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Mark pulled back and smiled before he licked my upper lip. "I've got just the place," he said.
It was so warm, so easy and familiar, so what I wanted. And still I was grateful when he pulled back and took the time to break open a foil packet and slip on a rubber.
Shit. Life was short. Life was complicated. I needed to go back through the hours and figure out what parts of life mattered the most. What I wanted out of it. What I was willing to give up to get the rest.
Then Mark rolled over me and came up between my legs, sinking deep inside me and starting to stroke gently, rocking into me, pulling out and thrusting in, slow but deep, each stroke seeming to fill me more.
And finally, mercifully, my mind shut down and there was only the pleasure, the racing chills taking my body, the heat building in my core, the throbbing pleasure of him buried deep inside, his lips on my ear, his voice enticing. "Come for me. Let me see you come."
* * *
"Hey, pumpkin. How's my girl?"
The fist sized rock of nerves in my chest started to relax for the first time since Mark and I had pulled apart and he'd showered and gone off to the hospital.
"Dad. That's my line."
He laughed at that. "Laughing hurts, you unkind child. Your line is 'How's my girl?'"
"Okay, maybe not that. How's my father?"
"Better."
"The question or the man in question?"
He made a sound like argh and said, "Both."
I didn't call him a liar. That's what I wanted to hear. "What's your ETA on getting out of there?"
"I'm hoping fifth of never. You know what's waiting for me."
I bit my lip, staring out the apartment window into the rain-slicked Seattle day. "I know. I'm sorry, Dad."
"Shit, don't be. You didn't do it. But listen, pumpkin, I need your help."
Everything in me froze up. He wasn't just my father, he was my hero, my motivation, the reason I became a cop. I wanted to help him and if I said no, he'd understand but if I said yes – and I couldn't see saying anything but yes – god. If I said yes, then Mark would get his wish. I wouldn't even be safe as a patrol officer unless we moved to another city. I'd be riding a desk for the rest of my career.
If he needed me to testify on his behalf, I'd do it.
Because my dad would do it for me.
"What do you need?" I asked and was proud that my voice barely wobbled.
"I need someone in my corner," he said. "Your mother and sisters, they're trying to put me into some kind of home."
There was a moment's horrified silence between us on the line. I wanted to tell him not to be silly, he was being paranoid, of course they weren't trying to do any such thing.
But I knew my bitch sisters. They were pretty fucking determined not to let anything come between them and cranking out babies to keep their husbands close. And my mother, it had been at least ten years since she last made a decision on her own without checking with all her daughters, all her girlfriends, and probably my father.
"Are you sure they don't mean a nursing facility?" I asked, realized that was what he was afraid of, and rushed on. "I mean, a rehab place?" God, that was what I needed. "You scared everybody with that pneumonia and you're supposed to be relearning some things, making sure you're not exposed to germs, the like."
There was a derisive snort from the other end of the phone. "There are going to be a lot more germs in a nursing home than in your mother's sterile environment."
I decided not to ask just how he meant that. I didn't want to know.
"And as for breathing, I know how to breathe. I'm doing it now, aren't I? And I'm on my feet again. Damn nurses threw me out of bed the first day."
"Second," I said. "The first day was the day of surgery. They let you sleep."
