The Taming of the Rat
The First Lesson
by
Sydnie MacElroy
A safe house,
Somewhere in Moscow
"Don't worry, Moriz. I can handle them."
"You've said that before," he shouted.
"And you refused to believe me. That stunt you pulled..." Dominika twirled the phone cord between her fingers and tapped her bare foot lightly on the wooden floor. The anger she was feeling was intense and undirected, and she was going to have to take it out on someone. She looked over her shoulder at Krychek, sitting up in bed next to her, watching her and smiling. She relaxed a little, knowing she had a willing victim. He moved closer to her, practically wrapping himself around her and reached out to caress her thigh. She slapped his hand away impatiently.
"We should have killed her when we had the chance. We should have just killed them both."
"That's insane and you know it. Don't you think enough innocent lives have been lost?"
"Innocent?"
"If anything happens to Mulder, *either* of them..." She had turned so she could watch Krychek's reaction when she said that name, but she needn't have bothered. His face remained placid, but she could feel the involuntary tensing of his muscles, an almost imperceptible writhing of his skin against hers. Hmm.
"They're too close. If you won't listen to reason, we may have to delay our plans."
"No. Everything goes ahead on schedule. And leave it to me this time." She slammed the phone down before he could protest.
"Problem," Krychek asked.
"Alex, haven't you learned by now not to ask so many questions?" Dominika slid beneath the blankets, draping herself slowly into his arms, savoring the electricity of skin on skin. "What am I going to do with you?"
"You'll think of something. You always do."
She entwined her fingers in the soft hair at the back of his head, lovingly fondling the sensitive skin of his neck with her thumb. Then she yanked, hard, and dug her thumbnail into his flesh. A cry of pain escaped his lips. She glared at him with something akin to hatred in her eyes, but he could meet it only with intense desire.
"Rather brazen tonight, aren't we," she said with her lips brushing lightly against his. She took his lower lip between her teeth and bit down, too hard to be called playful but not hard enough to injure something she might need later.
With slow, deliberate motion, he ran his hand along her side, barely touching her hip, her waist, her breast. He delighted in the way she trembled at the sensation of his fingers lightly massaging her nipple, trying to memorize the ever-changing terrain of her increasing arousal, until he pinched her, gave her a sharp twist. She gasped in surprise.
"You want to hurt me," she asked, breathless, but amused.
"I want to hear you scream," he said. "I want to hear you begging for mercy."
She laughed, low and menacing. "Better men than you have tried and failed."
He scraped his fingernails across her chest, leaving trails of bright pink along her pale ivory skin. She kept her eyes locked on his, determined to show him no sign of discomfort or pleasure, even as he pushed her down on the bed, pinning her beneath him with his superior weight.
With an evil grin, he wrapped his fingers around her neck. "I could kill you right now," he whispered.
"Try it," she commanded.
Krychek's eyes widened. What had he expected? Fear from the fearless? But no. Cold eyes stared at him, through him, as her leg snaked slowly around his thigh. She arched her back, pressing against him, granting him entry should he chose to accept the invitation.
He tightened his grip on her neck. How far would she let him take this? How far would he take it if she did nothing to stop him? Fear and anticipation and excitement mingled in him as he took her without warning, driving deeply, violently into her, and still no change in her face, save for a darkening of her pale gray eyes.
Her movement was quick, cat-like in its fluidity, but with a strength he would never have dreamed she could possess. Using her free leg for leverage, she rolled him off of her, moving with him to maintain their union and simultaneously bringing her arms up between his, pushing them away and breaking his hold on her neck. He came down hard on his back, striking his head on the brass headboard. When he opened his eyes a fraction of a second later, her elbow was pressed into his windpipe. It took another second for him to realize that he couldn't breathe.
"You think you're better than me," she asked, a dark and perilous edge on her voice. "Stronger? Faster? More dangerous?"
"No," he gasped.
She let him suffer a moment longer before she allowed him to breathe. "What are you most afraid of, my darling?" She spoke softly, gently now as she settled back, moving on top of him, tracing the muscles in his chest the forefingers of each hand.
He knew better than to lie to her. "That you'll sell me to the highest bidder."
She smiled. Was there a trace of kindness in that smile? She leaned forward to tease his nipples with her tongue. Pleasure shot through him like a lightning bolt and he braced himself for the inevitable pain that would accompany it. What would she do, he wondered eagerly. Bite him? Slap him? Torture him with ecstasy?
"Do you play chess, Alex," she asked. She planted a light kiss on his chin and brushed the back of her hand against his cheek.
"Huh? Yeah. Not very well."
"I don't. Do you know why?"
"No."
She pressed down harder on him, taking him in as deeply as she could. Quivers of passion coursing through her, her voice trembled as she spoke. "Because," she said, "you cannot take the king without sacrificing a few pawns."
She sat up again, pulling him with her this time. He clamped his mouth onto her breast, licking and sucking, giddy with the salt-sweet taste of her, as his hands explored the sweaty softness of her rigid form. Her moans brought him close, her fingernails digging trenches along his back threatened to send him over the edge. Oh, the exquisite, burning torment.
At the moment of release, she moved off him. How could she always know, to the very second, when it was too late to stop, too soon to finish? He couldn't hide his disappointment, and she laughed again. That soft, bodeful, maniacal, seductive laugh. God, he hated her. And he wanted to go on hating her like this for the rest of his life.
She kissed him, a small, simple pleasure she had never before permitted. Their first real kiss.
She parted her lips, accepting his tongue into her mouth. He devoured her with that kiss, hungrily searching, exploring, as though this one moment would have to last a lifetime, while her tongue strained against his, begging for the opportunity to return the favor.
At last, they broke apart, collapsing breathless and exhausted in the mess of tangled sheets and blankets. Cool air caressed their bodies and they instinctively sought warmth in each other's arms.
He was nearly asleep when she pinched his earlobe. His eyes flew open to find her staring at him, the coldness now returned to her face.
"How do you know Fox Mulder," she asked.
He was too stunned by the question to answer immediately, so she pinched him again, harder.
"I... I was assigned to work with him, to make sure he didn't..." He trailed off, unsure of how much he could or should say.
She kissed his eyelids. "Tell me, Alex."
"To make sure he didn't find what he was looking for. To kill him if necessary."
"I see."
"What's he doing in Moscow?"
Dominika moved out of his embrace, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. She thought about her answer long and hard. "He is looking for Kisa," she said when she'd finally settled on the truth. "He is her father."
His reaction was magnificent - confusion, shock, a trace of gut level panic.
She flashed a reassuring smile and traced slow circles on his chest. "You know, we are not so different, Alex, playing out little games with people's lives." She paused. "Except, I think, that I take lives only when I must, spare them when I can. And you, you take them when you can and spare them when you must. Except that I give orders and you take them." She kissed him again, a soft, slow, lingering kiss. "Now get out of my bed."
It was not a request. Even if he had been inclined to disobey her command, the force of her words would have been enough to drive him back. He sensed that his life was in danger if he didn't do exactly what she told him. Maybe even if he did. When Dominika reached into the drawer of the night stand beside the bed, he was certain that his life was over. He closed his eyes and waited.
"Oh, no, my darling," Dominika said. "Killing you would be too easy. I'm going to make sure that you live a long, long life."
The door burst open and Nicolai Khristin leapt into the room, gun in hand. "What's wrong?" When he saw them, Krychek standing naked in the middle of the room and Dominika on the bed, half covered by a thin white sheet, he blushed and looked away, then slowly turned his head back to look at her. "You summoned me. I thought that..."
"What are you looking at," she growled.
"I'm sorry," he said in English, taking his cue from her, and looked at his shoes as he reholstered his gun.
"Now, get this... thing out of here. Put him in the spare room, lock the door and post a guard."
Krychek reached for his pants.
"Oh, no you don't. I'll have someone bring you your clothes when I'm good and ready."
"Let's go," Khristin said. He led Krychek out of the room.
Dominika's laughter followed them down the hallway.
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