by Zoey Parker
Steezy and I both nod. I’m relieved that Mortar has decided to let my wild behavior slide. “I hear you, boss,” Steezy says. I murmur the same thoughts.
Rose is sitting silently with her back on the other side of the boat. I can’t imagine what she’s going through. Weeks of captivity with the goddamn Diablos doing horrible shit to her, then this auction, the madness of our escape. But the only thing that matters is that she’s here now. She’s safe with me. I fixed my mistake, and I’m determined not to fuck up again.
The motors’ whining recedes as we approach a hidden boat ramp about a mile down the coast from the port. We pull in and guide the boat onto the trailer. I help Rose down. She grimaces in pain as she steps over the edge of the vessel. I notice a jagged cut on the back of her leg. Must be from jumping through the broken glass window.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She looks at me quietly. “I’ll be fine,” she says. I lower her to the ground with my hands on her hips. Even when her feet make contact, I don’t let her go. The swish of waves against the shore sounds like a giant whisper around us. Mortar and Steezy climb into the truck that the trailer is attached to, leaving us alone for a moment.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she tells me. She’s looking up at me, eyes big and blue and so goddamn beautiful.
“I told you to trust me, didn’t I?” I say.
She keeps staring, mouth parted slightly, and touches my face, like she’s still struggling to confirm whether or not I’m real. I feel the same way about her. If I let go, part of me wonders if she’ll go back inside the dream where I first saw her. Maybe that’s why I keep such a tight hand on her hip without even realizing it. Just in case.
“Let’s go,” Steezy says, leaning out of the driver’s side window and rapping his knuckles on the side of the vehicle. “We gotta get out of here before the sun’s up.”
“Coming,” I reply. I turn to Rose. “Let’s get you home,” I tell her. I take her hand, and we leave.
* * *
After the evening’s chaos, the silence inside my house is blissful. The roar of boat motors and gun shots is still ringing like tinnitus on my eardrums, but bit by bit I begin to unwind. Rose still looks overwhelmed, though. She’s had an unforgettable experience, and I don’t mean that in the way people usually mean it, like when they take their children swimming with the dolphins on family vacation. Her last few weeks have been unforgettable in the way that torture is unforgettable. Every motion she makes for the rest of her life will remind her of it.
Someday, she’ll need to talk about it. A person can’t keep shit like that bottled up forever. It’ll eat her alive if she tries. But for now, I let her kick that can down the road. There’s always tomorrow. Right now, we have silence, we have solitude, and we have each other.
What a funny thought that is. I don’t know yet where she fits in the fabric of my life. She entered it in such a surreal way that I haven’t yet had the time to come to terms with it appropriately. Literally leaping out of a dream and into my arms is one hell of a first impression. Between the kiss in the parking lot then her disappearing just as suddenly, I feel like a fish on a line. I’d bitten on a lure that didn’t seem real, but I noticed too late that the hook was imbedded in my mouth. Yet, somehow, I’m not complaining. Not when her body keeps screaming out for my touch the way it always does. Not when her eyes echo that same desire. Even after being battered and shot at and half-drowned, she still looks like a fucking treasure.
I shut the door behind us after we walk in. Never before has the click of the lock sounded so good. To be here and safe after all the shit that just went down is nothing short of a miracle. I smile, bemused. How else am I supposed to react? It’s like they say: God looks after drunks and idiots. I had been one or the other for most of my life, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I made it out of this one unscathed.
Rose is shivering. I see gooseflesh all along her arms and legs, hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Her teeth chatter.
“You look freezing,” I say.
She nods frantically.
“Do you want to take a hot shower?” I ask her. “Might make you feel better.”
“Yes, please.”
I lead her to the bathroom, pulling a fresh towel out of the hall closet on the way. I reach in and twist the knob. A stream of blistering water unleashes from the showerhead. Steam begins to fill the room and fog up the mirror as the water hisses behind us.
“Here,” I say, offering her the towel. She takes it in one trembling hand. I realize that she’s still wearing the bikini they’d forced her into for the auction on the yacht. “I’ll lay some clothes out for you on the bed in there,” I tell her, pointing to indicate the attached master bedroom jutting off from the bathroom we’re standing in. She nods again.
Before I go, I take one second to drink her in. She’s so tiny. I marvel over it every time I see her. That petite body is practically begging to be both manhandled and protected, and I’m having serious trouble deciding which urge is stronger.
But I shove the thoughts aside. She’s been traumatized. I’d have to be a real fucking dick to take advantage of a girl who’s gone through all the shit she has. She needs time to rest and recover, not my cock being forced down her throat. As badly as I want her, the right thing to do is leave her alone. I plan on doing just that. I turn to leave.
“Wait,” she says when I’m almost out the door. I pause and pivot back to face her. She’s shaking badly now, in spite of the warmth spiraling throughout the tiled room. Maybe it’s not the cold anymore, maybe she’s missing something else. I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t go,” she finishes softly. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”
I square my shoulders to hers. Aside from the water cascading against the glass shell of the shower, the only sound is our breathing. She takes a tentative step forward to halve the distance between us. Just a foot or two remains separating my skin from hers. Reaching a hand out, she wraps her fingers around one of mine. Her skin is cold, but the grip is certain. She pulls my hand up to the side of her face and rests it there, with my palm laid flat against her chin. For a moment, she closes her eyes, as if the support of my hand on her cheek is the only sure thing she has left in this world to rely on. When she opens her eyes again, the fear that had been roiling there is gone, replaced by a calm lucidity. It’s certainty. It’s desire.
Still, I hesitate. It’s nothing new for a girl to look at me and be so obvious that she wants me. But with this girl, not to mention this situation, things are different. There are lines here that maybe I shouldn’t be crossing. Yet everything she’s doing so clearly says to move forward, to push, to take. After weeks and weeks of fighting against the Diablos needling her at every turn—judging by the track marks on her inner elbow, needling might even be a literal term, those fucking scum—maybe what she needs is to submit to someone she can trust. I’ve saved her three times now. I guess I’m the closest thing she’s got.
She rises to her toes, stretching as far as she can towards my face. She’s just tall enough to brush her lips against mine. I don’t move, don’t reciprocate. She rolls back onto the balls of her feet, looks at my face one more time, then wraps a hand around the back of my head and pulls me towards her, kissing me hard.
Her tongue searches for mine and finds it. My lips are numb from the cold ocean water, but the touch of hers against mine begins to warm them back to life. She steps closer to me. Our body heat merges into one, a sphere of flesh on flesh that sends sensation surging back through all of the extremities that had begun to shiver during our stint in the frigid gulf. Her breasts skim against my chest. I can feel the hardened peaks of her nipples through the sheer mesh material.
My thumb strokes her cheekbone as she kisses me deeper. Her kiss is hungry, almost desperate. I can tell she really does need this after all. I tighten my grip on her. I want her to know I’m here. I want her to feel my body and realize that I’m present, I
’m solid, I’m not going anywhere. I slide my other hand across her lower back and squeeze her against me head to toe, enveloping her in my breadth and warmth.
Her hand is winding through the damp curls at the back of my head. Soft murmurs come from her every time we move our mouths to change position. The shower continues to pour. I can hardly see when I open my eyes due to the steam churning from the floor all the way up to the ceiling.
Rose pulls away for a moment. Her eyes are looking for something she can rely on. Everything she’s seen so far must indicate that it’s me, but maybe she needs to check just one more time. A final hurdle to clear.
She must find what she’s looking for, because she reaches behind her neck and gently plucks apart the water-fattened knot holding up the bikini top. It falls to the floor, freeing her breasts. I stoop over and suckle at her neck. Nipping lightly with my teeth, I work my way from the hinge of her jaw to her collarbone, laving my tongue against her salty, tender flesh. I slide down further to the soft rise of her breasts. I take one in my left hand and use my right hand to lift the other into my mouth. I flick my tongue over her nipple. Every pass produces a moan from her. She clutches hard onto my head like it’s the last steady thing on earth. I couldn’t pry her from me if I tried, not that I would ever want to.
I switch breasts, keeping a kneading hand on her right while I move my mouth to the peak of her left, repeating the same rolling flicks. Her moans slowly inch upwards in volume and frequency. She arches her back slightly, the vertebrae cracking with the strain.
I drop my hands to her hips. As I slowly crouch, I kiss down between the mounds of her breasts, across the tan plane of her stomach, to where the fabric of her bottoms begins. I look up at her. Staring back down at me from above, her blue eyes flash. She doesn’t need to say anything. I know she wants this.
I slide my fingers underneath the straps at either hip and lower them off of her. She balances with hands on my shoulders as she steps out of them, leaving her naked. Her skin is rosy with the heat filling the room, but her cheeks are flushed with another heat entirely.
Still on my knees, I move my mouth to the crease of her hip and extend the furtive tip of my tongue. I dance it teasingly along her joint, moving closer and closer to her hot center. She keeps her hands on my shoulders, digging into my skin lightly with her nails. Her eyes are closed and she gnaws quietly at her bottom lip, anticipating the advance of my mouth towards her sensitive clit.
When I reach it, I pause for a moment before continuing. I want to go slow so we can savor every moment of this. With a life like mine, I don’t get to do many things twice. I need to get it right the first time. In all likelihood, we will never get a chance like this again—to be alone, naked, with time stretching in front of us like an unbroken horizon.
I start with a tiny tap of my tongue on her button. Her mouth opens in a silent gasp as the initial wall collapses. I tap again, and a long, whistling sigh comes out as she settles into the climb towards her climax. Spreading her lips apart with either hand, I use the breadth of my tongue to lick from the top of her slit to the bottom, going slowly enough that I reach every spot and give all of her the time to enjoy the wet friction.
When I finish my first pass, I move back to the top again and suck her clit between my lips with the utmost care. She digs harder into my back as I roll my tongue on all sides of it, maintaining a steady pressure with my lips. I release and slip down to probe at her opening, licking circles interspersed with the occasional dart deeper inside her. Rose starts to push her hips forward towards me. I flex the muscles in my neck and stay close to her, keeping my tongue broad and in motion, licking up and down and side to side, not neglecting a single nerve.
She moves one hand to the back of my head and holds me close, while the other still leans hard on my shoulder. Her moans are audible now, little gasps and sharp inhales that punctuate the moist licking. I can sense her opening up to me, her body relaxing away the tension and allowing me to push deeper.
I speed up, whipping my tongue faster around her clit in quick revolutions like a clock going haywire. Round and round it goes, coating her in slick moisture and tugging her upwards relentlessly. Every rotation increases the pressure of her hands on me, letting me know that she’s nearing an orgasm. I don’t let up. I add a back-and-forth tilt of my head to the mixture, so that my tongue lashes and spins over every part of her, sparing nothing, urging her higher.
When she comes, it is with a soft whimper and a spastic clutching of her hands. I watch her face tighten and relax in alternating waves, nearly a dozen tremors back to back to back. She falls tumbling out of it with a dazed expression, like she just woke up from a dream of flying and is surprised to find herself planted on the earth.
“You’re incredible at that,” she tells me. She reaches down and guides me up by my chin. Her hands find the lower edge of my shirt and lift it over my head, then immediately drop to my torso to rove across my chest, arms, and abdomen. Her fingertips linger on the indents between my muscles, tracing their outline. She presses her mouth to my shoulders, between my pecs, against my biceps, leaving warm ovals everywhere she kisses. The steam from the shower is condensing along our skin, anointing us with beads of water that shimmer and fall with each motion.
Rose kisses at the base of my neck while she slides her hands down to my pants. Unbuckling the belt, she slides it free of the loops and drops it the floor. Her thin fingers push the button out of the slit and work my zipper down. She hooks her thumbs on the back of the trousers and slips them off of me, leaving me naked save for a pair of boxer briefs.
Her hands rake under my arms and up my back, carving over the roped muscle and pinning me close against her. I rest my chin on the hollow of her shoulders and bite gently at her skin. She sighs as I enclose her in my arms.
My burgeoning erection presses insistently against my boxers. The heat of Rose’s body through the cloth excites it further. She drops a hand down and massages me on the outside of the briefs. I stiffen at her touch. She feels me twitch and inserts her fingers between the clothing and my skin to sneak around my base and take hold of me. I groan softly. Her touch is so delicate, so barely-there. The boxers fall down my thighs. I step out of them, leaving a puddle of my clothing on the tile floor.
Rose gives three long pumps to my shaft as she tilts her head up to kiss me again. It’s a light, teasing kiss, the same ephemeral touch as her hand on my member. She breaks it off and rocks back to her heels, looking at me with a heated, glistening expression.
“Let’s get in the shower,” she says.
I take her hand and guide her into the glass-enclosed stall, tugging the door shut behind us. In here, the steam is dense and hot. The water rushes over us, sending rivulets streaming down our bodies’ curves and angles. It wets her hair, transforming it into a long, dark waterfall that reaches nearly all the way down her back.
Keeping hold of her fingers in mine, I raise her hand over her head and twirl her to face away from me. With my left hand, I slide across her hip, up her stomach, and pass her breasts to rest lightly on her throat, inclining her chin upwards so that the back of her head rests on my shoulder. I buck my hips to carefully push her forward. My right hand releases hers and moves between her legs. I have her exactly how I want her: squeezed against the glass while the water flows around us and my hand begins to explore her slick cunt.
I pry her lips apart and run a fingertip up and down her slit. She whines, the sound passing under my fingertips as it moves from her chest to her throat and out her mouth. My front is pressed against the length of her back, keeping her upright at the same time that it locks her in place in front of me.
I start to whisper in her ear while I use two fingers to penetrate her in easy, slow strokes. “You’re fucking beautiful, Rose,” I say in a heavy whisper, “like someone sculpted you just for me. This body, these tits, this ass, it’s all fucking perfect. A work of goddamn art.”
My fingers dive inside her and then ret
reat slowly, taking their time. Her pussy compresses around me ever so slightly, as if she doesn’t want me to leave her.
“But it’s not just for looking at. You know that, right?”
She nods her head yes in a tiny motion. Her eyes are closed, mouth hanging open. Every exhale comes sharper and shorter than the last.
“Yeah, you know that. It’s not just for looking at. It’s meant to be touched. Held. Teased. Pushed to its limits and held right out over the cliff so you think there’s no way you could ever make it back. Those pretty lips aren’t just for show, babe. They’re for giving voice to screams loud enough to bring the whole house down.”
She’s still nodding. Her entire body has taken up the motion, a tiny, repetitive buckling and straightening of the knees, like standing still will make her brittle enough to snap once the waves hit. Every word from my mouth and every probe from my fingers shaves another second off of the distance between her and coming again. Together, they bring her teetering close to the edge.
“There’s only one thing you’re going to be screaming from now on, Rose, and that’s my name.”
