Murder

by Ella James

  Of what, I almost ask, but I think I can fill in the blank. Scared I’ll leave. Scared everything will fall apart. Scared that his past will reach into the future and get him. I squeeze him to me.

  “If you start to worry, just tell me. I’m scared too. Nervous. I think the more you’ve lost in life, the harder it is to invest yourself in the future. I get that.”

  “Yeah.” The soft word fades into silence. Barrett just keeps holding me, and my heart aches, and breaks, and swells again with love for him.

  NINE

  BARRETT

  Finally, I lift my head. My face is hot. My throat still feels kind of tight and thick. But the second our eyes meet, I feel all the tension melt away.

  She smiles, and it’s a smile that says she really does love me. I think of what she said—about how the other versions of me are dead and gone. It sounds weird, but…I think I like it. Gone is where I want them. It’s the only thing that feels right.

  How strange that she knew. She knew what to say. But then…of course she did. From the first day I watched her, I had a feeling she and I were linked.

  I smile back at her. I have the impulse to pull my dick out, just to show her I still have it after all the waterworks. The thought makes me smile a little more, and her smile widens, too.

  “I love your smile,” she says.

  I rub my thumb over her lip. “I love yours more.”

  She wraps her arms around my waist and speaks against my chest. “You want to get a bath? I have a dumb, funny idea…”

  “Dumb and funny?” I swallow against my scratchy throat. “Sold,” I tease.

  I carry her over to the tub and set her on its ledge while I start the water. She undresses. I watch every move she makes until I’m hard, and then I take off my clothes, too.

  Her little “mmmmm” as my dick springs free of my boxer-briefs is enough to make me throb. We get into the tub together, but this time I set her down by the faucet. We face each other, and she strokes my shaft as the water laps at my balls and I play with her clit.

  “Ahh.” The noise is breathy and delicious. Fuck, her nipples are all hard and tight. I can see the goosebumps on her creamy breasts. She grips me tighter, strokes me faster.

  “I love that look on your face,” she says with a smirk. Her lids are heavy, cheeks are pink.

  “What look?” I smile, and I can feel that same sedation on my own face. Everything inside me builds and tenses, but somehow on the outside I feel slower.

  “The turned-on look,” she whispers. “Your face gets kind of red up here…” She reaches out and strokes under my eyes. “Your eyes look like they’re trying not to close…” Her fingers trail around the rim of my head, and I can’t help panting as the pleasure spins out through my thighs. Then she strokes the tender notch there at the underside of my head, and I do close my eyes as I shift my hips.

  “Fuck…” She’s still pumping my shaft.

  “Your voice gets low…and your nipples get tight.” She strokes me with a firmer hand, and with her other hand, she pinches one.

  My dick throbs, and I groan.

  I try to up my game on her clit, and I feel her shimmy closer to me.

  “Christ…” She’s doing something to my fucking balls. “I want— ohh, Gwen.” A burst of heat spreads from my thighs up to my belly, where it pools and pulses as my dick pounds to the rhythm of my heart.

  I stroke her clit and run a finger through her lips, and in the water I can feel her slickness, the lack of friction as I spread her open.

  “Oh, fucking…hell,” I breathe. I need inside. Which way? I can barely visualize positions as she rolls my balls and strokes my dick. The way her wrist twists, her hand cupping my head…

  It’s all I can do to wrap my hands around her waist, pulling her atop my lap. I rub myself against her soft curls.

  Gwenna spreads herself for me. I hear her gasp as my head rubs against her where she’s slick and swollen. Her hands grab my shoulders. With her legs around my hips, she tries to push herself against me, push me into her.

  “You need a dick inside that pussy, don’t you Piglet?” I can’t help enjoying her frenzy, even though I feel the same way. I find her core and linger there, applying gentle pressure so I spread her, but not pushing in. Gwenna’s body trembles.

  “Please!”

  “My pretty, pink Piglet...”

  “Barrett!”

  I chuckle as I thrust, burying the tip inside her.

  Gwenna moans. That sound is music to my ears. “Sweet Gwen...”

  I bury myself balls deep, and now it’s my turn to moan—more of a grunt, really. “Aghh…so fucking tight.” I lift her by her hips, pulling her off my dick and slamming her back down on it. She gasps and grabs a handful of my hair. Her cunt squeezes my cock. I feel my balls draw up and throb; my cock swells inside her. Gwenna feels it too. She squirms and grabs my neck, pushing her breasts against my chest as my hands grip her hips and she starts to bounce atop me. I can feel her coming as I start to lose control myself. My hands lose their grip as her pussy milks my dick and with a final grunt, I blow inside her.

  As I carry her to bed, so clean and soft and sweet, life feels right for the first time in as long as I remember.

  GWENNA

  Barrett has his usual early morning dream, but this time, I pull his torso into my lap and rock him, patting his cheek until his eyes peek open. His brows draw down, and I watch him blink a few times as he tries to come fully awake. I kiss his throat and jaw and cheek and whisper sweet things to him. There’s this moment when his face twists like he’s eaten something bitter, and I think he might cry. I pull his cheek against my neck, and Barrett locks his arms around me. He squeezes me so tightly it hurts my shoulders.

  “It’s okay…”

  “The liver shot,” he rasps. He swallows, folding himself around me.

  I don’t press for details, just cuddle him and say a silent prayer. A few minutes later, I feel his body slacken against mine.

  A few hours later, I wake up in Barrett’s lap, with his mouth brushing over mine.

  I smile. He smiles down at me.

  “Wake up, buttercup.”

  I snuggle up against his chest. “It’s too…sunny.”

  Barrett laughs. “You’re cute, Piglet.” I feel his lips press against my forehead. “I’ve gotta say bye to Kelly,” he says softly. “Want to walk over with me?”

  “For sure.”

  In front of Barrett’s house, I hug Kellan and Cleo, then watch as Barrett hugs them both. He squeezes Kellan tightly and pats Cleo’s back as he hugs her.

  “Be safe. Let us know how the driving goes.”

  I’m giddy that he said us, so as they get into Kellan’s car and we sit on the steps together, I’m hiding a big smile behind one hand.

  I watch them load up as Barrett’s fingers thread through mine. Kellan, like Barrett, is protective, his hand brushing Cleo’s shoulder even as she hoists herself into the SUV. I see him smile at her before he closes the door, and it’s like the smile I get from Barrett sometimes—pure sweetness.

  I’m surprised when Barrett gets up one more time as Kellan walks around the car to get into the driver’s side. The two clasp in a firm guy hug. I can’t tell who hugs whom harder, but it’s wonderful to see. They both look calm and bright-eyed when they pull away. Satisfied, I think.

  Kellan grins and slaps his brother’s arm one more time. “Take care, B.”

  “You too, little bro.” Bear pulls his brother close and I think I hear him say, “I’ll do it.”

  I find out later what he means he’ll do is see a counselor. I’m pleasantly surprised that, at some point last night, Kellan mentioned the idea to Barrett. Bear tells me both Kelly and Cleo had “some issues” after what they went through with the bone marrow transplant, so they were both “seeing a shrink.”

  I flash him a knowing smile. “It’s not a bad idea.”

  “What’s yours’ name?” he asks, a glint of skepticism in his eye
s.

  “Helga. And actually, I see her tomorrow. Would you like me to ask her for the name of someone who works with veterans?”

  Barrett leans his head against the couch’s back and blinks up at the ceiling. His eyes glide to mine. “What would I do?” he asks in a quiet, low voice. “If I went?”

  I deadpan, “Well, the first thing is the physical. You’ll just undress, and he or she will check for—”

  His eyes get so wide, so fast, I can’t help laughing, which morphs into howling. Barrett wraps his arm around my neck, scoots so close he’s almost sitting on my thigh, and gives me a gentle noogie.

  “Liar, liar…” He chuckles, pulling me into his lap.

  “Pants on fire?” I offer.

  His gaze darkens. “You want that?”

  “I always do,” I whisper shyly.

  Barrett sprawls me over his lap, like a naughty student with a very dirty-minded schoolmaster, and fingers me until I’m desperate, almost miserable. Then he throws my fleece over the rug, urges me down onto my hands and knees, and enters me from behind.

  Bliss of the highest order…

  God, I think I’ll die before I come.

  And afterward, a shower. And after that, we make omelets, and then I spend hours showing him how to make bread, and making the bread into bread pudding.

  When we go to bed that night, Barrett nods off wrapped in my arms while I read something on my phone, over his shoulders. When he’s solidly asleep, I turn the twinkle lights on, pull the weighted blanket to the bottom of the bed, go into the kitchen, and pour lemonade. Kellan told me Bear hates lemonade, so if he wakes up dissociating, I plan to offer him a sip and watch his face scrunch back into the present.

  I don’t get the chance. When he wakes up this time, he sits up for only a second before staggering toward the bathroom. I find him crouching in front of the toilet. He doesn’t seem sick—his arm is draped over the front of the seat, and his eyes are closed—so I wonder if he came here automatically, triggered by other nights when he was sick. I rub circles on his back and wrap an arm lightly around his waist when I notice his calves are trembling.

  A few heartbeats later, he turns and curls against me. His head is down, so I can’t see his face, but I can feel him breathing—fast.

  “It’s okay.” I cup his jaw and try to hold his body against mine. “We’re okay…”

  I feel chills sweep his skin. He nods once, just a quick jerk of his head, like he’s trying to believe me. My heart aches as I whisper, “I love you. Can you come back to bed with me?”

  He nods. Our eyes meet in a brief spark as we stand up together. His hand grips mine as we walk back to bed. He follows me closely, his face tired in the shadows. When our eyes catch this time, Bear gives me a tiny smile that makes my chest feel warm and tight.

  When we’re tangled together on the bed, his body damp, his muscles tense, he tucks his chin against the top of my head—and I decide to gamble.

  “Do you want to tell me…what it’s about?” I whisper haltingly.

  I feel him take a deep, slow breath. He’s still so long after, I think he fell asleep, until he murmurs, “You.”

  “The dream where you get sick…” My heart pounds hard. “It’s about me?”

  His arms around me tighten. I can feel his sorrow, an invisible ribbon winding around both of us. Oh, Barrett…

  I work to breathe around the lump in my throat, to make my voice normal when I ask, “What happens?”

  His head shakes slowly. I feel like an ass for asking.

  “It’s all right.” I pull the weighted blanket over us and smooth his damp curls off his forehead.

  “We’re together, okay? That’s real life. It feels good to be in bed with you.”

  “I know.” He shudders once more, just the barest little tic across his shoulders. I rub in between his shoulder blades, and pretty soon, he’s breathing evenly again.

  The next morning, Barrett meets an inspector down at the studio. I spend my morning taking samples from the pond in the enclosure, then packaging them up and sending them off via UPS to a lab where they’ll be tested to ensure the water’s safe and healthy for the bears.

  The nearest UPS place is downtown near Helga’s office, which is good because I have an appointment with her in two hours. I shower, and as I leave, I spot the paper bag from the Native American store on the counter. On the outside of it, Barrett had scrawled his friend’s address. I fold the bag closed, setting it on the passenger seat beside the little box of water samples. Before I open the garage, I peek inside, my intention to make sure it seems ready to mail. Barrett told me it was, but since he’s not around, I want to be sure.

  When I look inside, I see a square of my thick, papyrus “GW” stationary and find myself reaching for it. I want to see Barrett’s handwriting again, but that’s not the only reason I unfold the note. I still want to know him more. Want to know what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. Want to know his friends. I tell myself there’s nothing personal in such a short note, and open it before my conscience can kick in. I feel a pleasant jolt at the sight of his familiar handwriting.

  THANKS FOR WATCHING MY BACK, BROTHER. -BEAR

  I bring the note to my chest for a second, then slide it back in.

  Half an hour later, I’m paying the woman at the UPS store, and she’s telling me about how her pet parrot has gotten into the habit of telling all her houseguests “Go clean those feathers, honey!” when I realize…I’m laughing. Really laughing, right here in the store. I’m laughing, and on my right side, someone tall is maybe laughing, too.

  I turn my head as I get my receipt and change, and my gaze catches on a pair of pale blue eyes. Heat sweeps through me as I realize he’s familiar: his hair is red like mine; he’s tall and built, kind of like Barrett…

  The guy from the moccasin shop.

  I give him a small smile, more to push out of my comfort zone than anything else. He gives me a wink, and when I turn to go, I think I feel him right behind me. Then I push the door open and I see Barrett’s smiling face, and the guy is forgotten in the warmth of Bear’s arms as he pulls me to him and I melt against his body, my arms twined around my neck, until an older couple smiles at us from down the sidewalk, and we laugh and they laugh, like we’re a spectacle, and I think maybe we are.

  “Let’s get lunch,” he says. We hold hands and walk to a little sandwich shop with old-fashioned, burnt-orange, plastic booths, Coke clocks with swinging hands all along one wall, and a green glass vase with a carnation poking out the top beside the napkin holder.

  Barrett smiles with mustard on his lip and tells me about the inspection.

  “The place is perfect.”

  He’s glowing, which makes me smile, too.

  His leg rubs mine under the table as he talks. We brush each other’s fingertips as we sip soda and Barrett eats his sandwich, then the rest of mine.

  “How about your morning, Piglet?”

  We talk through a drink refill, top our lunch off with peppermints from this adorable little glass jar by the door, and latch hands as we step into the sunlight. It’s a balmy, humid day, springtime-warm.

  “How’d you find me at the UPS place?” I ask.

  Barrett smiles. “I was watching for you. Want a walk to Helga’s office?”

  “Yes.” I lean my cheek against his arm as we walk slowly toward her little, white brick building. “You’ll go home after?”

  He nods. “Unless you want me to stay. I could kill some time down here. You need anything done?”

  I smile, and Barrett smirks. “That’s some Cheshire Cat stuff there.”

  “I know.” I laugh. “That line is every woman’s wet dream.”

  We nuzzle each other outside Helga’s office, and Barrett agrees to meet me here in fifty minutes.

  “I’ll pick up a helmet for you. Pink?” His brow quirks up.

  I nod, smiling.

  “Second choice neon green?”

  I grin and blow him a kiss
.

  Fifty minutes later, I emerge, feeling lighter and holding the business card of a local therapist who works with vets.

  I see Barrett’s yummy, thick back leaned against the glass window at the front of Helga’s office, and my heart does a little tap dance of excitement.

  I launch myself into his arms as soon as my feet hit the sidewalk. He pushes a hot pink helmet on my head. I lean my head back. “Do I look sexy?”

  “Very sexy. So damn sexy,” he murmurs, kissing me lightly, “it’s a shame you have to drive yourself back.”

  “Race you there?”

  He smirks. “C’mon…”

  I punch his arm and dart off toward my car. When I pull into my driveway, Barrett’s standing on the porch with his arms crossed, an adorable smirk on his face and his dark hair blowing in the perpetual mountain breeze. When I get out of the car, the first thing I notice is his dick tenting his pants, a dark glaze on his eyes.

  I unlock the laundry room door, but before I step inside, I unbutton my pants so as I walk, they’ll fall down.

  “Fucking hell, Gwenna. I hope that pussy wants a dick inside.”

  I lean over slightly and wiggle my ass at him. Barrett tackles me. We fuck on the rug beside the couch like dogs, my pussy stretched around his steel-hard length, his body heaving as he pants and pounds me.

  It’s not until after our bath that I manage to get the card in his hand. I’m making chicken salad at the counter when he strokes his hand over my hair.

  “Be back, Pig,” he murmurs.

  My walls are thin enough that I can hear him calling from my office.

  Sean Eddins, PhD. His card says he does PTSD Recovery, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, Brainspotting, and Exposure Therapy.

  My stomach twists a little at the thought of Barrett going somewhere. Talking to someone.

  So when his appointment rolls around, two days later, I can’t help offering to drive him. I sort of expect him to say “yes,” so when he shakes his head, picks up his helmet, and says, “I’ve got it, Pig,” I slap his arm, pretending I’m offended by my silly, new nickname. In truth, I kind of love it.