by Asha King
It wasn’t just the sex, wasn’t releasing the built up tension, though he could convince himself of that if he needed to. But he wouldn’t, no, because that would make him much more likely to indulge again. And again. “It’s just sex” was the lie that would entangle him even more in her.
No, it was her. He wanted her. Craved her. Desired her more than he had anyone in recent memory, and the danger they fled from earlier just making it so much more difficult to deny that.
A one-time mistake. That’s what it had to be.
The sooner he was literally free, the better. He’d be able to search the cabin for supplies and weapons, protect her better, and think clearer. Mike glanced past her naked shoulder to the scattered items on the bed, the ones they’d found in the bathroom, until his gaze hit a bobby pin. That would do.
Navigating himself without waking her seemed impossible, and the moment he shifted to reach for it, she stirred.
Long-lashed, big dark eyes blinked up at him sleepily. The tiny smile that curved her lips was enough to empty his mind of whatever thoughts and plans he’d had moments ago.
“We survived until morning?” She yawned and snuggled in, her lips brushing his chest when she spoke.
“Looks that way.” As much as he wanted to just hold her and go back to sleep, he had to keep on task. His free arm reached across the bed, fumbled with the spare items from the bathroom, and came to the bobby pin.
The movement made her more alert and she rolled onto her back, her side now flush against his front. The smooth curve of her hip pressed against his cock, which stirred despite his attempts to control his desire.
He kept his focus instead on the handcuffs, reaching for hers first. He held her wrist and worked the bobby pin into the lock, feeling and twisting until the tumblers were in place and the cuff popped open.
Liliana let out a deep sigh, rubbing her wrist. Red ringed it but the marks were superficial and would fade within the hour. “It’s colder, I think.”
“Fire’s almost out.”
She twisted, half-threw herself over him to look at the fireplace. “There’s more wood there, I’ll toss some on.” For a moment she turned back to him and pressed her lips to his. Just as he felt himself sinking into the kiss, she pulled away and climbed off of him. Her bra and shirt slid off her now-free wrist to pile on the floor and she padded swiftly across the hardwood, shivering as she went.
For a moment he lay there and watched her, took in her slender waist and full, round ass, legs that went on and on and had wrapped so firmly around his waist last night.
Mike squeezed his eyes shut, forced her from his head. This was going to get awkward, re-establishing boundaries. She was comfortable with him now, expected what happened last night to have changed things. And it had, he knew—it was impossible to pretend it hadn’t. But his task was to get them safely from the cabin with no vehicle, no winter supplies, and about three or four kilometers to the local lodge that was near the main road, all without encountering someone who wanted to kill her and while enduring the elements.
He couldn’t do that and be sleeping with her. Couldn’t be her lover and her protector. When Mike committed to something, he did it entirely, and one area would fail if he tried to tackle both.
She wouldn’t understand that. She’d made it clear she wasn’t as serious and he wasn’t stupid—he knew after everything that happened, she needed the release, needed the distraction. It wasn’t uncommon for the body to crave sex after adrenaline being dumped in your system. She wouldn’t understand why he needed boundaries and he’d fail at explaining it. Liliana would hate him again. They’d fight. In the end, she’d still be alive, though.
Her life was all that mattered.
“There.” She’d finished getting the fire burning again, the new log spatting a fresh round of sparks and crackling in the silent room. Quick steps brought her back to the bed and she dove under the blanket next to him.
Mike shifted over to give her room—and to give himself distance—and turned his attention to the cuff on his wrist.
“How’s your arm?” She dragged her fingertip along his shoulder and arm, where dry blood flaked off to strike the mattress. The piece of gauze had come off during their love-making and the wound from the window, which he hadn’t looked at yet, stung a little but hadn’t started bleeding again that morning, at least.
“It’s superficial. It’s fine.”
His view of the handcuff he was trying to pick was obstructed as she climbed onto him suddenly, straddling his hips. His cock surged and he sucked in a breath, did everything he could to stuff his desire down again.
That was growing increasingly difficult as she sat on him, a saucy smile tugging her lips, her breasts on full view with their tantalizing dark areolas and firm nipples begging for attention.
She grabbed his wrist and inspected the cuff. “Can you teach me how to pick locks?”
She had some petty crimes in her juvie record—he was surprised she didn’t already know how. “You don’t know?”
“Nope. Went out with a guy who did. Never taught me, though. I think he liked having something he knew that I didn’t. So I couldn’t, I don’t know, go out on my own and be a criminal or something, steal my own stuff.” She plucked the bobby pin from his other hand and before he could object, she’d leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
Hunger rose, each swipe of her tongue against his stoking his arousal further.
Stay focused. You have a hell of a lot to do today.
Focusing was difficult as her hips rocked down, gliding the damp folds of her pussy against his cock. He was bare, they had no condoms left, and he almost didn’t care, just wanting to be inside her again.
He broke the kiss. “I have a lot to do today.”
The briefest look of hurt flashed over her face, but then her expression shifted to something more calculating, her hips still moving. “We have some peace and quiet for a bit—I know what should be at the top of your to-do list.”
“Liliana—”
“Mmm, I like that better than ‘Miss White’, you know.” Her head dipped down, mouth finding his throat, and for a moment he closed his eyes as her hands ran up and down his arms, enjoying the moment, indulging even as he knew he shouldn’t.
The sound of metal against metal has a handcuff snapped in place drew his eyes open again.
Mike looked up, found his other wrist cuffed as well, the chain fed around one of the brass bars of the headboard.
Fuck. “Liliana—”
She slid down his body, her gaze lifted to meet his, mouth moving over his chest.
He jerked at the handcuffs. The headboard groaned but though it might be old, nothing gave. Goddamn it. “Give me the bobby pin.”
Her tongue flicked over one of his nipples and he gasped, all his nerves pulsing with pleasure. Reason, logic, thoughts were all emptying from his head until he couldn’t focus on anything but her mouth, her hands, and precisely what she was doing with both.
“We can’t do this again.” He was grasping at the last bits of logic he’d been telling himself since he woke, trying to remember the practiced speeches to explain things to her. If he’d had use of his hands, he would’ve pushed her aside and gotten the hell out of bed, away from her. But though he pulled and pulled, he was held in place.
“I know that was the last condom.” She was at the flat of his abs now, her tongue working over his skin. “We could get creative.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. His body betrayed his mind as expected, cock achingly hard, like he hadn’t come just hours ago—like he hadn’t come in weeks or even months. And she knew, knew how much he wanted her, taking her time as she kissed over his hip, his thigh.
Mike looked down his body at her, and her gaze was on his purposely, movements slow as her tongue snaked out and glided up the length of his cock.
His head slammed back into the mattress, hips surged forward. Still, he blinked hard and tried to focus on the ceiling. “Lilian
a, don’t.”
“Why?” Her tongue moved up and down his shaft, swirling around the sensitive dome and then back down again.
Tell her the truth. Hell, tell her something horrible, something harsh, something that would make her back off and never touch him again. Waiting until after she’d fucked him again, that would make him look like an asshole, and while her hating him probably was the best thing right now, he wasn’t sure if he could live with himself for seeming like he’d used her.
“Last night shouldn’t have happened.” He stared at the ceiling, tried to believe the words as he said them. “Give me the bobby pin so I can get up.”
“You don’t want me?” She didn’t bother putting hurt into her voice—her tone said she already knew the answer and wouldn’t believe whatever lie he offered. Her lips wrapped around the head of his cock and he swore he saw stars as she welcomed him fully into the soft sheath of her mouth.
“We can’t do this,” he insisted.
She climbed up his body again, kissing her way there, until she straddled him again and nestled her damp, searing folds over his dick. Her fingers trailed over his chest as she sat, gently rocking her pelvis back and forth. “I’m clean, you know. Haven’t had sex in months, long before my last checkup. We could...” And she slid purposely over his cock again, nearly pushing him inside her. “Unless you have something you want to confess?”
“No.” He breathed deeply, tried to focus on anything other than what she was doing. “Let me up, Liliana.”
“I want you inside me again so bad,” she practically purred, turning her hips around in tiny circles now. She was so slick, so wet, he just wanted to drive himself into her, to feel that heaven again. “You want this too.”
His hips were moving against his will now, thrusting upward although he hadn’t entered her yet.
“Just say the word,” she whispered, leaning over and kissing him.
“No,” he said through clenched teeth.
She glided around again, using those tight little circles. Her teasing smile said she enjoyed this, enjoyed the game of driving him wild, and he wasn’t entirely certain if it was a game or not. He hadn’t intended to play but he was no longer thinking clearly.
His hands clenched, gripping nothing but air, and metal scraped against metal as he pulled on the cuffs again.
She braced her hands on either side of him, angled her hips so his dick brushed her clit with ever movement. His gaze moved between them, watching his cock sliding through her folds, her pussy glistening and begging to be fucked. God, he wanted her just as badly as she did him, but couldn’t give in, couldn’t tell her yes. His hips moved of their own accord, nothing he could do to stop it, easily finding the same rhythm they’d had last night. Still, he didn’t enter her—wouldn’t allow himself.
Liliana was clearly lost in the sensation, the head of his dick brushing her clit with each of their movements. She was panting hard, giving whimpering cries, her dark skin flushing and beads of sweat tracing their way along her body.
Watching her, her head thrown back and lips parted as she released a throaty moan when orgasm gripped her, it was too much to keep holding on. He came hard with a cry, his seed spilling between them, landing mostly across his stomach. Mike panted, his heart pounding as he came down from the climax.
Liliana arched over him, pressed a kiss to his shoulder.
Mike blinked up at the ceiling, tried to get his head back on properly. He cleared his throat. “Give me the bobby pin, Liliana.”
She froze. Sat up fully. Stared down at him frowning, like she knew the fun was over for good. Her shoulders turned inward and she backed off, averting her gaze. She found the bobby pin again and handed it to him.
Mike avoided her eyes, focused on working the pin into the lock with both hands awkwardly cuffed. Hated the way she sat there silently on the bed beside him but this was how it had to be—they couldn’t be playing around, not when she was still in danger.
Once he had the cuffs both unlocked and cast aside, Mike sat up and rubbed at his wrists. Words formed, were swallowed back. Get cleaned up. Assess your wounds. Dress. Check supplies. Get help.
A simple enough plan.
As long as he stuck to it.
Chapter Eleven
O’Hara had gathered his boxers and then closed himself in the bathroom. Water ran, likely the sink rather than the shower. The pipes rattled loudly and Liliana wasn’t sure if they ran strictly cold water or not, but imagined the temperature was uncomfortable.
She turned her thoughts from him and instead focused on gathering her clothes, or what she could find of them. She’d left her jeans and socks by the bed in a heap last night, and they were still damp today. After slipping on her panties and T-shirt, she gathered up the rest of both her clothes and his, then laid them on the hearth, hoping the fire would dry them out before they had to leave again.
Her eyes were hot and itchy with tears she angrily didn’t want to shed. Of course he didn’t want her. Now he was going to be all silent and pissy with her.
Well, whatever. I can put up with him hating me long enough to get out of here and get the hell away from the guy chasing us.
She rose, swiped under her eyes, and spun to take stock of the room.
They hadn’t checked the kitchen area yet. There wasn’t much, just a pair of cupboards above the sink and single counter, and a pair below. She went for the lower one first. A partially empty twelve-pack of bottled water—she grabbed two bottles and set them on the dusty wood counter above. An old package of leftover plastic plates and cups. Dish soap. A bucket and dry rags.
She closed the cupboards and stood, her muscles aching and requiring her to grasp the countertop’s edge to get herself fully upright. Whether it was the romps on the bed with O’Hara—his firm hands moving her, grasping her, touching her—or the running through the woods the night before, she didn’t know. Maybe both. But she was sore and tired, and wanted nothing more than to curl up for another nap.
Her stomach rumbled, disagreeing with that. No, she’d rather eat, but there was no sign of food yet. She braced her hip against the counter and opened one of the waters, taking a long, much-needed sip. It was room temperature but refreshing, easing the dryness of her throat, and she let out a long, contented sigh when she’d had her fill.
Next up were the upper cupboards. She rose onto her tiptoes and wiggled her nose, tried to avoid sneezing even as dust tickled her. Little waited up there but for some sponges in plastic packages, an empty bottle of pine-smelling floor cleaner, and a barbeque lighter.
The bathroom door opened behind her.
Her shoulders stiffened. She took a deep breath and turned.
O’Hara stepped out, avoiding her eyes, dressed in just his boxers. His skin glistened with water, his auburn hair damp and standing up in all directions.
“There’s water but no heat,” he said without looking at her. “I wouldn’t advise drinking it.”
“I found bottles for that.” She indicated the one she’d left for him on the counter. “Nothing else, though. No food.”
He nodded but said nothing. Instead he paused by the clothes she’d laid out and went through his still-drying pants until he found his phone. When he stood and turned, she got a look at his arm in the bright light of day. A pair of jagged red gashes, one about two inches and the other almost five, plus a handful of smaller ones and large bruises. The old blood was washed away and the skin around the wounds was pink, the rest of him pale white.
O’Hara stepped into his shoes, which had to still be damp but he didn’t say a word, and then shrugged on his still-bloody, but dry, shirt. “I’m going to see what reception I have and make a call to my people.”
Liliana looked from him to the door, shifting from foot to foot, feeling terribly vulnerable in just her panties and T-shirt. “Do you need me to do something around here? To help?”
He shook his head, avoided her eyes, and went for the door. “Just stay put.”
O’Hara stepped outside, leaving her alone.
“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, pacing across the room. The hardwood creaked under her, breaking the silence. Curtains were drawn so she couldn’t see where he was out there, how far he had to go.
What if he couldn’t get a signal? His phone hadn’t rung all night. Wouldn’t his team have called? Or would they wait to hear from him?
She thrust the thoughts from her mind. No sense worrying without all the facts, it would drive her insane.
What if something happens to him out there? What if it’s just you now?
God, she couldn’t even bear that thought.
She went to the bed instead and gathered the bits of stuff from the bathroom back in the box. Snatched the hair elastic, because at least that she could use—she tied her long black curls back in a knot so they were out of the way. The blanket laid rumpled on the bed after having kept them warm all night; she drew it to her, breathed in, and smelled him there.
Goddamn it.
Why couldn’t she have been someone else? Some girl who wasn’t just a waitress who lived in a shitty little apartment, whose life was like a cyclone messing up everything she came in contact with? Of course, if she’d been a different girl, she wouldn’t have needed him. She wouldn’t have ever dated a guy like Jimmy or worked in a place like The Palace or witnessed her ex kill a girl. O’Hara didn’t get hired to protect people who didn’t get themselves in trouble, right?
I don’t fuck women I don’t care about. An old fashioned position, maybe, but it’s the truth.
Well, there was the problem. He fucked someone he didn’t care about. Now his panties were all in a twist.
While she waited for him, she headed to the bathroom to make use of the facilities. As he warned, the water was like ice, and she washed her hands and face as swiftly as she could. There was an old partial bar of soap by the faucet, at least, so she could ensure she was clean. Bruises ran up and down her legs from where she’d stumbled and fell. A few were on her arms, too, and she lifted her T-shirt to find a few more. Some tender spots but nothing too bad.
