by Maria Luis
My stomach tightened at the feel of her. I’d had her only hours ago, but, Christ, it felt like ages. Months. Years, even. With her eyes on my face, she brought her mouth to my hard-on. Swiped her tongue along the crown, and I’d be lying if I said that the one touch didn’t light me up like an inferno.
“Ave,” I grunted, hands still on the lip of the tub. Don’t push her to go faster. Let her set the pace. It went against my nature to do that, to take the backseat . . . but with her, I’d done a lot of things that weren’t very me.
Picnics under the moonlight.
Conversations that didn’t stick on sex and only sex.
Falling in love.
Her mouth enveloped me. Her wet heat. The water splashing around my knees as she worked my cock until my eyes were crossed and my breathing came in hard pants that sounded choked even to my own ears. Her tongue glided along the base as she sucked me in deep. Her fingers tugged on my balls.
She was pushing me, testing my limits with a playful glint in her hazel eyes whenever she looked up at me, her pink lips opened wide. It was the exact visual I’d had when I met her in Jackson Square.
Avery was the girl who could handle my darkness, who dusted off the glowing embers with a flick of her hand and pulled me from the roots of hell to make love to her under the moon.
She licked the tip of my dick, then challenged me with a saucily delivered, “Give me everything, Sergeant. I can take it.”
With a deep-seated groan, I submitted.
My hands went to her head, tangling in her hair. My hips rose off the porcelain as I drove my cock into her mouth, deep enough that I glanced off the back of her throat. My heart thundered with the words I only knew with her: I love you, Iloveyou, Iloveyou.
And then I was tearing myself away, watching my cock pop free from her mouth, as I dragged her up from the water and spun her around to stand. With me seated on the edge of the tub and her standing, she was at the perfect height. I nudged her legs together, so that her thighs touched, and then positioned her in front of me.
Her pussy hovering just above the tip of my cock.
“I want you like this,” I said, voice low, my hand following the curve of her ass. “You taking your pleasure from me, no barriers between us.”
There was a minute pause where I worried that I’d come too strong, that I’d demanded more than she was willing to give just yet.
Then, her sweet, throaty voice greeted my ears and I almost came right then and there: “Challenge accepted, Cap. Challenge accepted.”
The first glide in was a tight fit, and we both groaned.
“Oh, God, you feel big.” She sank back, testing the waters by inching down the length of my cock. “You feel so big . . . like this.”
I squeezed her ass cheeks and tried not to blow my load. “The hammer doesn’t mess around.”
A half-laugh fell from her mouth. “You always make jokes at the very worst times.” Her fingers dug into my thighs as she slipped down another inch. “First when we’re jumping out of windows and now this?”
Glancing down, I watched my cock sink fully into her. Gritting my teeth, I bit out, “Trust me, sweetheart, this isn’t a joke.”
Arching her back, she rose up, straightening her knees, before coming back down on me again. And then did it again. And again. Her ass moving up, her pussy sucking me in, she controlled the rhythm, the pace, the goddamn way that I breathed.
My skin felt like it was on fire, burning like I’d sat amidst the flames as opposed to the gradually cooling water lapping at our legs. I barely noticed, not when I sat there, letting Avery take me exactly how she wanted me.
Fast. Then slow. Then fast again.
My palm glanced off her ass cheek, punishing her the way that she was punishing me by never keeping the same rhythm for long. The pleasure was addicting. The way she rode me, like I was here to quench her desire alone, was addicting.
Circling her hip, my hand cupped between her legs and her pace jerked to a halt.
“Keep going,” I muttered, the pad of my middle finger finding her swollen clit.
On shaky legs, she continued. Her back arched. Her ass bouncing. Her head dropped forward as she let out a moan that rattled my soul. I couldn’t see her face in this angle, the mirror too far to the right.
“Are you watching me?” I demanded.
Her only response was a jerk of her hips and a loud, “Oh, my God, Lincoln.”
My balls tightened, my orgasm creeping in. Fuck, not yet. Not yet. I applied more pressure on her clit. Gripped her hip with my other hand, forcing her to take the entire length of my cock with every downward thrust she gave me. “Are you watching me play with you?” I said again, pushing us both to our limits. “One finger or two?”
“Two,” she gasped, her pussy squeezing me like a vice when I rubbed her clit with two fingers, just as she wanted. “Please, Lincoln.”
She felt so damn good.
Air pumped out of my lungs, so uneven with each exhale that it almost hurt. Hurt even more when I managed a guttural, “Please what, sweetheart? Please what?”
“Love me. Just love me.”
She burst apart in that moment and I jerked her off me just in time for my own orgasm to hit. I came all over her back, wishing that I’d come inside her instead. Soon. Just not yet. I wasn’t a patient sort of guy—I took, knowing that no one would be waiting on the sidelines to give me what I wanted.
But Avery . . . I wanted her for forever. We’d get there.
Cupping the water in my hands, I washed her back. Grabbed a loofah and drizzled soap into it, and then soaped her up. I turned her to face me. Swept the loofah up her flat belly to tease at her nipples.
And then I gave her my heart, for whatever it was worth: “I love you, Ave.” I swallowed past my nerves—ones I’d never experienced before. “I walked into your world and then dragged you into mine. I’ve never been a gentleman—one look at my face and you know exactly what I mean. I’m rough around the edges. Dark all the way to my soul. My past is Ruin, as you told me with the cards. But the way you look at me . . . like you know I can be someone better . . . Christ, I want to be that man for you. The good one. The one who you know would do anything for you, no matter what it is.” I dropped the loofah. Brought my hands down on her hips. Soaked up her warmth like it was a balm to the ice that had always coated my skin. “You’re not looking for a savior, but I fucking hope you might be looking for a guy like me . . . the kind of guy who loves you, even if he knows he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to be worthy of a brave girl like you.”
My confession wasn’t pretty.
It was barely articulate.
And yet, Avery dropped to her knees before me. Water splashed her chest, the underside of her chin. Her hazel eyes were red with unshed tears, and her nails dug into the back of my calves. She could draw blood and I wouldn’t give two shits, so long as she—
“I bow to no man,” she whispered, her gaze locked on my face. “I tattooed the words on my skin on my momma’s ten-year anniversary.” She inhaled sharply, and a lone tear fell from her bottom lash to land on her cheek. “I made that vow, knowing what had happened to her. I made that vow, determined to keep my heart safe and my body untouched from those who abuse me. I bowed to no one . . . until you. Until you walked up to me like the king of darkness and forced me to shed the shadows. You pushed me. You baited me. You made me come alive when I’d been dead for so damn long.”
She kissed my knee, pressing her lips to the skin as her lids fell shut. “I wanted you, even when Big Hampton dropped the bomb that we may or may not be related. I wanted you, even when you showed me your darkness and I matched it with mine. And I love you, knowing that your rough edges will always be outweighed by the size of your hammer and the goodness in your heart.”
I blinked. Rewound her words in my head to replay.
Stared down at her when she grinned brilliantly back at me, another tear joining the first on her cheek. “I’m trying to be
romantic here and you’re cracking jokes.”
She nipped my knee. “Like you said before, your hammer is not a joke, Sergeant. Although neither was me jumping from a fire escape with no underwear on either. Could this be . . . karma, maybe?”
Reading the intent in my eyes, Avery launched from the bathtub and nearly slipped when her feet hit the tile.
I swiveled around, keeping my ass on the tub and my feet now on the floor. Water dripped from every inch of our skin and I didn’t even care.
“You still feel good about following orders?” I asked her when she righted herself and skipped out of the bathroom, her perky ass making me hard all over again.
She glanced at me over her shoulder, her hazel eyes bright. “Catch me and see for yourself.”
I caught her. Down the hall, where I then pressed her up against the wall and hiked her leg up, spreading her wide as I thrust into her.
“I love you,” she whispered into my chest, kissing my heart.
All my life, I’d been a man resigned to death. But maybe the tarot cards had it wrong. Maybe it wasn’t death in the literal sense, but maybe something like a new beginning. A fresh start. I could get down with that, so long as I had Avery at my side.
I slid my arm behind her, then pressed my mouth to her neck, just the way she liked. “I love you, sweetheart. Christ, how I love you.”
Epilogue
Avery
A year and two months later . . .
Jay Foley survived his gunshot wound.
Most days, I tried not to be bitter about it.
But because he didn’t die, I sought out to ensure he’d never make it outside of a prison. When I wasn’t taking my GED classes or working in the women’s shelter I’d helped to found with the help of Lincoln’s Aunt Samantha—who’d finally weaned herself off the drugs with the help of her nephew and the good doctors at University Hospital—I tracked down every female Lincoln had ever spoken to about the case against Foley.
I had lived in the shadows of New Orleans for over a decade, and because of that, I knew where to look. Like me in my teenage years, they’d feared men. They’d feared Lincoln, even when he’d assured them he only wanted to help.
In the end, I was the one who convinced them to testify against a man who had ripped families apart because of his greed. I was the one who stood next to them in each court date, my encouraging words the persuasion they needed to come forward.
“Corruption and New Orleans go hand-in-hand, and have since 1718,” I told the judge when I began my testimony, using the words Jay once had repeated to me. Mayors in this city weren’t immune and they weren’t gods. They murdered, they sinned, they embezzled money like every other criminal to sit behind prison walls.
The judge dismissed court with a hammer of his gavel, but we already knew what his judgment would be. The city wanted Foley’s head on a platter, and unless the judge wanted to face serious criticism from the public, the former mayor would be sentenced to Angola by the time the day was over.
I glanced back at the row of people who’d come to support me. Lincoln with Aunt Samantha. Pete and Sal were seated beside Katie, who was next to the city’s new mayor, Joshua “Big” Hampton. He was an unlikely ally, no doubt driven by guilt for the way he’d manhandled Lincoln and me. Over the last year, though, he’d stood by his word to right his wrongs.
Sometimes good people did bad things—I was willing to overlook his faults for the way he’d turned the city around and led by example.
Quinn was here, somewhere, watching my back as he’d grown to do over the last year. I was a tarot reader in Jackson Square, a twenty-six-year-old woman studying for her GED, and part-owner to a shelter—but to Quinn, I would always be the daughter of the woman he’d loved. I didn’t need a bodyguard just like I didn’t need a savior, but the men in my life didn’t give a damn when it came to seeing me safe.
Foley met my gaze when I stopped before his row. His handsome features were sallow, drawn, with deep, dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked like hell personified . . . and I’d never been more satisfied.
“Laurel.” The metal cuffs around his ankles clanged their presence as he climbed to his feet. “I . . . I wanted to say that—”
I didn’t shrink into myself, not the way I had outside our dining room all those years ago. Kicking up my chin, I forced out the words I’d rehearsed all morning on the drive in with Katie and Lincoln. “It’s Avery.”
Those weren’t the words I’d rehearsed. Digging into my purse, I pulled out the one tarot card I’d brought with me today. The illustration was dark, composed of greens and blues and grays and drowning fountains. I set the card on the balustrade that separated us.
“What is that?”
“Gluttony.” When his eyes narrowed, I added, “I hope that your stay in Angola is a frequent reminder that every step that led you there was on account of your own greed.” I nodded toward the card. “I used to think that I wanted death for you, but I think . . . no, I think the sort of lifelong suffering you’re in for is so much more appropriate.”
Nodding, more to myself than to him, I turned on my heels and started to head over to my people. My family.
“Avery.”
That voice, that sickening voice which had been the source of comfort to me as a child. I didn’t look back—wouldn’t give him that sort of satisfaction.
The silence stretched uncomfortably, and then: “She would be proud of you. Your momma, she would be so proud.”
I knew that.
Be brave.
Be bold.
Sometimes being brave meant holding your tongue and letting someone else drown in their own guilt. I said nothing in return.
After all these years, I’d come face to face with Jay Foley—and I’d ensured, after saying my piece during today’s session, that I would never have to do so again.
Vengeance, sometimes, was best served by legal professionals.
“Lagniappe” - Because New Orleans Always Gives More Than You Asked For
Lincoln
Later that night . . .
My wife was exhausted.
The signs were there in the dark thumbprints beneath her hazel eyes and the quiet way she watched a recap of today’s court proceedings on the TV opposite our bed. Over the last few months, she’d run herself ragged trying to get everything in line to send Foley to lockup for good.
Hell, she’d done a lot more than I had when Ambideaux’s court date had rolled around. I’d shown up, dressed in my Class-B’s from work, my new lieutenant patch all shiny on my arm, and did what needed to be done. Jason and I hadn’t exchanged a word, but I hadn’t expected anything less.
And when news had broken three months ago that he’d been killed in a prison fight, a knife straight to his gut, I’d simply driven to my Aunt Samantha’s new place and poured her a glass of her favorite lemonade, and said, “You don’t have to worry anymore. The fucker’s dead.”
She rarely smiled in my direction—too many years, I guessed, from having to put up with a life that wasn’t hers—but she’d opened her arms wide and a tremulous smile had graced her thin lips as she said, “Give me a hug, nephew.”
Nephew, never son.
But goddamn, had it felt good.
She loved Avery, though, and I’d sensed her seething hatred for Foley as she sat beside me in court today, her fingers digging into the cushioned armrests of her wheelchair.
I’d seethed hatred all day, too. Even now, as Avery lay beside me, her eyes glued to the TV, I seethed. Pushed it down, squashing it into a million little places so I could be the man my wife deserved.
“You did good today,” I murmured, coasting my palm up along her arm. “Phenomenal.”
She fiddled with the engagement ring I’d purchased for her from a shop in the Quarter. Gold filigree and topped off with a ruby, it’d reminded me of her. Delicate but with a badass outlook on life that turned me on in a way that no one else ever could. The simple gold band nestled along it had
been slid onto her finger a month ago in Jackson Square, at the base of the steps of St. Louis Cathedral where we’d met.
“Love you,” she said, craning her neck to plant a soft kiss on my neck. “Sorry, today has me all messed up.”
I covered her hand with mine, then dragged it up to hold to my scarred cheek. “Don’t apologize for doing what you needed to do.”
Her fingers curled against my skin, and she swept her thumb over the corner of my mouth. “Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about unloading a round in the back of his head the entire time.”
With a kiss to her palm, I flashed her a quick grin. “Guilty as charged.” I waggled my brows. “Too soon with the legal talk?” I slid on top of her, and her legs immediately separated to make room for my body. “Or maybe just right?”
The pucker between her brows cleared when she gave a light laugh. “Always making jokes when you shouldn’t.”
Leaning down, I nipped her exposed shoulder. “Haven’t made a joke at a funeral yet.”
“That’s because the opportunity hasn’t presented itself to you.”
I winked. “Good point.”
Dropping my mouth to hers, I sipped at her lips, pulling her out of her shell and back into the light. We’d shared a million different kisses. Soft, hard, challenging. This one, though, was all comfort.
She clasped the back of my head, and I chuckled against her mouth. “There’s my brave girl.”
Her hips rose off the bed to press against mine. “More than you know.”
I rolled away. Ignored the tent in my sweats as I motioned for her to stand. “I’m gonna need you to be brave for me tonight.”
Avery sat up, her hair mussed from the pillow. “Lincoln,” she drawled, “I’m pretty sure I’ve slept with you enough times by now that you don’t need to give me the be brave speech just before you drop your pants.”
Laughter climbed my throat as I threw her a skirt from where she’d left the folded laundry earlier this morning. One fault we had? Neither of us enjoyed putting laundry away. We’d get to it, at some point.
