Dirty Blue

by N. E. Henderson

“I should be pissed you don’t remember the first time I fucked that pussy.”

  My eyes flick up.

  “Maybe I should be pissed you abused my poor little body?” I may not remember the act, but I sure remember soreness the next morning. He definitely put a hurtin’ on me that my trainer has never succeeded in doing.

  After rolling the latex over his dick, he looks back at me. Raising his hand, he plants it on my chest, pushing me backward until my back meets the window. I’m grateful the dress is still hanging on my shoulders; the cold of the glass wouldn’t feel too good on my scorched skin.

  “I prefer giving my pleasure, Bri, but”—he cups my cheek tenderly—“you are small and I’m not.” He leans down, kissing me and grabbing the back of my legs, hoisting me onto his waist.

  I wrap one hand around his shoulder and the other around the back of his thick neck.

  “Some pain can bring pleasure”—one side of my lips tip up—“or so I’m told.”

  “I want to see those amazing tits you have trapped.” He nods his head down at my bra. Looking over my shoulder, I still see a good bit of people outside. “Just take them out of the cups. Leave your dress on. I’m not planning on anyone else seeing what I’m seeing.”

  Thank God. I’m not modest, but I’m not looking to have hundreds or thousands of people to possibly see me naked, not to mention the possibility of pictures.

  I do however, pop my boobs out of the cups. It hikes them up quite nicely and I can’t help but look down at them.

  Drago raises me until he’s able to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping my tender flesh, creating goose bumps to erupt all over my exposed skin. I rest the back of my head against the glass, enjoying every second a part of me is in his mouth.

  My body slips, my breast falling from his lips as he lowers me on his cock slowly. The second the tip inserts I swear I see spots. He goes inch by inch, allowing me just the right amount of time to adjust to him that it’s all pleasure I feel.

  “Jesus, you’re tight.” A rush of air flows past my head, making my hair fly up momentarily. The next thing I know, he’s pressing the last bit of himself inside me and I have to bite down on his shoulder to keep myself from crying out. “I’m not sure if it’s possible to get used to your sweet pussy.”

  His words make me blush, yet soar on the inside. The compliment is both sweet and crude—and I like it, a lot.

  He pulls out and then presses back in way too slow. I know he’s doing it for my benefit and it’s thoughtful, but it’s not what I need. I want him raw and hard. I want him the way I know he is. He’s only letting me feel the surface of what lives inside. I know he gave it to me that night and I want it again. This time I’m going to remember every detail.

  I’ll need those memories, too, because I don’t think men like Drago Acerbi exist; at least not in my world.

  I grip him by the shoulders, using him as leverage to move, increasing our pace.

  Fuck he feels so good.

  “More,” I plead.

  “I got everything you need, baby.”

  I know he does and I want it. I want him to exert himself inside me. I want every ounce of energy used on me.

  He slams himself and me into the glass, pumping in and out, wearing me down with every surge forward. The ridge of his cock brushes my clit in the most glorious of ways. Fire that’s been kindling sparks to life.

  “Harder,” I say, breathlessly, and he rams forward, pushing me up the glass; I dig my finger nails in the skin on the back of his neck, holding onto him tighter. “Harder, Drago.” My need for this—him—is insane. I’ve never been like this with any other man I’ve ever been with. This is different. He’s different.

  “Look at me,” he says, rocking into me.

  Complying, I look down, into his nearly black eyes. His pupils are so dilated I can’t tell where the black begins or the brown ends.

  There is something in the way he looks back at me—the same need maybe—that pushes me over the edge, my orgasm sparking and taking on a life of its own.

  His hand grips the bottom of my ass, tightening, but his other one loosens and the next thing I know, he smacks the window so hard from the force of his own orgasm that if I wasn’t in a too far gone state, I’d be worried it might break. It’s impossible though; it’s too thick and most likely shatterproof.

  He eventually stills, his head resting against the glass with his lips pressed against my shoulder, panting.

  “You fuck like you were made just for me.”

  I don’t take much stock in his words no matter how much they make my chest soar. If I weren’t biting my bottom lip right now, there is no telling what I’d admit. The feelings fluttering in my chest are almost too much.

  Suddenly, the most God-awful cry pierces through my ear, momentarily scaring the shit out of me and ruining what’s left of this moment by zapping the bliss coursing through me.

  “Shit,” Drago drags out. “I probably woke him.”

  “I think we both did.”

  He drops my legs to the ground but doesn’t release me until I’ve found my balance. He doesn’t look like much of a gentleman, but his actions speak to being one, and they have all day from the moment he picked us up.

  “Let’s grab the kid and get out of here before someone discovers us and we get kicked out.” He laughs, pressing a kiss to my lips. “I’d rather not get banned from here.”

  “You get me banned, and you’ll experience Hell like you can’t imagine, Acerbi.”

  12

  I run up the stairs, taking them two at a time until I reach the second floor of my complex. I quickly open the stairwell door, exiting and shooting forward, stopping at Mrs. Lincoln’s door. After knocking, she opens it, expecting it to be me.

  “I’m sorry I’m even later than my usual late.” My apology makes me cringe inside. I hate them. I hate them even more when I’m the one having to utter the apology.

  She waves my comment off as if it wasn’t a bother to watch Gabe an extra three hours—because ten hours isn’t long enough already.

  “C’mon in, dear. He ate about an hour ago and he’s been bathed and changed, too. Gabriel is sleeping over there in the playpen.” She swings her hand, waving in the direction of her living room where it’s set up. “It’s never a problem.” She sits down, sinking into her worn recliner.

  “Still, I’m sorry. You know I always feel awful when I’m late.” I stay standing, as I want to get the baby home and into his crib for a more restful sleep as quickly as possible. She shouldn’t have to deal with this and I know that. Yet, have I done one thing to try to get Gabe taken by someone else? Hell no, and it isn’t something I want to think too long about. Admitting I don’t want to give him over to someone else isn’t something I’m ready to admit yet.

  “Really, Bri, he’s a delight to care for.” She smiles up at me. “The plants around this place might be lacking the tender love and care I usually give them, but I’d much rather tend after that sweet little baby any day.” She picks up a white mug I’m certain has tea in it, from off the table next to her chair.

  “I hope you know how grateful I am and appreciate all you do for him, and me too,” I say, walking toward the baby. Looking down, he’s lying on his back with his little arms raised above his head. So innocent. I can’t help the words as they form in my head. So precious and sweet. Stop it! I command my brain.

  “Oh, before I forget.” I turn back around, facing her as she stands up. “A gentleman left an envelope for you this morning.”

  That’s a little strange, I think. I wasn’t expecting anything in the mail. I’ve been rather good about not shopping online lately so I’m not spending unnecessary money on things that aren’t for Gabe.

  I watch her stride over to the small ledge where her kitchen has a see-through to the dining and living room. When she grabs the large yellow envelope, she turns back toward me, bringing it over.

  “He was a nice young man, too.” She smiles too
brightly. I take this to mean he must have been nice looking.

  Could that mean it was Drago? We spoke through text only a couple of hours ago, but he never mentioned or hinted to leaving me anything.

  “Was it the guy that comes over to my place sometimes?” I know she’s been curious about him for the last week. I didn’t follow through on my commitment to myself to stop seeing Drago on a too-personal level. Shows how strong I really am.

  I haven’t told her he’s Gabe’s father either. Hell, Drago doesn’t even know he’s allegedly the father and I’m not sure if I should or shouldn’t tell him. I want to, but I shouldn’t want to. Yet, it just feels wrong not telling him since the DNA result landed on my desk.

  “Oh, no, it wasn’t that Italian cutie. Which, by the way, are you and he official yet?” She holds out her hand with the envelope.

  “We’re just friends,” I tell her as I take it.

  “Shame.” I hear her mumble under her breath, followed by a long sigh as she walks back to her chair, sitting down again. “Maybe”—I watch her face light up—“this new gentleman will be more than friends then.” Her eyebrows rise, causing me to let out a light chuckle.

  “I don’t even know who left this.” I lift my hand that’s holding the envelope. “There isn’t even a name or anything to indicate who this man is.” I need to get Gabe home, but I’m curious. “What did he look like? Did he give you his name? Have you ever seen him before? What exactly did he say?” I fire question after question at her and in turn, her eyebrows turn down.

  Damn, the cop in me is coming out in full swing with my questions.

  “Well, dear, he was tall and in tip-top shape. The man definitely puts in time at one of those gyms. Yum,” she moans. “Nice milk chocolatey skin with brown eyes. I could just eat him up.”

  “So, he was a black man then?”

  “Well, yes,” she says dryly, as if that were obvious. “But the way I said it made him sounds . . . dreamy. The way you put it sounds like you’re profiling him.”

  “I was. I’m a cop. I profile everyone.”

  “Even me?” she gasps, placing her palm over her chest.

  “Of course,” I admit. “You can never be too sure about one’s neighbor,” I joke.

  After picking up Gabe, keeping him wrapped in his warm, blue blanket, I say my goodbyes and then leave.

  * * *

  Gabriel goes down without a fuss, making me skeptical that he’ll remain that way. That’s usually a sign he’ll be up way before dawn, and there is no telling how long he’d been asleep for my neighbor. In the last week, he’s been sleeping mostly through the night, but only if I keep him up later. Other than Drago popping by twice this week, I’ve been able to do that, and I’ve managed to get a decent night’s sleep.

  I’ve been getting my ass handed to me these past few weeks in my daily workouts and that shit’s getting old. I’m decent at holding my own—or so I thought.

  Shutting the hot water off, I pull the shower curtain back and then reach for a towel.

  A yawn cuts through my lips as I head into my closet, snatching up a pair of cotton shorts and a thin, white, long-sleeve Henley.

  I need more sleep. I need longer sleep. I need my life back.

  I know my neighbor has a point; Gabriel does need someone that will care for him like a child should be. I’m just not convinced I’m that person. Scratch that, I know I’m not that person. I’m doing a half-ass job with Gabe at best, and I’m failing miserably with my investigation that somehow doesn’t feel like a case I’m working anymore. I’m not even eating that great, which is probably one of the reasons I’m in a shitty mood right now.

  I yank up my shorts, ready for this month to be over when I hear a hard knock on my door. Heading out of my bedroom, I wonder who it could be. I’m not expecting anyone.

  There’s another knock as I lean into the door, looking through the peephole. Seeing Drago, my lips spread wide on their own accord. My earlier berate about not doing my job where he’s concerned is forgotten as I quickly pull open the door.

  He’s leaning into the frame of the door, looking tall, dark, and sexy as fuck, holding two plastic bags.

  “Hungry?” He lifts the bags.

  “Maybe.” My stomach takes that moment to growl, embarrassingly.

  “Sounds like a definitely to me.” One corner of his lips tip, making him look younger. It reminds me of his brother’s easy-going demeanor.

  I cross my arms and then lean into the doorframe next to him. Being so close, I have to look up to see his eyes. He must be in a good mood; they appear lighter than normal.

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “Chinese.”

  I force a smile on my face, and not because I dislike that type of cuisine. I love it actually, but nine times out of ten it gives me a headache. I don’t have the heart to tell him. I’ll just deal with the misery MSG is sure to bring me.

  “I guess you can come in then.” I push off the entryway and then take a step back to let him come inside. “Want a beer?”

  “I’d love one—or six.” He laughs. I turn, facing him as he closes the door.

  “Bad day?” I question. That’s the opposite thought I had moments ago, I think, walking backward to get us drinks out of the refrigerator.

  “No.” He shakes his head, placing the bags down on the coffee table and then sitting on the couch in front of them. “A long one, though, with a long drive.”

  Where did you go?” I ask, twisting the cap off both longneck bottles before handing him one and then taking a sip out of the other.

  “Had some business to take care of outside of San Diego.” He shrugs, not looking me in the eyes. Scooting off the couch, sitting on the floor in front of my coffee table, he starts taking our food out.

  Something strikes me as off. It’s not his steady, cool voice, but more so his body language.

  Drago isn’t the shrugging type, at least not that I’ve witnessed; no behavior that would give me that impression. He’s too in control of himself. I doubt most people would have picked up on it, but being—

  My thought cuts off when his eyes snap up to mine. I haven’t spoken nor moved to sit down next to him. It doesn’t take an educated guess to wonder what’s flipping through my brain, and those eyes beneath dark lashes reveal too much.

  “Stop profiling me and sit your ass down.” There’s no bark to his words. It’s not an order, and if it were, I’d do the opposite just to piss him off. Maybe that’s his point. Maybe that’s what he wants me to do so I’ll stop scrutinizing him.

  He huffs, leaning back against the couch; dinner momentarily forgotten.

  “If there is something you want to ask, then get on with the questioning.” He slides one leg up, propping his elbow on his knee.

  I take the opportunity to bring my beer up to my lips, slowly tipping the bottle back. My eyes never waver as the cold liquid slides down my throat, proving I’m right—irritation flares. He doesn’t like my silence. Drago doesn’t know how to handle it.

  Is it wrong of me to find a smidgen of happiness in that?

  “There’s nothing in particular I want to ask,” I say, throwing him a bone. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

  I tip the bottle back again and keep watching as his jaw locks.

  “Didn’t we go over this? I’m not into anything illegal.”

  “We did.” I set the bottle in my hand down on the glass table next to the Styrofoam container he’s placed out for me and then I round the table, stepping over him, sitting on his lap with my knees pressed into the floor next to his sides. “I said I’d take your word and I do. I believe you until you prove otherwise.” I cup his face in both hands as I stare down, firmly and honestly, letting him into my soul. “Just don’t prove otherwise.” I shake my head from side to side.

  Drago wraps his hands around my hips as the irritation seeps out of his facial expression. He kisses me on the next move. It’s not frenzied. He’s slow about it and tha
t makes it so much hotter.

  Do I think he’s hiding something from me? Yes, I do.

  Do I think he’s a bad man? A criminal? An evil person that would harm a child? I don’t. When we’re together, my gut feeling is to believe he is none of those things. Does being in his arms and enjoying our time together cloud my judgment? Most definitely, but it wouldn’t feel this good or this right if Drago didn’t have a pure heart.

  It couldn’t.

  And God help me if I’m wrong.

  No matter what happens, if this goes south, if he’s lying to me, I will do everything within my power to protect the little boy that’s sleeping in the other room. I might give in to pleasure, but I do so with eyes wide open.

  If it comes down to it, and I pray it doesn’t, I will choose Gabriel’s safety and wellbeing over anything else. As much as I don’t want to admit it, he’s stolen more than just a room in my condo. He’s stolen my heart. And I also know that’s exactly why I haven’t called the chief about him still being in my care. It’s why I haven’t said a word to Mike. If Mike knew I still had him, he would have jumped on it and gotten in touch with Tom’s contact.

  But my neighbor is right. Isn’t she? He does need someone to care for him the right way. A child needs more than food in their bellies. More than a warm bed to sleep in at night. They need love.

  My eyes open when he pulls away from my lips. I hadn’t even realized they’d closed.

  He’s looking right at me, but he’s not present as if he’s deep in thought. The moment he finally reappears, I know he’s going to ask me whatever it is he has on his mind.

  “Why are you breaking protocol?” His thick, dark eyebrows almost meet together. “Why did you let me take you home with me that night? Hell, why did you start up something you knew you shouldn’t have?”

  “I wish I fucking knew.”

  What else am I going to tell him—or myself? Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be in this predicament. Not that it’s unpleasant, but there is an embarrassing aspect to it. I’m risking a lot. I’m risking everything on something that could play out to be just a fling. For the life of me, I don’t know why. There has to be more than an overwhelming amount of attraction between us. There has to be . . .