To Serve and Protect

"But what if I had been lying? What if I was fifty and ugly and married to some foul mouthed redneck with two teeth and a mean temper?"

"Then, I would have lost nothing, would I?" He faced her. "I didn't have you while I hesitated. If you weren't what you advertised, I was out nothing but a false dream. You can't gain without risk, Mags."

"And I thought you were just being romantic."

"When you think about it, romance is mostly risk. You toss your heart into the ring, do some wonderfully stupid stuff, and pray the other person is touched."

"But romance doesn't often work out, does it?"

He sipped his beer. "Think about it. Think of the thousands of people you've met in your life. Start in pre-school and work forward, male and female. Out of those thousands, you've actually liked a few hundred--if you're lucky. Out of those few hundred, you've felt strongly about a handful." He held up his hand to show her. "Out of those, one, maybe two, you've actually loved. No, romance doesn't often work out. The failure rate is tremendous. There are a lot of psychologists who make a good living sorting through the failures, as if people were supposed to succeed often. If love were a business, we'd all go bankrupt." He laughed, a good laugh. "Any time you stretch you heart to make a connection, the odds are you will never make it. Fact of life. Should you stop stretching? I don't think so. You recognize the risk, the loss, and smile in the mirror."

His words carried a weight she had never felt before. If she concentrated on the words, he didn't sound much like a romantic. Yet, he had driven so far.

"Am I worth the risk?" she asked.

"Let's look at it this way. If someone had suggested that I would be sipping beer in a hot tub with a beautiful blonde, I'd have driven down here months ago."

"You should have."

"I told you. I'm not a big risk taker."

"Why not? You seem to understand it so well."

"Give me your hand."

She hesitated only a moment before she reached out to him. He clasped her hand and held it.

"Think about this. You're alone and naked with a strange man in a swirling hot tub. No one knows he's here. He's bigger, stronger, and demonstrably unpredictable. If he wanted to harm you, what are the chances you could stop him?"

A queasy feeling erupted in her stomach. While she might be combat savvy on land, in the water, superior strength might prove telling.

"You're safe," he said. "I'm really a nice guy. But I think far too much. When I stop to consider all the ways my heart and body might be broken, I become paralyzed. I can't move. Neither can you."

She pulled herself across the tub and sat by his side, almost but not quite touching.

"How's that for risk taking," she laughed.

He laughed and sipped his beer. The moonlight cast shadows that rendered him even more handsome. He turned and smiled and slowly brought his face to hers, his lips finding hers. His kiss was gentle and tentative, far different from the kisses she had become accustomed to, those mashed lips and clicking teeth kisses of some guys. Despite the heat, a chill bubbled up her spine.

"That was nice," she said.

"Delicious."

"Do you always kiss the cops who stop you?"

"If they were as pretty as you, I'd do a lot more than kiss."

"Like what?"

Her heart was beginning to beat faster. The romantic two-step had begun, that flirtatious dance of passion and desire. She smiled, waiting. He smiled, his eyes locked on hers. The moment of risk had arrived again. What would he do?

His face slowly approached hers. His lips found her, and her first taste of him reminded her of chlorine. She started to laugh, unable to control herself. One of the most romantic moments of her life had been reduced to pool water.

"What?" he asked. "Something I said."

"Your lips," she managed to say. "They taste like chlorine."

He chuckled, and the chuckle grew into a laugh. "Chlorine," he said. "Well, I guess that's too damn bad."

She was amazed by his speed, the way he turned and took her hair and brought her lips to his. Despite the sheer power of the kiss, it was not hard, not the teeth rattling kiss some men planted on her. Firm, sensuous, the kiss sent an electric shock running the length of her body. She didn't know why, but the kiss was much more than a kiss. It was sheer energy, passion. She found herself eagerly returning the kiss, wanting to help him feel what she felt. Was it legal to feel so alive?

She sensed his hand before she felt it. His fingers displaced the water by her breast, sending currents dancing over her nipple and skin. The brief warning kept her from jumping when those fingertips brushed her nipple, making it tingle with need. As those magic fingers massaged her nipple and made it grow, she let her tongue brush against his teeth, feeling his mouth. French kissing had never been a big turn on for her, but for some reason, she wanted to explore his mouth, wanted his tongue to explore hers. The fire inside burned a little brighter. His hand seemed to draw her nipple from her breast, making it harder and longer than she could remember. How did he know she loved to have her breasts rubbed and stroked and touched? How did he know how sensitive her nipples were? How could he know?

The kiss broke, but his hand stayed on her breast, kneading, rearing. She took a sip of beer, but it couldn't douse the burning inside.

"Like that?" he asked.

She nodded, unsure of her voice. If she tried to speak, she was afraid her voice would crack or simply not exist. His hand moved to her other breast, to the finger-starved nipple. She wondered if he could touch her all night, if she could orgasm beneath the stars as he treated her body like an altar.

"You have beautiful breasts," he said. "I want to kiss them."

"Yessssssssss," she whispered.

He turned her and brought her around to sit on his lap, her upper body clear of the warm, swirling currents. As water dripped from her nipple, he caught the drops on his tongue, until a single drop hung like glass from her hard tip. His tongue moved slowly, delicately, until it touched the drop without touching the skin, and the drop slid into his mouth. She quivered. She had never had any man worship her breasts so. His tongue flicked her nipple, and she moaned. The tongue tip swirled and circled and tiptoed around her nipple, making it ache for more. She felt as if her nipples had swollen so tight they threatened to explode. So much blood surged through her breasts, the pain seemed unbearable. But the pain was utterly delicious, a throbbing she wished would never go away.

His tongue was a kind of tease, a creature that began to ooze over her skin. Her skin was so engorged and sensitive that she swore she could feel every little bump and valley of that tongue. His tongue seemed like sandpaper, roughly making her gasp with delight. What was he doing? How could a tongue do that to her. She scooted closer to push her breast into his warm mouth, and for the first time she felt the shaft. Hard, thick, it brushed her hair, and a new thrill rushed through her. She felt a sudden urge to grab him and use him, but she resisted. She wanted this exquisite torture to last, to ferry her through the moonlight until dawn chased the stars from the sky. Shivering, reining in her desire, she let his mouth overwhelm her breast. A scream welled up in her throat. Pure joy sang like a soprano through her nerves. His lips and tongue and teeth formed a symphony that made her breast sing with fever. What was he doing? Why did she care? His mouth moved from one breast to the other. She moaned. She panted. She gripped the feeling with both hands and held on for sheer life. This was the passion she had sought through the years. And yet, as good as it was, she knew it was only beginning.

With a wonderful nibble he pulled back. "Lie back," he said. "I want you to float."

She leaned back, and he caught her, helping her float on the bubbles and currents. The water rushing along her back felt like creatures running over her skin.

"Close your eyes."

She closed her eyes, feeling herself being split in half. The half in the water was warm and floating and stimulated. The half in the air felt cool, wafted by the night breeze. Her nipples sipped at the air. Her thighs radiated heat. She floated, his hand under her. She felt his other hand begin to splash water on her body. Not general splashing, specific splashing, shooting water across her nipples, sliding over her sensitive skin. The water heated her for an instant before slipping away and exposing her to the cool. The alternating hot and cold made her heart beat faster. Like a light being switched on and off, her body reacted to the changes, seeking to accommodate the water. The feeling was exotic, something she had never experienced before. Hot and cold and rocking, floating, almost without any weight at all. Bubbles nibbling at her skin, tribbles dancing across her back and legs. Warm water cascading over breasts and tummy and thighs. The feeling seeped into her pores, leaped across nerve endings, and soothed her.

She wasn't sure what happened next. She had no idea how he achieved the feeling. Perhaps the combination of alcohol, heat, cool, and attention created some chemical reaction in her brain. Perhaps her subconscious leaped to the forefront and commandeered her senses. She could never be sure. She could only be sure of the effect, what happened to her.

What she became aware of was the separation of her being. One moment, she was Mags, the cop, complete and glued together. The next moment, she felt herself sinking, collapsing in upon herself. The moon dimmed and disappeared. The stars winked out. The night sounds faded. For a moment, she was completely immersed in the dark, in the night. The feeling was eerie, and yet, she wasn't afraid. She felt safe and perhaps...liberated. Yes, she felt free, completely and utterly free. It was as if she had shed her cares with her body. No little nit nagged at her, no small pain. She existed in that between world, that world between waking and asleep.

Then, before she could luxuriate in that between universe, she popped back into the night. Only, this time, she was no longer inside her body. By some defiance of time and space, she had popped out of herself. Instead of being locked inside, she was outside, floating, looking down at herself and him. She watched her body float, watched him splash hot water over her. Her body shivered even though she wasn't inside, and her nipples arched into the steam. His shoulders gleamed with sweat. His hair hung down across his face. She looked like a blonde angel, her hair spread out around her head. He was some dark haired god ministering to that angel. The most erotic scene she had ever witnessed, she watched, fascinated by it. Despite the fact she no longer had a body, her mind reveled in the scene. God, they were soooo sexy.

She floated, watching them, with them and yet apart. The feeling was unique and not frightening--until she thought about returning. How would she return to her body?

While the scene below seemed incredibly beautiful, it was something viewed, something watched, not something enjoyed. Watching brought limited satisfaction. She wanted to feel those hands and lips and tongue. She wanted to experience, and so, almost as if conscious, she willed herself back into her body, back into that floating altar where he worshiped. As if she had never been away, she found herself back in that body, feeling those swollen nipples that ached with need, the fire deep inside. The ache and need felt more delicious than the floating. God, she loved his touch.

"Don't move," he told her.

She floated as he moved away for a moment. Then, the air bubbles shifted into high gear, creating that foaming, churning bath that bouyed her, massaging her.

"Like that?" he asked as he sucked her nipple.

"Yesssss."

With gentle slowness he pulled her to one side, testing the bubbles, positioning her body until a stream of rising bubbles caressed her bottom, slipping along the groove and up her front, a steady stream of erotic visitors to stimulate her most sensitive flesh. She quivered as the bubbles cavorted against her body, tiny effervescent messengers of pleasure. The stimulation began to build. That cavalcade of bubbles rubbed her incessantly. She had never found the bubbles so exciting before, so passionate. She let her legs drift apart to allow the bubbles full access, to let them twist along her folds. She watched him place his hand in the flow, directing the bubbles inside her. She wanted to scream. Those tiny air pearls penetrated, stimulated, felt alive inside her, roaming only to be released to bubble to the surface. The feeling was heavenly. She couldn't remember being so stimulated, so alive. She wanted to squirm, but she didn't dare. She wanted those tiny visitors to find her, use her. Her heart began to beat faster. Holding still required as much will power as she could muster. Desire mushroomed inside her; passion swelled. Every nerve and muscle wanted to move, but she couldn't. To move was to lose the delicate stream of hot bubbles. His lips and teeth raked her nipples. She suppressed her scream. The moon hung like a light overhead, and she concentrated on its beauty as her need soared.

"Take me," she gasped. "Take me."

He stood, and she saw how excited he was, how hard. She wanted to touch him, but he pushed her hand away. With slow care, he moved around and between her legs. She spread for him, seeking him, her body still floating. Then, she felt him, his masculinity brushed her. Waves of heat and desire wafted through her. She felt her body open like a second mouth to suck in him. His hands found her bottom as he sank into her, as her greedy body devoured him.

She had never known anything quite so sensual. She floated on the water while he gently stroked her, mingling bubble and heat and water inside her. The slapping sound excited her. The desire demonstrated by his body excited her. She felt her body clasp and unclasp, compressing the water around him, finding a heat she hadn't know possible. His hands kneaded her bottom. Her nipples, exposed to the air tingled with anticipation. The water inside her seemed to amplify his throbs. She sensed the pounding of his heart.

Her orgasm was real and alive, and it pounced upon her quickly. Uncontrollable, it surged through her.

"Oh god, now," she gasped. "Now!"

He didn't need urging. He was ready, more than ready. She clamped down like a vise as he shot bubbles of heat into her body, his chest shuddering with the effort. A muffled scream escaped her as her orgasm rushed to find his seed. She felt as if the thing were alive, greedy, hungry. It sought to feed on him, use him, own him. Like fireworks, it lit up the sky for a brief intense moment. It was the explosion of unexpected lust.