9 comments/ 17398 views/ 1 favorites A Lonely Place By: jocarmichael George slowly stirred his coffee. He brought the spoon up, then plunged it back down, over and over. He stared at his hand making the motion. He felt dead. Seventy-two hours on duty, with a grand total of 3 hours of bad sleep. "I'm getting too old for this," he said. He dropped the spoon into the coffee, and rubbed his hands over his face and through his curly brown hair. "Something wrong with the coffee?" asked the diner waitress, snapping her gum. George let his hands fall to the table. "No, coffee's fine, thanks," he said wearily. The waitress walked away. George stared out the window at the street. Another waitress came by a few minutes later with his toast and eggs. She plunked the plate down in front of him. George nodded his thanks. He picked up his fork, diving into his eggs when he noticed the waitress was staring at him. He stared back, chewing. "Don't you remember me?" she asked with a coy smile. George looked at her nametag. Angela. He rolled the name around in his tired brain. Nothing. He swallowed his eggs loudly. She was pretty, too. Shit. "No, sorry, I don't," he went back to his food, then dropped his fork with a clatter, and looked up at her again. "Should I, Angela?" Angela's face had fallen slightly. "Well, you should," she said. She leaned close to George's ear. "My name's not Angela. It's Carmen. And I know that you have a scar on your left hip, a long thin one," she whispered. Her breath ruffled the hair on his temple. She straightened. George's stomach dropped. He took a closer look at Angela/ Carmen. He recognized her now. Her hair was shorter and lighter brown, and she had put on some weight. She looked a lot healthier than the last time he saw her. "Hello, Carmen," he said cautiously. "Hello, Patrick," Carmen said. Her face regained its smile. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK, George thought. She thought he was Patrick. Christ, he didn't need this right now. "Uh, Carmen," he started to say. She slid into the seat across from him. He felt her foot deftly slide up the inside of his leg, to his groin. George grunted, reached down and gripped her ankle hard. Carmen smiled wickedly, taunting him. "Been awhile, hasn't it, Patrick? Oh, don't worry, I have no hard feelings," she said. She pressed her foot forward, against his cock. George was too exhausted, and too pissed, to respond. His grip tightened. "It has, Carmen," he practically spat. "Touchy aren't we? No big deal." Carmen pulled her leg back. George released her ankle, as she knew he would. "But then, you always had a bit of a temper. I liked you anyway. You were different from all the other thugs I ran with. I knew you would never hurt me." The smile had left. She studied George carefully, a serious look settling on her face. George had forgotten that Carmen often showed more bravado than she actually felt. He relaxed a little. "Listen, Carmen, we really can't-" "Pick up where we left off? Never expected us to," she interrupted. "Angela! Get a move on! Customers are waiting!" yelled a female voice from behind the counter. Carmen rolled her eyes and stood. "Stick around for half an hour, and we can talk more. If you want," she said. George saw lines in her forehead and around her eyes that hadn't been there two years ago. She looked as weary as he felt. "Yeah. I'd like that," he said. Carmen walked off, patting his shoulder as she walked by. Without much choice in the matter, he was going to be Patrick again. Half an hour later, Carmen came back George's booth, where he was nursing his third cup of coffee. She jerked her head towards the door, and walked out, swinging a long coat on over her waitress uniform. George grabbed his leather jacket and followed. "There's a park nearby, that has one of those outdoor theatre things. It's usually quiet," she said once they were outside the diner. "Yeah, sounds great," George said. He walked along side Carmen, hands shoved in his coat pockets. Carmen lit up a cigarette, and hunched against the stiff autumn breeze. They walked in silence to the park. The sun had begun to set over the trees as they trudged along the broken path of stones to the outdoor theatre. By the time they got out to their destination, twilight had settled over them, and Carmen had smoked three cigarettes. She sat down on the lowest bench, looking up at George. He wasn't sure what to say now that they were alone. He scuffed his sneaker toe on the ground, kicking up some dirt. Carmen patted the bench next to her. "I don't bite," she said kindly. "And I won't molest you again, unless you want me to." "Promise?" "Promise." George sat down next to Carmen. The silence stretched on for a few more minutes. "So... why Angela?" he finally asked lamely. Carmen snickered. "I needed an new identity. I couldn't continue being Carmen Ruiz, not after Tommy Callaghan and all them went down. Not all of the gang was thrown in prison, there were still some smaller fish still swimming around that might still want a piece of me. I barely wiggled free of the mess by rolling on the entire gang. I had wanted out for a while anyway. After the trial, I picked a name that had a measure of irony and moved on with my life. Thankfully, the smaller fish are too dumb, or really just don't care enough, to find me." "I'd bet on dumb before apathy," George said. "There's a reason they were small fish. They haven't managed to get the gang back together. Too many squabbles, and too much machismo." "Where did you go, Patrick? I mean, you just up and disappeared right before the raid. Did you know the Feds were coming after us?" Carmen narrowed her eyes and looked at George shrewdly. He sighed heavily. "Nah, I got picked up the day before. Unrelated charges, until some blabbermouth in the jail said something about seeing me with Tommy. They had me between a rock and a hard place. I had to turn," George lied. He watched Carmen out of the corner of his eye to see if she bought it. She shrugged. "Doesn't much matter now, I guess. We're both out of the life. You are out, aren't you?" Carmen asked, alarmed. "Yes, Carmen, I'm out of the life. I've gone straight," George said with a smile. Carmen nodded with approval. "Good. You were too good for it, I could tell. You weren't brought up in it like I was." George snorted internally. Ain't that the truth, he thought. In the scant moonlight, he studied Carmen's profile. The extra weight filled out her face, making her more feminine and softer than he remembered. Now, she was pretty, whereas two years ago she had been striking in an oddly androgynous way. "You look good, Carmen," he said truthfully. "I've gained weight. I don't fit into those slinky clothes the boys like anymore. I look like someone's mother." "Those slinky clothes only attracted the wrong sort of boys, if I remember correctly." "They attracted you, didn't they?" "No, your attitude problem attracted me, Carmen," George said with a laugh. Carmen laughed with him. "Besides, even if you were someone's mother, I'd still sleep with you." "Thanks, Patrick," she said, still laughing. It was getting colder. Carmen pulled her coat tighter around herself, shivering. George shifted closer to her, wrapped his arms around her. She leaned into him. "Always a gentleman," she murmured. She rested her head against his chest. He kissed the top of her head. "My mother taught me well," he said quietly. He enjoyed the feeling of her new curves under her coat. "I never had chance to tell you, Patrick. I loved you. You broke my heart when you left. I thought you left because of me, that I did something wrong. I always thought you were better than me, and you finally realized it," Carmen whispered. George hugged her tighter. "I never thought that. And I didn't leave because of it." George toyed with the idea of telling her the truth. Carmen, I'm a Federal agent. My name's not Patrick, it's George, and I was undercover when you met me. I did love you, Carmen. I think I still do. He couldn't do it. He couldn't tell her the truth. He couldn't risk blowing his cover in case he needed it again. "I'm so sorry, Carmen," he whispered. He tilted her head upwards, fingers under her chin. Tears had fallen down her cheeks. George used the pad of his thumb to wipe them away. He bent his head down and kissed her. He tasted the salt from her tears, and the traces of the cigarettes she had been smoking, strangely sweet. He pressed his lips a little harder against hers. She opened them slightly under the pressure, and he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. Her tongue played along his, twisting in a familiar dance. He felt her press her body against his, heat seeping into his clothes. His hand wandered lower, from her jaw to along her neck, to cup her breast. He gently massaged it, feeling the nipple harden under his palm. Carmen moaned against his mouth. George pulled his lips away from hers. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her breathing ragged. George felt his cock coming to life, constricted by his jeans. He found himself enjoying the new curves Carmen had acquired. "Your place or mine?" Carmen asked with that wicked grin. "Yours. Mine's a disaster," George said. Carmen looked slightly startled. "I thought we weren't going to pick up where we left off?" "I lied," George said as he stood, pulling Carmen with him. "Let's go, before my erection cuts off the circulation to my legs." Carmen threw her head back and laughed, rich and throaty. She allowed herself to be pulled along by George. Her apartment was within walking distance of the park. They kissed and teased each other the half mile there, tugging on each other's clothes, caressing. George came close to flipping up that waitress uniform and plunging himself into Carmen in several doorways. Carmen's apartment was small, but cozy and warm. It was a studio, with a full size bed in the middle under the main window. Carmen pulled the curtains shut, before yanking George fully against her body, and falling backwards onto the cheerful orange patchwork quilt. She spread her legs, allowing George to settle between them. She reached down between their bodies, rubbing her hand against George's cock. He groaned, and kissed her hard. She unbuttoned his jeans, then undid his zipper. She placed her hand inside his fly, and palmed his erection through the cotton of his boxers. George ground himself against her hand. He wrenched his lips from hers. Her lips were red, and swollen. He stood, and took off his jacket. Carmen propped herself on her elbows, and watched him from the bed. He kicked off his sneakers into a corner. He slid his hands under the hem of his white t-shirt, teasingly pulling it up. He pulled it up to mid-chest, then let it fall, while running his hands over his belly and chest. Carmen got fed up, and jerked it over his head. She kissed his mouth, running her tongue along his lips. "Coffee. How interesting," she said. She kissed along his jaw, down his throat, licking his Adam's apple. She kissed a trail down his chest and stomach, then back up, sucking lightly on one nipple while rolling the other between her fingers. George pushed himself against Carmen's mouth. She switched nipples, using her teeth this time to bring it erect. George groaned loudly. Carmen left his nipples, and kissed him on the mouth. While doing so, she slid his jeans off. They landed on the floor, and George stepped out of them. He unzipped the front of her dress, then spread it open. He cupped her breasts through the lacy beige bra, feeling their weight. Carmen took off the uniform, then lay back down on the bed. George followed, leaning over her. He pulled the lace to the side on one breast, and bent his head to take the nipple into his mouth. He sucked on it hard. Carmen gasped, and plunged her hands into George's hair. She arched her back. George sucked harder, then moved to his mouth to the other nipple. He mimicked Carmen's rolling motion with his fingers on the free nipple. Carmen writhed underneath him. He wanted to be inside her so badly it hurt. He skimmed his fingers over her stomach, down under the elastic of her panties, into her pubic hair. He felt for her slit, and slid his fingers inside when he found it. Carmen jerked underneath him, pulling his hair. She was soaking wet, and hot. George slipped two fingers inside her. He decided that neither of them could wait anymore. He stood, and pulled Carmen's panties off. She unhooked her bra and tossed it to the side while he impatiently yanked his boxers off. Carmen leaned over to the nightstand, and got a condom out of the drawer. "I hope it fits," she said, handing it to George. He merely gave her a grin as wicked as hers was earlier. He ripped open the package carefully, and unrolled it onto his cock. Carmen watched him lazily. She ran her fingers over the scar on his hip. He stroked his hand up and down twice for her benefit. Carmen lay down as George lay on top of her. She flipped George onto his back in a quick move that surprised him. "Still limber, I see," he remarked sardonically. Carmen shushed him with her mouth. She straddled his hips, and wrapped a hand around his shaft, guiding him inside. She slid down him slowly, eyes closed. She paused a moment once he was entirely inside her, then lifted herself upwards, stopping again once she was at his tip. She rode George excruciatingly slowly. His fingers dug into her hips, trying to urge her faster. She ignored him. She pushed herself up and down at her own pace, striving towards her release. George's fingers wandered between her lips, and found her clit. He worked it with the tip of his finger, pushing it up from underneath. Carmen threw her head back, and thrust herself faster onto George. He smiled to himself, thinking this was much better. George thrust himself into Carmen hard, his back arching. The bed springs squeaked in protest. Carmen continued to ride him hard, pumping herself against George's cock and his fingers. She let loose a howl of pleasure as she climaxed. Her vagina squeezed tight around George's erection in waves. George thrust into Carmen several more times before he came to his own climax. He gritted his teeth against screaming, but a small whimper still escaped. His cock twitched with aftershocks. Carmen had fallen forward and to the side, half draping herself over George. He gently pushed her off. He carefully withdrew his now limp dick, taking the condom off and throwing it in the trashcan. He pulled Carmen into his arms, caressing her bare skin. Their breathing was returning to normal. "Just like old times, huh George?" Carmen said into his shoulder. "Uh huh, just like old times," George said sleepily. He cuddled Carmen close, drifting off to sleep, when the fact that she just called him George finally sifted through. His eyes snapped open, and he jumped off the bed. "What did you just call me?" he demanded. Carmen rolled over onto her back, and stretched like a well-satisfied cat. "I know your name isn't Patrick. It's George St. Germaine." George stared at Carmen, his mouth hanging open. Not much surprised him anymore, but he'd also never had his cover blown so spectacularly before. "How did you find out?" he managed to say. Carmen sat up, and gave him one of her shrugs. "DA working my case had a big mouth." "Which one?" "Bolton." George exploded "I knew we should have requested someone else! Bolton can't keep his trap shut, all he cares about is his damn career. I'm going to find him and rip his-" "Will you shut up?" Carmen interrupted calmly. She rose from the bed, crossed the room to her closet. She took a blue bathrobe off a hook on the door, and wrapped it around herself, pulling the ties tight around her waist. She faced George defiantly. "Bolton didn't actually mention your name, just that they had an agent on the inside that told them about the big drug deal that Tommy had going down. I put two and two together. I figured you were the agent they were talking about, since you disappearing and the raid coincided a little too well. I found out your name later by asking around at the police stations. It took awhile, but eventually someone came around and told me." "Who?" George inquired. He was oblivious to the fact that he was stark naked. Carmen shook her head. "No." "Carmen..." George growled. "No," she said, a little louder. "I gave my word that I wouldn't tell. I keep my word." George made a frustrated noise through his nose. He racked his brain for names of cops he worked with. Too many cops, on too many cases to make a short enough list. He fumed. "How'd you make them tell you? By fucking them? You always were a whore-" "I was never a whore, you sanctimonious prick!" Carmen shouted. "I never let anyone else in the gang lay a finger on me.Yeah, I fucked Tommy now and then, but that was it until I met you." Her voice was dangerously low. She advanced on George, fists clenched at her sides. "I slept with Tommy for protection. I slept with you because I wanted to." "Did Tommy know that we were sleeping together?" Carmen snorted. "Course he did. Tommy knew everything that was going on in his gang. Well, except you being an agent, but even that I think he wondered about. He didn't care, about us having sex. All Tommy cared about was money and power. Keeping me on his arm elevated his status with the other dealers. As long as I still was willing to do that, I could do what I want, as long as it was my choice." Carmen shook her head, laughing bitterly. "In his own odd way, Tommy was rather chivalrous." "You sound like you miss him," George shot at her. Carmen gave George a dirty look. "Put your clothes on, and get out." "Carmen-" "GET OUT!" she screamed. She picked up his clothes and threw them at him. "I've been paying for my mistakes for two years now, living in a lonely place. I don't need you to help." She fired off a string of Spanish, her body shaking with anger. George clamped his tongue between his teeth and got dressed. He left Carmen's apartment, slamming the door. Two days later, George stopped at the grocery store and bought a bouquet of flowers. They were red-orange alstroemeria, or Peruvian lilies, as the cashier called them. The cashier also said they lasted for a long time, for cut flowers. Their color reminded George of Carmen's temper. He drove to the diner, and parked on the street in front. He got out, and stood on the sidewalk, the flowers hidden behind his back. Carmen walked out, distracted, five minutes later. She short-stopped in front of him, and glared. "What do you want?" she spat. "To apologize. For being a sanctimonious prick." He brought the flowers out from behind his back and held them out to her. She just stared at them. "They're for you," George prompted with a smile. "You're... apologizing?" Carmen said, stunned. "I think I just heard hell freeze over." "Don't get used to it. It doesn't happen very often," he said. Carmen took the flowers from him. "Thank you, George." She looked him up and down, slowly. "Please tell me you're not wearing a suit for this apologizing business. I don't think I could handle that along with the flowers." George laughed. "No. I'm stuck on desk duty for the next week. Have to look presentable." He smoothed his tie down. "You don't like it?" he said with a frown. Carmen shook her head vigorously. "No, I do like it. Actually, I like it a lot. I'm just not used to it, that's all. Ratty jeans and old t-shirts are usually the order of the day. This suit thing... makes you look almost respectable." "Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment." "You kinda look like my dad..." A Lonely Place "Okay, stop right there." "What? My dad is a good man!" "The idea that I'm sleeping with my daughter creeps me out." "You're planning on making this sleeping with me thing a habit?" Carmen said with a twinkle in her eye. "Oh, shut up and get in the car." George said, throwing up his hands in mock annoyance. "Where are we going?" Carmen said. George opened the door for her and she got into the passenger seat. "My house." "Thought it was a disaster?" "I remedied that," George said as he shut the door. He got into the driver side, and pulled into the street. "May I smoke?" Carmen asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her coat pocket. "Sure, as long as you roll the window down," George responded. Carmen lit up, and smoked slowly. They were quiet for a few minutes. "The other night, you said you were 'living in a lonely place'. What does that mean?" George asked, keeping his eyes focused on the road. "It's something my father used to say about my mother. 'She lives in a lonely place, no one reaches her there,'" Carmen imitated her father's Mexican accent. "Mother never let anyone get too close. I feel the same way sometimes, especially the past two years. Living in a lonely place, not allowing anyone too close, atoning for my short lifetime of sins." "You were never a bad person, Carmen." She laughed bitterly. "No, but I was never a very good one, either. So, I'm not atoning so much for what I did, but what I didn't do. Know what I mean?" "I think I do, Carmen. I think I do," George said quietly. He thought about why he became an agent in the first place, and the number of smaller injuries he caused while trying to help the greater good. All the people that got hurt because he had to keep quiet, and not blow the investigation. "You didn't tell me you lived out in the country," Carmen said, breaking George's reverie. George laughed. "It's not the country. It's the suburbs." "It's got trees and it's quiet. That's country enough for me. I'm a city girl, remember?" Carmen said teasingly. George shook his head, laughing. He felt lighter, like a weight he didn't realize he had, lifted. "Here we are," he said, pulling into his driveway. They got out of the car. "It's not a very big house-" Carmen stopped in the driveway, looking at his little 1940s one-story brick house. She looked wistful. "It's wonderful." "Wait until you see the inside. You may change your mind. Come on." He herded Carmen into the house, and into the kitchen. He took her coat, hanging it up, and handed her a large plastic pitcher of water for the flowers. "Sorry, don't have a vase," he said. He threw his suit jacket over a chair at the table, and took off his tie. He rolled up his sleeves and started getting out food, pans and utensils to make dinner. Carmen stood at the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, in awe. She took in the everyday clutter of living, the furniture, worn but comfy, George cooking food. "This is too fucking weird," she said. "What is?" George asked. He poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her. She took it, dazed. "This. All of this," she gestured to include the whole house, including George. "It's so... so... normal." She took a swig of the wine. "The fact that you have wine, of all things. You wearing a suit. It's like you're cultured or something. I mean, we used to swill bad vodka from paper cups, and slept on a mattress on the floor of an abandoned warehouse." George put the seasoned meat in the oven. He walked over to Carmen and pulled her into the kitchen. He sat down in a chair, settling her into his lap. "You're not the person I knew," she said sadly. George stroked her hair back from her face. "I am, in a lot of ways. In most ways, in fact. All of this-" George made the same all-encompassing gesture Carmen had made, "is just trappings. Have I treated you any differently as George than I did when I was Patrick?" Carmen shook her head. She wouldn't look at George. He squeezed her gently. "Why did you want to find me?" he asked. Carmen sighed, swirled the wine in her glass. "At first, I wanted revenge. I wanted to make you hurt as much as I did. I felt used- that I was just a means to an end for you to get Tommy. As my search wore on, I realized that I actually cared for your arrogant ass, and wanted to make sure you were okay." She looked at George. "Once I knew your real name, and that you were still amongst the living, I was going to leave you be. The lonely place took over, and I had enough to answer for without finding you and causing more damage. Believe it or not, you showing up at the diner was a coincidence. I saw you in the booth, and I couldn't resist. You looked like you were out in the lonely place, too." George frowned to himself. "I suppose you're right. I've always existed there, though. I can't let people into my life, because they might get hurt, or killed, or they might endanger me when I'm undercover. The fewer people that know me, as George St. Germaine, the better." "If we're both there, that means we can be a little less lonely, don't you think?" Carmen whispered. "Yeah," George said as he took the wine glass from Carmen. He set it on the table. Carmen cupped George's face in her hands, rubbing her knuckles along his bristly jaw. "Did you just use me, George?" she asked, looking deep into his eyes. George internally shrank from her intense gaze. "No. Well, in the beginning, yes. You were the easiest way to Tommy. You had his confidence in a way no one else had. But by the end- no. I specifically told the agents in charge of the raid to grab you, and get you out. I called in a few favors to get the DA to offer you the best deal he could. Thankfully, you willingly gave him all the information he needed." "In exchange for immunity. I wouldn't settle for less." "Smart girl," George said, tapping her nose with his fingertip. Carmen smiled. She leaned forward and kissed him, very light and teasing, more like just pressing her lips against his than a real kiss. She pulled back a fraction, then kissed him again, hard and hungry. George's arms convulsed around her, hugging her tight. Carmen whimpered, and bit his lip while pressing herself against him. His whole body reacted at once. He crushed himself against her, wanting to crawl inside her skin. He was hard and desperate, and wanted her so, so badly. He envisioned throwing her down on his kitchen floor and thrusting himself into her, hard and deep. He imagined the howl of pleasure she let loose the other night, and wanted to hear it again. He loosened his grip, and softened the kiss, trying to dampen the urgency raking at his body. He darted his tongue between Carmen's lips, played with hers. She sucked on his lower lip gently. He felt the desperation rising again when the timer on the oven went off. "Dinner," Carmen murmured against his lips. The vibration from her voice moving across his lips made George's cock jump. He didn't think it was possible to get any harder, but somehow, he did. George let his head fall back, and stared at the ceiling. "Yeah. Dinner." "We can continue this after dinner, if you like. But I'm starving," she said. She nipped his chin with her teeth, and got off his lap. "You're not the only one that's starving," he muttered. He groaned and hauled himself to his feet. Carmen busied herself setting the table and refilling wine glasses while George finished the meat and cooked some vegetables. They sat down at the kitchen table. At first it was awkward. George felt like he was on a first date. In a way, he was- George dating Carmen, versus Patrick dating Carmen. Patrick didn't really date Carmen; he pestered her until she gave in. George felt that he needed to change that. Eventually, conversation became easier. They talked a little about their families, told funny stories about their childhoods. They carefully avoided talking about their past together. After finishing dinner, Carmen insisted on doing the dishes, despite the fact that George was willing to leave them dirty in the sink. Carmen rolled her eyes, muttering something about men and pigs in filth. Once everything was clean, George slid his arms around Carmen's waist. "So, where were we?" he whispered as he kissed her. She stood on her toes, pressing her body against his. "Right about here, I think," she said. She placed her hands on either side of his face, her fingers in his curly brown hair. She looked at George with kindness, her eyes soft. The urgency and desperation that had colored the evening earlier ebbed. George led Carmen to the bedroom. She started to unbutton his shirt, but George took her hands away, and held them behind her back with one hand. He used his free hand to unzip her dress, slowly. The dress fell open, and he caressed her skin, starting from her throat, over the swell of her breasts, down her stomach. He stopped, cupping her between her legs. He pushed his fingers against the cloth of her panties, stroking. Carmen breathed deeply, tipped her head back slightly and closed her eyes. George bend down and kissed her neck, where it met her shoulder. He let go of her hands and pushed off her dress, so that she stood only in her underwear. He stepped back from Carmen and admired her. She opened her eyes and looked at him, a question in her eyes. "I didn't take a good look at you the other night," he said simply. He let his gaze wander from her face, soft and glowing, down. "You really are beautiful," he said as he kissed her again languidly. George unclasped her bra, slid it off her shoulders. She tried to touch him, but he gently pushed her hands away. He wanted to explore her, without distraction. He cupped her breasts in his palms, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples. Her nipples were deep brown, surrounded by tan skin. He felt them become erect. He rolled them lightly, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Carmen. She watched George intently as he continued to caress her breasts. Her scrutiny nearly made him lose his control, so he buried his face in her hair. She smelled like soap, under the odor of diner food. He concentrated on her scent, willing his cock to calm down. Once he regained his composure, he resumed his caresses. He slid his hands down her back, inside her panties. Her butt was smooth and round. He pushed the material off, so that she was completely naked. He laid her down on his bed. She was quiet and still. He braced himself over her, and kissed her. He kissed her jaw, her neck, between her breasts, her stomach. He parted her legs, and ran his fingers through the tangle of dark pubic hair. He pressed his nose into the curls, breathing in. She was musky and sweet, like he remembered. He gently spread her labia with his fingers and touched her clit with the tip of his tongue. With a feather-touch, he passed his tongue over her clit, back and forth. Carmen arched her back, keeping her hips still. George lowered himself to slip his arms under Carmen's thighs. He increased the pressure with his tongue, rubbing slightly harder with each pass across her clit. She gasped, and her hands fisted themselves in the blanket. George felt her hips buck. His tongue continued massaging Carmen's clit, while he slid one finger inside her. She was slick. He used the wetness to slide a second finger inside. He pressed upwards with them. He changed the movement of his tongue to quickly pulsating it against her clit. Carmen let out a loud, shuddering sigh. She pulled on the blanket with her fists, her head thrown back hard. George moved his fingers in and out of Carmen, slowly. Each time he entered, he pushed upwards, feeling the wall of her vagina. She let out a series of moans that got louder and longer, and arched her lower back against the bed, trying to keep her hips still. George kept pulsating his tongue against her clit, creating a rhythm between his fingers and his tongue. Carmen arched her back once more, and came hard against George's fingers. He felt her vagina push on his fingers, and her body shudder. She cried out softly. George stopped moving his tongue, and slowed his fingers down. He laid his chin on her pelvis, watching her drift on the waves of the orgasm. Her vagina fluttered around his fingers a few more times before he slipped them out, and moved up her body to brace himself above her again. Carmen's eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. He hovered his lips just above hers. She opened her eyes, and he kissed her. "I want to feel you inside me," she whispered against his mouth. She unbuttoned his shirt. He let her. He sat up next to her, took it off. She unbuckled his belt, and undid his button and zipper on his pants. He stood and pulled them off. She ran her fingers underneath the waistband of his boxers, then pushed them off. George stood naked before her. She studied him as closely as he had studied her. She skimmed her hands over his jaw and chest, tugging lightly on his chest hair. She ran her hands over his hipbones, over the knife wound scar. She planted a small kiss on it. She stroked his cock with her hand. He was hard and aching, but clenched his fists and let her explore. He closed his eyes, and concentrated on breathing. Carmen rose up to her knees, and kissed George. She touched her tongue to his lips, seeking entry. He opened his mouth, and she plundered it with her tongue. "There's condoms on the dresser," he murmured. He gasped when she pinched his nipples on her way to the get one. She returned to kneeling on the bed. She opened the package, and put the condom on him. "Now, please," George practically whimpered. He cursed himself for feeling like a randy teenager, but he didn't know how much longer he could last. Carmen smiled. She took his hands, prying his fingers loose from their fists, and pulled him down on top of her. She arranged her legs around him, pelvis to pelvis. She took his erection in her hand, and guided him inside her. When he had buried himself completely, she put her hands on his ass, and held him inside. "Slowly," she said. He felt her release some pressure on his ass. He pulled out, and then thrust back in when she pushed him. "Slowly," she repeated. The release, pull out, push back in dance was repeated. George let himself be guided by her hands. Carmen felt relaxed underneath him. After a few more thrusts, she slid her hands up his back, resting them on his shoulder blades. George gritted his teeth, and concentrated on keeping the pace Carmen had set for him. It was slow, so slow, it was torture. In, pause. Out, pause. He chanted in his head. Carmen watched him lazily. Just when he thought he was going to die of the slow pace, Carmen whispered in his ear. "Faster. As fast as you want," she said. George went in and out slowly once more, then he slammed himself into her. Carmen gripped his shoulders tightly and groaned. He thrust into her again, and she groaned louder. He began pumping faster, pushing himself as deep as he could. Carmen's nails dug into his shoulders. He rode Carmen fast and hard. She groaned and kept pace underneath him. He felt the orgasm, building since before dinner, finally burst forth, racking his body. His fists bunched up the blanket on either side of Carmen's head. He gasped and moaned, and felt like his entire life was exploding out the end of his cock. He collapsed on top of Carmen, shaking. Carmen pushed the hair out of his eyes, holding his head up to look at him. George struggled to stay awake. Carmen slipped out from underneath, rolling him onto his back. She removed the condom, threw it in the trash. She pulled the blanket loose, and draped it over their bodies. She snuggled up against him as he drifted off to sleep. George drifted in the state between awake and asleep for a while. He felt good, like he was cocooned in warmth. Especially his dick. His dick felt like it was coated in thick, wet heat, like a hot towel, except much better. Alive. He sighed, and tried to shift. He found himself encumbered. He slowly rose through the layers of fog covering his brain, and realized what was going on. Carmen had her mouth wrapped around his dick. That at least explained the warmth. He was about to protest, when his brain finally caught up with his cock. He slammed into consciousness, and gasped. Her tongue was engaged in wrapping itself around the head, twisting. Then her tongue slid down the underside, moving the head to the back of her mouth. She bobbed her mouth up and down, while her hand pumped the shaft underneath. On the upward movement, she twisted her tongue around the head. Her hand gripped him tightly, moving the skin. George moaned and groaned, and cursed himself again for being like a randy teenager. He was so close to coming. He could feel the pressure in the base of his cock, ready to surge forward any second. Carmen continued to move her mouth, hot and wet, on the head of his cock, while her hand squeezed the bottom. George couldn't hold back any longer. He came, letting out an unrestrained howl. He felt himself spurting into Carmen's mouth. She swallowed, her throat working. George sagged back onto his bed. He stared at the ceiling. "I feel wrung out and hung out to dry," he muttered. He could barely move. Carmen bounced up to face him. "Morning, sunshine," she said with a grin on her face. She kissed him quickly. He tasted the salty cum on her lips. If he hadn't just expended what remained of his life, he would have found it a turn on. "Morning," he said. He turned his head to look at the alarm clock. 5am. Christ. "It's too early to be up." "Not for me, it's not. I've got a double shift today. And you need to drive me back to the city," Carmen said cheerfully. She got out of bed, and started picking up her clothes, and putting them back on. "Call in sick. I'm planning on it." Or dead, George thought. Yeah, calling in dead would be more accurate. He flung his arm across his eyes to block out the overhead light Carmen turned on. "C'mon, lazy bones." Carmen cajoled him out of bed. He grumbled curses about morning people. He put on some clothes, and Carmen pushed him out the door to the car. The next week flew by for George. He almost appreciated being stuck on desk duty, since he was distracted most of the time. One of the research assistants remarked that he was downright cheerful, and joked that he must have been sampling from the evidence room. He picked up Carmen from the diner after her shift was over, and they had dinner, and sometimes watched a movie, or talked. He found that Carmen was a font of random and strange knowledge, as well as bad jokes from the old guys at the diner. They had some of the most mind-blowing sex George had ever had. Carmen had been good before, but now she had a confidence that seasoned it that made it even better. He was also finding that he was falling in love with her again, in a way that he couldn't before. He was just George, and she accepted him that way. The loneliness in his life eased. George was eating his lunch at his desk, reviewing case files when his desk-mate-and- sometimes-partner, Parks, dropped a piece of paper on his desk. "Seen that yet?" Parks asked, settling into his chair across from George. George mostly ignored the paper. "Seen what yet?" he asked, jotting down notes onto a legal pad. "Memo from Walsh. Seems Tommy Callaghan weaseled his way out of prison." George's head snapped up. He grabbed the memo and read it. It was short and direct. "Thomas Andrew Callaghan, sentenced to life in prison without parole, was released Tuesday." George fought down the panic rising in his chest. "Why was he released?" A Lonely Place "Made a deal with Bolton apparently. Bolton's after bigger fish, that only Tommy could get for him." George thought quickly. Tommy was released yesterday. Carmen had been living under the name Angela Duarte for a year and half now. George still had time. "I have to go," George said abruptly. He tossed the memo onto the case files, and stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. "Why?" Parks said. "You leaving me with all these files to go through?" "Yeah. You'll manage," George said as he rushed out the door. He detoured to his locker, and got out his holster and his gun. He put the holster on, then put his jacket on over it. He jerked his car to a stop in front of the diner. He jumped out and ran into the diner, accosting the first waitress he saw. It was the gum-snapping one. "Where's Angela?" he asked. The panic was building again when he didn't see Carmen out amongst the patrons. The waitress shrugged. "Beats me. It's her day off. Try at home." She returned to serving coffee. George ran back outside. He got into his car and speeded over to Carmen's apartment. He illegally parked, and run up the stairs. He pounded on the door. "Carmen! It's George! Open up!" he yelled. He pounded some more when there was no response. "CARMEN!!" he shouted. He was about leave, racking his brain for other places she could be when her door opened. "What?" Carmen said, bewildered and little exasperated. "You trying to break my door down?" "You have to go. Now." "Why?" she asked. "They let Tommy Callaghan out of prison." Carmen went white. Her hands started shaking. "No. No, no, no, no..." "Carmen, honey, it'll be okay. I'll get you into hiding. There's no guarantee he'll be able to find you anyway," George hugged her tight. He urged her into the apartment. She stood shell-shocked as George got her coat and forced it on her. He got her wallet and keys from the table, locking up and leading Carmen down the stairs outside. They were weaving through the alleyway, dodging trash cans, when a gunshot rang out. George flung Carmen to the pavement. She yelped, and cursed in Spanish. Too fucking late, George thought. He pressed himself flat against the brick building, and got his gun from its holster. He held it loosely in his hand downwards, listening. Carmen started to get up. He pushed her back down with his foot at the small of her back. She cursed again. "Quiet!" He said through his teeth. Carmen shut up. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," George whispered softly. Silence. Another shot rang out, richocheting off the wall above George's head. This time, George saw a figure ducking behind the dumpster at the end of the alley. He waited. Carmen started struggling under his foot. He let her up, motioning her against the wall opposite him. The figure got restless, and jumped out from behind the dumpster. George fired twice. He missed, the figure darting into some shadows. "Fast little fucker," George muttered. Carmen started drifting away from the wall to look into the shadows. George frantically waved her back. She didn't notice. He reached out to shove her when shots rang out again. George dove in top of Carmen, rolling them both towards the building. George got up, and ran towards the shadows. He turned the corner and came face-to-face with Tommy Callaghan. Tommy was painfully gaunt, his blonde hair shaved. His right eye kept drifting upwards, while his left remained focused. Tommy and George stared at each other, guns drawn. Neither spoke. Tommy began to smile, and George emptied his gun into Tommy's chest. Tommy flew backwards into a puddle of water. George holstered his gun, and checked Tommy for vital signs. Nothing. George ran back down the alley to where Carmen was still laying on the ground, her head covered by her arms. "Carmen, honey, it's over. It's over," He touched her shoulder. She didn't move. He rolled her over carefully. He saw a trickle of blood along her mouth. He looked down her body, and saw a gaping wound in her chest. Blood was pooling underneath her body. "Oh, God. Carmen, no," he whispered. He felt for her pulse. It was thready and getting weaker. He knew it was too late, but he got out his cell phone and called 911 anyway. Afterwards, he lifted Carmen's body and cradled her in his lap. "You can't leave me here in the lonely place," he whispered into her hair. "Have to," she managed to gasp out. A gurgle of blood came out of her mouth. George wiped it away. "I love you Carmen," he said, choking. "I love you, too, George," she sighed. Her head fell to his shoulder, and her breath rasped in her throat once more. George heard sirens in the distance, and cried. George accompanied Carmen's body to the morgue. The coroner stated the obvious- cause of death was a gunshot wound to the heart. She asked George if Carmen had any surviving family. He realized he had no idea. George found that Carmen's father was still alive, living in the south end of the city. He wrote the address on a slip of paper, and drove over. Carmen's father lived in an old, well-maintained apartment building. George parked across the street from it. He sat in the car for a few minutes, working up the courage to tell a man his only daughter was dead. George held a small jewelry box in his palm. The box contained a necklace, with a small pendant. The pendant had a piece of turquoise set in silver. Carmen told him it was the one thing from her past that she kept. Her father gave it to her mother as a wedding present, and when her mother died, her father gave it to Carmen. George sucked in his breath and got out of his car. He crossed the street, and entered the building. Mr. Ruiz's apartment was on the first floor, in the back. George followed the twisting hallway to the end, to apartment 112. He knocked on the door. The door opened a crack. One dark eye peered out at George at about shoulder-height. "Yes?" a heavily accented male voice said warily. "Mr. Arturo Ruiz?" George said. "My name is George St. Germaine. I'm an agent with the FBI. I'm here about your daughter, Carmen." "Carmencita? What she done now?" Arturo's eye narrowed. He looked angry. "May I please come in, Mr. Ruiz?" Arturo shut the door. George heard the inner chain rattling, and the door opened wide. Arturo was short, with thinning dark brown hair. George noticed the lines on his face were almost identical to those that had started to form on Carmen's. "Please, sit," Arturo said, gesturing at the couch. The apartment was clean, and sparse. There were two picture frames on a table next to the couch. George looked at them as he sat down. One was of Carmen, probably taken her senior year of high school. One was of another woman. Her eyes and nose looked like Carmen's. "My late wife. And Carmen," Arturo said. He settled in his armchair. "Mr. Ruiz, I'm sorry to have to tell you this..." George took a deep breath. "Your daughter, Carmen, is dead. I'm sorry." Arturo stared at George. Then he sighed, resigned. "Carmencita. Oh no, mi niña." He looked at the picture on the table next to George. "I knew this day would come." George held the jewelry box out to Arturo. "This belonged to Carmen. She said you gave it to her when her mother died. It was the only thing she owned that had any sentimental value to her." Arturo took the box from George, opened it. He stroked the pendant carefully. "How?" he asked after several minutes. George looked up from staring at the floral pattern on the carpet. "Gunshot wound to the chest," George said quietly. "I held her when she died." Arturo closed his eyes, and nodded. "At least she wasn't alone." He snapped the box shut, and handed it to George. "You keep this," he said. George took it reluctantly. "Mr. Ruiz, I can't." "You cared for my Carmencita in her last moments. I can see that. She didn't die lonely. Keep that, to remember." Arturo stood. "Where is her body, so that I can bury her properly?" George stood and took a piece of folded paper out of his suit jacket pocket. He handed it to Arturo. "You will come to the funeral?" Arturo asked. "I will." Arturo nodded. "Good. Now, Mr. St. Germaine, I must prepare to lay the last of my family to rest." He turned to go into the kitchen, and left George to show himself out. George left the building, and got back into his car. He felt like one weight had been lifted from his shoulders, just to have another settle in his chest.