by R. R. Banks
And like clockwork, after I hang my sweater in the hall closet, I feel James' arms on my waist as he nuzzles my neck from behind. Friday night date means Friday night sex. It's the routine, after all.
James kisses my neck, running the tip of his tongue from my ear down to my collarbone. I lean back into him and smile, enjoying the sensation. I can feel his hard cock pressing up against my ass. If there is one thing I know with certainty, it's that James really likes me.
I turn around and clasp my hands behind his neck, leaning in and kissing him deeply. Passionately. Our tongues swirl and dance in my mouth and he slides his hands down my back, squeezing my ass. Our kissing grows more passionate, more intense, and I reach down and stroke his stiff cock through his slacks. He throws his head back and moans softly.
James looks at me, a look of absolute hunger in his eyes. And I feel the fire between my thighs grow even hotter. I'm suddenly feeling a little frisky and want to change things up a bit. He gives me a curious look as I step back from him, looking him in the eye, and bite my bottom lip seductively. I crook my finger, motioning for him to come to me. He cocks his head as if he's not sure what's happening, but obeys me.
When I get to the couch, I turn around and bend over the arm of it, hiking my skirt up around my waist. Looking back over my shoulder at him, I smile lasciviously.
“Fuck me, James,” I purr. “I need you inside of me right now. I don't want to wait another minute.”
I can see the desire in his eyes, but it's at war with his natural order of things. Of how things should go and should be.
I feel the stab of disappointment in my heart as he pulls me up and takes my hand.
“Let's go to the bedroom,” he says. “Where we'll be more comfortable.”
The goddamn routine. Always the goddamn routine. Sex on Friday nights. Never on Thursdays, every other Saturday, but always Friday. And always in the bedroom. James' idea of getting frisky was turning the lights on – and it had taken me the better part of three months to convince him to do that.
I sigh to myself and push down the irritation that had bloomed in my chest, letting James lead me into the bedroom – noticing that he flipped the lights on with a flourish and doing my best to not roll my eyes.
Standing at the foot of the bed, James pulls me to him and kisses me again. It's a deep, fiery kiss and despite my annoyance, I feel myself growing wet. If there's one thing James does well, it's kiss. He knows exactly how to use his mouth and he does it well – my only wish was that he used it more.
He pulled me to him and I could feel his hard cock pressing against me. Despite myself, my irritation from a moment ago evaporates and I lose myself in the moment. I feel his hands slide down and unzip my skirt, letting it fall to the floor. I kick off my heels as James unbuttons my shirt, letting it join my skirt in a pile at my feet.
He runs his hand over my body, setting my skin on fire. I kiss him back as I work at his belt. I finally get it undone and then unzip his pants, pushing them down. James steps back and takes them off, followed by his shirt, and then drops them atop his shoes – neatly, of course. I move over to him and take his thick cock in my hand, squeezing and stroking it while we kiss.
James moans softly and then pushes me down to the bed, positioning me on the edge. Kneeling down, James leans forward and puts his mouth to good use. He licks and sucks on me, teasing my opening with the tip of his tongue before he plunges two fingers deep inside of me.
I gasp and then moan as he works his fingers in and out of my pussy, all the while, he licks and sucks on my clit. I arched my hips upward, trying to take his fingers deeper inside of me, but he pulled them out and instead, slid his tongue in. I cried out as the rush of sensation was powerful as he licked me deep and hard. I felt the pressure building low in me and tried to encourage him to keep going.
“James –” I moan softly. “Yes, baby. Don't stop. Please don't stop.”
But he did stop and I can't help but feel disappointed. I wanted him to keep going, to keep doing what he'd been doing. But, he didn't. Instead, he has me scoot up the bed and he climbs up on top of me. I wrap my legs around his waist and kiss him as James drives his cock deep into me. I groan as he fills me up and begins to pump his hips, setting a smooth, easy rhythm.
I arch my back and dig my nails into his shoulders as he drives his cock into me again and again. I try to move, to switch to another position, but James holds me fast, keeps me pinned down on my back, and keeps fucking me. Missionary is his favorite position – in fact, most of the times we'd slept together, it was the only position we did it in.
Pushing aside all negative thought, I close my eyes and give into the sensation coursing through me. James feels amazing as he drives his cock into me again and again. My body is warm and my breath catches in my throat. I look up at him and he's looking down at me, staring deeply into my eyes.
“You feel so good, baby,” I say. “I love it when you're so deep inside of me.”
James grunts and thrusts his cock into me but says nothing. He never does. Outside of some grunts and groans, he's pretty much silent during sex. I raise my hips, taking him deeper into me and revel in the waves of pleasure rolling through me.
He sheaths himself deep inside of me, taking slower, longer strokes, and I know that he's getting close. I close my eyes and try to summon my own orgasm. I grip his arms tight and grit my teeth, trying to squeeze every last ounce of pleasure from him as he pumps himself inside of me.
He squeezes his eyes shut and quickens his pace. I know James is done for. His body shudders and he moans as he unleashes his seed deep within me. A flood of warm, sticky come fills me up and James collapses on top of me, his breathing labored.
He gives me a smile and plants a kiss on my forehead before rolling off and laying beside me.
“That was incredible,” he said.
I smile but make no reply – because it hadn't been incredible. Not really. Not for me anyway. Not that it ever is. It was fine and I enjoyed it, but I never really enjoyed it. It's not James' fault. To be fair, I'd never been able to get off with any man before. The only orgasms I'd ever had in my life, I'd given to myself.
It's not all that long before James' breathing became low and steady. He's asleep, of course he is.
I get out of bed and turn off the light, heading out to the kitchen for a glass of water. As I stand at the sink, looking at the moonlit world beyond my window, I sigh. Sex with James is fine. It's enjoyable. But I can never say that I'm satisfied. I usually have to finish myself off later. But I'm not in the mood to even do that tonight.
I'm frustrated. Not just sexually – though, there's plenty of that mixed in – but emotionally, mentally, and even spiritually. Because hell, why not? I loved being back home and away from the city, but at the same time, I felt restless. Incomplete. There was something missing, some void in my life and for the life of me, I can't figure out what it is.
You'd think that being a trained psychologist, I'd have a better handle on my own thoughts, emotions, and mental well-being. You'd think I'd be able to zero in on exactly what the problem within me is. But for some reason, the answers to the questions in my mind and in my heart, continue to elude me.
It's because I'm too close to things, obviously. You can hardly ever see the problems when they're within you, right in front of your face. Not as easily as it is to see and point out the problems other people are having, anyway.
But it is what it is, I suppose. To be fair, things aren't so terrible with James. They're just not as exciting as they could be. As I'd like them to be. But I know that can also be just as much my fault as it is his. Like I said, I'm in a weird place in my head and in my heart, and I'm not sure how to make sense of anything.
I finish my water and put the glass in the sink before going back to bed, my mind and heart still troubled by the endless questions and the persistent feeling of being unsettled.
Chapter Five
Caleb
“You sure you're up for this?�
��
I look over at Tony and give him a smirk. “Of course, I'm up for it,” I reply. “Why wouldn't I be?”
Tony shrugged and grinned at me. “You just look a little hungover, that's all.”
Truth is, I am a bit hungover. But I don't want to tell Tony that. He's relying on me to be his backup for this job. But I'd gone out the night before and although I didn't mean to, I'd tied on one a little too hard. Woke up in some random girl's bed with my head pounding like a son of a bitch.
I didn't remember much from the night before, but getting a good look at that tight little ass in bed next to me told me that it had been a good night indeed.
Of course, I spent the day hydrating and trying to recover knowing that I had to meet Tony tonight to nail down his bounty. I don't usually do a lot of work chasing down bail jumpers, but I did a little now and then. When there weren't a lot of soon-to-be divorcee looking for dirt on their significant others or missing people to track down, bounty hunting filled in the financial gaps.
Tonight, is Tony's bounty though – I'm just there for the added muscle. He and I go way back – I'd done a couple of tours with him in Afghanistan. Tony is a stand-up guy. A good man. I'd put my life in his hands more times than I can count, and he's done the same with me.
When I finally rotated out of the Corps and came back to the States, it was Tony who helped me get set up as a PI and a bail bondsman. After everything we'd seen and done over there, he knew better than anybody that a nine-to-five office job wasn't going to work for me. He knew that you couldn't adjust to life in a cubicle after spending years on a battlefield.
“I'm good, man,” I said.
“You read the file, yeah?”
I give him a thumbs up. “Of course, I did.”
He looks at me and I can see the skepticism in his face. Tony knows me pretty well and knows my disdain for paperwork. But he also knows that he can count on me when he's up against it. Knows I'll always have his back.
“You read the whole file?” he presses.
I start to nod before stopping myself and flashing him a crooked grin. “I may have – skimmed – certain parts.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Of course, you did.”
“Don't worry, man,” I say. “It's going to be fine. We'll get your bad guy and then go out for a beer.”
“It might not be the walk in the park you –”
“Come on, man,” I cut him off, “he's a twenty-four-year-old dope dealer. He's not some hardass criminal mastermind. And he's definitely not any more dangerous than some of those shitheads we dealt with over in Afghanistan.”
“True, but –”
“He's armed,” I say and tap on my chest. “I know. Got my vest on already.”
Tony chuckles and shakes his head again. “Just make sure to keep your eyes open and your head on a swivel, dude.”
“You know me,” I reply. “I'm always ready for anything.”
“Yeah, you're gonna need to be.”
We get out of the car and head toward the small duplex. The neighborhood is run down, dirty, riddled with crime. There are bars on the windows of most every home and the place is infested with drugs and gangbangers.
In other words, it's the perfect place to find the scumbag we're looking for.
“Okay, here's the plan,” Tony says. “I'm going around back. This dude is a runner and is probably going to bolt at the first sign you're there. You flush him out and I'll be waiting to scoop his ass up.”
“Easy peasy,” I say.
“Yeah, well, just remember to keep that head on a swivel like I said,” he says. “And keep your comms open.”
I snap him a quick salute. “Yes, sir.”
I watch him trot around toward the back of the house. I check my earpiece and make sure my comms are open so we can keep in direct communication with one another. Plans are great things to have, but they seldom went exactly as you laid them out. And as long as we can communicate, we can adjust to whatever wrench gets thrown into the works.
After giving Tony a couple of minutes to get into position, I head up the front walk and up the three crumbling brick steps to the porch.
“At the door,” I say softly into my comm piece. “You ready?”
“Roger that,” Tony's voice comes back to me.
I nod to myself and pound on the door as forcefully as I can and shout. “Recovery agents, open the door.”
Much to my surprise, as I'm beating on the door, it flies inward, crashing into the wall behind it. With my gun in hand, pointed at the ground, I step inside, my eyes scanning the entire room. It's empty. I strain my ears and listen, my body tense and poised to fight.
The inside of the house looks a lot like the outside – dirty, cluttered, disgusting. There are empty pizza boxes, beer bottles, and dirty dishes covering every surface I can see – even the floor. The stink in this place is unbearable. I've been in porta-potties in the middle of a heat wave that have smelled better. It's all I can do to avoid gagging.
“Caleb, sitrep,” Tony's voice came to me through my earpiece, asking for the situation report.
I keyed the mic open. “He's in here,” I say quietly. “I know he is. Just gotta flush him out.”
“Head on a swivel.”
“Roger that.”
I have plenty of experience crashing houses like this – I've been on more than my share of raids back in Afghanistan. And because of that, I developed an almost sixth sense about things – and that sixth sense is telling me that I'm not alone in the house.
“Recovery agents,” I call out. “Come out now.”
I stand statue still in the center of the room, extending my senses our as far as they can go. I know the guy is in here, I just don't know where. Moving slowly and quietly, I head toward the doorway that looks like it leads to the kitchen.
Gun drawn and held out in front of me, I step through the doorway and that's when all hell breaks loose. There's a flurry of movement as a man – our target – burst out of hiding and headed for the back door.
“Target's on the move,” I called into my comm. “Rabbiting your way.”
I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye a split second before things could have gotten really bad. A woman – all five foot two and ninety pounds of her – who I didn't see upon coming through the doorway, was swinging a cast iron skillet directly at my head. I managed to get my arm up a moment before impact, deflecting the worst of the blow – from my head at least.
My forearm went numb immediately after the skillet made contact with it, making me drop my weapon. Though I took the worst of the blow on the arm and made the skillet alter its trajectory, it still managed to glance off the side of my head. I see stars briefly and there is a high-pitched ringing in my head, but I manage to remain on my feet.
Good thing too, because the ninety pound hellcat is just behind her skillet – on me before I had a chance to recover. She's screaming, hissing, and clawing at my eyes. If it wasn't a situation that could go really badly in the blink of an eye, it would be funny. As it is though, I need to get the little hellcat off me before she gets herself hurt.
My arm is throbbing in pain from her skillet maneuver, but I don't think anything was broken. It's likely going to leave one hell of a nasty bruise though. I grab the woman by the back of her neck and pull her off me. She's tenacious and tough as hell, but because she weighs next to nothing, I manage to break her hold on me pretty easily.
I toss her to the side where she lands on her butt with a grunt. Seeing my gun on the floor, the small girl scrambles for it, but I'm far quicker than she is. I snatch the gun up and point it directly at her face.
“If I were you, I'd stay down,” I say menacingly. “You've already pissed me off. You don't want to make things any worse.”
She spits on my shoe and curses me out in Spanish. But she's smart enough to remain seated on the dirty ass floor. My gun still trained on her, I key open the mic on my comms.
“Tony, sitrep,�
�� I say. “You okay?”
“Situation is green. Asshole in custody,” he replies, a chuckle in his voice. “What the hell is going on in there? Sounds like a catfight.”
The chuckle in his voice told me he knew what would be waiting for me in there. Knew that the biggest hassle was going to be the girlfriend, not the target.
“You're an asshole,” I say, shaking my head, unable to keep myself from laughing. “What do you to do about princess here? We baggin' her too?”
“Nah,” Tony replies. “No bounty on her. Leave her and let's split. Just – don't turn your back on her.”
“Yeah, thanks for the heads up,” I say. “Could've used that about five minutes ago.”
All I hear is Tony's laughter before he keys his comm closed. I look down at the girl who's staring back at me with pure hatred in her eyes.
“Why you always hasslin' Angel,” she spits. “He's only tryin' to provide for his family.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well, maybe he wants to consider doing something other than selling drugs.”
“Yeah, like it's easy as that.”
“Listen lady, it's not my problem,” I say. “He broke the terms of his bail. That's on him and has nothing to do with me. I'm just doing my job.”
“Yeah, well your job sucks, puto,” she curses. “And you suck. Get out of my house, asshole.”
I keep my weapon out, but lower it to my side. “Fine,” I say. “I'm going. But it'd be smart for you to remain sitting where you are until I'm out the back door. Got it?”
“I said get out!” she shouted.
Not wanting to get hit with another skillet or saucepan or some shit like that, I back toward the door, keeping my eyes on her. She remains seated, staring daggers at me the whole way. When I finally get out the back door, I close it tight and turn around to find Tony standing there looking at me, laughing his ass off. Angel is sitting at Tony's feet, his hands locked together with zip ties behind his back, looking like the most miserable man in the world.
I laugh. “I'm seriously gonna kick your ass for that,” I say. “She damn near broke my arm.”