Apache Dawn - - (classic fiction .TXT) 📗

“Easy now, sir,” she purred. In one graceful, feline motion, she stood and swept across the floor to him, entwining her slender arms around his neck. A quick nibble on his ear lobe sent a lightning bolt from the balls of his feet to his forehead. The black spots grew larger. His vision narrowed to a tunnel that encompassed Jayne and nothing else. And still, her smell enveloped him and caressed his senses.

She gently pushed him back into his chair. He did not resist as he sat heavily.

“You need to breathe…” she said.

At her soft words, every ounce of his concentration quickly went into breathing.

It was amazing, he noted, how much control she had over him. And he didn’t care. Not at all.

She pouted. “These people in Boston are causing all kinds of trouble.”

“I…I know…” he stammered, seeking fresh air for his lungs. Her perfume was like a thick fog. The bouquet was sweet and light, yet it was so dense he found it hard to breathe. Nonetheless, he wanted to drown in that fragrance.

He watched her as she perused the papers and files in front of him on the polished table. “These people,” she purred, her fingers caressing the graphic pictures from the previous night’s slaughter. “These Sons of Liberty—they are…some sort of resistance…right?” she murmured. Her hand left the picture and found his face, tracing a finger down his cheek and along the side of his neck. He shuddered in pleasure.

“Rabble…trash…” he muttered, eyes rolling up into his head. He tried to flip a hand to dismiss the very idea.

“Mmmhmmmm…” she cooed, her blue eyes reduced to mere slits. “And you,” she whispered, leaning in over his chest. He could feel her bosom brush against his shirt and his arms twitched. “Need to crush them.” Another nibble at the ear. He groaned.

“Crush…”

“Yes, my love,” she whispered. “But first, you must destroy Denton.”

He fluttered back into consciousness. “Denton…what—?”

“I know,” she said with another school-girl pout. “He’s still alive…can you believe it?” He felt soft hands unbuttoning his shirt. His own hands gripped the armrests tight. Her hot breath on his bare chest sent his back rigid against the chair.

“We intercepted a phone call from a nurse to her husband…she’s with Denton now…”

“Need to…deal…with him…” Wait…Who is we?

“Oh, yes,” she said, barely audible. “He’s at some dreadful Air Force base in Los Angeles…” He gasped in pleasure as she put her mouth on his chest and delivered the gentlest of kisses.

“I…” he gasped. “I heard, yes. Just rumors.”

“The Koreans already destroyed it…oooooooh…” she said in a delightfully sinful voice, her hands roaming farther south. “But,” she said, “there were survivors. The North Koreans promised to remove this problem for us…in return for us not fighting their invasion. But it looks like they are failing, despite all our efforts to help them…”

The President gasped for breath. The black spots in his vision rendered him nearly blind, but didn’t care. All our efforts? What’s she talking about? God bless her, she’s confusing…

“The man in charge of the Air Force base,” she whispered, letting her hands walk up his chest again, “Colonel Molton…he is…a friend of ours. Give him the authority—”

“I’ll do it!” he hissed. “Do what it takes…”

“Yeeeeessssss,” she murmured. “Very good…” She pressed the length of her body against his, straddling him in the chair. They both leaned slowly back, the weight of her on his chest pinning him as if she were made of iron—not flesh and blood, filled to the brim with desire.

He couldn’t breathe. His muscles had tensed with panic. His vision was completely gone. The muscles in his chest tightened to the point of pain. Air, he needed air.

“Help…” he squeaked, using the last of his oxygen. She had to help.

She giggled, the sound drifting to him from a dream. He was falling now, deeper and deeper into a well. She was up there—at the top—looking down and watching him fall, slowly toward the…

“Breathe, my love…”

And he breathed, a great deep gulp of sweet air. His vision rushed back. He lay there, settled back in the chair with her laying on top of him, smiling at him from only an inch away. Her lithe form sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through him. He could feel her arms snaking around his neck again, pulling her closer.

“Will you do this thing for me?” she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder. Her hair felt like silk as it cascaded down his arm and across his bare chest.

“Anything…” he whispered.

She nibbled at his neck. “Good…” Slowly she pushed on his chest and pulled herself away. Still sitting in his lap, she bent over backwards, displaying a nimbleness and agility that caused his mind to spin with the possibilities. She arched her back and reached over the conference table, picking up the phone. Once more facing him, she handed him the phone.

“Now tell him,” she said in a commanding voice.

“I…” he said and smiled. He felt drunk. This wasn’t real. “Who?”

Her face remained neutral. The softness faded from her, evaporating before his eyes. “Tell that self-serving, little shit of a base commander to order his men to execute the traitors. All of them.” Her eyes narrowed. She shoved the phone into his limp hand. “Now.”

He pulled the phone to his ear, in a slow, dreamlike movement.

“Hello?” a deep voice said.

“This is Harold Barron. Who am I speaking with?” he said in a voice that was strong and vigorous. He was amazed at how suddenly assertive and in-command he sounded.

“Mr. President! Yes, sir. This is Colonel Andrew Molton, acting base commander, sir.”

“Colonel Molton, you have identified the traitors…?”

“Yes, Mr. President, they’re trapped in an older part of the bunker system here.”

“Very good. I want them taken care of, immediately.”

“Mr. President?”

He sighed. “How is it you soldiers talk? ‘Terminate with extreme prejudice.’ How’s that? Kill them. Every last one. They represent a clear and present danger to the national security of the United States. Is that enough legalese for you? Colonel, this is coming straight from my lips. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes…yes, sir,” said the voice, uncertainty clouding his words.

“Colonel Molton…”

“Sir?”

“Do this for me, and you’ll be General Molton by sundown. I’m looking for a new man to coordinate the Air Force counterattack…”

“Consider it done, Mr. President!” The line went dead.

The President exhaled and let the phone drop from his hand to clatter on the floor. His head lolled back against the chair and stared at the ceiling again. He was utterly exhausted. Every ounce of strength he had went into keeping his voice authoritative and strong. He began to quiver all over, as if he were going into shock.

Then she was there, slithering all over his body, embracing him, surrounding him, securing him, feeding him. She was him. He was her. He felt like he was floating, and his mind drifted on wave after wave of pleasure. Colors bursting overhead like fireworks clouded his vision.

Is this real?

“You did well,” she murmured in his ear, her voice soft, yet exploding in his mind like a bomb. Her fingertips brushed his skin, electricity crackling in her wake. He noticed his shirt was off, but he couldn’t remember when…

He sighed and gave in. Gave up? He smiled. It didn’t matter. Only she mattered. And the sensations she gave him. He knew in that instant he would do anything, anything, to keep these feelings coming. If there was ever a Heaven on Earth, he was in it.

“Should I reward you now?” she whispered, her lips brushing the sensitive skin of his neck. A kiss here, a touch of fingertips there. Her smell was so thick he could almost see the clouds of heaven swirling around him.

Reward? What the hell is she talking about?

“Mmmmmmm…that’s a yes,” she chuckled. Her voice sounded as if it were coming from the next room. “But first…”

You mean it gets better?

“Wha—what?” he gasped. Anything…just tell me.

“I want you to disband Congress…send them home. For their own safety, of course.”

Fine. Done.

“I…what?” A myriad of conflicting thoughts flitted across his mind, warnings, desires, the country, loyalty, lust…dammit all, it was so hard to concentrate.

“This is a time…of crisis. No place for…oh, what do you call them…legislators?” A finger trailed down his forehead, down the bridge of his nose and touched his lips together when he tried to mumble a weak protest.

“Don’t talk. Just do. Listen to me, my love…just do what I say. Do what I say and this…will never end.”

He cried out in pleasure. Everything went white. His toes began to tingle. It was the most delicious feeling he’d ever experienced. He wanted more. He had to have more.

God, please…

“Will you help me?” she said in a sweet voice.

“I’ll do it!” he gasped. “Anything…just tell…tell me what to do.” He tried to smile but was overcome with a sudden sensation of numbness.