by Hope Stone
As I came back down, I slid my hands to his shoulders, trying to encourage him to move. He had given me so much, but I knew I wanted more. I wanted to give him what he had given me.
He rose up above me, a soft smile on his face. It wasn’t an arrogant grin, I could tell. He didn’t want a pat on the back over going down on me. He genuinely was pleased to see me so satisfied.
I pushed on his chest and sat up. He furrowed his brow in confusion, but rolled onto his back. I reached over and fumbled in my bedside drawer until I had pulled out a condom. He grabbed it from me and tore at the wrapper.
When he was ready, I straddled him again and sucked in my breath at the feel of his hard cock against my thigh. I whispered, “Is this ok?”
“Yes,” Pin said, eyes steady.
I smiled and slowly lowered myself onto him. He closed his eyes as I took him inside me, embedding him up to his hilt. He moaned as I rose up and down again, and I grinned at how much pleasure I was clearly giving him.
“Oh God, you feel so good,” he gasped.
I let out a sigh of victory as I positioned myself so he reached a spot deep inside me.
And then I let myself go.
I rode him hard as he bucked his hips to keep up with me. I kept riding him as he moaned. His hands ran up my hips to knead my breasts and then back down over my stomach.
When his panting reached a desperate level, I felt myself instinctively clenching around him, urging him onto his own climax. He cried out as he was pushed over the edge. I watched him spasm with pleasure and rode his orgasm out.
When he had finished, I leaned down while he was still inside me and placed a gentle kiss on his mouth. Then I rolled off him and onto my beck. We lay in silence, a warm cloud of satisfaction enclosing us both.
I moved to my side, facing him and reveling in the warmth of his large body. He shifted closer to me and raised his arm. I didn’t usually cuddle, but his chest looked so enticing that I rested my head against him. I sighed as he wrapped his arm around my waist.
The exhaustion of the day caught up to me. Every second of the night, from Trey’s downfall to the dancing to the sex had been absolutely thrilling, but my energy had been expended.
I knew that maybe we should talk. I knew how to define hook-ups, I had plenty of practice. I needed to set boundaries. I needed to say something about how fun it was, so it would be clear that “fun” was all I was looking for.
But before I could speak, my eyelids drooped, and I fell into darkness.
Nine
Pin
I dozed for a little bit, the soft weight of Claire’s body a warmth that somehow captured my entire form, but a gut instinct woke me up in the small hours of the morning.
Some part of me knew it wasn’t healthy to linger. It encouraged clinginess and feelings. Sex was one thing, but actually sleeping together until the sun rose was another beast. You could fall asleep thinking one thing, and then wake up thinking quite another.
The sex had been amazing. Every second had been so fucking hot that I had almost thought it was a dream. But Claire’s gasps and moans and delightful little hands had convinced me it was all real. I had felt my soul shatter as Claire moved above me.
I didn’t want to admit it, but if I really looked back at my exploits, it would have been no contest. It was the best sex of my life.
But sex was just sex.
I needed to get out of there before it moved into something else. Something dangerous. As I lay there in the dark, Claire’s soft breathing tickling my ear, I refused to think about Sara and high school and my mom. I wouldn’t go there. I couldn’t.
As gently as I could, I shifted her away from me and onto the pillows. She didn’t even stir. I smiled to myself. It was no surprise she was a deep sleeper. When she was awake, she was so alive and buzzing with energy, it made sense that when she slept, it would be absolute.
Even so, I was careful to make as little noise as possible as I fumbled in my discarded pants for my phone while using the flashlight to locate the rest of my clothes. I did my best to not glance at Claire’s lacy black bra on the floor, but I wasn’t that strong.
My stomach lurched as I realized that I wanted to see her in that bra again. I wanted to take it off her. Again and again. That was why she was dangerous. That kind of deeper intimacy and emotion could only lead to pain.
I exited her room, finished getting dressed and headed for the door.
I didn’t look back.
The sun was peeking over the horizon when I finally made it back to my place. I had thought I might get a little more sleep, but I couldn’t settle down. I took a shower, changed my clothes, flipped through some accounting tasks.
Nothing held my attention.
Every time I blinked, images of Claire were seared on the inside of my eyelids. Claire perfect pink lips twisting into a smile as I held her. The curve of her pale shoulder. Her flushed face as she came down from the heights of her climax.
Even worse, I kept having nonsexual images too. Claire narrowing her eyes as she pulled out her camera to snapshots of Trey. Claire nodding in appreciation as Kim went in for the kill. Claire’s joyous and totally unselfconscious dancing.
A life with Claire would be fun. It would never be dull.
With Claire, it would be something indeed.
But no. I couldn’t think like that. That was just like my mother had been. She would have one good date with a halfway handsome guy, and all of a sudden, her head would be filled with daydreams. She would build him into this amazing person and picture this ideal life filled with perfect happiness for years to come.
But even when the guy would prove that he was no good, when it was clear that the years of happiness were going to be years of misery instead, my mother would still cling to her fantasies.
Not me. I didn’t make fantasies. I had not glorified anyone since Sara Garcia. She hadn’t been worthy of any pedestal, and neither was Claire.
Something within me flinched at putting Claire in the same sentence as Sara.
I groaned and collapsed on my couch. I flipped through the TV channels without aim for awhile, but nothing held my interest. I kept glancing at my phone where it sat on the table next to my couch. When would Claire wake up? Nine? Ten? Or did she sleep past noon after a night out?
When she woke up, would she wonder where I was? She had my number since we had texted to plan out the fake date. Would she text me? Or would she shrug (it was just a casual hook-up after all) and slip into the shower. I felt a tightening of desire when I pictured her in the shower. I had to squash that urge.
Once the morning had faded into afternoon, I knew I had to get out of my apartment. I didn’t want to text any of my brothers in case they sensed my mental unrest and decided to get all nosy. I just wanted a bit of a distraction. Something to get my mind off Claire.
So I pulled out my drive and pointed my bike towards the auto shop. There had to be someone hanging out. And willing to talk about something other than women.
It occurred to me as I approached the back of the shop that Kim might be around. I knew she was no idiot. Everything had been a little blurry thanks to the alcohol, but I could have sworn Kim gave me a knowing look as she hopped into her car.
There were already too many people in my life that liked to play matchmaker, so I would not put it past Kim. For all I knew, Kim might have been orchestrating the whole night so that Claire and I ended up together at the end. I wondered if Claire had been in on it. Had she told Kim she wanted to be alone with me? Had Kim helped her achieve that goal?
Even more relevant, had Claire communicated with Kim after the fact? Girls did that. They got in touch as soon as the date or hook-up was over to dissect every little thing.
My mood darkened. Had the sex been good for Claire? Would she give Kim a favorable report? She must be texting someone because she certainly wasn’t texting me.
I cursed under my breath and reminded myself that I didn’t want her to text me or reac
h out at all. That was why I had left so early.
I cast furtive eyes around the shop as soon as I entered. No sign of Kim. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Pin, what up man?”
I turned and smiled at Moves as he strode out of the office. We clasped hands in greeting.
“Nothing much,” I said.
I followed Moves into the backroom where we both lolled on the ragged armchairs that had been dragged back there. He gestured to a small fridge. “You want a beer?”
“Nah, I’m good.” If I started drinking now, I could end up drunk by nightfall. While sober me was totally in control, I didn’t want to think about if my drunk alter ego could avoid sending Claire a message.
“Well, I’m gonna indulge,” Moves said, opening the fridge. “I need one after all the Las Balas bullshit.”
I raised my brows as I remembered. This was good. Or, well, not good, but it was a real issue. Something actually important. “What went down the other day?”
“We just got word of some dealing on our territory,” Moves said, taking out a beer. He opened it and frowned, eyes zoned out as he seemed to think. “It wasn’t a big deal, but something was off.”
“What do you mean by off?” I asked.
Moves had been around the block. He didn’t get rattled by just anything, nor did he overthink. He was the enforcer. If something was out of line, he cracked some heads, told a joke, and moved on.
“We ran the dealer down outside some seedy bar,” Moves said. “I hadn’t even seen this guy before.”
“So?” Not even Moves had a catalog of every active dealer in La Playa. They came and went so quickly, popping up, getting sent off to a stint in jail, coming out of jail, moving towns, or straight-up just dying (and not of natural causes).
“Dunno,” Moves said. “Just something off about him.”
I didn’t want to badger Moves, but he was going to have to be more specific before I got concerned. I was the analytical one in the club. I trusted facts and hard data. I didn’t make decisions off of bad vibes. Not to say that Moves made bad decisions. He had excellent instincts. It just wasn’t my way.
“Young,” Moves said. “He was real young.”
I raised my eyebrows and looked at Moves. His face was almost haunted.
“What did you do to him?” I asked.
“Nothing major,” Moves said. “Just scared him off, told him to stay outta Outlaw Souls territory.”
“How young?” I asked.
“Couldn’t say,” Moves said. “He’d been using, you know how that fucks you up and makes you look way older.”
I nodded. I had come across too many addicts in their twenties who could have easily passed for over forty.
“But something about him,” Moves said. “Really young.”
Moves glanced at me and his face broke into a wry grin as he shrugged.
“But forget that,” Moves said. “Tell me about your night, I hear you went for revenge with Kimmy.”
“Yeah, it was pretty funny,” I said.
I told him about Kim getting even with Trey, but I was careful to not mention Claire. Just a night with a minor adventure. I could tell that Moves wasn’t thinking of her, which meant that Kim, if she was playing matchmaker, had not enlisted Moves’ help. Which was all for the best.
Because I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to see Claire Brennan ever again.
Ten
Claire
When I woke up, I wasn’t certain where I was for a few seconds. When I realized I was in my bed, I was confused. Something was different about my bed.
I rolled over, and there was no Pin where I had fully expected a Pin.
I sat up and checked my clock. It was just after eight. When had he left? I could have sworn he was there when I fell asleep. I had drifted off in his arms with my head rested on his chest. I reached up and touched my hand against my cheek, and then was instantly mortified at the sappy gesture.
It was good that he left. Definitely for the best. If he was still here, I would have to feign politeness and maybe even have coffee with him. All the while I’d be trying to figure out how to let him know it was just casual sex. There was no need for us to waste time with the pleasantries.
Not that it had been bad. Definitely not bad.
Very good, in fact.
But still casual. Still nothing to get serious about.
I rolled out of bed and scampered to the bathroom. I wasn’t that hungover since I hadn’t had that much to drink the night before. I just felt hungover for non-alcoholic reasons. My body was worn and tired, my mind blurred with memories from the night before. I could still almost hear the heavy breathing and the moans of pleasure. Nothing a scalding hot shower couldn’t banish.
I still had work to do, after all. I needed to compile all the damning evidence against Trey and hand it to Daniel today. Then I would get another case. A better case. There was a small twinge of regret when I pictured closing this case. I had been enjoying this particular job. Or at least one part of this particular job.
After the shower, I tugged on my usual outfit for a day at the office; loose jeans and a comfortable T-shirt with some ballet flats. I clipped a chunk of my hair out of my face and fixed myself a breakfast consisting of a muffin and some coffee.
As I chewed my muffin, I decided that I had zero regrets. The night before had been a fun spur-of-the-moment dalliance, but it was a one-time thing. I didn’t want to waste any time seeing Pin only to realize that he, like every other guy, was boring and predictable. Underneath the biker leather and the cute smile, could he really be that different?
I needed to focus on my job. If I wanted Daniel to give me better cases, I needed to bring my A-game and advocate for myself. I didn’t want to be stuck trailing dumb corporate cheaters for the rest of my days.
If a juicier case came into the firm, and Daniel was busy with something else, he would usually hand it off to Veronica. It made sense. She was my senior and had way more experience than I did. But if I kept finishing up my cheating husband cases as quickly as I could, at some point, Daniel would have to give me a bigger case. Veronica would be tied up, and he would pass the ball to me.
And I would be ready when that time came.
I had to be ready, because I was pretty sure parts of my brain were withering away with every idiot husband I had to track down. I wanted something complex. I wanted twisted motives and dead ends. I wanted the whole bulletin board with a series of photos and notes.
That’s why people get into my line of work in the first place. Ask any private investigator, or even a homicide detective, it’s not a totally altruistic career. There’s this thrill you get when you’re chasing something truly elusive. It’s almost like an adrenaline high where you can’t think of anything else. The mystery of the case consumes you.
I got it a few years back when I tag-teamed an old murder case with Veronica. The guy had died a few years ago so the police had put it aside, but the family was desperate for closure. And unlike the police, private investigators don’t have to play by the rules. When Veronica and I caught the scent of the killer, it was amazing. It was the feeling I’d been chasing my whole life.
Yeah, you’re also doing it for the people who have been hurt or are missing it. For justice. But when it comes to the thrill of the hunt, you’re being selfish. Pin had been incredible, I wouldn’t deny that. But when it came to long-term satisfaction, there was no way he could compete with a big case. I wasn’t going to let him distract me.
Thirty minutes later, I walked into the office with a spring in my step. I had beaten Veronica and Daniel in, which was fine by me. I sat down at my desk and started putting together everything Olivia Cook would need to get rid of Trey.
An hour later, I was done. I had all the messages between Trey and Kim, all the photos, plus my own notes and observations. Veronica had arrived by that point and flashed me a smile when I pushed away from my desk with a sigh.
“All done?” she aske
d.
“Trey Cook is officially screwed,” I said.
“Unless the wife gets all sentimental,” Veronica said.
It happened sometimes. A wife would see all the evidence, her heart would break, but she wouldn’t leave him. He would make some empty promises (probably to get out of paying alimony) and she would choose to believe them. She would close her eyes and tell herself that it wouldn’t happen again. He had changed.
It’s not fun, but it’s not really my problem. I can’t tell people how to live their lives.
I glanced down at the photo of Olivia atop my file, and I prayed she had a backbone. Then I waltzed into Daniel’s office and tossed the notes onto his desk with a satisfying thunk.
“Finished this already?” he asked.
“Yup,” I said.
Daniel leaned back in his chair and regarded me with a wary expression. “Careful, Brennan. A cocky PI makes mistakes.”
“I’m not cocky,” I said with a saucy grin. “I’m just fast.”
He chuckled and leafed through the notes. I knew he wouldn’t find anything fishy. There were no cut corners, no sloppy work. I had crossed my t’s and dotted my i’s.
Daniel tapped his finger on a page of my typed notes. “The mistress Kimberly Delasante. She’s the one that’s tied to the biker club.”
“Yeah,” I said. I had kept Daniel appraised of my plan with the case, including my alliance with Kim. “The Outlaw Souls.”
“And you were friendly with her?” he asked.
“I guess,” I said. “She came through last night anyway.”
So did Pin, but I wasn’t about to mention that to Daniel.
“Excellent work, Brennan,” Daniel said, flipping through the rest of my notes and then setting the file aside. “As always.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But you know I want something bigger.”
I liked Daniel, and I respected him. I didn’t talk back, but I had let him know of my frustration with the easy cases and the cheating husbands. He had assured me that when a case was the right fit, he would make sure I got it. He gave me a big smile, and my heart started racing with anticipation.
