"Driver picks the music..."

“Why’s that?” you asked.

“Safer than the ground floor,” he said, humming in pleasure as he inhaled your perfume. “That’s nice. What’s that, Burberry?”

“Yves Saint Laurent,” you replied, smiling harder, trying not to. 

“Fancy,” he murmured against your skin. 

“It was a birthday gift.”

He wondered if your ex, Sergeant Perfect, was the one to get it for you. But he realized that it didn’t matter. Mark had a hold of you now, and he didn’t feel inclined to let go.

His presence still burned at your back when you stopped to unlock the door of unit 315. You led him inside, where he took in the small, but breathable surroundings of your apartment. It opened up right into the living room, with the dining room and kitchen to the far right, and a narrow hall straight ahead.

“Hmm, nice place,” he remarked, but he was soon distracted by your grasping hands guiding him down to you by his jacket, with you leaning up to catch him in a heated kiss. He fell into the pull of you all too willingly. He held you flush against him, letting his hands wander down your back. He squeezed the plush of your ass and groaned at the give. 

Meanwhile, your fingers were running through his hair, but they clenched tight on reflex when he bent down to grab you up by your thighs. A squeal escaped you, accompanied by a rare giggle once you realized what he was doing. His answering grin was cocky and familiar, but you just grabbed his face and plundered his mouth—a sensuous duet of lips and tongue, but fraught with a thrilling heat.

You helped him shrug out of his jacket first, then yours. They created their own pile on your living room floor before he walked you through your apartment. 

“Which way?” he asked. He didn’t give a fuck if you said bedroom, closet, or bathroom tub. He’d make it work. 

“First left,” you panted. 

He held onto you impressively with one arm to open the door, finding the one and only bedroom. Of course he had plans of his own when he plopped you down on the edge of the bed, but as you discovered, it put you at the perfect level to unbuckle his belt. He stripped off his shirt from the back of his collar, a sleeve almost catching on his watch in his haste.

He helped you with your silky little blouse next. His eyes darkened at the sight of your black lace bra holding up your perfect tits. He could already tell they’d give him a nice handful each.

He had to marvel at the way you popped open the button on his jeans and worked them down so readily. He supposed he shouldn’t have had any doubts about your intentions after your behavior in the car, with that little two-finger tap dance across his inner thigh that almost made him crash into a Yield sign.

But there was teasing, and then there was taking his hard cock in your mouth, where you were warm and wet and salivating like you couldn’t wait to choke on it.

His body almost buckled. “Jesus…”

His hand flew to your shoulder, then into your hair, tangling tight around the strands as you worked him into deep and smooth strokes. Already you were doing your goddamn best.

His jeans and boxers were barely halfway down his legs, coiled somewhere around his knees. You pushed them down a little more, so your free hand had more room to slide even further back, gently cupping and massaging his balls. A shuttered groan was knocked out of him at the sensation. But it was a steely resolve that kept his hips to a minimal rocking to try and match your rhythm, instead of bucking hard into your mouth and choking you for real. His fingers did tighten in your hair though, making you wince.

Your lips tightened on his shaft as you slowly pulled back, with purpose, sucking the pearling precum out of the head of his dick. His stomach muscles clenched as half a shudder went through him. His heart pattered like a steel drum in his chest.

“Fuck, sweetheart, have a little mercy,” he chuckled roughly.

Your smile was cheeky at best, devious at worst.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re flagging already,” you said.

Mark raised a brow. He would be remiss if he didn’t take you up on that little challenge. With a hmph, as he helped you back up to your feet, just so he could lure you into a devouring kiss. It was pure heat as he held you flush against him, your pretty lace bra scraping against his chest. But it was also distraction, allowing him to maneuver you where he wanted you on the bed: breathless on your back.

He kicked off his remaining clothes, though he prided himself on remembering a condom you gave him from his wallet, soon discarded again with his jeans. He shook the little foil packet at you in amusement before he fitted himself with its contents.

But he had to stop short once he helped you peel off your jeans. A slow smirk took control of his face when he fingered the familiar hem of your panties, silky and violet.

“These look even sexier now than the day we met,” he teased. “Nice of you to model ‘em for me.”

“I thought you might appreciate that,” you said, rubbing his arms as he climbed back up your body to kiss you. His arms were a cage you didn’t want to escape; you arched against his chest so he could successfully fiddle with your bra, yanking the clasps open with a practiced hand. You tried not to think of exactly how much practice, or let your brain fall back into overthinking, like wondering if he was serious about more than just wanting you.

You couldn’t deny that you wanted him too. Maybe tonight, that was enough.

The way he was kissing and sucking your tits was certainly good enough. His teeth grazed the firm peaks, making you moan and grab onto his hair tightly, your thighs wrapping around his hips. The rigid length of him pressed against your clothed pussy with blinding friction. It had him painfully, distractingly hard, but the way your knees squeezed his hips reminded him that he had work to do.

He kissed his way from your breasts down past your navel, where your legs spread wider, enough to accommodate his broad shoulders. His hand smoothly traveled up your thigh and squeezed soft flesh. Your breathing deepened just in anticipation as his lips blazed a trail along the inside of your knee, your thigh, nipping with teeth just shy of your pussy.

“Mark,” you gasped, laughing a little. “Jesus…”

“Oh, don’t flinch now, baby. We’re just getting started,” he said. And thumbed at the darkened wet spot through your panties.

His smile was incorrigible, but worse was the way he slowly dragged your panties down your thighs. Once they reached as far as they would go without him moving out of the way, he yanked the flimsy silk, making your mouth drop open in shock and your heart stutter. The fabric burned and your pussy throbbed with another flood of arousal.

He pacified you with his fingers slipping through the slick mess of your folds and quickly finding your clit. Your hips raised somewhat off the bed as you breathed into the delicious pleasure. Your hand came up over your head to grab onto your pillow, your other hand fisting the sheets.

“Good angle?” he teased.

“You’re gonna buy me new panties,” you uttered, but your sultry moan only stroked his ego.

“Hell, I’ll buy you a whole matching set,” he said, “long as I get a live preview.”

He grabbed another pillow to wedge underneath your hips, as if preparing you on a platter for his next meal.

Then he dove in, finally making better use of his mouth by tongue-stroking your clit. His fingers worked themselves inside your aching channel, then curling those long digits inside your inner walls. He hummed low in pleasure at the taste of you, making you blush and tangle your fingers back into his silky hair instead of the sheets. You felt the deep vibration of his voice against your clit, and it had you seeing brittle stars.

Mark was nothing if not a puzzle-solver, a true analyst, trying to figure out which angle you responded to more, which side of your clit was more sensitive, what kind of pressure would have only his name on your lips as you fell apart.

He knew he found it when your nails raked across his scalp, your body shuddering against him as you uttered a broken cry. “Mark.”

“That’s right, baby, come all fucking over me,” he muttered. But his fingers slipped out of you, so that he could grab your thighs and rip the pillow from underneath you. Just like the fucking panties, it was now in his goddamn way.

His cock sunk into you while you were still tinging from your first orgasm. Hell, it still felt like you were coming. Or it could’ve been just the feeling of him stretching your inner walls as they fluttered around him, welcoming him inside.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed, grasping onto his shoulders desperately.

He didn’t give you any time to recover. He started moving, a steady roll of his hips that stole your breath and had you clinging to his neck with biting nails and a dirty kiss. His breathing was labored too, but not because he was anywhere near done with you.

He grabbed onto the headboard and curled an arm around you, kissing you back hard enough to still taste cinnamon sugar and tequila.

“Harder,” you said against his lips, yanking on the longer strands of his hair for good measure.

A deep and guttural moan came from his throat. You really were his kind of woman.

But he still asked, “Fuck, you sure?”

You nodded, panting as you slipped your fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, make it fucking count,” you said.

He met your gaze, and for a moment, he didn’t even know what he saw in your eyes.

After another steamy kiss that knocked all coherent thought out of his head, and yours, he pulled out of you just to turn you over, guiding you onto your hands and knees. He realigned himself flush against your ass, giving both cheeks a firm squeeze as he sunk back inside you to the hilt. Your heady moan, and the way you squeezed on him on reentry, nearly undid him right there. Jesus fuck…

He slowly regained his rhythm and the leverage he had with a white-knuckle grip on the headboard. He held you to him too, heeding your guiding hand to squeeze one of your tits, rolling the sensitive bud of your nipple between his fingers. Your mouth fell open as your breaths fell out in time with his thrusts. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to feel his power.

Your arms were shaking, even with his support. He let you sink forward and rest your forehead on your arms, with a needy whimper as it deepened the angle.

His cock pulsed a warning inside you. It was getting harder to wait for you to come with him, but he could feel your legs quaking, your inner walls tightening around his cock, sucking him in as you finally mounted the crest of a new wave.

“You almost there, baby?” he said, nodding to himself when all you could answer was a high moan. His hand tightened on your hip. “Yeah, I fucking feel it…”

He reached around and guided your hand down between your legs. “Play with yourself. Stroke that clit the same way I did with my fucking tongue.”

You nodded, rubbing your swollen clit with trembling fingers. Combined with the feeling of his cock hitting that most sensitive place inside, it was almost too much. But it was also just fucking right. Your vision flashed, a cry forcing itself from your lungs.

Grabbing a fist full of your hair for his own stability, Mark finally allowed himself to let go along with you. His ragged shout echoed sharply in the room as he spent himself into the condom. You shuddered against him, heaving for breath as you clawed back up the headboard. His fingers freed themselves from your hair to smooth it down instead. He held you to him without collapsing on you, leaning heavily on the bedframe instead. His arm shook.

He chuckled as he tried to regain his breath. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh,” you replied airily, squeezing his arm as your head rested on his shoulder. “Good job.”

Another laugh huffed out of him.

“That’s my line, sweetheart,” he said, pressing his lips to your neck.

You were nearly boneless as he lowered you back down to the bed. You felt the loss of his cock keenly when he withdrew. Jesus, he’s fucking big.

You slowly managed to turn on your side so you could see his face. You smiled, and you leaned in to kiss him. 

It was gentler than he expected, but it was nice.

You laid your head in the crook of his shoulder. His pointer and middle finger stroked your arm back and forth while you both just breathed and existed there. The low hum of the AC kicked on just in time. The ceiling fan occasionally clicked as it spun. Distant sirens. Quiet slipped into the spaces where heartbeats fell. Warm lamplight and stillness.

After a while, you turned your head and scooted back a little, so you could meet his eyes, see the dewy sheen across his forehead.

“Was I worth the wait?” you asked cheekily. 

Amusement curved his lips. “For that, I would’ve waited a goddamn year.” 

You burst out laughing. “You’re so full of shit.”

He smirked. But your mirth faded the longer you considered him. 

He clocked the shift. It was hard not to, when you were laid out right in front of him, your body bare, and a few more layers stripped back too.

“Now what’re you thinking?” he asked. “I can see your gears turning.”

You took a deep breath before you answered, reaching out to stroke his cheek. His beard prickled your fingertips.

“Wondering if you’re going to be the guy who dips out before goodnight, or at least stays for the morning sex,” you said. And actually calls me after…

He got to smiling again. “So far I like the sound of the overnight package.” 

You bit your lip against another laugh, shaking your head. Your hand fell to his chest, hesitating there.

Against all prior evidence, Mark defied your expectations by settling into your bed, into this. He kissed you slowly. 

You breathed into it and allowed it to settle inside you, even after he pulled back.

“I’m looking forward to waking you up in the morning,” he said.

Your small, pleased smile told him he made the right choice. 

The sun had climbed halfway up the sky by the time Mark kept his word and woke you. A slow Saturday morning of warm skin on skin, his mouth mapping every inch his hands had the night before. Your upstairs neighbor was going to remember Mark’s name, layered on the walls in lusty sighs and sharp gasps. 

But after a shared shower and a ham and egg scramble with some particularly delectable homemade sourdough, he started to get his things together to head home. A thought occurred to him as he grabbed his wallet from under your bed, along with his keys.

This was the longest he’d spent with a woman in over a year.

No more UC for a while.

Even before then, Mark knew his track record. But he wasn’t exactly itching to leave this time. Maybe it really had been too long since he had a night that fucking good.

Or maybe the prospect of going home to an empty apartment, with little else besides a case of beer and more case files, was losing its luster.

Regardless, Mark pushed past the reluctance in his steps as his keys jangled in his hand. 

You followed him to the door in your loose pajamas and wild, sexy bedhead. It had him contemplating another serving of you for the road, but he limited himself to a slow kiss goodbye.

“See you soon,” he said with smile. 

You gave him one back. “Be careful out there.”

He shot you a wink. “Always.”

You snorted. “Somehow I doubt that.”

After you spent an extra few seconds watching him head down the hall, you shut the door and locked it behind him. Your fingers went to your lips as you contemplated the night’s decisions, as well as the morning’s surprises—mainly his mouth, and the fact that he’d stayed even longer than sharing a cup of coffee with you.

You cooked him breakfast. You two talked and laughed and relived yesterday’s moment that Officer “Tight Ass” Vance pulled Mark over in the middle of the desert. Mark later used your lavender soap in the shower, teasing the bar down your spine before he fucked you against the tile wall. 

If you were honest, you were a little disappointed that he didn’t mention even the obligatory “let’s do this again sometime.” But you also knew better than to try and lock this man into anything. You gave him a chance to be more than what you expected, so now, you’d just have to wait and see if he’d take it.

You were just settling down on the couch with a book when your phone buzzed with a call. You smiled, and you answered. 

“Forget something?” you asked.

“Actually yeah,” Mark said on the line. “What’re you doing on Monday after work? I’ve already got an idea on where to take you on date number 2.” 

You were glad he couldn’t see how embarrassingly girlish your smile was. You’d probably have to smother his satisfied smirk—with any means necessary. 

“6:00 p.m. works for me,” you said.

You and Mark spent your Sundays very differently. You had brunch with Sarah and tidied up your apartment (as if you hadn’t done that overhaul the night before Mark came over). Afterward, you filled out a few more job applications while you were still waiting to hear back from the District Attorney’s office.

Meanwhile, Mark did his usual workout routine in the morning, followed by a protein bar breakfast and a nosedive back into his open cases from his work laptop. That was later accompanied by a frozen pizza and a couple of beers he un-crusted from the back of his fridge, before he passed out that night.

On Monday morning, he went in for work by 7:30 a.m. as usual. Already people were trickling into the bullpen of the Homicide division, and the Captain had his office door open. It was like he was waiting to hear Mark’s boots cross the threshold, because his gaze slid up and zeroed in on the detective.

“Meachum,” Dan called out.

Mark inhaled deeply. Here we fucking go.

 He dumped his work bag on his desk and made his way to the Captain’s office.

“Shut the door,” Dan said.

Mark obliged him, then followed the other man’s gesturing hand to sit in one of the free chairs in front of the desk.

“Something’s been brought to my attention, but I prefer to hear it from the horse’s mouth,” Dan began, folding his hands in front of him. “Now, man to man. Did you go against my direct order to stay away from my daughter?”

Mark quirked his head. “Well, news does get to you quick. Guess I gotta send Vance an Edible Arrangement or something.”

“Answer my question,” Dan said. He was calm, deceptively so.

Mark knew he was taking his ass into his hands, but he wasn’t lying to you when he said he respected your father. He wouldn’t lie now, especially because that wouldn’t help him with you in the long run.

“I don’t think I have to tell you that she has a mind of her own, sir,” he pointed out.

Dan snorted in response. Then, he took in a deep breath of contemplation. 

“You in particular have amassed a reputation in this office, both professionally and…socially. While you know damn well that I’ve gone to bat for you on the former, I usually don’t have the time or the patience to make another man’s personal business my business,” he said. “However, in this case, you better tread very carefully. She’s been burned before, and she doesn’t deserve it from you.”

Mark took in that last tidbit with a nod. “I understand, sir.”

When Dan was certain, at least for the moment, that Mark really did understand, he grabbed a few manilla folders off his desk. They were case files—thick ones.

“Hanson broke his damn foot playing pickleball with his kids over the weekend, but I trust you to pick up the slack on his cases,” Dan said, with a hint of satisfaction as he handed Mark the files. “Even if that means working overtime, maybe even a few double shifts over the next few weeks.”

A wry smile tugged at Mark’s lips. At least he’d be getting paid for it.  

“No problem, Cap.”

You loved to cook. You had a weakness for Top Chef and The Great British Bake-Off. You even had a secret dream of visiting all the Hells Kitchens in the world—even better if you got to see Gordon Ramsay lose his shit over a half-cooked rack of lamb.

But tonight, you and Sarah ordered in from your favorite Korean fried chicken spot in Oakland, getting (sugar) high on their strawberry lemonade and watching old episodes of Motel Hell. She updated you on her boyfriend’s new job while you finished making love to your last chicken wing. The honey garlic sauce was particularly fire tonight.

“It sounds like IT is a better fit for him than Sales,” you said.

“Yeah, comes with a bit of a pay cut, but it’s less soul sucking,” she said. “I just want him to be happy, but it probably means we have to downsize or rent out the second room.”

“Nooo, not my guest room,” you playfully complained. “Where am I gonna escape when Rachel tries to invade my apartment every time she has a fight with our parents.”

Sarah shook her head in amusement. “You’d think she just band up with Lauren or Yesenia and split an apartment.”

“That would mean paying the rest of her bills herself. But actually, you’ve got a good point. That would be good for her,” you said, slurping down the rest of your lemonade. You’d thrown a couple shots of tequila in for razzle dazzle. “She told me she’s dating a production assistant from that firefighter show, California Fires or something.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound right.”

“Oh shit, wait. It’s coming to me… Yeah! Fire Country. That’s the one.”

Sarah looked both impressed and approving. “I do like me a sexy firefighter.”

“A man in uniform. My fucking weakness,” you shook your head, chomping on another fry.

She slid you an amused look. “Right. First a sergeant, now a detective.”

Your lips unconsciously tugged upward. “Mark was a sergeant too. An Army Ranger.”

Sarah huffed a laugh.

“Girl, you got it bad, bad. I can smell it in your pheromones. He must’ve turned you the hell out that night,” she said, stealing a couple of your fries. You were tempted to throw one at her.

“Please, we just started seeing each other. Haven’t even gone on our second date yet,” you said. But when your phone buzzed on the table, both your gaze and Sarah’s narrowed in on Mark’s name on your caller ID.

Her smirk spoke volumes.

“Shut up,” you said, trying to beat down your smile as you answered the call. “Hey.”

“Hey, sweetheart. How’re you doin’?”

“I’m good, just having dinner with my friend Sarah. Too bad we couldn’t make it work tonight,” you replied.

“Yeah, you know I’m sorry about that too.”

He’d called you around lunch time to apologize, telling you that he’d been given a few extra cases since his coworker called out unexpectedly. You took the news in stride, even though you had to wonder if he was telling the truth just to let you down easy. He’d made up for it by making new plans with you.

“Does tomorrow at 7 still work?” you asked.

“Actually,” he said with a sigh, “this week might be a wash. It’s looking like I’m gonna need to pull a double shift tomorrow. But I’ll tell you what, let me take you out this weekend. I promise, on Melinda’s life.”

Disappointment made your shoulders sink a little, but you still tried to play it cool.

Melinda? Sarah mouthed questioningly.

His car, you replied, smiling a little.

Then you hummed. “Well, if you’re willing to stake the Bronco as collateral, then I guess I can trust you.”

“That’s right. You know I wouldn’t play with her life that.”

You heard the smile in his voice, and it was infectious.

“That’s fair. She does have a nice rack,” you said with a smirk.

His laughter echoed through the phone, making you more than a little proud of yourself.

“Well, that’s something you two have in common,” he said. The rumble of his voice was doing things to you, but you were reminded that your best friend was sat directly across from you at your small kitchen table, smirking at you.

 “SLUT,” she whispered teasingly. You did throw a fry at her this time.

“Flatterer,” you accused, both at her and Mark. “But okay, what destination you have in mind?”

“Plan to be surprised, sweetheart.”

Well, he got his wish.

“You really must be allergic to traditional dates,” you said, just before you pulled the trigger.

Click. You hit the faceless man’s right shoulder. 

“Dinner and a movie.”

Click. 

“A nice walk in the park.”

Click. 

“Brunch at the green market.”

Click-click-click.

Amused, Mark took his hearing protection off as he nodded at your aim. You managed to get all of your shots on the board at least: one in the corner, two on the right shoulder, one in the gut, one to the chest, one to the head. He wouldn’t want to run up at you in a dark alley. Not without a vest.

“I’m not exactly a brunch and mimosas guy,” he said. But he stepped in from behind to correct your grip slightly. He spoke near your ear, where you could feel his warm breath. “Good form, though I can’t help the feeling you’re imagining me on that target.”

A blush bloomed in your cheeks.

“Well, that’s what you get for taking me to a shooting range,” you said. “I’m a visual person.”

But you turned to look at him over your shoulder with a growing smile. Was this really one of his moves, the “let me fix your aim” cliché bullshit?

…And why was it kind of working on you?

“Is this your way of making sure I know how to protect myself? Because I’ve been taking self-defense lessons since I was ten years old too. My dad made sure of it,” you said, putting the safety on the gun and setting it down on the ledge. 

Mark smirked and pressed the button to wind in the target for you. 

“I’m glad to hear that. I’d be interested in a demonstration one day,” he said, patting you on the ass. You shook your head in amusement. 

He switched out the target for a new one, letting you keep yours if you wanted it. 

“Is your little sister as well-rounded as you?” he asked. 

You snorted. “Rachel has her own talents, but the gun range has never been one of them. She was more interested in theater and guys, and parties with guys.” 

“What, you weren’t interested in guys?” Mark asked.

“Sure. I just tried not to let them make me an idiot.”

He grinned. “Well, we tend to be good at that, generally speaking.”

You watched him load his gun with practiced ease. He told you it was a 9x19mm Smith & Wesson, the model used by the LAPD. It sounded impressive, and he let you feel how heavy it was compared to your little .22 pistol that you always kept in your nightstand. As a woman living alone in a dangerous city, your father hadn’t had to convince you too hard to get one.

“All right, show off your skills, Army Ranger,” you said, gesturing at the target. It was twice as far back as he set yours.

“Distinguished Expert,” he said, and intentionally cleared his throat before he fired off a few rounds. They were quick and precise as they formed a cluster around the target’s heart.

You squinted, as if you couldn’t believe what your eyes were telling you.

“Jesus,” you muttered. “That guy would not be having a good day.”

He snorted. “Nah, he wouldn’t feel a thing.”

It was a little disturbing when you remembered that this man certainly had practice on the real thing—living and breathing targets. Not only as a policeman, but as a soldier. Your father had served in the military as well. He didn’t tell you many stories though, and that alone told you all you needed to know about what he’d seen, and what he’d had to do. Your mom told you once when you were a kid that your dad worked so hard because it was easier than sleeping. That thought had stayed with you all your life.

You wondered if Mark had a little too much in common with your dad.

“Distinguished Expert, huh? I’m assuming that’s for marksmanship,” you said instead.

Mark tossed you a grin as he reloaded. “Happens to be the highest ranking. Just saying.”

You smiled faintly. “Is that why you got recruited for a federal task force?”

Mark inclined his head at you. “Partly. I’ve done my fair share of undercover work.”

“What did you have to do?” you asked.

“Honestly I shouldn’t give you the details,” he said, but seeing your genuine curiosity, he decided to give you the main tidbit. “I had to infiltrate a white supremacy group. It was a year in goddamn Nazi hell.”

“God, the fact that fucking Nazis are still a thing…” you shook your head. “Were you successful?”

Mark nodded, his lips quirking with a note of pride. But it wasn’t arrogance, you thought, just pride in his work.

“The top dogs are going away for 25 to life for the shit they’ve tried to cover up over the years. Weapons deals, hate crimes, indoctrination, especially of kids, even kidnapping.” 

You frowned, but you slipped your fingers down the line of his jacket, and over his hand. That calloused hand that was clearly capable of many things. A hand that had strength, but also gentle moments too, when he touched you.

“Then, thank you for your service, Sergeant,” you said.

He smiled and held your hand a little warmer in return.

“All right, you wanna get out of here?” he asked. “I’ll take you somewhere with a little more ambiance if you want.”

You perked up at that. “Ooh, I have an idea. Not sure if you’re gonna like it though…”

“Try me,” he said.

Pacific Park was a wild place to go to on a Saturday, even in the middle of winter. It lied on the Santa Monica pier, and it was home to overpriced street vendors and carnival rides, including a Ferris wheel. Mark didn’t have any chance of getting you on that rickety death trap, but it was nice to get some burgers for lunch, followed by ice cream on the pier.

The gentle tumble and crash of the sea competed with the sounds of kids laughing and distantly screaming on rides. There were a couple of teenage boys throwing a football nearby, but mostly there were couples and families and friends out on the pier. Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl” played on some overhead speakers.

A seagull almost stole your ice cream, but you zealously defended your cone and shoed the opportunistic bird away from you. It had Mark chuckling, then wrapping an arm around your waist to guide you away from the wind whipping your hair into his face.

He already finished his cup of mint chocolate chip. It freed up his hand to tilt your chin up, so he could steal a taste of caramel off your lips. His second kiss lingered, then deepened, drawing a small sigh from you, and your fingers curling into his jacket.

“Bro, heads up!”

Mark’s spine tingled with awareness and his reflexes kicked in, allowing him to break away from you quick enough to stop a projectile from hitting you on the head. It was a football, and one of the teens who threw a wide right trying to get some spin on the ball.

“Hey, watch out!” Mark said, sharp and stern. He half a mind to confiscate it, but he tossed the football back. “Take it down to the beach, and put a little more wrist on it.”

“Sorry,” each of them said, though one was a little more sincere than the other.

Mark shook his head. “Kids.”

You laughed and playfully tugged on his jacket to reclaim his attention.

“Relax, officer. You’re off duty, remember?”

His annoyance faded into amusement.

“Hey, I just saved your life. A little gratitude might be in order,” he teased.

You nodded. “You know what, you’re right. My bad.”

Smirking, you used his jacket as leverage to lean up for another kiss. He pressed you against the pier railing and accepted every part of that little thank you.

Moments of near decapitation and making out aside, you two spent the afternoon mainly talking as you walked from the pier down the boardwalk of the beach. After everything you’d told him about your family and childhood, you wanted to know more about his.

“So you’re an only child?” you asked. After he confirmed it with a nod, you hummed in thought, trying to imagine what he was like in his teen years. “You gave your mom hell, didn’t you?”

He chuckled. “Guilty as charged on that one. But she did her best.”

“And your dad?” you asked.

His lips quirked. “Well, he tended to favor the belt. When that didn’t work, he tried other ways to knock some sense into me.” 

Your amusement faded. “Did he hit you?”

He clocked that look of concern on your face, but only then did he realize he said more than he meant to. 

“Never hard enough for anyone to care,” he said. “But uh, around seventeen, I got big enough and mouthy enough that Dad kinda gave up for a while. Like I said, the military was his last-ditch effort to straighten me out.”

By the way you were still looking at him—like you wish you could spin the clock back 30 years and call Child Protective Services—he could tell this kind of thing was foreign to you. 

“You probably still do Sunday dinners with your family, huh?” he said. 

“Tuesdays,” you supplied. “We alternate on days when my dad and I don’t have lunch together… He was a hard-ass, but he never raised a hand to me or my sister. He’s a gentle giant, really.”

Mark huffed. “He was going to let you two stay the night in jail with the street walkers.”

You had to concede that fact, nodding. “Well, he’s not an easy man to please, but he had a point that Valwell might hear about that night at the club. It’s not a good look for any job candidate, let alone someone who might work for the DA’s office.”

“Don’t worry about it. The club dropped the charges,” Mark said. 

You bit your lip in worry. “Would it still come up in a background check?” 

“Doubtful. You didn’t even get processed. But even if this guy asks you about it, and he doesn’t like your explanation, then it’s not worth working there to begin with,” Mark said. “I’ve got some experience with that.” 

“Yeah? When?” you asked. Because of course you wanted to know.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” he said, pausing on the boardwalk to tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind your ear. He smirked. “And not just for stories.”

“Oh, look who’s talking,” you snipped. “This from the man who hounded me for an entire month—”

Mark saw no other recourse of stopping your mouth, than with his own. 

He tugged you in by your waist and kissed you to the tune of an ocean breeze, Billy Joel, and kids’ laughter. Whether he realized it or not, something inside him started to untighten at the possibilities here.

Goddamn it, Harmon.

He’d left Mark with case notes that were brief at best, and a shorthand that clearly only made sense to the officer in question. The other departments must have a cipher, because otherwise, Mark didn’t know how the Lieutenant let this fucking fly.

On top of his normal caseload, he had Harmon’s chicken scratch to contend with on no less than five open homicides. Mark’s head-scratching, research, and follow-up calls on leads bled into overtime in the late afternoon.

Eventually, he was almost the last one standing in the office. Even the Captain casted a glance over at Mark’s desk on his way out. Mark met his gaze, but neither man had anything to say that wasn’t being communicated in silence.

After the glass doors glided shut behind Dan, Vanessa came up on Mark’s left as she finished closing up her jacket, adjusting the purse on her shoulder. She smiled at him. He gave her a brief nod as he kept Harmon’s notes in focus on his desk.

“You’ve been working hard this past week,” she remarked.

“Crime never sleeps, so I guess I’m not allowed to either,” he said wryly.

“Well, as long as you’re not sleeping,” she said, propping her hip against his desk.

It caught his attention enough for him to pause in what he was doing. He almost sighed; he had a hunch on where this was going.

“Want to grab a drink with me?” she offered. Her smile curved, and he recognized the flirtatious glint. “Or…maybe we skip to the part where I help you relax.”

Mark quirked his head. Why did his gut always have to be right?

Speaking of said gut, it made itself known with a grumble, reminding him that he’d been surviving on protein bars and shit coffee since this morning.

“Jesus,” he said, more to himself than Vanessa as his hand went to his stomach on reflex. “What I need is some fuel.”

“How about we make it dinner then,” she suggested. “There’s a great Chinese place around the corner from my apartment.”

Mark hesitated, rubbing a hand over his beard out of habit.

“Uh, you know what, I’ve still got a lot of work to do here. Plus, I um, got stuff to make back home,” he replied.

What he had was a fridge full of beer, DiGiorno’s pizzas, and a couple of Hungry Man frozen dinners.

Vanessa seemed to get the hint though. Her face fell with disappointment, but she hid it behind a half smile.

“Okay. Don’t work too hard,” she said.

He gave her a half-salute as she walked away. He went back to it, typing away on his computer as he worked on pulling a potential suspect’s LUDS. His phone vibrated on his desk, lighting up with your name. Again, he paused to unlock the screen.

He found himself smiling as he answered you.

Two weeks later, your L-shaped couch was seeing more action than your usual post-work state of vegetation.

Journey bled into a Prince ballad on the nearby Bluetooth speaker, providing a smoother soundtrack for the way Mark’s fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, flirted up the curve of your spine, then back down to quell the little goosebumps he raised while your lips danced with his in a slow-burning heat.

He brought over the chocolate mousse cake he now tasted on your tongue. You’d stuffed him full of your homemade mashed potatoes, asparagus, and a pan-fried salmon. He hadn’t enjoyed a meal like that in a while. And his bones were settling into this couch, even if he’d like to be taking advantage of the way your hips were grinding against his. 

He groaned low in his throat, feeling delicious friction down below. Your nails scraped gently against his scalp as you ran your fingers through his hair. He had to reward you with a squeeze of your ass through this breezy skirt you had on, and a teasing graze of his teeth down your neck that had you moaning in his ear.  

But even with a throw pillow wedged under him, the alignment of his neck against the arm of the couch was starting to shoot some pain down his spine. All the extra hours at his desk had made his back and shoulders tight. He shifted underneath you with a grunt. 

“You okay?” you asked quietly. You kissed his cheek while you waited for an answer, then along his jaw—a sensuous path back to his lips. He hummed in response.

He did have to stifle a yawn though, his chest expanding with a deeper breath. He mentally cursed when he felt you pause, then literally slow your roll. You parted from him softly and quirked your kiss-swollen lips. He blinked his eyes open.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” you asked.

He gave a wordless denial, even though your fingers running more gently through his hair was like scratching a dog precisely in the right place. He cleared his throat and moved his hands down to your thighs. 

“I’m good,” he said.

“You’re falling asleep,” you accused, though a smile played at your lips. “You’re not getting bored of me already, are you?”

He smirked lazily, but he let his hands wander higher up your skirt and squeezed there, with purpose.

“Definitely not,” he said. “But to be honest, this couch isn’t doing my back any favors.”

“Hmm, I think there’s an easy fix for that,” you teased. And you pushed off his chest to sit up and slide off his lap. You helped him stand, smirking a little at his tired groan. But you didn’t let go of his hand. “Come on, old man.”

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. I’m not even 40,” he said, smacking your ass in recompense.

You jumped with a gasp, but you laughed as you led him into your room. He was willing to push through the exhaustion pulling at his mind and body when you reached for the hem of his shirt and helped him pull it off. Then you kissed him into submission while you unbuckled his belt, getting him out of his jeans. He thought he had an idea of where the night was going next, until you guided him to lay down first, on his stomach.

“What’s happening?” he asked in amusement.

He didn’t expect you to climb on top of him, after you pulled something out of your nightstand.

“Just relax,” you said, squirting a bit of rose oil into your palm. “I’m going to give you a little massage.”

His head tilted. “Really?”

You heard the grin creeping into his voice, and you suspected what was about to follow.

“We talking happy endings included?” he asked.

Yep. You snorted. Predictable. 

“Oh, I’m thinking you’ll want to give me a big thank you at the end,” you said, beginning to rub your slick palms over the broad, tense line of his shoulders. “Maybe even a standing ovation.”

Already he was groaning into your pillow, his arms crossing underneath. You dug deep into the knots near his neck, then smoothed out down his shoulders.

“Jeeesus Christ,” he muttered. “It’s like you knew where to go.”

You tried and failed to stifle a giggle.

“I get neck pain like this a lot too,” you said. “Sarah’s an aesthetician, but she’s also a really good masseuse. She’s been teaching me some things.”

“It fucking shows, sweetheart,” Mark uttered, half on a groan when you moved down between his shoulder blades. He’d never had a woman offer to do something like this for him, not even as a precursor to sex. But it was quickly climbing up the ladder on the list of his favorite things, certainly about you.

Meanwhile, you were having fun with your canvas—working your hands over planes of male muscle and a dusting of freckles. You were starting to count the tiny clusters while his breathing grew deeper, his body relaxing more fully under your touch.

Eventually, you worked your way down his legs, massaging thighs and calves, even his feet. You weren’t even sure he was still alive by that point, until he flinched at your nails playfully grazing the arches of his feet. He grumbled a half-hearted warning. You smirked.

But after you toweled off the oil from his skin, you let him relax while you changed into something more comfortable to sleep in, even if you didn’t think you’d be wearing it all that long.

Biting your lip against a smile, you slipped into bed with Mark and laid a hand on his arm. He was still lying on his stomach with his arms pillowed under his bowed forehead.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked.

A light snore was your response.

You covered your mouth to quiet your laugh. But you leaned in, just to press a kiss to his shoulder.

“Goodnight then,” you whispered in amusement. Guess I’ll have to cash in that happy ending in the morning.

The problem was that he was still on top of the covers. Instead of waking him, you went and grabbed an extra blanket from your closet to gently throw on top of him. When you came back to your side of the bed though, Mark finally shifted more onto his side, facing you with a sleepy, crooked smile. He uncurled an arm and slid it around your waist, pulling you in closer.

It was a shame Rachel couldn’t make it to the next family dinner. It meant her torrid affair with the P.A. couldn’t distract your parents (your mother) from being nosey with your personal life.

Normally you wouldn’t mind, but you’d been careful not to mention Mark around your dad. You two still hadn’t spoken much for the past month, since the clubbing incident, but you had a feeling he already knew. You didn’t trust Officer Vance to keep that tidbit of information to himself.

“You still haven’t heard back from the DA’s office?” Dan asked you.

“No. They told me the process could take a while. Apparently Valwell interviewed a lot of people. The HR rep told me he’s really particular about his assistants, wants to find the right person,” you replied. At this point though, you weren’t holding out a lot of hope. You’d already had another interview that you felt good about in the meantime.

“That’s the city for you. Moves at a glacier’s pace,” Dan remarked, as he carved into his chicken. Lisette made a mean carbonara.

“You’re always talking about work,” she said, lightly shoving your arm. “What else have you been up to? It’s been weeks since we’ve seen you.”

A sprinkle of Mom Guilt always made the truth spill quicker, but you hesitated. She noticed that too.

“Ooh,” she said, with a growing smile. “You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

Your lips twitched upward. It was hard to lie to your mom. She was sweet as pie, but she rarely missed a thing.

“Well, actually, yeah,” you said, silently steeling yourself. You glanced up at Dan, who stopped chewing altogether. He was taciturn at best.

“His name is Mark,” you said. Well, here we go. “Mark Meachum. He’s a homicide detective in Dad’s division.”

Forks stopped scraping ceramic. Clinking ice stilled in their cups of peach tea. Lisette looked between your braced expression, and her husband’s worsening mood.

“Something tells me you already knew,” you said to him, while sipping your tea. “Is that a problem?”

“Listen, I know him. And I’ve known him longer than you,” Dan pointed out. “He’s not a Peter, put it that way.”

You frowned. Peter may have been good at his job, but that didn’t mean he did well with your heart. Of course, your dad only saw Peter’s photogenic, commendation-winning side.

“You must at least trust Mark to do his job well, because I know you won’t tolerate anything else,” you said. “And you’ve probably been approving all the overtime and double shifts he’s had to pull over the past few weeks. I wonder who loaded him up with all that?”

“That’s not the issue here,” Dan said, quick and with a sharp measure of annoyance. “The man has a reputation, namely with the women of the office—hell, the goddamn county district.”

“I’m aware,” you said wryly.

“Are you?”

“Yeah, but you know what, he’s only ever treated me with respect,” you said. “So please, stop penalizing Mark. It’s not going to stop me from seeing him.”

Lisette once again glanced between your firm-held ground, and Dan’s silent, stubborn obstinance. She held back her smile of amusement. It was like watching two moose at a standoff.

But eventually, Dan let out a deep breath and went back to eating before his food got cold.

He didn’t concede in words, but in his silence, you considered the matter settled.

For the first time in over a month, you stepped through the heavy glass doors of the Homicide Division during your lunch hour. As usual, you were greeted by the sound and smell of cheap coffee percolating in the break room, printers whirring, phone chatter, and the drone of typing.

You crossed paths with Vanessa on your way in, but your greeting was somewhat strained when you remembered what Anette from Billing told you about the office manager and your…almost boyfriend.

“Hey girl, been a while,” Vanessa said, with a friendly hand on your arm as her eyes lit up. “Ooh, you smell good. Yves Saint Laurent?”

“Yep, good guess,” you nodded and glanced over at Mark’s desk. He was already grinning at you in surprise.

“Ey, love that for you,” Vanessa said, gesturing at the Captain’s office. “Your dad’s still in a meeting, but he should be out in a few minutes.”

“Okay, thanks,” you said. That gave you time to swing by your…Mark’s desk.

You unknowingly had a pair of eyes on you when you went over to him.

“Hey, sweetheart. You didn’t tell me you were coming in,” he said.

He pushed away from his desk to get up and greet you with a kiss.

“Well, I’ve got some good news,” you said. Though you noticed your dad had just gotten back from his meeting, and he nodded at you from the doorway of his office. You acknowledged him back.

“Let me just check in with him first, see if he’s ready for lunch. Maybe we could all go together…” Your gaze cut back to Mark, slightly hesitating. “If you’re not busy.”

Mark rose a brow. “You told him about us?”

You bit your lip. “I did. He’s still not all that happy about it, but he’ll get over it.”

He chuckled, but he did rub the back of his neck uncertainly. 

“Uh…all right. Lunch is fine,” he said.

“Yeah?” you checked. Even after a month, you weren’t totally sure how he felt about this relationship—or about you.

But he assured you with a nod. “I can make some time.”

“Okay, thanks,” you said, discreetly squeezing his hand.

Your little smile of excitement amused him as he watched you go over to the Captain’s office.

Fuckin’ cute. It wasn’t a thought Mark had often, let alone about you, but it was there. You had some high defenses, but once someone managed to make their way through, you had a softer center, as it turned out.

He settled back at his desk, running a hand over his chin as he tried to refocus on his computer screen, but there was something unsettled and churning in his gut. He knew what he just agreed to, and it was more than just a burger at the In-and-Out across the street.

Mark could admit, he wanted to keep seeing you. The risk to his job had always been there, but this was a different kind of warning label—one that actually made him a bit uncomfortable to consider. It meant lunch with your father today, and probably a Tuesday dinner with your mother the next. There was a part of him that hadn’t totally disagreed with Vance’s little assessment of him.

This ain’t the guy you wanna take home.

Mark had tried it once. Bella Hastings, a fucking pistol and a good cop, one of the only partners he’d been assigned who’d never slowed him down.

She ended it after four months, just before he took the federal assignment.

How had she put it? Oh, yeah.

“You’re the guy I want beside me in a firefight, no question. We can keep fucking it out after, sure, but you’ve got no follow through, Meachum,” she said. “You don’t even want to meet my parents on my birthday. Do you even know what it means to be a partner? Build a home? Are you really gonna be the guy to shave my legs when I’m too pregnant to see my fucking toes?”

His lack of an answer spoke for itself, and they both knew it.

She shook her head. “No. I think not.”

He hadn’t put up a fight, because not so deep down, he knew she was right. When he got back from UC, he was glad to hear that she’d transferred over to Organized Crime. She’d do good work there, and it was probably better for both of them.

Now, where did that leave him with you?

“So that’s what’s had you busy,” came a wry voice.

Mark’s head perked up, his brows raised to find Vanessa standing there in front of his desk. She didn’t even have a batch of paperwork on her arm as a pretense this time. Her gaze flicked over to where you were talking to your father within the glass walls of his office. Half of them were grayed out, but the top half were transparent. Your conversation with him looked strained, but no projectiles were being thrown just yet.

“That’s insane, even for you,” Vanessa said.

Mark’s lips quirked. “You know me. I thrive on a little insanity.”

She huffed. “I do know you.”

She rounded the corner of his desk, letting her fingertips skim the laminate surface.

“The question is, does she know. About you and me?” she asked, raising a challenging brow. “And half the women in this office, for that matter.”

“She does,” Mark said curtly.

Vanessa’s head tilted, her eyes calculating.

“So it’s casual then,” she said.

Mark took in a breath, leveling her with a firmer look.

“I think that’s our business, Vanessa,” he said.

Her mouth evened out into a line.

Her lips pursed, until she noticed you leaving the Captain’s office when the man himself remained on the phone. You were already heading back over to Mark’s desk, looking irritated as you shook your head.

Maybe Dan wasn’t ready to break bread just yet. He wasn’t convinced about your choices, and Mark couldn’t exactly blame him. 

Vanessa shrugged, adopting a smile. 

“Okay,” she said. Then she bent down to whisper near his ear. “Good luck with that.”

Before she left, she allowed her hand to trail up his arm and over his shoulder. Mark frowned at her in annoyance, especially because you stopped short in front of the bullpen. Shit.

Your stare cut from Vanessa’s retreating back, to Mark’s face. He read it all flicker in your eyes, confusion crossing with disappointment, and a bit of anger too.

With a hard sigh through your nose, you turned to walk out. Mark got up to follow you, grunting in irritation. He called your name, but you didn’t stop—not until you were pushing through the doors with your shoes clacking swiftly down the hall.

Mark called after you, more insistently. His longer legs still caught up with you as he reached for your arm and got you to slow down. You reluctantly turned around, but you were already done with the way men were deciding to test your patience today.

“Hey, that wasn’t what it looked like,” he said.

He could say that, with his voice sounding like three glasses of whiskey deep and his eyes staring straight into yours, but you forced yourself to remember that this man was a professional liar when he needed to be.

“And what do you think it looked like?” you challenged. “Like she just propositioned you for a quickie in the storage room?”

“It wasn’t.”

“It looked like you’re still sleeping with her.”

“I’m not,” he said, more firmly. 

You crossed your arms, not yet convinced. 

“I told you how I feel about bullshit. That definitely qualifies,” you said. 

“Relax, okay. Frankly, I haven’t had the fucking energy between you and my job to keep up something on the side, even if I wanted to,” he snapped. 

You paused, because that hurt you. Your face flashed with it, making an inevitable guilt coil in Mark’s chest. His mouth firmed with it.

“If I’m such a distraction, maybe we shouldn’t be doing this,” you said.

Mark sighed, but he hesitated a bit too long. Frowning, you began to turn away from him and head toward the elevator. His quick reach and grab for your hand stopped you.

“All right, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant,” he said. With a gentler tug, he winded you back in. He held you by your arms and brushed his thumbs there. He thought through it first before he said anything else he’d regret. But he also knew it was now or never.

“You’re not a distraction. These past few weeks, you’ve been…” He could almost taste the words on his tongue as he found them, one by one. “You’re the beat I should be taking. The one good breath in my day.” 

You blinked in surprise. Part of you softened, more willing to hear him and actually listen. 

His lips tugged at a crooked smile. “I’m gonna be honest. The last half-decent relationship I had barely lasted a few months. She probably had every right to give up on me. I’m not exactly cut out for Sunday brunches and family dinners, but uh…you make me want to try.”

God fucking help me, he thought.

You warmed with a slow smile. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said. It surprised him too.

His lips tugged at a grin.

You hesitated, but then, you nodded in acceptance.

“Okay,” you said. “You know that makes you my boyfriend, right?”

He huffed in amusement. “If that’s what you want, sweetheart. Gotta warn you though, you might regret it.”

“We’ll see,” you quipped.

His hands glided down your arms, and you eventually held his hands in return. He had to pull you to the side of the hall though, when Finau walked by with his partner, Caplan. They didn’t say anything, but their brief glances taking perceptive notes made Mark wish you two were having this conversation somewhere else.

Too late. He had to reenact The Notebook with you right outside the fucking office full of eagle-eyed law enforcement.

“Um, so I did have some good news,” you said. “I got a call from the DA’s office this morning. I got the job as Valwell’s Executive Assistant. I’m giving my two weeks’ notice at work later today.” 

Mark smiled. “Hey, congrats. I’m guessing you told your dad, or uh, was that little argument about this?”

He squeezed your hands to punctuate his point. Your expression turned wry. 

“He’s been questioning my decisions a lot lately, but that’s his problem. Despite what he’d like to believe, I’m a grown ass woman and I know what I want,” you said, meeting his eyes as you smiled a bit softer. But it faded slightly. “He’s been the one piling all that extra work on you on purpose, isn’t he? You have a right to complain, you know.”

Mark just shook his head as he collected you in his arms, his hands molding to the curve of your waist.

“Don’t worry about it. Been through a lot worse than a few late nights and double shifts,” he said, smirking. “Long as you come through with some more of those full-body massages, I’m good.”

Your smile grew. You raised up on your toes and twined your arms around his neck, guiding him back down to your level. Other cops and staff were occasionally passing by in the hall, but at this point, you didn’t care. 

“You’re willing to deal with all that for me?” you asked.

“You’re worth the trouble,” he teased, “and I’m a stubborn bastard. You know I don’t quit easy.” 

That, you certainly did know. 

“Yeah, well, neither do I,” you said.

He gave into that compelling pull of you, bowing his head for a kiss. It was slow as he breathed into it. Your fingers played with the smaller hairs at the back of his neck, your nails grazing his scalp until a small shudder ran down his spine. He kissed you again, this time laced with an undercurrent of heat. Probably too much. 

He eventually pulled back with a sigh, but not too far from your enticing lips. 

“All right, fuck it,” he said. “Let’s go to lunch. I’m fucking starving.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “How about that burger place across the street?” 

“Sweetheart, you read my mind.”

AN: There's just something about these two that I keep coming back to lol. 😘

How'd you like their first time, and navigating those "what are we" feels? Would you want to see more of their early days? Let me know in the reblogs/comments! ❤️

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“Does he know where they’re keeping her?”

“They’re holding her at his house. He’s afraid if he shows up there, they’ll force him into doing what they want and kill them both.”

Russell nodded, teeth worrying at his lower lip. “He’s probably not wrong. Can you send us the address?” Colter was out of the shower now, listening with a concerned frown as he stood there, towel around his waist.

“I will. Can you help?”

Colter looked at his brother, then nodded. “Yeah. Send us whatever info you’ve got. We’re on our way.”

Your eyes opened reluctantly, drifting closed again a few times before you managed to keep them open. Your head was pounding, your body ached, and – you were cold. Awareness slowly seeped in, and you managed to hold your head up, taking in your surroundings. Your pulse began to race as you realized you had no idea where you were.

You tried to move, but your arms were bound behind you, around the pole that you were propped against. It felt like a zip tie, and it dug painfully into your wrists as you tested it. The light was dim, but you could see that you were in a large, mostly empty room with a concrete floor. It was chilly against your legs, and you realized you were wearing the camisole and shorts that you had gone to bed in. No wonder you were cold.

The thought of shouting for help crossed your mind, but you quickly discarded it. The foggy memory of rough hands dragging you from your bed and covering your face with a rag told you the response wouldn’t be a friendly one. You could faintly hear male voices upstairs, and the sound of a TV. You bit your lips together, fighting panic and the tears that threatened. You needed to try to stay calm, be observant, and do what you had to do to make it through whatever was happening.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you made out the shape of a bike against the far wall. Back in the corner was an old foosball table, a baseball bat leaning against it. It seemed familiar – and your eyes widened as you realized where you were – in your brother’s basement. You rested your head back against the pole and closed your eyes, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. So Grant was in trouble, and you were obviously bait – or leverage.

You sat there for what seemed like forever, no indication of the hour, no windows to give a hint of what time of day it was. You had tried to work your hands free, but your wrists were rubbed raw and you had finally given up. No one had even bothered to come down and offer you water, or to take you to the bathroom. You had an awful feeling that they weren’t planning on keeping you alive.

A loud knock from the floor above startled you from the doze you had slipped into, and a loud, cheerful voice joined the other male voices you had heard previously. “Hey, is Grant around? Thought he might wanna join me and my brother to watch the game and have a few beers. Hi, I’m Russell, I was Grant’s roomie in college. I could tell you some stories.”

Your head hit the pole behind you with a dull thud, disappointment sinking the hope that it had been a rescuer knocking at the front door. A tear slipped down your cheek as you closed your eyes. Maybe Grant was already hurt, or dead. Maybe…

Your eyes flew open wide with panic as a large hand covered your mouth, and you began to struggle, terrified. “Shhhhh!” A whisper next to your ear made you freeze, your body trembling with fear. “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? My name’s Colter. I’m here to help you. But you have to stay quiet. If they hear us…” You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as his hand moved slowly away. “I’m gonna cut you loose.”

You felt the tension loosen on the zip tie around your wrists, and Colter moved around in front of you. “Do you think you can walk?” You nodded again, reaching for his hand as he pulled you to your feet, letting you stand for a moment to get your bearings. “We’re going up the back stairs and out the door. You get in the back seat of the pickup and lie down so no one can see you.” He gave your hand a squeeze. “Jesus, you’re freezing.” He stopped, taking off his jacket and helping you slip your arms into the sleeves. It was huge on you, but the warmth felt like heaven.

“Thank you,” you whispered hoarsely.

“Okay, here we go. Whatever happens, you go straight to that truck and get inside, right?” You nodded in reply, and he took hold of your hand again, leading you through the room with the help of a tiny flashlight. You recognized the short flight of steps up to the back door, and you followed him out, the grass cool on your bare feet as the two of you made your way to a large black truck. He opened the back door and helped you inside, and you laid down on the seat as he had directed, nervously waiting for what would come next. After all, as much as you appreciated the rescue, you didn’t know this man any better than the ones who had abducted you in the first place.

He climbed into the driver’s seat, sending a couple blasts of the horn into the otherwise still night, making you jump. “Russell, come on – we’re gonna miss kickoff!” he shouted out his window, then lowered his voice to speak to you again. “My brother is inside, he was our distraction. We’re friends of Reenie’s, she sent us to help you.” The mention of Reenie’s name sent a wave of relief through you, and you began to breathe a little easier.

A couple of minutes later, another man climbed into the pickup, turning his head to glance into the back seat as he closed his door. Colter spoke your name quietly. “This is my brother, Russell. We’re gonna take you to the motel, your brother’s there waiting for us.”

“Yes – okay – thank you,” you managed to say as the truck started up, and you headed down the road.

After a few minutes, Russell turned around to peer into the back seat. “You can sit up now if you want. We’re clear.” You raised yourself up slowly, wrapping the borrowed jacket tighter around you with a shiver. Russell looked at his brother, his voice a little impatient. “Turn up the heat, man – she’s freezing back there.” Then he turned his attention your way again, reaching across the back of his seat to hand you a bottle of water. “Here.” He flashed you a quick smile when you thanked him, and he watched as you drank, your eyes closing in relief as the cool liquid soothed your parched throat. “Better?”

You nodded, putting the lid back on the bottle. “Thank you. Thank you both.”

“Are you injured? Did they hurt you?” He asked softly, and you shook your head. His eyes never left you as he spoke, and you couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was, even in the dim light – dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard, beautiful eyes. “I know you’re scared, but I promise you’re gonna be okay. The police will meet us at the motel, and they said they’d contact your husband, let him know where you’ll be.”

His brows drew together at the expression on your face, the expression you were too tired and traumatized to disguise. “Everything okay?”

You took a shaky breath. “Yeah. Yes, I’m fine. It’s just – he’s going to be so angry.”

Russell studied your expression, taking a beat before he responded. “I’m sure he is, but you’re safe and I’m sure that’s the most important thing to him, right?”

You let your gaze slide away from his, staring out the window as you gave a vague nod in answer. Russell shot a perceptive glance over to his brother, silent communication between the two of them.

You had just dozed off in the back seat of the pickup when it pulled up in front of the motel. You yawned, letting Russell help you out of the truck. “Where are we?” you asked, still disoriented as he escorted you to the door with a gentle hand on your back, pulling keys from his pocket.

“My motel room. Your brother is inside.” He let you into the room, fairly large with a worn hide-a-bed couch on one wall, a king-size bed and the usual tiny table with two chairs next to a counter with a coffee maker and mini fridge.

As soon as you stepped inside, Grant jumped up from the couch and grabbed you in a hug. “Are you okay?” Grant was shaking as he held you, his voice breaking as he spoke. “This was because of me, I’m so sorry. They were trying to force me to hack into some company’s financials, I… I never thought they’d involve you. I’m so...” Russell draped a blanket around your shoulders as you moved back from your brother’s embrace, wiping tears from your cheeks as you interrupted.

“Not your fault, Grant.” You sat down next to your brother, pulling your legs up underneath you and pulling the blanket tighter around you as he put an arm around your shoulders. Russell left the two of you to talk quietly, heading over to make a pot of coffee.

A couple of hours later, you headed back to the couch after being questioned by the local police. You let your head drop back, your eyes squeezed shut as you wished for the ordeal to be over. Reliving everything for the police was bad enough, and Vince, your husband, hadn’t even gotten there yet. You were dreading that, already knowing what his mood would be when he arrived.

“You doing okay?” Russell’s voice made you open your eyes and sit up straight, inhaling and expelling a deep breath. He was hunkered down in front of you, his eyes watching you closely.

“Hanging in there. Just wish this was all over.”

He gave you a kind smile. “Yeah, I get that, you’ve had a rough day. Your husband should be here shortly, and once the cops talk to him, he can take you home.” Russell watched as you tried to control your expression. “Listen – none of my business, but I noticed you haven’t been too excited at the thought of your husband showing up. If you need help – just say the word. We can get you somewhere safe.”

You looked into his eyes, yours welling with tears that you managed to keep from spilling over. “Thank you, but I’m fine. Just really tired, and not looking forward to his temper when he hears about all this. I didn’t mean to make you think…”

Russell shook his head. “No problem, I get it. But if you ever do need help – call Reenie and let her know. She knows how to find me.” He put a warm hand over yours in your lap and gave it a squeeze, then rose to his feet and walked away. And the next moment, the hurricane that was your husband blew through the door.

“You!” Vince pointed an accusing finger at Grant, who was sitting at the table with an officer. “This is all your fault!” He stormed directly over towards his brother-in-law, who rose to his feet.

The police officer stood up as well, stepping forward with a hand out. “Sir! I’m gonna have to ask you to calm down and stop where you are.”

Vince glared at him defiantly. “This piece of shit got himself in a bind, and got my wife kidnapped. Lucky she wasn’t injured! Or killed! You stay the hell away from us from now on. Stay away from her, you understand me?” He turned on his heel and came towards where you now stood near the sofa, shoving a bag at you. “Here, get some clothes on. I’m taking you home.”

You took the bag and headed into the bathroom to change, your gaze never leaving the floor. Russell took a couple of long strides forward, his eyes narrowed in anger. “Hey – Vince, is it? You might want to take it easy on her. She’s been through hell in the last 24 hours.”

Vince turned to look at him, his jaw raised as he stared back at Russell with contempt. “And just who the fuck are you?”

“My brother and I are the ones who found her and got her away from her kidnappers,” Russell said quietly, crossing his arms across his chest.

Vince sighed. “Oh. I see. So how much?”

“How much? We weren’t working for you. Grant hired us to find his sister.”

Vince let out a derisive snort. “Yeah, like he has any money. What’s the bill, I’ll pay it.”

Russell sighed. “No thanks – we’re good.”

Your husband took a step closer, an insolent expression on his face. “Well, then, Mr. Weekend Merc, maybe you shouldn’t try to tell me how to take care of my wife.”

Russell’s eyes went cold, a humorless smirk curving his lips that would have sent a chill up the spine of any man with half a brain. Colter moved forward, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. After a second, Russell gave a barely perceptible nod, sucking his teeth as he turned and walked back towards the coffee pot. Colter looked impassively at Vince, then turned away and joined Russell.

A moment later, you walked back into the room, dressed and with Colter’s jacket folded over your arm. Vince grabbed your arm, growling, “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Just a minute,” you said softly, pulling away.

“Time to go home,” he argued, and you looked at him, snapping a reply.

“Give me one minute!” He glared after you as you walked towards the Shaws, handing Colter his jacket. “Thank you.” Colter nodded with a smile, and you turned your attention to Russell. His expression softened as he looked back at you. “Thank you both.”

Russell looked steadily into your eyes. “Remember what I told you.” You bit at your lip with a nod, finally pulling your gaze from his as you turned to join your fuming husband at the door. He practically shoved you out, the door closing hard behind you.

Russell turned to look at Colter, his jaw working. “That guy is twelve kinds of wrong.”

Colter nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. But there’s nothing we can do unless she wants help, Russell. And you always tell me, when the job’s done, walk away.”

“Yeah. I know.” Russell grabbed the coffee and filled his cup. He could still see the look in her eyes – the attempt at courage failing to completely mask her apprehension. She was afraid, trying to pretend that everything was fine. And in spite of his usual self-imposed rules, he was going to have a hard time walking away from this one.

Russell sat next to his campfire, enjoying the warmth of the sun, a bottle of his home-brew in his hand. He stared into the fire, his inner voice reading him the riot act for still sticking around. It had been three weeks, and you hadn’t reached out to Reenie for help. Colter had given him a hard time as well, and he knew he had it coming, but he couldn’t seem to get you out of his mind. There was still the nagging feeling in his gut that you were in trouble, and that his particular set of skills might come in handy.

And then there were the dreams. The first time, he dreamed he was back in the motel room the night they’d rescued you. Only this time he was comforting you, sitting with his arms around you, and you were crying softly on his shoulder. After that, there had been another, starting the same way. Only this time it changed – his lips on yours, his hands roaming, your skin soft and warm under his touch. He woke up breathing hard, his heart pounding, his cock hard and throbbing, and he had jacked off imagining sinking deep inside you and making you come, hearing you cry out his name.

His phone rang, Reenie’s name flashing across the screen, and he shook his head to clear it before answering. She barely gave him time to say hello before she blurted out, “Russell – she just called. She overheard – never mind. She ran, she’s in trouble, you need to pick her up. South of you, mile marker 132 on Highway 39, she’s hiding in the trees. Go pick her up, I’ll meet you back at your campsite with some clothes and things.”

“On my way,” he responded, ending the call and stuffing the phone into his pocket. He tossed water over the fire, ditching his beer in the trash can on the way to the car, sending gravel spitting from the tires as he took off.

There had been nothing but trees for a couple of miles when he reached the spot Reenie had indicated, and he pulled over, stepping out of the car, eyes scanning the area. He called your name softly, watching. “It’s Russell Shaw. Reenie sent me.”

You peered carefully from behind a tree, then ran towards the car, looking over your shoulder as you reached it. “Get in,” Russell said, “we’ll talk later.” You nodded, climbing inside, and he looked around carefully for signs that you’d been followed before getting behind the wheel. He looked over at you, his brows drawn together in concern. “You okay? You’re not hurt?”

You glanced his way, clasping your hands nervously in your lap. “I’m okay.” He nodded, turning to make sure the way was clear and making a wide turn to head back to his campsite.

Russell pulled to a stop and got out of the car without a word, heading straight to his tent to break it down and pack up his belongings. By the time Reenie pulled in, he was loading everything into his trunk, still without saying a word, and you were wondering if you’d done the right thing calling for his help.

Reenie pulled a large suitcase out of the back seat of her BMW, pulling it behind her to Russell’s car. “Brought you some clothes and essentials to get you by. Russell, you keep her safe.”

Russell closed his trunk, coming around to take the suitcase and shove it into his back seat. “You know I will.” He climbed back behind the wheel and gave Reenie a nod. “I’ll be in touch.” You hugged her, whispering your thanks, and got in the passenger side, trying to stay calm in spite of not knowing what was coming next. Russell waited for Reenie to head down the drive, then followed behind, turning in the opposite direction on the highway. “Okay,” he said, glancing over your direction, “tell me what happened.”

Several miles and two small towns later, Russell reached for a remote and pulled into a small garage attached to a modest-looking ranch-style house, the door smoothly lowering behind you to hide you from the world.

You had told him about the phone call you had overheard, Vince on the phone with someone, you didn’t know who. “Yeah, the kidnapping should have worked, but I guess Grant’s more stubborn than I gave him credit for. Stop worrying, I found somebody else. We’ll have that money by the end of next week. No, she has no idea I was behind it, don’t worry about her. She believes what I tell her, and she does what she’s told. I already took care of those two fuck-ups, they won’t be talking to anybody.”

Russell had listened intently to everything you said, nodding quietly once in a while as you told your story. You had overheard that conversation and you knew you had to get away. You had sneaked back upstairs, put on your shoes and a jacket, grabbed the burner phone Reenie had given you for emergencies, and gone down the back staircase and out the back door. It was a couple of miles through the woods to get to the highway, and you ran until you were out of breath, then slowed to a hurried walk, determined to escape the man you thought you knew.

“He’s not the man I married, I know that. But I never thought he was…”

“An abusive murdering asshole?” You had shot Russell a sideways glance, and he had cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s true.” Tears stung your eyes as you looked down at your hands. “I feel like such an idiot. Reenie has been trying to convince me for months that I needed to leave him, but I just...”

“None of this is your fault. You know that, right?”

You hadn’t answered him, just stared out the window for the rest of the ride. Russell was quiet after that, his focus on the job ahead. And this was a job, he reminded himself – he needed to keep his head on straight. The last thing she needed right now was to get involved with someone like him, so whatever feelings were invading his subconscious, he needed to ignore them.

Russell led the way into the house, dropping your borrowed suitcase near the couch and doing a quick walk-through before coming back to the room. You looked at him, confused, and he let out a rather sheepish little chuckle. “Sorry, it’s a habit to make sure the house is clear. Which it is. So, get settled in – I’m heading out to get some supplies, but I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, and he headed back to the garage. You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Your whole life had been turned upside down in the space of a few hours, and you had no idea what was coming next.

You finally took a deep breath and ventured into the next room. You explored the small house – a bedroom, bathroom, cute little kitchen with a breakfast nook, living room with a huge sofa, recliner on one end and chaise lounge on the other. There was a medium-sized flat-screen TV, a few DVDs on a shelf below.

You took the suitcase Reenie had brought into the bedroom and opened it – she had been very generous. It was bulging with clothes and lingerie, along with some toiletries, a few mystery/thriller novels, a deck of cards – everything you would need to get you by until you could get your own things. Whenever that would be. You felt a clutch of panic at the thought of your unknown future, closing your eyes to fight it back. You were safe for the moment, that’s all that mattered.

A little later, your phone pinged with a message from Russell that he was back with the groceries. You met him at the kitchen door, relieving him of one of the bags in his arms. He thanked you with a smile, and the two of you unpacked and put away the food he had purchased. “This is – a lot. I mean, how long do you think we’ll be here?”

He glanced your way, then went back to putting milk and eggs in the fridge. “Hard to say for sure. It depends on how long it takes the cops to finish getting the evidence they need to put Vince away.”

You stopped what you were doing and braced your hands on the counter, your eyes filling with tears as the weight of everything that was happening suddenly hit you like a blow to the chest. Russell closed the fridge and put a hand on your shoulder, speaking softly. “Hey.”

You looked up into his eyes, a tear overflowing and trailing down your cheek. “I can’t pay you. I – I don’t have anything. Everything belongs to him. I don’t know how I’ll pay for you for all of this,” you said, sweeping your hand, thinking of the house, the groceries, Russell’s time.

He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Didn’t ask to be paid. I told you if you needed help to call. I’m just here to help.” He was really looking at you now, not the barely glancing, distant contact you’d had with him since he picked you up. The kind look in his eyes made you suddenly feel not so alone. “So are we good?”

You took a breath and blew it out slowly, finally nodding. “Yeah. We’re good. Thank you, Russell.”

His lips curved in a soft smile. “Good. So, I’m starved, and I got us one of those giant frozen pizzas with cheese in the crust – sound okay?” You nodded with a slightly watery smile and went back to unpacking the groceries as he turned on the oven.

You spent the rest of the evening mostly in companionable silence, eating pizza in front of the TV with a How I Met Your Mother marathon serving as background noise. Russell thumbed through the old magazines you had found in a drawer of the TV stand, and you started in on one of the books Reenie had included in the collection of treasures she had sent.

When you were yawning and reading the same paragraph over and over again, you finally gave in and headed for bed. You said a quiet goodnight and walked to the bedroom, closing the door behind you. You didn’t think you’d be able to sleep, but you dozed off almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

You woke suddenly, a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. The room was pitch black, so you grabbed your phone, the screen lighting up the space, your heart lurching in your chest as you spotted a figure standing near the foot of the bed. You lit the flashlight on your phone and aimed it that direction, then screamed in terror. Vince was standing there, a sneer on his face, a gun in his hand.

“Hey, hey!!” The light went on and a hand grabbed your shoulder, shaking you. Russell’s voice was calling your name as you scooted yourself up as close to the headboard as you could, your feet scrambling to try and push you farther, your eyes wide with fear. “You’re okay, it was a nightmare.” You stared at him, shaking, whimpering and pointing.

“He was right there! He was going to kill me!”

“I promise you, there’s nobody here but you and me. You were having a nightmare. You’re safe, I promise you.” He reached out take hold of your hand. “There’s no way in hell he will ever get close to you. I won’t let him, trust me. You trust me, right?”

You nodded, trying to calm yourself, still trembling and your heart still trying to escape your chest. Russell sat there with you until your quaking subsided, and you looked up at him as he ducked his head to peer into your eyes. “You okay?”

You nodded again with a sigh of exhausted relief. “I’m sorry. It was so real.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

You looked at him again, feeling embarrassed as you spoke again. “I feel like a child, but I don’t think I can sleep in here. I don’t want to be alone.”

Russell smiled as he looked down at you. “I get it. Why don’t we grab your pillow and you can sleep on the sofa. I’m sleeping in the recliner, so I’ll be right there in case you get spooked. Sound okay?”

He helped you gather what you needed, and soon your bed was all set up on the couch. You settled yourself on your pillow, wrapping yourself in the blankets and yawning as your body finally calmed itself. “I usually leave the TV on with the sound real low, will that bother you?” he asked as he took his seat in the recliner again.

“No, it might actually help me sleep,” you said. “Thank you, Russell.”

“Any time.”

The next morning you woke to the smell of fresh coffee brewing and bacon frying. Apparently Russell was an early riser. You got up from the couch and gathered your bedding, heading for the bedroom to get dressed. A pair of leggings and a big sweater seemed cozy, and after hitting the bathroom and combing through your hair, you made a beeline for the kitchen and the coffee pot.

“Mornin’,” Russell greeted you as you filled a mug with the steaming brew, holding it to your nose appreciatively.

“Good morning. Thank you for making coffee. And breakfast, I guess – do you want some help?”

He shot a smile over his shoulder. “Got it covered here, but you could make some toast, if you want. Scrambled or fried?”

The two of you sat in the breakfast nook to eat, Russell scrolling on his phone and you back to your paperback mystery. When you were finished, you chased him out of the kitchen, refusing to let him help with the dishes. “You cooked, I’ll clean up.”

“I’m used to doing both, ya know,” he protested, but finally gave in and left you to it. You heard his phone ring as you finished up, and you were drying your hands as he walked back into the room.

“That was – uh – the FBI.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “The FBI?”

“Yeah. Apparently they’ve been investigating Vince for a while now for shady investment practices. They want to send an agent to talk to you, about the phone call you overheard and anything else you might have seen or heard that might help their case. Are you okay with that?”

You bit at your lip, but nodded in agreement. “I guess so – I don’t know that I’ll be much help, but if it helps put him away…”

“Colter’s in the area, said he’d bring her here this afternoon. I don’t want you out in public if we can avoid it, not until he’s locked up.” You glanced at him nervously, and he put a calming hand on your shoulder. “I’m not trying to scare you – I just want you safe.”

“I know. Thanks.”

When the doorbell rang that afternoon, you watched nervously as Russell motioned you to stand back, then grabbed his gun from the end table and went to answer it. He peered through the peephole, then lowered his weapon and unlocked the door, opening it and stepping back to allow Colter and a woman in a dark pantsuit to enter. Colter spoke up to introduce you and Russell to the woman, who held out a hand to shake both of yours in turn.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” she said, aiming her comment at you.

Russell stepped forward. “Can I get a minute before you do your thing?” The agent nodded, following him into the next room. Even though he kept his voice low, you could hear him, insisting that she keep in mind that you were innocent and that you not be treated like a criminal just because you were married to one.

You glanced over at Colter, blushing a little. “He’s been very protective,” you said softly, and Colter smiled.

“Yeah – that’s no surprise. He’s been doing it since we were kids. He stood between our dad and me – or dad and our little sister, Dory – so many times. Dad had – well, he had some mental issues. Russ took the brunt of a lot of his crap.”

Russell came through the door just then, giving you a quick smile and nodding towards the kitchen. “She’s ready for you. If you need me…”

You gave him a grateful smile in return. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.” He moved to the side to let you walk by, watching until you took your seat across from the agent.

“How’s she doing?” Colter asked quietly as his brother turned to face him.

“She’s scared.” Russell gnawed at his lip a little, glancing over at Colter as he took a breath and exhaled with a short nod. “But she’ll be all right.”

A couple of hours later the interview was over, and you said your goodbyes to Colter and the agent shortly after. You dropped down on the sofa with a sigh of relief, and Russell sat down nearby.

“So – how’d it go?”

“She asked about the phone call I overheard, wanted word for word as well as I could remember. Then she asked about people I’d seen at Vince’s parties, anything I might have heard in passing about specific things that maybe didn’t mean anything to me but might help their case.” You took a deep breath. “She said when they arrest him, they’ll seize all of his assets. But she said they found one account that was started in my name before we were married that he hadn’t touched, and she said that will come to me. I remember right before we got married, I pulled my 401K from my job at the bank and had him invest it for me – he must have forgotten all about it. It’s been sitting there for the last 10 years, slowly growing. So maybe I’ll be able to repay you for all of this after all.”

He sighed sharply. “I told you, I didn’t ask to be paid. You’ll need that money to start over.” He lowered his head and looked at you from under raised brows. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not hurtin’ for cash. So I don’t wanna hear another word about you paying me, okay?”

“Russell, I just…”

“I mean it. Vince gets put away and you get a clean start. That’s payment enough for me.” You looked up into those captivating green eyes, his expression dead serious.

“Okay, okay, subject dropped,” you answered, and he allowed himself to smile.

“Good. Goddamn, you’re stubborn.”

You laughed softly, rising to your feet. “You have no idea. Okay, I’m going to go take a shower – if that’s allowed?” you teased, laughing again as he blew out a disdainful breath.

“Smartass.”

The rest of that night was spent much as the first, eating in front of the TV, and Russell borrowed one of Reenie’s mystery thrillers to keep himself occupied. If he was being honest, he just wanted a distraction to keep his eyes from constantly wandering over to you as you read, occasionally trapping your lower lip between your teeth as you got engrossed in a passage. He started to read, but found his eyes drawn back again to the wisps of hair curling against the gentle slope of your neck. Luckily you were an avid reader and didn’t notice his staring, but he mentally shook himself. This was a job, he was there to protect you, and that was all. He forced his eyes to the pages in front of him, determined to keep focused there, even though he would occasionally make sarcastic comments about how unrealistic it was.

Yawning, you finally laid your book aside and laid down, saying a soft “Good night” to Russell as you settled in. You slept well that night, the sound of the TV in the background and the knowledge that Russell was close giving you the peace of mind you needed to rest.

The next day you were going a little stir-crazy, feeling cooped-up and bored. You aimlessly wandered around the house, looking through closets and cupboards, letting out a happy cheer when you found an abandoned crossword puzzle book in a drawer in the kitchen. You settled on the couch, your legs crossed underneath you, glad to have found a distraction. “Who played Angel Eyes in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly?” you asked, a thoughtful frown on your face as you chewed at your pen.

“Lee Van Cleef,” he answered. “How do you not know that?”

“You’re the old movie buff. I only know the big ones – Casablanca, stuff like that.”

“So you don’t like westerns.”

You looked at him, an offended expression on your face. “I like westerns! I love John Wayne.” You filled in the answer and read another clue. “Clint Eastwood western?”

Russell let out a mock impatient sigh. “Obviously you need help.” He moved to plop down beside you, looking down at the page. “Where does it go? Ok, got it – A Fistful of Dollars.”

The two of you worked your way through the apparently western-themed puzzle together, Russell teasing you about your lack of knowledge on the subject and laughing when you excitedly shouted the answer to an actual clue involving John Wayne. You finished putting the last answer in place and grinned up at him, your smile slowly fading as you looked into his eyes. The air suddenly seemed charged around you, your gaze traveling down to his lips as his tongue swept over them. Before you had time to think, he pushed up from the sofa and stood. His abrupt movement away from you broke the spell, and you swallowed hard, your heart pounding.

“I’m gonna go grab us some take-out. Chicken sound good?” He asked, not looking back as he headed for the door. You agreed, taking a relieved breath as he closed the door behind him, leaving you alone.

You took a shaky breath as you put a hand to your face, your fingers cool against your flushed cheek. “What the hell was that?” you asked yourself out loud. Whatever it felt like, it couldn’t be, that was for sure, you told yourself sternly. Tossing the book on the end table, you determinedly marched to the kitchen to mix up some brownies. Chocolate. You just needed some chocolate.

After lunch, Russell spent most of the afternoon out in the garage, saying he needed to do some work on the car, and you were honestly a little relieved. The last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself with the man who was protecting you. It was probably just a reaction to him saving you, a rescue crush. And it didn’t help that he was so aggressively good-looking. He was tall and lean, broad-shouldered, handsome as hell. That dark beard made his smile seem that much brighter, enough that it made it hard to breathe normally. And those mesmerizing green eyes – looking into them was just downright dangerous.

You spent the afternoon channel-surfing, did another puzzle and read your book for a while. Russell was in and out, keeping himself busy with something, you didn’t know what, but you were sure he was avoiding you. Towards evening you headed for the kitchen, thoughts of searching for what to make for dinner on your mind. The blinds on the patio door were open, and you could see Russell adding wood to the fire pit, the flames already started. You watched him for a moment, completely unaware of the fond smile on your face. He looked up as you stood there, motioning for you to come out and join him.

You went to the closet and grabbed your jacket. Surely there was enough space outside that it would be safe to be around him, you thought to yourself, then slipped out the patio door, sliding it closed behind you. “Missing the great outdoors?” you asked and he grinned.

“I do love a good campfire and some fresh air.” He reached into the cooler sitting beside him. “And a cold beer – want one?”

“Ooh, yes, please.” You breathed in, then searched for where the delicious aroma tickling your nose was coming from. “What smells so good?”

“Oh, I threw a couple of steaks on the grill, and some potatoes. Hope that sounds okay.”

“Sounds great – smells wonderful.”

His shoulders shook with a silent little laugh. “Reminds me of that time my brother and I tried to cook over the campfire when we were kids. Almost burned the damn forest down.” He launched into the story, and before you knew it, you were both talking and laughing, relaxed with each other again. Russell was a great storyteller, and the time passed pleasantly as you ate together.

When you finished eating, you set your plate beside you on the bench with a satisfied sigh. “That was delicious. Maybe you should be a chef when you retire from working security – or whatever it is that you do when you’re not being my guardian.”

He huffed out a laugh. “A chef - that was never on my list of things I wanted to do when I grew up. More like astronaut, firefighter, rock star, pitcher… the usual. Now – I’m still searching. I thought about opening a craft brewery, sell my beer and have barbecue, so I guess that’s close. But now? I don’t know. After working with Colter, I’m kind of thinking of going more that direction. Helping people. Who knows?” He took a swig from his beer and looked at you. “So what do you want to do when you get back to your life?”

A log cracked in the fire, and you watched thoughtfully as a spray of sparks floated upwards into the darkening sky. “I used to dream about opening a book store and gift shop, with a coffee counter in the front. A couple of tables, and a few little reading nooks tucked in here and there. That would be nice.” You glanced back at him, then looked off into the distance. “But what I really want – I just want to be able to go for a long walk without my paranoid husband sending security guys after me. I want to be able to eat a meal without someone criticizing me because I might gain weight. I want to be able to wear what I want when I want, and not hear a lecture about how I’m ‘representing’ him. I want to dance because I like the music, not because I’m bait for lecherous old men who might be potential clients.” You stopped your tirade, letting out a deep breath. “Sorry. I guess that’s been bottled up inside me for a while.”

Russell’s eyes were warm and supportive as he responded. “No need to apologize.”

You nodded, unable to continue looking at him, a little embarrassed. Russell watched you for a moment, then pulled his phone from his pocket. A fast country beat filled the air, and he set the phone down on the bench beside him, standing up and reaching out a hand. “Okay, let’s go – you wanna dance? Let’s dance.”

You looked up at him, unable to keep the shy smile from your face as you saw the grin on his. “You dance?”

He scoffed with a little laugh. “Do I dance? Get up here.”

You never would have guessed it, but the man could dance. Before long he was swinging you around the patio, twirling you out and back, both of you smiling and laughing together. You danced your way through that song and the next, but then the music shifted to a slow ballad, and you both came to a stop, looking hesitantly at each other. Russell’s eyebrow lifted, his expression asking without words, and you gave a little shrug. He smirked, shrugging in reply, and pulled you closer, taking your hand in his and holding it close to his chest as his other hand rested warm on your lower back. You draped your arm over his shoulder, your hand resting at the back of his neck as you swayed together to the music.

The song began to fade away, and you realized you were resting your head on his shoulder, your fingers fidgeting with the soft hair that fell over his collar, and your face grew warm with a blush as you both stopped moving. You took a step back, grateful that it was evening and he hopefully wouldn’t notice the color in your cheeks. “I – um – guess I should take these dishes inside,” you mumbled. You stepped away from him, gathering the dishes and turning to walk towards the patio door.

“Yeah, I gotta take care of this fire, I’ll be inside in a minute,” he answered, his voice sounding just as strained as yours was. Maybe he was just as affected as you were? You chased that thought away with denial as you stepped inside, turning to close the door behind you. He had been polite and kind to you from the beginning, but never more than that. You watched him for a moment as he stuffed his phone into his pocket, then grabbed the bucket of water he had set nearby to put the fire out, his back facing towards you the whole time, and you finally turned away.

You headed for the living room, then turned back, going to the fridge for a bottle of water, your mind reeling with conflicting thoughts. You were attracted to him, you had been from the first moment he looked into your eyes and asked if you needed help. But that was just the trauma, right? You had gone through hell and he was being kind to you, that’s all it was.

You were completely in your own head as you finally closed the door to the fridge and turned, rushing towards the living room, focused on your own thoughts. As you neared the doorway, you ran into a solid wall of man, the bottle of water in your hands flying to the floor and rolling away.

Russell grabbed your arms to steady you as you both spoke at the same time. “Shit, I’m sorry!” and “Are you okay?” and you wished you could just disappear from view.

He was close – so close. He smelled like wood smoke and cinnamon gum, beer and something masculine and warm that was just him and had your skin tingling. He looked down at you, his tongue darting out over his lips, his eyes steadily searching yours. He raised his hand, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw gently before he slipped them into your hair, and he leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to push him away – but you had no desire to do that. His well-trimmed beard brushed against your cheek, softer than you expected, but you didn’t have time to think about that because when his lips connected with yours, your brain ceased to function. You could focus on nothing but your heart pounding, your nerves buzzing, you could barely breathe. There was a throbbing between your thighs that made your knees weak, made you want him to throw you down and take you right there on the floor.

It all happened in a matter of seconds, and when he stopped suddenly, his hands dropping to his sides, your head was spinning at the sudden lack of his touch. His breathing was labored, his arms flexed as though they were fighting him to reach for you. He stared at the floor, taking a few breaths before he spoke, his voice husky and quiet. “This is – I shouldn’t have done that. It’s a bad idea.” He tilted his head, a rueful little smirk flitting over his lips. “Actually great idea for me. Very bad idea for you.”

You stared back at him, still stunned and silent. He stepped away, going to retrieve your bottle of water and bringing it back to you. You took it from him with a whispered “Thank you,” and he gave a short, quick nod before turning to walk away.

You heard the bathroom door close, and finally started breathing again. So he was feeling it, too. He had slammed the brakes pretty hard, but he had said it was a bad idea for you. Unanswered questions filled your head – was he really just holding back because he thought you’d get hurt? Or was there something in his past he was worried about you finding out? He seemed like a good man, but you had a feeling there was a history there that he couldn’t easily share. In spite of how you were feeling, you needed to try to get past it and get back to normal, or as normal as things could be for you at the moment. You glanced into the living room, making sure he was still out of sight, and headed quickly for the bedroom, closing the door. You’d just get ready for bed, try to put it out of your mind, and move on. It wasn’t going to be easy, since you could still feel his lips on yours, his fingers twining through your hair.

You changed into a t-shirt and shorts to sleep in, and after a few minutes battling with yourself, you finally grabbed your pillow and blanket and headed out to the couch. Russell was already settled in the recliner, searching for the classic movie channel he liked to leave on at night. You wrapped your blanket around you, snuggling down in your pillow. “Ready for lights out?” Russell asked softly, and you mumbled a “Yeah” in reply. He turned off the lamp next to him and left you both in the flickering light of the TV.

You laid there, staring at the glowing images on the screen, pretending to be trying to go to sleep. You were wide awake, unable to stop thinking about that kiss, craving more. It was infuriating, really, that Russell had just walked away like it was nothing and you were left wanting something he was apparently not willing to give, whatever his reasons.

You fought the urge to toss and turn, acutely aware of how close he was, probably watching whatever it was that was on the screen. But your imagination was merciless, showing you the possibilities, teasing you with images and thoughts of erotic touches, of his lips on your skin, of his calloused hands in places that ached for him.

He cleared his throat, shifting restlessly in his seat, and your resolve to act as if everything was fine crumbled. You threw back the blanket, your heart pounding as you crawled down the length of the sofa and straddled Russell’s lap. His eyes went wide, your fingers on his lips cutting off his startled “What…?”

You stared down at him, slowly removing your hand and resting it on his chest, your voice hushed as you spoke. “I don’t care if it’s a bad idea.” You could feel his heart rate rising beneath your hand, his eyes fluttering shut just before yours did as you leaned down into him, your lips landing on his in a soft kiss.

His hands drifted up to rest on your back, his cock steadily swelling underneath you. You moaned softly, grinding down into him, and he drew back, panting for air as he looked up at you. You kept your eyes on his, sliding back off his lap as he raised the recliner upright, and you took hold of his hand to lead him with you back to the couch. You spread the blanket out as Russell came up behind you, his hands moving to your hips as you straightened back up. “Told myself I wasn’t gonna do this,” he said softly as you leaned back into his chest. “You’re making me a liar.”

You couldn’t help smiling a little before you turned to face him. “You need to know – I don’t have any expectations. I know, when this is all over, that you’re going to leave, move on to your next job, and I’ll be going back and try to start my life over again. But I’m not asking…” For some reason your eyes began to sting with tears, and you blinked hard to chase them away. “I’m not asking for anything more than you want to give.”

Russell stared down at you for a second before his arms wrapped around you, the last shreds of his resistance evaporating as he pulled you close. His lips landed soft but decisive on yours, his tongue teasing at your lips, and you opened to him, a whimper in your throat as you slipped your arms around his neck.

After a moment or two, he parted from you one more time, one hand rising to drag a thumb across his mouth as he cleared his throat. “I – uh – don’t have a condom.”

You reached for his hand. “It’s okay. We’re good.”

“You sure? Because if you’d rather not...” The tip of his tongue peeked out, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “I’d be more than happy to take care of you some other way.” His thumb brushed over the top of your hand, his words invoking images in your mind that sent a flash of heat through your body.

You finally found your voice, although it was a little breathless and stammering. “I promise we’re good – but… Well, that sounds – umm – amazing, too.” His lips curved in a one-sided smirk as he stared into your eyes. He reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head, then did the same with his before he pulled you back into his arms and kissed you again. You buried your fingers in his hair as you leaned into him, breasts crushed to his chest, your pulse racing.

He moved you backwards until your legs ran into the couch, then slid his hands down your sides to your hips, pushing your shorts down until they fell to the floor. You stepped out of them and let him lower you down to the sofa, stretching out with your head on your pillow. He put a knee down between your legs, sliding his palm up the outside of your thigh and guiding it up to his hip as he lowered himself down over you.

He kissed you, deep and hungry, rutting his still-clothed erection gently against your thigh, and the combination was driving you insane in the best possible way. He propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand beginning to roam, and he moaned in appreciation as he brushed a palm over your breast. He gave each one a little attention as he moved his lips across your jaw to your pulse point, then steadily moved down your body, his destination clear.

Your stomach muscles quivered as his lips traveled over your soft skin. Your entire body tensed, frozen in anticipation of what was about to happen. He splayed his fingers over your hips, his thumbs pulling gently at your mound to give him easier access to your swollen clit. He leaned in close to place soft, lingering kisses over your pussy before exploring you thoroughly with his tongue, finally dipping it inside you and then dragging it up and over your clit.

He teased you that way until you were rearing your head back into your pillow, one hand behind your head gripping the arm of the couch and the other clutching at his hair. Then he pulled your clit between his lips, his tongue brushing over it as he worked two fingers inside you, curling them to rub against your walls. When you gasped, he hummed his approval, stroking over that sweet spot he’d been searching for, your grip on his hair tightening as he gave your clit a hard suck.

He raised his eyes to look at you, your eyes half closed in bliss, your other hand now tugging and twisting at your nipples. “Jesus,” he swore, watching you for a moment longer before he nuzzled his face against you and sucked hard, pulsing his tongue with the movement of his fingers. Your back arched as you let out a cry, your cunt clutching at his fingers as you came undone, your hips bucking into his thrusts as you rode out your climax.

You watched him through half-lidded eyes as he slowly pulled his fingers free, making you shiver. He sucked them clean, then grabbed a corner of the blanket and scrubbed it over his face before moving up to nibble at your lips. “Told you I’d take care of you,” he teased, and he grinned as you blinked slowly and gave him a faint smile.

“Mmmm-hmmmm,” you agreed between his soft kisses.

“This doesn’t have to go any further if you don’t want it to,” he said quietly, and you opened your eyes to stare up at him.

“Don’t tell me you’re quitting on me.” The corner of his mouth quirked a little, those green eyes shining down at you even in the dim light.

“Only if you want me to,” he answered, pausing as he waited for your response.

“I don’t,” you said, pulling him down with a hand on the back of his neck to kiss him, a nip to his bottom lip making him grunt a little. “So stop teasing already.”

His chest vibrated against you as he chuckled, then raised up to his knees, shoving his clothes down to free himself. He slipped one arm beneath your knee, lifting it to open you up further for him as he settled back between your thighs. He took his time, pushing inside you slow and steady, giving you time, watching your face closely. Your breath was frozen in your lungs as you adjusted to his generous size, finally able to exhale when your bodies were flush and he stopped moving, bending to nuzzle his face into your neck. “Mmmm, you feel amazing,” he rumbled, his lips roaming over the soft skin there.

“God, so do you,” you managed before he began to move, melting your words into a moan. The slick drag of him inside you lit every nerve on fire, and you clutched your arms around his middle, digging your fingers into his back. He took his time, in and out slowly, barely inching out at first and building up until he was pulling almost all the way out before gliding smoothly back in to the limit. When you finally relaxed, adjusted to him, he began to ramp up his speed and drove into you faster, harder, until your nails were digging into his back and you wrapped your leg tight around him.

He shifted his hold on your other knee, tilting you back a little farther, your sweet spot now a bullseye with every stroke. He let out a low groan as your cunt began to clench around him, letting go completely and fucking into you hard, wanton sounds forced from you with every thrust. He let out a soft growl, a sound that sent you careening over the edge, your back arching up beneath him as you came with an unearthly howl of his name.

He joined you with a loud groan, cursing under his breath as he fucked you through your orgasm and his, finally collapsing on top of your quivering body. You breathed helpless little whimpers into his shoulder, your arms going limp as he slipped his arm out from under your knee and hugged your thigh to his side. It was some time before either of you moved, spent and contented to stay right where you were.

You had actually started dozing off when Russell moved, and you shivered as he slipped free from you and stood up. He tossed his sweats over his shoulder, shuffling his way to the bathroom, and you let out a sleepy sigh and sat up, reaching down to the floor for a shirt. It happened to be his, but you didn’t mind. When he came back, you stood up to head to the bathroom, but he put his arms around you and kissed you softly, pausing your trip for a few welcome minutes.

You cleaned up and went back out into the living room, smiling as you saw him spreading a clean blanket on the couch. You grabbed your shorts from the floor and slipped them on as you waited, and he turned to look at you with a faint smile as he finished. “Want me to go back to the recliner?” he asked quietly, and you shook your head.

“No. Stay with me – I mean, if you want.”

His smile broadened, and he plopped down, his back to the back of the couch. “C’mere, you.”

You laid down beside him, and he pulled the blanket from the back of the couch to cover you both before he slipped one arm underneath your neck, the other around your waist to hold you close as he curled himself around you. Warm and happy, you fell asleep in his arms, the most peaceful you’d felt in years.

You woke up the next morning, reluctant to let yourself drift into full consciousness. But the tempting aroma of brewing coffee finally prompted your eyes to open, breathing deep as the sleepy daze cleared from your brain. Russell was humming a little off-key as he worked on whatever breakfast he was concocting that morning, and you smiled to yourself.

You stretched, feeling the ache of muscles you hadn’t used in a while, but it was a good feeling. However, before you went to the kitchen to join Russell, you definitely wanted to take a shower. You threw the blanket off and headed for the bathroom. The mirror was still a little foggy, so Russell had obviously already been in there. Happily, you found a scrunchie in Reenie’s bag of toiletries, and you put your hair up before climbing into a hot shower.

You dried off, refreshed and fully awake, wrapping a towel around yourself so you could make your way to the bedroom and get dressed. You stepped out into the hallway, a cloud of vanilla and jasmine steam billowing out behind you. Russell’s voice calling your name stopped you in your tracks, and he stepped through the kitchen doorway into the living room, still talking.

“I made breakfast, sausage and stuff, if you’re…” he stopped in mid-sentence, his mouth open as he stared at you. “Hungry,” he finished, then snapped his mouth shut, his lips pursing and brows bunching in a contemplative expression before he dropped the spatula he was holding to the floor. “Yeah, it can wait.”

Before you could react, he had you pinned between the hallway wall and his body, his lips crashing down on yours in a ravenous kiss. You blinked up at him, stunned, as he raised his head, his eyes burning into yours. “I told you this was a bad idea,” he rasped, closing his eyes for a beat before he went on. “You are playing hell with my impulse control.”

You kept your eyes on his as you reached for the snap on his jeans, popping it loose before pulling his zipper down. “Losing control once in a while isn’t such a bad thing,” you said, watching his upper lip twitch as you shoved his clothing out of the way and wrapped your hand around his hard cock. He grabbed a handful of your towel and tugged hard, pulling it free where you had it tucked in between your breasts. He tossed it to the side and scooped you up, his hands under your thighs, lifting you to his waist. You gasped as his hot length was trapped between his stomach and your already leaking pussy, your arms wrapped around his neck as he rutted against you, coating himself in your juices. Then he lifted you a little, holding you with one arm while he positioned himself at your entrance.

“You ready?” he rumbled, his eyes on your face as he waited.

You nodded, clinging tight to his neck as he lowered your body, impaling you fully, a breathless, silent moment before he began to move. Then his fingers dug into your hips as he fucked into you, forcing sounds from you with every powerful thrust as your bodies slammed together. His forehead rested on your shoulder as he focused everything on driving you both over the edge, hard and fast.

He came first, and you followed close behind, resting your cheek on the top of his head as you both panted like you had run a marathon. He finally straightened up, then bent his head to kiss you, slow and deep, before lifting you up and lowering you to the floor. You still clung to him, your legs a little shaky, for a long moment, then gave him a coy smile. “Now I need another shower,” you said, and he grinned.

“Me, too – so how about we go clean up, and then we can eat. Don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”

“Sorry you went to all that work, and now it’s probably all cold.” You reached up to stroke his cheek with your fingertips, and you smiled as he leaned into your touch.

“Nope. I stuck it all in the oven to stay warm.”

“Smart man!”

“I’ve been known to have an occasional flash of brilliance. Until you come walking out dressed in nothing but a little towel, and all the blood leaves my brain,” he teased, and you laughed as he herded you into the bathroom for yet another shower.

The next couple of days were amazing. The freedom of being able to be yourself without a filter, without judgment or disapproval – it was like you had been set free from years of confinement. The common sense part of your brain knew that this was all temporary, that it would be gone in the blink of an eye when the time came, but you chose to ignore that nagging voice and live for the day.

Russell had lightened up considerably since you had first met him, too. Maybe it was good for him to have a little time away from gunfire and commando tactics. You talked, and laughed, watched movies together, cooked and ate, drank beer by the fire outside, and even danced again.

And you had sex that you knew you’d never equal with anyone else. He stopped you in the middle of cooking dinner once, plopping you up on the counter top and stripping your pants off so he could go down on one knee and make you his appetizer.

He pulled you over onto his lap during a movie, taking off your shirt and bra and leaning you back against his chest, teasing and tugging at your nipples. He whispered in your ear in that sinful voice, sweet and dirty, until you were a whining mess, begging him to fuck you.

He kissed you awake in the early morning, the two of you making out like teenagers, the sex slow and lazy and perfect.

But late that evening, his phone rang, and you felt your stomach drop. It was over.

He hung up and turned towards you, teeth denting his lower lip before he met your eyes. “They just arrested Vince. He’s being charged with murder and your kidnapping, along with all the financial shit. They found the bodies of the two that grabbed you buried in the woods north of your brother’s house. He’s never getting out.” He sighed, watching your face. “You’re free. You can finally live your own life.”

You dropped down onto the sofa, nodding, your voice barely audible. “Yeah. I guess so.”

He sat down beside you, reaching for your hand, which was trembling a little. “You okay?”

You blew out a breath, still afraid to look at him again, your emotions too close to the surface. “I will be.”

“We’re supposed to meet Reenie and that FBI agent at the house tomorrow at nine. Your brother’s coming, too. They’ll help you get your stuff together before the FBI seizes Vince’s property.”

You nodded, then sighed, raising your head to look up at him. “Okay. Back to reality.”

He pulled his hand away, putting it to his chest in mock offense. “Like I’m not real?” he scoffed, and you smiled in spite of yourself.

“Russell, you’re the realest thing that’s happened to me in the last few years, trust me.”

He grinned, standing up. “Want a beer before we crash for the night?”

“Yeah. I could use one.”

You watched him walk to the kitchen, an ache blooming in your chest. He was right. It had been a bad idea. But it was too late, and this was going to hurt like hell.

Russell came back with beer for the two of you, and you did your best to act like everything was fine as you talked and laughed half-heartedly at the sitcom on the TV. It was already late, and you wished you could just start the day over again. You took the empty bottles and carried them to the trash in the kitchen, stopping to stare out the patio door for a moment.

You felt Russell’s presence behind you before he spoke. “Should have had a fire tonight, huh? Didn’t know…”

“That we wouldn’t have another night.” You sighed, and he put a hand on your shoulder.

“Do you want me to sleep in the recliner tonight? I mean, making a clean break might…”

“Make it easier?” You looked up at him. “Or maybe we should just enjoy the one night we have left.”

His eyes were shining, soft in the dim light as he looked down at you. “Not gonna lie, I was hoping you’d say that.” His arms surrounded you, pulling you close as he bent to kiss you, your hands clenching fistfuls of his t-shirt as you leaned into him.

At least you’d have one more memory to take with you.

You woke early the next morning, reluctant to open your eyes and face the day. Russell, of course, was already awake and had coffee going, so you forced yourself to get up, grab your clothes, and take a shower. Every task was an effort of will – all you really wanted to do was roll up in your blankets and refuse to move.

You stood beneath the hot spray, eyes closed as you washed your body, remembering every moment of the night before. You had taken things slow, exploring each other as if you were sharing secrets no one else would ever know. You had memorized every tattoo, every scar on Russell’s body, reveled in the sensation of the muscles in his back rolling and straining beneath your fingertips as he fucked into you, riding the waves of pleasure he invoked with his touch. He had sent jolts of white hot fire through your veins as he marked you, sharp teeth and soothing tongue, on your breasts, the soft flesh of your lower belly, and the one he made on your inner thigh right next to your pussy had almost made you come. You hung up your towel and ran your fingers over the bruises as you stood in front of the mirror, wishing you could make them stay forever.

When you walked into the kitchen, Russell mumbled a “Mornin’” from the breakfast nook, and you answered him softly. He was quiet, scrolling on his phone, not chatty as he had been the last few days. He was distancing himself, you could tell, and it felt like the first day you had been here all over again.

You drank your coffee and stood to go and pack. “Don’t bother with the blankets or anything,” he said, “Colter and I are coming back later to clean out the house.”

“Okay. Thanks,” you answered, leaving the room, suddenly needing to be as far away from him as possible. This didn’t seem to be bothering him one bit.

By the time you got packed, it was time to hit the road. Russell took the suitcase from you and opened the door, and you started out. “Oh, wait,” you said, turning back and going to the end table next to the sofa. You opened the drawer and grabbed the crossword puzzle book. You didn’t look at him as you headed back to the door – he didn’t need to know you wanted it because working that puzzle was the first time there had been sparks between you. He probably wouldn’t understand, anyway.

You climbed into the passenger seat, he got behind the wheel, and you left the house behind, watching out your window as you passed it by. You had barely spoken to or looked at each other, and the silence in the car was oppressive. Several miles went by that way until you couldn’t keep your hurt contained any longer.

“I should have listened to you. You were right. It was a fucking bad idea.” You took a shaky breath. “It must be nice.”

“What?”

There was a bitter edge to your words as you answered him. “The way you’re able to shut off your feelings. It’s so easy for you, like flipping a fucking switch.”

Your resentment hung thick in the air, and after a few seconds, you assumed he wasn’t going to respond. Then Russell spoke softly, his voice taut. “What makes you think it’s easy?”

There was a note of hurt in his words, and you wished you could just take everything you’d said back, but it was too late. None of this was his fault. You had pushed the issue even after he had tried to take a step back, and you had no right to attack him for it. But you couldn’t find the right thing to say, so you just finished the ride to town in yet more silence.

When you pulled up in front of your former home, Reenie, your brother, and the FBI agent who had interviewed you were standing near the front steps talking. “I’ll grab your bag,” Russell said, and you said a quiet “Thank you” as you got out of the car.

Grant met you halfway, hugging you with a smile. Russell brought your bag over, and Grant took it from him. “Thanks, I’ll put this in the trunk.”

Reenie’s observant eyes shifted from Russell to you and back again, Russell’s gaze sliding away from hers to the ground near his feet. Colter was leaning on his truck, parked out on the street, and lifted a hand in greeting. “Well, I guess I should get going. Colter will bring me back to pick up my car after we finish up at the house.” He looked at you, but you barely glanced his direction. “Take care of yourself,” he said quietly, and you nodded in reply. He bit at his lip, then gave a little nod and turned to walk away.

You finally raised your eyes, watching him until he was halfway out to the street, your heart finally forcing you to call out to him. “Russell! Wait.”

He stopped, turning slowly as you rushed out to meet him. “Russell – I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things, I didn’t mean any of it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I get it.”

You shook your head, your eyes stinging with tears. “No, you didn’t deserve any of it. In fact, I need to thank you.” He started to shake his head, and you grabbed his hand. “No, listen. I need to thank you. Not just for the rescue. Russell, you saved me. You made me feel again after years of being numb. You made me feel like myself again. I needed someone, and you were there for me. I’ll never forget it.”

He looked into your eyes, his jaw ticking as he stared at you for a moment. Then he cradled your face in both hands, bending to kiss you, his lips clinging to yours for a long, bittersweet moment before he let you go, brushing a tear from your cheek before he dropped his hands to his sides.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you said in a wavering voice, watching his face as he held his emotions in check.

A brief, sad little smile flitted over his lips, and he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Me too, sweetheart.” He reached out to give your hand one more squeeze before he turned and walked away.

You watched as he and Colter got into the truck, raised a hand to wave as they did the same, then drove away. You finally turned and walked back to the house, walking straight into your brother’s arms. You shed a few tears on his shoulder, then raised your head with a heavy sigh. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

A few miles down the road, Colter glanced over at his brother, who was staring silently out the window, dragging his fingers absently through his beard. “Wanna talk about it?”

Several moments passed before Russell took a deep breath, exhaling hard before he spoke, his voice subdued. “Did you ever meet somebody who makes you wish like hell you could be what they deserve?”

Colter cleared his throat as he looked steadily at the road. “Yeah.”

Colter never mentioned you when he and Russell called each other or got together. He figured he probably came closer to understanding his brother than just about anyone, and he knew Russell wouldn’t – or couldn’t – talk about it anyway.

Yeah, Colter understood Russell, as well as anyone probably did – except maybe Reenie Green. Russell stayed in touch with her, like he always had, the two of them exchanging banter and joking insults. But when the conversation slowed, when that moment of silence sat heavy between them, Reenie would speak softly. “She’s safe, Russell. She’s happy.” No details, which was good, because Russell didn’t want details. He probably couldn’t handle details. And then they’d end the conversation, like they always did, until the next time.

He still dreamed about you. He could still hear your voice, your laugh. He still woke up some nights feeling the softness of your skin on his fingertips, the scent of your hair and the taste of your lips lingering. And he still told himself your life was good, was better without his past, his baggage weighing you down.

You deserved a fresh start, a new life. He could handle being haunted by your memory. He was used to being haunted by his past.

Time cast a spell on you but you won't forget me I know I could have loved you but you would not let me

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“No!” He starts to raise up again, but you push against the middle of his back until he surrenders again. “Yes, you are. It’s adorable,” you tease, going back to kneading your fingers into the plentiful muscle across his glorious back. “It’s just nice to know there’s a little chink in that armor of yours. Might come in handy.”

Surrendeeeeeeer!! lol And hell fucking yes to plentiful muscle across his glorious back 🤤

You stare up at him, panting for air, and his beautiful smile fades slowly, the sparkle in his eyes becoming warm, and your breath catches in your chest as his tongue darts out over his lips.

ehehe I love the slow turn from playful and fun to "fuck I need you" 🫠

And what a delicious quickie that was. ❤️‍🔥 Felt so natural and hot but still loving, especially here:

melting into the warm afterglow as Dean lowers himself gently, his lips nuzzling at your neck. “Damn, it’s good to be home,” he murmurs against your skin, and you find the strength to raise your arms and hold him close, letting the fingers of one hand wander through his hair, the other caressing the smooth muscle of his back and shoulder. “I missed you,” you answer softly, and you lay in each others’ arms, silent for a while.

“Why’s that?” you asked.

“Safer than the ground floor,” he said, humming in pleasure as he inhaled your perfume. “That’s nice. What’s that, Burberry?”

“Yves Saint Laurent,” you replied, smiling harder, trying not to. 

“Fancy,” he murmured against your skin. 

“It was a birthday gift.”

He wondered if your ex, Sergeant Perfect, was the one to get it for you. But he realized that it didn’t matter. Mark had a hold of you now, and he didn’t feel inclined to let go.

His presence still burned at your back when you stopped to unlock the door of unit 315. You led him inside, where he took in the small, but breathable surroundings of your apartment. It opened up right into the living room, with the dining room and kitchen to the far right, and a narrow hall straight ahead.

“Hmm, nice place,” he remarked, but he was soon distracted by your grasping hands guiding him down to you by his jacket, with you leaning up to catch him in a heated kiss. He fell into the pull of you all too willingly. He held you flush against him, letting his hands wander down your back. He squeezed the plush of your ass and groaned at the give. 

Meanwhile, your fingers were running through his hair, but they clenched tight on reflex when he bent down to grab you up by your thighs. A squeal escaped you, accompanied by a rare giggle once you realized what he was doing. His answering grin was cocky and familiar, but you just grabbed his face and plundered his mouth—a sensuous duet of lips and tongue, but fraught with a thrilling heat.

You helped him shrug out of his jacket first, then yours. They created their own pile on your living room floor before he walked you through your apartment. 

“Which way?” he asked. He didn’t give a fuck if you said bedroom, closet, or bathroom tub. He’d make it work. 

“First left,” you panted. 

He held onto you impressively with one arm to open the door, finding the one and only bedroom. Of course he had plans of his own when he plopped you down on the edge of the bed, but as you discovered, it put you at the perfect level to unbuckle his belt. He stripped off his shirt from the back of his collar, a sleeve almost catching on his watch in his haste.

He helped you with your silky little blouse next. His eyes darkened at the sight of your black lace bra holding up your perfect tits. He could already tell they’d give him a nice handful each.

He had to marvel at the way you popped open the button on his jeans and worked them down so readily. He supposed he shouldn’t have had any doubts about your intentions after your behavior in the car, with that little two-finger tap dance across his inner thigh that almost made him crash into a Yield sign.

But there was teasing, and then there was taking his hard cock in your mouth, where you were warm and wet and salivating like you couldn’t wait to choke on it.

His body almost buckled. “Jesus…”

His hand flew to your shoulder, then into your hair, tangling tight around the strands as you worked him into deep and smooth strokes. Already you were doing your goddamn best.

His jeans and boxers were barely halfway down his legs, coiled somewhere around his knees. You pushed them down a little more, so your free hand had more room to slide even further back, gently cupping and massaging his balls. A shuttered groan was knocked out of him at the sensation. But it was a steely resolve that kept his hips to a minimal rocking to try and match your rhythm, instead of bucking hard into your mouth and choking you for real. His fingers did tighten in your hair though, making you wince.

Your lips tightened on his shaft as you slowly pulled back, with purpose, sucking the pearling precum out of the head of his dick. His stomach muscles clenched as half a shudder went through him. His heart pattered like a steel drum in his chest.

“Fuck, sweetheart, have a little mercy,” he chuckled roughly.

Your smile was cheeky at best, devious at worst.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re flagging already,” you said.

Mark raised a brow. He would be remiss if he didn’t take you up on that little challenge. With a hmph, as he helped you back up to your feet, just so he could lure you into a devouring kiss. It was pure heat as he held you flush against him, your pretty lace bra scraping against his chest. But it was also distraction, allowing him to maneuver you where he wanted you on the bed: breathless on your back.

He kicked off his remaining clothes, though he prided himself on remembering a condom you gave him from his wallet, soon discarded again with his jeans. He shook the little foil packet at you in amusement before he fitted himself with its contents.

But he had to stop short once he helped you peel off your jeans. A slow smirk took control of his face when he fingered the familiar hem of your panties, silky and violet.

“These look even sexier now than the day we met,” he teased. “Nice of you to model ‘em for me.”

“I thought you might appreciate that,” you said, rubbing his arms as he climbed back up your body to kiss you. His arms were a cage you didn’t want to escape; you arched against his chest so he could successfully fiddle with your bra, yanking the clasps open with a practiced hand. You tried not to think of exactly how much practice, or let your brain fall back into overthinking, like wondering if he was serious about more than just wanting you.

You couldn’t deny that you wanted him too. Maybe tonight, that was enough.

The way he was kissing and sucking your tits was certainly good enough. His teeth grazed the firm peaks, making you moan and grab onto his hair tightly, your thighs wrapping around his hips. The rigid length of him pressed against your clothed pussy with blinding friction. It had him painfully, distractingly hard, but the way your knees squeezed his hips reminded him that he had work to do.

He kissed his way from your breasts down past your navel, where your legs spread wider, enough to accommodate his broad shoulders. His hand smoothly traveled up your thigh and squeezed soft flesh. Your breathing deepened just in anticipation as his lips blazed a trail along the inside of your knee, your thigh, nipping with teeth just shy of your pussy.

“Mark,” you gasped, laughing a little. “Jesus…”

“Oh, don’t flinch now, baby. We’re just getting started,” he said. And thumbed at the darkened wet spot through your panties.

His smile was incorrigible, but worse was the way he slowly dragged your panties down your thighs. Once they reached as far as they would go without him moving out of the way, he yanked the flimsy silk, making your mouth drop open in shock and your heart stutter. The fabric burned and your pussy throbbed with another flood of arousal.

He pacified you with his fingers slipping through the slick mess of your folds and quickly finding your clit. Your hips raised somewhat off the bed as you breathed into the delicious pleasure. Your hand came up over your head to grab onto your pillow, your other hand fisting the sheets.

“Good angle?” he teased.

“You’re gonna buy me new panties,” you uttered, but your sultry moan only stroked his ego.

“Hell, I’ll buy you a whole matching set,” he said, “long as I get a live preview.”

He grabbed another pillow to wedge underneath your hips, as if preparing you on a platter for his next meal.

Then he dove in, finally making better use of his mouth by tongue-stroking your clit. His fingers worked themselves inside your aching channel, then curling those long digits inside your inner walls. He hummed low in pleasure at the taste of you, making you blush and tangle your fingers back into his silky hair instead of the sheets. You felt the deep vibration of his voice against your clit, and it had you seeing brittle stars.

Mark was nothing if not a puzzle-solver, a true analyst, trying to figure out which angle you responded to more, which side of your clit was more sensitive, what kind of pressure would have only his name on your lips as you fell apart.

He knew he found it when your nails raked across his scalp, your body shuddering against him as you uttered a broken cry. “Mark.”

“That’s right, baby, come all fucking over me,” he muttered. But his fingers slipped out of you, so that he could grab your thighs and rip the pillow from underneath you. Just like the fucking panties, it was now in his goddamn way.

His cock sunk into you while you were still tinging from your first orgasm. Hell, it still felt like you were coming. Or it could’ve been just the feeling of him stretching your inner walls as they fluttered around him, welcoming him inside.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed, grasping onto his shoulders desperately.

He didn’t give you any time to recover. He started moving, a steady roll of his hips that stole your breath and had you clinging to his neck with biting nails and a dirty kiss. His breathing was labored too, but not because he was anywhere near done with you.

He grabbed onto the headboard and curled an arm around you, kissing you back hard enough to still taste cinnamon sugar and tequila.

“Harder,” you said against his lips, yanking on the longer strands of his hair for good measure.

A deep and guttural moan came from his throat. You really were his kind of woman.

But he still asked, “Fuck, you sure?”

You nodded, panting as you slipped your fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, make it fucking count,” you said.

He met your gaze, and for a moment, he didn’t even know what he saw in your eyes.

After another steamy kiss that knocked all coherent thought out of his head, and yours, he pulled out of you just to turn you over, guiding you onto your hands and knees. He realigned himself flush against your ass, giving both cheeks a firm squeeze as he sunk back inside you to the hilt. Your heady moan, and the way you squeezed on him on reentry, nearly undid him right there. Jesus fuck…

He slowly regained his rhythm and the leverage he had with a white-knuckle grip on the headboard. He held you to him too, heeding your guiding hand to squeeze one of your tits, rolling the sensitive bud of your nipple between his fingers. Your mouth fell open as your breaths fell out in time with his thrusts. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to feel his power.

Your arms were shaking, even with his support. He let you sink forward and rest your forehead on your arms, with a needy whimper as it deepened the angle.

His cock pulsed a warning inside you. It was getting harder to wait for you to come with him, but he could feel your legs quaking, your inner walls tightening around his cock, sucking him in as you finally mounted the crest of a new wave.

“You almost there, baby?” he said, nodding to himself when all you could answer was a high moan. His hand tightened on your hip. “Yeah, I fucking feel it…”

He reached around and guided your hand down between your legs. “Play with yourself. Stroke that clit the same way I did with my fucking tongue.”

You nodded, rubbing your swollen clit with trembling fingers. Combined with the feeling of his cock hitting that most sensitive place inside, it was almost too much. But it was also just fucking right. Your vision flashed, a cry forcing itself from your lungs.

Grabbing a fist full of your hair for his own stability, Mark finally allowed himself to let go along with you. His ragged shout echoed sharply in the room as he spent himself into the condom. You shuddered against him, heaving for breath as you clawed back up the headboard. His fingers freed themselves from your hair to smooth it down instead. He held you to him without collapsing on you, leaning heavily on the bedframe instead. His arm shook.

He chuckled as he tried to regain his breath. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh,” you replied airily, squeezing his arm as your head rested on his shoulder. “Good job.”

Another laugh huffed out of him.

“That’s my line, sweetheart,” he said, pressing his lips to your neck.

You were nearly boneless as he lowered you back down to the bed. You felt the loss of his cock keenly when he withdrew. Jesus, he’s fucking big.

You slowly managed to turn on your side so you could see his face. You smiled, and you leaned in to kiss him. 

It was gentler than he expected, but it was nice.

You laid your head in the crook of his shoulder. His pointer and middle finger stroked your arm back and forth while you both just breathed and existed there. The low hum of the AC kicked on just in time. The ceiling fan occasionally clicked as it spun. Distant sirens. Quiet slipped into the spaces where heartbeats fell. Warm lamplight and stillness.

After a while, you turned your head and scooted back a little, so you could meet his eyes, see the dewy sheen across his forehead.

“Was I worth the wait?” you asked cheekily. 

Amusement curved his lips. “For that, I would’ve waited a goddamn year.” 

You burst out laughing. “You’re so full of shit.”

He smirked. But your mirth faded the longer you considered him. 

He clocked the shift. It was hard not to, when you were laid out right in front of him, your body bare, and a few more layers stripped back too.

“Now what’re you thinking?” he asked. “I can see your gears turning.”

You took a deep breath before you answered, reaching out to stroke his cheek. His beard prickled your fingertips.

“Wondering if you’re going to be the guy who dips out before goodnight, or at least stays for the morning sex,” you said. And actually calls me after…

He got to smiling again. “So far I like the sound of the overnight package.” 

You bit your lip against another laugh, shaking your head. Your hand fell to his chest, hesitating there.

Against all prior evidence, Mark defied your expectations by settling into your bed, into this. He kissed you slowly. 

You breathed into it and allowed it to settle inside you, even after he pulled back.

“I’m looking forward to waking you up in the morning,” he said.

Your small, pleased smile told him he made the right choice. 

The sun had climbed halfway up the sky by the time Mark kept his word and woke you. A slow Saturday morning of warm skin on skin, his mouth mapping every inch his hands had the night before. Your upstairs neighbor was going to remember Mark’s name, layered on the walls in lusty sighs and sharp gasps. 

But after a shared shower and a ham and egg scramble with some particularly delectable homemade sourdough, he started to get his things together to head home. A thought occurred to him as he grabbed his wallet from under your bed, along with his keys.

This was the longest he’d spent with a woman in over a year.

No more UC for a while.

Even before then, Mark knew his track record. But he wasn’t exactly itching to leave this time. Maybe it really had been too long since he had a night that fucking good.

Or maybe the prospect of going home to an empty apartment, with little else besides a case of beer and more case files, was losing its luster.

Regardless, Mark pushed past the reluctance in his steps as his keys jangled in his hand. 

You followed him to the door in your loose pajamas and wild, sexy bedhead. It had him contemplating another serving of you for the road, but he limited himself to a slow kiss goodbye.

“See you soon,” he said with smile. 

You gave him one back. “Be careful out there.”

He shot you a wink. “Always.”

You snorted. “Somehow I doubt that.”

After you spent an extra few seconds watching him head down the hall, you shut the door and locked it behind him. Your fingers went to your lips as you contemplated the night’s decisions, as well as the morning’s surprises—mainly his mouth, and the fact that he’d stayed even longer than sharing a cup of coffee with you.

You cooked him breakfast. You two talked and laughed and relived yesterday’s moment that Officer “Tight Ass” Vance pulled Mark over in the middle of the desert. Mark later used your lavender soap in the shower, teasing the bar down your spine before he fucked you against the tile wall. 

If you were honest, you were a little disappointed that he didn’t mention even the obligatory “let’s do this again sometime.” But you also knew better than to try and lock this man into anything. You gave him a chance to be more than what you expected, so now, you’d just have to wait and see if he’d take it.

You were just settling down on the couch with a book when your phone buzzed with a call. You smiled, and you answered. 

“Forget something?” you asked.

“Actually yeah,” Mark said on the line. “What’re you doing on Monday after work? I’ve already got an idea on where to take you on date number 2.” 

You were glad he couldn’t see how embarrassingly girlish your smile was. You’d probably have to smother his satisfied smirk—with any means necessary. 

“6:00 p.m. works for me,” you said.

You and Mark spent your Sundays very differently. You had brunch with Sarah and tidied up your apartment (as if you hadn’t done that overhaul the night before Mark came over). Afterward, you filled out a few more job applications while you were still waiting to hear back from the District Attorney’s office.

Meanwhile, Mark did his usual workout routine in the morning, followed by a protein bar breakfast and a nosedive back into his open cases from his work laptop. That was later accompanied by a frozen pizza and a couple of beers he un-crusted from the back of his fridge, before he passed out that night.

On Monday morning, he went in for work by 7:30 a.m. as usual. Already people were trickling into the bullpen of the Homicide division, and the Captain had his office door open. It was like he was waiting to hear Mark’s boots cross the threshold, because his gaze slid up and zeroed in on the detective.

“Meachum,” Dan called out.

Mark inhaled deeply. Here we fucking go.

 He dumped his work bag on his desk and made his way to the Captain’s office.

“Shut the door,” Dan said.

Mark obliged him, then followed the other man’s gesturing hand to sit in one of the free chairs in front of the desk.

“Something’s been brought to my attention, but I prefer to hear it from the horse’s mouth,” Dan began, folding his hands in front of him. “Now, man to man. Did you go against my direct order to stay away from my daughter?”

Mark quirked his head. “Well, news does get to you quick. Guess I gotta send Vance an Edible Arrangement or something.”

“Answer my question,” Dan said. He was calm, deceptively so.

Mark knew he was taking his ass into his hands, but he wasn’t lying to you when he said he respected your father. He wouldn’t lie now, especially because that wouldn’t help him with you in the long run.

“I don’t think I have to tell you that she has a mind of her own, sir,” he pointed out.

Dan snorted in response. Then, he took in a deep breath of contemplation. 

“You in particular have amassed a reputation in this office, both professionally and…socially. While you know damn well that I’ve gone to bat for you on the former, I usually don’t have the time or the patience to make another man’s personal business my business,” he said. “However, in this case, you better tread very carefully. She’s been burned before, and she doesn’t deserve it from you.”

Mark took in that last tidbit with a nod. “I understand, sir.”

When Dan was certain, at least for the moment, that Mark really did understand, he grabbed a few manilla folders off his desk. They were case files—thick ones.

“Hanson broke his damn foot playing pickleball with his kids over the weekend, but I trust you to pick up the slack on his cases,” Dan said, with a hint of satisfaction as he handed Mark the files. “Even if that means working overtime, maybe even a few double shifts over the next few weeks.”

A wry smile tugged at Mark’s lips. At least he’d be getting paid for it.  

“No problem, Cap.”

You loved to cook. You had a weakness for Top Chef and The Great British Bake-Off. You even had a secret dream of visiting all the Hells Kitchens in the world—even better if you got to see Gordon Ramsay lose his shit over a half-cooked rack of lamb.

But tonight, you and Sarah ordered in from your favorite Korean fried chicken spot in Oakland, getting (sugar) high on their strawberry lemonade and watching old episodes of Motel Hell. She updated you on her boyfriend’s new job while you finished making love to your last chicken wing. The honey garlic sauce was particularly fire tonight.

“It sounds like IT is a better fit for him than Sales,” you said.

“Yeah, comes with a bit of a pay cut, but it’s less soul sucking,” she said. “I just want him to be happy, but it probably means we have to downsize or rent out the second room.”

“Nooo, not my guest room,” you playfully complained. “Where am I gonna escape when Rachel tries to invade my apartment every time she has a fight with our parents.”

Sarah shook her head in amusement. “You’d think she just band up with Lauren or Yesenia and split an apartment.”

“That would mean paying the rest of her bills herself. But actually, you’ve got a good point. That would be good for her,” you said, slurping down the rest of your lemonade. You’d thrown a couple shots of tequila in for razzle dazzle. “She told me she’s dating a production assistant from that firefighter show, California Fires or something.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound right.”

“Oh shit, wait. It’s coming to me… Yeah! Fire Country. That’s the one.”

Sarah looked both impressed and approving. “I do like me a sexy firefighter.”

“A man in uniform. My fucking weakness,” you shook your head, chomping on another fry.

She slid you an amused look. “Right. First a sergeant, now a detective.”

Your lips unconsciously tugged upward. “Mark was a sergeant too. An Army Ranger.”

Sarah huffed a laugh.

“Girl, you got it bad, bad. I can smell it in your pheromones. He must’ve turned you the hell out that night,” she said, stealing a couple of your fries. You were tempted to throw one at her.

“Please, we just started seeing each other. Haven’t even gone on our second date yet,” you said. But when your phone buzzed on the table, both your gaze and Sarah’s narrowed in on Mark’s name on your caller ID.

Her smirk spoke volumes.

“Shut up,” you said, trying to beat down your smile as you answered the call. “Hey.”

“Hey, sweetheart. How’re you doin’?”

“I’m good, just having dinner with my friend Sarah. Too bad we couldn’t make it work tonight,” you replied.

“Yeah, you know I’m sorry about that too.”

He’d called you around lunch time to apologize, telling you that he’d been given a few extra cases since his coworker called out unexpectedly. You took the news in stride, even though you had to wonder if he was telling the truth just to let you down easy. He’d made up for it by making new plans with you.

“Does tomorrow at 7 still work?” you asked.

“Actually,” he said with a sigh, “this week might be a wash. It’s looking like I’m gonna need to pull a double shift tomorrow. But I’ll tell you what, let me take you out this weekend. I promise, on Melinda’s life.”

Disappointment made your shoulders sink a little, but you still tried to play it cool.

Melinda? Sarah mouthed questioningly.

His car, you replied, smiling a little.

Then you hummed. “Well, if you’re willing to stake the Bronco as collateral, then I guess I can trust you.”

“That’s right. You know I wouldn’t play with her life that.”

You heard the smile in his voice, and it was infectious.

“That’s fair. She does have a nice rack,” you said with a smirk.

His laughter echoed through the phone, making you more than a little proud of yourself.

“Well, that’s something you two have in common,” he said. The rumble of his voice was doing things to you, but you were reminded that your best friend was sat directly across from you at your small kitchen table, smirking at you.

 “SLUT,” she whispered teasingly. You did throw a fry at her this time.

“Flatterer,” you accused, both at her and Mark. “But okay, what destination you have in mind?”

“Plan to be surprised, sweetheart.”

Well, he got his wish.

“You really must be allergic to traditional dates,” you said, just before you pulled the trigger.

Click. You hit the faceless man’s right shoulder. 

“Dinner and a movie.”

Click. 

“A nice walk in the park.”

Click. 

“Brunch at the green market.”

Click-click-click.

Amused, Mark took his hearing protection off as he nodded at your aim. You managed to get all of your shots on the board at least: one in the corner, two on the right shoulder, one in the gut, one to the chest, one to the head. He wouldn’t want to run up at you in a dark alley. Not without a vest.

“I’m not exactly a brunch and mimosas guy,” he said. But he stepped in from behind to correct your grip slightly. He spoke near your ear, where you could feel his warm breath. “Good form, though I can’t help the feeling you’re imagining me on that target.”

A blush bloomed in your cheeks.

“Well, that’s what you get for taking me to a shooting range,” you said. “I’m a visual person.”

But you turned to look at him over your shoulder with a growing smile. Was this really one of his moves, the “let me fix your aim” cliché bullshit?

…And why was it kind of working on you?

“Is this your way of making sure I know how to protect myself? Because I’ve been taking self-defense lessons since I was ten years old too. My dad made sure of it,” you said, putting the safety on the gun and setting it down on the ledge. 

Mark smirked and pressed the button to wind in the target for you. 

“I’m glad to hear that. I’d be interested in a demonstration one day,” he said, patting you on the ass. You shook your head in amusement. 

He switched out the target for a new one, letting you keep yours if you wanted it. 

“Is your little sister as well-rounded as you?” he asked. 

You snorted. “Rachel has her own talents, but the gun range has never been one of them. She was more interested in theater and guys, and parties with guys.” 

“What, you weren’t interested in guys?” Mark asked.

“Sure. I just tried not to let them make me an idiot.”

He grinned. “Well, we tend to be good at that, generally speaking.”

You watched him load his gun with practiced ease. He told you it was a 9x19mm Smith & Wesson, the model used by the LAPD. It sounded impressive, and he let you feel how heavy it was compared to your little .22 pistol that you always kept in your nightstand. As a woman living alone in a dangerous city, your father hadn’t had to convince you too hard to get one.

“All right, show off your skills, Army Ranger,” you said, gesturing at the target. It was twice as far back as he set yours.

“Distinguished Expert,” he said, and intentionally cleared his throat before he fired off a few rounds. They were quick and precise as they formed a cluster around the target’s heart.

You squinted, as if you couldn’t believe what your eyes were telling you.

“Jesus,” you muttered. “That guy would not be having a good day.”

He snorted. “Nah, he wouldn’t feel a thing.”

It was a little disturbing when you remembered that this man certainly had practice on the real thing—living and breathing targets. Not only as a policeman, but as a soldier. Your father had served in the military as well. He didn’t tell you many stories though, and that alone told you all you needed to know about what he’d seen, and what he’d had to do. Your mom told you once when you were a kid that your dad worked so hard because it was easier than sleeping. That thought had stayed with you all your life.

You wondered if Mark had a little too much in common with your dad.

“Distinguished Expert, huh? I’m assuming that’s for marksmanship,” you said instead.

Mark tossed you a grin as he reloaded. “Happens to be the highest ranking. Just saying.”

You smiled faintly. “Is that why you got recruited for a federal task force?”

Mark inclined his head at you. “Partly. I’ve done my fair share of undercover work.”

“What did you have to do?” you asked.

“Honestly I shouldn’t give you the details,” he said, but seeing your genuine curiosity, he decided to give you the main tidbit. “I had to infiltrate a white supremacy group. It was a year in goddamn Nazi hell.”

“God, the fact that fucking Nazis are still a thing…” you shook your head. “Were you successful?”

Mark nodded, his lips quirking with a note of pride. But it wasn’t arrogance, you thought, just pride in his work.

“The top dogs are going away for 25 to life for the shit they’ve tried to cover up over the years. Weapons deals, hate crimes, indoctrination, especially of kids, even kidnapping.” 

You frowned, but you slipped your fingers down the line of his jacket, and over his hand. That calloused hand that was clearly capable of many things. A hand that had strength, but also gentle moments too, when he touched you.

“Then, thank you for your service, Sergeant,” you said.

He smiled and held your hand a little warmer in return.

“All right, you wanna get out of here?” he asked. “I’ll take you somewhere with a little more ambiance if you want.”

You perked up at that. “Ooh, I have an idea. Not sure if you’re gonna like it though…”

“Try me,” he said.

Pacific Park was a wild place to go to on a Saturday, even in the middle of winter. It lied on the Santa Monica pier, and it was home to overpriced street vendors and carnival rides, including a Ferris wheel. Mark didn’t have any chance of getting you on that rickety death trap, but it was nice to get some burgers for lunch, followed by ice cream on the pier.

The gentle tumble and crash of the sea competed with the sounds of kids laughing and distantly screaming on rides. There were a couple of teenage boys throwing a football nearby, but mostly there were couples and families and friends out on the pier. Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl” played on some overhead speakers.

A seagull almost stole your ice cream, but you zealously defended your cone and shoed the opportunistic bird away from you. It had Mark chuckling, then wrapping an arm around your waist to guide you away from the wind whipping your hair into his face.

He already finished his cup of mint chocolate chip. It freed up his hand to tilt your chin up, so he could steal a taste of caramel off your lips. His second kiss lingered, then deepened, drawing a small sigh from you, and your fingers curling into his jacket.

“Bro, heads up!”

Mark’s spine tingled with awareness and his reflexes kicked in, allowing him to break away from you quick enough to stop a projectile from hitting you on the head. It was a football, and one of the teens who threw a wide right trying to get some spin on the ball.

“Hey, watch out!” Mark said, sharp and stern. He half a mind to confiscate it, but he tossed the football back. “Take it down to the beach, and put a little more wrist on it.”

“Sorry,” each of them said, though one was a little more sincere than the other.

Mark shook his head. “Kids.”

You laughed and playfully tugged on his jacket to reclaim his attention.

“Relax, officer. You’re off duty, remember?”

His annoyance faded into amusement.

“Hey, I just saved your life. A little gratitude might be in order,” he teased.

You nodded. “You know what, you’re right. My bad.”

Smirking, you used his jacket as leverage to lean up for another kiss. He pressed you against the pier railing and accepted every part of that little thank you.

Moments of near decapitation and making out aside, you two spent the afternoon mainly talking as you walked from the pier down the boardwalk of the beach. After everything you’d told him about your family and childhood, you wanted to know more about his.

“So you’re an only child?” you asked. After he confirmed it with a nod, you hummed in thought, trying to imagine what he was like in his teen years. “You gave your mom hell, didn’t you?”

He chuckled. “Guilty as charged on that one. But she did her best.”

“And your dad?” you asked.

His lips quirked. “Well, he tended to favor the belt. When that didn’t work, he tried other ways to knock some sense into me.” 

Your amusement faded. “Did he hit you?”

He clocked that look of concern on your face, but only then did he realize he said more than he meant to. 

“Never hard enough for anyone to care,” he said. “But uh, around seventeen, I got big enough and mouthy enough that Dad kinda gave up for a while. Like I said, the military was his last-ditch effort to straighten me out.”

By the way you were still looking at him—like you wish you could spin the clock back 30 years and call Child Protective Services—he could tell this kind of thing was foreign to you. 

“You probably still do Sunday dinners with your family, huh?” he said. 

“Tuesdays,” you supplied. “We alternate on days when my dad and I don’t have lunch together… He was a hard-ass, but he never raised a hand to me or my sister. He’s a gentle giant, really.”

Mark huffed. “He was going to let you two stay the night in jail with the street walkers.”

You had to concede that fact, nodding. “Well, he’s not an easy man to please, but he had a point that Valwell might hear about that night at the club. It’s not a good look for any job candidate, let alone someone who might work for the DA’s office.”

“Don’t worry about it. The club dropped the charges,” Mark said. 

You bit your lip in worry. “Would it still come up in a background check?” 

“Doubtful. You didn’t even get processed. But even if this guy asks you about it, and he doesn’t like your explanation, then it’s not worth working there to begin with,” Mark said. “I’ve got some experience with that.” 

“Yeah? When?” you asked. Because of course you wanted to know.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” he said, pausing on the boardwalk to tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind your ear. He smirked. “And not just for stories.”

“Oh, look who’s talking,” you snipped. “This from the man who hounded me for an entire month—”

Mark saw no other recourse of stopping your mouth, than with his own. 

He tugged you in by your waist and kissed you to the tune of an ocean breeze, Billy Joel, and kids’ laughter. Whether he realized it or not, something inside him started to untighten at the possibilities here.

Goddamn it, Harmon.

He’d left Mark with case notes that were brief at best, and a shorthand that clearly only made sense to the officer in question. The other departments must have a cipher, because otherwise, Mark didn’t know how the Lieutenant let this fucking fly.

On top of his normal caseload, he had Harmon’s chicken scratch to contend with on no less than five open homicides. Mark’s head-scratching, research, and follow-up calls on leads bled into overtime in the late afternoon.

Eventually, he was almost the last one standing in the office. Even the Captain casted a glance over at Mark’s desk on his way out. Mark met his gaze, but neither man had anything to say that wasn’t being communicated in silence.

After the glass doors glided shut behind Dan, Vanessa came up on Mark’s left as she finished closing up her jacket, adjusting the purse on her shoulder. She smiled at him. He gave her a brief nod as he kept Harmon’s notes in focus on his desk.

“You’ve been working hard this past week,” she remarked.

“Crime never sleeps, so I guess I’m not allowed to either,” he said wryly.

“Well, as long as you’re not sleeping,” she said, propping her hip against his desk.

It caught his attention enough for him to pause in what he was doing. He almost sighed; he had a hunch on where this was going.

“Want to grab a drink with me?” she offered. Her smile curved, and he recognized the flirtatious glint. “Or…maybe we skip to the part where I help you relax.”

Mark quirked his head. Why did his gut always have to be right?

Speaking of said gut, it made itself known with a grumble, reminding him that he’d been surviving on protein bars and shit coffee since this morning.

“Jesus,” he said, more to himself than Vanessa as his hand went to his stomach on reflex. “What I need is some fuel.”

“How about we make it dinner then,” she suggested. “There’s a great Chinese place around the corner from my apartment.”

Mark hesitated, rubbing a hand over his beard out of habit.

“Uh, you know what, I’ve still got a lot of work to do here. Plus, I um, got stuff to make back home,” he replied.

What he had was a fridge full of beer, DiGiorno’s pizzas, and a couple of Hungry Man frozen dinners.

Vanessa seemed to get the hint though. Her face fell with disappointment, but she hid it behind a half smile.

“Okay. Don’t work too hard,” she said.

He gave her a half-salute as she walked away. He went back to it, typing away on his computer as he worked on pulling a potential suspect’s LUDS. His phone vibrated on his desk, lighting up with your name. Again, he paused to unlock the screen.

He found himself smiling as he answered you.

Two weeks later, your L-shaped couch was seeing more action than your usual post-work state of vegetation.

Journey bled into a Prince ballad on the nearby Bluetooth speaker, providing a smoother soundtrack for the way Mark’s fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, flirted up the curve of your spine, then back down to quell the little goosebumps he raised while your lips danced with his in a slow-burning heat.

He brought over the chocolate mousse cake he now tasted on your tongue. You’d stuffed him full of your homemade mashed potatoes, asparagus, and a pan-fried salmon. He hadn’t enjoyed a meal like that in a while. And his bones were settling into this couch, even if he’d like to be taking advantage of the way your hips were grinding against his. 

He groaned low in his throat, feeling delicious friction down below. Your nails scraped gently against his scalp as you ran your fingers through his hair. He had to reward you with a squeeze of your ass through this breezy skirt you had on, and a teasing graze of his teeth down your neck that had you moaning in his ear.  

But even with a throw pillow wedged under him, the alignment of his neck against the arm of the couch was starting to shoot some pain down his spine. All the extra hours at his desk had made his back and shoulders tight. He shifted underneath you with a grunt. 

“You okay?” you asked quietly. You kissed his cheek while you waited for an answer, then along his jaw—a sensuous path back to his lips. He hummed in response.

He did have to stifle a yawn though, his chest expanding with a deeper breath. He mentally cursed when he felt you pause, then literally slow your roll. You parted from him softly and quirked your kiss-swollen lips. He blinked his eyes open.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” you asked.

He gave a wordless denial, even though your fingers running more gently through his hair was like scratching a dog precisely in the right place. He cleared his throat and moved his hands down to your thighs. 

“I’m good,” he said.

“You’re falling asleep,” you accused, though a smile played at your lips. “You’re not getting bored of me already, are you?”

He smirked lazily, but he let his hands wander higher up your skirt and squeezed there, with purpose.

“Definitely not,” he said. “But to be honest, this couch isn’t doing my back any favors.”

“Hmm, I think there’s an easy fix for that,” you teased. And you pushed off his chest to sit up and slide off his lap. You helped him stand, smirking a little at his tired groan. But you didn’t let go of his hand. “Come on, old man.”

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. I’m not even 40,” he said, smacking your ass in recompense.

You jumped with a gasp, but you laughed as you led him into your room. He was willing to push through the exhaustion pulling at his mind and body when you reached for the hem of his shirt and helped him pull it off. Then you kissed him into submission while you unbuckled his belt, getting him out of his jeans. He thought he had an idea of where the night was going next, until you guided him to lay down first, on his stomach.

“What’s happening?” he asked in amusement.

He didn’t expect you to climb on top of him, after you pulled something out of your nightstand.

“Just relax,” you said, squirting a bit of rose oil into your palm. “I’m going to give you a little massage.”

His head tilted. “Really?”

You heard the grin creeping into his voice, and you suspected what was about to follow.

“We talking happy endings included?” he asked.

Yep. You snorted. Predictable. 

“Oh, I’m thinking you’ll want to give me a big thank you at the end,” you said, beginning to rub your slick palms over the broad, tense line of his shoulders. “Maybe even a standing ovation.”

Already he was groaning into your pillow, his arms crossing underneath. You dug deep into the knots near his neck, then smoothed out down his shoulders.

“Jeeesus Christ,” he muttered. “It’s like you knew where to go.”

You tried and failed to stifle a giggle.

“I get neck pain like this a lot too,” you said. “Sarah’s an aesthetician, but she’s also a really good masseuse. She’s been teaching me some things.”

“It fucking shows, sweetheart,” Mark uttered, half on a groan when you moved down between his shoulder blades. He’d never had a woman offer to do something like this for him, not even as a precursor to sex. But it was quickly climbing up the ladder on the list of his favorite things, certainly about you.

Meanwhile, you were having fun with your canvas—working your hands over planes of male muscle and a dusting of freckles. You were starting to count the tiny clusters while his breathing grew deeper, his body relaxing more fully under your touch.

Eventually, you worked your way down his legs, massaging thighs and calves, even his feet. You weren’t even sure he was still alive by that point, until he flinched at your nails playfully grazing the arches of his feet. He grumbled a half-hearted warning. You smirked.

But after you toweled off the oil from his skin, you let him relax while you changed into something more comfortable to sleep in, even if you didn’t think you’d be wearing it all that long.

Biting your lip against a smile, you slipped into bed with Mark and laid a hand on his arm. He was still lying on his stomach with his arms pillowed under his bowed forehead.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked.

A light snore was your response.

You covered your mouth to quiet your laugh. But you leaned in, just to press a kiss to his shoulder.

“Goodnight then,” you whispered in amusement. Guess I’ll have to cash in that happy ending in the morning.

The problem was that he was still on top of the covers. Instead of waking him, you went and grabbed an extra blanket from your closet to gently throw on top of him. When you came back to your side of the bed though, Mark finally shifted more onto his side, facing you with a sleepy, crooked smile. He uncurled an arm and slid it around your waist, pulling you in closer.

It was a shame Rachel couldn’t make it to the next family dinner. It meant her torrid affair with the P.A. couldn’t distract your parents (your mother) from being nosey with your personal life.

Normally you wouldn’t mind, but you’d been careful not to mention Mark around your dad. You two still hadn’t spoken much for the past month, since the clubbing incident, but you had a feeling he already knew. You didn’t trust Officer Vance to keep that tidbit of information to himself.

“You still haven’t heard back from the DA’s office?” Dan asked you.

“No. They told me the process could take a while. Apparently Valwell interviewed a lot of people. The HR rep told me he’s really particular about his assistants, wants to find the right person,” you replied. At this point though, you weren’t holding out a lot of hope. You’d already had another interview that you felt good about in the meantime.

“That’s the city for you. Moves at a glacier’s pace,” Dan remarked, as he carved into his chicken. Lisette made a mean carbonara.

“You’re always talking about work,” she said, lightly shoving your arm. “What else have you been up to? It’s been weeks since we’ve seen you.”

A sprinkle of Mom Guilt always made the truth spill quicker, but you hesitated. She noticed that too.

“Ooh,” she said, with a growing smile. “You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

Your lips twitched upward. It was hard to lie to your mom. She was sweet as pie, but she rarely missed a thing.

“Well, actually, yeah,” you said, silently steeling yourself. You glanced up at Dan, who stopped chewing altogether. He was taciturn at best.

“His name is Mark,” you said. Well, here we go. “Mark Meachum. He’s a homicide detective in Dad’s division.”

Forks stopped scraping ceramic. Clinking ice stilled in their cups of peach tea. Lisette looked between your braced expression, and her husband’s worsening mood.

“Something tells me you already knew,” you said to him, while sipping your tea. “Is that a problem?”

“Listen, I know him. And I’ve known him longer than you,” Dan pointed out. “He’s not a Peter, put it that way.”

You frowned. Peter may have been good at his job, but that didn’t mean he did well with your heart. Of course, your dad only saw Peter’s photogenic, commendation-winning side.

“You must at least trust Mark to do his job well, because I know you won’t tolerate anything else,” you said. “And you’ve probably been approving all the overtime and double shifts he’s had to pull over the past few weeks. I wonder who loaded him up with all that?”

“That’s not the issue here,” Dan said, quick and with a sharp measure of annoyance. “The man has a reputation, namely with the women of the office—hell, the goddamn county district.”

“I’m aware,” you said wryly.

“Are you?”

“Yeah, but you know what, he’s only ever treated me with respect,” you said. “So please, stop penalizing Mark. It’s not going to stop me from seeing him.”

Lisette once again glanced between your firm-held ground, and Dan’s silent, stubborn obstinance. She held back her smile of amusement. It was like watching two moose at a standoff.

But eventually, Dan let out a deep breath and went back to eating before his food got cold.

He didn’t concede in words, but in his silence, you considered the matter settled.

For the first time in over a month, you stepped through the heavy glass doors of the Homicide Division during your lunch hour. As usual, you were greeted by the sound and smell of cheap coffee percolating in the break room, printers whirring, phone chatter, and the drone of typing.

You crossed paths with Vanessa on your way in, but your greeting was somewhat strained when you remembered what Anette from Billing told you about the office manager and your…almost boyfriend.

“Hey girl, been a while,” Vanessa said, with a friendly hand on your arm as her eyes lit up. “Ooh, you smell good. Yves Saint Laurent?”

“Yep, good guess,” you nodded and glanced over at Mark’s desk. He was already grinning at you in surprise.

“Ey, love that for you,” Vanessa said, gesturing at the Captain’s office. “Your dad’s still in a meeting, but he should be out in a few minutes.”

“Okay, thanks,” you said. That gave you time to swing by your…Mark’s desk.

You unknowingly had a pair of eyes on you when you went over to him.

“Hey, sweetheart. You didn’t tell me you were coming in,” he said.

He pushed away from his desk to get up and greet you with a kiss.

“Well, I’ve got some good news,” you said. Though you noticed your dad had just gotten back from his meeting, and he nodded at you from the doorway of his office. You acknowledged him back.

“Let me just check in with him first, see if he’s ready for lunch. Maybe we could all go together…” Your gaze cut back to Mark, slightly hesitating. “If you’re not busy.”

Mark rose a brow. “You told him about us?”

You bit your lip. “I did. He’s still not all that happy about it, but he’ll get over it.”

He chuckled, but he did rub the back of his neck uncertainly. 

“Uh…all right. Lunch is fine,” he said.

“Yeah?” you checked. Even after a month, you weren’t totally sure how he felt about this relationship—or about you.

But he assured you with a nod. “I can make some time.”

“Okay, thanks,” you said, discreetly squeezing his hand.

Your little smile of excitement amused him as he watched you go over to the Captain’s office.

Fuckin’ cute. It wasn’t a thought Mark had often, let alone about you, but it was there. You had some high defenses, but once someone managed to make their way through, you had a softer center, as it turned out.

He settled back at his desk, running a hand over his chin as he tried to refocus on his computer screen, but there was something unsettled and churning in his gut. He knew what he just agreed to, and it was more than just a burger at the In-and-Out across the street.

Mark could admit, he wanted to keep seeing you. The risk to his job had always been there, but this was a different kind of warning label—one that actually made him a bit uncomfortable to consider. It meant lunch with your father today, and probably a Tuesday dinner with your mother the next. There was a part of him that hadn’t totally disagreed with Vance’s little assessment of him.

This ain’t the guy you wanna take home.

Mark had tried it once. Bella Hastings, a fucking pistol and a good cop, one of the only partners he’d been assigned who’d never slowed him down.

She ended it after four months, just before he took the federal assignment.

How had she put it? Oh, yeah.

“You’re the guy I want beside me in a firefight, no question. We can keep fucking it out after, sure, but you’ve got no follow through, Meachum,” she said. “You don’t even want to meet my parents on my birthday. Do you even know what it means to be a partner? Build a home? Are you really gonna be the guy to shave my legs when I’m too pregnant to see my fucking toes?”

His lack of an answer spoke for itself, and they both knew it.

She shook her head. “No. I think not.”

He hadn’t put up a fight, because not so deep down, he knew she was right. When he got back from UC, he was glad to hear that she’d transferred over to Organized Crime. She’d do good work there, and it was probably better for both of them.

Now, where did that leave him with you?

“So that’s what’s had you busy,” came a wry voice.

Mark’s head perked up, his brows raised to find Vanessa standing there in front of his desk. She didn’t even have a batch of paperwork on her arm as a pretense this time. Her gaze flicked over to where you were talking to your father within the glass walls of his office. Half of them were grayed out, but the top half were transparent. Your conversation with him looked strained, but no projectiles were being thrown just yet.

“That’s insane, even for you,” Vanessa said.

Mark’s lips quirked. “You know me. I thrive on a little insanity.”

She huffed. “I do know you.”

She rounded the corner of his desk, letting her fingertips skim the laminate surface.

“The question is, does she know. About you and me?” she asked, raising a challenging brow. “And half the women in this office, for that matter.”

“She does,” Mark said curtly.

Vanessa’s head tilted, her eyes calculating.

“So it’s casual then,” she said.

Mark took in a breath, leveling her with a firmer look.

“I think that’s our business, Vanessa,” he said.

Her mouth evened out into a line.

Her lips pursed, until she noticed you leaving the Captain’s office when the man himself remained on the phone. You were already heading back over to Mark’s desk, looking irritated as you shook your head.

Maybe Dan wasn’t ready to break bread just yet. He wasn’t convinced about your choices, and Mark couldn’t exactly blame him. 

Vanessa shrugged, adopting a smile. 

“Okay,” she said. Then she bent down to whisper near his ear. “Good luck with that.”

Before she left, she allowed her hand to trail up his arm and over his shoulder. Mark frowned at her in annoyance, especially because you stopped short in front of the bullpen. Shit.

Your stare cut from Vanessa’s retreating back, to Mark’s face. He read it all flicker in your eyes, confusion crossing with disappointment, and a bit of anger too.

With a hard sigh through your nose, you turned to walk out. Mark got up to follow you, grunting in irritation. He called your name, but you didn’t stop—not until you were pushing through the doors with your shoes clacking swiftly down the hall.

Mark called after you, more insistently. His longer legs still caught up with you as he reached for your arm and got you to slow down. You reluctantly turned around, but you were already done with the way men were deciding to test your patience today.

“Hey, that wasn’t what it looked like,” he said.

He could say that, with his voice sounding like three glasses of whiskey deep and his eyes staring straight into yours, but you forced yourself to remember that this man was a professional liar when he needed to be.

“And what do you think it looked like?” you challenged. “Like she just propositioned you for a quickie in the storage room?”

“It wasn’t.”

“It looked like you’re still sleeping with her.”

“I’m not,” he said, more firmly. 

You crossed your arms, not yet convinced. 

“I told you how I feel about bullshit. That definitely qualifies,” you said. 

“Relax, okay. Frankly, I haven’t had the fucking energy between you and my job to keep up something on the side, even if I wanted to,” he snapped. 

You paused, because that hurt you. Your face flashed with it, making an inevitable guilt coil in Mark’s chest. His mouth firmed with it.

“If I’m such a distraction, maybe we shouldn’t be doing this,” you said.

Mark sighed, but he hesitated a bit too long. Frowning, you began to turn away from him and head toward the elevator. His quick reach and grab for your hand stopped you.

“All right, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant,” he said. With a gentler tug, he winded you back in. He held you by your arms and brushed his thumbs there. He thought through it first before he said anything else he’d regret. But he also knew it was now or never.

“You’re not a distraction. These past few weeks, you’ve been…” He could almost taste the words on his tongue as he found them, one by one. “You’re the beat I should be taking. The one good breath in my day.” 

You blinked in surprise. Part of you softened, more willing to hear him and actually listen. 

His lips tugged at a crooked smile. “I’m gonna be honest. The last half-decent relationship I had barely lasted a few months. She probably had every right to give up on me. I’m not exactly cut out for Sunday brunches and family dinners, but uh…you make me want to try.”

God fucking help me, he thought.

You warmed with a slow smile. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said. It surprised him too.

His lips tugged at a grin.

You hesitated, but then, you nodded in acceptance.

“Okay,” you said. “You know that makes you my boyfriend, right?”

He huffed in amusement. “If that’s what you want, sweetheart. Gotta warn you though, you might regret it.”

“We’ll see,” you quipped.

His hands glided down your arms, and you eventually held his hands in return. He had to pull you to the side of the hall though, when Finau walked by with his partner, Caplan. They didn’t say anything, but their brief glances taking perceptive notes made Mark wish you two were having this conversation somewhere else.

Too late. He had to reenact The Notebook with you right outside the fucking office full of eagle-eyed law enforcement.

“Um, so I did have some good news,” you said. “I got a call from the DA’s office this morning. I got the job as Valwell’s Executive Assistant. I’m giving my two weeks’ notice at work later today.” 

Mark smiled. “Hey, congrats. I’m guessing you told your dad, or uh, was that little argument about this?”

He squeezed your hands to punctuate his point. Your expression turned wry. 

“He’s been questioning my decisions a lot lately, but that’s his problem. Despite what he’d like to believe, I’m a grown ass woman and I know what I want,” you said, meeting his eyes as you smiled a bit softer. But it faded slightly. “He’s been the one piling all that extra work on you on purpose, isn’t he? You have a right to complain, you know.”

Mark just shook his head as he collected you in his arms, his hands molding to the curve of your waist.

“Don’t worry about it. Been through a lot worse than a few late nights and double shifts,” he said, smirking. “Long as you come through with some more of those full-body massages, I’m good.”

Your smile grew. You raised up on your toes and twined your arms around his neck, guiding him back down to your level. Other cops and staff were occasionally passing by in the hall, but at this point, you didn’t care. 

“You’re willing to deal with all that for me?” you asked.

“You’re worth the trouble,” he teased, “and I’m a stubborn bastard. You know I don’t quit easy.” 

That, you certainly did know. 

“Yeah, well, neither do I,” you said.

He gave into that compelling pull of you, bowing his head for a kiss. It was slow as he breathed into it. Your fingers played with the smaller hairs at the back of his neck, your nails grazing his scalp until a small shudder ran down his spine. He kissed you again, this time laced with an undercurrent of heat. Probably too much. 

He eventually pulled back with a sigh, but not too far from your enticing lips. 

“All right, fuck it,” he said. “Let’s go to lunch. I’m fucking starving.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “How about that burger place across the street?” 

“Sweetheart, you read my mind.”

AN: There's just something about these two that I keep coming back to lol. 😘

How'd you like their first time, and navigating those "what are we" feels? Would you want to see more of their early days? Let me know in the reblogs/comments! ❤️

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Mark Meachum Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@waynes-multiverse @hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl

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@rizlowwritessortof @jackles010378 @nancymcl @spnaquakindgdom @bettystonewell

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@stoneyggirl2 @cheynovak @jollyhunter @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog

@leigh70 @aylacavebear @kmc1989 @siampie @masked-lost-girl

@spnbabe67 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @globetrotter28

@cookiechipdough @winchesterwild78 @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @mrsjenniferwinchester @fromcaintodean

@kiddieclaws @gabavaldman @wvffles @charmed-asylum @castielscaplan

“Why’s that?” you asked.

“Safer than the ground floor,” he said, humming in pleasure as he inhaled your perfume. “That’s nice. What’s that, Burberry?”

“Yves Saint Laurent,” you replied, smiling harder, trying not to. 

“Fancy,” he murmured against your skin. 

“It was a birthday gift.”

He wondered if your ex, Sergeant Perfect, was the one to get it for you. But he realized that it didn’t matter. Mark had a hold of you now, and he didn’t feel inclined to let go.

His presence still burned at your back when you stopped to unlock the door of unit 315. You led him inside, where he took in the small, but breathable surroundings of your apartment. It opened up right into the living room, with the dining room and kitchen to the far right, and a narrow hall straight ahead.

“Hmm, nice place,” he remarked, but he was soon distracted by your grasping hands guiding him down to you by his jacket, with you leaning up to catch him in a heated kiss. He fell into the pull of you all too willingly. He held you flush against him, letting his hands wander down your back. He squeezed the plush of your ass and groaned at the give. 

Meanwhile, your fingers were running through his hair, but they clenched tight on reflex when he bent down to grab you up by your thighs. A squeal escaped you, accompanied by a rare giggle once you realized what he was doing. His answering grin was cocky and familiar, but you just grabbed his face and plundered his mouth—a sensuous duet of lips and tongue, but fraught with a thrilling heat.

You helped him shrug out of his jacket first, then yours. They created their own pile on your living room floor before he walked you through your apartment. 

“Which way?” he asked. He didn’t give a fuck if you said bedroom, closet, or bathroom tub. He’d make it work. 

“First left,” you panted. 

He held onto you impressively with one arm to open the door, finding the one and only bedroom. Of course he had plans of his own when he plopped you down on the edge of the bed, but as you discovered, it put you at the perfect level to unbuckle his belt. He stripped off his shirt from the back of his collar, a sleeve almost catching on his watch in his haste.

He helped you with your silky little blouse next. His eyes darkened at the sight of your black lace bra holding up your perfect tits. He could already tell they’d give him a nice handful each.

He had to marvel at the way you popped open the button on his jeans and worked them down so readily. He supposed he shouldn’t have had any doubts about your intentions after your behavior in the car, with that little two-finger tap dance across his inner thigh that almost made him crash into a Yield sign.

But there was teasing, and then there was taking his hard cock in your mouth, where you were warm and wet and salivating like you couldn’t wait to choke on it.

His body almost buckled. “Jesus…”

His hand flew to your shoulder, then into your hair, tangling tight around the strands as you worked him into deep and smooth strokes. Already you were doing your goddamn best.

His jeans and boxers were barely halfway down his legs, coiled somewhere around his knees. You pushed them down a little more, so your free hand had more room to slide even further back, gently cupping and massaging his balls. A shuttered groan was knocked out of him at the sensation. But it was a steely resolve that kept his hips to a minimal rocking to try and match your rhythm, instead of bucking hard into your mouth and choking you for real. His fingers did tighten in your hair though, making you wince.

Your lips tightened on his shaft as you slowly pulled back, with purpose, sucking the pearling precum out of the head of his dick. His stomach muscles clenched as half a shudder went through him. His heart pattered like a steel drum in his chest.

“Fuck, sweetheart, have a little mercy,” he chuckled roughly.

Your smile was cheeky at best, devious at worst.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re flagging already,” you said.

Mark raised a brow. He would be remiss if he didn’t take you up on that little challenge. With a hmph, as he helped you back up to your feet, just so he could lure you into a devouring kiss. It was pure heat as he held you flush against him, your pretty lace bra scraping against his chest. But it was also distraction, allowing him to maneuver you where he wanted you on the bed: breathless on your back.

He kicked off his remaining clothes, though he prided himself on remembering a condom you gave him from his wallet, soon discarded again with his jeans. He shook the little foil packet at you in amusement before he fitted himself with its contents.

But he had to stop short once he helped you peel off your jeans. A slow smirk took control of his face when he fingered the familiar hem of your panties, silky and violet.

“These look even sexier now than the day we met,” he teased. “Nice of you to model ‘em for me.”

“I thought you might appreciate that,” you said, rubbing his arms as he climbed back up your body to kiss you. His arms were a cage you didn’t want to escape; you arched against his chest so he could successfully fiddle with your bra, yanking the clasps open with a practiced hand. You tried not to think of exactly how much practice, or let your brain fall back into overthinking, like wondering if he was serious about more than just wanting you.

You couldn’t deny that you wanted him too. Maybe tonight, that was enough.

The way he was kissing and sucking your tits was certainly good enough. His teeth grazed the firm peaks, making you moan and grab onto his hair tightly, your thighs wrapping around his hips. The rigid length of him pressed against your clothed pussy with blinding friction. It had him painfully, distractingly hard, but the way your knees squeezed his hips reminded him that he had work to do.

He kissed his way from your breasts down past your navel, where your legs spread wider, enough to accommodate his broad shoulders. His hand smoothly traveled up your thigh and squeezed soft flesh. Your breathing deepened just in anticipation as his lips blazed a trail along the inside of your knee, your thigh, nipping with teeth just shy of your pussy.

“Mark,” you gasped, laughing a little. “Jesus…”

“Oh, don’t flinch now, baby. We’re just getting started,” he said. And thumbed at the darkened wet spot through your panties.

His smile was incorrigible, but worse was the way he slowly dragged your panties down your thighs. Once they reached as far as they would go without him moving out of the way, he yanked the flimsy silk, making your mouth drop open in shock and your heart stutter. The fabric burned and your pussy throbbed with another flood of arousal.

He pacified you with his fingers slipping through the slick mess of your folds and quickly finding your clit. Your hips raised somewhat off the bed as you breathed into the delicious pleasure. Your hand came up over your head to grab onto your pillow, your other hand fisting the sheets.

“Good angle?” he teased.

“You’re gonna buy me new panties,” you uttered, but your sultry moan only stroked his ego.

“Hell, I’ll buy you a whole matching set,” he said, “long as I get a live preview.”

He grabbed another pillow to wedge underneath your hips, as if preparing you on a platter for his next meal.

Then he dove in, finally making better use of his mouth by tongue-stroking your clit. His fingers worked themselves inside your aching channel, then curling those long digits inside your inner walls. He hummed low in pleasure at the taste of you, making you blush and tangle your fingers back into his silky hair instead of the sheets. You felt the deep vibration of his voice against your clit, and it had you seeing brittle stars.

Mark was nothing if not a puzzle-solver, a true analyst, trying to figure out which angle you responded to more, which side of your clit was more sensitive, what kind of pressure would have only his name on your lips as you fell apart.

He knew he found it when your nails raked across his scalp, your body shuddering against him as you uttered a broken cry. “Mark.”

“That’s right, baby, come all fucking over me,” he muttered. But his fingers slipped out of you, so that he could grab your thighs and rip the pillow from underneath you. Just like the fucking panties, it was now in his goddamn way.

His cock sunk into you while you were still tinging from your first orgasm. Hell, it still felt like you were coming. Or it could’ve been just the feeling of him stretching your inner walls as they fluttered around him, welcoming him inside.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed, grasping onto his shoulders desperately.

He didn’t give you any time to recover. He started moving, a steady roll of his hips that stole your breath and had you clinging to his neck with biting nails and a dirty kiss. His breathing was labored too, but not because he was anywhere near done with you.

He grabbed onto the headboard and curled an arm around you, kissing you back hard enough to still taste cinnamon sugar and tequila.

“Harder,” you said against his lips, yanking on the longer strands of his hair for good measure.

A deep and guttural moan came from his throat. You really were his kind of woman.

But he still asked, “Fuck, you sure?”

You nodded, panting as you slipped your fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, make it fucking count,” you said.

He met your gaze, and for a moment, he didn’t even know what he saw in your eyes.

After another steamy kiss that knocked all coherent thought out of his head, and yours, he pulled out of you just to turn you over, guiding you onto your hands and knees. He realigned himself flush against your ass, giving both cheeks a firm squeeze as he sunk back inside you to the hilt. Your heady moan, and the way you squeezed on him on reentry, nearly undid him right there. Jesus fuck…

He slowly regained his rhythm and the leverage he had with a white-knuckle grip on the headboard. He held you to him too, heeding your guiding hand to squeeze one of your tits, rolling the sensitive bud of your nipple between his fingers. Your mouth fell open as your breaths fell out in time with his thrusts. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to feel his power.

Your arms were shaking, even with his support. He let you sink forward and rest your forehead on your arms, with a needy whimper as it deepened the angle.

His cock pulsed a warning inside you. It was getting harder to wait for you to come with him, but he could feel your legs quaking, your inner walls tightening around his cock, sucking him in as you finally mounted the crest of a new wave.

“You almost there, baby?” he said, nodding to himself when all you could answer was a high moan. His hand tightened on your hip. “Yeah, I fucking feel it…”

He reached around and guided your hand down between your legs. “Play with yourself. Stroke that clit the same way I did with my fucking tongue.”

You nodded, rubbing your swollen clit with trembling fingers. Combined with the feeling of his cock hitting that most sensitive place inside, it was almost too much. But it was also just fucking right. Your vision flashed, a cry forcing itself from your lungs.

Grabbing a fist full of your hair for his own stability, Mark finally allowed himself to let go along with you. His ragged shout echoed sharply in the room as he spent himself into the condom. You shuddered against him, heaving for breath as you clawed back up the headboard. His fingers freed themselves from your hair to smooth it down instead. He held you to him without collapsing on you, leaning heavily on the bedframe instead. His arm shook.

He chuckled as he tried to regain his breath. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh,” you replied airily, squeezing his arm as your head rested on his shoulder. “Good job.”

Another laugh huffed out of him.

“That’s my line, sweetheart,” he said, pressing his lips to your neck.

You were nearly boneless as he lowered you back down to the bed. You felt the loss of his cock keenly when he withdrew. Jesus, he’s fucking big.

You slowly managed to turn on your side so you could see his face. You smiled, and you leaned in to kiss him. 

It was gentler than he expected, but it was nice.

You laid your head in the crook of his shoulder. His pointer and middle finger stroked your arm back and forth while you both just breathed and existed there. The low hum of the AC kicked on just in time. The ceiling fan occasionally clicked as it spun. Distant sirens. Quiet slipped into the spaces where heartbeats fell. Warm lamplight and stillness.

After a while, you turned your head and scooted back a little, so you could meet his eyes, see the dewy sheen across his forehead.

“Was I worth the wait?” you asked cheekily. 

Amusement curved his lips. “For that, I would’ve waited a goddamn year.” 

You burst out laughing. “You’re so full of shit.”

He smirked. But your mirth faded the longer you considered him. 

He clocked the shift. It was hard not to, when you were laid out right in front of him, your body bare, and a few more layers stripped back too.

“Now what’re you thinking?” he asked. “I can see your gears turning.”

You took a deep breath before you answered, reaching out to stroke his cheek. His beard prickled your fingertips.

“Wondering if you’re going to be the guy who dips out before goodnight, or at least stays for the morning sex,” you said. And actually calls me after…

He got to smiling again. “So far I like the sound of the overnight package.” 

You bit your lip against another laugh, shaking your head. Your hand fell to his chest, hesitating there.

Against all prior evidence, Mark defied your expectations by settling into your bed, into this. He kissed you slowly. 

You breathed into it and allowed it to settle inside you, even after he pulled back.

“I’m looking forward to waking you up in the morning,” he said.

Your small, pleased smile told him he made the right choice. 

The sun had climbed halfway up the sky by the time Mark kept his word and woke you. A slow Saturday morning of warm skin on skin, his mouth mapping every inch his hands had the night before. Your upstairs neighbor was going to remember Mark’s name, layered on the walls in lusty sighs and sharp gasps. 

But after a shared shower and a ham and egg scramble with some particularly delectable homemade sourdough, he started to get his things together to head home. A thought occurred to him as he grabbed his wallet from under your bed, along with his keys.

This was the longest he’d spent with a woman in over a year.

No more UC for a while.

Even before then, Mark knew his track record. But he wasn’t exactly itching to leave this time. Maybe it really had been too long since he had a night that fucking good.

Or maybe the prospect of going home to an empty apartment, with little else besides a case of beer and more case files, was losing its luster.

Regardless, Mark pushed past the reluctance in his steps as his keys jangled in his hand. 

You followed him to the door in your loose pajamas and wild, sexy bedhead. It had him contemplating another serving of you for the road, but he limited himself to a slow kiss goodbye.

“See you soon,” he said with smile. 

You gave him one back. “Be careful out there.”

He shot you a wink. “Always.”

You snorted. “Somehow I doubt that.”

After you spent an extra few seconds watching him head down the hall, you shut the door and locked it behind him. Your fingers went to your lips as you contemplated the night’s decisions, as well as the morning’s surprises—mainly his mouth, and the fact that he’d stayed even longer than sharing a cup of coffee with you.

You cooked him breakfast. You two talked and laughed and relived yesterday’s moment that Officer “Tight Ass” Vance pulled Mark over in the middle of the desert. Mark later used your lavender soap in the shower, teasing the bar down your spine before he fucked you against the tile wall. 

If you were honest, you were a little disappointed that he didn’t mention even the obligatory “let’s do this again sometime.” But you also knew better than to try and lock this man into anything. You gave him a chance to be more than what you expected, so now, you’d just have to wait and see if he’d take it.

You were just settling down on the couch with a book when your phone buzzed with a call. You smiled, and you answered. 

“Forget something?” you asked.

“Actually yeah,” Mark said on the line. “What’re you doing on Monday after work? I’ve already got an idea on where to take you on date number 2.” 

You were glad he couldn’t see how embarrassingly girlish your smile was. You’d probably have to smother his satisfied smirk—with any means necessary. 

“6:00 p.m. works for me,” you said.

You and Mark spent your Sundays very differently. You had brunch with Sarah and tidied up your apartment (as if you hadn’t done that overhaul the night before Mark came over). Afterward, you filled out a few more job applications while you were still waiting to hear back from the District Attorney’s office.

Meanwhile, Mark did his usual workout routine in the morning, followed by a protein bar breakfast and a nosedive back into his open cases from his work laptop. That was later accompanied by a frozen pizza and a couple of beers he un-crusted from the back of his fridge, before he passed out that night.

On Monday morning, he went in for work by 7:30 a.m. as usual. Already people were trickling into the bullpen of the Homicide division, and the Captain had his office door open. It was like he was waiting to hear Mark’s boots cross the threshold, because his gaze slid up and zeroed in on the detective.

“Meachum,” Dan called out.

Mark inhaled deeply. Here we fucking go.

 He dumped his work bag on his desk and made his way to the Captain’s office.

“Shut the door,” Dan said.

Mark obliged him, then followed the other man’s gesturing hand to sit in one of the free chairs in front of the desk.

“Something’s been brought to my attention, but I prefer to hear it from the horse’s mouth,” Dan began, folding his hands in front of him. “Now, man to man. Did you go against my direct order to stay away from my daughter?”

Mark quirked his head. “Well, news does get to you quick. Guess I gotta send Vance an Edible Arrangement or something.”

“Answer my question,” Dan said. He was calm, deceptively so.

Mark knew he was taking his ass into his hands, but he wasn’t lying to you when he said he respected your father. He wouldn’t lie now, especially because that wouldn’t help him with you in the long run.

“I don’t think I have to tell you that she has a mind of her own, sir,” he pointed out.

Dan snorted in response. Then, he took in a deep breath of contemplation. 

“You in particular have amassed a reputation in this office, both professionally and…socially. While you know damn well that I’ve gone to bat for you on the former, I usually don’t have the time or the patience to make another man’s personal business my business,” he said. “However, in this case, you better tread very carefully. She’s been burned before, and she doesn’t deserve it from you.”

Mark took in that last tidbit with a nod. “I understand, sir.”

When Dan was certain, at least for the moment, that Mark really did understand, he grabbed a few manilla folders off his desk. They were case files—thick ones.

“Hanson broke his damn foot playing pickleball with his kids over the weekend, but I trust you to pick up the slack on his cases,” Dan said, with a hint of satisfaction as he handed Mark the files. “Even if that means working overtime, maybe even a few double shifts over the next few weeks.”

A wry smile tugged at Mark’s lips. At least he’d be getting paid for it.  

“No problem, Cap.”

You loved to cook. You had a weakness for Top Chef and The Great British Bake-Off. You even had a secret dream of visiting all the Hells Kitchens in the world—even better if you got to see Gordon Ramsay lose his shit over a half-cooked rack of lamb.

But tonight, you and Sarah ordered in from your favorite Korean fried chicken spot in Oakland, getting (sugar) high on their strawberry lemonade and watching old episodes of Motel Hell. She updated you on her boyfriend’s new job while you finished making love to your last chicken wing. The honey garlic sauce was particularly fire tonight.

“It sounds like IT is a better fit for him than Sales,” you said.

“Yeah, comes with a bit of a pay cut, but it’s less soul sucking,” she said. “I just want him to be happy, but it probably means we have to downsize or rent out the second room.”

“Nooo, not my guest room,” you playfully complained. “Where am I gonna escape when Rachel tries to invade my apartment every time she has a fight with our parents.”

Sarah shook her head in amusement. “You’d think she just band up with Lauren or Yesenia and split an apartment.”

“That would mean paying the rest of her bills herself. But actually, you’ve got a good point. That would be good for her,” you said, slurping down the rest of your lemonade. You’d thrown a couple shots of tequila in for razzle dazzle. “She told me she’s dating a production assistant from that firefighter show, California Fires or something.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound right.”

“Oh shit, wait. It’s coming to me… Yeah! Fire Country. That’s the one.”

Sarah looked both impressed and approving. “I do like me a sexy firefighter.”

“A man in uniform. My fucking weakness,” you shook your head, chomping on another fry.

She slid you an amused look. “Right. First a sergeant, now a detective.”

Your lips unconsciously tugged upward. “Mark was a sergeant too. An Army Ranger.”

Sarah huffed a laugh.

“Girl, you got it bad, bad. I can smell it in your pheromones. He must’ve turned you the hell out that night,” she said, stealing a couple of your fries. You were tempted to throw one at her.

“Please, we just started seeing each other. Haven’t even gone on our second date yet,” you said. But when your phone buzzed on the table, both your gaze and Sarah’s narrowed in on Mark’s name on your caller ID.

Her smirk spoke volumes.

“Shut up,” you said, trying to beat down your smile as you answered the call. “Hey.”

“Hey, sweetheart. How’re you doin’?”

“I’m good, just having dinner with my friend Sarah. Too bad we couldn’t make it work tonight,” you replied.

“Yeah, you know I’m sorry about that too.”

He’d called you around lunch time to apologize, telling you that he’d been given a few extra cases since his coworker called out unexpectedly. You took the news in stride, even though you had to wonder if he was telling the truth just to let you down easy. He’d made up for it by making new plans with you.

“Does tomorrow at 7 still work?” you asked.

“Actually,” he said with a sigh, “this week might be a wash. It’s looking like I’m gonna need to pull a double shift tomorrow. But I’ll tell you what, let me take you out this weekend. I promise, on Melinda’s life.”

Disappointment made your shoulders sink a little, but you still tried to play it cool.

Melinda? Sarah mouthed questioningly.

His car, you replied, smiling a little.

Then you hummed. “Well, if you’re willing to stake the Bronco as collateral, then I guess I can trust you.”

“That’s right. You know I wouldn’t play with her life that.”

You heard the smile in his voice, and it was infectious.

“That’s fair. She does have a nice rack,” you said with a smirk.

His laughter echoed through the phone, making you more than a little proud of yourself.

“Well, that’s something you two have in common,” he said. The rumble of his voice was doing things to you, but you were reminded that your best friend was sat directly across from you at your small kitchen table, smirking at you.

 “SLUT,” she whispered teasingly. You did throw a fry at her this time.

“Flatterer,” you accused, both at her and Mark. “But okay, what destination you have in mind?”

“Plan to be surprised, sweetheart.”

Well, he got his wish.

“You really must be allergic to traditional dates,” you said, just before you pulled the trigger.

Click. You hit the faceless man’s right shoulder. 

“Dinner and a movie.”

Click. 

“A nice walk in the park.”

Click. 

“Brunch at the green market.”

Click-click-click.

Amused, Mark took his hearing protection off as he nodded at your aim. You managed to get all of your shots on the board at least: one in the corner, two on the right shoulder, one in the gut, one to the chest, one to the head. He wouldn’t want to run up at you in a dark alley. Not without a vest.

“I’m not exactly a brunch and mimosas guy,” he said. But he stepped in from behind to correct your grip slightly. He spoke near your ear, where you could feel his warm breath. “Good form, though I can’t help the feeling you’re imagining me on that target.”

A blush bloomed in your cheeks.

“Well, that’s what you get for taking me to a shooting range,” you said. “I’m a visual person.”

But you turned to look at him over your shoulder with a growing smile. Was this really one of his moves, the “let me fix your aim” cliché bullshit?

…And why was it kind of working on you?

“Is this your way of making sure I know how to protect myself? Because I’ve been taking self-defense lessons since I was ten years old too. My dad made sure of it,” you said, putting the safety on the gun and setting it down on the ledge. 

Mark smirked and pressed the button to wind in the target for you. 

“I’m glad to hear that. I’d be interested in a demonstration one day,” he said, patting you on the ass. You shook your head in amusement. 

He switched out the target for a new one, letting you keep yours if you wanted it. 

“Is your little sister as well-rounded as you?” he asked. 

You snorted. “Rachel has her own talents, but the gun range has never been one of them. She was more interested in theater and guys, and parties with guys.” 

“What, you weren’t interested in guys?” Mark asked.

“Sure. I just tried not to let them make me an idiot.”

He grinned. “Well, we tend to be good at that, generally speaking.”

You watched him load his gun with practiced ease. He told you it was a 9x19mm Smith & Wesson, the model used by the LAPD. It sounded impressive, and he let you feel how heavy it was compared to your little .22 pistol that you always kept in your nightstand. As a woman living alone in a dangerous city, your father hadn’t had to convince you too hard to get one.

“All right, show off your skills, Army Ranger,” you said, gesturing at the target. It was twice as far back as he set yours.

“Distinguished Expert,” he said, and intentionally cleared his throat before he fired off a few rounds. They were quick and precise as they formed a cluster around the target’s heart.

You squinted, as if you couldn’t believe what your eyes were telling you.

“Jesus,” you muttered. “That guy would not be having a good day.”

He snorted. “Nah, he wouldn’t feel a thing.”

It was a little disturbing when you remembered that this man certainly had practice on the real thing—living and breathing targets. Not only as a policeman, but as a soldier. Your father had served in the military as well. He didn’t tell you many stories though, and that alone told you all you needed to know about what he’d seen, and what he’d had to do. Your mom told you once when you were a kid that your dad worked so hard because it was easier than sleeping. That thought had stayed with you all your life.

You wondered if Mark had a little too much in common with your dad.

“Distinguished Expert, huh? I’m assuming that’s for marksmanship,” you said instead.

Mark tossed you a grin as he reloaded. “Happens to be the highest ranking. Just saying.”

You smiled faintly. “Is that why you got recruited for a federal task force?”

Mark inclined his head at you. “Partly. I’ve done my fair share of undercover work.”

“What did you have to do?” you asked.

“Honestly I shouldn’t give you the details,” he said, but seeing your genuine curiosity, he decided to give you the main tidbit. “I had to infiltrate a white supremacy group. It was a year in goddamn Nazi hell.”

“God, the fact that fucking Nazis are still a thing…” you shook your head. “Were you successful?”

Mark nodded, his lips quirking with a note of pride. But it wasn’t arrogance, you thought, just pride in his work.

“The top dogs are going away for 25 to life for the shit they’ve tried to cover up over the years. Weapons deals, hate crimes, indoctrination, especially of kids, even kidnapping.” 

You frowned, but you slipped your fingers down the line of his jacket, and over his hand. That calloused hand that was clearly capable of many things. A hand that had strength, but also gentle moments too, when he touched you.

“Then, thank you for your service, Sergeant,” you said.

He smiled and held your hand a little warmer in return.

“All right, you wanna get out of here?” he asked. “I’ll take you somewhere with a little more ambiance if you want.”

You perked up at that. “Ooh, I have an idea. Not sure if you’re gonna like it though…”

“Try me,” he said.

Pacific Park was a wild place to go to on a Saturday, even in the middle of winter. It lied on the Santa Monica pier, and it was home to overpriced street vendors and carnival rides, including a Ferris wheel. Mark didn’t have any chance of getting you on that rickety death trap, but it was nice to get some burgers for lunch, followed by ice cream on the pier.

The gentle tumble and crash of the sea competed with the sounds of kids laughing and distantly screaming on rides. There were a couple of teenage boys throwing a football nearby, but mostly there were couples and families and friends out on the pier. Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl” played on some overhead speakers.

A seagull almost stole your ice cream, but you zealously defended your cone and shoed the opportunistic bird away from you. It had Mark chuckling, then wrapping an arm around your waist to guide you away from the wind whipping your hair into his face.

He already finished his cup of mint chocolate chip. It freed up his hand to tilt your chin up, so he could steal a taste of caramel off your lips. His second kiss lingered, then deepened, drawing a small sigh from you, and your fingers curling into his jacket.

“Bro, heads up!”

Mark’s spine tingled with awareness and his reflexes kicked in, allowing him to break away from you quick enough to stop a projectile from hitting you on the head. It was a football, and one of the teens who threw a wide right trying to get some spin on the ball.

“Hey, watch out!” Mark said, sharp and stern. He half a mind to confiscate it, but he tossed the football back. “Take it down to the beach, and put a little more wrist on it.”

“Sorry,” each of them said, though one was a little more sincere than the other.

Mark shook his head. “Kids.”

You laughed and playfully tugged on his jacket to reclaim his attention.

“Relax, officer. You’re off duty, remember?”

His annoyance faded into amusement.

“Hey, I just saved your life. A little gratitude might be in order,” he teased.

You nodded. “You know what, you’re right. My bad.”

Smirking, you used his jacket as leverage to lean up for another kiss. He pressed you against the pier railing and accepted every part of that little thank you.

Moments of near decapitation and making out aside, you two spent the afternoon mainly talking as you walked from the pier down the boardwalk of the beach. After everything you’d told him about your family and childhood, you wanted to know more about his.

“So you’re an only child?” you asked. After he confirmed it with a nod, you hummed in thought, trying to imagine what he was like in his teen years. “You gave your mom hell, didn’t you?”

He chuckled. “Guilty as charged on that one. But she did her best.”

“And your dad?” you asked.

His lips quirked. “Well, he tended to favor the belt. When that didn’t work, he tried other ways to knock some sense into me.” 

Your amusement faded. “Did he hit you?”

He clocked that look of concern on your face, but only then did he realize he said more than he meant to. 

“Never hard enough for anyone to care,” he said. “But uh, around seventeen, I got big enough and mouthy enough that Dad kinda gave up for a while. Like I said, the military was his last-ditch effort to straighten me out.”

By the way you were still looking at him—like you wish you could spin the clock back 30 years and call Child Protective Services—he could tell this kind of thing was foreign to you. 

“You probably still do Sunday dinners with your family, huh?” he said. 

“Tuesdays,” you supplied. “We alternate on days when my dad and I don’t have lunch together… He was a hard-ass, but he never raised a hand to me or my sister. He’s a gentle giant, really.”

Mark huffed. “He was going to let you two stay the night in jail with the street walkers.”

You had to concede that fact, nodding. “Well, he’s not an easy man to please, but he had a point that Valwell might hear about that night at the club. It’s not a good look for any job candidate, let alone someone who might work for the DA’s office.”

“Don’t worry about it. The club dropped the charges,” Mark said. 

You bit your lip in worry. “Would it still come up in a background check?” 

“Doubtful. You didn’t even get processed. But even if this guy asks you about it, and he doesn’t like your explanation, then it’s not worth working there to begin with,” Mark said. “I’ve got some experience with that.” 

“Yeah? When?” you asked. Because of course you wanted to know.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” he said, pausing on the boardwalk to tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind your ear. He smirked. “And not just for stories.”

“Oh, look who’s talking,” you snipped. “This from the man who hounded me for an entire month—”

Mark saw no other recourse of stopping your mouth, than with his own. 

He tugged you in by your waist and kissed you to the tune of an ocean breeze, Billy Joel, and kids’ laughter. Whether he realized it or not, something inside him started to untighten at the possibilities here.

Goddamn it, Harmon.

He’d left Mark with case notes that were brief at best, and a shorthand that clearly only made sense to the officer in question. The other departments must have a cipher, because otherwise, Mark didn’t know how the Lieutenant let this fucking fly.

On top of his normal caseload, he had Harmon’s chicken scratch to contend with on no less than five open homicides. Mark’s head-scratching, research, and follow-up calls on leads bled into overtime in the late afternoon.

Eventually, he was almost the last one standing in the office. Even the Captain casted a glance over at Mark’s desk on his way out. Mark met his gaze, but neither man had anything to say that wasn’t being communicated in silence.

After the glass doors glided shut behind Dan, Vanessa came up on Mark’s left as she finished closing up her jacket, adjusting the purse on her shoulder. She smiled at him. He gave her a brief nod as he kept Harmon’s notes in focus on his desk.

“You’ve been working hard this past week,” she remarked.

“Crime never sleeps, so I guess I’m not allowed to either,” he said wryly.

“Well, as long as you’re not sleeping,” she said, propping her hip against his desk.

It caught his attention enough for him to pause in what he was doing. He almost sighed; he had a hunch on where this was going.

“Want to grab a drink with me?” she offered. Her smile curved, and he recognized the flirtatious glint. “Or…maybe we skip to the part where I help you relax.”

Mark quirked his head. Why did his gut always have to be right?

Speaking of said gut, it made itself known with a grumble, reminding him that he’d been surviving on protein bars and shit coffee since this morning.

“Jesus,” he said, more to himself than Vanessa as his hand went to his stomach on reflex. “What I need is some fuel.”

“How about we make it dinner then,” she suggested. “There’s a great Chinese place around the corner from my apartment.”

Mark hesitated, rubbing a hand over his beard out of habit.

“Uh, you know what, I’ve still got a lot of work to do here. Plus, I um, got stuff to make back home,” he replied.

What he had was a fridge full of beer, DiGiorno’s pizzas, and a couple of Hungry Man frozen dinners.

Vanessa seemed to get the hint though. Her face fell with disappointment, but she hid it behind a half smile.

“Okay. Don’t work too hard,” she said.

He gave her a half-salute as she walked away. He went back to it, typing away on his computer as he worked on pulling a potential suspect’s LUDS. His phone vibrated on his desk, lighting up with your name. Again, he paused to unlock the screen.

He found himself smiling as he answered you.

Two weeks later, your L-shaped couch was seeing more action than your usual post-work state of vegetation.

Journey bled into a Prince ballad on the nearby Bluetooth speaker, providing a smoother soundtrack for the way Mark’s fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, flirted up the curve of your spine, then back down to quell the little goosebumps he raised while your lips danced with his in a slow-burning heat.

He brought over the chocolate mousse cake he now tasted on your tongue. You’d stuffed him full of your homemade mashed potatoes, asparagus, and a pan-fried salmon. He hadn’t enjoyed a meal like that in a while. And his bones were settling into this couch, even if he’d like to be taking advantage of the way your hips were grinding against his. 

He groaned low in his throat, feeling delicious friction down below. Your nails scraped gently against his scalp as you ran your fingers through his hair. He had to reward you with a squeeze of your ass through this breezy skirt you had on, and a teasing graze of his teeth down your neck that had you moaning in his ear.  

But even with a throw pillow wedged under him, the alignment of his neck against the arm of the couch was starting to shoot some pain down his spine. All the extra hours at his desk had made his back and shoulders tight. He shifted underneath you with a grunt. 

“You okay?” you asked quietly. You kissed his cheek while you waited for an answer, then along his jaw—a sensuous path back to his lips. He hummed in response.

He did have to stifle a yawn though, his chest expanding with a deeper breath. He mentally cursed when he felt you pause, then literally slow your roll. You parted from him softly and quirked your kiss-swollen lips. He blinked his eyes open.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” you asked.

He gave a wordless denial, even though your fingers running more gently through his hair was like scratching a dog precisely in the right place. He cleared his throat and moved his hands down to your thighs. 

“I’m good,” he said.

“You’re falling asleep,” you accused, though a smile played at your lips. “You’re not getting bored of me already, are you?”

He smirked lazily, but he let his hands wander higher up your skirt and squeezed there, with purpose.

“Definitely not,” he said. “But to be honest, this couch isn’t doing my back any favors.”

“Hmm, I think there’s an easy fix for that,” you teased. And you pushed off his chest to sit up and slide off his lap. You helped him stand, smirking a little at his tired groan. But you didn’t let go of his hand. “Come on, old man.”

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. I’m not even 40,” he said, smacking your ass in recompense.

You jumped with a gasp, but you laughed as you led him into your room. He was willing to push through the exhaustion pulling at his mind and body when you reached for the hem of his shirt and helped him pull it off. Then you kissed him into submission while you unbuckled his belt, getting him out of his jeans. He thought he had an idea of where the night was going next, until you guided him to lay down first, on his stomach.

“What’s happening?” he asked in amusement.

He didn’t expect you to climb on top of him, after you pulled something out of your nightstand.

“Just relax,” you said, squirting a bit of rose oil into your palm. “I’m going to give you a little massage.”

His head tilted. “Really?”

You heard the grin creeping into his voice, and you suspected what was about to follow.

“We talking happy endings included?” he asked.

Yep. You snorted. Predictable. 

“Oh, I’m thinking you’ll want to give me a big thank you at the end,” you said, beginning to rub your slick palms over the broad, tense line of his shoulders. “Maybe even a standing ovation.”

Already he was groaning into your pillow, his arms crossing underneath. You dug deep into the knots near his neck, then smoothed out down his shoulders.

“Jeeesus Christ,” he muttered. “It’s like you knew where to go.”

You tried and failed to stifle a giggle.

“I get neck pain like this a lot too,” you said. “Sarah’s an aesthetician, but she’s also a really good masseuse. She’s been teaching me some things.”

“It fucking shows, sweetheart,” Mark uttered, half on a groan when you moved down between his shoulder blades. He’d never had a woman offer to do something like this for him, not even as a precursor to sex. But it was quickly climbing up the ladder on the list of his favorite things, certainly about you.

Meanwhile, you were having fun with your canvas—working your hands over planes of male muscle and a dusting of freckles. You were starting to count the tiny clusters while his breathing grew deeper, his body relaxing more fully under your touch.

Eventually, you worked your way down his legs, massaging thighs and calves, even his feet. You weren’t even sure he was still alive by that point, until he flinched at your nails playfully grazing the arches of his feet. He grumbled a half-hearted warning. You smirked.

But after you toweled off the oil from his skin, you let him relax while you changed into something more comfortable to sleep in, even if you didn’t think you’d be wearing it all that long.

Biting your lip against a smile, you slipped into bed with Mark and laid a hand on his arm. He was still lying on his stomach with his arms pillowed under his bowed forehead.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked.

A light snore was your response.

You covered your mouth to quiet your laugh. But you leaned in, just to press a kiss to his shoulder.

“Goodnight then,” you whispered in amusement. Guess I’ll have to cash in that happy ending in the morning.

The problem was that he was still on top of the covers. Instead of waking him, you went and grabbed an extra blanket from your closet to gently throw on top of him. When you came back to your side of the bed though, Mark finally shifted more onto his side, facing you with a sleepy, crooked smile. He uncurled an arm and slid it around your waist, pulling you in closer.

It was a shame Rachel couldn’t make it to the next family dinner. It meant her torrid affair with the P.A. couldn’t distract your parents (your mother) from being nosey with your personal life.

Normally you wouldn’t mind, but you’d been careful not to mention Mark around your dad. You two still hadn’t spoken much for the past month, since the clubbing incident, but you had a feeling he already knew. You didn’t trust Officer Vance to keep that tidbit of information to himself.

“You still haven’t heard back from the DA’s office?” Dan asked you.

“No. They told me the process could take a while. Apparently Valwell interviewed a lot of people. The HR rep told me he’s really particular about his assistants, wants to find the right person,” you replied. At this point though, you weren’t holding out a lot of hope. You’d already had another interview that you felt good about in the meantime.

“That’s the city for you. Moves at a glacier’s pace,” Dan remarked, as he carved into his chicken. Lisette made a mean carbonara.

“You’re always talking about work,” she said, lightly shoving your arm. “What else have you been up to? It’s been weeks since we’ve seen you.”

A sprinkle of Mom Guilt always made the truth spill quicker, but you hesitated. She noticed that too.

“Ooh,” she said, with a growing smile. “You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

Your lips twitched upward. It was hard to lie to your mom. She was sweet as pie, but she rarely missed a thing.

“Well, actually, yeah,” you said, silently steeling yourself. You glanced up at Dan, who stopped chewing altogether. He was taciturn at best.

“His name is Mark,” you said. Well, here we go. “Mark Meachum. He’s a homicide detective in Dad’s division.”

Forks stopped scraping ceramic. Clinking ice stilled in their cups of peach tea. Lisette looked between your braced expression, and her husband’s worsening mood.

“Something tells me you already knew,” you said to him, while sipping your tea. “Is that a problem?”

“Listen, I know him. And I’ve known him longer than you,” Dan pointed out. “He’s not a Peter, put it that way.”

You frowned. Peter may have been good at his job, but that didn’t mean he did well with your heart. Of course, your dad only saw Peter’s photogenic, commendation-winning side.

“You must at least trust Mark to do his job well, because I know you won’t tolerate anything else,” you said. “And you’ve probably been approving all the overtime and double shifts he’s had to pull over the past few weeks. I wonder who loaded him up with all that?”

“That’s not the issue here,” Dan said, quick and with a sharp measure of annoyance. “The man has a reputation, namely with the women of the office—hell, the goddamn county district.”

“I’m aware,” you said wryly.

“Are you?”

“Yeah, but you know what, he’s only ever treated me with respect,” you said. “So please, stop penalizing Mark. It’s not going to stop me from seeing him.”

Lisette once again glanced between your firm-held ground, and Dan’s silent, stubborn obstinance. She held back her smile of amusement. It was like watching two moose at a standoff.

But eventually, Dan let out a deep breath and went back to eating before his food got cold.

He didn’t concede in words, but in his silence, you considered the matter settled.

For the first time in over a month, you stepped through the heavy glass doors of the Homicide Division during your lunch hour. As usual, you were greeted by the sound and smell of cheap coffee percolating in the break room, printers whirring, phone chatter, and the drone of typing.

You crossed paths with Vanessa on your way in, but your greeting was somewhat strained when you remembered what Anette from Billing told you about the office manager and your…almost boyfriend.

“Hey girl, been a while,” Vanessa said, with a friendly hand on your arm as her eyes lit up. “Ooh, you smell good. Yves Saint Laurent?”

“Yep, good guess,” you nodded and glanced over at Mark’s desk. He was already grinning at you in surprise.

“Ey, love that for you,” Vanessa said, gesturing at the Captain’s office. “Your dad’s still in a meeting, but he should be out in a few minutes.”

“Okay, thanks,” you said. That gave you time to swing by your…Mark’s desk.

You unknowingly had a pair of eyes on you when you went over to him.

“Hey, sweetheart. You didn’t tell me you were coming in,” he said.

He pushed away from his desk to get up and greet you with a kiss.

“Well, I’ve got some good news,” you said. Though you noticed your dad had just gotten back from his meeting, and he nodded at you from the doorway of his office. You acknowledged him back.

“Let me just check in with him first, see if he’s ready for lunch. Maybe we could all go together…” Your gaze cut back to Mark, slightly hesitating. “If you’re not busy.”

Mark rose a brow. “You told him about us?”

You bit your lip. “I did. He’s still not all that happy about it, but he’ll get over it.”

He chuckled, but he did rub the back of his neck uncertainly. 

“Uh…all right. Lunch is fine,” he said.

“Yeah?” you checked. Even after a month, you weren’t totally sure how he felt about this relationship—or about you.

But he assured you with a nod. “I can make some time.”

“Okay, thanks,” you said, discreetly squeezing his hand.

Your little smile of excitement amused him as he watched you go over to the Captain’s office.

Fuckin’ cute. It wasn’t a thought Mark had often, let alone about you, but it was there. You had some high defenses, but once someone managed to make their way through, you had a softer center, as it turned out.

He settled back at his desk, running a hand over his chin as he tried to refocus on his computer screen, but there was something unsettled and churning in his gut. He knew what he just agreed to, and it was more than just a burger at the In-and-Out across the street.

Mark could admit, he wanted to keep seeing you. The risk to his job had always been there, but this was a different kind of warning label—one that actually made him a bit uncomfortable to consider. It meant lunch with your father today, and probably a Tuesday dinner with your mother the next. There was a part of him that hadn’t totally disagreed with Vance’s little assessment of him.

This ain’t the guy you wanna take home.

Mark had tried it once. Bella Hastings, a fucking pistol and a good cop, one of the only partners he’d been assigned who’d never slowed him down.

She ended it after four months, just before he took the federal assignment.

How had she put it? Oh, yeah.

“You’re the guy I want beside me in a firefight, no question. We can keep fucking it out after, sure, but you’ve got no follow through, Meachum,” she said. “You don’t even want to meet my parents on my birthday. Do you even know what it means to be a partner? Build a home? Are you really gonna be the guy to shave my legs when I’m too pregnant to see my fucking toes?”

His lack of an answer spoke for itself, and they both knew it.

She shook her head. “No. I think not.”

He hadn’t put up a fight, because not so deep down, he knew she was right. When he got back from UC, he was glad to hear that she’d transferred over to Organized Crime. She’d do good work there, and it was probably better for both of them.

Now, where did that leave him with you?

“So that’s what’s had you busy,” came a wry voice.

Mark’s head perked up, his brows raised to find Vanessa standing there in front of his desk. She didn’t even have a batch of paperwork on her arm as a pretense this time. Her gaze flicked over to where you were talking to your father within the glass walls of his office. Half of them were grayed out, but the top half were transparent. Your conversation with him looked strained, but no projectiles were being thrown just yet.

“That’s insane, even for you,” Vanessa said.

Mark’s lips quirked. “You know me. I thrive on a little insanity.”

She huffed. “I do know you.”

She rounded the corner of his desk, letting her fingertips skim the laminate surface.

“The question is, does she know. About you and me?” she asked, raising a challenging brow. “And half the women in this office, for that matter.”

“She does,” Mark said curtly.

Vanessa’s head tilted, her eyes calculating.

“So it’s casual then,” she said.

Mark took in a breath, leveling her with a firmer look.

“I think that’s our business, Vanessa,” he said.

Her mouth evened out into a line.

Her lips pursed, until she noticed you leaving the Captain’s office when the man himself remained on the phone. You were already heading back over to Mark’s desk, looking irritated as you shook your head.

Maybe Dan wasn’t ready to break bread just yet. He wasn’t convinced about your choices, and Mark couldn’t exactly blame him. 

Vanessa shrugged, adopting a smile. 

“Okay,” she said. Then she bent down to whisper near his ear. “Good luck with that.”

Before she left, she allowed her hand to trail up his arm and over his shoulder. Mark frowned at her in annoyance, especially because you stopped short in front of the bullpen. Shit.

Your stare cut from Vanessa’s retreating back, to Mark’s face. He read it all flicker in your eyes, confusion crossing with disappointment, and a bit of anger too.

With a hard sigh through your nose, you turned to walk out. Mark got up to follow you, grunting in irritation. He called your name, but you didn’t stop—not until you were pushing through the doors with your shoes clacking swiftly down the hall.

Mark called after you, more insistently. His longer legs still caught up with you as he reached for your arm and got you to slow down. You reluctantly turned around, but you were already done with the way men were deciding to test your patience today.

“Hey, that wasn’t what it looked like,” he said.

He could say that, with his voice sounding like three glasses of whiskey deep and his eyes staring straight into yours, but you forced yourself to remember that this man was a professional liar when he needed to be.

“And what do you think it looked like?” you challenged. “Like she just propositioned you for a quickie in the storage room?”

“It wasn’t.”

“It looked like you’re still sleeping with her.”

“I’m not,” he said, more firmly. 

You crossed your arms, not yet convinced. 

“I told you how I feel about bullshit. That definitely qualifies,” you said. 

“Relax, okay. Frankly, I haven’t had the fucking energy between you and my job to keep up something on the side, even if I wanted to,” he snapped. 

You paused, because that hurt you. Your face flashed with it, making an inevitable guilt coil in Mark’s chest. His mouth firmed with it.

“If I’m such a distraction, maybe we shouldn’t be doing this,” you said.

Mark sighed, but he hesitated a bit too long. Frowning, you began to turn away from him and head toward the elevator. His quick reach and grab for your hand stopped you.

“All right, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant,” he said. With a gentler tug, he winded you back in. He held you by your arms and brushed his thumbs there. He thought through it first before he said anything else he’d regret. But he also knew it was now or never.

“You’re not a distraction. These past few weeks, you’ve been…” He could almost taste the words on his tongue as he found them, one by one. “You’re the beat I should be taking. The one good breath in my day.” 

You blinked in surprise. Part of you softened, more willing to hear him and actually listen. 

His lips tugged at a crooked smile. “I’m gonna be honest. The last half-decent relationship I had barely lasted a few months. She probably had every right to give up on me. I’m not exactly cut out for Sunday brunches and family dinners, but uh…you make me want to try.”

God fucking help me, he thought.

You warmed with a slow smile. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said. It surprised him too.

His lips tugged at a grin.

You hesitated, but then, you nodded in acceptance.

“Okay,” you said. “You know that makes you my boyfriend, right?”

He huffed in amusement. “If that’s what you want, sweetheart. Gotta warn you though, you might regret it.”

“We’ll see,” you quipped.

His hands glided down your arms, and you eventually held his hands in return. He had to pull you to the side of the hall though, when Finau walked by with his partner, Caplan. They didn’t say anything, but their brief glances taking perceptive notes made Mark wish you two were having this conversation somewhere else.

Too late. He had to reenact The Notebook with you right outside the fucking office full of eagle-eyed law enforcement.

“Um, so I did have some good news,” you said. “I got a call from the DA’s office this morning. I got the job as Valwell’s Executive Assistant. I’m giving my two weeks’ notice at work later today.” 

Mark smiled. “Hey, congrats. I’m guessing you told your dad, or uh, was that little argument about this?”

He squeezed your hands to punctuate his point. Your expression turned wry. 

“He’s been questioning my decisions a lot lately, but that’s his problem. Despite what he’d like to believe, I’m a grown ass woman and I know what I want,” you said, meeting his eyes as you smiled a bit softer. But it faded slightly. “He’s been the one piling all that extra work on you on purpose, isn’t he? You have a right to complain, you know.”

Mark just shook his head as he collected you in his arms, his hands molding to the curve of your waist.

“Don’t worry about it. Been through a lot worse than a few late nights and double shifts,” he said, smirking. “Long as you come through with some more of those full-body massages, I’m good.”

Your smile grew. You raised up on your toes and twined your arms around his neck, guiding him back down to your level. Other cops and staff were occasionally passing by in the hall, but at this point, you didn’t care. 

“You’re willing to deal with all that for me?” you asked.

“You’re worth the trouble,” he teased, “and I’m a stubborn bastard. You know I don’t quit easy.” 

That, you certainly did know. 

“Yeah, well, neither do I,” you said.

He gave into that compelling pull of you, bowing his head for a kiss. It was slow as he breathed into it. Your fingers played with the smaller hairs at the back of his neck, your nails grazing his scalp until a small shudder ran down his spine. He kissed you again, this time laced with an undercurrent of heat. Probably too much. 

He eventually pulled back with a sigh, but not too far from your enticing lips. 

“All right, fuck it,” he said. “Let’s go to lunch. I’m fucking starving.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “How about that burger place across the street?” 

“Sweetheart, you read my mind.”

AN: There's just something about these two that I keep coming back to lol. 😘

How'd you like their first time, and navigating those "what are we" feels? Would you want to see more of their early days? Let me know in the reblogs/comments! ❤️

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@kiddieclaws @gabavaldman @wvffles @charmed-asylum @castielscaplan

“Why’s that?” you asked.

“Safer than the ground floor,” he said, humming in pleasure as he inhaled your perfume. “That’s nice. What’s that, Burberry?”

“Yves Saint Laurent,” you replied, smiling harder, trying not to. 

“Fancy,” he murmured against your skin. 

“It was a birthday gift.”

He wondered if your ex, Sergeant Perfect, was the one to get it for you. But he realized that it didn’t matter. Mark had a hold of you now, and he didn’t feel inclined to let go.

His presence still burned at your back when you stopped to unlock the door of unit 315. You led him inside, where he took in the small, but breathable surroundings of your apartment. It opened up right into the living room, with the dining room and kitchen to the far right, and a narrow hall straight ahead.

“Hmm, nice place,” he remarked, but he was soon distracted by your grasping hands guiding him down to you by his jacket, with you leaning up to catch him in a heated kiss. He fell into the pull of you all too willingly. He held you flush against him, letting his hands wander down your back. He squeezed the plush of your ass and groaned at the give. 

Meanwhile, your fingers were running through his hair, but they clenched tight on reflex when he bent down to grab you up by your thighs. A squeal escaped you, accompanied by a rare giggle once you realized what he was doing. His answering grin was cocky and familiar, but you just grabbed his face and plundered his mouth—a sensuous duet of lips and tongue, but fraught with a thrilling heat.

You helped him shrug out of his jacket first, then yours. They created their own pile on your living room floor before he walked you through your apartment. 

“Which way?” he asked. He didn’t give a fuck if you said bedroom, closet, or bathroom tub. He’d make it work. 

“First left,” you panted. 

He held onto you impressively with one arm to open the door, finding the one and only bedroom. Of course he had plans of his own when he plopped you down on the edge of the bed, but as you discovered, it put you at the perfect level to unbuckle his belt. He stripped off his shirt from the back of his collar, a sleeve almost catching on his watch in his haste.

He helped you with your silky little blouse next. His eyes darkened at the sight of your black lace bra holding up your perfect tits. He could already tell they’d give him a nice handful each.

He had to marvel at the way you popped open the button on his jeans and worked them down so readily. He supposed he shouldn’t have had any doubts about your intentions after your behavior in the car, with that little two-finger tap dance across his inner thigh that almost made him crash into a Yield sign.

But there was teasing, and then there was taking his hard cock in your mouth, where you were warm and wet and salivating like you couldn’t wait to choke on it.

His body almost buckled. “Jesus…”

His hand flew to your shoulder, then into your hair, tangling tight around the strands as you worked him into deep and smooth strokes. Already you were doing your goddamn best.

His jeans and boxers were barely halfway down his legs, coiled somewhere around his knees. You pushed them down a little more, so your free hand had more room to slide even further back, gently cupping and massaging his balls. A shuttered groan was knocked out of him at the sensation. But it was a steely resolve that kept his hips to a minimal rocking to try and match your rhythm, instead of bucking hard into your mouth and choking you for real. His fingers did tighten in your hair though, making you wince.

Your lips tightened on his shaft as you slowly pulled back, with purpose, sucking the pearling precum out of the head of his dick. His stomach muscles clenched as half a shudder went through him. His heart pattered like a steel drum in his chest.

“Fuck, sweetheart, have a little mercy,” he chuckled roughly.

Your smile was cheeky at best, devious at worst.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re flagging already,” you said.

Mark raised a brow. He would be remiss if he didn’t take you up on that little challenge. With a hmph, as he helped you back up to your feet, just so he could lure you into a devouring kiss. It was pure heat as he held you flush against him, your pretty lace bra scraping against his chest. But it was also distraction, allowing him to maneuver you where he wanted you on the bed: breathless on your back.

He kicked off his remaining clothes, though he prided himself on remembering a condom you gave him from his wallet, soon discarded again with his jeans. He shook the little foil packet at you in amusement before he fitted himself with its contents.

But he had to stop short once he helped you peel off your jeans. A slow smirk took control of his face when he fingered the familiar hem of your panties, silky and violet.

“These look even sexier now than the day we met,” he teased. “Nice of you to model ‘em for me.”

“I thought you might appreciate that,” you said, rubbing his arms as he climbed back up your body to kiss you. His arms were a cage you didn’t want to escape; you arched against his chest so he could successfully fiddle with your bra, yanking the clasps open with a practiced hand. You tried not to think of exactly how much practice, or let your brain fall back into overthinking, like wondering if he was serious about more than just wanting you.

You couldn’t deny that you wanted him too. Maybe tonight, that was enough.

The way he was kissing and sucking your tits was certainly good enough. His teeth grazed the firm peaks, making you moan and grab onto his hair tightly, your thighs wrapping around his hips. The rigid length of him pressed against your clothed pussy with blinding friction. It had him painfully, distractingly hard, but the way your knees squeezed his hips reminded him that he had work to do.

He kissed his way from your breasts down past your navel, where your legs spread wider, enough to accommodate his broad shoulders. His hand smoothly traveled up your thigh and squeezed soft flesh. Your breathing deepened just in anticipation as his lips blazed a trail along the inside of your knee, your thigh, nipping with teeth just shy of your pussy.

“Mark,” you gasped, laughing a little. “Jesus…”

“Oh, don’t flinch now, baby. We’re just getting started,” he said. And thumbed at the darkened wet spot through your panties.

His smile was incorrigible, but worse was the way he slowly dragged your panties down your thighs. Once they reached as far as they would go without him moving out of the way, he yanked the flimsy silk, making your mouth drop open in shock and your heart stutter. The fabric burned and your pussy throbbed with another flood of arousal.

He pacified you with his fingers slipping through the slick mess of your folds and quickly finding your clit. Your hips raised somewhat off the bed as you breathed into the delicious pleasure. Your hand came up over your head to grab onto your pillow, your other hand fisting the sheets.

“Good angle?” he teased.

“You’re gonna buy me new panties,” you uttered, but your sultry moan only stroked his ego.

“Hell, I’ll buy you a whole matching set,” he said, “long as I get a live preview.”

He grabbed another pillow to wedge underneath your hips, as if preparing you on a platter for his next meal.

Then he dove in, finally making better use of his mouth by tongue-stroking your clit. His fingers worked themselves inside your aching channel, then curling those long digits inside your inner walls. He hummed low in pleasure at the taste of you, making you blush and tangle your fingers back into his silky hair instead of the sheets. You felt the deep vibration of his voice against your clit, and it had you seeing brittle stars.

Mark was nothing if not a puzzle-solver, a true analyst, trying to figure out which angle you responded to more, which side of your clit was more sensitive, what kind of pressure would have only his name on your lips as you fell apart.

He knew he found it when your nails raked across his scalp, your body shuddering against him as you uttered a broken cry. “Mark.”

“That’s right, baby, come all fucking over me,” he muttered. But his fingers slipped out of you, so that he could grab your thighs and rip the pillow from underneath you. Just like the fucking panties, it was now in his goddamn way.

His cock sunk into you while you were still tinging from your first orgasm. Hell, it still felt like you were coming. Or it could’ve been just the feeling of him stretching your inner walls as they fluttered around him, welcoming him inside.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed, grasping onto his shoulders desperately.

He didn’t give you any time to recover. He started moving, a steady roll of his hips that stole your breath and had you clinging to his neck with biting nails and a dirty kiss. His breathing was labored too, but not because he was anywhere near done with you.

He grabbed onto the headboard and curled an arm around you, kissing you back hard enough to still taste cinnamon sugar and tequila.

“Harder,” you said against his lips, yanking on the longer strands of his hair for good measure.

A deep and guttural moan came from his throat. You really were his kind of woman.

But he still asked, “Fuck, you sure?”

You nodded, panting as you slipped your fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, make it fucking count,” you said.

He met your gaze, and for a moment, he didn’t even know what he saw in your eyes.

After another steamy kiss that knocked all coherent thought out of his head, and yours, he pulled out of you just to turn you over, guiding you onto your hands and knees. He realigned himself flush against your ass, giving both cheeks a firm squeeze as he sunk back inside you to the hilt. Your heady moan, and the way you squeezed on him on reentry, nearly undid him right there. Jesus fuck…

He slowly regained his rhythm and the leverage he had with a white-knuckle grip on the headboard. He held you to him too, heeding your guiding hand to squeeze one of your tits, rolling the sensitive bud of your nipple between his fingers. Your mouth fell open as your breaths fell out in time with his thrusts. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to feel his power.

Your arms were shaking, even with his support. He let you sink forward and rest your forehead on your arms, with a needy whimper as it deepened the angle.

His cock pulsed a warning inside you. It was getting harder to wait for you to come with him, but he could feel your legs quaking, your inner walls tightening around his cock, sucking him in as you finally mounted the crest of a new wave.

“You almost there, baby?” he said, nodding to himself when all you could answer was a high moan. His hand tightened on your hip. “Yeah, I fucking feel it…”

He reached around and guided your hand down between your legs. “Play with yourself. Stroke that clit the same way I did with my fucking tongue.”

You nodded, rubbing your swollen clit with trembling fingers. Combined with the feeling of his cock hitting that most sensitive place inside, it was almost too much. But it was also just fucking right. Your vision flashed, a cry forcing itself from your lungs.

Grabbing a fist full of your hair for his own stability, Mark finally allowed himself to let go along with you. His ragged shout echoed sharply in the room as he spent himself into the condom. You shuddered against him, heaving for breath as you clawed back up the headboard. His fingers freed themselves from your hair to smooth it down instead. He held you to him without collapsing on you, leaning heavily on the bedframe instead. His arm shook.

He chuckled as he tried to regain his breath. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh,” you replied airily, squeezing his arm as your head rested on his shoulder. “Good job.”

Another laugh huffed out of him.

“That’s my line, sweetheart,” he said, pressing his lips to your neck.

You were nearly boneless as he lowered you back down to the bed. You felt the loss of his cock keenly when he withdrew. Jesus, he’s fucking big.

You slowly managed to turn on your side so you could see his face. You smiled, and you leaned in to kiss him. 

It was gentler than he expected, but it was nice.

You laid your head in the crook of his shoulder. His pointer and middle finger stroked your arm back and forth while you both just breathed and existed there. The low hum of the AC kicked on just in time. The ceiling fan occasionally clicked as it spun. Distant sirens. Quiet slipped into the spaces where heartbeats fell. Warm lamplight and stillness.

After a while, you turned your head and scooted back a little, so you could meet his eyes, see the dewy sheen across his forehead.

“Was I worth the wait?” you asked cheekily. 

Amusement curved his lips. “For that, I would’ve waited a goddamn year.” 

You burst out laughing. “You’re so full of shit.”

He smirked. But your mirth faded the longer you considered him. 

He clocked the shift. It was hard not to, when you were laid out right in front of him, your body bare, and a few more layers stripped back too.

“Now what’re you thinking?” he asked. “I can see your gears turning.”

You took a deep breath before you answered, reaching out to stroke his cheek. His beard prickled your fingertips.

“Wondering if you’re going to be the guy who dips out before goodnight, or at least stays for the morning sex,” you said. And actually calls me after…

He got to smiling again. “So far I like the sound of the overnight package.” 

You bit your lip against another laugh, shaking your head. Your hand fell to his chest, hesitating there.

Against all prior evidence, Mark defied your expectations by settling into your bed, into this. He kissed you slowly. 

You breathed into it and allowed it to settle inside you, even after he pulled back.

“I’m looking forward to waking you up in the morning,” he said.

Your small, pleased smile told him he made the right choice. 

The sun had climbed halfway up the sky by the time Mark kept his word and woke you. A slow Saturday morning of warm skin on skin, his mouth mapping every inch his hands had the night before. Your upstairs neighbor was going to remember Mark’s name, layered on the walls in lusty sighs and sharp gasps. 

But after a shared shower and a ham and egg scramble with some particularly delectable homemade sourdough, he started to get his things together to head home. A thought occurred to him as he grabbed his wallet from under your bed, along with his keys.

This was the longest he’d spent with a woman in over a year.

No more UC for a while.

Even before then, Mark knew his track record. But he wasn’t exactly itching to leave this time. Maybe it really had been too long since he had a night that fucking good.

Or maybe the prospect of going home to an empty apartment, with little else besides a case of beer and more case files, was losing its luster.

Regardless, Mark pushed past the reluctance in his steps as his keys jangled in his hand. 

You followed him to the door in your loose pajamas and wild, sexy bedhead. It had him contemplating another serving of you for the road, but he limited himself to a slow kiss goodbye.

“See you soon,” he said with smile. 

You gave him one back. “Be careful out there.”

He shot you a wink. “Always.”

You snorted. “Somehow I doubt that.”

After you spent an extra few seconds watching him head down the hall, you shut the door and locked it behind him. Your fingers went to your lips as you contemplated the night’s decisions, as well as the morning’s surprises—mainly his mouth, and the fact that he’d stayed even longer than sharing a cup of coffee with you.

You cooked him breakfast. You two talked and laughed and relived yesterday’s moment that Officer “Tight Ass” Vance pulled Mark over in the middle of the desert. Mark later used your lavender soap in the shower, teasing the bar down your spine before he fucked you against the tile wall. 

If you were honest, you were a little disappointed that he didn’t mention even the obligatory “let’s do this again sometime.” But you also knew better than to try and lock this man into anything. You gave him a chance to be more than what you expected, so now, you’d just have to wait and see if he’d take it.

You were just settling down on the couch with a book when your phone buzzed with a call. You smiled, and you answered. 

“Forget something?” you asked.

“Actually yeah,” Mark said on the line. “What’re you doing on Monday after work? I’ve already got an idea on where to take you on date number 2.” 

You were glad he couldn’t see how embarrassingly girlish your smile was. You’d probably have to smother his satisfied smirk—with any means necessary. 

“6:00 p.m. works for me,” you said.

You and Mark spent your Sundays very differently. You had brunch with Sarah and tidied up your apartment (as if you hadn’t done that overhaul the night before Mark came over). Afterward, you filled out a few more job applications while you were still waiting to hear back from the District Attorney’s office.

Meanwhile, Mark did his usual workout routine in the morning, followed by a protein bar breakfast and a nosedive back into his open cases from his work laptop. That was later accompanied by a frozen pizza and a couple of beers he un-crusted from the back of his fridge, before he passed out that night.

On Monday morning, he went in for work by 7:30 a.m. as usual. Already people were trickling into the bullpen of the Homicide division, and the Captain had his office door open. It was like he was waiting to hear Mark’s boots cross the threshold, because his gaze slid up and zeroed in on the detective.

“Meachum,” Dan called out.

Mark inhaled deeply. Here we fucking go.

 He dumped his work bag on his desk and made his way to the Captain’s office.

“Shut the door,” Dan said.

Mark obliged him, then followed the other man’s gesturing hand to sit in one of the free chairs in front of the desk.

“Something’s been brought to my attention, but I prefer to hear it from the horse’s mouth,” Dan began, folding his hands in front of him. “Now, man to man. Did you go against my direct order to stay away from my daughter?”

Mark quirked his head. “Well, news does get to you quick. Guess I gotta send Vance an Edible Arrangement or something.”

“Answer my question,” Dan said. He was calm, deceptively so.

Mark knew he was taking his ass into his hands, but he wasn’t lying to you when he said he respected your father. He wouldn’t lie now, especially because that wouldn’t help him with you in the long run.

“I don’t think I have to tell you that she has a mind of her own, sir,” he pointed out.

Dan snorted in response. Then, he took in a deep breath of contemplation. 

“You in particular have amassed a reputation in this office, both professionally and…socially. While you know damn well that I’ve gone to bat for you on the former, I usually don’t have the time or the patience to make another man’s personal business my business,” he said. “However, in this case, you better tread very carefully. She’s been burned before, and she doesn’t deserve it from you.”

Mark took in that last tidbit with a nod. “I understand, sir.”

When Dan was certain, at least for the moment, that Mark really did understand, he grabbed a few manilla folders off his desk. They were case files—thick ones.

“Hanson broke his damn foot playing pickleball with his kids over the weekend, but I trust you to pick up the slack on his cases,” Dan said, with a hint of satisfaction as he handed Mark the files. “Even if that means working overtime, maybe even a few double shifts over the next few weeks.”

A wry smile tugged at Mark’s lips. At least he’d be getting paid for it.  

“No problem, Cap.”

You loved to cook. You had a weakness for Top Chef and The Great British Bake-Off. You even had a secret dream of visiting all the Hells Kitchens in the world—even better if you got to see Gordon Ramsay lose his shit over a half-cooked rack of lamb.

But tonight, you and Sarah ordered in from your favorite Korean fried chicken spot in Oakland, getting (sugar) high on their strawberry lemonade and watching old episodes of Motel Hell. She updated you on her boyfriend’s new job while you finished making love to your last chicken wing. The honey garlic sauce was particularly fire tonight.

“It sounds like IT is a better fit for him than Sales,” you said.

“Yeah, comes with a bit of a pay cut, but it’s less soul sucking,” she said. “I just want him to be happy, but it probably means we have to downsize or rent out the second room.”

“Nooo, not my guest room,” you playfully complained. “Where am I gonna escape when Rachel tries to invade my apartment every time she has a fight with our parents.”

Sarah shook her head in amusement. “You’d think she just band up with Lauren or Yesenia and split an apartment.”

“That would mean paying the rest of her bills herself. But actually, you’ve got a good point. That would be good for her,” you said, slurping down the rest of your lemonade. You’d thrown a couple shots of tequila in for razzle dazzle. “She told me she’s dating a production assistant from that firefighter show, California Fires or something.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound right.”

“Oh shit, wait. It’s coming to me… Yeah! Fire Country. That’s the one.”

Sarah looked both impressed and approving. “I do like me a sexy firefighter.”

“A man in uniform. My fucking weakness,” you shook your head, chomping on another fry.

She slid you an amused look. “Right. First a sergeant, now a detective.”

Your lips unconsciously tugged upward. “Mark was a sergeant too. An Army Ranger.”

Sarah huffed a laugh.

“Girl, you got it bad, bad. I can smell it in your pheromones. He must’ve turned you the hell out that night,” she said, stealing a couple of your fries. You were tempted to throw one at her.

“Please, we just started seeing each other. Haven’t even gone on our second date yet,” you said. But when your phone buzzed on the table, both your gaze and Sarah’s narrowed in on Mark’s name on your caller ID.

Her smirk spoke volumes.

“Shut up,” you said, trying to beat down your smile as you answered the call. “Hey.”

“Hey, sweetheart. How’re you doin’?”

“I’m good, just having dinner with my friend Sarah. Too bad we couldn’t make it work tonight,” you replied.

“Yeah, you know I’m sorry about that too.”

He’d called you around lunch time to apologize, telling you that he’d been given a few extra cases since his coworker called out unexpectedly. You took the news in stride, even though you had to wonder if he was telling the truth just to let you down easy. He’d made up for it by making new plans with you.

“Does tomorrow at 7 still work?” you asked.

“Actually,” he said with a sigh, “this week might be a wash. It’s looking like I’m gonna need to pull a double shift tomorrow. But I’ll tell you what, let me take you out this weekend. I promise, on Melinda’s life.”

Disappointment made your shoulders sink a little, but you still tried to play it cool.

Melinda? Sarah mouthed questioningly.

His car, you replied, smiling a little.

Then you hummed. “Well, if you’re willing to stake the Bronco as collateral, then I guess I can trust you.”

“That’s right. You know I wouldn’t play with her life that.”

You heard the smile in his voice, and it was infectious.

“That’s fair. She does have a nice rack,” you said with a smirk.

His laughter echoed through the phone, making you more than a little proud of yourself.

“Well, that’s something you two have in common,” he said. The rumble of his voice was doing things to you, but you were reminded that your best friend was sat directly across from you at your small kitchen table, smirking at you.

 “SLUT,” she whispered teasingly. You did throw a fry at her this time.

“Flatterer,” you accused, both at her and Mark. “But okay, what destination you have in mind?”

“Plan to be surprised, sweetheart.”

Well, he got his wish.

“You really must be allergic to traditional dates,” you said, just before you pulled the trigger.

Click. You hit the faceless man’s right shoulder. 

“Dinner and a movie.”

Click. 

“A nice walk in the park.”

Click. 

“Brunch at the green market.”

Click-click-click.

Amused, Mark took his hearing protection off as he nodded at your aim. You managed to get all of your shots on the board at least: one in the corner, two on the right shoulder, one in the gut, one to the chest, one to the head. He wouldn’t want to run up at you in a dark alley. Not without a vest.

“I’m not exactly a brunch and mimosas guy,” he said. But he stepped in from behind to correct your grip slightly. He spoke near your ear, where you could feel his warm breath. “Good form, though I can’t help the feeling you’re imagining me on that target.”

A blush bloomed in your cheeks.

“Well, that’s what you get for taking me to a shooting range,” you said. “I’m a visual person.”

But you turned to look at him over your shoulder with a growing smile. Was this really one of his moves, the “let me fix your aim” cliché bullshit?

…And why was it kind of working on you?

“Is this your way of making sure I know how to protect myself? Because I’ve been taking self-defense lessons since I was ten years old too. My dad made sure of it,” you said, putting the safety on the gun and setting it down on the ledge. 

Mark smirked and pressed the button to wind in the target for you. 

“I’m glad to hear that. I’d be interested in a demonstration one day,” he said, patting you on the ass. You shook your head in amusement. 

He switched out the target for a new one, letting you keep yours if you wanted it. 

“Is your little sister as well-rounded as you?” he asked. 

You snorted. “Rachel has her own talents, but the gun range has never been one of them. She was more interested in theater and guys, and parties with guys.” 

“What, you weren’t interested in guys?” Mark asked.

“Sure. I just tried not to let them make me an idiot.”

He grinned. “Well, we tend to be good at that, generally speaking.”

You watched him load his gun with practiced ease. He told you it was a 9x19mm Smith & Wesson, the model used by the LAPD. It sounded impressive, and he let you feel how heavy it was compared to your little .22 pistol that you always kept in your nightstand. As a woman living alone in a dangerous city, your father hadn’t had to convince you too hard to get one.

“All right, show off your skills, Army Ranger,” you said, gesturing at the target. It was twice as far back as he set yours.

“Distinguished Expert,” he said, and intentionally cleared his throat before he fired off a few rounds. They were quick and precise as they formed a cluster around the target’s heart.

You squinted, as if you couldn’t believe what your eyes were telling you.

“Jesus,” you muttered. “That guy would not be having a good day.”

He snorted. “Nah, he wouldn’t feel a thing.”

It was a little disturbing when you remembered that this man certainly had practice on the real thing—living and breathing targets. Not only as a policeman, but as a soldier. Your father had served in the military as well. He didn’t tell you many stories though, and that alone told you all you needed to know about what he’d seen, and what he’d had to do. Your mom told you once when you were a kid that your dad worked so hard because it was easier than sleeping. That thought had stayed with you all your life.

You wondered if Mark had a little too much in common with your dad.

“Distinguished Expert, huh? I’m assuming that’s for marksmanship,” you said instead.

Mark tossed you a grin as he reloaded. “Happens to be the highest ranking. Just saying.”

You smiled faintly. “Is that why you got recruited for a federal task force?”

Mark inclined his head at you. “Partly. I’ve done my fair share of undercover work.”

“What did you have to do?” you asked.

“Honestly I shouldn’t give you the details,” he said, but seeing your genuine curiosity, he decided to give you the main tidbit. “I had to infiltrate a white supremacy group. It was a year in goddamn Nazi hell.”

“God, the fact that fucking Nazis are still a thing…” you shook your head. “Were you successful?”

Mark nodded, his lips quirking with a note of pride. But it wasn’t arrogance, you thought, just pride in his work.

“The top dogs are going away for 25 to life for the shit they’ve tried to cover up over the years. Weapons deals, hate crimes, indoctrination, especially of kids, even kidnapping.” 

You frowned, but you slipped your fingers down the line of his jacket, and over his hand. That calloused hand that was clearly capable of many things. A hand that had strength, but also gentle moments too, when he touched you.

“Then, thank you for your service, Sergeant,” you said.

He smiled and held your hand a little warmer in return.

“All right, you wanna get out of here?” he asked. “I’ll take you somewhere with a little more ambiance if you want.”

You perked up at that. “Ooh, I have an idea. Not sure if you’re gonna like it though…”

“Try me,” he said.

Pacific Park was a wild place to go to on a Saturday, even in the middle of winter. It lied on the Santa Monica pier, and it was home to overpriced street vendors and carnival rides, including a Ferris wheel. Mark didn’t have any chance of getting you on that rickety death trap, but it was nice to get some burgers for lunch, followed by ice cream on the pier.

The gentle tumble and crash of the sea competed with the sounds of kids laughing and distantly screaming on rides. There were a couple of teenage boys throwing a football nearby, but mostly there were couples and families and friends out on the pier. Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl” played on some overhead speakers.

A seagull almost stole your ice cream, but you zealously defended your cone and shoed the opportunistic bird away from you. It had Mark chuckling, then wrapping an arm around your waist to guide you away from the wind whipping your hair into his face.

He already finished his cup of mint chocolate chip. It freed up his hand to tilt your chin up, so he could steal a taste of caramel off your lips. His second kiss lingered, then deepened, drawing a small sigh from you, and your fingers curling into his jacket.

“Bro, heads up!”

Mark’s spine tingled with awareness and his reflexes kicked in, allowing him to break away from you quick enough to stop a projectile from hitting you on the head. It was a football, and one of the teens who threw a wide right trying to get some spin on the ball.

“Hey, watch out!” Mark said, sharp and stern. He half a mind to confiscate it, but he tossed the football back. “Take it down to the beach, and put a little more wrist on it.”

“Sorry,” each of them said, though one was a little more sincere than the other.

Mark shook his head. “Kids.”

You laughed and playfully tugged on his jacket to reclaim his attention.

“Relax, officer. You’re off duty, remember?”

His annoyance faded into amusement.

“Hey, I just saved your life. A little gratitude might be in order,” he teased.

You nodded. “You know what, you’re right. My bad.”

Smirking, you used his jacket as leverage to lean up for another kiss. He pressed you against the pier railing and accepted every part of that little thank you.

Moments of near decapitation and making out aside, you two spent the afternoon mainly talking as you walked from the pier down the boardwalk of the beach. After everything you’d told him about your family and childhood, you wanted to know more about his.

“So you’re an only child?” you asked. After he confirmed it with a nod, you hummed in thought, trying to imagine what he was like in his teen years. “You gave your mom hell, didn’t you?”

He chuckled. “Guilty as charged on that one. But she did her best.”

“And your dad?” you asked.

His lips quirked. “Well, he tended to favor the belt. When that didn’t work, he tried other ways to knock some sense into me.” 

Your amusement faded. “Did he hit you?”

He clocked that look of concern on your face, but only then did he realize he said more than he meant to. 

“Never hard enough for anyone to care,” he said. “But uh, around seventeen, I got big enough and mouthy enough that Dad kinda gave up for a while. Like I said, the military was his last-ditch effort to straighten me out.”

By the way you were still looking at him—like you wish you could spin the clock back 30 years and call Child Protective Services—he could tell this kind of thing was foreign to you. 

“You probably still do Sunday dinners with your family, huh?” he said. 

“Tuesdays,” you supplied. “We alternate on days when my dad and I don’t have lunch together… He was a hard-ass, but he never raised a hand to me or my sister. He’s a gentle giant, really.”

Mark huffed. “He was going to let you two stay the night in jail with the street walkers.”

You had to concede that fact, nodding. “Well, he’s not an easy man to please, but he had a point that Valwell might hear about that night at the club. It’s not a good look for any job candidate, let alone someone who might work for the DA’s office.”

“Don’t worry about it. The club dropped the charges,” Mark said. 

You bit your lip in worry. “Would it still come up in a background check?” 

“Doubtful. You didn’t even get processed. But even if this guy asks you about it, and he doesn’t like your explanation, then it’s not worth working there to begin with,” Mark said. “I’ve got some experience with that.” 

“Yeah? When?” you asked. Because of course you wanted to know.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” he said, pausing on the boardwalk to tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind your ear. He smirked. “And not just for stories.”

“Oh, look who’s talking,” you snipped. “This from the man who hounded me for an entire month—”

Mark saw no other recourse of stopping your mouth, than with his own. 

He tugged you in by your waist and kissed you to the tune of an ocean breeze, Billy Joel, and kids’ laughter. Whether he realized it or not, something inside him started to untighten at the possibilities here.

Goddamn it, Harmon.

He’d left Mark with case notes that were brief at best, and a shorthand that clearly only made sense to the officer in question. The other departments must have a cipher, because otherwise, Mark didn’t know how the Lieutenant let this fucking fly.

On top of his normal caseload, he had Harmon’s chicken scratch to contend with on no less than five open homicides. Mark’s head-scratching, research, and follow-up calls on leads bled into overtime in the late afternoon.

Eventually, he was almost the last one standing in the office. Even the Captain casted a glance over at Mark’s desk on his way out. Mark met his gaze, but neither man had anything to say that wasn’t being communicated in silence.

After the glass doors glided shut behind Dan, Vanessa came up on Mark’s left as she finished closing up her jacket, adjusting the purse on her shoulder. She smiled at him. He gave her a brief nod as he kept Harmon’s notes in focus on his desk.

“You’ve been working hard this past week,” she remarked.

“Crime never sleeps, so I guess I’m not allowed to either,” he said wryly.

“Well, as long as you’re not sleeping,” she said, propping her hip against his desk.

It caught his attention enough for him to pause in what he was doing. He almost sighed; he had a hunch on where this was going.

“Want to grab a drink with me?” she offered. Her smile curved, and he recognized the flirtatious glint. “Or…maybe we skip to the part where I help you relax.”

Mark quirked his head. Why did his gut always have to be right?

Speaking of said gut, it made itself known with a grumble, reminding him that he’d been surviving on protein bars and shit coffee since this morning.

“Jesus,” he said, more to himself than Vanessa as his hand went to his stomach on reflex. “What I need is some fuel.”

“How about we make it dinner then,” she suggested. “There’s a great Chinese place around the corner from my apartment.”

Mark hesitated, rubbing a hand over his beard out of habit.

“Uh, you know what, I’ve still got a lot of work to do here. Plus, I um, got stuff to make back home,” he replied.

What he had was a fridge full of beer, DiGiorno’s pizzas, and a couple of Hungry Man frozen dinners.

Vanessa seemed to get the hint though. Her face fell with disappointment, but she hid it behind a half smile.

“Okay. Don’t work too hard,” she said.

He gave her a half-salute as she walked away. He went back to it, typing away on his computer as he worked on pulling a potential suspect’s LUDS. His phone vibrated on his desk, lighting up with your name. Again, he paused to unlock the screen.

He found himself smiling as he answered you.

Two weeks later, your L-shaped couch was seeing more action than your usual post-work state of vegetation.

Journey bled into a Prince ballad on the nearby Bluetooth speaker, providing a smoother soundtrack for the way Mark’s fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, flirted up the curve of your spine, then back down to quell the little goosebumps he raised while your lips danced with his in a slow-burning heat.

He brought over the chocolate mousse cake he now tasted on your tongue. You’d stuffed him full of your homemade mashed potatoes, asparagus, and a pan-fried salmon. He hadn’t enjoyed a meal like that in a while. And his bones were settling into this couch, even if he’d like to be taking advantage of the way your hips were grinding against his. 

He groaned low in his throat, feeling delicious friction down below. Your nails scraped gently against his scalp as you ran your fingers through his hair. He had to reward you with a squeeze of your ass through this breezy skirt you had on, and a teasing graze of his teeth down your neck that had you moaning in his ear.  

But even with a throw pillow wedged under him, the alignment of his neck against the arm of the couch was starting to shoot some pain down his spine. All the extra hours at his desk had made his back and shoulders tight. He shifted underneath you with a grunt. 

“You okay?” you asked quietly. You kissed his cheek while you waited for an answer, then along his jaw—a sensuous path back to his lips. He hummed in response.

He did have to stifle a yawn though, his chest expanding with a deeper breath. He mentally cursed when he felt you pause, then literally slow your roll. You parted from him softly and quirked your kiss-swollen lips. He blinked his eyes open.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” you asked.

He gave a wordless denial, even though your fingers running more gently through his hair was like scratching a dog precisely in the right place. He cleared his throat and moved his hands down to your thighs. 

“I’m good,” he said.

“You’re falling asleep,” you accused, though a smile played at your lips. “You’re not getting bored of me already, are you?”

He smirked lazily, but he let his hands wander higher up your skirt and squeezed there, with purpose.

“Definitely not,” he said. “But to be honest, this couch isn’t doing my back any favors.”

“Hmm, I think there’s an easy fix for that,” you teased. And you pushed off his chest to sit up and slide off his lap. You helped him stand, smirking a little at his tired groan. But you didn’t let go of his hand. “Come on, old man.”

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. I’m not even 40,” he said, smacking your ass in recompense.

You jumped with a gasp, but you laughed as you led him into your room. He was willing to push through the exhaustion pulling at his mind and body when you reached for the hem of his shirt and helped him pull it off. Then you kissed him into submission while you unbuckled his belt, getting him out of his jeans. He thought he had an idea of where the night was going next, until you guided him to lay down first, on his stomach.

“What’s happening?” he asked in amusement.

He didn’t expect you to climb on top of him, after you pulled something out of your nightstand.

“Just relax,” you said, squirting a bit of rose oil into your palm. “I’m going to give you a little massage.”

His head tilted. “Really?”

You heard the grin creeping into his voice, and you suspected what was about to follow.

“We talking happy endings included?” he asked.

Yep. You snorted. Predictable. 

“Oh, I’m thinking you’ll want to give me a big thank you at the end,” you said, beginning to rub your slick palms over the broad, tense line of his shoulders. “Maybe even a standing ovation.”

Already he was groaning into your pillow, his arms crossing underneath. You dug deep into the knots near his neck, then smoothed out down his shoulders.

“Jeeesus Christ,” he muttered. “It’s like you knew where to go.”

You tried and failed to stifle a giggle.

“I get neck pain like this a lot too,” you said. “Sarah’s an aesthetician, but she’s also a really good masseuse. She’s been teaching me some things.”

“It fucking shows, sweetheart,” Mark uttered, half on a groan when you moved down between his shoulder blades. He’d never had a woman offer to do something like this for him, not even as a precursor to sex. But it was quickly climbing up the ladder on the list of his favorite things, certainly about you.

Meanwhile, you were having fun with your canvas—working your hands over planes of male muscle and a dusting of freckles. You were starting to count the tiny clusters while his breathing grew deeper, his body relaxing more fully under your touch.

Eventually, you worked your way down his legs, massaging thighs and calves, even his feet. You weren’t even sure he was still alive by that point, until he flinched at your nails playfully grazing the arches of his feet. He grumbled a half-hearted warning. You smirked.

But after you toweled off the oil from his skin, you let him relax while you changed into something more comfortable to sleep in, even if you didn’t think you’d be wearing it all that long.

Biting your lip against a smile, you slipped into bed with Mark and laid a hand on his arm. He was still lying on his stomach with his arms pillowed under his bowed forehead.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked.

A light snore was your response.

You covered your mouth to quiet your laugh. But you leaned in, just to press a kiss to his shoulder.

“Goodnight then,” you whispered in amusement. Guess I’ll have to cash in that happy ending in the morning.

The problem was that he was still on top of the covers. Instead of waking him, you went and grabbed an extra blanket from your closet to gently throw on top of him. When you came back to your side of the bed though, Mark finally shifted more onto his side, facing you with a sleepy, crooked smile. He uncurled an arm and slid it around your waist, pulling you in closer.

It was a shame Rachel couldn’t make it to the next family dinner. It meant her torrid affair with the P.A. couldn’t distract your parents (your mother) from being nosey with your personal life.

Normally you wouldn’t mind, but you’d been careful not to mention Mark around your dad. You two still hadn’t spoken much for the past month, since the clubbing incident, but you had a feeling he already knew. You didn’t trust Officer Vance to keep that tidbit of information to himself.

“You still haven’t heard back from the DA’s office?” Dan asked you.

“No. They told me the process could take a while. Apparently Valwell interviewed a lot of people. The HR rep told me he’s really particular about his assistants, wants to find the right person,” you replied. At this point though, you weren’t holding out a lot of hope. You’d already had another interview that you felt good about in the meantime.

“That’s the city for you. Moves at a glacier’s pace,” Dan remarked, as he carved into his chicken. Lisette made a mean carbonara.

“You’re always talking about work,” she said, lightly shoving your arm. “What else have you been up to? It’s been weeks since we’ve seen you.”

A sprinkle of Mom Guilt always made the truth spill quicker, but you hesitated. She noticed that too.

“Ooh,” she said, with a growing smile. “You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

Your lips twitched upward. It was hard to lie to your mom. She was sweet as pie, but she rarely missed a thing.

“Well, actually, yeah,” you said, silently steeling yourself. You glanced up at Dan, who stopped chewing altogether. He was taciturn at best.

“His name is Mark,” you said. Well, here we go. “Mark Meachum. He’s a homicide detective in Dad’s division.”

Forks stopped scraping ceramic. Clinking ice stilled in their cups of peach tea. Lisette looked between your braced expression, and her husband’s worsening mood.

“Something tells me you already knew,” you said to him, while sipping your tea. “Is that a problem?”

“Listen, I know him. And I’ve known him longer than you,” Dan pointed out. “He’s not a Peter, put it that way.”

You frowned. Peter may have been good at his job, but that didn’t mean he did well with your heart. Of course, your dad only saw Peter’s photogenic, commendation-winning side.

“You must at least trust Mark to do his job well, because I know you won’t tolerate anything else,” you said. “And you’ve probably been approving all the overtime and double shifts he’s had to pull over the past few weeks. I wonder who loaded him up with all that?”

“That’s not the issue here,” Dan said, quick and with a sharp measure of annoyance. “The man has a reputation, namely with the women of the office—hell, the goddamn county district.”

“I’m aware,” you said wryly.

“Are you?”

“Yeah, but you know what, he’s only ever treated me with respect,” you said. “So please, stop penalizing Mark. It’s not going to stop me from seeing him.”

Lisette once again glanced between your firm-held ground, and Dan’s silent, stubborn obstinance. She held back her smile of amusement. It was like watching two moose at a standoff.

But eventually, Dan let out a deep breath and went back to eating before his food got cold.

He didn’t concede in words, but in his silence, you considered the matter settled.

For the first time in over a month, you stepped through the heavy glass doors of the Homicide Division during your lunch hour. As usual, you were greeted by the sound and smell of cheap coffee percolating in the break room, printers whirring, phone chatter, and the drone of typing.

You crossed paths with Vanessa on your way in, but your greeting was somewhat strained when you remembered what Anette from Billing told you about the office manager and your…almost boyfriend.

“Hey girl, been a while,” Vanessa said, with a friendly hand on your arm as her eyes lit up. “Ooh, you smell good. Yves Saint Laurent?”

“Yep, good guess,” you nodded and glanced over at Mark’s desk. He was already grinning at you in surprise.

“Ey, love that for you,” Vanessa said, gesturing at the Captain’s office. “Your dad’s still in a meeting, but he should be out in a few minutes.”

“Okay, thanks,” you said. That gave you time to swing by your…Mark’s desk.

You unknowingly had a pair of eyes on you when you went over to him.

“Hey, sweetheart. You didn’t tell me you were coming in,” he said.

He pushed away from his desk to get up and greet you with a kiss.

“Well, I’ve got some good news,” you said. Though you noticed your dad had just gotten back from his meeting, and he nodded at you from the doorway of his office. You acknowledged him back.

“Let me just check in with him first, see if he’s ready for lunch. Maybe we could all go together…” Your gaze cut back to Mark, slightly hesitating. “If you’re not busy.”

Mark rose a brow. “You told him about us?”

You bit your lip. “I did. He’s still not all that happy about it, but he’ll get over it.”

He chuckled, but he did rub the back of his neck uncertainly. 

“Uh…all right. Lunch is fine,” he said.

“Yeah?” you checked. Even after a month, you weren’t totally sure how he felt about this relationship—or about you.

But he assured you with a nod. “I can make some time.”

“Okay, thanks,” you said, discreetly squeezing his hand.

Your little smile of excitement amused him as he watched you go over to the Captain’s office.

Fuckin’ cute. It wasn’t a thought Mark had often, let alone about you, but it was there. You had some high defenses, but once someone managed to make their way through, you had a softer center, as it turned out.

He settled back at his desk, running a hand over his chin as he tried to refocus on his computer screen, but there was something unsettled and churning in his gut. He knew what he just agreed to, and it was more than just a burger at the In-and-Out across the street.

Mark could admit, he wanted to keep seeing you. The risk to his job had always been there, but this was a different kind of warning label—one that actually made him a bit uncomfortable to consider. It meant lunch with your father today, and probably a Tuesday dinner with your mother the next. There was a part of him that hadn’t totally disagreed with Vance’s little assessment of him.

This ain’t the guy you wanna take home.

Mark had tried it once. Bella Hastings, a fucking pistol and a good cop, one of the only partners he’d been assigned who’d never slowed him down.

She ended it after four months, just before he took the federal assignment.

How had she put it? Oh, yeah.

“You’re the guy I want beside me in a firefight, no question. We can keep fucking it out after, sure, but you’ve got no follow through, Meachum,” she said. “You don’t even want to meet my parents on my birthday. Do you even know what it means to be a partner? Build a home? Are you really gonna be the guy to shave my legs when I’m too pregnant to see my fucking toes?”

His lack of an answer spoke for itself, and they both knew it.

She shook her head. “No. I think not.”

He hadn’t put up a fight, because not so deep down, he knew she was right. When he got back from UC, he was glad to hear that she’d transferred over to Organized Crime. She’d do good work there, and it was probably better for both of them.

Now, where did that leave him with you?

“So that’s what’s had you busy,” came a wry voice.

Mark’s head perked up, his brows raised to find Vanessa standing there in front of his desk. She didn’t even have a batch of paperwork on her arm as a pretense this time. Her gaze flicked over to where you were talking to your father within the glass walls of his office. Half of them were grayed out, but the top half were transparent. Your conversation with him looked strained, but no projectiles were being thrown just yet.

“That’s insane, even for you,” Vanessa said.

Mark’s lips quirked. “You know me. I thrive on a little insanity.”

She huffed. “I do know you.”

She rounded the corner of his desk, letting her fingertips skim the laminate surface.

“The question is, does she know. About you and me?” she asked, raising a challenging brow. “And half the women in this office, for that matter.”

“She does,” Mark said curtly.

Vanessa’s head tilted, her eyes calculating.

“So it’s casual then,” she said.

Mark took in a breath, leveling her with a firmer look.

“I think that’s our business, Vanessa,” he said.

Her mouth evened out into a line.

Her lips pursed, until she noticed you leaving the Captain’s office when the man himself remained on the phone. You were already heading back over to Mark’s desk, looking irritated as you shook your head.

Maybe Dan wasn’t ready to break bread just yet. He wasn’t convinced about your choices, and Mark couldn’t exactly blame him. 

Vanessa shrugged, adopting a smile. 

“Okay,” she said. Then she bent down to whisper near his ear. “Good luck with that.”

Before she left, she allowed her hand to trail up his arm and over his shoulder. Mark frowned at her in annoyance, especially because you stopped short in front of the bullpen. Shit.

Your stare cut from Vanessa’s retreating back, to Mark’s face. He read it all flicker in your eyes, confusion crossing with disappointment, and a bit of anger too.

With a hard sigh through your nose, you turned to walk out. Mark got up to follow you, grunting in irritation. He called your name, but you didn’t stop—not until you were pushing through the doors with your shoes clacking swiftly down the hall.

Mark called after you, more insistently. His longer legs still caught up with you as he reached for your arm and got you to slow down. You reluctantly turned around, but you were already done with the way men were deciding to test your patience today.

“Hey, that wasn’t what it looked like,” he said.

He could say that, with his voice sounding like three glasses of whiskey deep and his eyes staring straight into yours, but you forced yourself to remember that this man was a professional liar when he needed to be.

“And what do you think it looked like?” you challenged. “Like she just propositioned you for a quickie in the storage room?”

“It wasn’t.”

“It looked like you’re still sleeping with her.”

“I’m not,” he said, more firmly. 

You crossed your arms, not yet convinced. 

“I told you how I feel about bullshit. That definitely qualifies,” you said. 

“Relax, okay. Frankly, I haven’t had the fucking energy between you and my job to keep up something on the side, even if I wanted to,” he snapped. 

You paused, because that hurt you. Your face flashed with it, making an inevitable guilt coil in Mark’s chest. His mouth firmed with it.

“If I’m such a distraction, maybe we shouldn’t be doing this,” you said.

Mark sighed, but he hesitated a bit too long. Frowning, you began to turn away from him and head toward the elevator. His quick reach and grab for your hand stopped you.

“All right, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant,” he said. With a gentler tug, he winded you back in. He held you by your arms and brushed his thumbs there. He thought through it first before he said anything else he’d regret. But he also knew it was now or never.

“You’re not a distraction. These past few weeks, you’ve been…” He could almost taste the words on his tongue as he found them, one by one. “You’re the beat I should be taking. The one good breath in my day.” 

You blinked in surprise. Part of you softened, more willing to hear him and actually listen. 

His lips tugged at a crooked smile. “I’m gonna be honest. The last half-decent relationship I had barely lasted a few months. She probably had every right to give up on me. I’m not exactly cut out for Sunday brunches and family dinners, but uh…you make me want to try.”

God fucking help me, he thought.

You warmed with a slow smile. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said. It surprised him too.

His lips tugged at a grin.

You hesitated, but then, you nodded in acceptance.

“Okay,” you said. “You know that makes you my boyfriend, right?”

He huffed in amusement. “If that’s what you want, sweetheart. Gotta warn you though, you might regret it.”

“We’ll see,” you quipped.

His hands glided down your arms, and you eventually held his hands in return. He had to pull you to the side of the hall though, when Finau walked by with his partner, Caplan. They didn’t say anything, but their brief glances taking perceptive notes made Mark wish you two were having this conversation somewhere else.

Too late. He had to reenact The Notebook with you right outside the fucking office full of eagle-eyed law enforcement.

“Um, so I did have some good news,” you said. “I got a call from the DA’s office this morning. I got the job as Valwell’s Executive Assistant. I’m giving my two weeks’ notice at work later today.” 

Mark smiled. “Hey, congrats. I’m guessing you told your dad, or uh, was that little argument about this?”

He squeezed your hands to punctuate his point. Your expression turned wry. 

“He’s been questioning my decisions a lot lately, but that’s his problem. Despite what he’d like to believe, I’m a grown ass woman and I know what I want,” you said, meeting his eyes as you smiled a bit softer. But it faded slightly. “He’s been the one piling all that extra work on you on purpose, isn’t he? You have a right to complain, you know.”

Mark just shook his head as he collected you in his arms, his hands molding to the curve of your waist.

“Don’t worry about it. Been through a lot worse than a few late nights and double shifts,” he said, smirking. “Long as you come through with some more of those full-body massages, I’m good.”

Your smile grew. You raised up on your toes and twined your arms around his neck, guiding him back down to your level. Other cops and staff were occasionally passing by in the hall, but at this point, you didn’t care. 

“You’re willing to deal with all that for me?” you asked.

“You’re worth the trouble,” he teased, “and I’m a stubborn bastard. You know I don’t quit easy.” 

That, you certainly did know. 

“Yeah, well, neither do I,” you said.

He gave into that compelling pull of you, bowing his head for a kiss. It was slow as he breathed into it. Your fingers played with the smaller hairs at the back of his neck, your nails grazing his scalp until a small shudder ran down his spine. He kissed you again, this time laced with an undercurrent of heat. Probably too much. 

He eventually pulled back with a sigh, but not too far from your enticing lips. 

“All right, fuck it,” he said. “Let’s go to lunch. I’m fucking starving.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “How about that burger place across the street?” 

“Sweetheart, you read my mind.”

AN: There's just something about these two that I keep coming back to lol. 😘

How'd you like their first time, and navigating those "what are we" feels? Would you want to see more of their early days? Let me know in the reblogs/comments! ❤️

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He climbed into the dingy motel bed, slow and groaning. You could see the exhaustion in the darkness under his eyes, and in the dull green of his irises. You saw the evidence of his lack of sleep pulling at his limbs, because he hadn’t truly rested since he got “topside.”

Since he showed up at your apartment with Bobby in tow, scaring the shit out of you with his half-cocked smile before he proved he wasn’t a shapeshifter or a demon.

The way Dean held you then had been so strong and fragile at the same time; you felt the shake in his arms, the tension embedded in his frame, even while he was burying his face in your hair. You’d blinked hot tears that clung to your lashes, cupped his face between your hands and kissed him just as hard and desperate.

He was alive, so you were alive. That was what that day felt like for you: coming back to life.

But this was a different kind of living.

When you slid into bed beside him, he didn’t reach for you. He didn’t welcome you against his side or wrap his arm around you. He didn’t even pretend to meet your eyes, let alone kiss you goodnight. He just mumbled the empty word, like he already knew it wouldn’t be one.

Sam was still out by himself. He was doing that more often lately, ducking out and taking the car or walking into town by himself. His excuses were always valid on the surface, like getting breakfast at the diner early, or doing some research at a café, or getting an early morning run in before you or Dean rolled out of bed. Still, you had half a mind to call bullshit.

Dean had stopped trying, even though he’d noticed too, sometimes with lips pursing, jaw clenching.

Tonight, he didn’t seem to care about his brother’s nighttime habits or your soft frown as he turned onto his side, away from you.

“You okay?” you asked, despite knowing what it would get you.

“‘M fine,” he said. “Just tired.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. You wished he wouldn’t bury it all so deep. You wished he would let you help him. But Dean had always carried layers behind that stupid devil-may-care attitude, behind that cocky grin on just the right side of charming, and the old leather that draped his shoulders like a second skin of bravado.

You’d noticed that his father’s jacket was still folded up somewhere in the trunk of the Impala. Dean hadn’t been wearing it since he got back.

You couldn’t help but think that mattered, even as you laid a hand on his shoulder and pressed a soft kiss near his neck.

“’Kay, goodnight,” you said.

You felt slightly raised flesh under the thin fabric of his shirt, and you realized then that you were accidentally touching the handprint burned into his skin—the mark of Castiel, the angel who rescued him.

You quickly let your hand slip away, feeling the tension in Dean’s body.

Your heart clenched, and you had to blink the sting out of your eyes when you turned onto your side and tried to get comfortable.

The first jolt stirred the mattress, then tugged at your subconscious.

The second one, and his painful groan, made your lashes flutter. Your eyes slid open as you fought through the dregs of sleep, but his fingers clawing against your arm finally yanked you out of it. 

You sucked in a confused, pained hiss, looking over at Dean. You realized that he hadn’t meant to hurt you. He had a desperate grip twisting in the sheets, his brows tightly knitted, jaw clenching so hard you could almost hear his teeth grinding. But the sounds that were escaping his barely parted lips were too heartbreaking, like a wounded animal unwilling to let their whimpers escape, afraid for something worse to follow.

“Dean,” you rasped, reaching for his shoulder cautiously. You were wary of him trying to knock your hand away, or worse, but he just flinched harder.

It did manage to wake him up though.

His eyes flew open with a sharp intake of breath, following by more labored ones as he struggled to take you in, to realize where he was.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He dragged a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes.

“Dean?” you prompted gently. You were slow in the way you slid closer, smoothing a comforting hand up his arm.

He looked over at you, tired of lying, but still unwilling to answer you.

But in that moment, you knew the truth. You knew what he was hiding, deep and dark behind his eyes when they met yours.

He couldn’t hold it for long though. His own self-loathing won out. Even just having you beside him with love and concern in your eyes was too much for him to handle.

He sat up in bed and swung his legs over the edge, but that was where he hesitated. He either lacked the strength to get up and leave you, or he was just that shaken. His eyes closed and an uneasy sigh fell from his lips, making his shoulders sag.

You crawled over to his side of the bed and bent a knee underneath you as you sat just behind him, just barely keeping yourself from touching him. You didn’t want to smother him, but you wouldn’t leave him alone either.

“You do remember everything, don’t you,” you said. The heartbreak was in your throat, but you thought it might help him to say it out loud.

Dean shook his head slowly, but this time, it wasn’t a denial. His tongue was heavy in his mouth, but he still forced himself to speak, his voice thick and rasping.

“Not just…what happened to me,” he said, his voice coarse with fatigue and pain. “What I did.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. You didn’t understand, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain it to you—why he hadn’t been able to let you in. Why he couldn’t allow himself to touch you with his hands. Every time he looked at them, they were drenched in blood.

And when he tried to look at you, the words died in his throat. It felt selfish to try.

His lips trembled. His shoulders heaved. He covered his face as his eyes burned, and the first sob shuddered through him.

You didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. Not tonight. Once the first tear drew down your cheek, you couldn’t let yourself do anything else but hold him from behind. Your lips pressed to his shoulder, and you held onto him as tightly as you dared.

He held you back, his hand clasping over your arm to keep you there. It gave you the encouragement you needed to slide closer, your hand cupping his cheek and stroking your thumb across his chin. His glassy eyes met yours.

“I love you,” you reminded him. “That doesn’t change.”

Again, Dean shook his head. “You don’t know. You don’t know what I…”

“Right now, I don’t need to know,” you said.

Just then, he was desperate to believe you.

He bowed into your kiss, desperate for your warmth too.

One touch couldn’t make him forget. It wouldn’t heal him either.

All you could do was stay.

AN: My heart gets ripped out every time I watch that ep where he tells Sam about his experience in Hell. 🥲💔 But let me know what you thought of this hurt/comfort snack!

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I also hate, but love it, because I relate to Dean in the way he has such a hard time opening up and talking about his feelings and his trauma. I can feel his exhaustion through the way you wrote this, both the physical and the emotional.

While I'm sorry you can relate to that, I'm glad the moment hit for you and that you can feel his exhaustion - definitely both physical and emotional ❤️‍🩹

Because, again, I can relate to not feeling worthy of love. Not to mention how well you portray Dean's self-deprecation and the emotional toll Hell had on him, especially in this point in canon where it is super fresh. I wish they'd made his trauma and the trauma of losing people on hunts more prevalent as the seasons wore on. But that's what we have amazing and talented writers like you, Alex, for!

First of all, that breaks my heart for you, friend. 🫂 I so hope that you've been able to work through that and that you have people in your life that continue to show you that you're loved and supported!

Especially in the early season, Dean has such a complex regarding his self-worth as he's forced to compromise more of himself to protect his family, so this little drabble is yet another moment of me wishing he'd had someone in his corner (other than Sam) to really drive home that Dean is loved, even after what happened to him and what he was coerced into doing. Dean really did feel more jaded as the seasons went on ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“Why’s that?” you asked.

“Safer than the ground floor,” he said, humming in pleasure as he inhaled your perfume. “That’s nice. What’s that, Burberry?”

“Yves Saint Laurent,” you replied, smiling harder, trying not to. 

“Fancy,” he murmured against your skin. 

“It was a birthday gift.”

He wondered if your ex, Sergeant Perfect, was the one to get it for you. But he realized that it didn’t matter. Mark had a hold of you now, and he didn’t feel inclined to let go.

His presence still burned at your back when you stopped to unlock the door of unit 315. You led him inside, where he took in the small, but breathable surroundings of your apartment. It opened up right into the living room, with the dining room and kitchen to the far right, and a narrow hall straight ahead.

“Hmm, nice place,” he remarked, but he was soon distracted by your grasping hands guiding him down to you by his jacket, with you leaning up to catch him in a heated kiss. He fell into the pull of you all too willingly. He held you flush against him, letting his hands wander down your back. He squeezed the plush of your ass and groaned at the give. 

Meanwhile, your fingers were running through his hair, but they clenched tight on reflex when he bent down to grab you up by your thighs. A squeal escaped you, accompanied by a rare giggle once you realized what he was doing. His answering grin was cocky and familiar, but you just grabbed his face and plundered his mouth—a sensuous duet of lips and tongue, but fraught with a thrilling heat.

You helped him shrug out of his jacket first, then yours. They created their own pile on your living room floor before he walked you through your apartment. 

“Which way?” he asked. He didn’t give a fuck if you said bedroom, closet, or bathroom tub. He’d make it work. 

“First left,” you panted. 

He held onto you impressively with one arm to open the door, finding the one and only bedroom. Of course he had plans of his own when he plopped you down on the edge of the bed, but as you discovered, it put you at the perfect level to unbuckle his belt. He stripped off his shirt from the back of his collar, a sleeve almost catching on his watch in his haste.

He helped you with your silky little blouse next. His eyes darkened at the sight of your black lace bra holding up your perfect tits. He could already tell they’d give him a nice handful each.

He had to marvel at the way you popped open the button on his jeans and worked them down so readily. He supposed he shouldn’t have had any doubts about your intentions after your behavior in the car, with that little two-finger tap dance across his inner thigh that almost made him crash into a Yield sign.

But there was teasing, and then there was taking his hard cock in your mouth, where you were warm and wet and salivating like you couldn’t wait to choke on it.

His body almost buckled. “Jesus…”

His hand flew to your shoulder, then into your hair, tangling tight around the strands as you worked him into deep and smooth strokes. Already you were doing your goddamn best.

His jeans and boxers were barely halfway down his legs, coiled somewhere around his knees. You pushed them down a little more, so your free hand had more room to slide even further back, gently cupping and massaging his balls. A shuttered groan was knocked out of him at the sensation. But it was a steely resolve that kept his hips to a minimal rocking to try and match your rhythm, instead of bucking hard into your mouth and choking you for real. His fingers did tighten in your hair though, making you wince.

Your lips tightened on his shaft as you slowly pulled back, with purpose, sucking the pearling precum out of the head of his dick. His stomach muscles clenched as half a shudder went through him. His heart pattered like a steel drum in his chest.

“Fuck, sweetheart, have a little mercy,” he chuckled roughly.

Your smile was cheeky at best, devious at worst.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re flagging already,” you said.

Mark raised a brow. He would be remiss if he didn’t take you up on that little challenge. With a hmph, as he helped you back up to your feet, just so he could lure you into a devouring kiss. It was pure heat as he held you flush against him, your pretty lace bra scraping against his chest. But it was also distraction, allowing him to maneuver you where he wanted you on the bed: breathless on your back.

He kicked off his remaining clothes, though he prided himself on remembering a condom you gave him from his wallet, soon discarded again with his jeans. He shook the little foil packet at you in amusement before he fitted himself with its contents.

But he had to stop short once he helped you peel off your jeans. A slow smirk took control of his face when he fingered the familiar hem of your panties, silky and violet.

“These look even sexier now than the day we met,” he teased. “Nice of you to model ‘em for me.”

“I thought you might appreciate that,” you said, rubbing his arms as he climbed back up your body to kiss you. His arms were a cage you didn’t want to escape; you arched against his chest so he could successfully fiddle with your bra, yanking the clasps open with a practiced hand. You tried not to think of exactly how much practice, or let your brain fall back into overthinking, like wondering if he was serious about more than just wanting you.

You couldn’t deny that you wanted him too. Maybe tonight, that was enough.

The way he was kissing and sucking your tits was certainly good enough. His teeth grazed the firm peaks, making you moan and grab onto his hair tightly, your thighs wrapping around his hips. The rigid length of him pressed against your clothed pussy with blinding friction. It had him painfully, distractingly hard, but the way your knees squeezed his hips reminded him that he had work to do.

He kissed his way from your breasts down past your navel, where your legs spread wider, enough to accommodate his broad shoulders. His hand smoothly traveled up your thigh and squeezed soft flesh. Your breathing deepened just in anticipation as his lips blazed a trail along the inside of your knee, your thigh, nipping with teeth just shy of your pussy.

“Mark,” you gasped, laughing a little. “Jesus…”

“Oh, don’t flinch now, baby. We’re just getting started,” he said. And thumbed at the darkened wet spot through your panties.

His smile was incorrigible, but worse was the way he slowly dragged your panties down your thighs. Once they reached as far as they would go without him moving out of the way, he yanked the flimsy silk, making your mouth drop open in shock and your heart stutter. The fabric burned and your pussy throbbed with another flood of arousal.

He pacified you with his fingers slipping through the slick mess of your folds and quickly finding your clit. Your hips raised somewhat off the bed as you breathed into the delicious pleasure. Your hand came up over your head to grab onto your pillow, your other hand fisting the sheets.

“Good angle?” he teased.

“You’re gonna buy me new panties,” you uttered, but your sultry moan only stroked his ego.

“Hell, I’ll buy you a whole matching set,” he said, “long as I get a live preview.”

He grabbed another pillow to wedge underneath your hips, as if preparing you on a platter for his next meal.

Then he dove in, finally making better use of his mouth by tongue-stroking your clit. His fingers worked themselves inside your aching channel, then curling those long digits inside your inner walls. He hummed low in pleasure at the taste of you, making you blush and tangle your fingers back into his silky hair instead of the sheets. You felt the deep vibration of his voice against your clit, and it had you seeing brittle stars.

Mark was nothing if not a puzzle-solver, a true analyst, trying to figure out which angle you responded to more, which side of your clit was more sensitive, what kind of pressure would have only his name on your lips as you fell apart.

He knew he found it when your nails raked across his scalp, your body shuddering against him as you uttered a broken cry. “Mark.”

“That’s right, baby, come all fucking over me,” he muttered. But his fingers slipped out of you, so that he could grab your thighs and rip the pillow from underneath you. Just like the fucking panties, it was now in his goddamn way.

His cock sunk into you while you were still tinging from your first orgasm. Hell, it still felt like you were coming. Or it could’ve been just the feeling of him stretching your inner walls as they fluttered around him, welcoming him inside.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed, grasping onto his shoulders desperately.

He didn’t give you any time to recover. He started moving, a steady roll of his hips that stole your breath and had you clinging to his neck with biting nails and a dirty kiss. His breathing was labored too, but not because he was anywhere near done with you.

He grabbed onto the headboard and curled an arm around you, kissing you back hard enough to still taste cinnamon sugar and tequila.

“Harder,” you said against his lips, yanking on the longer strands of his hair for good measure.

A deep and guttural moan came from his throat. You really were his kind of woman.

But he still asked, “Fuck, you sure?”

You nodded, panting as you slipped your fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, make it fucking count,” you said.

He met your gaze, and for a moment, he didn’t even know what he saw in your eyes.

After another steamy kiss that knocked all coherent thought out of his head, and yours, he pulled out of you just to turn you over, guiding you onto your hands and knees. He realigned himself flush against your ass, giving both cheeks a firm squeeze as he sunk back inside you to the hilt. Your heady moan, and the way you squeezed on him on reentry, nearly undid him right there. Jesus fuck…

He slowly regained his rhythm and the leverage he had with a white-knuckle grip on the headboard. He held you to him too, heeding your guiding hand to squeeze one of your tits, rolling the sensitive bud of your nipple between his fingers. Your mouth fell open as your breaths fell out in time with his thrusts. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to feel his power.

Your arms were shaking, even with his support. He let you sink forward and rest your forehead on your arms, with a needy whimper as it deepened the angle.

His cock pulsed a warning inside you. It was getting harder to wait for you to come with him, but he could feel your legs quaking, your inner walls tightening around his cock, sucking him in as you finally mounted the crest of a new wave.

“You almost there, baby?” he said, nodding to himself when all you could answer was a high moan. His hand tightened on your hip. “Yeah, I fucking feel it…”

He reached around and guided your hand down between your legs. “Play with yourself. Stroke that clit the same way I did with my fucking tongue.”

You nodded, rubbing your swollen clit with trembling fingers. Combined with the feeling of his cock hitting that most sensitive place inside, it was almost too much. But it was also just fucking right. Your vision flashed, a cry forcing itself from your lungs.

Grabbing a fist full of your hair for his own stability, Mark finally allowed himself to let go along with you. His ragged shout echoed sharply in the room as he spent himself into the condom. You shuddered against him, heaving for breath as you clawed back up the headboard. His fingers freed themselves from your hair to smooth it down instead. He held you to him without collapsing on you, leaning heavily on the bedframe instead. His arm shook.

He chuckled as he tried to regain his breath. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh,” you replied airily, squeezing his arm as your head rested on his shoulder. “Good job.”

Another laugh huffed out of him.

“That’s my line, sweetheart,” he said, pressing his lips to your neck.

You were nearly boneless as he lowered you back down to the bed. You felt the loss of his cock keenly when he withdrew. Jesus, he’s fucking big.

You slowly managed to turn on your side so you could see his face. You smiled, and you leaned in to kiss him. 

It was gentler than he expected, but it was nice.

You laid your head in the crook of his shoulder. His pointer and middle finger stroked your arm back and forth while you both just breathed and existed there. The low hum of the AC kicked on just in time. The ceiling fan occasionally clicked as it spun. Distant sirens. Quiet slipped into the spaces where heartbeats fell. Warm lamplight and stillness.

After a while, you turned your head and scooted back a little, so you could meet his eyes, see the dewy sheen across his forehead.

“Was I worth the wait?” you asked cheekily. 

Amusement curved his lips. “For that, I would’ve waited a goddamn year.” 

You burst out laughing. “You’re so full of shit.”

He smirked. But your mirth faded the longer you considered him. 

He clocked the shift. It was hard not to, when you were laid out right in front of him, your body bare, and a few more layers stripped back too.

“Now what’re you thinking?” he asked. “I can see your gears turning.”

You took a deep breath before you answered, reaching out to stroke his cheek. His beard prickled your fingertips.

“Wondering if you’re going to be the guy who dips out before goodnight, or at least stays for the morning sex,” you said. And actually calls me after…

He got to smiling again. “So far I like the sound of the overnight package.” 

You bit your lip against another laugh, shaking your head. Your hand fell to his chest, hesitating there.

Against all prior evidence, Mark defied your expectations by settling into your bed, into this. He kissed you slowly. 

You breathed into it and allowed it to settle inside you, even after he pulled back.

“I’m looking forward to waking you up in the morning,” he said.

Your small, pleased smile told him he made the right choice. 

The sun had climbed halfway up the sky by the time Mark kept his word and woke you. A slow Saturday morning of warm skin on skin, his mouth mapping every inch his hands had the night before. Your upstairs neighbor was going to remember Mark’s name, layered on the walls in lusty sighs and sharp gasps. 

But after a shared shower and a ham and egg scramble with some particularly delectable homemade sourdough, he started to get his things together to head home. A thought occurred to him as he grabbed his wallet from under your bed, along with his keys.

This was the longest he’d spent with a woman in over a year.

No more UC for a while.

Even before then, Mark knew his track record. But he wasn’t exactly itching to leave this time. Maybe it really had been too long since he had a night that fucking good.

Or maybe the prospect of going home to an empty apartment, with little else besides a case of beer and more case files, was losing its luster.

Regardless, Mark pushed past the reluctance in his steps as his keys jangled in his hand. 

You followed him to the door in your loose pajamas and wild, sexy bedhead. It had him contemplating another serving of you for the road, but he limited himself to a slow kiss goodbye.

“See you soon,” he said with smile. 

You gave him one back. “Be careful out there.”

He shot you a wink. “Always.”

You snorted. “Somehow I doubt that.”

After you spent an extra few seconds watching him head down the hall, you shut the door and locked it behind him. Your fingers went to your lips as you contemplated the night’s decisions, as well as the morning’s surprises—mainly his mouth, and the fact that he’d stayed even longer than sharing a cup of coffee with you.

You cooked him breakfast. You two talked and laughed and relived yesterday’s moment that Officer “Tight Ass” Vance pulled Mark over in the middle of the desert. Mark later used your lavender soap in the shower, teasing the bar down your spine before he fucked you against the tile wall. 

If you were honest, you were a little disappointed that he didn’t mention even the obligatory “let’s do this again sometime.” But you also knew better than to try and lock this man into anything. You gave him a chance to be more than what you expected, so now, you’d just have to wait and see if he’d take it.

You were just settling down on the couch with a book when your phone buzzed with a call. You smiled, and you answered. 

“Forget something?” you asked.

“Actually yeah,” Mark said on the line. “What’re you doing on Monday after work? I’ve already got an idea on where to take you on date number 2.” 

You were glad he couldn’t see how embarrassingly girlish your smile was. You’d probably have to smother his satisfied smirk—with any means necessary. 

“6:00 p.m. works for me,” you said.

You and Mark spent your Sundays very differently. You had brunch with Sarah and tidied up your apartment (as if you hadn’t done that overhaul the night before Mark came over). Afterward, you filled out a few more job applications while you were still waiting to hear back from the District Attorney’s office.

Meanwhile, Mark did his usual workout routine in the morning, followed by a protein bar breakfast and a nosedive back into his open cases from his work laptop. That was later accompanied by a frozen pizza and a couple of beers he un-crusted from the back of his fridge, before he passed out that night.

On Monday morning, he went in for work by 7:30 a.m. as usual. Already people were trickling into the bullpen of the Homicide division, and the Captain had his office door open. It was like he was waiting to hear Mark’s boots cross the threshold, because his gaze slid up and zeroed in on the detective.

“Meachum,” Dan called out.

Mark inhaled deeply. Here we fucking go.

 He dumped his work bag on his desk and made his way to the Captain’s office.

“Shut the door,” Dan said.

Mark obliged him, then followed the other man’s gesturing hand to sit in one of the free chairs in front of the desk.

“Something’s been brought to my attention, but I prefer to hear it from the horse’s mouth,” Dan began, folding his hands in front of him. “Now, man to man. Did you go against my direct order to stay away from my daughter?”

Mark quirked his head. “Well, news does get to you quick. Guess I gotta send Vance an Edible Arrangement or something.”

“Answer my question,” Dan said. He was calm, deceptively so.

Mark knew he was taking his ass into his hands, but he wasn’t lying to you when he said he respected your father. He wouldn’t lie now, especially because that wouldn’t help him with you in the long run.

“I don’t think I have to tell you that she has a mind of her own, sir,” he pointed out.

Dan snorted in response. Then, he took in a deep breath of contemplation. 

“You in particular have amassed a reputation in this office, both professionally and…socially. While you know damn well that I’ve gone to bat for you on the former, I usually don’t have the time or the patience to make another man’s personal business my business,” he said. “However, in this case, you better tread very carefully. She’s been burned before, and she doesn’t deserve it from you.”

Mark took in that last tidbit with a nod. “I understand, sir.”

When Dan was certain, at least for the moment, that Mark really did understand, he grabbed a few manilla folders off his desk. They were case files—thick ones.

“Hanson broke his damn foot playing pickleball with his kids over the weekend, but I trust you to pick up the slack on his cases,” Dan said, with a hint of satisfaction as he handed Mark the files. “Even if that means working overtime, maybe even a few double shifts over the next few weeks.”

A wry smile tugged at Mark’s lips. At least he’d be getting paid for it.  

“No problem, Cap.”

You loved to cook. You had a weakness for Top Chef and The Great British Bake-Off. You even had a secret dream of visiting all the Hells Kitchens in the world—even better if you got to see Gordon Ramsay lose his shit over a half-cooked rack of lamb.

But tonight, you and Sarah ordered in from your favorite Korean fried chicken spot in Oakland, getting (sugar) high on their strawberry lemonade and watching old episodes of Motel Hell. She updated you on her boyfriend’s new job while you finished making love to your last chicken wing. The honey garlic sauce was particularly fire tonight.

“It sounds like IT is a better fit for him than Sales,” you said.

“Yeah, comes with a bit of a pay cut, but it’s less soul sucking,” she said. “I just want him to be happy, but it probably means we have to downsize or rent out the second room.”

“Nooo, not my guest room,” you playfully complained. “Where am I gonna escape when Rachel tries to invade my apartment every time she has a fight with our parents.”

Sarah shook her head in amusement. “You’d think she just band up with Lauren or Yesenia and split an apartment.”

“That would mean paying the rest of her bills herself. But actually, you’ve got a good point. That would be good for her,” you said, slurping down the rest of your lemonade. You’d thrown a couple shots of tequila in for razzle dazzle. “She told me she’s dating a production assistant from that firefighter show, California Fires or something.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound right.”

“Oh shit, wait. It’s coming to me… Yeah! Fire Country. That’s the one.”

Sarah looked both impressed and approving. “I do like me a sexy firefighter.”

“A man in uniform. My fucking weakness,” you shook your head, chomping on another fry.

She slid you an amused look. “Right. First a sergeant, now a detective.”

Your lips unconsciously tugged upward. “Mark was a sergeant too. An Army Ranger.”

Sarah huffed a laugh.

“Girl, you got it bad, bad. I can smell it in your pheromones. He must’ve turned you the hell out that night,” she said, stealing a couple of your fries. You were tempted to throw one at her.

“Please, we just started seeing each other. Haven’t even gone on our second date yet,” you said. But when your phone buzzed on the table, both your gaze and Sarah’s narrowed in on Mark’s name on your caller ID.

Her smirk spoke volumes.

“Shut up,” you said, trying to beat down your smile as you answered the call. “Hey.”

“Hey, sweetheart. How’re you doin’?”

“I’m good, just having dinner with my friend Sarah. Too bad we couldn’t make it work tonight,” you replied.

“Yeah, you know I’m sorry about that too.”

He’d called you around lunch time to apologize, telling you that he’d been given a few extra cases since his coworker called out unexpectedly. You took the news in stride, even though you had to wonder if he was telling the truth just to let you down easy. He’d made up for it by making new plans with you.

“Does tomorrow at 7 still work?” you asked.

“Actually,” he said with a sigh, “this week might be a wash. It’s looking like I’m gonna need to pull a double shift tomorrow. But I’ll tell you what, let me take you out this weekend. I promise, on Melinda’s life.”

Disappointment made your shoulders sink a little, but you still tried to play it cool.

Melinda? Sarah mouthed questioningly.

His car, you replied, smiling a little.

Then you hummed. “Well, if you’re willing to stake the Bronco as collateral, then I guess I can trust you.”

“That’s right. You know I wouldn’t play with her life that.”

You heard the smile in his voice, and it was infectious.

“That’s fair. She does have a nice rack,” you said with a smirk.

His laughter echoed through the phone, making you more than a little proud of yourself.

“Well, that’s something you two have in common,” he said. The rumble of his voice was doing things to you, but you were reminded that your best friend was sat directly across from you at your small kitchen table, smirking at you.

 “SLUT,” she whispered teasingly. You did throw a fry at her this time.

“Flatterer,” you accused, both at her and Mark. “But okay, what destination you have in mind?”

“Plan to be surprised, sweetheart.”

Well, he got his wish.

“You really must be allergic to traditional dates,” you said, just before you pulled the trigger.

Click. You hit the faceless man’s right shoulder. 

“Dinner and a movie.”

Click. 

“A nice walk in the park.”

Click. 

“Brunch at the green market.”

Click-click-click.

Amused, Mark took his hearing protection off as he nodded at your aim. You managed to get all of your shots on the board at least: one in the corner, two on the right shoulder, one in the gut, one to the chest, one to the head. He wouldn’t want to run up at you in a dark alley. Not without a vest.

“I’m not exactly a brunch and mimosas guy,” he said. But he stepped in from behind to correct your grip slightly. He spoke near your ear, where you could feel his warm breath. “Good form, though I can’t help the feeling you’re imagining me on that target.”

A blush bloomed in your cheeks.

“Well, that’s what you get for taking me to a shooting range,” you said. “I’m a visual person.”

But you turned to look at him over your shoulder with a growing smile. Was this really one of his moves, the “let me fix your aim” cliché bullshit?

…And why was it kind of working on you?

“Is this your way of making sure I know how to protect myself? Because I’ve been taking self-defense lessons since I was ten years old too. My dad made sure of it,” you said, putting the safety on the gun and setting it down on the ledge. 

Mark smirked and pressed the button to wind in the target for you. 

“I’m glad to hear that. I’d be interested in a demonstration one day,” he said, patting you on the ass. You shook your head in amusement. 

He switched out the target for a new one, letting you keep yours if you wanted it. 

“Is your little sister as well-rounded as you?” he asked. 

You snorted. “Rachel has her own talents, but the gun range has never been one of them. She was more interested in theater and guys, and parties with guys.” 

“What, you weren’t interested in guys?” Mark asked.

“Sure. I just tried not to let them make me an idiot.”

He grinned. “Well, we tend to be good at that, generally speaking.”

You watched him load his gun with practiced ease. He told you it was a 9x19mm Smith & Wesson, the model used by the LAPD. It sounded impressive, and he let you feel how heavy it was compared to your little .22 pistol that you always kept in your nightstand. As a woman living alone in a dangerous city, your father hadn’t had to convince you too hard to get one.

“All right, show off your skills, Army Ranger,” you said, gesturing at the target. It was twice as far back as he set yours.

“Distinguished Expert,” he said, and intentionally cleared his throat before he fired off a few rounds. They were quick and precise as they formed a cluster around the target’s heart.

You squinted, as if you couldn’t believe what your eyes were telling you.

“Jesus,” you muttered. “That guy would not be having a good day.”

He snorted. “Nah, he wouldn’t feel a thing.”

It was a little disturbing when you remembered that this man certainly had practice on the real thing—living and breathing targets. Not only as a policeman, but as a soldier. Your father had served in the military as well. He didn’t tell you many stories though, and that alone told you all you needed to know about what he’d seen, and what he’d had to do. Your mom told you once when you were a kid that your dad worked so hard because it was easier than sleeping. That thought had stayed with you all your life.

You wondered if Mark had a little too much in common with your dad.

“Distinguished Expert, huh? I’m assuming that’s for marksmanship,” you said instead.

Mark tossed you a grin as he reloaded. “Happens to be the highest ranking. Just saying.”

You smiled faintly. “Is that why you got recruited for a federal task force?”

Mark inclined his head at you. “Partly. I’ve done my fair share of undercover work.”

“What did you have to do?” you asked.

“Honestly I shouldn’t give you the details,” he said, but seeing your genuine curiosity, he decided to give you the main tidbit. “I had to infiltrate a white supremacy group. It was a year in goddamn Nazi hell.”

“God, the fact that fucking Nazis are still a thing…” you shook your head. “Were you successful?”

Mark nodded, his lips quirking with a note of pride. But it wasn’t arrogance, you thought, just pride in his work.

“The top dogs are going away for 25 to life for the shit they’ve tried to cover up over the years. Weapons deals, hate crimes, indoctrination, especially of kids, even kidnapping.” 

You frowned, but you slipped your fingers down the line of his jacket, and over his hand. That calloused hand that was clearly capable of many things. A hand that had strength, but also gentle moments too, when he touched you.

“Then, thank you for your service, Sergeant,” you said.

He smiled and held your hand a little warmer in return.

“All right, you wanna get out of here?” he asked. “I’ll take you somewhere with a little more ambiance if you want.”

You perked up at that. “Ooh, I have an idea. Not sure if you’re gonna like it though…”

“Try me,” he said.

Pacific Park was a wild place to go to on a Saturday, even in the middle of winter. It lied on the Santa Monica pier, and it was home to overpriced street vendors and carnival rides, including a Ferris wheel. Mark didn’t have any chance of getting you on that rickety death trap, but it was nice to get some burgers for lunch, followed by ice cream on the pier.

The gentle tumble and crash of the sea competed with the sounds of kids laughing and distantly screaming on rides. There were a couple of teenage boys throwing a football nearby, but mostly there were couples and families and friends out on the pier. Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl” played on some overhead speakers.

A seagull almost stole your ice cream, but you zealously defended your cone and shoed the opportunistic bird away from you. It had Mark chuckling, then wrapping an arm around your waist to guide you away from the wind whipping your hair into his face.

He already finished his cup of mint chocolate chip. It freed up his hand to tilt your chin up, so he could steal a taste of caramel off your lips. His second kiss lingered, then deepened, drawing a small sigh from you, and your fingers curling into his jacket.

“Bro, heads up!”

Mark’s spine tingled with awareness and his reflexes kicked in, allowing him to break away from you quick enough to stop a projectile from hitting you on the head. It was a football, and one of the teens who threw a wide right trying to get some spin on the ball.

“Hey, watch out!” Mark said, sharp and stern. He half a mind to confiscate it, but he tossed the football back. “Take it down to the beach, and put a little more wrist on it.”

“Sorry,” each of them said, though one was a little more sincere than the other.

Mark shook his head. “Kids.”

You laughed and playfully tugged on his jacket to reclaim his attention.

“Relax, officer. You’re off duty, remember?”

His annoyance faded into amusement.

“Hey, I just saved your life. A little gratitude might be in order,” he teased.

You nodded. “You know what, you’re right. My bad.”

Smirking, you used his jacket as leverage to lean up for another kiss. He pressed you against the pier railing and accepted every part of that little thank you.

Moments of near decapitation and making out aside, you two spent the afternoon mainly talking as you walked from the pier down the boardwalk of the beach. After everything you’d told him about your family and childhood, you wanted to know more about his.

“So you’re an only child?” you asked. After he confirmed it with a nod, you hummed in thought, trying to imagine what he was like in his teen years. “You gave your mom hell, didn’t you?”

He chuckled. “Guilty as charged on that one. But she did her best.”

“And your dad?” you asked.

His lips quirked. “Well, he tended to favor the belt. When that didn’t work, he tried other ways to knock some sense into me.” 

Your amusement faded. “Did he hit you?”

He clocked that look of concern on your face, but only then did he realize he said more than he meant to. 

“Never hard enough for anyone to care,” he said. “But uh, around seventeen, I got big enough and mouthy enough that Dad kinda gave up for a while. Like I said, the military was his last-ditch effort to straighten me out.”

By the way you were still looking at him—like you wish you could spin the clock back 30 years and call Child Protective Services—he could tell this kind of thing was foreign to you. 

“You probably still do Sunday dinners with your family, huh?” he said. 

“Tuesdays,” you supplied. “We alternate on days when my dad and I don’t have lunch together… He was a hard-ass, but he never raised a hand to me or my sister. He’s a gentle giant, really.”

Mark huffed. “He was going to let you two stay the night in jail with the street walkers.”

You had to concede that fact, nodding. “Well, he’s not an easy man to please, but he had a point that Valwell might hear about that night at the club. It’s not a good look for any job candidate, let alone someone who might work for the DA’s office.”

“Don’t worry about it. The club dropped the charges,” Mark said. 

You bit your lip in worry. “Would it still come up in a background check?” 

“Doubtful. You didn’t even get processed. But even if this guy asks you about it, and he doesn’t like your explanation, then it’s not worth working there to begin with,” Mark said. “I’ve got some experience with that.” 

“Yeah? When?” you asked. Because of course you wanted to know.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” he said, pausing on the boardwalk to tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind your ear. He smirked. “And not just for stories.”

“Oh, look who’s talking,” you snipped. “This from the man who hounded me for an entire month—”

Mark saw no other recourse of stopping your mouth, than with his own. 

He tugged you in by your waist and kissed you to the tune of an ocean breeze, Billy Joel, and kids’ laughter. Whether he realized it or not, something inside him started to untighten at the possibilities here.

Goddamn it, Harmon.

He’d left Mark with case notes that were brief at best, and a shorthand that clearly only made sense to the officer in question. The other departments must have a cipher, because otherwise, Mark didn’t know how the Lieutenant let this fucking fly.

On top of his normal caseload, he had Harmon’s chicken scratch to contend with on no less than five open homicides. Mark’s head-scratching, research, and follow-up calls on leads bled into overtime in the late afternoon.

Eventually, he was almost the last one standing in the office. Even the Captain casted a glance over at Mark’s desk on his way out. Mark met his gaze, but neither man had anything to say that wasn’t being communicated in silence.

After the glass doors glided shut behind Dan, Vanessa came up on Mark’s left as she finished closing up her jacket, adjusting the purse on her shoulder. She smiled at him. He gave her a brief nod as he kept Harmon’s notes in focus on his desk.

“You’ve been working hard this past week,” she remarked.

“Crime never sleeps, so I guess I’m not allowed to either,” he said wryly.

“Well, as long as you’re not sleeping,” she said, propping her hip against his desk.

It caught his attention enough for him to pause in what he was doing. He almost sighed; he had a hunch on where this was going.

“Want to grab a drink with me?” she offered. Her smile curved, and he recognized the flirtatious glint. “Or…maybe we skip to the part where I help you relax.”

Mark quirked his head. Why did his gut always have to be right?

Speaking of said gut, it made itself known with a grumble, reminding him that he’d been surviving on protein bars and shit coffee since this morning.

“Jesus,” he said, more to himself than Vanessa as his hand went to his stomach on reflex. “What I need is some fuel.”

“How about we make it dinner then,” she suggested. “There’s a great Chinese place around the corner from my apartment.”

Mark hesitated, rubbing a hand over his beard out of habit.

“Uh, you know what, I’ve still got a lot of work to do here. Plus, I um, got stuff to make back home,” he replied.

What he had was a fridge full of beer, DiGiorno’s pizzas, and a couple of Hungry Man frozen dinners.

Vanessa seemed to get the hint though. Her face fell with disappointment, but she hid it behind a half smile.

“Okay. Don’t work too hard,” she said.

He gave her a half-salute as she walked away. He went back to it, typing away on his computer as he worked on pulling a potential suspect’s LUDS. His phone vibrated on his desk, lighting up with your name. Again, he paused to unlock the screen.

He found himself smiling as he answered you.

Two weeks later, your L-shaped couch was seeing more action than your usual post-work state of vegetation.

Journey bled into a Prince ballad on the nearby Bluetooth speaker, providing a smoother soundtrack for the way Mark’s fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, flirted up the curve of your spine, then back down to quell the little goosebumps he raised while your lips danced with his in a slow-burning heat.

He brought over the chocolate mousse cake he now tasted on your tongue. You’d stuffed him full of your homemade mashed potatoes, asparagus, and a pan-fried salmon. He hadn’t enjoyed a meal like that in a while. And his bones were settling into this couch, even if he’d like to be taking advantage of the way your hips were grinding against his. 

He groaned low in his throat, feeling delicious friction down below. Your nails scraped gently against his scalp as you ran your fingers through his hair. He had to reward you with a squeeze of your ass through this breezy skirt you had on, and a teasing graze of his teeth down your neck that had you moaning in his ear.  

But even with a throw pillow wedged under him, the alignment of his neck against the arm of the couch was starting to shoot some pain down his spine. All the extra hours at his desk had made his back and shoulders tight. He shifted underneath you with a grunt. 

“You okay?” you asked quietly. You kissed his cheek while you waited for an answer, then along his jaw—a sensuous path back to his lips. He hummed in response.

He did have to stifle a yawn though, his chest expanding with a deeper breath. He mentally cursed when he felt you pause, then literally slow your roll. You parted from him softly and quirked your kiss-swollen lips. He blinked his eyes open.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” you asked.

He gave a wordless denial, even though your fingers running more gently through his hair was like scratching a dog precisely in the right place. He cleared his throat and moved his hands down to your thighs. 

“I’m good,” he said.

“You’re falling asleep,” you accused, though a smile played at your lips. “You’re not getting bored of me already, are you?”

He smirked lazily, but he let his hands wander higher up your skirt and squeezed there, with purpose.

“Definitely not,” he said. “But to be honest, this couch isn’t doing my back any favors.”

“Hmm, I think there’s an easy fix for that,” you teased. And you pushed off his chest to sit up and slide off his lap. You helped him stand, smirking a little at his tired groan. But you didn’t let go of his hand. “Come on, old man.”

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. I’m not even 40,” he said, smacking your ass in recompense.

You jumped with a gasp, but you laughed as you led him into your room. He was willing to push through the exhaustion pulling at his mind and body when you reached for the hem of his shirt and helped him pull it off. Then you kissed him into submission while you unbuckled his belt, getting him out of his jeans. He thought he had an idea of where the night was going next, until you guided him to lay down first, on his stomach.

“What’s happening?” he asked in amusement.

He didn’t expect you to climb on top of him, after you pulled something out of your nightstand.

“Just relax,” you said, squirting a bit of rose oil into your palm. “I’m going to give you a little massage.”

His head tilted. “Really?”

You heard the grin creeping into his voice, and you suspected what was about to follow.

“We talking happy endings included?” he asked.

Yep. You snorted. Predictable. 

“Oh, I’m thinking you’ll want to give me a big thank you at the end,” you said, beginning to rub your slick palms over the broad, tense line of his shoulders. “Maybe even a standing ovation.”

Already he was groaning into your pillow, his arms crossing underneath. You dug deep into the knots near his neck, then smoothed out down his shoulders.

“Jeeesus Christ,” he muttered. “It’s like you knew where to go.”

You tried and failed to stifle a giggle.

“I get neck pain like this a lot too,” you said. “Sarah’s an aesthetician, but she’s also a really good masseuse. She’s been teaching me some things.”

“It fucking shows, sweetheart,” Mark uttered, half on a groan when you moved down between his shoulder blades. He’d never had a woman offer to do something like this for him, not even as a precursor to sex. But it was quickly climbing up the ladder on the list of his favorite things, certainly about you.

Meanwhile, you were having fun with your canvas—working your hands over planes of male muscle and a dusting of freckles. You were starting to count the tiny clusters while his breathing grew deeper, his body relaxing more fully under your touch.

Eventually, you worked your way down his legs, massaging thighs and calves, even his feet. You weren’t even sure he was still alive by that point, until he flinched at your nails playfully grazing the arches of his feet. He grumbled a half-hearted warning. You smirked.

But after you toweled off the oil from his skin, you let him relax while you changed into something more comfortable to sleep in, even if you didn’t think you’d be wearing it all that long.

Biting your lip against a smile, you slipped into bed with Mark and laid a hand on his arm. He was still lying on his stomach with his arms pillowed under his bowed forehead.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked.

A light snore was your response.

You covered your mouth to quiet your laugh. But you leaned in, just to press a kiss to his shoulder.

“Goodnight then,” you whispered in amusement. Guess I’ll have to cash in that happy ending in the morning.

The problem was that he was still on top of the covers. Instead of waking him, you went and grabbed an extra blanket from your closet to gently throw on top of him. When you came back to your side of the bed though, Mark finally shifted more onto his side, facing you with a sleepy, crooked smile. He uncurled an arm and slid it around your waist, pulling you in closer.

It was a shame Rachel couldn’t make it to the next family dinner. It meant her torrid affair with the P.A. couldn’t distract your parents (your mother) from being nosey with your personal life.

Normally you wouldn’t mind, but you’d been careful not to mention Mark around your dad. You two still hadn’t spoken much for the past month, since the clubbing incident, but you had a feeling he already knew. You didn’t trust Officer Vance to keep that tidbit of information to himself.

“You still haven’t heard back from the DA’s office?” Dan asked you.

“No. They told me the process could take a while. Apparently Valwell interviewed a lot of people. The HR rep told me he’s really particular about his assistants, wants to find the right person,” you replied. At this point though, you weren’t holding out a lot of hope. You’d already had another interview that you felt good about in the meantime.

“That’s the city for you. Moves at a glacier’s pace,” Dan remarked, as he carved into his chicken. Lisette made a mean carbonara.

“You’re always talking about work,” she said, lightly shoving your arm. “What else have you been up to? It’s been weeks since we’ve seen you.”

A sprinkle of Mom Guilt always made the truth spill quicker, but you hesitated. She noticed that too.

“Ooh,” she said, with a growing smile. “You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

Your lips twitched upward. It was hard to lie to your mom. She was sweet as pie, but she rarely missed a thing.

“Well, actually, yeah,” you said, silently steeling yourself. You glanced up at Dan, who stopped chewing altogether. He was taciturn at best.

“His name is Mark,” you said. Well, here we go. “Mark Meachum. He’s a homicide detective in Dad’s division.”

Forks stopped scraping ceramic. Clinking ice stilled in their cups of peach tea. Lisette looked between your braced expression, and her husband’s worsening mood.

“Something tells me you already knew,” you said to him, while sipping your tea. “Is that a problem?”

“Listen, I know him. And I’ve known him longer than you,” Dan pointed out. “He’s not a Peter, put it that way.”

You frowned. Peter may have been good at his job, but that didn’t mean he did well with your heart. Of course, your dad only saw Peter’s photogenic, commendation-winning side.

“You must at least trust Mark to do his job well, because I know you won’t tolerate anything else,” you said. “And you’ve probably been approving all the overtime and double shifts he’s had to pull over the past few weeks. I wonder who loaded him up with all that?”

“That’s not the issue here,” Dan said, quick and with a sharp measure of annoyance. “The man has a reputation, namely with the women of the office—hell, the goddamn county district.”

“I’m aware,” you said wryly.

“Are you?”

“Yeah, but you know what, he’s only ever treated me with respect,” you said. “So please, stop penalizing Mark. It’s not going to stop me from seeing him.”

Lisette once again glanced between your firm-held ground, and Dan’s silent, stubborn obstinance. She held back her smile of amusement. It was like watching two moose at a standoff.

But eventually, Dan let out a deep breath and went back to eating before his food got cold.

He didn’t concede in words, but in his silence, you considered the matter settled.

For the first time in over a month, you stepped through the heavy glass doors of the Homicide Division during your lunch hour. As usual, you were greeted by the sound and smell of cheap coffee percolating in the break room, printers whirring, phone chatter, and the drone of typing.

You crossed paths with Vanessa on your way in, but your greeting was somewhat strained when you remembered what Anette from Billing told you about the office manager and your…almost boyfriend.

“Hey girl, been a while,” Vanessa said, with a friendly hand on your arm as her eyes lit up. “Ooh, you smell good. Yves Saint Laurent?”

“Yep, good guess,” you nodded and glanced over at Mark’s desk. He was already grinning at you in surprise.

“Ey, love that for you,” Vanessa said, gesturing at the Captain’s office. “Your dad’s still in a meeting, but he should be out in a few minutes.”

“Okay, thanks,” you said. That gave you time to swing by your…Mark’s desk.

You unknowingly had a pair of eyes on you when you went over to him.

“Hey, sweetheart. You didn’t tell me you were coming in,” he said.

He pushed away from his desk to get up and greet you with a kiss.

“Well, I’ve got some good news,” you said. Though you noticed your dad had just gotten back from his meeting, and he nodded at you from the doorway of his office. You acknowledged him back.

“Let me just check in with him first, see if he’s ready for lunch. Maybe we could all go together…” Your gaze cut back to Mark, slightly hesitating. “If you’re not busy.”

Mark rose a brow. “You told him about us?”

You bit your lip. “I did. He’s still not all that happy about it, but he’ll get over it.”

He chuckled, but he did rub the back of his neck uncertainly. 

“Uh…all right. Lunch is fine,” he said.

“Yeah?” you checked. Even after a month, you weren’t totally sure how he felt about this relationship—or about you.

But he assured you with a nod. “I can make some time.”

“Okay, thanks,” you said, discreetly squeezing his hand.

Your little smile of excitement amused him as he watched you go over to the Captain’s office.

Fuckin’ cute. It wasn’t a thought Mark had often, let alone about you, but it was there. You had some high defenses, but once someone managed to make their way through, you had a softer center, as it turned out.

He settled back at his desk, running a hand over his chin as he tried to refocus on his computer screen, but there was something unsettled and churning in his gut. He knew what he just agreed to, and it was more than just a burger at the In-and-Out across the street.

Mark could admit, he wanted to keep seeing you. The risk to his job had always been there, but this was a different kind of warning label—one that actually made him a bit uncomfortable to consider. It meant lunch with your father today, and probably a Tuesday dinner with your mother the next. There was a part of him that hadn’t totally disagreed with Vance’s little assessment of him.

This ain’t the guy you wanna take home.

Mark had tried it once. Bella Hastings, a fucking pistol and a good cop, one of the only partners he’d been assigned who’d never slowed him down.

She ended it after four months, just before he took the federal assignment.

How had she put it? Oh, yeah.

“You’re the guy I want beside me in a firefight, no question. We can keep fucking it out after, sure, but you’ve got no follow through, Meachum,” she said. “You don’t even want to meet my parents on my birthday. Do you even know what it means to be a partner? Build a home? Are you really gonna be the guy to shave my legs when I’m too pregnant to see my fucking toes?”

His lack of an answer spoke for itself, and they both knew it.

She shook her head. “No. I think not.”

He hadn’t put up a fight, because not so deep down, he knew she was right. When he got back from UC, he was glad to hear that she’d transferred over to Organized Crime. She’d do good work there, and it was probably better for both of them.

Now, where did that leave him with you?

“So that’s what’s had you busy,” came a wry voice.

Mark’s head perked up, his brows raised to find Vanessa standing there in front of his desk. She didn’t even have a batch of paperwork on her arm as a pretense this time. Her gaze flicked over to where you were talking to your father within the glass walls of his office. Half of them were grayed out, but the top half were transparent. Your conversation with him looked strained, but no projectiles were being thrown just yet.

“That’s insane, even for you,” Vanessa said.

Mark’s lips quirked. “You know me. I thrive on a little insanity.”

She huffed. “I do know you.”

She rounded the corner of his desk, letting her fingertips skim the laminate surface.

“The question is, does she know. About you and me?” she asked, raising a challenging brow. “And half the women in this office, for that matter.”

“She does,” Mark said curtly.

Vanessa’s head tilted, her eyes calculating.

“So it’s casual then,” she said.

Mark took in a breath, leveling her with a firmer look.

“I think that’s our business, Vanessa,” he said.

Her mouth evened out into a line.

Her lips pursed, until she noticed you leaving the Captain’s office when the man himself remained on the phone. You were already heading back over to Mark’s desk, looking irritated as you shook your head.

Maybe Dan wasn’t ready to break bread just yet. He wasn’t convinced about your choices, and Mark couldn’t exactly blame him. 

Vanessa shrugged, adopting a smile. 

“Okay,” she said. Then she bent down to whisper near his ear. “Good luck with that.”

Before she left, she allowed her hand to trail up his arm and over his shoulder. Mark frowned at her in annoyance, especially because you stopped short in front of the bullpen. Shit.

Your stare cut from Vanessa’s retreating back, to Mark’s face. He read it all flicker in your eyes, confusion crossing with disappointment, and a bit of anger too.

With a hard sigh through your nose, you turned to walk out. Mark got up to follow you, grunting in irritation. He called your name, but you didn’t stop—not until you were pushing through the doors with your shoes clacking swiftly down the hall.

Mark called after you, more insistently. His longer legs still caught up with you as he reached for your arm and got you to slow down. You reluctantly turned around, but you were already done with the way men were deciding to test your patience today.

“Hey, that wasn’t what it looked like,” he said.

He could say that, with his voice sounding like three glasses of whiskey deep and his eyes staring straight into yours, but you forced yourself to remember that this man was a professional liar when he needed to be.

“And what do you think it looked like?” you challenged. “Like she just propositioned you for a quickie in the storage room?”

“It wasn’t.”

“It looked like you’re still sleeping with her.”

“I’m not,” he said, more firmly. 

You crossed your arms, not yet convinced. 

“I told you how I feel about bullshit. That definitely qualifies,” you said. 

“Relax, okay. Frankly, I haven’t had the fucking energy between you and my job to keep up something on the side, even if I wanted to,” he snapped. 

You paused, because that hurt you. Your face flashed with it, making an inevitable guilt coil in Mark’s chest. His mouth firmed with it.

“If I’m such a distraction, maybe we shouldn’t be doing this,” you said.

Mark sighed, but he hesitated a bit too long. Frowning, you began to turn away from him and head toward the elevator. His quick reach and grab for your hand stopped you.

“All right, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant,” he said. With a gentler tug, he winded you back in. He held you by your arms and brushed his thumbs there. He thought through it first before he said anything else he’d regret. But he also knew it was now or never.

“You’re not a distraction. These past few weeks, you’ve been…” He could almost taste the words on his tongue as he found them, one by one. “You’re the beat I should be taking. The one good breath in my day.” 

You blinked in surprise. Part of you softened, more willing to hear him and actually listen. 

His lips tugged at a crooked smile. “I’m gonna be honest. The last half-decent relationship I had barely lasted a few months. She probably had every right to give up on me. I’m not exactly cut out for Sunday brunches and family dinners, but uh…you make me want to try.”

God fucking help me, he thought.

You warmed with a slow smile. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said. It surprised him too.

His lips tugged at a grin.

You hesitated, but then, you nodded in acceptance.

“Okay,” you said. “You know that makes you my boyfriend, right?”

He huffed in amusement. “If that’s what you want, sweetheart. Gotta warn you though, you might regret it.”

“We’ll see,” you quipped.

His hands glided down your arms, and you eventually held his hands in return. He had to pull you to the side of the hall though, when Finau walked by with his partner, Caplan. They didn’t say anything, but their brief glances taking perceptive notes made Mark wish you two were having this conversation somewhere else.

Too late. He had to reenact The Notebook with you right outside the fucking office full of eagle-eyed law enforcement.

“Um, so I did have some good news,” you said. “I got a call from the DA’s office this morning. I got the job as Valwell’s Executive Assistant. I’m giving my two weeks’ notice at work later today.” 

Mark smiled. “Hey, congrats. I’m guessing you told your dad, or uh, was that little argument about this?”

He squeezed your hands to punctuate his point. Your expression turned wry. 

“He’s been questioning my decisions a lot lately, but that’s his problem. Despite what he’d like to believe, I’m a grown ass woman and I know what I want,” you said, meeting his eyes as you smiled a bit softer. But it faded slightly. “He’s been the one piling all that extra work on you on purpose, isn’t he? You have a right to complain, you know.”

Mark just shook his head as he collected you in his arms, his hands molding to the curve of your waist.

“Don’t worry about it. Been through a lot worse than a few late nights and double shifts,” he said, smirking. “Long as you come through with some more of those full-body massages, I’m good.”

Your smile grew. You raised up on your toes and twined your arms around his neck, guiding him back down to your level. Other cops and staff were occasionally passing by in the hall, but at this point, you didn’t care. 

“You’re willing to deal with all that for me?” you asked.

“You’re worth the trouble,” he teased, “and I’m a stubborn bastard. You know I don’t quit easy.” 

That, you certainly did know. 

“Yeah, well, neither do I,” you said.

He gave into that compelling pull of you, bowing his head for a kiss. It was slow as he breathed into it. Your fingers played with the smaller hairs at the back of his neck, your nails grazing his scalp until a small shudder ran down his spine. He kissed you again, this time laced with an undercurrent of heat. Probably too much. 

He eventually pulled back with a sigh, but not too far from your enticing lips. 

“All right, fuck it,” he said. “Let’s go to lunch. I’m fucking starving.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “How about that burger place across the street?” 

“Sweetheart, you read my mind.”

AN: There's just something about these two that I keep coming back to lol. 😘

How'd you like their first time, and navigating those "what are we" feels? Would you want to see more of their early days? Let me know in the reblogs/comments! ❤️

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