by Cabe Sparrow
Chapter 10
The crack of thunder jolted her awake and the slight tremor of her body stired the man beside her. She twisted in his embrace and one look was all it took for him to pin her to the bed, hands tracing over skin that seemed to come alive from just one touch, one kiss, one swipe of his tongue. Thunder, rain, and storms used to scare Watson as a child. Her own mother died when a drunk driver lost control of his car during a storm, but tonight she wasn't afraid.
Turner kept his blue eyes on her, memorizing every detail of her face as she lay beneath him, shivering as he thrust into her. She was comfort in its purest form: warm, inviting, soft, and everything that had been missing from his empty and cold existence.
Too much had happened between them, and everything had transformed and he didn’t know if he wanted to go back. He clutched to her, partly from desperation and partly from the exhilaration he felt. It hadn't sunk in yet, it hadn't really hit him yet that this was Watson in his arms, but he was getting there.
He didn’t think the joy he felt would ever dissipate though, it was too surreal after so long to feel someone beside him, especially someone he found himself falling hard for. Sex had never been hard for him, it was extraordinarily easy for him to differentiate between mind and body, but this time he was too mixed up and too intoxicated by her to make the distinction. He had nowhere to hide and found himself not wanting to either.
Instead, he welcomes the change, he wanted to be the man in Natalie Watson's life. He wanted to make her smile, wanted to pacify her when she was angry, when she was sad, and when she was just plain exhausted. He wanted to give her everything he had, and for someone who lived for himself for the last five years, for someone who had justified every selfish and inconsiderate move by his vengeance, he was surprised at his own willingness.
He never once doubted two things about the woman beneath him. First, she was incredibly selfless. Second, he didn’t deserve her, not as the loyal friend she's been, the understanding partner, or the incredible lover.
So he sank in a little harder, moved a little faster, and kissed her with a bit more fervor, and when she breathed his name into his ear, sending chills down his spine, he collapsed on top of her, shaking as she dug her nails into his biceps, holding onto him tightly.
When his heavy breathing subsided, Turner leaned back to look at her, ran his fingers through her hair, his thumb gliding over the apple of her cheek, "Sorry for waking you up," Watson whispered, skin flushed and eyes shining.
Turner chuckled, giving her the softest of kisses, "Nonsense, wake me up like that anytime, woman."
His low but melodious laughter blocked out the thunder and the constant pelt of rain against the window and Watson let herself sink deeper into his embrace, a place that she had grown accustomed to in a few short hours.
Turner nuzzled her neck, kissed her bare shoulder, just able to make out the freckles on her skin, and traced them with his tongue. He relished how she shiverd against him, body reacting involuntarily to his ministrations. He glanced over her at the alarm clock and realized it was way too early not to indulge in a few hours of sleep.
Watson's breathing eventually evened out and he felt her relax completely.
He was content to watch her, make sure she was okay, but he must have dozed off sometime after her because when he opened his eyes, the bed was empty and sunshine poured in through the half drawn curtains.
The window was propped open and he inhaled sweet morning air. It smelled of freshness, vitality, renewal, and everything he was feeling. He was about to get up when Watson walked in, smiling as she crawled onto the bed with two mugs, and handed one to him.
"Here, I made you some tea, just the way you like it."
Turner took the mug but it was hard to concentrate when she sat so close to him, wearing just peach lace panties and his dress shirt, unbuttoned, revealing the smooth skin of her stomach and the curve of her breast.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer until she was in his lap, holding her own cup of coffee to her chest and sipping in silence as he ran his fingers through her hair. For the first time in a very long time, Watson found that her morning wasn't consumed by whatever case she's currently working on.
In fact, work hadn't entered her mind once since she woke up and it made her smile, made her remember why she didn't want to hold onto bitterness or anger. She tried to let go of all the hurt last night.
She looked up at Turner then, his sea-colored gaze trained on her even before she met his eye, and he placed the tea on the nightstand, settled closer against her, as if he could't get enough. Watson took a sip of coffee and thought about how great it would be to just stay like this all day, shut the rest of the world out, no obligations, work or otherwise.
"A day off sounds so tempting," Turner murmured against her hair, "alas, my dear, crime does not sleep."
Watson smiled in spite of herself, "I hate when you do that," she replied, running her hand over his cheek, the stubble scratching her skin.
"What?" He asked, feigning innocence.
"You know," Watson nudged him playfully, "how you could tell what I'm thinking."
Turner laughed heartily, curious hands grazing her ribcage, featherlike touch against her breast, "I bet if you really tried, you'd know what I was thinking too."
His voice was low and soft, intimate against her ear and the brunette felt the intensity of his cobalt stare as he leaned in for a kiss. She pulled back after a moment; her hand didn’t leave his cheek as he rested his chin on her shoulder.
"If I guess correctly, we'll be late for work." She whispered, only half teasing, and Turner’s groan made her laugh. It was good to know she wasn’t the only one completely smitten. They broke eye contact when he slipped from beneath her and started looking for his clothes.
Watson settled under the covers and found herself unabashedly admiring the man shuffling around her bedroom. The sun spilled into her room at an angle that illuminated everything and he looked almost ethereal: large, strong, and tanned.
Every muscle in his body was defined and evoked memories that ignited all her senses, making her close her eyes and relive every moment of the night before in vivid detail.
''Fantasizing about me, I see."
Watson snapped her eyes open, blinked, and frowned when she saw the look of absolute self-satisfaction and pride on Turner's face. His smile was wicked, his stance perfectly poised, and she almost thought that he didn’t need his suits to hide. He could be completely naked and still create an immaculate facade. She didn’t know if that was a good thing.
"You wish," Watson quipped back, placing her coffee on the night stand.
"I need my shirt back you know," Turner reminded her, approaching slowly after he was half dressed, tipping the scales as he slid the white material off her shoulders, fingertips sliding against her smooth skin, leaving gentle licks of fire in their wake.
He stood somewhat mesmerized for a moment and Watson smiled at him, walking past him to the bathroom.
"We should probably ride in separately." She said after a moment of contemplation, unscrewing the tube of toothpaste. There was a brief minute of silence and then he appeared at the doorway, perfectly dressed, as if he hadn't spent the night wrapped up in her sheets.
"I think that would be best. I need a change of clothing and a shave."
It was the perfect opportunity for her to ask what had been in the back of her mind since the night before, but for some reason the question escaped her. She couldn't force herself to ask the question, afraid she’d venture into uncharted territory didn’t want to break this moment. She didn’t want to ruin the wonderful beginning to the day by asking where he went, where his home was now. She thought that for Turner, home and a place to sleep were two very different places, and it solidified her decision to keep her mouth shut.
"You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm okay.”
His furrowed eyebrow and gentle smile showed that he wasn't convin
ced, but he also didn’t push, and instead placed a soft kiss on her cheek. He caught her eye in the bathroom mirror, burying his nose in her hair, "I thought you looked gorgeous last night in that dress, but I've realized now I prefer you in lace."
His hand playfully traced her hip, where the material met her skin and she could't hide from the spread of goosebumps or the teasing smirk on Turner's face as he pulled away.
"I'll see you at work, perv," she teased, pushing him out of the bathroom, making sure he couldn't totally torment her for the blush rising on her cheeks. He bid her goodbye and a few moments later, she heard the door click shut.
She caught her reflection in the mirror and the enormity of the previous night washed over her. She didn’t look different, but she felt different, lighter somehow, as if for the first time she wasn’t carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She stood in her bathroom, grinning like a fool with a toothbrush hanging from her mouth, because for once she couldn't find any reason to be afraid.
She was so consumed by paperwork, she didn’t even realize how late it was until there was a knock on her door.
"Hey," she gave him a tired smile and dropped her pen, "good job on the case today, I'm impressed with your restraint."
"Well, it's the least I could do, knowing how little sleep you got last night."
His playful grin and subtle intonation made her shiver, but she concealed it and rolled her eyes playfully at him, "Thank god for small favors then, hmm?"
Her eyes conveyed everything he needed to know. They were a smoldering green shade, suddenly rejuvenated after appearing so dull for most of the day, the weight of the case and lack of rest catching up with her.
"No, thank me," he winked and Watson just shook her head, finding that refocusing on paperwork was futile. She stifled a yawn
"I thought you left after we closed the case."
"I had to take care of some things, but I'm back now, and you, my dear, need to go home and get some rest."
His ambiguity and deflection of her question made Watson frown. The familiar uncertainty that had eluded her all day was back now and she couldn't stop the pressure that fell on her heart. She flashed Turner a complacent smile and started to clean her desk.
He reached across the stacks of paperwork and placed his hand gently on hers, "Natalie, it can wait until tomorrow, you look like you're ready to pass out."
The concern in his voice and the careful way he helped her into her jacket all warmed her heart, made the little doubts in her head drift away, even if only temporarily. Their silence was comfortable, familiar, and his hand on the small of her back didn’t feel oppressive, but warm and inviting, like he was guiding her and not dragging her along.
The detective would be the first to admit that she'd always had to work twice as hard to prove herself as an equal in her line of work and if it were any other man taking the lead, she would protest just a bit more, show some of that natural defiance that propelled her success, but with Turner, it was different. He didn’t push, he didn’t try to assert his claim on her, at least not in any serious manner, and took her away from the stigma she thought she had to face. Instead of running from him, when they got into the elevator, Watson took his hand and interlaced her fingers with his.
Turner looked at her from the corner of his eye and gave her an understanding smile, realizing it took a lot for her to hold a man's hand in her workplace, even if it was after hours. Not for the first time in the last few weeks, Turner realized he was falling fast...
Faster than he could catch himself.
He insisted on driving and Watson didn’t protest. She was too exhausted.
The car ride was silent and she let herself drift away, lulled into a dreamless sleep by the soft stroking of Turner's thumb on her hand and the warm breeze filtering through the half-open car window.
When they pulled up to her driveway, she groggily made her way out of the car, half leaning on Turner as they walked up the stairs. He wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her as she fished her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door.
She was so consumed with thoughts of her bed and maybe a glass of wine that she didn’t sense the anticipation radiating from the man behind her until he flipped on the light switch and she had to blink to make sure she was really seeing what was in front of her.
The last vestiges of sleepiness fell away as she stepped further into the living room.
She was not a romantic, never had been, but the simplicity and consideration behind his actions overrode any cynicism she might have had. The kitchen was illuminated by a dozen pink candles placed around the room. The table had two place settings adorned by a bottle of wine and a maroon tablecloth. She wasn’t sure what was in the oven but it smelled great.
"So this is where you went?" Watson asked, unable to contain her smile when she saw Turner's somewhat sheepish look.
"Yeah, I had your neighbor from upstairs keep an eye on things so I wouldn't burn down your house. By the way keeping your spare key under the mat is not such a good idea." She took a step toward him, finding it incredibly endearing that Turner rambled when he was nervous.
Throughout the years they worked together, she could say with certainty there were only a handful of times when she had seen him as nervous as he was at the moment. She reached out to caress his cheek, hoping to quell his anxiety.
"Thank you, no one's ever done something like this for me before," her voice was soft and he took her hand in his, kissing the smooth skin of her palm while keeping his eyes trained on hers.
"It's the least I could do, after everything. "
It's not an apology, but it's a start. Instead of feeling shortchanged, Watson breached the distance between them and pulled Turner into a deep kiss. There were a multitude of reasons why she shouldn't be so forgiving, but the only one she could think of was for why she should be.
Why she should let herself indulge in a little happiness, be a little selfish, and lose herself in the comfort of this man, the same one who despite the many wounds he's sustained and the walls he built was slowly, very slowly letting her in.
Although Watson had never been a very patient person, staring into the sea-colored eyes in front of her, she realized Eric Turner was someone worth waiting for.
Chapter 11
Turner used to have terrible nightmares. They were vivid, disturbing, and turned him into an insomniac. Though the images themselves were always different, the motif was still the same. Having not witnessed his family's murder, his mind played evil tricks on him, manipulating the scene in every way possible.
Sometimes it was a string of pictures, like photographs, still frames of his wife and child sprawled on the bed, a facelessman with a knife standing over them, blood everywhere.
Other times, it was just his wife's smiling face turned broken and crying, as she begged for mercy, asking the masked man not to harm her baby. His daughter in her mother's arms at first grinning, blue eyes twinkling and then lifeless, vacant irises, her body motionless as the man carefully concocted a familiar crimson mural on the wall behind them.
Sometimes, the worst dream of all, the one that left him shaking and alert for hours was the one where he found himself with the knife, blood on his hands, blood staining his expensive suit, with his wife and child butchered like animals, limbs strewn across the floor.
That dream always ended with him staring at his reflection, he saw someone he could not recognize, an evil grin, dark to hurt and murder the only people in his world that meant something to him.
He would not sleep long after those dreams. Those latent manifestations of his guilt and shame were too much to bear at times; they seemed relentless, as if he would permanently have to bear the cross not only in wakefulness but also in sleep. He didn't mind it, knew he deserved to be punished for what he did, but eventually, the nightmares stopped, or more like transformed into something else.
They were replaced by his new subconscious purpose.
Now,
instead of picturing what Red River Killer did to his family, Turner found himself picturing what he would do to him when he caught him. There was never much detail to these dreams, but they always, always, always involved him butchering Red River Killer like he butchered his family.
Despite his continued struggle with insomnia, even after the nightmares became just faded memories in which he sought occasional, twisted solace, Turner still envisioned what it would be like to finally get his revenge, except now, just beyond the actual act, he wondered what would happen after.
He never had, but a transformation that had caught him off guard was forcing him to see into the future, manipulating his one-track mind into questioning everything he's ever lived for since the murder of his family.
It was quite annoynig, he thought, how his own mind could play tricks on him and he was no more immune to it than the suspects he coerced into confessions or the colleagues he managed to piss off. Needless to say, Turner didn’t sleep well for an entirely different reason now and he knew a lot of it had to do with the woman whose bed he shared.
She was not supposed to make him think about the possibility of an exist ence beyond the execution of his revenge. She was not supposed to force pleasant images into his head about what it would be like to gather her into his arms, whisk her away somewhere remote, and not leave the comfort of her warmth for an undefined amount of time.
But she had. She's done all those things and more, without even realizing it.
Turner was well aware that there were some topics that Watson knew were off limits, and the main one was his family. She never questioned him about it, never asked, and didn’t even touch on his reluctance to part with his wedding band even though he was no more a married man than she was a married woman. He didn’t know whether to be thankful for her prudence or to be irritated by it.
