Officer Max

by Abby Knox

She steps close enough to whisper, “No, I do not. Lead the way, dummy.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Val

  Down in the microfiche room, I help Max look through the file cabinets and pull out any film canisters corresponding to the years in which the Southside Stalker was terrorizing neighborhoods in town.

  The vibe down here is creepy, but the kind of creepy that gets me excited. It’s dark, old, and full of secrets.

  Watching Max work deftly with this antiquated machinery fills me with pride and a sense of security. He whips through edition after edition of the local newspaper on the lighted machine. He really cares about everything he does, including keeping me and Shane safe.

  I help him copy down the names, dates and places related to all of the incidents he can find, and we study them side by side with the most current batch of incidents. We can’t seem to find a correlation. The current threat is aimed at psychics. The Southside Stalker seemed to focus on women jogging alone, shopping alone, or biking alone.

  The only thing connecting the old cases to the new ones is the wording of the phone calls and the slow drive-bys at night.

  “Wait a minute,” Max says after a while, scrolling back across the roll of film. “I think I saw…”

  “What is it, Max?”

  He does not say anything but stops when he gets to an edition of the newspaper that contains not just a story about the large number of women in town being stalked, but another unrelated article. He points to the screen and his face goes white. I follow his finger and I see it. The headline below the fold, next to the police blotter, reads, “Humane Society Asks for Probe into Dog Fighting.”

  “Whoa,” I say, chills going down my spine. I lean closer and we read the entire article together. It’s only a few paragraphs long and describes how volunteers with the animal rescue agency believe people are adopting large, so-called “bully breed” dogs to be trained for fighting.

  I make a retching noise. “That’s so awful.”

  Max taps his finger to his lips. “Hang on.”

  Without explaining what he’s thinking, he pulls out his phone and dials his partner.

  “Murph. Hey, what have you found out? Huh… Interesting. Well, I might have a lead for you. Yeah… Find out the names of everyone who worked for or volunteered with the dog rescue society five years ago. And then I want you to interview all of them, find out if any of them were victims of the Southside Stalker. Yeah, just to rule out any connection between that and our cockfighting guys. For sure… Good luck, Murph.”

  He hangs up, casting his eyes at me with a look of shock.

  “I’m not sure, but I think we’re close to cracking both cases.”

  I smile at him. “Why do you look so surprised with yourself?”

  Max shakes his head, looking bewildered. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to feel too confident about all of this. I could be wrong.”

  From where I’m sitting on the desk, I reach out my foot to rest against his thigh. Max looks down at it, then back up at my face, a slight pink hue tinting his ears. “You’re not wrong. I can feel it. And I’m so proud of my boyfriend right now.”

  His eyes flash at me for half a second before he pulls me into his lap for a deep, sweet kiss.

  “Thank you for believing in me, Val.”

  I press my hips tight to his body. “You’re easy to believe in,” I say.

  He chuckles softly. “Why, because you can read my aura?”

  I shake my head. “No, because you’re much smarter than your brothers give you credit for, and your heart is pure. It’s easy to see that. It’s all over your face.”

  Before Max can respond, I slide off his lap and kneel down in front of him.

  “Val, what…?”

  I don’t say another word, just get busy unfastening and unbuckling and unzipping while he babbles.

  “Fuck me,” he breathes. “Here? Oh shit, yeah. Good. Fine. Sure. Let’s do this.”

  I startle at how hard his length is when it springs free from his fly. Max’s cock throbs as I gaze at it. It’s long, thick, and dark pink, throbbing with need.

  “Wow,” I murmur. “He’s ready to go.”

  “Fuck yes,” Max rumbles.

  I hold his dick against my face and feel it jerk when it touches my skin.

  “Val, uuhm,” He’s going nonverbal now. I love it.

  My hand slides over the length of him, feeling his warmth against my skin. I marvel at how it feels in my hand. Finally, I slip the tip into my mouth and suck off the little bead of precum.

  More curses spill out of Max. I run my tongue around the tip then lick down to the base, provoking a growl from deep within his chest. I use my tongue to get him ready and then take all of him into my mouth. Cupping and squeezing his balls, I suck him all the way to the back of my throat. I pull back and let my lips and tongue swirl, tease, and kiss. I take him in so deep inside again, I have to force myself to relax so I don’t gag. The heat between us builds and builds until his fingers begin to play with my hair.

  I can tell he wants to be bad, but he’s being so careful with me.

  Pulling back again to speak, my voice is hoarse as I tell him, “Pull my hair and fuck my mouth like you want to.”

  My upward gaze reaches his eyes and he whispers, “Baby, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “It’s you,” I say. “You can’t hurt me.”

  His chest rises and falls faster and faster while he looks down at me, his fingers combing through my hair with a restrained urgency, considering what I’ve said.

  “Do it,” I encourage.

  And with that, both of his palms cup the back of my head and he’s pushing me back down on his cock. The tightening of his fingers against the roots of my hair feels delicious. I let him guide me up and down his shaft, the pace growing quickly. I’m so full of him there’s no controlling my gag reflex. And I love it. Tears form in my eyes. I gaze up at him and his jaw is tight, his face red, his eyes are on me and full of fierce, primal urgency. I’ve never seen a man so turned on and definitely never because of me.

  When he explodes into my mouth, I take in all of it. Not just the essence of him, but I memorize the feel of his sensitive skin in my hands, the roar of his ecstasy.

  And why shouldn’t he roar? He’s my lion, my champion, my fucking king.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Val

  Murphy and Max have spent the week building up their case, and Max has been burning the candle at both ends. Between police work and making sure I don’t get out of his sight, Max has exhausted himself. They’ve got quite a few clues but very little connecting the current spate of threats to the new cockfighting ring.

  I do my best to keep our physical affection to stolen kisses and squeezes, telling him I don’t want any sexy time while Shane is at home.

  Meanwhile, I have a birthday party to prepare for, and by the time Saturday morning rolls around, it’s not going well.

  People arrive for the party just in time to see me freak the hell out. I realize I’ve forgotten to make any of the games that I found on Pinterest, and the balloons have not yet arrived.

  Fortunately it’s only Millie and Angela and their two kids who have arrived so far. I’m surprised to see Angela; she seemed so agitated at Emily’s party last week.

  “Oh my god,” I say, pacing the floor, waving my phone in the air. The children are playing with Shane’s Lego sets in the corner. “This party is gonna suck so bad and Shane is going to need so much therapy, you guys.”

  Angela and Millie stare at me like I’m a feral animal and they are the prey, trying to blend into the wallpaper.

  “And,” I continue, glancing over at Max in the kitchen. He’s playing with the little figures on the wrestling-ring-shaped birthday cake. “I still don't have makeup on and my good bra is still wet, and I just looked in the mirror for the first time in a week and my bun makes me look like a frazzled old fishwife. Why have none of you told me to take my hair down? How can yo
u be my friends if all you see when you look at me is chins?”

  This is not who I am. I’m not a freaker-outer. I am chill Valerie. I am composed and I think things through. I take on only what I should take on.

  I don’t know what I was thinking, throwing a kid birthday party.

  I don’t have Doctor Dave money. I don’t have any right to expect a balloon bouquet to show up on time. I should never have planned on a bunch of silly Pinterest games that kids are not going to care about.

  Max approaches and says, “Millie? Angela? Can you take the kids to the playground for a minute before the other guests arrive?” He stopped playing with the tiny plastic wrestling figures and has come around to me. His hand rests on the small of my back and I feel about five percent more relaxed. But there’s still so much to do. And why is he sending my friends away when the rest of the party guests will be here in five minutes?

  “But…,” I protest.

  Millie sees the look on Max’s face and some kind of unspoken understanding passes between them. She and Angela herd their offspring and Shane out the door.

  Utterly confused, I watch Max lumber around the apartment looking for something. When he finds it—paper and a Sharpie and scotch tape—he marches down the stairs, posts a sign on the door and then comes back inside.

  The deadbolt clicks into place before he turns to me with fire in his eyes.

  “What is happening?”

  Max places his hands on my shoulders. “Babe. Come on.”

  “Where—”

  I don’t get the chance to finish that sentence because Max has his hand at my elbow and his other hand holds a glass of wine.

  He pulls me into the bedroom and closes the door.

  “Helping you relax.”

  Max has never been forceful about anything with me, and I have appreciated his laid back nature. Here and now, he’s not having it with me stressing out.

  “If you’re not going to take care of yourself then it’s up to me.”

  “But the balloons…the games…”

  He grits out, “You need to stop caring about that shit. That’s not who you are. That’s why I sent everyone outside, so you don’t have to be quiet while I help you get your head straight again.”

  Firmly setting me on the bed against the mountain of throw pillows, I realize what’s happening. His eyes train on mine while he spreads my thighs apart, my flowy party dress falling away. I gasp when the cool air in the room hits my thighs. Heat pools between my legs even as I protest.

  “But…”

  Jerking my stretchy panties to one side, he gruffly responds, “You sit back and drink your wine. My drink’s down here.”

  He dives between my thighs before I can even utter another argument, and I do not want to.

  “Oh my god, Max… What are you…oh, but you know exactly what you’re doing…”

  I fall into complete gibberish. That mouth kisses my folds. That hot breath sweeps across my sensitive skin. That tongue easily finds my clit. So many sensations I was not expecting to feel on a Saturday morning after a pre-party freak out.

  The thing that really elevates the whole experience, and also might kill me, are the moans. The vibration of his voice against my sensitive skin. The yum-yum noises. Nobody has ever put this much effort into making me come, let alone cast out a house full of people upon seeing me stressed out.

  This man is unbelievably thoughtful.

  I close my eyes and I see stars.

  Oh, but wait.

  A smile creeps across my face and I set down the glass of wine because there is no way I’m not going to make a mess with it all over my party dress. Good thing, because the way he swipes back and forth against my clit, working it with his tongue and alternating that with sucking it into his mouth, brings up a wild, body-wracking orgasm in a matter of minutes. Out of habit I bite down on my bottom lip as I squeak out my release.

  My delicious man keeps kissing my sensitive skin as the aftershocks elevate me to another level of pleasure. His groans of pleasure, the slurping noises, continue to destroy me.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful. So fucking hot when you squirt for me like this, Valerie.”

  All of the delicious ripples of sensation keep going and going, pulses of joy undulating all through me. I let out a luxurious sigh, the kind I experience on the rare occasions I treat myself to a full pedicure with a hot stone massage to my legs. “Thank you, Max.”

  But he isn’t finished. When I wrap my brain around what is happening, I realize he’s slowly, deliberately feasting. Max isn’t just doing this for me; he genuinely enjoys this.

  “Max, we should probably…”

  With a growl he breathlessly replies, “Give me a minute. You taste too fucking good. I want all of this.”

  I unwind the tightness in my spine and sink more deeply into the mound of pillows and smile. We are being so bad, and I love it.

  I carefully pick up my glass and sip. The wine tastes delicious going down.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Max

  Turns out, I’m apparently just as cool to little kids while I’m dressed in my wrestling uniform as I am in a pirate shirt.

  Nobody cares about the lack of balloons or party games.

  After showering and changing into my wrestling costume, I spend the majority of the time play wrestling with the kids, with their parents’ permission. Occasionally throughout the event, Valerie catches my eye. She watches me and her expression looks different from the way it did a week ago. It’s not a thousand-yard stare anymore. And I’m not just a snack. She’s trying to tell me something, and I make sure I say it right back with my eyes.

  I can’t wait to tell her with my words as soon as we have a free moment.

  She’s not just my girlfriend. She’s my everything.

  A few kids from Shane’s preschool seem to know who Officer Max the wrestler is, and are hugely impressed that Valerie hired me to provide entertainment. That I helped her move up a notch in the eyes of other preschool parents makes me smile. It wasn’t my intention, but I’m happy to do my part.

  The only thing diminishing my smile this afternoon is having to leave Valerie’s side to go compete in the ring.

  I offer to cancel the match today, all the way up to our arrival at the arena.

  “We’ll be fine. I’ve got my little man with me,” she says, squeezing my arm and looking down at Shane, his eyes wide as he takes in all the oversized wrestlers backstage as they apply makeup, stretch, and get pumped up by their managers and trainers.

  “I hate for you to be out of my sight, even for a second.”

  Valerie rises up on her tiptoes and kisses the tip of my nose.

  I must still look skeptical because she reiterates, “We are fine. Look, we’ll be in the stands, out in public.” She gestures into the crowd beyond the curtain. “And your super fan videographer is here, he’ll catch it on film if anything happens.”

  She’s right, though. Nothing is likely to happen. An escalation is not probable out in public like this, and the people or person making threats have been quiet for a week and a half. And I need to get ready for the fight.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Valerie

  “Mommy, I have to go potty.”

  Perfect timing, right when the match is almost set to begin.

  I really don’t want to miss Max’s big entrance. I’d love nothing more than to watch him swagger in and own the crowd.

  But when a four-year-old has to go, he has to go.

  The line for the family bathrooms is five people deep, so I have to take Shane down a dank hallway to the women’s bathroom. The sign on the door says it’s out of order, which explains the line of people with no kids at the family restroom. I consider my options. I could take him to the men’s room and risk leaving him unattended for five minutes while I wait anxiously outside the door, or simply take him into an out-of-order ladies’ room and hope for the best. Shane has never been the kind of kid that’s willin
g to pee outside, which would make all of this easier, if not totally legal. Women’s restroom it is.

  Luckily the problem isn’t the toilets, but the sinks. We finish our business and I squirt his little hands down with sanitizer, giving him the in-depth explanation he requires for why he can’t wash his hands properly. God bless preschool teachers for getting him obsessed with washing his hands.

  He’s still giving me the third degree about it when we step into the main hallway of the arena to go back to our seats.

  “But I didn’t get soap and warm water, and I didn’t get to sing the ABC song,” he persists.

  Distractedly, I try to get my bearings while I answer him. “I know, honey, but like I said, the sinks were broken. We did our best. You’re fine.”

  For as mature as he can be, he’s still got the stubbornness and occasional lack of understanding of a true four-year-old who needs things repeated until they are absorbed. I love the boy with all my heart but honestly this is the most exhausting part of motherhood.

  And it’s that exhausted part of my brain that leaves my guard down at just the wrong moment.

  Crowds of people are bustling this way and that, looking for their seat sections and I’m grateful for the noise of other people. I take my eyes off Shane for half a second to glance at my ticket stub, because I can’t remember off the top of my head which section we came from. The place is a big circle that looks the same all the way around the center ring, and I never commit to things like checking the letters and numbers in situations like this, same as in parking garages, parking lots. Our seating section identified, I look up and Shane is not there.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Max

  It’s one thing when my family sometimes shows up to a match. It’s another thing entirely knowing my girlfriend is out there watching me.

  I hop up onto the ropes and balance myself on top for my signature entrance into the ring, beating my chest and shouting as I point to my opponent, Randy “The Wrecker” Miller, in the other corner, who’s dressed in overalls, no shirt, and a trucker cap. He also sports a mighty mullet that singles him out as the bad guy, also known as the “heel.”