Page 90 of The Succubi's Choice

“Gabriel and Jacqueline will, at least.” She stares back at the glowing screen, still feeling overwhelmed. “If they find out you have access...you will be in just...so much trouble. I think. I don’t...I don’t know.” She shakes her head, agog. “I can’t believe you would show this to me.”

“So,” he says, his voice kind, his voice gentle, which is all the more terrifying in front of all the information. “Trust me?”

She looks away from the information, and her eyes settle on him, like her eyes want to look at nothing else.

Her stomach drops, then. “I’ll think about talking to her,” she says, because anything else feels like too much of a betrayal to Katya, who would probably be scared shitless by this. “I can’t...I can’t promise anything, but I’ll think about it.”

He nods, solemn. “Do you want me to delete your records?”

“Not yet,” she says, almost a whisper, because thinking about it head on makes her heart pound. “I don’t know.”

“That’s perfectly fair,” he says, and she leans against him in the chair, just a bit, and her heart is beating so fast he must be able to hear it. “Do you...want to know what I’m planning?” It’s tentative, a moment of insecurity, and she nods.

His arm against her back shifts, and it’s more like an embrace than a support.

“I want to replace the current computer systems with something that’s far more humane,” he says, and she’s so close she can feel him breathe. “Something for people like us, so we have something resembling control over our lives. Less rules, less regulations, less harmful restrictions.”

“Couldn’t they just...code it back?” She asks, instead of blurting out how wondrous that sounds, how perfect a world he’s imagining.

“That’s the problem,” he sighs, and she can feel each and every movement. “I would need a diversion there, in order to create firewalls so they can’t. I would need someone with an Organization ID, who can get in there with little suspicion, pull a few plugs.” His hand tenses against her shoulder blades. “It’s another reason why Katya. She could do it, she could be persuaded.”

“So could I?” she says, and his jaw clenches, tight, and for a second he looks lost.

“I’d rather you not be in any danger,” he says, voice deep. “It’d...be easier for her to get in and out without anyone stopping her.”

“I can’t promise anything,” she says again, a little wildly, blinking rapidly down at him. He’s beautiful, with a little bit of scruff against his cheeks and his jawline sharp, and his eyes steady on her.

“I know that,” he says, all but whispers, and her mind is going in a million different directions. “I know that, and I’m still showing you this.”

He’s either a master manipulator, or he means it. That the risk of showing her this is worth it.

That he honestly wants her to just trust him, to believe his words, to think that he isn't doing this out of some grand machinations to Katya or to the Organization, that he wants her to think well of him. That this calculated risk is part of his plan.

Or he means it.

“I’m not someone special,” she repeats, feeling like she’s said it over and over and over again to him, to everyone. “I’m not some grand person who can —"

Slowly, telegraphing his movements, he leans upwards and kisses her.

It’s quite unlike their first kiss, with the both of them in bed, but his lips are soft, pressing almost chastely against hers. It takes her breath away, leaving a small hollow behind in the center of her chest.

She slips further into his arms, almost into his lap, and his arms entwine behind her.

“I think you’re quite someone,” he says, almost against her lips, and his voice is low, much lower than it usually is.

So she kisses him again, sitting across his legs, in front of the giant computer screen with all of her information splayed across it for anyone to see. Kisses him despite it, the chair leaning back precariously with them both on top of it.

She fists her hands into his white t-shirt, the fabric scrunching in her fingers, and he presses himself against her, opening his mouth to hers.

He makes a small sound, deep in the back of his throat, and she pulls away, her lips stinging from the contact.

“Are you okay?” She asks, like she’s asking way more than that. She’s asking if he wants it. She’s asking if this is okay. She’s asking if this is actual really, that all the things he said are true, and her heart pounds to know the answers.

“I’m okay,” he says back, and it’s only answering about half of them, but he’s holding her, tight, against himself, and a fission of desire goes down her back.

Not her normal desire, not the hunger she usually feels in this exact position, not the need for contact of for energy, but something softer. Something gentler, more tender, at least for her.

She releases her hands from his shirt, and runs her fingers through his hair. He leans into her touch, his eyes falling half closed, heavy lidded.

---