by Selena Kitt
“I want you,” Jolee whispered, squeezing him between her thighs in the chair, her breath hot through his mask, her mouth next to his ear. “I touched myself this morning in the shower, remembering last night.”
He made a small noise that, he had to admit, would probably be classified as a whimper by any objective observer.
“Do you want me?” she asked, leaning back in the chair, pressing her hands over his, mashing her breasts flat and then rubbing his palms over her nipples. They were hard little pebbles and Jolee moaned and rolled her hips at the sensation.
“Yeah,” he croaked, watching her pull her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes half-closing with pleasure. “I’m just…afraid.”
She stopped, eyes widening at his admission. He was glad the mask hid his flushed face.
“Afraid of what?”
“You.” His hands were moving on their own, kneading her flesh, watching her reaction. He couldn’t help it. “This.”
“Why?”
He sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“Don’t let this come between us.” She reached for the edge of his mask, starting to lift it.
He grabbed her wrist, shaking his head. “Don’t.”
“What can I do to convince you that I want this?” Jolee frowned and then her eyes brightened as she slithered down between his legs, starting to work on his jeans. Silas groaned in protest, but his hips lifted when she yanked them down, freeing his cock for her mouth. He was scarred everywhere from the fire, even there, but she didn’t seem to notice, her eyes never leaving his. Just watching the hot pink trail of her tongue around the head of his cock was a delight, but the sensation went beyond pleasure and bordered on pain, making his thighs tense and quiver.
She lifted her head, kneeling up and rubbing his wet cock-head against her nipples. “How do I convince you that I want you?”she whispered, leaning in and kissing his mouth, her belly deliciously soft, pressing his cock up against his own, trapping him.
“That’s a good start.” He smiled.
“Wanna feel how wet I am for you?” she offered, guiding his hand down between her legs. Oh Christ, Silas thought as she nudged her panties aside and let him feel. The soft, wiry hair, the swollen lips, the way they parted for his finger as he delved inside, was enough to make him crazy, but after last night, he wanted more. He wanted to see her.
Jolee squealed when he shoved the plate of eggs and bacon aside, reaching down and grabbing her hips, pulling her up and sitting her squarely on the table. It was solid and could hold her weight—he was sure of it, he’d made it himself—and it was going to have to hold a lot more than that in a minute. He yanked her panties down and Jolee lifted willingly enough at his insistence, spreading her thighs for him in the early morning light spilling across the kitchen table.
“You’re beautiful.” He couldn’t help telling her as he took a seat in the chair again. The truth was, his knees didn’t want to hold him upright. And besides, this way he could lean in and feather kisses up the slender, silky expanse of her thighs, moving slowly toward the thing he wanted most. He made himself go slow and Jolee squirmed on the table, her pussy visibly swollen already in anticipation.
By the time her pubic hair was tickling his lips, she was begging him, pleading, the sound of her cries only making him go slower, savoring it more. He snaked his tongue up the groove of thigh, skipping across to the top of her cleft, hearing her moan, her head thrown back and thrashing on the table. Her hands kneaded her own breasts, her palms rubbing her nipples, her thighs thrown wide. Silas let himself taste her, sticky and wet, moving his tongue back and forth against the raised flesh of her clit. Jolee moaned and lifted her hips in encouragement.
“Please,” she whispered, reaching down to spread herself with her fingers, showing him, and he drank in the sight of her open for him like that. His cock throbbed at the thought of being inside of her and he grabbed it and squeezed as if he could send it a message—easy, slow down, would you wolf down a gourmet meal in two minutes?—but his cock didn’t want to hear it. It had been starving for too long.
His tongue slipped lower between her lips, trailing down to really taste her, musky and hot. He remembered how she’d rocked on him the night before, mashing her whole pussy against his face. Glancing up, he saw her eyes were closed, head back, and he decided to chance it, pulling his mask up—not off, just up enough so he could open his whole mouth over her pussy.
“Oh god!” Jolee rewarded him with a trembling arch, writhing on the table as Silas sucked at her little clit, swallowing the hot, tangy taste of her juices, letting them coat his throat and then going back for more. He couldn’t get enough of her, exploring her wet, swollen mound with his tongue and mouth and fingers, caught in a slick, pink labyrinth of flesh.
“Silas!” she gasped, rocking her hips, her toes beginning to curl. Just her saying his name that way, with the low, growly catch in it, filled his whole body with a blinding lust, but the words she followed it with sent him into overdrive. “Oh baby! Oh please, please, make me come all over your face!”
He fastened his mouth to her clit, working his tongue furiously, as eager for her orgasm as she was, holding desperately to his cock and trying to mentally reason with it. Not yet, not yet. Soon, I promise. Jolee was coming, her breasts heaving, belly quivering, her pussy spasming against the wet lap of his tongue.
“Oh god, oh god, oh my god,” she moaned, rolling her hips from side to side. He couldn’t tell if she wanted more of his tongue or was trying to get away from it. “Silas, please, I want you. I have to have you.”
Struggling to sit, she reached for him but he was already half-out of his chair, cock in hand. He’d forgotten his mask was pulled up and she looked at him in wonder, seeing his jaw, his mouth still wet. He reached to pull it down but she protested, grabbing his hand, shaking her head, sliding her little hand behind his neck and pulling him into a kiss.
Silas moaned into her mouth. She sucked at his tongue as if drawing the taste of herself from him, her hand moving to take hold of his cock and guide him inside. She was over-wet, slick and hot as melting butter, and he slid in easily, his balls resting against the hard edge of the table, burying himself deep. Jolee held onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, her mouth never leaving his.
He fucked her. He fucked her without thought or reason, thrusting deep and hard and fast, his cock feeling every delicious ridge and twist and turn of her body as they rocked together, the table shaking under their weight. Jolee wouldn’t let him pull his mask down, keeping her mouth locked on his, their kiss hard and fierce and deeply probing, not unlike their fuck. Silas was past the point of caring, would probably have let her pull the whole damned thing off altogether in that moment, but thankfully she didn’t.
Instead she climaxed, her heels digging into the small of his back, her nails raking his shoulders—he was grateful then he’d never taken off his shirt—and he felt every sweet flutter of her pussy around his length as he ground his hips and sent her flying. Jolee gasped out his name, begging him for more, begging him to stop, but he couldn’t hear her, not really. He grabbed her hips, her ass, driving in as deep as he could, bottoming out with every thrust, making her squeak delightfully in his ear.
His cock swelled to bursting and then it did, boiling up from base to tip, erupting into the slick, hot sheath of her pussy. Jolee made a low noise in her throat as he exploded, almost a purr, sending shivers down his spine as her muscles consciously milked him. He continued to thrust, lost in the frenzied furor of his climax, as if he could empty himself completely into her and be utterly spent.
“Silas,” she whispered, kissing his throat, the air blessedly cool on his neck and chin and jaw. Her lips caressed him, little feathered kisses, moving back from his jaw to his ear, murmuring words he was sure were in English, but he couldn’t understand them at all. His mind was blank, his body verging on the edge of collapse, weak and helpless in her arms. She tugged gently at
his mask and he would have let her then without a second thought. He was hers completely.
They both startled when someone knocked on the front door.
“Carlos,” Jolee hissed, looking around for something to cover up with, and of course there were only her panties.
As senseless as he had been a minute before, Silas snapped into action, zipping his pants with one hand and reaching behind him with the other, grabbing the shotgun off the wall. He didn’t think it was his brother, but you could never be too careful. Very few people knew about this cabin or its hidden location. The three knocks he’d had on his door in as many years had all been lost strangers looking for a way home.
“Bedroom,” Silas whispered, nodding, but Jolee was already scrambling down the hallway. He didn’t like her out of his sight, but he couldn’t keep her behind him unclothed either.
His heart sank when he opened the door.
“There’s trouble.”
Silas looked at the old man, eyes dark and sunk into his leathered face, mouth downturned, and nodded. At least it wasn’t his brother.
“Let me get my boots on. I’ll meet you out back.”
The old native gave him a nod and Silas shut the door, wondering just how he was going to explain this to Jolee.
* * * *
Everything melted, and Jolee melted with it. She tried to stay mad at Silas, for refusing to tell her anything, for leaving her alone in the cabin for stretches of time, but she couldn’t stay mad at him long once he was home. She would melt and creep down the hall to his room, her breath held like a secret, and he would open up to her, the two of them free in the darkness to wallow in the blissful heat of one another.
And it went on like that, Silas masked in the daytime, quiet, often gone, but both of them unmasked and unclothed at night. It went on until the snow ran in rivers down the hillside and the leaves began to bud on the trees and then open and the forest around them teemed with life again. She knew it was fully spring when she saw a female deer and her fawn at the edge of the clearing while she was on her way to milk Anna in the hazy, early light of morning.
That, and the roses began to bloom.
She watched them open outside her bedroom window, growing up the trellis against the side of the house, a red carpet of flowers. Silas smiled when she exclaimed over them and started leaving one for her on occasion—on her pillow, or in a vase, or put across her latest knitting project, a budding reminder. She pressed them between thick books—heavy tomes about tracking and wildlife and growing mushrooms in the wild—and saved them in a dresser drawer, wanting to keep every part of Silas that he gave to her.
Yes, the world had melted and she with it, but it was the conversation she overheard outside her window that froze her again, breaking the spell, raising her hackles and making her curious once more. She had left the window wide open, letting the breeze blow in, and she was supposed to be napping—Silas still insisted and lately she’d actually been tired enough to sleep—when she heard their voices, low but clear enough.
“It’s not your decision, Abe." Silas was angry—she knew what he sounded like when he was angry.
“There are other ways.”
The old Indian had come around several more times and Silas had gone off with him. He wouldn’t tell her, of course, what any of it was about. Jolee crept to the window to listen, ducking low so they wouldn’t see her.
“You don’t need to sacrifice yourself for this cause.” Abe sounded sad, not angry or pleading.
“I’ll decide what I need and what I don’t need.”
The old man sighed. “You can’t wake someone pretending to be asleep.”
“What does that mean?” Now Silas sounded really mad.
The old man countered with something even more cryptic. “Love beyond your fear.”
Silas snorted. “Did you consult some Native American sayings handbook before you showed up today?”
Abe laughed. “Don’t sacrifice yourself, friend," he said again. “The world needs more men like you, not less.”
“I got work to do.”
“We’re going to the community board meeting next week," Abe called.
Silas's voice sounded further away. “I’m sure you’ll get a lot done with the bureaucrats. In the meantime, I’ll do it my way.”
Jolee chanced a peek over the windowsill, seeing Silas heading off into the woods down a trail. The old Indian watched him go for a moment and then headed the other way.
She made a quick decision, running to the back door and pulling on her boots. She followed him as quietly as she could. Silas wasn't the only one who could track. Her father had taught her to shoot and hunt, how to track a deer for miles. Even when she lost sight of Silas in the distance, she knew the signs to look for on the soft ground, through the brush.
He walked a long time, going through parts of the forest that hadn't been cleared at all. She hopped logs, ducked under hanging branches. She was so focused on marking her way back and looking for signs of Silas's direction, she was startled when the forest opened up into a clearing.
She stopped, seeing Silas standing too, still, head down, in the middle of what was left of a house that had been ravaged by fire. He stood a long time amidst the charred remains, so long that she almost called out, went to him.
Then he went to his knees and made a noise that scared her so much she couldn't even think about moving. It started low, a keening wail, that grew into an intense, primal scream of rage so deafening she could have sworn the trees shook. Startled birds flew out of their nests, rabbits bolted, and Jolee stared, watching, terrified, as Silas began to sob.
I shouldn't be here. That was her first thought—to walk away and leave him here alone with his sorrow. Then she thought she should go to him, offer comfort, but how? The man didn't share much under normal circumstances. Why did she think he would in such a vulnerable state? She imagined him pushing her away, telling her to go home, and couldn’t bring herself to risk the rejection. After following him for over two hours, she was just going to turn around and go home and leave him to his secret pain.
She stood, undecided, until Silas got slowly, heavily to his feet, rubbing his masked face on his shirtsleeves. He drew a few, deep, shuddering breaths and she thought she’d never seen anything so sad, the way his shoulders slumped and his arms hung at his side.
“Jolee.” The sound of her name drew a startled gasp from her throat and she actually took a step back into the forest. “Come here.”
He’d known. He had known she was following, had probably known the instant she was out of the house. She crept forward, wary, picking her way through the rubble, and came to stand beside him. They stood quietly like that until he reached over and took her hand, squeezing gently.
She found the courage to speak. “What is this place?”
“It was my home.” He kicked at the ashy residue. “Our home.”
She wanted to ask, but she was afraid to break the spell they seemed under. Silas was talking about his past? Was she dreaming?
“Who’s we?” she prompted gently.
“Isabelle.” He gave another great sigh. “I haven’t said her name out loud in five years.”
“She was your wife?” Jolee guessed. “What happened?”
“She was killed.”
Jolee surveyed what was left of their home together, her heart breaking for him. “In the fire?”
“No.” Silas’s voice hardened, his grip growing tighter on her hand. “My brother took her and he killed her.”
“Carlos?” Jolee whispered, incredulous. Although she knew what the man was capable of—she really shouldn’t have been surprised. “But why?”
“Because I wouldn’t give him this.” Silas gestured toward the forest, to the hundreds of thousands of acres of land that lay beyond. “Our father left it to me, and I wouldn’t let him destroy it.”
Jolee leaned her head against his shoulder, her heart swelling with pride, knowing how much he loved the land, how
he protected it, just as he protected her. But oh, god, how it had cost him. She couldn’t even imagine his pain.
Silas glanced down at her, offering a small, sad smile behind his mask. “But really, he did it because he wanted her, and she wanted me instead.”
Jolee’s spine straightened. “I don’t blame her.”
He began to walk, slowly pulling her with him. “They left me here to die.”
“But you survived,” she countered, finally understanding his scars, the mask.
“My body did.” Silas drew her around the rubble to a white fence, an old trellis there filled with roses. They had grown up wild from the ashes, thick and red, weaving their way up the trellis and blooming open toward the sun.
“So beautiful,” she murmured, reaching to touch one of the velvety red petals.
“I don’t know how they survived.” Silas reached into his pocket and withdrew his hunting knife, a monstrous thing, and cut one of the stems. “These were Isabelle’s roses.”
She watched him, thoughtful, as he trimmed the thorns, talking the whole while. “Isabelle tried to play peacemaker between us. She invited Carlos to dinner. I should have known better, but I thought…I hoped…” Silas studied the flower in his hand. “He drugged us both. I woke up duct taped to a chair with the house on fire.”
“Dear God.”
He lifted the flower to his masked face, breathing in. “And Isabelle was gone.”
“How do you know she’s...I mean…” Jolee swallowed, almost not wanting to say the words. “How do you know she’s not still alive?”
“I’ve looked for her body.” He gestured toward the forest again. “It wouldn’t have been the first time Carlos had someone killed. You know that as well as I do.”
Jolee nodded, feeling sick.
“You were my last clue.” Silas reached over and tucked the rose behind her ear. “If Isabelle had been alive, Carlos would have taken her, made her his. Instead, he had you.”
“She would never have betrayed you like that.”
