Page 38 of Long Way Down

“Yeah, uh-huh.” His hands slid up her ribs so he could cup and heft her breasts, thumbs playing over her damp nipples. “You want it tonight, Dixie.”

She sighed, even as she ground against him, hips circling a little faster, a little harder, grinding against his fly, relishing the too-rough scrape of denim against her wet folds. “What did I say about–”

“’Course,” he drawled, “youalwayswant it, don’t you?”

She bet Tobias wouldn’t goad her like this, young and cocky and full of himself, too sure of her responses.

“Then shut up and do something about it,” she snapped, and kissed him.

He chuckled, at first, muffled against her mouth, but then she bit his lip and it was all business.

She ended up on her back with her knees up around her ears, and the hard, cold floor didn’t matter when he was kneeling between her thighs, flexing muscles sheened with sweat as he fucked her with relentless force and precision, hitting her sweet spot on every thrust. His hands dug bruises on the backs of her thighs and he breathed in harsh pants that punctuated the pistoning of his hips.

“Fuck,” he swore, head tipping back, tendons standing stark in his throat, abs clenching and stark. “Fuck, baby. Shit, you’re always so tight for me.”

Thoughts of Tobias retreated to a far back corner of her mind. Now, in this moment, there was only Pongo, with his straining arms, and his heaving chest, and his halo of curls, an angel kneeling on the floor of her kitchen, unabashed in the way he worshipped her.

When she came for the second time, it was untouched, and she could have sworn he was glowing.

Eight

Melissa woke twice in the dark.

The first time, it was to strong, familiar hands turning her onto her stomach, and she spent a delicious stretch of time fisting the sheets and biting the edge of her pillow case so she didn’t disturb the neighbors.

The second time, it was to the shrill ringing of her phone.

She was surprised to realize that she’d had the presence of mind to grab it off the kitchen counter earlier when they moved to the bedroom. But then she realized she had to answer the damn thing, and groaned herself to full awareness, blinking to clear the thick crust of sleep from her eyes.

She lay half-across Pongo, warm and pliant and snoring beneath her. She would have to lean all the way over and snag her phone where it waited on the nightstand on the far side of the bed. Her first stretch tugged painfully at the muscles in her…everything. Her back and shoulders were stiff from their romp on the kitchen floor. She’d strained something deep in her abdomen, at some point, and it threatened to cramp, now.

The phone fell silent; its screen went black. Maybe…but no, it started up again immediately.

With a curse and a hiss, she crawled over Pongo, elbowing him in the process if the way he woke with a “shit, fuck” was any indication.

Wincing against soreness, and the brightness of the screen, she landed on cool sheets and was able to thumb the answer button as she snatched up the phone.

“Yeah?” she answered, still trying to get her thoughts in order. She hadn’t even checked the caller ID.

Behind her, Pongo shifted onto his side and threw his arm around her waist; pressed his face into the middle of her back, breath warm against her spine.

“Dixon.” The cold, sober voice of her captain startled her into a sitting position; Pongo’s arm fell into her lap. “Saddle up. Your guy’s pulled another one.”

~*~

Contreras met her in front of her building with the unmarked, two jumbo coffees, and a box of granola bars. “You’re a saint,” she said, slamming her door and reaching for a bar as he pulled away from the curb.

“Figured you hadn’t eaten yet,” he said, a grin in his voice.

The dash clock read 5:01 a.m.

She snorted. “Oh, you know. I get up at four for goat yoga and a kale smoothie. Don’t you?”

He chuckled. “Maria tried to get me to go to couples’ yoga with her one time. After I pulled every muscle in my back, and then actually fell on the instructor, she went back to solo classes.”

“Smart woman.” The granola bar had chocolate chips in it, she discovered on the first bite. And maybe honey. “I actually do a little bit of it. Simple poses,” she admitted, before she could think better of revealing personal information. “I run and lift, but the yoga helps with flexibility.” Though, judging from her current level of soreness, she wasn’t nearly flexible enough.

“Really? Good for you.” He sounded – happy? Encouraging? She was too tired to parse it, and picked up a coffee instead.