"He will never forgive me." Micki studied the glass of vodka she held with a melancholy admiration for the way the liquid managed to look so innocuous in the moment before it was swallowed.
She could testify to its paint stripper qualities once consumed. Her throat felt raw, but the tears she'd steadfastly held back all evening might have shared some responsibility for that.
"Which one?" Katrina drawled, her loose hair catching the lamplight as she lay back amongst the sofa cushions. "Which one of your guardian angels do you think will be so harsh?"
"Both are angry with me, but Jim…"
"Ah, that one." Katrina shrugged and then grimaced, her hand going to her injured shoulder and rubbing it gingerly. "He is cold, yes?"
"No," Micki said uncertainly. "He has shown me much friendship. He cares, I think, a little too much for his friends. He does not like to feel that he has misjudged them."
"The little one? The one who is not a police officer? Is he, too, a friend?"
"Blair." Micki smiled and repeated Katrina's words back to her. "Ah, that one! He knows what it is like to fight for a cause. He is disappointed in me, a little, yes, angry, too, but more because of the hurt I have caused to his dear friend."
Katrina murmured something under her breath, and accompanied it with an explicit gesture and a knowing twist of her mouth. "Hmm?"
Micki choked over her sip of vodka. "No!"
Katrina smiled and rolled her eyes.
"No! At least…do you really think it is so between them?"
Katrina snorted. "Where are your eyes, child?"
"I am not a child," Micki said stiffly, refilling her glass to prove it and emptying it a moment later. "And you are a dirty-minded KGB slut."
"Tonight, I am, yes. A slut. Your slut." Katrina's hand traveled slowly from her naked breast to the sharp point of her hip and lingered there, the fingers curved, inviting. Punishment followed swiftly after the false promise of forgiveness for Micki's flash of temper. "So. It seems you have lost Detective Ellison's friendship … and respect …. and have no way to win them back with your charms." Katrina chuckled, a richly amused sound. "Foolish man to lose those over so small a betrayal."
"It was needed," Micki insisted sharply. "I had no choice."
"I understand that, but he never will." Katrina pursed her lips. "American. Man. Bah. He will listen, and smile, and never, ever believe you again."
"Yes," Katrina told her, inexorable, merciless. Her expression softened as a tear gathered and fell from Micki's eye. "We will think of them no longer, hmm? Those foreign men…"
Her fingers beckoned, her mouth parted on a luxurious moan like the ones she had voiced earlier, writhing under Micki's fingers and the sweet, sharp bite of Micki's teeth.
Micki sighed, not with regret now but appreciation, and followed the path the fingers indicated so imperiously, tracing a path with her tongue across the smooth skin of Katrina's stomach and down through tangled soft hair to the waiting wetness, lush and spiced. "Maybe I will think only of you tonight."
A trickle of vodka spilled down from the bottle to splash and trickle, cool and fierce, through the pink, hot flesh under her mouth, and Micki smiled, lapped harder, swallowing vodka and tears.
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