Safeword (4 page)

Part of me wanted him to order me to be still. I craved being bound by his words, which were stronger than any restraint in existence. But even in the heat of the moment, I knew it would be too much. I’d safeword and end everything. Instead, I hiked my knees up, easing the way for him to play as he saw fit. This was his show, after all.

“That’s it, Gavin. Give yourself to me.” Ben’s voice curled around my spine like liquid smoke, his face intent as he watched his finger disappear inside me. Gripping the bottle of lube in his other hand, he squeezed a few drops on my taint, using his thumb to rub it around. I rocked against his hand, the intrusion of two fingers somehow easier to take than the first one. I locked my eyes on him, tracing the constellation of freckles across his chest and collarbone as I’d done so many times before. He was fair skinned, and the dark dots stood out starkly. I would map them with my tongue if I could reach. I wasn’t given the chance. Pulling his fingers free, he gazed at me, desire overtaking caution only to be beaten back again.

“Last chance, Gavin. You doing okay?”

I hated his need to ask, but understood. “Fuck yes, fill me. Use me however you want. I’m yours.”

He chuckled. I watched his dexterous fingers spread lube on the toy, a medium-sized stiff rubber butt plug, the insertion end topped with a ball about the size of a dime and wide at the base with a wickedly delicious curve to the whole length that, when seated correctly, nestled the bead right on my prostate. It was one of my favorites. Ben had gotten it for me in the beginning, and I’d used it often, first to get over my aversion to anal penetration after the attack, then for pleasure with him.

I shook my head, frustrated that everything reminded me of the stupid morning that nearly ruined my life. I didn’t want the cloud hanging over us anymore. Ben saw the movement and immediately went still.

“Gavin?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I assured him. “Just trying to shut my brain up.”

“Something I should know?” The cool rubber kissed the wrinkled bud of my entrance, and I hiked my legs back farther, knees nearly pressed to my chest.

“You should know I’m ready. You should know I want this. Want you. You should know I’m a fucked up mess, but I’m your fucked up mess.” There was that dimple I loved, piercing his cheek as his eyes crinkled in amusement. “You keep smiling at me like that, I’ll do anything you say.” Ah, well, it was fun to pretend, and Ben, bless him, let me.

“Anything, huh?” He pushed the toy, and I squeezed my eyes shut, mouth falling open as it breached me.

“Yesssss,” I hissed.

“How about if I tell you to stop right now and go make me a sandwich?”

I glared at him, which he answered with another inch, widening me. I grunted, losing the facial tension required to hold the glare.

“What about if I said I left my phone in the car, and I’d like you to go get it?”

“I’d say you have voicemail, and they can leave a message or call your service,” I gritted out, taking the plug in its entirety. “God, that’s perfect.”

“What if I said I’m not going to touch the toy anymore and I want you to do your thing?” My thing, with this particular item, was that it was specifically designed as a prostate stimulator, and I’d become adept at maneuvering it without touching the base, simply by pumping my hips and flexing my inner muscles to the point where I could climax totally hands free.

“Is that what you want?” I asked.

He nodded, so I let my legs fall straight to the bed as he moved up beside me. In the weeks when I couldn’t stand to be touched, one of his favorite pastimes had become watching me come this way. He once told me he didn’t think I’d have learned such a skill if we hadn’t backed way off the submission, and it was one of the most erotic things he’d ever witnessed. Considering the man was an experienced Dom with a history of teaching subs new things, that was saying something. Whether I believed him or not didn’t matter. He liked watching enough to say those words.

“Move, Gavin,” he commanded softly. “I want to see.” I could hear his inner Dom straining to come out, and while part of me wanted that, I feared it, too, despite my begging him for it in most of our arguments. To keep the fear from gaining a foothold, I shifted my pelvis in a way that circled the bead of the toy around my sweet spot. The groan that escaped me came from deep in my core, and I repeated the motion. Ben leaned down to lick the teardrop of pre-come that glistened at the tip of my cock. I swirled my hips to chase both the warmth of his mouth and the fire sparking inside me as the toy passed over my prostate once more.

“What if I told you,” he said huskily, fingers idly toying with my nipples as I pumped my hips and panted, looking at him as he knelt beside me, the tip of his hard-on shimmering in the dim light, pre-come oozing from his slit. “I can’t get the lube cap off again,” he chuckled, passing me the bottle. “Help? Slippery fingers. But keep moving, baby. Please keep moving.”

Eyes glued to the spectacle of my rolling torso, the clench and release of my abs, the bob of my cock, and the flush of my skin, Ben was mesmerized, and his undivided attention made me purr. I loved his raptness, that he held himself in check so he could watch for longer, knowing if he touched me, it’d be over for both of us in seconds. It made me feel desired, treasured, and strangely cared for in a way nothing else did. It made me feel worshipped. I did my best to return the same intense attention as I handed him the open lube, surprised when, instead of slathering his own cock, he began to grease up mine.

“Oh, god. What are you doing?”

“Surprising you,” he answered.

I froze, any movement of the toy threatening to send me over the edge. When Ben straddled me and arched his back, his hand vanishing behind him, I began to get an inkling of what was to come, and I let out a loud moan, my hips involuntarily seeking him.

“Give me a minute,” he husked, one hand planted firmly on my chest for balance while the other did unspeakably sexy things I desperately wanted to see but I didn’t dare move so I could.

“How many fingers?” I panted.

“Two,” came his breathless reply. “Now three. I’m hurrying, but it’s been a long time.”

Determination not to ruin this prematurely bubbled forth, and the familiar peaceful control of my body I’d enjoyed in a scene when ordered not to come stole over me like a long lost friend’s embrace. “Take the time you need. Not going anywhere.”

He smiled down at me. “Bossy sub,” he growled playfully.

I reached beneath his straddled legs and grasped the base of my cock, pointing it upward and into the crack of his ass. His knuckles scraped along the ridge of my glans, and I sucked in a breath. Feeling his hand move without being able to see it was beyond hot.

“Well.” I huffed a laugh. “If I’m going to be accused of it, I might as well be guilty of it. Hurry the fuck up, Ben.”

Removing his hand, he raised himself to his feet, squatting over me carefully as I held my dick in position for him to sink on it. Bare. Our first time with no barrier would be me fucking him. I almost came right there, and when my head popped inside him, my eyes rolled back in their sockets. But I didn’t keep them closed long, desperate to see what I could. His balls hung low, shielding the sight of my shaft disappearing inch by excruciatingly slow inch inside him, but I could see enough. He squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth open wide as he took me. I expected him to stop, to let himself acclimate, but he didn’t. Not until his ass rested at the tops of my thighs. Neither of us moved, him, because of what I guessed was the burn, and me, because any movement would be it for me. Game over. Blown wide open inside him with one push.

He leaned forward, cradling my head with his arms as he looked deep into my eyes. “Only you, I will do this for. Only you deserve me this way.”

I kissed him, tongue eager for entrance into his mouth. I wondered if he felt this power over me when he topped, and for a brief moment, I was the negative reflection of myself, mighty and potent, the opposite of submissive. Except that wasn’t exactly true. Ben made me feel powerful even in utter submission, when my giving him everything made the greatest gift possible. For a moment, I was me again. Whole. Kissing my Dom. Totally his.

The tears didn’t register until his thumb swiped at the skin of my temple and he sucked it into his kiss-swollen mouth.

“Baby, you all right?” he asked gently.

In answer, I nodded and rolled my hips, spearing him with my cock and myself with the toy. He groaned, dropping his forehead to my collarbone. I did it again, and he reared up, bracing himself against my chest with both hands. His feet planted on either side of my hips, he bounced up and down on my shaft, and I met him, thrust for thrust, seared by his silky heat and the friction I so desperately needed, as well as filled deliciously. The room absorbed our heavy breathing, guttural moans, and whispered curses.

Ben’s descent onto my cock slowed and grew more sensual, and I swirled my hips instead of simply thrusting, the bead inside me relentlessly massaging, moving, manipulating. White fire bloomed in my pelvis from friction and pressure. I watched him above me, the flex of his thighs holding his weight, the bounce of his cock and balls with each thrust, the ripple of his abs and glisten to his skin as sweat formed on his chest. Cords stood out on his neck and shoulders, and his face was fierce and intense. His hair hung in his eyes, and he inadvertently blew it away with every down stroke. He was so beautiful, and he gave himself to me as wholly as I gave to him.

The scrape of Ben’s blunt nails down my chest threw me over the edge, the sharp contrast with the pleasure in my groin explosive, like two incompatible chemicals mixing violently. I shouted, going rigid, hips poised inches off the bed as I filled him with wet heat. His sweat fell in drops to my stomach as he rode me through it, and the desperation on his face to follow me quickly looked pained. I knew better. He was chasing heaven, his hand flying over his cock to reach the pinnacle before I became too sensitive to handle being inside him. I gripped his shaft over the top of his hand, twisting our fingers together for a different sensation of friction, trying valiantly to stay hard inside him.

“Oh, god, come on,” I begged. “Ben, come for me. Please, come for me
now
.” The last word was more of a demand, combined with a twist of my hand on his dick, and it worked. His jaw dropped and a huge muscle spasm rocked up his dick, his sphincter muscles squeezing my cock strong enough to keep me hard a few more seconds, the blood having no escape route, a living cock ring. His first pulse of semen landed on my cheek and jaw while the next few dribbled to my chest and belly. The cry he loosed was wrecked and raw, wide open and more than enough to show how much of himself he’d given to me.

My Ben. My strength. My heart.

He collapsed on me, and I hissed, the shift on my dick too much. He let me slip out and rose quickly, an apology for crushing me immediately on his lips.

I put a finger up to quiet him, smiling with a gentle shake of my head. “I’m perfectly all right,” I whispered, stroking his cheekbone. His eyes were dazed and a little distant, but he smiled and I saw the moment when real awareness returned to his features. “Are
you
okay?”

“I am so okay,” he answered, kissing me with more passion than he’d allowed himself since my nightmares and touch aversion began. I dove after it, glad some wall between us seemed to be crumbling. We deserved for things to improve in our lives. After some cleanup using tissues from his nightstand and a quick rinse of my prostate toy, Ben rejoined me in bed, and I snuggled close. He still kept his arms loose around me, but it was closer than I could have withstood even two hours before.

“I’ve missed this,” he admitted softly as my eyes drooped and I began to float. “Missed you.”

“Same here,” I murmured sleepily. “Thank you, babe.”

“For what?”

“For helping me see I’m not the only one holding up the world.”

He kissed my forehead. “Any time, Mr. Imperfect.”

I smiled. “I think things will be getting better for us.”

“Mmm, hope so,” he mumbled, drifting off.

I had no idea how wrong I was.

I KNEW something was off the minute I walked into work before sunrise. In the week since Strange’s sentencing, the mood around the pit had been almost jovial. Not so, that morning. It was full of downcast eyes, clearing throats, and soft murmurs more akin to a funeral home. My gut clenched, and I barely had a chance to give Myah, who arrived on my heels, the caramel macchiato I’d brought her when Kittridge’s voice rang out.

“Hayes, DeGrassi, my office.” He didn’t wait for an answer, stomping back to his desk like a soldier with marching orders.

Exchanging puzzled looks, she and I trooped like obedient children into his office and shut the door.

“Sit,” he barked, leaning forward and clasping his hands on his desk. His steely demeanor, reinforced by his military bearing and cold, black eyes, made me squirm. “An hour ago, we got a ten-fourteen over in St. Ann by the Rock Road.”

A code 10-14 was a report of prowler call. Patrol usually investigated and found someone locked out of their house or car, or the occasional homeless person treasure hunting in the garbage on pick-up day. Obviously, with our involvement, this call wasn’t so innocuous.

Kittridge continued. “Patrol arrived and discovered the residence had an open window in back, leading to the kitchen. This being January, they called for backup. Half an hour ago, the call changed to a code ten-seventy-nine.” Notify the medical examiner. “Hayes, I’m making you lead on this. Sorry, Gavin.” Kittridge surprised me with the use of my first name. “I know you’re senior here, but I’ll be frank. I don’t think you’re ready to take point, especially not on this one. However, we’re all overworked and brass wants everyone going full steam ahead. Talcott thinks you can cut it, take on your share of the load. He would know, since he’s the one in contact with your shrink and IA about your progress.”

“I can handle it, Sarge,” I assured him. “Two cases since being released from desk duty and solved them both.” Myah had been lead on those, too, with the promise that the next would be mine.

He sighed, settling back in his chair, his face candid. “One domestic and one confirmed suicide are vastly different from this. Patrol reported to me as soon as they learned the vic’s identity.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, palms rasping against his chin. Then he dropped them into his lap, refusing to look at us. We waited, on edge. A cold rosebud of dread bloomed in my belly. Finally, he looked up, took a deep breath, and spoke. “It’s Arnold Stevenson.”

We sat, momentarily stunned. I heard a ringing in my ears signaling the lightheadedness before a panic attack.
A cop, one of us. Attacked. Could have been me. Just about was me once upon a time.
I began to recite the periodic table in my head, knowing the second I opened my mouth and blurted my thoughts, I’d be yanked. Kittridge was right to make Myah lead on this. No way could I do it. In fact, I considered telling the sergeant his instincts were correct, that this was too much, too big, and get someone else. Instead, Myah drew his attention from me with a question.

“Why us, sir?” She cleared her throat, fighting for composure. “Isn’t it standard for another precinct to cover something like this since we’re directly connected to the victim?”

Kittridge pinched the bridge of his nose. “Our jurisdiction, our case. Talcott assured brass we could deal with it, and would be extra motivated to do so in a timely fashion since we knew him. Talcott specifically asked for you, DeGrassi. Seems he thinks with three brothers and a father on the force at one time or another, you’ll be particularly interested in solving this one. He said, quote, ‘DeGrassi’s sharp, and one of our toughest. He just needs reminding,’ unquote. But he left it to me to make the call. Not your lead this time, and if you have any,
any
problems, report them to me immediately. There will be no loopholes or technicalities on this because my investigators weren’t tip top. If it were up to me, I’d give it to Barker and Louderback. But they’re on the gang thing in Jennings and obviously Fenner can’t take it.” Fenner was Arnold Stevenson’s partner. “That leaves you. Hayes, I want reports every other day whether you have something or not.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, having gotten herself under control once more. We got to our feet, ready to go to work.

“Dr. Jencopale has been notified, so you want to get over there before he removes Arnold from the scene. Next of kin is already being contacted.” Kittridge stood with us and cleared his throat.

“DeGrassi, one more thing.” I turned, and Myah stopped in the hall just beyond the door. “If anyone can understand the sensitive nature of this case, you can, I have no doubts. I think, however, all media interaction should go through me. So no press. At least you won’t have to answer questions from The Walking Mouth. Even if I would love to see her eat her microphone.”

While smiling in the midst of bad news felt wrong, I couldn’t totally suppress it. It seemed our nickname for Jan Aldrich was catching on, and Kittridge’s drill sergeant demeanor softened briefly.

“I won’t let you down, Sarge,” I murmured, making strong eye contact to convey the promise. Then Myah and I left for the scene of our friend and colleague’s last night on Earth.

§§§

THE DEATH of a police officer was always difficult. More often than not, it was a life cut short in some manner, either through the dangers of the job, or the toll taken on the body. Many good men and women had battled their mortality and lost while wearing a badge, survived by their honor and sense of duty to those they protected. What happened to Arnold Stevenson, however, was much worse.

There was no honor in being brutally attacked in his home, made helpless with his own handcuffs, and prominently displayed as though the killer was proud of his “work.”

“Dammit, Arnold,” I murmured, crouching beside the bed on which he lay, his arms stretched above his head and secured at the wrists to the headboard. He was nude, bruised enough it was clear his suffering had been prolonged, and his staring eyes glared accusingly at nothing through half-swollen eyelids.

Dr. Jencopale stood in the doorway and clucked his tongue sympathetically. “Always worse when it’s one of us,” he said, his deep resonating voice commanding the respect of everyone in the room. “Where do I walk?”

The house had been tossed, and Arnold’s possessions lay scattered everywhere. It was an evidentiary nightmare, but CSI had cleared a path in this room so we could examine the body. I pointed and remained quiet as he picked his way to the side of the bed opposite where Myah and I stood.

“Obvious home invasion,” Myah began, “and he looks to have suffered trauma over most of his body. Some of the bruises look symmetrical, so we suspect he received multiple blows from the same weapon.”

Jencopale bent over Arnold and began his exam, gloved hands skimming over skin with practiced reverence.

“Stab wounds to the neck and chest as well, detective,” he pointed to the pattern of circular punctures peppering Arnold’s upper body. I suppressed a shudder when he withdrew a thermometer from his bag and inserted it deep into one of the wounds, presumably into the liver. “Based on body temperature, I’d put time of death between three and five a.m. Coloring of contusions suggests trauma up to two hours prior to death.”

I closed my eyes, willing the images parading in my head to stop. Bound and beaten. All that was missing....

“Was he... violated?” The question left my lips before I could stop it, my voice hoarse.

The room went utterly still, and I felt several pairs of eyes on me. I had to know, though. Had to understand what we were dealing with.

“I need his arms released,” Jencopale said to the room at large.

“He’s already been photographed,” one of the CSI techs volunteered. “He can be moved.”

Myah, who stood closest to the headboard, reached into her pocket for her handcuff keys, carefully stretching over the body so as not to disturb potential evidence on the bed. Her hands shook, and I saw how the gloves she wore stuck to her skin with sweat despite the coolness of the house. After releasing one wrist, she passed the key to Jencopale, who unlocked the other.

“Help me roll him to his stomach, please,” the doctor murmured, taking note of the abrasions around Arnold’s wrists but saying nothing about them. They’d be documented during post. He lifted Arnold’s shoulder and began to roll him with Myah and me assisting. When the doctor leaned over to examine Arnold’s most intimate of places, I turned away. I would give Arnold the dignity of not gawking, even if he’d never know of my deference. Most of the others in the room did the same. Jencopale cleared his throat and straightened.

I searched his face and he gave a short nod. My stomach clenched. What must Arnold have endured, and most of all, why?

“Any evidence I find will be sent to the lab with a rush on it.” Jencopale gestured to his assistant, standing in the doorway, to bring in a body bag. The guy, looking younger than any of Jencopale’s previous assistants, stepped carefully along the cleared path to the bed and smoothed the bag onto the mattress beside the body. With more help from Myah and me, Arnold was returned to his back and suited up, the zipper covering his face, the final curtain falling on his last performance.

“Autopsy will be later this afternoon or first thing tomorrow morning. Priority case and all that. You’re welcome to observe,” Jencopale offered, knowing that, while I didn’t necessarily like attending the dissection of victims, it was more helpful for me to understand what they endured in their deaths. But this time....

“I don’t think I can, Stanley,” I replied quietly, giving him a pleading look, willing him to understand.
Too close to home.

“I’ll be there, doctor,” Myah assured. “No stone unturned.”

“Good to know. I’ll make sure the coffee’s fresh when I call you.”

Somberly, Jencopale and his assistant carried the body to the gurney parked in the hallway and left with as little fanfare as they could manage. Myah and I stepped outside to help load our friend and cohort into the ME’s van.

Our breath steamed as we watched the van drive away. Clouds had moved in, turning an ordinary winter day drab and lifeless. Fitting. Turning to stare at Arnold’s house, I sighed. That we were reluctant to reenter was an understatement, but we had to. I gripped Myah’s elbow and gently nudged her along with me for a couple steps.

“Come on. Let’s find out as much as we can and report back to Kittridge.”

The whole house was torn apart. A bookshelf was overturned, leaning on the arm of a chair in the living room, its contents scattered and many of the books torn. Gashed sofa cushions were casually tossed about the room, and a lamp lay broken on its side. The end tables’ drawers were pulled completely free, their contents strewn everywhere. The kitchen was no better; broken ceramic canisters that had once held sugar and coffee grounds crunched beneath our shoes. We’d donned protective sole covers so as not to trample evidence before entering the house, but it was impossible not to disturb the mess. Eric Poulson, one of Cole’s CSI techs, was lead on the scene, and appeared in the doorway to the spare room which only held weight equipment. We’d overlooked it on the way back to Stevenson’s bedroom since it appeared to have been disturbed the least.

“Found the murder weapon,” Poulson said, holding up a plastic bag with a screwdriver inside, blood smeared around it like paint.

Myah gave a low whistle. “How long’s that shaft, you think? Six inches?”

Poulson eyed her. “Total length is eight, so with the handle, I’m guessing the business end is five at least. Phillips head.”

“How strong do you have to be to stab someone with something blunt-ended like that?” she asked. “Think we’re looking for a man?”

I wanted to remind her of Arnold’s rape but couldn’t force the words out. Besides, no one knew better than me that objects were always a consideration in sexual assault cases. Female perp couldn’t be ruled out just yet. I looked around the interior of the bedroom, completely baffled as to where to start.

“I think a man did this, even if we don’t have evidence of that yet. Someone incredibly angry. Takes a lot of strength to toss a house so thoroughly, and he did just about every room.”

One of the other techs spoke up. “Hayes, DeGrassi, come see this.”

We approached the bed where the man—whose name escaped me— stood, pointing at the sheets. He handed Myah a pair of amber colored glasses and shined the beam of an ultraviolet light over the surface of the bed.

“Our perp is a man,” Myah said quietly. “Semen stains in with the blood.”

I swallowed and closed my eyes.
Oh, Arnold.
Fighting for composure, I cleared my throat. “DNA sample is good. Maybe he’s in the system.”

We made a circuit of the house, but it was impossible to tell if anything was missing. We weren’t sure of Arnold’s belongings, and the obvious things like a TV or stereo system were still in residence, if destroyed. Someone who knew him would have to give us a clearer picture amid the mess.

“We can get with his homeowner’s insurance company and see if they have an inventory of covered items. Laptop or computer, fancy camera, smaller electronics. Maybe our guy took a souvenir.”

Myah agreed as we twisted marionette-like to the front door, careful to disturb as little as possible. “Neighbors might have an idea if Arnold had a lady friend.” She glanced at me sideways. “Or a gentleman friend.” I gave her a look. “What?” she asked defensively. “You of all people should know you can’t tell by how someone looks.”

“I’ll give you that. Who’s the neighbor who called it in?”

Myah motioned the first responder patrol officers over from where they were monitoring the perimeter of the crime scene tape, keeping onlookers at bay. The pair looked shaken, but had remained observant of the premises when they’d first arrived. They pointed us to a retirement-aged couple standing just inside the yellow tape, holding onto each other and shivering in the cold.

As we approached, Myah found some well of strength inside her to smile at them. I couldn’t quite manage the same, though my voice remained steady despite my inner turmoil.