by Zahra Girard
I almost can’t believe it.
“How are you?” I say.
She laughs. It’s music to my ears. “How am I? You’re the one who just had some of his organs removed and you’re asking me how I am?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I’m good, Blaze. I’m very, very good.”
I lean a little closer — it hurts like hell, but it’s worth it to get a little closer to the light of her smile.
“What’s that grin all about?”
“I have a new job,” she says. Her smile fades a little. “I found some things out about my dad. He was involved in all this stuff that Anna was doing. He falsified records and made sure that vulnerable people suddenly received the kind of official-looking bills that required them to go to Anna for help. It was hard.”
I try to reach out to her, but she saves me the pain and takes my hand in hers instead.
“I’m sorry, Tiffany.”
She kisses my hand. “Thank you, Blaze. It was hard. He’s not the man I thought he was. That seems to be happening to me a lot, lately. I was wrong about you — you are so much more than your credit score would lead me to believe,” she says, and a small smile plays across her face. “There was a point where I had to defend myself. It was bad. But he’s in jail, now. And I put together a report and turned it in to the mayor and the police and my dad will probably be in jail for a very long time.”
Her eyes turn down and I’m eager to get her back onto a subject that isn’t painful for her.
“So, what’s the new job?”
Her grin comes back. “I took my report to the mayor first. I told him things would get difficult for him if he didn’t give me my dad’s old job.”
“You threatened the mayor?”
Now it’s my turn to feel proud. What a woman. How can I not love her? She’s sexy as hell when she’s willing to get a little bad. Or a lot bad — blackmailing the mayor is more than just a minor crime.
She nods.
“Yeah, basically,” she says. “I told him what would happen if he didn’t appoint me to the position, and then I gave him my number and told him to call me when I could start my new job.”
“You know, I may have lost a lot of blood, but this stuff you’re telling me is getting me hard.”
She gasps and squeezes my hand. “Blaze, not now. You’re hurt. But later? Yes, definitely. I’ll hold you to it.”
I laugh, and even that is enough to make searing pain lance up my side. One of the monitors that I’m hooked to starts beeping and a nurse enters the room. She gives Tiffany a stern look.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Santos, but you will have to go. Mr. Dunne needs rest. A lot of rest.”
Tiffany nods. “Sorry. Blaze, I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow, OK? Until then, get a lot of rest for me, because I will hold you to what we talked about earlier.”
I think for a second. Then I grin. “You mean?”
She smiles. “Yep. So get that blood back, OK?”
I stare after her as she leaves. Because, God damn, does she have an incredible ass.
“Is she your girlfriend?” The nurse says. She sounds disappointed.
“No. She’s more than that,” I say. “She’s my old lady.”
* * * * *
It takes days of rest before I’m able to walk on my own. The surgery, the gunshot wound, the beating I took when Anna’s thugs had me captive, they all took their toll on my body and I spend the next week paying for it.
But, after days of feeling my ass grow fat and lazy, with Tiffany at my side every single day and consistent visits from my brothers in the club, I’m able to walk without feeling dizzier than if I’d drunk a full bottle of whiskey. In fact, today I feel good. Great, even. There’s stiffness in my side, and some aches and pains, but nothing I can’t handle.
“Where is she?” I say to the first nurse I find passing in the hallway.
She’s a young woman, probably fresh out of nursing school, and she gives me a look of bewilderment. “Where is who?”
“Eleanor Dunne. My mom. She was brought in here because she got shot and she needed a liver transplant.”
She doesn’t have an answer for me, but I glare at her and that lights a fire under her pancake ass; she runs to fetch a doctor. And that doctor guides me down to the ICU.
Then I see my mom.
She looks so different. So much older than I saw her last. So pale. So much smaller. Diminished and frail. It hurts to see her like this, but it’s a hurt I’ll happily take over the alternative of losing her for good.
And she’s awake.
Hooked to a bunch of monitors, but awake.
I knock on the door, and she beckons me in.
I can’t walk fast enough to get to her bedside, to put her in a gentle hug. And when she squeezes me back, my heart soars.
“Hey mom.”
“Declan. Please, sit. You look terrible.”
“Me? The docs say I’m good to go home whenever I want,” I say. Truth is, they have told me that for the last couple days.
“Then why are you still here?”
“Because you’re here. I didn’t want to leave until I could talk to you,” I say. Then I stop for a moment — the words I’ve spent days thinking about how to say are suddenly stuck on my tongue — and I take a deep breath. “I want to apologize. This whole thing got out of hand. I never meant for you to get hurt. All I wanted to do was help the best way I could, and you got hurt because of it. I know we disagree on a lot of things, I know that I’ve upset you so many times, but I hope you know that, no matter how much we disagree, I do love you. And I hope that you’re not too disappointed in me.”
My mom is quiet for a long time. For a while, I’m worried that she’s too upset to answer. I ready myself to hear her say the kind of things that’ll cut me deep. Things that she’ll have every right to say. Things that I’ll endure — no matter how much it hurts — because I have hurt her.
But then I see something new. Something unfamiliar. Tears at the corners of her eyes.
And then her lips curl up into a gentle smile.
And she squeezes my hand.
“The doctors told me what you did for me,” she says and she stops again, breathing heavy and in pain while the monitoring machines around us beep a steady rhythm. “I have been hard on you for a lot of your life. And I will not lie to you and say that I regret all of it — because some of your choices have really hurt me. But, that doesn’t mean that my opinion of you hasn’t changed. You know, Tiffany and I had a conversation just before I called the police and she told me about what you did for your friend in the fire service. And it made me think about you in a different light. And now I can honestly say that I am so proud to have a son who is so giving. We will probably have our disagreements about the things you do, Declan, but I don’t want you to ever think that I’m not proud of you for your heart. Because I am proud of you, son. And I love you. I love you so much.”
My sight blurs, and I brush something moist away from the corner of my eyes.
“I love you, too, mom,” I whisper.
She lies back into the bed, smiling. While I watch, she drifts off to sleep.
I sit for a while. Watching, replaying in my mind those words; words which make my heart swell every time I hear them — I love you, son.
There’s a knock at the door. It’s quiet, unobtrusive, and then the nurse from earlier enters.
“Mr. Dunne, we need you back in your room.”
She looks uncomfortable, and she shifts in place when I raise an eyebrow at her.
“I’d rather stay. Run along, nurse.”
“It’s important, Mr. Dunne. We have to run some tests. I’m afraid I have to insist.”
Rather than argue and risk waking my mom, I get up and follow the nurse back to my room. There’s a second nurse inside, she’s got her back to me and her attention on my chart, and she’s wearing a different style of scrubs.
“What’s this about?” I say.<
br />
“Please get on the bed, Mr. Dunne,” the first nurse says.
As I take a seat on the edge of the bed, I watch as the new nurse — whose face is obscured by a surgical mask — hands something over to the other nurse, who then leaves. She shuts the door behind her. And then the new nurse pulls down the window shades and locks the door.
“What the fuck is going on here?” I say.
“It’s me,” says a familiar voice.
She pulls her mask off, and I see the smiling face of the most gorgeous woman on earth.
“I will repeat my question: what the fuck is going on here?”
“I bought this little nurse outfit online,” she begins, taking a few steps closer to where I’m sitting on the bed. “Part of me wanted to buy a nun’s outfit — I thought it might go better with that nickname you used to call me — but I decided against it since they probably wouldn’t let me in here dressed like that. So, instead, I bought this and paid nurse Janessa a little extra to get us some time alone. You made me a promise a week ago, Blaze, and I’m going to make you keep it.”
“A promise?”
She pulls a string on her outfit and most of her scrubs fall away. What’s left is hot enough to put me in the ICU from a heart attack; it’s the same outfit from the poster above my bed. “We never got to celebrate my new job. Do you like my outfit?”
I’m gaping. So much about her is so different — she’s confident in herself, which is such a change from the self-hating bank employee I first met — and, somehow, it’s made her even more attractive. The outfit she’s wearing — something right out of my teenage fantasies — doesn’t hurt, either.
“Is that really…?”
“The same outfit from your No Doubt poster that, for some inexplicable reason, has every male member of the band cut out of it? Yeah, I might’ve bought it online.”
She advances and, before she even puts her hands on my chest and pushes me backward on the bed, I’m hard as a rock. To hell with Gwen Stefani, this woman is my fantasy.
“Well, if I made you a promise, I better keep it,” I say, grinning as she straddles me. Soft lips touch mine, and her hands caress my chest through my hospital gown.
“There’s something I really, really want from you and, since I sort of saved the day by turning those reports in to the police and the mayor, and since I did sort of get a new job, I feel like I’ve earned it.”
I nibble her ear. She’s wearing that same lilac-scented perfume she was wearing when we first met. Thinking about that moment, when I saw how much she had changed from that nerdy, awkward girl from Biology class, to the hot piece of ass with the great pair of legs, razor-sharp mind, and fearless heart, turns me on even more and reminds me just how lucky I am to have a woman like her.
“You’re demanding something from me? Are you going to blackmail me like you blackmailed the mayor?”
It’s hot as hell thinking of Saint Tiffany getting her hands dirty.
It’s also hot as hell feeling her perky tits press against me through the fabric of her tiny tank top.
With her fingers crooked in the waistband of her skintight jeans, she raises an eyebrow at me and curls her lips in a seductive smile. “It’s not much, Blaze. I was just hoping you’d let me sit on your face before I ride you. You know, considering your condition and all, I didn’t want to stress you too much.”
Her jeans and panties hit the ground. So does my jaw.
“I think I can manage.”
Grinning, she straddles me again, and I lie back as she slithers up my body.
“Good,” she says. “Because I will blackmail you, if I have to. I know your credit score, remember?”
Before I can laugh, she’s right on top of my face — right thigh against my left cheek, left thigh against my right cheek, and pure heaven against my lips. She’s sweet, and I take my time as I kiss and lick her perfect pussy; I’ve got the best view in the world right now.
How lucky am I to have this perfect woman riding my face? I marvel as she lifts off her tank top and starts playing with her tits, overcome by my tongue on her pussy, with her head tossed back and moans coming from her plump, sensual lips.
She’s perfect. Sexy. The right kind of good and the right kind of bad. Everything I could ever want.
“Blaze, keep doing it just like that,” she moans.
I growl and keep licking exactly as she demands. With her pussy against my lips, her thighs against my cheeks, and the sight of her writhing in pleasure right above me, I’m in heaven.
As she straddles me, I reach around and grab her plump ass, squeezing her perfect cheeks in my hand. I need something to keep my hands busy because I’m so damn hard I’m about to burst.
And it’s like she reads my mind.
Arching her back, she reaches behind her and wraps one of her hands around my cock. Her touch is like lightning and, when she gives my cock a gentle tug, I nearly lose my mind.
“I’m so close, Blaze.”
I keep licking as she grinds herself against my face.
“Almost there.”
And then she’s there. Rubbing her pussy against my face while my lips and tongue desperately massage her budding clit.
This woman is everything I want. Everything I need. And the second she stops shaking, I’m going to fuck her brains out.
“Oh my God, Blaze, that… Whoop,” her words end in a gasp as I move from grabbing her ass to pushing her to the side and flipping her around. I push her face-down on the bed and, like a good girl, she arches her back and presents that perfect ass to me.
“My turn,” I growl.
I moan as I slide my hard cock inside her.
It’s ecstasy; her tight cunt wraps around my dick, squeezes it in its wet and warm embrace, while I hold tight to her hips and fuck her so deep her ass pounds against my lower abdomen. The hospital bed squeals — its metal joints screaming with each thrust.
“Harder,” she whispers. Then louder, “Fuck me harder.”
I wrap my hand in her wavy dark brown hair, knot it in my grip, pull her head back as she moans for me. There's a familiar ache in my balls that builds as our bodies come together. And that ache grows stronger as I watch her slide a hand between her legs to stroke her pussy.
“I love how you fuck me,” she moans. “I’m going to make you feel so good. I love you, Blaze.”
I can’t answer. All I can do is hold on and fight to enjoy this as long as I can.
But when her moans grow louder, when her hand works faster against her pussy and she bucks herself against my dick with wild abandon, when her pussy grips my cock even tighter, no amount of fighting will do me any good — I can’t hold on. I lose it. My sight goes black and my breath leaves my lungs in a deep moan.
This woman.
When I open my eyes, the world swims in my vision and my knees nearly give out on me.
“Blaze, are you OK?”
It takes a few deep breaths before I’m able to answer. But the fear on her face disappears the second she sees the giant grin I’m wearing.
“That was the best near-death experience I’ve ever had,” I say.
She crawls into bed beside me, pressing herself close to fit on the narrow hospital bed. With eyes that shine bright with emotion — hope, contentment, love — she stares up at me.
“I love you. Everything about you. Your heart, your fearlessness, everything. And out of all the things I’ve done, the thing that makes me proudest is that I’m yours.”
For the second time today, one of the most important women in my life says something that makes my heart swell. A lot of time passes where I just hold her to my chest, enjoying the sensation of just being with her, until I feel like I can speak again.
“Tiffany, there’s something I need to ask you.”
Brown eyes look up at me. “What is it?”
“We’ve been through a lot together. And I think saying that is almost an understatement.”
Sensual lips turn to a smile and her
eyes continue to shine so bright it’s almost blinding.
“A vast understatement, I’d say.”
“And we make a pretty good team.”
“Another vast understatement.”
I squeeze her closer, shut my eyes and bury my face in her thick, wavy hair. I’ll never get enough of her, even if I spend every day of the rest of my life with her.
“I’ve made a lot of bad decisions in my life. But I’ve put a lot of thought into this one, and I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I want you to be my old lady.”
She pauses for a moment, thinking. Her brown eyes stare into mine, searching.
“A long-term investment, huh?” She says.
“Whatever you want to call it. Fact is, I want you. For the rest of my damn life.”
Then, as if she’s made up her mind, she nods and plants a gentle kiss on my lips.
“OK.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“That’s it? Just like that? No analyzing, no mentions of my credit score, no debate?”
She laughs. It’s music to my ears.
“No. Someone important to me taught me that sometimes I have to just quit analyzing and follow my heart. And my heart is telling me I’ll never find another man who even holds a candle to you. Blaze, I love you with all my heart and soul. Of course I’ll be your old lady.”
Then she stands and offers me her hand.
I take it and rise. Hand in hand, we walk out that door.
“You ready to get out of here?” I say.
“I am. Now, let’s get you home — come on, I got the Volvo parked around back.”
Epilogue
Tiffany
One month later
The door to my office closes behind me and I turn, slip my keys in the knob, and lock it. There’s a name plaque on the door — Tiffany Santos, Tax Assessor — and every time I look at it, which I’ve done many, many times over the last week that I’ve had my new job, I break out into the biggest, dumbest grin. That’s my name on that plaque. This is my office.