Havoc by Ann Aguirre

“It’s as simple as that. You’d believe me if I promised? How do you know I won’t lie?”
    â€œI can tell,” she reminded him.
    Jael drew in a deeper breath than he could when he first returned, another sign that his healing had kicked in, albeit slowly. “Then I promise. I won’t go rogue again. And . . . I’m sorry.” From the way he rushed the words, she suspected he’d never said them before.
    â€œForgiven. Scoot over.” He did so, looking puzzled, but he was in no shape to orchestrate the sex she’d promised. “I’ll be slow and careful with you.”
    â€œThen you
will
kill me.”
    Dred stroked her bare fingers everywhere she’d touched first with the damp cloth, and he shivered, lit up from the inside with longing. It was obvious he was ready to dispense with the preliminaries . . . but she wasn’t. So she followed the path she’d blazed with fingertips with her lips, until he was trembling.
    â€œPlease,” he whispered. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
    She smiled at that. “Have you?”
    â€œI swear. I think I’d rather have the lash than another minute of this.”
    His hands came to her hips, hard and desperate, and she let him pull her up, but she was cautious, making sure she didn’t put any weight on his chest. She sank down on him in an easy motion.
    â€œI’ll do all the work. I don’t want you to hurt your ribs.”
    Frustration flashed bright as blue flame in his eyes, but he stayed still. Dred knew what she was asking of him—complete faith that she’d bring him to pleasure. That didn’t come easy for a man like him. But she rode him and watched his face, and he let her see what he needed, shifts in pressure and pace, until they were gasping. She could’ve cheated and broadcast her desire so that he was swept into it. Instead, she took him there by centimeters, and when he arched, it was a tsunami of an orgasm. She fell just after, relaxing control only once she was sure of his. Then she rolled to the side, mindful of his ribs.
    â€œThink you can leash me with sex, love?” His hand was gentle on her back.
    â€œNo,” she said gently. “Because you don’t need a leash. You need to
trust
me.”
    He drew her into his arms, whispering, “Mary help me, I’d walk into a fire for you.”

10
    The Sword They Die On
    The sun beating down dried the mud on his skin into an itchy scale, but the boss man didn’t slow the march. Ten men died in the last engagement, but leadership didn’t care about things like loss of life. Every man who died in the killing fields increased the cut for survivors, so that meant nobody was too interested in guarding his brother’s back. Jael hadn’t known most of their names anyway, just taken the job to put paste in his gut and keep one step ahead of the Science Corp.
    They passed from plain to forest, and the air thickened with the scent of damp, growing things. Thick canopy overhead, sharp needle green, interlaced with fronds, giving the others’ skin a peculiar, sickly glow; glint of yellow in the foliage, slither-crawl of webbed feet slipping out of his line of sight. The marsh was alive with noises, most natural, chirps and croaks, crackles of snake grass and the sploosh of something sliding into the water outside his line of sight.
    Told him this plan would never work. But I’m not known for brainpower.
    â€œJael, you’ve got the vanguard. Soften them up for us.”
    Since that was no different than most orders he’d received, he only nodded. He broke from the rest of the team, relieved to be away from their stink, now a permanent ache in the back of his throat. He could taste the tang of their sweat, the mildew growing in their boots. Most of them hadn’t bathed in weeks, unless you counted sluicing down with standing water, after first scooping away