by T. R. Cupak
Pulling out, I tear off the condom, jerking fast. I grunt as ropy streams of cum shoot over her soft belly and pussy. Clearly not thinking, I shove back inside, both of us groaning as I finish inside her, spasming for long moments as she comes with me.
Fuck. Fucking fuck. Stupid fucking idiot.
"Oh yes!" Sophia bellows, clawing at me until I take her mouth once again.
Before I know it, I am hard again and fucking her without even thinking about grabbing another condom. It's barely fucking, really. But, I'm hard as stone, thrusting slow and deep, kissing her sweet mouth until we both come again, sweaty and spent.
Sometime later, after I fuck her raw in the shower—already fucked up, no point in stopping now—I want to ask her about birth control and shit we should have discussed before I tore that condom off. But when she asks me to let her stay, I can't bring myself to ruin it.
Instead, I lead her to the same bed we shared last time, curling around her as she snuggles in. Wearing one of my CPD T-shirts, she looks like she belongs there. In my shirt, in my bed, in my fucking life.
"I don't know what I might be complicating, Soph. But...I think it's worth it. I could make it worth it, I think," I whisper in the darkness as I kiss her face and comb my fingers through her thick hair.
"I think you could too, Jess." Snuggling into me, Sophia murmurs something about feeling safe for once as I hold her tight.
Before I can question just what that means, she passes out. I hold her all night, afraid to wake up without her. Just before dawn she stirs and I think she's going to try to sneak out. I come fully awake, expecting to have to put up one hell of a fight to make her stay.
Instead, she tears off my shirt, climbs atop me and fucks me good and long. As she rides me like she owns me—which let's be honest we both know she does—this look changes her pretty eyes. It's so intense, so full of want, of hope, I can't look away.
"Sophia...don't know why it's you. But, it's fucking you, baby." Throwing her head back as I palm her tits, kiss her throat, and fuck her back, she cries out my name as she comes with me deep inside her.
"And, it’s fucking you, Jess. I promise it's you, baby." I come moments later, way past caring about the lack of condoms used tonight.
We fall asleep tangled up and I can't find it in me to care about anything other than feeling her against me. Hearing her breathing and sighing in her sleep. The weight of her head at my chest as I gather her close.
When I wake up to the sound of my alarm alerting I'm late for the day's shift, I know she's long gone. Still hurts when I search my place and find not a single reminder she was even there.
In fact, she erased every trace of herself.
From my place, from my phone, from my life.
Along with every message I sent her, her phone number is gone from my phone.
I don't know her last name, where she works, or if she is even from the city. Meeting her that night at the pub could have been a lucky fluke. Sharing that first weekend had changed everything for me but maybe it hadn't changed a thing for her.
Sophia didn't leave this time with a kiss and a sweet goodbye. A door left cracked with a little hope.
No, this time Sophia slammed the door shut on us and locked it tight.
Chapter Four
Finding a beautiful, mysterious woman in Chicago is impossible.
I give up my search for Sophia after I exhaust not just myself but just about everyone around me. I use all my connections at the force, with Finn and Cage and even their wives trying to find her. I spend weeks asking questions, searching for her, hitting O'Malley's every single night hoping to find her in that same spot, waiting for me.
I come up empty time and again.
Eventually, I stop looking. Stop asking questions. Stop hoping to find her sitting at that bar waiting for me.
Instead, I throw myself into my work. Between busting every criminal I can slap bracelets on, pulling doubles for days at a time, and volunteering wherever O'Neil wants me, I study. Although I feel as ready as I can be for my detective's test, I don't take it yet.
"What are you doing, Diggs?" O'Neil pulls me in after he hears I didn't sign up to take the test for a second time.
"Not ready to be off the streets, I guess." It’s about as noncommittal I can manage.
"Bullshit. You're working harder than ever but things still ain't right. Do you need to talk about it? Need to see our shrink?" I laugh and shove away from his desk, shaking my head in dismissal.
"No sir. I'll take it when I am ready. Need to get out there, sir." Tipping my head to him, I leave without being dismissed, catching up to Stiles as he heads out to our patrol car.
Stiles is less than happy with me lately, but I don't give a shit. I do all the paper work, let him cut out to get his dick wet whenever he wants and no longer bitch and moan about the girl who got away.
Still things haven't been right with us for weeks and today feels no different. It's not exactly hostile between us, but the camaraderie we shared seems all used up. Didn't know you could use that shit up.
"Dispatch says we got a DD up on the Westside." I wince as I slide behind the wheel, already weary before our shift even starts.
It's tense as we ride to the call but I'm honestly too exhausted to broach it. I know we need to hash shit out before it gets worse, but after the talk with O'Neil I'm in no mood to try.
"Know we need to figure shit out, bro. We will." I assure him as I pull up to the location and park at the curb.
"Yeah, we will. Come on." Stiles offers me a stupid smirk and we head in to the call.
It's a nice brownstone in a decent neighborhood and from outside, all looks peaceful. But, the moment we hit the steps, I hear shouting. A man's voice, snarling, deep, spitting out angry curses and threats. Stiles and I share a look before booking it through the open door.
"Police!" Stiles shouts as he takes the lead, hand resting near the revolver at his hip. I follow behind, darting a look up a set of stairs cautiously.
We walk through a foyer, Stiles announcing our presence again as the shouting continues. Passing the stairs and an archway leading to a living room where a fire crackles in a fireplace, we head towards the disturbance. I stay alert, checking each room and coming up empty as we pass a dining room. We end up in the kitchen at the end of the first-floor hall.
"Always knew you were a fucking whore!" Stiles makes a gesture towards the floor, then to the perp. I focus on the figure crumpled a few feet from me.
Keeping my eyes on both my partner and the perp, I edge towards her. Dark hair curtains her face as she lays motionless in the middle of the ruined kitchen. I always want to help the victim—O'Neil says it's what makes me a good cop—but it’s different this time. Once I lay eyes on that little battered figure lying there, my hand goes to my gun; for a moment, I consider drawing it.
"Hey there, buddy," Stiles starts, a hand at his hip ready to reach for his firearm, "How about we calm down, yeah? Tell us what we're walking into." Stiles puts his other hand out towards the aggressor as I position myself like a shield in front of the victim.
Reaching behind me as discreetly as I can manage, I wrap my fingers around her wrist. Searching for a pulse. Feels like I breathe for the first time since entering the home. It's there. Faint, but there.
"Oh, came home to find my wife packing a bag. Wanted to send her off with a little reminder of who I am, I suppose. Doctor called me with the results, you whore. Kind of hard to get you pregnant when I haven't touched your fat ass in months, yeah? You know what they say: never try to turn a whore into a housewife, am I right?" Everything after that happens fast.
Stiles takes the lead and although the dickhead puts up a bit of a fight, he's no match for his trained skills. Once he slaps bracelets on him and reads him his rights, I call a bus for the victim. Who, until my partner leads the perp out of the house, never speaks or even moves.
Once she does, my entire world stops.
"J-jess...." It's ba
rely a croak, a few syllables really; but it changes every single fucking thing.
"Oh no...Oh Sophia. Baby..." I lose myself, lose my composure, lose all my years of training once I realize the woman lying battered and bruised on the floor is Sophia.
My Sophia.
"Jess...I am...so....sorry." A sob breaks her words up and I shake my head, bending to hush her.
Brushing her thick, dark hair from her face, I fight the urge to scoop her up in my arms and never let her go. I look into her battered face, left eye hemorrhaging and watery with tears. Her right eye is swollen shut, her nose and mouth are bleeding, and two front teeth are broken from fists.
Rage like I have never before felt floods me, pulsing through my veins like the blood I need to survive. I want to break him. Want to break out his teeth like he did hers, slam my fists into his face until he can’t see like she can’t. I want to inflict the same pain on him that he has on Sophia.
My Sophia.
But, I don’t. As much as I want to hurt him, I want something more. I want to protect her. Want to ensure she never knows pain ever again. Not at the hands of him or anyone else. I bend over her, combing gentle fingers through her tangled hair.
“Help’s coming, baby. Don’t you say sorry for a fucking thing, beautiful. I got you. I got you. Promise, I got you.” I whisper as I let her move into me, careful of her injuries.
Before I know it, paramedics are there, barking at me to get out of the way. I don’t move until I know her husband is gone and they have her strapped up to a gurney. Watching Stiles load that piece of shit into another cruiser, I vow to make sure he never sees the streets again.
“Going with her? Seems like you know her.” Stiles nods towards the ambulance as they load her into it.
“Yeah...yeah, I am. Get her statement.” I start for the ambulance before Stiles calls me on my shit.
“That’s the girl, ain’t it? Your girl?” Wincing, I glance back at him, letting out a heavy sigh as I nod.
“Yeah. That’s my girl.” I don’t offer apologies or excuses. None of it matters now.
Right now I am not sure what matters.
Chapter Five
It’s almost morning as I sit in a plastic chair that makes my ass ache, watching machines breathe for Sophia's lifeless body. In the ambulance on the way over, Sophia flatlined and my entire fucking world shifted for a second time.
Blood on her brain from head trauma sent them right into surgery the minute we hit the ER. I paced that hallway for two hours before the doctor came to say the damage was extensive but we got to her just in time. Now we were just waiting for her to wake up.
Or at least, I was.
Sophia had no one else waiting for her. Just me.
Stiles filled me in after he booked her prick husband. Married just four years, Sophia’s husband had dozens of calls for domestic disputes but he’d never been arrested. Sophia wouldn’t press charges; he was smart and left no evidence of his assaults. Seems Sophia had no family here in Chicago, but her husband is another story.
“Stephen Sommers? Like the Supreme Court Judge Sommers? His prick lawyer son?” I gritted my teeth as I got the answer to why Sophia never pressed charges.
“The very same. Sophia’s neighbors were lining up to give statements about tonight and every night like it before. Hate the prick. Say she doesn’t make a move he hasn’t approved of first. Guess her meeting with a lawyer other than him wasn’t approved of.” Knowing she had possibly started looking into divorce was a good sign, at least.
“Guess not. Hope this is reason enough to call him again.” I had plans to tell her once she woke up she didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t controlling like her prick husband but I wasn’t about to let her go back to him.
“Any word on what that fucker said? About a baby?” Stiles asked this just before he headed out and I took vigil beside her.
“Yeah...she’s uh...” The news had almost made me sick, “She’s pregnant. Didn’t tell me how far along. Baby is fine, for now.” Stiles shot me a look full of questions I had no answers for.
“Jess...you think it might be....” Sighing, I shut that down before he even says it out loud.
“Nah. No way. Not mine.” Stiles doesn’t believe me. Hell, I don’t believe me.
It’s entirely possibly Sophia is pregnant with my child. It’s been almost three months since our first weekend together. I swore we’d been careful but I couldn’t be sure. I knew the second time we hadn’t, so anything is possible.
I could not consider that possibility. Not when the chances of losing her were very real. I couldn’t consider losing both her and a child that might be mine.
For hours, I looked back and wondered how I had missed it all. I was a fucking cop, I was supposed to see the signs. Not that she was married. That hadn’t exactly stopped me before, to be honest.
No, I was wondering how I missed the abuse.
Looking at her tawny skin in the dim moonlight, I see plenty of signs I’d missed before. Faded bruises. Marks at her shoulders, scars at her slender throat. Marks anyone else might see past. But not me; not someone trained to see the signs. Not someone who had learned every dip and curve and saved it to memory.
How could I have missed the scars?
How could I have looked into her eyes and not seen them?
As I reach out to smooth her tangled hair away from her lovely face, I see it. Fluttering at her eyelashes, the barest lift of her chest. I know I should alert the nurses, but I can’t move. I need to see her come back to life. Need it before I can breathe right again.
“J-Jess? Jess?! Jess!” Sophia thrashes a little beneath everything she’s hooked up to, calling out for me.
Something kicks hard in my chest. She called out for me. For me. Not her prick husband or anyone else. For fucking me. I take her hand as I press my own to her chest, stilling her.
“Still, baby. Relax for me, yeah? Let me get the nurses, ok?” As her hand clutches at mine, I realize she’s trembling all over, eyes wild as they search around the empty room.
“Where...where is he? Is he...here?” I shake my head, lowering to catch her gaze, touching her chin.
“No, baby. He’s in jail. Going to stay there if I got any say in it, too. Look at me,” Calmer now, she looks up at me with watery eyes, “I’m right here, Soph. Going to be right here, no one and nothing is going to hurt you like this ever again. You hear me?” A sob bursts from her chest as she looks away.
“Jess....I am...so...sorry. So ashamed.” Resting a hip on her bed, I bend closer still, waiting for her to meet my gaze again.
“Look at me, Sophia.” I wait for her to have a moment, wait for her to catch her breath and then those eyes swing my way again.
A kick to my chest comes again. This time it nearly sends me to my knees though. Trust is bright in her eyes, battered as they may be. Sophia is terrified, ashamed, embarrassed; yet she looks at me as if she’s never been hurt before.
It’s all I need to know I won’t ever let her be hurt again.
“We’re going to get through this. I promise you.” It’s the first promise I ever remember making to a woman. Sure as hell the first I actually fucking mean.
“We are?” Sophia gazes up at me, eyes hopeful, breathing heavy as I press closer.
We have a lot to talk about. Most pressing her impending divorce and the little bean growing in her belly. Why she lied to me. Why she went home with me that weekend and why she saw me again after. But none of it matters now.
Earlier I wasn’t sure what the hell truly mattered.
But, looking at her as she watches me with trusting eyes full of hope, despite everything she’s been through, I know what matters.
Sophia matters. Her baby matters. Mine or not. We matter.
I told her once and I intend to tell her again and again.
She’s it. I don’t know how or why. But, Sophia is it for me.
“Yes, we, baby. Told you. You’re it for me. I’m a lot of things, Sop
hia. Stupid ain’t one of them. No matter what, we’re making it through this. Because I ain’t lucky enough to find something like this again. I ain’t letting it go now that I found it. No matter what it takes.” I kiss her forehead, eyes closing as my own fears, my own doubts, flood me. None of that matters though.
Sophia alive, breathing easy as I touch her—when I know she hasn’t breathed easy since I touched her last—that's all that fucking matters.
The rest, it’s all just details. Details we can figure out when we need to. And right now, I don’t need to.
I just need to feel her breathe. Need to feel her live.
Once I do, I can breathe again too. And it’s then I realize I was never really breathing either. Not before her and not since.
We may have details to figure out, but right now, we’re breathing. Breathing easy together.
Living, breathing. Isn’t that all that really matters?
* * *
The End
About Dee Ellis
Born and raised in the Midwest, reading and writing have always been Dee's passion. Short stories became long stories that finally, became books. While playing grownup during the day, meaning working a job, Dee wrote her first book. When not reading or writing, which leaves less time than she's proud of, Dee loves spending her time with her furbabies, her husband, and lots of movies nights.
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Find Dee’s Books:
https://www.deeellisauthor.com/
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Connect With Dee:
Email: [email protected]
PROTECT AND SERVE | Linnea Valle
Chapter One
Nathaniel
I’m Nathaniel Jacobs, a sergeant with the Springfield Police Department. It’s Friday, and I’m almost ready to head home. I’ve got the weekend off. Today has been a royal pain in the ass between patrol, court, and finishing up paperwork. I’m looking forward to getting the hell out of here.
