Page 7 of A Breath of Life (Shadowy Solutions #4)

“What do you mean?”

“How much do you think it’s worth?”

“Oh. I… don’t know, but it won’t be chump change.”

“Hundreds?”

I glanced at the card and shrugged. “At least. I’m guessing more like thousands.”

Diem made a fist, knuckles cracking. His teeth suffered the same abuse as he clenched his jaw. The gears in his head visibly spun, so I waited him out, knowing it was better to let him process on his own without pushing too hard.

Our financial situation had vastly improved with our new living arrangement and the cases we’d brought in lately, but if the card was stolen and someone was looking for it and offering a reward, I had a feeling we could be in line for a substantial windfall.

No one, not even Diem, could disregard that possibility and simply throw away an item of potentially significant value.

“You said you knew someone who could appraise it?” he asked.

“Memphis does. His… fuck friend so far as I understand.”

Diem’s lips curled into a sneer. “I don’t want that jackass to know how we found it.”

I suppressed an eye roll. Even living together hadn’t deflated Diem’s hatred for Memphis or assuaged his concerns that we were sleeping together. My best friend would always be a threat. No amount of convincing Diem otherwise had changed his mind.

“I won’t tell him why we need the guy. I’ll get a name and set up an appointment.”

“If it’s not worth anything, we toss it.”

“Fine.”

“If it is…” Diem considered. “We find out if anyone is looking for it or has reported it stolen. We follow the proper procedure for recovering an item of value. Reward or not.”

“I’ll call Memphis in the morning and see if he can set me up with his… friend.”

“How long will it take?”

“If the guy can see me tomorrow, we’ll know tomorrow.

” Since it was a day I worked in the office with Diem, my schedule was more flexible.

I’d gone down to part-time at the department, working three days a week as a records clerk and two days a week as Diem’s sidekick.

“Unless you need me for something else.”

He grunted in the negative, picked up his fork, and continued to eat his cold food. Conversation over.

Three bites in, he muttered, “I’m going with you.”

“I figured.” I wedged the card back inside the pouch and set it aside.

** *

The hour was late by the time we finished dinner. Diem cleaned the kitchen with a passion he didn’t usually display, and I watched, wondering if it was possible to get our night back on track. Before our walk, Diem had been playful and content to the point of teasing and insinuating sexy times.

Since arriving home, he was locked up tight, stressed over the man and the card.

As he transferred the leftovers into the fridge, I hopped up to sit on the counter.

He glanced my way but said nothing as he rinsed dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher.

With the task completed, he looked around for something else to do.

If I knew anything about my complicated boyfriend, it was that he was ten seconds from seeking relief in the form of a forty-ounce bottle of liquor he kept stashed in the freezer.

Diem fought a daily battle with alcoholism.

He’d done away with his usual cases of beer, resorting to the harder stuff.

His not-so-hidden stash vanished at a fantastic rate, but I no longer saw him pour himself a single drink.

That was when I recognized the problem had worsened.

Maybe he feared my judgment, but secretive drinking was a slippery slope.

We had never talked about it, and I had a feeling he preferred my feigned ignorance.

“Come here, D.” I offered him a hand when he looked like he didn’t know where to put himself.

Maybe he wasn’t upset in the base sense of the word, but his system was out of whack, and he needed to reboot to an earlier setting, or the night would get away from him.

If that happened, he would wait until I fell asleep, get plastered, and feel a thousand times worse come morning.

Guilt and regret were unwelcome roommates in the house of Diem, and they hounded him relentlessly.

When he tentatively took my hand, I drew him between my legs in the same fashion we’d been before deciding to go out for a walk and grab food.

Reboot. Reset. Rewind.

Diem rested his hands lightly on my thighs, not nearly as high as before and with less assuredness. Without words, I dragged my fingers through his thick mop of hair, massaging his scalp in a way I knew he enjoyed.

Diem’s chin fell to his chest, and the exhale that emptied his lungs drained the rest of his tension. That was what I wanted. Release. Surrender.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I ruined our night.”

“No, I’m pretty sure Mr. Edwardian Cosplay ruined our night by getting attacked and trying to die.”

“Asshole.”

I chuckled, and Diem lifted his face, a faint smile tickling the corner of his mouth. “You’re not mad at me?”

“For what? Being you? Hardly. I’m learning to navigate your erratic moods, and I know better than to take them personally.”

The smile faded, and the skin beside his eyes pulled into creases. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t do that.” I drew him closer, hooking my ankles at his lower back to keep him in place as I angled his head and gently kissed him. “Someday, I hope you believe differently.”

He slid his hands up my thighs and around my waist before wedging them under my ass and heaving me off the counter. The ease with which he lifted my weight shouldn’t have surprised me, considering the amount of time he spent at the gym, but I yelped at the suddenness of the action.

Echo barked in response and jumped playfully around us, likely thinking it was a game.

Clinging to Diem’s neck, I was about to speak when his mouth collided with mine, stealing my words.

Without warning, he marched down the short hallway to our bedroom.

Echo’s nails clicked on the hard floor as she followed, but the instant we were inside the room, Diem kicked the door shut with a “Sorry, girl. Give me an hour.”

“An hour?” I cocked an inquisitive brow. “Oh my, my, my. Someone’s feeling ambitious.”

He growled deep in his throat but didn’t otherwise respond as he threw me onto the bed.

I bounced once, but before I could orient myself properly, Diem pinned me down with his much larger body.

The look in his eyes said everything he couldn’t.

Diem might have been a man of few words, but lately, he spoke volumes when the lights were off and we were naked.

After a stress-filled evening, it would have been fitting for him to fuck me hard and mercilessly into the mattress—pin me down, pull my hair, slap my ass, bite welts into my skin—if simply to expel tension, but, regretfully, that wasn’t Diem’s way.

No matter how many times I made those suggestions, he refused to bring aggression into the bedroom, even as foreplay or as a kink, even if I wanted it.

His ingrained fear of hurting me reigned over his actions.

I didn’t complain—much. What I got was far better. It was attention. It was affection. It was long stretches of time where we kissed with our bodies pressed together. It was progressive acts of bravery expressed through gentle caresses and intimacy .

Every touch was delicate and laced with uncertainty, but it existed in its purposefulness, in its determination.

Diem took measured steps forward, skating his flattened palm over my stomach, feathering his fingers over my hip, and tracing a path down the length of my hamstring as he gradually, carefully guided my leg around his waist.

I pressed my erection against the taut ridges of his abdomen, scooting closer, kissing deeper, and seeking more.

His much larger body blanketed me with warmth and protection. Diem took control. Diem guided the process. Diem had learned what it meant to show affection, and he ran with it. Why on earth would I want anything more?

Except, sometimes, greedily, I did.

A mouth might be a tool we use for communication or ingesting substances to keep us alive, but Diem had learned to use his uniquely.

With it, he expressed his love. No words.

Plain, simple actions. He planted kisses over every inch of my skin, grazing his lips over my tingling flesh, but he never marked me.

Even if I begged. No bruises. No hickeys. No scratch marks. No teeth.

Ever.

He took me down his throat and worshiped me with his silent mouth, drawing me to the brink over and over, never letting me tip over that edge. Again and again until I was delirious.

When he abandoned my cock too soon, I whimpered.

Diem cruised lower, shoved my legs back, and got acquainted with my ass.

This was a new adventure between us in recent weeks, and I was not complaining.

He tongued my hole until I writhed and begged and cursed for him to fuck me already because I couldn’t stand another second of this teasing bullshit .

When he did, it was with tenderness and caution that made me hold my breath. We didn’t fuck anymore. We’d fucked in the beginning, and it had been a cold and mechanical experience.

Now, Diem made love to me. He would have it no other way, and who was I to argue?

Wrapped in a condom, he sank slowly into my body, letting me adjust to his overwhelming size incrementally.

He asked silent questions with his storm-clouded eyes, waiting for me to acknowledge I was okay. Few words were exchanged in the bedroom, but we didn’t need them.

Enough unspoken dialogue existed between us to fill a book. Out loud, it might not have had the same effect, so I listened to Diem with my heart and responded with my entire soul.

The world saw a brute, a monster, a terrifying giant of a man with scars and a fierceness in his eyes that frightened them. I saw the real Diem. A man who had spent a lifetime wanting only to be loved.

As we rocked together, the pleasure building between us, Diem closed his eyes. At one point, he rested his forehead on mine and whispered so quietly I almost missed it, “I love you, Tallus.”

“I know, D. I love you too.”