by Tara Sivec
Okay, technically not in the bedroom, since we never seem to be able to make it further than the front door of his house before he’s bending me over some piece of furniture to fuck me, but still. A few times in the last week he’s tried to move us down the hall and I’ve always stopped him. I tell him I just can’t wait that long and that I need him inside of me right that minute. While it’s true for the most part, I also know that there’s a whole shitload of intimacy that comes from having sex in a bedroom that I’m just not ready for yet. Every time he’s inside me, he complains that I have too many clothes on and that he wants to see all of me. It doesn’t stop him from fucking me like an animal on the kitchen counter, against the wall of the living room or on the hood of his car in the garage, though. I know what we do isn’t normal. I know that at some point this carnal fucking is going to slow down and he’s going to want to take his time, remove all of my clothes and just stare at me, because it’s exactly what I want to do to him. My insides twist with that thought, though, and my hands itch to run to my house, grab the lighter and cigarettes from my bedroom and let the searing pain of burning flesh ease this anxiety. I’ve transferred that old, familiar need to DJ, letting the slap of his hips against mine and the pounding of his cock inside of me take the edge off my need for pain. My addiction to branding myself has turned into an addiction for a man, one who loves me, takes care of me and makes me laugh. I know it’s all going to disappear as soon as he finds out the truth about me. I spend each day thinking how that inevitable conversation will go, imagining the look on his face when he finally sees all of me and realizes what I’ve done to myself. He’ll never understand. He thinks he knows who I am. He believes I’m standoffish and bitchy because of the things my father did to me. What will he do when he finds out I’ve continued with my father’s sick brand of punishment because it’s the only way I know how to live? It’s all I’ve ever known and even though his body is enough to calm my nerves for now, it’s not going to last forever. Soon enough, I’m going to dream about pressing a cigarette to my hip to slow my rapid heartbeat and stop my cold sweats. Soon enough, feeling him inside of me and letting him bruise my body with rough sex isn’t going to cut it. I’m an addict and this insane twelve-step program of DJ Taylor isn’t going to cure me, it’s just another addiction I’m piling on top of the first one.
“I just don’t understand how no one has been able to find the fucker yet,” DJ complains to Dax on the phone as I load our dishes from dinner into the dishwasher.
One quiet night in front of the television a few days ago, he admitted he was an asshole with Dax and needed to do some groveling. I didn’t tell him just how much it excited me to know he was jealous of my friendship with the guy. I grabbed his phone from the coffee table and handed it over, telling him to just apologize. He called Dax right in front of me and, even though the conversion that night was only filled with grunts, stammering and no real apology, at least the two men called a truce and were back to speaking to each other.
“We’ve got your cop following our asses every damn place we go. How is this piece of shit getting around him to keep leaving these damn notes?” DJ argues.
Eighteen notes in total so far, each one placed in their own individual zip lock bag and handed over to the police as evidence. Just like with the first couple we received, none of them had any fingerprints or any real way to tie them to my father. Every time we left DJ’s house, a new one would appear on the front door. After that, we tried staying home, figuring there was no way he’d be able to get by Jackson, but he still managed to do it. Notes showed up tucked inside the mail in the mailbox, they were stuck under the windshield wiper of DJ’s car and they were even delivered via certified mail. They all contained some sort of threat, escalating with each one, and Dax believes he’s getting angry because I’m never alone and he can’t get to me. I don’t care about what he says to me, but he’s still including DJ in this shit and that pisses me off. All of his damn notes mention something that happened privately between DJ and I, and they almost always call me a whore.
I can hear my father’s voice, screaming at me when I was in high school like it was yesterday.
“You’re a stupid whore, just like your mother! How many times have you spread your legs this week to get what you want?”
“No good man will ever want a whore like you. Especially with those ugly burns on your back. How about you come over here so I can add another one?”
I close my eyes and shake my head, trying my hardest to get his fucking voice out of my brain.
“Alright, man, keep me posted. No, I’m not letting her out of my sight. She’s even going to do a ride-along with me at work tonight.”
DJ grins at me with the phone pressed to his ear and I try to look angry, but it’s impossible when he smiles at me like that. At Dax’s insistence, I took a leave of absence from work. He didn’t like the idea of me being so easily accessible in such a busy hospital, and there’s no way the administration would let DJ and Jackson follow behind me like a rabid guard dog on my shifts. When DJ was called in on his days off for emergencies, I’d go out to Jackson’s cruiser and have coffee with him until DJ came home. I enjoy his friendship and I feel like I’m doing some good by rekindling it again. It’s my way of making up for the shit that went down with Jackson’s cousin and it’s also nice to sit and chat with someone about nothing important. It takes my mind off of what’s happening with my father and what I’m going to do about my relationship with DJ. It’s strange to be friends with men that I have no intention of sleeping with, first Dax and now Jackson. I’ve made Jackson tell me all about his life since we briefly dated. He’s never been married and he likes to joke that he could never find a woman who could live up to my high standards. He’s very close to his family and has been spending a lot of time with his aunt and uncle, doing whatever he can to ease the pain of losing their child. He doesn’t ask about Finnley and I don’t offer any information. Jordan was fucked up in the head from his drug and alcohol addictions, harassing Finnley after she kicked him out of the house and then breaking in one night with the intention of killing her, spreading gasoline all over the first floor of the house before lighting a match. I know it has to be hard for Jackson, wanting to blame someone for what happened. Jordan was his best friend and it must be difficult to recognize the bad in someone when you have so many good memories of them. Unfortunately, no one is to blame for Jordan’s death aside from Jordan himself. He made his choices and he had to die with them.
The nice thing about Jackson is that being friends with him is easy. He has a great sense of humor and he never asks about my father, even though he knows most of the gritty details. We talk about mundane things like the weather, television shows we saw or books we read. We talk about nonsense and for a few hours, I can just be a normal woman without a care in the world. Part of me feels like I’m betraying DJ in some way by having these thoughts. I want to be normal with him. I try to be normal with him. We laugh, we cuddle, we fuck and we do most of the other regular things a normal couple does. I just won’t let him see me naked and he pretends like it isn’t an issue.
DJ ends the call with Dax and shoves his phone in his pocket. He walks over to where I’m leaning against the counter, wraps his hands around my hips and easily lifts me up onto the counter. He kisses my lips and then makes his way across my cheek and down to my neck, nipping my skin with his teeth. I wrap my legs around his hips and my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
“We’ve got about twenty minutes before I need to leave for work. How about an orgasm or two before we hit the road?” he asks with a laugh against my neck.
The bright light from the ceiling fan hanging in the middle of the room and the fact that I’m wearing jeans instead of a skirt make that idea less exciting than it should be.
I place my hands flat on his chest and push him away, sliding down off the counter. Making quick work of his belt buckle, zipper and button, I shove his pants down to his knee
s, kneeling in front of him as I go.
“I think I can handle that,” I tell him with a smirk as I wrap my hand around his cock and lean forward.
“I meant you, not me,” DJ starts to complain.
He moans loudly in the small kitchen as I take him fully into my mouth. His hands slide through my hair and he clutches it tightly in his fists. I love that he doesn’t push me, he just holds on tight and lets me do all of the work.
I suck his cock as hard as I can, sliding my hand up and down the length as I go, increasing my speed when he starts thrusting his hips. With my hand still pumping him, I pull back to tease him, swirling my tongue around the tip before taking him all the way back into my mouth.
He chants my name in time with the thrusting of his hips. I increase my speed and the pressure of my hand, sliding him so far into my mouth that I feel the head of his cock touch the back of my throat.
“Jesus Christ, Phina,” DJ groans each time I take him that deep.
Bobbing my head up and down his cock, I start twisting my hand each time I slide it up and down his length.
“Fuck, your mouth should be illegal,” DJ moans as his hips start moving faster and faster.
I hum my approval, knowing the vibrations from my voice wrap around his cock and push him right to the edge.
“Baby, I’m going to come. SHIT! FUCK!” he shouts.
He tries to pull back, but I wrap my free hand around him, clutching onto his ass to pull him deeper inside my mouth. I want to taste him on my tongue.
He comes in my mouth with a roar, tossing his head back and squeezing his eyes closed. I pull him into my mouth harder, letting each spurt of come slide down my throat until I’ve sucked him dry. His hands drop from my hair to smack down on the counter behind me as his body sags.
Pulling my mouth away from his cock, I get up from my knees to stand between the cage of his arms and he finally opens one of his eyes to look at me.
“I’m never going to be able to work tonight. Every time I look at you, I’m going to think about my cock in your mouth. Take your pants off, it’s my turn now,” he mutters.
I’ve been tagging along with DJ while he works the last week, but he’s been staying back at the station doing paperwork and training instead of going out on calls. Tonight I’ll actually get to see him in action.
I smile and pat his cheek. “We don’t have time. You now have ten minutes to get to work and I still need to change.”
Leaning up on my tiptoes, I slide my cheek against his and then run the tip of my tongue across the edge of his ear. “I’ve always wanted to have sex in an ambulance. You can pay me back later.”
Sliding out from under his arms, he smacks my ass as I head upstairs to change out of my jeans. I let the sound of his laughter follow me as I go, warming the chill in my soul so I don’t have to think about what’s going to happen to me when all this normalcy disappears.
“No, Mrs. Ortiz, we can’t give you a ride to the hospital to see your nephew,” I tell the old woman for the third time tonight.
Mrs. Ortiz is in her eighties and her nephew is a junkie who winds up hospitalized from an overdose at least every other month. Each time he’s admitted, we get a call that Mrs. Ortiz is having chest pains. Even though we know it’s not true, we still have to drive out here, assess the situation and scold her for making a false emergency call to the station.
“They took away my license!” she complains. “You drive through the lobby of one Red Lobster and suddenly you’re unfit to be behind the wheel of a vehicle.”
I try to stifle a laugh as Brad packs up the first responder bag, grumbling under his breath. Even though I knew fully well that Mrs. Ortiz wasn’t in any dire situation, I still made Brad go through the normal routine of checking her vitals. He can bitch all he wants, but the newbie needs the practice. I’d much rather have him practice on this old woman with an attitude than on an actual emergency.
“I know damn well you’re still driving, so don’t give me that nonsense,” I tell her. “Your car was still warm and the engine was still ticking when we pulled in.”
I raise my eyebrow at her and try to keep a stern look on my face.
She harrumphs, crossing her arms over her chest. “The Quick Mart was having a sale on TV dinners. A woman’s got to eat, you know.”
Following Brad out of the kitchen, I remind her that we’re not a taxi service before joining Phina in the open doorway of the living room. Giving her a wink, I grab her hand as we make our way down the front porch and out to the ambulance. Phina gives a wave to Jackson, who’s parked right behind the rig while I hold open the passenger door and take my time putting my hands on her ass to help push her up into her seat.
Brad jumps into the back of the ambulance while I round the front end and get behind the wheel.
While I start up the vehicle, Brad reaches through the seats to hand me the patient report card he filled out so I can call the information in to dispatch and inform them that once again, there was no medical emergency at Mrs. Ortiz’s house.
As soon as I end my call to dispatch on the radio system and finish entering the information into the computer attached to the dashboard, Phina starts laughing. “Boy, your job is full of so much excitement, I almost can’t handle it.”
Pulling away from the curb, I can’t help but laugh with her. Her happiness and laughter is almost as addicting as her attitude. “Shut your yap. I know you got hot standing there in the doorway listening to me use my ‘adult voice’ on Mrs. Ortiz.”
She continues to laugh, asking me about other calls I’ve been on in my career. As much as I don’t want someone to get hurt, I can’t help but be a little salty that our call-outs tonight involved someone who fell and couldn’t get up, a woman whose son had food poisoning and a drunk going through withdrawal who assumed he was dying. Is it too much to ask for a little gunshot wound or stabbing?
After we get back to the station, I let Brad and a few other guys disinfect the back of the ambulance, restock the supplies we used tonight and start charging all of the equipment for the next shift while I finish up some paperwork. Phina sits on the edge of my desk, crossing and uncrossing her legs while she flips through a magazine.
It’s bad enough I’ve had thoughts of that stellar blow job in my head all night long, now I have to try and concentrate on filling out these fucking performance evaluations for Brad with a clear view of Phina’s long, smooth legs that I can still feel wrapped around my waist.
A throat clears from the doorway and I guiltily look away from her legs to glare at Brad.
“Ambulance has been cleaned and stocked. I gave the outside a good scrubbing, so it’s still sitting out in the driveway drying off. The guys and I are all heading to bed. Anything you need before we turn in?”
I check my watch and realize it’s already after midnight.
“No, go ahead and turn in. As long as we don’t get any calls during the night, I’ll just see you in the morning and we can go over your review,” I tell him.
I catch him giving Phina’s bare legs an appreciative glance and it’s my turn to clear my throat in irritation.
He still doesn’t stop staring and Phina chuckles.
“Brad, go to bed before I shove my fist up your ass,” I warn him.
He finally looks away in embarrassment before scurrying off down the hall.
“Awww, go easy on the kid. He’s kind of cute,” she tells me with a laugh, pushing herself off my desk to slide easily onto my lap.
My hand runs up the inside of her thigh and I graze my fingertips over the lace of her underwear that covers her sex.
“If he’s cute, what am I?” I ask quietly, letting my fingers gently play between her legs.
“You’re poking into my ass,” she smirks, wrapping her arms around my neck.
Sliding one arm under her knees and the other around her back, I quickly stand, lifting her up with me. She lets out a surprised yelp, holding onto me tighter as I head towards the door.
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“I’m going to poke you somewhere else and make you take back that cute remark,” I warn her, heading down the hall and out the front door to the privacy of the now-clean ambulance.
“Lights. Off,” she growls for the second time as I slide her red lace underwear down her thighs and off her legs, shoving them into the front pocket of my pants.
I’ve got the upper half of her body strapped to the gurney in the back of the ambulance and technically, I don’t have to listen to anything she says. She’s under my control right now and there isn’t a damn thing she can do about it. Unfortunately, the florescent lights in the back of the ambulance are a bit too bright even for my liking. Leaving her side, I lean in between the two front seats and flip the switch on the dashboard, bathing the ambulance in shadowed darkness. Luckily, there’s a street lamp on the edge of the driveway shining enough light through the front windshield that I can see where I’m going.
“Thank you,” she whispers, when I crawl back on the gurney with her and straddle her thighs.
“I’ll concede to letting you have that one thing, but your time for demands ends right now,” I warn her.
Leaning forward, I run my hand over the straps holding her in place, reaching to the side of the bed to tighten them just a little bit more.
Resting my lips against her ear, I whisper softly. “I’ve let you dictate every time we’ve fucked, and while it’s been great, it’s my turn to be in control. Close your eyes and hold on, Fireball.”
I move away from her, letting my body slide down hers until I’m lying on my stomach in between her legs.
Running my hands up the inside of her thighs, I push them wide apart as I get myself settled.
She moans as I slide my thumbs up the lips of her pussy, spreading it open as I go. I really want to turn the fucking lights back on so I can see her, but tasting her and listening to her cries of pleasure are going to have to do for now.