by A. C. Bextor
I shiver in fear. The boys?
Rubbing the zipper of his pants, he rests his knee next to my mom’s body and touches her where she never lets my dad when I’m with them. He rubs her chest hard and I hear him grunt words I can’t understand. Mom moves slightly, adjusting herself and settling on her back.
His head dips down further and through the crack of the cabinet I watch as his tongue comes out and he uses it to lick her neck. She starts to fight him off, but she doesn’t have the strength to use against him. Her eyes stay closed and she groans.
Mom’s in pain.
Tears start to fall from my eyes and I don’t wipe them away. I can’t stop watching.
I hear a whimper from the hole I’m hiding in and realize it’s me making the noise. He looks up quickly and looks through the small trailer kitchen in search of the noise—of me. I cover my mouth with both hands quickly.
He can’t find me in here.
If he does, he’ll hurt me too.
* * *
“Travis!”
The voice on the outside reaches out and grabs me from sleep. Still lost in the nightmare, my arms extend to grab the small dark shadow looming over me. With the strength not drained from suffering through the dream, I toss a screaming woman on my bed and her frightful shriek pierces my ears in terror.
Once I have the body pinned beneath me, I open my eyes. With my mind fragmented and my voice raspy from sleep and mental agony, I search the darkness for recognition. “Sarah?”
As my eyes adjust, I feel her terrified body freeze under mine before I hear her whisper, “Yes.”
Raising my head, I keep her arms pinned above her head. “What the fuck?”
“You were talking. You were panicking,” she tries to explain. “You scared me. I thought someone was in here with you.” Lifting her head from the pillow, she gets closer to me and then pleads her further fear, “I thought someone was hurting you.”
Exhaling, I let my body relax and my face rests in her neck. I accept the familiarity of Sarah and use it to soothe my nerves. During these episodes, I usually wake angry and alone. Having her here, so close for comfort, is a welcome change.
Sarah stills for a second, then with the courage she carries, she nudges my hands for me to free her. Once I do, she moves her hands to my neck to hold me closer to her. It’s a gentle side to Sarah that I’ve only been witness to a few times in the past; usually these moments were saved for Bean.
“You shouldn’t be in my room.”
“I wasn’t going to stay. I just. . . .”
Pulling my head up, I look down and study her face. The room is dark, but I’m so close I see her expression in the light from the bedside clock. I feel her trembling underneath me and I realize I’m on top of her.
As I start to sit up she holds me to her and wraps her legs around my waist to stop my movement. When she does I realize, by the feel of her heat under her shorts, that we’re joined at the hip. My hand reaches down to remove her thigh from my waist, but the tender heat it offers stops me. I rest my hand there longer than needed, then move it up toward her waist; the material of what I know are my boxers on her body moves with my hand and her skin beneath my fingertips is warm, soft, and smooth.
Clearing my throat and grasping her arm around me I squeeze as a sign for her to let me go. I tell her, “You need to get out of here, Sarah.”
She releases me, but she also doesn’t move. “I want to stay.”
“For what?”
Her eyes run the length of my face; lips, neck, and then back to my eyes. Her mouth is open and she’s breathing in the same way she had been before. I swallow hard, knowing what I have to do before I lose whatever control I have left.
“You can’t be in here.”
“I can,” she whispers, leaning in and kissing my neck.
“Sarah,” I murmur, feeling my effort to avoid or stop this greatly waning. “If you stay . . .” I can’t finish. The thought of her staying, then leaving, distancing herself from me, carries the threat of her being able to tear my world apart . . . again.
Her hips shift under mine and her hands move from around my shoulders and arms to my waist. Holding me closely to her, she wraps her arms around my back. Being much stronger than she is, I could easily make my way out of her hold.
But I don’t want to.
“Travis?” she questions when I’ve not moved for several seconds.
My forehead rests on hers. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and reach under her, holding her in place. My hips thrust through the material that separates us.
A voice I don’t recognize speaks to the empty space between us. I know it’s mine. “What are you doing?” I thrust again, feeling my cock sink deeper into her shorts in search of connection. She raises her face to the ceiling and I use this to advantage and suck the skin under her ear. The smell of her perfume ignites my already weakening resolve to do the right thing—let her go. She has the power to break me completely if I let her.
Moving my face with her hands, she forces it steadily to face hers. Her head lifts from my pillow, and she takes my mouth in a sudden, quick, pivotal motion.
My patience snaps and I begin to devour her. The overwhelming urgency, although not unexpected, loses to the ache of wanting to be inside of her again—to own her and make mine, whatever small piece wasn’t already.
“Beg me for this,” I tell her, lifting my body from hers and looking down at her face.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Her eyebrows furrow, but not from confusion. Her sweet mood has slipped and she’s losing patience. “Beg you,” she states plainly.
“If you want this, you’ll fuckin’ beg for it.”
“I won’t,” she refuses.
Of fucking course she won’t. So stubborn!
Pinning her wrists above her head, I use my body to blanket hers entirely. I bend and lick her neck. She’s struggling to free herself, but I don’t let her move.
“Tell me you want this, Sarah, or get out of my room and don’t look back.”
“Travis?” she questions.
She hadn’t expected my reaction to be this—I hadn’t either—but I’m not letting her have this until she admits what she’s feeling.
“No,” I correct. “You’re in my bed, and you say you want to be here, so . . .”
“Please,” she utters quietly.
“Please . . . what?”
“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” she explains her confusion as she struggles to free herself again, but I still don’t allow it.
Sighing and resting my forehead on hers again, I tell her gently, “I’m not doing this because I’m pissed. I’m doing this because I want you here but I want you to want to be here . . . for the right reasons.”
“I do,” she answers quickly. Too quickly.
“The last time you let me have you, Sarah, the next morning you ripped my fucking world apart. Here you are again. I need to hear you say the words.”
Moving her head to the side to avoid my concentration, she moves her arms again, indicating she wants to be free. I let her go and she positions her arms around my neck.
“Make love to me, Travis.”
Kissing her briefly, I confirm, “You want this?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not changing your mind again, Sarah. You need to understand it. You mean everything to me.”
“I know.”
Sliding my hands down her ass, I lift her slightly to thrust again with added force. My teeth pull on her bottom lip and she whimpers faintly at the same time she bucks off the bed to let me remove her shorts, taking her panties down with them.
I toss them to the floor beside us and without second-guessing, I fall back down against her. I take her mouth again and slide her shirt up without hesitation before exposing her chest. My lips and teeth release hers, and I move my head down and lick an already pebbled nipple with my tongue. Her loud moan of pleasure strikes, so I d
eepen the contact and take it into my mouth. I hear her faint gasp above me.
Her hands make their way to the hem of my shirt and she pulls it up. Lifting slightly, I watch as she pulls it over my head and once free, she tosses it next to her shorts on the floor.
I give her room to rise off the bed. Her chest moves with her motion as she takes off her shirt, my shirt, and does the same as she had done with mine moments before. It flies through the air and lands quietly within a second.
My hand reaches down to feel her center, ensuring she’s ready. I slide my finger up and down her sex to confirm. “You’re not walking away from me again.”
“I know.”
I close my eyes, grab my cock, and position it outside her entrance. My head lifts and I hold her still, opening my eyes to watch her face change as I thrust into her for the first time in so fucking long.
I start slow, allowing her to body to remember the feel of me being inside her. I open my eyes and watch as the vein in her neck protrudes from the pressure and pleasure of her acceptance.
Opening her eyes and looking up at me, I see her expression is saddened. “I’m sorry for what I said,” she whispers.
“Stop,” I whisper, pulling out and pushing back in, not wanting to remember her rejection, but rather accept and memorize this moment as her acceptance of us. “Sarah,” I say softly. “Things will be different.”
She stills beneath me before saying, “We were already different.”
My lips find their way to her neck and I pick up momentum, moving in and out of her and feeling the freedom of greed as to what’s coming—not just sexual release, but taking her body and marking it as mine once and for all.
As I do this, I fear losing control while I push into her harder. Her walls constrict and her entire body tenses around me. Lifting my head to ensure she’s all right, I find her face held taut.
“Don’t tense,” I demand, harsher than needed but the warm feel of being inside her is consuming me. Her body fits under mine, and the intimacy I have with Sarah isn’t something I’ve felt with anyone else. I want her to feel it, too.
“I . . .” Her chest pushes out against mine as her back arches off the bed and a loud gasp escapes her lips.
“Don’t tense, Sarah.” Again, too harsh, so I soften my voice and carefully ask this of her without posing it as a question. “Feel me.”
I start to sense her release as her body trembles and the bed moves with our bodies. While slowing our ravenous momentum, I continue thrusting in and out of her, but just barely.
“What are you doing?” she asks, half sated but fully annoyed.
“Beg me to let you come.”
In reaction to her frustration, her fingernails dig into my back and her upper body nearly lifts from the bed in order to maintain full contact between us. Her hips move in sync with mine from underneath. Her mouth opens, so I cover it with my own and freely accept all pieces she’ll let me have of her.
“Say it. Tell me you feel this.”
“I’m begging, Travis. Please don’t fucking stop,” she says into my mouth, and then bites down on my lower lip.
“Fuckin’ feel me,” I tell her as she tightens from inside, right before I’m about to release into her. My body is violently thrusting as she accepts all I’m doing.
Her legs hold me captive at the waist as she again finds her own release surfacing. Again, I feel her fingernails rip the skin of my back apart as her body convulses around mine.
“That’s it, baby,” I tell her right before I empty myself into her completely.
I don’t stop moving until the shudder of our bodies’ passes and we’re both left breathless.
I’m still inside her as I listen to her breath become even. Her lips touch my neck and I look down to find her smiling.
“You all right?”
“Yes,” she smiles, shyly.
She’s thinking something, so I prod, “What?”
“You’re a little . . .” she hesitates before finishing, “aggressive.”
“Aggressive?”
“Intense and aggressive.”
“Well, yeah. What’d you think? It’s been a while.”
“A while? How long is ‘a while’?”
Sliding out of her and letting her go, I move to lie on my back. She doesn’t move from her side so we’re both looking at the ceiling. I don’t answer her question. If she had a real understanding of what I’ve been going through as I waited for her, she’d already know.
“Why’d you come in here?” I ask, not caring about the answer. It won’t change anything but I’d like to hear her reason.
“I told you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Settling her elbow under her and leaning her head in her hand, she positions herself next to me on her side. I don’t move; instead I’m waiting to see what she’ll do.
Her finger comes out to touch the skin around my eyes. “I wanted to be with you.”
“And?” I curiously ask.
“Aggressive and intense.”
I smile, pulling her in to me. She rests her head on my chest and I close my eyes in relief. I’m so tired. The fight to get her here was exhausting. The feel of her now is a reprieve I haven’t had since we started this, months ago.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asks, tracing her finger along my chest.
“Spending the day with you,” I tell her, moving the hair from her neck and placing it gently on her back.
What I don’t voice is that I plan to spend every day going forward the exact same way.
“We’ll talk tomorrow, I think.” I hear her smile through her words.
“Fuckin’ finally,” I confirm with a smirk of my own.
“We’ll talk about your laundry, too. I need more shirts to sleep in.”
“Christ,” I return, the smile not leaving my face.
“We’ll also talk about your room. What the hell did you do in here?”
“I was mad,” I explain without emotion.
“You threw your guitar?” she asks. I hadn’t realized she might have seen what I had done before crashing earlier. Acting like a pissed-off teenager, I ripped my room apart.
“It’s old. It was a piece of shit anyway.”
“Still. If I’d have done that . . .”
“You’ve thrown things.”
“Paperclips, maybe.”
“Right,” I reply sarcastically. “I’ll clean it all up in the morning.”
“I’m not helping.”
“Good.”
“Good,” she returns quickly then holds me tighter.
A few minutes later, I’m forced to open my eyes.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, feeling her body move back and forth, jarring me as it does.
“What am I doing?”
“Sarah,” I start, hoping to not embarrass her. It’s hard to keep a straight face. “Do you still rock yourself to sleep at night?”
She tenses in my arms before answering indirectly. “You’ve put me to bed before. Why are you asking this?”
“No,” I draw out. “I’ve carried you to bed before. You were always already asleep when I did.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “When I’m not exhausted, I may move a little to get myself to sleep.”
“You rock,” I correct her, rubbing the back of her head.
“You don’t have to point that shit out like it’s all bad.”
“I’m not,” I smile into her hair and she feels my body jump with a laugh I’m holding in.
“Stop!”
“You’re funny.”
“Fuck you.”
“When you were a kid, I remember Bean putting you in time out when you wouldn’t sit still. It used to piss her off you’d rock yourself to sleep trying to run your energy out.”
She huffs again. “I can’t go to sleep right away. A lot of people have the same problem.”
“All right,” I concede. “Rock away. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Better be,” she returns, pinching the skin of my ribs.
“Sleep, Sarah.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Travis.”
Those are the last words I hear before I close my eyes to sleep, oddly realizing she’s said them to me at least a thousand times since I’ve known her.
Crazy girl.
CHAPTER NINE
Sarah
AFTER TRAVIS FELL asleep, I found it impossible to close my eyes, so I lay next to him; my arm around his waist, my legs wrapped in his, and watched him sleep. I relived every touch, every breath, and every second of our hours together.
If someone had asked me months ago, before the funeral, if I’d ever end up in Travis’s bed, I would’ve laughed and told them they were nuts. Even the night of Hayden and Lacey’s wedding feels so small and meaningless in comparison to what we’ve grown to be.
The night of the wedding, I had gotten drunk. Really fucking drunk. Travis and I had been hanging out all day, trying to stay out of everyone’s way. When it was just us, he was so different.
We were sitting on Hayden’s dad’s couch making fun of all our friends; it wasn’t nice but it was something we always did. When I reached over his body to grab another beer, Travis grabbed my face and kissed me. I was shocked, but let it continue.
Some fumbling later, I was on my back, he was on top of me. My hands were up his shirt and that’s when my knee came up to push against his dick. He stopped. He felt guilty because I was only seventeen. He apologized profusely and we talked it out, over more beers of course, and ended up lying with each other the rest of the night.
It didn’t feel awkward until Hayden and Lacey came down and busted in on our evening together. I ended up faking a headache and asking Ace to come get me. Looking back, I get why Travis was so pissed the night after Bean’s funeral.
I’d called Ace to come get me; only it wasn’t about a stolen kiss or gentle caress.
I broke his heart.
I never want to make him feel that way again.
After we had sex last night, Travis didn’t say much. It’s not unusual for Travis not to talk, especially when he’s lost in his own head, but after what happened I thought he’d have something to say—anything. But he didn’t, and neither did I.
