A Second Chance for Lovin'

by Kaety Porter

  After I finish I look over at Tristan. He sits motionless, but I could see the anger in his eyes. Finally his eyes meet mine and he asks, “How serious do they think the threat is? I mean, should they be escorting you to and from your car or taking any other precautions or do they think she was just spouting off?” I love that he is concerned with my safety, not that I didn’t think he wasn’t before I told him. I also love that he isn’t going into a protective caveman mode, like, “you my women, you’re never leaving my sight; you have to quit your job, cluba cluba”. We both know that we put ourselves in harm’s way every day that we put our uniforms on and walk out our front door.

  I shake my head and explain, “They just reminded me to be vigilant and make sure that I am taking in my surroundings before I enter and exit my car or when I’m in a place that doesn’t have a lot of people around. So basically what I do every day, threat or no threat.” He nods in understanding. He knows that there isn’t anything that can be done, without solid evidence that she is following through with her threats. He pulls me in close and wraps his arms around me and asks, “Do you think you need to be concerned?” I shake my head. “Ok. You promise to tell me if that changes?” I nod. He pulls back and kisses my forehead and says, “Good. Now let get this movie marathon started!”

  Snuggling into the crook of his arm and resting my head on his chest, we settle in. About an hour into the movie, I am startled by the sudden weight that unceremoniously lands in my lap. I look down just as two orange eyes that belong to a large ball of fur looks up at me. Feel Tristan’s chest rumble as he chuckles and then says, “He likes you otherwise he wouldn’t have come out. This is Ziggy. I found him when he was kitten behind the dumpster at a drug bust.” I start to pet the handsome feline and after a minute he starts to meow and purr. Tristan joins me in petting Ziggy by scratching behind his ears and then he proceeds to carry on a conversation with the cat, like 2 humans. Tristan talks and Ziggy answers with meows, purrs and other strange cat noises.

  Halfway through the 2nd movie we ordered in pizza. By the end of the 3rd movie it was time to refresh the bowl of popcorn. The day was quickly becoming one of the best I’ve had in a long time, our mutual love for the movie franchise evident when we both recite the famous lines in unison. At the beginning of Live Free or Die Hard, I feel Tristan’s gaze on me. I look up to him and after a few moments of sharing a gaze we end up close enough to share the same breath and then our lips meet. Our make-out session lasts until the end of Live Free. True to his word, Tristan kept his hands to himself, alternating between cupping my cheek and holding my head, just as he wanted it. When the end credits roll, I finally pull back, but then lean in to rest my forehead on his and ask, “Promise I won’t regret this?” With a hand once again cupping my cheek, he begins brush his thumb back and forth and says, “I didn’t regret you the first time and I have no plans to start anytime soon.” Placing a tiny kiss on my nose, he pulls me into his chest and we just enjoy being wrapped up in one another.

  A short time later, the leftover pizza is warming in the oven and we’ve both made trips to the bathroom, we resettle on the couch with warm pizza and bottles of beer. We start Die Hard with a Vengeance and once the initial action scene is over and we’ve both finished our pizza, we both nod off. It’s not surprising, due to how terribly craptastic the film is.

  I wake up snuggled up on Tristan’s chest and Ziggy above our heads on the back of the couch. I look at the clock and see that its 10:30 and sounds like the rain has stopped. I slowly peel myself from Tristan’s chest and then place a light kiss on his cheek. Before I leave I place a short note in the half-empty popcorn bowl.

  Thanks for a great day

  ~Lia

  Chapter 10

  Tristan

  A crash of thunder wakes me up. Actually let me rephrase; a crash of thunder and two sets of claws in my leg wake me up. Startling, the pain from Ziggy’s claw impaling my leg as he catapulted from my lap almost rivals that of the pain from the kink in my neck. Rubbing my neck I quickly realize that something is wrong, something is missing, or rather someone is missing. Lia is gone. Looking around to see if there are lights on in the kitchen or bathroom, and seeing none the lamp on the side table next to me illuminates the room enough for me to see a note in the popcorn bowl. Reading the note, I smile. She wrote 10:30 at the top, so I know when she left. That was 3 hours ago, so I know that she is home and safe, and not out in the storm currently rolling through. Stretching, I make my way to my bedroom, and promptly fall into bed and go back to sleep.

  The next morning, after a morning run, which was sadly 45 seconds slower than the day before when I ran with Lia, I make my way to my garage to give my baby an oil change and tune-up before tomorrow’s ride. Turning the overhead lights on, I’m greeted by the sickly-sweet smell of brake fluid. I look over at my bike and find a red puddle surrounding it. Cursing loudly, I hit the garage door opener and start looking the bike over. Almost immediately I find that my brake line has a clean slice through it.

  Rage fills me and it takes everything in me not to rearrange my garage. Taking a lap around the outside of the house to try to calm down I go over my bike and check it over carefully for any other damage. Satisfied that it’s only the brake line, I call into my old precinct and ask them to send someone over to take a report.

  After making the call, I wrack my brain trying to figure out how someone would have gotten in and when. While searching my mind, it dawns on me that Lia’s bike was in here last night too. With rage quickly returning, accompanied by panic I check my phone and see that I haven’t gotten a call or a text from Lia yet today. While this isn’t uncommon, it still adds to my panic. What if her bike was tampered with too? She left when it was dark out and the alarm wasn’t armed, since I was at home all day. While I dial her number, I walk to the side door to the garage and find that it’s locked, which means that she opened the garage door with the inside controls, rolled her bike out, came back in closed the garage door with inside controls and then exited through the side door, locking it behind her.

  Her phone rings three times, before she answers. She’s out of breath, likely having interrupted her run.

  “Hey, what’s up?” she asks when she answers.

  I try to hide the anger and panic in my voice when I reply. I try and fail. “Hey. Ah, how are you this morning? Are you ok? Did you have any trouble getting home last night?”

  “Whoa, slow down there. What’s going on?”

  “I came out to the garage this morning and found the brake line on my bike cut. I am so fuckin’ pissed, but then I remembered that your bike was parked in here last night, so I started to worry that you didn’t make it home last night.”

  “Shit. What the hell? Yeah, I’m fine Tristan. I got home without a problem. You call it in?”

  “Yeah. Someone’s on their way over. I can’t freakin’ believe this. Who the hell would be dumb enough to mess with my bike? I’ve lived here for 3 damn years and everyone knows I’m a cop. I don’t get it.”

  “I don’t know babe, but that’s messed up. Listen, I’m gonna finish my run and then I’ll check my bike over. I’ll let you know when I’m done, ok?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. Call me either way, ok?”

  “Sure. Talk to you later?”

  “Yeah. Talk soon, my Lia. Bye.”

  “Bye”

  Hanging up I breathe a sigh of relief that Lia is okay, because it’s one thing to mess with my bike, but God help the person that messes with my girl’s bike and she ends up hurt or worse because of it.

  ***

  It’s been a long week, but ending it by seeing my girl and putting in a day of volunteer work on the club-sponsored Habitat house, built specifically for a disabled veteran makes it all worth it.

  The house itself is amazing. It is built specifically for someone who is wheelchair bound or has significant mobility issues. When the club told me about the place, and that it is similar to Lia and Royan’s place, it peaked
my interest. Lia and Royan’s place is basically a hybrid. Royan’s downstairs living space is built to include a handicap accessible bathroom, reinforced grab-bars in places that make sense, an alarm system hooked up to the heating and cooling systems that are located in the basement, that let him know if there are any problems so he can call for repair, but also will call the security company if the fire alarm or carbon monoxide detector goes off, 911 call buttons in multiple places in every room and the Cadillac of security systems.

  The front door has a camera built into an outdoor light that starts recording as soon as there is movement in the driveway with a display screen on the inside, so he can see who is there without opening the door. After all the different systems were explained to me I was a bit in awe. Being a police officer you would think that I would be aware of how vulnerable someone with mobility issues could be, or what limitations they could face, just trying to live in their own home, but I wasn’t.

  Today Lia and I signed up for a shift at the house, making it so we spend time together but also do something for the benefit of someone who needs the help. Her and I have both been working here off and on, on different shifts, but today is our first together. It’s been a busy but productive day. She’s been up on a ladder most of the day, painting, being the self-declared queen of cutting in the paint, while someone follows behind with a paint roller, which is what I’ve been doing for the past hour.

  Everyone who was here has knocked off for the day, to go home and tend to their families or get some sleep in before a shift, leaving just Lia and I. She’s nearing a corner, her delicious round ass at my eye level, making it impossible not to stop and stare. The clang of something against the metal ladder snaps me out of my daydream and I ask, “You almost ready to call it a day, baby? We’re almost out of paint and you’re at a good stopping point.” Without realizing it, my feet have begun to move toward her and soon my body is pressed up against her backside, just as she comes to a stop on the second step up on the ladder. My hands come to rest at her waist and I start to press light kisses on her neck. She lulls her head back, resting it on my shoulder. Soon my hands have left her waist and are moving up under her shirt and over her ribs and come to a stop to cup her breasts. The feel of the thin lace under my finger together with her hard peaks, brings my already ready, willing and able cock to a new almost painful state of rock hard. God, what this woman does to me!

  ***

  Ophelia

  I can’t count the number of fantasies I’ve had that involve Tristan and I being together again, because I would run out of fingers and toes, even if I included those of the inmates that I babysit every day. To have him behind me feeling his hard length pressed against me demanding some attention, leaves no doubt in my mind that even my best fantasies could never measure up to the real thing.

  I brace myself against the ladder and suddenly find my legs bending and moving apart, so that we are rubbing against each other, only our paint-stained clothes between us. I’m one step from the bottom, which lines us up in the most perfect way. His hot kisses and his gentle but demanding grip of my breasts has me on the verge of begging for more; needing more.

  On a breathy sigh, I say, “Tristan”, just as I feel his hand breach the top of my paint-splattered sweats and the rumble of a throaty growl against my shoulder as his hands run over my hips tracing the lacy top of my panties. Reaching both of my arms around I grip the back of his legs, pulling him to me and then push back into him as he teases me over my panties.

  He whispers in my ear, “I need you, Lia” and punctuates his need by grinding his hard length into my backside. A whimper is my only answer. A moment later I am being lifted off the ladder, set on the ground and my sweats are hitting the floor. Tristan’s scorching kisses leave me mindless, so much so, that the next thing I hear is the sound of Tristan’s zipper coming down and it’s only then that I realize that it’s my hands that are pulling the zipper down. I push his jeans down and we both step out of the pools of fabric at our feet. Kicking the clothing aside, he backs me into the ladder once again and then removes my shirt. He slowly turns me, pushes my legs apart with his knee, while I take a step back up on the ladder as he begins to kiss down my shoulders and spine, all the while his hand glides down my sides to rest on my hips once again. Only then do I realize that I didn’t remove my panties. His hands leave my hips and then there is a sudden jerk of my body followed by the sound of ripping fabric. I guess that means that my panties are no longer an obstacle for him. Looking back over my shoulder, I try to convey my annoyance, while so aroused that I feel like I could combust when I say, “Those were my favorite.” He nuzzles my neck while his hand parts me and says, “I’ll buy you a new pair,” while he pushes into me with one hard thrust.

  Letting out a whimper, I say “You better be clean Gallagher”. As he’s moving in and out of me, on a grunt he says, “Clean as a whistle”. With smooth languid movement, like we’ve done this a hundred times before, instead of just once a lifetime ago, we make love against a ladder and it’s perfect.

  I can feel his movements become more urgent and his moans more pleasure-filled when he asks on a strangled breath, “Am I gonna knock you up?” I vigorously shake my head and say “No, IUD.” He groans out, “Thank god” and begins to pound into me harder and faster, causing me to make sounds that would put the most rehearsed porn star to shame. As I reach the edge, I feel him reach around and run his finger from where we are joined and then draws a small circle around my clit and I come instantly. A moment later I feel Tristan’s heat fill me and he moans, “Oh God, Lia!”

  We take a moment or two, his lip resting in the crook of my neck while we catch our breath. When he backs away, and I whimper at the loss of him. As I come down, both literally and figuratively from the incredible high, he turns me and pulls me in for a full embrace, surrounding me in a Tristan cocoon. I lift my head and meet his eyes and smile. He smiles and looks at me like no other has ever looked at me before, and then I say “Are we ever going to make it to a bed?” We both burst into laughter, while standing naked, surrounded by tools, paint rollers, drop cloths and a ladder.

  It was perfect.

  Chapter 11

  Tristan

  I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be nervous, it’s just dinner. I worked the early shift today, and by some miracle mine and Lia’s schedule finally meshed so she’s coming for dinner after a week of not seeing her.

  The steak is ready to go on the grill, the potatoes are baking in the oven, the red wine is on ice and the triple chocolate cake is in the bakery box on the counter. Everything is set and ready to go. I even cleaned up around the house; I’m kind of impressed with myself actually.

  Hearing her pull up in the driveway I go to the door and pull it open. Meeting her halfway, I cup her cheek threading my hands in her hair and pull her in for a long awaited kiss. We part and I glance over her shoulder at her bike, to see that is all repaired. Yesterday morning, after working a twelve-hour overnight shift, she came out of work to find her tires slashed. Once she stopped cussing like a sailor and calmed down, she reviewed the security cameras of the employee lot and they found footage of someone, likely a woman based on their size, climbing through an opening in the fence, dressed from head to toe in black. When we talked last night, she said that based on the threat made a few weeks ago by the inmate that was being released, they plan to locate her and start there.

  I turn and lead Lia inside and we are greeted by the smell of baked potatoes. Again I pull her to me and touch my lips to hers. On the brink of getting lost in her, the sound of a running shower gets my attention. Lia seems to hear the sound at the same time as I do. Within a minute or two the shower turns off, and Lia asks, “Is someone else here? I thought it was just you and I tonight.” Completely confused I shake my head and at the same time answer, “No, there’s no one else here. I’ve been waiting a week to see you, kiss you and touch you; why would I have someone else here?”

  Just then movement fr
om around the corner catches my eye and just as I turn, Jennifer appears from the hallway . . .wet . . . wrapped only in a towel and wearing a satisfied smile. Beaming, Jennifer says, “Sorry Baby, I didn’t mean to take so long.”

  The words have barely left Jennifer’s mouth, as I start to turn back to Lia when I feel a fist with the speed of a line-drive hit my face and then the sound of my front door slam.

  Taking a moment to recover from the shock of being punched in the face, I turn, seething with anger. With daggers coming from my eyes and through gritted teeth I manage to growl out, “Get the fuck out of my house Jennifer! I don’t know how you got in, but get the hell out! Now!” Standing there, gawking and not moving, I yell, “You have 30 seconds to get the fuck out of my house before I call in an officer in distress.”

  Finally snapping to, she squeaks out, “But Tristan. . .” Cutting her off I grind out, “Tick tock, time’s a wastin’” A mask of pure evil washes over her face and with a sinister tone she says, “Fine, but you’ll regret this, I promise you.” Glaring back and without hesitation I reply, “I already regret you and every time I was stupid enough to climb between your legs. Now, get the fuck out!”

  As soon as I watch her walk out the door and lock it behind it her, I head for the kitchen. The smell of burnt potatoes now starting to fill the air, I turn the oven off and throw the potatoes in the sink to cool. I open the fridge and grab a beer, twist off the cap, and chug half the bottle and then press the cold glass to my face, which is already swelling. Looking up, I stare at the ceiling unseeing letting the cold bottle sooth my aching face, while letting the events of the past 5 minutes sink in. After a few moments I come to three conclusions: 1 – I will be installing motion detectors at every possible entrance and exit to my house and yard ASAP; 2 – If Lia ever talks to me again, it will nothing short of miracle and 3 – That women’s gotta mean right hook and I’m going to have the black eye to prove it.