by Megan Hart
Turning from the sink, he caught sight of the advertised shower, a narrow stall with a sagging, mildewed curtain shielding what looked like equally moldy tiles behind it and a steadily dripping showerhead. You’d have to pay him a helluva lot more than the five bucks they wanted to charge to get naked in that thing. On impulse, he twitched the curtain aside and stepped back at once with a stifled shout.
It looked like an abattoir.
Summers growing up as a kid, Max had spent a lot of time on his uncle’s farm. Uncle Rick and Aunt Lori had raised a few dairy cows, kept a bull, a coop of chickens, one or two pigs. They kept animals for food, not profit, and definitely not for pets. Max had learned that the hard way after he’d adopted a spindle-legged calf named Doey. Years later, when he watched the film version of The Silence of the Lambs, the scene in which Clarice described the sound of the lambs screaming had sent him from the theater faster than any of Hannibal Lecter’s tooth-sucking comments about fava beans. To this day, he couldn’t eat veal.
The barn had looked like this shower stall the day he’d found them slaughtering Doey.
Max backed up so fast that the heel of his boot caught on a ridge of tile. To catch himself from falling, he flung out his injured hand. Fresh pain, bright and wide and thick, covered him, and he let out a yelp that echoed in the dimly lit room. He could smell it now, he thought. The stink of old, dried blood. And hear the soft buzz of flies battering themselves against the small window set high in the wall.
Shit and blood, that’s what Uncle Rick had always said brought flies. Shit and blood.
Outside in the late-afternoon sunshine, the scene in the restroom seemed surreal. When he came around the corner, he found Jessie talking to the old woman/man sitting in the rocker on the front porch. Rather, the ancient lump of wrinkles and raggedy clothes was talking. Jessie seemed to be just listening.
“Stay out of the woods,” the old person was saying.
Jessie glanced up at him, her expression so carefully neutral that he could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. “Thanks, Mrs. Romero.”
“Who this?”
Jessie reached for Max’s good hand to pull him closer. “This is Max, my boyfriend.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d called him that, but it was still so new the word tied knots in his gut. “Hi.”
Mrs. Romero tipped her wizened face toward his, her eyes asquint, mouth still sucking greedily on the pipe. “You bleeding?”
“He cut his hand,” Jessie explained, pulling out a package of gauze bandages and first aid supplies from a cheerfully bright yellow plastic bag. “I’m going to fix him up, though. He’ll be okay.”
This set Mrs. Romero cackling so much that she pulled the pipe from her lips to point it at Jessie. “Oh, I betcha. He’ll be perfect.”
Another burst of cackling laughter sent the old woman into a spate of thick, congested coughing that bent her forward so far that Max was sure she was going to tip right out of the rocker. The door behind Jessie opened and a blonde woman wearing jeans and a denim shirt came out to grab Mrs. Romero by the shoulders and keep her upright. It took Max a second or two to figure out what seemed so off about the woman: Just like the guy back on the road, the blonde woman was extremely tall.
She shot them both an apologetic look. “Sorry. Mom, Mom! Mom, you got to calm yourself.”
Jessie backed up a few steps to get out of the way. “Sorry to upset her.”
The blonde woman shrugged, patting Mrs. Romero on the back until the coughing fit eased a little. Mrs. Romero fixed Max with a solid glare and pointed her pipe at him. “Perfect.”
Somehow, the way she said it didn’t make him feel perfect.
“Sorry,” the blonde woman said again. “She’s...old.”
“We need to get going,” Max said. “We’re supposed to be getting to the cabin.”
The blonde stood. “Oh, you’re the renters? Freddy’s been waiting for you so he can show you around, how to use the stove and stuff. You’re late.”
“We ran into a little trouble on the road,” Max said. His hand gave a twinge.
She shielded her hand to look up at the sky. “You’d better get moving, then. It’s getting dark and you don’t want to try to unpack in the dark. Storm’s coming.”
“There aren’t any lights?” Jessie asked with a quick glance his way.
“Gas lights,” the woman said as she rubbed Mrs. Romero’s back and the old woman turned her face to the side and spit on the porch floor. “Gas heat, stove, hot water. But you don’t want to be out too long after dark, the bugs will eat you alive.”
“Better bugs than Mrs. Romero,” Jessie said with a soft giggle when they were back in the truck and she’d torn open the package of bandages to work on his hand.
An innuendo rose to his lips about being eaten by Jessie being better than anything, but he quashed it. What was so easy for him over text or instant message never came out right in person. Instead, he let her take his hand to clean it with the antiseptic wipes she’d bought. It stung, but that wasn’t why he hissed in a breath. It was when Jessie took his hand and gently kissed the wound before pressing a gauze pad against it and wrapping it with a bandage that his heart skipped and thudded. Not to mention the rise in his pants.
Still cupping his hand in hers, she looked up at him from under her lashes. “This could make it hard for you to use your hand.”
“Yeah...” Max croaked, throat suddenly dry.
“Well,” Jessie said with a slowly spreading smile, “it’s a good thing you can still use your mouth.”
Chapter 2
The final trip to the cabin was as scenic and lovely as the first part of the journey, and thankfully much less eventful. Max eased the Suburban down increasingly narrow and isolated roads. Over a ravine, the wooden bridge little more than a series of heavy timbers. Past a few other cabins, some with lights or curious faces in the windows, but most dark. Then, finally, up a long, winding dirt track with the trees so close that they brushed the sides of the SUV, and...
“Wow,” Jessie gasped at the sight of it.
The cabin featured two pretty gables and a covered wraparound porch with carved columns and loads of intricately carved wooden gingerbread trim. Soft yellow light shone from the upper windows and from inside, but a brighter glow shone as they parked in front. At home there might still be light in the sky, but here in the forest, night was already close. The front door opened and a shadowy figure emerged holding a lantern. Jessie was already getting out of the truck, but paused at the sight. Surely the man wasn’t ducking to get out through the door?
“Hi! Freddy Romero.” The man held out his hand toward Max and gave Jessie a nod. “You’re late. Got scared you weren’t coming.”
“Ran into a little trouble on the road,” Max said.
Freddy gave a startlingly loud laugh, his teeth bright and shining in the growing dusk. “Deer.”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“My brother Jason told me,” Freddy said. “Said he came across you. Everything okay?”
Max nodded. “Yep.”
Jessie moved closer to him to look around Freddy. “It’s lovely here.”
“Right, right. Let me show you around, get you settled. Get out of your way before the storm hits,” Freddy said with a grin that was closer to a leer. “Give you your privacy.”
The tour of the cabin took ten minutes, five minutes longer than necessary, as far as Jessie was concerned, because there wasn’t really much to learn. Freddy paused in the doorway with his lantern, pointing out a list of places where they’d find instructions, if they needed them, for the hot water heater, the stove, the hot tub.
“Hot tub!” Jessie said happily with a grin at Max, who looked surprised. “Yay!”
“It’s new,” Freddy explained, and final
ly left them, closing the door behind him.
Jessie turned to Max, who was giving the cabin an appreciative looking-over. As soon as the door clicked shut, she was in his arms, her mouth on his. She wasn’t sure at first if he’d catch her if she jumped, but when his fingers slid down her back to hook under the curves of her ass, she leaped. He caught. In just a few steps he’d carried her to the back of the couch facing the fireplace in the cabin’s main living space—it was the perfect height for her to settle on with him standing between her legs.
They’d kissed before, lots of times, but this time there was a promise in the way his tongue moved against hers that hadn’t been there before. Max reached up and tugged the elastic band from her ponytail and buried his fingers into the hair at the base of her neck, tipping her head back to he could get to her throat. His mouth moved over her tender skin. The press of his teeth made her gasp.
She wanted him like fire—had been wanting him for months. Jessie tugged Max’s shirt from his jeans and ran her palm up his flat stomach. Warm skin. The tiny scruff of hair on his belly. A little higher, to the curve of his ribs, then down again to slip her fingers just inside his waistband. Not far...just...a little...
His cock, hard in his jeans, pressed her clit when he pushed his hips forward. Jessie spread her legs wider, hooking her ankles over the backs of his thighs. She leaned back a little, confident his hand between her shoulder blades would keep her from tumbling backward over the couch. Max mouthed her throat, nipping and sucking until she couldn’t stop her moan. At the sound of it, he shuddered and opened a button on her blouse. Then another. One more, his mouth following the opening fabric, until he found the slopes of her breasts exposed by her demi-cup bra, so carefully chosen for just that reason. Her nipples were already tight and aching, jutting through the lace, and when Max found one with his lips, Jessie thought she might explode right then.
The heat that had been fluttering in her belly since the trip started had moved downward, centering in her clit, being teased so mercilessly by the pressure of Max’s erection. She pulled him harder against her, and they rocked back together with such force that the couch creaked and the shade of the lamp on the end table rattled. Breathing hard, Max broke the kiss.
“Wait,” he whispered.
Thunder rumbled outside, echoing her frustration. Jessie frowned. “Wait? No.”
Max eased himself away, keeping a hand on her to help her off the back of the couch. “Just wait.”
Disappointment edged its pinpricks all over her, but she tried valiantly to keep her voice calm. “Are you kidding me?”
Max laughed, and she couldn’t lie, that laugh totally charmed her. Always. But right now, it sort of pissed her off, too. Rain spattered on the roof, and the windows lit with a flash of lightning. The storm Freddy Romero had promised was here.
“Girls have needs, too, you know,” Jessie suddenly said. “I know it’s only supposed to be the guys, but I’ll tell you something, Max, I’m ready to eat you alive and I’m going to be pretty fucking disappointed if you tell me again that we should take our time.”
The first time he’d said it, during a heated make-out session on her couch, she’d been unsure he meant it, or if it was just his way of politely disengaging from something he didn’t want to be doing. But after that, gleaning bits and pieces of his past relationship with his crazy, unnamed ex, Jessie discovered Max’s desire to take things slow, to wait, not to rush into the physical was genuine and incredibly sexy. Frustrating, but hot.
Now, though, she was done with waiting. Done with slow. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled his mouth toward hers, though she stopped just short of kissing him.
“Please,” she said in a low voice, “don’t tell me you brought me all the way out here for the weekend so we can play UNO.”
“No.” His hands settled on her hips, pulled her closer to rub his still-hard cock on her belly. His mouth found hers and teased it open. He sucked gently on her tongue before pulling away to look into her eyes. “I just didn’t want the first time to be on a couch.”
God, how could any man be so freaking perfect? Her irritation dissipated, especially when he brushed her hair out of her eyes and ran his finger along her jawline before slipping his hand into hers to squeeze her fingers. He backed up a few steps toward the wooden staircase, tugging her by the hand, gaze never leaving hers.
“First,” he said, pulling her gently up step by step, “I want to lay you down on the bed and take off all your clothes, slowly, kissing every part of you I reveal.”
The words sent more heat all through her. She stumbled a little on the stair. Max caught her. Kissed her while he led her up another step. They’d reached the landing, and he pushed her against the wall to kiss her breathless.
“Your mouth,” he said, kissing the places he mentioned. “Your jaw, your throat.”
His hand went between her legs, knuckles pressing the soft fabric of her leggings. Against her clit. Rubbing so slow and gentle it was about to make her lose her mind.
“And here,” Max murmured against her skin as his hand moved on her.
Oh, yes. There. She’d dreamed of him touching her there, thought of it the countless times she’d given in to her frustration and imagined her hand was his. An incoherent noise slipped out of her.
Max eased her up another few steps to the bedroom, which took up the entire second floor. The sound of the rain was so much louder up here, like stones rattling on tin. He led her to the bed and covered her with his body as she lay back on the soft quilt. Then, he undressed her. Piece by piece, her unbuttoned blouse, the soft leggings, the lacy bra and panties she’d bought especially for this trip. All pulled off by his strong, long fingers, every inch of her revealed and worshipped with his lips and tongue, just as he’d promised.
Her mouth, where he urged her lips to part so his tongue could slip inside. Her throat, where he pressed his teeth to the beat of her pulse. Her nipples, one and the other, suckling each until she had to arch her back and shake from the sensation. Her ribs, her belly, her hips, her thighs all got their share of Max’s devotion.
“So...fucking...perfect,” Jessie said.
Max paused with his fingertips under her knees, his mouth teasing a particularly sensitive spot on the inside of her thigh. “Hmm?”
“You,” Jessie said, glaze-eyed with pleasure, not close to coming but feeling as though when she tipped over it was going to last forever. “You, Max. So perfect.”
He laughed, self-conscious, and ducked his head. She pushed herself up on her elbow and tugged his hair until he looked at her. That was beauty, Jessie thought. This perfect man, still clothed, lying between her legs with his wet lips and flushed face. She touched his cheek, suddenly feeling close to tears and not wanting to cry, dammit, because she wasn’t going to cock-block herself with emotion.
“I’m not,” he said.
She pulled him to her mouth. “Shut up. You are, to me.”
He propped himself up so that he wasn’t crushing her, one hand resting lightly on her hip. His fingers twitched, tickling. “Perfect doesn’t last.”
More emotion closed her throat and stung her eyes. Jessie traced his lips with a fingertip before pulling him for a kiss.
“I know that,” she whispered into his mouth. “But it can last long enough.”
There was no way she was going to give him a chance to back out now. It took only a little effort to push him to the side and get him on his back, to straddle him and work the buckle of his belt. The button and zipper on his jeans—and finally, at last, to get him as naked as she was. Jessie didn’t take her time the way Max had. She stripped him completely as fast as she could.
Then she began to devour him.
Kissing, stroking, licking, sucking. She left no scant inch of him uncovered with her mouth and hands, an echo of the time he�
��d spent exploring her body, but not soft and not slow, and sure as hell not sweet. There’d be time for that later, she thought when she took his cock in her mouth and drew him in as deep as she could. Second rounds were for slowing down.
When his hand tangled in her hair again, she tensed, working her tongue around the head of his prick. She half expected him to pull her away, but when he instead used his hold on her hair to move her a little faster, Jessie moaned. The taste of him had always driven her crazy, and it was amplified here. She let herself take him in a little farther down the back of her throat, then gripped the base of his cock and eased her mouth up, up and up while her hand followed. Slick from her spit, his cock pulsed on her tongue. She sucked gently at the head, then ran her tongue around the rim.
“Fuck,” Max muttered. “Oh shit, that feels so good.”
“I want you to feel good.” She stroked her hand up and down, palming the head with a little twist of her wrist that made him shudder. Seeing him react that way turned her on even more, if that were possible, and she already thought she might just explode. Incinerate.
“I want you to feel good, too. C’mere.” He let go of her hair to ease her upward on him, his cock rubbing her clit as she straddled him. Every thrust of his hips pressed his heat to her.
She was so wet that she slid against him, but when she moved to lift up so he could put himself inside her, Max again whispered, “Wait.”
Jessie made a low mutter of frustration but paused. “What?”
They’d already had the discussion about birth control and STDs and condoms and responsibility. She knew it couldn’t be that. She searched his face for some sign that he was going to tell her he’d changed his mind, that he wanted to go still slower than this. She’d die, she thought. No, she’d kill him.
Max gave her his charming grin, the one he knew would always appease her. He shifted so his prick pushed more easily between them, against her clit as he held her hips and moved his own. Just a little. Then, pause. A little more. Each small motion rubbed the head of him on her, until she could only let her head fall back, her mouth open and eyes heavy-lidded with the pleasure of letting him get her off with just this.
