by Selena Kitt
“Nick,” she whispered, looking to see if he was asleep.
“Hm?”
“I should tell you something.” She didn’t know why she said it, but there it was. He didn’t respond, just waited, his breathing deep and even in the darkness. “I have something that Patrick wants.”
“What’s that?” Nick asked when she didn’t continue.
“It’s a videotape.” Her hand instinctively reached for the bag next to the bed that was never more than an arm’s reach away anymore. She could feel his silence, waiting for her to go on.
“I was doing a project,” she explained. “It was this multimedia thing for art class. I borrowed a video camera from my teacher, and I was going to do this whole ... never mind, that part doesn’t matter...” She took a deep breath, remembering her own discovery that night. “Patrick and his partner and this stranger showed up and kicked me out. I just left the tape running ... He ... he gets mad when I don’t do what he wants, like, right away...”
Nick exhaled slowly in the darkness. “What did you see when you looked at the tape?”
“The other guy was a dealer,” she whispered, closing her eyes, the darkness giving her more courage to tell him.
“Go on.”
“They argued. There was a fight.” The silence stretched, and she knew she had to tell him now. “And ... Patrick killed him.”
“You have that on tape?” Nick asked, the soft tone of his voice never changing.
“There was a knife ... in Patrick’s hand ... and the blood ... so much blood...” shivered at the memory.
“He knows you have it?”
“I told him,” she admitted, her face burning at the memory. “The day I left, I told him if he came after me, I’d take it to some news station...”
Nick let out a low whistle. “I’m surprised he didn’t kill you, too.”
“I ran.” She curled up under the covers.
“I’m glad he didn’t catch you.”
“Me, too,” she sighed. “Anyway, I just thought you should know...”
“Thank you for telling me.”
It grew quiet again, and she tossed and turned on the bed, wondering what he was thinking.
He sighed. “Ginny, I need you to give me that tape.”
Her eyes grew wide at the thought, gasping, “No!”
“I understand that you’re scared,” he went on. “But what Patrick did...”
“You don’t understand,” she insisted, sitting up and pulling the covers up to her chin. “You can’t give that tape to the cops! Patrick is a cop!”
“I know,” he said, his voice soft, soothing. “But not all cops are like him. You can trust me, Ginny. I won’t give it to the wrong people. I’ll give it to someone who will use it to punish him to the fullest extent of the law, I promise you. Can you trust me?”
She drew a shaky breath, burrowing back under the covers again. “I don’t know.”
“It’s okay. Let’s talk about it in the morning.”
In spite of her fear of handing over the tape, she felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest. Telling Nick had been a huge relief.
She remembered opening her eyes a few times, seeing him sitting there in the semi-darkness, hearing his breathing become deeper. She wondered if he were falling asleep too. Finally she sank deep enough that her whole body relaxed in ways she could barely remember.
—
She was cold. Shivering. He had found her hiding place and she was running from him, barefoot in the snow. She gasped herself awake in the semi-darkness, not remembering where she was. When she saw his uniformed figure standing over her, she pedaled backwards on the bed, clutching the headboard as if she could escape from him behind it. He was coming for her, and she knew only how to scream.
“Shhhhhh, Ginny, it’s okay. It’s me. It’s Nick. You’re dreaming,” he murmured, trying to unclench her hands, attempting to hold her.
She struck out, twisting in his arms, panicked and kicking.
“Hey! Hey!” His voice was firm and he shook her at the shoulders.
Her glassy eyes could only see the silver glint of his badge in the darkness. She tore at him, saying the useless words, “No, no, no!” He was much bigger than she was, much stronger, and as always, there was nothing she could do. He pinned her, for both their sakes, pressing her hands above her head and holding them at the wrists.
“Ginny! It’s me. It’s Nick!”
She saw him then, and sobbed. “The uniform. Nick, take it off!”
He pulled back, quizzical, then she saw the dawning compassion in his eyes. He sat back on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it over a chair, badge and all. “Better?”
She nodded, her lower lip still trembling.
“It’s okay,” he assured her, holding his arms out. “Do you want to come here?”
Hesitating, she looked at him, then over at the uniform resting on the chair. Just like Patrick’s, and yet ... she knew this wasn’t the same man.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said, as if sensing her conflict. “I just want to hold you.”
“I’m so tired,” she whispered, feeling tears welling again. She was tired—tired of running, tired of Patrick winning. Mostly, she was tired of being so afraid all of the time. Nick touched her hair, brushing it out of her face, his touch soft and gentle.
“You can rest,” he murmured. “You’re safe. I’m here.”
Never had a man, especially one wearing that uniform, made her feel safe, but she realized he did. She could trust him, and if she let her own intuition guide her, instead of her fear, she knew it was true. Denying that was just like letting Patrick win again, and she was determined not to let that happen anymore.
“Hold me.” She found her way to him across the bed, curling into his lap and shivering there.
He did, close, closer, trying to enfold her as she trembled against him.
“Take this off,” she insisted, tugging at his belt. He looked startled for a moment, but complied, letting his uniform pants join his shirt on the chair.
She burrowed against him as if desperate for warmth, desperate for something, and he sat on the bed, holding her in his lap.
“Don’t let go.” Her cheek was against his shoulder, and she straddling him now, wrapping herself around him as much as she could.
“No.” He made a small noise in his throat when she squeezed her legs around him.
Her tears made fast, salty trails down her cheeks, stinging her split and swollen lip. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed down the wet pathway to the corner of her mouth, and she sensed him watching for a response from her. She felt something give inside of her at his gentle urgency, a heart-rending rift along an undiscovered fault line. She half-moaned, half-sobbed, turning her mouth fully into his, tasting her own tears and blood and feeling raw. She kissed him back. Her body’s desire gave her no choice.
His hand went behind her neck, his fist in her hair pulling her head sideways, slanting her mouth across his at a delicious angle as his other hand slid up her thigh, over her hip, and around her bottom, pressing her more exactly against his crotch. She gasped, feeling the throbbing hardness there, separated from her heat by only a pair of boxers and the tail ends of the shirt she was wearing. She couldn’t help rocking against him, her mouth leaving and finding his again with every movement, forward and back, her eyes closed tight. His large hands cupped her bottom now, moving her, guiding her slow grinding hips. His tongue was trailing down her neck, making her gasp and sigh. She tilted to give him better access.
He slowed a little and she opened her eyes to meet his in the dimness, seeing a question there. He opened his mouth to speak, but she pressed her hand against his lips, murmuring the words, “Yes, yes,” as she feathered kisses over his jaw and neck.
He groaned, rolling her onto her back on the bed, his hands seeking her soft, warm places under the long shirt she was wearing. She was greedy, squirming underneath him as he fumbled with her shirt, t
ugging at his boxers and, frustrated by the elastic, she simply slipped in through the front, finding him hard and throbbing.
He growled, her tiny hand and jerky movements under the material making him thrust against her. He tore at the front of her shirt, not hesitating to pop the last three buttons in his haste. She took the weight of him, wrapping her legs around him as tight as she could manage.
She clung to him as if she couldn’t get enough, as if there would never be enough, and he let her. He left wet trails with his mouth and tongue over the swells of her breasts, grazing her hardening pink nipples with his teeth, making her shudder beneath him. His mouth moved down her belly while his hands kneaded her breasts, rolling the nipples in his fingers as he eased lower, between her legs. She whimpered, his breath warm on her thighs.
“Wet!” He sounded delighted. Nick slipped a finger between her lips, then spread her open with his thumb and forefinger to expose her soft, pink folds.
She moaned as his mouth covered her flesh, his tongue flat and moving slowly back and forth. It was like flying, her body was gliding and she could only go along for the ride, his tongue moving in ways that shifted the currents, guiding her in higher, tighter spirals. She was dizzy with the sensation, and she raked her nails over his shoulders and through his hair. He groaned against her clit when she did, and that sent an immediate jolt straight up her spine.
“Nick, please,” she begged, sliding her nails down his biceps, over his forearms. “I want you. Please. I want you.” Her hands were urgent, tugging, pulling at him. His face was wet with her as he kissed her thighs, her belly.
“Hungry little thing.” He gave in to her desperation, sliding one knee between hers, seeking her mouth. She could taste herself on his tongue.
“Yes.” She tugged at the last vestige of fabric between them. “Starving.” He helped her slide his boxers down his hips and thighs. “I want you to fill me.”
“I will,” he promised, sliding his hand back down to her mound, grinding his palm there, his fingers playing hide and seek just at the opening of her wet little hole.
She moaned, thrusting upwards, aching for more. He slid his cock against her, rubbing it through wet folds and she moaned, opening her thighs wider and looking up at him with a hopeful expression on her face. He seemed to be re-thinking things, and he moved onto his back, pulling her on top of him. She kissed him, eager and warm and full of craving, reaching behind her to grasp his shaft, already wet from the brief but slippery run through her slit.
Her hand moved on him, and her nipples grazed his chest as she rocked. Her eyes locked with his and seemed to push his desire toward her own ravenousness. He put his hands behind his head, looking up at her, his eyes dark with lust.
“It’s all yours, Ginny. Take it.”
Her eyes widened, and she cocked her head to one side for a moment, hesitant. He closed his eyes and waited. She straddled him, in a full squat, watching the pulse and throb of him between her legs.
“Ohhh ... oh, oh,” she cried out as she rubbed the tip of him against her clit.
His eyes were still closed, but his breath was coming a little faster, his eyelids fluttering. She sank to her knees, and then slid him, slowly, past her swollen lips and into her flesh, feeling the length of him filling her, until the tip of his cock seemed to pulse at the very center of her. He let out a slow breath, his eyes half opening to see her sitting up proudly on him, and he smiled.
Her movements were hesitant at first, then they became a slow and easy exploration of sensation, moving first right, then left, forward, back, feeling the shift of him inside of her depths. He didn’t touch her, just watched her moving on him, his eyes studying her face as she discovered her own rhythm. She soon began rocking keenly, her appetite deepening, her yearning growing fierce and wild as she rode him. His hands found her then, one on her hip to steady her, the other sliding a thumb between her lips to strum her clit, making her moan and throw her head back in complete abandon.
“Yessss, good,” he encouraged her when she cupped her breasts in her hands, her fingers rubbing lightly over her nipples.
Her eyes were half-closed and she could only make out the shadow of him beneath her. He was thrusting up into her now and she slowed her own movements, letting him rock her, knead and press and mold her, his easy rhythm slowly flooding her with feeling. “Don’t stop.”
“No,” he agreed, and she felt that easy, pleasant, mellow feeling located somewhere in her belly begin to swell deliciously as he pressed deeply into her, his thumb moving in faster and faster circles on her clit. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”
She gasped, nodded, and closed her eyes. Her fingers pinched her nipples hard now as those sweet waves of pleasure began to roll, fluttering pulses that seemed to pull him deeper inside of her and then unfurl outward through her limbs, leaving her floating, drifting, flying.
She collapsed onto him, shivering at the touch of his hands moving lightly up and down her back, tasting joyful tears mixed with the coppery taste of her torn lip. She couldn’t stop herself from weeping, feeling overwhelmed, the well-traveled pathways of her usual neural networks completely dark, new ones opening up like lightening flashes, jolting her alive.
He wiped at her tears, kissing her wet face. “This is where we started, I think.” He chuckled.
His soft kisses grew passionate, his gentle hands pressing her body more firmly against him, and she could feel him, still fully aroused inside of her. She sat up, wiping at her tears, and his hands roamed the front of her, pushing the golden curtains of her hair aside to reveal her breasts to him. He groaned when she slid him out of her, the wet heat of him enormous in her hand, and groaned again as she made her way down his body.
“Your mouth,” he murmured, concern in his voice. He reached his fingers out to brush over bruises, but she waved him away, wanting this, even if it made her sore.
She kissed the tip of him, her tongue sliding over the head, tasting her own sticky wetness. She looked up, her eyes looking for his as her mouth slid along his length. His hands went to her hair in response, guiding her, pressing himself into her deeply, seeming to ask her to take him fully, and she did, wanting more. She gagged a little and she felt him ease up, but she pressed down again, feeling the responding thrust of him into her mouth, short little strokes that rubbed the tip against the back of her throat.
She moaned around his cock, sliding her hand down to touch herself and using her other hand to pull his skin taut, grazing up the underside of his shaft and then tickling her tongue around the ridges and edges. Ginny delighted in the hardness and softness all at once.
She explored him, feathering little kisses at the tip, tasting his pre-cum and rubbing it over her lips, moving them back down the underside, leaving a sweet, sticky trail. She enjoyed the feel, and shift, and sigh of him, looking up the length of his cock and seeing it glistening and beginning to spill over as she licked his balls.
Her mouth found him again, unable to resist the throb and swell of him, slick with her juices and saliva and his own pre-cum now. He was grunting a little with every thrust into her throat, and she moaned with lust, the feel of him moving in her mouth making her hungry, even eager.
They did this dance for a long time, how long she didn’t know, time seemed to disappear altogether. It was long enough that her mouth was aching and sore and her fingers, buried between her swollen pussy lips, were prunish from the wetness. He stopped her occasionally, breathing hard and urging her down to stillness until his pubic hair tickled her nose before releasing her to suck him anew.
“Ahh, Ginny, god ... I need you,” he said, his voice rough and harsh.
She eased her mouth off of him, blowing on the shaft and then the tip, from warmth to coolness, teasing him. He growled as he moved to pull her up. Nick rolled her underneath him and searching her wetness for entry. It was found first with his fingers, then with his cock.
She gripped him, pitched into bliss, riding his fierce, driving momentum, a
nd she found herself skidding toward some steep chasm that made her heady with anticipation. It felt like falling into nothing and everything all at once.
“I can’t...” he gasped against her ear, but her head was buzzing and his words were drowned, lost in the divine, slippery wet friction at the exquisite place their bodies were joined.
Her body heard his urgency, foresaw his imminent release, and responded to him as if the force of his cock into her flesh was a demand. She wrapped herself around him, digging her heels into the small of his back. She clung, tumbling with him into some abyss, as she felt him buck and shudder against her. Instead of plunging to what she felt might be her death, she did something unexpected. She soared, finding herself flowing, rising and rolling, lifted and awash with the whirling, drifting glide of flight, and she rode it out as if she had wings.
“Am I still dreaming?” she asked him as their breathing slowed. Their bodies were slick and slippery with a wetness that cooled them in the transition from passion to sleep.
He rolled to his side, his eyes lingering on her before conceding to her tug and letting her pull the covers up to her chin. “Do you want to be dreaming?” His eyes were soft, touching her bruised and battered lip and cheek with his finger.
She winced, remembering, grateful that for a few blissful moments she had forgotten. “Maybe.” She pulled the covers over with her as she rolled away from him. He sighed as he slid behind her, his arm heavy across her ribs, but she didn’t care. “I guess I’ll know if I wake up here tomorrow, won’t I?”
“Maybe.” He fitted her hips against his.
She heard his breathing grow deep and even, cool against her cheek where her tears fell and then pooled at the hollow of her throat. She didn’t even know why she was crying, but the tears kept coming even after she slipped toward sleep.
Chapter Five
“Merry Christmas.”