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10
Yandy
Blaze convinces me to stay the night. Well, it doesn’t take much convincing after he brands my body twice more in an attempt to get me to agree to live with him. Finally, after my body is so limp that I feel like a limp noodle, he allows me to rest.
Late into the night, I’m woken up by two phones going off in unison. Both are playing the standard Apple ringtone, but slightly off from each other, making for a jarring contrast. Blaze's hands slide on my warm, naked skin when he leans across the bed to fetch his work iPhone.
"Hello, this is Blaze," he answers groggily.
Next to him, my sleepy voice is raspy when I answer my phone and ask, "What can I do for you?"
"Deputy Martin," the person on the other line says curtly. "There's a situation I want to make sure you are aware of, in case you get called for back-up."
"What's going on?" I ask, coming more awake with each passing second. My superior starts running down the details to me, and I’m in shock of what’s going on, stomach churning. My limbs are thrumming with adrenaline, making me think it's going to be a long time before I get back to a bed to sleep.There has been an influx of young Mexican girls who were separated from their parents that were here for asylum. The girls ended up in the wrong hands, and now they are being pimped in the streets of New York City.
I’m completely enraged by the time I hang up the phone. When Blaze ends his call, he equally looks like a bundle of nerves.
"Yandy," Blaze says urgently. His anxious tone overwhelms how I’m already feeling. "I don't want to tell you to stop seeing clients, but you have to be careful. The Chicago Police are beginning a massive raid this week. They're going to be arresting hundreds of people. One of them could be you if I found you so easily," he says.
I stare back at him, mouth half open in shock. “What are you saying, Blaze?”
"I couldn't stand it if something happens to you," Blaze continues, clenching his chest. "I don't want to be put in a position of trying to stop you from going to jail."
"What the hell?" I say, sitting up straighter.
"I'm sorry," Blaze insists. "I haven't been entirely honest with you. I work for the Chicago PD. That was someone in my department warning me about the future busts. They’re not looking for you, but there have been a lot of girls that have come in from Mexico, and we have to get to the bottom of it."
"What the hell?" I repeat, sitting up and looking at him as if he has two heads. How did I miss the detail that he’s a cop? I know at this moment that I must have fallen for him the moment I saw him because researching people and their motives is what I do. “Break this down to me like I’m a two-year-old, what are you saying exactly?” I ask, not wanting to believe what has already been said.
My mind is stuck on the fact that he’s not a John, and we didn’t start out as a trick and a prostitute with me being just some random piece of cheap ass he was willing to pay for. He goes out there to clean the streets just as I do. He’s a good man through and through, and not someone looking to exploit a prostitute. Everything about this revelation is giving me life.
"I should never have started this thing to begin with, but I couldn't help myself. I was drawn to you, and I didn’t want to let you go, Yandy. I'm so sorry I've been lying to you, but I just couldn’t figure out how to clean things up once it got started," Blaze continues, willing me to believe him by the sincerity in his eyes. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
"No, you don't understand," I say, waving at him for him to stop talking. "You just stole my line. I was going to tell you to be careful too."
Blaze drops his phone. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. Speak to me like I’m a two-year-old,” he uses my line.
“I was about to warn you that we’re going to be arresting any Blazes we find this week, out soliciting for sex. I was worried about you getting arrested by my team.”
"You're a cop?” he asks, disbelievingly.
“You’re a cop?” I shoot back.
I start to smile, relief substantially more pronounced than the shock. “So you were going to let me pay you for sex and never say anything? Shitty police work, Ari,” he retorts.
"You were going to pay me for sex!" I counter. "You suck at your job, too!"
“Maybe it’s not that we suck, it’s just that we were meant to suck on each other,” he says, pulling me closer to him and kissing my neck, while suckling at my skin. “I’m glad this is out in the open. Now, we can start something serious without any inhibitions,” he adds.
I’m still naked in his bed, sheets pooling around my waist. I gaze into his eyes; then, my eyes roam over his body. There's a rash of red at the base of his neck from where I’ve left my mark. He's strong and gorgeous, and I don't have to feel guilty for wanting to be with him any longer. This is a good thing.
“Yes, we can,” I surrender to the idea of being with him freely. “And, I would love that.”
"So, you don't have other clients?" he checks as if that bit of knowledge gives him life again. "Just me?"
"No! I don’t have clients, at all. You’re not even a client, you’re my boo," I say and chuckle loudly.
He chuckles with me. “I’ll take that. I’ll take all of that,” he says, pulling me back into his arms and holding me there for what seems like the longest time.
