by C. S. Poe
“I’m getting that queasy feeling in my stomach, like when you tell me I’ve narrowly missed imminent danger,” I answered.
“I suspect this is a repeating pattern. That perhaps there was a missing person before Frank—maybe they became the remains that were delivered to him.”
I swallowed with some difficulty. “Uh… huh. And so… what? You think I’m going to go missing in two days’ time?”
Calvin’s expression could have been chiseled from stone. He gave nothing away.
“Except that wasn’t Frank in my box,” I stated.
“Correct.”
“Who the fuck was it?”
“We’re working on that. If these events happen spaced between two days, we’ve got a lapse between Frank and you.”
“Enough time to kill Jack-in-the-Box.”
“We’re cross-referencing every colleague, employer, friend, and family member of Frank Newell’s we can find.”
“Because you think his disappearance is related to the decapitated head, and therefore related to me?” I concluded.
Calvin took a breath. “I suspect you’re right. There is something that links these events, but it’s not going to be tangible or obvious.”
“When did all of… of this occur to you?”
Calvin put his hands firmly on my shoulders. “About an hour ago. I stepped out to come talk to you. Sweetheart, it wasn’t my intention to scare you, but this is why I don’t want you alone.”
“Because some nutcase is going to kidnap me, chop me up, and put me under someone’s Christmas tree wrapped in a big bow?” I shouted, acting the scene out with my hands for further emphasis.
“That won’t happen,” Calvin said with authority.
“Cal, you can’t—”
“It won’t, Sebastian,” he said again. “But in order for me to protect you, I need to know you’re safe. I’m trying to line up police protection for you.”
“What?” I moved around him, walked farther into the living room, and said over my shoulder, “This is insane!”
“No, this is smart.” Calvin followed behind me. He grabbed my hand and turned me around. “Tell me you wouldn’t do the same, if our roles were reversed.”
I wanted to protest—even tried to. But it came out as nothing more than an indignant sputter. Of course if I had even the vaguest hint that Calvin’s life was being threatened in this way, I’d be demanding all sorts of protections be put in place. He was my partner. My soul mate. The love of my life. And… sometimes I had to remind myself that I was those same things for him.
The problem was, I had an ego that tended to overcompensate when I was backed into a corner. Too many years of putting on a brave face and wielding sarcasm like a sword still made it hard to admit my own weaknesses. To show how raw my fear could be.
Even to Calvin.
“How am I supposed to do my job under supervision?” I asked.
“It won’t be hard. Pretend it’s me.”
“Should I take my police protection out on a few dates first, or can we skip the formalities?”
“Seb, knock it off.”
I pulled my hand from Calvin’s and waved both. “Come on! What the fuck kind of reaction did you expect? You went to work this morning, leaving me here to finish a bowl of soggy Lucky Charms without a care in the world. Then less than twelve hours later, I’m being told to go underground because someone referring to themselves as Collector is looking to accumulate parts of me?” I leaned over to rest my hands on my knees and took a deep, shaky breath.
We were both quiet after my outburst.
I closed my eyes when Calvin’s shoes appeared in my line of vision. His hand came to rest on my back. “Sorry,” I whispered at the floor.
“It’s all right,” he answered. “I’m scared too.”
I reluctantly raised my head. His face was blurry over the rims of my glasses. “I hate that I do this. Every time some clusterfuck occurs in our lives, I fight you tooth and nail when you’re only trying to do your job.”
“I know.”
My scowl deepened.
Calvin moved his hand to cup my chin, forcing me to stand once more. “You’re smart and strong and fiercely independent.”
“I wasn’t looking for an ego stroke.”
“Weren’t you?”
After a brief hesitation, I huffed, leaned forward, and rested my forehead on his shoulder. “Guess it helps,” I mumbled into his armpit.
He wrapped his arms around me.
I inhaled the last traces of his fading cologne.
“I don’t like fighting with you,” Calvin said at length. “I’ve come to understand, after twelve months and three major homicide investigations, that I expect you to react in your calm, problem-solving sort of way to every established danger, and that’s not fair. You’re not a soldier and you’re not a cop. You haven’t been trained for this. We all react differently when our backs are to the wall.”
“Please don’t make excuses for my bad behavior.”
“I’m not. I’m making an observation.” Calvin tightened his arms around me. “Humans are not one-sided.”
“Like the barmaid?”
He tilted his head, resting his cheek against my hair. “Yeah.”
I didn’t let go for a long time. Not until I was certain I was done shouting and wouldn’t possibly break down into tears as an alternative. I was definitely scared. I didn’t want to be decapitated and left in someone’s mailbox. I had long-term husbandy plans with Calvin and wanted to see those through until we were old, stooped, and counting liver spots.
Calvin was offering a tight smile as I stepped back. “You okay?”
“I’ll manage,” I replied. “What now, Major?”
“I think a hotel would be wise. I don’t want you here, and I’ve got to get back to the precinct.” He added after a moment, “And this way we don’t need to inconvenience your dad.”
I didn’t like the idea that our home couldn’t be considered secure. And spending money on a hotel wasn’t turning my mood around any. But I did agree—avoiding Pop’s couch would be a plus. I didn’t want to upset him by explaining the full extent of potential danger I was in.
“Dillon too?” I asked, pointing to the pup, who’d been obediently sitting through our flare-up, hoping to eventually get some attention.
Calvin nodded, already reaching for his cell. “There’s a chain hotel just south of Times Square that’s pet-friendly.”
“Oh boy. My favorite neighborhood,” I said dryly.
Calvin smiled, staring at his phone’s screen. “Go pack.”
“For how many days?”
“A few.”
I nodded, turned, and walked to the stairs. I started up to the loft, but paused, looking down at Calvin still standing in the main room. “What about you?”
He glanced up while putting his phone to his ear. “If you can fit a clean suit in the bag, that’d be appreciated.”
I went to the bedroom. Calvin’s deep voice drifted up to the loft, but I ignored the temptation to pick out individual words and instead focused on packing for an undesired staycation. I grabbed a duffel bag from the closet, threw in some of my usual work clothes of trousers and sweaters, and added a pair of jeans on the off chance I was feeling wild and crazy later in the week. I removed one of Calvin’s suits and a few button-down shirts, took more care in folding them than I had my own, and tucked the clothes into the bag. I returned from collecting our toiletries in the bathroom to see Calvin coming up the stairs.
“I’ve got a room booked for three nights,” he said upon reaching the landing.
“Will we need it that long?”
“Hopefully not.”
“I’m gonna need you to instill some more confidence, Detective.”
Calvin’s mouth quirked a little, but he didn’t correct himself.
I shoved the handful of products into the bag, zipped it closed, and looked at Calvin. “You won’t spend the entire night at the precin
ct, right?”
Calvin slid his hands into his pockets. “Right,” he agreed, maybe a bit reluctantly, but I could have been projecting that hesitation.
“I don’t care if you wake me up,” I insisted. “I just need to know you’re getting some sleep.”
“Okay.”
“You know why this entire thing sucks?” I asked suddenly.
“I can think of a few reasons.”
“We haven’t had sex in six days.”
Calvin snorted. “You keep track?”
“Not intentionally.”
He laughed a little and approached me. Calvin put his hands on my hips and tilted his head down to kiss my mouth.
“I start getting weird,” I murmured as Calvin pulled back a bit.
“I think you mean horny.”
“Maybe. Right now I’m really turned-on by your hands.”
“Some people have a thing for hands.”
“And your freckles.”
“You’re right. That’s weird.”
I laughed and kissed Calvin again.
He drew both hands up, then quickly popped open the buttons on my shirt and caressed bare skin with his strong, blunt fingertips.
“D-do we have time for this?” I whispered against his lips.
“We’re going to make time,” he answered. Calvin quickly finished with my shirt but didn’t bother to tug it off before he fastened his mouth on my throat and gave a hard suck.
Since meeting Calvin, I’d learned that I was never going to be too old to enjoy a good old-fashioned hickey and the combination of pride and embarrassment that typically accompanied such love marks the following day. I shuddered as concentrated sensual delight ricocheted up and down my spine like my body was a pinball machine. I leaned into Calvin, wrapped my arms around his neck, and gave his thick hair a bit of a tug.
He let up on my throat and roughly pressed our hips together. I groaned as Calvin rubbed his dick against mine, the material of our pants creating a frustrating barrier that needed to be dealt with immediately. As if reading my mind, Calvin looked down and opened the button and fly of my trousers. He pushed them from my hips, and his touch roamed, giving appreciation to my ass, dick, balls.
I swallowed hard.
“Get on the bed. On your stomach.”
Oh, thank God.
Sometimes there was nothing better than getting rode hard from behind, completely at the mercy of another man’s speed, angle, hold.
I kicked off my loafers, shimmied out of my pants and boxer briefs, sat down on the bed, and rolled onto my stomach. I turned my head and watched Calvin. He loosened his tie, shucked off his pants, and opened the drawer of the bedside table. It took every ounce of self-control not to thrust into the bedding while I waited.
Lube and condom procured, Calvin got onto the bed and settled between my legs as I spread them. He smoothed one hand over my ass and murmured, “You’re so gorgeous.”
But he didn’t indulge me nearly as much as he used to.
Instead, he waited.
He waited because he knew I could—would say it these days. Sure, my self-esteem had been slowly chugging along in an upward trajectory all these months, but what had really put life into perspective for me was that extremely real heart-to-heart I’d had with my own mortality. Sex with someone you love was so… life-affirming. It simply wasn’t the time to let hang-ups and old embarrassments get the best of me.
Not anymore.
Not ever again.
“Cal….”
“Say it,” he ordered.
“Spank me.”
Whack.
I moaned loudly, no consideration given to the mirrored loft of 4A on the other side of the wall. 4A hadn’t liked me since the Moving Image case, when JD Malory and I had fallen through his open door and landed on top of him during a scuffle. There wasn’t any face left to save, so whatever. I was going to be loud.
I pushed up on my knees a bit, raising my ass. “Ah—again. Spank me again.”
Calvin hit the other cheek. He repeated the action several times, with sharp, fast strokes that left my ass tingling and burning. It wasn’t pain pain—not the traditional sensation, anyway. There was certainly an element of uncomfortableness to having your ass spanked, but with it was such a powerful release of endorphins, arousal, and the realization that, whatever the hell it was I seemed to get out of this sexual punishment, Calvin got the same in giving it to me.
A perfect partnership.
“Oh my God,” I cried. I pushed my hips back down, thrusting hard against the mattress and shuddering. I felt like every single molecule in my body was buzzing with stimulation.
“Feel good?” Calvin asked, a smile in his voice.
“Y-yes,” I mumbled into the pillows.
He grabbed my hips and hoisted me back up on my knees. Calvin spread my cheeks apart and licked me, hard and fierce.
I moaned loudly and fisted the sheets.
Whack.
I gasped. “C-Cal!”
Whack.
“Holy fuck! Again—please!”
Calvin let up, breathing heavily. He smoothed his palm over both asscheeks and then smacked.
Harder.
A lot harder.
One more of those and I’d actually come from this and nothing more.
But Calvin stopped touching me.
I looked over my shoulder and shoved my glasses up my nose with one hand. “Why’d you stop?” I sounded desperate and didn’t even care.
“Because I don’t want you finished and spent yet.” Calvin uncapped the lube and coated his fingers in a generous portion. He reached forward and pressed his middle finger in to the knuckle. “You’ve got the tightest ass….”
I swallowed and rocked back into his touch as Calvin added a second finger. “You like it?” I asked, voice dropping a bit quieter.
Calvin growled, a dangerous combination of playfulness and possessiveness. “Oh yeah.” He leaned over, grabbed the collar of my shirt, and pulled me up enough so that we could kiss. He let go after a moment, removed his fingers, and tore open the condom package.
I repositioned myself on the bed, waiting with… not trepidation, but that minor hesitation I could never shake before bottoming. I liked this position in bed—I preferred it, really. But those nerves were always there, if even for a moment.
“Deep breath,” Calvin murmured. Then the head of his dick pushed in, forcing itself past the tight ring of muscle.
“Jesus Christ,” I swore.
Calvin held my hip with one hand and made a soothing motion up and down the links of my spine with the other. It’d never been like this with my previous partners. Calvin was so different from them. Even this—the smallest expression of care—left such an impression on my heart and memory. Each gentle stroke of his callused palm against my skin was a reminder that Calvin cared for my physical enjoyment.
That he respected me.
Cherished me.
“You okay?” he asked, and I could hear the stress in his tone from keeping still.
I nodded. “Move.”
Calvin tightened his hold a bit, thrust forward, pulled back, thrust in again, until his entire cock was buried in my ass. He moved his hands up to my shoulders, my body prone and ready for the taking. He pulled out slow, a delicious burning pleasure I could feel from ass to balls to toes, before shoving in roughly.
“Fuck!” Calvin shouted. “God—so good. Your ass was made for me.”
I gave up any semblance of a struggle for dominance, which was typical play to get Calvin all hot and bothered, and let him pound into me. His grip on my shoulders kept me from flying right off the bed on those thrusts that hit just right, and his balls slapped my ass with every forward motion. The air around us was heavy with the heady scent of male, sweat, and sex, and the quiet was disrupted by gasps, pants, and incredible dirty talk coming from the handsome redhead taking me for one hell of a ride.
I didn’t even realize I’d been holding my breath u
ntil Calvin’s hand reached under and gave my overlooked cock a few quick strokes. I took in a shuddering lungful of air, balanced on one hand, and reached down to continue jerking myself.
“That’s it,” he said in a deep, gorgeous voice. “My cock makes you so hard.”
“C-Cal! I can’t—”
Finish the sentence. I don’t think my brain has gotten oxygen in at least five minutes.
Calvin put his arm across my chest and hoisted me up, back against his own chest. “Let me watch you come,” he whispered in my ear.
I stroked quickly, the tunnel of light growing brighter, blinding, and then it was like fireworks on New Year’s. Cum splattered my stomach and dribbled down my fist. I fought for air as I leaned my head to rest on Calvin’s shoulder. With my clean hand, I reached back, fumbled, and got ahold of his tie. I gave it a jerk over my shoulder, and he grunted.
Calvin kept fucking me, kept shoving into my tightened ass and shuddering muscles. He wrapped his hand around my wrist, raised it, and sucked on my sticky fingers.
Calvin’s rhythmic thrusts faltered as he licked my hand. His breathing turned jagged, intensified, and then I felt him spend inside me. I kept a grip on his tie, holding us flush against each other as he finished with the same tidal wave washing over him.
“HUH.”
“What?”
I tapped the StepTrack on my wrist, looked up, and watched as Calvin hastily redressed in front of the full-length mirror on the wall. “That burned ninety-six calories.”
He smiled into the reflection as he adjusted the knot of his tie.
I stood from the bed, finished tugging my trousers into place, and buttoned them. “I have a question. About the wedding.”
Calvin smoothed his shirt a few times. “You know, as long as you’re there and I’m there, details like flower vases and cake toppers don’t seem so important.” He turned and walked toward me. “Don’t you think?”
