Always You

by Roxie Noir

  “They leaving?” I whisper.

  Trent shrugs. He’s still breathing hard, his shirt torn in one spot where something must have caught it.

  “I’m on this side with you,” he points out. “Let’s get outta here.”

  I glance around, looking down the wall. This side is carpeted with sticks and leaves, all crunchy and loud as hell. We could run through the woods, but I’ve got no clue at all where we’d end up then — most of the area around Tallwood is forest, so we’d be as likely to die of exposure or something as to ever make it to the car.

  So I stand quietly. I listen hard, and the night is dead quiet aside from the breeze rustling the trees, the sound of our own breathing, Trent softly clearing his throat as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, watching me. Waiting for the go-ahead, because sneaking out of a situation instead of punching my way through is my area of expertise, not his.

  And I’m lost. I’m half thinking about how to get out of here without being seen, about whether the cops will hear us crunching through the forest or whether they’ll catch us walking back down the long driveway to our car, but I’m half thinking that I should just kiss Trent again, right now, because fuck everything else, that’s what I want.

  I want him, because I’ve already lied to myself for years and this is where I snapped.

  “Well?” he rumbles, a half-smile lifting his lips in the moonlight, and I exhale, shaking off thoughts of me against a wall, legs wrapped around him.

  “I think we’re okay,” I whisper. “I didn’t hear the car leave, but I think they’re at least heading that way...”

  I stop abruptly.

  Voices.

  Unmistakably cop voices, and in that second every muscle in my body tenses. I nearly tell Trent to go, run, but I bite my lip because I know it’s stupid.

  “Get down,” I hiss instead, lurching forward and grabbing his arm. “Against the wall. Be quiet.”

  In a flash we’re there, backs to the cool stone, sitting on the ground that’s half-dirt, half leaves. I’m trying not to move, not to breathe, because I think we’re out of options. If we run they find us and if we make noise they find us and if we do nothing at all, they maybe still find us.

  Neither of us breathes a word, just look at each other. It’s long and slow and searching and moonlit, and even though it’s chilly out here it sparks something, and suddenly I’m nervous and I don’t know why, other than the feeling that I’m about to jump off a waterfall.

  He reaches out, slowly. He runs his thumb along the skin on my chest, just above the low-cut neck of my shirt, and I shiver, looking down. There’s a long, ugly scratch, blood welling up in droplets. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now he’s looking at me, eyebrows up, the question obvious.

  I shake my head.

  It’s nothing.

  But I run my hand down his torso until I find the hole in his shirt. I poke one finger through, wiggling it.

  He shakes his head, a smile around his eyes.

  It’s nothing.

  I lift his shirt and find a bruised scratch underneath, and even in the moonlight I can tell it’s already purpling. I lift my eyebrows at him, not sure of the game we’re playing now, but knowing that it matters over the cold and over the stones sticking into my back and over the footsteps of the police officers slowly growing closer.

  Really? I’m asking.

  Trent grins and grabs my wrist, his hand somehow warm as a furnace despite the cold, and he pulls me until I’m facing him and my arm is around him, his face almost against mine.

  “I’m fine,” he rumbles, his voice barely audible even to me, an inch away.

  “You sure?” I ask.

  Trent smiles, and I feel it more than I see it, the faint motion of his face against mine.

  He kisses me again, and again there’s a slow rush, the feeling that my whole body sings one perfect harmonic note, the wave of disbelief and nervousness as I kiss him back, press my mouth even harder to his.

  We move slowly, silently. His lips move against mine and I open my mouth against his, because even here, on the cold ground, in the dark, I want more because I’ve always wanted more.

  Trent pulls back, barely, and ends the kiss silently.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” he murmurs.

  Then his hand is in my hair and we’re kissing again even though I can hear the cops coming closer. They’re talking about something inane, something to do with their sergeant’s kid and how he won’t eat anything but goldfish crackers and milk and I know they’re right there but I don’t care. I can’t even try.

  We pull back again. I’m breathing hard and trying to do it quietly, running one hand along Trent’s jaw and down his neck, finding the muscles in his shoulders and digging my fingers in, half just to make sure that this is happening.

  “—Ought to make it clear that he’s not getting any dinner unless he eats what the family’s eating,” a female voice says, just close enough that I can hear.

  Trent pulls me in again, his hand on my waist, my hip, his fingers pressing into the dip of my lower back. I kiss him again, pushing myself into his warm, solid body, feeling like I need this more than air.

  “We tried that with my oldest and she was stubborn as a mule,” the male voice says, getting closer.

  He pulls me again, harder, and there’s something urgent and insistent about it, like he needs this now so I throw one leg over his lap and now I’m straddling him, up against the wall. I’m trying to be silent but it’s fucking hard because I’m so turned on and lit up that I feel electric, anything but quiet.

  Trent grabs my hips and pulls me down, hard, and suddenly I’m pressed against something hard and thick and big. I gasp into Trent’s mouth and he growls, quietly, his teeth on my lip.

  “...just got to show them who’s in charge,” the woman says, and she’s close. Close enough that I should stop, that we should stop if only for thirty seconds but I’ve already passed that point.

  Instead I tighten my finger in Trent’s hair and fight down a moan, rolling my hips against him, the heat between my legs sending sparks jittering through every inch of my body. I’m so far past I shouldn’t do this that I can’t even see it in the rear-view mirror.

  Trent pulls my head back. He presses his lips to my jaw, my neck, the spot right under my ear and I grit my teeth together, forcing myself not to make a sound as I move my hips again, one hand flat against the cool stone of the wall.

  Something snaps under my knee. It’s loud, and the moment it happens we both freeze.

  The murmured chatter from the other side of the wall stops instantly. I hold my breath, afraid that’s enough sound to alert them, even as Trent softly takes his lips from my neck, and I lean my forehead against his, one hand on his face.

  They have to come around, I think frantically. They’re not going to climb that wall, and while they do we can run for it, they’ve only got guns and a car...

  Maybe he’ll get out of it. He’s polite, he’s not a teenager, maybe they’ll let him off with a warning and won’t check his record.

  He kisses me again. So softly I barely feel it, but I kiss him back, my heart in my throat.

  “Okay,” says the man. “How should we do this?”

  “This is your last chance to surrender yourselves,” the woman says.

  They pause. We don’t make a single fucking sound.

  “Right, thought so,” she mutters. “I’ll go around and you wait by the car, in case they make a run for it the other way? If they run through the woods they’re liable to get eaten by bears.”

  She says the last part louder, like it’s for our benefit. We don’t move.

  The man sighs.

  “Right, let’s get it over with,” he says. “I’ll—”

  There’s a sudden burst of static, and he curses.

  “Jesus, how come radio silence is the loudest damn part?” he grouses. “Yep, Russell and Jones here.”

  I can’t make out what the radio’s saying,
but I’m barely breathing. I think my hands are shaking, because I’m thinking frantically: maybe if we run we can make it. Don’t take the driveway, just head downhill through the woods...

  It’s fucking stupid and probably dangerous, because careening downhill in the woods is how you do dumb shit like fall off boulders and cliffs, but that might be better than the alternative.

  “We should go now,” I murmur into Trent’s ear. “I think we can—”

  Trent grabs my wrist, holding me down.

  “Wait,” he whispers. “Listen.”

  I listen. I close my eyes and strain my ears but I can’t make out a goddamn thing over the crackling of the radio and my own nerves, and I shake my head.

  “I can’t—”

  “Did you get all that?” the man says.

  “Is it that damn 7-11 again?”

  “Allen and Main,” the man says.

  “Armed?”

  “Yup.”

  She sighs.

  “Let me guess, we’re the closest because Kurzweil and LaCroix are out at some tweaker cabin in the mountains trying to talk someone down off a pile of meth.”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “At least it’s a real crime,” she says, sounding resigned.

  Then she raises her voice and unmistakably shouts at the wall where we’re sitting.

  “Don’t trespass!” she calls. “There’s cameras everywhere, it’s not worth your dumb ass spending a night in jail!”

  The man chuckles. They walk away, their voices receding away until they’re gone.

  It must be a full minute until I can breathe again. Maybe longer. I wonder if it’s some sort of elaborate trap to get us to fuck up and come out, but nothing else happens.

  Except slowly, almost thoughtfully, Trent presses his lips to my neck again and my eyes slide closed despite myself. Slowly, his hand makes its way under my shirt, his thumb stroking my belly as I move my hips against his again because even here, like this, I can’t help myself.

  Finally, Trent stops me. He pulls me back, panting for breath, and looks at me through heavy-lidded eyes. I tilt my head to one side and swallow hard, suddenly afraid he’s going to say we should take it slow or this isn’t what I want from you or something equally bullshit.

  Because I don’t want to take it fucking slow, I want Trent here and now, cold and dirt be damned.

  “Yes?” I finally ask.

  “We should go,” he murmurs.

  I stop for a moment, not sure what he means.

  “You’re freezing and there’s cameras,” he points out. “But I’ve got a very warm hotel room.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Trent

  I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here, like this, with Darcy on top of me, writhing and a little bit dirty but beautiful as fuck.

  “I’m not that cold,” she says, even though I can see the goosebumps on her arms in the moonlight.

  I pull her in and kiss her again, just because I don’t want the moment to end, not yet. I want her naked in the dirt, against the wall, on top of me. I want her wherever, it doesn’t fucking matter. I just want her, like I always have, only now I’m impossibly close.

  “I’m not waiting for them to come back,” I murmur into her ear. “Once was enough, don’t you think?”

  Darcy sighs, and the sound turns to a gasp as I bite her earlobe, tugging it between my teeth.

  But we have to go. The only consolation is the disappointed look on her face, confirmation that I didn’t fucking imagine this, that I didn’t somehow ruin the best thing I have.

  We walk the stone wall and hold hands. There’s no cop car, though we walk along the very edge of the driveway, like we can dive into the woods if one comes along. Darcy’s hand is freezing in mine, and every time I look over at her I swear her nipples are puckered harder, just begging me to stop in the road and suck them into my mouth, one by one, just to hear the way she’d gasp.

  I don’t. The cop obviously wasn’t lying about the cameras. They knew we were here somehow.

  When we finally get to the car, there’s an envelope stuffed under a windshield wiper. Darcy takes it off, looking amused, and when she flips it over she starts laughing.

  “Guess how much,” she says, her eyes dancing.

  I sigh. No, I didn’t fucking think this ghost-hunting trip through. I came up with it five hours ago because I was desperate to make things better with Darcy, because even though she was right there I fucking missed her.

  It did work.

  “Fifty bucks,” I say, thinking that Tallwood is a pretty small town, so the parking tickets should be reasonable.

  Darcy just snorts, then jerks one thumb upward as I unlock the car.

  “A hundred.”

  “When was the last time you got a parking ticket for a hundred dollars?” she says as we get in and buckle up. I turn the car on and crank the heater, directing all the vents toward her. She makes a face and turns it down.

  “I don’t know the last time I got a parking ticket,” I say.

  Darcy rolls her eyes, but she knows I’m not lying. I’ll circle a block for thirty minutes before I risk having to interact with a cop, even parking enforcement.

  “It’s not a hundred dollars.”

  “Two.”

  “Closer.”

  I turn on the headlights, splashing a bright pool in front of the car, tree trunks going ghostly in the sudden light.

  “Two-fifty.”

  “Two sixty three.”

  And fucking worth it.

  Even if they run my plates and catch me for trespassing, fucking worth it.

  I look over at her, dark hair spilling in front of her face, flipping the ticket over in her hand.

  “It’s fucking highway robbery. Literally.”

  “Darce.”

  She looks up, tucks her hair behind an ear.

  “C’mere,” I say softly.

  Darcy gives me a quick glance, up and down, like she’s not sure what I want, like she’s not sure that I want it, but she leans in and I kiss her again just because I can. Because deep down I’m afraid that between here and the lodge she’ll realize again that this is a bad idea, that she’ll want to turn back the clock because she’s afraid of losing us the way we were.

  But then her mouth is on mine. I lick her bottom lip and she lets me in, her hand in my hair, half-turned in her seat, and I’ve got one hand on her thigh and when we pull back she swallows, breathing hard, then bites my lip just for good measure.

  I drive dangerously fast back to the lodge. The whole way we talk about nothing, just like we always do.

  It’s late when we get back, well past midnight. The moon has lowered again and the stars are out full force, though I hardly fucking notice.

  I kiss Darcy again in the parking lot, before I get out of the car, my fingers wandering down her body. I think about climbing into the passenger seat, on top of her, and just taking her right there because it’s late and no one’s around and I feel like I’m coming out of my skin I want this so bad.

  But I can see the window of my room from there. I can put this off for sixty seconds to avoid a public nudity charge.

  We walk through the parking lot, my heart pounding, her hand in mine. This time when the breeze moves her hair off her neck and I can see the pink scar of her burn, I don’t stop myself. I lean over and plant my lips right at the edge, where her back meets her neck, and I listen for the noise she makes deep in her throat even as all her muscles tense.

  “C’mon,” she laughs.

  We’re right in front of the heavy wooden door to the lodge, and I spin her around, push her against it. Gently, because of her back.

  “C’mon what?”

  Darcy grabs a fistful of my shirt and tugs, tilting her face up toward mine.

  “C’mon, we’re in public,” she teases.

  “And?”

  “And public,” she says.

  “It’s two o’clock in the morning,” I say, resting
one forearm on the door over her head. “No one’s here. We could get up to anything.”

  I swear her breath catches a little at anything, her fist on my shirt tightens, and I push my hips against hers, the pressure delicious on my rock-hard cock. Darcy bites her lip and smiles, her eyes drifting closed.

  “Who the fuck are you and what did you do with Trent?” she asks.

  I chuckle and slide one hand under her shirt, up her side, her breathing fast and her skin soft under my fingertips.

  “What makes you think I’m not Trent?”

  “Because Trent is my sweet, quiet, broody, best friend who does a lot of glowering and acts like I’m his little sister,” she says, but there’s a smile in her voice.

  “Are you sure he’s not your broody best friend who glowers and thinks about this nearly every day?”

  “Not anymore,” she says.

  I close the last two inches and kiss her hard, up against the door of the lodge. I move my hand up her torso, past her ribcage, as she opens her mouth into mine and her tongue darts into my mouth. I’m nearly shaking with desire, with the force of finally doing something I’ve thought about for years, and there’s a part of me that wants to tear her clothes off right here, right now. Lift her against this door and take her hard until she fucking screams, her nails raking down my back.

  But I don’t. I run the pad of my thumb along the undercurve of one breast and she sighs, pressing her hips harder against mine so I keep going. I run my thumb along her nipple and feel it harden as I do.

  Fuck it’s satisfying. Fuck if the way she grabs my hip, pulls me harder against her isn’t exactly what I’ve always dreamed of, so I do it again. She bites my lip, but she puts one hand on my chest. Pushes slightly.

  “C’mon,” I tease.

  “You know there’s cameras out here, right?” she murmurs, still smiling.

  I sigh and lean my forehead against hers.

  “Fucking police state.”

  “You know someone would pay for footage of us...”

  She stops short, blue eyes wide and smiling in the dark.

  “Don’t stop there.”

  “Getting friendly.”

  “You weren’t going to say getting friendly.”