Captured Again (29 page)

She’d held back her heart—and everything else—for months, trying to treat this as a causal relationship because she’d thought if it ever went further than a kiss, even as hot and heavy as their kisses had gotten, he’d not want her anymore. She’d be just another version of
that
girl again. She hadn’t let herself hope for more. But not now. She believed him now.
Dusty really loves me. He loves
this
girl... He loves me back.

Her lips parted as his lips met hers, as she tried to show him she’d surrendered to him: heart, body, and soul. Their kiss deepened, both of them forgetting Rickey was still waiting.

The radio interrupted with a long screech and a loud tapping noise. “What did Mommy say, Dusty?” Rickey asked.

Dusty reached for the radio, even while his mouth was still pressed hard against Emma’s. He slowly pulled away and answered, “The prisoner hasn’t officially replied, but I have ways of making her talk. I’ll be taking her to lockup tonight. You go with your daddy and have fun, and you’ll see Mommy tomorrow. Over and out.”

“E
mma, we don’t have to do this just because I put a ring on it,” Dusty said, even while he pressed up against her on the bed, his leg nudging hers apart so he could squeeze in between.

“
Shh
. That’s not why... I couldn’t have held out much longer. With or without a ring. I swear, I need you,” she whispered in his ear. Her body was on fire, even after they’d hurriedly shed their clothes, the heat still burning her up. It was coming from the inside, not the outside.

“Then what if I take it back?” he teased. “Would you still need me this much?”

“Take it if that’s what you want. I’m taking what I want right now.”

She grabbed his face with one hand and pressed her lips to his, her tongue sweeping through his teeth. She couldn’t get enough of his taste. Her other hand reached down to cup him firmly. He groaned and bucked against it while kneading one of her breasts with one hand as his other hand dipped down there, rubbing and teasing... making her ready. She wasn’t embarrassed at the heat and the wetness revealing to him she wanted it as much as he did.

He deepened the kiss as her hips arched up, wanting more.

She was glad he’d been in his patrol car. She hadn’t been able to keep her speed steady, in her hurry to get home. Dusty had stayed behind her and flicked his blue lights each time she went five miles over the limit—a warning—and they’d pulled into her parking lot together, barely getting their doors shut before she was in his arms. She’d peeled his uniform shirt off of him just inside the door and there was a trail of clothing leading to her bedroom. His gun belt lay draped over the headboard.

Finally, he was here. In her bed. She couldn’t wait another second.

She tried to take control, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him toward her. But he held back, putting space between them and moving his hand up to touch her belly, then slowly tracing it back down again, rubbing her wetness in a circle with his finger and then drawing it back up toward her belly. She shimmied up, trying to meet his hand. She needed release, however she could get it.

“Tell me you love me, Emma. You haven’t said it yet,” Dusty murmured. He lowered his head and pressed a hot kiss to her breast, circling her nipple with his tongue.

She cried out in a moan, unable to formulate the words he needed to hear.

He continued to nip at her breast, using his teeth to bite gently while she murmured unintelligibly. “What?” he whispered. “I can’t hear you.”

He looked up at her and she saw his eyes had gone darker. The color had burned to a deeper shade of gray—all traces of the gold flecks were gone. He slowly and deliberately sucked on her breast.

She couldn’t watch him anymore. She was barely hanging on. Her eyes rolled up and landed on gun belt hanging just over her head. She moaned again. Another flame of lust sprang to life deep within her, a primal hunger she didn’t know she possessed.

Dusty saw where her eyes went. To the cuffs.

“See something there you want, Emma?” he asked while lazily drawing his wet circles. Emma arched up into his hand and he pulled it away again, playing hard to get.

He reached up and slid the cuffs out. Emma raised her arms up above her, putting her hands together. She had no idea why the thought of being in those cuffs suddenly rocketed her desire, but he didn’t have to ask twice. Her face burned with the heat of embarrassment, but she couldn’t deny what her body was telling her she wanted. She nodded to him as she buried her last shred of modesty.

Dusty towered over her as he straddled her bare body. Emma bit her lip as she tried to hold back. Seeing him sweaty, tousled, and so serious almost sent her over the edge. He snapped the cuffs loosely around her wrists and then slid down until his face was at the center between her legs. She felt the heat of his breath against her. Without even touching her with his mouth, she gasped, rearing up, writhing and pulsing.

He moved quickly, pressing his mouth against her, even as she seemed to try to buck him off, trying to keep her hands over her head, to avoid hitting him with the heavy cuffs. She couldn’t help it; her senses were assaulted as wave after wave rolled through her, leaving her shivering. “
Stop,
” she begged.

He waited until she stilled and then asked, “Are you ready?”

She shuddered again through heavy-lidded eyes, and nodded.

He slid over her body, barely touching her, until his face was inches from hers. He reached up and grabbed both of her wrists in his one big hand, careful not to hurt her but steadily holding her hands above her head. With his other hand, he guided himself into her, easing in slowly.

Emma tensed. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man. Dusty felt it and stopped moving his hips, instead lightly brushing kisses across her sweaty brow, waiting. She took in a deep breath and let it out, focusing on trying to relax her muscles. It worked. He started up again, rocking his hips gently and using his free hand to caress her breast, her stomach, her hip... as though he were trying to tame her, calm her.

She felt a rush of desire roll through her again and a renewed need. She’d never hungered for a man like this before. She moved her own hips, matching Dusty’s gentle thrusts with her own until they both seemed to be in a frenzied state, unable to get enough of each other. She bit into his shoulder and he held her firmly against him, nothing moving except the rise and fall of their hips, until they both reached their end, crying out together.

Dusty rolled over to lie on his back, careful to take his weight off of Emma gently. He brought her hands down from above her head and pulled her in closely to his chest with the crook of his arm. With one arm around her, he used the other to rub her wrists.

“You okay?” he asked, rubbing at the faint red marks.

“Yeah. But you can take them off now,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “I
surrender
, Dust. I love you, too.”

Epilogue:

The Following Spring

The
girls crowded around the grave, digging and planting with their hand trowels. Olivia planted bunches of black-eyed Susans while Gabby went behind her, digging small holes in front of the blooms, and Emma followed dropping random seeds of later-blooming flowers, hoping their mom’s grave would always have one type of flower or another in bloom. Rickey was last in line, carefully covering the seeds with the soft dirt Gabby had neatly piled up, then pressing it down again with his stubby fingers.

Their white tank tops stood out against the deep tans of their shoulders, and their matching ponytails pulled their hair high off their backs as they worked together, laughing and talking. Jake and Dusty sat back against a nearby tree in the shade. Their job of loading/unloading was done, their surprise had been revealed, and now they were content to just sit back and watch.

“So what do you call a group of dragonflies, Jake? A brood?” Dusty joked while admiring the girls’ strong, toned muscles working beneath their matching tattoos—well, almost matching—Emma had wanted her mark of freedom to be in the center of her back, different from her mother and twin sisters, whose were on their right shoulders. She had always felt different being so much shorter and born later. So it was her way of embracing the difference instead of hiding it. But the mark was still high enough to be visible with her hair up and a low-back shirt on. Other than that, their marks were all identical to their mother’s: a faint flight trail zipping out from the top of their shirts, dipping and curving untethered across the spread of their bare backs, to land a dazzling scarlet-red dragonfly against their deep tans.

Jake laughed. “I don’t know, Dust. They can be a swarm if you mess with one of ‘em. These girls are survivors,” Jake answered.

Jake looked over at Dusty and punched him lightly on the arm.

“Thanks, man. We did good. The girls loved it. And I know their mama well enough to know she’d love it too. Thanks for your help getting it done,” Jake said.

Dusty knew a guy—an artsy kinda dude—that could put his work onto headstones. Jake had paid for the engraver to come in and add something special to his mother-in-law’s headstone.

The day before, he and Dusty had snuck around, making excuses to the girls, and met him here. They had watched in fascination as the artist had poised over the stone, wearing a gas mask, knee guards, white gloves, and a hood with a clear plastic visor.

With intense concentration, he’d aimed a rod attached to a round metal canister at the face of the gravestone, carefully adding his art around the long inscription. Plumes of red dust had billowed in the air as he worked. When he’d finished, he’d proudly swept away the leftover bits of sand. Their family mark of the dragonfly was now tucked in around the stone’s epigraph.

Dusty and Jake had been excited to surprise the girls and tricked them into coming out today by offering to help them get started on the flower garden for their mom and make a day of it. The girls had packed a picnic and they’d headed to Home Depot, where they’d loaded up both trucks with flowers, seeds, and dirt.

When they’d walked up to their mama’s grave to start their digging, it’d only taken a moment before the gravestone had caught their eyes. They’d dropped their gardening bags and stood hand in hand, letting their tears run unchecked as they stared in awe, touched by what Jake and Dusty had done for her. The guys, keeping a close eye on the girls, awaiting their reaction to the surprise, suddenly seemed to experience an unusual coincidence of dust in eyes and allergy attacks as they’d moved away, shuffling their feet and loitering around, determined to hide their own wet eyes and thick voices.

Rickey had lightened the emotional moment, sending them all off in a contagious round of giggling and laughing, when he’d danced around, pointing to the stone and chanting, “Look, it’s Grandma’s dragonfly... It found her! It found her! Look!”

“Mom would have loved this, guys,” Emma said. She’d looked behind her where both Dusty and Jake had composed themselves but were now clearing throats and mock-coughing. She smiled. “Thank you, from all of us.” They’d both given a solemn nod, still unable to find their voices.

“O
livia, I think you picked the perfect spot,” Gabby said, looking around while waiting for Olivia to finish dropping in the next bunch of flowers. They’d buried Mom in a quaint family cemetery, where the headstones scattered throughout weren’t lined up—looking lost among a sea of others—as some cemeteries were. The families of these loved ones were allowed to do anything they wanted with the plots, some even adding a trellis or a low picket fence, allowing the sweet scented roses and striking purple Clematis to climb in abandon. There were no caretakers or landscapers; it was all kept beautiful and neat by volunteers, and that usually meant the families of the buried.

Rickey’s attention span was short. He was done. He took off running circles around the girls, kicking up dirt, begging them to chase him. Emma shooed him away; they wanted to finish their job today. They were excited to see it done. But Rickey came back, leaning over his mother’s back and clasping his hands together around her neck. He wanted a piggyback ride. “Go, Mommy. Go!”