by A. J. Downey
She eased more against my back and I tried not to freeze and revel in the contact. I missed human touch something fierce. I ached for it, but I just couldn’t bring myself to go my twin’s route and find it in a string of meaningless hookups. That just wasn’t for me.
I doctored Claire’s hand with antibiotic ointment and bandaged it like the pro I was, splitting the bandage and tying it securely before relinquishing her hand. She lingered against my back and as much as I wanted to stay like that, I needed to have a look and bandage her ankle.
I sighed, partially from frustration and partially from longing, and murmured, “Claire, you can sit up now.”
“Sorry!” she blurted, and sat up sharply.
“’S’okay. It was nice while it lasted,” I gave her, and I turned back around to face her. I checked my watch and said, “Leave the ice on a few minutes more.”
“Wow, that thing is huge,” she said, staring at the bloody piece of dock I’d pulled from beneath her lovely skin.
“Yeah, it’s out though.” I stood up and cleaned up my wrappers and detritus. I disposed of the capped scalpel in the sharps’ container I kept under the sink, the only thing in it, and put everything in the trash where it belonged, or back in the kit, leaving out only what I would need to wrap her ankle securely.
“I’m going to put this back, be right back, okay?”
“Okay,” she said softly.
I returned to her sitting quietly, empty glass on the little table by the chair, staring at the crisp, white bandaging around her hand, face screwed up into an expression that said she was deep in thought.
I sat at her feet and she stared into my eyes, searching, for a long time. I know it sounds cliché as hell, but I felt a connection with her. Something inside me touched something inside her, like for like, moving against each other like two cats, greeting one another.
She asked me, her voice quiet in the small, intimate space of my live-aboard, “Angel, what did I interrupt?”
“Nothing,” I lied, ashamed, and she gave me a look that said, don’t lie to me, please. I’m not a fool. I swallowed hard and she waited me out.
“I work a tough job. It was a bad night, more deaths than saves, I don’t want to talk about it.”
The fingertips of her good hand grazed my cheek and I looked up sharply.
“Don’t want to talk about it, or feel like you’ve got no one to talk to?” she asked.
Hit the nail right on the head.
“Both,” I hazarded and she nodded carefully.
“I understand.”
“You do?”
“Yeah,” she said and something on her face, in her eyes; I believed her. I grunted and went to pay attention to her ankle, but she stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. I looked up.
“I’m here, I’m listening, and I won’t judge,” she said.
“Just… I’ve just been lonely, I guess,” picking that off the monumental pile of shit that was wrong with me.
“I can understand that, too,” she said and again, I believed her.
I went back to that ankle, wrapping it carefully to make sure she had the support she needed while at the same time I wasn’t cutting off circulation or anything. I affixed the two butterfly clips, digging their little teeth into the tan bandage and pulling it taut before hooking it into the other side. I let her foot go, my fingers leaving the soft, warm covering of the Ace bandage over her silky skin, and jumped slightly when her fingertips touched the side of my face and her lips were suddenly on mine.
I froze for a heartbeat, unsure what to do, but my body, craving this sort of contact as much as my heart did, took right over. Before I knew it, I was kissing her back, drinking in what she had to offer, the taste of my whiskey sweeter somehow coming from her soft mouth, as her tongue plunged past my lips and swept against mine, exploring, asking silently, for what I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. My soul called out to hers and for some reason, I could swear I heard an echoing, yet silent, cry from her, and it was like I just knew what to do.
I took the lifeline she was throwing me, her hands to either side of my face, holding me to her, her body on the edge of the seat in a bid to get closer. I felt my hands caress over the soft knit material of her sweater dress, the turtleneck and her decorative scarf covering her neck to her chin. I didn’t like that. I wanted to play my lips along the skin there. I wanted to hear her gasp as I found that sweet spot every woman had, and I wanted to send shivers and chills through her body like she was suddenly sending through mine.
I was desperate, starving for some skin-on-skin contact with her and I started by unwinding the scarf, pulling my mouth from hers briefly to lift it over her head. She let me take it, her hands going to the wide, black decorative belt around her trim waist and undoing it, letting it fall into the recliner.
I pulled the other boot from her uninjured leg awkwardly as we couldn’t seem to stop our mouths from feasting on one another. She whimpered softly when I pulled her by her thighs practically into my lap and she felt the hard length of my cock through my EMT pants, pressing against the fabric of her panties.
“Hold onto me,” I whispered harshly and her arms went around my neck, her legs locking behind my back as I stood in one fluid motion and turned, carrying her back to my berth and the queen-sized bed I had back there.
It was a mess, unmade, a triangle of blankets pulled back from where I’d carelessly thrown them that way getting out of bed that morning. I sat her on the end of the bed and continued to kiss her while I awkwardly raised one leg and then the other, blindly letting down the zippers on the inside of my own boot’s ankles. She was gathering the skirt of her dress in her hands as I toed off my boots and pulled my shirt over my head. I was suddenly possessed, needing her body against mine in the worst way.
She lifted her dress over her head at the same time I got started on my pants and I just had to stop and stare for a minute. She was fit, toned, and wore a black lace matching bra and panty set that made her look like some Victoria’s Secret runway angel. She tossed the grey dress on my floor, and when she reached up and let down her hair I think I forgot how to breathe for a minute.
She hauled herself back onto my bed with her hands and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“You’re beautiful,” I said and shoved my pants off, dragging my feet along the carpet to shuck off my socks, which peeled off perfectly with the friction like they did every time. I got up onto my bed and lay beside her, rolling so one arm was over her and half my body was paired with hers, putting as much skin as possible against hers.
She was warm and so soft, her body rocking against mine, putting her closer, her arms going around me and cradling me gently while my mouth found first her shoulder and climbed its way along her freckled skin to the slope of her neck. She writhed a little when I found that spot, her breath coming in impassioned pants as my hands smoothed their way over her body from hip to breast, cupping and squeezing through the rough lace of her bra.
She let her own hands explore my shoulders and chest in a silken caress before she boldly reached into the waistband of my boxer-briefs and wrapped gentle but firm fingers around my straining cock.
A jolt of electric pleasure arched through my body, forking out from that intimate touch and crackling along every nerve from it, out through my limbs. I unhooked the front of her bra and dragged the straps off her arms, which forced her to let go of me for just a moment.
“Come up here, I want to blow you,” she said and I blinked in surprise.
She dug her nails into my ass through the fabric of my boxer-briefs and I moved up, letting her drag the offending garment down to my mid-thigh. As soon as my cock sprang free, her mouth went over it, hot, wet, and velvety-soft, pushing down over it until the head nudged the back of her throat. I expected her to back off, but she didn’t, her throat relaxing around me and she took me in just that little bit more.
“Dios mío,” I uttered, breathlessly.
I threw my head back and held still, eyes
closed, and just gave myself over to the sensation of her mouth on me. She bobbed her head gently, making love to me with her mouth, worshiping my cock with her lips and tongue and I couldn’t get enough of it.
I pressed my hands to my lower back, my fingers digging slightly into my skin, and fought the urge to thrust; my breath filled my chest, falling from my lips in a craze of passion as I let myself go and just gave myself over to the feel of this sensual stranger and the things she did to me. I dropped my chin to my chest and opened my eyes, meeting the heat sliding behind her gaze as she stared up at me, the sight of my dick disappearing between her lips almost too much.
“I don’t want to come,” I rushed out. “Not yet.”
She drew back off of me, freeing my cock from her mouth with a little pop. I reached for her, sliding a hand down her body, dipping it into her panties, teasing at her pussy lips with my middle finger as she rolled like a cat, arching her back, thrusting her hips against my hand, grinding herself against it, hot and wet, slick to the touch, begging for a touch from me that went much deeper than just my fingers.
“I want you inside of me,” she murmured in a sultry bedroom voice that had my cock twitching.
I made quick work of pulling my boxer-briefs off and reached into a cubby in the headboard for one of the dust-coated condoms there. I tore the package open and rolled it on while she followed every one of my moves, her gaze like heated mercury, liquid and smooth.
I hooked my fingers in her panties and she lifted her hips off the bed, letting me skate them down over her long, toned legs and off. I dropped them, my eyes transfixed by the sight of her spread legs, her fingers working against her swollen pussy lips, glistening with her arousal. I got between her thighs and she reached for me, dragging my mouth to hers, working her pussy against me, sliding it along my shaft tantalizingly in a display of raw, organic desire the likes I’d never seen before.
“Please, Angel,” she whispered, her voice heated, and I slid inside of her. The union of our two bodies was like being touched soul-deep. She gave a little cry and pressed herself down over the top of me, her body shaking and trembling with the first fine start of orgasm.
I let her calm, let her settle, and then began to move, slow, sensual, deep thrusting. So careful that the only sound in the small space of my berth was our heavy, liquid breathing, washing out to meet the lapping water on the other side of the hull. Her arms went around my neck and she arched, causing me to look down our conjoined bodies and groan. The sight of me disappearing into the depths of her pussy was so erotic, so hot, I wanted to commit the sight to memory forever more.
“Angel…” My name was like a whispered prayer falling from her lips as her body began to tremble finely against mine. Our synapses on overload, the pleasure between us rose, wrapping around us, swallowing us whole, drowning us, until with a few tightly-controlled final thrusts we both broke through the other side and it was like I could suddenly breathe again.
I collapse over her and she cradled me to her body, gasping against my shoulder, shuddering beneath me, her tight pussy milking me with aftershocks as I settled over the top of her, carefully holding my weight on my arms and knees so I wouldn’t crush her.
Her mouth found mine and we kissed for what felt like forever, long into the night.
When I woke the next morning, she was gone. I found my gun in pieces on the table, the single bullet she’d pocketed gone, a note in delicate script left on a notepad I usually kept by the galley’s fridge.
You saved one last night. You saved yourself. Now you can go out and save more. It’s what you do, it’s the kind of man you are. Hopefully, I’ll see you around, Angel. Hopefully, our paths will cross again.
-Claire.
Shit. No number. No last name.
No way to track her down.
1
Three Years Later
Angel…
“Dispatch 641.”
“Jesus Christ, Tina!” Johnson cried, picking up the radio from its cradle as the call popped on our screen. Tina had the bad habit of calling on the radio before she’d even sent the call to our rig through the tablet.
“641, go ahead Dispatch.”
“Álpha 641 you have priority one traffic for a suspected overdose, thirty-one-year-old female, unresponsive, unknown downtime. PD en route.”
“Copy. 641 en route.”
He hung up the mic with a clatter and glanced at the screen for the address. I’d already tapped the button to accept the call before he was even off the radio, which was redundant nowadays. Tina had just been at it so long, she liked to do it old-school.
“Sounds bad, punch it,” I told him, and he flipped switches for lights and sirens, our rig’s engine growling like a beast as he dropped the accelerator. He laid on the horn and road-raged some at the fuckwits in our way but I let him go. I missed Ramsay; she’d been my partner for two years before deciding to get out of Indigo City to sunnier climates. I’d been paired with floaters ever since, while they decided who to put full-time in her place with me.
I had a feeling that the top brass was going to put me with Johnson full-time, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but it wouldn’t exactly be the best, either. He had an explosive temper and didn’t always do well under pressure. He was good for a basic rig but not for an advanced medicine truck like this one.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? Come on!” he shouted at the windshield. An ICPD rig had pulled up to the curb in front of us at the building we’d been dispatched to, but it hadn’t pulled up far enough or fast enough for Johnson’s liking. I shook my head and tried to cover my ass with a laugh even though the dude was making me seriously uncomfortable. I gritted my teeth and bailed out of the passenger side of the rig before he’d even finished slamming it in park. He met me by the back doors to get the gurney.
“You cool?” I asked and he scowled at me, his head jerking back like I’d spit in his face or something.
“Yeah, man, just another day at the office.”
I gave a curt nod and we wheeled the gurney into the lobby of the building and hit the elevator button for the fifth floor. The cops joined us a second later.
“Hey,” one of them said, and gave a nod.
“’Sup guys?” Johnson asked.
“Not much, what do you think it is? Junkie or suicide?” the second cop asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “A patient is a patient, no matter what their story. We’re here to save them.” I swallowed hard and thought back to my own battle with my demons; how close I’d come, until a real angel had been sent out of nowhere to save me.
Johnson snorted.
“They wanna die so fuckin’ bad, I say let ‘em go. We got real patients to deal with. Ones that wanna live.”
That put the nail in his coffin where I was concerned. I fought not to roll my eyes and the cops exchanged a sharp look between each other. The taller of the two of them asked, “Isn’t that kind of an unprofessional point of view for a paramedic to have?”
He didn’t get an answer. The elevator pinged, the doors slid open, and we rolled out onto the floor and up to the apartment door we’d been called to. A man was standing in the open doorway looking frantic, looking shook, his cell pressed to his ear as he said, “Oh, thank God! They’re here. Yes, thank you.” He hung up and said to us, “Please help. It’s my sister, she’s back here.”
We left the gurney in the hall, one of the uniforms nodding and standing with it, the other taking the brother aside.
“What’s her name?” I called out to him.
“Claire. Claire Montgomery.”
Twilight Zone. I thought to myself. Creepy coincidence.
I rounded into the bedroom he indicated and she was laying on the floor. Claire.
My Claire.
“Son of a bitch,” Johnson muttered, and I agreed, just for completely different reasons. I knelt down by her side and checked her pulse and for breathing. Both were barely there.
“Do you know what she took?” I shouted.
“No! I wasn’t home. I came home and found her like this, I couldn’t wake her up!”
I shone a light in her dark eyes and couldn’t find a damn pupil, but had to guess they were pinpoints.
“Opiate?” Johnson asked.
“Think so, can’t be sure.”
He hooked her up to the monitor, and her heartbeat was barely hanging on by a thread. I cursed and put an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose, bagging her while Johnson got the Narcan going. If it wasn’t opioids it wouldn’t do anything but better safe than sorry.
“Claire!” I called loudly, and rubbed my knuckles across her sternum through her thin tee. “Claire, come on, baby! Wake up. Talk to me!”
“Here, move.” Johnson administered the Narcan and I went back to bagging. I swear to God, those were the longest, roughest few heartbeats of my life before her dark eyes flew open and she sucked in a hard breath, crying out.
“It’s okay, Claire. I got you, just hang on, breathe. Breathe for me.”
“Angel?” she asked tremulously, and I smiled.
“Yeah. Yeah, I got you.”
“You know her?” Johnson asked.
“Yeah. Grab the gear,” I ordered, and I scooped Claire up without a second thought and carried her out past the cops and her brother.
“Claire!” her brother cried, and she hid her face against my chest. I set her on the gurney, my muscles just beginning to strain. She was so light, fragile, like a bird. I set her down and she was still out of it.
Jesus, how much did she take?
Tears gathered in a constellation on her lashes and she whispered, “Why did it have to be you?”
She reached up and clutched her necklace.
I said, “Just hang on. We’re gonna get you taken care of.”
She closed her eyes and lay back and I said, “Let’s move. I’m not sure the one dose is going to hold her.”
I pulled the last strap tight across her legs, securing her to the gurney, and took her hand as we wheeled her to the elevator.
