considering they barely ate anything today.
“Listen, Stratt,” Grace said before she had a chance to open her mouth. “I am going to get some sleep, in my own bed, and you’re welcome to join me or stay here, I don’t…”
“Fine,” she snapped, deciding to mercifully skip over the fact that he just accidentally offered to sleep with her. “You’re right. Let’s go to your flat.”
*
And it was, she had to admit, a nice apartment. A place that looked lived in, despite the fact that it had been literal years since Grace stepped foot inside.
There was a small kitchen annex on the left side to the entrance, with an island that sat right next to a large walnut table, accompanied by four mismatched chairs. Further into the room, there was the living area consisting of a large orange couch, a small coffee table and a TV stand flanked on each side by tightly packed bookshelves, filled with books, old issues of “National Geographic” and “Scientific American”, and several Lego sets. To the right of the entrance, there were two pairs of doors, undoubtedly leading to the bedroom and the bathroom.
The walls were painted the trademark millennial grey, but Stratt suspected it was due to the terms of the rental agreement rather than preference. There were too many colorful accessories to assume that Grace might actually like a decor completely devoid of any life.
“It’s not much,” Grace said behind her back, sounding weirdly self-conscious. “But…”
“It’s lovely,” Stratt interrupted him, her gaze fixed on the graphic of a Petri dish with a speech bubble that read “I’m cultured!”, hanging over the kitchen counter.
She turned to Grace to properly look him in the eye.
“Thank you for inviting me into your home, Doctor Grace.”
He smiled, wide and soft, and Eva felt the corners of her mouth lift in return.
“I don’t think you need to call me Doctor Grace in my own house,” he said, hanging his rain jacket by the door. “Despite any rumors to the contrary, my ego is not so fragile.”
She chuckled at that, sliding her own jacket off her shoulders. Grace, like the perfect gentleman, took it from her hands to put it on the hanger. Stratt nodded at him in thanks and hissed when the movement aggravated the pain in her neck.
“Tense muscles,” she said in a response to Grace’s questioning glance. “After a while they start to hurt.”
“A hot shower might help,” he suggested. “And then some rest. Might do us both good.”
Stratt wholeheartedly agreed.
“Right,” Grace said, rubbing his hands together. “House tour will be brief: living room, kitchen, bathroom,” he said, pointing his hand. “You can take the bedroom, I’ll sleep on the couch…”
“There’s no need,” she interrupted him. “I can…”
“No, you’re the guest, I insist…”
“Ryland,” she interrupted him again, then smiled when his mouth fell shut. “Thank you for offering, but I will take the couch. I’ll be fine and you deserve to sleep in your own bed; no offense, but you look horrible.”
“Wow, thank you,” he chuckled and fixed his glasses. “Fine, if that’s your command, who am I to argue? I’ll just get you some linens and a towel…”
He moved to the bedroom and Stratt tried not to peek above his shoulder. In the doorframe he stopped and turned at his heel.
“Will you be needing any pyjamas? I know you always travel ridiculously prepared, but…”
“Something to wear to sleep would be nice,” Stratt admitted, and cursed herself for the faint blush she felt creep on her cheeks. “I have a change of clothes for tomorrow, but…”
After a very uncomfortable weekend in Siberia, she learned to always pack a change of clothes and basic toiletries, but she usually skipped nightwear due to lack of space. She would be fine without it, but… since he offered… it would be nice to shower and change into something fresh.
Grace nodded and disappeared into his bedroom again. A moment later, he emerged, carrying a set of linens, a pillow, some blankets, a towel, a large red T-shirt and a pair of boxers.
“They are fresh,” he said defensively, seeing her lifted eyebrow. “Still smell of detergent. I don’t have anything else…”
“It’s fine,” Stratt said, taking pity on him, and watched as he set everything down on the couch. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, taking a step back. “So… I don’t know about you, but I am dead tired… Unless you’re hungry or something, I would just take a shower and go to sleep.”
“Me too,” Stratt assured him. “I’m tired, I mean. Shower and then sleep sounds divine.”
Grace relaxed and glanced at the couch.
“Do you want to shower first, or…?”
“You go,” she said immediately. “I’ll set the bed up and check my emails, anyway… I might be a moment.”
“That’s fine,” Grace replied. “The bathroom is pretty standard, you can use anything you find, obviously, if you get thirsty the water from the tap is fine, or I should have some bottled water stored under the sink…”
“Grace, I’ll be fine,” she interjected. “Go shower.”
He nodded and went to gather his own things, then disappeared in the bathroom. As he showered (and sang a vaguely familiar tune, who would have thought), Stratt pulled out the couch and fixed the sheets, then sank into a chair to check her tablet. She responded to a few short emails, feeling that she was way beyond the point of drafting long and coherent messages, making sure that the Vatt hadn’t exploded in their absence.
Eventually Grace emerged from the shower, looking more rested than he had before. His hair was slightly damp, and he was wearing long pyjama bottoms and an oversized T-shirt. Stratt caught herself staring at his exposed forearms, and prayed that Grace, who at the moment wasn’t wearing his glasses, didn’t notice.
But, seriously. A middle school teacher with toned arms? Who somehow retained all the muscle mass while trapped on a ship for three years? You could argue her interest was purely scientific.
“Right, then,” Grace said awkwardly. “I’m off. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” she replied softly and watched as the door closed behind him.
*
The shower felt amazing, and her tense muscles welcomed a steady stream of hot water. She brushed her teeth already half-conscious, and crawled under the sheets on the couch with a relieved sigh. There was a huge window in the room, overlooking the patio and a single pine tree, and she left the curtains open, letting a faint stream of moonlight fall on the carpet.
She fell asleep as soon as she closed her eyes, but when she opened them it was still dark outside. Disoriented, she felt around the pillow for her phone and narrowed her eyes when the screen flashed bright. It was half past one, which meant she only slept for four hours or so.
Her mind might know she was in San Francisco, but her body was, apparently, still on Gansu time.
She sighed and put the phone away, burrowing herself deeper into the covers. She shut her eyes tight, willing herself to sleep, but she knew that it was in vain. She’d always been this way, to her great regret; once she woke up, it was hard to fall asleep again, especially when jet lag was involved, and she started debating pulling out her tablet to do some more work.
She glanced around the dark room and listened to the faint sound of rain outside. Her thoughts drifted to her flat in Paris – well, not hers anymore, she broke the lease two years ago and had her things packed and put away in a storage unit on the outskirts of Hamburg. It was small and cramped, but that was the price she had to pay to live centrally, and she loved Paris, even if it sounded, and at times felt, cliché. When she first moved there, she thought that the feeling would fade away with time – it was, after all, another large city with a heap of its own problems – but, to her surprise, it didn’t. Of course, there were frustrations, and she quickly picked up the habit of complaining about the same things her French colleagues did, but, deep down, she could not get enough of it.
She wondered if she was so hungry to experience its charm and beauty because on some level she knew, suspected, that it would not last forever.
A quiet shuffle coming from Grace’s bedroom, followed by a creak of the door, broke her out of her thoughts. A vaguely Grace-shaped blob tiptoed into the room, trying to make as little noise as possible, and immediately bumped into his shoes, left in a heap on the floor.
“I’m awake,” Stratt said, taking mercy on him, and Grace nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Jiminy Cricket!” he exclaimed, putting one hand to his chest, his voice trembling, and Stratt, despite a valiant attempt to muffle the sound with the blanket, laughed so hard she nearly started to cry.
“Why are you awake?” he asked, accusingly.
“Why are you awake?” she shot back, wiping her eyes, and sat up on the bed.
She reached for the switch of the nearby floor lamp and it flickered to life, flooding the room and part of the kitchen with soft, warm light. Both she and Grace winced, narrowing their eyes.
“I think we’re both on Vatt time still,” she said, rubbing her face.
Grace nodded sagely and moved to sink into one of the kitchen chairs.
“I thought that by now we’ve become immune to jet lag,” he muttered darkly. “But apparently not.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
“Yes, I went down like a log,” he said wistfully. “But then woke at one fifteen sharp. As if my brain knew it was time for the board game night. I wonder who’s winning Catan today. Probably Yao… He’s weirdly good at this game.”
Stratt chuckled and threw the covers away. Grace’s eyes darted to her bare legs, which she pretended to ignore, but then moved upwards and his eyes widened when he noticed her wearing the red T-shirt that featured the periodic table with “Can I lick it?” printed above.
He swallowed visibly and shifted in his chair, clearing his throat when she stood.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, scratching his head. “I could eat something.”
“Me too,” Stratt admitted, crossing the room to sit next to him, having a weird impression that he was trying to look everywhere but at her.
“Great, I’ll order some takeout,” Grace said quickly, reaching across the table for his phone, which he was allowed to use only during trips to the mainland. “Is Chinese okay? I think it’s the only place in the neighbourhood still open at this hour.”
“Sure, it’s fine,” Stratt said, propping one elbow on the table and leaning her head on her hand, fingers weaving into her damp hair. “Remember to put it on the expense account.”
To her surprise, Grace only shrugged and made a vague gesture with his free hand.
“My treat,” he said, scrolling the phone. “Beef teriyaki with rice for you?”
She hummed, fighting a smile, and immediately cursed herself for it. She really needed to get a grip. So he knows her Chinese order by heart, so what? He was observant, and they’d been working closely for the past three years. She could bet that he was going to order orange chicken.
“Done,” Grace said, putting the phone down. “Now, let’s see if I have anything to drink…”
Stratt leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs, and watched in amusement as he rummaged around kitchen cabinets. There was a clatter of pots and pans, and an occasional bang, accompanied by Grace’s unintelligible mumble, until eventually he let out a yelp of triumph.
“A-ha!” he said, straightening, and proudly showed her a dusty bottle of red wine.
He read the label, then looked at her.
“Pinot noir, 2019. Good year!” he added, as if he knew what he was talking about, and once again Stratt had to fight an impulse to laugh.
He retrieved two glasses and a bottle opener from the cabinet and poured them generous servings.
“Cheers,” he said, clinking his glass against hers, and immediately took a sip.
Stratt, on the other hand, took a moment to swirl the wine in her glass and sniff it, and Grace’s eyes widened.
“Are you going to take a swing and spit it out?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow, a smile dancing on his lips. “I should have known you’d be a wine snob.”
“I’m not,” Stratt insisted, taking a sip, but then she winced when the taste hit her, and Grace burst out laughing, in a carefree way of a man being proved right.
“Of course you are,” he said, fondly. “You like expensive coffee and only drink some weird Chinese leaf teas. This tracks. Your palate is just too refined compared to us, mortals.”
She gave him a flat look, then took another large sip of the wine.
“Just because I don’t understand deep dish pizza…”
“Oh my god, don’t even get me started on that,” Grace groaned, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “I have half a mind to make a pit stop in Chicago tomorrow just so you can try some and accept that it’s good freaking food.”
“No, thank you, I am actually trying to pay attention to my cholesterol,” she replied with a grimace, and Grace chuckled, shaking his head.
She leaned back in her chair, curling her wineglass to her chest, as she propped her feet on an empty chair between them, stretching her legs.
“You know, for a man living off sour skittles and diet coke, you have very strong opinions on someone’s food preferences,” she remarked.
Grace gulped. She pretended to not see the way he just ogled her bare calves, and she lifted her eyebrow.
“Hey, I’m a simple man,” he replied, his voice sounding more strained than usual. “On a mission to spread comfort foods around the world.”
The corners of her mouth twitched as something warm and fuzzy stirred to life in her belly. Again, she tried to remind herself to keep distance between them, but it was so hard, now that they were sitting in his dimly lit kitchen, still in pyjamas, drinking wine, and he was looking at her as if she was a painting in a museum.
“When you lived in France, have you ever been to the Louvre?” he asked unexpectedly, twirling the wineglass between his fingers, and Eva felt as if the air got punched out of her chest.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Many, many times. It’s the only way you can see everything properly.”
“Did you see the Mona Lisa?”
“Yes, but it’s not worth the effort,” she smiled wryly. “There are so many tourists, everyone wanting to grab a selfie, that it ruins the mood. And don’t say I’m a snob,” she added quickly, raising a finger. “You would say the same if you saw it yourself.”
“I did, once,” he smiled. “I concur. I hated the whole experience.”
She laughed, surprised, the sound falling freely from her lips, and Grace looked very satisfied with himself for some reason.
“When was it?”
“A year before that disastrous conference in Denmark,” he gave her a crooked smile. “My then girlfriend insisted we should go to Europe to celebrate my PhD.”
“And by Europe, you mean…?”
“London, Paris and Rome,” he admitted with a laugh, and she shook her head. “Now, hey! I don’t judge Europeans when they come to visit ‘the US’,” he said, adding the air quotes, “and the only places they see are New York, Los Angeles and the Grand Canyon.”
She hummed, acknowledging that he had a point.
“I don’t even know why I thought about the Louvre,” Grace said, and took a sip of his wine. “But it just occurred to me that we really should make sure to preserve the artwork for future generations. And the science, obviously, and everything.”
“It will be done,” Stratt assured him, softer than she would have done had they been in a conference room or somewhere aboard the ship. “Top minds are already on it.”
To her surprise, Grace almost choked on his wine and started spluttering, his hand flying to his mouth, as Eva stared at him.
“You know, I vividly remember serving my students the exact same line regarding the Petrova Line,” he wheezed. “And later that afternoon you walked into my classroom and it turned out that I was one of the top minds, as it were. So I’m not sure if I find that reassuring.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but at the same moment the buzzer went off. They stared each other for a second, and she didn’t know if she was the only one feeling as if a strange spell had just been broken, before Grace stood up to receive the order.
They were too hungry to speak as they ate, or rather, devoured the food with the speed of a wild animal on a chase. Eva felt the last remains of the tension in her neck disappear between the bites and the sips of wine, her limbs getting looser as the alcohol finally got to her. When she was done, she leaned on her elbow and tried not to stare at Grace shoving frankly obscene amounts of chicken and rice into his mouth.
He had lit a single, half-empty scented candle and put it on the table, claiming that it was too dark in the kitchen for him to eat, and she took the opportunity to look at him in the flickering light, his features softer than usual, shadows playing with the contours of his face, and she vaguely thought about Caravaggio.
When he was done eating, Ryland slid down in his chair until he was practically horizontal, which was, honestly, quite impressive, and he stared at the ceiling.
“This is how the Greek philosophers felt when they pondered the secrets of the universe,” he said, in a far away voice, and Eva stifled a laugh.
“What secrets are you pondering?” she asked, in amusement, and to her surprise, and perhaps disappointment, he looked at her and a note of uncertainty crept into his gaze.
He pushed himself up into a sitting position and fixed his glasses, his other hand toying with his fork, and Eva looked at him through narrowed eyes, unsure what had sparked the sudden change in his mood.
“I don’t know why, but I keep thinking about what that pompous dipstick from UCLA said today,” he confessed. “About how we only care about the next twelve months to launch, but they have to plan a business strategy for the next five years.”
“I remember,” Stratt hummed, pushing her plate away to the center of the table. “And?”
“Well, as much as it infuriated me, he does have a point, doesn’t he?” Grace asked, turning his head to look at her.
She could still see the shaky reflection of the candle’s flame in his glasses, but the mood of relaxation had begun to seep away, and it surprised her how wrong it felt.
“About having a long-term strategy?” she replied, forcing herself to focus. “For the taskforce?”
“Taskforce, most of all,” he confirmed. “But, also, I don’t know… Life in general.”
He let out a sad sigh and stared at his plate. Stratt remained silent, waiting for him to elaborate.
“I just… You know, I used to love teaching,” he said, giving her a weak smile. “I still do. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back to teaching middle school after this.”
She nodded.
“Just… for the first time, I feel that I could be useful to a bigger idea,” he continued. “And seeing how we make progress week to week is… extraordinary. I guess I’m just afraid that once I’m back in that classroom, I’ll feel…”
He trailed off, his eyes drifting to the flickering candle.
“Powerless?” Eva suggested, and he nodded, letting out a shaky exhale. “I can understand that.”
“So, like…” he said, sounding unsure. “When you move to the next stage of the project… Would you consider keeping me around?”
Oh, Eva thought, her heart sinking. Oh, no. He doesn’t… He doesn’t know? What the hell? He’s her right hand, damn it, he should be included in important communication! Unless it’s her miss, in which case…
She stared at him uneasily, words stuck in her throat, until the silence stretched too long and Grace looked at her, embarrassed, and fidgeted in his seat.
“Or, you know, never mind,” he said hastily, “that was just a fleeting thought, I…”
“Ryland,” Stratt said, with emphasis, and put her hand on his forearm. “It’s not that I wouldn’t want to keep you on. But… there will be no next stage. At least nothing in which I will be involved.”
“What?” Grace asked, with genuine confusion. “But I thought… You mentioned… So what will you do once this is over?”
“Go to prison, probably,” Stratt replied, aiming for a matter-of-fact tone. It didn’t quite land there. She still needed to work on this.
“What?!” Grace repeated himself, his voice rising in volume, and jerked away from her touch. “Why?”
“Well,” Stratt said, folding her hands on the table in front of her and dropping her gaze to her thumbs. “I’ve had to make a lot of controversial, unethical and – let’s face it – straight up illegal decisions to see the project through. When the Hail Mary launches and the hype dies down as the things begin to deteriorate, governments of the world will start looking for a scapegoat. And my name is on all documents.”
“Your name is on the documents because the governments of the world gave you blanket authority to act in their name!” Grace insisted, flattening his hand on the table with enough force to rattle their glasses, and Stratt almost flinched. “They are just as complicit in everything we did!”
“They won’t see it this way,” she shook her head. “A government doesn’t have a face or a name; I do.”
Grace’s face crumpled.
“Stratt…”
“Don’t pity me,” she said, sharply, something dark and ugly unfurling in her chest, and Grace’s cheeks flushed. “I made my peace with it a long time ago.”
Unexpectedly, he narrowed his eyes at her.
“Made your pe… Stratt, but you are going to fight it, right?”
She looked back at him. The silence stretched between them, cold and heavy, until all blood ran from Grace’s face.
“You’re not serious,” he whispered. “Stratt… Eva…”
“It needs to be done,” she interrupted him and stood from the table, hair falling around her face, as she picked up her empty plate, willing her hands to remain steady. Her throat was closing up, her heart beating so loud she was afraid Grace could hear it, and she cursed him for bringing this up, ruining the peace, the edge of something she thought they were dancing on, and then she cursed herself for entertaining those feelings in the first place, because it was stupid and selfish and —
As she reached out to collect his plate, his hand shot up from the table to wrap around her wrist, and she froze.
“Stratt,” he repeated, gently. “It does not have to be this way. Please tell me you understand this.”
But she was too far gone in her own anger to notice the way he softened, the way desperation crept into his tone, and she jerked away from his touch.
“Unhand me,” she forced past gritted teeth, and he immediately loosened his grip.
Heart thrumming, she took the plates to the sink and rinsed them with water, keeping her back to Grace. It was no use; even from here, she could practically hear him thinking, and so it came as no surprise when he finally said,
“Do you believe that you deserve to go to prison?”
She sighed, loudly, but turned around to face him, leaning against the edge of the sink. She reached for a towel to wipe her hands, buying her time as she tried to formulate an answer.
“All we – I – did was necessary,” she said slowly. “But it still came with a cost. Some might feel that the cost was too big. Somebody needs to take the blame.”
His eyes narrowed further and his cheeks darkened.
“So it’s, what? A form of penance?”
“No,” she replied, sharply, frustration sparking to life in her chest. “It’s the logical outcome. Just think about it, once the work is done…”
“Will it be done, though?” Grace interrupted, standing from his chair and crossing his arms across his chest.
She watched in silence as he took a moment to pace around the kitchen table, growing more agitated by the second.
“We launch Mary and that’s it, the Earth left to fend for itself? What about the upcoming ice age? What about the crops, the food banks, the water supply, the wars? I thought the Hail Mary was planned for, like, fourteen stages.”
Eva leveled him with a look.
“My input ends with Stage One,” she said flatly. “My understanding is that the individual governments will work on their own to make the necessary provisions for the future.”
“And you think that’s going to work?” Grace asked in disbelief, and she averted his gaze. “The Eva Stratt I know for sure is not okay with this.”
“Maybe I’m not!” she snapped, lifting her eyes back up to meet his, fire burning within her freely now. “But what am I supposed to do, Grace? My assignment will be over…”
“Please, Stratt, we both know you could lobby your way into a Petrova Taskforce 2.0 if you wanted to,” Grace said, rolling his eyes. “The question is, why do you not want to?”
“You overestimate me.”
“You underestimate yourself!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and crossing the length of the table to stand in front of her. “What the fuck, Stratt, you cannot just agree to go to prison for trying to save the world! It makes zero sense!”
His use of profanity shocked her into silence, almost as if she needed it to understand the full extent of his anger and confusion. It didn’t mean that she understood the source of it, though, but trying to untangle it felt dangerous. Suddenly, the room shrank, the four walls closing around them, leaving nothing but a charged bubble in which they stood. Grace breathed heavily, his hands twitching at his sides, and Stratt looked at him, perplexed.
“Grace… Ryland,” she said, experimentally, and a jolt went through him. “What would you have me do?”
Even in the dim light of the singular lamp she could see the way his eyes roamed around her face, confused and desperate and, perhaps, hungry.
“I…” he gulped. “Eva, I just…”
The air became heavy around them, almost cracking with electricity as she stared at him, the man who believed in her more than she believed in herself, the man so upset with the thought of her going to prison that he was almost shaking as he stood before her, and her heart ached.
There was a split second in which she thought, with astounding clarity, fuck it. And then she placed a hand on his jaw and leaned in to kiss him.
He tasted like red wine and oranges and she savoured the taste before she realised, with a twinge of panic, that he wasn’t moving. Oh, god, she thought as she started to pull away, what had she done? Has she forced herself on him? Of course he wouldn’t want her in this way, she was his boss, and she was older, not by much, but still, and mean and cranky and…
But then it was as if a switch flipped and Grace sprang to life; his hands found her hips and tugged her closer, and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his nose brushing against hers, and then she was soaring, her whole nervous system suddenly lit on fire, and she grabbed at his neck with the other hand, willing them closer, welcoming the firmness of his body against hers.
They tumbled backwards towards the kitchen counter, Grace bravely trying to place a trail of fleeting kisses along the line of her throat as they moved, and she let out an embarrassing whimper when he hit a particular spot just below her jaw, but he only smiled against her skin and sucked, and her whimper turned to a gasp as the room swimmed before her eyes.
Her hands started exploring, roaming around his neck, his arms, his chest, then around his hips, sneaking under his T-shirt, nails scratching gently at the exposed skin, and she didn’t miss the way he shivered when she did that. But then he kissed her again, this time sneaking his tongue into her mouth, and it became hard to think about anything other than this, him, the desire coursing in her veins, the firm weight of his hand on her ass, and she tilted her hips toward him, desperate for some friction. His hands slid to her thighs as he picked her up and set her on the kitchen counter, and she couldn’t help a yelp of surprise – she was not expecting this, not from him, and wasn’t it dizzying to have her expectations subverted so spectacularly?
He stepped between her legs, keeping a firm hold on her thighs, almost too firm, and she welcomed the pressure, her skin burning under his hands, as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer until she could feel his hard cock pressing against her center. The two thin layers of pyjama pants didn’t leave much to the imagination, and her mouth watered when she imagined him sliding inside her, and, oh, it was embarrassing how wet she already was.
“Bed?” Ryland panted, and she nodded vigorously, planting a wet kiss on his neck, and he groaned and pulled her with him towards the bedroom.
They fell on the bed, a mass of tangled limbs, and Ryland continued his explorations of her body, his tongue and lips leaving hot traces against her skin, and she writhed under him when he placed an open-mouthed kiss on the side of her throat, his teeth gently scraping the skin.
“Yeah, you like that?” he hummed, and oh, she could hear the self-satisfied smile in his voice. She started to move her leg to shove him for being so cocky, but before she could do anything, he reached to pin her wrists above her head, trapping her in place, and she let out a sharp breath. He paused, lifting his eyes to hers, and asked,
“Is this okay?”
“Yes,” she breathed, her cheeks going pink, and hooked one leg around his waist, desperate for some movement, more friction, and she saw how his pupils grew larger when she brushed his cock with her pubic bone in the only movement she was still capable of.
Ryland groaned and sucked at one particular spot until she hissed and her mind went blank, eyes fluttering shut, as he moved his palm to her breast, his fingers featherlight against her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. She arched against him, savoring the weight of his body against hers, the firmness of his muscles straining to keep her in place, and it felt so good to let him take charge, pin her down exactly the way he wanted – she heard the words fall from her mouth, breathless encouragements and low moans, everything produced without any assistance from her brain.
He abruptly released her wrists, his eyes drifting to her chest, and she made a move to pull the shirt over her head, but he stopped her hand. He looked positively disheveled, his lips pink and swollen, and he was wearing a pretty blush that travelled all the way down to his neck. His glasses were crooked and she wondered if they should remove it – but there was a part of her that wanted him to see her, all of her, to see her fall apart under his touch, and it was ridiculous how turned on she was…
“No, keep the shirt on,” he insisted, his voice hoarse. “I’ve never…” he started, then interrupted himself to kiss her, “never seen anyone, in the history of mankind, look so hot in a corny science T-shirt.”
She kissed him back, using her free hands to pull him by the hair to keep him in place, and he groaned into her mouth, his hips involuntarily thrusting into hers. Eva smiled against his lips.
“Be good,” she whispered in his ear, and he grunted, biting her lip.
He lifted the T-shirt and swiped his tongue along her sternum, visibly enjoying the way she moaned in response, and then he continued his journey downwards, peppering her stomach with kisses, alternating between close-mouthed pecks and wet, languid strokes that left her shivering. Impatient, she pulled at his plain white T-shirt, willing it off, and he obliged, and, wow. She was not wrong about the muscles on this man.
He sank between her legs and she fully expected him to finally get down to business, but instead he took his sweet time kneading, kissing and biting her inner thighs and it was becoming too much, the pressure inside her building, her body desperate for release as her vision darkened.
“Grace,” she finally huffed, propping herself on her elbows. “Enough teasing.”
He laughed into her skin and she shivered.
“You’re in my bed and still you can’t use my name?”
“Ryland,” she amended. “Enough teasing.”
And then, without barely any warning, he moved his head between her legs and plunged his face into her cunt, still a layer of clothes between them, and then he sniffed.
Breath caught in Eva’s throat as she couldn’t decide if she was more turned on or disgusted, but then he made an appreciative sound and, well. Definitely not that disgusted.
“Ryland,” she groaned again, not completely sure what she was asking for, her head swimming, and he pulled away, just a few centimetres, enough that she could still feel his breath on her folds, and, oh, he had some nerve.
“Be nice,” he threw her own words back at her, and then, with no small amount of smugness, he added, “say please.”
“Oh, go to hell,” she moaned, her voice cracking as he ran his tongue along her thigh, and she was sure she was going to die there, the first person to succumb to lust of truly astronomical proportions.
Ryland made a tsk-sound.
“That didn’t sound very nice.”
“You’re obnoxious when you’re cocky, you know that?” she panted, and he gave her an obscenely self-satisfied look and caught the delicate skin on her hip with his teeth.
“Fine, God,” she uttered, falling back on the pillows. “Please, Ryland.”
He seemed to take pity on her by not forcing her to elaborate further, and in one swift movement her loose shorts were off, her body exposed to the chilly air in the room. She shuddered, but before she could properly feel any discomfort, he put his hot mouth against her, his tongue drawing broad circles around her clit, and she saw stars.
“God, you’re so wet,” he murmured, sounding awed, then licked up her folds in one, long stroke. “You taste so good, too, my God, Eva…”
She whimpered, feeling as if her nerve endings were being lit on fire, and then she lost the power of coherent speech as all she could focus on was the sensation, the way he stroked and teased her with his tongue just to sharply pivot and suck on her clit instead, and she wanted more, she needed more… She didn’t remember the last time she felt like this, so close to the edge that it felt as if her body could break in half any second, so alive, her whole body burning with want, as she lifted her hips, thrusting into his mouth. Ryland grunted and dug his fingers into her thighs, in warning or in appreciation, she was honestly not sure, and flicked his tongue in a way that made her back arch, lifting from the mattress.
He ate her like a man starved, and it was almost embarrassing how easy he made it seem, or how dizzy she was with desire, and she reached down, searching for his hand to anchor herself. He immediately wrapped his fingers around hers, giving her a quick look to make sure she was alright, but not stopping his ministrations, and Eva tossed her head back with a groan.
“Fuck, I’m almost there,” she breathed, teasing her nipple with her free hand. “Please…”
And then he changed his pace again, this time settling for quick, short strokes up her clit and Eva felt her muscles tighten, her knees closing around the sides of his face, and then the wave broke and she was flying, falling, seeing nothing but blinding white as the pleasure rolled through her, and she was probably saying something, but she couldn’t make sense of the words, couldn’t even pinpoint the language.
When she came to it, Grace was laying on his side with his cheek on her stomach, stroking her hip. He looked up at her when her breath evened, his eyes bright, traces of her arousal still on his mouth.
“I take it you liked it,” he said, and Eva resisted the urge to smack him on the head.
“You’ll do,” she replied, breathlessly, her voice still uneven.
He laughed, then, giddy and carefree, and it stirred something in her, a playfulness that she thought had long died, and she narrowed her eyes, accepting the challenge. She gently shifted her hips, forcing Grace off her, and rose to her knees to move to his side of the bed and place herself above him.
With deep satisfaction she noticed a damp patch at the front of his pants, and she smirked as she straddled him, brushing his cock with her pubic bone, until he gasped at the contact.
“Not so cocky now, are you?” she asked, leaning above him, her hair falling around them like a curtain.
Ryland gulped. His eyes were dark with desire as they roamed across her face, and she wondered, briefly, if he liked what he saw.
She reached a hand between them to cup him through his pants, and wetted her lips when her fingers closed around what seemed to be a very adequately sized penis. She leaned down, kissing along his collarbone, then licking a trail between his nipples and down to his bellybutton, and she moved backwards on her knees until her eyes were just in line with the waistband of his pants.
She hooked one finger under it and saw the way his stomach tensed, his breath turning uneven. Satisfied, she tugged at the material, and she didn’t need to ask him to lift his hips to make this easier as his pants made his way to his ankles and then over the edge of the mattress.
“My, my,” she breathed out, and his cheeks darkened; something that she definitely noticed and filed for later.
He really was perfect, she thought, settling between his legs as she wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, and gave it an experimental squeeze. Ryland took a sharp breath and she smiled, leaning down to place several open-mouthed kisses along his shaft, at which she let out a low, guttural moan that sent a jolt through her.
She moved her mouth upwards, kissing the tip of his cock, humming as she felt salt on her tongue. He hissed, twitching under her mouth, and her lips curled in satisfaction. She liked having him in charge, but this, and an ability to reduce a man to a bumbling mass with just her touch, was nice, too.
She swiped her tongue up and down the length of him a few times, then took him fully into her mouth, so focused that she barely registered his half-coherent whimpers. She put one hand on his abdomen, scratching it gently with her nails, and she could feel his muscles shake under her hand as she started sucking, still teasing him with her tongue. He huffed, and his hand twitched at his sides, and she understood how desperate he was to grab something. There was a part of her that wished he would tangle his fingers in her hair and show her exactly what he liked, but she suspected that he wasn’t so sure of himself yet.
Later, perhaps.
She adjusted the pressure and took him deep to the base, truly enjoying herself now, when suddenly he jerked his hips.
“Wait, stop,” he panted, and she paused immediately, her eyes shooting up to meet his.
“Everything okay?” she asked, releasing him, and he nodded, his hand moving to rub her arm.
“More than okay,” he assured her. “But this will be over way too soon if you keep doing that. And I would really, really like to get inside you,” he added, and a shiver went down her spine.
“Well,” she purred, “in that case, let’s not waste time. Do you have any condoms?”
“Yeah, in my bag, in the inside pocket,” he said, starting to move towards it, but she held a hand to his chest to keep him in place.
She made a short trip to retrieve the brand new pack of condoms, lifting her eyebrows in amusement when she saw it was still wrapped in foil, and Ryland blushed.
“There should also be an unopened bottle of lube in the drawer,” he said, pointing at the nightstand, and she could not help the swell of pure affection that rolled through her chest.
She rolled the condom on him and added some strawberry lube for good measure, thinking that it couldn’t possibly hurt.
“Ready?” she asked, lining him up to her entrance, and he nodded emphatically, his fingers curling around her hips.
She could not help but smile at how eager he looked, like she was a prize he was about to receive, and she had to admit, his enthusiasm was doing great stuff to her self-esteem.
“Wait a sec,” he suddenly said, and she paused. “Ditch the T-shirt. I want to see all of you.”
Her breath caught in her throat and once again she felt as if there wasn’t enough air in the room, but she happily obliged, pulling the shirt over her head and tossing it to the floor, and felt vaguely triumphant in the way Ryland’s hands tightened on her skin, his eyes roaming around her chest.
Slowly, she sank onto him, groaning in pleasure as she welcomed the pressure of his slick cock against her muscles, felt herself stretch to take him all in, and it felt so good, so right, like he belonged there, and the thought was enough to send a jolt of anticipation through her.
She gave herself a moment to adjust to the size of him, tilting her pelvis experimentally to the sides, then making small circles with her hips, and Ryland groaned, his nails digging into her thigh. She smiled as she saw the pretty flush on his neck and the way he looked at her, practically drunk with lust, and she rose on her knees, pulling out almost all the way through, and then she sank on him again in one swift movement, taking him to all the way in until she could feel his balls press against her.
Ryland made a choking sound, his head rolling back, and she immediately wanted to hear it again, wanted to discover all the breathless, whimpering sounds he could make, the sweet, incoherent nothings he would say.
“Oh my god, you feel so good,” he moaned, his eyes falling shut, and Eva relished how pliant he was under her touch, thoroughly focused on his pleasure.
She repeated her movement, tilting her pelvis so that he was pressed against a particular spot deep inside her, and he shuddered and breathed, yes, exactly like that.
Eva braced her hands against the mattress on both sides of his face and lifted her hips again, keeping the same pace, paying great attention to the way his breath hitched when she added a roll of her hips here and there, breaking the rhythm. His hands wandered to her ass and thighs, kneading, and for a moment there was nothing else in the world except for the two of them, his warm body pressed against hers, his breathless moans echoing around the empty room. She vaguely realized that they were doing something before, something important, but she couldn’t remember the details, all her senses attuned to the touch and smell and taste of him as she floated in a haze of pleasure, and then she felt him starting to tense under her, his movements turning erratic, and she bit down on her lower lip.
“Yes, I’m so close…” he mumbled, barely intelligible, and she paused.
“Look at me,” she demanded, and his eyes snapped open, boring into hers, and the look he gave her was so raw, so open, so full of feeling, that her heart skipped a beat.
Then she ground harder against him, her hips slamming into his, and Ryland groaned, his fingers digging into her skin in a way that was almost painful, and she cried out in pleasure.
“Holy moly,” he breathed, and then he was shuddering under her, his face pressed against the side of her neck.
She fucked him through his peak in slow, languid strokes, keeping his breathless laugh for memory, until he stopped her movements and pulled her down to rest on top of him.
“Wow,” he just said, dropping a kiss into her hair.
She pressed her ear to his chest, listening to his thrumming heartbeat, and let out a quiet hum of agreement.
“No, that was – God, you’re amazing,” he bumbled, his loss of speech apparently short-lived, and she smiled against his skin, tempted to place a lingering kiss there.
The air cooled around them as they settled into the sheets, only briefly disappearing into the bathroom to clean themselves up and move the blankets from the couch to the bed, and Eva allowed herself a sigh of deep satisfaction. Her limbs felt loose and heavy, and she was pleasantly warm curled up against Ryland’s side, her arm thrown across his chest. He started tapping a rhythm against her elbow and hummed something under his breath.
“Ryland?” she said, her eyelids drifting shut, and the tapping paused. “That was really nice.”
She knew it was a weak line, but she hoped that he would understand the true meaning behind her words, everything she had bottled up so well that it was hard to release it, even here, in this dark, empty room, in the safety of his arms.
And maybe he did, because he kissed her hair, lingering there for a moment, and whispered,
“Yeah, it was.”
*
Five hours later, they stood in the living room somewhat fresher, showered and quite hungry, all the remains of yesterday evening shoved into a trash bag already tied and waiting by the door. The sky outside was clear blue, flooding the apartment with light, as if the weather was trying to pretend that the last twenty-four hours never happened.
“We do not have the time to swing by your favourite diner,” Stratt said, rolling her eyes as she shoved her tablet into her bag. “We are already late.”
“How can we be late if it’s our own plane?” Grace asked in disbelief. “Is it going to fly off without us, or what?”
“It’s not our own plane, which you know perfectly well, and the airport charges for the taxi stand by the hour,” she replied. “Besides, we need to make it back to Gansu for the morning debrief.”
“I’m not insisting on the diner, but I need to eat something before we take off, or I’m going to puke all over you,” he warned. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing, which I’m not judging, but, also, kinda gross."
She didn’t even dignify it with a response, busy with putting her coat on.
“And you need coffee,” he continued, almost accusingly, as he patted the pockets of his rainjacket, “or you’ll be cranky all morning, and no one needs that added stress in their lives.”
“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” she replied breezily, and Grace gave her a doubtful look.
He picked up the trash bag and cast the last look around his apartment, checking for anything forgotten. There was nothing in sight, the flat back to its original state, and neither he nor Stratt remembered about a small hairbrush she accidentally left behind on the bathroom sink.
“Fine,” he said, his voice growing more distant as the doors closed behind them. “Can we at least compromise on a Starbucks…?”