Juneau's POV
Before Valentine's Day, Damian texted me that he worked overtime on a new-old case and called me once he left the office. He was flopped stomach-down and snoring in bed when I came home. He released an old man groan when Bullet barked, then zoned right back out.
I left him asleep, walked and fed our four-legged security system, and dropped Ella some food. Damian was the polar opposite of excited when I informed him the zoo needed another month, or three, before Ella's exhibit was ready.
Refreshed from a shower, I eye-fucked the way Damian's back muscles rippled in swelling waves and dips with his long, even breaths. Wetness pooled under my tongue and between my legs.
Some girls have a Daddy kink... I have a Damian one.
Sadly, it was true. I'd never been so riled up sexually in response to different visual, auditory, and tactile cues. His eyes flamed my skin with one dark look, the swells of his lean muscles under my hands flooded a leak in my lady bits, his words lit up my vaginal fireworks, and his touch ignited both. And his dick stuffed inside me offered an odd sense of completeness that I'd never experienced with another person.
Beyond the obvious him thrusting into me positions, I craved being sexual with him. Mere touch lit up synapses in my skin I didn't know existed before I met Damian.
We were both beyond vanilla but my mind worked its creative wonders when we were apart. Whether Damian was greeted home with me dolled down in lingerie as I pretended I cooked with my ass up in the air, sprawled out over his bed, or snuck into his post-workout showers, I lived for worshiping, appreciating, and taking what that man's body had to offer.
I loved kissing those hard, tired muscles he worked hard for, touching, sucking -
Settle down, June.
I never craved a guy as much as him, the sex sure, but also his presence. Nights in when we snuggled up for movies, before Damian's distracting hands wandered, were as enjoyable as dinners out. Negligent pet owners raised my hackles and he calmed me down by propping my stinky feet over his thighs and rubbing them with the pads of his thumbs until I was a mushy pile of sated comfort.
When I wasn't busy with school or work, my thoughts drifted to wherever he was. A piece of me was missing.
Like I chopped off my arm or something.
My eyes roamed over his bare body, arms hugging his pillow. The relaxed muscles in his back contrasted the flex in his biceps. Skimming a look over the rounded forms swollen up with definition was it for me. Want thrummed through my veins, burning my skin from the inside out, so I dropped my towel.
I need to touch him.
Within three steps, I nestled stomach-down between his legs and rolled him over with a grunt from us both. His half-mast dick flopped against the side of his thigh. My elbows bracketed his hips and his masculine scent filled my nose.
My hand encircled the circumference of his shaft, which thickened in my grasp. I tugged him until it thickened in all dimensions and hardened. The red, engorged head released beads of pre cum, slicking a faint sheen in the darkened space. Dryness crept over my tongue as I drew one slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip, ending with a teasing taste of him.
A low moan rumbled Damian's chest. His neck tightened, the cords strained with definition as his chin jutted up. His thighs flinched when I enclosed my mouth around him, drawing the tip in between pursed lips. His warm, early excitement tickled my tastebuds.
Sucking with gentle, even tugs, I rolled a circular pass around the crown, feeling the ridge's soft, smooth texture against my rougher tongue.
He lengthened and twitched as I sucked in my cheeks, drawing his tip to the hard back of my throat. Flattening my tongue provided space to slack my jaw. I hummed under the fullness he stuffed me with from tastebuds to palate. Wetness and heat pooled in between my thighs.
Sweat dotted the square planes of his chest and a few short, dark strands clung to his forehead. His eyes shot open when I tugged harder, sleep dilating his pupils to their limits. Cinching his chin to his chest, he pushed up to his elbows when my palm shoved his sternum.
His hand wandered. Fingers brushed through my hair and palm cupped the base of my skull. I hummed again, pressing my ear into the rough calluses framing his palm. Damian never grabbed me roughly, pulled my hair, or guided my movements. He held me with a cherished sense of adoration that fluttered my heart.
The stiffness locking Damian's body contrasted his gentle hand. Groan after gasp left him, clenching his abdominal muscles into definition. His ankles twitched as I sucked harder, warmth building between my own legs.
My fingers stroked the strained tendons in his forearm, raising the veins under his skin. A swallow bobbed its way down his throat as I laxed mine and took him to my limit. Grabbing his base, I rubbed the back of my knuckles over his sacs and tugged the veiny underside. A rush of heat surged down into my belly as he softened and released warmth down my throat. My eyes fluttered closed under the soft arcs of his thumb over my cheek.
With a slight choke, I swallowed, pulling back and tugging him to empty. With one final squeeze of my lips, I withdrew and his red, flushed face morphed from dark and frustrated to sagged with relief.
One gentle tug on the back of my neck and I slid up his body. His hands cupped the swell of my ass and he tugged my lips to his. Hot, wet, and filthy, he licked my mouth to touch every corner, every taste bud. The strokes drew a long moan from me, vibrating my lips.
Damian chuckled, deep and low, his lips pulling off in a smirk. With clenched fingers, he kneaded divots into my ass, heat burning in his gaze up at me. "Best fucking wake up, June."
"Love you too." I rolled my hips over his pelvis, deflated to half-mast but I was wet enough for slick passes over his shaft.
My words dissolved into a needy whine when he reached between us and slipped one finger inside. With a crooked motion, he rubbed over my frontal wall. The sensitive ridges swelled with ache and appreciation, arching my breasts into his damp chest. His knuckles rubbed into the top of my folds, searing the nerves with sensitivity.
As he stroked harder, my lips parted and forehead grounded into the side of his neck. Gasps and moans traded turns. I flattened my palms on his shoulders when one finger became two. Rolling my hips, his fingers pounded and curled. His knuckles smashing into my inner folds rushed a sense of electric bursts under the skin.
"Damian..."
Trembles ran down my spine and heat built behind my knees, under my palms, and where my thighs sandwiched his hips. Strain tightened my thighs and I turned into a panting mess. My rolling movements turned into sloppy bounces, my breathing sharp, staccato pants. Hot ache swelled my insides around Damian's fingers, arousal pooling behind them.
"Let go, June," were the only words I needed from Damian.
My walls tightened and I relaxed against the bearing down sensation. Wetness slipped out of me, coating my entrance. Damian's fingers didn't stop, moving higher and rubbing the sensitive nerves. My insides clamped down, harder and stronger aches swelled in me, and I cried out on the release.
"June?" Damian called out to me, his voice rumbling through the steam choking the bathroom air. "Can you toss me a towel? Mine stinks again."
"Maybe if you washed it after each shower," I grumbled over his gross hygiene habit.
Damian, fuck knows why because he was a clean freak in every other dimension of his life, reused his towels until his man stink covered them. A sensible, clean person who didn't want to rerub dead skin cells on her post-shower body, I tossed each damp towel into the hamper.
Probably because I smell like the dirtiest parts of animals before I shower but that's a hard no.
The insides of my nose tingled with humidity as I breathed in and snuffed out my exhale. Swiping my hand over my fogged-up mirror, I choked on my toothpaste at the view Damian flashed me stepping out of the shower.
My toothbrush was a cliffhanger from my mouth, my eyes glued to the mirror as my hand fumbled in the vanity for a fresh towel. I was tempted to make him walk over to claim it, or even better rub him dry, except I enjoyed the view too much. His bronzed skin glistened with beads of water trailing down the square planes of his chest. They rolled over the bumps in his abdomen and thighs.
Saliva pooled under my tongue when thick arms crossed over his chest, his biceps glistening and screaming for me to lick them dry.
"June."
I blinked at my name, then tossed the towel and watched as he covered his head with it. His dick bobbed flaccid as his fingers rubbed his shoulders dry, that thick, long, and -
Fine, I'll say it bluntly. Mouthwatering dick.
My cheeks warmed at the wink he shot me. I scooted out the bathroom with his towel in my hands before he snapped it into my ass.
Or worse, hangs it back up for a second use.
Tossing his towel in the hamper, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to wear for today. Given the occasion and 'still winter in February' frigid blusters of wind whipping against the condo's windows, I chose a thick pair of leggings, shin-length black leather boots, and a fluffy black sweater.
The wool of my P-coat scratched over my cheek as I rummaged through the hall closet for the black hat, scarf, and mitten set in here somewhere.
This calls for an ass-up effort.
Grunting, I hinged over and rumpled my way through our storage boxes of boots.
"Ready?" Damian prompted again, drawing me upright and pulling my head out of the closet.
A garbled sound choked itself up the back of my throat and my fingers clenched the door handle. Damian's dressed appearance took my breath away. His chin dipped down and his hands ran over the crisp corners in his navy-blue formal uniform. The sharp pleats darting the pants snugged them tighter around his thighs, reminding me of the first time I re-met him.
Lust at first clotheslined tackle.
My vagina never stood a chance whenever my man wore his dress blues for retirements or funerals. One look as he stepped out of the closet drenched my panties... every time.
Hat, June. Find your damn hat.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I destroyed whatever order existed in Damian's organized closet until I unearthed my black winter accessories. A low groan rumbled out behind me as Damian's hand reached over and grabbed his NYPD winter coat, the remaining item on its hanger. My cheeks flamed by the time I stuffed my hat over my ears and knotted the scarf at my neck.
"You look..." My voice came out a broken, breathy whisper as he fixed his pointed hat. "How long do we have?"
"Not funny." He crooked his elbow, sadness dulling his eyes. I hooked my gloved fingers over his arm. "Sorry about this, June. Probably not how you wanted to spend Sunday afternoon."
"Are you kidding? It's a humbling honor." I smiled up at him, squeezing his arm as we waited for the elevator. "Plus, I get to eye-fuck my hotass mancandy boyfriend in the closest experience you'll let me get to a ride-on."
"We're riding three blocks." A low chuckle left Damian, a spread of pink on his cheeks. It was a sharp contrast to the heaviness darkening his eyes. "I don't know about your mind sometimes, June."
"You love my dirty, quirky mind," I teased.
"I do." He held his hand for the elevator door. The other took mine, a grip muffled by our gloves. "Thanks for coming today."
I ripped my glove off with my teeth and pulled my thumb over his dampening eyes. Rising up to my toes, I pressed a kiss into his cheek. "Nowhere else I'd rather be."
Damian's eyes closed, his mouth pulled into a firm line, and his head dipped down.
NYPD shut down ten blocks of Manhattan today. My eyes took in the quieter traffic volume and building flags lowered to half-mast. The somber atmosphere mirrored the gray skies, dotted with darker gray clouds. Damian remained quiet, his grip on my hand tightening the closer our ride approached the traffic barrier.
"As far as I can go," the driver announced over his shoulder.
Damian paid him and we stepped onto the street. Smoothing his pants over his thighs, he extended his hand. The apologetic tone in his voice was unnecessary, "We have to walk a couple blocks."
"Again, my honor." I slipped my hand in his, offering a squeeze.
Damian's silence matched the stone-hard expression he wore. I couldn't have assumed his emotions at this moment but my heart crumpled. The weighing down sensation increased as we walked block after block. Sidewalk space shrunk, so Damian steered me over the curb and into the street.
The streets were sectioned off by metal animal pen segments. A sea of black coats and hats filled them. For ease through security, I left my purse at home. He flashed his badge and my driver's license at each checkpoint.
He never said a word until the white Gothic spires of St. Patrick's Cathedral jutted up into the sky over our heads. Despite its stature being dwarfed by the surrounding skyscrapers, the white stone contrasted the gray cement and all-black crowd congregated on both block sides leading up to it and across the street.
My lips parted in a silent gasp at the thousands of people lined up the streets. Sectioned off, they stretched up blocks farther than my eyesight reached.
Surrounded, we stopped across the street from the church's entrance. Damian nodded at the checkpoint entrance. "You're here."
"I..." My throat collapsed inward at my close proximity to the church entrance, where a family-own service was scheduled to start in an hour.
I don't deserve to be here.
Not knowing the fallen officer personally, my closeness was inappropriate. The unworthy elevated position pinched my heart. If anything, I belonged blocks up at the procession's start. My lower lip rolled in and I grabbed it between my teeth.
"Please, June." Damian's hand guided my lower back toward the checkpoint screener, who he handed my license to and pointed across the street. "I'll be right over there, so I can see you."
Because I was here as much for Damian as Matthew Moreno, a first-year patrol officer shot during a domestic violence call, I nodded and slipped into place. Knowing no one here, I maneuvered over to an open side for maximized visibility. Damian's tall frame took his place across the street. Hundreds of identically dressed officers stood in solidarity around him but my eyes tracked his movements.
Time stretched as much as it stood still while we waited for the incoming procession. The mood deepened, a sense of mourning swelling up in between hums of conversations. It crested when a small group of people entered our section. A young woman was nestled in between other family members, circling around her in a protective bubble. We were so much younger. She was as displaced as I did in the group of gray-haired spectators.
My lips parted at the flash of a red triangle, dotted with white stars, that appeared between bodies blocking my full view. Tears pricked my eyes, constriction squeezing my throat dry and pains gripped my heart with each beat.
Damian said Matthew had been married for six months.
My heart broke a second time when she lowered the triangular shaped flag over a roundness of her stomach.
Oh my God.
Once my tears started, they never stopped. Fluttering my eyes, the warmth spilling over my cheeks cooled in the air. Congestion flowed through my nose, so I grabbed a tissue. Through a blurry haze, Damian's stoic stance shifted his weight from one foot to another.
A torn sensation pulled through me, whether I offered my condolences to Matthew's widow or granted her space to mourn among her family. Her round, vacant eyes were so lost, so alone, and her chin dipped down. A breeze fluttered back a few strands of the curtain of black hair blocking half her face, revealing similar tears trailed over her cheeks.
Dominique Moreno.
I hated only knowing her name and association from these conditions.
Her eyes closed, tears squeezing out between her lashes as she grounded her chin. One of her family members noticed, blotting at her cheeks with a tissue. The flash of white reminded me of my own pockets' contents, so I dug until I pulled out two white cloths.
Damian's handkerchiefs.
I forgot I'd brought them with me, how he stuffed both pockets full, knowing I'd need them. My fingers trailed over the additions Celia helped me embroider on their corners. The messy stitching for NYPD's logo and Vice showed my needle skills were very much a work in progress but it was all I had.
With a raspy breath, I tapped the person next to them and whispered my odd request. The older man's eyes studied the cloth I offered up. Nodding at the woman, I pointed with the tip of my nose.
Feeling the weight of my staring, Dominique's eyes shifted to the corners. The handkerchief fluttered as it was passed over to her, from one set of gloved hands until it found hers. My spine froze when her eyes met mine, round with raw, gut-wrenching pain. It twisted my stomach and collected my breath in my lungs. A flicker of curiosity flashed in her brown eyes as her fingers traced the awful stitching.
Before I realized I moved, my gloved hand palmed the pain gripping my heart space. Parting my dry lips, I rounded them into my condolences.
I'm sorry.
A hush fell over the crowd as her eyes shifted off mine. The handkerchief curled into her palm as a motorcade of NYPD cruisers sandwiched a black limo. As it approached along the empty street, a formal atmosphere descended on the crowd in an invisible fog.
It was as heartwarming as it was heartbreaking.
In a navy-blue swell, the officers across the street raised their right arms before the limo approached. My left hand balled up my handkerchief as my right hand lifted, 'Long way up, short way down' as Damian instructed. With an outward turn of my palm, the tip of my index finger brushed above my eyebrow.
My tears flowed, dripping over my cheeks and dotting my scarf where it brushed my chin. Only when the hands around me lowered did I bring my handkerchief to my eyes, blotting their corners.
Dominique and her group were escorted across the street. She hugged the flag to her chest, dotting her eyes with the handkerchief. Once Matthew was lifted out of the hearse, she walked alongside him inside and St. Matthews' doors closed.
Weight sagged my body. My limbs were full of sand. Strain itched my eyes, raw and swollen with sensitivity as I found Damian's looking at me. He flashed me a 'stay there' hand prompt.
As soon as he was able to join me, my arms flung around him. His warmth and security wrapped around me, my eyes closed under the smell of his soap, and the dampness on his own cheeks pressed into my forehead.
"I'm sorry," I whispered into his chest. "I'm so sorry."