by Joel Pierson
“Yes.”
“I just don’t want to …” I search for the words. “Get it wrong.”
“Then look at me, think of how you feel about me, and do what you’ve been wanting to do. If it’s not something I want … and I can’t think of too many things I wouldn’t want to do with you right now … I’ll tell you.”
With that, we both take our sleepwear off and toss it to the floor. Gently out of breath with excitement, we stand facing each other, each looking at the other. She runs her hands up and down my chest, down to my thighs.
She moves her hands together, encircling the rigidity she finds there. I positively shudder with the excitement of her touch.
Rebecca puts her arms around me again, and I put mine around her. Our bodies press together, and I concentrate on how her nipples feel against my chest. She feels very firm and muscular, but still feminine. The dancing she did must be quite a workout. For a moment, I worry how I must feel by comparison, but she quickly puts my fears to rest. “Mmm, you feel so good. I can’t wait until our bodies come together.”
“What kind of foreplay do you like?” I ask her.
She kisses me again. “Don’t overthink it. Just take the time to explore my body. The pleasure I feel comes from just being intimate with you.”
For many wonderfully intense moments, I simply hold her, grateful for this opportunity. I watch as she crawls onto the bed and stretches out on her back. I sit at the foot of the bed and raise her legs up, proceeding to kiss the backs of her calves and thighs. I then pay close attention to her beautiful little feet, kissing and sucking, and rubbing them gently against my face. She bends her legs, and I look with great interest at the soft, delicate area between them. She looks so warm, so inviting.
Rebecca notices me looking at her and brings her hand down to touch herself there, silently inviting me to assist her. She’s very assertive, so sure of herself.
I slide next to her and lie on my side, bringing my face down to her full, lovely breasts. The nipples are small and very fair. I take each one between my lips and massage it with my mouth. She smiles broadly as I discover the size and taste of her. Before long, little sounds of pleasure escape her lips. “That’s so good,” she whispers. “Use your teeth. You won’t hurt me.”
Applying more pressure with my lips and tongue, I bring my teeth together against her nipple, pulling gently against it until it rises sharply inside my mouth. I then turn my attention to her other breast, giving it the same attention.
“Touch me,” she says. “Touch me everywhere.”
The invitation is most welcome, and I move my hands to her beautiful body, finding every spot imaginable. I discover the loveliness of her elbows and her wrists, the nape of her neck, the backs of her knees. She responds passionately to touches on her calves and her shoulders. As I caress her, she reaches out to me as well, steadying herself by holding on to my arm or my leg each time we change position on the bed.
Finally, I can hold off no longer, and I reach down between her legs, inserting two fingers deep inside of her. I am greeted by a magnificent warmth, coupled with copious moisture that tells me that she welcomes everything I’m doing. She’s so remarkably strong, and as I move my fingers in and out, and from side to side, she grasps them and holds them tightly within her.
I move my fingers faster and faster. Her eyes are closed with the intensity of what she’s feeling; her breath is a rapid-fire succession of quick puffs through clenched teeth. “Don’t stop,” she says. “Don’t stop, I’m so close, I’m so close.”
I can’t think of a single thing that would stop me from what I’m doing. Instead, I continue to touch her, now using both hands to find the places that drive her wild. Thirty seconds pass, then a minute. Then it hits her, and she cries out with pleasure. It is the sound of my lover’s passion, and to me it is like the sweetest words sung within the most beautiful music. I can’t take my eyes off of her face and the expression that has washed over her.
When at last she relaxes, I take her in my arms and hold her close to me. “I’ve got you,” I whisper. “You’re safe.”
She emits a breath that almost sounds like a gentle laugh—not of derision but of realization. “Yes … I am.”
I hold her for several minutes as she regains her strength. She then sits up and looks me in the eyes. “I want you inside me now.”
“Will you be on top?” I ask her. “I want to be able to look at your pretty face.”
I lie on the bed, facing up and fully aroused as I watch her approach me. Her eyes display a combination of playfulness and passion. I’m fascinated by her, surprised at the many sides of her, and most of all, turned on at the notion of being with her this way.
She kneels, straddling me. Slowly she lowers her hips, and I slide gently between her thighs. She moans with pleasure. As she leans forward a bit, I reach up and caress her breasts, enjoying their size and shape. My body tingles as she begins moving her hips slowly, rhythmically, up and down.
The feeling is exquisite as we continue to move together this way. I feel my orgasm building and building, until finally it lets go. She moans at the feeling and steadies herself with her hands on my chest as my strength leaves me.
“Was that good?” she asks, sounding genuinely interested in my answer.
“Perfect,” I answer.
“Hold me. I want you to hold me.”
I get under the covers with her. She presses her soft, naked body up against me, and I wrap my arms tightly around her, trying hard to convey the depth of my happiness at this moment, as much-needed sleep arrives to enfold us.
In the night, I become aware of knocking, even before consciousness returns to me. As I open my eyes, I see that the room is still dark; it’s not yet morning. The knocking continues, more persistently. I glance over and see that Rebecca is asleep under the covers. The knocking is at the hotel room door. I get out of bed and put my boxer shorts on, moving to the door. “Who is it?” I ask, hoping not to wake Rebecca.
A voice from behind the door answers, “Detective Fogle, Atlanta Police. Open the door, Mr. Shays.”
“Detective Fogle? Is something wrong?”
“Just open the door, please.”
I reach for the knob, but it’s dark in the room, and I’m still groggy and not very coordinated, and I clearly don’t open it fast enough for him. The next thing I know, he’s using a key card to open the door himself. As the light from the hallway spills in, I see Fogle enter with two uniformed officers. One of them rushes over to me and grabs me by the arm, holding me roughly. “Suspect is in custody,” he says into a radio clipped to his vest.
“Suspect?” I say. “Custody? I don’t understand. You have the credit card receipts. You let me go …”
Apparently ignoring my confused rambling, Fogle says very officially, “Tristan Shays, you’re under arrest for sexual assault against Rebecca Traeger.”
The news hits me like a speeding car. Sexual assault? Who would have told the police that? How would they even know where I was, or that Rebecca and I were together, for that matter? In utter bewilderment, I turn toward the bed and see that Rebecca is standing at the foot of it, dressed in her sleepwear.
“Detective, thank you so much for coming,” she says. “I’m sorry to bother you with this, but I couldn’t let him get away with what he did to me.”
I feel like everything I understand is collapsing around me. “Get away with what I did? Rebecca …”
“It’s no problem, Miss Traeger,” Fogle says. “In the majority of sexual assaults, the victim knows her attacker. It seems Mr. Shays might just get that jail cell after all.”
I break free of the officer’s hold just enough to face Rebecca. I have to look into her eyes, to find some reason for this, some explanation. All I can manage is a single word: “Why?”
“Why?�
� she repeats, her tone laced with bitterness and contempt. “You’re asking me why, messenger?” The word hits me like a physical slap. “You pathetic son of a bitch. You take me from my home, from my job, from everything I know. You drag me with you on your fool’s errand, and then you fuck me for your own entertainment, and you ask me why I want to rid myself of you? God, to think I came this close to respecting you. Now I can’t stand the sight of you.”
Her words wound me more than I thought anything ever could. I realize that she is lost to me, so I turn back to Fogle, trying to plead my case to him. “Detective, please, this is a misunderstanding. Yes, Rebecca and I were intimate last night …”
“You do remember the part about anything you say being used against you, right?”
“Let me finish. We were intimate, but it was consensual. We talked, and … and we both felt an attraction to each other. She kissed me, and we shared something very personal, very caring.”
Fogle looks over at Rebecca, and she returns the look with a dismissive toss of her head, which silently negates everything I’ve just said.
“You have to believe me,” I tell him.
“I might,” he replies, “but we just happen to have another witness who came to us to report sexually inappropriate behavior from you.”
This gets worse and worse. “What? Who? I haven’t …”
“Bring him in, boys,” Fogle says to his team.
Him? The pronoun does not bring me any comfort. I’ve never in my life been sexually inappropriate with anyone, least of all a him.
Before I can ponder it any further, the two uniformed officers return to the hotel room with a familiar face. It is the key deer, the same one who warned me not to fall in love with Rebecca two nights ago. He walks into the room and looks squarely at me.
“That’s him,” the deer says. “I’d know him anywhere. Look at those eyes. I know a predator when I see one.”
“This is a mistake,” I say.
“What did he do to you?” Fogle asks the deer, to my growing astonishment.
“He stopped on the road to talk to me. Then he tried to lure me into his car with the promise of Funyuns.”
Fogle looks at me and shakes his head. “You sick fuck. I’ve heard enough. Let’s take him in.”
It is significant to note at this moment that as I look over at the two uniformed officers, they have transformed into my paternal grandmother and … curiously enough … Pernell Roberts, the latter of whom shakes his head at me disapprovingly and says, “You’re not really interested in my career.”
I awaken with a start and see that the first rays of morning sunlight are beginning to stream through the window. Rebecca, still by my side, flutters her eyes and yawns. “Are you all right?” she asks sleepily.
“Yeah,” I answer quietly. “I just had a bad dream, that’s all. I’m fine. Go back to sleep. It’s still early.”
“It’s okay,” she says, stretching. “I feel good. I feel rested.” She leans in close to me and kisses me. For a moment, I am hesitant and back away slightly. But it’s enough that she notices it. “Do you want to talk about the dream?”
Realizing how foolish I must seem, I shake it off. “No, I’m all right,” I tell her. “Here, come closer.”
She does, and I kiss her again, this time discarding the unpleasantness of the nightmare and welcoming her soft, warm lips to mine. “Thank you for last night,” I say.
“Thank you,” she replies.
“My God, Rebecca … what we shared last night was amazing.”
“I know,” she says. “I feel like I could stay in this room with you just like this for a month and never get tired of it.”
She rises from bed to look out the window as sunrise begins to illuminate the city. “So … today should be the day, then. We can probably make it all the way to Ohio today.”
“Is that disappointment I hear in your voice?” I ask.
“Well, you have to admit that after last night, things have changed. Now I’m not so anxious to go.”
“Rebecca, I don’t know what to say. I didn’t expect this to happen. I have to drop you off in Ohio, but it doesn’t have to be goodbye.”
I start to walk over to her at the window, but my walk is interrupted by a wave of unbelievable pain that seizes my chest with enough strength to throw me to the floor. To a bystander, I imagine it would look quite comical, but I certainly am not laughing. Neither, I notice, is Rebecca, who hurries over to my side and does everything in her power to keep me safe and comfortable.
Through the pain and the incoming message, I am dimly aware of her quietly repeating, “I’ve got you. You’re all right.” By now, she recognizes what is happening.
One by one, the details filter in. Names, places, history, directions, and the all-important detail of the mission—what I must do and for whom. The pain and the message continue for a full two minutes, which feels like forever to me. I silently wonder if there will ever come a time when I have accepted enough assignments that they can be sent to me without the accompanying pain and suffering.
At last it subsides, and I am able to raise my head a little. “Are you all right?” Rebecca asks.
“Yes. It still hurts, but I’ll be fine.”
“Another assignment?”
“Another assignment. And again with some urgency. We have about twelve hours of driving, and only about fifteen hours before everything happens.”
“So where are we going?” she asks.
“Wyandotte, Pennsylvania,” I reply.
A curious look comes to her face. “Why does that sound so familiar?”
“I suppose it’s not terribly far from where your family lives in Ohio. Wyandotte is practically a ghost town. A natural disaster drove off almost everyone eighteen years ago. Now, only one family still lives there, and they’re the ones we have to help.”
“Why? What’s going to happen?”
“In fifteen hours, their house is going to collapse.”
Chapter 9
“Fifteen hours?” Rebecca repeats. “That’s not much time. I think we should fly there instead of driving.”
“I’ve told you, flying is too risky …”
“Even if the flight is delayed by twelve hours, we’ll still get there in plenty of time. I just don’t want to see us get there too late.”
I begin to pack up the few things I’ve brought into the room with me, and she does likewise. Maybe this time it’s best if I put aside my prejudice and just trust the airlines to get us there. “You’re right,” I tell her. “Fogle wants me to call him before I leave town. Go ahead and get ready to go. I’ll take care of this.”
She goes to the bathroom, and I dial the cell phone number that’s on the business card the detective gave me last night. I feel bad for calling at this hour, but business is business. After four rings, a tired-sounding Fogle picks up the phone. “Hello?”
“Detective, it’s Tristan Shays. I’m sorry for calling you so early, but you asked me to call you before I got on my way, and I need to be going.”
He tries to compose himself and speak coherently and professionally. “Is there a particular reason you’re wanting to leave so early?”
“Business meeting out of state,” I answer. “With your kind approval, of course.”
He hesitates a moment. “You’re still a person of interest in this matter. The investigation is ongoing, and it would be better for all parties if you stayed in Atlanta for another couple of days.”
No, no, you can’t be serious. “That’s … going to create something of a hardship, Detective. I can come back here if I’m needed, but I’m really counting on your indulgence to give me leave to travel.”
“Shays, it’s 6:00 in the morning. I’m still in bed here. What you’re asking for … it’ll take department appr
oval, and that takes time. I need you to sit tight until I clear this with Division.”
“Isn’t there any way you can expedite this? Please, it’s very important.”
Irritation begins to creep into his voice. “And I’m telling you this isn’t something we can do right here and now. End of discussion. Are we gonna have a problem here?”
Trying not to betray too much emotion in my voice, I reply, “No, Detective, no problem. I understand. Please give me a call on my cell phone when you have the authorization. It’s urgent, vitally urgent. Thank you, Detective.”
At this moment, I truly wish there was a way to slam down the receiver on a cellular phone. I have to settle for a fierce punching of the END button, after which I shout out “Shit!” loudly enough that it draws Rebecca out of the bathroom.
“What?” she asks, concerned. “What did he say?”
“He wants me to stay in town.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m a ‘person of interest.’ That means they need access to me.”
“For how long?” she says.
“Maybe a couple of hours. Maybe a couple of days. In the meantime, the clock is ticking in Pennsylvania.”
She approaches me. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re gonna go,” I answer. “Tell me something as my legal advisor: On a scale of slap-on-the-wrist to balls-in-a-vise, how bad is leaving town when I’ve been asked not to?”
Rebecca thinks about it for a moment. “Closer to wrist than balls. You’re not currently under arrest, but you are still subject to police jurisdiction. Their contact with us is by cell phone, which goes wherever we go. For all they know, we’re still in Atlanta. If they call and ask you to come in, we can bullshit and stall for time while we head back here. This could work.”
“By going with me,” I remind her, “you’re assisting a fugitive.”
“Only a semi-fugitive,” she corrects. “You’re under restricted liberty.”
“So you’re okay with that?”
“I’m in this now. You go, I go. I’ll finish getting ready. You get us some airline tickets.”
