Every single time this woman answers a question, she leaves me hanging with at least two more.
“So you were a virgin because no one else would touch you?”
She raises her eyebrow. “Honey, seriously,” she says condescendingly. “I did go to college, you know, where lots of people did not know my dad, and let me tell you there were lots of willing potentials. And I did lots of other stuff too. I’m not completely untried. It’s just…I had no desire to suck off some frat boy, you know.”
I groan at her language. “No Princess, I do not know.”
Her lips twitch as she fights a smile. “Anyway, that brings me to a good point, and one I need to make right now. First, I chose you, Daniels. My virginity, quite honestly, was the result of a healthy fear of venereal disease added to the fact that I didn’t want some gross boy groping and fumbling his way through it. That would have resulted in some not so fond memories, and I wasn’t so keen on that. This was…” she pauses to take a moment before she sighs deeply, then continues, “perfect. Perfect in every way.”
I’m not sure how I feel about that explanation especially because when she says the word ‘perfect’, it’s in a depressing way, but I don’t have time to process it because she’s not done talking yet.
“You need to know Daniels, we’re not dating. This is not a relationship.”
I look at her in mock surprise. “Did I propose or something and not realize it?”
She huffs indignantly. “Of course you didn’t, but you did show up at my place with all my favorite foods, flowers, and vino looking like you wanted to get a piece of this.” She motions to the area between her thighs, and I nearly choke. “And I might have chosen you to have sex with, but I have two more years of law school, and when I become a gainfully employed adult, I plan on enjoying myself as much as humanly possible with my hard earned money. This means vacations in the Caribbean, flings with carefully vetted, drug and disease-free wealthy magnates, personal trainers, and men that have funny accents.”
Now that I know she’s never been with anyone else but me, the thought of her having sex with someone else makes me want to punch my fist through a wall, but something tells me that’s not the right tactic—for now.
“So what,” I ask carefully. “You just give me your virginity, and we call it a day?”
She shoots me a disgruntled look. “No.”
“Then what Princess?”
If she says this is over, she’s got another thing coming. No way in hell I’m letting this go. Not when I’ve tasted her, not when I’ve been inside her.
“Well, um, look—I just explained my feelings, not to mention that I’m not who you want to bring home to Mama or your Grandma Bertha. I’m not the girl next door.”
“Sweetheart, your parents live right next door to my grandmother which means you kind of are the girl next door.”
She scowls. “Well, I mean proverbially, and I don’t live there anymore. Your grandmother probably tithed her entire savings to the Church the day I moved out of my parents’ house. Anyway, like I was saying, you need some nice, pretty little blonde thing that wants picket fences and all that shit. Two point five kids and whatnot. Soccer games, cookies and milk, blah blah. You get the point.”
I’m amused by her characterization of my so-called desired traits in a mate, but seeking clarification right now will get me in a rabbit hole I won’t be able to hop out of.
“I don’t get the point Princess,” is all I say.
“Look, I laugh a little too hard, it’s impossible for me to keep my mouth shut—doesn’t matter if I’m happy or pissed. When I dance, I’m really dancing like no one’s looking and if I was a smoker, I’d be the kind that smokes a pack a day. Thankfully, I’m too vain and I recognize the importance of preventative anti-aging efforts, but I digress. The point is you need nice and normal. I am anything but nice or normal. I mean, sometimes I’m a little bit of both, but seriously Daniels? I jumped your perfect ass in your squad car. I had lustful thoughts about you while I was sitting in church for Christ’s sake. I’m not under any delusion that we’ll suit each other.”
I’ve read The Art of War. I know I need to choose my next words carefully. “So what do you want to do?”
“Well, we can continue to frequently engage in acts of copulation, but I’m going to require that it’s completely monogamous. That fear of venereal diseases I have is very real, and I have no desire to medically label myself with anything characterized by three letters or known to have affected Napoleon.”
This chick is batshit crazy. When she was being all cute and sassy, I could feel my erection start to stir again. As soon as she starts talking about sexual diseases, all the blood rushes out of my penis.
“So you’re proposing we be monogamous fuck buddies? I can do that.”
She props herself up on her elbows, and her tits bounce up as the sheet slides off of them. My mouth starts to water as I stare at her pretty nipples, still red from my mouth. “Daniels, my eyes are up here.”
I would love seeing this sight every single day.
I shove that uncomfortable thought out of my mind right when she proclaims, “Isn’t that the best idea? We get all the sex we want, just from each other and without the strings of a relationship. Isn’t that just genius?”
I stare at her for long moments.
“Just genius,” I mutter sarcastically, but it’s lost on her because she claps her hands together.
Her tits bounce again.
“So that means you agree?” she asks huskily.
If that’s all she wants to give me, I’m not going to argue. It actually makes perfect sense. We get to work out all this tension we’ve got with each other, and I’m able to focus on my investigation. I give her a heated look. “Princess, don’t ask stupid questions.”
“Excellent,” she smiles sweetly. “Now, that we’ve gotten those pesky details out of the way, can I sit on your cock and ride you?”
Fucking Christ.
Liz
“Now,” I pant, rolling off of him, “that was just…” I pause, searching for the right word but it doesn’t come to me, “indescribable,” I finish lamely.
He murmurs something that sounds like agreement, so I guess my description isn’t that bad. I trace the muscles on his chest, fascinated with just how perfectly he’s formed.
Okay, truth be told, I’m fascinated with more than just his physical appearance. He’s a mystery to me—easy-going and laid back in one moment, then dead serious in the next breath. Most people are easy to figure out. It just takes a little prying, some poking, observing how they react to certain things, and discovering what motivates them.
But Mark has blown all of my perceptions of him out of the water. I’m determined to figure him out.
“I can’t believe this happened,” I blurt out.
“You can’t believe it? That time in my squad car and last night didn’t give you just a hint? Princess, we’ve been dancing around each other for over a month now.”
I sigh. “No, what I mean is that I can’t believe this happened because I can’t believe you’re the same person from before. You know, the geeky beanpole with those awful glasses. What happened to them, anyway?”
“Lasik,” he mutters.
“What about the body? How the hell did you go from that to this?” I ask, lovingly tracing invisible lines across his chest. “I’m a little obsessed with your chest, I think.”
He chokes out a laugh. “Um, growth spurt I guess? How did you go from pancakes to these?” he asks, cupping each of my breasts in his hands. “Seems like I’m pretty obsessed with your chest too.” He flicks each tip with his thumbs causing an electrical current runs through my body with that simple touch.
“Touché,” I gasp.
“I was surprised as well,”
he says. “To see you all grown up. I had a hard time reconciling you with the bratty girl who lived next door to Grams.”
“Really?”
“Until you opened your mouth.”
This time my gasp is not pleasure induced. It’s one of outrage. “You started it! You specifically asked if I was the same Liz Connor who stuffed her bathing suit.”
He pulls my wrist up to his mouth and presses a soft kiss against it. “That, I did,” he murmurs. “But I’d say you got me back by questioning my junk and then slapping me.”
My tongue burns with a ready response, but if I let it loose, we’ll end up going at it all day—and quite possibly not in a good way. “Okay, let’s just agree to lay that era to rest, why don’t we? I don’t think it’s necessary for us to rehash everything in order for us to bump uglies.”
His chest rumbles with laughter. “You have such a way with words.”
I grin. “I know. So…truce? Just lots of hot, amazing sex from now on, okay?”
“I can do that,” he says huskily, tracing his own invisible lines along my skin.
“Good. Can I ask you a question?”
“Something tells me that it won’t matter if I say yes or no.”
“Something tells you right,” I laugh.
“So what’s the question?”
“Okay, so you were in the military and then you decide you want to be a cop. Why the hell would you come do it in Sheffield? You were always into books and nerdy things when we were younger…I thought you’d end up being a rocket scientist or something. Why not pursue a career with government technology or something a bit more…I don’t know-- it just seems out of character is all. But then the way you look is out of character with how I’d had you in my mind,” I rationalize. “You know what, don’t listen to me. Forget it, sorry.”
While I talk myself in embarrassing circles, his body tenses up and the cadence of his breathing changes.
Uh oh.
“You know what, I’m sorry. I guess that can come across as rude.”
He lets out a breath. “No, no, it wasn’t rude. You’re just curious is all. Sheffield seemed like a good idea for a few reasons. You know I grew up with the life of an army brat, and then joining the military seemed like the right thing to do. The lifestyle was familiar to me but after I completed my first tour, I realized I wanted something different. To stay in one place for a long time, that sort of thing. Grams lives here, the PD had an opening in the department, and my brother doesn’t live too far from here either, so it seemed logical.”
He’s right. It seems logical, but there’s something that doesn’t sit right with his explanation. I don’t know if it’s his tone or maybe I hit a nerve earlier. Maybe I’ve inadvertently implied that being a cop isn’t a cerebral occupation? I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like the stilted, strange atmosphere that’s settled over us so I decide to shift the mood.
I tap my fingers playfully along his chest. “Want to play a little game?”
The corners of his beautifully sculpted mouth lift in a lazy smile. When he rolls me underneath him and looks deep in my eyes, something flutters all the way from the center of my chest to low in my belly. “I’m feeling particularly relaxed and in a good mood after that last round. I’ll give you this one.”
It’s hard not to return his smile. Whatever momentary awkwardness that was there dissolves so quickly, I wonder if I read it right in the first place. “Okay, the game is called Three Lies and a Truth. We’ll take turns, and during each turn we’ll tell each other three lies and one truth and the other person has to figure out which one out of the four is a truth.”
“Why don’t you start Princess? Show me how it’s done.” He winks.
I start to giggle before I can catch myself. I cut it off quickly. I don’t do the giggling shit, but between the dopamine from the sex and pheromones pouring off of the man, I’m turning into a brainless ninny. I inhale deeply, taking a few moments to cull through the barrage of thoughts clouding my brain.
Exhale.
“Okay, I’m ready. Number one: I’ve never been motor boated, number two: I have a serious problem with bad gas, number three: I’ve never kissed a girl, number four: I didn’t go through a growth spurt and my tits are fake.” My eyes are on his face the entire time I’m talking. I fight the urge to giggle again as his expression changes from amused to wary to interested when he hears the word “kiss” and “girl”.
“Okay,” he says cautiously, his eyes lighting into mine, “let’s talk about this one by one. You were a virgin up until last night, but even though you were, you still seem to have a good enough amount of experience for number one and number three to be lies so that leaves us with you have a serious problem with that gas or you got a boob job.” He ponders this while trailing a fingertip along the sensitive skin on my collarbone.
This moment reminds me of Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman in Days of Thunder when he trails packets of Sweet & Low along her skin post-coitus. My girly parts start to tingle, but then they always seem to be tingly where Mark is concerned.
“Considering I’ve had my hands and mouth on your gorgeous tits, and I can say with utmost confidence that they’re real, I’m going to go with,” he pauses dramatically for effect, “you have really bad gas. Although I don’t know how I could have missed that considering during the time we’ve spent together, I haven’t smelled or heard anything…and you’ve never belched in front of me either, so that rules out the other end of your body. Unless you’re seeking a way to do it in private.” His whiskey colored eyes are lit with humor, and the effect is devastating. Even though I’m laughing hysterically at what he’s just said, my heart feels like it’s swelling with warmth.
I’m laughing so hard that when I finally do manage to speak, I notice his shoulders are shaking with laughter too. Tears are leaking out of the corner of my eyes, and I’m full out wheezing by the time I can talk coherently. “I can’t— can’t,” more laughter, “can’t believe you think I have the g – g – gassss problem. Of all the th- things…”
He smiles down at me, his even, perfect teeth framed by beautiful lips, and in that moment, I know I’m fucked.
But before I can process this alarming change in my circumstances, he speaks. “What? I got it wrong? Jesus Princess.”
I pull my lips inward rolling them between my teeth and look at him innocently. “I’ve never been motor-boated.”
He looks at me incredulously. “What?”
I repeat myself.
He starts to laugh, big, hearty laughs grumbling from his chest. “So you’ve never been motor-boated but you’ve kissed a girl?”
I shrug, trying for nonchalance even though I’m pretty sure I’m a little more than pink. While some of that has to do with the nearness of his body, not all of it does. “It was seriously so stupid. I think I never got motor-boated because I never did the spring break thing in Cancun, you know? Sophie’s way too tame for that tomfoolery and it’s really not fun going anywhere without her.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners while his lips twitch. Neither movement is unappealing. “You’re going to make a phenomenal fucking lawyer someday, but your diversionary tactics aren’t going to work babe. Give up the goods.”
Uh oh.
I want to scowl, but I school my features so that my expression is clueless. “What diversionary tactics?”
“You want me to focus on the lost opportunity of motor boating, which by the way baby, is something I’m more than happy to rectify especially considering how great your rack is, and you’ve avoided completely talking about the girl kissing. And that just so happens to be,” he presses a teasing kiss against my forehead before pulling away, “what I want all the dirty details on.”
My scowl breaks free, and I fight the urge to do something childish, like pinch him.
“Okay, fine. Whatever. Goddamn cops,” I mumble. “Okay, so here it goes and pay attention because I have no intention of repeating any part of this. Do you
remember the girl I was with at Dunbar’s?”
He raises one imperious eyebrow at me. “Sophie?”
I swat at him for that. “No, not Sophie. The other girl. The annoying one. Clarabelle.”
He stares blankly and I let out an aggravated sigh. “The one who was dancing with you before you hauled me off to the utility closet to manhandle me,” I remind him.
Recognition dawns on his face, and I barrel ahead. “Okay, so it’s my twenty-first birthday and we’re in New York City celebrating because they have clubs where under twenty-one can still get in. Sophie’s younger than me by a few months but I needed to have her there, so the city worked out well. Unfortunately, having Sophie in Manhattan with me meant having Clarabelle—at Jeannie’s, Sophie’s mother, insistence.. For what, I don’t know. To chaperone us? She’s my age and even though she looks like she’s innocent, trust me—she’s anything but. Sophie’s mother is a piece of work, let me tell you,” I share.
This time he raises both eyebrows at me, clearly in an impatient non-verbal cue for me to continue my story (which I really don’t want to continue). I’m thisclose to pinching him, that’s how strong the urge is, but then he tangles his legs with mine. Instantly, I forget the urge to pinch him because I’m too busy melting against him. I want to rub myself all over him like a stray kitten that’s found her new owner. His breathing deepens when my tongue darts out of my mouth to swipe against my top lip.
“Princess, finish the story” he commands in a warning tone.
I pout, but I sally forth. “So anyway, I’m totally drunk. I think I had twelve or thirteen shots that night?” When he frowns at me, I snap, “Listen Officer Daniels, when you’re in this bed fucking me, you’re not a hot cop. You’re just a non-battery powered medium through which I achieve orgasm. Now do you want me to finish, or do you want to keep being all judge-y?”
He doesn’t say anything, but he’s fighting a smile. “So anyway, we get into some stupid game at the club of Truth or Dare. They tell me because I’m the birthday girl I have to do only dares. So thennnnn, Carmen DiSanto—and honestly Mark, I don’t even know why she was invited either because truth be told I’ve never gotten along with the bitch and I’ve always known deep inside she’s got it in for me, she dares me to kiss Clarabelle.” I’m shuddering now as I recall the memory.