She took the hand offering help over the barrier.  It wasn't offered just because she was a woman.  Every man in the group had taken the same help over the wall.  They were a team and not a one of them, male or female, was too proud to refuse anything that might get them all to safety a moment sooner.  Although as the only woman in the group, Olivia was probably the only one to notice the erection pressing firmly against her buttocks as the last man moved in close to boost her over the wall. 

She couldn't really blame him.  The immediate danger had passed and she knew he wasn't the only one in desperate need of a life affirming act like sex.  This was a closer call than most of them had ever had before.  She'd also heard the two youngest men softly talking about what they were going to do the moment this was all over-- get a drink, find a woman, and celebrate being alive.  Olivia thought it sounded like a good plan.  Their eyes met for a moment and she saw an apology there.  It hadn't been her the young man with the erection had reacted to, just the feel of a female body.  He couldn't help himself any more than she could-- more than any of them could.  Especially her.      

This was not her world.  She wasn't an operative.  Even her past eight years as a beat cop on the rough streets of Atlanta hadn't prepared her for this.  One moment everything had been fine, but such is the illusion of control.  The next moment they'd been surrounded by five men and then ten and then three dozen.  The bitter taste of fear still burned in the back of her throat.  She and her four male associates had been forced to drop their weapons.  They were in the process of being dragged before the ringleaders when all hell had broken loose as the guerillas holding them had been overrun by a rival paramilitary force.  Not their crew- but not entirely hostile.  Money went a long way in places like this.  In the ensuing chaos, Olivia, her boss and three other employees had escaped to safety.

Her skin still crawled where they'd touched her.  She couldn't imagine how the others felt.  Guilty.  Grateful.  From the moment things had gone bad, the boss had been there, a quiet pillar of calm, putting himself between their bodies and the muzzles of the guns as often as he could.  He would die for them.  Olivia was glad he hadn't.  She wasn't sure she could live with that on her conscience.

She'd been with the company three years.  Not as an operative or a negotiator.  A 'facilitator' they called her.  She didn't deal with clients or rescue hostages.  She moved cargo.  Men.  Munitions.  Contraband.  Behind every successful team are a thousand details that have to be handled - delicately - before a single move can be made, and Olivia was the woman behind most of them.  She did everything from scheduling flights in and out of restricted countries to coordinating supplies for the crews on the ground and procuring secure phones to shipping crates of illegal armaments in and out of some of the most inaccessible places imaginable. 

Olivia loved her job.  It was far more rewarding than arresting and re-arresting the same perps week in and week out.  The pay was better too.  The only problem was her boss.  Or perhaps it would be more apt to say the chemistry between them was the problem. 

In the three years Olivia had worked for him, he'd come to respect and admire her a great deal.  She was intelligent and resourceful, sharp as a tack in a witty rather than sassy way and she had a spine of steel that at times seemed at odds with her soft southern accent.  She was also poised, elegant, and had legs up to the neck of one hell of a curvaceous body that was topped with blue eyes, blonde hair and one of the sharpest, most meticulous minds he'd ever had the pleasure of working with. 

He'd liked her immediately, despite the fact she was a bit of a clotheshorse and had a tendency to wear inappropriate shoes in the field.  Nothing with a heel that high could be comfortable and yet she never complained.  He liked that about her as much as he did the fact that she knew how to take care of herself.  He wouldn't have hired anyone who didn't, but it wasn't her proficiency at her job or with a firearm or even her fucking fantastic legs that attracted him.  It was something else.  Something he still hadn't quite been able to put his finger on even after working with her nearly every day for the last three years.

He knew she felt it too.  There was an energy between them that neither of them had ever acted upon-- or even acknowledged, and despite his propensity to be a bit looser after hours with his crew, he'd never been anything but strictly professional with her.  They had never so much as exchanged a single glance of longing.  She had her life.  He had his.  She knew about the dates he went on.  He knew about the cop she'd broken it off with last year.  She knew about his dead mother.  He knew about her alcoholic father.  They were.... colleagues. 

Friends.

He would never abuse that or his position as her boss by making an inappropriate advance regardless of his intense attraction-- or his abject loneliness.  She would never entice him despite the fact he was the finest man she'd ever met.  He was her boss.  His honor would never let him.  She knew that as surely as she knew there were nights he had to ache as badly as she did to give in to whatever it was they didn't acknowledge between them. 

And so she kept her distance, pouring herself into her work, as did he, as if their mutual respect for the exemplary job the other did would be enough.  As if they could go on this way forever.  She didn't even socialize with any of them after hours.  There were no drinks at the bar or backyard picnics or even celebrations after a successfully completed job.... and yet she was there to run interference for him when he had to go home to take care of his mother and he was there in the hospital that night her father had nearly killed himself behind the wheel after one too many beers. 

If he could find a way to blame himself for that he probably would.  Her boss seemed to swallow the world's problems, to take them all onto his own shoulders and to torture himself for every soul he thought he should have been able to save... but couldn't.  That's why she knew she had to see him tonight.  She knew he'd be blaming himself for what had happened this afternoon. 

Just after dark they'd made it back to the building in the city they were using as a headquarters for this job.  A thorough check revealed it was still secure.  They had not been identified.  What had happened this afternoon had simply been a case of being the wrong color in the wrong place at the wrong time.  It wasn't long before most of his crew had left to celebrate life in the most basic way possible.  She was feeling that same urge and she knew without a doubt that her boss was too, which is why she went looking for him.  Olivia knew he'd be too busy torturing himself with guilt to blow off steam the way the others were tonight and that worried her.  She wanted to be sure he was okay.  And maybe there was a small part of her that needed him to know she was okay too. 

He had to clear his head.  Jesus.  He'd nearly gotten them all killed this afternoon.  His mind was awash with details, things he should have caught.  Nuances of behavior he should have noticed, tip-offs he should have been more aware of, pieces of information he should have put together better or faster.  What if she'd been shot?  He couldn't get the image of Olivia being roughly dragged before him out of his head.  It incensed that part of him that was staunchly old-fashioned.  Women weren't to be treated that way.  Ever.  It also made him feel guilty that he'd been more worried about her than the other three men with them.  They were his employees too.  They should have mattered just as much.  And yet it was Olivia who'd dominated his thoughts-- then and now. 

He couldn't live with her death on his conscience.  She was... special.  He also couldn't send her home.  He needed her to do her job and she needed to be here to do it.  The life of the hostage he was currently negotiating for depended on it, and yet all he could think about was the events of this afternoon.  What if she'd been shot before his eyes?  What if they'd beat her in front of them to get them to talk?  What if he'd been forced to watch them rape her?  An impotent feeling of powerlessness welled up in him, stirring things better left buried.

Olivia found him on the roof, looking out over the lights of the city.  It seemed prettier at night.  Quieter.  Safer.  Another illusion-- like the darkness cloaking them.  It never really hid the truth.  She could tell the moment he became aware of her.  He didn't turn around but his back stiffened.  It was hard to imagine that he was composing himself.  He always seemed so calm, so in control.  She was angry at herself for her own helplessness this afternoon.  She could only imagine how he felt and yet he took a breath and faced her, ready to be the rock his team needed once again.

She faltered at the sight of him as her eyes adjusted to the dark.  Jeans and a button down shirt?  Olivia had never seen him in anything but a suit and tie.  It was like seeing him without his armor.  He looked different.  Not casual, exactly.  Not really approachable either.  Vulnerable maybe.  Tormented definitely.  That air of quiet detachment he wore like a shield was stripped away.  It was like a glimpse of the man he kept hidden; the one she knew was there but had never really expected to see.  She froze.

His teeth clenched as he heard her coming.  She was still wearing those fucking heeled ankle boots.  The ones he hated.  The ones that gave him an erection.  Worse, she hadn't yet changed.  It was like waving a red flag before a mad bull.  Her linen jacket was ripped in the elbow where she'd struggled over the wall and her pants were dirty from where she'd been forced to her knees and dragged.  Just the sight of it made the helpless fury rise in him all over again.  Her pale hair was mussed, escaping the long braid down her back.  It looked almost white in the moonlight. 

He curled his fingers into a fist to keep from touching it and forced the thoughts away.  He didn't even allow himself to fantasize about her.  Not consciously anyway.  The erotic dreams he had were beyond his control.  Those he woke from hard and aching-- or worse-- sometimes spent and softening, groin and belly wet with the proof his control wasn't as total as he wished.  Dreams could do that to a man; the waking kind of dreams anyway.

Olivia was moving closer.  

"Ma'am."  His voice was low and soft.  

Sir.

Her usual reply died on her lips.  There was a wild heat in his eyes, just for a moment.  He blinked and it was gone, replaced with concern for her.  "Are you okay?"

Are you? 

Only Olivia would have asked him that.  With the others it had just been the usual congratulatory back slapping and calls of 'fucking close one, man' while they filed out, shaken and on the prowl for a night that would let them know they were still alive. 

His shirt was open at the throat and his sleeves were rolled to the elbows revealing a sprinkling of golden hair on his forearms.  Her heart seemed to be beating in her throat.  Could he hear it?  It seemed she could hear nothing else.  The pounding rush got louder as he moved in to embrace her with a supportive hug.  It was the same kind of platonic hug he'd given her when one young men in their crew got shot last year and when the team had brought back the remains of a dead child and when she was at her father's bedside in the hospital, afraid to touch him for all the tubes and wires coming out of him.

The cold bulk of his gun pushed into her side and the corner of the pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket dug into her left breast, but it was the strong hand at the small of her back that she noticed.  He wasn't made of stone and he was unable to keep his palm from lingering one selfish moment longer than it should have, holding her pressed tightly against him.  Her hair smelled of lilacs.  His control wavered dangerously.  Jesus, his thumb may have even moved, a caress where he could feel the heat of her skin through her thin jacket.    

This time it was her body that stiffened at that subtle telltale giveaway.  Her heart hammered in her chest; adrenaline peaked.  So did desire.  And fear.  She wasn't brave enough to make the first move but the sad sort of hopelessness in his small gesture fractured the wall they'd so carefully erected between them.

He could feel her warm breath on his neck.  Out of habit he lifted his head and looked away.  He would not kiss her.  He would not.  If he did, he wouldn't be able to stop until she was his the way she was in his dreams-- naked beneath him.  He lifted his chin higher, jaw clenched.... and then he felt it, her lips on his neck.  It wasn't a kiss.  Her lips were open.  He could feel each breath she took.  It was like she was drinking him in, moving her head just slightly so that her lips barely rubbed back and forth.  His arm tightened around her.  She trembled. 

And he was lost.

His mouth came down hard over hers, wet and insistent, demanding entry.  He forced her small frame to his larger one.  She wrapped herself around him.  He could feel her shaking and knew this wasn't right, knew he was taking advantage, and yet he couldn't make himself stop.  Not now.  Not after he'd felt her trembling acquiescence.  Not after he'd tasted her. 

He tore his mouth away, unable to breathe, unable to think as they pulled frantically at each other's clothing.  Jesus, this couldn't be happening!  Not like this; a rough fuck on a deserted rooftop at the edge of civilization.  His dreams of a romantic candlelit dinner, fine wine and soft luxurious sheets vanished into nothing at the first touch of her hands on his belt.  He barely remembered ripping off her jacket and throwing it down under them so she wouldn't scrape her back on the gritty, hard surface of the roof. 

If he'd been thinking, he'd have had her up against the wall.  Hell, if he'd really been thinking none of it would have happened at all, but logic and convention had gone straight out the window the moment he'd felt her lips brushing his throat in a touch more intimate than any kiss he could remember.  He was wild to feel her skin, to see it, to make sure for himself that she was whole and unhurt.  He just didn't want to feel her naked skin pressed against his; he needed it.

He only remembered flickers of what came before that glorious moment his naked body lay atop hers; a flash of his long fingers on the pull of her zippered boot, her shockingly pink toenail polish- she really was a girly-girl under it all, the muffled clunk of his gun as he cast it aside in his haste to help her push down his pants, the sound the buttons on her blouse made pinging away into the night as he ripped it open to get at her breasts before falling on her like an animal, rooting and sucking and biting.

They hardly even kissed.  Neither of them had the breath for it, panting and wild as they were, but it was the little whimpers she made against his throat that drove him out of his head.  It was just like before, her lips open and needy, breathing him in, rubbing against his throat and jaw and chin.  He'd never known her to be anything but articulate and outspoken.  That she was reduced to a need beyond words rocked him to his very core.  He thought it was because of what they'd lived through that afternoon.  Tomorrow he'd hate himself for taking advantage of her momentary weakness.  Had he known the truth, he'd have been shocked to know it was nothing more than finally knowing his intimate touch that had reduced her to that trembling, needful state. 

Her hands clung to his shoulders.  He slipped a finger inside her, not to arouse her or even to gauge her readiness, but because he simply couldn't stop himself from invading her, penetrating her, pushing as much of himself inside her as he could in this one brief moment when honor had been set aside in favor of need.  Scorching... slippery... heat.  Tight.  Throbbing.  Need. 

Words and sensations slashed through his brain.  He added another finger, panting through his excitement as her hips rose under him demanding he give her still more. 

More.

Later he would realize that was one of only four words she'd say to him during their entire encounter.  He almost couldn't believe it was happening.  His palm pressed flush against her cunt, her legs open and her arms reaching for him... needing more of him still. 

He didn't remember moving up to thrust inside her.  He remembered catching her musky scent on his fingers as he pushed them into her hair.  He remembered the searing heat on his cock and how white her skin looked in the moonlight.  He didn't remember a condom.  In that primal needful moment, neither of them could think beyond getting his cock inside her as fast and as deep as possible.  He rode her hard.

There was a noise.  The sound of a door scraping open penetrated his brain.  Fuck.  One of his team was checking the building's perimeter.  There was no way to hide and no way to obscure what they were doing.  Her silvery hair and light clothes were a beacon in the darkness, as was the pale skin of his backside thrusting between her open legs.

Olivia tensed under him as awareness flooded her too, and for the first time since he'd known her, she hid instead of facing a hard situation straight on.  She buried her face against his throat like a child who hides her face and believes she's invisible.  He turned his head and made eye contact with Eurico, one of the sharpest members of his crew.  Surprise widened his eyes at the sight of his boss rutting between the legs of the woman he'd never allowed any of them to disrespect.  He turned without a sound he melted away silently into the night.

"Did he see?"  Olivia might have hidden her face but her hips hadn't stopped moving.  Neither had his.  He pumped hard against her and lied willingly.  Eurico wouldn't tell anyone and what was one more sin on a soul as dark as his? 

"No." 

What happened after that could only be described as base and animalistic.  It was a raw, primal joining without any of his usual skillful finesse.  He pounded into her; she clung to him whimpering and mewling against his throat, still rubbing her open lips against his skin in a way that was somehow more erotic and intimate than the deepest kiss.  The way she was with him... it shook him.  She was always so unflappable, articulate and strong.  He'd never imagined she could be this fragile or needy.  Her breathy whimpers fired his blood to a fever pitch but it was when her small hand slipped down to grip his left buttock that he truly lost the last shreds of sanity and control.  All he could think about was the heat surrounding his aching cock and the fierce grip she had on him as her fingers dug in tighter, desperately urging him deeper still.

He couldn't wait long enough for her.  On some level he was aware her orgasm probably would have been better if his rhythm hadn't faltered just as she began shuddering under him-- but his cock made the decision for both of them.  She trembled and he convulsed helplessly, biting her shoulder as he came and came and came. 

The aftermath was silent and awkward.  What could he possibly say to her?  How could she excuse coming to him when she knew what would happen if she did?  They could both feel the warm trickle of semen leaking from her as she shifted under him, uncomfortable against the hard ground now that the red haze of passion had passed.  His knees and elbows stung.  So did his pride.

Olivia had always been untouchable to him.  Even in his most secret dreams, his approach had always been tender, soft and romantic.  He felt ashamed for taking her on the hard ground like a whore.  He hadn't even removed his boots.  His jeans were around his ankles, making him feel more uncouth and graceless than he'd felt in years. 

His apology stuck in his throat.  Despite the way it had happened, he couldn't bring himself to say the words because the truth was that he wasn't really sorry at all.  Regretful for the manner in which it had happened, perhaps, but not for the act itself.  However crude the attempt, one did not apologize for the chance to touch perfection with a woman like her.  It might not have been pretty or romantic, but the depth of emotion he felt was real and profound, a torrent released from gates too long closed.  What had this been for her?  Besides uncomfortable, a unkind little voice whispered in his head.  Cringing inside, he wondered what she must think of him now.   

Rising awkwardly, he grimaced when she grunted softly at his less than smooth withdrawal.  He couldn't tend to her until he was dressed without tripping over his own feet.  His knee was bleeding, warn raw from the gritty roof.  Feeling as callow as the greenest boy, he bent and reached for his pants.  He felt exposed standing before her uncovered and vulnerable, cock sticky and shining wetly in the moonlight.  He longed to tuck it away, to restore some semblance of dignity so he wouldn't feel like such a fool.  He was too old for this.

The touch of her slender fingers on his scrotum stopped him.  Carefully cradling the delicate pouch in her palm, she caressed him gently, urging him forward.  The cool night air blowing over his wet cock was replaced by her warm breath.  Heat exploded in his brain as her mouth closed over his tip; a more intimate act by far than the rough sex they'd just had.  Her touch was shy and inelegant but the tender suckling kiss she gave him as she gently cleaned his soft spent flesh left no room for doubt in his mind.  She would not have done that if this had only been two disturbed souls desperate to feel alive after their close brush with death.  Though the act was startlingly simple, she couldn't have given him a clearer look at her true feelings for him. 

It didn't make the moment any less awkward, however.  Still silent, he bent his head and cupped her cheek with equal tenderness while he humbly accepted her intimate ministrations.  Warmth flooded her too as he touched her cheek affectionately.  He wouldn't have allowed her that intimacy unless he was similarly moved.  His reaction was as revealing as hers. 

For long moments he simply stood there, head bowed, reeling as much from the unexpected emotional connection as he was from the feel of her soft open lips against his groin and the moist tickle of her tongue in his pubic hair.  It was more satisfying than the sex had been.  By the time she was finished, he no longer felt ashamed as he tucked himself away and knelt to tend to her.  She smiled as he pressed his handkerchief into her hand.  It looked like a white flag in the darkness. 

I surrender. 

Her fingers traced the initials embroidered into the corner in heavy stitching.  He could be so charmingly old-fashioned.  While he was brushing the roof's grit from the back of her calves, she moved to wipe away the considerable residue their volatile passion had left behind-- but he stopped her.  He felt another pang of guilt as he realized he hadn't used protection but tomorrow would be soon enough to have that conversation.  Olivia wasn't worried.  Her hand caught his and brought it up to the small square contraceptive patch hidden on her lower abdomen.  She felt his relief as his fingers traced it and realized what it was. 

Still, his care of her was exquisitely tender as his fingers skimmed lower, slipping inside her to wipe away the bulk of his come before he took the handkerchief from her fingers and tended to her as thoroughly as she had for him not minutes before.  Tucking both the soiled handkerchief and her torn panties into his pocket with a secret smile, he knelt before her, helping her dress.  He liked the feel of her hand, no longer unsure, as it rested on his shoulder for balance while she slipped her feet back into those fucking heeled boots.  Only this time he smiled as he zipped them, taking care with her skin and caressing her instep and ankle as he tugged the zipper up. 

The buttons on her shirt were gone but he liked the way it looked, the tails tied at her slender waist and her lacy pink bra peeping out.  Her linen jacket hid most of the damage anyway.  He strapped his gun back on.  She re-braided her hair, much to his displeasure.  He liked it better wild and loose, blowing in the wind.  Tickling his skin. 

It was only when they'd finished restoring each other that he stopped and kissed her, long and slow and deep.  Afterwards he whispered into her ear that he liked tasting his sex in her mouth.  The resulting blush on her skin was glorious but she hadn't yet recovered her voice.  She was still oddly silent with him.  Used to her witty articulate responses, he was unprepared for her to take his hand and slip the two fingers he'd had inside her into the warm recess of her mouth.  He smiled into the darkness.  She might still be silent and shy with him, but she was far from ineloquent.

He pulled back his hand only to slip it around her as they walked slowly to the edge of the roof and stared out over the lights of the city.  Her head rested on his shoulder.  His arms surrounded her protectively.  Both of them were sore, scraped and raw under their clothes.  A bit like their souls, exposed and weeping but also somehow soothed. 

Neither of them spoke.  

Neither of them wanted to.  

They were both far too practical not to realize what had passed between them when the walls came tumbling down was hardly the stuff of 'happily ever afters'.  In truth, all it had really done was make a difficult situation that much harder, but for a few precious moments, dreams had indeed become reality.  They had the night....  and for now, it was enough.