Broken Submission

A Date

He found himself once more staring at the peeling grey paint of her apartment door. A nearby neighbor screamed at her tv and a baby cried. Three dogs had barked at him from behind closed doors as he passed in the hallway, and he was pretty sure he'd seen a drug deal going down in the parking lot.

This is getting creepy, he thought. He needed to stop just showing up on her doorstep. But she still wouldn't answer her phone. It was Sunday, so hopefully she wouldn't be at work.

He rapped his knuckles on the wood, bursting a large paint bubble. There was a sound from inside, like something being knocked over.

"Amelia?" he called. "Are you alright? It's Derek," he added belatedly.

The bolt was drawn back, and her face appeared in the crack of the door.

"Er... may I come in?"

She hesitated then stepped back without a word. He got a better look at her face then.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Her face was white, eyes puffy with tears and lack of sleep.

She closed the door behind him, bolting it again with an unnecessarily abrupt motion. He eyed the mace that she clutched in her hand.

She leaned back against the door, slipping the mace into the waistband of her jeans. "I'm fine, just a bit on edge."

Obviously, but why? He held back the question though.

"I just wanted to check on you." He didn't like the signs of stress that were written over every inch of her. "Last night was a bit rough, but it won't be like that every time. You got thrown to the wolves once Tara left. You'll be getting a lot more training before you're in that situation again."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You mean, I'm still hired?"

"Of course," he laughed. "Last night wasn't your fault."

Relief rippled through her before she remembered that she couldn't stay anyway. Her shoulders slumped.

"I'm leaving."

He took a step back in surprise. "Leaving? Where?"

She pushed off the door and went to the kitchen. She filled a glass of water.

"Want one?"

He shook his head, eyes never leaving her.

She gulped from her glass before she answered him. "I'm leaving town. Moving."

Derek was bewildered. Why on earth would she be leaving on such short notice? "This doesn't have anything to do with last night?"

She winced. "It doesn't have anything to do with you."

She couldn't just leave. Not like this.

"Go out with me." The words left his mouth before he could think about them. "Let me take you to dinner."

She coughed, inhaling some of her water. "A date? Now?"

"Yes, now." He stepped toward her. "I don't know what's going on, but I know that I don't want you to leave before seeing where this goes."

She shook her head. "That's just going to make leaving harder on both of us."

Exactly. He didn't say that though. "Please?" He stepped closer until her back was to the sink, and she had to look up into his face. "One night."

She couldn't think with him so close. His presence, his scent, his pure, focused attention. "One night."

Holy shit, had she just agreed? She needed to be getting out of here, not gallivanting around town with the local sex club owner.

He grinned. It was playing dirty what he'd done, crowding her space and projecting his dominance. The poor woman looked dazed. But she'd agreed, and that was what he needed. He needed time to figure out what was going on, to figure out how to get her to stay.

"So, any plans for today?" he asked.

She stared at him. "Well, I guess I'm going out with you?"

He laughed. "You want to do that tonight? So eager... I figured we'd go out in a few days."

She shook her head. "I can't wait that long. If you want to do something, it needs to be tonight. Besides," she narrowed her eyes, "if you weren't talking about a date, then why ask about my plans?"

His mouth quirked mischievously.

Amelia yelped for the twelfth time that afternoon, hiding her face in his shirt. Why, oh god why, had they picked The Shining to watch? She and Derek were squashed on his couch watching movies off his phone. He apparently had a thing for Stephen King. Misery hadn't been that bad, but she couldn't stop jumping through this one. His amusement was painfully clear.

When she buried her face for a sizable chunk of the movie and showed no signs of withdrawing it, he paused the film. He tugged on her hair gently, but enough to pull her face out of its hiding place.

"Do you want to change the movie?" he asked. He'd had no idea it would frighten her this badly. She'd handled Misery so well that he'd thought nothing of moving straight to The Shining.

She stared up at him, his concern and amusement mixing into an adorably quirky expression. Her breath hitched as her eyes darted from his to his lips. The hand he had in her hair was pooling heat in her core. Licking her lips, she shook her head. His eyes darkened, and he set the phone on his knee.

"Amelia..." his voice deepened, and she shivers. His hand tightened in her hair, and she barely restrained the moan that threatened to escape her lips. He leaned down, stopping a hairsbreadth from her face. He brushed his lips over the tip of her nose, and her eyes fluttered shut.

His warm breath brushed her lips seconds before they were enveloped by his. They moved gently first, then more urgently. Her breaths sped up as she ran her hands over his chest, fingers digging into his hard flesh. He growled and swept her arms behind her back, clasping her wrists in one hand. The other controlled her head, using her hair like reins as he plundered her mouth.

A moan spilled out, muffled by his lips. She tugged on the iron grip he had on her wrists, needing to touch, to move. When his grip didn't budge, she rolled her hips. She'd at some point shifted so that she straddled his lap. She vaguely remembered a clatter as his phone fell to the floor, but this barely registered as he tugged her head back, nipping and sucking along her jaw line, down her neck, lips skimming her collarbone.

Throaty moans escaped her throat, the sound only increasing his urgency. Derek had had no intention of tasting her lips when he'd suggested that they stay in for a movie day, but the second her lips had touched his he'd become addicted. The way she struggled slightly against his grip, squirming on his lap, only got his blood racing. He sucked on the delicate skin of her neck, not only uncaring of the marks he doubtless left behind, but driven by the need to mark her, to brand her skin with his lips.

At last, he pulled back. They both gasped for air, flushed with passion. He released her arms and hair, and she collapsed next to him, head on his shoulder.

"So," she panted, "The Shining?"