Brutal (14 page)

“Did I do something I shouldn’t have?” she whispers.

“Fuck no. I loved it. I just think that, with your past, we should go slow. Figure this shit out together.”

“My past, right. Because a twenty-seven-year-old wouldn’t know what she wants? I’m not
her
anymore. I’m a grown woman. Don’t ever use my past against me. If you don’t want this with me, say it. Man up and fucking say it.”

Grabbing her hand, I guide it to my rock hard cock. “Does this feel like I don’t want this?”

“I don’t get you.”

“Answer me. Does it?”

“No.”

“No. I’ve never been this fucking solid in my life, but we got time. Let’s do this shit right.”

“Okay,” she says, taking a deep breath. “So are you leaving now?”

“You want me to?”

“No.”

“Then I ain’t leavin’.”

 “I’m not tired,” she says. I’m exhausted, but if she’s up, I’m up.

“Where’d you learn to fight?” She said it herself, she isn’t a normal girl. She doesn’t go to malls, or gets her nails done. Fighting is second nature to her, and if I pegged her right, this won’t be a closed topic.

We stayed up, talking about everything from weapons to growing up in the station and the streets. We talked about our childhoods, and how fucked up the world is. I told her about my first bust, she told me about the first job she did, and how nervous she was to call the station. She told me how my protecting her made her feel safe. We talked a lot about her dad, and a little about her mom and sister. I told her about Rafe and she told me about Macy. I asked about her ink, and she laughed and said Macy gave her a small dose of the “special sauce” so she could get through it. She said she loved the ink on my forearms, and asked if it hurt. We joked about the Captain. We even kissed more before we started to drift. We fell asleep attached, with me at her back, just like it’s supposed to be.

I
wake up feeling rested. I guess your first make out session will do that to you. Scratch that, a make out session with Rogan will do that to you. I may have no frame of reference, but I think we did an okay job of figuring it out. I stretch and smile a bit. Smiling. Huh. Who knew he could make me feel safe
and
smile?

Thinking back to last night, I don’t know where my boldness came from. The need to kiss and touch him was almost painful, but the stopping was the most painful of all. He said all the right the things to fix the hurt, so I’ll follow his lead, taking it slow. But let the record show I’m not a fan of this plan. Especially, when I copped a feel of what’s hiding inside those boxers, because damn.

I hear him in the shower and decide to get up. Remembering that my nudity last night caught him off guard, I throw on a t-shirt. As I lay here, reflecting, I find it so strange, how something like being touched can send me into a fit of terror, but nudity doesn’t faze me. If I was ever inclined to see a shrink (which I’m not) I’m positive there would be a name for what’s wrong with me. I wasn’t kidding when I told him I wasn’t normal. I’m not normal. I don’t
want
to be normal. I may have moments of normalcy, like last night, but the fact is, outside of work and Macy, I don’t do well in social situations. I don’t like crowds or surprises. The only reason I can survive at work is because the music comforts me, and I’m encouraged to be destructive.

I watch people get high or drunk, and sometimes both. I see them touching, then fucking, and I’m okay with it. It’s what normal people do. For me, my highs are of the violent variety. Macy would probably tell me that Rogan is the light to my dark, but I can’t think that far ahead. I don’t know where this could go, if anywhere.

I can’t go out to dinner or the movies, like others do. Just thinking about it makes me restless. I could slit your throat or break all of your fingers, and not be bothered. I can watch orgies and overdoses. But the thought of being out in public on a date…I tense up just thinking about it. Dating, to me, is rehearsed, and I can’t do rehearsed. I prefer my life to be unscripted.

I don’t feel awkward or hesitant about seeing him today, but I’ll be pretty disappointed if this gets weird. Typically, when I need advice I call Macy. She knows a lot about this stuff. She’s my Dr. Ruth. Girls do this, right? They call each other and talk about guys? It seems wrong to me to talk to a friend about it, when he’s right here and I could talk to him. We’re adults, we should be honest with each other. People hook up all the time, right? We didn’t even technically hook up, so  making out doesn’t count as hooking up, does it?

Shit, I don’t even know. I do know that when I snapped out of it and saw that he was the reason I came back, that he made the terror go away so fast, I had to be as close to him as possible. I’m a grown woman, so if the first man I’ve ever been attracted to was as into it as I was, then it was consensual and beautiful, and there is no rule to say when it’s okay and when it isn’t. My pep talk worked, so I didn’t bother her with a distress call.

I shoot her a text, asking about classes instead, and asking if she’s coming to the club soon. She’s probably in class, so I’ll wait it out. Until then, even vigilantes need caffeine. Rogan is running up my water bill, while I start my coffee pot. I look out my window and see it’s going to be a cloudy day. I need to hit the range and look into training Peaches, so if the weather does turn to shit, it doesn’t really affect me. I have the next four days off from the club, and there’s a lot I can do in four days’ time. One of those things is to square up with Tony. I don’t know what his angle is, but I need to put a stop to it.

Sitting down on my futon, I hear the shower cut off, and I find myself getting anxious. Like, my breasts are heavy and I need to rub myself all over him anxious. Except I realize I’m not anxious, I’m horny. Well, shit this is new. Not able to sit still, I head back into the galley style kitchen to pour him a cup. He’s a cop. Never met one who didn’t have a cup. Plus, it keeps me from attacking him for the moment.

He walks from the shower down the hall to the guest bed, and looking at his huge back makes me warm all over. I had my hands on that gigantic back. Am I old enough for hot flashes? Note to self: ask Macy. I crane my neck, hoping he’ll drop the towel, sneeze or something, when there’s a knock on my door. I head over to see who’s here so early. It may be two pm, but for people like me, that’s considered early.

Peep hole confirms it’s my neighbor, Roughdraft. I open the door, reminding him that it’s early. He says sorry, that he lost his key (again). I have several spares at any given time for him. He’s a killer DJ, but has the memory of an infant. I walk away to grab him a key from the kitchen, and he makes a comment about how I look good in a T-shirt, and that he should bother me early more often. Witty comment on deck, I grab his spare and walk back over, when I see his eyes widen and his face pale.

Rogan is coming from the hall, heading straight for him. Two more steps and Rogan has him by the throat, his feet dangling off the ground. He’s growling and saying something I can’t hear because I haven’t moved from my spot. He takes his right fist and uses it on Roughdraft’s chin twice, and he goes limp instantly. I still haven’t moved. Part of me knows I should feel bad about what just happened, but I don’t. Part of me knows I could explain and fix this, but I’m just frozen in place. I’m not frozen with fear, far from it. Seeing him like this has me squeezing my thighs together. I even let out a small moan. I couldn’t have stopped my reaction if I tried.

He turns to look at me and I see a trio of emotions on his face: rage, remorse, and desire. It takes him a moment but when it registers, he lets Roughdraft drop and walks over to me. He opens my hand, takes the key, walks back, helps Roughdraft up, and sets him outside in the hallway before locking the door. I see him lean his head on the door in attempt to gather himself. Not wanting to be apart from him, I approach him from behind, running both hands up his back. He relaxes some, and then lets out a deep breath. I wrap my arms around his middle, resting my head on his back hoping to comfort him.

“You want me to leave.” He makes it a statement.

“No.”

“Who is he to you?” he demands.

“Just my neighbor.”

“He wants you,” he growls.

“Well he can’t have me. Kiss me.”

He turns, taking my arms from around his middle, putting them around his neck. I gasp when he picks me up and wraps my legs around him. He’s so fucking strong. He walks me over to the galley and sets me on the countertop. Still, I don’t let go. I’m waiting for a kiss. He seems to be waiting for punishment.

“Well?” I demand.

“That guy looking at you set me off and I—“ he begins.

“Are you going to kiss me?” I interrupt.

“You want me to kiss you?” he asks, incredulous.

“I’ve asked twice, haven't I? Is three times what you’re looking—“

I don’t finish, because he growls and attacks my mouth. We figured the tongue thing out last night, so when his hands grip my ass, I suck on his tongue hard. He grabs my ass harder, rubbing me along his hardening cock. His cock wants me, and even if he’s into this slow thing? Yeah, his cock is
not
listening.

“More,” I moan.

He growls, and it makes me crazy. I take my hands from his neck and grab
his
ass, pulling him toward me now. The friction is amazing and torture, at the same time. I want him to fuck me on the countertop, but even I know that comes much much later. I can’t stop staring at his huge cock, and instead of being scared, I decide that I’m going to start begging for it.

“I need you inside me,” I say.

“Fuck. You ain’t makin’ this easy on me.”

“My plan was to make this as hard for you as possible.”

My mouth of course picked the worst possible time to yawn, giving him the opening he needed to shut me down. Not missing a beat, he does exactly that.

“You’re still tired,” he says, not making any attempts to move.

“A little,” I say, honestly, because I never feel rested.

“What time does your day start?”

“Sixish.”

“Then you’re gonna sleep some more.” Picking me up, he carries me into my room, sets me on my bed, crawls in with my back to his front. He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight, and without even a tiny protest I fall right back to sleep.

F
alling asleep with Venessa attached to me is the only way to sleep. The need to protect her is fierce, but I also want her to be happy. I’m not a hearts and flowers guy, but I can show her I have to be in her life in other ways. Like apologizing to her neighbor next time I see him (maybe). Her not kicking me out on my ass was a shock to the system. Seeing that it made her hot was a shock to the balls. If I were the praying type, I’d throw up an amen for giving me the perfect woman.

Laying here while she’s in the shower feels… wrong. I’m jealous of the soap and water right now, so I remedy that by getting up to turn the pot on, so we can have a cup when we’re done. Notice I say “when”. The bathroom door's unlocked, so I’m positive that that’s an invitation to bring a cup to her.

She’s singing a song I don’t know. I need to remind myself to ask her what her favorite songs are so I know them.

I open the curtain and announce myself. If she’s shocked to see me, she doesn’t act like it. My idea was to bring her coffee and see her naked but she had other plans. She looks me up and down, then takes a step toward me and wraps her warm, wet body around mine. I close my eyes, forgetting about any shower that came before this one. Peeling off my soaked boxers, she starts washing me with some liquid wash. It’s not the bar shit I use. I don’t even care if I walk outta here smelling like a female. As long as I smell like this female. Having her scent on me would be a privilege.

I look for the labels on the bottles, and I grab the one that says shampoo. I work it into her thick hair, and she moans, leaning into me. I rub her scalp, and she starts rubbing my cock. This is the best fucking shower ever. She grabs my balls in her hand, working them over, and tells me not to forget the conditioner. I have no fucking idea what that means, so I say as much.