“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
“Are you okay? Both of you?” Her voice was high and quavering.
“We’re fine. He was burned out by the time we got here, in pretty bad shape emotionally. They’ll take him to hospital and assess him. Do you know him?”
“There’s no need to bandy names about, Officer.” The older woman had disengaged herself from comforting the one who was so clearly upset and approached them.
“Meredith Massey. I’m the therapist who owns this building and runs the group. I’ll give you a statement, as will Elizabeth, and save Lacey from breaching confidentiality. Perhaps the other women can be escorted out to their cars. They really have nothing to add.”
Greg saw that everyone wore name tags with only their first names written on them. Dr. Massey was waiting patiently for him to assess the situation. He nodded to her and agreed that everyone could leave except for her and Elizabeth, who obviously was connected in some manner to the man in the hall.
“I’m taking Lacey home,” he said. She stirred as if to protest but desisted when he looked at her. Dr. Massey seemed to hide a smile, and Greg wondered at that, but only momentarily. He had been terrified that something was going to happen to Lacey before he got to her, and he was going to take her home and do something to assuage the adrenaline crash.
“Max will take your statements.”
Max stepped forward, and Dr. Massey transferred her gaze to him. Greg could have sworn that he actually saw something tangible pass between the two and dismissed the thought as being fanciful. He nodded to Max. “Thanks, buddy. We’ll take Lacey’s car, and I’ll catch up with you tomorrow. You did drive here, honey?”
Lacey’s voice was quiet, but she told him her car was parked farther down the street. Greg transferred her to his side, keeping one arm wrapped around her, and they made their way out of the building. It was a bit awkward getting through the door, in fact they had to do a little sideways shuffle, but he was simply not letting her go.
* * * *
Lacey sat silently in the passenger seat where Greg had placed her and then latched her seat belt for her. He had taken his hands off her only long enough to go around and get into the driver’s seat, adjust it to accommodate his long legs, and start the car. He drove with one hand, keeping in contact with the other, now stroking her arm, then pressing her upper leg. She felt totally safe and had no inclination to speak. They were simply enveloped in one another’s presence, and there was no need for words. She could feel her arousal build and felt almost languorous, although that was probably part of the letdown after the adrenaline rush. She had worried that Elizabeth’s husband would break through the door, and the wait after the call to nine-one- one had been interminable, although once she had spoken to Greg, the worry had essentially subsided. He had said he was coming, and she trusted that he would. But then, when she knew he and Max had arrived, she was frightened that they would get hurt. Seeing him come through that door unscathed had been the most wonderful thing in the world.
He pulled up to her house and parked in the lot off the lane. Lacey waited for him to come around and help her out of the car. Time inched by, and the sexual tension was as thick as cream. He wrapped his arm around her again and walked her inside and up the stairs. It was getting harder to take a full breath, and her breasts were heavy beneath her shirt and lightweight jacket. Her pussy was wet and aching, and she well knew that Greg was very much aware of the state she was in. He was sporting an impressive bulge in his slacks and making no effort to conceal it, and he seemed as taut as a bow string. She marveled at how they once again smoothly telegraphed their needs and desires to the other as she fumbled her apartment keys out of her pocket. It was as if they had never been apart. Greg took them from her to open the door and let her precede him inside. He flicked the light on before shutting the door and locking it, reaching behind him to do so, never taking his eyes off of her face.
Then they crashed together, their mouths meshing, tongues dueling and exploring with ravenous memory. Greg wound his hands through her hair, dislodging her hair clip, to further deepen the kiss and then picked her up to carry her into the bedroom. One of Lacey’s shoes fell off and clattered to the floor, and her toes curled under. Greg stood her down and began to pull off her clothes, his face intent and masked with desire. Buttons popped, and fabric tore, and then her hands were clawing at his shirt, trying to get to the thickly muscled chest beneath. They fell onto the bed in a state of disarray. Lacey still had her panties and socks on. Greg had somehow dispensed with his pants and boxers, but his shirt hung from one arm because his cuff was still buttoned, and he still wore one of his socks. His watch snagged in her hair, but it didn’t matter because he was holding her wrists in one of his big hands above her head in a move that never failed to make her pussy clench and ripple with excitement at the anticipation of being ravaged with her choice taken away. Greg’s mouth descended upon her breasts, and Lacey moaned at the sensation of having her nipples sucked and nibbled into hard, oh-so-sensitive points. She writhed beneath him and moved her legs restlessly against his, trying to arch her core into his solid cock.
“Do I need to tie you down?” Greg’s dark whisper made her freeze in place, and she soaked her panties.
“No. Please, Greg, please.”
“Tell me, Lacey.”
“I need you to fuck me. Please, it’s been so long.”
Greg chuckled against the underside of her left breast and then nipped it. Lacey cried out and tried not to move. He pressed her wrists together in a reminder and turned his attentions back to her breasts, the beaded peaks responding to the gentle abuse. She felt her pelvis involuntarily tilt against him, and he growled and slipped away from her. She called out in protest, but he was back to her almost immediately, and she felt the cold steel of handcuffs. She almost came in that moment. Greg hooked her to the headboard and then reached to switch on the bedside light. The light spilling in from the living room had provided a different kind of ambience, but Greg always wanted to see everything. Lacey fought a sudden sense of awkwardness.
“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s us.” Greg’s insight calmed her, and she smiled up at him. He smoothed her hair back and kissed her with just a hint of tongue before impatiently yanking his shirt completely off and tossing it onto the floor, followed by his sock. He knelt beside her, and Lacey stared at his muscled torso and the way his cock throbbed and smacked against his belly. Her tongue crept out to flick against her bottom lip, and his eyes darkened. He reached down to casually stroke himself, and she heard the whisper of his callused hand against the silken skin of his hard-on. He brought his thumb to her mouth, and she sucked it in, reveling in the small taste of his pre-cum. He moved to settle between her thighs, pushing them apart and bending her legs to set her feet flat on the bed. His big hands met at her apex and took hold of her panties. He ripped them with a single flex of his wrists and tore them from her, and she saw his eyes darken further with desire as he stared at her pussy. Lacey panted with anticipation, and Greg folded her legs up to her chest, pushing them wide to fully open her to him.
“Do not move, Lacey.” Greg dropped his shoulders to ensure that she was pinned in place and then lowered his mouth to her. Lacey screamed. She couldn’t help herself. It felt like she was being consumed by heat and friction as Greg sucked and nibbled and bit her folds and lanced his tongue inside of her, working his way up to her clit. Her orgasm rolled up and over her from the abyss, and she clenched her thighs around his head on the strength of it. He barely let her come down before licking her right into another. Lacey began to beg, rolling her head from side to side, trying to orient herself. She didn’t know what she wanted him to do, if she wanted him to stop or continue. Her senses were on fire, and she couldn’t pull enough air into her laboring lungs, and she needed and wanted. After her third climax, Greg relented and lifted up to let her legs drop back to the bed, rubbing them to allow the blood to flow
back before lowering his body over hers.
“Look at me, honey.”
Lacey pried her eyes open and stared into Greg’s. He notched his cock between her legs and at her opening. His face glistened with evidence of her arousal, and she could smell the scents of musk and alkaline. It triggered all those memories of their sexual past, and she longed for them with everything she had, from the intense fantasy games to the sweet, vanilla times and to the exhibitionism, the pain and pleasure, at the club.
“Can you take me, Lacey?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. Her throat was sore from screaming her ecstasy, and it was a wonder Edith hadn’t come to check on her. If David hadn’t been away, he would have been pounding on her door with concern, and wouldn’t that have been interesting? She tried to lift her hands in a mute request that he free them, but Greg shook his head.
“No choices, honey. I won’t hurt you, but I’m doing this my way.” He began to push up inside of her, making slow progress against the tightness of her channel. Little beads of sweat popped out on his brow, and his handsome face was etched in sexual pain as he concentrated on getting his iron-hard shaft inside. Lacey just lay passively and felt every inch of him penetrate her, each tiny ridge and ripple stretch her wider. She lost herself in the feelings and sensations until he bumped her cervix. He waited for her to adjust to him, somehow controlling his so-very-evident need, and then unleashed a storm of thrusts that filled her and stretched her further and overwhelmed her. She fought coming, and Greg muttered above her, rotating his pelvis to grind against her clit and prod her G-spot, and she went over yet again, clamping down on him in near pain. He groaned and flooded her with heat, then collapsed to the side, the bed creaking in concert. Lacey shuddered, her body pushed to its limits after such a hiatus, and then she knew nothing further.
She awoke to the sense of wet warmth at her thighs, and she murmured in protest.
“Shh, baby. I’ll be gentle.” Greg slid the cloth between her legs and washed away the evidence of their passion. He pressed a kiss on her abdomen, right below her navel and then stretched out beside her, gathering her into his arms and pulling her close to him. She could feel the steady cadence of his heartbeat and relaxed against the rise and fall of his chest. He must have taken off the cuffs while she slept, and she could smell the black cherry lotion he had rubbed into the chafe marks. Lacey hoped they would be gone by morning, or she would be digging out some of her winter shirts with the long sleeves to wear to work. Having her man back in her life would be making her rethink her wardrobe choices on a regular basis. She tensed at the thought.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Greg was indeed back in tune with her.
“Are you back for real? You? Because I am, and probably with a few new challenges.”
Greg didn’t prevaricate. “I’m all the way back, Lacey. Never doubt it, and I’m hopefully even better. I told you I’d be waiting, and I meant it. I’ll take you just as you are, although we’ll probably have some adjusting to do. You have reparation to make in any event.”
Lacey’s sated sex barely quivered at his last statement, but she heard the first ones loud and clear. She relaxed again and quit worrying about it. She had come a considerable distance in her own healing over the past couple of months, starting with forgiving Greg as well as herself. She was coming to accept herself and their past relationship as well as being more aware of the need to change and grow as they moved along and not to become complacent. Being with other women who had experienced similar losses, learning from their successes and mistakes, learning more about relationships, two of them much like hers and Greg’s, had been invaluable. She hoped Elizabeth would be all right, and that her husband, Stephen, would get the help he needed, the poor, misguided man. Lacey made herself stay awake until Greg fell asleep, listening to his regularly spaced breaths, basking in their love and treasuring the moment.
She had been getting to the place where she had intended to call Greg and ask him to meet her for coffee. She felt ready to see him again, strong enough to seriously talk with him and not let the calamity of the past nor the chemistry between them influence things too strongly. With the direction of Dr. Massey, Lacey had taken time to think about everything that had taken place, from how she and Greg had connected and developed their relationship, to his breakdown and her reaction to his rejection, and she had begun to process and accept the loss of their child. She had wondered aloud to her therapist if Greg hadn’t been at the hospital that day whether she would have ever told him, ever seen him again. Dr. Massey had posited that once Greg was back on his feet, it was more likely that he would have sought her out, and Lacey hugged that inference to her when she woke in the lonely nights and missed him so badly that it hurt.
When Elizabeth’s husband had made the scene at the group, Lacey had simply reached out to Greg. There had been no weighing the pros and cons. She needed him and had called him, and he had come. The crisis had just moved the timetable up, that was all. He had told her he would wait, and he had. They still had many things to talk about and find their way again, but it felt right and for the first time in a long time, she was content.
* * * *
“Massey. M-a-s-s-e-y.” The therapist’s voice was both low and musical. Max asked her to spell her first name, and then requested her date of birth. He already had her phone numbers and addresses and wondered how much more information he could gather under the guise of getting the events of the night written down. When she had looked at him, following Greg’s assertion that he would take her statement and that of the woman connected to the perp, Max had been mesmerized. He figured it was because she was trained to connect with people, to develop a connection and forge a relationship, much like cops did, albeit for different reasons, but he had felt an immediate connection. She had also smiled at him, something at odds with the seriousness of the situation, and only for a second, but it had definitely been a speaking smile before the professionalism had taken over.
She introduced him to Elizabeth Salter, wife of Stephen Salter, the man now on his way to the psych unit at St. Joe’s hospital, and Max had taken her statement first. It was actually a job for the patrol unit, and Max could have passed the buck, but he wanted to talk to Dr. Massey. Meredith. He had established that Mrs. Salter was attending group therapy following the loss of their little boy in a hit-and-run, and that her husband had been resistant for weeks, intimating that they should handle their personal troubles within the family. Mrs. Salter had seen her husband retreat into grief and become increasingly despondent and verbally abusive, so she had reached out for her own, professional input. He had followed her to group that night and had some kind of breakdown when he was refused admittance after getting as far as the group room door. Dr. Massey had apparently read something in his demeanor and made the decision to bar him. Better safe than sorry. Both women had described Mr. S. as highly agitated.
Mrs. Salter didn’t want to press charges, and Dr. Massey probably wouldn’t either, but Max was going to ensure that Mr. S. got some kind of input because he knew those kind of guys tended to strike out against those around the object of their obsession, too. Mrs. S. had been escorted by the patrol to the hospital to meet with the doctors and make some kind of decision about her future, he supposed.
“I’m forty-seven, born January 11th.” Meredith’s lyrical voice interrupted his thoughts, and he realized he had been staring at her. Her fine hazel eyes were lit with amusement. She didn’t have a blonde hair out of place or a wrinkle in her suit, despite the harrowing events of the evening, and she had apparently organized the lines of defense against Mr. S. immediately and efficiently. Max had noticed her choice in footwear and had a sudden, overwhelming urge to see what she wore under that suit, while having her leave those shoes on. He tried to focus. She was nearly fifteen years his senior, but his cock didn’t seem to care. He heard his voice before his brain fully engaged.
“I’ll help you pick up these chairs and get the table set up a
gain, Dr. Massey. Maybe we can grab a coffee while I take your statement. Greg and I were in the middle of dinner when Lacey called.” He felt awkward as soon as he said it. She probably had a Mr. Massey waiting at home for her.
“I’m not presently married,” she said. God, he’d said that last out loud, too. He tried to retrieve the situation and only managed to dig himself in deeper.
“Well, that’s fine then, good, I mean, did you want the coffee or something else?”
That smile appeared and turned the corners of her full mouth up again, and Max’s cock pressed painfully against his zipper. He saw her eyes drift down in that direction and he felt like a randy fool.
“Probably a bit soon for something else, Detective Brewster. But I could use a cup of tea. Coffee would keep me up all night, and I find I need my energy during the day.”
Max knew an invitational response when he heard one, and he grabbed onto it with both hands. “Call me Max, Meredith. Once we get done here, you can drive with me or follow me. Your choice.”
“I am usually the one giving the choices, Max, and that includes whether someone can drop my title and be informal. But I think I’ll make an exception in your case. I live upstairs, so perhaps we can have our tea and conversation here. There is no point in going out this late in the evening.”
Max figured he had been outplayed somehow, but damned if he didn’t like it. He accepted the offer and got busy straightening the room, watching Meredith’s elegant form, out of the corner of his eye, bend and stretch as she picked up the pieces of paper and pens scattered over the floor. Her legs seemed to go on forever, and her skirt tightened suggestively over her rounded rump and hips as she bent over and crouched. Max just bet those full breasts were contained by a sexy scrap of silk and lace, too, as they moved gently with her movements behind the jacket of her suit before his covert gaze.
Done [Running to Love 4] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 12