Cop's Obsession Page 4

  “Alright, that’s it. Grab whatever you need. You’ve got five minutes. We’ll come back for anything you forget, but you’re not staying another second here. It’s not safe. It’s a miracle you were able to raise you and your sister safely in this place.”

  I intend to spend the rest of our lives making it up to her, too.

  Shilo nods, moving to gather things from the side of the bed. I’d been prepared for an argument, but if anything, she looks utterly relieved. I gave her five minutes, but she’s ready in three.

  “So, is this how it’s going to be? You bossing me around, ordering me to and fro for the rest of our lives?” Shilo asks, a wry smile on her face.

  I chuckle. “When it comes to your safety? Absolutely.”

  She wraps her arms around me in a big side-hug, squeezing me tightly.

  “Promise?” She asks, hope rising in her voice.

  My place is nowhere near where she lives, and even with good traffic, the drive from Englewood to Highland Park takes us the better part of an hour.

  Shilo is quiet as we leave, giving my hand a squeeze and mostly watching out the window. As the landscape around us transforms from the urban sprawl of the south side to the green trees and open spaces of the suburbs, her face transforms from pensive and quiet to joyous and happy.

  “I didn’t even know houses got this big. Not in real life. The yards these places have, too. Geez. You sleep a whole apartment building’s worth of people in their backyard.” Shilo grins at me.

  “Well, you’ll get used to it. My place has a lot of space that needs filling up. Empty walls that need decorating…” I grin at her as I turn into my driveway.

  Our driveway, now.

  “You can stop with the sales pitch, I’m already on the hook.” Shilo teases, leaning over to wrap me up in another big hug.

  “Come on, baby.” I walk around the car, opening her door for her and scooping her up into my arms.

  Shilo shrieks with laughter, hiding her face against my chest.

  “Welcome home,” I say as I carry my woman across the threshold.

  Chapter 10

  Shilo

  Bad boys. Whatcha want, whatcha want a do? — Inner circle, ‘Bad Boys’

  “Shilo, honey, I really do have to go to work.” Slate groans as I pull him in for another kiss.

  “I know. I’m just making sure you don’t forget about me while you’re out there.” I murmur against his lips.

  “I could never forget you. You’re my whole world.” Slate growls, fire in his eyes and voice. The heat that can pour off this man sometimes makes me worry I’ll melt into a puddle one day. My pussy certainly already has.

  “Go on. Go save someone. Just, you know, make sure she isn’t too pretty, alright?” I ask teasingly.

  “It wouldn’t matter if she was. I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted right here.” Slate pulls me against his chest. I go up on tiptoe to reach up and plant another kiss on him.

  He walks away, stopping to turn at the door. His eyes dart up and down my body. I’m wearing one of his shirts. It dwarfs me, swinging down past my hips.

  “You better still be wearing that when I get back,” he growls.

  I shrug, a sly smile creeping across my face.

  “Maybe. Maybe I won’t be wearing anything at all.”

  His nostrils flare, and for a moment I think he really won’t leave, but then his radio squawks loudly. I can’t make it out, and even if I could I wouldn’t understand police shorthand.

  Without taking his eyes off of my bare legs, Slate reaches up and squeezes his radio.

  “Ten-four, I’m on my way, dispatch.” He smiles at me, and I can’t help but bite my lip at the way his brilliant grin makes my stomach do a somersault.

  “See you soon, baby.” He says, and leaves.

  I collapse back into the big, big bed. Staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, inhaling the now-familiar scent of Slate. It surrounds me, the distinct smell of powerful masculinity. It inundated the smooth sheets, the shirt I’m wearing, and even myself.

  I contemplate just napping until Slate gets back. I could use the rest after everything that’s happened in the last week. My sore muscles scream for a soak in his big bathtub, and they win the shouting match pretty handily.

  I pad into the bathroom, stripping off his shirt and filling the large, gorgeous white claw-foot tub. Already ideas are filling my head for how to redecorate Slate’s home. Well, decorate. He never seems to have gotten around to doing much more than the bare essentials. There are a few plants, but the touch of green is the only real splash of color in the place.

  That’s alright. It gives me plenty to do while he’s out stopping crime and rescuing kittens from trees.

  Wait. That’s firemen, right?

  I wonder what Lacy would think if she could see me now. My sister was always the dreamer in the family. Well, look who’s living the Cinderella dream now?

  The soak is long and luxurious, and I’m utterly relaxed by the time I’m done toweling off. I almost don’t recognize the girl in the mirror, and only after a bit of study do I realize I haven’t been this relaxed in years. Maybe ever.

  Also, to my own eye, I seem to be glowing. I put one hand on my stomach. It’s too soon, but still…

  I’m interrupted from my daydreaming by the buzz of my phone. Eager to hear from Slate, I answer without looking at it.

  “Shilo. This is Bob, your boss. You’re late. I know you went through a traumatic event, but you still have to show up to work.”

  For a moment, panic and dread course through my veins. A lifetime of anxiety is still sitting right beneath the surface of my being, ready to leap to the surface at the thought of not making rent because I got fired.

  “Well Bob, I guess you’ll just have to fire me.” The words are a lot easier to say than I thought they would be. I look in the mirror, and the bad bitch in it grins back at me.

  “What did you just say?” Bob huffs, trying to sound tough. After hearing what a real man sounds like when he’s being tough, he just sounds pathetic.

  “You heard me, Bob. Fire me. Or, you know, I quit. Either way. I’m not coming back in.”

  “Now you listen here —”

  “No, you listen to me, Bob. I quit. You’ve got my address, send my last paycheck there. Or not. I’ll be fine either way if I never have to hear from you ever again.”

  I hang up the phone, tossing myself back onto the bed with a dramatic flourish.

  A week ago I would never have dreamed to raise my voice at anyone. Ever. my heart races, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’m so ecstatic, so excited that I can’t help shaking back and forth, kicking my feet and punching the air above me.

  I grab a pillow and roll over, laughing at how good it is to be alive. I always hoped that I’d be free someday. Free to speak my mind, free to tell a horrible boss to fuck off. Free to love a man as much as I want and as often as I want.

  Freedom has never tasted so sweet.

  “Now, it’s time to do a little decorating.” I murmur, eyeing the blank white canvas above the bed.

  Epilogue One - Three Years Later

  Slate

  Even in the first light of dawn, everything around our home looks amazing and colorful.

  Before Shilo, things were drab and grey. Not just in the city, but in my life. I was always looking for that splash of color, that shining vibrance that makes life worth living.

  I’ve finally found mine.

  As always, Shilo’s art greets me first thing when I open my eyes. Staring back at me from the ceiling is my very own Van Goughnut. She painted it the very first day she moved in, and it still warms my heart every time I see it.

  Shilo is already up when I wake up. After a long night spent patrolling, it’s not unusual for her to get up and see to the kids before starting work on her own, all without waking me. How she manages it is a mystery. She’s such a fantastic mom. She always laughs and just says she had a lot of practice with her sib
lings, but I know it’s different. It’s more than that.

  I take a long, slow shower. The last three years have been hectic, but I still have found time to get my workouts in. Even if those workouts have oftentimes been in bed with Shilo. I towel off, sticking my head out of our bedroom.

  Silence greets me.

  I take a moment to get dressed, throwing on a tee-shirt and basketball shorts before I go hunting for my family.

  It doesn’t take me long to find them.

  Shilo is in her studio, sitting cross-legged. She’s wearing her favorite painting frock — one of my shirts she’s rolled up at the sleeves. It’s covered in bright yellow, red and blue. Her light blonde hair is tied back, a few curls escaping the ponytail at the front. I watch as she brushes one from her face with a forearm.

  Her hands are covered in paint, but she delicately maneuvers to not get any on herself. My shirt isn’t so lucky, but I gave up that battle years ago. It’s much more hers than mine, now.

  Just like my home.

  Splashes of color adorn every surface. Shilo has tried out a variety of different styles in our house. Imitating famous artists from history. There are Pollock-like splatters adorning our entire kitchen, Picasso cubes all down the hallway.

  I stand in the doorway and watch her.

  The early morning light paints her lovingly. She looks even more gorgeous now than she did when we first met. A life without worry has done wonders for her. Her curves have only grown more succulent with years and kids. I thought I couldn’t keep my hands off of her before, but it’s only gotten worse as time has gone on.

  Not that she seems to mind.

  “You’re in my light, baby,” Shilo says without turning around to look at me.

  I frown as I step up closer.

  “I was so far away, there’s no way I could be in your light,” I say, arms crossed over my chest.

  She turns around with a grin.

  “You light up my whole life, baby. Of course you were.” She wraps her arms around me, careful not to put her paint smudged hands on me. I kiss the top of her head, then jerk my chin towards the big canvas stretched across the floor.

  “What are you working on?” I ask, trying to make heads or tails of it.

  She steps back, smiling.

  “I’m not sure. I’ll figure it out as I go.” She leans against me, reaching over to grab a mug of coffee and hand it to me.

  “I’ll never understand how you’re able to wring so much beauty out of something when you have no idea what you’re doing.” I take a sip. The perfect mix of cream, sugar and coffee hits my tongue. Shilo knows me so well.

  “Well, I had a lot of practice finding the good in a lot of bad. It makes it easy when I’m surrounded by so much good. Almost too easy, actually.” She says with a sigh.

  I lean around her, studying her face.

  “Are you saying you’re too happy to make art?” I ask, chuckling. She laughs, shaking her head.

  “No, it’s not like that. I just need inspiration.” She slides her arms around me, kissing me.

  “Be my muse?” She asks breathlessly.

  I kick the door shut behind us, scooping her up in my arms and carrying us to the middle of the room. Right on top of the canvas covered in paint.

  “Slate, what —” She asks, but I just shake my head and pull my shirt off of her, then smear her with bright blue paint.

  Her eyes flash. I peel my own clothes off just in time for her to cover my chest with red.

  I grab her, laughing, kissing her full on the mouth as I bring us down onto the canvas, rolling around on top, spreading paint all over it. Our handprints decorate it everywhere. Her feet stomp down on one edge as I dip between her thighs, pressing kisses up one leg and down the other.

  She rolls me onto my back, straddling me, sinking down easily onto me. Both her hands go to either side of my head, leaving big, clear prints. I grip her ass, marking it with prints of my own.

  She sinks into a delicious rhythm, putting all thoughts of art out of my head. Well, almost. Shilo herself is the most beautiful piece of art I’ve ever seen. The only thing of beauty that I own in this entire world.

  She looks like a goddess on top of me, her chest rising and falling, hands coming up to caress her own breasts as she moves against me. She moves slowly, deliberately, savoring my body slowly.

  Without a word I roll us over, pinning her beneath me. Changing the rhythm and tempo. Her hands come around, clawing at my back, leaving trails of paint as well as scratches as I begin to pound into her with force.

  “Yes, just like that,” she hisses, her voice a hushed whisper.

  I grip her tightly, smudging her hips with a fresh coat of paint as I paint her insides white. Her own orgasm follows mine, tripping and tumbling after it as she muffles her scream by biting into my shoulder.

  We collapse, panting, still joined together. A literal mess.

  She glances down at us and laughs, shaking her head.

  “Well, this canvas is done for.”

  I smirk back at her.

  “I think it’s your best work yet. I am clearly a legendary muse.”

  And just like that, the silence is broken by the sound of Shilo’s laughter.

  Epilogue Two - Five Years Later

  Shilo

  Over the course of the last five years I’ve seen Slate in every circumstance and emotion. I’ve seen him happy, sad, hungry, horny, angry, and sick. Slate is unflappable. Even at the births of our kids, he was just a rock that I could lean on.

  I’ve never seen him nervous.

  It’s kind of cute, actually. He’s pacing up and down, tugging at his bowtie. The tuxedo fits him like a dream, but he’s fiddling with it, adjusting the unfamiliar clothing.

  I can’t help but giggle, but I cover my mouth, hiding it. He glances over anyway.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks, running his hands through his short brown hair.

  “It’s just, well, you're always so cool, calm, collected. This is a first.” I gesture, indicating his nervous energy.

  “It’s just that I want everything to be perfect, and I’m worried I forgot something, and —”

  I laugh, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him against me. He moves with my tug, of course. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to budge the mountain of a man.

  “Hey. Relax. It’s going to be alright, I promise.”

  I get a sense of deja vu to our first meeting, and can’t help but giggle again.

  Slate chuckles along with me after a minute.

  “Alright, alright. But remind me again why I agreed to this?”

  I smile up at him, going up on my tiptoes to kiss him. Even in heels, he towers over me.

  “Because you’re the sweetest husband in the world. Because we needed something to do that was just us, without the kids. Because I always wanted to learn and you like to humor me.”

  “Yes, but when I agreed, I was thinking of ballroom dancing. Something measured and sweet and easy and, you know, slow.”

  I give his hand a squeeze.

  “Well, that’ll teach you to be more specific when you grant me wishes. Now, how do I look?”

  He shakes his head, smiling down at me.

  “You look like a million dollars. You look good enough to eat. In fact, I just had a great idea. Let’s skip out on this and just go back to the hotel room.” he grins at me devilishly, his hands slipping down to cup my ass through my skirt.

  I smack his hands away playfully, laughing at his antics.

  “You will behave yourself, Mr. O’Connor. We are going to go out there, we are going to dance some swing, and we are going to win. Got it?”

  He nods at me sheepishly.

  “Yes, Mrs. O’Connor,” he says with a smile.

  As always, hearing him say that brings a smile to my face. It makes me feel like I’m walking on air, which is handy, because swing requires you to be light on your feet.

  The music past the door to our dressing room stop
s, and I grin at him.

  “Almost showtime. Come on, let me see your game face.”

  Slate smiles at me. It’s horrific, sickly, and I can't help but laugh.

  “Alright, alright. What are you most scared about? What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Slate exhales, puffing out his cheeks.

  “Oh, boy. Well, I could fall. You could fall. We could both fall. I could drop you, or throw you into a table, or —”

  I shush him, laughing again, one finger going to his lips.

  “We’ve fallen in practice. You’ve tossed me around a lot, mister. I always bounce back. You’re not going to hurt me, alright?”

  Slate grimaces. “I don’t want to fuck up, either. Practice is one thing, but everyone out there is watching us, and I don’t want to let you down.”

  “So don’t.” I smile up at him. “Just be yourself. You’ve never let me down before, I don’t know why you’re worried about it now.”

  He shrugs. “That was real life. This is different. I’ve never been good at acting. Performing. I’m just myself.”

  I hug him, squeezing him as tightly as I can.

  “So don’t act. Go out there and be yourself, baby. I’ve always wanted you to be. I love you for who you are. I married you, didn’t I?” I rub my thumb across his ring finger, caressing the band there.

  He leans back, smiling down at me.

  “Yeah you did. Some days I worry that I’ll wake up and you’ll have changed your mind about that.”

  I shake my head, grinning at my ridiculous husband.

  “Never. I’ll never get tired of you. You’re my life and my love, my whole world. The father of my children. My knight in shining armor. Meeting you that day was the best worst day of my life.” I whisper against him, pressing a kiss against his lips.

  “And —” I say, wagging a finger at him, “— if you don’t get out there and throw my ass around the dance floor, I’ll never let you live it down.”