FOURTEEN
Espen
She thought them telling each other all about their lives was a step forward, a step toward them being something 'more.'
Apparently, this was just another example of a time when she read a situation with the opposite sex entirely wrong.
Because for the next few days, there was just nothing.
No kissing.
No touching.
No implying anything.
They were like roommates, watching movies, bullshitting, eating meals together.
It was weird.
Or, at least, she was seeing it that way because she had maybe sort of totally been thinking (and hoping) it would be more.
Slowly, but surely, her ribs stopped screaming in pain. Even as they closed in on the weekend, they didn't feel in tip-top shape. If she stretched her arms over her head, they objected, but it was tolerable. The bruises were still there and around her eye, angry and a constant reminder, but the swelling had gone down a good eighty percent, so she could fully open her eye again, a blessing she wasn't aware of needing as badly as she did.
About an hour earlier, Enzo had gone out to stock up on more supplies, the food he had bought the morning after they arrived running low.
"So unless you want a mustard and mayo sandwich on half-molded bread, I gotta hit the store."
Since she was on her way to the shower, she opted out of going even though she was getting a bit of cabin fever. She didn't want to hold him up.
So when there was a knock at the door a few minutes after she finished straightening up the bathroom, she figured Enzo had his hands full.
But, being that this was Third Street turf, and he was the previous leader of Third Street, and there wasn't a peephole to look out of, she kept the chain on the door as she pulled it open to check.
And just about had a stroke.
A literal stroke.
Because it wasn't Enzo who she would have been happy to see, for reasons she was no longer able to claim she didn't know the origins of. No, it was becoming too clear even to try to deny anymore.
She liked him.
Plain and simple.
She wanted him.
That was more complicated though.
But it wasn't him.
It wasn't some gun-wielding gangbanger either.
Hell, she might have preferred that.
No.
Instead, who she saw in the sliver the chain allowed, was Atien Locklear.
In his two-thousand dollar suit.
In a building in a slummy area of town.
Looking, somehow, like he still fit there.
That was one in a long line of unique qualities her father possessed - the ability to fit in anywhere, even if he didn't look the part. She had always attributed this to his particular brand of unshakeable confidence. You never thought to second-guess him because he never second-guessed himself.
"No hiding now, Espy. Let me in."
He was using his Commanding Dad Voice.
And, well, aside from him being right about her not being able to pretend she wasn't there, that voice always elicited a knee-jerk response from her.
She was closing the door and sliding the chain before she was even fully conscious of what she was doing.
The second she pulled the door open, his face fell. His eyes, so much like her own, usually quite guarded, right then gave it all away.
"It's not that bad," she rushed to say, wanting to get that look off his face.
"You've had almost a week for healing," he said, making her wonder how the hell he even knew. She would find out eventually. "And you are still this bruised. This is bad. How bad must it have been that night, or the morning after?"
"Really," she said, shaking her head, "I'm fine. It's no big deal."
"A grown man twice your size struck you and choked you, and it is no big deal?"
"I've had plenty of grown men strike and choke me," she tried, meaning in class, wanting to brush it off.
"In class. To make you stronger. To show you how to get out of these situations. Not to hurt you. Not to leave you with hand-shaped bruises across your throat." His hand raised then, slowly, like you would to a beaten dog, like he was worried she would shrink away.
And that seemed to snap her out of the daze his worried gaze put her in. She wasn't a fucking victim. She wasn't going to cower away from raised hands like a battered woman. And she was offended that he even thought she was capable of something like that.
"Oh, the throat is nothing," she said breezily as she moved inside, a silent invite for him to follow. "The ribs were the real mother."
"Espen," he said, voice harder as he closed the door. "Don't."
"Don't what? Be condescending? Oh, no, wait. That was you. What are you doing here, Dad? Other than lecturing me about my life choices."
"We'll get back to that later. I'm here because Biyen said he went to drop into your apartment yesterday only to find a bunch of men there dusting the place."
She snorted at that, realizing that Xander - while he gave her the text updates she demanded - had obviously left that little tidbit out. Dusting? Seriously? Did Xander have someone in the department who would run prints for him?
"Which one squawked?" she asked, wanting to know who to not trust with secrets in the future.
"Rhodes, of course," he said, shaking his head. "He might not operate legally, but he is a good man who knows when a father needs to know his only child is okay."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine," he snapped, voice cracking. "On your first job for Rhodes, you're more hurt than I have ever seen you in a class."
"It has nothing to do with Xander. It was just a hiccup on the job."
"A hiccup is when the file gets misplaced, not when my daughter gets battered!"
She wasn't sure she had ever seen her father so unraveled before. Normally, his composure put her to absolute shame. He never ranted. He never raved. He never showed frustration or anger, let alone what he was giving her right then. It was something like a mix of desperation and exasperation.
It was enough to give her pause.
"It seemed like a cut-and-dry case. And, so you don't start getting any ideas about Xander being to blame, he had Enzo on the case with me. But he had some family drama and had to head out for a weekend. Hence me being there alone. It wasn't his fault."
He sighed at that, reaching up to run a hand through his neat hair, somehow not making the dark and gray streaks look any less perfect.
"Why, Espen?" he asked, voice empty.
"Why what?"
"Why leave? Why go to Xander? Why put yourself in this situation?"
"Because I wanted a goddamn chance!" she nearly shrieked, surprised she blurted it out so easily when she had hidden the truth for so long. "Not to have fucking Kenny The Douche stick me at a desk, call me honey, and claim my simple freaking female brain can't handle being a goddamn private investigator."
And there it was.
It was out.
And Atien shocked back hard, his mouth falling open.
It was maybe the first time in her life that she saw him looking shocked.
"What?" he asked, his voice airy.
There was no way to backpedal, to play it off. It was time to come clean.
"Yeah, the men in your office, well, they didn't think a woman should be out in the field. I was never offered to go on a job. I was stuck at a desk every day for years, doing everyone else's grunt work, getting screamed at when I couldn't perform literal miracles."
"What? How did this happen? Why wouldn't you come to me about it?"
"Cry to daddy because the boys were being mean to me?" she shot back.
He sighed at that, understanding the truth in her words. "How did I not notice this?" he asked himself, shaking his head.
"You were busy."
"So busy that I couldn't see what was at the root of the change in you the past few years."
"Dad..." she said, feeling uncomfortable.
It was one thing for her to see the changes in her personality, being that she knew herself so well. But she had maybe naively believed that the changes were slow and slight enough not to be something that was broadcasted to those around her.
No one wanted to know that those around her, those she loved and loved her in turn, were aware of her becoming a guarded, prickly, colder person.
"When did I become so busy that I couldn't see my own daughter was unhappy?"
"I wasn't unhappy," she half-lied. "I was just... determined to prove myself."
"You never needed to prove yourself to me, Espy. I always knew what you were capable of."
"But no one else did."
"Honey, anyone who has met you for point-two seconds would know better than to believe you weren't capable of exactly what you set your mind to," Enzo's voice cut in, making both her and her father's heads swivel in the direction of the door where he was standing, several bags in each of his hands.
"Mr. Locklear, I assume," he said, moving in, his heel kicking the door closed before he put the groceries down on the counter so he could reach out and shake her father's hand.
For some reason - beyond any logical reason - the moment felt poignant, important.
And as the hands of men who seemed incredibly important to her in that moment met, there was a strange swelling sensation in her chest.
"Atien," her father offered. "And you would be Enzo."
"Yes, sir," he agreed with a nod as he moved to stand beside her. "I thought I would beat him, honey. Xander just sent me the warning text. Obviously too late. I suspect on purpose. I think this going-to-be-a-dad thing is fucking with his hardass reputation."
"I hardly think my own daughter needs a warning text about me visiting," Atien objected, sounding offended.
When she looked, she realized he was eyeing up Enzo. She suddenly wished he was the type of man who gave his inner thoughts away. She wanted to know what he thought of Enzo. And it was perhaps the first time in her life she ever felt that way.
"All due respect, sir, it was clear the two of you weren't on the best terms. And since I know her, and I don't know you, her best interest is the one that matters most to me in this situation."
There was a heavy silence, the tension seemingly palpable. She had absolutely no idea what his reaction to a statement like that might be.
She certainly didn't think, though, that his reaction would be a smile that threatened to split his face.
"I like this one, Espen. Not one of those muscle-bound jackasses without two brain cells to brush together. Or, alternately, the smart but wimpy milksops who would hand you over in a home invasion before they even offered up their wallets."
"Great taste in men she's had, huh?" Enzo asked, clearly enjoying the way her mouth literally fell open.
Her father - this man she thought she knew so well - had never been that dad. The dad that teased her. The dad that sized up the men she introduced him to. The one who brought up embarrassing things to people he thought were new suiters of hers.
"There was one. I don't know... four years or so ago? He was a professional iguana breeder," Atien agreed, voice amused.
"Oh okay. We are so not doing this," Espen said, but no one was going to listen.
"You got to pick Paine for details. I get to do the same with your old man," Enzo said, shrugging. "It's only fair."
"So I hear you and Espen are in competition for a job," Atien said as he and Enzo moved over toward the living room. "Are you still... intact?" he asked, shooting Espen a bemused grin.
"Oh, God," she grumbled to herself, her skin feeling like it was crawling, an entirely new sensation for her.
In an effort not to start doing something as humiliating as blush, she turned her attention to the groceries, taking her sweet time putting them away, pretending it took all her effort, trying her best not to listen to any other embarrassing things her father might say.
She decided that, even if she did go to Sunday dinner like Gina insisted when she called all of half an hour after Paine left a few days ago, she was not going to pry more stories out of his remaining family members.
It was a cruel and unusual form of torture.
Screw water boarding. If you wanted information out of someone, bring in the girl he likes and his parents and siblings. Have them tell every humiliating story they could about him. He would be singing like a goddamn canary in under five minutes.
"This is a good man you have here," Atien declared near her side suddenly, making her jump. She had been too zoned out to realize he had even moved over toward her.
"Dad, we're not..."
"Has a bit of an, ah, unconventional past," he went on, completely ignoring her protest. "But he is on a good path. He has a good head on his shoulders. A good family. I approve," he said, shrugging. "And I expect to have you both out to dinner when you are back in the city. Now, I have to get back. I have some firing to do. Oh, and some teaming up with Rhodes. No fuckhead is getting away with putting his hands on my little girl," he said, knowing she hated being called that, doing it on purpose as he kissed her temple. "Call me when you're back home," he demanded, touching her cheek before stepping away.
"I, ah, yeah. I will."
"You two have a good weekend," he said, looking over at Enzo. "Take care of our girl."
"Of course," Enzo said.
Then the door was closed.
Her father was gone.
And her head was a freaking hurricane.
Because... what the hell was that?
Suddenly, she was cursing herself for not eavesdropping, regardless of how uncomfortable it might have made her. Because she apparently missed Enzo telling her father his whole life story.
"What the hell just happened?" she asked, half to herself, not expecting an answer.
"That was your father and I getting to know each other."
"Apparently, quite well," she agreed, turning to him with lowered brows.
"Can't tell him my intentions, and expect for him to approve of them, if he doesn't know a bit about me."
"Your... intentions?" she choked out, suddenly feeling like her tongue had swollen to twice its size; it didn't seem to fit the space in her mouth anymore.
"Yeah, honey, my intentions," he agreed, leaning against the counter, giving her an amused little smile.
"What kind of intentions?" she asked, knowing the most logical answer, but sure he couldn't have meant that. Hell, he hadn't even seemed to look at her longingly in almost a week. It made no sense.
"Figure with a man like that, and with the love and respect you have for him, I should make shit real clear to him," he said, and she was starting to wonder if he was purposely not giving her a full answer.
"Make what shit real clear to him?"
"This you and me shit," he said, lips twitching.
"There is no you and me shit." Crap. Even she could hear the level of disappointment in her voice.
"There's been plenty of you and me shit," he countered, moving closer, backing her up against the counter. "There's been you and me sharing meals. There's been you and me getting to know each other. There's been you and me watching shows, talking about music, learning each other's pasts..."
Oh.
See, she had always had relationships that maybe rushed too quickly into the physical aspect of things. She thought that was just how it was done, that no one went beyond - at the latest - the fifth or sixth date without sealing the deal. No one spent weeks getting to know another person before they checked out the physical chemistry too.
You know, except for religious freaks.
"But you haven't touched me," she objected.
"Because up until today, this," he said, pressing his hand into her ribs, "would have had you doubling over in pain."
He wasn't wrong about that.
She swallowed hard, taking a steadying breath.
"And now that it doesn't?"
His lips tipped up, but it wasn't amusement in his eyes. No, that was pure, liquid, molten desire.
"Now that it doesn't, I'm going to touch you," he said, voice like a promise just a second before his lips crashed down on hers.
It wasn't soft, sweet, explorative.
It wasn't meant to be tentative, to gauge her reaction.
No, it was full of a week's worth of unfulfilled desire, was the snap on the last thread of control he seemed to possess.
His hand mover up to cup the back of her neck, the tips of his fingers sinking into her hair and pulling slightly as he deepened the kiss, as his lips bruised into hers. His other hand stayed at her ribs for a long moment, until she let out a whimper and swayed forward into him. Then it slid to her waist, around her back, then trailed downward until it sunk into her ass, squeezing hard, dragging her upward slightly so his straining cock pressed into her belly.
His teeth sank into her lower lip, hard enough to make her gasp. He used the opportunity to press his tongue forward, claiming hers until her hands were raking scratches down his shoulders, until her hips were grinding into him, begging for freedom from the torment.
It was then that his hand released her neck, moving down her back to sink into the other side of her ass, hard enough to pull her up on her tiptoes, then completely off them, hovering in the air for a second before he pulled higher, coaxing her legs around his waist.
Her arms folded tight around the back of his neck as he suddenly slammed her back against the fridge, letting his hard cock press into her right where she needed it, making her lips break from his to let out a ragged moan.
His lips moved to her neck, sucking in the skin until she was dragging her hips against him, begging for more.
His head lifted, looking down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. "You good?" he asked, and she knew it for what it was, him asking for permission to go further.
"Bed. Now," she demanded, leaning down to nip into his earlobe, dragging a sexy, deep, rumbling, growling-noise from his chest as he started moving. First, toward the door, which he quickly locked, then back toward the bedroom. His bedroom. Which he had left to her since they arrived, again insisting on taking the couch.
There would be no more sleeping on the couch if she got her way.
"Yes, ma'am," he said with a chuckle that ended on a groan as her tongue ran down the column of his neck.
She was barely aware of anything around her, just his cock against her thigh, his warm breath on her neck, his hands squeezing her ass.
The next thing she knew, she was lowering down onto the bed, his body folding over hers as his hands left her ass to slide around to the front, sneaking up under the material of her shirt, and whispering over her belly until it reached the top of her ribs where, normally, her bra would have been. But since the band had pressed into her bruised ribs, she had foregone the bra since the night she got the injury in the first place. So his fingertips brushed the soft, sensitive undersides of her breasts, making a shiver course through her body as her back arched off the soft sheets, begging for more.
But he didn't move his hands up, cup her, twist or roll her nipples. No. He lowered down, pushing the shirt up, and tracing the line his fingers had blazed with his tongue.
A weighted sensation pressed into her chest, making her breathing labored as she grabbed at the back of his neck, trying to drag his face up so she could feel his lips close around her nipple, trace it with his velvety tongue, suck it hard into his mouth.
"Enzo, please," she whimpered, way beyond too proud to beg. She needed it, she needed it all. Five minutes ago.
"Been waiting too long for this," he told her. "I'm taking my fucking time."
The whimper came from somewhere deep as her hands went down his back, grabbing the material of his shirt, and desperately trying to drag it up his back, needing to feel his skin on hers.
Enzo's low chuckle moved through his chest and into her body, making her insides feel shaky in a pleasant way.
"Alright," he said, pushing up, then moving back to sit on his heels, reaching behind his back to pull up the shirt, exposing more of his perfect skin, his scars, his ink, to her greedy eyes. He had barely tossed the material to the side before she was folding upward and running her hands from the waistband of his jeans and up, letting her fingers settle into the deep etches of his muscles which twitched under her touch. "Better?" he asked, smile devilish when she angled her head up to look at him.
As an answer, her hands trailed back downward, moving to the button and zip of his pants, undoing them with hands that felt clumsy.
"Nuh-uh," he said, hand resting on top of hers when she tried to reach inside to find his cock, needing him to fill the sudden hollowness she felt deep inside.
"We can go slow the next time," she declared, frustrated beyond words, every inch of her screaming with the need for release.
His hands moved to the outsides of her thighs, moving leisurely up and down, like he wasn't half-dying of need like she was, even though she had felt just how much he needed it too.
"Hands up," he said on a low rumble as his fingers snagged the edge of her shirt, slowly dragging it upward. "Fuck," he groaned when the material was tossed to join his in a haphazard, forgotten pile on the floor.
Taking her cue from his reaction, she slowly lowered herself down, giving him a better view, arching her back slightly. His gorgeous green eyes went to her chest as his hands moved to his jeans, pushing them and his boxer briefs down. He hopped off the edge of the bed as her breath sucked inward as his cock came into view for the first time - hard and thick and promising complete fulfillment.
His hands went to her thighs again, working upward until they got to the waistband, sinking in slightly to pull the material of them and her panties down, exposing her completely.
And all she could think was: thank God!
She was going to get what she needed.
Except, she wasn't.
At least not yet.
Because there were his fingers again, chastely tracing up her thighs.
"Enzo, please," she whimpered when his fingers ran from hip to hip, dipping down slightly to touch the triangle above her sex, but never touching her even close to where she truly needed him.
"Love the sound of you begging, honey. But I'm enjoying the fuck out of torturing you," he declared, but then his middle finger dipped low, stroking up her slick cleft, and pressing into her clit, making her let out a surprised whimper.
But that was it.
Just one teasing touch.
Her eyes lowered, finding his cock, a bead of pre-cum invitingly at the head.
And she realized that two could play the teasing game.
She folded upward again, putting her face into his chest. Her tongue moved out to trace downward as she moved to give her better access while she started a path downward.
"Espen..." he growled, voice full of warning.
But she wasn't listening to anything but the pull inside that said she needed to taste him, she needed to drive him as crazy as she was, she needed him at the edge. She needed him to free fall over it.
She needed him to lose control.
Her tongue moved out and swiped over the head, lapping up the precum with a low groan, her tongue stroking over the velvety-soft skin of his cock before her lips widened to take him in, wasting no time, playing no games, sucking him deep.
His hand slammed down on her head, fingers curling into her hair as he let out a hiss.
She worked him hard, fast, unrelenting, somehow getting his cock even harder as she sucked him deep, one of her hands moving down to cup his balls as his hips started to rock into her welcoming mouth.
"Fuck, okay," he growled, grabbing the back of her hair, pulling back almost violently, making her lose his cock, while the sting of pain across her scalp somehow sent another, stronger surge of desire through her system. "My turn," he declared as he suddenly jumped off the end of the bed, lowering himself down as he grabbed her thighs, and dragged her to the edge.
He coaxed her legs over his shoulders as he pressed her thighs wide, then surged forward.
His tongue raked up her slit, up and around the clit without making direct contact, making the need become a positively painful thing, the pressure on her lower stomach so strong that she was sure that if she didn't come soon, she was going to simply shatter apart.
His tongue curled and plunged inside her wet pussy without warning, making her hips jerk up toward him as he started thrusting, the sensation something like overload to her system, blocking out every other sense but the one he was giving her.
Then and only then did his hand move upward, his thumb pressing into her clit.
And that was it.
The orgasm ripped violently through her system, making her entire body arch and stiffen at the first waves, her voice caught in her throat for that suspended nothingness of that initial, deep, strong pulsation.
But then she was crying out as the waves kept crashing, as they seemed to spread out from where Enzo was still thrusting inside her, still stroking her clit, dragging it out, and taking over every inch of her skin until when she came down, every bit of her felt sparking and electric.
His tongue slid out of her and his thumb left her clit as his hands sank into her hips, pushing her back toward the center of the bed. His lips pressed into the triangle above her sex and moved a slow path upward as she slowly came back down inside her body again.
His tongue moved across the undersides of her breasts before tracing soft, sweet, impossibly gentle circles around her hardened peaks.
She had a moment to think as his face nestled between the swells for a short moment, how odd it was that a man as large as he, with a dark and checkered and angry past, could be so soft, so sweet, so... loving.
His body shifted, moving in between her legs, his cock pressing into her inner thigh, so so close to where the need was building again, making her belly do a strange wobbly thing she wasn't sure she had ever felt before, wouldn't know it for what it was even if she had.
In that moment, though, she had a sneaking suspicion it had nothing to do with the wetness she felt between her thighs again, or the pressure on her lower stomach, or the thrumming of her heartbeat, or the unevenness of her breathing.
No.
This was something else entirely.
Something deeper.
Something that wasn't about the hollow sensation that was bodies needing bodies for fulfillment.
This was something that settled deep in her chest, a weighted, but pleasant sensation that suddenly made the urgency ease, made her enjoy each brush of lip, teeth, tongue, and stubble, that made her arms and legs seek to wrap him up and hold him tightly to her.
As he reached to the side to find then slide on a condom, as his lips sealed over hers, as his body shifted, then - finally - as his cock slid gently forward, claiming every inch of her with an excruciating pleasure, she was pretty sure she had an idea of what it was.
But it was too soon for that, right?
It certainly seemed too soon.
Especially for someone like her, someone who maybe had never even felt an inkling of such feelings before.
And Enzo was not the kind of guy she should have been having them for, right? He was all wrong. He was too laid back, too giving, too good. She would trample a guy like that. She would make him miserable. She would let herself fall, only to get crushed when he got sick of being pricked by her thorns, got a concussion from slamming his head up against her guards.
"Espen," Enzo's voice called, sounding almost from far away, making her jerk, and realize she had been completely zoned out. Her eyes snapped to his, finding them slightly worried. His cock was still inside her, buried deep, but she realized right that second that she had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't even really been feeling him, so the sensation of fullness was almost surprising, making her muscles tighten around him involuntarily. "Where are you?" he asked, looking almost concerned.
"Right here," she said, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile as her hands slid down his back to settle on his hips, sinking in.
"Where were you then? Because, honey, when I'm inside a woman, I can tell when she isn't here with me."
"I was just... thinking," she admitted, shaking her head at her own stupidity.
"About?"
She let out a laugh/snort hybrid, smiling a little. "This isn't the time for talking."
He pulled back slightly, then thrust forward again, making her moan and writhe beneath him. "I think this is the perfect time. You're more likely to be honest with me. Especially when I control," he started, withdrawing, then slamming in again, smiling when she cried out, "yeah, that. I control that. And you want that. So you're going to tell me," he informed her, his face turning into her neck.
Her fingers raked across his skin when he again stilled inside her. She knew he was every bit as fucking stubborn as she was, that he was intent on winning. And, in this case, she knew that by losing, she was also winning in a way.
"We shouldn't be doing this," she blurted out, it only being a small part of the overall truth. His raised brow was all she needed to know that he simply wasn't buying that. They had, after all, been there and talked about and tried to fight that. "I shouldn't be feeling like this," she admitted instead, looking away, knowing the vulnerability was in her eyes, and not ready to share that quite yet.
"Like this?" he asked, voice heavy with meaning, but he emphasized it with another deep forward stroke, making her eyes shoot to his.
She saw the weight there, the promise that the conversation wasn't over, but that he knew this wasn't the time after all, now that he knew what was really going on.
"No, I should definitely be feeling like this," she countered, her legs tightening so she could move her hips up against him.
"Thought so," he agreed, sealing his lips to hers, cutting off any other comment.
Of which she had none.
Unless the whimpers that became moans that became near screams counted.
His pace stayed frustratingly slow, driving her up gently, his lips taking hers, his eyes watching her.
Dare she even think it?
He was making love to her.
She had had sex before; she'd screwed around; she'd fucked.
She'd never done anything even remotely close to making love.
It made those feelings deep within her spread until they were too strong to deny anymore.
So as his hand slid between them to softly work her clit, as his cock pressed home again, as the deep, intense, borderline painful orgasm overtook her, she was also acutely aware of another thing.
She was falling for him.