Turned out that I didn't have time to think about celibacy for the rest of the week because the body turned up for the missing lieutenant. LaSalle and I had a long car chase through Mandeville, finally catching up and tackling two thugs who didn't have the brain cells of a possum between them. One was a brawny ex-underwater welder who thought he could make a fortune patenting the re-breather overseas, mostly to a Chinese market.

I felt sorry for the lieutenant who'd been strangled by the other one posing as a boyfriend and made it a point to contact her relatives and help them get some closure. Never an upbeat part of the job but I know my duty and get it done out of basic human decency. The happier note by Friday was that Sebastian would be coming to Thanksgiving, which pleased everyone, Loretta the most.

"Still a little annoyed, but just seeing Sebastian again will do me good," she admitted to me as she helped me get the holiday dishes out of the cupboard on Friday afternoon.

"Same here," I assured her. "He's making it his own way and that's all anybody can ask of a person."

Loretta nodded. She shot me a look that made me sigh and turn to her-one of those 'going to ask you a serious question' looks I know so well.

"So," she began, looking a little unsure of herself, which was a first. "You and Simone . . . still keeping the relationship a secret?"

"Until she wants to bring it out in the open, yeah," I replied, brushing my hands on my apron. "It's her call, basically."

"You two can't keep it hidden forever," Loretta pointed out. "Especially over a very personal meal like Thanksgiving. Maybe the pair of you need to consider sharing it."

"I'll talk to her," I agreed, wondering where the gravy boat was, and how the hell I was going to sleep in the same bed as Simone this weekend without wanting to get frisky.

"You do that," Loretta agreed, "Because if I know your team, they're already starting to wonder about your weekends."

"Yeah, I get that," I admitted, pulling the big glass platter out. "But because someone else is in the equation I can't make the decision on my own."

"Well figure it out and let me know," Loretta grumbled. "I don't want to spill the beans inadvertently."

"Will do. Have you seen the gravy boat?"

I figured the best way to survive the weekend was to tire ourselves out, so I took Simone to a local nursery where we picked up material for a few raised vegetable beds, a pair of young Savannah Holly trees and gardening odds and ends. It took us most of the day to get everything laid out nicely.

I brought up the subject of letting the team know as we finished our dinner of corn salad and ribs, waiting to see what Simone thought.

She frowned a little. "Do they have to know?"

"About us? I think so. The baby . . . not so much. Not yet, anyway. Gonna be hard to hide that later along," I pointed out to her.

"What if . . . what if they don't approve?" Simone wanted to know, looking worried. "After all, they care a lot about you and I'm sure they've got opinions about . . . your love life."

I thought about that, trying not to smirk too much. "Yeah I'm sure they've got opinions and yes they care but there are two factors here that you need to take into consideration. First of all, I'm happy with you. You're good for my mood, good for my body and soul. Nobody's opinion is gonna change that. And second, you're an amazing woman in your own right, Simone. You're smart and kind and in a career where you do the right things for the right reasons, same as my team. Quit underselling yourself, all right sweetheart?"

She shook her head but grinned at me. "Who's good for who here? Thank you, Dwayne. So yes, I suppose we should tell them. But nothing too . . . dramatic, all right?"

I agreed and we did the dishes. Later when it was time to go to bed I was amused to see Simone decked in pajamas. Pink silk but still, a lot of my favorite body was covered up now and I cocked my head gazing at her. "That's a new look."

"I don't want to tempt either one of us," she confessed. "In fact I was going to suggest you may want to head back to your own bed if you think it's too much . . ."

"I'm old enough to control myself," I sighed. "Whether I like it or not. And frankly I sleep better with you than without you." It was true; having Simone to hang onto instead of a pillow did wonders for my rest. Something about nocturnal companionship worked for me.

"Me too," she agreed, and slipped into bed next to me.

At some point in the night I woke up because I heard a sound. I lay still, trying to catch it again and realized it was Simone. Spooned as I was around her it was easy to hear her low whimpers of distress and I realized she was crying . . . but still asleep. Carefully I tightened my arm around her in a light, comforting squeeze.

She relaxed, and rolled towards me, burrowing against my chest. I felt her tears against my bare chest and debated waking her up to ask what was wrong, but didn't. It could wait until morning, I reasoned but I worried about it until I fell asleep myself.

Sunday meant waffles, coffee and the newspaper. Much as I love the internet it's nice to sit down with news you can take in at your own pace. Simone squeezed orange juice, I cooked and we had a quiet, companionable breakfast together, each of us caught up in our own sections of the Times-Picayune before heading out for the pre-Thanksgiving grocery shopping.

I looked over at her, watching Simone for a moment as she traced a finger on article. Without looking up she murmured, "Stop undressing me with your eyes, Dwayne."

"It's the only way I can undress you," I grumbled, but lightly. "For the moment anyway."

"Soon," she replied, glancing up at me and winking.

"Not soon enough," I pretended to grumble. Holding her gaze I added, "You had a nightmare last night."

Simone dropped her gaze. "Yes. I hate them . . . I'm running from monsters and can't get away. I suppose a therapist would have a field day diagnosing me."

I shrugged. "We all have 'em. Even I do . . . mostly dreams where I don't get to someone in time, don't save 'em."My tone was bleak but I was honest.

She reached across the table for my hand. "Those sound scarier than mine."

"That's why I'm glad they're not real," I said. "Waking up helps a lot."

"Ever the realist," Simone smiled. "No wonder I . . . care about you."

So close. She almost said it, and we both knew it. I squeezed her hand before letting it go and getting back to the sports page, smiling to myself.

-oo00oo—

Finally the Wednesday arrived and I did too for my nine o'clock appointment. I was grateful that Joe, the front desk receptionist was calm and discreet, bringing me into a room that looked like a bedroom more than anything else.

"No rush," he repeated for the third time. "Nobody else is booked so there's no pressure Mr. Pride. We have a selection of stimulus—" he handed me a remote for a wall mounted TV, "—and as much time as you like. Sample cups and lube are here," he waved to a bedside table, "and I suggest you fill in the label first. Set it on the ledge over there and press the buzzer when you're ready."

"Thanks," I muttered, feeling more embarrassed than I ever had in my life.

Joe gave a shrug. "Basic biology for one of the best reasons in the world, sir. Think of it that way."

He left, letting me lock the door behind him and I sighed. Normally I did this sort of thing in the shower—had the practicality of being washed away afterwards. But, given that I'd been masturbating for nearly forty-four years I was pretty familiar with my own technique and could manage it anywhere. I filled out the label on the cup, stretched out on the bed, undid my belt and tugged my jeans down, feeling foolish and nervous.

Porn? I didn't think so. Never much appealed to me; most of the performers were always so over-dramatic. I closed my eyes and concentrated on Simone instead, feeling a surge of heat at that thought.

My phone pinged. Annoyed I checked it to find a text from the woman herself: Need help?

Could use a hand. YOUR hand.

I'll go you one better.

A photo popped up on my phone screen and I gasped. An upskirt shot of familiar parted thighs and black lace panties. Yeah that would work . . . I gripped my surging erection, feeling urgent.

Helpful?

You're turning me into a pervert. I texted back before reaching for the lube and coating my impatient cock.

Another photo, this time with Simone's hand tugging the crotch of her panties aside and matters got more intense pretty quickly. Part of it was having abstained for a while of course, but another part was that I just didn't do this sort of thing and the shameful thrill of it pushed a few buttons for me. I gave into the pleasure and a while later remembered to grab the cup in time, managing a decent sample even as I groaned through my orgasm.

I set it aside, used wipes to clean the lube and dribbles up before picking up my phone again.

The things I DO for you. Thank you, mon ange.

You're welcome. Now delete them before LaSalle finds them.

I laughed, and did.