Second in Command, page 19
part #1 of Fairview Station Series
“Ahhh.” Jazz pumped faster, her hand cupping Emory’s center.
“Don’t you dare come until I’m inside you.” Emory slid her center along Jazz’s leg again, leaving a wet trail. “You’re so hot, Jazz.” Emory teased the tip and milked the base of Jazz’s clit, and her breathing became raspier.
“I’m going to come.”
“Stay with me just a…little longer, darling.” Emory felt Jazz’s legs tremble and pressed her tighter against the door to keep her from falling. “Soon. Very soon.” Her fingers slid back and forth in Jazz’s arousal. “So wet.”
Jazz grabbed Emory’s hand, trying to increase the pace. “Finish me, Em. Please.”
Emory dropped to her knees and eased Jazz’s legs farther apart. “Now, darling.” She captured Jazz’s clit between her lips and slid her fingers inside.
A couple of strokes later, Jazz surged to her tiptoes and then slumped across Emory’s shoulders, her body shivering. “Oh my God.” Jazz collapsed to the floor, pulling Emory across her lap as she fell. “That was…”
“What?”
“So not what I expected for our first time.”
“Is that good or bad?” Emory couldn’t believe she’d been so forward, so demanding—not her style at all after the confidence-bashing breakup with Jean, but Jazz made her want and need things she never had.
“Just different. You’ve been so uncertain about us. I wasn’t sure this would ever happen or what to expect if it did, but no complaints. At all. You were awesome.”
Emory couldn’t meet Jazz’s stare. “Well, if I’m totally honest, this isn’t exactly what I envisioned either, but I couldn’t wait any longer. And I wanted you like this, at my mercy. Guess I needed to be in charge after Jean. It’s definitely a high.” She buried her head in Jazz’s shoulder. “I hope you didn’t mind being fucked against a door. Such a cliché.”
Jazz pulled her back and stared into her eyes. “You’re kidding, right? You were so hot. I’m used to women waiting for me to make all the moves. The switch was nice.” She kissed Emory gently, and heat blossomed between them again. “But I do have one request.”
“Name it.”
“I’d like to make love to you. In a bed. With both of us undressed.” She glanced down at Emory’s clothes. “Not that I don’t like your outfit, but it has to go.”
“You realize that could be the hardest part for me.”
“Harder than a butch letting herself be totally dominated by a shy femme? Really?”
Emory laughed, and some of her uncertainty evaporated. “Well, you do have a point. What’s a little body shyness compared to one’s dignity and rep?”
“Exactly.” Jazz eased Emory off her lap, stood, and offered her hand. “Shall we?” Her stomach twisted with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. She wanted to make Emory feel comfortable, beautiful, and special. If she rushed or was insensitive, it could be devastating. She took a step forward and stumbled.
Emory grabbed her arm to keep her from falling. “You might want to get out of your restraints first, darling.”
She leaned against Emory, shucked her boots and jeans off, and followed Emory to the bedroom. Tossing her clothes into a side chair with one hand, Jazz reached for the delicate buttons of Emory’s sweater with the other and tried to unfasten them, but her fingers shook too badly. She glanced down into Emory’s smiling face.
“Relax. I’ll do the heavy lifting since you’re still in a weakened condition.” Emory removed her sweater and stepped out of her panties but left on her skirt and turtleneck before leading Jazz to the side of the bed. “You’re so handsome.”
Jazz blushed from the comment and the way Emory was staring down at her.
“Surely that’s not the first time you’ve heard that.”
“It’s the first time I’ve believed it.”
Emory lay down beside Jazz and stroked the side of her face. “You better get used to it, because I plan to say it a lot.”
Her insides tightened, and her sex pulsed from Emory’s caress. Her attraction to Emory had followed a gentle path, but the last couple of times they’d been together she’d wanted more, needed more. “Kiss me, Em, please.”
Emory slid a leg over Jazz’s and kissed her, slowly at first, tracing her lips with the tip of her tongue before sliding inside. They both moaned, and Emory pressed herself along Jazz’s side. “It feels so right to be this close to you.”
Jazz pulled Emory on top of her, hands resting on her hips, and kissed her again. She tugged at the skirt Emory still wore that fanned out across her torso. “Can I take this off?”
“Not just yet.”
“How about the top to start? You’re so beautiful. I want all of you.”
“You make me feel that way, Jazz.”
She cupped Emory’s breasts and teased her nipples with her thumbs before sliding down to her thighs. “I want to watch you tremble when I touch you. I want to see every muscle tense and release when I make you come.”
“Keep talking like that and the coming will be too soon.” She moved Jazz’s hands from her hips back to her breasts. After a few seconds, she said, “Okay, the top can go.”
Jazz slipped her hands under the hem of the turtleneck and smoothed her hands up Emory’s sides, bringing the fabric with her. She stopped with the shirt around Emory’s neck and buried her face in Emory’s breasts. “I’m in heaven.” Her breasts were perfect and smelled like she’d bathed in oranges and flowers. “So sweet.”
“Let me out.” Emory squirmed playfully, and Jazz pulled the shirt over her head, followed by the lacy bra.
“Your breasts are so beautiful. They fit my hands perfectly. And they’re so suckable.” Jazz rolled Emory over and kissed her again before lowering her mouth over a puckered nipple. She loved curving against a woman’s body and feasting at her breast until her clit ached.
“Oh, yes.” Emory held Jazz’s head in place, surging with each pass of her tongue. “More of that.”
Jazz alternated breasts, sucking one and massaging the other until she felt herself grow wet and hard again. She tried to spread Emory’s legs to rub against her thigh, but only felt the long skirt underneath her. She gave a frustrated sigh. “This skirt is totally slowing my roll.”
Emory laughed. “Slowing your roll? Seriously, Casanovette?”
Jazz propped up on her elbows and stared at Emory. “Yes. Take it off. I’ve imagined you undressed often enough. Please put me out of my misery.”
“Fine,” Emory said with feigned irritation. “Turn your back.”
Jazz heard the skirt zipper, the fabric falling to the floor, and the shuffle of covers.
“Okay, come back to me,” Emory said.
Jazz tugged the edge of the covers to pull them away from Emory, testing her readiness.
“No peeking yet.” Emory held the sheet tight against her until Jazz slid in beside her and brought their bodies together. “Much better without clothes.”
“So much better, Em, so soft and hot and perfect.”
“Make love to me now, Jazz?”
She felt liquid inside from Emory’s whispered question. No woman had ever asked her to make love to her. Things usually just happened, but Emory’s request spoke to her insecurity about her body and to her desirability and broke Jazz’s heart.
She worshiped Emory’s mouth and breasts, losing herself in the rhythms of pain and pleasure. Jazz surrendered to Emory’s warmth and eagerness while Emory responded to Jazz’s touches with the enthusiasm of a woman too long deprived.
When she slid down Emory’s body to the fork of her legs, the covers fell away and Jazz gazed up at her. Emory’s Rubenesque body was beautifully flushed and responsive, and she’d never wanted anyone more. “I’m going to taste you, Em.”
“Please.”
When she covered Emory’s center with her mouth and slid her fingers inside, Emory gasped and clung to her shoulders.
“Oh…ohhh.” Emory dug her nails into Jazz’s flesh and surged to meet her thrusts.
She couldn’t take her eyes off Emory, mesmerized by her attempts to breathe normally followed by moans that seemed to rise from her soul as hungry growls. She pinched Emory’s breast with her free hand, and Emory bowed off the bed, holding Jazz’s head to her.
“Faster, Jazz. I’m close.”
Emory’s body grew hotter and her skin turned bright pink. When she opened her eyes and stared down at her, Jazz said, “Come for me, Em.” A few seconds later, Emory stiffened and her thighs quivered until she made a low guttural sound and collapsed beneath her.
Jazz crawled up and curled against Emory’s side. “Could you give me a hand for about two seconds while you recover?” She sucked Emory’s breast into her mouth and nudged her hip with her pelvis.
Emory chuckled and tucked her hand between Jazz’s legs.
Two strokes of Emory’s fingers, and Jazz emptied into her hand. “Thank you…so much.” She draped a leg over Emory’s body and pressed against her until the aftershocks passed. Emory reached down for the covers, but Jazz stopped her. “Please don’t. I love looking at you.”
She tried to tug the sheet from Jazz’s grasp. “You were good, but you didn’t fuck me blind. I still know how I look.”
“Apparently not. You’re gorgeous, much better than I imagined, which is saying a lot. I’ve always preferred substantial women with feminine curves, softness. and a feisty attitude to carry it off. You’re the whole package.”
Emory turned toward her. “Exactly how many substantial women have been among your plethora of conquests, Lieutenant Perry?”
“Several.” Emory gave her a skeptical look. “I’m serious, Em. And if I had a perfect type, it would be you, totally, but you’re so much more than my type. I’m not kidding and it’s not the orgasm talking.”
Emory rolled on top of her again. “You’re a smooth talker, Jazz Perry, but right now I’m more interested in your mouth for other purposes.”
“Hold that thought, Ms. Blake. I need to make a quick call. Don’t move.” Jazz dialed the station. “This is Lieutenant Perry. Do we have an update on the Shea Spencer case?”
“Nothing yet, Lieutenant,” the records clerk responded.
“Okay, thank you. Be sure to call if there’s anything at all.” She hung up and turned back to Emory. “She’s still out there somewhere.”
“And you feel guilty about being here with me, enjoying yourself?” Emory asked.
She pulled Emory close again. “I’ll never feel guilty about being with you. I just want Shea to be safe and back with loving parents.”
“I know. Would you feel better if you went out and looked for her? I’d understand.”
“What can I do that two hundred other cops can’t? Besides, I recall you saying something about needing my mouth.”
Emory moaned as Jazz slid down her body.
Chapter Sixteen
“Oh…I can’t…breathe.” Emory gasped, her latest orgasm still pulsing through her. Jazz reached for her, but she waved her off. “A minute, please.” She pulled for air as her heart rate slowed and her body regained strength. “We haven’t been out of bed for more than ten minutes since we got in Friday night.”
“Complaining?”
“Never. Just an observation.”
Jazz stretched her arms toward her and wiggled her fingers. “Then get back here. I’m far from done with you, Ms. Blake.”
She’d lost count of how many cute and adoring things made her want to tell Jazz she loved her since Friday. Emory added the playful way Jazz reached for her now to the list. Jazz had wooed and worshiped her physically, ravished her sexually, and won her emotionally over and over the past two days, and Emory couldn’t have stopped her if she’d wanted to. The dream had come alive in her arms and accepted her cellulite and all. But there was still one more secret.
She pecked Jazz on the lips and settled against her chest. “I have something to tell you.”
“I hope it’s not serious. My brain cells are suffering from lack of oxygen because of increased blood supply to other areas of my body.”
“It is…serious.”
Jazz pulled back enough to look at her face. “Tell me, Em. It’ll be fine. Whatever it is.”
“When I start, please let me get through the whole thing before you ask questions. Promise?” Jazz nodded, and Emory’s heart almost broke at the worried look in her eyes. She took a deep breath and began the explanation she’d practiced often since their first lunch at the Iron Hen.
“I can’t have children.” She searched Jazz’s face for a reaction and saw only the same worried look as before. “I always had severe menstrual periods, which worsened with age. Heavy bleeding, intense pain, and cramps. I developed uterine fibroids, and some of them contained pre-cancerous cells. My doctor recommended a complete hysterectomy when I was thirty-two. I struggled with the decision to have surgery, but now it’s a part of who I am.” The words rolled off her tongue easily, but she’d had years to adapt. She’d accepted it, but would it change the way Jazz felt about her? “Jazz?”
Jazz pulled Emory back against her chest. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. It must’ve been horrible.”
Emory’s insides twisted in a combination of relief at the show of compassion and uncertainty about what came next. She had to know. “What does this mean for us, if we become like a permanent thing?” She played with a strand of her hair, unable to look at Jazz.
“Even if you could have children, the health risks might’ve been too great. I guess I never thought you’d want to have kids because pregnancies become more unlikely and harder to sustain full term the older you get.”
“It’s a non-issue for me.”
“All it means for us is that if we’re together and want children, we adopt or I carry the child, but I’m not crazy about that idea.” She lifted Emory’s chin and made eye contact. “Em, did you think I’d be upset?”
“I wasn’t sure. We’ve never really discussed a family.” She kissed the spot between Jazz’s breasts and breathed in the fragrance of their blended scents. “I thought my butch cop would want her little missus to carry their children.”
Jazz chuckled. “Stereotype much? What kind of representative would I be for adoptees if I didn’t recognize the value and necessity of adoption? For you, I just might consider the whole pregnancy thing. I thought I’d like a big family, but what you want is equally important.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure I’d make a very good parent because of all my hang-ups.”
“If that was the criteria for parenthood, none of us would be allowed to raise children.”
“And you’re sure you’re okay with this?” Emory asked.
“Of course, I’m okay. Nothing can change the way I feel about you.”
Emory kissed Jazz and tried to convey her appreciation for Jazz’s understanding, along with the other feelings she hadn’t voiced yet. “Thank you.” She gave Jazz a final kiss and rolled out of bed, just escaping her grasp. “I need a shower, to stand up for more than five minutes, and food, possibly lots of food.”
“Can I join you in the shower?”
She glanced over her shoulder at a naked Jazz kneeling on the bed with her palms raised in submission and said, “Only if you promise to keep your hands to yourself.”
“I promise.”
Emory adjusted the shower spray for heat, stepped under the jets, and hummed as warmth penetrated her aching but satisfied body. She poured shampoo into her hands and massaged her scalp, remembering Jazz finger-combing her long tresses last night. When was the last time she’d had sex with someone who looked at her with the desire and adoration Jazz had? Her body stirred again as she washed the suds from her hair. When she turned, Jazz stood behind her in the shower staring. “Hello.”
“You are so gorgeous.” She reached for Emory, her brown eyes hooded with desire.
Emory stepped back against the shower wall. “You promised to keep your hands to yourself.” She squirted shower gel in her palms and rubbed the foamy soap over her breasts and down her torso slowly while Jazz watched every move. Emory was playing a dangerous game and didn’t care who won.
“Seriously, Em?”
The hunger in Jazz’s eyes heated Emory’s body faster than the hot water. When Jazz looked at her, she felt attractive, desirable, and ready for her again. “Gel?” Without waiting for a response, she pumped dabs on Jazz’s breasts and between her legs. “Wash.” Emory lathered her own body and rubbed in slow circles.
Jazz spread the body wash around her breasts and licked her lips. “You’re a wicked woman, Emory Blake.”
“W—why?” She tried to sound innocent, but her voice broke from watching Jazz touch herself.
“You make me promise and then tease me unmercifully.” Jazz shifted her legs apart, bent her knees, and scooped the frothy gel between her legs. “If I can’t touch you, I’ll have to—”
“Do it.” Emory stared at Jazz’s hand at the fork of her thighs, remembering how her fingers had initially soothed Emory’s anxieties and then skillfully urged orgasm after orgasm from her. She cupped her own sex and kept time with Jazz. “Help me.”
Jazz leaned against the opposite wall, looking from Emory’s lips to her breasts and then lower until the cycle repeated. Jazz rolled and pinched a nipple with one hand while the other worked at her crotch. Her muscled legs flexed and released with each stroke of her fingers, and her chest heaved with labored breaths.
Emory mimicked Jazz’s actions like a mirror reflecting her own desire. When Jazz stretched on tiptoes and groaned deep in her throat, Emory stroked faster.
Jazz reached for Emory but kept her distance. “Come with me, Em.” They joined hands, and Jazz’s moaned relief combined with Emory’s cries and echoed off the tiled walls of the shower. They moved together, slumped to the floor, and curled into a ball under the warm water.
