Rachel brushed her fingernails along the ripples of his stomach, then bent to take his left nipple in her mouth. Her hair tumbled over his chest as she bared her teeth against his nipple and suddenly bit it.
Warren gasped, and grew hard against her.
Rachel looked him in the eye, resting her chin on his chest. “Are you ready to order now, or do you need some more time with the menu?”
He reached down and took her face between his hands. Pulling her toward him, he kissed her fiercely, suddenly out of control.
She plunged her hands into his long hair and kissed him hard, sucking his tongue into her mouth. He tasted of fresh soykaf.
Warren ran his fingers down her back, making her shudder and moan into his mouth.
He pulled back. “Miss, I’m ready to order.”
Her voice had grown throaty. “Oh?”
“I think I’ll have the special, with orange juice in a tall glass.”
She laughed again, and began a smooth rocking motion of her hips. “One special,” she said. “Coming up.”
She leaned over Warren, her hair cascading down over his face. She covered his mouth with hers, biting his lip as she pushed her hips down over him.
Warren moaned, holding her tightly, forcing her to take it slow. Prolonging her pleasure.
By the time they were done, their soykaf was no longer steaming. Rachel was covered in sweat, her hair a damp tangle down her back, which quickly chilled in the cool air. Her throat was dry. “Water,” she croaked, as she fell off Warren and lay on her side.
Warren laughed and got out of bed, the sheen of sweat on his back making him look like he’d been dipped in oil. He returned a few moments later with two bottles of mineral water, and Rachel chugged half of hers before pulling the bottle from her lips.
Warren lay down beside her, and she ran her fingers through his hair. “Baby, that was so rocket.”
He smiled, and gently reached out to tweak her nipple. “You say that as though it hasn’t been good every time.”
“Well, your mood this past week has been pretty fragging dark.”
Warren shot up suddenly and started pulling on his clothes. “Oh, drek!” he said.
“Were are you going now, Storey? You can’t just jam and run. I’m not that kind of girl.”
Warren threw on some jeans and a sweatshirt. “I completely forgot about something I’ve gotta do today.”
“Forgot?”
“Oh, I’ve got this damn funeral.”
Rachel was suddenly sorry she’d been joking. She stood and hugged him. “Oh, baby.” She kissed his neck softly. “I’m sorry.”
Warren reached for his black engineer boots and pulled the right one on, without socks. “Don’t be, He was a real prick.”
“Whose funeral?”
Warren pulled on the other boot. “You remember the telecom call I got from my dad, about a few weeks ago?”
Rachel frowned. “The same guy?”
Warren nodded.
Rachel shook her head. “I don’t get it. If he died back then, how come they’re just burying him now?”
Warren shrugged. “There was some big investigation, something to do with the way he died. Lone Star wouldn’t release the body until now.”
Rachel reached out and touched Warren’s shoulder. “Do you really have to go?”
He twisted to look Rachel into the eyes. “Rachel, believe me, there’s nothing I’d rather do than stay here and make love to you until some time tomorrow morning. And barring that, I was hoping we could catch some breakfast, and then maybe a matinee.”
Warren stroked her cheek. “And maybe some time real soon I’ll be able to explain why I have to go to a funeral for someone I could give a frag about. But for now, you’ll just have to trust me when I say that I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important.”
“When will you be back?”
Warren shook his head. “Not sure, but it’ll be a couple hours, easy. Maybe more. Will you be here?”
She shook her head. “No. I think I’ll head over to my place. Get cleaned up to go to work.”
Just the thought of the having to go to The Joy Club made her tense. It wasn’t too far from Warren’s doss, just a few blocks over in yakuza turf downtown, but to her it was another world. She didn’t do any horizontal bop, so she didn’t make the money some of the other girls did, and she was sick of the whole thing. Rachel shook her head at the thought. There weren’t very many opportunities for someone like her, and strip-dancing was still one of the most lucrative. It was only lately that she thought she might have found a better way.
Rachel hadn’t told Warren yet, but she wanted to become a shadowrunner. The Joy Club’s bartender, a troll named Flak, had a team of his own and he’d been teaching her. Maybe he thought she was just another wannabe, but Rachel didn’t care. She was serious. From the scan she’d heard, running the shadows brought better nuyen than flashing your goods to drunk idiots. And according to Flak, every once in a while-not often, but every now and then-you got to do something good. Something that could help somebody.
She’d been practicing with a gun and saving up for a datajack. Recently, she’d helped Corinna, another dancer at the club, hire Flak and his team. Some guy had been abusing Corinna and she wanted to teach him a lesson. Flak had assured her that his team was more than up to the task.
Acting as a fixer for a friend had given Rachel a feeling unlike anything she’d ever felt, especially considering that her means of livelihood was taking off her clothes for the men and women who came into the club. The only thing that might have made it better would have been participating in the run herself. Flak had told her just the other day that she was close to ready, that her progress was excellent.
She looked at the small, old-fashioned clock on the night table. If his timetable were correct he and his team would be making their run in just a few minutes. Just thinking about it sent a small tremor of anticipation through her. Finally, a way out of the life she was leading.
Warren gave her sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Rach,” he said. “If I didn’t have to go. believe me, I wouldn’t.”
Rachel sighed, then nodded. “I know. But you remember this, Warren Storey. You owe me. A full day, no less.”
Warren smiled and kissed her. “Promise.”
He retrieved his sweatshirt from the floor and pulled it over his head.
Rachel leaned back against the wall and stared at him.
“You’re going to a funeral dressed like that?”
Warren looked down at his ripped Harvard sweatshirt and ragged jeans tucked into his boots. Then he grinned up at her. “I figure if the little shit is in Hell looking up, I should let him know exactly what I think of him.”
Rachel didn’t return his smile. “Be careful, Warren. You scare me when you’re in this mood.”