Banged Up

by Jeanne St. James

  “Colby! Look at me! Why didn’t you tell me about him? Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “I … I didn’t think he’d find me. Or even want to find me.”

  Mace stood stiffly, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Unbelievable. What if I hadn’t been here? What then, Colby?”

  “Oh, my God.” Her lips trembled. “I don’t know. I was too far away from my gun.”

  He shot her an incredulous look. “Your gun? Is that why you have one? Oh, Christ! I mean… I knew someone hurt you. I knew it.” He fumed and stomped around the porch.

  “I just didn’t realize it was physically. The sick bastard!” he ground out. “What were you going to do, Colby? Shoot him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. You would have killed him if you had the chance.”

  “Yes.”

  Mace groaned and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and rocking her back and forth. Her body shuddered, stiffened, then finally melted as she sobbed aloud.

  “I hate him.”

  “I know,” he whispered into her hair. He smoothed his hands up and down her back, hugging her tighter. “He’s gone now.”

  “He might come back.” She shivered and sniffled. She was getting his T-shirt damp with her tears. She was acting foolish but she couldn’t help it.

  “He won’t. I promise.” Mace placed his lips on her forehead. Colby knew the promise was good, Craig would never come back. She was sure being a federal agent he could “make some calls.” She didn’t care what happened to Craig.

  She attempted to wipe her tears away with the back of her hand; he stopped her and brushed them away with his lips. “How much did you hear?”

  “Enough.” He sat down on the top porch step and enveloped her in his arms. “You should have told me.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I…” new tears rolled down her cheeks, “was ashamed.”

  “You told no one?”

  Colby shook her head.

  Mace’s jaw clenched, she heard him suck in a breath, then felt the tension suddenly leave his body as quickly as it had come. “Colby, let’s go home.”

  I am home, she thought when he held her even tighter.

  ———

  Mace leaned back against the living room couch, his bare feet propped up on the coffee table, the evening news blaring from the TV in the background. Colby sat next to him quietly while he finished scanning the legal document in his hands.

  He gave a bitter laugh and threw the PFA onto the table in front of him. “What a fucking joke. You know those protection orders are useless, don’t you? What do they expect you to do? Throw it at him? Give him a paper cut?”

  “It’s better than nothing, I guess.” She’d been told the Protection From Abuse order would, well, protect her. She’d been grossly misled.

  “Yeah, shit, it really helped you out today, didn’t it?” He made a fist in his lap.

  “Even if you could have dialed 911, he could have seriously hurt you or even kidnapped you before any local donut-lover would have arrived on scene. Those pieces of paper couldn’t stop a bullet.”

  “It was stupid of me not to have had my cell phone nearby.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make this worse. Don’t blame yourself. You’re doing what you should be: moving on and living your life.”

  He picked up his beer bottle from the side table and took one long swig and then one more, before placing it back on the “FBI: Female Body Inspector” coaster. He had said the coasters were a gag gift from his sister when he had graduated from the Academy.

  “Where’s the rest of it?”

  Without even asking, she knew what he wanted. She leaned over and picked up the folder she had thrown on the floor next to the end of the couch. She offered it to him without a word. He took it and laid it in his lap, not even opening it. Instead, he just studied her face.

  “Are these copies or originals?”

  “A little of each.”

  “Do you really want me to see them?”

  “No.”

  “But you’ll let me look at them.”

  “Yes.”

  She grabbed her wine glass from the table by his feet, and she finished off the two swallows left. It was false hope; she didn’t think the alcohol was going to help her get through this. This amounted to picking at a healing wound.

  She didn’t want to relive it. He finally tore his gaze away from her face and opened the folder. He picked up the first photo, and Colby looked away. She didn’t need to look at the pictures to remember. All she had to do was close her eyes and she couldn’t forget.

  She turned her attention to the TV, trying to concentrate on a news piece about a town councilman getting into hot water.

  “Jesus Christ.” What started out as a shocked whisper ended up not a minute later an explosive, “That motherfucker.”

  He whipped the folder across the room, the dozens of photos spilling out of it like confetti all over the carpet. One landed at her feet, and her own face, hardly recognizable due to the swelling and discoloration, stared back at her. Colby closed her eyes, willing back the tears.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He pushed himself up and went around the room collecting the photos, jamming them back into the folder. He picked the PFA off the coffee table and shoved it into the folder as well, before throwing the whole thing onto the seat of the nearby recliner.

  He settled back beside her on the couch, taking another long pull at his beer. “I’m sorry, Colby.”

  She wanted to ask him for what, but she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know. He was probably sorry she made herself a victim. He was probably sorry she didn’t leave Craig sooner. He was probably sorry she was too weak to protect herself from harm. He might have been sorry she had been so desperate to love somebody she had picked the wrong person. Maybe he was just sorry he lost his temper and threw her folder, her painful reminder, across the room.

  “I’m sorry you were hurt like that. I wish I could have known you a lot sooner.” The last was said softly. So softly it tugged strongly at her. She wished she had met him a lot sooner also.

  “Your battle scars are much worse,” she said.

  He hesitated for a few long heartbeats, a little sadness softening his eyes. “I got mine from someone who hated me enough to want me dead. Yours came from someone who was supposed to love you.”

  “Maybe we’re all misled.”

  “About what?”

  “About love. Maybe we’re so desperate for someone’s affections, we see a connection where there isn’t any.”

  “Maybe. But I think love’s possible. I think it’s out there for the right people.”

  Running a hand down her jaw line, he tucked some escapees from her braid behind her ear. “My parents loved each other deeply. I saw it every day in how they acted and talked to each other. It could have been something as small as just a look between the two. It was enough even a teenage boy would notice. After my father died, my mother was so heartbroken she died not two months later.”

  “She died of a broken heart?”

  “Something like that.” He cupped her face and leaned in to kiss her.

  “I didn’t think it was possible.”

  “I’m starting to think it is.” He kissed her lightly, just nudging her lips open, his tongue playing along her teeth and tongue.

  She didn’t want to read into his comment. She didn’t want things to become complicated. She didn’t want to admit they had already. She kissed him back, her tongue wrestling with his before she broke away, kissing down his chin. His shadow of a beard was rough against her lips.

  —

  Colby’s lips moved along his jaw, then her tongue ran a line down his neck, leaving a warm, moist trail.

  This was exactly what he needed after this afternoon’s incident. He just needed to get his mind off what might have happened to Colby. If he hadn’t been in the picture… />
  Shit.

  She nipped at where his shoulder met his neck, and he leaned his head against the back of the couch, enjoying every second, giving her every opportunity to do what she wanted with him. He was all hers.

  She kissed, nipped and licked here and there over his neck. She pushed his T-shirt up, exposing his chest to continue her teasing pattern over and around his nipples. He leaned forward a bit, grabbed the back of his shirt and ripped it over his head. He tossed it on the recliner, covering that fucking folder. Once again, it reminded him of what might have, could have, possibly happened.

  But it hadn’t, and here they were: about to have a little bit of fun with each other. Or a whole hell of a lot of fun with each other, if it was up to him.

  He lost his train of thought when she raked her nails lightly over his nipples.

  “Fuck.” He grabbed the end of her braid as she was diligently rubbing and kissing all over his stomach and chest. He pulled the small elastic band off the end and combed his fingers through the plait, untangling her hair from its confines. He worked his way up while she worked her way down, following the line of his dark hair to the top of his jeans.

  The top button was already unsnapped; he’d never finished securing his jeans after his shower earlier.

  He caught her looking at him while she slowly unzipped his jeans. He probably looked as dumbfounded as he felt. He felt like he had no blood left in his brain, it had all headed south into his shaft.

  Colby sat back suddenly and gave him a stern look. “Take off your pants.” It wasn’t a request. Hell, no, it wasn’t. “Now.”

  Damn, if he could get harder than he was … no, it was impossible.

  He pushed himself to his feet, catching himself as he lost his balance. His injured thigh was protesting. But he didn’t give a shit. Not tonight.

  Tomorrow he would pay for it. But tonight he was getting his money’s worth, even if he had to do PT twice a day for the next week.

  He pushed his jeans down to his knees before sitting back on the couch to yank them the rest of the way off, tossing them somewhere into the room. He had gone commando, skipping the boxer briefs tonight in hopes of getting lucky. So he sat there naked, his cock standing like a flagpole. All he needed was someone, preferably the redheaded vixen in front of him, to raise the flag.

  His flag raiser wasn’t saying a word. Her eyes had softened momentarily when he’d stumbled, but had quickly gone back to stern. It reminded him of the first night he came home. He pictured her again like the school teacher: stern, prim and proper on the outside, wild as hell on the inside.

  She pushed herself off the couch and moved to stand in front of him. She was between his open knees, not touching, though. She stared at him, no smile, eyes serious.

  Her expression alone kept him from running his own fist over his aching cock.

  A moment later she shook her head. Her hair flew wildly around her shoulders and down her back. She undid her jeans, slipping out of them, but he couldn’t tell if she was wearing any panties since her collared shirt was long enough to cover her halfway down her thighs. But it was still sexy as hell.

  He just wanted to fuck the shit out of her. But he didn’t reach out. He waited to see what her game was. The anticipation was going to kill him, but he loved it.

  She licked her lips, and he thought it was more out of nervousness than teasing. But when one hand went up and started unbuttoning her shirt and the other went to her mouth, he started to question his own theory. She slid one finger into her mouth and sucked on it while slowly drawing it back out.

  He didn’t know where to look: the finger between her lips or the fingers working the buttons out of their holes. Her shirt was gaping enough now he could get a glimpse of a dark green bra, almost the same color as her eyes.

  He didn’t have to decide what to look at when she slid her wet finger down her gaping shirt and into what he supposed were her panties.

  Mace twitched on the couch and his fist wrapped around his shaft. He was leaking already, the pre-come flowing hot and steady.

  Colby paused what she was doing and gave a sharp “No.” Mace jerked at her tone, surprised it had come from her, and in his surprise he automatically released his cock.

  Damn.

  But he was not going to complain. If she wanted all the control tonight, well, he was not going to fight it.

  She went back to unbuttoning her shirt one-handed, and when the last one was released, her open shirt revealed enough he could see her other hand was definitely, definitely, down her panties. Her panties were the same color and fabric as her bra, but he didn’t care about that. He only cared about what was going on underneath the green fabric. He could see her fingers moving, knuckles shifting, her wrist sliding under the cloth. She ran her free hand over her bra, pushing the shirt to the side more, giving him a better view. She threw her head back and gasped.

  Her legs buckled. Before he could reach out to keep her from falling, she lowered herself to her knees and freed both her hands to grasp his ankles. Mace jerked at the unexpected contact.

  She traced her fingers up both of his calves, past his bent knees and over his thighs, being careful of his injury. She moved herself closer so she was pressing in between his legs, while she slid her hands around his hips, over his clenched stomach, and lower, once again. She circled the root of his cock with two fingers and squeezed.

  Mace pressed his lips together to keep from cursing, while his stomach clenched even harder. His fingers dug into the couch cushion. One reason was he was trying not to come. The other was to keep from dragging her up and over his lap, to impale her. Deep.

  The two fingers circling his cock became her whole hand as she leaned over his lower body.

  Christ, there was nothing which excited him more than seeing all her fire-red hair in his lap. It brushed against his thighs, it swept against his groin, and it tickled his lower stomach. He was sure he would come if she kept brushing her hair against his cock. It was just so silky…

  He sucked in a breath and his hips rose off the couch when her hot little mouth enclosed over the head of his cock. Her tongue whisked away all of his pre-come, like a kitten lapping up cream. She took him all the way in, almost to the root. Her lips bumped against her own fist before slipping back up to the top, her tongue teasing the small slit for a moment before her hot, hot, hot mouth enclosed almost his whole length again.

  Oh. Fuck. Me.

  When she shot him a look, he realized he might have said that out loud. Not even a moment later, she picked up a rhythm with her tongue and her lips, stroking his length while her fist squeezed his root.

  He leaned his head back and couldn’t watch, if he did he was going to lose it. He didn’t have to watch to see what she was doing. It was burned in his brain. He would remember this forever.

  When her other hand gently cupped his balls and squeezed, his eyes flew open and he heard someone cry out. It had come from him.

  His brain was so addled, she could tell him to jump and he wouldn’t even ask her how high. He would do anything, anything, she told him to. Especially when she started to lick the head like a Tootsie Pop, trying to see how many licks it took to get to the center. He was either very tasty or she was very hungry…

  Her steady rhythm down his length began again and he couldn’t resist: he sank his fingers into her hair and began to thrust. His hips rose to meet her at every stroke. His fingers tightened in her hair and he tensed. He wanted to blow his load. He needed release. His balls were so freaking tight, and it didn’t help she was playing with them, squeezing them, rolling them between her slender fingers.

  She pulled her head away and, when her mouth was free, said, “No, I want you to come in me.”

  Her cheeks were flushed and her lips swollen and glistening. He would have been happy coming right where he was. But she wanted to be the boss.

  And so she shall be.

  She came to her feet and stepped back from the V of his legs, just out
of reach. She slipped her opened shirt off her shoulders and stood, looking oh so edible in her shiny, matching green bra and panties. Her panties looked a little darker at the apex of her legs.

  That made him smile.

  “I need help.”

  Mace lifted one eyebrow in question. He wanted it to look roguish, but the truth was he couldn’t get any words past the lump in his throat.

  “I want you to take these off,” she said, turning her back to him. She stepped back closer to him before lifting her hair up and out of the way.

  The clasps of this bra were in the back, which was not the norm for her. He reached out and smoothed his fingers over the smooth, fair skin of her back, along the edge of her shoulder straps before reaching the double clasp. He popped one, then the other, her bra falling away to the front.

  He ran his palms down her sides, reaching the top of her panties. He slid his fingers under the edge of the elastic and around to the front, so he was almost hugging her waist.

  Sliding his hand back to her hips, he pushed them down. Slowly. His touch lingered here, there. Over her hips, down her thighs, past her knees, until the green scrap of fabric dropped to her ankles. She lifted one foot out before kicking the panties away with her other foot.

  She still stood facing away from him, her arms now crossed over her breasts, her hair covering her back like a cape. She couldn’t be shy now. She lost her inhibitions during sex, she didn’t get more. So she couldn’t be hiding herself from him.

  And, oh shit, she wasn’t.

  When she turned to face him, she was kneading her own breasts, plucking both nipples, her lower lip caught between her teeth. She released one breast and worked her hand down her stomach, once again to the fiery patch below. She parted her pussy lips…

  “Don’t—” he blurted out, making her pause. “Oh, God, don’t.”

  “You don’t like?”

  “Oh, no, I like. I like a lot. But I will end up losing it all over myself.”

  “Scoot back.”

  He did. He pressed himself to the back of the couch and offered his hands to her. She accepted and used his arms to balance while she climbed over him, placing a knee on each side of his hips. He caught a whiff of her scent, it was hot and musky and so freaking female. He wanted to bury his face between her legs and taste her. But that wasn’t how it was going tonight. Tonight, she was in charge.