The Program Ch. 02

Then Taylor cried. Once she started, it was hard to stop. Bill held her, whispered things she couldn't hear. Finally, she found herself calming. Bill slid a finger under her chin, tipping her face upward. "I'm sorry," she squeezed out between hiccups.

"Oh, Taylor." His hands were gentle, sweeping the tears from her cheeks. When they were both messy, he used his tee-shirt to dry her face. "Sweetie, you're exhausted." She nodded; it was easier than explaining. "I think you just need some rest."

She didn't want him to leave. A ball of fear coiled in her chest and she knew she needed him to stay with her. He's not Mick, she told herself. She couldn't care. Reminding herself to breathe, she asked him to stay.

"Sure," he whispered. "I'll stay as long as you like."

Taylor curled up with her head against his chest, the sound of his solid heart beat soothing her fears. He's not Mick, but he's real. Maybe I have been alone for too long, she thought. But then she realized that it would be impossible. He can't know what you really do, she told herself. Which means he doesn't know you at all. He thinks you're Taylor Peters. He may not even like you. But he was still there, holding her carefully, and maybe for tonight, she'd just pretend that it was normal.

~o~

When she woke the next morning, it was in the warm hollow of a recently vacated bed. She rubbed her eyes to clear the gritty feeling that always followed crying, groaned, and pushed herself up, casually sweeping a mess of hair from her face. As she raised her eyes, Bill emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel. Wow. Oh holy hell, she was staring. She dropped her eyes and felt her cheeks colour.

He grinned, "Hey there, sleepy-head."

"Morning." She flinched inwardly, her voice sounding rough from the late night, the beer, the crying, and from lack of use.

She thought she saw him blush when he rubbed the back of his neck. "I uh, I'm just going to grab some clothes. Do you want coffee or something?" He retreated to the bathroom before she could answer and a chuckle bubbled up from her stomach. "Sorry?" he came back into the room.

She flushed guiltily, hoping he hadn't heard her laugh. "A cup of coffee would be great."

She suffered through a full breakfast, something that she probably needed more than she cared to admit. Then Bill drove her back to the office to pick up her car. Taylor sat quietly for the ride, mulling over the events of the past day. She wished she could rewind and repeat the past twenty-four hours. She'd have done it all differently. She wouldn't have let VanTerran get the jump on her, for starters, and then this whole thing about staying at Bill's place...

When she climbed out of Bill's car, she tried to ignore the fact that the entire trip had been a slightly awkward silence. It was better that way. If she didn't say anything, she couldn't make a mistake and she wouldn't be lying. He waited for her to start her car before giving a wave and pulling out of the parking lot.

Taylor felt of twinge of what could be guilty regret tighten in her stomach. Bill actually was a good person. How many good people existed in the office? She'd done most of the research herself and when the vast number of profiles just made her sick, she'd stopped. Bill was new. He was the only addition to the company in the past five years save for herself. But then, even a company like that one needed fresh blood every now and then. Perhaps one of the two of them was supposed to wash out, the other would take over for one of the older programmers that was ready to retire. He didn't belong there.

She parked her car outside the low-budget, sad excuse for an apartment that Patrick had put her up in and rolled her eyes. I hate my life, she thought bitterly. But self-pity was not a normal emotion for her and perhaps it left her distracted, because she didn't notice flutter of the window shade in her apartment.

Trudging up the stairs, she fished her house keys out of her messenger bag, carefully checking the safety on her gun before dropping it back into the bag. Inside, her apartment was dark, the blinds perpetually drawn. She dropped her keys in the bowl next to the door and locked the three deadbolts. Her bag was tossed into corner and she shed her jacket, leaving it in a small pile on the floor.

A large, strong arm wrapped around her waist and her feet kicked up into the air as a second hand clamped down over her mouth, preventing a scream. "You're losing your touch," the deep voice growled in her ear.

Taylor bit down on the palm and smiled wryly as the hand snapped away with a hiss. As her feet came down toward the ground, she dropped her weight onto the instep of the man's right foot. He grunted angrily and shoved her into the door. Taylor hit the solid wood and rolled to the side, ducking an incoming blow and bringing her knee up into his stomach. He oofed and hunched over, winded, or so Taylor thought. She pulled a switchblade from the pocket of her jeans and headed toward the fire escape.

His hand darted out, catching her wrist and twisting. Taylor gasped and felt herself pulled back against him, her arm trapped in his grip, wrapped across her chest. She swallowed carefully as she felt the cold line of a blade press against her throat. "Don't even think about it," he said heavily.

Taylor cleared her throat and tapped the point of her own knife high on the inside of his thigh. "Is it worth living without your little friends?" He sighed and released her, carefully putting his knife away. When she turned around to face him, he gave a sheepish grin. Taylor folded her switchblade and frowned. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"I got bored waiting."

Taylor tossed the blade onto her counter and rolled her eyes again. "You're early. Wait outside next time, you oaf." She kicked off her sneakers, letting them fall near the door with as much attention as she gave her jacket.

"After last time, why would I wait outside?" He raised a brow suggestively and gave her an once-over. "I have to say I'm a little disappointed this time."

"Fuck you, Wilson," she snapped.

He laughed and tugged on her ponytail, "In your dreams, pumpkin." Taylor snarled, taking a swing at him. He dodged her easily and gave her a light spank. "Now where's my data key?"

She pulled the USB key out of her back pocket. "Type six encryption. Keyed to Patrick's middle name, that should make him smile." She gave an overly sweet smile before throwing the small key at him.

He caught it and tucked it in his pocket. "Someone must have had a rough night. What's the matter, princess? You wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?" Taylor scowled at him. He snapped his fingers, "Oh, I know. Woke up in the wrong bed this morning."

If looks could kill, Josh Wilson would have dropped dead on the spot. "Get out," she snarled.

Wilson laughed, "Oh, poor baby had a rough night." He grunted as she launched herself at him, her shoulder colliding solidly with his stomach. He dodged most of her swings, but when she swept her leg out and caught him behind the knees, he stumbled. He stopped playing nice and put her in a headlock. She squeaked and dug her nails into his forearm, twisting her body and throwing an elbow into his gut. His grip slipped for a fraction of a second and she spun from his hold. Her socks slipped on the linoleum floor and she found herself thrown into the door again.

He pinned her in place with his body. "Calm the fuck down, Taylor. I'm only giving you a hard time."

"Go do that somewhere else then," she pushed against his shoulders, but he refused to release her.

"You have a job to do, and so do I." He raised a brow. "Don't shoot the messenger for doing his job. Besides, it's not like this job is any harder than the other ones."

"This job sucks and you know it," she spat. "I'm sick of it. Let's just get it done."

"I don't know what managed to get under your impenetrable skin, but shake it off. You're not a rookie, Taylor. So quit acting like one." He met her glare with stern stare of his own. "Now get your shit together."

"My shit was just fine until you showed up. Stop breaking into my apartment."

"Ok, first, it wasn't that much of a challenge to break-in. You need some real locks in this place. Second, your shit hasn't been together for a while now." He ducked as she tried to slap him. "Stop it!" he growled.

She planted a foot on the door and used it as leverage, throwing her full weight against him and knocking him to the floor. She dropped her weight onto his stomach, but he caught her hands before she could strike him. They grappled before Wilson threw her off and rolled on top of her, capturing her wrists and pinning her to the floor. She shrieked with rage and tried to throw him off of her, but it was no use. "Get off!"

"Calm down," he ordered.

"You calm down," she snapped back.

He stared at her, trying to keep from laughing. She looked like an angry teen in the baggy clothes and when she started to pout, he revised the thought; now she looked like a petulant child. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you're only sixteen."

Taylor's face was flushed from the wrestling and yelling, but she still managed to turn a deeper shade of crimson. "Pervert."

A smile fleetingly passed across his lips before his mouth descended upon hers. She squeaked in protest, fighting to free her wrist from his grip. He wouldn't release her, his lips moving firmly, commandingly against hers, and Taylor felt some of the fight draining from her. Wilson released her wrists, keeping her pinned with one hand on her shoulder, the other dropping lower to find her soft skin beneath the oversized sweatshirt.

Taylor pushed ineffectively at his chest. He was like a solid wall. He swallowed her gasp when his hand slid under her shirt to cup her breast. She arched against his palm, moaning as he chuckled against her lips. The arrogance of it sparked a new fit of anger. He did this to her every time and it pissed her off. No one got under her skin like he did. No one made her feel more guilty about the job than he did. No one could actually get her to care about anything except Wilson. And that really aggravated her. She dug her fingers into his hair and tugged until he pulled his mouth away.

Wilson cocked a brow, "I can leave if you'd like."

Of course she wanted him to leave. The sooner the better. His thumb feathered over the already hardened tip of her nipple and she bit back another moan. "You're such an asshole."

He laughed, the reverberations passing through his chest to each place their bodies touched, and Taylor shivered. "So you do want me to leave."

He was exasperating. "Oh fuck you," she hissed and grabbed the front of his collar, dragging him back down for a frustrated kiss.

He moved his weight to the side long enough to work her flannel shirt over her head and off her body. He groaned at the sight of the small, nearly see-through tank top. "Shirts like this should be illegal." He hooked one finger under a strap and tugged on it, testing the strength and teasingly brushing along her skin.

"Then arrest me."

He pressed a series of kisses down the side of her neck. "I think I left my cuffs in the car."

Taylor rolled her eyes and slid her hands down his back, tugging the polo shirt free of the waistband of his pants. Her fingers wandered under the shirt, carefully extracting Wilson's service pistol. "What, are you afraid I'm going to pull a gun on you?" she asked, releasing the clip and tossing it off to the side.

"You did pull a knife on me," he mumbled against her shoulder, running his tongue across the exposed skin.

"You broke into my apartment." She tugged his shirt up to his armpits and growled when it caught there. "Off!"

"Yes ma'am," he pushed back onto his knees, straddling her hips. When she tried to sit up, he pushed her firmly back down.

"Hey!" She wrapped her fingers around the hand that held her pinned to the floor. "Damnit, Wilson!" She tried to work herself free.

"Pipe down," he grinned, tossing the shirt aside. "I'll get to you in a minute." Her shriek of outrage caused him to chuckle. He reached behind himself and tugged both of her socks off, nearly being kicked for his tickling fingers. He narrowly avoided being slapped before he caught her wrists and pinned them firmly to the floor in one large palm. "Now what are you going to do?" he asked coyly, his lips tracing the soft skin under her jaw line. His other hand climbed the ladder of her ribs, his thumb tracing the underside of her breast.

"I wish Patrick could have gotten me an apartment with carpets," she muttered, heat curling in her belly, making it difficult to think clearly. She squeaked as his palm came down sharply on the outside of her thigh. "Ow!'

"No shop talk," he growled, his fingers massaging the reddened patch of skin through the baggy fabric of her jeans.

Taylor expertly shifted her weight and rolled on top of him. "Don't tell me what to do." She found his mouth with hers and latched on, kissing with all the fervour and desire that kept him coming back for more. She knew that they both needed this and they both hated themselves for it. Their tongues became the weapons in their interminable battle for dominance, fighting for control as their bodies heated to the touch of the other's skin.

Her fingers made quick work of the button fly of his jeans, her hand sliding under the denim to stroke him through the soft cotton of his boxers. He groaned, his fingers digging into her hair and holding her mouth captive before pausing to catch his breath. "Take off my pants," he said, the tone of his voice precariously balanced between an order and a plea.

"The ones you're wearing? Or the ones I'm wearing?" she purred, making fun of her current wardrobe salvaged from boxes of Wilson and Patrick's college paraphernalia.

Wilson's eyes narrowed as he tried to shake off the lust filled fog that clouded his brain. "Smart ass."

"If I'd have known it was that easy to get into your pants..." Taylor didn't have a chance to finish the thought. Wilson rose, easily lifting her weight and tossing her over his shoulder.

"That's enough out of you," he groused, planting a hand firmly on her rear and heading toward the bedroom. He stepped out of his shoes and sock before easily kicking open her bedroom door.

Taylor laughed sarcastically. "Me Tarzan, you Jane."

Her callousness was like a dousing him with a bucket of cold water. He dropped her roughly on the bed and backed toward the door. "Damnit, Taylor. You have a snide answer to everything don't you. Why do you have to work so hard to keep everyone out?"

Taylor suppressed the wave of anger and hurt that threatened to overcome her. Her face went blank for a fraction of a second and then she smiled. She slid off the bed and smoothly dropped her jeans to the floor, revealing a pair of lean, toned legs and a lacy, pink thong.

Wilson swallowed hard, trying to hold on to his anger for another minute. She was beautiful, almost perfect. But she lived the job and she was good at it, probably too good. And she was very good at manipulating him; he took another retreating step backward. "You wear those all the time?" he managed to ask, his eyes drawn to the pale scrap of lace.

"Mmn," she hummed, drawing the tank top over her head and dropping it casually to the floor. "They match the bra." They certainly did match the bra, and Wilson had to clench his hands into fists to keep from reaching out and grabbing her. She closed the space between them with fluid, predatory steps. "And just think," she whispered, running the tips of her fingers across his exposed chest. "I have quite a few pairs of lace panties that are the only thing I put on before I wear your clothes all day long." He shivered and she smiled wryly, reaching behind him to shut the door. Her palms slid down his sides, resting on his hips for a moment before pushing his jeans down to the floor. "Sometimes," she pressed a kiss to his collarbone. "I don't wear anything."

Wilson closed his eyes and sighed in defeat. She was going to get her way again, and he didn't have the willpower to stop her. His eyes opened, and he stared down at her with a heated, blue gaze. Taylor saw the look and her stomach clenched in anticipation. "Fine," he snarled, taking her roughly in his arms and kissing her with maddening skill.

She hooked her thumbs into the elastic of his boxers and slid them to the floor. It was the last coherent moment she had. He spun her, pushing her back into the door and filling his palms with the lace covered mounds of her breasts. Her hands wrapped behind his neck, holding on as he reacquainted himself with the curves of her body. She didn't notice when he unlatched her bra, only sighing as he removed her hands from his neck to allow the pink lace to drop to the floor.

He turned her to face the door, pressing both of her palms against the wood. "Keep them there," he whispered in her ear, trapping her in place with the solid frame of his body.

She pushed back, the curve of her spine pressing against his chest. "Or else what?" she purred.

He leaned against her, letting her feel his weight against her, his erection pressing against her lower back. He purposefully removed his hands from hers, one cupping her breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the other splayed across her stomach, pulling her securely against him. "Or I'll go get the cuffs," he murmured, kissing the corner of her jaw.

Wilson could feel the shiver that ran through her, and he smiled. He feathered kisses down her neck and across her shoulders, swirling his fingers ever downward along her stomach and belly to slide under the lace of the thong, finding the neatly trimmed curls that protected her folds. He slid a finger between her lower lips, groaning with the heat and wet he found there.

Taylor gasped as he dipped a finger inside her. He had her strung so tight that she couldn't form words anymore. His lips latched onto her neck and she felt her head tilt, allowing him more access. His fingers were relentless, one hand caressing her breast in time with the other as his fingers stroked in and out of her. His teeth grazed her skin and her breath caught in her throat. "God, Wilson," she ground out, her fingers curling against the wood of the door.

"I hope you aren't too fond of these," he muttered. She felt his hand pull free of her, and with a slight sting, she realised he had ripped her panties off.

"You're buying me new ones," she panted as his palm pressed against her belly, giving her no room to escape.

"Fine." He kicked her feet apart and thrust into her from behind in one swift move. He gripped her hips firmly, holding her still as he slid back out.

She gasped as he tormented her with slow, full strokes, pulling almost completely out of her before plunging back in. She tried to push back, tried to speed him up, but he held her fast. She moaned, the frustration becoming a tangible thrill as her muscles tightened. Wilson released one of her hips, catching a fist full of her breast, massaging, tweaking, and pinching her nipple as he increased his pace. Taylor pressed back into him, meeting his thrusts hungrily, locking her elbows to keep them from buckling.

"Now, Taylor, you're actually going to do as I tell you," he growled against her neck, his palm squeezing her breast in time with his thrusts.

"As if," she rasped, reaching one arm over her shoulder to tangle her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

He laughed and bit gently on her earlobe. His second hand released her hip, delving into her folds to find her clit. She jumped with a soft cry and tensed. He hummed against her neck. "When I tell you to cum, Taylor, you're going to cum." His finger drew lazy circles around her clit as he continued to thrust into her. She panted, trying to find the breath or will to argue with him, but couldn't. He shoved into her hard, lifting her up onto her toes as he drove into her again and again. He waited until he could feel her control hanging by a thread.