Phoebe

This morning, I found Carrie lying awake when I got up, probably because she went to bed so early last night. After helping her to the bathroom and wiping her face down with a wash cloth, I put her back to bed where she was still lying when Alexander knocked on the door.

He filled the whole damn door frame, standing in sweat pants and a T-shirt, carrying a McDonald’s bag.

“I brought Egg McMuffins,” he announced and carried them through the door.

How he knew they were Carrie’s favorite, I have no idea. She is a kid, after all; maybe he just guessed.

As I drive home after my shift, I suck in a breath. His car is parked outside his rental and there’s no sign of any reporters or anything. The story is probably cold by now.

Something is bugging me. I’ve been training myself for years to listen to my instincts, to trust my gut reactions to things. Ignoring that could get me killed. Traffic stops are still dangerous. I’ve had someone try to run me down twice, and once I searched someone passing through town and busted them for heroin and an illegal pistol.

So when my gut tells me there’s something funny going on around my house, I listen to it. I circle the block twice, trying to find the source of the itching on the back of my neck.

When I pull out of my driveway and step out, I find it. As I slap the Tahoe’s door closed, an orange Volkswagen hatchback, parked up the street, starts up and pulls away, rolling down my block.

I wave, but the driver doesn’t spare me a glance. My cop eye takes in all the details. The plate number, make and model of the car, and her description. She’s skinny, has mousy hair in a ponytail, and wears oversized glasses. She never once looks at me even though I’m a cop in uniform and I am very pointedly looking at her drive by, following her down the street with a turn of my head.

I chew my lip for a moment, thinking. Her plate number and the make and model go in my notebook, just in case. She doesn’t live on this block, and I’ve never seen her before in town. Ohio plates.

Probably nothing, but it pays to be alert.

In the house, I find Alexander sitting on my couch, half asleep with his chin drooped onto his chest. He perks up when he sees me.

An inviting scent wafts from the kitchen, and my stomach rumbles. Loudly. A blush heats my cheeks as Alexander smiles at me.

“Hungry?”

“Long day and I skipped lunch.”

“Go get changed and we’ll eat. I’ll help Carrie down the stairs.”

I’m halfway up the stairs before I realize that he doesn’t tell me what to do, but by then it’s too late to snap at him. Resigned, I stop in my daughter’s room first.

“Hi, honey.”

She looks up from her book. “Hi, Mom.”

“How are you feeling?”

“It hurts,” she says. “Feels better today.”

“No school tomorrow, either.”

“I’m bored.” She pouts. Hard.

“Tomorrow you can sit in the living room. We need to make sure you heal up right. Almost dinnertime. Let me change and I’ll get you downstairs to eat.”

By the time I’ve slipped out of my uniform, put up my gear, and changed into something comfortable, Carrie is halfway down the steps, leaning on the wall. I rush down and take her arm and steady her when she reaches the bottom.

Alexander spots her, walks over, and sighs.

“What did I say, kiddo?”

She looks abashed. “I don’t want to lay around all the time.”

He picks her up and sets her on the couch.

“You need to rest so your foot gets better. Sometimes you have to do something you don’t want now, so you can do something you want later.”

“Okay,” Carrie sighs.

“Help me out in the kitchen, Phoebe,” Alexander says.

I bristle a little at him giving me a command in my own house, but I follow him anyway. He’s got stew bubbling in a pot on the stove, rolls in the oven, and by the looks of things, he made it all himself.

“You really cook like this at home.”

“I don’t exercise every minute of the day. During the season, I make it in bulk and stick to simple shit. Rest of the year, I like to cook.”

“Where did you learn?”

“My mom.”

I nod. “What is this?”

“Beef and barley stew with vegetables.”

“Carrie hates vegetables.”

“She said she’d try it if I puree them. Let’s eat on the couch.”

He ladles out big bowls of the stew and puts them on plates with the rolls. It all smells so good. My mouth actually starts to water, and my stomach growls angrily. The blush is even hotter this time. Alexander smirks at me and carries out a tray to rest on Carrie’s lap.

He sits on the floor. I scoot to the middle of the couch and pat the side where I usually sit.

Alexander takes my spot and the way he sinks in makes me fall against his side. I can feel him breathing, his massive body expanding with every breath.

Carrie’s eyes light up when she tastes the stew. She eats hungrily, pounding down a second bowl after she empties the first.

Alexander grins proudly. “So you like it, huh?”

She nods, vigorously, then burps. Loudly.

I suppress a laugh, and try to scowl at her, but I ruffle her hair instead and put my arm around her shoulders. She leans against me and I sink into the couch, warm and surrounded.

Alexander lays his arm across the back and my head falls against the crook of his elbow.

I freeze. So does he. I feel him holding his breath, wondering what I’ll do next.

His skin is warm, and he has an earthy, manly smell I haven’t known in a long time. The feel of another person’s skin, a man’s skin, is so far gone from me, I forgot I ever knew what it felt like.

Alexander shifts his arm down a little, until he has it around my shoulders. I should say something, but I’m pressed into his side, overwhelmed by his heat and scent and sheer size.

Carrie starts to snore, then abruptly pops her head up.

“Can I go back upstairs now?” she says and yawns.

“Yeah,” I say, shaking loose of Alexander. “Come on.”

I help her up the stairs and into the bed and sit with her a minute.

“Alex likes you,” she says.

“I can tell.”

“I mean like, like,” she says in a soft, conspiratorial tone.

“Did he say something,” I ask, anger bubbling up in my voice. If he thinks recruiting my kid will help him into my pants…

“Nah, uh. He didn’t say anything about you all day. Promise.” She’s telling the truth. I just know.

“What did he say?”

“He told me stories. About football.”

“I’m sure you loved that.”

She nods vigorously. “I’m bored, Mom. When can I go back to school?”

“We’ll see where you are tomorrow, and if you’re ready, you can go on Friday, okay?”

She nods. “Okay.”

“Get some sleep. Sleep will heal you up so you can walk again.”

I kiss her lightly on the forehead and turn off her light. It’s early, but she’ll be out like a light. After that stew, I don’t know how anyone could stay awake.

Alexander is still on my couch. I sit beside him. He looks at me and his arm shifts on the back of the couch. His fingers brush my shoulder. My heart starts to speed up.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this. The anticipation, the quiver in my stomach, the light feeling in my limbs. The sense of him next to me in all his hugeness.

I’m trying to watch television. Why am I not throwing him out of my house? I can’t stop thinking about how big he is, about the body under that T-shirt. When I glance at him, I can see the outline of his muscles. The soft worn fabric clings to his chest as he breathes, bunches up around his arms and under his huge shoulders.

Then I realize he’s looking at me the same way. I shiver, like I’m just waking up and I stepped into cold water. He’s trying to look like he’s watching TV, but his eyes are all over my body. All at once, I become conscious of the way my shirt is pulled tightly across my chest, and the shorts I chose for lounging around leave my legs bare.

Oh my God, I’m full on staring at him now. I keep looking down, my eyes sliding down his hard flat stomach to the bulge between his legs. His hand slides down between my back and the couch, and his palm settles on my hip.

Alexander pulls me close against his body, and leans over. He’s so much bigger than I am that I look up at him seated next to me on the couch. I crane my neck back as his face fills my vision and his breath tickles my lips.

He kisses me. Softly, tenderly, too gently for a giant, like he’s afraid to press too hard.

I press into him hungrily, tasting him. His eyes shoot open when I suck on his tongue. Alexander locks his arms around me, lifts me bodily from my seat on the couch, and drops me on his lap. His huge arms wrap around me, binding me to his chest. I twist and shift until I’m straddling him, heat throbbing between my legs as I grind on his stomach.

His big hand cups the back of my head and holds me still, and he kisses me harder this time. Heat floods my flesh, dances a fluttering beat in my chest, throbs in my loins.

I push down, pressing my ass between his thighs, and I feel him hardening. His cock is already huge to begin with and gets bigger with every beat of his heart, stiffening with every throb until it’s so hard, it feels like he could just thrust right through our clothes into my body.

His mouth is hot on my throat, his hands rough and warm on my skin. One skims up under my top, the other into my shorts, gliding over my ass. He growls when he squeezes my rump, like an animal in heat. Alex’s stomach tenses and I feel little involuntary thrusts shaking his body, grinding his cock against me.

I want it. I want him. I want to get fucked. Hard.

He turns and drops me on the couch and when he pins me down, a wild thrill runs through my body. I squirm but he wraps his arms around me and kisses me, lying on top of me with one foot on the floor. I wrap my legs around his waist and squeeze, pulling him into my body. If we didn’t have clothes in the way, he’d be inside me. His thumb flicks my nipple and I cry out into his mouth. He swallows the sound.

I shove my hand down his sweats and grab his cock. God, it’s huge. The thought of taking him almost scares me, but I’m so excited, I can’t help it. I stroke him, fingering the waistband of my shorts as if I’m going to pull them down. No, I’m almost pulling them down.

Then he jerks my hand away from him and pins them both to my sides. He lets go and yanks my shorts down. My bare ass presses into the couch, and my heart wants to explode out of my chest with every beat.

He’s going to do it, he’s going to fuck me now, do it, do it…

Alexander shoves my top up, baring my breasts. I arch my back as he takes my nipple into his mouth. I roll and pop my hips, silently begging him to take me, fill me, tame me.

“Please,” I beg him.

He rises, and I feel his stomach slide against mine. He’s so big.

“I have to tell you something,” he whispers in my ear. “It might scare you.”

“Tell me.”

“If you fuck me, you give up control. You don’t tell me what to do. I decide when you get my cock. I decide when you come. You’re mine or you get nothing.”

I swallow hard. I should be angry. I shouldn’t want some man commanding me, ordering me around, treating me like I’m begging for a cookie, but… fucking hell, that turns me on.

“I’m the boss. You just let go. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you.

I press my lips shut, and he sucks my nipple, hard. I groan and buck under him, my hands running up his sides. I try to grab his cock again but he takes my wrists and pins them down as he works down my stomach, leaving a hot trail of kisses across my flesh until I feel like I’m boiling from the inside out.

His lips brush my mound and I make a hungry, almost animal sound of desire. Yes. Please. Please.

He sits up suddenly and I start to talk, but he presses his finger to my lip to silence me. The look on his face when I suck on the tip sends a thrill up my spine. He could smash the couch fucking me and I’d love every minute of it.

Alexander slips his hands under my armpits, lifts me bodily from the couch, and slides me up so my head falls on the arm. He grabs one leg and throws it over his shoulder, and the other falls off the edge. His hands cup my ass, and he dives down and drags his tongue over my pussy.

I arch back and clench my teeth to hold in the sound. I can’t be too loud. I can’t make any noise at all. His mouth is so hot and I am so wet. He teases my entrance with his tongue and kisses my lips, licks my thighs and squeezes my ass in his hands.

My eyes flick open as his finger sinks into my body. I melt into the couch, all the strength flowing out of my muscles as he gently pumps his finger inside me and works my clit with his tongue in slow, undulating motions, the pressure and heat building my excitement with every stroke.

Oh God. I test him by touching his head, and when he licks me harder I knot my fingers in his hair. He pumps faster with his finger, his tongue moving harder, faster, his eyes locked on me. With a squirm and a pant and a gasp, moans catch in my throat as I fight to stay quiet.

My eyes shoot open as the pleasure builds. I feel it coming, like it hasn’t in a long, long time. It’s going to be a big one. I clap my hands over my mouth, knowing it’s the only way I will hold it in.

It’s still hard to stifle the cry. It’s like an explosion, a sudden burst of heat and cool blasting through my body in waves. I grip his head with my thighs and quiver and struggle with myself. Shocks flicker down my legs and rise through my body. I feel like I’m drifting, being carried away by an all-powerful current.

Alexander rises from between my legs and I see his cock hard in his pants and I want him so badly, I want to come and come and come until I can’t breathe. Take me, fill me. Please.

I offer myself to him in silence but he doesn’t take me. He pulls my shorts up to my waist and tucks my top back down, and pulls me up from the couch. I fall against him and he kisses me, hard, his hands roaming over my body. I’m so sensitive, his touch is almost painful, but it only grows the lust flaring in my chest.

I grasp at him but again he takes my wrists and stops me. His hands are so huge and powerful, but his touch is delicate, especially when he caresses my palms with his thumbs.

“You want more?”

I nod, vigorously.

“Let me take you out.”

I tug at my hands, trying to free them. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“You can. I know you want to. I think you’d do just about anything I asked right now.”

God, I would. Any disgusting thing, I’d do it. Anything he wants, he could just use me that way. I give him a pleading look, begging him to finish what he started. I need more.

“Go out with me. Dinner. Just you and me.”

I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t, it’s a terrible idea, but I have a history of terrible ideas, don’t I?

No, he’s not like that, is he?

I stare at this man and try to decide whether he’s good, or just a good lay. Whether he’s playing me or he’s genuine.

He answers the question for me by brushing my cheek with the tips of his fingers, so gently. He takes me by the arm and the back of my neck and kisses me, firmly but gently this time, denying my attempts to deepen the kiss and draw him back down to the couch to take him inside me. I know how badly he wants it. I can feel the strain in his cock when I caress it through his pants.

“Make arrangements for a sitter. I’ll pick you up at six o’clock. I mean it.”

I bite my lip. Then I nod. “Okay.”

He kisses my forehead and then leaves my home, pulling my door shut behind him. I lean forward on it, my nose against the wood, trying to will my heart to slow down.

The woman in the mirror hanging by the door is sweaty and disheveled, her clothes askew and her face flushed. I can’t let Carrie see me like this. On aching, trembling legs, I trudge upstairs, turn on the water, and get in a shower so hot I can barely stand it, but that only makes it worse, so I turn the water cold until my teeth chatter.

Returning to my bedroom feels like a dream. I wrap up in towels and lie on my bed until I finally catch my breath, then pull on some pajamas and slip over to check on Carrie. She’s fast asleep, a book propped on her chest.

I smile to myself and lean against the door, watching her sleep. I still have to check, almost every night, to make sure she’s still breathing.

When I’m satisfied, I return to my bedroom.

Unsatisfied.

I walk to my window and look, hoping to see him again, but his room is dark. He must be asleep. I wonder if he’s touching himself and thinking about me. I want him so much, it hurts, an ache in my bones. How will I even make it until Friday?

Sleep is a dream that never comes. I roll around in bed for a few hours and end up staring at the ceiling, thinking of all the reasons I shouldn’t go anywhere near him, and finding an excuse to ignore them all. It’s Carrie’s alarm clock that wakes me.

“I’ll get you breakfast,” I tell her.

“I want to go downstairs.”

“Okay, let’s see how you do.”

I support her as she hobbles down on one foot, leaning on me. She drops into a chair at the dining room table and yawns as I start rummaging for something to make her.

The knock comes at the door, and I let Alexander in. He gives me a look that makes me feel like I’m going to melt into a puddle on the floor, then walks past me with a big grin on his face.

“Hey, you,” he says.

“Hi,” Carrie says.

“Who wants pancakes?”

“I do!” Carrie chirps, “Me! Me!”

He glances at me, eyebrow arched. “Want some?”

“Yeah, sure, why not.”

I try to help but he shoos me away. I sit with Carrie and wait for him to finish. He brings us both tall stacks of pancakes and bacon drizzled with maple syrup.

I could get used to this. He’s a good cook. Carrie wolfs hers down hungrily and takes a second stack with joy.

“I have to go,” I announce, sighing.

“We’ll see you when you get back,” Alexander says.

Carrie gives me a thumbs up. Her mouth is too stuffed full of pancakes to articulate her agreement.

I change into uniform and head out to the Tahoe to report in and start my shift. As I back out, I notice an unusual car.

It’s that same orange Volkswagen I saw yesterday. It’s not exactly subtle. The driver starts up the car, swings it around in a J-turn, and drives up the block.

I frown and follow, wondering if it’s worth flipping on the lights. I can’t just pull her over for sitting on the side of the road, but I can follow her. I grab my radio mic and thumb the button.

“Dispatch, this is Maguire. I’m following a suspicious vehicle. Might be in a little late for my shift.”

The radio crackles and Bill comes back.

“Take your time, sugar buns. We’re covered.”

I almost smash the mic back into its cradle and grit my teeth.

The Volkswagen, which I have now identified as a Rabbit, keeps under all speed limits and obeys all posted traffic controls and signs, so I can’t tag her for that either.

She leads me on a very slow speed and very merry chase, looping around the same streets about five times.

I flip on the lights and beep my siren. She quickly and obediently pulls to the side of the road. I step out, put on my hat, and walk up to her passenger’s side window.

She sits there staring at me like a deer in the headlights through the glass.

I make a roll-down motion with my fist.

“I can’t,” she yells through the glass. “It’s stuck.”

I frown. I give her a wide berth as I walk behind the car, closer to the Tahoe than to her bumper. Approaching her driver’s side door with slow, even steps, I don’t rest my hand on my sidearm but I keep my arm limber, ready to pull if I need to.

Something smells really wrong here.

“License and registration.”

She fishes them out of her glove box and I take the opportunity to sniff her car. I hope to find a really obnoxious weed smell so I can run her in, but it just smells like the old Burger King wrappers in the passenger’s side footwell, and body odor. She turns and sticks an envelope and her license out at me.

“Stay here,” I warn her.

I walk her papers back and hop in the Tahoe to run it all. Her name is Sarah Andrea Talbot, and she’s from Ohio. No record, no priors, nothing in the system. I sit for a while longer and type nonsense into Notepad to make it look like I’m doing something more involved before I walk back her stuff.

“Ma’am,” I ask her, without returning her paperwork. “Why were you sitting on the side of the road last night and this morning?”

“I was lost. I’m looking for someone.”

I give my hat a polite tug on the brim. “Well, I was born and bred in this town. If you need directions, I’m happy to help. Where can I direct you?”

“Oh. Um. Well, I’m looking for a person, not a place.”

“What’s their address?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you give me a name.”

The way she hesitates says yes, but I don’t want to.

I hate to do this. It offends me to my core, but sometimes it’s necessary.

I lie.

“We’ve had a complaint,” I say, trying to sound amiable. “One of the neighbors called in about your car, said you were acting suspicious. If the person you’re looking for isn’t on that street, I’m asking you to look elsewhere.”

“Oh-oh, okay,” she chirps. “Am I in trouble?”

“Not at the moment. Here,” I hand her license and ratty registration card back. “You’re free to go. On your way.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

She rolls her window up, and waits for me to get back to the Tahoe. I sit there in a low-intensity standoff with her until she decides to leave.

“What the hell?” I mutter to myself.