Vice

by Teagan Kade

  “I went to hell and back and all I got was this medal,” I say from the bed.

  He places the medal down, the corded muscles in his arm flexing. “I think I got much more than that.”

  I watch him move towards me from the shadows, the soapy, masculine scent of his body lighting the tender space between my legs.

  He sees it, shedding his towel and continuing to stalk forward, his length thick and hard. He looks down. “See what you do to me?”

  “How can I be sure you weren’t popping Viagra back there?”

  He takes an ankle and drags me down to the edge of the bed.

  “What are you do—”

  I’m silenced by his mouth. He climbs over me and pulls me against his body still warm and soft from the shower, beaded droplets of water where my hands meet his shoulders. He kisses me deeply, with more passion than ever before, his fingers splaying over my bare breasts.

  “You’re incredible,” he whispers, his tongue running over my lips before slipping between them.

  Now that the danger has passed, the act somehow seems more intimate, tempered.

  All the while his fingers mirror the movement, everything working in perfect synchronization to once again bring me to the brink.

  He hand runs down to my core, his fingers gently stroking, probing my once again wet depths. I let out a soft sigh at the sensation of his lips against my neck… my chest… his head sliding lower and lower until those fingers at my slick core are replaced by his tongue, flicking and swirling at my most sensitive spot.

  I groan aloud, possibly too loud, but I don’t care, because I have a connection with this man I’ve never felt, even anticipated I would, before. I don’t want to spend the next day or week with him, even a year. I want to spend my life like this.

  God, just the sole sensation of his mouth on me is enough, how deep he takes me with his lips and tongue alone. He adds two of his fingers, sliding them easily into my wetness, the arousal building and climbing yet higher.

  His head shifts, and I crane my look to meet his eyes. Everything I need to know is within them—the hunger to please me, to share my body and pleasure.

  I can’t help but quiver at the sight, the sheer thought of him licking and sucking me there, finger-fucking me into oblivion. The sensation heightens further. I let my head fall back, my back kinking upwards and the tawny towers of my nipples reaching for the roof.

  I tighten around his fingers, squeeze them in satisfaction.

  I can’t take any more.

  I sit up and lift his face to mine, crushing my lips against his and tasting myself upon them. I run a hand down to cup his cock, shifting to get him onto his back so I can return the favor.

  I take his cock in hand and slide my mouth over him.

  He gathers my hair up, fisting it in one hand and moaning low. I allow him to guide my head, the simple pressure upon it, the subtle pull delicious.

  I let my lips drop almost to the root of him before drawing back upwards.

  I can’t help but admire his control, the way he fights to contain himself.

  He thrusts lightly upwards as I keep a hand wrapped around his length, a firm grip there while my head bobs over him.

  I lift away and swirl my tongue around the tip of his member, continuing to stroke him with even, downward motions. He grunts and tightens his grip on my hair, struggling against the tension building in his body.

  I know precisely what is coming, but I don’t want this to end so soon. I let go and come up.

  He reaches for me, but not before I swing a leg over him and sink down on his hard cock, sink down until he’s buried deep in the wet glove of my pussy.

  He draws me close to him, close to his hammering heart, kissing me on my lips and neck, forever searching for new places.

  His hands squeeze my buttocks as I close my eyes and concentrate on the sensation, the heady swirl of pleasure we’re creating.

  I ride him with all the energy I can muster, a prickling, sticky pleasure building. He captures my mouth and somehow pulls me even closer, like he cannot get enough, like he has to go through me.

  My own heart swells—not only at the sensation, but this strange connection, a tenderness beyond sex.

  The pleasure starts to wash over me, drawing up from the inside.

  He’s mumbling against me, barely coherent.

  “Hunter, I—” but I don’t manage to get the words out.

  Everything rushes inwards, an implosion I’m completely unprepared for. Fat tears fall from my cheeks against his chest as I’m lost in it, folding and reborn.

  My legs go limp even as he grows harder inside me. A single squeeze and he can’t take any more, but through the salt of my tears, my joy, I want him to remember this.

  I bear down upon him to meet his thrusts. He grasps me around the waist and fucks me as deep as he can go.

  And then it happens.

  A second climax crests over the first. I tilt my hips forward, my clit finding the hard surface of his pelvis and with it a new, greater release again.

  “Oh, god…”

  He’s fucking me so hard, so fast, but all I am conscious of is the sound of our bodies slapping together, the pain and pleasure as he goes as far as he can.

  With a final thrust he starts to convulse, crying out against my own loud exhalations, the two of us coming together.

  I grasp at the sheets and shiver at the enormity of it, the heated tempest that wants to consume me whole.

  It’s only when he slides out of my body I realize I’ve been holding my breath. His hands stroke my stomach, his calming words my compass.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  HUNTER

  Grace’s sitting at her desk with her feet up and hands behind her head smiling at me. She breathes in. “Cheap coffee, man-sweat and fear—It’s just like I remember it.”

  I nod my head towards Captain Johnson’s former office where a new captain is settling in, a woman this time.

  Grace looks over. “They say she’s cleaner than a priest on Sunday, can’t be bought.”

  “I guess we’ll see,” I reply, letting my eyes run over Grace’s form, her perfect breasts, those inky strands of hair that frame her face just right. God, I love her.

  There’s a new councilman in office, too, a real big clean-sweep following Nathan’s arrest and the grapevine of corruption it uncovered. Bobby bit the dust too, packed away upstate. They offered us witness protection given Nathan’s connections, but Grace wouldn’t have it, and neither would I. We’ve got nothing to fear together. I faced down aplastic anemia and lived through it, and Grace? She can handle her own. God help any idiot who wants to argue otherwise.

  What we’ve been through together, Grace and me, has forged a bond between us that has gone well beyond sex and lust. I look at her and I know this is where I have to leave that bed-hopping bad boy behind, back at Abbotsleigh where he belongs. I’ve matured, grown up and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Grace Siddell slip away.

  “What?” she says, noticing my stare.

  “Nothing,” I reply, rocking forward, “or,” a wild idea taking shape in my head, “maybe everything. How do you feel about a ferry ride?”

  *

  It’s a beautiful day on Staten Island. The sun’s playing peek-a-boo through cotton-ball clouds overhead, the sky a washed-out baby blue.

  Grace walks ahead up the stairs. She puts her hands in her jacket pockets, takes them out again. She’s nervous, not that she’d ever let on. This is big for her, and me.

  She spins around. “Are you sure you want to do this? He’s not like he was. I mean—”

  I come up a step and take her face in my hands, kissing her into compliance. I continue holding her face while I speak and cannot imagine anything more beautiful. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s going to be fine.” I turn her around and give her a sharp slap on the butt. “Now get going.”

  We’re directed to a sunny room on the second floor where a man’s seated in a wheelchair
facing a large picture window. He’s wearing full military uniform, medals and all, a blanket over his lap as we approach.

  Grace moves into his line of sight, crouching before him. “Hi, Dad. How are you?”

  I hold my breath.

  It takes a while for Mr. Siddell to reply. “Grace? Is that you?”

  She takes his hand, eyes wet. “Yes, Dad. It’s me.”

  A wide smile lights up his face. “Well, why didn’t you say you were coming, kiddo? I would have whipped up a batch of those coconut cookies you like so much.”

  She breathes out. “It’s okay, Dad.” She looks to me. “Dad, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  I step forward, moving behind her.

  “This is Hunter Beckett, Dad,” says Grace. “He’s a detective too.”

  Grace’s father looks up to me nodding. “A fine profession, young man, law enforcement. What did you say your name was?”

  I extend my hand. “Hunter, sir. Hunter Beckett. It’s an honor to meet you.”

  “An honor!” laughs Mr. Siddell. “I’m no General, son—just a simple soldier doing his part to ward off the Asian invasion.”

  Grace smiles at me, taking his other hand. “Hunter and I are together, Dad.”

  The smile drops from his face. He looks between us in panic. “Together? I… I don’t—”

  I crouch down beside Grace. “I love your daughter, sir, and I’m going to look after her, protect her. You have my word.”

  That seems to placate him. He grabs my shoulder. “Well then, sir, she’s all yours. Handsome devil like you, how could she resist?”

  Given his state of mind, I’ll take that compliment.

  Grace elbows me. “He’s not that handsome, Dad. Don’t go pumping up his ego. It’s big enough as is.”

  “What am I pumping?” asks Mr. Siddell, confused.

  “Nothing, Dad.”

  He starts to look around. “Where’s that damn chopper? It should be here by now.”

  The rest of the conversation unfolds as expected—moments of clarity broken by outbursts and random information about ‘the war’ or a random case. One thing is clear, though, a damaged mind or not—deep down he loves his daughter, even if he did start calling her Penny as the session went on.

  When the nurse comes to take Mr. Siddell away for his afternoon nap, I join Grace on the rooftop of the home.

  We stand near the edge four floors up. Ahead of us you can see the entire city of New York with all its hustle, bustle and bursting energy. Hell, it almost feels like home, or maybe’s it just the fact I want to be with Grace, drawn to her side. I don’t want to be away from her for a single second, and that’s unexpected. It’s new and alien, terrifying and exciting at the same time, but deep down I know this is what I want.

  I peer over the edge. “I hope they don’t let the patients up here.”

  Grace laughs, her hair blowing out behind her. “Only the ones they want to get rid of.”

  “So, who’s Penny? Was she your mother?”

  “No. Apparently, she was some random fling Dad had in Japan, a backpacker or something. Once he started telling me about how ‘flexible she was,’ the ‘amazing things she could do with her mouth.’”

  I whistle. “Wow.”

  “You’re telling me. I don’t know what to think about that.”

  “Hey, it could be worse.”

  She squints at me. “How so?”

  “She could have been a serial killer.”

  She laughs at my stupidity. “You’re going to have to up your humor game if you want to be with me.”

  “Dad jokes won’t cut it?”

  She backs up. “Whoa, whoa, who said anything about you parenting?”

  “You don’t think we’d make cute kids?” I suggest. “Our kids would slay those Beckham brats.”

  She spins around, hands in her hair. “Now we’re talking kids, plural? I don’t think my vagina’s ready for that.”

  “Something to work on.” I wink.

  “Forget my vag. I don’t know if I am ready for that.”

  I get down on one knee and reach into my jacket pocket. I hadn’t planned to do this now, here, but fuck it. If it’s one thing Grace has taught me, it’s the value of spontaneity. I should know better than anyone life is too short to ‘um’ and ‘ah’ all day.

  I wish I had my phone out so I could snap the look of shock on Grace’s face when she sees the ring—a low, simple princess-cut diamond set in sterling silver. I spotted it while walking downtown earlier in the week and couldn’t help myself. It’s Grace to a tee. I could hear her in my head when I was looking at the jewelers: ‘A big, fat ass diamond’s only going to get in the way when I’m busting ass’.

  “Grace Siddell,” I begin, but she stops me.

  “Stand the fuck up.”

  Uh-oh.

  I stand. “Save the soppy speech,” she says. “The answer’s fucking yes.”

  I pull her into me and kiss her in full, can’t help the sudden swell of excitement rushing through me.

  The last Beckett, now a made man, I think. Un-be-liev-a-ble.

  Flashbacks of college come to me, of the girls and parties, the locker-room antics and brotherly bullshit we used to get up to. I get shards of my illness and the hell that was the treatment to follow. I see it all, and you know what? It doesn’t mean a thing to me compared to this, because Grace is the key.

  She’s everything I never knew I was missing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  GRACE

  THREE YEARS LATER

  “So, this is the infamous Wrightworth,” I say, staring out the window at Hunter’s former hometown. He’s told me countless times about this place, why he needed to escape LA, about the girl he left behind here. Seeing it in person makes those once distant stories surprisingly real.

  I can tell Hunter’s a little shocked himself as he examines the view out the front window. Maybe it’s a side effect of living in the city too long, but I almost feel a bit anxious gazing out at all the trees and greenery around this place, the empty space and open air.

  “What were you expecting?” he asks.

  I settle in the passenger seat. “I don’t know. The world’s biggest ball of string, a golden cow or some shit. I mean, what’s this place famous for?”

  “Skiing?”

  “I know a far warmer activity that starts with ‘S’… One that doesn’t involve leaping from icy cliffs with a couple of ironing boards strapped to your feet.”

  “I thought you were adventurous?”

  I give him a testing look.

  Greta saves him by giving a little squeak from the back seat, our two-year-old looking awfully tiny in her car seat.

  “See, Greta likes it, don’t you, babe?” says Hunter.

  A small, bubbly burp follows.

  “Like mother like daughter.”

  I have to admit the idea of birth had stressed me out. Taking a bullet seemed like it would be easier at the time, but in the end, I handled it like I do everything else: by manning the fuck up and getting on with it. No drugs, no epi, though I might have burned through every curse word known to man, threatened to tear Hunter’s balls off, the nurse’s head… Generally do harm. But all that bravado and pain soaked away when they placed Greta in my arms. My features softened, my eyes lit up and I finally understood what my own mother could not. I was spellbound, and so was Hunter, smitten from that very first second.

  It’s been quite a turn-around for a so-called ‘kid hater,’ but every time I look at Greta’s tiny face and hands, the way she gurgles and goes about natural human processes, I realize why we made the choice. There’s something about a new life that overshadows the small, that envelops something bigger than two people. To borrow one of Hunter’s own idioms, it’s everything I never knew I was missing.

  One thing I am sure of is that Greta’s going to be raised to be just as fierce as I am, a natural-born fighter. I pity the first boy to break her heart… If Hunter doesn’t g
et to him first. I thought he was protective of me, but when it comes to Greta he is helicopter dad with a D.

  Hunter pulls over, nodding towards a wood-paneled single-story house amongst the trees. “My old place.”

  We’re on a two-week East Coast jaunt. We’d still be working if Hunter hadn’t forced me out the precinct door. I’m thankful now he did, though, for our sanity and own peace of mind, because god knows this job can get to you.

  This is our last day before we fly back to New York tomorrow.

  I notice the tension in Hunter’s shoulders as he stares glassy-eyed out the window. “What is it? You’re nervous, aren’t you? About meeting your brothers in New York?”

  He faces me and hasn’t lost a shred of that raw sexiness that drew me in. “Me, nervous?”

  I pull back, swiveling sideways, the seatbelt pulling against my chest. “Ah, it’s me, isn’t it? Your nervous about your brothers meeting me?”

  He looks away. “Of course not.”

  “We’ve hung out with Cayden and Indy like how many times now? How bad can your other brothers be?”

  He locks his eyes on me laughing. “You have no idea.”

  HUNTER

  There’s not exactly a line tonight to get into Employees Only, a semi-hidden semi-speakeasy and one of New York’s finer establishments. I enter the dark space with Grace and immediately spot Cayden and Colton by the bar.

  Colton’s the first to speak, looking around. “Not exactly the Viper Room, is it?”

  I laugh. “Hanging out at places like that on a detective’s wage? You’re dreaming.”

  Colton ribs Cayden. “Not everyone can roll around with a Platinum card like this guy.”

  Cayden scoffs. “If you can pry it out of Indy’s cold hands. She’s become something of a compulsive shopper lately, crazy as that sounds.”

  “Hi,” says Grace and the boys immediately apologize, taking turns to greet her.

  Colton, the sly bastard, plants one on a little too close to her mouth. “The infamous Grace,” he says.

  “Speak of the devil,” says Cayden, as Indy swings up to the bar, stopping to say hi to Grace.