by Sam Mariano
"I'll leave this here with you. It's the only key, so you'll have to let me in when I come back."
She nods her head, hugging herself as we walk through the door.
"You probably shouldn't wander too far from the cottage though. Doesn't seem like you're..."
I don't want to say she's completely incapable of surviving in the wilderness, but she's already nodding, because she's discovered the same thing about herself in the last hour and a half.
"I won't."
It's pretty dark at this point, so she waits by the door while I find the lantern. Once it's lit, I pull a full box of candles out of one of the cupboards and drop it on the short stretch of counter.
Annabelle comes inside slowly, checking it out. It's still pretty dark in the corners, but she can see to get around. It's not much. A red flannel-print couch with a rough wood end table and lantern next to it. A table with a single chair, for eating alone. The kitchen isn't much of a kitchen without power—some cupboards with pots and dishes, a couple of drawers, some utensils, some matches and flashlights and tools. Beside the counter is a case of bottled water and a box full of toilet paper.
She opens the cupboards one by one, and finally finds some food in the third one. Not a ton of food, but some granola bars, a half-eaten jar of peanut butter, a bag of flour, saltine crackers, half a dozen cans of tomato soup.
"I'll bring you some bread tomorrow," I tell her.
She nods, lips pressed together in what I can only call a brave face.
"And whatever else you need," I add.
She manages a smile. "Thank you. It'll be fine. There's... no stove?"
I nod and reach into a lower cupboard, pulling out the pot I hang over the fireplace. I nod to the cold, dark fireplace while holding the pot until she gets the picture.
"Oh. Okay. Cool."
"It's just for a few days," I tell her.
She nods, but still looks anxious.
I grab a book of word search puzzles off the countertop and hand it to her.
She regards me with raised eyebrows.
"Not a whole lot to do out here," I explain. "There's a pond not too far behind the cottage, but... it's not really fishing weather, and I'm gonna go ahead and guess you're not the outdoorsy type anyway."
Full-on grinning, she asks, "What gave me away?"
I merely shake my head and make my way to the fireplace so I can get the place to start warming up.
Annabelle wanders around a little more, then takes a seat at the edge of the couch and watches me work. "Do you come out here a lot?"
"Not a lot."
"How long can you stay tonight?"
I have to pull the night shift guarding the junkyard, but I can stay for a few hours. After the tense car ride, I wasn't so sure she'd really want me to.
"I've got a bit," I say.
"We should've grabbed food on the way," she realizes.
I smile, but my back's to her so she can't see me. "I'll bring food tomorrow night."
"Is that the next time I'll see you?"
My shoulders tense at the question. I don't know how tomorrow's gonna go. It could be pretty bad, if the worst case scenario plays out. I don't know exactly how Raj gets all of his information and I don't know how Pietro will react to what I've done today. Could be I won't be able to come back tomorrow, because I'll have a shitstorm to deal with.
"I'm not sure. That's the soonest. I'll have to go back to my apartment in the morning and wait to see what happens after today. Assuming all goes smoothly, I'll come back tomorrow evening."
Now she looks anxious again. "How will I know if things don't go... smoothly? If you just don't show up, I won't know how to... I won't know anything. How long do I wait?"
Standing from my crouched position, I abandon the fire and head into the bedroom to get into my lockbox. I don't expect her to follow me, but by the time I'm turning to go back to the living area, she's there in the doorway.
She glances at the cell phone I offer to her. "It's a burner." I hand her another small, cylindrical object. "This is good for about a dozen charges. This phone'll be yours in case you need to reach me. Obviously you should only make contact sparingly, if at all, but if something goes wrong or you need me for something, I'll put my number in it for you and you'll have a way."
“Thanks,” she says, taking both items, regarding them awkwardly. She glances around for somewhere to put them, but it’s pretty sparse. She settles on shoving them in the puffy front pocket of her sweatshirt.
I’m not the most socially graceful in the best of situations, and this is definitely not that. Annabelle stays just inside the bedroom door, and I turn to squeeze past her.
“Wait,” she says, a hand tentatively grazing my side. Even through my clothes, her touch makes me tense.
I watch her with a straight face, but I almost feel bad because she’s completely open, and she looks more than a little unsure of herself as her fingers trail across my hip. There’s not much sound out here, just the faint hum of the creatures outside, so I can hear her gulp.
Stilling her much smaller hand with mine, I stop her, brushing her off. “You don’t have to do that.”
Falling back a little, almost shrinking, she says, “You don’t want me to?”
“You’ve had a lot to process since I took you from the mall. I don’t expect you to feel the same way now you did before. You don’t owe me anything; I saved you because I wanted to.”
Scowling, she says, “Owe you anything?”
I nod once, gruff. I don’t like this conversation and I’d just as soon go show her the rest of the shit she needs to know so I can leave.
“Liam…” She looks down at the creaky floor beneath us, scuffing her toe awkwardly, then back up at me, this time with a little smile and a roll of her eyes. “I still want you. I’m still grateful to you. You’re still very much my Thor.”
“Huh?”
Shaking her head dismissively, she said, “Doesn’t matter. Did I expect that you were originally supposed to off me? Well, no. But what are you gonna do? Plus, I’m used to it; I’ve literally never been fucked by someone who didn’t want to kill me at one point in time.”
Grabbing her around the waist with one arm, I yank her up against me. Excitement jumps in her eyes and she braces her hands on my chest, biting down on her lower lip.
“I didn’t want to, it was just a job,” I correct her.
She doesn’t seem to care as her eyes follow my mouth.
I’m still a little bothered though. “Paul was your first?”
“Paul is shit and we don’t have to talk about Paul,” she says, echoing my earlier words. Then, with relish, she adds, “Ever. Again.”
I have to smile. I like this Annabelle. Not Paul’s Annabelle, the robotic, miserable one, but the unbroken, full-of-surprises Annabelle.
My Annabelle.
Holding my gaze, she says, “This doesn’t change anything between us, not for me.”
“You still want me?” I murmur, dipping my head to trail a few kisses along her jaw.
Fisting her hands in my shirt, she says, “Oh, yes.” Then, a little less breathy, she teases, “You still want me?”
In response, I drop my hands to her ass and lift her up. Her legs wind naturally around my waist and I haul her over to the bed, prepared to show her just what a stupid question that was.
Annabelle
The breath whooshes out of me as Liam drops me onto the bed—not so much from the force of the fall, but the sight of him yanking his shirt over his head already.
Oh my God, finally.
I can’t rip my eyes from the hard, muscled planes of his body. I’ve never seen anything like it in real life. I want to drag my tongue along the ridges just to feel proof of what my eyes are telling me.
I’m pretty sure I’m out of my league here, but I give him a sultry little smile like I’m totally not.
“I like the look of you on my bed,” he tells me, taking a step closer before he s
tarts unbuckling his pants.
My heart soars. I might die of happiness and lust and a general overdose of positive feelings.
“You know what I’d like even better?” he asks.
“I can think of so many things,” I say, watching his pants hit the floor and gulping again.
He smiles, and my heart does a somersault. I wish I could think of something clever to say to make him do it again.
“Less clothing,” he states, quirking an eyebrow at all the clothes I still have on.
Without bravado, I state, “I think I’ve forgotten how to use my hands.”
He grins again, and I’m very pleased with myself. Then he bends, bracing his hands on the bed, and suddenly he’s hovering over me, and my amusement dies, quickly replaced by a yearning I’ve never felt before.
“I can help with that,” he tells me, bracing his weight on one hand and using the other to grab my shirt. It’s a sweatshirt so I’m not totally sure what he’s planning to do—unbutton it?—until he suddenly fists it, lifting it, until I’m arching off the bed, closer to him. He holds me like that, sort of suspended, and as his lips brush the sensitive nerve endings around my mouth, the throbbing starts. I squeeze my legs together and he feels me. His eyes move to mine, dark and tense and passionate, and as much as Paul tried to possess me, he never could, not like this. I’m wholly Liam’s right now.
He releases his hold on my shirt and drops me on the bed. I huff another breath out and go to lift my shirt (my hands have suddenly remembered how to function, because I need to feel his skin against mine) but his hands are on mine, pulling them away. His hands move up under my shirt, teasing the cool skin of my belly. Goosebumps rise up all over, and the chills are a stark contrast to the heat between us.
Finally, he pulls my shirt up. I twist and turn to make it easier, and a few seconds later he’s flung my shirt somewhere behind us, the thump of the phone reminding me that maybe we shouldn’t have thrown it.
He doesn’t seem to care. His eyes rake over my terribly unsexy bra like it’s made of the most revealing lace, and then he’s reaching behind me to unclasp it.
I’m held against him as he does this, and I can’t help kissing his skin. My lips move across the giant pec in my face until I reach the nipple. My tongue shoots out and circles it, sucking it lightly, and he rewards me with a groan.
I can’t shake the feeling that time is running out. I want to do everything with him, learn every inch of his body, try everything I’ve always wondered about, and it doesn’t feel like we have enough time.
I have no idea how much time we have.
The thought is sobering, but my bra joins my shirt on the floor and the sudden heat of his hands on my breasts pulls me right back into the heat of the moment.
“What do you like?” he asks, massaging my breasts, but meeting my gaze.
My heart races so hard in my chest, he has to feel it. “I… uh, I’m not sure.”
He nods once, considering, then he releases my breasts and grabs my arms, jerking them above my head.
I gasp, squirm, and then he’s between my legs, wearing nothing but briefs. His hardness pushes against me, ready to invade, and oh, God, how I want him to.
He holds my hands down pretty hard, but not hard enough to bruise. This isn’t like what I’ve experienced before, and I assure him of that when he asks, “This?”
“Yes.” I’m breathing so hard, you’d think he’s already fucking me. If he doesn’t soon, he may need to build one of those footbridges over this bed.
He thrusts his hips against me, holding my gaze, and I gasp again, trying to twist, but he still has my arms above my head. He tightens his grip when I try to move, and leans in to kiss my neck as his free hand starts at my breasts and trails lightly down my body.
“Oh, God,” I murmur, twisting again as his finger circles my belly button. I know where he’s heading and I just want him to get there, but he knows that, so he takes a detour, over to my hips and down my thigh.
“Tell me you want me,” he says.
“I want you,” I tell him.
“What do you want?”
“Touch me.”
He smiles, inching closer, but just working back up and down my thigh. “Is that how you ask?”
I pull at my hands again, but he doesn’t let them go. “Please,” I add. “Please touch me. I want you to touch me.”
I don’t know what combo of words he’s looking for, but I’ll write them all down for him later if he’ll just fucking put his fingers where I want them.
Finally those goddamn beautiful fingers move inward, skating across my entrance so lightly that I have to whimper.
“Liam,” I murmur, rotating my hips.
“I wish we had longer,” he says, echoing my own feelings.
Logically, I want to know how long we do have, but there’s no place for logic in my mind right now.
I arch up toward him, unable to use my hands, but wanting him to kiss me.
Taking my hint, he leans down like he’s going to kiss me, but instead hovers above my mouth. My eyes are closed, and as I open them to see why he’s stopped, he thrusts a finger inside me. I gasp, and he catches it with his mouth, tongue thrusting as his fingers explore.
“Oh,” I try to murmur, pleasure swirling inside of me with his every movement. I try to kiss him back but I’m already lost, and he moves a second finger inside of me, thrusting deep. “Oh, God.”
I pull on my arms again and he frees me that time, so I can hold onto him. I ride his hand, eyes closed. I can’t focus on kissing and my head falls back, so he kisses his way down my chest. He sucks on my nipple as his thumb circles my clit and I cry out.
Then I want to actually cry as his fingers leave me.
I make a faint sound of protest, brow furrowing with disapproval, until I see his head moving down my body.
“Oh, God,” I say, fisting my hands in the bed sheets.
He looks up at me, giving me a wicked smile that jumpstarts my heart on its own, then his breath is on me, and his fingers are spreading me, and I’m already bursting with need when his tongue pushes inside me.
I cry out again, sagging back against the bed, and his tongue makes quick work of finding the spot his thumb left wanting.
I’m panting like an animal as his beautiful mouth works magic between my legs. I gasp, startled, when it feels like he sucks it, then his tongue is circling, hitting just the right spots, and I can’t breathe. He’s bringing my body to a fever pitch; I’m afraid to breathe, afraid to do anything that might stop this building pleasure from completely consuming me.
He locks on, like he knows I’m close, the prodding from his tongue a little harder, a little more deliberate, and I can feel faint discomfort from my nails biting into my palms, but someone could shoot me and I wouldn’t be able to feel less…
And then I feel more, so much more. Pleasure shoots through me like lightning, rippling and zapping all the strength from my limbs.
Spent, I fall back against the bed. Liam comes up and I wrap my arms around him, pulling him against me. His weight’s a little crushing, but I don’t care. Who needs to breathe when you’re basking in the glow of a great orgasm?
Turns out me, after a couple minutes. He rolls over on his side and watches me.
“That was lovely,” I inform him.
“It was.” He misses a beat. “Ready?”
“For?”
He grins, and I’m a little tired and boneless still, but a rush of tenderness washes over me as he hovers over me again. His hardness presses against my thigh and my greedy lady bits tingle. I drop my hand between us, pushing my hand down the front of his boxer briefs and take him in my hand.
“I don’t care if it’s your 50th orgasm, we’re not done here until I’ve been inside you,” he states.
“Oh, I concur. I don’t think I can survive 50, but I’m ready to go for 2.”
I love watching pleasure play out on his features as my hand moves up and down hi
s length, pulling, squeezing, experimenting with different pressures. I don’t know what feels good to him, and I want time to learn.
“Do you know how badly I wanted to fuck you that night against the tree?” he asks.
Just hearing the words from those beautiful lips excites me.
“Well, you can fuck me now. Hard, fast, slow—anyway you want me.”
He groans, burying his face in my neck and dislodging my hand.
I scoot up on my elbows, waiting for direction. He peels off his underwear and tosses them to the clothing graveyard, and I’m suddenly so excited that this man is about to be mine.
Possessive. Never felt that before.
Liam.
Mine.
I like it.
He grabs my hips, lifting me. I follow his lead and get on my hands and knees on the bed. Heart pounding, I brace one hand on the bed and one hand on the headboard.
Liam comes up behind me, grabbing my hips and repositioning them. I love the way he handles my body. It’s like he knows just what I like somehow. It’s like his body knows mine already.
His hand moves over the curve of my ass, then settles between my legs. He pushes a finger inside me again, then two, thrusting a few times.
I moan, moving against his hand.
He stops again, anchoring one hand on my hip and using the other to guide himself to my entrance. Anticipation is a brutal bitch as he butts just the head against me.
“Ready?”
“Fuck yes,” I tell him.
A low rumbly laughter that I don’t even take time to appreciate, because then he plows inside me.
“Oh, God, yes,” I say breathlessly. He pulls back and pushes in again, slowly, testing my response. Satisfied that I’m apparently all good, he then starts bucking into me harder. He picks up the pace with each thrust until he’s pounding me so hard that I can’t push hard enough against the headboard, and as he fucks the hell out of me, balls slapping, driving so deep inside me that I don’t know how he’ll ever find his way out, I’m also inching closer and closer to hitting my head.
“Fuck,” I say, giving up my hold on the bed. My boobs are crushed against the pillow, but pushing with the second hand keeps me from getting a concussion.
