Crave

by Jennifer Dawson

  I take in a deep breath. “So what are you saying?”

  She opens her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m saying life is interesting. Filled with joy and sorrow. Good and bad. Peace and agony. It’s part of the package. If you choose to accept it. Or you can go live out your life in isolation.”

  “I’m afraid.” So very afraid that it’s me, and not his job.

  She leans forward, placing her elbows on her knees. “Here’s a secret. We all are. The question is if Michael is worth the risk.”

  “He is.” He’s everything. I don’t want to live without him.

  “What path do you want to take, Layla? The choice is yours.”

  She’s right. I have a decision. Do I want to live the rest of my life afraid? Alone? I try and picture walking out of Michael’s life, and never seeing him again. I find I can’t. A world without him, a world of isolation, is unthinkable. I take a deep breath. “I choose Michael.”

  She smiles and sits back in her chair. “I think that’s wise.”

  As we sit at the table from our first date it feels as though we have traveled a lifetime. Full of smiles, the beautiful Gwen has brought me one of her delicious drink concoctions, and promised us another fantastic meal.

  I’m trying to get into the mood of the evening, but it eludes me. Although, I’ve gotten quite good at pretending.

  Next to me, Michael holds up his Glenlivet in a toast. “To good news.”

  “To good news.” I clink my glass, although this isn’t a celebration for me. After a month of intensive physical therapy, where Michael has worked tirelessly, he’s been cleared for desk duty.

  He returns to work Monday. He’s been going crazy on bed rest, and he can’t wait to get back to the job he loves. I, on the other hand, can only think this means he’s officially one step closer to being confronted daily with murder and violence.

  I can’t stop worrying about him.

  I had my first panic attack since that night we went to dinner with my sister in the bathroom of the doctor’s office after we receive the “good news”.

  I hid it from Michael.

  I don’t want to ruin his happiness when he’s worked so hard to recover. More than anything, I want to be a good, supportive girlfriend. But I’ve grown used to keeping him safe in the house. Once he’s out in the world, how will I handle it? I’ll go crazy with fear every time he leaves for work. When he’s called away in the middle of the night, I’ll never sleep for worry.

  But, I’ve accepted I can’t live without him, so I’ll have to find a way to cope. I won’t lay that burden at his feet.

  He takes my hand, pulling me away from my troubling thoughts. Determined to give him a night he deserves, I plaster on a bright smile on my lips, only it dies when I catch his expression.

  He’s not happy.

  He searches my face and then he shakes his head. “We need to talk.”

  Instantly on alert, I lean forward, frowning. “Are you all right? Is it your shoulder?”

  He lets go of my hand and pinches the bridge of his nose. “My shoulder is fine, but we are not.”

  My pulse kicks up, and a flush of heat that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with panic. No, not now. We’ve been avoiding our relationship and I need to stay in this bubble. It’s the only way. I swallow hard. “Everything is fine.”

  A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Everything is not fine. We need to get back to normal.”

  I bite my bottom lip. It’s what I’ve secretly been desperate for, but I can’t do it. I need to keep him safe. I pretend to misunderstand. “We are getting back to normal. You’re going back to work in a few days.”

  He narrows his gaze. “And you’re not happy about it.”

  I flash what I hope is a brilliant smile, but feels more like a grimace. “Of course I am. I know how stir-crazy you’ve been and how you can’t wait to get back to work.”

  “You know, I did think about it.”

  “Think about what?”

  He scrubs his hand over his jaw. “I’m well aware my job upsets you, especially with my injury.”

  He’s careful never to say the word shot. I’m compelled to correct him, because it’s not unreasonable or illogical to be afraid of his job. That’s one thing I’m sure of. “You were shot. Wouldn’t you be upset if I was shot?”

  “Yes, but—” A muscle jumps in his jaw when I hold up a hand and cut him off.

  “But it’s not the same, is it? After all, I’m a communications manager.” I point at him. “While you are a homicide detective.”

  All my emotions are stirring inside me, threatening to spiral out of control. I take a deep breath to push them back down.

  His fingers tighten on his glass, whitening his knuckles, but he says in a calm tone, “I’m aware of that. Which is why I thought about quitting for you.”

  Shocked, I can only stare at him wide eyed while my brain concocts a million reasons why I want him to quit. I twist my necklace and push back the desire to beg him to do just that. Only I can’t, because that’s not something a good, supportive girlfriend would do. So, I speak the truth, his truth, even though the words taste like dirt. “You love your job, and I want you to be happy.”

  “You are such a liar,” he says, tone tinged with exasperation. “At least be honest.”

  “I am. I’d never ask that of you.” I might think it five hundred times a day, but I refuse to say it.

  Michael shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink. The liquid sloshes when he puts it back on the table. “Do you honestly think I can’t feel your constant worry? That I don’t know how anxious you are?”

  I look away, studying the crowded restaurant. I remember the first time we came here—how the tension between us was all about sex and chemistry, and not this mess we have now. I take a deep breath. “What do you want me to say, Michael?”

  “Tell me you wish I wasn’t a cop.”

  I give him a sharp glance. “Fine. I wish you weren’t a cop. Are you happy now?”

  “Not really,” he says, and the words cause a riot of panic. When he speaks again, he sounds resigned. “I love you, but I can’t do it, Layla. Not even for you.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste a hint of blood. “I don’t expect that.”

  He laughs, hard and brittle. “Do you know why?”

  “Because you love it.” I shift my attention over his shoulder, watching the chefs in the open kitchen as I fiddle with the stem of my glass.

  “I do love it, almost as much as I love you. But that’s not why.” He shakes his head. “If I quit, in the end, it would be our undoing.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” It’s what I’m supposed to say, but I don’t feel it. Instead of contrite acquiescence, I want is to scream, If you love me so much, you won’t do this to me. It’s selfish and unfair, and I won’t say those ugly words. I won’t sacrifice his happiness for mine. Because he’s right, in the end, he’d grow to resent me.

  In silence, we both look past each other, gazing out at the crowded restaurant. This is nothing like our first date. All I want to do is go home, watch TV and forget.

  Michael sighs. “We can’t go on like this.”

  Bile rises in my throat. He’s going to leave me. I put my hands under the table to hide their shaking. “Everything is fine.”

  Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll start to believe it.

  “Look at me.” The tone is achingly familiar and my heart skips a beat.

  I face him and my chest swells. He’s back to normal. All gorgeous and dangerous in his black sweater and matching pants. I can almost convince myself that things can go back to the way they were, but it’s a lie.

  He takes my hand. “We need to get back to normal, and we can’t do that while you’re worried I’m going to break. It’s not what you need and it’s sure as hell not what I need. It’s driving us both crazy. I need to get back in charge, and that’s what you need too.”

  I should feel relief,
but I don’t. We are at a standoff. I can’t go back, no matter how much I want to. In my head, it’s become part of the problem. “I can’t.”

  “Explain it to me.”

  How can I explain the responsibility I feel without telling him about that night? My secret. I shake my head.

  His jaw hardens, but before he can speak the waitress comes over and gives me a momentary respite.

  She places her wooden board of homemade breads and spreads on our table. “Gwen said she’s making something special for you guys.”

  My stomach twists because I fear we won’t make it to dinner. I’m terrified this is it.

  The end of us.

  “Can you give us some time?” Michael asks.

  She nods and points to the menu. “Just turn it over when you want me to come back.”

  I swallow hard as she walks away.

  “I expect an answer,” Michael says in that do-not-fuck-with-me tone.

  I shiver. It would be so easy to give in. I want to so badly I can taste it. I stare at the bread on the table, remembering how he fed me that first date. How his big palms slid up and down my thighs.

  Tonight, we haven’t touched at all. We haven’t been together since that night, and with each day that passes, it’s harder to bridge the gap.

  I say the words that go against everything I want. “I just don’t think I can.”

  “Why? When it’s what we both need.”

  “Because…” I search my mind for an excuse, but only the truth to blares in my head. I settle on the obvious. “You need to focus on work and your recovery. Not me. Not our relationship. You.”

  He releases his grip on my hand and takes my jaw in his strong grasp. “You forget how this works, girl. I decide. Not you.”

  Those words I’ve longed to hear. They ping every one of my senses, heat my belly, make my thighs clench. But as much as I long to give in, I can’t. Not with the stakes so high. “It’s not time.”

  “You think I’m not paying attention, but I am. You think I can’t feel all that need and desire coiling tight inside you? You think I don’t feel your restlessness? Because you’re wrong. It’s pounding away at me.” He juts his chin toward the crowded restaurant, with its swarms of people and clatter of plates. “Why do you think we’re here? Because you need the reminder of what you are, who I am, and what we are.”

  Hope and lust flutter in my chest, beating in time to the rapid beat of my heart. “You’re not strong enough.”

  “I am.” His grip tightens on my chin. “I need it too. Don’t deny me.”

  His hand falls away, leaving me cold. I don’t know how to explain, how the shooting has gotten all tangled up in my head, so I feel responsible. How I can’t help but think that he’d gone all these years unscathed, until he met me. “Please, stop.”

  “No. It’s time to get this out in the open. Now tell me why.”

  Again, I shake my head. My heart is beating fast, my skin warm. I’m out of the habit, and it’s overloading me.

  “I’m not asking you. I’m telling.”

  When I say nothing, he encircles my wrist. “You have two choices here: Tell me or we head to the bathroom and I’ll show you exactly how strong I am.”

  Everything inside me stills and I gulp, my gaze flying to his injury. “Your shoulder.”

  His head tilts, his expression turning hard and arrogant. “Go ahead and test me, because I’m itching to prove you wrong.”

  “Michael,” I breathe his name and it sounds like a plea, instead of firm as I intend.

  He holds up a hand. “What’s it going to be?”

  I bite my lip. If I was good, I’d stop this, but the words are all dried up.

  His lids hood, and his lips curl into that cruel twist I love so much. “There are plenty of ways to torture you and I’m not above using them all to get my way. I haven’t changed. You need to be reminded and so do I.”

  I close my eyes; the words to end this madness stuck in my throat. Because, in the end, I crave it. As I’ve always craved it. Sheer selfish, demanding need for what will happen leaves me breathless, paralyzed to do the right thing.

  He nods. “The bathroom it is.”

  And before I can protest any further, we’re on our way. He’s weaving fast through the crowd. Gwen, her beautiful red hair in a ponytail, looking model perfect in black skinny jeans and tank top with her restaurants logo embalmed across her chest, starts toward us.

  Michael shakes his head and barks, “Later.”

  Her eyes go wide, but she nods and I offer a smile of apology as he drags me downstairs to the restrooms. I can feel the danger emanating off him in waves, reminding me so much of the night we met. All my hopeful, panicked desire.

  It’s wrong. My survival instinct kicks in, begging me to stop him, but that other part of me I’ve been shoving away since he was shot, is far too loud.

  Far too consuming in its desire to get fed. Satiated.

  When he reaches the bathrooms he frowns at the lines, and growls in what I can only guess is frustration. “This won’t work.”

  I grip his wrist. “Michael. Stop.”

  “No.” He walks down a corridor opening doors until he finds an office. He pushes me inside, slamming the door. “Gwen won’t mind.”

  He doesn’t wait, doesn’t talk, he just shoves me against the wall and claims me. His mouth is sheer possessive, unrelenting force.

  Oh god, I’ve missed it.

  He devours me, his tongue stroking past my lips, forcing its way into my mouth, and lighting me on fire. All our intensity, our chemistry, comes rushing back, pushing away all the comfort that’s been wearing away at us.

  My hands curl around his neck and he rips them away, shoving them over my head and shackling them with his strong fingers. I give one fleeting thought to his shoulder, but then it’s gone as all his repressed dominance unleashes on me like a tsunami.

  Yes. Yes. Yes.

  I need this. My drug of choice. My fix.

  It’s been eating away at me and now that he’s finally taken the control away from me and I understand what he was saying. Why it’s been so hard for us. Why I’ve been restless and agitated. It’s not only my fear, and irrational worries. Not just his profession. It’s the struggle against my nature.

  And as he claims my mouth, taking complete ownership of me, it finally, irrevocably, sinks in.

  I will never escape.

  There is no way to manage this away. It is me.

  It will forever be me.

  One hand encircles my wrists as he slips the other under my silky top. With a flick of his fingers, my bra falls away, and he pinches my nipple, hard enough I gasp at the bite of pain. A fiery ache radiates from my breast and spreads heat through my body. I buck my hips against his straining cock, and he growls in warning.

  I’m past caring.

  Heedless to his injury I bite at his lip, and he rips away. “You’re going to pay for that.”

  Before I can respond, he’s twisted me away from him, pushing me back against the wall face first. His arm, presses against my shoulders, pushing me into the wall, trapping me.

  It’s a mad, crazy rush of lust-filled frenzy.

  I fight to turn around, needing to mark him somehow. Needing to fight and struggle and resist so that he can exert the full force of his power over me. It’s wrong, we should be careful, take it easy, but I can’t help it.

  I need the proof.

  He shoves his thigh between my legs, and his hips press against my ass, making movement almost impossible.

  But I don’t care; I’m like a wild, untamed beast.

  Using all my strength, all my pent-up adrenaline and fear, I fight.

  Somehow, he rips my panties away, and he smacks my ass, sending sparkles of pleasure-filled pain through me.

  There’s no warm up. No easy, getting me prepared strokes. He wails on me, and I push into the blows, my head thrown back in unbridled ecstasy. He kicks my legs apart, his slaps stilling as he roughly s
hoves his fingers between my legs.

  He pinches my clit before ruthlessly pushing into me.

  I’m soaking wet.

  He whispers low in my ear, “You need this, Layla. You’ll never be happy without it.”

  He’s right.

  He pulls away, and I go to move, but his palm lands on my neck and he pins me to the wall. I strain and buck, but it’s useless. I’m immobilized and I love it.

  I hear the sound of his belt being unbuckled, the swish of the leather releasing from the fabric of his pants. Before I can process what he’s doing, the whip of the belt rings through the air and strikes my flesh. The contact sends a new, unfamiliar pain lashing through my body.

  I’ve never been hit with a belt. John always used his hands. So had Michael.

  I let out a scream as it strikes over me. Again and again.

  I cannot describe the release I feel, the exquisite, almost unbearable pain.

  The heat.

  The lust.

  The need.

  As I’m pinned to the wall, my cheeks smashed against the surface, my skin on fire, something inside me breaks.

  Splits wide open, and explodes. Obliterating all my fears and doubts and setting me free.

  The belt drops to the floor.

  Then he’s inside me. Pounding into me.

  One hand around my neck.

  The other gripping my hip.

  His fingers digging into my sore, painful flesh, he reclaims me. Owns me, body, heart and soul.

  I come, my orgasm ripping through me as I claw at the wall under my palms.

  Behind me, Michael snarls, thrusts hard, and follows me into oblivion.

  Everything quiets and stills, the room turning silent. I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of our heavy breaths.

  He leans over me and kisses the side of my neck. “I love you, Layla.”

  “I love you too.” And I do, more than words can possibly convey.

  “I refuse to lose you, so we’re going to have to work it out.”

  “Yes.” A tear slips down my cheek. I can’t hide for one more second.

  I lick my lips and say the words I have never spoken out loud, the ones I need to say if I’m ever going to find peace. “That night…he didn’t want to go.”