(Author's Note … Yes, I'm a big fan of futuristic romance mysteries, and you'll see bits and pieces of your favorites here … and a large dose of one particular series – you fellow lovers will know it … blah blah blah, none of these characters belong to me … it's all for fun here people! Also, you'll note skipping from first to second to third person – it just makes a story that much more interesting IMO. I am setting this100 years in the future – but we're not getting too out there, just avoiding complete eye rolls over any modern conveniences.)
May, 2113
"I want you to marry me."
"Hmm?" Catherine had just finished applying zip ties to her criminal's wrists. The fact that he'd managed to get several good punches to her face - and no doubt given her a bloody nose, black eye and split lip - had given her that little extra drive to push his face into the wet dirt – part of that wetness was her blood, part Bastion's, and a good majority of it belonging to the son of a bitch perpetrator of three murders. Her mind wasn't really on her lover's words, she was wondering if she needed to repeat the Revised Miranda six or seven times between now and when the first patrol officer finally reached this part of Columbus City's Central Park. "Uh-Huh. Well, we'll –" She stood up, nearly stumbled, then blinked at him with her good eye. "You want me to what?"
"I want you to marry me."
He caught her elbows, brought Catherine into his arms. A tall woman at a few inches less than six foot, it always seemed a surprise to look up at Bastion, a good seven inches taller than her. But now, surprised by his words, she stood there looking up at him in the moonlight and what illumination there was from park lighting that needed upgraded with her jaw unhinged. Bastion St. Newton's brilliant blue eyes were a little wild – that happened after a life or death fight, especially when your normal day didn't include such things, as Catherine's did – and his long black hair was rumpled only slightly less than his elegant suit. The suit, Catherine decided, was ready for the recycle bin now. Maybe she'd convince him to let her wash his glorious hair once she finished all the paperwork and filed the reports for this case … that would be in about eight hours. She shook her head, closed her mouth, and refocused.
Catherine appreciated his warmth, the steadying hands on her back, even the love she saw in his eyes … but marriage was a definite no. "You'll feel better after we get you examined and some sugar into you," she assured him. Blue and red flashers, sirens, were coming around the bend. She hoped there was an ambulance as well as cops; Bastion may have gotten a head injury and obviously needed treated for a concussion. Billionaire businessmen didn't marry blue collar cops who hadn't owned a tube of lipstick before he'd come along into her life. "Backup's here. Put your game face on, baby."
And she went to do her job.
June
Catherine stood still and at attention, shoulders straight, head held high, eyes firmly on the wall between the Police Chief and her Commander. The Commander's office boasted a bank of windows that faced south, giving the day's light without the glare of the rising or setting sun. Privacy screening helped with any glare. Still, a stray glint caught the row of framed pictures as she stared at the wall. The refraction was enough to give her a headache. Or else she'd just earned the pain that throbbed on the left side of her head because Catherine was an idiot and facing the results of her own behavior.
"So in three months, if you would like, you can notify Psychiatric Services and request Competency Review. After the results it will be evaluated and a decision will be made if you can be reinstated." Chief Stephen Smith stated, casually straightening his tie. Catherine noted that it was an excellent quality tie, dark blue with the tiniest of grey stripes. Bastion had worn one just like it a month or so ago. She'd learned about quality ties in the last three months they'd been together. "Do you have any questions, Detective Black?"
She understood. In three months' time she would be expected to quietly submit her resignation and take her pension. If Catherine did, no formal charges would be made in the assault (as she was accused) of Herman Vincent (who between she and Bastion that night in Central Park had managed to put him in traction with multiple broken bones, including several vertebrae). Not against her … and not against Bastion. Catherine wished to hell she had followed through on filing her own assault complaint against Vincent, as well as pushing Bastion to do the same. They both could have withdrawn their complaints later, but the data would still have been filed and their asses would be covered. Now it was too late. Any counter complaints, while feasible through injury reports noted by both the Ambulance service and surveillance at CCPD Central, by she and Bastion were now too little and legally unquestionably too late.
"No, Sir."
The Chief spoke quietly with his Commander, then exited the office, closing the door firmly. Catherine kept her eyes on the wall, biting the inside of her cheeks so she wouldn't let her lips quiver. The ripping pain inside didn't need the addition of her superior seeing tears in her eyes. The disgrace was already enough to bear.
Commander Brian Fickel moved behind his desk. She knew that in the past several days he had lost whatever respect she had earned from him over the past decade. The mess she'd tripped into with his first and second wife going at it over several shopping accounts that had come down to theft charges before the right people stepped in and made it all go away (Catherine had been handling the open and shut murder case of a cleaning man at the store where the two women collided), her seeming persecution of his daughter Angel who'd tried to bribe the investigating officers called to the exclusive store where the entire incident occurred – was it her fault the two officers had come to Catherine for guidance on how to handle the entire messy situation? - No. But the press had gotten a hold of the story and she hadn't been quick enough to throw up a cover story – thank Christ the CCPD had a PR department that could perform miracles.
The point was, Catherine knew she had no goodwill left in this office. If there had been any, it had been used up in the Chief and Commander's decision just to suspend her without pay for three months and let her slink off into the concrete jungle. Vincent's assault charges against herself and Bastion would be whittled down to nothing, a pawn in his lawyers' game to get at least one of the three counts of murder thrown out. And if she didn't play nice? Well, the CCPD could let her sink if she chose not to swim away now.
"You can turn in your weapon and shield, Black. Lieutenant Ditomasso will accompany you while you clear out your office, turn in your codes and vehicle. After you're done with Human Resources, he will escort you from the building." The Commander sat down, picked up a disc and plugged it into his comp, finished with her.
The door had opened during his brief statement and Catherine saw Lieutenant Larry Ditomasso out of the corner of her eye as he entered the office and stood near the door. Now, she took the silver Detective's CCPD badge off her belt, placed it and her department issued stunner on the Commander's desk. Ditomasso stood back for her to precede him. She walked the hallways to reach the glides, took the various flights to Homicide and went to her office. It didn't take long to pack up. She had a Newton's Cradle (a gift from Bastion after their first date) and … Catherine looked around. That was it. Nothing else belonged solely to her.
Ditomasso handed her a white square of cloth, his handkerchief, and Catherine realized she'd let loose a tear. Furious with herself for the loss of control and him for seeing it, she snatched it, scrubbed her face and handed it back. Her fellow detectives watched the two of them head back to the glides, silent, staring, not knowing what had happened. Catherine didn't see a reason to say anything to them … as a division leader she'd let them know they were a good crew over the years, had trained some of them to be better. It wasn't a bad legacy.
Human Resources were ready for her. Catherine signed a dozen papers, then was escorted from the building. Outside the early June breeze was warm and strong, ruffling her hair and pushing a few stray pieces of the blonde brown mix into her eyes. The sidewalk was crowded, people busy on their way to and from lives that were protected by the thousands of people serving them in the very building Catherine had just been ejected from.
"Let me give you a lift home," Ditomasso offered, shifting his body to block the wind from hurtling at her slender body. The minute the last form had been signed he'd seen her shoulders slump, defeat settling on her like a lead weight. He wanted to reach out, offer comfort, but knew it wouldn't be accepted. She looked so beautiful and so alone … he shook himself, reminding his heart that she had the billionaire bastard St. Newton to comfort her.
Catherine looked around her; all the buildings and traffic, dirt and noise. This was her home. Columbus City. She'd come here when she was twenty and taken it on with all the determination at her disposal, a rookie right out of Police Academy hell bent on becoming the best cop she could be. And she'd done herself proud for ten damn years. "No." Without looking at Ditomasso, Catherine stepped off the last step that lead to and from CCPD Central and joined the sea of humanity on the sidewalk, letting it carry her away.
Two weeks earlier in May
"Just get out, Catherine. If you don't want to marry me, get out of my life." Bastion turned furiously and walked out of the front parlor. She heard him jogging up the stairs, his shiny black wingtips ringing on the marble steps as he headed for his home office or the master bedroom suite. He was cursing. Not just cursing, but cursing her.
For a minute she just stood there, horrified. The man had demanded everything from her: hot kinky sex, then love, commitment, and finally her very soul. She had given up her apartment, agreed to cohab with him, had let him dress her in costly clothes he chose and dictate her social life – not that she had one before him other than one best friend Audra, and her after-work drinks with coworkers. And now because she wouldn't marry him, he was dumping her. Some part of Catherine thought, Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? Shouldn't I be telling Bastion if he won't marry me then I'll leave him?
"Cops shouldn't marry" Catherine repeated softly out loud to herself, her last words to him.
Harbold, Bastion's house manager, appeared in the doorway. There was a sneer on his thin lips and an unholy gleam of pleasure in his eyes as he announced, "Since you will no longer be living here, Detective Black, I'll have your things packed and sent once you notify me where you'll be staying."
Staying. She didn't have a place to stay. Audra was with some new boyfriend; she'd been bunking with friends from the Flying Tomato anyway. Catherine had given up her apartment, sort of. When he'd moved her things into his mansion, Bastion had ended her lease. Since he owned the building no one had suggested she pay a fine or fee for early termination. But she'd effectively made herself dependent on Bastion for shelter.
Now, she jerked her arm away as Bastion's right hand man grasped her elbow in his bony fingers and tried to drag her toward the front doors. Pride kept her spine ramrod straight and Catherine swished past Harbold and down the steps to her decrepit department vehicle which waited for her. When the iron gates closed behind her at the bottom of the long driveway Catherine could almost hear her heart crushed with the final click. For a moment, crushed heart bleeding out in a faulty rhythm just enough to keep her going, she looked back through the gates. You couldn't see much of Bastion's mansion from down here, too many trees and too much distance so only the fourth floor, rooftop and all the fanciful towers and turrets were in view. But you sure could tell it was a fairytale world up there.
From castle to homeless.
Well, at least she had her job.
During the two weeks from when Bastion kicked Catherine out
Catherine had hoped and prayed and longed for Bastion to take her back. To want her back, like she wanted him. Even as she waited for the shit to rain down on her from administration once she got news of the assault charges by Herman Vincent, as she worked cases on her desk and supervised the twenty-four homicide detectives under her division leadership, she kept day dreaming she'd look up and see him in her office doorway, those wide firm lips that could make her shudder in passion saying they should talk. That she'd step out of Central and find a long black limousine and his tall muscular body covered lovingly in some ten thousand dollar suit, walking to her with a bouquet of some exotic flowers no one in Central would even know the name of. Or pick up her office link and see his handsome face, those blue eyes piercing her heart as he agreed that living together was fine. But he didn't.
When she looked up from eating a soy dog in the CCPD Central's cafeteria at the large screen playing over the bank of vending machines and saw the E News coverage of him dressed in a tuxedo with a beautiful busty blonde hanging on his arm, big blue eyes adoring on his face, and a matching star-shaped sapphire necklace Catherine recognized as being the one Bastion had given her the day before he'd thrown her out, Catherine knew her dreams were just that. Dreams. She sucked it up, ignored the pitying looks from everyone who knew she hadn't even made it a full month cohabing with the handsome, elegant, and filthy rich Bastion. Flavor of the month, she'd heard whispered behind her back. Hey, she'd made it a total of dating him for three months. Not as long as some, a hell of a lot more than his multiple one night stands, weekend encounters and whatever the hell he called all the other women he'd fucked senseless just because they were there and they were beautiful.
Since she'd spent her savings on getting her nails done (a short French Manicure and Pedicure so her hands and feet looked presentable and she didn't embarrass Bastion at his fancy social functions), bought some face gunk that Audra had sworn would make her look really pretty, put a chunk down on pretty pieces of lace and satin to wear under those expensive dresses she'd broke down and bought to wear - before Bastion had started buying her evening clothes -, Catherine was broke. Seeing the writing on the wall she simply cashed her last paycheck and held onto the money, figuring it was going to be the second to last one she'd ever see from the CCPD. And that left her with little option for housing, clothing (since she hadn't gone back to Bastion's mansion for anything) and food. Hell, apparently all the jewelry he'd bought her was going to the next woman – it hurt to realize maybe some of those pieces he'd given her had been from whoever came before Catherine – so she couldn't even discretely pawn some to get a motel room to stay in … if she'd been crude enough to have taken any jewelry with her – which she wouldn't have been, had Catherine decided to go back for some clothes.
She'd taken to sleeping on the floor of her office, showering in the small bathroom near her division or one of the basement gym showers, and eating the cheap, nutritionally questionable food at Central. A stop at the closest Salvation Army outfitted her with a sweat suit to wear when she was sleeping on her office floor and a few change of clothes so she could switch off with the set she'd worn out of the mansion. Catherine figured she'd started out with less in life, so no point in whining.
Still … she couldn't believe how empty her body felt. It was if someone had cut her open and removed her heart. Every time she looked down between her breasts it was a surprise to Catherine that there wasn't a gaping and jagged hole in the skin and between the ribs where her heart should have been. After she saw Bastion on screen with his arm around the blonde, she'd taken the thin gold chain necklace off, the only jewelry she'd been wearing the day she left, and sent it back to him registered mail. The blonde looped around him on screen looked like she was into more glittery things, but maybe she'd want it. Harbold had signed for it per the receipt, and Catherine's hopes for at least some kind of contact with Bastion died when there was no response from him. He really had moved on.
July
Bastion stared at the city he had come to call home. The lights, the constant movement, the sheer energy at all hours of the day and night. He had made this place his, electronics and all it entailed making a name for him, making him powerful. The Mayor asked him for his opinion on business. His name headed every exclusive society guest list. There wasn't one private club he couldn't obtain immediate admittance to. He owned more of Columbus City than any other single person, ever.
Harbold coughed quietly behind him. "Miss Woodhall is inquiring about coming up to the house."
"Tell her I'm not here. I won't be seeing her again, Harbold." Bethany Woodhall had simply been a companion for those all too important business functions … and what he had hoped would be a catalyst to make Catherine come to him. Bethany had been an easy choice, a past discreet lover who knew the score and had made minimal demands on him; and he'd assumed she would do the same this time. But she hadn't, instead she'd run straight to the gossip rags, running her mouth about them being a couple and flaunting jewelry he'd commissioned for Catherine. He'd dropped her immediately upon waking up out of his heart-sick daze and realizing the disaster he'd created, and now she wasn't taking it well.
Like he gave a fuck.
"Very well, Bastion." Harbold left the tower room.
Damn her to hell! She had no business destroying him this way! Bastion paced away from the windows, headed for the gym where he could sweat his pain to a dim roar. His plan to make Catherine see she couldn't do without him had been a miserable failure. She'd moved out six weeks ago and left him behind without a backward glance. And it was his own fucking fault! He'd pushed her too hard, demanded too much when he'd known she wasn't ready. From the start she'd been skittish, every part of their relationship a victory to Bastion as she opened to him. But Bastion had thought he could make her change her mind about marriage, just like he had their moving in together; make her see how much better off with him she was than alone.
More fool him. He'd never been in love, never had this consuming need for another being to the point of obsession; of course he'd made mistakes! He couldn't think coherently with Catherine in his life … without her he could barely function this past month and a half.
"Miss Woodhall requested I be sure to tell you that she would be willing to hear from you at any time in the future," Harbold informed him as Bastion wiped the sweat from his eyes an hour later. "Dinner is ready."
"She didn't even leave me with a small piece of her," Bastion muttered to himself. Jewelry didn't count. He'd been furious when he'd realized Bethany had helped herself to the jewelry he'd given to Catherine; jewelry still in the armoire he'd given Catherine and was placed in the walk-in dressing room he'd created for her, having a wall taken out of the master bedroom suite and a closet boudoir matching his, built just for her. Bastion had been even more enraged when he'd realized that the gossip channels had flashed them together with her wearing the sapphire necklace he'd only given Cat the day before she left him. The day before he'd told her to get out, he thought now in turmoil. He'd been so engrossed in his misery that he hadn't noticed for days. In fact it had been his senior administrative assistant who had commented that the blue piece was exceptionally made and unlike Bastion to give a priceless piece of jewelry to someone he had no interest in renewing a relationship with. Christ, if Catherine had seen that it was no wonder she hadn't come back to him.
"What did you say, Bastion?" Harbold paused as he was leaving the gym.
"She left me with goddamn nothing to hold on to of her," Bastion snarled, throwing the free weight he'd been using across the room. It smashed into the mirrored wall, spraying glass over the gel mat floor in an explosion of sound and refracted light from the bursting shards.
"Her things are all still in the basement storage room where I placed them," Harbold corrected him, dismayed with the violence and raw pain Bastion was exhibiting. "Since Detective Black seems to have abandoned them, you can look through them if you'd like" he added disapprovingly.
"What?" Bastion lifted his head, stared at him. "Her things are still here?"
"Certainly. She's made no effort to notify me where to send them." He hadn't expected anything but rudeness from the woman. Ill-mannered and ill-bred cop, Harbold thought derisively. "Not to mention the Chopar gold chain she returned."
Bastion felt that like a blow to his stomach, his guts heaved and tightened, the pain physically slicing through him. "She returned it?" He'd given it to her their second week together. When he'd realized she was the only woman for him, that she'd simply stolen his heart, he'd purchased the Chopar piece from a private collector. Catherine hadn't known it, but Bastion had seen it as a symbol of his commitment to her, asked that she always wear it.
"A month ago, at least. I placed it in the vault." Harbold had placed all the jewelry in the vault after the incidents with the sapphire necklace and several other significantly valued pieces disappearing with Miss Woodhall. Harbold didn't mind the women in Bastion's life receiving gifts, but the pricier ones weren't for the likes of any weekend fling … and definitely not the likes of Detective Catherine Black.
Bastion left the gym, striding quickly to the basement, into the storage area. And there it was. Everything of her neatly boxed up and labeled in Harbold's broad script. Clothes she had brought with her, clothes he had purchased for her. On top of it all the few pieces of jewelry she had before he met her – four pairs of earrings and two cheap necklaces housed in a plain white box she'd called her jewelry crypt. Now he set that aside, opened a box and yanked out a plain blue t-shirt, buried his face in it. The smell of Catherine filled him, intoxicated Bastion as his memories of her intensified. Her large honey colored eyes so full of suspicion and distrust of mankind, the same eyes that could laugh up at him in sly humor and gazed with all the intoxicating secrets of the universe when he had her under him. The wide mouth with those soft lips he wanted to ravish daily – had done so for as long as she was his.
Bastion breathed in her scent, filled himself with her until the burning fires quenched and he could make himself focus. It was stupid, ridiculous for him to be without her. Cohabitation was what Catherine would agree to, then that was what he would take. She belonged with him and Catherine would come to see that meant a deeper commitment in time. Or he'd fucking buy off a Justice of the Peace, drug her and marry Catherine whether she agreed or not! But now it was time to go and get her and bring her back where she belonged. In this house, in their bed, and at his side. He'd already waited long enough.
Decision made, course of action determined, Bastion headed for their room and the shower. He may have some groveling to do, and explaining about Bethany Woodhall, but Detective Catherine Black was coming back home with him tonight.
Lieutenant Larry Ditomasso enjoyed every word he told the other man. He hoped the black-haired, blue-eyed bastard rotted in hell and had no trouble imagining him there. Catherine Black had taken the fall for this man, and he hadn't even known it. The only thing Ditomasso had had to hold on to in the past weeks had been the idea that Bastion St. Newton had felt some remorse; and now he found that there wasn't even a smidgeon. But he could correct that.
"What did you think would happen, Newton? Herman Vincent ends up in a body cast and killer or not, he has the same right to justice as the rest of us. So Black took the blame. She made damn sure the assault charges on her remained and yours were dismissed before they ever got fully filed." Ditomasso knew damn well who had beat Vincent to a pulp. Black could have been rough in her restraint use, but she never would have kicked a man when he was already down.
"She confessed?" Bastion shook his head. "Was she arrested?" He looked around Ditomasso's office as if he'd see some proof of Black in CCPD Central.
"That's not how it works. We protect our own." Ditomasso had never been so glad he had stuck around late to work as he was right now. He'd found the rich half-breed wandering in homicide, dragged him to his office one floor up. The look on the billionaire's face when he realized someone else had Black's desk, that the pictures of a happy family on the wall certainly weren't his ex-lover's … it was a memory to keep Ditomasso's feet warm for the next winter. "She was suspended for three months, no pay, no benefits. She'll just not come back in October and her clock winds down. its how we shuffle out bad cops."
"She wasn't a bad cop," Bastion snarled, blue eyes frozen ice, glaring at Ditomasso.
"She'd have never gotten the stench of you off her," Ditomasso corrected viciously. "Everyone thinks you bought and paid for her. Your criminal background's well known. Amazing how you've never been charged with anything, isn't it," he sneered. "Catherine cleared you of all wrongdoing in those four homicides at your club. Faulty electrical wiring causing that blaze … yeah, right. You got your money's worth."
Bastion's eyes narrowed as he heard how this man, and perhaps her coworkers, had seen the results of the investigation that had brought him and Catherine together. He'd deal with that later. But for now Bastion controlled himself and leaned back in the chair Ditomasso had shoved at him the moment the Lieutenant's door had slammed shut. "You don't believe that. You know Catherine better."
Ditomasso shrugged. "I know that she was damn stupid enough to fall for you, then you left her hanging with the brass and easy prey for Vincent when he was looking for payback." He raised his eyebrows. "Where've you been since she was suspended? Oh, that's right. On the cover of the Enquirer and Society with some blonde who hit your sheets before Catherine put her badge down."
Bastion could feel his fury ready to break free, held himself in. "Just tell me where the hell she's at." He'd been stunned when Catherine wasn't at her apartment when he'd gone there tonight to beg her to come back to him, had discovered that she'd never returned there. He'd rousted the building manager, to be told that she'd turned in her code and keys the day after Bastion had her things moved in to the mansion. The manager had held the apartment rather than renting it out, waiting on word from Bastion as owner of the building.
"Why?" Now Ditomasso leaned back in his chair, coldly amused by the desperation he'd seen flicker across the younger man's face. No doubt there was some favor the man needed, some string he still thought Black could pull for him.
Bastion didn't hesitate. "I want her back."
Ditomasso gaped at him. Then he shouted out a laugh. "You cost Black her career as a cop. Hell will freeze over before she'd take you back. Even if I knew where she was I'd never tell you. Get out of my office." He turned his back and ignored the other man's very existence.
September
Catherine finished her cup of coffee, nodded her thanks to the owner of the small diner and put credits down on the counter. She'd gotten into the routine of stopping here for her soy caffeine fix after work. A cup of coffee, back to her one room apartment to change clothes, then a long run on the beach. It was a good way to end the day. She walked the familiar route to the squat building where she lived. The owner had to be making a fortune she mused, walking up to the top floor. Forty, 1 room apartments with two shared bathrooms on each of the four floors, straight fee weekly. Rather than do the math, Catherine just sent a silent congratulations to her landlord on a good business investment.
This part of the eastern coast of Florida had a firm beach that made running a pleasure. The sand wasn't quite as pristine white and soft as she had experienced in holograms with Bastion, but it was the real thing. And there was always something interesting to see as Catherine ran, stretching her legs to cover the ground and keep her body in shape to some small extent. Families came to rent small and large houses fronting the ocean or further back along the streets and small canal ways. Oldsters fished or sat and read discs, sometimes real books. Seashell hunters scavenged, along with seagulls. Other regulars like her ran the beach by the water, going on with their lives.
Her life, Catherine decided, had settled into a passable state. She worked security for a shopping mall, mostly training the various stores' employees what to look for, what to do when a shoplifter struck or a group of unruly teenagers looked ready to cause trouble. Certainly not difficult. There were people who she spoke with, remembered to ask about their family or if they'd caught the new big screen feature just out, and while she'd so far refused to go out on any dates, there were some decent guys she could maybe be interested in … once her heart finished healing in the next hundred years. She'd signed on with a gym and was in demand as a sparring partner for multiple skill-sets, mostly martial art techniques. And she had her daily runs when it was just her, the sand, whatever the weather had to offer, and mind-numbing miles.
It was going on half past eight when she finished and Catherine thought about getting a container of takeout veggie hash as she crossed the street to her building ten blocks back from the ocean, then dismissed the idea. She was saving toward getting a place that had her own bathroom; although the shared shower had a lock on it, the water was never hot enough for her preference, usually turning to cold in a few minutes. Apartments were costly here near the beach, but she'd fallen in love with the water and planned to enjoy it. The thought brought a familiar pang and Catherine briskly snapped her wrist with a tough rubber band – a weird behavior modification technique she'd seen talked about on screen while waiting at the laundry. It hurt and she looked down to study the red mark as she came to her floor and made the turn toward her room.
"Hello, Catherine."
His voice hit her like a tour bus and Catherine stumbled over her own feet as she looked up and forgot to continue her forward movement. Standing in front of her door wearing a designer black suit with a charcoal colored shirt and tie, looking like every woman's dream of a tall dark Prince Charming, Bastion was … there. Just there, standing and waiting. On her. Catherine supposed on her; why else would he be here? She breathed out, wondered what she was supposed to think or do.
"You could say hello back," he suggested when she stood where she was, staring at him.
Catherine ground her teeth together, squared her shoulders. "What do you want, Bastion?" She clamped her jaws together after she got the words out. Whatever it was, she wasn't interested. The hole in her chest hadn't healed yet, but she wasn't stupid enough to pick at the beginnings of the scab.
"We could start with dinner. Have you eaten?" His eyes slid over her, the simple shorts and t-shirt she wore for running making no effort to hide her long legs, the slender torso and curves of her breasts.
"No thanks." His hair was in a braid, making Catherine remember what it felt like to pull the band at the end free, run her fingers through his long silky hair, the feel of it twining through her fingers, a tactile delight. She bit her top lip. "What do you want" she repeated, pushing impatience into her tone. She'd been a cop for ten years, a damn smart juvenile offender before that … so she knew when a man showed up on your doorstep when you hadn't seen him for four months, he wanted something.
Bastion was remembering what it felt like to bite those lips, the noises she made when he did so. "How about a drink," he got out. He kept his foot firmly against her door, rooting himself to the floor. The need to touch her was overwhelming him.
"No food, no drink, Bastion. What are you doing here?" Catherine crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. Since she felt like an idiot standing at the corner of the hallway she strode over and opened her door, although she had no doubt he could have done so probably easier with some small device than she did with the code and key.
Bastion drew in a deep breath, the scent of her reaching to every cell in his body, swore violently and grabbed Catherine to him, lifting her off the hallway floor. Her mouth was exactly how he'd remembered it and he had starved for her taste. He dragged her inside the room he'd already glanced around, slammed the door and locked it before pulling her to the bed. "Say my name again," he demanded, pulling her head backward with a fist in her hair, suckling the soft spot under her jaw that he hadn't experienced in four months. She whispered his name and Bastion shuddered, his bones almost rattling with the convulsion. "God, don't let me be the only one still in love," he begged, pulling back to look down into her honey colored eyes.
She was stunned. Her eyes were huge and shocked and dark like mahogany. Bastion took advantage of her emotional and physical pause, sank his body heavily over hers and claimed her mouth. He'd made it his life's work, those three months he'd had her, to discover what made Catherine shiver, what made her body go pliant and soft beneath his. His tongue stroked hers, enjoying the delights of her mouth, She tasted of coffee and saltwater and he groaned his pleasure. When she started to move under him, a faint gasp of air as he lifted his lips just enough to break their seal, he stroked both hands up her arms and let his fingers caress her ears. Immediately she went limp once more, a small shiver jolting her frame. He sucked her tongue into his own mouth, suckled it, nipped, then fucked her sweet pink tongue with his lips. Now she was responding, her body heating. Cradled between her thighs, his cock reported that wetness was being fast achieved.
"You still love me," he growled, releasing her tongue, chasing it back into her mouth.
She pressed at his shoulders with the flat of her palms. Any time Catherine had ever wanted him to stop, only three times because she had gotten her period and eighteen when her damn communicator was beeping from Dispatch, she'd fisted her hands against his chest. Bastion growled again, burrowed down to suck under her jaw again, enjoying how Catherine made a soft noise of helpless pleasure. "Mine, Catherine. You're mine." He lingered over her neck, licked until the skin was wet and dewed from his mouth. While she writhed, he got her sports bra unhooked, her shirt up, so it only took one smooth pull to take both off her. Even as her eyes popped open and that stunned look came back, he made those honeyed eyes glaze as Bastion drugged her with deeper kisses. Explored her mouth until she was breathless and clinging. At her first tiny moan, when her knees flexed and one sneakered foot drew up his leg, her fingers tentatively, like a moth, touched his throat, he knew he had her.
And Bastion thought he'd never heard anything as sensual as Catherine's bitter complaint that he was wearing too many clothes.
As long as he didn't stop touching her, Catherine was willing to ignore the fact that she was going to hate herself when he left. Whatever he wanted from her, it could wait until she'd gotten to feel him inside of her one last time. Her body burned for him and she deserved the way he made love to her body, one more time. She'd given up everything for him and one last romp in the sack wasn't too much to ask. Right now her fingers were luxuriating in his thick silky hair, using it as a guide to show him where she wanted his mouth on her body. The sound of his voice saying her name, the endearments whispered against her skin, for the moment they were the most important things in the world. He was wild, his lovemaking appearing uncontrolled but she knew he'd already mapped it out. Bastion knew exactly how he would take her, every last position, how many times he wanted to make her come, what he would and wouldn't allow her to do to him in return. She kicked off her running sneaks, scraped her socks off on the rough sheet. When he nibbled at her, his hands scouring down in harsh scrapes until she lifted her hips so he could tear her shorts and panties off, she could only gasp his name and part her legs for him.
It was too fast and he was muttering apologies even as Bastion thrust his fingers through the springy curls between her legs. She was wet and he parted the satin folds, positioned himself at her opening. Unused to such crudity from him, a hurried mating, Bastion felt Catherine tense, her arms crossing behind his neck and a small gasp escape from lips he'd bruised with too much force. He groaned, long, low, feral, pressing inside her. She was tight and he raged gloriously in the knowledge there'd been no one else while they were apart. She tensed more, a whimper, and he made himself stop. She was shaking, and he ran a hand up her side, found her ear and stroked the shell, felt her go involuntarily limp as he'd trained her to do without her ever realizing. He'd planned it for one day when she let him take her sweet ass, but now it benefited him just as well as she relaxed and he could finish driving his dick home. Hot wet tender tissue, muscles that quivered and closed around him like tight velvet. He thrust deep, held himself there to absorb every tremor, his length gusseted by Catherine. "Baby, I love you." He whispered the words, wrapping both arms at her thighs and surging into her further. "Am I hurting you?"
Catherine was panting under him, a hot trembling mess of need. Who the hell cared if he'd hurt her a little? She was screwed up like a pretzel for his pleasure and she was definitely ready for mustard. "Just make me come, Bastion," she choked out. "I can't even move." And then he pulled back and she got in a breath right before he glided back home in one strong steady barraging flood. She made a noise somewhere between a squirrel and a chipmunk fighting, added a chirp in there, and then screeched as he moved those long fingers between their bodies and rubbed at the plump flesh covering her clitoris. "Oh, oh, oh," she moaned, heading tilting back.
He separated the folds, found her sweet button and pinched it lightly. Was rewarded with another whimpering whine that told him she was going to come so sweet and hot that he'd be drenched in syrup. Bastion squeezed her lightly, repeatedly between thumb and forefinger, thrusting his cock in short strokes, his balls so damn heavy and tight he was almost screaming himself. Just once. He needed her to come just once and he could let go. But she had to be satisfied. Now wasn't the time to perform anything less than perfectly. Catherine had never been a sure thing. Making her come was one of the things he gave her that no one else would ever be allowed to do. Bastion pumped her harder, felt himself on the edge, and switched to using his palm heavily over her sensitive mound.
Catherine arched back and screamed as she flew apart. Her lower body quivered and her thighs spread further apart as Bastion rammed himself home, shooting as far up into her as he could go, the hot spurts making her body milk him harder, faster. She gripped his shoulders, wet with sweat, her hips arching and bumping, harsh "ohohoh" sounds escaping from her throat. At some point she stopped breathing, just felt like her insides had been washed through with lava, followed by a cold dousing waterfall over her body. She clutched him, then slid away into a blue plain of warm syrupy sensation.
He had her against the wall when she half opened her eyes. Kneeling on her rent by the week bed, he was growing inside of her, thrusting in contented motions while he waited on her. It was a familiar and she felt herself gushing cream as he fucked her slowly. More dazed, as always dazzled by the orgasms he tore from her, she rested her head back against the wall and opened her eyes. Blue, that arctic blue that seemed to heat when he looked at her, like now. "Bastion." Just his name. Where had he come from? Why was he here? Unless he wanted to shoplift a pair of wingtips, she had no power for him to borrow down here in Florida. Her ability to get him out of a parking ticket was still in Columbus City.
"You're tight." His eyes watched her face. His body never ceased the slow mating, thrust, withdraw, and thrust again. "Just like our first time. And after your menses. You have to let me have you during that time, Catherine. Five days without you is too long." Bastion's words were low, his lips moving from one corner of her mouth to the other, keeping rhythm with his possession of her body.
Huh? But all she got out was a moan. Then she remembered. Her first period after they started their entanglement. He'd about ripped the apartment in two where she'd been living apart when she'd refused him during that time. The next two times, after she'd moved in with him, hadn't been much better. It was just not her thing. And frankly it was kind of nice to be cuddled and snuggled without the sex dynamo that was Bastion St. Newton. "I don't think so."
He growled, continued the butterfly kisses over her face. Catherine contented herself with running her fingers through his hair, her thighs clenching at his hips as he continued moving inside of her. Loving her. The words caught her attention and she felt her eyes go wide. He'd been waiting for that, her realization climbing through the wet blinding ooze he seemed to be able to surround Catherine with when they had sex. Bastion pulled his head back, eyes locked on hers, blazing blue fire to stunned honey brown. "I was a jackass toward you. It won't happen again, Cat."
His mouth claimed hers once more. Their tongues played, touch and withdrawal, strokes over the top and both sides, then easy movements moistly duplicating Bastion's hard possession of her, building toward a hurrying sensual assault that had Catherine moaning and mewling as he took her over the edge once again. The words, "I love you," echoed in their ears, neither one sure if it was said, or simply felt.
"Your job is waiting for you back in Columbus," Bastion told her, content to be next to her on the narrow bed, fingertips rediscovering every inch of her. "No Review, no suspension, your office still a hole in the wall and the computer a piece of crap. I can get you a top of the line model," he added.
Catherine opened her eyes, narrowed them on his beautiful face. "And how did you manage that?"
"I paid Chief Smith double what he could get for certain business investments, so he's agreed to drop internal charges. I told Vincent's people that I'd have him killed in prison if they go through with civil prosecution, much less push the assault complaint. Your name is suddenly good again." It was much more complicated and once Vincent's threats were muted there had been other negotiations, but Bastion would have done far more to make things right. He stroked her soft skin. He needed to get her fed; Catherine felt better against him with a little more meat on her. "Were you purposefully hiding from me?" Only when her quarterly employment taxes had been filed had Bastion's investigators been able to track Catherine's whereabouts. He'd feared that she'd left the planet all together, making it that much harder for him to track her down.
Catherine shook her head. Her fingers were traveling the muscles of his arm, enjoying the hardness of him, the heat of his body as Bastion leaned over her. His eyes were intent as he memorized her body. She could definitely hear a lecture on not eating enough in her future. "I wanted to see the ocean. So I came here. This place," she looked around the one room apartment, "it doesn't require documentation. Work …" she felt a flicker of embarrassment and stopped. When they'd met she had been someone, a Detective with CCPD, proud and powerful. Now, even if he had wiped away the suspension, had secured her job back, she was less.
"Is how I finally found you." He saw her distress on her lovely face, wondered at it. The possibilities were numerous and he knew she'd not tell him; she had barely started to share her thoughts when he'd destroyed what they had. Bastion let out a long breath, pushed her sweaty hair back from her cheek. "Come home with me, Catherine. I can't do without you and I was a fool to push you away."
"Cops don't make good spouses." Catherine had wanted to be a cop, a good cop, since she was young. She studied his eyes, drowning in the brilliant blue, admitting to herself that she wanted him with perhaps equal intensity.
"I'll take my chances." Bastion leaned to kiss her, tasting her, recognizing that he had come home in her arms. "Be my cop, Catherine. We can live together. As long as I'm who you come home to, that will be enough." He waited for her eyes to meet his, the long moments of consideration, then the final nod of consent. The first step was getting her back under the same roof, Bastion assured himself. He'd convince her to marry him soon enough. A clever man was never without options.