by Piper Malone
You would think I just told Reagan I came up with a formula for cold fusion.
“I am so proud of you, Kat.” Mrs. Langley-Dunn beams at me like a mother watching her awkward child tap out a dance routine.
“It’s not a big deal.” I try to sound nonchalant, like it was an everyday occurrence in which Blake rendered me sightless and I let him pleasure me in limb-numbing, mind-blowing ways. It’s crazy, but I think I felt more blindfolded than if I would have been able to see all his freaky sex moves.
“No, it’s a huge deal, kitten. I specifically remember you telling me that Blake was not someone you were going to date.” She laughs, her white teeth looking almost iridescent against her tanned skin. Her hair is a little lighter, her skin glows from the sea salt and, I’m sure, all the sex.
“Would you believe he let me blindfold him, too?” I ask in hushed tones.
“Of course I would. They have a strict policy that they won’t do anything to a sub that they haven’t had done to them.” She winks an eye. “Trust me; they know what it feels like to receive everything.”
Do I ask? What the hell. “Even, like, backdoor stuff?”
A wicked smirk graces her face. “Oh yeah. I don’t know when or how or who, but they know.” She takes a sip of her coffee, savoring the warm liquid. “They are a skilled group of guys. You should let Blake show you his level of mastery.” She gives me a saucy wink that makes my curious heart gallop.
“Right now, I think that’s a no-go for me. We’re doing well with blindfolds. He tried to tie my hands and I had to tell him to take it off.” An icy feeling zips down my back, jarring my body.
“Does he know about Yuri and Artur?”
“I told him.”
“Did you tell him everything?”
I swallow down my delicious drink, hoping it will warm me. “Yes. I had to.”
“Wow.” Reagan looks at me with pride. “That’s great, Kat.”
“I know. It just takes me a bit. It’s tough stuff to say, Reagan. I’m not good with all the crappy stuff like you are. You own your shit, I still have bits of it shoved in dark corners. If you’d like to tell me how to be a person that embraces their personal baggage I’d be happy to take lessons.”
“It’s nothing more than accepting what it is, Kat. You are a woman who was verbally abused by her uncle and cousin. You were neglected by your parents. You witnessed traumas. As a result you have a violent grip on your independence and have a hard time with trust.”
Her words make me mad, mostly because they are true. “Okay, let’s not play the game of adulthood right now. All I really wanted to do was lay eyes on you and see the pictures you snapped at the nude beach you visited.”
“We didn’t go to a nude beach,” she snickers, before covering my hand with hers. “You don’t have to say the words like I do. The important thing is that he knows. You are none of the things Yuri or Artur called you.”
“They’re back in the States,” I mumble. Her back straightens, the gasp loud and horrified. “Artur friend requested me on Facebook.”
“That fucking son of a bitch!” The wash of anger staining her cheeks is muted by her browned skin. “What did you do?”
“I swallowed my desire to castrate Mika for sharing that news the evening Blake came over for dinner. I deleted the request.” I take a swig of my drink, replaying the next sentence over and over before it finally spills out. “Artur sent me a private message last week.”
Reagan’s shock has her choking back her drink. “And? Did you read it?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t want him to see that I actually looked at it.” I didn’t have to read the whole thing to get the gist of the message. His purpose was in the first line. “He wants to see me,” I say quietly.
“That’s so weird.” Reagan looks at me with a mix of concern and hesitation. “What do you think you’re going to do?”
I’ve thought a lot about what I should do. “Part of me wants to confront them.”
“Kat,” the warning in her voice is firm, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“And living with this is?”
“What will having any conversation with them do? It’s over. They have no power over you anymore.”
But the shitty thing is, they do. I hear the words circulate in my mind. Those thoughts impact my relationship with Blake. They taint how I function on a daily basis. Part of me just wants to prove them wrong. The bitch in me wants to publically emasculate them. I know Artur was his father’s puppet, but he took it to a new level. He was a teenager who terrorized a child. Fuckers like that should have their nuts scalded with hot pizza cheese.
“It was just a thought.” I shrug, hoping she’ll think I’m ditching the idea.
“Do not go see him alone, Kat. I see that look in your eye.”
“Are you going to help me, Ray-gun? Are you going to be my kick-ass wingman?”
“No, but I know a few guys who will at least provide some backup if needed.”
“But would they tell Blake?”
“Frankly, I’m upset that you would think he wouldn’t be there.”
“I don’t want him to see what my life was like.” I don’t want Yuri or Artur anywhere near my man.
“If you took him to meet your parents, I think he already has a good idea, kitten.”
“Can we change the subject?” The question is rhetorical, I don’t care if she wants to belabor this point. I’m contemplating confronting the bully and I don’t think I can be swayed on this one. “I won a bid to do a community-based fund-raising scheme and all the guys at Blake’s firehouse are going to strip down and let me take pictures of them for a calendar. I’m thinking of buying a house near you two.”
“The conversation about you meeting your cousin is still open but I’ll move on before you toss that coffee in my face.” She gives me the eye before leaning back in her chair. “Congrats on the job. Is Blake in it?”
“Of course, Reagan.” I can’t restrain my mischievous grin. “He’s Mr. August because he brings the heat.”
*
I didn’t expect all the emails. Three hundred and nine congratulatory messages on winning the campaign. We got a rundown of all the pitches. Serena tried to go the animal route. Supporting adoption days and responsible ownership programming. Nicole and Brenda did a joint pitch for the local food shelter to create and develop a community garden.
A wonderful surprise was that everyone who pitched had a lump sum of money donated in their name to the organization they wanted to support. It’s not the win, but it’s an amazing gesture. I don’t know too many community-based agencies that would snub their nose at five grand.
“Congrats, Kat.” Serena slithers into my doorway, looking dejected and überbitchy.
“Thanks.” I toss her a tight smile. “I saw your bid, it was really good.”
“It was really good,” she snorts. “But clearly not as good as flaunting half-naked men around.”
“Serena, they liked what they liked.” Maybe lobbing the truth back at her will help her disappear. “The station does a lot of great work for the community and they deserve to be supported too.”
“So,” she runs a long manicured nail along the doorjamb, “was it Achenbach or Reyes?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Who did you meet with to impress upon them that your idea was the best?”
“Are you asking what I think you’re asking?” I get up from my chair, leveling the playing field on the piece of shit who just accused me of fucking my way into this deal.
“C’mon, Kat! No one really believes that this idea is the best. You had to grease the wheels.”
“Are you really that bitter over losing, Serena? You know I’m an employee of integrity.”
“Maybe it was one of the old ladies then?” She taps her cheek, pretending to think deeply about the possibility. “Maybe you got the others by letting them watch.”
“Get out of my office,” I say, the anger ma
king my voice edgy.
“Tell me,” she presses, “did you take her out to dinner first and get her all boozy?”
I slam the door in her face before she can launch the next insult. When did women become so mean to each other? We have enough of that bullshit from men who think our ovaries inhibit complex thoughts. I can’t stand when women fight their own kind, but she crossed a line. I won that bid with my talent and creativity.
I’m not a whore.
With shaky hands, I grab the phone and dial the office hotline for harassment disclosure.
*
“So they canned her?” It’s funny that he doesn’t look at me while I’m telling him about Serena. Ax just continues to plunder the overstuffed chicken potpie Reese made “especially for him.” Barf.
“Yup,” I confirm, “security escorted her out. Mr. Achenbach came to see me a few hours afterward and apologized for the distress. From what I heard, she went ballistic when HR called her down. Her behavior and accusations were so out of line they fired her on the spot. Blake was livid and came over the second I texted him.”
“So he knows?” Ax finally picks his head out of the trough and makes eye contact. “Then why the hell are you here?”
I open my mouth, but I don’t really have an answer. “Well, Blake is at work. Reagan and Caleb are with his parents. I didn’t want to hang out with work buddies after everything that happened today.” For a moment, we just look at each other. “Ax?” I pause, knowing the question is going to sound strange. “Are we friends?”
“Hmm.” His gaze darts around the room, mouth pressed into a mulish pout. “I guess. I’ve never really been friends with a woman before.”
“I’ve never been friends with a hardcore Dom who has a panache for drag, so that makes us even.”
“You think that beating Nick laid on your man was bad? That’s gonna look like a pillow fight when I’m done with him,” he growls. “That fucker did not have to tell you that.”
“He told me I should ask to see your poker face,” I burst into hysterics, the tension of the day falling away in his company. When I see the rueful shake of his head followed by his own laughter, I get that warm sensation that comes with being comfortable and feeling safe. I have the same feeling with Blake, only deeper. I’ve had it with Reagan forever.
Maybe, after all that happened today, I didn’t want to be alone. “Blake knows I’m with you right now. I texted him and told him I was coming over to harass you.”
“And no fight? Wow, Kat, see what a little bit of communication does for a relationship?”
“So when you dressed up, did you have that machine that blew sparks out of your crotch?”
“How about you eat Reese’s dumpling and shut up,” he drawls.
“Sure thing, friend.”
Chapter 27
Blake
They think it was the coffeemaker.
A machine that runs hot water through mashed up beans almost killed four children under the age of ten and their father.
The fire was intensified by the old structure of the home. It was kindling, spreading the flames with ease. One of the kids is in intensive care. The baby I pulled from the crib was admitted to the pediatric unit, but she’s stable. There is nothing worse than holding fourteen pounds of limp baby in your arms. I prayed the entire way out of the house.
She’s innocent. Let her live. Please let me know I got to her in time. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
The worst was their mother. She was working night shift and received notification from the police that her house was on fire. Hearing her scream for her children, begging to know if they were all out, was horrific. Her cries were a knife to my gut. We got them out, but it was still awful.
We lost their dog.
They debriefed us, reviewed our efforts, and praised our actions.
And I feel like hell.
Three of our guys ended up in the emergency department. Baron collapsed in the hallway. Hauling him out was a horrible reminder of David. Baron was just as limp as the baby I rescued when we dragged him out. Heat exhaustion at its finest. We got him out. He’s alive.
I kept focusing on the job, my teammates, and getting out safely.
I stayed focused on Kat.
After the meeting, I grab my bag and tuck the picture of Kat from the wedding back in my locker. I can’t tell her that I keep it on me when I work. It’s weird but it soothes something in me. The feeling of her next to my heart is too good to let go.
Twelve thirty and, sure enough, there is a text from her with a gorgeous picture of her body, nude and artfully displayed. She’s lying on her back, the camera capturing the delicate valley of her breasts before showcasing her belly. Her smooth legs are crossed, hiding the pussy I want more than life itself right now.
My place or yours?
There’s no hesitation.
Mine.
I need her on my turf tonight. All of her. That body. Her creative mind building vivid ideas. Kat’s brilliant smile. Every piece of her needs to be in my life, always. It’s too soon to tell her I want to build a life together. The times we’ve fought and she’s left, I worried she wouldn’t come back. Marriage, her stance about not committing, gnaws at me. Could I be the difference for her? Things are going so well, I don’t want to screw anything up with hopes and dreams about our future.
The attempts to stay focused on positive thoughts is difficult. Tonight, I’m losing the battle with staying grounded. I recall the debriefing about the night, the accolades, and the rundown of what could have been different. But I feel the residual slide sucking me back into the moment. It’s as if I never left. I feel the weight of my gear. I have to remind myself that breathing is not a chore. I’m still a little jumpy.
There were so many kids. I had to find them. I’ve never lost anyone young. The possibility of a family losing their kid because I wasn’t there in time is a sledgehammer to my chest. So many things could have gone wrong.
But it didn’t. You got them out.
For a moment, I can feel the weight of that little girl in my arms. Her mother’s cries echoing in my head. The black smudges from the smoke and charred building staining her pink fire-retardant pajamas. Sometimes the smell of burned hair lingers in my nose for days.
She’s alive. They all are.
The chant continues while I crack a beer and pour a glass of wine for Kat. Thankfully, she must have been ready to run out the door, because I only have to listen to my own voice for about ten minutes before I hear the deadbolt flip.
I gave her a key. It felt right. Plus, since I do the majority of the cooking, I don’t have to walk away from the stove to get the door. A pot of noodles boiled over and a roast morphed into jerky because she felt the need to drop to her knees the instant she crossed the threshold. I wasn’t going to give up one of Kat’s killer blowjobs for pork roast. Some things are non-negotiable.
I hoist myself up to greet her and watch her step falter when she sees me.
“Blake?” She moves quickly, her soft hands gently cradling my face as she looks me over. “Are you okay? What happened?”
She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Come here,” she whispers, pulling me toward the couch. Kat’s crisp, vibrant scent fills the air, overpowering the lingering smell of charred wood and sweat stuck in my nose. I feel some of the tension fall away in her presence. More is pushed out when she guides me to sit on the couch before straddling my lap. With deft flexibility, she leans back and snatches my drink and the glass of wine I had waiting for her.
“Tell me,” she says. Her delicate fingers trace my hairline. Her features betray the gentle soul she fiercely hides. Kat is not a hearts-and-flowers woman. I’m sure if she was given an “I Wuff You” stuffed puppy for Valentine’s Day, she’d strap fireworks to it and blow it off in the hopes it would reach the moon. But now, her passion has morphed from wild abandon into determined, focused care. It’s the same way she looked at Reagan when her friend was a dejected heap in the hospit
al waiting room.
“Hey,” she cradles my chin, rocking my head back and forth, “come back to me, Blake,” she says gently. “Tell me what happened tonight.”
Since I left the fire, I thought about the tenacity of death and how quickly it can take someone. I thought about losing Kat and nearly vomited.
I love her.
I think it’s been since we first met. It doesn’t matter when it started. I just need to make sure she stays.
I dump my guts and tell her everything. The perfect spaghetti sauce I made before the alarm went off. The little girl. The mother. The mutt we lost.
She says very little, only acknowledging my efforts. Her eyes, damp with unshed tears, say everything. Kat, no matter how much she curses and demands, has a heart filled with love.
“I don’t know which is worse. Worrying about you in the fire or the people you are rescuing.” She sets her empty wine glass down before laying her hands on my chest. “I worry constantly when I know you are called out,” she whispers, her eyes fixed on the back of her hands, losing the battle to blink away her tears. She quickly swipes away the evidence, but she can’t hide it. “I just need you to be safe, okay?” she says quietly. “I need you to do your job and come home.”
Her words, the idea that home is a place where she stays with me, is enough to kill me.
“Baron is in the hospital.” The words grate against the tightness of my throat. “I thought he was okay—” A brutal force grips my chest, forcing the air from my lungs. The pain of emotion stabbing my eyes forces me to choke down the emotion that clogs my ability to breathe. I feel a purge begin and I can’t hold back. “Kat, I can’t lose another teammate.”
“Wait,” she sits back, shifting my face so we can see eye-to-eye, “tell me who you lost, Blake. Is Baron okay? Do we need to go there and be with him?”
Her empathy levels me. Pulling her close, I rub my cheek against the softness of her chest. “No, they assured us Baron is just being observed at this point.” I hesitate, blowing out a breath before wrapping my arm around her waist and binding her to me. “I lost my best friend in a fire when we were new to the station. It was a dangerous situation and I thought he was behind me.”
