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"Mac," Megan said into her transmitter as she keyed the penthouse elevator outside Normani's apartment.
"Go ahead, Commander," Mac replied as he automatically checked the monitor providing visual surveillance of the hallway. His eyes switched to the adjoining screen showing the interior of the elevator as Megan stepped on.
"Sign me out to my apartment," she said tersely. "It's the same address as before. Someone pulled a few strings to get it back for me." She needed a shower, a change of clothes, and a few minutes to herself to erase the sound of Normani's disappointment and the image of the hurt in her eyes. She had to meet with her later in the day to confirm the agenda for the upcoming weeks, and she needed to be in control of herself when she did.
The very first moment she had seen Normani Hamilton, just over a year ago, she'd been attracted to her. She'd been able to ignore those feelings for months, but, as time passed, she'd come to know her, and her desire turned to caring. Finally, she'd succumbed. She hadn't been able to withstand both the pull of her body and the demands of her heart, and she'd touched her. Now, she would somehow have to learn to live with her need.
Mac studied the commander's face in the monitor. Even with the mild distortion of the transmitted image, he could make out the tense set of her jaw and the grim line of her mouth. Uh oh. Things had not gone well with the First Daughter. He wasn't surprised.
Megan had been shot in the line of duty less than a year before; shot while guarding Normani Hamilton; shot while stepping in front of her and stopping a sniper's bullet from entering her chest.
Megan didn't remember the nightmarish scene when she lay bleeding on the sidewalk, agents surrounding Normani while dragging her to cover. Mac remembered it very well. He remembered Normani screaming Megan's name as her commander went down. He remembered Normani sitting by Megan's bedside for over forty-eight hours while her life hung in the balance. And he knew that Normani had requested that Megan be removed from her security detail once she had recovered. He couldn't imagine that she would be happy about this new arrangement.
"You're scheduled for a briefing with Dawn at 1300 hours," he said while glancing over the day's events printed out on a clipboard by his right hand. When in doubt, revert to procedure.
"I've got that," Megan snapped as she walked quickly through the lobby, nodding curtly to the doorman as he hastened to hold the double glass doors open for her. She stopped under the short green awning and surveyed the rooftops of the buildings across the park. It was the first time she had been back since the shooting. She stared at the sidewalk and recalled the fine red mist on her hands and the clear blue sky overhead. She shivered lightly, thinking that it might have been Normani that day, and not her. Then she shrugged the memory away and crossed the street toward her apartment on the other side of the square.
When she'd stripped off her jacket and eased out of her weapon harness, she walked to the windows overlooking Gramercy Park and stared across the treetops at the penthouse of Normani's building. She thought about her up there now, in that space that should have been a haven. The windows in Normani's loft that faced the street were bulletproof, the fire escape ended one level below her floor, and the skylights on the roof above were crisscrossed with woven titanium mesh that would require a blowtorch to cut. A posh fortress, but a subtle prison nonetheless. Megan couldn't blame Normani for hating it. She couldn't even blame her for being angry with her. She wished she could change it, but the facts of the First Daughter's life were beyond anyone's control. She turned away from the image of Normani's smile and the memory of her in her arms. Wanting her would not help either of them now.
...
After Megan left her loft, Normani waited motionless on the other side of the door, listening to the faraway hum of the elevator coming up the penthouse to carry Megan back downstairs. Long after she knew Megan was gone, she waited, foolishly hoping that she might return. By the time that she finally turned back into her empty apartment, she'd managed to replace longing with anger, a familiar antidote to disappointment.
Normani decided that she needed only to convince her body that she no longer cared. Megan's arrival that morning had been so unexpected she hadn't done anything except react. Few women had ever been able to excite her the way Megan Pete seemed able to do with little more than a smile, and it was one of the things that made her security chief so frightening.
Normani made a point of keeping everyone at arm's distance, physically and emotionally, and she had failed miserably with Megan. Walking through the loft, she was still throbbing with the aftermath of unanswered arousal. Images of Megan kissing her, spreading her open, licking and sucking at her as she came filled her mind. She was so angry with herself for allowing this to happen that even her body's automatic response seemed like a betrayal.
"Shower," she muttered under her breath, shedding clothes and putting on a waterproof cap as she crossed to the partitioned area in the corner that adjoined her sleeping alcove. She twisted the dial and stepped under the still-cold spray, gasping at first contact. Her nipples were still full and tender from the recent stimulation, and the wetness between her legs was not from the rivulets of water running down her body. She leaned against the far wall and let the warm cascade engulf her. She closed her eyes, and that was a mistake.
As soon as she surrendered to the soothing beat of the water on her skin, she saw Megan's face once again. She felt Megan's body along the length of her own as they had pressed together against the door. She imagined Megan's hands on her, just as she had imagined them many times during the weeks they had been apart. Ordinarily, such remembrances produced just a pleasant hum of pleasure, but she was already aroused, painfully so. The pinpricks of heat on her skin seemed to streak directly between her legs, and the tingling pressure building there warred with her self-control.
She would not think about her.
She grabbed soap and began to lather her neck and chest, smoothing her palms over her breasts and stomach. The sensation of her fingers passing over her nipples made her gasp. Without consciously meaning to, she caught one between her thumb and forefinger and squeezed, arching her back slightly into the warm spray as the sharp pinpoint of pleasure-pain seared down her spine. It was too good, too good not to lift her hands and cup both breasts, squeezing as she rhythmically twisted her erect nipples until all she could feel was a steady burning pleasure beneath her fingertips.
She pressed her shoulders harder against the rear shower wall as her legs began to tremble. She ached inside. Still massaging her breasts with one hand, she pressed the other to her stomach, running her fingers lightly over her skin, moving lower with each stroke. Her pulse beat between her legs like a second heart. She knew how hard she was, had felt the stiff swelling of her clit as she had straddled Megan's thigh. If she touched herself, she would never be able to stop. She'd been ready the minute her lips had found Megan's mouth. She was always so damn ready for her. She imagined Megan's fingers where her own brushed through the thin strip of hair at the base of her belly, and her clit twitched.
"Oh God," she whispered, eyes still closed, shuddering at the memory. She needed to ease the pressure, couldn't think of anything else. Her fingers slid lower, one on either side of her distended clit. Her hips jerked as she squeezed lightly, and she had to brace herself with one arm against the wall to keep from falling.
Her mind was empty of everything except the exquisite sensation of her fingertips rubbing over her blood-engorged flesh. She was dimly conscious of her muscles quivering and the pounding pressure of her orgasm building. Faintly, she heard herself whimpering with each teasing stroke. Neck arched, she thrust her hips steadily back and forth as her hand move faster between her legs, setting her nerves on fire. When the inferno roared in her pelvis and scorched along her veins, she choked back a cry, her fingers squeezing down with each spasm, milking each pulsation to the very end.
When the contractions that ripped through her finally quieted, Normani leaned weakly forward into the spray, her arms outstretched, palms against the opposite wall, barely able to stand. Her body was satisfied, but she took no satisfaction from it.
"Fuck you, Commander," she whispered.
...
Hi readers ☺️,
Things between Megan and Normani have gone from sweet to sour... I'm excited to hear your thoughts!
Thoughts on how Megan left Normani's apartment? Her internal conflict? What about everything Mac is picking up on? Is he close to figuring them out?
Thoughts on how Normani reacted after Megan left? Her hurt? Her disappointment? Her anger? Her arousal? How would y'all feel and what would y'all do in this situation?
Alright, that's it for now! As always, thank you all so much for reading and leaving feedback. See y'all again soon for the next update! 🤍