Arrest (A Disarm Novel)

by June Gray

  “I was just telling her to get out of here,” Conor said, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. “To take the rest of the day off. She’s been working too hard.”

  Henry raised a dark eyebrow at me. “Well?”

  My eyes flicked between the two men but eventually landed back on my husband. “You’re lucky I’m wearing jeans and boots,” I said to Henry. “But I don’t have my jacket.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “I brought it with me.”

  Conor started to back away. “See you on Monday, Logan,” he said and walked off toward his see-through office.

  —

  In the parking lot, Henry pulled my jacket from a saddlebag and came around to me. I slipped into the sleeves while he held the jacket out, then he gently tugged my hair out from the collar. I was acutely aware of his gaze on my face as he zipped up the front of my jacket and closed the snap at my neck, his fingers touching the skin at my throat for the briefest moment.

  “What’s the special occasion?” I asked as he handed me my helmet.

  “The sun is out,” he said. “What better way to enjoy the approaching spring than to ride together?”

  Spring, the time of year when animals answered the mating call. That explained it all.

  He gazed down at me, his blue eyes warm with sincerity. “But mostly you. You’re the special occasion.” He swung a leg over the bike and turned to me. “Ready?”

  I pulled the helmet over my head and sat on the bike, wrapping my arms around his torso. “Ready,” I said and the bike roared to life.

  We rode around downtown Denver then headed west on Sixth Avenue toward the mountains. Even though I didn’t have to, I held on tight, pressing my body into his back. Every now and then I caught a whiff of his scent, and it was all I could do not to hump him right then and there.

  The fresh air and the sunshine were like bleach to my soul. With each mile we traversed, I felt as if the tethers that had been holding me down were loosened, flapping behind me in the wind until they tore off one by one.

  By the time we stopped at a scenic lookout and I climbed off the bike, I could almost imagine that I was the old Elsie, whose only worry was whether following her brother to Oklahoma was the right thing to do. That girl was still excited about life’s possibilities, still woke up with a smile on her face. She didn’t know yet about the pain of losing her only sibling, didn’t know yet the highs and lows of loving the boy of her dreams, of the mental anguish a man can go through when he realizes he’s not the man he thought he was. She didn’t know that marrying the love of her life did not guarantee a happily ever after, that heartbreak could still occur on the other side.

  “What are you thinking?” Henry asked, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

  I looked out over the view of the jagged mountains, and decided that, for today, I could be that old Elsie. I twisted around in his arms and looked up into his face as I unzipped his jacket and slipped my arms inside. “Absolutely nothing,” I said, molding my body against his.

  He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You sure?”

  I stood on my tiptoes. “I lied,” I whispered against his ear, my lips brushing against his lobe. “I was thinking about how I want you to bend me over this bike, spread my legs apart, and fuck me hard.”

  My words hit their intended target; I felt the stirring in his pants almost immediately. He gazed down at me with a dark, heated expression and said in a rough voice, “God, I want to.”

  “Then let’s do it,” I said, knowing that the old Elsie would have had no reservations, even if this new one did.

  “Has it been long enough?” he asked, uncertainty tainting his desire.

  Dr. Harmon had originally advised we wait for a month before trying again with the caveat that sometimes it took longer to heal emotionally. I wasn’t entirely sure about the stability of my emotional state, but my body was definitely raring to go. “Hell yes,” I said without hesitation.

  The ride back to our house was long and gave me ample opportunity to question myself. Slowly but surely the old Elsie flew off into the wind, as if returning to the vicinity of our house brought us back to our issues. By the time Henry parked the bike in the garage, I had almost convinced myself that it was too soon, that I wasn’t ready yet.

  I climbed off the bike the moment Henry killed the ignition, immediately taking my helmet off and placing it on the shelf. I held out a hand, waiting for Henry to hand me his helmet too. I stood by the shelves, my back to the bike, taking my time, uncertainty clouding my thoughts.

  “Hey, come here,” Henry said gently. He leaned against the bike’s seat and pulled me between his legs, setting his hands on my waist. “You okay? Having second thoughts?”

  He knew. Just one look at my face and he knew. “How do you do that?” I asked, more to procrastinate than from actual curiosity.

  He flashed a crooked grin. “Give me some credit here. I’ve known you since you were twelve.” He guided me closer and gently touched his lips to mine. One hand slid up my back and tangled in my curls. “I’ve missed you, Els.”

  “I’ve missed you too.” I leaned into another kiss, cocking my head to get deeper inside him, feeling my desire roaring back to life. With that kiss, all my worries melted away.

  I straddled one thick thigh and ground myself into him, struggling to ease the ache between my legs. He groaned in appreciation, flexing the muscles on his leg to give me more resistance.

  “Fuck, Els,” he rasped against my lips.

  His words sent arrows of lust directly to my loins. I took a step back and shrugged off my jacket; he followed suit then reached behind his head and pulled off his T-shirt. He raised one dark eyebrow, waiting for my next move.

  “Strip me,” I said, giving him access to my body once again. His hot palms slid under my shirt and up my back, undoing my bra clasp even as they moved up to pull my shirt over my head. “Smooth,” I said with a smile.

  “It’s a gift.” His hands moved down to the waistband of my jeans, undoing my button and fly. Then, with nostrils flaring, he slid them down my hips, hooking his thumbs in my panties and taking them along for the southbound trip.

  I kicked off my boots and stepped out of my pants, standing completely naked in the garage and loving it. Henry’s hands roamed around my body as his eyes drank me in with lust and adoration, kneading and spanking and pinching at will.

  “I want to see you straddling the Harley like that.” He stood up and lifted me onto the bike. The cool bite of the leather was a nice contrast to the heat of my crotch. I gave him a seductive smile and leaned over to grasp the handlebars, arching my back to improve the visual.

  “Like this?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

  He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “Fuck, that’s sexy,” he ground out. “I’d like to do you right there on the bike.”

  “Then do it.”

  It didn’t take him long to kick off his shoes and pants. Don’t let men fool you; they can actually move quite fast when there’s sex on the line. In less than a minute, he was standing beside the bike completely nude, ready for action. “Lean over a bit more.” He palmed his erect cock with one hand while the other reached over and started the bike.

  The effect was instant, like turning on a massive vibrator between my legs. I shifted around, trying to find the best angle, moaning when I found it. “Oh!”

  Henry climbed on behind me, sliding me forward onto the red gas tank. He grasped my hips and lifted my ass up, then guided me to his shaft. I sank onto him almost immediately, eager to feel the bike against me again.

  He made an indistinct noise through his teeth, no doubt also experiencing the bike’s thrums against his balls. “Fuck, this feels good,” he barked out. “Why haven’t we done this before?”

  We sat still for a few moments, enjoying the tremors that racke
d our bodies. Then he gripped my hips and lifted my ass before he began to rock into me. I reached out and grasped the handlebars to steady myself, standing on the pegs for better leverage.

  I felt so wanton and wild, being fucked on a motorcycle by my big biker man, with my hair over my face and my breasts bouncing around. In that moment, nothing outside this garage mattered. Only Henry and me and the bike below us.

  I started when he slapped my ass hard enough to sting. I lifted my butt higher, asking for more.

  “You like that?” he asked, stroking my heated skin a moment before smacking me again.

  The sting was a welcome distraction, the kind of pain that didn’t go past the surface of the skin. I welcomed it, wanted more.

  Henry moved to the other cheek, slapping the flesh as he said, “You’ve been shaking this ass at me for years. Now it’s all mine.” He smacked me again before taking both cheeks in his hands and kneading them. All the while, he was thrusting into me, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

  I heard him start to pant, felt his fingers dig deeper into my flesh. I tightened around him, hoping to chase his climax down.

  “I’m about to come,” he said and as he did, he pressed me back down onto the bike, shocking me into an intense orgasm. I tried to push up but he held me down, the strong vibrations wrenching another miniorgasm out of me.

  I was shuddering by the time he reached over to turn off the bike. He bent down and planted kisses up my spine, lifting my hair out of the way, and stopping at my nape. Goose bumps broke out over my skin as he whispered, “It’s good to have you back.”

  5

  “Elsie, can you come up here?” Henry’s voice boomed throughout the house as I cleaned the downstairs bathroom. We’d decided to spring-clean the entire house that Sunday afternoon, Henry taking the upstairs while I tackled the downstairs.

  I stuck my head out of the bathroom and called out, “Hang on, I’m not done yet.”

  “Now.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” I muttered to myself, performing a sarcastic little salute in his direction. I took my time wiping down the bowl, not in the mood to be summoned in such a manner. I figured if he needed me so badly, then he could come to me himself.

  And come he did. “What the hell is this?” Henry said, appearing in the doorway with a round plastic case in his hand.

  Shit. “Where did you get that?”

  “I was looking for some aspirin in your drawer and found it,” he said, his lips a thin line of aggravation. He opened the case, seeing that each pill had been taken up to today. “Why are you taking them again?”

  I put down the cleaning spray and wiped my hands on a paper towel to buy some time while I thought of a suitable explanation. But in the end, I had nothing but the truth. “You know why,” I said softly.

  He snapped the case shut. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his face red.

  “Because . . . I don’t know. Because I knew you’d disagree.”

  “I thought we were trying again.”

  “You just assumed we would.”

  “Don’t you want to?”

  I put the toilet lid down and sat on it. “I do, but . . .” I looked up at him, feeling like I was once again disappointing him. “I didn’t think I was ready yet.”

  He kneeled between my legs and set his hands on my thighs, his long fingers splayed. “If you need more time, then just say so,” he said, giving my legs a gentle squeeze. “Just . . . don’t leave me out of the decisions.”

  I nodded, kissing the tip of his nose. I hated that he was mad at me, particularly when we’d just arrived at a good place in our relationship again. “I promise you won’t be,” I said.

  He sighed. “It’s been awhile, Els. Doc said we were ready to try again after a normal cycle. You’re sure you’re not ready yet?”

  Easy for him to say; he wasn’t the one who went through the harrowing ordeal. “I don’t know . . .” I reached up to run my hands through my hair when he captured my wrist.

  “We can just call it nonprevention,” he said. “To take the pressure off.”

  I bit my lip. “I guess so.”

  “Doesn’t mean you’ll get pregnant right away.”

  I looked at him, at the unabashed determination on his face, and decided to push myself beyond my comfort zone. For him. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Harmon first for a checkup.”

  “Really?” he asked, the smile spreading slowly, cautiously. His hand slid up my thigh. I nodded and he let out a relieved laugh, giving me a quick peck on the lips. “God, I love you.”

  I wanted to return the sentiment but was too filled with anxiety to speak, so I simply pasted my lips to his and hoped for the best.

  —

  My appointment with Dr. Harmon took place a few days later. She was a well-respected OB-GYN, often booked for weeks, but she made sure to squeeze me in during her lunch break.

  “I’ve been wondering about you,” she said inside the exam room. She looked at her laptop, where her patients’ files were held. “So you had an emergency D and C and were released the next day.”

  “Yes.”

  “No complications, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “And you’re here because you want to try again?”

  “Right.”

  She stood up and slipped on latex gloves. “Okay, lie back and I will examine you.”

  I got into position, sliding down to the very edge of the table and slipping my feet into the stirrups. I hated being in this position and what came right after it, but it’s one of those things every woman must endure repeatedly. It was best to just go to my happy place until it was all over.

  So I thought of a time in Oklahoma when Jason, Henry, and I had gone camping at Red Rock Canyon. We shared a four-man tent, which really meant four people had to lie side by side in order to fit. I somehow ended up in the middle (for man-spacing purposes), which meant sleeping beside Henry. I hadn’t thought of him as anything more than my brother’s best friend in years, so when I woke in the middle of the night and found him watching me, a frisson of excitement ran up my spine. But the irritating guy didn’t say anything. He just got up and went outside, pretending he simply needed to pee. But I saw the way he looked at me, felt the warmth of his gaze on my face . . .

  Dr. Harmon pressed on my stomach and I flinched.

  “Pain?”

  I nodded. “I’ve had some cramping the past few weeks.”

  “Bleeding?”

  “Beyond my normal period? A little.” At her concerned expression, I asked, “What is it?”

  She ignored my question. She simply took off the gloves and picked up the phone from the wall, speaking to one of her staff for a few minutes. “Yes, bring the ultrasound machine to room three, please. Also, saline and a catheter.”

  After she hung up, I leaned up on my elbows, my heart beginning to hammer. “What’s wrong?”

  Dr. Harmon turned back to me. “If you have about thirty to forty minutes to spare, I’d like to perform a sonohysterogram.”

  “A what?”

  “Sonohysterogram. It involves inserting a catheter into your uterus, which will pump saline into your uterus while I perform an ultrasound.”

  “An ultrasound? Why, am I already pregnant?”

  She shook her head, regret in her eyes. “If my suspicions are correct, you may have suffered uterine scarring from the curettage.”

  —

  I couldn’t sleep that night, the worries eating away at me until the dawn began to peek through the blinds. I couldn’t imagine how Henry would react; I didn’t even know how I would begin to tell him.

  I decided it was best if I told him right away, ripping the bandage off and all of that.

  So I headed him off at the door as soon as he came home. He had
n’t even taken his shoes off before I sat him down at the dining table and prepared to tell him.

  But before anything else, I’d make him some eggs and toast. And pancakes. Maybe some fresh-squeezed orange juice if I had the time.

  “What’s going on, Els?” he asked, coming around the counter and hugging me from behind. He reached out and grabbed the salt and pepper and seasoned the eggs in the frying pan.

  I whisked the pancake mix in the bowl until my arm was frozen with fatigue. Henry flipped the eggs over and waited for me to speak.

  “Does it have something to do with the visit to the OB-GYN?” he asked softly. When I nodded, he shut off the stove and unplugged the griddle, then gently turned me to face him. “What happened?”

  My eyes were already watery when I forced myself to look up at him. “I have Asherman syndrome,” I said, hiding the truth beneath confusing terminology.

  His eyebrows drew together and he bent down to look into my face. “What’s that? Is it serious?”

  “It’s . . .”

  “Just tell me.”

  “It means I can’t have children.”

  He took a startled step back, his eyebrows drawn together.

  “I have scarring in my uterus from the D and C, which means that the embryo can’t implant.”

  “Is it treatable? Is there something they can do for it?”

  “There’s an operation—”

  “Then do it.”

  “You’re already wheeling me down to the operating room and you don’t even know what it is yet.”

  “Does it matter? We need to try everything.”

  I pushed him away. “Of course it matters. This is my body we’re talking about.”

  “I don’t understand. Don’t you want to get pregnant?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Don’t you?”

  I stared at him for a long time, faced with the question that had been haunting me for the entire night. “I don’t think so. No,” I whispered.

  He didn’t say anything. He just stared at me in disbelief, but for the first time in a long time, I was actually being completely honest.