After using the facilities and putting my hair up into a ponytail, I walked out the door with Peter, taking him downstairs to the little patch of grass allotted for the dogs of our complex.
Peter didn’t stay, though, choosing to go to the field once again.
I had my shoulder leaning on the side of the apartment building, eyes on Peter as he frolicked when I heard the growl coming from behind me.
I smiled, turning around thinking I was going to see Downy’s dog, Mocha, but it wasn’t Mocha.
This dog was a mutt of some sort.
He had horrific marks all over his body, some healed, some not.
One of his eyes was closed over with scar tissue from trauma he’d received, and his coat was non-existent in patches.
It was more than obvious that he was a dog that’d fought. My heart clutched, in fear for my life, and in sadness for what he’d gone through.
I started to slowly back up, my hand running along the side of the building as I backed up.
He followed my movements, one of my steps equaling one of his.
Each time I moved backward, he moved forward.
Peter barked and then started barking quicker.
The sounds got closer, but I watched the dog tense, ready to pounce, and I knew Peter wouldn’t make it.
The dog was going for me, and I didn’t have a chance.
I ran out of the building as I backed up, leaving me three different directions to run, but none of them being viable options.
I’d be caught any way I went.
There was no way I wouldn’t be.
I was in flip-flops, and the grass back here was taller, thicker, and filled with briars.
I’d give it a try, though.
Peter’s barks were getting frantic, and I thought for sure they were coming from a different direction now, but my eyes stayed on the dog. The scary, poor dog.
He leaped when I finally chose a way to run, but he didn’t hit me.
A loud bark of a gun’s retort sounded, but I didn’t turn around, I just ran toward the parking lot in the distance.
My shoes were lost in the first three feet, and two feet more I knew my feet weren’t going to hold out against the briars.
One exceptionally painful foot plant had me falling, and I put my hands out to break my fall.
When I landed, I rolled into the fall, feeling the sharp pricks all along my back and side.
My carpet burn stung, and I cried out just as Downy’s loud, sharp voice yelled, “Don’t move, honey.”
I froze, too scared to hope, too scared to look at him to see if I was actually hearing his voice and not dreaming.
Warm, calloused hands touched my thigh, and I finally looked up into the alarmed green eyes that I’d been dreaming about for two weeks now.
Downy.
“Oh, my God,” I said, launching myself at him.
He caught me, wrapping his arms around my back and pulling me up.
I hissed when the movement pushed the tiny little barbs into my skin, but I didn’t care. I was safe. I wasn’t about to be attacked by a dog. I was in Downy’s arms.
I started to cry and clung to him tightly. I buried my face in his neck, letting all the adrenaline and fear leach out of my body with each sob.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he soothed me.
I was shaking, holding on so tight that I had to be cutting off his air supply, but he didn’t complain.
He only held me as the tremors wracked my body.
I felt someone’s hand moving on my back, removing the briars from my back and legs.
I felt his voice vibrate in his chest as he spoke, but I didn’t comprehend the words.
A normal person would’ve probably recovered by now.
I was not normal.
I had a story, just like everyone else did.
Mine, though, was special. To me, anyway.
See, I’d been attacked by a dog when I was twelve.
It’d been a Doberman, and it’d been one that I had been coming around since I was a baby.
It’d been the club’s dog. One that stayed at the clubhouse to ‘protect’ the club’s belongings.
I’d ridden that dog’s back, pulled on his ears, thrown the tennis ball for him.
I’d done that and more.
Except, one day, I went to the club without telling my father I was going.
It was supposed to be a fast, quick trip.
I was only going for my bag that I’d left on the picnic table outside.
I’d climbed the fence and made it all the way to the picnic table before the growls finally registered.
I thought for sure that Bobo, the Doberman, would be okay with me coming. I mean, he knew me for Christ’s sake!
Except he wasn’t. He really wasn’t okay with it.
And he’d attacked me.
So bad that I blacked out within seconds.
I’d been told, later at the hospital, that I’d been shaken like a rag doll, teeth tearing into the flesh of my arms and neck.
The back of my neck had been in near shreds. My spinal column had been exposed, and Bobo was on the killing stroke when my father’s right-hand man, Big Papa, took him down.
The only way for him to do it, though, was to shoot the dog and hope it wouldn’t hit me.
He’d been unlucky, and so had I.
The bullet had penetrated the dog’s brain like he’d meant it to, but it’d traveled straight through the dog and then lodged into the meat on the side of my right hip.
Where it’d then nicked my ovary.
I’d spent nearly two months in the hospital recovering, and I’ve spent the rest of my life remembering those days in my dreams.
That was where Peter came in.
My father had gotten him for me from a breeder outside of Lubbock, Texas.
Peter was a full-blooded Irish wolfhound.
He was also trained to wake me from nightmares, which he’d had to do on occasion.
“You scared the shit out of me,” Downy said to me, running his nose along my temple.
I nodded against his head. “Yeah, me, too.”
Thirty minutes later found me on Downy’s side of the collapsed wall.
I was on my belly on his bed, and he was picking the rest of the pricking bastards from my sensitive skin with his fingers.
“What happened to you earlier? You went somewhere else,” Downy mumbled.
I closed my eyes and rested my forehead flat on the bed.
My legs were spread wide with him sitting in between them.
“I was attacked by a dog when I was twelve. It took me nearly five years to have all of my surgeries to fix what was effected,” I explained.
He stayed silent.
“Did you hear any more about the dog?” I asked after a few long moments.
He shifted on the bed behind me as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tossed it on the bed near my face.
I grabbed it and opened it.
“What’s the password?” I asked, staring at the screen.
He laughed. “Six, six, six, six.”
“Fitting,” I muttered, as I typed it in.
He pinched my ass, causing me to squeak and ram my hips into the bed to get away from the sudden, sharp pain.
He laughed and continued to work as I looked at his text messages. The ones I’d been hearing him get for nearly twenty minutes now, but he hadn’t been answering because he was busy.
I read the first one aloud to him, “This one is from an ‘O’Keefe’ and he says that the dog was taken to the emergency vet on Sigmoid Avenue. It says that the dog had signs of being used as a bait dog,” I said. “What’s a bait dog?”
Downy grunted. “Dogs they use to provoke the kill from the actual fighting dogs. They practice on them before they do the real thing with another fighting dog.”
My stomach turned. “Oh, that poor baby.�
�
He grunted but didn’t say anything.
“The next one is from Foster. He says that the dog had a microchip and had been stolen from a property about a half-mile from our complex. Says the owners reported him missing about six weeks ago,” I read.
My stomach started to knot as the implications started to sink in.
“He was returning to his home, wasn’t he?” I asked in a quiet, devastated voice.
“I don’t know, honey. But whatever he was doing, he wouldn’t have been the same dog anymore. Whatever used to make him a pet, was no longer there. If he was going home, it was just out of instinct,” Downy said quietly, still working on the stickers.
I took a deep breath and read the last one. “This one is from Miller. It says that he followed a blood trail to the highway. He says it looks like the dog was dropped off there from a vehicle.”
He sighed. “Fucking hell.”
I nodded and closed his phone, not bothering to snoop anymore. I didn’t have the desire to do it right then.
My belly was churning from the possibility that our little town had a dogfighting ring in the area.
I couldn’t fathom having my precious Peter taken from me like that.
“Is there a way to get a GPS chip put in a dog?” I asked, laying my head down flat on the bed.
His hand smoothed up over my back, palm flat, and my core clenched at the movement.
Holy shit, even the most inane things felt freakin’ perfect coming from him.
“Yes. Mocha has one. You can probably get one through the vet if you asked,” Downy said.
We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“This would be easier if you’d lose the panties,” Downy grumbled as he painstakingly removed more stickers.
I snorted. “I’m sure it would be.”
I wasn’t taking my panties off, and I didn’t.
Or at least I hadn’t meant to.
I’d fallen asleep at some point during the procedure because the next time I woke it was the middle of the night, and the area surrounding me was dark.
My feet were tangled with, whom I suspected were Downy’s, and my eyes were heavy with sleep.
What had woken me, though, was the feeling of tiny little pricks in my back.
Without conscious thought I removed my shirt, settling for just my bra and panties.
I settled back on my back, closed my eyes, and fell back to sleep, although fretfully.
It didn’t completely relieve the annoyance, but the majority of it was gone
At some point I’d decided that enough was enough and took my panties off, too.
I hadn’t even been aware that I’d done it. Not until the next morning when the dawn was peeking through the slats of Downy’s bedroom window.
I woke when the bed shifted underneath me.
My eyes peeled open, and I surveyed the area.
I was in bed… and I was partially on top of Downy.
My very bare vagina was pushed up against his hard thigh, the lips of my sex being tickled by the hair on his leg.
My bra-covered breasts were pressed tightly to the side of his chest, and my head was resting on his pec.
One arm was at my head, fingers wrapped around the back of my head.
His arm was around my waist. His hand on my ass, fingers curling in to rest on the inside crack.
The position went from innocent to holy-fucking-hell in a flash.
As soon as I realized his fingers were that close to my entrance, my core started to slicken.
I could feel the wetness now, and I knew it was only a matter of moments before the wetness reached his fingers.
I started to move away, but Downy’s hands tightened.
The lips of my sex parted with the movement of his lower hand, and I inhaled slowly.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit!
I had to get off him. Oh, my God, did I have to get off.
Like now, or I’d go somewhere where we shouldn’t be going.
I had a lot of good arguments for why. He was quite a bit older than me for one. Secondly, he was a cop, and I’d made a promise to myself when I left Alabama and my father, and that was that I’d live my life out from under my father’s scrutiny. If I got with Downy, he’d be exactly like my father, and I knew it. He’d be controlling, overbearing, and an all-around alpha-hole. Cops couldn’t help it, it was something ingrained in their psyches that made them protect what they thought of as theirs.
I moved my leg that was thrown over his body, hoping to dislodge his fingers from their spot, but that only served to trap his hand in between my legs and I groaned.
Lifting my leg again to hitch it back up on his hip, I felt the soft globes of his balls brush against the sensitive skin on the inside of my knee.
Then there was the long, thick column of his dick that I encountered as I moved my hand down to remove his from my folds.
I froze as I reached the waistband of his underwear.
Mainly because the head of his cock was sticking out of the top of the waistband, and I’d just palmed it involuntarily.
He groaned and moved his hips slightly at the touch, his even breathing hitching slightly before evening out once more.
I froze, unsure of what I should do.
I didn’t want him to wake up.
If he woke up, I’d be on my back with him in between my legs in seconds.
I knew it just as much as I knew I was going to take another breath.
My next step was to roll, which I did fairly successfully.
My knees were now on each side of his thigh, one up by his hip, and the other one up snug to the apex of his thighs.
I could feel his balls resting against my leg, and I could also see them.
My stomach clenched in need, and my eyes inevitably wandered down to his dick…what I’d been wanting to see since the moment I felt it the day my wall had fallen.
I licked my lips, staring at the dark, purple head with desire.
It was throbbing to the beat of his heart, and I just had to. I couldn’t fucking help it. I had to!
I watched his face as my lips descended.
His face was slack, beautiful black eyelashes laying in half-moons on his cheeks.
His beard was scruffy and unkempt from his usual clean and tidy appearance.
His full lips were relaxed, and I slowly lowered the waistband of his underwear, allowing his dick to finally spring free from its confines. Then, slowly, I licked the very tip of his cock.
I saw a slow flush start up his cheeks.
He wasn’t awake, I could tell that by the evenness of his breathing, and the fact that I was still doing what I wanted to do to him.
Oh, he’d allow me to suck his cock, but only when he wanted me to do it.
Downy struck me as a man who needed control.
The rise in color on his cheeks was intriguing, though. His body was reacting to the sexual arousal, and it was captivating to watch.
His chest was flushing, too.
A beautiful blush started at his nipple line and moved up past his collarbones to his neck, disappearing into his beard to return on his cheekbones.
I moved my mouth down once again, eyes leaving his face as I focused on his cock.
It was thick and pulsing.
The large head of his cock was a darker color than the rest of him.
The veins on his member were pulsing and prominent, pumping blood furiously.
My mouth watered as I bent down to take his cock in my mouth.
I didn’t make it, though.
As soon as the tip of my tongue touched the overheated crest, I was moving in a tangle of arms and legs.
On my back with my head hanging over the side, Downy looked down at me from his position on the side of the bed.
His face was flushed, and his eyes wild.
“Jesus Christ, Memphis,” he gasped.
I looked u
p at him from my new position, the large column of his cock and balls filling up the majority of my vision.
His eyes weren’t on my face, though, they were on my practically naked body.
My uncovered nipples were pebbled, bra askew from the quick, frantic movements that’d taken Downy’s body away from me before I’d been ready.
My legs were spread wide, feet planted flat on the bed.
His chest was heaving, and his fists were clenched.
“You’re too young for me,” he said, looking down at my belly. My breasts.
I snorted.
So now he was growing a conscience?
I shifted my legs wider, and he groaned, leaning forward slightly.
That was all I needed to lift up and suck one ball into my mouth.
He hissed and started to push away, but I followed him, and sucked a little harder, putting pressure on him enough to bring him back where I wanted him.
My hands ran up the back of his thighs, until I was cupping his ass in both palms.
“Fuck me, I’m going to hell. I’m really going to hell,” he groaned, looking down at me.
I released his ball and went for the other one, keeping eye contact the entire time while he warred with himself over something.
Finally something seemed to click inside his brain, and he pulled back quickly, startling me enough with the suddenness that I let him go without a fight.
He didn’t go far, though.
Not far at all.
Chapter 7
I go into survival mode when tickled.
-Life Lesson
Downy
I didn’t wake all at once.
It started slowly, first becoming aware when she started to move.
I took stock of my body, knowing instantly how close to the edge I was.
One of my hands was knotted in the dark tresses of her hair, and the other… yeah, the other was sitting on heaven’s door.
Right at the brink of the fucking promise land.
My digits were wet. I knew that instantly without having to be told.
They were wet because my fingers were practically touching the entrance to her hot, sweet pussy.
For all the teasing I’d done, it was all a boast. I didn’t think she’d actually do it. Fuck, but the girl was hotter than hell. She could have anyone.
She was twenty years old, and I was going on thirty-five.
Code 11- KPD SWAT Box Set Page 46
