Bound

1:

With eyes still shut, his fingertips searched for the warmth of the sleeping body entangled in his sheets. Velvet cocoa skin, draped in cream satin and nothing else. He found the dip of her waist, and palmed that curve, shifting closer to her.

His lids burst open when he felt it, and it was already too late to react. A hand wrapped around his wrist with premeditated precision, bending it at just the right angle; at the distinct bundle of nerves that would paralyze his arm from movement. He recoiled as the burst of pain travelled to his shoulder, and he felt her weight shifting on top of him in his split second of vulnerability. She locked her knees into his hips as she straddled his torso, incapacitating him, and held his wrist to the mattress, twisting it further as she drove her fingers deeper, milking agony from the pressure point.

"Good morning to you, too," he muttered, groaning as his attempt to wriggle his wrist free only sent another shot of stabbing pain into his arm.

"You know I don't like anyone sneaking up on me," she smirked, her warm mahogany eyes locking into his.

"You're in my bed, Sev," he reminded her, finally prying his arm free from her grip.

"Don't call me that," she warned from plush lips, and he only chuckled at the threat. His throbbing arm went around her waist as he sat up, keeping her pressed to his chest until an interruption halted him. Short, staccato beeps came from the phone on his nightstand. He leaned forward, and then stopped, his lips hovering right over hers.

"Who's going to be late today?" she purred, sinking her hips closer to the heat in his lap.

"You. I covered for you last time," he challenged, biting his bottom lip at her merciless tease.

"Who said we were taking turns?" she said as she pressed her palms into his chest, and shoved him back into the pillows behind him. He grunted his displeasure as she sashayed away from the bed, watching the rich brown skin poured over her toned thighs step into the sunlight.

When he heard the water in the shower hit the tiles, he swiped a hand over his face, and lifted himself out of bed. He checked the time, and the competition was on. The half-bathroom in his guest suite would have to suffice if he was going to win one more round of their game.

With the bed left unmade, and a toothbrush lodged between his teeth, he quickly buttoned up a pristine smoke-grey collared shirt and tucked it into tailored black slacks. A holster followed his belt, housing a loaded pistol. A black two-button jacket concealed the glimmering steel. He slipped his silver badge into his breast pocket just as he heard the water in the shower stop, and he smirked into the mirror to celebrate his small victory before stepping out.

***

Chief Marcel Pearce paused mid-sentence as the glass door to the boardroom swung open in the middle of his presentation.

"A little late, Agent Deleon?" he issued with an admonishing silver-haired eyebrow raised into his wrinkled forehead.

"Traffic," she pursed her lips as she shuffled to the only empty seat at the oval table, emblazoned with the Bureau's recognizable seal in the center. Jules' eyes followed her as she lowered herself into the chair opposite his. Throats cleared during the interruption, until Chief Pearce summoned all attention back to the screen behind him.

"Now that we finally have every member of the department here," he said, taking another shot at Agent Deleon's lacking punctuality. "We can get to business."

The click on the small remote in his hand flashed a photograph onto the screen.

"Cairo Reyes. 27 year old hacker. He goes by the name Nostradamus," he identified the subject, and the monicker prompted nods of recognition from the table. "We picked him up early this morning in an apartment on Staten Island."

"We have one laptop in custody," Chief Pearce went on. "The drive has been wiped, so we have reason to believe he was expecting us. We have a team sweeping the apartment right now for any other equipment."

"This is the closest connection we've made to Hugo Gallo," he emphasized as the screen faded to black behind him. "So I need everyone at their best capacity. I'm authorizing a separate task force for this case."

"Agent Alaya," he called out in his gruff baritone, and Jules lifted his chin at the mention of his name. "I need you to assemble a team and lead the charge on this. Take as many people as you need."
Jules leaned forward at the order from his superior, and all eyes went to him.

"Can I take a look at the apartment before you pack anything up for evidence?" he directed to the head of the table.
"I'll clear you for that," Chief Pearce approved, and folded his arms in front of his chest. "Your task force, Agent Alaya?"
"I want Ace on my team," Jules announced predictably, and his closest ally in the department lifted his shoulders from his chair. Jules surveyed the rest of the table, and his eyes met with the same impenetrable pair he'd parted with less than an hour ago. "And Deleon."

There were some indistinct murmurs from the back of the room, and then a hush that followed from those who didn't dare let their thoughts show on their faces.
"And she can have the next pick," Jules added into the silence.
"I..." Agent Deleon recovered from the stutter quickly, and her expression went expertly neutral again. "I'll take Poppy. She's our best cyber security specialist."
Everyone knew where Poppy sat; her bright orange-red curls giving her away, matching the bright pop of similar red on her lips. She raised a quick hand in acknowledgment, and shot an appreciative wink at Jules.

"Fine," Chief Pearce grumbled without masking his displeasure. "Alaya. Ace. Poppy. Deleon. The four of you will receive an additional briefing later today. Everyone's free to go."

***

Jules delivered two soft knocks to the door in front of him. The gold plaque on the polished wood read Special Agent Severine Deleon in bold capital letters. He waited for the sound of her voice for permission, and then pushed his way in.

She was fussing with her hair in her reflection in the angled glass cabinet door. She took the butterfly clip she held in her teeth, and pinned one half of her shoulder-length waves away from her heart-shaped face. It was the last thing she had forgotten to do as she clambered her way out of an apartment that wasn't her own that morning.

She tossed her black blazer over the back of her chair and walked around her desk, half-sitting on the edge. Her white silk blouse was tucked into high-waisted black pants that left him guessing where her weapon was concealed. He vividly recalled unstrapping her holster from her thigh just last night, and licking the indentation it left in her skin after hiking her skirt up to her hips, paying no mind to the sound of splitting fabric in his hands.

"What is it?" she asked impatiently, with one hand on her hip, brazenly invading his flashback.

"I just wanted to make sure there wasn't going to be any problems with us being on this task force together," Jules stepped forward, lowering his eyes into hers, pushing his hands into his pockets to keep them contained in their closeness.

He smelled like soap and crisp bergamot, and his marbled hazel eyes gleamed with remnants of mischief. She fought her own visions of his sculpted naked body. His skin, the color of warmed sand, was deceptively soft, turning into solid rock under the pads of her fingers. And she knew every time she touched him was a negligent lapse in her judgement or his.

"No problems," she shrugged off easily, and he narrowed his eyes at her callousness.
"You know this means we're going to have to be extra careful," he held her gaze when she averted her eyes from his lips.
"There's no need for that," she blinked, her tone defiant. "Because it won't happen again."

"Was there anything else, Agent Alaya?" she asked as she brushed past him, walking back to her chair to regain her distance from him.
"No," he paused for a moment, and brushed his fingers over the groomed hair on his face before turning to the door. "I'll let you and Poppy know when to come down for your briefing."

***