Her Thin Blue Lifeline: Indigo Knights Book I

by A. J. Downey

  He came around to me and I twisted on my seat to face him, looking up at him and biting my bottom lip. He looked like he was going to give me a pep talk but the words died on his lips. He searched my face and stepped in close, between my knees and lowered his face to mine. I closed my eyes, and let him kiss me, kissing him back and sighing out with relief. I wanted so badly to feel something good and Tony’s kiss was like heaven.

  His hands smoothed over my hips and up to my ribs and he gathered the hem of my fitted work-out tank with his fingers, slipping his hand underneath and putting it against my skin. My desire for him shot through the roof at the same time my anxiety rose. I broke the kiss and pulled back and said breathlessly, “I can’t… my scars.”

  He growled low and intense and said, “Baby, you’re gonna be on your back; no way I’m even going to see your scars.”

  His words, even more than the intensity behind them, stole my breath. I found some, just enough to say, “Okay.” I couldn’t believe this; that he wanted me with how broken, and damaged, and well, soggy I’d been. I felt like my emotional state held the consistency of wet cardboard and I knew for a fact that that was totally unattractive, yet here we were, and here he was, arms around me, tongue tracing the seam of my lips, begging for access which I gave to him, and gratefully.

  His hands went to the outsides of my thighs, rubbing my legs, up and down through the skin tight material. I toed off my sneakers and pressed myself to him, my left arm tucked into the side of my body, protecting it. My free hand was cradling the back of his head, thumb lying along the side of his face, the stubble of his five o’clock shadow rough against it.

  He pulled my body tight to his and I could feel him, hot and hard, straining at the zipper of his jeans. I moaned into his mouth, wanting the barrier of clothing between us gone, but still off my game enough, unsure enough, that I didn’t know how to ask for it.

  He put his arms around me and I held tightly to him with my good arm, my bad one curving around his ribs as he lifted me and took me over to the dining room table. He kicked the chair at the end aside, hooking it with his boot and sweeping it out of the way and set my ass on the edge of the solid, polished wood rectangle.

  “Lie back,” he ordered and I did, carefully, trailing my fingertips down the front of my body, between my breasts, to rest my hand on my stomach. He watched the movement, his gaze full of heat and pulled at the back of his tee shirt, dragging it off his body, over the top of his head.

  Oh god, the body that it revealed… fit and rippling with corded muscle, he looked like someone that belonged on the cover of a magazine in his jockeys. Not standing in front of me, hooking his fingertips into the waistband of my yoga pants and dragging them off my hips. I arched and winced at the pulling pain in my shoulder and lower back on the opposite side, but he had them down far enough that I didn’t have to hold the awful posture for very long.

  He went for me, curving his arms beneath my body and helping me into a sitting position. I dragged my good arm into the fitted tank top, and he lifted on it carefully, pulling it over my head and slipping my bad arm out of it. I was sitting nude on his dining room table and I couldn’t find it in me to be the least bit sorry about it. I wanted this, I needed him, and with every heated rake of his gaze, I loved how I felt beautiful again. Desired. Desirable.

  He ordered me to lie back again and I did, body clenching with want and need as his blunt fingers worked the leather tongue of his belt through the buckle. It gave with a little sigh and he cursed, unholstering his gun so it wouldn’t fall, setting it on the table up near my head as he bent over my body to kiss the side of my neck and nibble at that sweet spot that made my toes curl. I touched him, ran the fingers of my good hand through his hair; caressed his body with the hand of my bad arm where I could reach him without pain.

  He moaned, uttering a breathy, “Oh god, Chrissy,” into the side of my neck, his breath warm, his body warmer, skin heated and near scorching against my own. I reveled in the heat and the closeness and found my body wet and ready when I reached between us to tease myself. He took his hands off me just long enough to push his pants and shorts off his hips, the thick length of him bobbing free and slapping him in the stomach. My eyes widened, the head of his cock was resting just below his belly button and he was far larger than I’d ever considered. The man was a dream come true.

  He smiled and planted one of his palms flat against the wood next to my shoulder, leaning in, stroking the head of himself up and down my pussy, slapping my labia with it and it was incredibly hot. God, I wanted him and I moaned, whimpering out a breathy, “Please?”

  He pressed himself at my opening and pushed inside me slowly, letting my body adjust; not rushing, even though I could tell by the strain and concentration on his face that it cost him dearly and that he hadn’t wanted to be patient. He eased his entire length inside me and I arched slightly, moaning, clenching around him, wanting more of him. He bent over me and brushed my hair from my face, smoothing it aside gently, carefully, and I realized that our similarity in height did us one favor, it made it so missionary would put us face to face, incredibly intimate, however, he was slightly lower than that for now, his standing putting him slightly beyond being able to kiss me comfortably.

  I couldn’t complain, he felt so good, so real, so alive, and I needed all of those things just now.

  “Please don’t make me beg,” I whimpered and he smiled, straightening.

  “Wouldn’t think of it, baby.” He drew back and carefully surged forward, moving gently in and out of me, careful of me, and it was both beautiful and frustrating. I wanted more, I wanted deep penetration and a punishing rhythm, but he was right. What I wanted and what I needed were two different things.

  He eased his way in and out of me, steel blue eyes never leaving mine, and was so careful, so gentle, that the roaring inferno of want and desire slowly burned down to embers until just a warm, comfortable glow was left behind. A torturously slow build was beginning between us. He was going to make me come, but on his own terms, in his own time, and all I needed to do was relax and enjoy the ride.

  He bent over my body, mouth closing warm and soft over the stiff peak of one nipple, his hand closing warm and firm over my other breast and I let out a throaty moan. God, yes, oh yes… just like that.

  I couldn’t be sure if I spoke the words out loud or not, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but his body sheathed in mine, the warmth and the vitality of him pressed against me and surrounding me.

  My breath came in deep, luxurious, waves, slow and even with every long, slow thrust of his body into mine and I couldn’t ever remember a time a man had made so much of it about me. He hunched up to allow me to get my hand between us and growled against my breast, “Touch yourself for me, make it happen.”

  I pressed my fingers to my clit and rubbed in firm but gentle little circles and it was all I could do to contain myself. The feel of him inside me, on top of me, the warmth of his body, the tender mercies he bestowed upon my breasts… it wasn’t long before I shattered over his tabletop much like the glass had shattered on his floor, only when I broke? He didn’t just sweep me up and discard me. He swept me up, put me back together and made me a stronger whole through his care.

  Chapter 15

  Tony

  I pulled out, staying in her as she came around my dick had me un-fucking done. Her body shuddered beneath mine as I joined her, coming in a hot spill over one shapely hip. Making a fucking mess, but I didn’t care. What I cared about was the pleasure filled scream crawling its way up her throat, spilling between those so-kissable lips to hit the ceiling and drip down my walls.

  It was beautiful, so wild it was insane, and I fucking adored that she would let go with me. That she would trust me, and let me take her there. That she would trust me to bring her back.

  She lay panting on the polished wood of my dining room table, eyes unfocused and body trembling, shivering with fine little aftershocks. I pulled up my pants
and tucked everything back in. I would have liked to join her in getting naked, but first things first – I had to get her cleaned up enough to get her upstairs and into a proper shower. I went around to the side of the table and moved another chair out of my way so I could bend down and kiss her.

  My hand naturally found the silkiness of her hair, smoothing over it again and again, running my fingers through it keeping it back from her forehead. She slowly came back, focusing on me and I smiled.

  “Hey, baby,” I whispered.

  “Hi…”

  She tried to sit up and I stopped her with a quick but gentle, “Not yet, just relax. I’m gonna grab something and clean you up a bit then I’ll help you up. You good?”

  I knew the answer to the question by the semi-glazed look in her eyes and her languid movements. She nodded faintly, her eyes closing and I was loving that she was feeling good for a change. I had a feeling the pain would be creeping back in on her any minute, so any reprieve I could give her was a good thing.

  I kissed her one more time and straightened up, going over to the paper towel rack and ripping some off. I turned on the tap at the sink and let it run warm, dampened some of the towels and went back to her, cleaning up the worst of the mess gently and taking the wad of towels back to the trash.

  I helped her sit up carefully and had her wait a minute before trying to get down. She still seemed a bit shaky and that was okay, we weren’t in any rush. No hurry at all, as far as I was concerned.

  She gripped the edge of the table and bit down on her lower lip as she carefully slipped off the edge and back onto her feet. I stood beside her and helped her and her hair moved aside from the site of her injury in her upper back. I got a good view of her scars, both top and bottom and I have to tell you, I marveled at what modern medicine could do. They weren’t that bad. Just slightly dimpled, pink and shiny depressions in her skin. The one on her shoulder blade honestly no bigger than her thumb and the one down low on her opposite hip, just above her ass? Well, it was no bigger than mine. I honestly didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t that. I mean, they were almost dainty for all the damage they’d caused her.

  She made to turn and I stopped her and whispered, “They aren’t that bad, precious. I mean it.” I traced a fingertip around one and pressed my lips to it, then traced around the other before going to my knees and kissing it. “Not that big, not at all,” I murmured.

  She turned and I let her this time, putting her arms around my shoulders and looking down at me, tucking herself against me as I rested my chin on her stomach and looked up into her lovely dark eyes.

  “You mean it?” she asked and I nodded.

  “Seen much worse, precious.”

  I stood up and she drew back just enough to let me before immediately tucking herself back in against my body, curving her arms around my waist. She rested her lips against where my neck met my shoulder and I put my arms around her right back, holding her carefully. She sniffed and rested her forehead against my shoulder and I frowned.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked her and she sighed out.

  “Nothing, I mean… just promise you won’t be mad at me.”

  “Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?” I tipped her chin so she would look at me and she did, a confused storm of emotion going on behind them.

  “I should have said something… I haven’t exactly been keeping up on my birth control with having been shot and hospitalized and all of that. Normally, I take the pill but…”

  “Shit, yeah… say no more. I didn’t even think either. It’s cool. We’ll do the morning after pill just to be sure. It’ll be okay.”

  “Really?” she asked and I harrumphed.

  “Takes two to tango, lover. It’s your body, not mine. You get to say what you do with it. If that’s what you want I’d be a real asshole not to support your decision. My mamma didn’t raise me like that.”

  “I thought you might be a good Irish boy,” she said cuddling closer, voice relieved.

  I smiled, “I am a good Irish boy, raised right by his momma and all; but I’m just a so-so Catholic. Had to give them something to be disappointed about, otherwise I’d be perfect.”

  She smiled and giggled a little saying, “I guess we can’t have that.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m a good Italian girl, not the best Roman Catholic, but also, I’m a defense attorney… so I guess I’m really not perfect.”

  I chuckled and said, “Nah, you’re just overcompensating. I’ve heard that about you.”

  She scoffed and leaned back, mouth dropped open in a perfect ‘o’ of surprise, brown eyes wide and sparkling. She took one look at my face and the humor on it and stopped smiling like a doughnut and gave me the real deal.

  “Oh my god, you jerk!” she cried, and slapped me in the chest lightly with her good hand.

  I laughed and said, “Against advice of counsel, I’ll plead guilty to that one.”

  She pushed out her lips in defiance and said, “Well, I don’t know who your lawyer is, but after that, I would never represent you.”

  I laughed and said, “Oh, hang me out to dry, would you?”

  Her expression toned down to one that was oh so serious and she looked me straight in the eye and said, “Never.”

  I believed her to my very core, and that kind of fierce loyalty out of her? Fuck. That was hot. I bowed my head and kissed her lips, holding her firmly but carefully to me. She returned the kiss, so serious, in a way that said she was willing to seal this deal and I loved that she wasn’t afraid to commit. I mean, this was one of those times that you didn’t need words. That even though our bodies did the talking, we knew without a single doubt, what the other was thinking and feeling.

  When the kiss broke, we stood there between my kitchen and dining areas with our foreheads pressed together, just soaking each other in. It was one of the best moments, if not the best moment I had ever shared with a woman, or any other human being.

  The cooler ambient temp of the room caught up with her before me, because she shivered lightly in my arms.

  “Come on, I’ll gladly help you with that shower you missed out on.”

  “I’d really like that,” she murmured and I had to smile. It was a done deal.

  I led her up the stairs and into the bathroom, twisting knobs and getting the tap going. When I deemed it warm enough, I pulled up on the thing sticking up out of the bathtub faucet and let the shower spray take over.

  “If I help you in to get warm, you steady enough I can go grab towels and leave you for a sec?”

  “Absolutely, I should be. I just can’t really get this arm high enough for long enough to deal with my hair and my balance isn’t strong enough with the leg and hip to bend over far enough to compensate.”

  “Man, you really gotta relearn how do to everything don’t you?”

  “Just about, I guess I should be grateful he shot me in my non-dominant hand. If he’d hit my dominant side, my occupational therapist said I would even have to relearn how to write or sign my own name.”

  “Jesus Christ.” I couldn’t even imagine that one.

  I helped her into the bath and made sure she felt steady under the spray, she nodded, and I slid the curtain closed so that I could go grab a few things and finish taking off my clothes. I stepped across the hall into my bedroom and ditched the clothes first, throwing them in the laundry pile of ‘needs to be washed’ in the corner.

  Back out in the hall, I grabbed some of the nice, big towels out of the linen closet before I stepped back into the bathroom. I flipped on the fan and called out “How you doing?” to let her know I was there before pulling back the curtain.

  “Good,” she said faintly, and her voice was a bit on the dreamy side. She stood under the spray, head tipped back, hair slicked tight to her head, water sluicing down her body in these rivulets that accentuated every plane, angle, and curve, magnifying her skin. The whole effect was alluring and damned if I wasn’t starting to get
a semi; a semi that wasn’t going to stay a semi for long when I stepped into the tub and she turned those lovely dark eyes on me.

  “Hi,” she said, an edge of nervousness in her voice.

  “Hey, precious.” I picked up her good hand and brought it to my lips, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm, turning my head to do it, but not taking my eyes off her.

  How could I take my eyes off her? She was one of those natural beauties that seemed physically impossible, except she wasn’t and she was standing nude and perfect right in front of me, in my shower, and I couldn’t tell you how much I loved that… even though I hated with every fiber of my being the why of it.

  She stared at me, those dark eyes of hers so wide, those kissable lips slightly parted in awe and silent invitation. I couldn’t say no to an invite as sweet as that, so I carefully stepped even further into her space, cradling her face gently between my hands while I kissed her. She held onto me. The hand on her bum arm resting on my hip, the other lying alongside my neck, thumb smoothing back and forth over my pulse that leapt for her.

  She was everything to want in a woman. Beautiful, smart as a whip, and gave as good as she got. She’d been fierce before and if I had anything to say about it, would be again; she just needed a confidence boost. Someone to stand behind her and remind her that she’s got this. I could do that for her. I wanted to do that for her. First, I needed to remind her just how much she was worth and I could start pretty simply by washing her hair.

  There was something incredibly intimate about washing a woman’s hair for her. I’d learned this through some of the trials and errors in the relationships that’d gone before, but this particular pro-tip I’d actually learned from Chrissy herself on our second date. We’d gotten into a discussion about how you could tell the person you were with was worth keeping around and she’d told me that for her it was by how intimate a man was willing to be with her. It’d been an offhand remark, but she’d said, ‘It’s the difference between a man handing you the bottle of shampoo while you’re in the shower together and him taking the time to lather your hair for you.’