Her milky breasts spilled out of her bra as he unhooked it. Enlarged pink nipples dotted both her breasts. The white of her breasts contrasted to the pale skin around. He put the little boy in her hands, and she pulled him towards her bosom. He opened his mouth and gently suckled the occasional drop of white slid around his small mouth.
This was what he offered. A helping hand. A means of financial and affectionate guidance. It was a win-win. She warmed his bed and he gave safety. The tiny hands were clutched to her shoulders as she held him. Blackhawk felt a discomfort watching the little bugger suck on the tits, he dominated. He felt the desire to absorb the unoccupied tit to balance the pleasure. Yet, from her expression, he'd sworn it was anything but pleasurable.
In a blissful rage, he strolled into the open-planned kitchen. Collecting a bottle of fresh spring water, he leaned against the wooden counter. Had he gone nuts? Was the only question that lingered on his mind. It convinced him he had got in an early mid-life crisis. Sipping from the bottle, he looked back the savor of her milk. The sweet yet bitter taste of breast milk. He knew one thing; he would consume them again.
"Are you sure about this?"
Blackhawk dropped the last remains.
"We can always move out and you wouldn't have to worry." She plucked at her fingernails.
"You have someone to go to?"
She shook her head. "No, it's me and Josiah." She exhausted a smile.
The spur tears within her eyes made him jump from the counter and within one stride, he kept her to his chest. His strong arms caged her in an embrace. She sobbed. Trailing her small hands up his strong chest where she clutched onto the baggy black t-shirt. He rested his chin on top of her head, swinging their bodies in sync, as she empties the unpleasant memories.
"I'm sorry..." he whispered.
She shook her head and lifted it from his chest. She sniffed. "I'm sorry. I'm putting snot on your tee." She dried her tears with his t-shirt.
He pulled back to study her face. He knew he was passing his limits. He couldn't help but tickle the beast. "Wanna talk about it?"
She sniffed. "Not today."
"He's asleep?" he asked.
She nodded her head, sighing. Seconds later, his mouth was on hers and he kissed her and the world fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rested below her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as their breaths mingled. She ran her fingers down his back, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and she could feel the beating of his heart against her chest.
"I hadn't asked for your name?"
"Clarissa," she moaned.
The next thing she knew, she hardly had a moment to react before he pressed his tongue to the seam of her lips and, at her grant of access, delved inside her mouth. Her arms reached up and tangled around his thick, strong neck before clutching at the disheveled strands of his midnight hair. Unexpectedly, his hand drifted to her hip. It settled there and pulled her closer. She inhaled sharply. She was against his warm chest, chiseled to perfection.
He began nuzzling her neck with delicate kisses. So faint, they were whispers. A hand ran through her hair, as the kisses become harder and more urgent. Another hand slid around her waist. He loved the sound of her name. A name he could hear himself moaning and growling to when he beds her. A name that could have him rock solid every second of every day. He made her feel hot and cold with his smooth kisses to rough and urgent, vice versa. He had her on the edge. And she loved every second.
• • •
His phone buzzed.
"Yeah?" His voice, coarse like a fragmented rock. Years of smoking and alcohol had made his voice sound like it had traveled via vocal cords of heavy sandpaper.
"Good afternoon to you, too." He knew her voice. The woman made it her mission to irritate the hell out of him.
"Someone needs to get laid." He could hear the smirk forming on her lips.
"More than you know," he said. "Get to the fucking point." He was on the verge of choking her through the phone.
His night had been like it was years back. Alone and hard. Clarissa had slept in her son's room after exchanging their passive make out. Granting him a massive hard-on before she bolted for the doors. Her reason: She isn't ready. Ain't ready my ass! He stood alone and frustrated. She was a mystery. A dangerously beautiful mystery.
She sighed. "They found another body."
He sat up in his bed. "Where?"
Kate gasped. "Pine street. Martin's moving on it and so is Hobbs."
He swung one leg over the other as he sprinted out of bed, in a search for his clothes. "You okay Kate?"
"Pfft, I'm fine...Are you coming?" She bit into what appeared to be a dry cracker.
"Yeah, I'll be there in fifteen." He shrugged on his pants, buckled his belt before throwing on his black tee.
The clicking of feet added rhythm to his movements. Her eyes scanned the room before her eyes met his. "Going somewhere?" she asked, gripping onto the side of the door.
She played with the skin of her hands and rocked on her heels at the door.
"I need my clothes."
He stood at the end of the messy room; hands rested in the pockets of his black jeans, and an unreadable expression masked his face. "Be my guest."
Her form-fitting nightie was a pristine white. It pooled around her like liquid silk that caressed her skin like a cool autumn breeze as she swayed into the bedroom in search of her clothes. He clenched his hands into a fist inside his pocket. Her naked ass didn't make it any easier for him. He watched it sway with every step and her breast. Her breast bounced under the silky material and dangled down her chest as she bent.
She inched closer to him. Both gazed into each other's eyes; not a word spoken by either. She got lost within the breathless paradise of his dreamy eyes and no sooner with no authority; he clutched his hands onto her hips, leaning her against his muscular body; as a result, his gentle, seductive touch weakened her. He began kissing her frail neck, which weakened her even.
He groaned and pulled away. "I can't."
Seeing that she took her precious time to taunt him, he marched toward his dresser and grabbed his badge and gun. "You're a cop?" She quivered.
He flashed her his badge.
"My numbers on the fridge."