Chapter 21
Twenty-one
Sebastian
Tucker’s mouth is what dreams are made of.
Holy fuck, I didn't know a blowjob could be that amazing, despite having had my fair share of them. If it didn't feel so fucking incredible, I would’ve felt bad coming so quickly. Now, I’m just thankful I got to experience that at all.
He’s standing in front of me, shrugging out of that damn flannel shirt I find way too hot, slowly pulling his Combat Companions T-shirt over his head, unbuttoning his faded jeans, and kicking off his boots so he can step out of them.
When he’s just in his blue boxers, I finally reach out and let my hands roam over the beautiful expanse of skin on display.
I start at his strong shoulders, the broadest part of him, sketching across his collarbones, down his barrel chest that rumbles in pleasure from my touch, fanning my fingers over his pecs dusted with light brown hair, thumbs brushing his nipples that tighten as he shivers, and lower, tracing the trail of hair that flows down his stomach to the waistband of his boxers.
I kiss his shoulder, over the tattooed shield with a dog and face silhouette I recognize from the Combat Companions logo, his skin pebbling with goosebumps as I drag my lips across to the other arm that is covered in intricate tattoos from shoulder to wrist. I let my hands graze along the waistband of his boxers and stop when I feel the puckered scar I’ve noticed before.
“What happened?” I ask against his neck, kissing up to his ear as he trembles against me.
“Shot.”
I pull back sharply and look at his face for signs of emotion after that flat response. “You were shot, and that’s all you have to say about it?” I ask, anger straining against lust in my voice.
I push him onto the bed until he’s sitting. I shrug out of my shirt and step out of my pants and shoes now, too, needing to be equal with him and have our skin touching.
“Tell me what happened, please,” I ask carefully when I see his face start to close off. His lust-drunk eyes harden and look away from me, his loose limbs coiling with tension again.
I climb onto the bed and debate the best way to have this conversation, but ultimately, I decide I just need to see him so I can watch his face for signs of distress.
I lie down on my good side and pat the bed, telling him where I want him.
He slowly stretches out, turning to face me with his head resting on his folded arm.
He sighs, the sound holding a multitude of meanings as he looks at the duvet cover he’s slowly tracing an invisible pattern on with his finger between us.
“It’s a long, sad story. You sure you want this right now when things were getting good?” he asks quietly, not looking at me.
“Of course I do. I want to know everything about you.” I place my hand over his on the bed and squeeze, reassuring him that we’re in this together. The breath he takes not only raises his chest, but lets me know he’s resigned to telling me.
“I had two partners as a K9 officer, Echo and Titan,” he starts, voice sombre, words slow.
“Echo made me an officer and taught me how to train a dog when I transitioned from rookie patrol to the K9 unit. I spent five years with him. Not just at work, but every minute of every day. It’s not like a regular partnership on the force where you’re on twelve-hour shifts a few days a week, then go your separate ways.
The dogs live with you. They’re your family as much as your partner on the job.
It’s a rare, unique bond that transcends the utility of the profession. ”
His voice is quiet, and as much as he’s trying to keep it monotone and factual, there’s emotion leaking into every word as he goes, leaving a trail of memories and layering the foundation of his story so I feel the importance of what he’s saying.
I’m enraptured by his simple statements, caught on every word, waiting for the next like an addict looking for a fix.
I’m barely breathing for fear of moving too much and causing him to remember he’s speaking out loud and then not want to share this with me because it hurts too much, or goes too deep.
“K9 units are mostly used for apprehension and tracking. We’re called in to search for evidence, missing persons, suspects, and even buildings.
There were a lot of calls that felt too close, and a lot of near-misses where Echo saved my life by hearing or seeing something I couldn't. Echo had a specialized skill for tracking narcotics, so we were often called on to assist with busts or to search locations where suspects had been apprehended and dumped product. One of those searches turned fatal when known associates of the suspects came to collect the product around the same time, and the arresting officers hadn’t secured the location properly. ”
He stops and rubs the creases from his forehead, his shaking fingers coming away slick with sweat.
“You can stop there if you don't have it in you,” I say quietly, my stomach knotting into a ball of dread and anticipation for where I know this story is going.
I can't make him relive such a horrific part of his life if it’s going to send him spiraling this badly.
He shakes his head before he bravely continues.
“It was an old warehouse with a few entrances, lots of hidey-holes, and the arresting officers were lazy fucks who didn’t want to go through it all themselves.
We were deep in the building, searching for the dumped product we were told was somewhere in there, when Echo heard something and went after it.
I radioed in and followed, but we were too deep for backup to arrive quickly enough.
We found four guys with guns on the main floor of the warehouse, way in the back, and got pinned behind some old machinery.
I got hit in the calf as I was taking cover, so I couldn't get myself out of there.”
He pulls his knee up and points to a divot running across his calf that I hadn't noticed. It doesn't have the same puckered look as his abdomen, so I wouldn't have assumed it was from a bullet.
“You were shot there?” I ask, horrified that it wasn't just once, but twice he was injured in this violent way.
“Grazed. It didn't lodge in the muscle, but it hurt like hell anyway.”
He lets me run my thumb over the shiny white scar before he slides his leg back down.
“I was losing blood, and Echo had taken a defensive position, covering for me. I couldn’t get myself out of there without help, and I didn't know when it was coming. When the fuckers realized I was on my own, they got brave and started advancing on us. I was able to take out two from my position on the ground. Echo did what he was trained to do and took another one down. But the fourth…he got to Echo before I could even see him. I managed to hit him as he came barreling toward me when I was on my last bullet. It took another thirty minutes for those fat fucks who were supposed to be stationed outside to get back from whatever break they’d gone on and find me passed out from blood loss, three suspects dead, another critically injured, and my partner DOA. ”
Tucker buries his face in his hands, emotion so thick and cloying I’m choking on it. I pull him to me and press his face into my neck. His tears are hot against my skin as he silently sobs for the brave dog—his partner—who saved a life and valiantly gave up his own in the process.
Fuck, I didn’t realize asking about a scar would open up old wounds that ran this deep.
Still, I want to know what’s shaped this man, what he’s gone through that’s made him so empathetic, kind, and understanding, and why he’s able to hold space for my grief and pick me up when I’m falling apart so easily.
Losing a partner, even a dog, in such a horrific manner, rips a piece of your soul out and leaves you fragile in a way society may never grasp.
And Tucker has to navigate life daily with this on his shoulders, the emotional wounds carried on his body and his heart.
He pulls away reluctantly, clearing his throat and brushing roughly at his eyes to try to rid the tears.
“I was back to work three months later. I was carrying so much grief and guilt about my part in Echo’s death.
I could have done so many things differently.
Maybe if I’d gone another direction in the warehouse, or taken a second officer in with me, or even if I’d made better choices once shit went down.
I was in my head every day for months until I was given this puppy to train.
Then, I had to compartmentalize it and know that, regardless of what I could have done differently, Echo was still gone, and I had a duty to Titan to ensure his safety and train him to be the best police dog possible.
It gave me a purpose and allowed me to heal as much as I could, and that bond was finally formed stronger than even the one I had with Echo because Titan brought me back to life.
It’s one of the reasons I train service dogs now.
I know the power of that bond between man and dog, and the light they bring to their handler when everything is dark and meaningless. ”
I lean forward and kiss him hard, tasting salt and sadness, eating his pain and swallowing his fears, wanting to remove every bad memory.
I pour safety and love into him, holding him as tight as I can so he knows he’s wanted and here with me, not stuck in the darkness where bad things happened and he lost the closest thing to him.
When I pull back, his eyes are red, but he blinks and kisses me twice before he looks up at the ceiling.