G-Men: The Series

by ANDREA SMITH

  I had realized it right then and there. Seeing the pain and sadness in his eyes had torn into my heart like a dagger. It was then I had vowed never again to do anything that might bring pain and sorrow to him again. My Taz…

  warning

  From the Author:

  The chapter that follows this page has been termed the “Fake” chapter for a reason. The reason is that it was never intended to be part of “Love Plus One.”

  You see, here’s what happened:

  I was going along, writing “Love Plus One” and then one day I got what is typically known as a case of ‘Writer’s Block.’ It’s fairly common, and usually just a temporary (and hopefully very brief) condition, where the author just doesn’t have the rest of the story flowing in his or her head, on paper, or on the laptop.

  So, I did what I normally do and took a break from the writing until I could feel the creative juices flowing once again. This writer’s block occurred around the time in the book where Samantha is having a problematic pregnancy, and I just wasn’t sure where I wanted to take that sub-plot. I considered several various scenarios and decided I’d just sleep on it for a while until something came to me.

  During this time, one of my beta readers was growing impatient for me to feed her more of the storyline for “Love Plus One.” I kept telling her to be patient because I was dealing with this writer’s block thing, and as soon as I felt creative again, she’d get more pages to read.

  So one day, she nags me again for more of the story, complaining that she’ll have to start back at the beginning in order to be able to pick back up on the story since it had been so long. (It was like a week…Pffft!)

  I decided I’d sit down and type up the next chapter of “Love Plus One,” determined to make it a chapter that would totally, fucking blow her mind. And I did. And IT did…

  She phoned me immediately after reading it, cussing at me and telling me that I had just ruined the book, as far as she was concerned. I let her blow off steam and then calmly told her it was a fake chapter…just a practical joke.

  She very calmly told me that if I had time to waste on fake chapters, then I needed to get my ass in gear and start writing real chapters and finish the book!

  Whatever!

  The good news was that writing it did get my creative juices flowing once again. So, I was able to pick up where I had left off and finish writing the book.

  That is how the “Fake” chapter came to be.

  It was never intended to be an actual part of the book. I REPEAT: IT WAS NEVER INTENDED TO BE AN ACTUAL PART OF THE BOOK.

  Now, having said that, please, please don’t read it if you think it will upset you or affect your rating of “G-Men Holiday Wrap,” okay?

  Promise?

  Seriously—DO YOU PROMISE?

  Hmmm…I don’t know, Ash. Whadda ya think?

  Okay, then…

  fake chapter

  I had been in the hospital for six days, healing from the tearing wounds that Kyzer’s brutal and savage rape had left. A staff psychologist had been assigned to my case. He had held several private sessions with me while I was an inpatient. I was to attend weekly group therapy sessions upon my release.

  To be perfectly honest, I just wanted to put everything that had happened out of my mind, as if it hadn’t occurred. After all, what was the sense in rehashing the horrid details over and over again in my mind? I certainly didn’t want to get up in front of other rape victims and share the gory details. What would I say?

  How about that I felt filthy and eternally stained by the horrid things that Kyzer had done to me, and what he’d made me do to him? How about the fact that I’d never feel clean, no matter how many baths, showers and scrubbings I performed on my body? How about the fact that I had required over twenty sutures to close the gaping tear he’d given me from my vagina to my rectum?

  I was damaged goods; there was no doubt about it. Even Taz had seemed distant to me lately. I knew the FBI Internal Affairs was investigating the whole situation to make sure Taz had acted in accordance with FBI procedures and protocols, having drawn his weapon and fired, killing Kyzer who was unarmed.

  That was Taz. At that one moment in time his actions had been totally governed by emotions. Slate had explained it to me as a situation where Taz could’ve taken him in alive and perhaps gained more Intel over the people involved in this latest drug ring. Susan had fled once again; it royally pissed Slate off that Taz had killed Kyzer, who more than likely would have sung to the feds about where she might be. All of that was now lost with Kyzer’s death.

  I was angry with Slate for his treatment of Taz. Slate acted as if any person, whether they’re with the bureau or not, could simply put feelings aside in that split second when observing such a heinous, brutal violation of someone they cared about. Slate and I hadn’t really spoken since I’d returned home.

  Mom was still in the hospital. She was grieving for many reasons. I felt guilty that the whole situation with me might’ve spawned her miscarriage of the twins. They’d been identical girl twins. Mom had done such a great job of keeping that a secret from everyone, with the exception of Slate.

  Her doctor said that the condition she had with TTTS was still a difficult one to treat, though modern medical practices have improved. I knew Mom was beside herself, thinking that had been the last opportunity to give Slate the daughter that he longed for. He’d been at the hospital day and night since she miscarried. He said that Mom had sunk into a very lethargic and depressive state. He wasn’t sure that he was equipped to bring her out.

  Grandma had come to Falls Church during the period I had been hospitalized and then for Mom. She had taken Bryce back to Indianapolis to stay with her until Mom was released from the hospital and felt up to handling him on a daily basis.

  I had pretty much been moping around the house. There wasn’t a lot to do, since Bryce wasn’t around.

  Slate was doing his best to stay busy at work. When he wasn’t at work, he was at the hospital with Mom. She was scheduled for a full hysterectomy the following day. Apparently, with the death of one twin several weeks prior to the other, there were toxins that had nearly killed her. The antibiotics had helped, but the scar tissue and lesions it had caused in her uterus would make any future pregnancies ‘high risk.’ Both she and Slate were heartbroken.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt that, had I not made that stupid decision to meet with Kyzer that day, most of what had happened, would not have happened. I would never know for sure about Mom’s miscarriage, though. I only hoped she didn’t blame me.

  I had just finished my shower. Once again, I had scrubbed my skin raw, with some areas bleeding, trying to get the stench of Kyzer Stanfield from my body. I had a feeling that I never would.

  It was damn near midnight. I was surprised Slate wasn’t home yet. Hospital visiting hours had been over for quite some time. I figured he might be staying in Mom’s hospital room tonight, since her surgery was scheduled for early tomorrow morning. Still, he typically would let me know things like that. He knew I was still skittish, not knowing Susan’s whereabouts.

  I put on a short, silky nightie, figuring I had the house to myself tonight. I went downstairs to the kitchen and poured a double-shot of Patron into a glass with several ice cubes. I downed it in two gulps, and then poured another.

  I went out to the family room and switched the television on, surfing the channels to find something I could tolerate. I hadn’t heard from Taz for more than two days. He saw me as tainted goods—what else could it be? Darcy had said I was being foolish…that Taz wouldn’t regard me any differently than before. She said, most likely, he was up to his eyeballs answering to Internal Affairs, at least that was Darin’s take on it. Darcy had constantly prodded him for information, since Slate hadn’t said shit to me about Taz.

  I finished my second double-shot of top shelf tequila, and then poured another. I ended up passed out on the sofa in the family r
oom when Slate tripped in after 2:00 a.m.

  I felt him rustle me with his hand on my shoulder.

  “Lindsey,” he said, “what the hell are you doing on the couch? Go to bed.”

  There was something very strange about Slate’s voice and what he was saying to me. He sounded drunk. Some of his words were slurred. This was definitely not the Slate I knew.

  I sat up immediately, wiping the sleep from my eyes. He looked tired and disheveled, simply worn-out, and quite drunk.

  “Slate, are you alright?”

  He peered down at me through his thick, dark lashes and shook his head, “no.” His hand rubbed his chin stubble and for a moment, I thought he was going to come apart.

  I scooted over, patting a place on the sofa next to me.

  “Sit, please. I need to apologize to you, Slate. I’m so sorry.”

  He took a seat next to me, leaning back against the couch. “What exactly are you apologizing for, Lindsey?”

  “For everything,” I said. “I made a stupid, stupid decision. It caused Taz to be suspended and you and Mom to worry. Maybe it caused Mom to lose the babies.”

  I started bawling like an infant.

  “Lindsey,” he said, calmly, “please stop beating yourself up. What’s done is done. What about what happened to you, huh? What about the pain and torture that you endured? Why are you minimizing that to everyone? That had to be horrific. Here I am, feeling bad that no one is here and up to consoling you. Your mom is feeling guilty about not being here for you. Christ, no one blames you for the miscarriage. We knew it was a very risky pregnancy.”

  No matter what he said, I believed what I believed. I would recover much quicker than my mother would. My tears continued streaming down my face.

  “Christ,” Slate said, “I’m so fucking useless when it comes to dealing with a female’s emotions. Come here.”

  I felt his strong arms pull me to his chest, just like a father would. He consoled me, stroking my hair like my father should be doing right now instead of my step-father. I melted into the safety of his arms, feeling comforted for the first time since I had escaped that nightmarish ordeal.

  “Everything will be alright, Lindsey,” he said soothingly to me. “Just go ahead and let it out; you need to get it all out, okay?”

  I felt myself nod against his chest and did just as he said: I let the tears that had been building up, that I hadn’t allow myself to shed, out. They flowed freely, down my cheeks, onto Slate’s arm that was around me.

  Finally, I was empty. There were just a few dry sobs. I was cried out. Slate pulled back from me, taking his fingertips and wiping the last remnants of my tears from my cheeks.

  “You realize you have drenched my shirt,” he teased, watching my face. He was trying to get a smile out of me. I gave him one, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I guess I had some build-up going on.”

  He smiled down at me, nodding. “I can relate,” he said. “So, feeling a little bit better?”

  I nodded. “Thanks, Slate.”

  “Hey, we’re family, Linds.”

  And then he did something totally unexpected. He lowered his head and his lips kissed me gently on my damp cheek. It wasn’t as if the kiss meant anything, I suppose. His lips then moved and kissed my other cheek softly, then the tip of my nose.

  “So beautiful,” he breathed. I could smell whiskey on his breath. I started to move from him, but his lips found mine, and brushed against them gently.

  “Slate,” I murmured against his lips, “I need to go to bed.”

  “I need you to comfort me, Lindsey. It’s been so long. Please, just let me hold you.”

  He pulled me onto his lap and just cuddled me there, making no move to do anything further. He hands lightly caressed my hair, his thumb brushed gently against the curve of my eyebrow and he studied me.

  The truth was, I felt comforted as well. I was cradled in his arms, his warm, masculine scent so very close, his hands gently caressed my arms and shoulders. There was really no harm in that. I felt myself drift into a peaceful slumber. It was the most restful sleep I had experienced since the ordeal.

  I felt like I was floating. Soon, I could feel my body sink into the soft mattress underneath me, my head gently lowered to my pillow. I then felt warm lips touch mine, a tongue tracing the outside, wanting entrance. I parted my lips to allow it. My lips met his; our tongues explored this new territory, this forbidden area. It was only a dream, though.

  I felt the mattress dip with his weight right beside me now, raising my short nightgown up over my head. His thumbs hooked into each side of the waistband of my panties, lowering them down to my ankles and pulling them over my feet. I heard the sharp intake of breath as his fingers explored the soft folds of my pussy.

  His lips were now where his fingers had been, kissing the soft skin, his tongue tracing every fold, his warm breath against me. I moved my hands to where his head was, fisting them into his thick, dark hair as he moved his mouth against my core, bringing waves and waves of pleasure rushing through me.

  I pressed myself up against him, wanting more. He gave me more. His fingers pressed up inside of me, while his tongue circled my clit tenderly and thoroughly. I heard a moan escape from my lips in this dream; this thoroughly erotic and delightful dream. My hips rocked against him sensually, my legs spreading myself totally open to anything he wanted.

  His hands placed my ankles on each of his shoulders. He then lowered his hands beneath me, each one cupping a cheek as he raised me up, closer to his face. He devoured me orally, as if he hungered for something that only I could provide.

  He murmured things to me about how sweet I tasted, how much he wanted to taste all of me. And he did; there was not one nook or cranny that his magic tongue didn’t explore thoroughly. I was drenched, but needing more. I wanted my dream to bring me to full satisfaction. I needed to know if I could still experience it without thinking of the pain that had been inflicted to those same areas by that monster.

  I whimpered in my dream. It was as if he knew what I needed…what I had to find out right now.

  “Are you sure, Lindsey?”

  “Yes. I need it now.”

  I felt my legs lowered from his broad shoulders. His hands pushed my thighs apart and his weight hovered over me. His lips found mine and he kissed me hungrily and passionately. His fingertips plied my folds, making sure I was still wet for him. I was.

  I felt him guide his erection inside of me slowly; taking his time to assure there was no pain, no change of heart on my side. I knew there wouldn’t be.

  I placed my hands on his firm ass and gently massaged, pressing him forward so that he filled me a bit more.

  “More?” he questioned softly.

  “Mmm, yes,” I breathed.

  I felt him sink deeper into me, drawing a quick breath.

  “You’re so fucking tight, Lindsey. Tell me if it hurts, baby.”

  “It feels so good. Please don’t stop!”

  He thrust himself into me fully now. I heard him groan deeply as I planted my feet on his ass, my toes kneading his flesh in circular motions.

  “Rock into me,” I directed, “I want to feel you everywhere in side.”

  He did as I wanted and it was magnificent. My hips arched upward to take all of him into me. I met his thrusts and we matched our rhythms perfectly, as if we had done this before.

  I could hear myself whimpering as his thrusts came faster and deeper within me. He was groaning loudly in pleasure, saying my name over and over again, his lips capturing mine, biting and tugging at my bottom lip, which made me all much more aware of his need to fuck me his way.

  His arms hauled my hips up higher at an angle, and as he continued plunging his cock in and out, I felt myself swell up inside for him. I was in near frenzy now, pumping against him faster and furiously.

  “That’s it, Lindsey. Someone’s taught you how to fuck
.”

  His words caused me to contract around him. I could feel my muscles squeeze his cock tightly. He moaned as if it was almost painful, but only almost. His arms were braced on either side of me now, his weight resting on them as he rocked in and out of me. I could feel our climaxes climbing together for the freefall.

  I was unraveling now, feeling the burst of my release around him, moaning with pleasure. He was right there with me, softly urging my climax on.

  “That’s my girl. Take my cock, Lindsey…Fuck!!”

  I met his thrusts full-force, as I continued to come over and over again. I felt his cock throb as he joined me, filling me up with his seed, groaning my name and telling me to take it all. I did.

  It seemed to go on forever before he finally finished coming. He collapsed gently on top of me. Our bodies were both soaked with the sweat of our fucking, and the wet releases of our orgasms. It felt so right and yet so wrong.

  Our breathing was ragged, our hearts were pounding. He lowered his lips to mine for one last, soft kiss. I kissed him back, my hands now pressed against the back of his neck.

  “We can never let your mother know this happened. Promise me?”

  Oh My God. This had not been a dream. This was real. How could I have lost myself like that? How could I have allowed Slate to make love to me? I felt the tears stream down my cheeks. I hated myself for what I had done to my mother…and for what I had done to Taz! But mostly, I hated myself because I had loved it and I’d do it again in a second.

  I felt Slate leave my bed. He shut the door softly, going downstairs to his room. The room right below mine, the room where I had heard him making love to my mother many times.

  The following days remained foggy for me. Each day I felt better physically, but the constant attempts at avoiding Slate were tiresome. He was doing exactly the same thing with me. We were uncomfortable around each other, both despising ourselves for what we had done, for the breach of conduct we had committed.