“Thanks for dancing with me. Sorry, that uh… this happened,” Kayla mumbled.
I looked up and saw her cleavage glistening from the spilled champagne. Her nipples poked out from the now see-through fabric.
“It’s okay. That wasn’t your fault. Damn waiter wasn’t looking. Thanks for letting me be your dance partner.”
Impossible to say if it was my lowered inhibitions or the unexpected privacy, but something drove me to take a dive and make a humungous fool of myself.
“Kayla, I’d dance with you any day. Every day, if you wanted. I like you a lot.” I could feel my face go long. I wanted her to know I was sincere.
She smiled easily and told me she loved me too with an adorable wrinkled nose and half-hearted chuckle.
“No, I really... A lot. I… I love you, Kayla.”
Kayla’s smile withered to a confused expression. “I love you, too,” she repeated, this time uncertain. “You’re my brother now. Of course, I love you.”
Frustrated, I grabbed her face in both of my hands and planted a long kiss on her lips. My hands moved from her cheeks to her shoulders and then wrapped around her. I picked her up, leading with my hips, and held her against the wall pinning her down with my hardened cock.
I felt her large firm breasts pressed up against my chest. I felt her legs wrap tightly around my hips. Her mouth opened, hungry. My left hand shot to her breast, thumbing her erect nipple. My right hand gripped her rich ass through the long skirt.
But it wasn’t enough.
Kneading with my fingers, I inched up the fabric, bit by bit, agonizing microseconds from her actual skin. I needed to feel it. But her skirt was long. Just as my kiss probed deeper in her mouth, just as I felt the hem of her skirt ride almost high enough to reveal her bare ass to my bare hand—she broke away.
She stopped kissing me back and aimlessly grasped the wall. Staggered, I let her down and stumbled back from her.
Kayla looked at me while wiping my kiss from her lips with a long run of her forearm. It was a look as thick as lead. I expected she needed to catch her breath before slinking back up against me for another hot round of making out.
Instead, she threw her eyebrows up. She stared at me as she began to laugh. The laugh started out confused and quiet but grew to a boisterous howl that wounded every part of me.
“Alright, uh, I’m going to go back out there and pretend I wasn’t just felt-up by my brother,” she announced as her laughter died down and she stomped away.
I was a sworn officer. But that would matter little this night, to an event hall full of career cops who would still see me as a rookie who liked creeping on his sister. Who just happened to be the daughter of their best and brightest. I made a hasty exit.
We didn’t talk much after that.
The anniversary party may have been the last time the two of us shared any significant interaction that was mutually enjoyable. Shortly afterwards, I moved out with what little money I’d made in those early years on the force and did my best to avoid Kayla. I made brief appearances at birthdays and holiday get-togethers, but ultimately kept my distance.
Kayla, on the other hand, refused to stay out of my life. When it benefited her, anyway.
My car broke down and I don’t want to get ripped off at a repair shop. You know cars, right?
Something happened with my bank account and my last paycheck didn’t go through. Could you spot me like $300? I’ll pay you back, I swear!
And many other excuses to show up on my doorstep.
Now, here we are in the same situation. And once again, I have to let her down. My only option is letting her into my life and under my skin again. And last time that happened, I humiliated myself monumentally and spent months in fear that she’d tell someone about what we did.
Part of me wants to help her. The part of me that knows just how much Dad meant to her. The part of me that can hear the desperation in her voice.
But another part of me is the realist. That part of me knows she’s well aware of how she can manipulate me. That part of me knows that it’s best to stay out of Kayla’s life.
“Can you just buzz me in? It’s cold out here and maybe it’s better if we talk face to face,” Kayla asks.
“Look, I can’t in good conscience recommend you to the Academy. This is simply my professional opinion. I cannot help you, Kayla.” Despite my mixed feelings, my voice is solid and final. Cop skills at work. “Get home safe.”
No response.
A “fuck you” or “alright” would be infinitely better than this silence. I love Kayla. In more ways than I can name. I want her in my life. Being able to mentor her professionally would be a dream come true. But there are too many odds against us. Our past. Her inexperience. My feelings.
I finally lift my finger from the intercom button and sit in the emptiness of my apartment. I wish Kayla sat here with me. As I’ve wished before. It’s the only way to relieve the pain of living without her.
Chapter Three
Zach
“You can call me more than once a week, you know that, right?”
I can never receive a warm reception from my mom. She comes from a time and place where people just don’t do such things. I could call her every day of the week and she’d pick up the phone, asking me what’s up my butt to call so often. It’s pretty funny, considering she’s such a softie underneath the hard words.
“Ma, have you talked to Kayla lately?”
“Kayla? Let’s see… I know a Kayla, but surely not the same Kayla you’re talking about,” she starts.
“Come on, Ma…” I groan, half-pleading.
“I have a stepdaughter named Kayla. You used to get along with her but it’s been so long since you’ve even said her name, I figured you forgot she existed,” she continues mercilessly.
“Alright, Ma, I get it. Have you talked to her?”
She finally pauses. “After the funeral… yes, a lot of course. But in the past month, maybe just once or twice. Why?”
Why, indeed.
“She showed up at my place last night and wanted to talk,” I tell her. “We did, but just for a bit. She was in a hurry.”
“Wow,” my mom exclaims skeptically. “You just acknowledged her very existence, so impressive, hun, look at you...”
“I can hang up right now, Ma. Keep it up,” I threaten in jest. “She seemed… bothered. I just wanted to know if you had noticed that too.”
I can see her sitting back in her rocking chair, shaking her curly head as she rasps into the phone. “Her daddy died, Zach. You snuck out of her life. I’m on the other side of the country. She’s all alone. I’d be pretty damn bothered, too.”
“People die, Ma. It’s basically what people are best at. And Dad died ten months ago already. Don’t you think she should be… better?”
“Zach, when they make it possible to slap people over the phone, please do let me know. Are you human? This is her daddy. And the only person she’s had through her whole life. I’m not over it, and we were only married nine years. Let her mourn. And if she shows up at your door again, show some got-dang compassion. She’s your sister, for cryin’ in the creek… And now, she’s basically an orphan. I don’t know why you hate her. But it’s time to get right and be her brother. You’re sitting up there, acting like you’ve never let someone’s death affect you.”
Her playful tone ended halfway through her lecture. She meant what she was saying now. She wanted me to remember the last time someone’s death not only affected me, but destroyed me to where I couldn’t continue my life as it was.
Arria Wilkins.
My first patrol partner after four years in solo work on the force. My best friend.
We spent most of that year patrolling some humorously tame streets. Loiterers and jaywalkers were the worst criminals we found. The two of us passed most our time getting to know each other and making each other laugh until our shifts were done.
But one sorry July night, we came upon our f
irst robbery together. Completely by accident. Some idiot, fully unaware that there was a patrol car parked outside, was holding up a 7/11 with what we both thought was a toy pistol. On our beat, that was the only weapon we’d seen.
She walked into the place, expecting to scare the guy to surrender peacefully. Instead, she got two shots in the stomach and one right through her neck. The perp got away. He sprinted right by me as I slid on my knees to hold Arria up from the filthy convenient store floor.
She looked up at me, knowing she wasn’t going to make it. Terrified, choking on her blood, she whispered one last word muffled by the thick plasma.
“Love…”
I knew it was my fault she didn’t have proper backup. I watched, numb, as emergency responders placed her in their vehicle. It was later that month when my body’s ability to process sensation returned. And only somewhat.
I decided I couldn’t experience loss like that ever again. Within weeks, my application for a teaching post landed on a desk at the local police academy.
My mom was right. I only knew Arria for a year and considered her a lifetime friend. Kayla spent her whole life at her father’s side and is handling his death with more dignity and bravery than I dealt with Arria’s.
“Ma. I’m going to call you back later. Thanks for…”
“Knocking some sense into you from thousands of miles away?”
“Yes, that.” We chuckle and she wishes me luck. I start to end the call and look through my contacts for Kayla’s number.
“Zach, honey, wait a sec. I’m due for my monthly call to Greg.”
“Greg?” I go cold. Is Mom dating already?
“You know him as Chief Douglas at your fancy academy? Your stepdad’s best buddy?”
Greg Douglas, my mentor and all I have left of a father figure. It was him who shouldered me through Dad’s murder, knowing my history with Arria. The best damn cop I ever knew, second to Dad.
“Well, he did mention last time how he sure wishes you’d come back to the force. Have you thought about it?”
Hell no I haven’t thought about it. But aloud, I say, sure to keep my tone respectful, “Two of my nearest and dearest went down in the line of duty, Ma. The Academy, training cadets, that’s an exercise in hope. In the future. It’s not time—I can’t go backwards now.”
“Listen to you, all wise and grown up. All right, all right. You take care baby.”
A thought flares momentarily, that was a weird tangent for Mom, then is gone just as quickly. My mind doesn’t swerve from Kayla.
My mom taught me to take pride in myself and in my work. But to never let it blind me. As a result, I’ve held high standards. I’ve worked hard. I don’t think of myself as prideful. But here I am, all caught up in it. Time to overcome this, right here and right now. I can have my standards. But my stubbornness will not prevent the daughter of a great police officer from becoming one herself.
“Kayla,” I say with a gulp when I hear her answer my call, “Can we talk?”
Chapter Four
Kayla
Disappointment and surprise are my companions this day.
I was disappointed when Zach refused to write me a letter of recommendation last night. But I was not surprised.
I was surprised when I received his call.
Sleep does wonders, I suppose, because in just one night Zach did a complete 180 on his stance. He called this morning, asking me out to dinner so we could talk more about last night. His unexpected turnaround has my thoughts stuck in a loop. I keep turning and churning, trying to pinpoint what could have caused Zach to change his mind.
He may have realized that the blood of a well-respected and much awarded hero runs through my veins. Or maybe he’s accepted the fact that being mad over a little incident that happened almost three years ago is something best thought of as a bygone. After all, that little indiscretion three years back was a mistake on my part. I wanted more of what he gave me.
His disgust with me stems solely from my fear that night. It has to.
I was out of high school, but I guess, still acting like a kid, trying to conform to society’s standards of what’s normal and accepted. I was terrified at the possibility that someone would walk in on us making out and would ruin our parents’ anniversary by announcing to the all the guests that the couple’s children were committing incest. Even though that wouldn’t be accurate. I didn’t expect that the two hundred cops in attendance would care about the difference.
Now, the thought of being caught while wrapped around Zach is one of my deepest, darkest fantasies.
So, tonight…
After discussing my enrollment in the academy, I could steer the conversation towards more pressing matters. We’re both adults now. I’m stronger emotionally. And I’m a hell of a lot more sure of my own mind and what I want. I just need to make Zach see that.
Those years ago, I was too afraid of how sexually inexperienced I was to ever try anything with him. He was so much older than me. But now I know how to work a man, and with more skill than most, I’ve been told.
I think back to that night three years ago. I remember everything with crystal clear memory, enough to relive it often, each time with a very different ending.
Always, Zach’s red-hot crotch is throbbing, pressed against my white gown, his demanding hands all over me. But this time, I allow myself enjoy it all. In my fantasies, I let my hand find his cock and stroke it hard through his dress pants, teasing him to madness, forcing him to rip open his zipper and take me hard and suddenly, cock plunging deep into me. Over and over, he pumps me against the bathroom wall, ripping my dress to reveal my naked tits and licking, biting, devouring every inch of my exposed skin.
Sometimes though, I let him hike up my skirt, and behold my pink lips framed against the wholesome white fabric, pure and untouched. Rapt, he traces my labia with delicate fingers while gazing in my eyes. He takes turns handling me gently, then roughly, taunting my clit harder, then softer, teasing my wet opening, never allowing his fingers to dive deeply inside, until I’m the one who can’t take it anymore, sinking to my knees, ripping his pants open and attacking his full cock with my mouth.
His cock always looks like it did that time I spied him through the door. A thick pillar of manly strength. His huge, pulsing head a patchwork of colors from golden to crimson to violet. It’s been the standard I’ve held all others next to. Only now, when it seems possible we could really happen, do I realize that none of the cocks I’ve known have held a candle to Zach’s.
Chapter Five
Zach
Two reps to go. Then a quick bite before finishing some grading and paperwork. Then it’ll be time to shower up for dinner with Kayla tonight. It’s all so crazy.
I feel like such a prick for doubting her maturity to the point that I did. As if she can’t feel her dad’s loss? As if she’s not a normal human being? Have I made her such an enemy in my thoughts?
Of course I did. She rejected me. I’m not a kid anymore, I haven’t been a kid for a long time. But that was the first rejection I’ve known from a woman. And of course, it was from Kayla, the one I’ve longed for harder than anyone before.
And then she played with me, batting me around senseless like a cat’s toy. I told myself it was her immaturity that made her act like that. Because I couldn’t accept that I was just stupid for even going there.
But whatever. I’m getting past that now. A new leaf for everyone. Still though, I can’t help but think we share a connection beyond that kids’ stuff. I’ve wondered if we’d met on the other side of the world, total strangers, how it would be. With nothing in our way.
I sit up, finally done with my cool-down plank exercises for the day. Before I make it to the fridge, there’s a heavy knock at my door.
My first thought is Kayla. Did she wriggle her way in somehow? But with dinner tonight, why would she even—
“Zach, m’boy! Let this old man in before he falls over, will ya!” It’s not a request t
hat booms from behind my door.
It’s Chief Greg Douglas, known to me only as Chief. The story went, he held the rank of Captain back when Dad headed up Violent Crimes, but in no time flat, he was Deputy Chief for all the city’s police, second in line for the big chair. Dad never forgave him for becoming such a big shot and stopped using his “human name,” as he called it. It was Chief ever since. Especially after they put him in charge of the Academy.
I open the door to a nearly seven feet of Irish American bulldog. Chief always lived up to his name. Though he had to be pushing sixty years, last I heard he was still undefeated in the never-ending arm wrestling match that took place after-hours in any back-alley behind any social event attended by any police ever.
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