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They crashed against the nearest wall, barely making it through the door without touching each other. A pastoral scene in watercolor tumbled from its hook. A chair toppled. A vase upended. She'd have fucked him right in that puddle if there hadn't been so many pesky layers of clothing between them. Together, they shuffled toward the bed, dragging along more pieces of furniture in their struggle to cover as much ground without separating.
Somehow stepping over the threshold had stripped them off their professional demeanor and left them vulnerable to the desire they had felt since getting off the helicopter.
The strange reality of their lives had settled over them as they'd headed to Jill's hotel room. They had survived another mission and were going home for now.
They had been on high alert for hours, and while in the company of their comrades, they had remained singularly focused on their task. Even when they had received the order to return to HQ, they had never so much as thought to give in to the arousal that danger evoked. They never knew what creatures lurked out there. If they had let their guard down with every opportunity to breathe, they would never have made it out alive.
In the enclosed space of the hotel room, however, they were finally alone – no monsters, no duties, and no prying eyes. Not that any of these mattered now. They had each other in grappling distance. They had to make it count.
Tumbling onto the bed, Jill couldn't get out of her wetsuit fast enough. She snapped off her belt, gun holster, and knife sheath, but the zipper wouldn't budge. Damn thing. She needed his hands on her now, and this suit was impenetrable to the warmth and dexterity of his touches. She huffed in frustration, and unbuckled his plate carrier and gun holsters while he rummaged in his mag pouches.
A foil package landed next to her, then another.
"That's one place to stash them," she said, dropping the body armor and moving on to his cargo pants. "Were you expecting something during the mission?"
"I like to be prepared, you never know what you might need them for. They come in handy now, don't they?"
He pushed her back onto the bed, mouth claiming hers again. She breathed in sweat and salt and seaweed. They should have hit the showers first.
"Why aren't you naked yet?" he asked, palming her still-clad breasts.
"Zipper's stuck," she said, arching into him and finding way too much clothing covering his lower half. "More importantly, why aren't you naked yet?"
"Turn around," he said and flipped her over. He pulled her flush against his chest, kissing and sucking the skin above her collar. He tugged at the top of her wetsuit as if trying to rip it open, squeezed her breasts through the thick fabric, and ground against her. "God, I hate these things."
She tried the zipper again, this time succeeding, and he helped her shrug the thing off her shoulders. He left her to peel it off the rest of the way while he took care of the condom, not bothering with the boots this time, too many laces. She had just wriggled the wetsuit down her thighs when he climbed the bed again, cargo pants shoved down to his knees.
"Oh God, Jill," he groaned as he grabbed her by the hips. He wasted no more time in fucking her.
"Yes."
Moaning with relish, Jill welcomed his thrusts. She needed this after a night of high tension. Danger excited them more than it should, and a quick fuck like this wouldn't be enough. It was preliminary, to take the edge off and to let her breathe a little easier. It helped them deal with the horrors that they faced out there, those unspeakable acts perpetrated by people against other people, all for the sake of profit and power.
"Don't stop, Chris. Please, don't stop."
Here was what was going to happen. She was going to let him fuck her. Afterwards, they would take a shower, maybe grab a bite to eat. Then she would take her pleasure until either of them passed out from exhaustion, into that blissful darkness that came without dreams.
In the morning, she wouldn't be hungry, but would go down to the lobby and skim the papers before breakfast. Neither of them would mention what had happened. There would be no obituaries for the lost crews of Queen Zenobia and Queen Semiramis, but she'd remember what each of them had changed into by the time she'd had to put a bullet through their heads.
There's no forgetting a sight like that, no matter what she did.