Damian's POV
The morning after I teased three more orgasms out of June and ignited a second one in me, I woke up groggy with no idea what the time was. A parking cone erection lodged in my underwear, and I laid in an empty bed. Sweet humming mixed with soft swishes and running water from the kitchen alerted me to June's presence. Rolling over, Bullet's crate was empty but familiar whines from the kitchen gave away his location.
Sitting on June's feet and begging for food.
My eyes half-closed, I dragged my feet over to the bathroom. The emotional weight of my conversation with June about the blackmail pictures lingered heavier in my mind as our case progressed at a snail's pace.
"Fuck! Bullet, get off my feet!" rang out from the kitchen, followed by a clang of a dropped utensil.
I chuckled, but my amusement was short-lived.
The bathroom floor tiles chilled the soles of my feet. I grumbled inaudibly as I relieved myself, then turned on the shower. The same chill numbing my feet bit into my ass cheeks when they hit the bench. In the all-white space I used to relax and collect my morning thoughts, I closed my eyes and sighed.
Under the soft water sprays from the shower, a quiet hiss broke out.
Wait, hiss?
Clearly, I imagined that. Blurry white walls and morning incoherence worked against me. I blinked.
A second, "Sssss" sounded on my left.
Time slowed as my eyes dropped in its direction, to a wound-up coil of slicked, iridescent black scales. Giant, bulging, white and black, beady cat eyes glinted at me.
Oh no. No, no, fuck no!
My heart stopped in my chest, flatlining as every shower drop pinpricked me. Breathing and blinking took a back seat. Every muscle locked into stillness and the damp air gripped my skin. In a whoosh of panic, part of my soul slipped out.
Now I know what an exorcism feels like.
Or I just shit myself.
"Fuck!"
The second tongue flick did me in, shooting my ass off the bench. With a sharp smack, I landed on the floor. Pushing my heels in cycling movements, my shower was too, too fucking small. My legs stayed bent with my back to the glass wall.
"June!"
The hairs on the back of my neck and forearms raised with goosebumps as the black snake's eyes tracked my scuttling movements with slight head shifts. Hot steam swirled between us but my skin chilled, ten degrees cooler with each tongue flick in my direction.
It tasted my fear.
"June!"
Soft toenails and footsteps rushed into the bathroom and the door flung open with a bang. Bullet entered first, stopped in the doorway, and tilted his head.
So much for man's best friend.
My feet shot out and I pushed my ass into the corner farthest away. "Not helpful!"
I curled myself into the smallest space that my frame occupied, shifting the glass wall under my weight. Water splashed off my ankles as the snake drew back into its own corner, winding into a tighter coil.
Oh, fuck. It's going to strike and I'm going to die, naked, in my own damn shower.
"Damian?" June's giggles barely registered under the pounding beats in my ears, let alone being processed by my fear-gripped brain. "Why are you showering with Ella?"
"Get it out!" I yelped and squeezed my knees into my chest. "I swear to God, June, get this fucking - and stop filming me!"
"Sorry." She smirked over her phone. "Couldn't resist. Don't worry, your legs curled up like that hide your -"
"Get this fucking snake out of here!!" I roared, my voice echoing off the bathroom walls. "Now!"
"Calm down," she chided, opening the shower door and turning off the water. With a towel, she wrapped up the snake and fucking cuddled it. "Aww, you scared her, Damian."
"I... scared... it!?" I rasped out in between regained breaths. Not. Enough. Oxygen. Painful beats thundered in my chest, which heaved as I drew in ragged breaths. A dizzying rush swept between my eyes.
"Her." June's eyebrows drew together.
I was positive a vein burst in my right temple.
This woman drives me crazy. It's a cold-blooded, emotionless animal.
"Why the fuck is it in the shower!?"
"I was cleaning out her tank." My obviously insane girlfriend shook her head at me, then smiled down at Satan's pet. "I put her on the shower floor. She must've climbed up on the seat. Aww, that means she's moving around more."
Aww? Aww!? Did she just -
I palmed my face with two shaky hands. "Nooooo," I moaned between my fingers. "No no no no no moving around snakes. June, fuck no!"
"Damian," her hurt voice met the mental blockade my fear erected faster than any New York construction project. "She's not venomous, but a constrictor -"
The word flashed many more horrible images. The damn thing choked around my ankle, fuck, my head, swallowing Bullet with a flick of that slithering, forked tongue -
"Out." I pointed one hand at the door and palmed my forehead with the other.
"Of course," June replied with a slight pout. "Her tank should be almost dry, so I'll put her back."
"No." Lowering my hand, I glared over my fingers. "I mean out of the apartment. Take her back, June."
She froze in the doorway. The sight of tears beading up in her eyes pinched my chest, but I stood firm ground... from where I sat, huddled up in the corner of my own snake-invaded shower in a seated fetal position.
Over a damn snake that was supposed to be gone after six weeks, not six months.
Uncertainty crept into her voice as she parroted, "Take her... back?"
"Yes. No more snakes, no more animals." I shook my head. It throbbed from my elevated heart rate, but I held firm, "Only Bullet from now on!"
Her pink lower lip trembled, and tears shone in her eyes. "Only..."
"No more, June!" I roared out louder than I meant to, which jolted her shoulders. "No fucking more!"
Two lone tears traveled to the outside corners of her eyes and clumped her lashes. Two more dripped down her cheeks but she made no attempt to wipe them away. Instead, she tipped her head and stared down at me from across the bathroom.
Standing on two shaky knees, I palmed the edge of the shower seat and stood up. Through my narrowed eyes, my index finger shook while pointing at her with each clarification, "No fucking rats, turtles, birds, snakes, chinchillas, lizards, cats, dogs, and whatever the fuck that was you had before the snake that ate holes through my work pants."
"Pygmy goat," she muttered.
How could I have forgotten the fucking goat.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, near my tear ducts, with my index finger and thumb.
"I'm done with all that. I can't, June." The hurt that crept into her eyes tightened my throat, cracking my voice, but my stubbornness rose over it. "No more fucking animals. No more hair, scales, feathers, and noise complaints. I'm done. Take. It. Back."
Hugging the damn snake, where I swear the fucker flicked it tongue at me, she whispered, "Fine. I'll take Ella back to AMC this morning. Heartless jerk."
I dragged both hands down my face, which I hadn't realized was sweaty, and caught my reflection in the mirror. Plumes of shower steam swirled around me like an evil villain. My face, neck, and chest were flushed with bright red blotches, a vein was raised on both sides of my neck, and a crazy, deranged look burnt into my eyes.
Rubbing over the pain in my forehead, I drew a raspy breath. Each breath calmed me down, decelerated my heart rate, and drenched me in more guilt. As water streams pricked into the skin on my chest, the pain that struck June's eyes cemented itself in my brain. Guilt burrowed deeper as I washed sweat off my skin.
She'll be fine. It's for the best.
She'll get over it...
Fuck, I need to apologize.
Sweat beaded up on my forehead near my hairline and rolled down my heated skin. Too riled up from the snake in the shower, I headed down to the condo building's gym to release the nerves firing up under my skin. Sure, I would need another shower, but the tension coiled inside me needed to release, one set of racked weights after another.
At one point, June lured me into one 'mind and body' class after another. More than once I was the only guy in the class. More than once, I was called out for struggling with a stiffy from June's ass in tight pants instead of paying attention to the workout.
Yoga, Pilates, even some weird tai chi class where we were the youngest attendees by forty years, my tired ass always fell asleep at the relaxation stage.
Inside the gym, where I pounded out my frustration and probably pushed my joints further to blowouts as June feared, my mind was laser focused on one task: total body fatigue. Stress relief and an adrenaline rush weren't enough. The intense workouts and weight sessions now kept away the gut most detectives sported within their first few years behind the desk.
I keep them for June too.
I wasn't the fittest guy in my condo's gym, but the fire that burned in June's eyes whenever her fingers outlined my muscles surged equal parts satisfaction and arousal in me. A palm flat on one of my pecs, or fingers tracing around my shoulder or ab lines and that woman set my skin ablaze and raised my dick in a damn flagpole.
Don't get me started when her hands wrap around my... biceps. She's an arms girl.
With soft, feather-like brushes of my fingers, palm squeezes, massaging rubs, and pinches, June's obsession with my arms echoed my obsession with her hand and blowjobs.
They're the best though. All fingers, massaging, rubbing, light nails, right amount of pressure squeezing and -
Lift weights, Damian, not... too late.
The mirrored reflection wasn't needed to show my cock had swelled up, but I groaned when I turned ninety degrees and flashed a half-tent in my athletic shorts. The shiny, light gray nylon did me absolutely no concealment favors.
Fuck, snake strangulation aside, I was mean to her this morning too. I need to make it up to her.
By the time I showered and calmed down, I came out of the bathroom, dressed for work, and found an empty apartment. June scribbled 'Walking Bullet' on a kitchen counter note. My thumb ran over the large, blotted spot near the 'B,' still slightly damp.
Guilt prompted me to scribble an 'I'm sorry' under it. On another rare day when June was home when I left for work, I wanted to say goodbye, but snake-recover time wasn't on my side. Neither was any sight of June or Bullet on the street when I rode up from the garage on my bike, so I tore off down Street toward the 34th.
My usual pissed-off morning expression chased away most friendly greetings, scattered water cooler conversationalists, and snapped heads back to their workstations. I unlocked my office door, removed my coat, and placed it and my helmet inside my wardrobe.
An odd sense of being off filled me as I maneuvered the precinct office. It must have been from the unusual argument with June, which wasn't technically an argument.
Just me being an ass.
Discomfort rolled through my stomach, but I wasn't hungry. The hairs on the back of my neck pricked up, an extra air draft pouring down on me. This heightened awareness usually struck me before we broke through a case, but I wasn't about to get overly excited over a few skin tingles.
"Sir," Shirley's dry voice croaked through my phone as soon as I sat behind my desk with a grunt. "Your mother is on the line. She's mad at you."
Probably about June.
I shouldn't have yelled at June but honestly, the less frozen rats, random fur clogs, hissing, chewing, yowling, scratching, and meowing in our place, the better.
I should've conceded on turtles and fish though.
"She's always mad at me," I grumbled. "Tell her I'll call back... later."
Later this year.
"She's also dying again, Sir," was the equally dry response.
"What is it this time?" My biting tone hid my teasing because my mother's self-diagnoses probably single-handedly kept her primary care doctor in business.
"Didn't ask, don't care." Why had I encouraged Shirley to stay onboard?
"She's always dying," I spoke to myself and rubbed my forehead. "I'll call her later."
Her tone stayed impassive, but Shirley enjoyed this bit. "Nope. She says you'll talk to her now, Sir. Or she'll keep calling and -"
"Oh, for fuck's -" My index finger smashed into the accept call button. "What, Ma?"
"Don't you 'what Ma' me," was the chirped back response. "The fuck is wrong with you, Damian? Where did I go wrong? How could I raise such a heartless son? I hope yous got some serious groveling already planned."
"You talked to June." I rested my elbow on my desk, resting my chin on my fist.
"Of course, I talked to June. I talk to her every day," she huffed. "She answers her phone, offers me kind messages in our family chat, and asks me how I'm doing. Unlike my ungrateful son, that girl has a heart of gold and I swear on your dead ancestors -"
"Don't swear on the Rivera clan, Ma." My eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "I'll apologize to June tonight. Now, is there something you-"
"Apologize? Apologize? You'd better be knees down, groveling and proposing to that girl because neither of us are getting any younger here."
"Ma..." I warned her because, if I was on my knees for June, it sure wasn't for proposing.
Now, licking and kissing her -
"Don't Ma me, Damian Alexander," Mom pulled out the middle name threat, earning her a low chuckle. "That girl deserves a family. You deserve a family."
It was hard to explain how crying, snot-nosed kids slowly draining the life out of me seemed more like a curse than a blessing.
"June is my family," I reminded her, my own words settling a pit of guilt in my chest. "No matter what any piece of paper says."
"It's security. What if something happens to you? What if some kook walks into your office and shoots up the place?" Mom's voice raised with each hypothetical situation. "What if some Looney-tunes crackpot on the street pulls a gun on you?"
Before I reminded her that at least twenty armed officers, two bullet-proof barriers, and Reese on security this morning were all positioned between me and the front entrance, I paused at her lack of faith in my own defensive skills. Physical security aside, I had more than sufficient training and experience with guns drawn at me.
None of that mattered as my mother's voice soared to a near-screech, "One stray bullet and bam!" Her hands clapped in the background. "No insurance payout for June."
I hardly think she's with me for the insurance payouts.
"Ma," I warned her for providing yet another string of examples of why I didn't take her calls. "I need to -"
"I'm dying, Damian," she lowered her voice to a near whisper.
My hands dragged down my face and I groaned. "Ma, stay off Google."
I swear, the woman thinks an eyelash stuck on her cheek is cancer.
"It's cancer," she whimpered.
"Ma..." I sighed because it was always cancer.
"Before you tell me it's always that, I've got a lump." Soft sniffles erupted from my speakerphone.
My eyes focused down and I glared at my phone to stop the sniffles, which of course didn't. "What do you mean by a lump?"
"In my throat, the one June couldn't find. I found it." She probably pointed to this invisible lump, clutching it with both hands. "I'm getting a scan later this afternoon."
"Ma, it'll be..." I paused when my personal phone vibrated in my pocket. A frown pulled my eyebrows together when notifications from my security system flooded in. "What the hell..."
She probably triggered the alarm again.
Better fix this before the FDNY shows up again and charges me for the false alarm.
"Ma, I'll call you later." I shut off the app for a moment, hung up on Mom, and settled into my office chair. At an 'Unauthorized access' warning, I hunched over my phone. Despite me turning it off, our home security system was still firing.
June?
A vision flashed up and stopped my entire world. All four walls of my office squeezed tighter, and blackness circled my line of vision. Every hair pricked up on my forearms. Whatever the fuck I experienced in the shower paled in comparison to the fear that rendered my limbs immobile.
No. It can't be.
A literal nightmare unfolded on my phone screen.
Grainy and blurry, the security feed showed four men, dressed in black with ski masks, approaching my apartment door. A quick flip to the hallway camera I installed showed that June's security escort was stationed at the elevators, seated and slumped with his chin in his chest.
No.
The four black figures marched down the hallway, stopped at my apartment door, and banged on it.
Oh no.
My blood ran cold in my veins. Even though the feed was live, mentally, I pleaded with my girlfriend for common sense.
Don't answer, don't answer, don't answer it, June.
Her clothed figure, dressed in light blue scrubs, approached the door from the kitchen. My heart clenched around itself as she peered into the peephole, lifting onto her toes. Her entire body froze up as Bullet stood next to her, wiggling and pacing. She bolted out of the living room, down the hall, and into the bedroom with him, where she locked the door.
Her flash of light blue moving into the closet prompted my feet, which shot down to the floor. I stood up like my ass was on fire. With blurred movements, Bullet circled in behind her. She shut the door, then rolled her wrist to lock it.
"Good girl," I murmured as June backed away from the locked door. The way her hands cupped her ears and shoulders jerked every few seconds, she reacted to the beats on the door.
Two locks between them.
As fast as my feet moved, I tore out of my office. My skin chilled at the video feed that streamed into my phone, the guys beating down my door at this very fucking second. While June collapsed onto the floor with Bullet on her lap, I pulled out my work cell phone and dialed our direct line. "Emergency!"
As I flew into the shared office space, I cried out the worst possible choice of words, "Fuck, there's an emergency!"
All heads bent down at their desks popped up, turned in my direction, followed by the thumping of bodies hitting the floor.
"No... not a bomb emergency," I groaned and ran a hand through my hair. The other one shook my phone so violently that the image of the guys busting down my apartment door blurred.
The sight of the door swinging open stabbed my heart. "Shooting. Break in!"
"Damian?" A pair of hands palmed my chest, which quivered with my raspy breaths. Jenks' deep voice rumbled in my ears, "Calm down. What shooting?"
"J-Juh-June," I whispered and held up my phone.
He cursed, then grabbed my work phone to answer Dispatch's buzzing prompts for the address for nearest assistance.
Racing back into my office, I grabbed my helmet and called out a garbled, "Ten-six," for the fallen security guard in the hallway.
In between crackled com static, Dispatch relayed, "Officer down, repeat officer down."
Officer down. Fuck, this is really happening.
Time abandoned me as I sprinted to the exit doors. The seconds were too fast. I was too slow. The urge I moved as fast as possible swallowed up the questions playing on a repetitive loop of how the fuck this happened. How didn't matter right now.
The deafening street noise plunged me into self-awareness. I had no idea how my heart still beat inside the hollow pit carved into the center of my chest. Figures and vehicles blurred into shapes and a ring pierced my ears.
My toes twitched inside my shoes as I pounded the pavement for the closest cruiser. No, my bike was faster. I could hop the sidewalks if needed.
The deep-rooted need to get myself back home, to my family, fuck my entire world -
I have to get to her. I need to get to her.
Hang on, Sweetheart.