Saving Her

by B E Brouillard

“Fuck it!” she hissed through gritted teeth, turning to face the stranger. He was as tall as she’d imagined. Broad shoulders straining against a plain white t-shirt. His eyes had narrowed since she’d finished the drinks. Not in disgust. More like…concern?

  “Hey,” he said, that cocksure smile reappearing. “Need some air?” Before she knew what she was doing, she felt herself nodding and then allowing herself to be drawn through the crowd. His fingers had threaded through hers in a way that felt absolutely right. The club was unfamiliar to her, but he seemed to know exactly where he was going. In moments they were out of the chaos of the party, and she was leaning against a wall in a dark corridor that led off behind the dance-floor. They were standing almost touching, his breath on her face. The cold brick at her back was a stark contrast to the heat of his body as he pressed her against the wall. The music was now just a thump of bass in the background, and she could hear her short, sharp breaths as she inhaled, exhaled. Excited.

  ‘What am I doing? What am I doing?’ her mind whirled.

  “Shhhh…” he murmured, “don’t think…” And then his lips covered hers and took her breath away. She could have been anywhere in that moment – against that wall, on a busy dance-floor, in an open field, floating on air; all she could feel was him. His lips searching hers, his hard body against her. She fluttered her hands nervously at his shoulders, and he reached up and pinned them over her head, his free hand cupping her jaw. Then it strayed lower, down her throat, over the swell over her chest, her heaving breasts. She gasped into his mouth, arching her back, felt his palm follow the curved lines of her torso.

  He released her lips and trailed his mouth across her jawline, dotting kisses to her ear and down her neck. Her body bowed against him, and he slid a thigh between her knees. He freed her wrists and slid both his hands down her sides, dipping a little and reaching his thumbs down to the hem of her dress. Before she could think, he’d slipped the silky fabric up around her hips, his fingertips stroking up her thighs. She could swear her skin was flaming beneath his touch. She dropped her hands to his shoulders and felt the unfamiliar lines of his body. Taut, lean muscles rolled beneath the tight fit of his shirt, and she could imagine tearing it off and sinking her teeth into him.

  “Oh God, what am I doing?” she groaned beneath her breath. He slanted his cheek against her chin, deliberately rasping stubble over her sensitive skin, and she burned hotter. “Oh God, oh God…”

  He chuckled…the softest, huskiest sound. His hand was sliding along the waistband of her panties, and his fingers slipped beneath the lace, down over her mound.

  She sucked in a breath. “Oh! Oh…”

  “Oh…God?” His voice was almost mocking, but it didn’t shame her. Her head spun giddily…booze, lust, she couldn’t tell which; and then those seeking fingers curled, pressed, sank into her. Her body bowed tautly, balancing precariously on her ridiculous heels. If the wall hadn’t been there, she’d have fallen. Her eyes rolled back in her head, leaving her feeling even dizzier.

  “Oh, fuck” she hissed. She was certain she was sizzling beneath his fingers now. He reached a hand behind her thigh and lifted her knee over his hip. The coarse denim of his jeans abraded the soft skin of her inner thigh as she rubbed herself against him wantonly. She could feel his cock, hard beneath the heavy fabric. Hot. As hot as she was. She imagined the pair of them must be emitting heat waves from their place in the cold, dark passage. A little furnace of lust. She dropped her hands and fumbled for the snap of his denims, fingers tugging at the button. She was mindless at that point, uncaring of the consequences of what she was about to do. All she wanted was to feel him in her hands, thick and rigid. Guide him into her heat. She sank her teeth into his shoulder and groaned as his fingers slid into her. She could feel his smooth skin beneath her fingertips as she tugged the waistband of his jeans down.

  ‘No underwear,’ her mind noted. ‘But of course not…’ She licked her lips, reached into his pants, and ran her palm down the length of his shaft. It pulsed against her skin as she tugged him free; for a second, she felt the velvety head brush against the lace of her panties, and he groaned into her neck, pushing her up harder against the wall, and lifting her up against him.

  “Oh fuck,” she moaned for the umpteenth time. ‘This is it,’ she thought, ‘this is the moment…I’m going to fuck a stranger in a dark alley…’ The idea didn’t horrify her. There was nothing she wanted more at that moment. The air could seize in her lungs, and she wouldn’t care as long as she could have him inside her.

  “Oh, God…please,” she breathed into his ear as he moved the wet scrap of her panties aside and pressed against the unfurling lips of her pussy. She couldn’t see his face in the dark, but she sensed his brow was furrowed in concentration, could imagine those glittering eyes squeezed shut as he focused his attention on feeling her. Glittering eyes that opened now to stare at her, the lights of the club reflecting in them, eerily red. ‘Now…do it now…’ she pleaded silently, unable to speak anyway, her breath coming in short gasps.

  And then a light shone down the passage in a thin, bright beam.

  “Desi?” a voice called down the corridor. “Desirée, are you there?” It was Di, navigating along the corridor by the light of her phone.

  “Shit!” Desirée cursed and jolted straight. “Shit shit shit!” She tugged at the hem of her skirt and took a staggering step in the direction of her friend’s voice.

  “Di, I’m here,” she called back. “It’s my friend, Diana, she must think I’ve left—” She turned back to him to explain. He was gone. She stumbled slightly, braced a hand against the wall. “What the fuck?” Her head snapped from side to side, looking to see where he could have gone.

  “Holy crap, Des! I was worried sick!” Diana said as she got to her. “What the hell are you doing down here?” Her voice softened. “Are you okay?”

  “Did you see him come past you? Did he come past you?” Desirée was babbling.

  “See who come past me? What are you talking about, Des? I’ve been searching for you everywhere. Thank God the bartender realized we were together and figured out I was looking for you.”

  “Bartender?” Desirée echoed blankly.

  “Yes, the cutie who served us the drinks, babe. He said you knocked back two shots and then stumbled back here. Thought you looked pretty wasted.” Di shook her head.

  “He didn’t see the guy?” Desirée was trying not to let her mouth hang open. ‘Just how drunk am I?’ Her mind whirled.

  “Nobody mentioned a guy. Sorry, babe. This is all my fault. I thought you needed to let loose, but I pushed you past your limits. I’m getting you home.” Diana slipped her hand through Desirée’s arm and began leading her back into the club. When Desirée shot a final desperate glance back down the passage and staggered, her friend assumed it was the alcohol and steadied her more firmly. “Our purses are behind the bar, I’ll fetch them, and we can get out of here.” She guided Desirée to a seat, collected their belongings, and thumbed over her phone to order a ride home.

  The trip passed in a blur. Desirée couldn’t remember more than a cold rush of air as they left the nightclub, then settled into the cab. When they arrived at Di’s apartment, she barely made it to the bathroom before she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

  “Ohmigod, I’m such a mess!” she groaned as she leaned over the seat. Her friend ran a soothing hand over her back and passed her a glass of water.

  “Here. Let’s get you cleaned up and into bed, my babe,” Di crooned, reaching for a washcloth to wipe her face. For a moment, Desirée remembered impulsively packing her toothbrush and thanked heavens for her forethought as she scrubbed the foul taste from her mouth.

  The pair stumbled back to Di’s sprawling bed and collapsed under the covers. Within moments, both were sound asleep.

  ◆◆◆

  In the dark of the room, despite firmly shut windows, the drapes fluttered gently. A shadow slid across the room to the side
of the bed. Axel looked down at the two lovely girls, sleeping almost nose to nose, fingers intertwined. Like children.

  Unnaturally turquoise eyes glittered in the darkness as he smiled, almost tenderly. Then he sank onto the mattress behind Desirée and curled the length of his body protectively around her.

  It was as close to sleep as he could get.

  ◆◆◆

  The next morning Desirée woke with a clanging siren in her brain.

  “Oh, dear God, make it stop!” she groaned. She was wrapped in a pair of Diana’s soft, fleecy pajamas, but they provided little comfort from the headache.

  “Sorry, babe! It’s my new coffee machine,” Di called out from her kitchen. She bustled into the bedroom, wearing a pair of ridiculous pink unicorn slippers and carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. She offered one out to Desirée, who rose into a sitting position and took it gratefully between both hands. Di nodded toward the bedside table where a bottle of aspirin rested on top of a book. “Thought you’d appreciate those,” she grinned.

  “Oh, you’re a lifesaver!” Desirée reached for the bottle and popped three into her mouth, grimacing at the taste before washing it away with coffee.

  “How are you feeling?” Di asked, her face a mask of concern.

  “Pretty good, all things considered,” she replied, surprised that she was speaking the truth. “I guess I got most of it out of my system before we got to bed.”

  “Do you remember much about last night? Aside from my fabulous food, of course,” Di winked.

  Desirée grinned ruefully. “Okay, after the first two shots, things got pretty blurry,” she admitted. “But we had a great time. The music was fab – I haven’t danced like that in so long. And Di, there was…” she trailed off.

  “Yes?” her friend asked.

  “Di, I’m sure I was with a guy.” There, she’d said it. She waited for her friend to call her crazy, or, worse yet, remind her she was engaged to be married. She thought of the engagement ring still tucked in the side pocket of her purse. Of course, Diana did neither.

  “Yeah…that’s what you said last night, babe,” Di answered, her brow furrowed with concern. “Des, I gotta tell ya, I never saw anyone.”

  “But…but he was there,” Desirée insisted. “We danced together, I think…I never actually saw him. But he came to me at the bar. I know you said the bartender told you I was alone, but I swear I wasn’t. At least, I think I’m sure…I think…I think I wasn’t alone.” Her voice faltered then firmed. “He was the one who took me down into the corridor. I didn’t even know it was there!”

  Diana shot her a look of alarm. “He didn’t…did he…try anything?”

  Desirée felt her cheeks grow hot. “Well…nothing I didn’t want,” she murmured. Diana squeezed her shoulder.

  “Hey…sweetie…no judgment, okay? You’re a big girl. You’re in a bad space. And things worked out fine. No harm done.”

  Desirée nodded slowly, suddenly aware that things could have gone very differently. Things had been so hot and heavy, she hadn’t even considered protection – she hadn’t been with another man since Jules, and he loathed condoms. “Fuck, I’m such a mess,” she groaned, yet again. STDs could have been the least of her worries. “What if he’d been one of those guys you hear about? He could have drugged me, abducted me, or something!” She rubbed a hand over her face. “I really can’t let myself do that again. I’m an adult, for God’s sake, not a stupid kid.”

  “Cut yourself some slack, Des,” Diana stopped her. “I was there, and nothing happened. We work the buddy system, remember? Just make sure you don’t go doing that as a habit.” She leaned forward and slid her arms around the disconsolate woman. “Now, get yourself up, I’m going to put some food in you!” She bounded off the bed on her unicorn feet and left the room. Desirée smiled and followed her.

  Chapter 5

  Desirée fumbled with the keys to her apartment, anticipating the tongue-lashing Jules would give her when she walked in.

  “Jules?” she called out as she walked in, dropping her bag onto the small table beside the door. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get back last night, sweetie. Mom got chatting, and then it was late, so I stayed over. I sent you a text…” Silence greeted her. “Jules? Are you there?”

  A quick tour of the small apartment revealed that it was empty. No note, no message to her phone. He was gone. She should have been concerned, but somehow all she could feel was relief. They were going to have to have a serious conversation soon, but right now, she didn’t have the energy.

  She kicked off her shoes and headed to the bathroom, peeling off her clothes and turning on the shower. She was back in the sweats she’d worn to Di’s place the day before, and they carried the memory of misery she’d born on her shoulders…she was grateful to be out of them. As the fabric pooled around her feet and she stepped out of her sweatpants, it felt as if she’d shed a sour skin that didn’t fit.

  She walked into the small shower cubicle and let the warm water wash over her, running her fingers through her hair, which still carried a hint of stale cigarette smoke from the club. The water on her flesh left her tingling slightly, and it made her think of the touch of his hands…the stranger’s hands on her body. She couldn’t believe she’d gone with him. It was so out of character. So terrifying, in hindsight.

  So arousing.

  She stopped herself abruptly as she found herself soaping her breasts, the soap silky against her skin.

  “Oh, my God, what was I thinking?” she groaned, fighting back the wave of need that surged. “My life is already too complicated.”

  She reached forward and turned the water to cold. The sharp rush shocked the breath out of her. She forced herself to withstand the iciness as she washed off the last of the soap, hurriedly climbed out of the cubicle, and reached for a towel. Barely glancing at her nakedness in the bathroom mirror as she quickly toweled herself dry. She wanted no reminder of the mistake she had nearly made. And right now, what she really needed was sleep.

  Wrapped in a warm toweling robe with her wet hair piled on her head, she headed for the bedroom. Jules had left the bed unmade, and she half-heartedly straightened the covers before crawling beneath them and pulling a pillow over her head. Soon the combination of the previous night’s over-indulgence, along with the confusion of her encounter, had her exhausted mind shutting down for some rest.

  ◆◆◆

  Axel’s mind was spinning. There was something about this girl…this woman. Her eyes…the pale perfection of her skin. He’d spent the night curled around her like a protective cloud, listening to her breathing. Feeling the small, sleep movements of her body. He remembered the ease with which she’d responded to him. It wasn’t unusual; even before he’d been gifted with unholy powers of seduction, women had fallen at his feet.

  But there was something about this one…

  “Dammit!” he muttered, not wanting to give in to the pull he felt from her. He’d seen her prepare to leave her friend’s home. Knew she was now sleeping in her own bed. The bed she shared with that jerk. It would be such a sweet torment to go to her there. Pleasure her in that bed. Knowing that when the jerk returned, she’d be sated by someone else. He set his jaw. He needed air.

  “Air?” He laughed aloud at himself. He hadn’t breathed air in half a century. What he wanted was the throb of an engine beneath him, the open road ahead. A place to clear his mind.

  Before he could consider his actions, he’d transported himself to a place on Earth that felt like home.

  “What’ll it be, love?” a middle-aged blonde woman was asking a guy at the bar. She was tired-looking; bags beneath her eyes and a downturned mouth lent little warmth to the term of endearment.

  “What’s on tap, Lou?” the guy asked. “Anything new? How ‘bout a craft brew?”

  “Piss off, you know we don’t serve that crap here. It’s Miller or Bud. Take your pick,” Lou replied dryly, scratching her belly. Her faded pink t-shirt was stretched taut ac
ross her ample bosom. Emblazoned on her chest, a cartoon cat struggled out of a narrow beer mug, above a line which read, “Happiness is a tight pussy.” Her clothing choice was laden with more irony than she could understand.

  “Make it a Miller, then. Actually, two. And I’ll take a shot with that,” replied her customer. He was also middle-aged, grizzled. A red bandanna covered most of his gray hair, which Axel suspected would be thinning on top. His sleeveless leather vest was tugged over a well-worn checked flannel shirt. Badges and pins adorned the chest. Axel inhaled deeply - a heady mix of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke that might offend a more discerning patron. He loved it. He smiled and turned to survey the rest of the room.

  The little bar had caught his attention decades ago. A dingy hangout for bikers on long-haul road trips, The Pitstop was smack bang in the middle of nowhere. Yet it was always well-populated. Even in its heyday, the place had never been beautiful. Lou had taken over the bar when her mother got sick of the job, and she’d been here for as long as anyone could remember. Axel recalled the days when she’d filled that pink shirt quite beautifully; before the bags beneath her eyes and the sagging line of her jawline had marred what had been a pretty face. It was a face he’d seen twisted in rapture when her lovelorn soul had called him into her dreams…until she’d turned to the arms of a husky trucker. He ignored her now, instead casting an eye over the joint; its battered wooden floor had seen more boots than a military mess-hall. Sturdy rail-wood tables were flanked by wooden benches; chairs were too easy to throw in a bar-fight. Axel let his mind wander back over hours he’d sought refuge here while trying to make sense of his new reality. Now he was trying to make sense of the feelings that were swelling for the girl with the haunted blue eyes. He shook his head as if to clear cobwebs.

  The bell over the door rattled, and light streamed into the room as the door swung open, and a pair of figures filled the entrance.

  “Jesus wept!” someone beside him mumbled. It was Lou’s customer, wiping his mouth on his sleeve to catch the remnants of the shooter he’d just downed at the bar. He was holding a beer mug in each hand and staring at the new arrivals. The guy in the doorway would have drawn attention even if he’d been alone. Over six feet tall and broad enough to fill the door, he was dressed in leather and holding a helmet in one hand as if it was a weapon. Thick dark hair swept back from a wide brow over eyes that seemed to blaze. But Axel was pretty sure that his neighbor’s exclamation was reserved for the newcomer’s companion.