She stared out at the road that had originally brought her here, reflecting on the last month. Things looked so different from when her blistered feet had walked that tarmac. Then she’d been starving, listless, and scared she was walking into a trap, or worse—a town full of renegades who would chase off the less fortunate. Now she stood on this stoop as someone belonging here, well-fed, dressed in hand-me-downs and homemade boots, and sore from a long day of hard work. It was like night and day. Riddick might be a swear word in these parts, but Gwen was glad he’d made his way to the city and Weasel’s crew.
Life had been better at the homestead, too. Breaking through Loomis’s defenses had made all the difference. Loomis was less inclined to bottle up her emotions when tormented by her nightmares, more willing to talk about them. Having someone else to compare experiences with seemed to have made a deep impact upon her. Gwen thought that Loomis’s violent history had forever alienated her from her community; having someone with intimate knowledge of the shame and horror she’d suffered had changed things. She laughed more, something Gwen was happy to see because Loomis’s smile was brilliant. “Night and day.” Loomis still had her moments. It was slow going, but Gwen had known it would be. After nursing a festering wound all these years, that it would heal without a scar hardly made sense. There would be a lot of difficulties over the coming months and years. Gwen felt her smile broaden. Years.
She glanced over her shoulder at the church door, wondering what was taking so long. Today the work crews had finished clearing the road to Cascade, the cause of her aching muscles. She was of a mind to take a long swim in the pond and maybe get a few hundred kisses from Loomis at the same time. She sighed and stared back at the road, her mind on those maddening lips.
Since Loomis’s breakthrough, they could barely keep their hands off each other. Gwen had yet to breach the majority of Loomis’s barriers, but had been more than willing to allow Loomis unlimited access to herself…“for the sake of research.” She let out a low chuckle, remembering when Loomis had used those words. They’d been busted by nearly every member of the homestead with mixed results. Tommy Boy had been indignant, mirroring both Kevin’s and Terry’s notions on keeping such things in the privacy of the bedroom rather than sucking face in the loft of the horse barn. Gwen didn’t take their opinions seriously—Tommy Boy was indignant about a lot of things; it was his nature. Most the others took it in stride, the girls going so far as to tease Gwen incessantly. Only Cara was distant, aloof but not negative. Gwen wondered what went on in that auburn head when she’d catch Cara staring at her.
“Querida.”
She soured at the sound of the familiar voice. “Well, I was in a good mood,” she muttered. Pulling herself up, she turned to watch Weasel approach. One of his lieutenants stood near the church doors as a lookout. Great. He sidled up to her, invading her space. She had no place to go with the railing digging into her back, but she refused to be cowed. “What do you want, Weasel?”
“I want you to move in with me and a couple of other Gatos. T had it right; we’ve taken over a house in town. Going to start our own homestead.” He took a lock of her hair between his fingers, holding it to his nose for a gentle inhalation. “You and me back together. It’ll be just like old times.”
“Not interested.” She pushed forward, but he wouldn’t allow her to pass, blocking her in place with one hand on the rail and his body against hers. The familiar sensation of him leaning into her was bittersweet. She felt a wave of what could only be called homesickness coupled with disgust. “I said I’m not interested.”
“Come on, querida. I never cared about you and the ’ho’s so long as you didn’t make it permanent.” He stopped and held up a finger to stop her expected argument. “I meant ‘chicas.’”
“I know what you meant.” She tried to shove past him again, but she wasn’t the only one getting stronger with the improved diet and exercise. “Let me go.”
Weasel grabbed her by the throat, forcing her to look at him. “You don’t understand, querida. You and me…we’re meant to be. Ain’t no puta going to get in the way of that.”
Gwen laughed in his face, her response surprising him. “Bullshit, Weas. I banged you because you ran the Gatos like a well-oiled machine, nothing more.” She prepared to grab his balls if he didn’t release her. “You weren’t even that good.”
The lieutenant by the door spoke. “Hey, jefe.”
Weasel glared into her eyes for a long moment. The doors opened, and he stepped smoothly away from her, his hands at his side. Gwen looked over his shoulder to see Loomis, Walker and a couple others exit the church. They were still deep in conversation, but Loomis’s words drifted off as she took in the tableau before them. Loomis wasn’t stupid. She eyed the Gato near the door and Weasel standing a purposeful two feet away from Gwen. “What’s going on?”
The last thing Gwen wanted was for the two of them to get into a pissing match. Weasel’s health and strength had improved, and he had years of experience in street fighting. Loomis might have had the goodwill of her people, but he’d beat her ass into the ground and endanger the townies’ opinion of the Gatos. Besides, Loomis had too much on her plate right now—the upcoming Cascade run, the crash course instructions for Tommy Boy and the emotional crap she’d suffered for five years. “Not much. We were just having a difference of opinion.”
Weasel flushed, his hands balling into fists, but he didn’t belabor the issue.
Walker snorted, making some sort of joke in an effort to ease the situation. It worked for the most part, but Gwen saw Loomis wasn’t fooled. Please don’t start anything, Gwen pleaded with her eyes. After a slow study, Loomis nodded and turned to Walker. Gwen’s knees trembled in relief, and she glared warningly at Weasel who cryptically stared back.
“You’ll let me know when all the scouts return?”
With a hearty handshake, Walker slapped Loomis on the shoulder. “You bet. In the meantime, the town council will get together once or twice to discuss how we want to do things.”
Loomis said her farewells, reaching out to take Gwen’s hand as she passed. Gwen breathed a sigh of relief that Weasel didn’t call either of them out, then wondered why he hadn’t. Puzzled, she glanced back as Loomis untied Tempest. Had he become so emasculated by the situation here that he didn’t have the cajones to challenge Loomis?
“Come on, mount up.”
Gwen turned in surprise. “What?”
“Get in the saddle.” Loomis grinned, bending down to offer cupped hands for Gwen to use. “I’ll ride behind you.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. In the month she’d been here, Loomis had only allowed her to ride Tempest that first time because Gwen had been too weak to walk to the homestead. Since then, Gwen had ridden behind Loomis on every trip that required horseback. Loomis raised a challenging eyebrow, and Gwen accepted the assistance, pausing long enough to stick her tongue out. The warm chuckle soothed away her worries as she clambered into Tempest’s saddle for the first time.
“Move your foot.” Gwen pulled her foot from the stirrup, an easy enough proposition since they were too long for her. Loomis used it to mount behind Gwen. “Here.” She handed Gwen the reins and slid her hands around Gwen’s waist.
“If I’m steering the horse, what are you going to be doing?”
Loomis nuzzled Gwen’s neck, whispering into her ear, “I’m going to take full advantage of you.”
Gwen leaned back with a sigh, unable to help her eyes from closing for a brief moment as a rush of arousal coursed through her. Even for Loomis this seductive behavior was over the top. She opened her eyes to see five young men staring at them, one with fury written upon his expression. Of course. Loomis was letting Weasel know that his time was over, that Gwen belonged to her now. She was marking her territory.
“You’re supposed to be driving.”
With mixed emotions, Gwen nudged Tempest’s ribs to set him in motion.
***
Despite being
pleasantly exhausted after the day’s hard work clearing the pass, Gwen couldn’t sleep. She lay in bed, watching her lantern-light shadow flicker upon the wall, listening to the whisper of pages turning behind her. She shifted under the quilt, the gentle ache of arousal stirring with her movement. The sensation was both familiar and maddening. The ride home from the town meeting that afternoon had been excruciating as Loomis’s hands and lips caressed her. Gwen had never had to go so slow with a woman before, but she’d promised herself that Loomis would set the pace. Unfortunately for Gwen, that pace was glacier. She needed a skill twist something fierce before she exploded from want. With slight exasperation, she flopped over onto her back, disrupting Loomis’s reading.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” Gwen whispered back. “No!” She groaned.
Loomis closed her book, turning toward her, concern written upon her face. “Are you sick? We’ve got some remedies for stomach troubles if—”
Gwen sat up, holding the quilt to her throat, forcing Loomis to lean back. “That’s not the problem.” Though it would be easy enough to take matters into her own hands, a better idea occurred to her. She caressed Loomis’s cheek. “I need a scrump.”
“A…a scrump?”
Smiling, Gwen almost laughed. City slang coming from Loomis always tickled her. She ran her hand through Loomis’s hair. “Sex, Marissa. I need you to finish what you started this afternoon.”
Loomis reddened, her gaze darting away, discomforted by Gwen’s bold statement. It didn’t stay away long, returning to scan Gwen’s form beneath the quilt. “I…I don’t…”
“Shhh.” Gwen kissed Loomis lightly, not pressing. “Let’s play a game, okay?” She waited and caressed Loomis’s cheek with her thumb, drawing her fingers down her jawline. Swallowing, Loomis stared into her eyes. Gwen could see the gears turning. She knew she wasn’t the only one on edge; Loomis’s body suffered as much as Gwen’s regardless of the emotions and fears keeping Loomis from scratching that itch. Maybe making a game of their intimacy would help Loomis overcome her horrifying memories. It might help her take another step down the road to healing.
After a long pause, Loomis swallowed again and nodded.
Gwen almost cheered aloud. She kissed Loomis again, refusing to push past a light, loving touch. She let Loomis go and tossed the quilt off both of them. “It’s called ‘No Hands.’ Do you want to take off your nightshirt?” The room was cool as she began unbuttoning hers. “You don’t have to, but I’m going to.”
As she watched in consternation as Gwen disrobed, a frown creased Loomis’s forehead. Gwen knew that the scars left behind by Riddick, both internal and external, had made Loomis self-conscious about her body. While she had learned to deal with Gwen’s immodesty, she still rushed when they changed clothes in each other’s presence. With trembling hands, Loomis pulled the nightshirt over her head but left on the shorts in which she slept. The unaccustomed view distracted Gwen. She ogled Loomis’s pale skin; the firm abdomen and breasts, the farmer’s tan coloring her throat and arms. It took everything for her not to reach out, to run her hands over the muscles, and stroke the soft skin until Loomis cried out in release. Up until now, Loomis hadn’t felt comfortable enough to allow Gwen much access. “You are so beautiful, Marissa.”
Loomis flushed at the awed observation, looking away in awkwardness. It was obvious that she forced herself to not cross her arms over her chest.
Gwen stripped off her shirt and boxers, purposely not drawing more attention to Loomis’s uneasiness. She sat cross-legged, facing Loomis knee to knee with a knowing smile. “Here’s the rules: I can’t touch you with my hands. The mouth is okay, but not hands. The same goes for you.” Hands braced on the mattress, she leaned closer and gave Loomis a quick kiss. She didn’t pull away, preferring to stare into the wide cinnamon-hazel eyes. “But we can touch ourselves.”
“I can’t touch you—”
“—except with your mouth.”
Loomis blinked and cocked her head. “But I can touch…myself?”
“Mm hmm.” Gwen chuckled. “Have you ever touched yourself before?”
“Sure.” The answer was quick, delivered with a puzzled tone. “All the time.”
Gwen’s smile widened. “But have you ever touched yourself like this?” She put a hand on her stomach, remembering what Loomis had done to her on the way home that afternoon. “Have you ever touched yourself like you touch me?” Her hand drifted up her abdomen, stroking up and over her breast, sliding up her throat.
Loomis stared, mouth open. She snapped it closed and cleared her throat. “No.”
Gwen’s fingers trailed down the center of her chest. That afternoon Loomis had ridden Tempest behind her, hands sliding up Gwen’s sides, brushing the bottoms of her breasts. Gwen mimicked the action now, bringing both her hands into play. “You should. It feels nice.” Taking the game a step farther, she cupped her breasts, bringing her forefinger and thumb together to pinch her nipples. She sighed as the sharp twinge shot fire down to her clitoris. Closing her eyes, she rolled her nipples, shifting her hips on the bed. “Really nice,” she growled, opening her eyes again.
Mouth ajar once more, Loomis stared at Gwen’s hands, her own restlessly rubbing her upper thighs. A rush of arousal pulsed between Gwen’s legs, and she gave her nipples a hard pinch. She gasped, unconsciously arching her back. It was difficult not having Loomis’s touch, but those heated eyes caressed her, more than making up for the lack of tangible contact. Leaning forward, Gwen interrupted Loomis’s view with a deep kiss. As always, it was buttery smooth. There was a hungry edge to it now, a sensation that didn’t occur often when they fooled around. This would be the point where Loomis would panic and pull away, the sensory experience too much for her to cope with in light of her violent memories. Gwen almost cringed away in expectation of another disruption.
Instead, Loomis broke off the kiss, tracing a path with her mouth to Gwen’s ear. Pleased she hadn’t yet been pulled up short, Gwen moaned as Loomis expertly nibbled her earlobe. “I love the way you touch me, Marissa.” She shivered at the sharp nip she received in reward. Looking down she breathed in their obvious arousal, seeing Loomis’s fingers digging into her thighs. “Use your hands, pretend it’s me touching you.” The mouth at her ear hesitated. Gwen almost swore aloud, thinking she’d overstepped again.
Tentatively, one of Loomis’s hands relaxed. It began a slow, inexorable slide.
Gwen’s heart raced as she watched those long fingers shift upward, skirting past the sleep shorts, and caress strong abdominals. God, yes, what she wouldn’t do to be able to touch Loomis that way. To reinforce the behavior, she lightly sucked Loomis’s earlobe into her mouth, enjoying the gasp of surprise. “Watch me. Copy me.” She pulled slightly away, enough so Loomis could see past her hair. Forehead to forehead, she licked her lips as she watched Loomis mimic her movements.
They mirrored each other until Gwen couldn’t tell which was which. The skin beneath her fingers and palms was her own, but it was Loomis’s too. She watched her lover’s skin flush with arousal, her lips becoming swollen from the kisses they shared, watched as her lover’s hands touched herself in ways no one else yet could. Loomis’s eyes became hooded, looking so strong and sexy that Gwen was hard put not to throw the rules out the window and pounce. It was with an iron will that she held back, allowing Loomis the space to experience intimacy without threat of pain or degradation.
Breathing heavily, she stroked her breasts, throat, arms and inner thighs with abandon, pleased that Loomis repeated her movements. Her swollen clitoris throbbed with pique, feeling woefully neglected. A slight tickle along the apex of her thighs let Gwen know how wet she was, that she was more than ready for release. She also knew that her next move might scare Loomis away. Panting, she whispered a warning into Loomis’s ear, wanting to forestall a fearful response. “I’m going to touch myself now like I want you to touch me. You don’t have to copy this. Stay with me. Please, stay with me.” She drew h
er fingers through the moisture gathered between her legs, a sharp pang causing her hips to hitch. She lightly stroked herself, teasing her labia as she imagined Loomis’s strong hands playing with her.
Loomis’s forehead leaned heavily in the crook of Gwen’s neck. “Gwen, please,” she half-whispered, voice hoarse. “Let me.”
Gwen’s eyes opened in surprise, dispelling the fantasy of Loomis fingering her. “What?” she croaked, pulling back to stare.
“Let me,” Loomis repeated. She surged forward, forcing Gwen to lie back on the bed. Her hand stroked Gwen from shoulder to hip, brashly pausing to squeeze Gwen’s breast. She took Gwen’s hand, entwining their fingers and drawing them both to Gwen’s pubis. “Show me what to do.”
Her sudden forcefulness stunned Gwen for a moment. In that brief pause, Loomis bent to gently kiss her belly. Those lips and hands, so close to where Gwen needed and wanted them, were her undoing. Emboldened, Gwen squeezed Loomis’s hand in hers and brought their joined fingers to play in her wet curls.
***
Loomis lay awake long after Gwen had succumbed to sleep, Gwen’s head cradled on her shoulder. It was warm under the quilt. She shifted, enjoying the sensual feel of their naked skin brushing against each other, wondering why she’d never slept naked before. Gwen murmured in slumber and cuddled closer. Loomis briefly tightened her hold, leaning her cheek against Gwen’s hair. It was her own fault, of course. Gwen didn’t have a shred of modesty; it was Loomis’s fear that restrained her from this kind of physical connection, fear of a traumatic time in her life that was long past, a boy long dead.
An odd determination swept through her. Thoughts of Riddick usually brought a sweeping sense of shame to her, feelings of being spoiled and unclean. Those emotions were still there, but somehow they’d receded, lost their intensity. She remembered the feel of Gwen beneath her fingers, the sounds of her passion as Loomis brought her to orgasm. The beauty of the woman in her arms had overshadowed the corrupting memories of her past.
Orphan Maker Page 23
