by Cat Porter
I waited for the shuffling of clothing, for footsteps. But there were only short quick breaths echoing down the hallway. I took my coffee mug in hand and made my way toward the sounds.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
Finger lifted himself up at the pull bar that was stretched across a doorway. He was focused on an imaginary point in the hallway, dipping down and swiftly pulling himself up in a smooth arc motion. His every muscle worked, body taut, skin flushed. Flex, pull. Flex, pull.
And he was naked.
Flex. Pull.
And he was magnificent.
And I’d had him next to me in my bed all night long. I took a sip of coffee and burned my tongue.
His feet settled on the floor, his hands releasing the bar, his dark eyes hanging on mine. “Morning.” He rubbed a hand over his sweaty chest, his morning wood, mighty wooden.
“Uh huh.” I swallowed down more blazing coffee.
He smirked. “You use the bar?”
“Sometimes.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Like twice a year. Maybe.”
The smirk transformed into a full grin. “What do you have it for then?”
“Beck put it up. He uses it whenever he comes for a visit.”
“Right.” His face tensed for a second. “I haven’t used a bar in a while. It’s difficult for me to get a good grip with my hands.”
“Oh, you were doing just fine.”
That grin of his returned. “I stick to pushups.”
That I’d like to see.
“Coffee?” I asked.
“Definitely.” He went back to my bedroom and came out moments later wearing his jeans and a tight, long-sleeved T, a plaid flannel shirt unbuttoned over that, his boots in his hand.
I handed him his coffee and sat at my dining table.
“How’s Joshua this morning?” I asked.
He laughed, taking a sip of coffee. “He’s got to get back to Nebraska.”
“What happened yesterday, Finger? Why were you so concerned?”
“Yesterday was the beginning and middle of the end. It was a long time coming.”
“What did you do?”
“Punished the harlot.”
“Which of the many harlots?” I asked.
“Reich for starters. My National President, who was coddling him. Clearing the land, baby. Outside and in.” His dark metallic eyes stayed on mine as he drank his coffee.
I toyed with the edge of my beaded placemat. “You’re concerned about blowback?”
He picked at the blueberries in the cereal, popping them in his mouth. “Not usually. But things are different now. Now I have you again, and I’m not letting go, for anyone or anything.” He ate a spoonful of the granola.
“You have me?”
“Yes. And you have me.” He chewed, those iron eyes on me again, making my stomach seize. “Tell me you made this granola yourself.”
“I made this granola myself.”
“It’s real good. I’ve never liked cereal for breakfast. As a snack on the road, on hikes, yeah. But not for breakfast. Talented woman.”
He sat on the chair next to me and shoved on his boots. Leaning in close, he brushed a hand across my jaw and up the side of my face, but he didn’t go in for a kiss. In a tense, expectant silence, we stared at each other’s lips, eyes, taking each other in, the differences, the similarities, applying brushstrokes of color to a pencil sketch, tasting the wine we had bottled ourselves a long, long time ago.
A giddy coil unwound inside me. He was still my Justin underneath the deeper lines, the thicker beard. That dark gleam in those savage eyes was still there, still unfurling me, still filling me. I glided, sails full on his wind.
His features remained intent and he pulled me in closer, planting a lingering kiss on my lips, his tongue taunting mine. My breath caught, my lips stung. I dug my nails into his formidable biceps. Was it possible to be infatuated, enthralled all over again all these years later?
He brushed a finger over the compass with the flaming blue N on my chest. “I like that tat.” He planted a quick kiss on my cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Finger—”
He grabbed his colors from the chair and stalked out my front door. “Tonight, baby.”
59
I’d spent the night with Lenore three times now. Slipping into her house, into her bed, holding her, pressing my body into hers. No words, only two or three soft kisses down her neck, and then sleep. A thick, full sleep with my arms full of her.
How had I done it all these years without her? Shut down, shut off. Would I ever feel satiated? I didn’t think so.
At dawn, I’d leave and ride back to Nebraska and get back to work. Back to planning.
Tonight, Lenore was awake. Waiting. A small orange lamp glowed at the side of her bed, a glass of amber liquor in her hand. I took it from her and drank. Brandy. Its sweet heat spilled through me.
“I suppose it’s not a coincidence that Tricky’s been out of town all this week?” Her pointed question hung in the semi-darkness.
“Does that bother you?” I pulled off my long-sleeved shirt, tossing it to the side.
Her eyes darted over my bare chest. “No.”
I unfastened my leathers, dropping them to the floor, but her eyes remained on mine.
The silence was skittish and fragile between us. A colt finding its legs, wanting to sprint, yet not sure how.
“Did you have dinner?” she asked. “I have barley soup I can warm up for you.”
She’d changed the subject. Good.
“I’m fine,” I replied.
“Okay.” She chewed on her lip, studying me.
“You nervous with me?”
“A little, yeah.” She licked her lips. “I’m not used to—”
Real intimacy? Raw vulnerability?
“Yeah. Me neither.” I rubbed a thumb down her damp lips, and they parted for me.
She squirmed on the bed. It was a slow movement, an uncoiling of pent up anxiety, need, and desire. I bent over her and kissed her slowly, gently peeling away at that anxiety. Baring the need, unfurling the desire. I pulled a moan from her, and then another. Her hands went to my beard, my neck, and she opened her mouth fully, our lips enthralled in a search and discovery of taste and sensation. I gripped her jaw and nipped a trail down her throat and over to that spot below her ear that would always give her the chills. And there—she let out a cry, her flesh quivering—Yeah, there it was.
She grabbed at me, pulling us closer, her chest crashing into mine, her hips grinding slightly. I wiped her blue hair back from that beautiful face. I wanted to see her face. Her cheeks had reddened, liquid eyes heavy. Staring at each other, we caught our breaths. She released me, her one arm falling back over her head, the fingers of her other hand moving to her damp, swollen lips as she watched me, not saying a word. Watched and waited and wondered.
I wanted to give her plenty to wonder at.
I gave her the brandy and she finished it.
“What’s this?” I gestured at four small labeled glass bottles on her night table.
“Perfumed oils from different botanicals. I’ve been creating scents for men and women to sell at the store. I was playing with different scent combinations tonight.”
I opened a bottle. Sandalwood. Another. Cinnamon. Another was orange. The last, bergamot. A larger bottle was coconut. The base. I sat up and threw the thin sheet off her, she was naked like she was every night.
“Lie back.”
She pushed up on the bed. “What are you—”
“Baby.”
She gnawed on the edge of her lower lip again and laid back down. I rubbed some coconut oil between my hands then dripped perfumed oil from the other bottles and rubbed again. I laid my warm hands between her breasts
and stroked down her middle, and she let out a gasp. I rubbed in circles, small motions as I wedged my body between her legs, spreading them wide. My hands massaged up to her shoulders, down her arms, applying sure, slippery strokes. The concentrated scents filled the air, inviting the heat and energy to rise from her skin like holy fucking vapors.
She was my altar, and I was praying, making vows, uttering devotions.
Her flesh seemed to flow under my touch, her breath shortening, her muscles going limp. I stroked down to the inside of her thighs and back up again, around her breasts to her throat, around her neck, behind her ears.
“Finger…” Her voice floated.
She was in a trance, under my spell. And I was under hers.
“I want to see you like this in the light. Like that first time in the motel, remember? That was new for us, intense in a different way. I want to see you in the light now, Sunshine. Want to see it all.”
Her lips parted, her eyes swirls of deep blue green. Her body melted under my hands, her desire rising like a cloud of perfume. I was touching her, opening her deeper, engaging her energy with mine.
The heat rose inside me, my hands gliding, moving, stroking over the inked delicate birds, suns and moons, many in different stages of eclipse, stars and waves. Goddesses dancing, fairies flying. Compasses. A lot of compasses all over her. Each one with numbers underneath.
I stroked around her full breasts, and they swayed with the movement of my hands. The tattooed blue N was in flames and visible in the purple and pink and red vines and flowers by one tit. The small silver balls of her nipple piercings gleamed in the muted light, and my mouth dried. I remembered when she’d first gotten them, and they’d been mine, all mine. I wanted those tits in my hands, in my mouth. I wanted her body under me, moving with mine. To fight me. Tease me. To beg me for more, demand more. I wanted inside her, taking from her every last drop of resistance and filling her with me.
But that could wait. My cock could wait. This, right now, was everything.
My thumbs rubbed up at the edges of her thighs then skimmed down on either side of her slit, and she let out a cry. I stroked over the top of her pussy, massaging in firm circles, applying pressure over the hood of her clit. She moaned, her mouth parting, her hips flexing up towards my sure strokes.
“Holy sh...” Her head swung to the side, her breathing uneven.
I kneaded her most intimate curves, massaging over her core, her flesh swelling under my touch. That’s what I wanted for her, pleasure, heat. Her eyes found mine. Knowing, not knowing. I wanted to break down all the boundaries between us again. I searched for her. A serenade calling out to her. A tango challenging her, summoning her back. Every stroke brought her further, brought us closer.
I palmed her pussy and she lifted her hips, grinding into my hand.
“Yeah, baby, oh yeah,” I said, my voice thick, sweat beading on my forehead. I swirled my thumb and index finger around her clit, never touching it directly, then down her opening, tugging at the sides of her slick lips.
Her gaze remained fixed on mine. Was she still anxious? Still disbelieving that this was happening? That it was me in her bed, making her come?
I’m gonna make you come, all right.
My other hand swept over a tit and settled on her upper chest. I needed to feel her heart pounding for me, connecting to mine. Her fingernails dug into my arm, her head shoving back into the pillow. Pinning her hands down into the mattress, I buried my face between her legs. Her back arched off the bed.
I had plunged into the ocean.
A thousand suns broke over the perfumed water, and I was blinded by the glare. I surged to the bottom, I flew to the surface. I breathed deep and took it all in, all of it, all of it was her.
Her breathy moans and cries got louder and more frequent. They were beautiful, they were fragile, and I wanted more and more of them. Her body shuddered in my grip, her sharp taste filling my mouth, intoxicating me, feeding my hunger.
She stiffened, closing her legs, writhing away. “No!”
I slid up her body, lifting up on my arms, hovering over her. “What’s wrong? What is it?”
She turned her face into the pillow, tears staining her cheek.
I pushed her hair back, my nose brushing the side of her jaw. “Serena, talk to me.”
“Stop. I—I can’t do this.”
My erection pressed against her middle, a hand sliding through the slickness between her legs, and she relaxed. “Too real for you?”
Her eyes were a storm-pitched sea, turbulent, murky, the bottom no longer visible. I’d hit a nerve.
“Sunshine,” I whispered. “Being with you again, so close, like this, is amazing. You feel it, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Her lips trembled. “Yes.”
My index finger slowly made its way inside her pussy, pulsing there.
Her chin raised, her breath catching, making a strangling noise in her throat. She was mine. Always mine.
“Justin...”
“You’re burning a hole right through me, baby,” I breathed.
Her eyelids jammed shut. “Please stop.” She hissed the word out long and slow. She was fighting it. She was uncomfortable.
I released her, removing my hand and gently brushed her lips with mine. “We’ll take it slow. Spend time together with our clothes on. We need to—”
“No.” With a heave, she sprang from the bed, grabbing her robe from the floor, charging from the room.
Dammit.
I followed her. “Why not? Don’t run away from me. You’re not doing that again.”
She tried to catch her breath, pushing her wild hair behind her ears, her eyes darting over my cock, my legs, up my chest. She swallowed hard, a hand in the air. “I—just—”
“You’re not in control and you don’t like it, do you? You call all the shots with Tricky?” That stung the second it left my mouth. A low blow, but I couldn’t fucking help it. I’d seen her with Tricky once in town, laughing, relaxed, a good time. No worries. But with me, now, she felt threatened, preferring to stay locked away in her Tower of Denial. “You tie him up and have your way with him, is that it? That your kink?”
“Fuck you!”
“No, fuck you,” I replied, reigning it in, my voice low. Her eyes widened. She wasn’t sure which way I was headed with this now. I was being honest, that was all that was left. “You once gave me something to believe in, but then you took it away. You threw me in a dark hole and abandoned us, letting us rot.”
“I didn’t.”
“That’s what it felt like. Especially when I was in jail. I needed you. I needed us, so goddamn bad. Everything hurt less, and everything made more sense when we had each other. For you too, I know it. Yeah, it was real difficult a lot of the time, but it was still good. It was real. I want us back. You need us back.”
“Need?” Her eyes blazed, her jaw stiffened. “You have no idea.”
“Tell me all about it.”
“I want you to go.”
“Do you want me, Serena? Do you?” My question, my voice came from the deepest and hollowest part of me. The part that used to be full of her, us.
“I said go.”
She was hiding something. I could smell it, feel it in the slicing shiver up my spine. She stood there resolute. She was the guard dog at the gates, and I was pulling at the padlock, looking through the bars trying to figure out what lay beyond in the dark.
I grabbed a knife from the block on her kitchen counter.
She pivoted. “What the hell are you doing?”
I slashed a cut across the skin on my arm, holding it out to her. Red blood beaded up from the cut. “See?” I held out my arm to her, the knife still tight in my grip. “I bleed. Do you?”
“Finger—”
“We used to bleed for each other. Willingly, unwilling
ly.” I grabbed her arm, and she jerked back in my hold. “I’ve been bleeding all these years, Lenore. Leaving a trail of blood everywhere I go. What about you? You left a trail?”
“I haven’t stopped bleeding since Med took me. Haven’t stopped!” she said through gritted teeth.
My heart squeezed in my chest at the familiar sound of that particular suffering. It was the most honest thing she’d said all night.
I wanted more.
I dragged the blade against her skin, and she took in a hiss of air, our eyes jumping to the blood rising on her arm. I held her hand in mine, crushing her fingers in my hold as I brought her arm to my mouth and sucked on the blood there, pressing my tongue against the superficial cut in her flesh like only a lover would.
She let out a husky gasp, a moan. She liked it. I pulled her in tighter against me, my grip firm, our lips a breath apart.
“Justin.”
I took her in a deep, hungry kiss, the copper taste of her blood on our tongues. Yes. Our first kiss after all these years should be filled with blood.
Her robe shifted open, and the compass on her chest peeked up at me, sending an ice cold slice right through the heat we’d just generated.
“You still have my compass?” I kissed her again, nipping at her lips with my teeth. “Or did you lose it? Did you throw it away?”
Her shoulders fell, she took in a determined long breath, her lips pursing. Was she trying hard not to let any more emotion loose? “It broke.”
“You were mad at me and you broke it?” I tossed the knife back on the kitchen counter.
“No.” She wrapped her arms around herself as if she were suddenly cold, fighting shivers. “Motormouth broke it when he went through my stuff in Chicago. He broke it, and I realized right then that nothing could be held sacred anymore. Not you and me together, not my own life or yours, not our feelings, not our dreams. Nothing.”
The colorless tone in her voice drained the vengeful lust-filled fervor in my blood.
“So, when I saw you in LA,” she continued. “I let you walk out the door because no matter how much I wanted us back, how much I wanted to reverse time and change my choices, even if I could’ve, there was no point.”
