One Night Flame

by Beverly Evans

  I pick up my phone and stare at it, wondering if I should text her about dinner tonight. I think I just want to be distracted, and she’s good at being cheerful when I need it most, whether she knows that or not.

  I put my phone back down since she’s probably still working.

  I sigh and glance at the time. Too many hours between now and when I can go. I busy myself with work that isn’t urgent, just to do something. I look at my desktop files. I know I’m not supposed to take certain files home with me, but I’m itching to grab more information on the fires I’ve been trying to connect. I’ve already saved some of the files on the fires to my flash drive, but I add some other ones, one at a time. Nothing too serious, or anything that would get me in serious trouble for taking from the private server.

  When I go onto a secure, password-protected folder to look at some evidence image files to take notes on, something feels amiss. I check each one and then check my personal notes. I wrote down a list of what the images were the other day. One image is missing, of a scrap of cloth that looks like it was used as a wick in the house fires. It’s one of the few things that’s appeared at all three of the fires I’m looking into. A blend of cotton and polyester, if I’m reading my shitty notes clearly. A tight, heavy weave, which makes it burn more slowly, like a candle wick. Unfortunately, it’s an extremely common material, so no one’s dug deeper into its relevance. I’ve seen it at arson scenes before.

  I frown and click around some more.

  It’s nowhere to be found in the files. I get up and head over to the evidence room to see if Harry or someone else temporarily moved it. I find where it’s supposed to be, and it’s gone. I don’t remember Harry mentioning that he’d taken it out. I’ll check my email to see if I’ve missed something.

  I sit back down at my computer and check my email. Nothing much on the cases at all, besides crap with the insurance companies that everyone hates dealing with. I look back at the folder. The images are numbered correctly on the computer files, so someone didn’t just pull the file and call it a day. They intentionally changed it to make it look like nothing happened. I right-click on the images. The ‘last edited’ date is the anniversary of Jack’s death.

  I stare blankly at the screen. I don’t know what to do besides shoot an email off to the guys covering the cases and asking if they noticed it. I pretend that I just stumbled upon this by mistake, just in case.

  Why would that evidence be missing? It’s one of the few things that all of the scenes have had. But it’s also something that a lot of people use to intentionally set fires. I’m not sure if I’m getting anywhere in this or if I’m just connecting dots that don’t actually relate to each other.

  But this? This is weird. And intentional. I need to figure out who did it and why.

  The rest of the day drags on after that spike in excitement. I’m still so heated from my interaction with Henry and disturbed by the missing evidence that I can hardly focus on anything but going home. When it’s finally time to leave, I book it out of there.

  I didn’t go to the gym this morning, so I walk home. I walk past Nadine’s old house, which still has remnants of the fire inside. It doesn’t smell like ash in the air around it anymore.

  I hear Mabel barking before I get inside, and she’s doing her happy dance when I finally open the door. She’s trying so hard not to jump on me that it’s almost hilarious. I give her what she wants — kisses and scratches in all the right places — before kicking off my shoes and walking deeper into the house. I hear Carly Rae Jepsen blasting, one of the pop artists who I’ve begrudgingly come to kind of enjoy since Nadine’s moved in, and her wildly off tune but quiet singing.

  “Oh, hey!” she says when I walk into the kitchen, not pausing the swinging of her hips.

  She’s wearing leggings that make her ass look like sin, whether she knows it or not. Thank god she’s stopped going braless in the house. I nearly fucking died when I saw her perfectly high and firm tits underneath her thin pajama top, jiggling around with every fast movement.

  “Hey,” I finally say, dragging my eyes up to her face.

  She’s smiling at me, so warm and friendly that I’m immediately put at ease. And her hair’s up in that bun I like so much, her neck looking even more swan-like than usual in the v-neck t-shirt she’s wearing. She has a clean stirring spoon in her hand and is waving it along to the music.

  My stomach flip-flops in my body, and I just feel so good being in the same room as her. I want to come home to this image every fucking day. Well, this image and the scent of brownie batter wafting toward me.

  She’s still smiling at me, waiting for me to say something, I think, but I can’t stop looking at her. Beneath all the reserved, ‘let’s keep it peaceful’ facade she puts on to the outside world, she’s vibrant and warm.

  Shit, I really like her. To paraphrase one of her favorite songs, I really, really, really, really, really like her.

  After Henry’s bullshit today, I can’t deny the feelings anymore. All of my anger with him isn’t because I found how he talked about women like hunks of meat. A lot of it is because he talked about Nadine like that, and it pisses me off.

  It’s not just sexual attraction, though that’s part of it. I actually have feelings for her. It’s been years since I’ve felt like this, and that chick paled in comparison to Nadine.

  But I get one chance with her…period. She says she doesn’t know what will make her trust a man again, but it’s easy to see how I could destroy any progress she’s made on that front in a million different ways. If I fuck up, she’ll probably never trust me again. I’ve already burned her once.

  I don’t know what I should do.

  “What’s up?” she asks, her smile dimming.

  “Nothing, just a long day.” I open the fridge and stare inside. There are leftovers for dinner tonight. “Making brownies?”

  “Yep! Pumpkin cheesecake brownies. I’m messing around with Mom’s recipe since it might be good for fall.” She turns down the music. “I’m about to put it in the oven.”

  “Do I get to taste test these? Between my less frequent workouts and all these baked goods, you’re going to ruin my delicate figure,” I joke, grabbing a beer.

  “Oh please.” She rolls her eyes, opening the oven and sliding the pan of batter inside. “Your abs have hardly taken a beating.”

  She looks me up and down in a way that sends my blood rushing downward.

  “How can you be so sure?” I shoot back, opening up my bottle. I know it sounds flirtatious, but I can’t help it.

  She busies herself with cleaning the counter, the way she starts doing something with her hands when she’s embarrassed. I’m not sure if I’ve just made a misstep or what.

  “You hungry? I’m kind of in the mood for pizza, honestly,” she finally says.

  “Ordering in? Sure, why not?” I pull out my phone. “Shitty pizza, or legit Italian pizza?”

  “Shitty pizza. The greasy, cheap stuff,” she says, a smile coming back on her face. Hearing her casually swear is a strange turn on since she usually doesn’t swear at all.

  I need to calm down and take a cold shower.

  It doesn’t help when she walks over to me to look at my phone screen. She smells sweet, like the bakery, with the ever-present coconut smell that always reminds me of her there also. She doesn’t hesitate to get close like she has in the past.

  “Mm, pepperoni for me,” she says before flitting away. “Thanks.”

  I order the pizzas. “Done.”

  I watch her put her dishes into the dishwasher, even though that’s technically my job. She knows how much I hate it, so I appreciate it.

  “So, um…” She turns around, and I think she catches me staring at her. “Want to watch TV or something?”

  “Yeah, sure. Let me go change.” I head to my bedroom and breathe a long sigh of relief. The small amount of space is exactly what I need.

  I splash cold water on my face and put on some old bask
etball shorts and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. When I walk back out, she’s curled up on the couch with her chin resting on her knees, flipping through TV shows on Hulu. Mabel’s on her left, watching the screen like she understands what’s going on.

  Her eyes flick up at me when I come back in the room, going from my shoulders to my arms, then across my chest. Definitely checking me out. It makes me bold.

  I sit down next to her, probably closer than I usually would have, but she doesn’t scoot away.

  “Chopped?” she asks.

  “Sure.” I don’t particularly care.

  She turns the show on, and we both stare intently on the screen. She can sense that something is different, just as I can with her. Fifteen minutes go by without either of us saying a word. I want to break the ice, which usually isn’t a problem for me at all. But I can’t go barging into this like an ass.

  “You sure you’re okay?” she asks, a faint smile on her face. “You seem like you’re somewhere else.”

  “I’ve just been thinking about you,” I admit. Only she can distract me from work shit.

  “I’m right here.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I look at her. Up close, I can see a little scar on her eyebrow from when Andy pushed her off a swing set when they were kids. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” she says slowly, obviously confused. “Why?”

  That’s a relief. I never thought I’d hear her say that, especially after we talked about the trust issues she has the other night. She never would have talked about that in the past.

  “We’ve never talked about that night. Those nights.” I scan her face, her posture. She doesn’t tense up, so I push on. “On the trip.”

  She shakes her head. “We haven’t.”

  “I liked it. I had a lot of fun. I’d like to do it again, but I also want to keep doing this,” I say, gesturing between the two of us.

  And I leave it at that. The ball’s in her court now. It needs to come out in the open because every day I have to wonder about what’s going on between us is another day that I’m worrying about it. Even though Nadine’s gotten better at speaking up about her true feelings, we’d probably be waiting for another year before she flat out says anything about it.

  Her face is calm but contemplative. She’s so calm that I get nervous. A first. Will she shoot me down?

  “I feel the same way,” she finally says, and my heart fucking soars. “But…”

  I almost groan at ‘but’, but I hold it together.

  “Putting a label on this feels too scary.” She puts her feet down on the ground, resting her hands on her knees.

  “I agree. I haven’t had a great history with official relationships in the past, so it would be good to take it slow.” I rest my hand on her knee. “We can just roll with it.”

  “I’m not known for rolling with things like this,” she says with a snort.

  “That’s not true. You rolled with the shit that went down at the cabin like a champ, which is why we’re only talking about it now.” I stroke her leg with my thumb, feeling heat start to rush up my spine and across my body. I need her underneath me. And on top of me.

  “I guess I did.” She cocks her head to the side. “I never thought of it that way. I just thought I was being weirdly evasive.”

  “I would have brought something up sooner if I thought you were ready to talk about it,” I say. “I took our chat after the fire to mean pump the brakes.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was trying to say, except I was too shaken to actually say it.”

  “I can have restraint when I want to,” I say with a grin.

  “The key words there being ‘when you want to.’” She kisses me softly on the cheek. “I’m grateful for it.”

  I feel that kiss on the cheek like she’d just kissed me passionately on the lips. I pull her toward me and kiss her properly. We’ve kissed quite a lot, but this one feels different. It’s leisurely but passionate. We don’t have to worry about being bothered by anyone else, and we know that it doesn’t mean we’re in a serious relationship. I slide my fingers into her hair and hold her in place, caressing her face with my free hand. Her skin is soft, all over, and a little cool. I want to warm her up.

  “Let’s go to the bedroom,” I whisper, pulling her to her feet along with me.

  She doesn’t stop kissing me as we go, stumbling and nearly busting our asses more than once. But we both laugh it off and make it without hurting ourselves. Now that we’re in my room — which now smells like her, sweet and girly — I feel my need increase. I’ve thought about fucking her so many times since our hookups at the cabin that I don’t know where to start. We never got to fuck loudly, like I want to. I want to hear her now that she’s got more confidence in bed. No more keeping our voices down so we don’t alert anyone. No more holding back.

  I want to fuck her hard, see how much kinkier she’ll get beyond a blindfolded sex session like at the cabin.

  “Strip for me, baby,” I order, standing at the end of the bed. I’m already getting hard, and we’ve hardly touched.

  She does what I say, almost in a hurry. I grin. I like that she doesn’t feel the need to play too cool. I can tell she’s never given a striptease in her life, but the fact that clothes are coming off of her makes it enough of a turn on for me. She stands naked in front of me, completely comfortable. It’s such a sharp difference to our first time together when I had to convince her of how hot her body was (and still is).

  I grab her by the hips and pull her toward me. Instead of taking her lips, I rake my teeth along the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She sighs softly and rests her hands on my chest.

  “What should we do with you, huh?” I ask her absently, taking her hair down.

  “Whatever you want,” she replies, her voice breathy.

  “Anything?” I shake her hair out, so it’s around her shoulders. She nods, her dark eyes wide with anticipation. My cock twitches. There are so many things I want to do with her, but there’s one thing I think about a lot. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

  She crawls onto the bed right away and sits up against the headboard, suddenly looking a little shy. She always looks cute like that but being naked, her hair tousled, and her hand just barely dipping between her thighs turns her into something else. I lose my shirt and shorts to even out the playing field and sit on the side of the bed, facing her but giving her enough space to do her thing.

  She rolls away from me and reaches into my side table. I wonder if she’s trying to find a condom or something, but instead, she comes out with a pink dildo and a matching bullet vibrator. My cock twitches at the sight of both of them. They’ve been chilling in my side table, along with some old chapstick and assorted junk this whole time? Has she been using them at night while I’m a room away?

  Fuck, that’s hot.

  Now I get to see what she’s up to when the lights are off.

  It’s like a wet dream come to life, watching her unfold right in front of my eyes. She’s a little shy at first, but once she touches her vibrator to her clit, she relaxes. I slowly stroke myself, not wanting to get too riled up too quickly. Her eyes are closed in pleasure and concentration, working both the dildo and the vibrator with practiced ease. Her pale brown nipples are as hard as diamonds, and I can’t wait to suck on them again.

  “Look at me,” I command.

  Her eyes flutter open and lock with mine. She moans while she watches me, and I can tell she’s getting close.

  I crawl toward her since I know I can’t jerk off any longer without coming, pushing her legs farther apart. I take away her vibrator and put my mouth where it was, putting my hand over hers on the end of her dildo. She starts shaking almost immediately, and I don’t stop tonguing her clit.

  I plunge my tongue into her deep, savoring the scent and taste of her. It overwhelms me, surrounding all my senses. I plant little kisses on her lips and the inside of her thighs. She giggles slightly as my stubble softly rakes against her
flesh.

  “Shit, Noah, please,” she begs, gripping my hair hard. “Yes.”

  I continue to lick and kiss at her perfect, velvety folds, loving the way she responds to my touch. I take the vibrator from her and press it against her clit, while at the same time slipping two fingers of my other hand into her.

  She lets out a low, shuddering moan. I pick up the pace, alternating between my tongue, my fingers, and the vibrator until her hips are bucking against me. She lets out a series of gasps and moans as I work my way in and out of her, lapping up her pussy like it’s air.

  Finally, I take the dildo in my hand, and I slip it into her as I take full control of both the vibrator and the dildo. She tosses her head back and lets out a cry. I slam the dildo into her even faster, developing a rhythm. I know she’s close now. But just before she comes, I remove the toys and plunge my face back down into her center, giving one last, long lick.

  I don’t let up until she’s screaming, shaking, and wet against my face. I toss the dildo and the vibrator aside after and look at her. Her chest and face are flushed with exertion, and her nipples are still calling out to me. I cup each breast in my hands and quickly play with her nipples, alternating between sucks and licks. I’ll have time to play with them as much as I want now, so I flip her over onto her hands and knees. She arches her back like she’s presenting herself, and I bite my bottom lip. I grip her ass and squeeze. It’s so fucking perfect. I want to see my dick sliding into her.

  “Shit, condom,” I mutter. We hadn’t used one every single time at the cabin, but I’d pulled out every time we didn’t…except once.

  “I’m on the pill,” she says, her voice muffled since her head is resting on her elbows.

  “I guessed.”

  “Please put it in me.”

  I grin and position my cock at her entrance. “You want it rough, don’t you, baby?”

  “Mmhm,” she murmurs. “Please.”

  “So damn polite, asking for it like that.” I wink, grabbing her hair and pulling back. She gasps but grinds back against me.

  I thrust into her in one smooth stroke and pause, taking in the sensation of being inside her again. It’s so warm I could almost come right then. But I steel myself, trying to keep it together. I want this to last a long time. I’ve waited too long to have her again.