by K. Webster
His eyes squeeze shut. “You make this really fucking difficult.” His thumb rubs circles on my hip over my pants.
“What?”
“Being around you.”
I flinch at his words. “Why don’t you like being around me?”
“I didn’t say that,” he growls, his words rumbling through me. “It’s just hard not to touch you when you’re practically begging me to.”
“I don’t understand why you don’t want to touch me anymore.”
“Are we going to go round and round about this?”
I sit up abruptly, jerking away from him. He grabs my hip before I can get up. I freeze at his touch. Then, he slides his palm up to my stomach over my shirt and pulls me back to him. All tension bleeds away as I relax in his hold. He claims not to want to touch me, but he caresses my stomach in a way that makes me melt inside.
“You should go to bed soon,” he says, his voice gruff.
“Only if you come with me.”
“Stubborn.”
“You are the same,” I argue. “Same as me.”
He chuckles. “Point taken. Fine, but we need to put a pillow between us. Last night can’t happen again. I want you to feel safe here and if I can’t keep my hands off you in my sleep, that’s dangerous.”
“Gentle bear,” I murmur. “Not dangerous.”
“Not very smart for a little fox to willingly go to bed with a bear.”
“Bears are warm.”
“Sometimes I feel like you use me for my body heat,” he says, a smile in his voice.
“And your fruit.”
This earns her a hearty laugh.
I’ve won our argument and it thrills me.
No. No. No.
My father sucks on my neck and I want to die. Right now. Just fade out of this world and find Esther. In heaven? I’d take hell at this point. Anything is preferable to the way he threatens to split me open with his manhood.
Every night.
Every single night.
More of the same.
Hot tears leak out, but I don’t dare make a sound. Part of my training, I’ve learned, is that if I cry or fight it, I earn the switch. My bottom is still scabbed over from the last whipping. He fills me with his heat and then he’s gone.
Just like that.
I let out a sigh of relief.
His snores soon fill the room and I make my escape. I’ve just exited the bedroom when two strong hands grip my shoulder. Ezekiel. I start to open my mouth to scream, but he’s faster. Stronger. Meaner.
I pray for God to strike me down.
I can’t take this anymore.
“Eve!”
I jolt, my body trembling in fear.
“Eve, it’s me. Atticus. You’re safe.” His rumbled words in the dark calm me.
Rolling toward the sound, I clench onto his shirt, burying my tearstained face against his neck. He hugs me to him, running his fingers through my hair.
“Bad dream?”
“Memory,” I murmur.
He tenses. “I’m sorry for what they did.”
Why is he sorry all the time?
“I’m glad Reed killed them all.”
“Me too,” he murmurs. “Sleep now, little fox. I’ve got you.”
I can’t sleep, though.
Not when my dreams haunt me.
In the dark, I seek out Atticus’s face with my fingertips. I touch his wiry beard and his smooth cheek above it. I can’t see his eyes, but I feel them watching me somehow. Seeing me. Finding me like Blind Bear found me. Through instinct. Through smell. Through touch. I brush my fingertip down his nose and then gingerly touch his mouth. His lips pucker against my fingertip, making me smile. I withdraw my hand and find his mouth with mine. He starts to move away, but I latch my fingers in his long hair and keep him where I want him. I press soft kisses to his mouth. It’s nice except he isn’t kissing me back. The rejection stings.
And then it happens.
A pucker.
A kiss.
My heart flutters wildly in my chest.
It makes me want to taste him. To see if he tastes different than the monsters from my dreams. I lick his bottom lip, making him groan. Then, his warm, wet tongue lashes out, sliding against mine. We both make similar sounds of pleasure. I take advantage of his parted mouth and kiss him harder.
He curses and rolls onto his back, as though he’s done with the kiss. I don’t like how he tries to talk himself out of touching me. So, I take matters into my own hands. I straddle his waist and find his mouth again. His fingers bite harshly into my hips, but he doesn’t pull me away.
The kiss heats me to the point I’m sweating. I pull away long enough to rip off my shirt.
“Eve.” His voice sounds like a warning.
Ignoring the warning, I kiss him again. He’s stiff at first, but then he gives in, offering me his tasty tongue. I run my own over his teeth, marveling once again at how perfect they are. His palm slides up my bare ribs, caressing me. I crave for him to touch me everywhere.
After kissing until the sun comes up, he finally breaks free and rolls us so I’m flat on my back. He keeps a protective arm around me and nuzzles his face in my ear.
“Go to sleep, Eve.”
Exhausted and happy, I oblige.
* * *
* * *
I’m a sick fuck.
It’s the only way to explain the fact I’m hard as stone right now. How I’m possessive as fuck with Eve pretty much smashed beneath my heavy limbs. The morning light pours in through the window, blanketing her half naked form. Her small tits are on full display. I could lie to myself and say I’m staring at her pink, pebbled nipples because I’m inspecting her chest wounds that are in fact healing nicely. But I can’t lie. I’m fascinated by every part of her. And so is my dick.
Her mocha eyes flutter open and she stares at me, one corner of her lips turned up. With her clean brown hair spilled all over her pillow and an almost smile on her face, she’s never looked so serene and peaceful. Every time I’ve seen Eve out in the wilderness, she was worried and fearful. Always scrounging for her next meal.
Here, she’s relaxed.
This is how she should be. No teenage girl should have to live the way she does. Cold. Alone. Afraid.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, dipping my chin to indicate her chest.
“Good.” Her stomach growls and I press my palm to it.
Brown eyes dart to mine, locking me in place. I run my thumb over her soft skin. “You want breakfast?” My words are rough and gritty.
“Oatmeal.”
I slide my fingers up her flesh, careful not to touch the red, angry, puckered flesh that’s healing from her bear attack. My fingertip brushes over her nipple. She bites on her bottom lip, her eyes intense as they bore into me. I give the nipple a little pinch before pulling away completely.
“Sorry,” I grumble.
“I like when you touch me.”
My cock jumps in my boxers at her breathy words. The little angel of morality that normally sits on my shoulder has disappeared. I keep wondering what Reed would say. Would he tell me to just follow my heart?
My heart’s been following her for years.
Completely unacceptable.
Yet, I don’t care in this moment.
Leaning forward, I lick the silky skin on her neck. Her fingers thread into my hair, tugging when I playfully nip at her flesh. I suck on her skin hard enough it will most definitely leave a hickey. The thought of seeing the purple mark has me nearly nutting in my underwear. I kiss down her neck to her collarbone, unsure what I have planned next, but it’s nothing sensible, that’s for damn sure. Her breath hisses when I avoid her wound and then flick my tongue out to taste her small nipple.
“Atticus,” she hisses.
My name sounds good coming from her lips. I suck the tiny bud between my lips and then gently bite. A moan escapes her, making my dick leak with pre-cum. Fuck, I need to stop. I really should. She just ta
stes so sweet. I’m imagining what it would feel like to peel away her pants and panties before sliding into her tight, blood-soaked cunt, when Blind Bear starts growling and barking.
I’m out of the bed, my boner pointing the way, before I even take my next breath. I snag a Glock from my drawer and run to the front door. As soon as I see the face peeking in, my racing heart slows.
Suma.
I open the door, shivering against the cold, and usher her inside. “It’s early, woman.”
“I came to check on the child.”
Child.
Between seeing Suma and that comment, boner officially gone.
“Right,” I mutter. “Let me go wake her. Help yourself to some coffee.”
Suma’s eyes narrow, but I ignore her probing gaze of me in nothing but my boxers. I find Eve sitting up in bed, the covers pulled up, hiding her nakedness. Her brown hair is in messy disarray. Fuck, she does my head in.
“Suma Walkingstick is here. She’s the one who made the healing paste. Can you get dressed? She’s going to want to check you over again.”
Eve’s brows furl. “No.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. “No’s not an answer I’ll accept. Let her check you out and then I’ll make breakfast. Come on.”
Her nostrils flare and her brown eyes shine with anger. Well, she can get pissed off all she wants. When it comes to her health, I won’t fucking budge. She throws on a shirt and then disappears into the bathroom. I dress in some sweats and a hoodie before making my way back to where Suma is standing in the kitchen. Wordlessly, we work together to make breakfast. I know Eve mentioned oatmeal, but I’ll make her something she’s going to love. Yesterday, I brought back stuff to make pancakes and bacon. I figure while Eve is here, she can taste the finer things in life.
We’re just finishing up when Eve walks in, glaring at Suma with suspicion, her blind dog at her feet. She’s wearing jeans that belonged to my sister, a pink, cashmere sweater, and green socks with frogs on them. I gape at her. She’s never looked so…normal.
“Ahh, girl,” Suma greets. “Let me look at you.”
Eve takes a step back, her eyes darting my way.
“Maybe after breakfast,” I tell Suma gently. “No one likes cold pancakes.”
Suma shoots me a questioning look, but I simply shrug. We set to making our plates while Eve sits. I cut her food into bite-sized pieces before soaking them in syrup. Her eyes widen when I set the plate in front of her.
“You’ll love syrup,” I assure her.
She reaches for a syrup-drenched square with her fingers, but then picks up a fork at the last moment. After a stab and then shoving it into her mouth, her eyes widen. A garbled “mmm” rattles up her throat as she starts inhaling the food.
“The child likes the syrup. Reminds me of another child long ago.”
I stand at the counter, watching Eve eat while absently chomping on bacon. I toss pieces to Blind Bear, who seems pleased with the savory taste. Suma sits in the other chair, her eyes darting back and forth between us.
As soon as we’re finished, Suma speaks up.
“Let us take a look,” Suma says gently. She rises and motions for Eve to follow her.
“Atticus,” Eve barks out, panic flashing in her eyes.
“Alone,” Suma replies.
“No.” Eve glowers at her as though she’s the enemy.
“Just do it right here. She’s nervous around new people,” I explain.
Suma shoots me a frown. “Avert your eyes.” Then she says to Eve, “Take off your shirt.”
Eve bursts from the chair, nearly tripping over the dog, to cling to my hoodie. “No,” she hisses.
Absently, I stroke my fingers through her hair. The urge to find the brush and comb through it is strong, and if Suma weren’t here, I’d suggest just that.
Suma gives me a withering look. “I need to check the wounds, Atticus.”
“Hey,” I say to Eve. “Let’s take off this sweater so she can look. I’ll be right here.” Gently, I turn her around to face Suma.
Eve makes a growling sound of frustration and then rips the sweater off her head, tossing it on the floor. Her body trembles with anger or fear, I’m not sure. I pull her hair off to one side and kiss her shoulder to calm her.
Suma clears her throat and I freeze, realizing what I’ve done. Losing my fucking mind is what. I start to back away, but Eve leans into my chest, her fists grabbing the bottom of my hoodie.
“They look much better,” Suma says, walking slowly toward us. She squints as she inspects the claw marks. Eve flinches when Suma touches her skin with her weathered hands. “What’s this?”
I peer down to look where she’s pointing and notice the hickey. My cock hardens against Eve’s back.
“Um,” I mutter, clearing my throat. “Looks like a bruise.”
Suma’s eyes are sharp when they meet mine. “This bruise wasn’t here last I checked.”
Eve, having enough with Suma’s probing, turns again in my arms, burying her face against my chest. I should be pushing her away, not holding her half-naked body against mine.
“If we’re done here, I need to brush her hair,” I say lamely. Anything to just get her out of my house. I don’t like the way she’s looking at the way I hold Eve. It’s not like that.
Maybe it is, but it doesn’t mean I want a fucking audience.
Suma bends to pick up the sweater and sets it on the counter. “How old are you, child?”
Eve ignores her.
“How old do you think she is?” she asks me this time.
“I don’t know. Eighteen,” I lie.
Suma snorts. “You will not hear it from me, but rest assured, you will hear it from someone like Will.”
My brother.
The cop.
“Hear what?” I growl.
“You know what.” Her eyes dip to Eve. “They put men in prison for these types of things.”
Anger flashes hot inside me. “I haven’t done anything, Suma.”
“But you will.”
With those words, she gathers her things and slips out of my house. Eve tilts her head up to look at me. Her gaze is soft as she regards me. I fucking love this look on her. How has she gotten me so twisted in a matter of days? I’m a wreck right now.
I’m not straddling a line between good and evil.
I’m simply holding good in my arms.
It doesn’t feel fucking evil.
It feels right.
“I should brush your hair now,” I murmur, my eyes locked on her plump lips. “Or I could teach you to do it yourself.”
She growls. “You.”
Stubborn girl.
“Uh, put your sweater back on. This is distracting.”
Eve pouts, clearly annoyed, but slips the sweater back on. Once we’re safe from my roaming eyes drinking up her tits, I can think better.
The kitchen needs cleaning. Chores need doing. My life needs sorting.
I ignore it all to guide her to my recliner and to pull her into my lap. She’s relaxed as I start brushing. I take my time, enjoying the soft, breathy sounds that come from her. My dick is hard as stone, but we both ignore the way it presses against her ass. When her hair is silky smooth, I set the brush down and wrap my arms around her as she curls against me.
My heart beats louder when she’s in my arms.
I like the cadence when she’s around.
Hard, persistent, hungry.
One day she’ll be gone and I wonder if it’ll thump at all.
* * *
* * *
I’ve become complacent. Wedged myself into a routine that revolves around eating, cuddling, and being lazy. I like this little niche of the world with Atticus, but something inside me continues to gnaw. Feeding on me like a wolf as it devours a deer. Strip by strip, it breaks me down until I’m weak and useless.
Each night, Atticus holds me. Kisses me in the dark. Marks my flesh with his lips. Touches my breasts.
But t
hat’s it.
The need for him grows to the point I want to rage at him and demand he do something about it. I note that Atticus prefers the dark when we come together. He hides there. From me. From his self-imposed rules. From the memory of the look on Suma’s face.
Irritation burns in my gut.
I saw the looks.
Suma didn’t think I was good enough for Atticus. Some wild thing who isn’t worthy to have someone like him as her husband. I’d wanted to shove her out of the cabin myself. That was a full week ago and I still can’t get her disapproving stare out of my mind.
I take a quick shower and am thankful I no longer have to wear the pads. Atticus has been busying himself chopping on a tree that fell when it couldn’t bear the weight of the snow. I’d wanted to follow after him, but he told me I had to stay inside.
Why?
All I ever do is stay inside.
Shower. Eat. Watch Friends.
I think about how Chandler and Monica are together. It’s so unlike what I remember with my own family. Monica has rights. She has a say in their relationship. She presses Chandler’s buttons and he still has a goofy look for her by the end of the show when the words come on. It makes my heart hurt. It doesn’t feel real, but it feels like something I want.
With Atticus.
Not some random man. Just him. He’s good to me and sometimes he looks at me the same way Chandler does Monica. A half smile and glittering green eyes.
Knowing he won’t be in for a while, I sneak out my light stick. Atticus hasn’t asked for it since I hid it away. His sister sent it as a gift to me. While it’s handy with the light that comes on at the touch of a button, it’s the vibrating aspect I’ve been curious about. Now that I’m no longer menstruating and he’s out, I decide to give it a try.
I take off my jeans and tear away my shirt. The panties I’m wearing are pink and silky. They’re my favorites. Atticus showed me how to run the washing machine and I wash them every day so I can wear them often.
Climbing onto the bed, I look down at my mostly naked skin. My wound is better and my usual bones in my ribs aren’t protruding as much. I’ve put on a little weight this week because food is readily available. It’s wonderful. My mind drifts to peanut butter and I just about moan in pleasure. This world is clever to come up with such things.
