“But, like, what was the expression on his face when he knew he was had?” Zico asked.
I sighed, scrambling half a carton of eggs in a mixing bowl. “I’ve told you. He was surprised.”
“Anna, you’re killing me.” He pulled playfully on the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “More detail. More detail.”
“Ugh. His face went all red, and he kept looking at me like he was expecting me to help him or something, and at the end, he was really angry.”
“Why don’t you seem as psyched about all of this as I do?” he asked, jumping up to sit on the countertop. “You wanted him arrested, too.”
“I know I did. I still do. It just didn’t happen the way I expected. I didn’t think he’d get so angry at me.”
“Wait,” Zico said, immediately sliding back to the floor and grabbing my shoulders, turning me to face him. “He was angry at you?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“No. No, that is not what you said. You’ve just been saying he got really angry, and I assumed you meant at the police. You never said he was angry with you.” His eyes suddenly narrowed.
“Who else would he be mad at?”
“Anyone else!” Zico shouted. “He shouldn’t have had any idea you were involved.”
“He isn’t an idiot. I became his partner, and a month later he’s arrested? That isn’t exactly a case for Sherlock Holmes.”
Zico’s shoulders sagged. “I guess that’s true. But what exactly did he say?”
“He called me a bitch—”
“Asshole,” Zico said, rolling his eyes. “Two nights ago, he had his finger in your panties, and now he wants to call you names. Pathetic. Sorry, continue.”
“He called me a bitch, and said he’d kill me if he ever found out I had anything to do with his arrest.”
“Is there a way for him to prove that you helped get him arrested?” he asked.
I looked at him, wide-eyed, and when he didn’t seem to take the hint, I swiveled my finger between the two of us. “If he ever finds out you and I were… are… involved…”
Immediately, my face began to blush. Were Zico and I involved? I didn’t know anymore. I turned away from him and began vigorously scrambling the eggs.
Zico grabbed my arm and turned me to face him again, a shy smile playing on his lips. “Are we involved?”
Yes. That was what I wanted to say. However, what I wanted even more than that was to not make a fool of myself. I didn’t want to be the one to define the bizarre connection between Zico and me.
“No,” I said, deciding my best shot was to play hard to get—see how Zico responded.
His face fell ever so slightly, and I felt vindicated.
“Why not?” he asked.
“We’ve never been on a real date, our entire relationship began because of blackmail, and I still have never seen where you live,” I said, pouring the eggs into the hot skillet.
Zico grabbed me by the waist and pulled me close to him, so I had to lean back to look at his face. His green eyes were bright like grass in the spring. “Do you want to see where I live?”
At that moment, I wanted to say yes. I wanted to be with Zico. I didn’t want to worry about anyone else. I just wanted him and me to be together, to be happy, to be in love. Still, that was a fantasy life. The truth was, we couldn’t be together. It wouldn’t work out. I’d known that since the beginning. I’d told myself over and over again not to grow attached, not to let Zico get under my skin, not to depend on him. Yet, I’d found myself wrapped up in his arms, wishing he’d never let me go.
I was opening my mouth to speak, although I had no idea what I would say, when my phone went off. I reached for it, slipping out of his grasp, glad to have the time and the space to think. Being so close to him, the scent of leather and cigars rolling off of him, was intoxicating. If I wanted to think clearly and make any sort of rational decision, I needed to be far away from him.
It was a text message from Detective Johnson. For a second I questioned how he had my number, but then I remembered I’d exchanged numbers with his wife while we were at the baseball game. She’d suggested the two of us go out for a girl’s day—movie, manicure, the whole nine yards. I hadn’t had the heart to tell her I wasn’t interested in the slightest.
J: Gary was just booked for racketeering. Thought you oughta know.
I read the message again and again, trying to make sure it was real. Gary was booked. He hadn’t weaseled his way out of it. No matter what happened, he was going to have an arrest record. He would have to be suspended from the force, at least.
“Who was it?” Zico asked when I didn’t say anything for a while.
“Johnson,” I said, even though Zico would have no idea who that was. “He said Gary was just booked for racketeering.”
“No shit?” Zico was smiling.
“No shit,” I said back, unable to contain my own smile.
Even when Gary was led away in handcuffs, part of me wondered whether he’d even make it to the jail. Or actually be charged with anything. I’d heard enough stories of cops looking out for cops to know that justice wasn’t always served, especially when you had a badge.
“Has he posted bail?” Zico asked.
“I have no idea. Johnson didn’t say.”
“Well, ask him!”
I picked up my phone to text Johnson back, but then I paused, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
“No,” I said, setting my phone screen-first down on the counter.
Zico looked confused. “Why not?”
I turned off the stovetop, sliding the half-cooked eggs off of the burner, and threw my spatula in the sink. “Because it doesn’t matter.”
“Well, it kind of matters,” Zico said. “If he posted bail, then we—”
I held a finger to his lips. “No, it doesn’t. Tonight, we can celebrate the fact that Gary will have an arrest record, that his dirty dealings are out in the open, that, like you wanted, he was kicked down a peg. Regardless of what happens from here, we did it. We were successful. And we deserve to celebrate.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my body into his until there was no more space between us.
“What exactly did you have in mind?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at me.
He was clearly trying to join in on my good mood, but I could tell there was still a layer of tension just beneath the surface. I knew what he was thinking: if Gary got out on bail, he could decide to make good on his threat. He could try to figure out who turned him in, and if it did lead back to me, I could be in danger.
Of course, Zico was worried. His world was full of threats, and rarely were they empty. My world, though? People get angry and say things they don’t mean. Gary wouldn’t actually hurt me. He was a dirty cop, but he wasn’t a violent criminal.
I pressed my hips into his and ran a finger from his jawline down to his neck, pulling aside the collar of his shirt to trace his collarbone.
“I have a few things in mind,” I said. “Can you guess?”
Zico bit his lip and rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling as if he were silently thanking God for this moment. “I have some ideas, but I’d love if you would show me.”
I moved my finger from his collarbone to the center of his chest and drew a line down his body as I sunk to my knees in front of him. Slowly, I unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down his thighs, never breaking eye contact with him. He gulped and reached down to run his fingers through my hair, rubbing it between his fingers as if it were some precious substance.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he said.
The words sent a flutter through my chest, but I tried to ignore it. In all likelihood, this was the last time Zico and I would sleep together. Gary had been caught. We no longer had a reason to see one another. Also, with Gary now suspecting me, I couldn’t let it be known that I’d been sleeping with Zico. It would give me away for sure, and then Gary’s threats could become slightly less empty.
It didn’t matter that I felt an electric jolt roar through me whenever we touched or that the sound of my name on his lips made my knees quake. It didn’t matter that my heartbeat quickened whenever I saw him and that looking into his green eyes made me feel at home in a strange place. It only mattered that he was in the mafia and I was a cop, and this couldn’t go on. After tonight, of course.
I smiled at him in thanks, then slid his boxers down, releasing him. He popped out, already hard, so I wasted no time. I wrapped my lips around him and sunk down, Zico groaning with every inch I took into my mouth. I pressed my tongue to the underside of him as I slipped him out of my mouth, and then repeated the process in a steady rhythm.
After a while, I wrapped my fingers around the base and pulled up as my lips sunk down, the two meeting in the middle. I felt Zico shaking at my touch, and he stretched his hands out to use the countertop for support.
“Oh, God,” he mumbled, watching me move up and down as if it were the most interesting sight in the world.
Encouraged by how much he was enjoying it, I lowered my hand, and let my lips sink further and further down until my nose pressed into the soft skin of his abdomen, until he tickled the back of my throat.
He groaned, and grabbed the back of my head, holding me there for several seconds, his entire body shaking. When he finally released me, I sprang back and looked up at him, catching my breath. I was about to take him in my mouth again, when, instead, he grabbed my hands and lifted me off the floor.
He pulled me into him and pressed his lips to mine. I luxuriated in how soft, how smooth they were, and in the warmth of his body against mine, the way we fit together so well. His tongue massaged mine, and I tried to memorize the minty taste of his toothpaste so I wouldn’t forget it.
His fingers pressed into my sides and slid down, hitting every one of my ribs, and the curve of my waist into my hips. Then, he grabbed the hem of my sweatshirt and pulled it over my head in one swift move. After such a crazy day, I’d come home and changed into comfortable clothes, which always meant no bra. So, I was standing in front of him entirely topless, and Zico stepped back, looking me up and down, and then whistled.
“Stop,” I said, laughing and crossing my arms. He grabbed my arms, held them out, and whistled again.
Just as I was about to slap him playfully, he leaned in and took one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking and kissing at me until my hand fell lazily to my side, my body too wrapped up in pleasure to be shy. He moved to the other breast while his hands slid down my body to my pajama shorts. They were skimpy cotton, practically see-through, so he pushed them off my hips, and they slid easily to the floor. My underwear followed.
Zico quickly stepped out of his jeans and slid his shirt off, so we were both standing in the kitchen, looking at one another, completely naked. I drank in the deep grooves of his hips, the shape of his shoulders, the way his arms hung confidently at his sides. He was gorgeous. The most beautiful man I’d ever seen. And I knew, at that moment, that I’d always miss him.
Before I had time to feel saddened by this thought, Zico was closing the distance between us and pushing me backward until I was pressed against the wall. Then, he spun me around, his hands grabbing greedy handfuls of my backside before he slipped inside of me.
My body was ready for him, but I still gasped at the way I spread around him. We had slept together countless times, and I never got used to the sensation. And at this point, I didn’t think it was possible to. I clutched the door frame, clinging to it as he pulsed in and out of me, using his hands to guide my hips towards him with every thrust.
As his thrusting grew faster and faster, he ran his hands up my spine, and then back down, pressing his fingers into my tense muscles. I groaned at the full body sensation, at the fact that he was massaging me inside and out. He leaned forward and rested his cheek against my back. I felt his breath on my skin, coming out in irregular bursts.
Then, his arm wrapped around my waist until his hand found my most sensitive spot. His finger ran small circles over me, making me gasp and throw my head back, so it was resting on his shoulder. My entire body was arched, stretched tight like a bow in an arrow, and it was only a matter of time before I released.
Zico’s rhythmic movements in and out of me from behind and around and around in the front pushed me closer and closer to the edge. My thighs began to quiver. My abdomen clenched and unclenched. My arms shook, my hands barely able to hold onto the door frame.
Finally, I released. It happened all at once. My entire body seemed to collapse. I fell into the wall, and the only reason I didn’t hit the floor was because Zico still had his arm wrapped around me, his hand still massaging me as I clenched and unclenched around him, as warmth spread through my body in rhythmic pulses. I moaned loudly and then pressed my mouth against my arm to stay quiet, lest my neighbors think I was being murdered.
Zico didn’t stop until my entire body was still and spent. He turned me around, kissed the tip of my nose, and hauled me into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and rested my head on his shoulder, not caring where he took me next. We didn’t go far. He stopped in the dining room, used his foot to pull a chair out from the table, and sat down in it, me still in his lap. I slid forward until he was inside of me again, and now it was Zico’s turn to groan.
I slid back and forth on him, letting him slip nearly all the way out before I plunged back down, my body rocking like a wave in front of him. He wrapped his hands around me, his fingers pressing into my lower back, and I leaned backward, allowing him to hold all of my weight as my hips rolled on top of him, grinding down.
I placed my hands on my head, running my fingers through my hair, allowing my body to feel every inch of him inside of me. He leaned his head back, too. He moaned, biting his lower lip so hard I thought he might make it bleed. Then, I sat up, planted my feet on the floor, and began lifting and lowering myself onto him, my body leaning into him with every movement, my breasts pressing into his face. He leaned forward and kissed between them and around them. He moved his hands from my back and began rolling my nipples between his thumb and forefinger until they were hard.
We were both there to do whatever the other person wanted. We each wanted the other person to feel as much pleasure as possible. I wondered whether it was because we both knew it might be our last time. Because we wanted it to be memorable.
Zico stood up, still inside of me, and laid me on the dining room table. He grabbed my ankles and held my legs out in a V shape, and then began pounding into me harder and faster than ever before. I yelped in surprise, but the yelp quickly turned into a series of moans, which quickly turned into a low, constant scream. Our bodies slapped together over and over again, and my body convulsed with the force of it. I felt entirely out of control in the best possible way, and I felt myself ramping up to a climax once again.
“Don’t stop,” I said, rocking my head from side to side. “Don’t stop.”
Zico groaned, and I knew he was close as well. He thrusted as fast as his body would allow him, and a few seconds later, he slowed. I felt him spasm inside of me, and my body clenched down on him. The bundle of heat in my abdomen burst outward, sending warmth to my fingers and toes.
We were finishing at the same time, and when I wasn’t writhing on the table in pleasure, I was thinking how fitting it was—how perfect and beautiful our last encounter had been. It was the perfect way to end things.