Deep

by S. R. Jones

  The image of her rolling onto her side, her full breasts pillowing as she did so. She’s fucking sexy. Yeah, she might not be all overly made up, with big hair, and skin-tight clothes, but she’s sexy. So why so long without any sex? Without a lover?

  The shower thunders and I hope she’s feeling better. My dick is hard, and I half want to go in there and join her. Soap her up, make her feel good. I wish I didn’t know she’s feeling lonely…horny.

  Christ. I glance at the door. Its half closed, and the shower is still pounding away. Knowing it’s every kind of wrong but not caring, I snake my hand into my boxers and touch my aching dick. I let my eyes drift closed as I imagine myself walking into the bathroom, seeing Kate under the shower, naked, needy.

  I begin to stroke myself, feeling perverted almost. It’s so taboo, doing this while she’s in the shower, and I’m supposed to be working for her. Protecting her. If I don’t take the edge off though, I’ll get no sleep.

  In a shockingly short time, I can feel myself on the edge of coming. Not wanting to make a mess all over the bed, or my boxers, I grab a tissue and groan as I come and come into the rough paper.

  Shit. My head spins as I come down. What the hell?

  I haven’t come so hard in a long time. And it was all to thoughts of sexing up my client. Wrong, on every damn level. You could say what Liam did with Abi was wrong. Well, let’s be honest, it was wrong. But at least he wasn’t working for her. Doing anything about this attraction with Kate could fuck up the reputation of our company if it ever got out.

  Maybe I should call Ethan and ask him to swap places with me?

  Isla would love me for that. I roll my eyes and put my arm over my head as the shower turns off.

  A few minutes later, Kate walks into the room.

  “How do you feel?” I look at her assessing. She seems soberer now, but she’ll need to sleep it off, and she’ll feel like crap in the morning.

  “Tired. Still a bit sick. Embarrassed.”

  “No need to be embarrassed,” I tell her. I mean it, too. If she only knew what I’d just done. I’m the one who should be ashamed here.

  “I’m going to go and sleep it off,” she says sheepishly. “Night, Reece.”

  Her smoky voice wraps around me, swirling over my dick as sure as if she’d trailed her fingers over me.

  “Night, cupcake.”

  She shakes her head, but her mouth twitches a little at the corners.

  The next morning I’m up way before Kate. I’ve had a bad night’s sleep. I had two dirty dreams. Two. Both featuring Kate, and now I’m horny and tired, which is a shitty combination. I’ve cleaned away the epic mess she left in the kitchen and am drinking coffee and trying to control my thoughts.

  I tell myself my attraction to Kate is only natural. I’ve got a high libido. I’m a bit of a whore, truth be told, and I’m in a period of enforced celibacy. Any attractive woman would probably start to get to me, and I need to brush this shit off and get back to my job. Keeping her safe.

  I want to know more about what she told me last night, too. Because I’ve had an interesting phone call this morning. My friend, who I gave the details of the case to, along with the letters from Stalker Boy, called. He’s got a bit of a thing it seems for women who haven’t been in a relationship for a long time. It seems his victims all fit a pattern of being single. I have sent this new info to Maggie, Liam, and the boys I work with. Maggie is a psychologist and a good friend of Luka’s partner, Cara. She’ll be a damn good person to look over our perp’s file. I want them working on this, too.

  Footsteps on the stairs alert me to Kate being up and about.

  She looks fine, but sheepish. She’s wearing a long skirt, down to her ankles, and a strappy top.

  “Morning.” I make my voice normal, not over bright or any of that shit.

  “Morning.” Her sleep roughened voice is like raw silk against my skin.

  “Coffee?” I hold the pot up, and she gives me a nod.

  “Reece, about last night—”

  I hold my hand up. “No need to say anything, it’s fine.”

  “I sexually harassed you.” She puts her head in her hands.

  She did? When?

  “I tried to seduce you, touched your thigh. I’m so sorry.”

  I laugh then, a genuine laugh. “Cupcake, you don’t have to be sorry.” I get serious then. “But you do have to promise me not to do that again. The drinking I mean.” I almost tell her she can touch my thigh anytime, but bite it back. “I can’t keep you safe if something happens and you’re so drunk you can’t get with the programme.”

  “I know.” She sits at the kitchen counter and hangs her head. “I’m so mortified. I wish I’d gotten so drunk I can’t remember anything.”

  “Well, I need to ask you about something you said.”

  “Oh…marvelous.” Her words are harsh, but her tone is soft, and she’s smiling a little.

  “Last night, you said you hadn’t had a relationship in ages, and you were starting to think about getting back out there when Stalker Boy popped up.”

  “Yeah. That’s true.”

  “How long were you single before he left his first note?”

  She frowns. “A long time. Four years or so. I had my heart broken. I…”

  “Go on. I know it’s hard to talk about, but it might be important. It seems our freak only likes women who have been single a long time.”

  “Really?” She turns suddenly wide-awake eyes to focus on me.

  I nod. “I sent his letters from you to my contact in intelligence. Her name is Dr. Rhodes. She got intrigued with some of the things he’d said, so she looked into previous cases and ended up contacting some of his other victims. They, too, provided letters they’d been sent, some of course are with the police, so she couldn’t see those. He mentions things about these women not having had a man for ages in his letters, all the women she spoke to had been single for a long time before being stalked.”

  “Okay. Well, if it will help catch him.” She sighs and sits up straighter. “I was in a long-term relationship. We were engaged. I thought he was the love of my life. We had postponed our wedding because I got pregnant.” She looks down at the floor for a moment before carrying on. Not looking at me again. “I was over four months on when I lost the baby. It tore me apart, and he wasn’t there for me. He went cold, insulated. About six months later I found a text message from a work colleague on his phone that made it quite clear they’d been having an affair. I was devastated. I mean…devastated.” She looks at me. “People use that word lightly, but my world was blown apart. I felt as if I’d lost everything.”

  “So, you ended it?” I ask, hating pushing her on this but needing to know.

  “No. We went for counselling, but it didn’t work. He carried on seeing the other woman and lying to me. We split, and I was alone for four years before the notes and flowers and other stuff started.”

  I think about what she’s told me. Maybe this freak followed her from when she was newly single? Perhaps he worked at the hospital? I need to see if the other women had health issues, or even lost babies. But if so…why wait four years? It makes no sense. Unless…

  “Did you do anything different before you got the first note?” I ask her. “You said you were thinking of getting back out there.”

  She shrugs. “I didn’t get the chance.” Then her face clouds a little. “Oh, except one thing. I went on a speed dating night with a friend, but I didn’t meet anyone there. Could that be important?”

  “Anything can be important,” I tell her.

  I’m starting to feel like we have some a lead on this guy for the first time. Maybe he’s seen these women at the hospital, worked in maternity care? Or perhaps in couple’s therapy? We’ll need to look into the other victim’s backgrounds. Or maybe he finds them during the speed dating, if they all did that?

  He likes women who haven’t been in a relationship in a long time. It makes sense that women at a speed dating
event would be dipping their toe into the pool again after a while single, or…after ages being single trying it as a new tactic.

  “This is good stuff,” I tell her.

  “Okay.” She smiles at me but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

  I can see it then, for a brief moment. The pain she went through, still does, the way it hollowed her out. I’m impressed with how she built her life back up. How even after so much heartbreak, she carried on battling when this sick fuck came into her life and made everything worse. Took someone already given more than their fair share of shit, and piled even more on top.

  I admire her. I admire the fuck out of her. She’s strong.

  She shows me how much so by her next words. “Look, Reece. I am truly sorry about last night. I’m a staunch feminist and I’d be disgusted if some man acted the way I did. You don’t need some lecherous old woman making you all embarrassed when you’re trying to do your job. There’s nothing worse than being repeatedly hit on by someone you don’t find attractive. Thanks for being a gent about it.”

  She’s not fishing for compliments or goading me. It’s sincere and straight to the point and she genuinely seems to see herself as some over the hill old woman.

  She stands, turns to go and walks out of the room and I can’t let it go.

  Fuck me, I should.

  I ought to let her walk out believing I don’t find her attractive. It wouldn’t do any harm. There’s no self-pity in her words, she’ll accept it, suck it up and move on as she has from all the other blows in her life. But I can’t let her.

  She is attractive to me and I don’t like the way she thinks she’s old or something. Hell, she’s not old. Maybe the shit she’s gone through makes her feel as if she is some days and I can identify.

  “Kate.” She stops, doesn’t turn around, but stops. “I do find you attractive.”

  She does turn then and gives me a small smile. “Reece, it’s okay. You don’t need to tend my ego. I’m a big girl and I know a gorgeous hunk like you must have glamazons throwing themselves at his feet regularly. I’m fine with it. I’m not fine with my behavior last night. It’s so mortifying. I’ve never done anything like it. I think the pity party with the vodka and the baking was a bad idea, and I got out of control. I never do that.”

  Her words hit me. She doesn’t, does she? From what I understand about her, she never gets to let go.

  I learned from Gina that Kate’s home in the Highlands is like Fort Knox. She plans each trip out of her front door with military precision. Always on her guard. Never able to simply relax and be. Christ. I’ve been in that situation for weeks on end when on patrol. Once, for more than a month. It takes its toll. Wrings you out. But at least, most of the time for myself, I had my team with me. She has no one. And this hasn’t gone on for weeks, or months. A mission, with a defined end. This is her life.

  “You should get to let go and relax sometimes,” I tell her. “You’ll go crazy otherwise. It’s just…while we’re so sure he’s back on your tail, I can’t risk you being too incapacitated to react quickly if need be. I’m making you a promise though, when I catch this fucker—and I’m going to make it my personal mission in life to do so—you’ll get to get so drunk you can’t stand up. For a week if you want to.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug. “Okay then, or go skydiving, or however you want to blow off steam.”

  “No,” she says. “I don’t mean why should I get drunk, I mean why is it going to be your personal mission in life to get him? Other than guarding me now, this isn’t your fight.”

  “Because I don’t think he should get to do this,” I say. It’s the truth. This piece of shit should not get to ruin her life, and the lives of countless other women. Turn them into prisoners, or worse, soldiers in a never-ending one-woman war against an invisible enemy.

  “Really?” She takes a step toward me, slow and cautious. “You’re actually going to try and get this guy. Not for a short while, but truly try to find him and not give up when it doesn’t turn out to be a piece of cake like the police did?”

  “I’m going to do everything I can to find him. I’m going to use all the connections I have and try so fucking hard to find him. And when I do, I’m going to use every connection I have to make sure he never does this again. Don’t ask me what that means as I can’t tell you, and you don’t want to know.”

  “I don’t care what it means.” She juts her chin and there’s real fire in her eyes. “If that makes me a bad person, so be it. He’s a stain on humanity.”

  She holds her head up, that regal air I’d first seen in her on full display, but her eyes turn too bright, and then liquid fills them. Chewing on her cheek, she turns away and hastens out of the room.

  Again, I should leave well alone, but I can’t. I follow her, and find her holding onto the bottom of the bannister, head hung, body shaking.

  “Hey.” I tip her chin up, looking at the tears tracking down her cheeks. “It’s okay to cry. You’ve been through hell.”

  She starts to shake her head, but more tears spill out. The way she’s looking at me. It’s as if she’s been torn apart, blown open, the winds of sorrow and loss howling through her for me to see, visceral and real.

  Something twinges in my chest, an odd, unfamiliar sensation. I want to make the hurt stop. To take away the tears. Maybe I’ve got a newly developed saviour complex, I don’t know, but I suddenly want to do something to stop this gorgeous woman in front of me from hurting.

  So…I do something.

  It’s a cliché, but it’s a cliché for a reason. When we’re cornered, afraid, hurting, humans turn to comfort. And you put two attractive humans near and that comfort can all too often turn sexual in nature. Why else do baby booms occur during wartime? Danger, loss, sorrow—they all remind us of how fleeting and fragile life is and they create that primeval urge to procreate, to merge with someone else.

  I step closer and she doesn’t move away, instead she stares up at me, so still I don’t think she’s even breathing. Leaning in, I kiss her, once, on the mouth.

  Soft, lips closed, it’s almost chaste. Almost but not quite. She sighs, parts her lips and simply sighs, and the way her full mouth falls open and she draws air in is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.

  Not thinking about how wrong this is, not stopping to consider all the ways I’m about to step over the bounds of my role, I pull her into me, one arm around her waist. She comes willingly, her body pliant. It’s surprises me how easily she follows my physical instructions. I’d have thought she’d be more rigid. She’s a control freak, and I get why, but I didn’t think she’d let go in this way.

  “Take me upstairs,” she whispers in my ear, before rising up on her toes to kiss me again.

  This time, I don’t keep it chaste. I swipe my tongue across her lips and she opens for me. I groan as I taste her. It’s odd but the moment I start to kiss her, my simmering attraction heightens a whole lot and becomes something more like a flame. I’ve not experienced this before. I’ve had it where a woman I thought was sex on legs turned out to be a disappointment in the sack, or where someone I thought I had great chemistry with ended up being an okay lay and nothing more.

  But this? I honestly didn’t know it could go this way. That you can find someone attractive, but then the moment you touched, it can become something so much more.

  “Reece.” Her voice breaks through the haze of lust wrapped around me, pulling me out of being lost in my thoughts and the taste of her. Bringing me back to the present. “Take me upstairs.”

  I don’t hesitate. I pick her up, like I did at the beach, and she wraps her arms around me. She’s warm and soft in my hold, and I like her being here this way. Pliant, trusting.

  Something huge occurs to me. Shit, she’s trusting me.

  With this.

  It’s got to be a massive step for her to do so. A woman who’s not had sex in forever, and who has been targeted by a sexually sadistic stalker.

  I vo
w to myself then to make it good for her. To live up to the regard she’s placed in me.

  We reach the bedroom, and I don’t go into the smaller room at the back where she’s staying, but place her on the bed in the room I’m in. It’s a king, nice size and I want to be able to explore her. I climb on next to her and trail my fingers up her arm. I don’t want to scare her or worry her, so I’m gentle, as if I’m stroking a doe not a woman.

  At first, she’s tense, but as I continue feather light strokes up her arm, she relaxes into my touch. Soon, she’s pressing up against me and reaching for me. I let her take the lead of this kiss, and it’s glorious. The way she explores my mouth, unsure, but greedy at the same time, has me rock hard.

  Her hands come around my front to land on my chest. She feels me there, letting her palms map out the muscles of my pecs and then down over the ridges of my belly. It’s torture the way I can feel her through the thin cotton of my t-shirt. Good but not nearly enough.

  “You’re so big,” she breathes at me.

  “You’re so sexy,” I tell her back.

  She laughs, soft. I like that about her, the way she laughs not giggles. It’s seductive. Like her smoke and whisky voice, and her multi-shaded hair.

  Her scent wraps itself around me. Not fresh, but something warm and inviting, vanilla I think, but I don’t know. It suits her.

  I skim my hands over her hip, down her leg, right to her ankle, where I take the material with me when I start to move it back up. Kate has great legs, long and toned and tan. They’re strong, like her. As I reach her hip, and the band of her underwear, she gives a small sound and I’m not sure what it means. I look forward to learning her reactions, her noises. Cataloguing them and being able to use them to guide me so I can make her crazy.

  Palming her butt cheek, and loving the fullness, I pull her into me, against my erection. She grinds against me and starts to kiss me again. I want her clothes off, mine too. I stand and pull my t-shirt over my head before gesturing for her to sit up. I take her strappy top off and am shocked when her full breasts fall out of the material. She’s not wearing a bra and her tits are pert. Full, and ripe, and fucking perfect.