by Skye Warren
“Well,” she said after a moment. “That sucks.”
And yeah, it did. But I had gotten to know her, which mattered more than I could say. “Will you come visit me sometime?”
She made a face. “Where are you staying?”
I laughed. “Not at Philip’s. I’m going to live outside the city for a little while.”
A long while, if I had my way. But Luke’s job was here, and so I was playing it by ear.
“I’d love to,” she said. “I have to thank you for what you did in that hotel room. And after. I know no one else would have.”
It was my turn to make a face. I had wanted to shake this need to please, this compulsion to keep everyone around me grateful to me. But here I was, thanked twice in two hours. It seemed I would never escape it, and maybe it had been a mistake to even try. These were my friends. Of course I should help them. It hadn’t been the gratitude I needed then, but the company. There had been a void in me, and I had frantically filled it with fawning men and a neat collection of owed favors. The void was gone, filled with things far more weighty. Filled with hope.
I left her room with the jade necklace in my pocket. It was rightfully her inheritance, like those jewels had been mine. But they had been like poison, infecting me with their very presence. If Jade had wanted to be sure Ella received it, she could have sent it herself. By giving it to me, she was leaving it to my judgment. I would throw it away like the trash that it was.
Chapter Eighteen
From the bed, I watched the leaves drift to the ground through the window, a mural of greens, browns, and reds as autumn arrived. It was hard to believe that a few weeks ago, I had stared out the window, seeing only the gray tones of the city.
Luke came into the bedroom, carrying a mug of steaming tea.
I took it with thanks, wrapping my fingers around the hot ceramic.
“How’s your leg?” he asked softly, but he didn’t wait for an answer.
He crouched in front of me and carefully pulled up the long sheet. He cradled my foot gently as he examined the wound. It had completely closed, so the bandage was off. The raised, jagged line ran from my knee down along my calf. It would probably scar, just like the round wound in my shoulder.
Some days I felt like I was nothing but a collection of scars—a cautionary tale. Other days I found a certain quiet glory in the pain of my past. I had survived them. Sometimes triumph wasn’t a fanfare but a series of small events: the first breath of morning, a warm body sharing the sheets, the sight of green eyes watching me as I came awake.
“It looks like it’s healing well,” he said. “How does it feel?”
“I barely notice it.” At his disbelieving look, I said, “Except when I walk. Or, you know, move. Sitting’s good, though.”
“We’ll sit, then.” He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb my leg.
He had already been up and dressed for an hour. The cottage needed a lot of work before it was livable, but I had refused his requests to stay in a hotel while he did the work. I wanted to be here, even if the kitchen needed new cabinets, even if the water heater kind of sucked. I never wanted to see another hotel again in my life. Besides, this place filled a part of me that had long been empty. The wound on my leg was healing. More than that, I was healing. Both outside and inside were a slow-ass process, I was finding, but at least it was progress.
“I got a call from the captain today,” he said.
My gaze sharpened. We had carefully avoided the subject of what would happen after his leave of absence. I strove to match his casual tone. “What did he say?”
“He asked about you.”
“Really?” I laughed in surprise. “Has he found something new to charge me with?”
I immediately regretted my outburst. The captain of the CPD had put me through hell, and I wasn’t sure I could get over that. Far worse, he’d made Luke an outcast for fighting for me. So the guy had reinstated Luke. I still didn’t have to like him.
Except I sort of did, because he was Luke’s boss. I would answer the phone when he called the house for Luke. I would see him at the department’s Christmas party. And I would deal with it, for Luke. It would just be another way of faking it.
Luke watched me with a resigned look. “You hate him.”
“He’s not my favorite person. But it’s not like I have to work for him. And when I see him, I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.” I never wanted Luke to feel ashamed of me. It was bad enough that everyone he worked with knew what I had been. That would already hang over him. I wouldn’t make it worse.
He looked amused. “You realize your best behavior is also your worst.”
A smile curved my lips. “You love that about me.” I pouted. “At least I thought you did.”
“I do.”
His voice had gone low, his eyes a dark emerald color. He teased me about how much I talked about sex, but really he loved it.
“I’ve been here a whole week,” I said in a singsong voice. “I’ll start to get a complex.”
“You’re hurt,” he said quickly. “You need to rest.”
“I have been resting. In fact, I’m exhausted from all this rest.”
“Oh yeah?” The glint in his eye said I wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon.
I raised my eyebrow in challenge. “Yeah.”
He climbed up beside me. I barely had enough time to put the mug on the bedside table before he pulled me up against his body, my back to his front.
Snuggling back into the warmth of his body, I said, “Not to complain or anything, but cuddling counts as resting.”
“Hush,” he said. His hand snaked over my hip.
I sucked in a breath. It had been so long…really, never. Never exactly like this, with Luke. We had a hundred different ways to explore each other, a million times to make each other come. I looked forward to every single one.
I had taken to the habit of wearing his undershirt to bed. Now he lifted the hem from my thigh and walked his finger beneath the waistband of my panties. I jumped at the touch of his hand on my mound, realizing I hadn’t shaved all week. It had been hard enough to shower with my damn leg hurting every time a drop of water touched it. Plus it had felt kind of nice to take a shower without doing that sort of primping. Just getting clean without preparing myself for a man.
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “Maybe this isn’t a good time.”
His hand froze. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m…bristly.”
He laughed softly. “Bristly?”
“You know, like a beard. But less sexy.”
“I don’t know,” he mused. His fingers resumed their stroking. “I think it would be pretty hard for me not to find this sexy. A little bristle isn’t going to cut it. Besides”—he touched my clit lightly, then backed away—“this was the spot I was going for. Not bristly at all. Very smooth. Only a little wet, but we can fix that.” He dipped his finger lower, into the dampness that had pooled between my folds. Drawing it up, he circled my clit again.
“Oh, Luke.” My heart swelled along with my clit. He made me feel so wanted, inside and out. I knew he enjoyed my body—the hard ridge pressed against my ass from beneath his jeans paid testament to that—but the way he touched me, it was as if that didn’t even matter. Whether my hair was the old blonde or the lingering brown, whether my cunt was shaved or not, he was just as hard for me, just as ready.
“It’s okay, Shelly. You can let go.” He knew the effect he had on me. “I’m here with you. I’ll do anything to be with you.”
Chapter Nineteen
I felt myself clench at his words. He said it to me every day, reminding me that he didn’t just want me for my body, for what pleasure I could bring him. I was trying, but it was hard to believe. It was hard to remember. He understood that too.
“That’s right,” he murmured as my hips began to rock into his hand. “More.”
“Ahh.” I let out a small cry as pain shot up my leg.
He stilled. “What’s wrong?”
“My leg. Sorry. It’s brushing against the sheet.”
He pulled the sheet off, then gently placed my leg over his. This way nothing could accidentally brush against the wound. The position also left me completely exposed, cool air wafting against my sensitive clit. I shuddered from the chill.
“Shh,” he soothed, his hand reaching for me, fingers pushing inside. I shuddered again, this time from pleasure.
Held open by him, probed by him, I felt vulnerable. It was bittersweet, the lingering sense of shame tainting the overwhelming pleasure. I whimpered.
“I know,” he said, and the most incredible thing was, he did. He knew what it felt like to be afraid to let anyone close. He knew what it felt like to be used. “Just tell me if you want to stop, and I will. I won’t be mad.”
I relaxed into his hold, leaning my head back. His mouth found the skin behind my ear, nibbling down to my neck. I pushed my hips into his hand, practically riding him as I sought my release.
“Yes,” he muttered. “Do it. Use me.”
My whole body tightened, squeezing his fingers and bucking against his palm. I couldn’t find the peak. I could just push and writhe and plead with tiny moans, reach until I felt wrung out and stretched taut.
“Shelly.” He sounded lost when he said my name like that.
I realized that my body was pushing back into his, that my ass was rubbing his cock, and he was probably about to come inside his jeans. That’s what pushed me over, the thought of him spurting that way, making a mess of himself because he couldn’t hold it back. With a cry, I came, grinding down onto his hand, bucking in his arms. He groaned, sucking at my neck as my body released liquid onto his hand. His fingers stilled as the last of the orgasm ran through me.
With a small sigh of contentment, I settled back. He jerked against me.
I smiled without opening my eyes. “So you didn’t come in your jeans.”
He laughed, a short, rough sound of strain. “No. It was close.”
I pressed the curve of my ass against his erection, and he groaned. “Almost there,” I said.
“Is that what you want?” he murmured. “Does it turn you on?”
“Yes,” I said, strangled, and he chuckled hoarsely.
He pushed against me, once, tentative.
“Again,” I whispered.
He held my hip this time, and just like that, his hand keeping my body steady for him to rub his cock against me made my arousal burn hot.
“Again, again.”
He wasn’t just pushing into me but pulling me back onto his body. His hands scrabbled for a better grip, as if he could get closer, as if he could pull me inside him and merge with me through the denim.
His groan was low and tortured and selfish—a man desperate for his release. Like every other time, I was a sex object being used purely for my partner’s gratification. But this was different, because I was hot instead of cold, slick with arousal instead of slippery with lube. I was with Luke.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he panted.
I smiled.
His movements grew jerky. I knew he was close, but I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to go with him.
“Wait,” I said, turning slightly. “Can you… Can we…?”
If I had seen his face first, I wouldn’t have stopped him. It was all hollows and tension, want and arousal. It looked like pain and felt like it too in the brusque way he turned me onto my back, in the grip as he spread my thighs.
“Your leg,” he ground out.
“Fine,” I gasped. I had no fucking idea, though. I couldn’t feel anything but the ache in my cunt and the abrasive rasp of his denim and then the hard, painful press of his length against my clit. His body sank down onto mine. Without break, without reprieve, he began a hard-and-fast rhythm of bringing himself off, dragging me along. I reveled in his roughness, such a stark contrast to the gentleness he usually showed me—it was need. And it was trust, for now I understood that it was as hard for him to believe in the intimacy between us as it had been for me. My body sparked with a heightened arousal, but my heart warmed with tenderness.
“God, Luke. God.”
“I know,” he said. “Oh shit.”
I kissed his temple.
His body tensed over me, against me, and I knew he was coming. I wouldn’t make it, there wasn’t time, but it was okay. And then his mouth sought out my nipple, sucking and—oh God—biting. It was too much, too hard and fast, too hungry and desperate and too damn close, and my body launched into another orgasm, my hips strained against his, and he forced them down, riding his release in the cradle of my body.
We curled up together afterward, catching our breath.
I rested my chin on his shoulder. “Hey.”
“I’m a mess,” he said, amused.
Glancing at the dark spot on his crotch, I suppressed a smile. “Was that second or third base?”
“I have no idea. But I’m pretty sure this means you’re officially my girlfriend.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.” He grew quizzical. “You know I want more than that, right? In the future. That’s where we’re heading.”
I looked down where my finger drew figure eights on his chest. “I know. I want that too. But I kind of like this high school stuff.” I felt a blush heat my cheeks. “I didn’t get to have that.”
He lifted my chin and kissed my nose. “Me neither. And I like it too.”
After a few minutes, he checked on my leg, but the wound hadn’t opened. It was a little sore from rubbing against the sheet when I was in the throes of climax, but so was my entire body. A session like that was draining, and I would have been more than happy to take that rest Luke had badgered me about, but I was restless. I opened the window. Fresh air wafted in, rich with the scent of twilight. We wouldn’t be able to do this back in the city.
Luke groaned from the bed. “Why are you vertical?”
I swallowed. “You want to go back.”
He was silent a moment; then he came to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around me. He spoke in a low tone. “I do. But I’m happy here too.”
I shifted in his arms, turned my face into the soft hair of his chest. “What would you do here?”
“I’d find something.” His shoulder shrugged beneath me. “I’m sure they need cops out here too. It would probably be less stressful.”
I snorted. “Less stressful because you’d be handing out traffic tickets.”
“I wouldn’t mind, Shelly. Whatever we have to do, wherever you need me to be.”
“Why so accommodating?”
“Would you rather I drag you back to the city and demand you have supper ready on the table?”
It didn’t sound so terrible. Maybe what I had really meant was that I wanted to go back. “I think the work you do would be more meaningful there. I think you’d prefer it.”
“But…” He raised his eyebrows.
“You might be ashamed of me. Word will get out about me in the department. It’s one thing to grab a quickie on patrol; it’s another to date me.”
“Marry,” he corrected.
My breath stuttered. “Excuse me?”
“It doesn’t have to be now, but it will happen.”
I blinked, incredulous and giddy that he would propose to me. Though he hadn’t, really. “Isn’t it supposed to be a question?”
“Would you have preferred rose petals and champagne?”
“God, no.” I’d had more than enough seduction in my lifetime, more than enough false charm. I wanted the real thing. I wanted forever. “So what now?”
“Now we go back. I’ll do the work I’ve been doing, cleaning the streets—” His hold tightened as I tried to object. “And if anyone has a problem with my wife, we’ll deal with it like adults.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. I don’t want any more violence.”
He chuckled softly. “At night, I’ll come home to you.�
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“Naked, except for my apron and high heels.”
“Wearing whatever you want, doing whatever you want.”
Which was what, exactly? That wasn’t a question for Luke but for myself. I had never been the domestic type, and hadn’t I already figured out that a regular job wasn’t for me? I had been raised to do one thing only. Even the love of a good man couldn’t make me forget all my training.
The bookstore was ages ago, a million miles away, but I might as well have been walking out the door, the rejected application damp in my hand. The life was the only thing I knew, the only one I had.
Chapter Twenty
I stared at the unmarked building, red brick and blackened bulletproof glass. Luke sat quietly in the driver’s seat beside me, giving me the space I needed.
“It’s a little depressing,” I muttered.
He made a small sound that could have been assent. Or not.
“I mean, just because it’s a new start doesn’t mean it’s a better one. How can I know this is the right thing for them?”
Was it the right choice for me? I’d wanted so badly to make this right, without fully understanding what was wrong. I knew better now. It wasn’t the actions of a single man. This would happen again and again, unless we did something. One girl, then another. With relief, I realized I hadn’t been wrong before, bringing them here, supporting this place. But it had been a halfhearted effort. I hadn’t been able to make the next step of helping them build a new life, because I hadn’t been able to build a new life for myself.
“Wait here?” I asked softly.
His eyes shone with acceptance, approval. He pressed a kiss to my lips before I got out and rang the little doorbell. The wait was longer than usual, but I stood still and patient. Finally the door opened, just a crack. Marguerite was draped in shadows.
She squinted through the glare on the windows. “I shouldn’t even have opened the door.”