by Freya Barker
The dog is clearly happy to see us, and Radar needs both hands to properly greet her, but when he has her on the leash and we step back outside, he takes my hand again.
I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated a hand holding mine more. We don’t talk while we walk Phil through the dark, quiet streets, but that simple connection—the small patch of skin touching skin—communicates enough.
It seems natural to follow him back to his apartment, where he heads for the kitchen to grab us a drink and leaves me to check out his living room. It’s a surprisingly uncluttered and comfortable space, with a large sectional, a rustic coffee table, and a solid wall unit housing a TV and a sizable collection of books that immediately draw my attention.
My grandma taught me you can learn a lot about a person by their choice of reading material. I run my fingers along the spines, taking stock of what is there. Most of it doesn’t surprise me—textbooks about programming, an occasional spy novel from Forsyth or Ludlum—but a few obviously well-read books are unexpected. Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, Beloved, by Toni Morrison, and finally The Art of Happiness, by Dalai Lama.
I’m just flipping through the pages of the latter, reacquainting myself with some of the words I read many years ago, when Radar walks in. His eyes go instantly to the book in my hands before lifting to mine.
“My copy looks at least as well-used as yours, but I haven’t looked at it in quite a while,” I confess, slipping the book back on the shelf.
“How come?” he asks, handing me a beer before sitting down on the couch.
I grab a seat beside him and take a sip, buying myself some time to answer.
“I don’t know. Maybe I thought I had it all figured out.”
A light shiver ripples down my spine when he stretches an arm along the back of the couch, his fingers lightly brushing the base of my neck.
“Mmm. Not sure we’re supposed to figure it all out. I’m thinking it may be more about appreciating the journey than rushing to a destination.”
I twist in my seat and scrutinize him.
“There’s a great deal more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?”
He winks at me, one side of his mouth pulling up in a lopsided grin, while he tugs at a strand of my hair. Then he takes the beer from my hand and sets both bottles on the table before turning back to me.
“You bet. So much more for you to uncover,” he teases warmly, and I find myself leaning in.
For a moment our faces hover a few inches apart, eyes locked and searching. The next my mouth is opening under his, welcoming the confidence of his probing tongue. I slide a hand in his hair, holding him close as I swallow his satisfied groan.
I realize I don’t have all the answers—not yet—but what I do know is this man makes me feel a way I haven’t allowed myself before. His mouth as he explores mine, hands stroking the outline of my body as he stretches out, pulling me on top of him. The response of his hard body under mine clears the last lingering doubt from my mind, and I let myself get lost in the discovery.
I tug at his shirt, slipping a hand underneath to find his skin almost hot to the touch. My fingers find ridges and firm planes to a smooth, sculpted chest. I brush the pad of my thumb over a tight nipple and feel his hand flex; digging fingers into the swell of my ass.
“Lady…” he groans against my mouth. “If you don’t want—”
I kiss him hard, cutting him off.
“I want. I’m done thinking.”
“Thank fuck,” he mutters under his breath; scissoring up and taking me with him.
My eyes are focused on his back as he leads me down the short hallway toward his bedroom. He pulls me inside, shuts the door, and before I know it I’m on my back on the bed, his body looming over mine.
“Last chance…”
Instead of answering, I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it up and off. I can feel the heat of his eyes as he lets them drift down to where my moderate breasts are straining against the flimsy lace of my bra. At best a handful, but that doesn’t seem to bother Radar, who takes my wordless response at face value and reverently tugs down a cup.
“So damn pretty,” he mumbles, as his lips cover my nipple.
I can feel the sweet tug of his hot, wet mouth straight down to my core, and I moan softly as he transfers attention to the other side.
He builds me torturously slowly, until I impatiently pull on the back of his shirt, wanting it off. I need to feel his skin against mine. He releases my nipple with a pop and lifts his head, his eyes searching.
“Yes,” I plead, my fingers already fumbling with the buttons on my jeans.
He reaches behind him and grabs a fistful of shirt, yanking it over his head, and tossing it aside. Immediately my attention goes to the chest my fingers mapped out earlier. I push up on my elbows and with my tongue circle the small brown disk. He responds by cursing sharply under his breath and then his hands get busy.
My jeans are pulled down—panties and all—and when they get stuck around my ankles, he slides off the bed to remove my shoes and strips me down to my skin. There’s no chance for me to feel self-conscious because while his eyes devour me, he rushes to get himself as naked as I am.
Good Lord.
Long, well-defined legs that seem to go on forever; lean hips that flare out to strong, wide shoulders. He’s beautiful. All that pale, golden skin covered in a fine dusting of hair, except for the dense strip that leads from his stomach down to arguably the most impressive part of him.
He rips the wrapper of a condom he fished from his jeans pocket and rolls it on, palming his length and stroking lazily. He’s playing with me. I feel no shame and spread my legs, watching his nostrils flare as his eyes drift down to my wet center. The next moment his weight is on top of me, the blunt head of his cock slicking along my folds.
“Was gonna eat you,” he growls, pushing in slowly. “Take my time.” I feel myself stretching around him. “But I couldn’t wait…to get…” He suddenly drives deeper and my mouth falls open at the feeling of being filled so completely. “…inside you.”
Then he starts moving. Slow and deep.
Oh, yes. Oh God, yes.
My hands find his firm glutes and I tilt my hips to take even more of him.
“No mercy,” I mumble, my eyes closed as I’m lost to sensation.
He stills and I groan my displeasure.
“Lady?”
My eyes pop open and see concern on his face.
“I can feel you holding back. You call me Lady, but I’m not fragile.” My fingers curve around his ass, teasing the top of his crack. “I can take all of you.” I lift my head and graze my teeth along the tendon in his neck. I can feel a shudder running through his body. “Show me no mercy, baby.”
He hesitates for only a second, before he pulls my arms from around him and stretches them above my head,
“Hold on,” he grunts, and my fingers curve around the slats in the headboard.
Then he hooks me behind the knees, spreading me wide as he looks down at where we’re joined—his light skin in stark contrast between my dark thighs—and slowly pulls out.
“Perfection,” he whispers, right before he lets go.
He’s strong, his pace is furious, and as he wrecks my body in the most delicious way, I realize I almost walked away from him.
From this.
Chapter Fourteen
Radar
I bury my face in her hair and inhale deeply.
She smells of coconut and sex, her body boneless and heavy on mine.
I don’t ever want to move.
In fact, I’m not so sure I could right now. My stamina is clearly no match for my hunger for her, because even as I’m gasping for breath after round three, I already crave her again. Unfortunately, I have a condom to deal with and a dog who’s been scratching at the bedroom door for the past five minutes.
“Where’you going?” she mumbles when I try to move.
“Clean up, and Phil needs a pe
e.”
I ease her off me and slip out of bed. She’s on her stomach, one arm curved over her head and the hand of the other tucked under her chin, face completely relaxed. I run a hand down the curve of her back and the swell of her ass, enjoying the sight of all that silky skin in my bed. Bending down I kiss her between the shoulder blades.
“Mmmm.”
“Be right back.”
I catch the time on my alarm clock, a little after midnight, and pad into the bathroom where I quickly clean up. When I walk back into the bedroom moments later with a washcloth for Hillary, she’s sitting at the foot end of the bed, bent over, digging through the pile of clothes that ended up on the floor.
“What are you doing?”
Her head pivots around and she smiles a little guiltily.
“It’s late. I should head home.”
Oh hell no.
She finds her shirt but before she can pull it over her head, I pluck it from her hands.
“Stay.”
“But I…”
I lean down and cup her face.
“Stay,” I repeat. “Makes no sense for you to trek across the parking lot to roll back into bed there. We’re both off tomorrow. Not gonna be long and I want to fall asleep with you in my arms.”
Her dark brown eyes turn warm as a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
“Can I use your bathroom to clean up?”
I hand her the washcloth.
“Brought you this, but knock yourself out. Spare toothbrush in one of the drawers, clean towels in the linen closet.”
I snag my jeans and tug them on, grab a hoodie from the hook on the back of the door, and give her mouth a hard kiss. Then I open the door to find an almost desperate Phil turning circles.
A quick walk around the block is usually enough for Phil’s bedtime routine. The streets are quiet until I walk up the driveway to the back of the building. I hear glass breaking and the subsequent blare of a car alarm. I notice movement on the far end where the damn manager still hasn’t replaced the broken lights edging the parking lot.
“Hey!” I yell, as I start jogging in that direction, Phil hobbling along on her short legs.
I see the flash of a white face against the dark hoodie, as the asshole looks in my direction before he hoofs it the other way. My instinct is to go after him but I stop in my tracks when I see the vandalized car is Hillary’s silver Honda. I curse under my breath when I see the windshield bashed in, but my body locks tight when I make out ‘BITCH’ crudely written on the hood of her car.
The piercing alarm abruptly stops and I can hear the sound of running footsteps approaching, just as I spot a crumpled shape on the ground by the driver side door.
“What the hell?”
I turn and just manage to catch Hillary with an arm around her waist, blocking most of her view.
“Take Phil inside and call 9-1-1.”
She glares at me and tries to struggle free, managing to peek around me. Her sharp inhale tells me she saw what I tried to spare her from.
“Lady, please,” I plead softly and her eyes snap to me. “Take the dog? I left my phone on the nightstand so you’ll have to call. Tell them young white male, five foot ten or eleven, no facial hair, and I couldn’t make out hair color. Go. I’m gonna stay here until the cops show.”
She nods sharply, her lips pressed together as she takes the leash from my hands. With one last look at her damaged car, she turns and heads back to my building.
As soon as she disappears inside, I crouch down by the dead animal. It’s a raccoon and it looks like it’s been dead a while.
“Everything all right here?”
Earl, the building manager, comes sauntering up and my anger flares.
“How about fixing those lights I’ve been telling you about for weeks? Goddammit.”
He raises his hands, holding them up defensively.
“Whoa, easy there, my friend. Heard the alarm and came to check it out.”
Earl is one of those good-natured, golly-gee-whiz type characters. Lazy as fuck, but friendly about it. Hard to stay mad at someone who’s always smiling.
I take a deep breath in and force myself to calm down. It’s wasted energy anyway.
“Someone vandalized Hillary Glenwood’s car.”
I step aside so he can see. He tsks and shakes his head.
“Now, that’s not nice. Did’ya call the police?”
I look over his shoulder at my apartment.
“Hillary is.”
No sooner are the words out of my mouth when I see her coming down the stairs. Judging from the rushed clip she’s moving at and the dirty look she’s throwing Earl, she may have a choice word or two for him as well.
“Didn’t I tell you?” She walks right up to him and jabs a finger in his chest. “It’s been almost a month, Earl. You know I get home late from my shifts and don’t feel safe crossing a dark parking lot. Now look at my car.”
“Tomorrow,” he promises, apparently more impressed with Hillary’s anger than he was with mine. “I’ll make a call first thing tomorrow. They’ll be fixed by sundown.”
“Too late for my car.” She glances at the damage before her eyes drift to the mangled animal. “Is that…”
“Raccoon. Dead for a while, I’m guessing roadkill.”
Her face scrunches up.
“Eww.”
“Why aren’t you inside?”
“Oh.” She shoves her hand in her pocket and comes out with my phone, handing it over. “They said it might be a while, but I mentioned who I was and asked for Detective Garcia. He called right back, he’s on his way.”
I bet he is.
I give up on trying to get Hillary to go inside and when a police cruiser pulls into the parking lot; I throw my arm around her shoulders and pull her close.
“Obvious much?” she mumbles, as Garcia gets out of the vehicle.
He glances over and his eyes stare hard at me for a moment before he turns to Hillary with a tight smile.
That’s right, sucker.
Hillary
“So you didn’t see anything?”
It’s the third time Detective Garcia asks the same question.
“No,” I tell him again, holding on to my last thread of patience as I watch the tow truck take off with my car. It’s late and I’m tired. Besides, it’s chilly now the sun is down and all I’m wearing are my jeans and Radar’s shirt I grabbed off the floor. “I heard the alarm, recognized it as mine, and ran outside.”
“Maybe I should come and check your apartment,” he offers.
“She came from mine.”
Garcia shifts his attention to Radar, who tucks me closer to his side.
“I see. Well then, I think that’s all I need for now. If you’re sure you can’t think of anyone who could’ve done this…”
“You mean aside from the kid I identified at the police station? Or his father?”
“Right,” he acknowledges, tapping his notebook.
Those were the only two people who might have a beef with me I can think of. Unless…
I turn to Radar.
“Could it have been…” I stop myself and shake my head. That’s too farfetched. “Never mind.”
“What?” he prompts.
“The person you saw running away, could it have been a woman?”
“Didn’t give me that impression.”
“Anyone in particular?” the detective wants to know, but I’m already regretting mentioning anything.
What if he goes to question her? It’ll give her even more reason to make my life hell. Besides, I doubt she’d get her hands dirty.
“No, no one. Just wondering.”
Both men scrutinize me, but Garcia is the first one to break the tension.
“I’ll get this written up and drop off a copy. Are you going to be around?” He asks me but Radar answers.
“We will be.”
Then Garcia turns to Earl, who’s been listening closely.
“Do you have something to clean that up with?” He points at the dead raccoon. The car was already towed
“Sure. I’ll toss it in the dumpster.”
“Thanks, and get those lights fixed, a dark parking lot is an invitation for vandals and thieves.”
“Tomorrow,” Earl confirms, throwing a furtive glance our way. We watch as the detective climbs into his vehicle and drives off. “You folks head inside where it’s warm. I’ll take care of this.”
We leave him to deal with the mess, something I don’t feel even the slightest bit guilty about. Inside the apartment, Radar points in the direction of the bedroom.
“Get under the covers, you’re shivering. I’m just going to lock up. Want me to make you something warm to drink? I don’t have tea, but I have decaf coffee.”
“I’m fine, thanks. I should probably get my stuff and head—”
He tags me behind the neck and drops his forehead to mine.
“We’ve had this conversation. Nothing’s changed.”
He gives me a hard kiss before turning me toward the bedroom. I’m too tired to argue. My clothes are stripped off and I’m rolled up in his comforter like a cocoon, when he walks in moments later. From under heavy eyelids I observe as he tugs off his hoodie, kicks off his shoes, and sheds his jeans.
“Quit looking at me like that,” he growls, crawling into bed beside me. “You were dead on your feet out there.”
He rolls toward me, tugging one side of the bedding loose to cover himself. Then he curves his arm around me, pulls me close, and tucks my head under his chin. He’s like a furnace. I moan, rubbing my cold feet against his warm ones.
“Hillary? Who’s the woman?”
Shit.
“Someone from work. I shouldn’t have said anything. I can’t see her doing something like this.”
“What’s her problem?”
His long fingers stroke lightly down my spine and I feel the tension drain from me.
“She hates me,” I mumble, half asleep.
“Yeah?”
“Mmm. She has a thing for Dr. Sugarlips and I dated him.” His fingers still for a beat before they resume their path over my skin. “Radar?”
