Page 65 of Beware of Dog

“That’s okay.” She thought he sounded relieved. “We don’t have to yet.”

We. She liked that. “Okay.”

~*~

They got dressed and walked down the block to the bodega to get dinner supplies. It was a clear, cold afternoon, windtunneling through the buildings, stiff enough they had to lean into it to keep their balance. Cass linked her arm with Shep’s, and then he took her ungloved hand and stuffed it in his own pocket, his hand big and warm and anchoring around it. Her heart gave a little swoop.

Inside, they went down the aisles together.

“What sounds good?”

“I don’t know.” Her hand was still in his pocket, and it was warm, warm, warm, burning up. “I’m not hungry again yet. Like, a sandwich?”

“Easy enough.”

Sadly, she had to pull her hand out of his pocket so they could collect ham slices, and Swiss cheese, and the disgusting pickles he liked. Bread full of little seeds, and a sad head of lettuce, and her favorite salt and vinegar (“Chips,” he said, before she could say, “crisps.” “You’re in America, friggin’ talk like it.” “And who’s going to make me, you? Crrrriiiiisps.” To which he tweaked her nose before they rounded the next aisle) chips.

He grabbed a six-pack of beer, and then a cheap bottle of white wine. When she lifted her brows, he said, “You don’t like beer,” and they headed up to the register.

The gray-headed man working the till was too preoccupied with the news playing up on the TV in the corner to shoot them a second glance, for which she was grateful. Their age difference didn’t feel like any sort of obstacle, but she’d caught their reflection before they’d pushed in the door, and she knew that there were those who would give them funny or even concerned looks.

“…trial scheduled to start in April,” the news anchor said, and a familiar photo flashed up on the screen. Sig.

“Sigmund Blackmon,” the anchor continued, “son of well-known socialite and real estate heiress Shanna Denato, has beencharged with rape. The allegation comes from an NYU classmate who says that Blackmon invited her to his home, and assaulted her there against her will. Police are investigating—”

A plastic bag crinkled, and Shep caught her gently around the waist. “Come on. Don’t watch that shit.”

She turned into his side gladly.

~*~

“I know you’re sore, baby,” he said, later that night, when the world was an orange smear of manmade light against the window. “You’re not gonna be able to sit down tomorrow. You sure as shit won’t be able to get on the bike.” But he was already feeding his cock into her dripping sex, settling over her, cursing under his breath.

Shewassore, achingly so, but she knew she could handle him now, that her body could accommodate all he had to offer, and the way he slid his hands all the way up her legs and wrapped them around his waist made her feel like a starlet in a Hollywood sex scene. He hunkered down low over her, elbows and wide-spread knees braced on the mattress as he started to move, and kissed her at the same languid, lush pace at which he fucked her.

“God,” he murmured between kisses. “God, Cassie,holy shit.”

She was making him feel good. She was unraveling him. She felt so tender, then, so full, not only of him, but of an unexpected, and wholly new sort of affection. She wrapped her arms around him, stroked the shifting muscles of his back, and wanted to kiss his forehead; to tell him how good and sweet he was; to take care of him.

“That feels so good,” she whispered against his mouth. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t, I won’t.”

After, she lay against his side, head on his shoulder, tracing idle shapes across his sweat-sticky chest while he played with her hair. She could tell from the pattern of his breaths that he wanted to say something, and eventually he did, voice hoarse.

“Earlier today. At the precinct. When I said I would kill anyone who put a scratch on you.”

Her hand and her heart stilled, a thrill skittering down her back.

“I meant that. I’ll do it.”

“I know.”

“But, Cass, I’m serious: you can’t go anywhere near this case. You can’t go anywhere near those shitheads.” His fingers speared through her hair so he cupped her head. “Do you get that? Can you promise me that?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I promise.”

And she even meant it, but out there beyond their fogged-up window, gears were already turning.

---