by Regina Wade
Or it will. Because I’m going to make sure Shilo is taken care of and gets what she deserves in life.
The thought catches me off guard. Slams into me with all the alien force of a Mack truck.
“Take a left at the next light.”
I pull up in front of Shilo’s apartment complex. There are a half-dozen kids and teens clustered together out front. One or two look up as the black and white comes to a stop, but nobody looks particularly surprised or interested to see a policeman delivering someone in the middle of the day.
“Thank you, Slate.” She already has the door open and one foot on the sidewalk.
I don’t know if she means for the ride, or getting her the day off work with pay.
“You owe me a Van Goghnut, Shilo.”
Chapter 4
Shilo
Well I fight authority. Authority always wins. I fight authority, authority always wins. — John Mellencamp, ‘Authority Song’
It’s still dark when I leave for work at the bakery the next morning.
Despite the ungodly hour and the fact that I hardly slept for most of the night, I’m surprisingly refreshed. I should still be rattled over the encounter with a coked-up rando yesterday morning. But the truth is my thoughts have been consumed by something else entirely.
Officer Slate O’Conner.
The gorgeous police officer with the green eyes fills my mind every time I close my eyes.
That’s not the only part of me I’d like him to fill.
Twenty-five virginal years on this earth and I finally found a man who could flip the slut switch inside of me to the ‘on’ position.
I haven’t been able to think of anything but Slate since the moment I stepped out of his police cruiser. My bedroom floor is currently carpeted in various charcoal sketches, watercolors and oil pastel versions of his ruggedly handsome face.
Am I wearing skinny jeans and my best pink lipstick today for the first time after not bothering with makeup in literal weeks? Yes. Is the reason for that the very off minute chance that Slate might stop by the bakery again at some point today?
Also yes.
“Good morning, Shilo.”
As if summoned by my very thoughts, Slate’s deep voice materializes at my side. In the deep purple of first dawn, his hair looks almost black. He’s like a painting come to life, a million colors swirled to life in the first lights of the day.
“Good morning, officer.” I smile up at him, enjoying the way my heart trips over itself in my chest.
“Nope, just Slate this morning. See?” He gestures at his chest. Sure enough, he’s not in uniform. Impossibly, he looks just as sexy in a snug black tee-shirt and dark wash jeans. I can just make out the edge of a tattoo on his thick bicep along the edge of his cotton tee. “No badge”
This close, I can smell the crisp, icy scent of his aftershave.
“Well good morning Just Slate then,” I tease.
Despite the cheekiness of my tone, there’s an excited pulse humming away in my veins and between my thighs. Slate falls into step beside me.
“How are you doing today?”
“I’m ok. Better,” I answer honestly.
Part of me wants to tell him why— that seeing him makes me feel better. That just being around him, this man I met yesterday for the first time, soothes anxious restlessness that’s filled me for most of my life.
“Good.” Slate gives me a grin as he leads me back to his car, opening the door for me.
“Did I earn another police escort back to work?” I raise my eyebrows at him before climbing in the passenger seat.
“Nah,” he laughs. “I thought we could spend our day off together. I had an idea— unless you have plans, of course.”
I wait for Slate to come around and climb behind the wheel.
“Bob only gave me the rest of the day yesterday,” I tell him. “I don’t have today off. I’m supposed to be at the bakery in twenty minutes.”
Slate reaches across the car, winding his hand easily through mine as we make our way onto the highway.
“I’ll take care of Bob. I think maybe it’s time you took care of Shilo for once.”
I’m not ready for the unexpected catch of emotion that fills my throat at his words. It just isn’t a concept that ever would have occurred to me. Judging by the way he’s looking at me when he brings our joined fingers up to brush softly across his lips, Slate knows it, too.
We drive in silence for a while, the concrete pillars of my neighborhood slowly fading behind as we cruise the highway. It isn’t until I see the glistening shine of the sun bouncing off water that the question occurs to me.
“Slate? Where are we going?”
He grins at me from beneath his Ray-Bans, all shining, pearly teeth and devastating good looks.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter 5
Slate
Sheriff John Brown always hated me. For what I do not know. — Eric Clapton, ‘I Shot the Sheriff’
“Monet was obsessed with light.” The smile on Shilo’s face when she says it makes me think she doesn’t necessarily think this is a bad thing. “I can’t believe how much more luminous his paintings are in person.”
We’ve been wandering through the Art Institute for hours now, but this is the third time we’ve ended up back in the Monet and Chicago exhibit. I can’t remember ever learning so much about a person, ever feeling so much on a first date before.
“This one is my favorite.” I pull her over to the frame at the end of the hall.
Stacks of Wheat (End of Summer.)
“Haystacks.” She whispers the word like a sigh. I’ve never heard anyone make any one word sound more beautiful and full of longing before. It’s like the sweetness of her voice is enough to capture the brushstrokes of the painting in front of us.
“It reminds me of your eyes,” she says without turning back towards me. “Like summer sunlight, and the grass after it rains. I always wished for colored eyes. Anything but plain old brown.”
When Shilo turns to look at me, the blush is back in her face. Her teeth come down on her bottom lip, suddenly bashful. I open my mouth, unsure of what to say. Nobody’s ever been so poetic over me before, and I don’t know what to say. Part of me wants to gather her into my arms, cover her face in kisses and keep her safe for the rest of her life. Another, equally significant part of my brain is clamoring to pull the curvy blonde into the nearest empty hallway and bury myself between her thick thighs.
The way she can go from coy and witty to shy and bashful and back again is going to give me whiplash.
“Shilo,” my voice is rough in my own ears. Strained with need as I wrap my hand around her waist, pulling her tight against me under the bright lights of the exhibit. “It blows my mind that you can know as much as you do about art and still call your own eyes plain old brown.”
I watch her lips part, her breath warm and quick as her pulse ticks in her throat.
“Oh?” Despite the glint in her eye, the quiver in Shilo’s voice gives her away. “What color would you say they are then, since you’re the expert?”
I put a finger under her chin, tilting Shilo’s face up until she’s looking up into my eyes.
“Sienna, maybe. Rich coffee with warm, coppery flecks that heat up when you get nervous. A honey glow when you get turned on.” Her pupils widen at that, darting down to my lips before dragging just as quickly back up to meet my gaze again. “Yeah, just like that.”
“Cocky, aren’t we officer O’Connor?” her voice is still husky with need, and she hasn’t made a single move to take a step back from our close stance.
“Confident, Miss Byrne. There's a difference.” I close the distance between us, pressing my lips against hers.
Kissing Shilo is like taking my first full breath of air.
She’s Monet’s sunshine. Michelangelo’s marble. Beethoven’s symphonies. I want to drown in her curves right here, to hell with anyone who might walk by. Her kiss
is hesitant, but it doesn’t stay that way for more than a heartbeat. A tentative question that quickly melds into unbridled passion. She kisses with passion and without restraint.
I’m more aware of my own heartbeat and the relentless ache of my cock in my jeans that I can remember being in years. Not since high school has the mere act of kissing a woman turned me on so intensely. When Shilo’s tongue presses curiously against mine, I have to count to ten to keep from coming in my boxer-briefs at the feet of an impressionistic masterpiece.
I’d like to turn Shilo into a masterpiece of a different kind.
The image of her laid out on my bed, splattered in my cum and pregnant with my child, sears itself into my brain. It’s the most intense and erotic ten-second fantasy I’ve ever had in my life— right here in the middle of the Art Institute.
My hand finds its way into Shilo’s soft blonde hair at the back of her head. Long fingers fisting there for a moment before I manage to wrench our mouths apart. Her lips are swollen, her breath tearing in and out of her in ragged gasps. Her beautiful brown eyes are hazy with need, clouded over with a look that I can see mirrored in my own.
In the filtered light of the museum hallway, the fifteen years between us stretch out and disappear all at once.
“Confident, then.” She melts into a smile, and pull her back in for another kiss.
I’m starting to realize I need her more than sunlight.
Chapter 6
Shilo
I hear the train a-coming. It’s rolling around the bend. And I aint seen the sunshine since I don’t know when. — Johnny Cash, ‘Folsom Prison Blues’
I wonder what Monet would have thought about the way the yellow light from the streetlamps pools in little puddles along the sidewalks. From the rooftop of my building, the lamp posts line up as far as I can see, concrete soldiers standing at attention.
Even though hours have passed since Slate dropped me off after our museum date, I can still taste him on my lips. My skin has hummed all day, the gentle vibration of his touch lingering long after he left to shower and sleep before his shift.
There’s so much riding against the very idea of a relationship between a man like Slate and I. Not only is he older than I am, but men like him don’t usually come looking for girls like me. At least not for anything good— anything permanent. If I were giving me the kind of advice I usually give, I’d be telling myself to turn and run.
But I’m so tired of doing the right thing.
The logical, smart, safe thing. Why am I the only one forced to be safe when just crossing the street in this town is taking your life in your hands? Hell, I’ve spent my life being the most careful, smart safe girl in the world, and I almost bit the bullet at work anyway.
And nearly got my paycheck docked for the privilege, might I add.
For once, I want to be the reckless one. I just want to give in and listen to my heart. I want to do what I love. Do who I love. I’m sick of keeping my heart as safe as I keep the rest of my life. I did what I was supposed to do. I raised Lacy and made sure she got into a good school. If I can’t chase down my own dreams now, when will I ever get the chance?
And right now, I have my heart set on one great big gorgeous uniformed dream. I want to grab it with both hands and strip it bare.
We still on for tonight?
I look down, jolted out of my meandering thoughts by the vibrating phone in my hand. The text brings a smile to my face, settling something inside of me.
Absolutely. I have a present for you.
Slate O’Connor makes me happy. He makes my heart sing. What’s more, he makes my body do a happy dance from the inside out. I’ve already made up my mind about tonight, and seeing his name on my phone was the missing piece.
I can’t wait. I’m downstairs.
I smile again at that, already eager to see him again despite the fact that he stopped by on his lunch break. I can’t get enough of Slate. And I don’t ever want to.
Giving him quick directions to get to the roof of the apartment complex, I take a few minutes to make sure everything is perfect.
I dragged my small folding table up here earlier, layering some colorful tablecloths on it and surrounding the whole thing with pillows so we could eat under the stars.
The rickety building elevator opens up just as I pull the cork out of a bottle of cheap supermarket wine.
“Hey, beautiful.” Slate stops mid-stride, taking in the spread I’ve got on the table. “You weren’t kidding when you said you had a gift waiting for me.”
But he isn’t looking at the pastries or fruit and cheese selection I’ve carefully laid out. His gorgeous green eyes are taking me in. It makes me glad I took the extra time with my hair and makeup, even if the midwestern humidity has been toying with both for hours now. The white dress is flirty and fun, the perfect symbolism for taking on my new life.
“You have no idea,” I grin up at him before winding my arms around Slate’s shoulders and pulling him down into a kiss.
There’s a question in his eyes as we pull away, but I don’t answer, at least not yet. I want to savor this, want to enjoy everything about my night with him. He seems to understand, winding his long, strong arms around my waist as we make our way over to the railing at the edge of the roof. A train rattles along a few miles away, sending vibrations drumming up the side of the building.
“Do you ever come up here to paint?” Slate asks against the side of my neck. His voice is low and deep, a rumble more intense than the train on the tracks.
“I wish,” I shake my head. “I never have time to actually paint anymore. That’s why I end up making pretty donuts instead.”
He spins me around in his arms until I can see the intensity of his gaze. Like every time He looks at me, the hunger in Slate’s eyes ignites the passion inside of my own.
“That’s not fair. Thank you.”
“For what?” I ask him as he maneuvers us over to the stack of pillows I’ve set up. His hands are on my shoulders before I realize what he’s doing and I let out an audible moan.
Of course he gives a great neck rub. Is there anything the guy can’t do?
“For the rooftop picnic. I can’t think of a better surprise to end a long shift. You’re the best.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“You’re welcome,” I murmur as his hands continue kneading my muscles. “But this wasn’t your gift.”
“Oh?” His hands slow down for just a moment
“I am.”
Chapter 7
Slate
Well don’t trust your soul to no backwoods southern lawyer. Cuz the judge in the town’s got bloodstains on his hands. — Vicki Lawrence, ‘The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia’
My heart stops in my chest at Shilo’s words.
Her offer is everything I’ve wanted from the moment I saw her behind the bakery counter for the first time. Everything I’ve ached for since long before I met her and knew she was the only thing I needed.
Shilo’s curves beneath my fingers are the sweetest thing I’ve ever felt in my forty years. Her skin is softer and smoother than I knew skin could be. Mine certainly could never be so inviting or welcoming.
I brush my hands along her shoulders, the tips of her baby-fine hair tickling my fingers as I caress her exposed skin. She feels so good, so right in my arms. Like she was made for me.
“Comfy, baby?” I ask, my voice a hushed whisper.
I am.
Her words still ring in my ears
“Mmhmm.” Shilo nods back against my chest. She leans into my touch as I begin to rub her shoulders, easing the knots of tension.
“Oh my god, that feels so good. Your hands are magical.” Shilo whimpers. The sounds she’s making are driving me wild, making my cock throb hard against her back even through my jeans.
“Just relax and let me make you feel good, baby.” I murmur as I press my thumbs hard against her muscles, working them deeper and deeper. Shilo melts against me as I co
ntinue to work her shoulders, slowly working my way farther and farther down her back.
Without asking, she sits up and leans forward, giving me more access to her back. I can’t help but grin.
“You like that, huh?”
Shilo nods enthusiastically.
“No one has ever touched me like this. No one’s ever made me feel this good.” She sighs with pleasure as I work her back a little harder.
“You tell me if it’s too much for you, ok? I don’t want to hurt you.”
Shilo stretches out onto her front, giving me a fantastic view of her heart-shaped ass. It’s the kind of curvy, bouncy thing that makes me glad for skintight jeans.
Shilo tosses her hair over one shoulder, giving me a sexy grin.
“I know you won’t hurt me, Slate. I trust you. I feel safe with you.” Shilo murmurs, her voice relaxed and half-asleep.
“Good.”
“Besides, I like the pain. It hurts, but it hurts in a good way. Does that make sense?”
I chuckle. “I know exactly what you mean, baby. A lot of things are like that.”
Shilo raises an eyebrow at me, leaning up onto her elbows to look at me more.
“Like what?”
I give her a smirk as I slide a hand down to rest on one upturned cheek of her ass before giving it a light slap.
Her mouth forms a perfect O of surprise.
“Oh, fuck.” Shilo whimpers. Then she grins up at me, that shy but sexy look on her face.
“Do it again?” She gives her rump a shake, and I can’t help but laugh a bit as I bring my palm down on the opposite cheek.
“Okay, yeah. It stings but I feel it all the way —” Shilo cuts herself off, moaning as I bring both hands down to rub at her cheeks, pressing them in deep and massaging her butt.