Page 63 of Love Again

I stare at the broom and the little pile of glass. “What happened?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not really sure. That’s what woke me, breaking glass.”

“I heard your voice in my dream. You were telling me it was a dream and that you were here. That’s how I woke up.”

“See,” he says, rubbing my shoulder with a thumb. “You can trust us.” After a moment, he says, “Tell me about Laurel and Cory and what happened with Kevin Barr.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Taking a deep breath, I launch into a detailed story of how Kevin tried to maneuver to sue for custody just to mess with Laurel, how he was obsessed with her, how when she found the body of a young girl in her college class, Kevin tried to make it look like she had something to do with it. How Mateus nearly died saving her. All of it involved a drug ring at Laurel’s college. The whole episode was horrific.

“And they were never able to pin anything on Kevin Barr?”

“Nope.”

He lulls this over and drains his coffee mug. “But you had worked with Carlson before this on something, right?”

“Why are you so interested?”

“I can tell things.”

So then I recap that night two years ago. The fire, the pipe, the escape. I feel it’s worth adding, “No one knows about that pipe in the door except Carlson and me. It’s sealed information. He wants to save it.”

“Did Carlson ever tell you why then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why would whoever is setting these fires choose that night?”

I shrug. “It never came up. I’m not sure he was even investigating the fires then. He has always said he knows it wasn’t personal.”

Luke’s face registers—he doesn’t believe that. He rises and rinses out the coffee mugs and sets them upside down on the countertop. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

“Towels are in the hall closet,” I say as he disappears around the corner.

The water runs, and the pipes make a small whine at the left-hand corner of the kitchen. There’s a little banging, but I like it. It reminds me of when Laurel and Cory lived here.

A shampoo bottle clatters loudly from a fall, and then there’s a crash. I’ve got one hand on the doorknob, thinking he might need something or maybe he’s dizzy. Rhabdo is a long recovery, made longer by firefighters like him who try to act like nothing is wrong.

I raise my voice. “Luke!” And then, almost as if I’m not controlling my own body, I open the bathroom door.

Steam wafts and the small, round mirror above the sink is completely fogged. He’s standing in the shower behind frosted glass from the ’70s, and I can see his torso, the black thatch of his groin, and the dark Y of his chest hair coming together and trailing down his stomach.

I’m suddenly so wet between my legs, it saturates my panties. I step back, heart pounding and almost weak at the knees, and shut the door. I think about him hanging, tied to the showerhead, the muscles of his arms slick and slathered in soap. My hands running from his wrists down to his elbows, down the tender underparts of his triceps to his armpits, across his chest, then to his wet cock.

This fantasy makes me wetter, and I lean against the bathroom door. I put my hand between my legs. I’ve never had a bondage fantasy before. But I’m not stopping.

In my mind’s eye, he shudders as I move behind him and put myself between the shower wall and his back. I feel his ribs and the muscles knitted over them and run my hands down to the front of his flat, tight groin, pressing down and then grasping his cock.

I moan, deep and guttural, but not in my fantasy. It’s out loud and the shower is off.

The door opens, and I have to take a step back to catch myself. Luke stands there, damp, his hair towel dried, and the towel itself tucked around his waist, The V of his groin tapers to muscle and very sexy clefts above his hips.

I can hardly stand. My thighs shake. My toes are cold. And I look up at him and put a hand on his shoulder. He scoops me up and kisses me deep and hard as he carries me to the bedroom.

His wet body leaves mine damp, and the towel falls to the ground. We land heavily on the bed, he on his elbows, keeping the full weight of his body off mine.