Chapter Text
It had been several months since Kenshi Takahashi had set foot on the Special Forces base, and he had been surprised not to find his quarry in the first three places he’d checked: the sparring ring, the gun range, or the armory. An office had been his last resort, and as he approached the open doorway, his enhanced hearing picked up the quiet sounds of shifting gimbals in the chair, the clicking of a computer keyboard… and the not-so-quiet sounds of swearing. The office smelled of stale coffee, printer ink, gun oil, and a faint citrus tang. His target was in, and by the speed of the tap-tap-tap of the keys, annoyed. He held a cup of coffee in his hands, hot and freshly brewed, with just a bit of milk and sugar in it. Into the lion’s den… Now would be as good a time to interrupt as any. He rapped a hand on the wood of the doorframe.
“You should take a break, Colonel Blade.”
He heard the pause in the typing, the squeak of the chair. “Can’t, Takahashi. Too much paperwork.” Sonya’s voice was slow, but faintly irritated, exhaustion making itself known. There was a pause, a shuffle of papers. “Work is never done. I’m desk-bound til… well, hours from now.” Another pause, and he could imagine the look of realization crossing her face. “Wait. When did you get back?”
“Earlier today. If you had actually paused, you would have known.” Kenshi answered, walking into the room. His voice was less accusatory and more matter-of-fact; he could hear a soft huff, agreement more than argument. “I’m sure there’s been enough gossip passed around that you would have heard.” He moved carefully to the edge of where her desk had been the last time he was in the office, and reached down with one hand to find the edge. He heard her shuffling the papers on her desk, the click of a pen, the rough sound of the ballpoint and ink scratching on the paper. “You will become even more short-tempered and frustrated the longer you go tucked behind your desk. You’ve already missed one meal; coffee does not count. Your aide said you missed lunch entirely and didn’t touch what he left for you.”
“If I wanted to be hounded,” Sonya answered, “I would have stayed married. And we know how that ended up. So, are you here to nag me in lieu of my aide, remind me of why I’m divorced, or do you have something of substance worth interrupting for?” In response, he proffered the cup of coffee. He felt her fingers brush against his as she took it, the weight shift as she held it, and he could let it go. “Got it… That’s worth it, thanks. You remembered how I take it, I could kiss you right now. So - how was your… whatever it was?” There was the sound of drinking, a long slow sip, and then the soft touch of the cup hitting the table.
“I’ve had better, and I’ve had worse. I will tell you over dinner. Real food,” he added quickly, pointing a finger at her. “Not the MREs you filched and keep in your bottom drawer, or even something from the mess hall. Real food.”
“It’d be good to get you debriefed, discuss some future options… But I can’t do that in a restaurant. I’ll… I’ll get some delivery brought over here, we can do it in the office? Come back at… six?” Her voice was unsure for a moment, and he heard the sound of paper against itself again, a thud, shuffles. “I think I can get this all done by six. Or at least the ones that won’t get me phone calls over the weekend. You picked a hell of a time to show back up.”
“Bad, or just busy?”
“Busy, and just finished a small op, but one that required more than a little planning.”
“So you need someone to shoulder some of the load, or spar with some of your soldiers and keep them in shape?”
There was a stifled chuckle, and the sound of shifting, the sound of footsteps on low-pile carpeting, and then a hand closing tightly on his shoulder. It was easier to smell the gun oil and citrus and indefinable Sonya scent, now that she’d moved. “Both, frankly. It’ll be good to have you back around, Kenshi, as long as you’re able - or willing - to be.”
He reached a hand forward to grasp her upper arm, squeezing firmly in return. “It’s already good to be back, Sonya.”
Her hand dropped away, sliding down his upper arm before falling away at the elbow; he let his linger for a moment, remembering the feel of her, her stance and breathing when relaxed, before letting his hand slide slowly down and off of her.
“And as to dinner… Not your office. If we have to stay on-base, we’ll go to your house,” Kenshi countered. “I would say my apartment but it’s definitely worse supplied. I am going to guess you haven’t seen your own bed it in… two days.”
“Longer, actually,” she said, and he knew how worn out she must be if she was so easily willing to concede. “I need to go home and swap out my spare uniforms.”
“It disturbs me that you keep two days of uniforms here.”
“I usually have four days’ worth, but I’ve already gone through the kit,” she answered.
“And I am unsurprised at that… I’ll be back at six. Be ready to leave on your own accord.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll drag you out.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Sonya chuckled. “Now, get the hell out of my office before I make you do some real work, instead of these damn vacations you take.”
“I’ll take you along next time, if you’d like. I have some wonderful violence-ridden hotspots I can recommend if you’d like to fall asleep to the sound of gunfire.”
“You know the way to a soldier’s heart. Now get. You can woo me with war stories at dinner.”
“So. Where were you?” Sonya looked across her dining room table at Kenshi, taking him in from the months of absence. Not much had changed; he was in excellent shape, clean-shaven with only a hint of stubble, and had changed out of his uniform of bodysuit and articulated leather and metal plates into casual wear - jeans and a tee shirt, with a black square-collared jacket over it all. There were two notable accessories currently missing - the red blindfold, and Sento. The blindfold had been discarded in favor of sunglasses, which she knew were jammed into a jacket pocket, and Sento - well.
The sword lay on her dining table, like a third guest for dinner, hilt not far from Kenshi’s hand. She shot it a wry look, shook her head, and turned back to Kenshi as he considered how to answer. He pursed his lips, reaching for his glass.
“Asia,” he said, and then as if he could see the frown pulling at her lips, elaborated. “Northern India. I had some things to do there.”
“Red Dragon?” Sonya eyed him. Resignedly, she picked up a few fries, staring at them blankly, before putting them into her mouth. Chew, swallow, follow the routine. “Or some other side project you’re keeping close to your chest and I don’t get read into?”
“You’re the only person who knows everything I am involved in, Sonya,” Kenshi said, pulling back slightly from her. “I have no secrets from you.”
“I call bullshit on that,” she stated, poking at him with her foot under the table. “You have plenty of secrets from me.”
“Ahem.” He poked back. “Who was it that found out I had a child before I did?”
“And who, despite check-ins, never told me he’d fallen in love and spent months with a swordswoman who could keep up with him?”
Kenshi grunted once, conceding the point. “Do you really want to know every nuance of every detail of every thing I am doing? That seems a bit overzealous. And as to what I was doing… It was the Red Dragon. Everything comes back to them, eventually.” He leaned back in the chair, and Sonya watched him still, his controlled and careful movements. “I cannot let it go too long without checking in personally on what they are doing. Knowing what they like to do, who they - and the Black Dragon - like to recruit, I thought it would be worthwhile to check in with the militant groups that operate in the disputed zone in Kashmir. Especially given unrest there. There was some interesting chatter, which I’ve dutifully filed and will surely be crossing your desk in short order if it hasn’t already.”
“It’s probably in one of the sixty emails I’ve gotten since I walked out of the office. I keep wondering if you’re going to get caught by one of those idiots we had to extract you from. If they’re going to remember the price on your head and decide it’s worthwhile.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take, if it means intelligence that takes them down,” he responded. “I am used to risks, and that’s a small one compared to others.”
“You’re going get yourself killed, and then I’m going to be without my last good person to partner with,” Sonya said, pointing a fry at him accusingly. “It’s a good thing I trust you as much as I do, or I’d worry more than I do. Jax is on the farm, as far away as he can get from everything, with Vera and Jacqui. Johnny can’t decide if he wants to make movies or fight the threats that come our way from the other realms, so he does both badly, and tries to keep Cassie busy.” She shook her head, and watched his mouth curve up in a smile.
“I heard about that earlier. He was telling me… Something about her trying to teach herself to drive with his new car?”
“It’s a stick shift, she has no idea. He wasn’t paying attention and she nearly wrecked the transmission.”
“She’s not old enough to drive yet, is she?”
“Got it in one. She’s short a couple years, still. He wasn’t thinking.” Sonya rolled her eyes, one of her chief complaints. “But he’s learning his lesson now.”
Kenshi chuckled. “Has there been anything of interest here? Outworld incursions, or Black Dragon, Red Dragon…?”
“Same shit, different day,” Sonya answered. “We’ve had some minor attempted incursions, but… nothing of note. The Outworld political situation is sketchy at best. They’re all too busy. Kano’s there, selling to both of them - that’s all I know.” She exhaled heavily. “Tech advancements are as expected, nothing you’re cleared for.” He gave her a wounded look, and she shrugged. “It’s the truth. You want that kind of authorization, you’ve got to stick around here longer and I’ve got to prove to my commanding officers that you’re trustworthy.”
“I notice you don’t call them your superiors.”
“Pff,” she said, waving a hand, and they shared a brief chuckle. “The rest of it? Administrative work. As a colonel I’m off most field ops, and I’m instead trying to defeat battalions of requisitions and units made up of nonsense busywork. I’ve been thinking of requesting deployment just for a change of pace.”
“Perhaps just… get out of town for a bit. Surely you have some vacation time? Take a few days - a week, or two? - and go away.”
Sonya shook her head. “I’m always rolling them over. I never have time to take them all - a couple of weeks, a couple of times a year with Cassie, and I still end up with weeks I don’t use. She’s coming up for a couple weeks at the end of the month, when her school year is finished…” she trailed off. “I don’t need quiet, I don’t need a vacation. I need competent people in my unit. I need a solid lead on the Black Dragon. I need a good bottle of alcohol. I need to get - never mind.” She closed her mouth before the last thing escaped, pressing her lips together tightly. She leaned back in her chair, taking a drink from her beer. “I need a lot of things, none of which I’m getting.”
It startled him, but then he laughed. “Competent people and alcohol are all easily enough arranged, if you’re not too picky,” he countered. “I happen to remember you were given a fine bottle of sake by Master Hasashi - and I doubt you’ve opened it up, if you still even have it.”
“I’ve been keeping it for someone who will appreciate it. I’m a whisky woman.”
“Then what’s keeping you? I will take the sake off your hands. That will solve one of your issues - and we did say stories and drinks, didn’t we?” Kenshi leaned forward slightly. “If you’d like, I think I can adjust my schedule and remain nearby for a time, which should alleviate your competency issue. For a few months, at least.”
Sonya scoffed quietly, and shook her head. “Oh, you’ll solve all my problems, then? You’re as bad as Cage. You both have massive egos. Competent in what - leaving me with the cleanup and paperwork? Blowing off all responsibility?”
“It isn’t ego if it’s accurate,” Kenshi pointed out, earning a smaller laugh from her. “I have a reputation, and I have earned it. And I can be responsible. I simply choose to put it towards certain things - not paper-shuffling.”
“Takahashi, the day you’re humble, I will cut my hair,” Sonya said tartly. “The only thing worse would be adding Kung Lao and Liu Kang into the mix. You ready for those drinks?”
“We will see how fine Master Hasashi’s taste is.”
“You will. I’m going to open the bottle of BenRiach I’ve been hoarding.” She pushed back from the dining table, walking into the kitchen and reaching up into a cupboard, pulling out a bottle of whisky and a smaller ceramic bottle with Japanese writing on it. A tulip glass and then a small ceramic cup followed, and she set them out on the table. She paused, and then returned to the kitchen with the tulip glass, coming back out a few moments later with it filled with ice.
“I have no idea how you drink sake, so… What do I do to make this drinkable for you?”
“Open it and pour? This shouldn’t need to be heated, and without being able to read the flask I can’t tell you what kind it is.”
“And I don’t read Japanese.” She opened the flask, poured it into the cup, and pushed it towards where his fingers rested on the table. “Let me know if it’s passable, and if - or when - you want more, and I’ll pour.” Her hands then moved to the whisky, pouring a healthy slug into her cup. “Whisky I can serve. Rice wine, not so much.”
“A toast,” Kenshi said, lifting up his cup towards her. “To getting what we need.”
“That I can raise a glass to,” she said, before taking a sip of the liquor in her glass. “You’ve heard my list. What is it you need, then? What’s brought you back to my doorstep?”
The question seemed to catch him off-guard. “What I need? Well - to drop off some information best handled in person, and to find something a little more interesting than making idle inquiries, I suppose. A decent sparring partner.” He took a drink from the ceramic cup, a look of surprise and a bit of pleasure crossing his face, and then he took a second sip. “Not bad, this. Sweet. You might like it.”
“I’ll pass right now, thanks. God, I can smell it from here.” She put her own nose down to her glass and inhaled. “Well, sparring we can handle, and I’ll assume you handled the intel?”
“Paperwork,” he said, making a face; she laughed. “I spoke with someone since you were in meetings, it’s being all written up.”
“You’re shit at paperwork and followup.”
“I cannot read the forms,” he said almost primly.”It isn’t my fault they aren’t accessible for the blind. Give me a voice-based recording system, Colonel, and I will be much better at my paperwork.”
She snorted, but chuckled a bit. “Excuses. But I’ll see what I can do.”
“My excuses are good ones.”
“I’ll give you that. So - intel, and a workout.” She quirked up one corner of her lips, and took a sip of her whisky. “Somehow I feel as if you would have found a way to get them both dealt with if you hadn’t wanted to come back. So what actually dragged you back here?”
“Perhaps it was that I wanted to see my friends,” he countered. “Visiting Johnny and Cassie is a draw. I know you cannot stand your ex-husband, but your daughter is a delight. And yes, I can see your expression.” He raised the ceramic cup to his lips, and took a drink. “And then coming up here for something to do, and to see you, as well. I cannot go undercover with the Red Dragon like I did those years ago, and you always have something interesting I can get involved in. You’re a draw on your own, you know.”
“And that sounds like you’ve got some sort of scheme you’re trying to convince me of,” she said. “We start with compliments, and then proposals, and then I’m on the spot and being asked to approve some ridiculous plan, like singlehandedly investigating a Black Dragon hideout in New York and finding the shipping point of a large portion of their arms trafficking, and almost getting killed in the process.”
“That was once, and I have not done it since. You also got a significant amount of intelligence out of that, if I remember correctly. And put their operations back about six months.”
“My statement stands.”
Some time later, Sonya looked at the last of the ice in her glass, and reached for the whisky bottle, then pulled her hand back as Kenshi set the empty sake cup down on the table, speaking. “Earlier - you mentioned cutting your hair. How long is it, anyway?” Kenshi let the question drop into the silence that had slowly formed as they drank. “I’ve only ever known you to keep it back – a ponytail, a braid.”
“It’s long, now. Pain in the ass. I really should just cut it off.”
“So why keep it?”
He heard her long sigh, and knew there was a shrug following. “Habit. My one vanity. It got to be too much of a pain to keep up with keeping it short so I let it grow, and then I never stopped. It’s been…” A considering noise, the sound of her fingers drumming on the wooden table. “Since it was last cut, a real cut, probably over fifteen years. Trimmed it, once in a while – at home, or when Cassie would go in to get hers done, I’d have them lop off an inch or two.”
“No wonder it’s like being hit with a rope,” Kenshi said dryly. “Dangerous – for you and for your opponents.”
“Spare me the lecture, Kenshi.”
“So, how long is it?” He asked the question again, heard her inhale, exhale, and then the soft sounds of shifting. He heard the sound of her chair push back, two-three-four steps to him, and then the suddenly closer, stronger, scent of her, citrus, and whisky.
“Easier to show than tell.” Something shifted, and suddenly he could feel the weight of her hair on his hands. He reached up, found her shoulder, and let his fingers skim down her back, through the sheet of hair that now fell down, past her waist – and then he slid his hand down still, past the small of her back, along the curve of her hips, where it finally ended in a razor-sharp line. He stood up behind her, bent his head down slightly, breathing in the citrus-whisky-Sonya smell. He raised both hands, gathered her hair at the crown of her head, and slid his hands down through the strands to the ends once more. When he was through, he rested both of his hands lightly on her hips, all of a sudden unsure where else to put them. But this was right - or at least, right, now.
“I have never known you to let your your hair down – literally. Even your wedding, it was up.”
“Regular fucking Rapunzel.”
“Somehow,” Kenshi said wryly, “I struggle to think of you as a fairy-tale princess. You are more the knight. Or, on further consideration, possibly the dragon.” He dodged the elbow she thrust backwards towards his stomach, pivoting neatly away on one side and keeping the other hand on her hip. “Tomoe Gozen, or Tsuruhime, maybe. Female warriors,” he explained quickly. “Not princesses.”
“Barely a recovery there, Takahashi.” Sonya snorted. “I never made prom queen, let alone being a storybook princess.” He felt her stance shift slightly, parade rest softening into something more casual. “I don’t usually leave it down. Too much of it. I might as well shower and rebraid it tonight since it’s already loose.”
“No need to on my account,” he answered, a heartbeat too quickly. He was surprised by his own reaction, but it was not so improbable - alcohol loosened inhibitions and the tongue, and he was in far closer contact with Sonya than they usually were without having injuries be the excuse. “It suits you, and you should be able to be you in your home. Not the Colonel.” He slowly and deliberately drew his hands together at the small of her back, before letting them fall away, slowly. “I count myself lucky to be here for it.”
Kenshi heard her more rapid breathing, felt her faster heartbeat. He dared the lightest brush against her mind, out of politeness more than a feeling of being caught. They’d known each other over a decade and he could think of only a handful of times he had read her mind, knowing how much she valued her privacy, and most of those had been mid-combat. That faint telepathic touch told him what he needed to know: between trusting him, and the lack of inhibitions from the whisky and camaraderie… The thing she’d closed her mouth on saying was a pent-up desire to get into bed with someone, and there hadn’t been anyone she could trust - and she sure as hell wasn’t going to give her ex a call -
“Didn’t expect this when you said you wanted a debrief out of my office, hmm?” She shook her head slightly, turning around. “You’re starting to make me suspicious. Get me liquored up, my hair down, next thing you’ll have your hands up my shirt.”
“If you’re extending invitations…” He tilted his head and one side of his mouth curved up in a smile, and tugged at the hem of her shirt lightly. He tensed his muscles, ready for another elbow to the gut. He had not been prepared for her to call his bluff and kiss him, her fingers hooking into the belt loops of his jeans and pulling him against her, pressing a firm kiss to his mouth. He cupped her head in his hands, one hand curving around to hold the back of her head, sword calluses catching on her hair. He did not expect her mouth to open beneath his so easily, her hands to run up along his shirt, splaying out wide on his chest. She broke the kiss off and stepped back then, suddenly.
“Kenshi, you don’t want to start this.”
“Are you so sure of that? Remind me who the telepath is.”
“My filters and restraint are pretty much at zero right now. It wouldn’t be fair to you. That’s presuming a hell of a lot on our friendship, and-”
“Sonya…” He interrupted her and reached for her, let his hand brush against the back of her arm briefly. “It’s on offer. No strings attached, no commitments.” He offered a small smile. “If you say no, I will stop. I’m the one propositioning you, remember. It is not as if we haven’t known each other in worse states than this. Outside all that…” He let his hand slide down, shoulder to upper arm, and then to her forearm. “Did it ever cross your mind that I may have ulterior motives? I have never once claimed – nor been accused of - altruism.”
“You’ve got a point, or two, I’ll give you that. But I’m not in the habit of fucking my consultants. Or my friends. I just fuck them over instead.”
“It could be a habit worth breaking. Once, at least.” He touched her shoulder again gently with an open palm. “And then I can vanish off into the night, to wander your base-”
“Terrify someone whose spouse is deployed, and panic half the dogs?” Another laugh from a mouth suddenly very close to his, and she reached up with a hand to touch his face. “That would cause even more trouble than taking you to bed.” He heard the sounds of her opening and closing her mouth wordlessly, and then he could feel a shudder of muscles, a rise and fall of her shoulders. “Oh, fuck it, why not. Kiss me, before I change my mind,” she said, and he was all too happy to oblige as she touched her lips to his. His mouth parted for her, and he tugged her firmly against him, feeling the length and heat of her body against his.
“If we’re going to do this, I can think of better places than my dining room table,” Sonya said, breaking the kiss after a few moments. “For one, this thing is from IKEA and would probably break if you sneezed at it.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “And I’m getting old, anyway. I spent my money on a good mattress. Be a shame to waste it.”
“Then lead the way, Colonel. I’ve slept on the ground too many times to turn down a good mattress.” He slipped his hands out of her pockets and reached for one of her hands. “Just don’t walk me into a wall on the way. But there’s one thing I do need.”
“Let me guess.” Sonya held up her other hand. “Long, slim, contains the souls of your ancestors, gives you magic powers?”
“And they say military intelligence is an oxymoron.”
“They better not be the ones who just had their tongue in my mouth,” she responded. “Here.” She picked Sento up from where it had been placed on one side of the table, resting the scabbard in his open empty hand.
“Would I be so foolish as to say that?” Kenshi raised an eyebrow.
“Not if you still want to get laid.”
“Lead on.”
They made it inside the bedroom, and Sonya guided him around the dresser, and towards the bed. It felt strange, having someone else here. And this was, frankly, not the person she’d been expecting to have in her bed at any point in time. But here he was, though thankfully out of the complex uniform he seemed to live in. He could almost be anyone in his casual attire, except for that peculiar sword he’d carried loosely in his hands up the stairs. He held it up in one hand, questioning.
“You know, there’s been an open bet about whether or not you sleep with Sento,” she chuckled. “I don’t remember the over-under on it.”
“The answer is ’not when there are better offers’,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I… just do not like being far from it. I am more vulnerable without Sento than I would like to be.” She was surprised by the response, filing the tidbit away in the back of her head.
“Then over with my gear,” Sonya said, leading him a few more steps, “bed just on your left, and my nightstand is here – it’s where I keep my backups. We can fit it here-“ She took their joined hands, trailed it across the top of the nightstand, let it fall for a moment in space between the small table and the bedframe. He took the hand that held Sento, and set the scabbard there, upright; it fit neatly, and shifted only a little. “There. Now if anyone decides to come in unannounced, there’s a pair of my gauntlets, your sword, and a handgun. I think between us we could take half of Outworld's armies.”
“Only half? I’m wounded, Sonya.” He laughed and reached for her, catching her around the waist, and drawing her against him. He had a few inches of height on her, but not much, and she tilted her head up to him, pressing a kiss on his jaw, then his lips. He took a moment to enjoy it - it was one thing to have known her face and body from combat, holding Sento in his hands and the spirit-sword’s magics letting him see the spirits of those around him. It was something else to feel her under his fingertips without observers. From sparring matches, he knew the length of her arms and legs, the weight of her hair - and the force of her fists and feet when they connected. He knew her stance, the weight of her steps, the length of her stride, how she favored her right side over her left. But this… this was a different Sonya. She broke the kiss off, trying to take a step back, but he held her close.
“Think you’ll be able to still take orders from me, next time it comes to that?”
“I can keep my business and my pleasure separate,” he answered, “Though only the ancestors know how I’m going to keep a straight face the next time you yell ‘on me’ over comms, after this.”
“As long as you keep the snickering to yourself. Otherwise I’ll make you walk into a wall in front of all the new transfers,” she said, pulling her hand down slowly along the side of his face.
“I’d like to see you try. Bed behind me, you said?” He backed up until he felt the bed frame and mattress on the backs of both legs and then sat down, tugging her forward with him. She moved, her hands resting on his shoulders; she pushed him back slightly, then shifted her position, climbing up and straddling him.
“Back a little farther, unless you want me falling off on my ass,” she commented, and he was quick to shift back, hands holding on to that part of her anatomy.
“Can’t have that,” he murmured. She moved with him, rising up on her knees, her hands reaching towards his face, holding it gently in her hands, looking at him. His hands moved up, warm through her shirt, and hot when one worked its way up under the cotton, curving around from her back to her ribs. He spread his hands out along her sides, face turned up to hers. She simply kept her hands cupping his head for a few moments, before she leaned down, resting her face in the curve of his neck, breathing him in.
Then the moments of careful familiarization were gone; she moved, and he moved, mouths and hands greedy, exploring what was on offer. His shirt went first, her hands sliding it up to reveal pale skin crossed with scars. He drew his hands away from her long enough to pull the shirt off, and she sat back slightly on his thighs. “You’re a mess, you know that?”
“And I’m sure you’re pristine,” he said with a snort, hands sliding their way up and under her shirt. “Colonel Never-Wears-Armor Blade?” The disbelief was evident in his voice. Bra clasps came undone, and he worked the cotton tee and bra off over her head in one smooth movement. He reached for her, sliding his hands along her sides, cupping her breasts in his hands, pressing his mouth to the side of her neck, the line of her collarbone, moving slowly down her chest. “And you’re… far less marked than I expected.”
“Ballistic fabric is a wonderful thing,” Sonya said with a smirk of satisfaction. “We won’t count the number of torn muscles and broken bones. Not as visible as yours, but I look like hell on an x-ray. Though I have my share from-“ She closed her mouth again sharply. “No. Not now. Not tonight, I’m not going there.”
“Good choice,” came his voice from near her sternum. Kenshi’s palms rested on her hips, the heat of his fingers curling and releasing against her back and side. His tongue darted out, making a hot trail across her skin and making her shudder when he blew across it, turning the hot cool. Sonya’s back arched, and she moaned, her nails slowly dragging up his back, finally giving herself over to the moment and the night.
And then her phone rang, and vibrated, and Sonya swore.