Viggo's Break - Chapter 14.1 - Smells like honeymoon

Nyssa and Viggo are on the run together. They were once friends.

To know more, read Chapter 13.

Nyssa obsessively followed the news out of San Francisco. Public pressure had forced Russ’s colleagues and superiors to take action. They had taken his badge away, they were digging in his life, more and more dirt was surfacing. He was going down – and going down hard. Her plans were going too well, it made her nervous.

Of course, the scandal had replaced news about the earthquake in the medias, and that only increased her own exposure. Viggo wasn’t the only one who shied away from going out in public, these days. Luckily, she had all the distractions she needed right there.

She usually woke up when Viggo slipped out of bed, every morning. She took her shower and got dressed while he was running, then she posted herself at the window to watch him jog back home. Drenched in sweat, his clothes clinging to his powerful body, he was incredibly sexy. She watched him and remembered his lips on hers, the raspy feel of his tongue on her neck, his callused fingers on her skin. And she got hot all over.

Viggo came to a stop right under her window, looked up, blue eyes sizzling with electricity. Her body tingled. Arousal pooled low in her belly. It was the way he looked at her, it never failed to excite her. She stepped away from the window, out of his sight.

How could she have thought him dull? Now, that he was unleashing his sex appeal, she could understand why Angela, who’d had a reputation for never dating cops, had fallen. It was different from Russ’s glib, skin-deep charm. Viggo made Nyssa feel like she was the only woman on Earth – which was kind of true.

A door slammed downstairs. Viggo’s footsteps pounded up the stairs. He faltered before her door. For one tantalizing minute, she thought he was going to come in, but he kept going and the shower started running in his room. She took her computer downstairs, as was her routine. She needed to contact her hacker friends and, so early in the morning, any and all proximity with her bed wasn’t conductive to competent hacking. Especially when Viggo was wet and soapy next door.

CH3r00t invited her to a private conversation as soon as she entered the chat-room.

Picked up present. W8ing. Ready for party, Y/N? he asked.

She answered, Y.

ICW. Birthday soon?

Very soon, she hoped but she also wanted the biggest bang for her buck and it was worth compromising, End of the month.

OK. Gotta go. CU, CH3rrY.

CU, CH3r00t.

“What are you doing?”

At the sound of Viggo’s voice, she slammed the computer closed guiltily. He raised an eyebrow at that. He had changed clothes; his hair was still wet from the shower and he looked clean, solid.

“Chatting online with other geeks. That’s all.”

“Hm…I’m making breakfast.”

“Okay. I’m coming in just a sec.”

He started to turn away, then stopped and moved closer, putting a hand on her shoulder and lowering his mouth to her ear.

“Are you going to tell me what you were really doing?” he asked softly.

She smiled. He was keeping a tight leash on his natural aspiration toward paranoia. He looked curious, but neither suspicious nor annoyed. She shook her head. “No.”

“Whatever.” He smiled back and dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “Hurry it up.”

She looked him walk away with something akin to disappointment. Always such a gentleman…Okay, she had asked him to be patient, but couldn’t he tell? She was ready for second base. More than ready, damn it! She couldn’t exactly ask.

She opened the laptop again. No one interesting was logged in the chat-room. She logged out, turned off her computer and went into the kitchen. Viggo had his back to the door, he didn’t see her come in.

He was an amazing cook. It was almost a dance, the way he did it, not one wasteful move, motions blending seamlessly together. He took a bowl of fresh fruits out of the fridge. She felt bitter-sweet pleasure. He was making strawberry pancakes again, because he knew they were her absolute favorites.

Oh, Viggo, you’re ruining me…

Those last few weeks, he had done a good job of pretending that he was his old self again. She knew it was an illusion – probably fueled by his desire to get in her pants. But still…He was the man she had played Legos with again, the man she had danced with on his birthday-night, the man she shared desserts with. And she kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, missing that other Viggo – the mercurial Viking, the sometimes-selfish jerk, the new him that kept her on edge.

He started slicing fruits on a cutting board, then he stopped, knife held up, body tense. He reached for the radio, turned the volume up just a bit, just low enough that she wouldn’t have heard it from the other room. It was the seven am news bulletin, “And now for the grisly scandal that’s got our grand police-force coming apart at the seams. Responding to public outcry, the district attorney office just announced an in-depth investigation into detective Russel Pierce’s activities. A number of prominent city officials have called for Pierce’s indictment in the murder of his girlfriend, Nyssa Malik. Captain Levowsky, head of the forensic services, stated, ‘Everybody knows what Pierce did. He’s a disgrace to the force.’ News of the prosecution are expected any day now.”

The radio presenter went on with his news. Viggo’s shoulders relaxed. He turned off the radio and started slicing again.

Son of a bitch! He was still thinking about leaving! And she couldn’t blame him, he had made her no promise. She didn’t know whether she should rage at him or jump his bones. Maybe he wouldn’t leave, then. Maybe if she just …

But no.

No, Nyssa really did not want it to be like that. She didn’t want to sink that low. She wanted to preserve the good, clean, sane attraction she felt for Viggo, an attraction that wasn’t about his truly great body – not that the Nordic god routine wasn’t pleasant…It was about honesty, about two people sharing a truth in a web of lies and deceit. It reminded her that sex didn’t have to be a dirty, shameful exercise in manipulation.

She couldn’t lead him around by his dick – she didn’t have the game for it, anyway. She had no delusions about her sex appeal. Russ’s twisted brand of love had seen to it – and Viggo’s restraint wasn’t helping any.

But he was hurting her with his indecision. She slapped a sardonic smile on her face, and she snorted. “He’s really going to bat for me, huh?”

Viggo was startled. His knife bit in the flesh of a finger and he cursed, his cheekbones an interesting shade of pink. He was embarrassed. He slanted her a glance out of the corner of his eyes. “Did you hear it all?”

“Yeah.”

The silence held while he washed his hand and wrapped a dish towel around it. He didn’t start chopping again. He just held himself there stiffly, refusing to face her. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What’s there to say?”

He slammed his knife down on the cutting board and spun toward her. He was pissed. “Just say it!”

She walked up to him, wrapped her arms around his waist. “I don’t want you to go. But you already know that.”

Her words seemed to suck all the anger out of him.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck. What are you doing to me?”

He drew her in his arms and kissed her, biting lightly on her lower lip. A tremor ran down her spine at the feel of his warm breath on her face, at the hoarseness in his voice. But he was good, as always. His rough fingers trailed down her cheek and throat. Then he stepped away from her.

“Where are we going, next? If I stay, where are we going next?”

‘We,’ he had said. She tried to rein in her excitement.

“New York. I was hoping the heat would die down faster. But it doesn’t feel like it’s going that way. I’m getting nervous. I’m thinking we should head up soon. I’ve got everything arranged ready. We’ll be getting plastic surgery in New York.” With her fingers, she traced his bold, beautifully male features, trying to imagine what it would be like to look at him and see someone else. “New faces. New identities. Completely clean.”

He didn’t quite shudder – but fear flashed in his eyes. She understood, but it was their one chance at freedom.

“What, then?” he asked.

“Once we’ve got our new faces? Hell, I don’t know…Anything you want. How do you feel about Panama? Or we could stay in the US, find ourselves a small coastal town – go for all the midnight swims you want,” she added with a smile of pure female power. She knew how much he enjoyed their swimming lessons. Even now, focused as he was on planning, he spared her a hot, dark-eyed look and a growl of eagerness. She moved back in his arms, “Anything you want. We can go anywhere you want.”

His embrace tightened around her, but he was thinking. Then, he thrust his chin toward the radio. “What if he gets off free?”

She shrugged. “I don’t care. His badge’s as good as gone, his money too. Sooner or later, his past will catch up with him.”

He smirked, “Karma?”

“Call it karma if you want. But he’s hurt lots of people along the years, he knows dirty secrets about lots of dangerous people. Sooner or later, he’ll pay for his sins.”

“We won’t be there to see it.”

“I know.” She rose on the tip of her toes to kiss him. “I refuse to care. Other things matter much more. This, for example.”

She plastered herself to him. She could feel every flinch, every twitch of his muscles. He was tense and unyielding. For some reason, she read that as a challenge. She thrust her fingers in his hair and tugged. Hard. His hands closed on her thighs and lifted her up on the kitchen counter.

He pushed her shirt up. She hadn’t bothered with a bra and she moaned when the relatively colder air caressed her achy nipples. She kept expecting his fingers or his lips. Nothing came. She opened her eyes. His glittered dangerously as he kept himself away.

“It’s not a promise,” he growled.

“No,” she replied.

She would have said pretty much anything to get him to touch her. She felt too exposed like this. But, his hand just cupped her cheek gently. “You’re safe,” he said.

“I’m naked,” she retorted. “I just don’t…I don’t like it.”

She moved to at least cross her arms over her chest. He took her hands in his, kissed each wrist in turn. “You think I don’t know how it feels? You think I’ve never felt horribly naked and vulnerable? Oh, baby…You know how it feels to have a guard strip-search you in the middle of a corridor? To be naked in a shower with a dozen other men?” He took off his shirt, spread her fingers on his naked skin. “I get it.”

Goosebumps spread up her arms. She thought she had never loved him so much. “Touch me. Just touch me.”

He cupped her breasts in his hands, kissed her neck. “I’ve dreamed about this,” he whispered.

Goosebumps spread over her wet skin. “Viggo…”

But she was thinking was, Get on with it!

He raised his head. It was like he could read her mind. A smile curved his lips, smug and knowing and just a tiny bit mean. She thought it was beautiful. “I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

He kissed, licked and nipped his way down slowly. Her insides started quaking long before he even approached the waistband of her pants. Heat followed the path his fingers drew. He traced the curves and hollows of her body with a warm mouth and reverent hands. At some point, she tensed and stopped enjoying it, almost too uneasy to feel how tender his touch was. Slower. He needed to go slower. Perhaps she couldn’t…

He moved up to nip on her earlobe. “It’s me, Nyssa.” His index finger still traced the lace of her underwear. “You know that?”

“Yes. I trust you.”

And she did. She just didn’t know about her body. It had adapted so eagerly to Russ’s rough brand of sex, she wasn’t sure gentle still worked on her.

“Just keep right on trusting me,” he said in a light tone.

The tip of one finger wormed its way in her panties.

She sobbed in relief when she felt a flurry of excitement in return. “I love you.”

“Ah,” he sighed.

Tension drained from his body. It was like he hadn’t been sure he would know his way around her body. But he did. He made her toes curl, her legs shake. And she cried, afterward, her feelings in a jumble. She was embarrassed, surprised, relieved, she grieved for her innocence.

He asked no stupid question, he just held her against him while she blubbered all over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said, at last.

“Too much?” he asked hoarsely.

“No.” She wiped her eyes and nose on her shirt, then she eyed him up and down. “Don’t you want…?”

“Eight years, Nyssa.” He laughed without humor. “I’m aching for you, but I would settle for giving you another orgasm. Or seeing you naked,” he added, shaking a little.

She felt the tremor that went through him. His skin was overly warm, shiny with sweat. She stroked his back, his nape, his throat and shoulders, and his chest. How much of his desire was about her and how much was about freedom, she didn’t know, but his restraint was all for her.

She pushed him away gently and took off the rest of her clothes before she could change her mind.

She couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe she was naked in the kitchen in daring daylight. Her bare backside bumped against the kitchen counter and her eyes widened in incredulity. Pride flashed through her. I’m doing it. I am. Then, an ugly fear rose its head – fear and disgust.

“You’re so pretty,” Viggo whispered.

She shook her head slightly. She didn’t deserve that. Her body was used-up, cheap and broken, and it would never be pretty again. But Viggo caught her chin between two fingers, their eyes met. “There’s nobody I’d rather be with.”

She laughed, instantly forgetting about being naked in the kitchen. “You’re sure? Lots of women out there.”

“None like you.” She blushed, and he grinned. His eyes were blazing, all-consuming. His look upon her felt like a caress, sparks and sizzles all over her skin. “I think I had forgotten how soft women are.” He brushed a finger down between her breasts. “So soft…” His finger drifted up the curve of her breast. She shivered. “Pretty, pretty curves.” His lips tightened with every rib he could feel. “You’ve got to eat more,” he muttered.

He moved all of a sudden, very decisively. “Here.” He lifted her onto the counter like she weighed nothing, and he kissed her again, soft and possessive. “Just relax, baby, and enjoy. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

He traced a circle around her navel. “It’s paradise,” he said. He stroked the top of her thighs. “That’s my favorite place.” She liked it plenty herself, especially when he touched it. He bent to kiss the curve of her belly, then the scars on her leg. “You’ll tell me if it gets to be too much?”

“I will.”

And she sighed because he was wrong. It was a promise. When he touched her like this, when he made her feel like this, he was making her a promise. And he had no intention of keeping it.

To see more of Viggo and Nyssa's past relationship, read Chapter 14.2.