by Drew Jordan
The snow had already melted and the blood had disappeared from the porch.
Gone. Like it had never happened.
My secrets safe.
Chapter Two
When the stranger returned, I was in bed, reading the mystery novel he had. His one and only book. I kept starting it but then would get distracted by my thoughts. I was determined to have no thoughts at all, so I had put on sweats and wool socks, along with one of the stranger’s thermal shirts, and I was nestled under the covers.
But the sheets were bothering me. They were soft from many nights of sleeping on them and normally they smelled like the stranger. Like me. Like us together, the sweet scent of our sex lingering.
Now they smelled like soap and hair gel. Like Michael. He’d slept in this bed the night before, with me, while the stranger had slept in the chair and it had felt violating then. Now it felt like a lingering reminder of what I had almost lost, and I didn’t like the intrusion in my fantasy. This was our bed.
He came into the cabin with a gust of cold air, and shut the door firmly behind him. He had been gone for two hours, longer than I was expecting. But I had learned to trust in his return and here he was, shaking snow off his hat and kicking off his boots. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I leaned forward, turning the book over to mark my page. “I didn’t move the bin back because it was still hot from the fire. I’ll do that later.”
He nodded. “No problem. The ax?”
“In the river under the ice.”
“Good. Everything else is taken care of.” He pulled his jacket off. “Hopefully it will be a while before anyone finds him.”
He was calm, which kept me calm. “Can we change the sheets?” I asked.
“Why?”
“They smell like him.”
He went still in the process of reaching for the woodpile to add a log to the stove. He pulled his hand back and turned, coming toward the bed. My skin prickled and my eyes widened. He looked angry. Controlled, but angry. Without warning his reached out and yanked the comforter off of me. “Get off the bed, Laney.”
I shivered. But I knew then he wasn’t angry with me. He was angry at the idea of Michael’s scent rubbing up on my body while I slept or while the stranger and I had sex. Scrambling to move, I was still half on the bed when he stripped the sheets off the mattress, bunching them up into a tight ball.
He opened the stove and shoved them in, almost tamping out the fire before the flames won and consumed the thin fabric. I stood and watched them catch fire, shrinking the ball down, smoke curling up into the exhaust pipe and thought that it was like my life in Seattle. Up in smoke. I could never go back now.
It was a heady, giddy feeling.
He tossed the comforter back onto the bed and yanked off his shirt. Then he reached for me and I felt the sharp ache of instant arousal deep inside me. My breath caught when he pushed me back down onto the cloud of soft down fabric and yanked my sweats down to my ankles. He paused only to take his own pants down fully then he spread my legs and took me with a quick thrust. The unexpected invasion made me gasp. He didn’t usually go straight for intercourse. He liked to tease and torture, to see how close to the edge he could take me. He liked control and he liked to draw it out.
This was new, this was him dominating in a different way. This was him claiming me, here, on his bed. He yanked my hands up over my head and pinned me down, hauling one leg up onto his shoulder so his cock drove deep inside. Without foreplay, the first push had been more brute force than a wet welcome on my end, but now as he stroked, my body responded and dampened for him. He watched me, eyes locked on mine, and there was still snow on his beard from his hike in the woods, melting into tiny droplets.
He had a strong jaw, fine lines around his eyes, and skin rough from the harsh wind of Alaska. I knew his face now, had it memorized. I could close my eyes and see him behind my lids and hear his deep voice. Sometimes when I looked up at him, the way I was now, holding back cries of pleasure he hadn’t given me permission to make, I thought that I might break from the intensity of his gaze. He made no sound either, just ragged breathes in and out, but no moans, no groans of approval at the way his cock felt buried in my hot wet pussy. That wasn’t his style. He fucked with control, even now, when he had gone straight for the sexual jugular, he didn’t allow himself to display too much emotion or pleasure.
The grip on my hands tightened as he pounded, all his weight resting there, my skin and muscles squeezing painfully, upper arms straining from being pulled. But I liked that. I liked the way the pain drew my attention to my body, allowed me to feel my skin everywhere.
“You made a mess,” he told me. “But you already know that.”
I nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry, my love.” Sorry that I had secrets still, sorry that I had brought trouble to him.
“I know. I don’t mind. I’m impressed that you took action quickly. But I still think you should be punished. But also rewarded for wanting to stay. Do you agree?”
My nipples tightened, hot saliva flooding my mouth, my pussy so wet I felt slickness on my inner thighs and he pulled in and out, his movements slower, more controlled now. I nodded and said, “Yes. I agree with both. You should definitely punish me.”
Immediately he pulled entirely out, abandoning my body, leaving me empty and unsatisfied. I gave a moan of disappointment.
“I need to feel your skin,” he said. “I need to see you on your knees for me. Not because you’re a prisoner tied up, but because you want to be here, with me.”
It was the first time ever that he had said he needed me in any way. He had said he wanted me, but want was superficial, fleeting. We could all want and change our minds. Need was different. It was more pervasive, more desperate. It was binding. He might want many women over the years, but how many would he need?
Just me.
~End Exceprt~
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Drew Jordan has always liked the dark, mysterious, and sexy, and she wrote CRASH after a writer friend challenged her to “write without rules.” She lives in Miami Beach, the opposite of snowy Alaska, a fact she is grateful for every day in January.
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Happy Reading! ~Drew