NYPD Red

Chapter 40

Gabe and Lexi crashed through the front door, knocking over the brass umbrella stand that she had picked up at a flea market for twelve bucks.

They hadn’t spoken the entire subway ride home. They had walked in silence to the apartment building, him fuming, her sobbing.

When they got to the lobby, she just stood there waiting for the elevator, shoulders slumped, eyes red, spirit broken.

Finally she spoke. “You’re never going to love me again, will you?”

She meant it. That’s how her mind worked. You fuck up; you get abandoned. Her parents had done that to her.

“Don’t be…” He swallowed the word stupid. “Don’t say things like that,” he said.

The elevator doors opened. She stepped in and stood in the corner, tears streaming down her cheeks, hands clenched at her sides.

“Lexi,” he said, following her into the elevator, “what happened, happened, and I’m a little freaked about it, but I love you. I’ll always love you.”

If he thought that would cheer her up, he was wrong. Her body shook as she tried to hold back the anguish.

He had never seen her so despondent, and it cut him to the marrow.

He softened. “It’s okay,” he said, enfolding her gently in his arms. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, her salt-stained cheek, trying his best to comfort her.

She tilted her head up, and he gently touched his lips to hers. She sighed, parted her mouth, and he found her tongue. He reached down and clenched her butt, and she responded by arching her pelvis and forcing it against his.

He hardened.

The elevator door opened, and they stumbled down the hall, banging into their front door till he finally fit the key in the lock.

She was peeling off her pants and panties before the door had even shut behind them. Then she grabbed his belt and expertly undid the buttons on his jeans while he ripped off his windbreaker and threw it on the floor.

The bedroom was too far, and she turned away from him, leaning over a chair, hands flat on the table. He grabbed her hips from behind and entered her hard.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whispered with every thrust.

“Shhh, shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t talk.”

It was powerful, raw; it was pure, primal, postmurder adrenaline sex. It was what he needed. What they both needed.

Lexi’s orgasms had always had their own sound track, and he held back until he heard the first familiar muted moan. Her pitch grew louder and more frenzied, and he finally let go, stifling his own screams as he climaxed in waves.

Eyes glazed, she slumped into his arms, and he carried her to the bedroom. They stripped off the rest of their clothes and made love, slowly, gently, without apologies.

When it was over, Lexi clutched a pillow to her chest and curled up in a fetal position. Gabe wrapped his body around hers and pulled the sheet over them.

The money, he thought.

The wads of hundreds were still stuffed into the pocket of his windbreaker. He had no idea how much there was.

It could wait.