LA's Finest: Bad Girls, Good Times (Patreon)

Before walking through the front door, Nancy braced herself. Going to work at Robbery-Homicide was never easy, but lately, the camaraderie there was at least a welcome relief from her home life. The tension, the silence, the accusations and retorts that always seemed just a second away from being lanced and spilling into the open air… It was exhausting just keeping a lid on all of it.

So Nancy was a little shocked to come home and find the usual wave of oppression didn’t wash over her. Instead, the lights were dimmed, soft Tejano music was playing, and Izzy was nowhere to be seen.

Wandering over to the dinner table, Nancy saw a bouquet of flowers laid down on it, rose petals spilling out onto the otherwise featureless tabletop. She picked a rose out of the selection and smelled its sweetness, wondering what the game was. She’d been in enough relationships to recognize a salvage attempt, but she didn’t know whether this was genuine or some reflexive pang born out of guilt. People could get pretty crazy when a relationship was in its death throes, especially a marriage. It was easy to mistake that for sincerity. No matter how good it smelled.

“I thought of getting chocolates too, but that seemed like going overboard.”

Despite everything, Patrick’s deep voice sounded good to her, reassuring. Especially when it wasn’t fraught with the effort of trying to avoid bitterness or anger. “Cliché too,” Nancy remarked, maybe just to show she wasn’t buying in too readily to Patrick’s apologetic gesture. But she kept her voice light. She wasn’t rejecting it out of hand either. “Where’s Izzy?”

“I gave her the night off,” Patrick quipped. He’d dressed down from his usual suit, tie off, blazer off, his shirt unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up. “Sleepover at a friend’s. I thought we could use a little space.”

“Seems like all we’ve had is space,” Nancy said. “Feels like I’ve been drowning in it.”

“Me too. Sit, sit. I’ll get us some wine. I would’ve had it ready, but I know sometimes you’re not home until the janitors boot you out.”

“Likewise.” Nancy took her jacket off, throwing it over the back of the chair she was going to sit in. “We’d be a perfect workaholic couple if it weren’t for Izzy.”

“Not just Izzy.”

Patrick came back from the kitchen, bucket full of ice, champagne bottle in his other hand. Nancy went to the cabinet with the good silver and fancy dishes, selecting two flutes for them to drink from. Patrick went to work on the cork.

“What’s the occasion, anyway?” Nancy asked.

“Just that I wanted to show you I was serious.”

The cork went flying. Patrick had aimed well. It hit a wall, bounced, and skittered across the floor. Nancy watched where it landed to mark the spot for later. She didn’t want to insult Patrick by going to get it now. Instead, she sat.

“You’re usually such a clown,” she quipped.

“Okay, I deserve that.”

“It wasn’t an insult.”

“Maybe it should’ve been.” Patrick poured for both of them. “I think it’s fair that I was outraged over what happened to Izzy, but taking that out on you—much less stewing in that resentment for as long as I have—it’s unacceptable. I hold myself to a higher standard than that. Especially when it comes to my family.”

“You feel the way you feel,” Nancy reasoned. “I sold you a bill of goods. You had no idea what you were getting into bed with. Literally.”

“No, no,” Patrick shook his head. “You’re still the same person you’ve always been. You never lied about that. You’ve made mistakes, but Nancy—you were a kid. I’m a grown man and I’ve been letting you take the blame for this whole fucked up situation, when all you’ve been doing from the beginning is what I fell in love with you for. You take care of your family no matter what and you do whatever it takes to make the wrong things right. Sure, there were consequences to your actions, consequences you never could’ve foreseen, but I never should’ve let my anger be one of them. My feelings for you aren’t conditional, Nancy. I have no right to bail on you when you expect the loyalty that I promised you.”

Nancy reached uneasily for her glass, watching the bubbles trickle around the amber champagne. “You give a good stump speech. But I don’t want you to feel obligated to forgive me. You feel betrayed and why shouldn’t you? I lied. Izzy got hurt. What’s the fix for that?”

“The fix is for us to be a team again,” Patrick insisted, full of certainty and confidence. “Izzy needs both of us, together, not pulling her in two different directions. You’re still the woman I married, the exact kind of woman I want Izzy to grow up to be like. Strong, resilient, honorable. I was a fool to let anything get in the way of appreciating you.”

Nancy took a drink, hoping something in the wine would help her find the proper response to him. She didn’t think of herself as a cynical person, but there seemed to be a deep well of suspicion inside her, refusing to let her take his words—everything she’d been longing to hear from him since this chasm had opened between them—at face value. “What brought this on, Patrick? Why now?”

“The thought that at some point, it might be too late. I’ve been working so hard on the campaign, and this image of myself as a family man, and I just realized… what’s the point of having this picture-perfect family if it’s just an ad? Do I want Nancy, my wife, my partner, my best friend, or do I just want the ring on my finger?”

Patrick picked up his own drink and swigged it. Nancy could only imagine how dry his throat must be from the way he gulped.

“And then I thought of life without you… going back to being alone… I thought of how good it was to have you after Izzy’s mom died, even when we weren’t together, and then not even having that… not even being able to look at you. Why? Because of my stupid pride? Because I felt entitled to punish you for things that weren’t even your fault, just so I could have someone to blame for what’s gone wrong in our lives? Nancy, I’ve been the problem. I want to make things right—a second chance to treat you the way you should be treated. I don’t deserve you, but I want another shot.”

A snicker rolled through Nancy. She felt champagne bubbling behind her nose. “Patrick, are you—are you courting me?”

He shrugged. “I suppose I am. Again.”

“So you just want to… pick up where we left off? Start being married again?”

Patrick winced at the thought that they’d stopped, then nodded tightly. “More than anything.”

Nancy’s tone lightened. “So… we have some romantic dinner, maybe dress up in some nice clothes… you give me an oil massage… maybe a little less talk about what an idiot you are, since I don’t like people talking about my husband that way…”

Patrick caught on, able to follow in lockstep with her at her flirty, insinuating lilt. “Maybe I could talk some about how pretty you are? How nice your hair is?”

“Is it?” Nancy blew a lock of hair away from her lips. “I hadn’t noticed. But if you feel like bringing it up, hey, be my guest…”

She’d been worried that she would have to force herself to accept his apology, hope that lasting forgiveness would come with time—or worse, that she wouldn’t be able to consent to fixing their relationship, that the prospect of getting her hopes up for a return to happiness was just too much for her.

Instead, it proved easy to slip back into the more harmonious interplay they’d enjoyed before the secrets, before the lies. Now, without that worry of being uncovered between them, it seemed easier than ever to love him. The thorny obstacles she knew would impede the relationship she wanted weren’t enough to deter her. She wanted it just too damn much. Knowing they’d both been scared shitless at the idea of being parted was one more component to their bond, pulling them together. Nancy loved the thought of letting him lavish affection on her, and she couldn’t wait to do the same to him, showing Patrick how much she accepted his apology.

And it was naughty of her, but she knew Patrick wouldn’t be comfortable unless he got a chance to show her how sincere he was about having learned his lesson. “I’ve been on my feet all day,” Nancy purred. “Can you help me take my shoes off?”

She felt more than a little slutty with the Baby Boop voice she used on him, but seeing Patrick stiffen with arousal was worth a little putaing.

“Depends on the shoes,” Patrick said as he got up to walk over to her chair. “Some of the heels you wear I wouldn’t take off for love or money.”

“These aren’t those kind,” Nancy assured him. “But play your cards right and I’ll come home in fuck-me pumps, a fur coat, and nothing else.”

As luck would have it, Patrick’s foot collided with the downed champagne cork then, sending it flying out to rattle around the corners of the house. Nancy burst out in laugher. Patrick laughed too, but he did it as he wrestled her Reeboks off and gave her the first of a series of long, caressing massages that would grow to encompass all of her supple body.

***

Nancy woke up the next morning quite satisfied and certain—from the loving soreness in most of her well-used body—that Patrick was just as satisfied. She wouldn’t have thought that she was missing sex so much, not thinking of herself as some nymphomaniac. But, as ever, it turned out that you didn’t know how much you needed it until you got it.

She felt like a new woman. And she knew she wasn’t ready to let this feeling go.

Patrick was the morning person of the family, already going through the motions of his morning routine. Nancy would have to hurry. She hated the thought of him getting his exercise with a sun-up jog. She went to her closet, took down the boutique box that she’d put in an out-of-the-way place where Izzy couldn’t borrow anything from it, and carried it with her into the bathroom. There, she had a quick wash in the shower before drying herself off, putting on fresh make-up, and slipping on Patrick’s surprise: a lace garter belt, dark nylons, and four-inch heels.

Standing before the mirror, Nancy surveyed her body—hoisting her breasts up with her hands and running her fingers over her taut buttocks. She breezed her fingertips between her thighs, teasing over her mons, and felt a warm wetness not from the shower. It was good to know she was as excitable as a new bride, not remotely satiated even by how long Patrick had spent eating her out. Maybe she was a nympho, but that was a damn sight better than being a cold fish.

And if she weren’t in the mood for love already, donning the garters and nylons had made her feel too damn sexy not to want it. She tickled her clit, teasing herself with the knowledge of how good it would feel to have Patrick go back to work on her. As good as her little self-exploration felt, it felt even better knowing that was Patrick’s job, not hers.

“You’re one lucky man, Patrick McKenna,” she said to her reflection, pressing her naked breasts to the cool glass and giving her plump lips a kiss. Only her husband got to know how that would feel for real.

Leaving the bedroom, Nancy snuck to the kitchen to fill two clean glasses with orange juice from the refrigerator. Moments later she stood in front of Patrick at the dining table, setting one glass down in front of him.

“Hope you’re thirsty,” she said, drinking from her own glass.

Patrick grinned at the sight of her, his eyes tracing over her ripe curves, committing her all but naked body to memory as best he could even as he hoped to see it many, many more times in the future. “I am. But I thought I’d had my fill last night.”

Nancy gulped down her orange juice and let out a satisfied ‘ah’. “Do you feel ‘full’? I know I don’t…”

She set down her glass and he followed suit. But before he could pick himself up from his seat, Nancy grabbed him by the feet and pulled him out of his chair, dropping him down to the thankfully carpeted floor. She climbed over his fallen body.

“It’s scandalous, I know, but this good Catholic girl kinda enjoys getting laid.”

“I’ll do my best to oblige you then,” Patrick promised her.

Nancy thought he might. She knew how sexy she looked with her carefully trimmed bush framed by black lace garters and smoky nylons. She settled her pussy over his face and Patrick was quick to taste her, the chill of the orange juice still on his breath. Nancy shuddered as it permeated into her folds. She knew the frosty feeling wouldn’t last long. Soon, all she’d know was heat.