Big Guns Out of Uniform (25 page)

“Prick!” I shouted.

There was a couple sitting in a porch swing across the street staring at me. I imagined I looked like a wild woman, barefoot, wearing an apron and shouting obscenities. I waved and went back in the house quickly.

I leaned back against my front door and closed my eyes.
Why now? Was he just fucking with me?
I couldn't imagine he disliked me that much. I know he disapproved of me a lot. He'd already turned me down once. I didn't understand him, but whatever had changed, I was looking forward to seeing him in the morning.

I shook my head at my idiocy and headed for the shower. I knew there was a reason I'd bought that removable showerhead.

O
n a summer day in San Diego, sometimes there's no sunshine in the mornings. The marine layer hangs on all morning, turning from a dark gray to a pearly gray that doesn't burn off until about noon, if it burns off at all. Neither that nor the chilly water temperature deterred me or the other surfers.

I left the house at six on the dot, but when I stepped outside with my board under my arm, Detective Scott (I didn't know if I'd ever be able to call him Marshall) was waiting for me.

At first all I saw was a strange man wearing a blue half-suit and holding a yellow surfboard, and I tensed, because while Encinitas was a pretty safe little town, I'd seen the evidence of too much violent death to believe the world was a safe place.

“Good morning,” he said thickly, and suddenly I was filled with a different kind of tension.
Scott.
All my nerve endings tingled at the sight of his powerful body encased in neoprene. I noticed his muscled calves, and strong brown feet covered in flip-flops. He was all strength and size and I had an insane urge to kneel down and lick his toes.

I turned my back on him and locked my door instead, still miffed at him for leaving me wanting the night before and for not telling me that he could surf. I'd thought he'd meet me after I got back from surfing. The thought of seeing that big, muscled body riding the waves was enough to make me feel all tight and itchy.

I stomped toward him, hoping that my budding excitement didn't show on my face, and wondering what it looked like if it did.

We walked the two blocks to the beach in silence. I had my house key in a little Velcro pocket in my suit, but wasn't carrying anything else. He wasn't, either, so I assumed he had them stashed on his body somewhere. I ran my eyes over him to see if there were any suspicious bulges. I found one, and it was suspicious all right.

I don't know what I expected him to do, kiss me? Hold my hand? I wasn't sure I was comfortable with either idea. I wanted him, no doubt about it, but I wasn't sure I wanted a relationship. I hadn't been good at them before the accident. Now I downright sucked.

He didn't touch me at all. The sand was cool beneath my feet when we hit the beach. We kicked off our flip-flops onto the sand, and I wriggled my toes in pleasure. The air smelled of brine, and the sea birds yawked and chased around the beach like wild dogs.

We walked companionably to the water's edge, and I smiled at him. All the animosity, tension, and even lust sort of floated away. There were few things I loved more than playing in the ocean. When surrounded by its endless depths and unceasing rhythm, everything crazy in my life seemed insignificant and a little silly. The endless blue didn't recognize me, no matter how many times I came back.

The water was shockingly cold on my bare toes, and I looked down to see Scott's feet covered by the white foam of a running wave. He smiled at me and led the way out into the water. I thought that maybe the ocean eased him, too. He certainly seemed less tense, more human than I'd ever known him to be.

I followed him out into the water, where we floated for a while, watching for the good waves. He caught one before I did, balancing effortlessly on the long board.

I barely remembered leaving the water a couple hours later. I felt dreamy and disconnected, but I took the hand he held out to me. It was rough and callused, but warm, and for once in my life I didn't feel disgusted at the sappiness and intimacy of the gesture. It felt right, almost a pleasure in itself. I found myself hoping that it would last, that this time, I would let myself go, and in the morning I'd still want him there to catch me.

 

W
HEN WE GOT
back to the house, he stood behind me as I fumbled for my key. We had propped the boards against the wall in the entryway, and now the only thought in my head was that I would finally, finally get to have him.

I pushed open the door and faced him as he stalked in after me. I put one hand to the zipper at the top of my suit and slid it down slowly. His zipper was in the back. He caught the pull-tab and drew it down behind him, the thick material bunching around his shoulders and armpits. His eyes were fastened on my chest as I peeled the suit away from my arms and pushed downward, the tops of my breasts squeezed together by my bikini top. He pushed his arms free quickly and came to me, his suit hanging down in front of him.

His cold fingers stroked my collarbone, and then he bent his head and kissed me there, his lips warm against my cool flesh. I gasped, and my hands fell away from my hips and went around his shoulders. His tongue flicked out, burning me, and I twisted closer to him. The rubbery suits kept us from feeling each other, and we both broke away to shove at them impatiently. I was careless in my efforts, and my bikini bottoms came off as well.

His suit dropped to the ground, shorts and all, and I got my first view of his dick, thick and long, pointing at his stomach while his balls swung heavily between his legs. I stared, riveted, wanting to touch and lick and nuzzle my face against that hardness. He grabbed my hands before I could move and began to nip and suck on my fingers, sliding them into his mouth and circling them with his tongue.

I moaned and fell to my knees, my arms stretched high. My head fell forward automatically, my wet hair sliding in front of my face, curtaining my face and his flesh in a cocoon of musky salt-and-sex-scented air. I breathed in deeply, and nuzzled my cold cheeks against his dick, exhaling my hot breath against him. His hands tightened on my wrists and drew my arms higher, so my shoulders lifted, and my mouth was poised at the rounded head. I flicked my tongue out, catching a couple pearly drops of pre-cum that had collected in the tiny slit. His hips jerked, and I caught him in my open mouth, taking him as deeply as I could, which was only about halfway down. He was thick and pulsing against my tongue as I ran it along the underside. I pulled upward, tracing the raised veins with the tip of my tongue.

He dropped my hands and pushed my shoulders back until I rested on the cool tile looking up at him. He stayed there for a moment, looking at me, and I let my legs fall open, just a little. He groaned and fell to his knees, straddling me. He put his hands on my chest, pulling the skimpy top down so that my breasts popped out, nipples eraser hard and pointing at him. He hummed his appreciation and leaned down to take one pink tip between his lips. I gasped, arching up to him. It was probably the first time I'd ever managed a back bend with outright enthusiasm.

I could feel him pressed against me, and I reached down and parted my lips, so that the velvety smooth length of him slid against the wet slickness of my flesh. We both gasped at the sensation, and I felt his teeth clamp teasingly on the point of my nipple. I struggled then, trying to free my legs from the prison of his thighs and spread them wide.

He controlled me, scooting me forward and catching the backs of my knees in his hard hands. He pushed them upward, still not spread wide, until my knees were hugged to my chest, and my pouting flesh was fully visible to him, the red nubbin of my clitoris undoubtedly swollen and protruding. He crouched down, pushing my knees even farther so that my hips rose off the ground. I felt his tongue lick from the base to the top of my sex, and everything in me clenched in pleasure.

“You like that,” he murmured, tasting me again, lapping at the dewy wetness.

“Yes. Please,” I begged shamelessly. He feasted on me then, lips and tongue swirling and sucking until I screamed, undulating my hips against his mouth. He rose up abruptly and sank his dick into my hot, willing flesh.

I gasped at the feel of him probing deep, working his thick length into me. The walls of my passage tightened convulsively around him as he inexorably pushed his way in. I lifted my head and looked past my knees to the place where we were joined. My pink flesh was stretched tight around him and I gasped even as I watched him slide slowly out until only his thick head was inside me, rubbing gently, spreading my juices on my sensitive entrance. He stuffed inside me again, more easily this time, and began thrusting with slow, even strokes.

“Keep your knees there,” he ordered, and slid one hand down to cover my clitoris, rubbing me even as his dick thrust in and out. He did me hard, his rough fingers stimulating me even as his dick moved in and out with increasing force and pressure.

I circled my hips in counterpoint, wanting him deeper, harder, just a little faster. I gave myself up to the feel of him pounding inside me, to the slide and the heat and the scent of sex and salt water. I felt it first in the base of my skull, that tingling awareness that ran down the center of me like a blade, a painfully sweet ache that was growing, growing, and then I was coming, trembling and crying out as my inner walls convulsed around the hard intruder. He stayed deep inside me, rubbing gently to extend my pleasure, then when I had calmed, he took me with deep driving thrusts, chest heaving, hips plunging desperately. He came with a shout and I felt his warm seed flowing inside me.

He collapsed on top of me then, and I put my heavy arms around his shoulders and hugged him to me. We stayed like that for several minutes, breathing into each other, sinking heavily onto the floor and each other.

He got up, pushing himself up with his arms, sending his now softened flesh deeper into me for a moment. I closed my eyes to savor the feeling and heard him chuckle softly above me.

“Come on, baby,” he said, and lifted me to my feet. My legs felt like wet noodles, so I collapsed against him. He laughed again and swung me up into a fireman's carry, one hand running appreciatively over my bare bottom. I smiled against his back and let myself go limp.

He carried me into my bathroom, though how he knew where to go is a mystery to me, and set me inside the tub. He looked at the showerhead hanging down forlornly and laughed wickedly. I felt my face heat, which only made him chuckle more as he stepped inside the tub. I wrapped my arms around him and clung like a limpet as he turned the knobs and grabbed the hanging showerhead before it began whipping about with the force of the water.

I felt the forceful jet of water on my back first, and then at the top of my skull, moving down in slow strokes to wet the length of it. He rubbed his thumb over the scar that started at my hairline, massaging gently. I arched my head back and purred at the sensation, loving the feel of him wet and hard against me. He sprayed my back, butt, between my legs. He took more time there, letting the hard stream of water jet into me until I moaned. Then he turned me around so that he could wet down my front, holding me with one arm across my chest, his palm cupping my left breast. He let the water beat into my belly button, making me ache, before positioning it between my legs again.

“I should have protected you,” he murmured against my neck.

I shook my head. “I'm on the pill.”

“I still should've used a condom.”

I laughed shakily, too caught up in what he was doing to me now.

“But all I could think about was getting inside you. It's all I've thought about since I met you, taking this sweet little ass.”

“Why?” I gasped as the stream of water moved to beat directly on my clitoris, making me tighten and shiver again, arching against him.

He spread his legs a little wider apart, and I could feel him growing against the globes of my butt.

“Why what?” he asked, rubbing himself against the crease between my ass cheeks.

“Why now?” I asked desperately, the “now” turning into a plea.

The arm holding me up pressed me back against his chest so that I was leaning into his body, then released me and stretched to grab the lavender-scented soap in the little tray next to me. I watched him roll the bar easily in his large hand, lathering it with white suds, while the one holding the showerhead kept the pulsing water hard between my legs. I knew where this was going, and already my buttocks were tightening in anticipation.

He set the bar back down, and that soapy hand went behind me, going directly between my cheeks and rubbing the soap over my tight, puckered flesh. I felt close to climax already; just the thought of having him take me that way had me shivering on the brink. I felt one of his long fingers probing, working its way inside me. It felt so good and bad and it was Detective Scott with his finger inside me. Oh, my God, I was coming again, my muscles clamping on his finger as I shivered and shook against him.

He withdrew from me gently and took up the bar of soap again. I thought he was going to lather himself and take me as he'd said he wanted to, but he washed me tenderly instead, holding my head in the crook of his arm and shampooing my hair as gently as he would a baby's.

I looked at him as he rinsed out my hair, silently asking him why now? Why me? I studied him, trying to make his features come together in my mind as something I recognized. It was no use: I was broken. The switch that allowed all humans to differentiate one face from another just wouldn't flip inside me, not for friends, family, or lovers. I often doubted that anyone could really love someone who couldn't recognize their face, or if, indeed, I was even capable of loving anymore.

I felt tears burn my eyes, and I turned my face against his chest, absently licking water off the tense muscles. He hummed in pleasure again, and I thought I could grow to love that little inquisitive, interested sound that came from his throat. I straightened, taking the soap from his hands, and began washing him as tenderly as he had me, sliding hands over the hard broad plain of his chest, the washboard stomach, the tight hips and heavy thighs, making him lift his feet one by one so that I could wash them thoroughly. He really seemed to like that, and I thought I would have to make a point of investigating them later, but right then I was more interested in the hard flesh that had risen to attention between his legs. I captured him, one slick hand at his base, the other holding the heavy sac of his balls. He smiled in bliss and lifted his arms to brace them on the wall opposite me.