by K. Webster
The water eventually grows cold and I climb out. I snag a plush towel and tie it around my waist. I’m just sauntering out of the bathroom, water dripping from my hair, when I notice Eve’s awake. Her eyes are open as she stares up at my ceiling. Suma had rubbed the green paste all over Eve’s chest wounds and ordered me to leave it open so it could dry the paste. My gaze falls to Eve’s chest. Her breasts are small and her nipples are hardened pebbles. When my cock thumps against my leg, I tear my eyes from her and rush over to my dresser. I did not just get a semi looking at a teenager’s tits. With a growl, I yank it open and locate a pair of loose boxers to sleep in.
When I turn around, she’s watching me. Her brown eyes flicker with distrust and fear. I run my fingers through my wet hair and motion around me.
“This is my house. You’ll be safe here.” I point at her chest but don’t break eye contact. “A nice lady friend of mine treated your wounds. We need to apply the paste four times daily so you’ll heal. Are you hungry?”
She winces in pain and nods. “Fruit.”
My lips tug into a half smile. Of course she wants fruit. Little Eve loves her fruit. Her only request ever. I stride through my house and set to pouring two cans of fruit into a Tupperware bowl. I snatch a fork and head back to my bedroom. Eve tries to sit up and I growl.
“Don’t do that.”
Her nostrils flare, but she obeys. When I sit beside her on the bed, she’s tense. Using the fork, I cut the peach slices into bite-sized pieces. Then, I stab one before bringing it to her cracked pink lips.
“Open.”
Her mouth parts and I feed the fruit into the opening. A sound of pleasure rumbles from her. Again, my cock thickens against my thigh. Ignoring the blood rushing there, I feed her until all the fruit is gone. Once I’ve put the bowl up, I assist her in sipping from the bottle of water. I can tell with every grimace that she hates accepting my help. Eve is independent and fierce. She must feel like a prisoner in her own body.
“Time to rest, Eve.”
I flip off the lights before crawling in bed next to her. This will be the fifth night I’ve slept by her side. Ever since she collapsed in Reed’s yard, bloody and on the brink of death, I can’t bring myself to leave her side. I feel responsible for her. Eve has no one. She needs someone.
Her breathing is soft in the darkness. Despite the central heat that warms the space, her body is cool to the touch. The fever has let up, thank fuck. I wrap my arm across her lower torso and press my hot body against hers to warm her. The tension melts away as she accepts my gift of heat. Soon, we both fall asleep.
“More,” the brunette begs as she holds onto the headboard. “Please.”
Her tiny pale ass just begs to be bitten and marked. I give it a good slap before driving hard enough into her that my balls slap against her bare pussy, making a loud smack. I tangle my fist in her dark locks and yank her head back. She moans and soon her body is shuddering around my cock. My orgasm explodes from me with a groan.
I wake to the early morning birds chirping outside the window. Today, despite the hour, it’s dark out, which means more goddamned snow. A yawn escapes me and I take stock of my situation. Bile creeps up my throat when I realize my boxers are drenched. I had a wet fucking dream. Came in my shorts like a damn teenager. All of that would be bearable if not for the fact my thigh is pressed against Eve’s core. Her legs are parted to accommodate my big leg.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
My heart is thundering in my chest. I’m a fucking pervert. I just came with my dick pressed against a teenager’s hip. I’ll be forty damn years old in April. What the hell is wrong with me?
She stirs and I remain still. I’m too horrified to move. If she falls back asleep, then I can creep out of here. I’m planning my escape when she starts clawing at the skin on her chest surrounding the gashes.
“Eve,” I bark out suddenly, my voice hoarse from sleep. “Don’t do that.”
She ignores me and continues scratching. I snag her wrist and clutch it tight. When she starts in with the other, I grip it too. Pinning them both to the bed, I glare at her.
“I said no.”
Her brown eyes flame with fury. It’s the most life I’ve seen in her eyes since long before the accident when I saw her last. I try to ignore the fact that my wet boxers are smashed against her bare flesh.
“It itches,” she hisses out, her nostrils flaring.
My gaze softens. “I know, but you can’t scratch it. It’ll hurt.”
“Are you going to mount me?” Her words are but a whisper.
It takes me a moment to register what she’s asking. I jerk away from her as though I’ve been bitten by a snake. In my haste to jump from the bed, I knock the quilt to the floor. Her naked body in my bed speaks to my cock, which doesn’t understand rules. It rises of its own accord.
“W-What?” I demand. “No. I’m not going to…mount you.” Even as I spit those words out in disgust, a quick image flits in my head. One where she’s healed and I’m buried deep inside her. I’m sickened that I would think such a horrible thing about a girl. “Fuck. Fuck!”
She goes to claw at her skin again. It distracts me from the giant fucking boner I have going on and I once again pounce on her. If she reopens those wounds, it could be bad. She squirms against my hold. Using my body weight, I pin her to the mattress. Between us, her chest heaves from exertion. Like the stupid fuck I am, I glance down. Her tits are perky as ever and her nipples still hard. I close my eyes and attempt to shake away the vision.
“Are you going to mount me?” She asks the goddamned question again that has me going fucking mental. Instead of flipping out, I pop my eyes open and glare at her.
“No, Eve. I’m not some sick rapist.”
She relaxes and her features soften. If she notices that my cock throbs against her thigh with need, she doesn’t let on. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now can you hold still and let me apply more paste?”
She nods and bites on her bottom lip in a nervous manner. Fuck if that shit doesn’t go straight to my dick too. I slide off the bed and throw some jeans on because I need more of a barrier between us than my wet boxers. Once I’m covered, I bring the quilt back over her thighs to her hips, averting my eyes from between her legs. My gaze dances across her nipples again and I want to punch myself in the fucking face for having zero self-control. I snag the bowl of paste from the end table and scoop out a glob on my fingertips. Her breath hisses when I begin spreading it across the gashes. My pinky brushes against her nipple and I have to close my eyes to stop any feral sounds from escaping my throat.
What the fuck has gotten into me?
This is Eve.
Little fox.
Not some goddamned plaything.
Once I finish, I flash her a quick smile. “Rest up. I need to take a shower and then I’ll get you some fruit.”
Her entire face lights up as she smiles—wide, bright, beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Eve smile like this. Fucking ever. I’m so taken aback by it that I stumble away from her. It isn’t until I’m in the shower under the hot spray that I realize my obsession with her has bloomed into something forbidden. I lean my forehead against the cold tile and grip my aching cock. My eyes close as I attempt to bring forth the brunette I’d been dreaming about when I unexpectedly came. I jerk at my dick as I think about her ass and the bones on her spine. Her dark hair. I’m getting close when the girl in my vision turns around to look at me. Deep brown eyes. Soulful as fuck. Eve. With a choked grunt, I release my orgasm and my seed spurts against the tiled wall.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck!
I start scrubbing my body forcefully as punishment to myself. The last thing I need is to be fantasizing over Eve. She’s still a kid, for fuck’s sake. Whatever stupid fantasies are in my head cannot leave this shower. They need to slip down the drain and straight into hell where they belong.
I
can’t think about her like that.
I can’t.
I just fucking can’t.
When I dry off and throw my jeans back on sans underwear, I saunter into the room, expecting her to be asleep. Instead, I find her staring at me. Her big brown eyes aren’t angry or frightened. They flicker with curiosity. With a grunt, I make my way over to my closet and snag a T-shirt off the hanger.
“It’s warm here,” she murmurs.
I halt and turn to regard her. “Do you think you can get up today?”
She starts attempting to sit up, so I rush over to her. Together, we manage to get her into a sitting position. Her chest looks awful, but it’s not half as angry as it was before. The paste is already helping.
“I need to…” Her cheeks burn bright red. “Go.” Her gaze darts to the window. And by go, she doesn’t mean leave. She needs to pee.
“Can you walk or should I carry you?”
“Carry me.”
I ignore the fire burning through me as I scoop her tiny body into my arms. She weighs nothing. I bet she barely breaks a hundred pounds on the scale. A yelp escapes her when I sit her on the toilet.
“Cold!”
Laughing, I release her and take a step back. “It’s a toilet. You relieve yourself into it. That’s toilet paper you use to clean up with and then that little lever is to flush it all away.”
Her eyes are wide and her lip is slightly curled up. “Where does it all go?”
“Through pipes to a septic tank.”
“What’s a septic tank?”
I’m about to open my mouth when I hear tinkling in the toilet. Like the sick motherfucker I am, I can’t help but glance down between her thighs. Her urine streams out and my dick is fucking hard in my jeans again. I back out of the bathroom, clipping my shoulder on the frame before stumbling into the room.
“Call for me when you’re done,” I bark out and stalk away. I run my fingers through my still wet, wild hair. I’m losing my damn mind. Bringing her here, after going so long without sex or the touch of a woman, was a bad idea. I need to get her well and dump her ass back at Reed’s. I start slamming drawers on the hunt for a T-shirt.
I’m still beating myself up when I hear the toilet flush. She lets out a choked sound, which has me rushing back into the small bathroom. Her eyes are teary as she stares at the mirror.
“Esther?” Her fingertips reach up and she touches the glass.
I come up behind her and frown at our reflections. “It’s a mirror. Like when you see yourself in the river.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes, but not before a tear snakes down her dirty cheek. I hand her the giant white T-shirt.
“Put this on and then we’ll get some food in you.”
She allows me to help her dress. I’m mindful of her gashes and keep my eyes diverted. Once she’s dressed, I lock my arm around her tiny waist and slowly guide her to the kitchen. She’s quiet, but I can see her taking everything in. Outside, the snow falls heavy and thick, but we’re warm inside. I sit her at the table with a can of fruit and then start on making her something hot.
“I don’t have many perishables since I’ve been gone for a while, but I’ll pick some up next time I go to town. I hope you like oatmeal.” She’d probably do better to have real steel cut oats, but all I have is the instant shit I loved when I was a kid. I choose the apples and cinnamon flavor for her and set to making it. Once I finish, I place the steaming bowl in front of her.
I make some coffee for the both of us. I’m not sure if she’ll like it or not, but I think the caffeine could do her some good.
“What is this?”
I turn to see her devouring the oatmeal. Her eyes are bright and happy. It eases the tension in my shoulders. My T-shirt swallows her. Her skin is dirty and bloody—a stark contrast against the clean white shirt. I’ve brought the wild home and she stands out against everything in the clean, sparse home.
“Oatmeal. You like it?”
“More,” she pleads, her voice a needy whisper. With her eyes on me like that, I go back to losing my damn mind.
I set a steaming mug of coffee, that I mixed in extra sugar and cream since she appears to love sweet shit, in front of her. “Drink this. I’ll make you more oatmeal.”
The sounds of pleasure coming from her as she sips the hot liquid warm me. It gives me satisfaction to show her new things. By the time I’ve made her a second bowl of oatmeal, she’s downed the entire cup of coffee. Her eyes dart around all over the place, curiosity evident in her features.
“If you’re feeling up to it, you’re free to explore,” I tell her. “Just stay inside. You’re hurt and we need to get you well.”
“Free.”
I let out a chuckle when she starts inhaling the oatmeal. I’ll need to add that to the grocery list since she’s such a fan. Absently, she scratches at her chest and it reminds me that her stitches need to come out. The thought of seeing her naked again fucks with my head. When I go to town to get groceries, I’ll have to find one of my fuck buddies to get my mind off this bullshit for a while.
“I need to clean your wounds,” I tell her, my tone gruff. “Then maybe you could shower.”
Her nose crinkles and I’ll be damned if she hasn’t ever looked cuter. “Shower? Like rain shower?”
I chuckle and take her empty dishes to the sink. “Something like that, but warmer.”
After I grab my first aid kid and a giant bottle of rubbing alcohol, I set them on the table and kneel in front of her. “Shirt needs to come off.”
Instead of removing it, she lifts her arms, her brown eyes boring into me. I grit my teeth but gently take her shirt off. With extreme focus, I begin cleaning away the paste and dirt and blood with the alcohol. She whimpers and cries but doesn’t push me away. Once she’s clean, I grab the small scissors and begin the tedious task of cutting out the stitches. It takes over an hour, but I manage to free her from them. Already, after one day of having the paste, her wounds are much better. Bringing her here so Suma could treat her was a good decision. Even if my dick keeps trying to make bad ones.
“Shower,” she reminds me.
I smirk. “You’re a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it.”
She reaches forward and touches my teeth. “How come your teeth don’t fall out? Like Papa’s or my brothers’?” I think this is the most I’ve ever heard her speak all at once.
I snort. “I brush them.”
Her eyes widen in horror. “Will mine fall out?”
“If you don’t keep them clean, it’s inevitable.”
She swallows. “Clean them in the shower?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” I say with a chuckle. “But nothing you can’t handle on your own once I show you.”
* * *
* * *
This place is strange. Clean and warm and free of threats. It’s filled with the most delicious foods and the clothing is soft. Best part is, Atticus is here. His scent is everywhere. He smells one part like the pine trees but also a scent I don’t know. It smells good, though. His eyes are always on me. They flicker with fire—the same fire Papa and my brothers had sometimes. It makes me wonder if he wants to mount me and take me as his wife. The thought isn’t a bad one like with my family. With Atticus, it makes my belly burn with want. It makes me curious to know what his mouth tastes like.
Just thinking about his mouth has me ashamed. He cleans his teeth, which is why they are so bright white like fresh snow on the first day of winter. I want mine to be clean too.
“I’ll get you your own toothbrush,” he tells me. “For now, we can share mine.”
His strong grip is once again on my waist. The shirt he gave me hides my body from him. I don’t like wearing it, despite it smelling like him, because he can’t look at my body with that hungry stare I’ve come to enjoy. But having his hands on me, like now, is better than his eyes. I like the way he’s gentle with me but powerful enough not to let me fall. We
make it into the small room where the toilet is, and he once again stands behind me. Our gazes meet in the mirror.
Atticus is beautiful. His skin golden and his hair silky. Compared to my dark, matted locks, he looks like what I imagine the angels in Papa’s Bible to look like. It embarrasses me because I don’t look like him. Mud and blood are crusted on my face and in my hair.
His body is hard and hot pressed against my back. I can feel his manhood poking into me. My eyes meet his and I’m fascinated when his cheeks turn ruddy as though he doesn’t want me to know his manhood is ready to mount.
“I’ll go first so you can watch me,” he murmurs, his voice husky and scratchy.
I pay special attention to the way he squeezes some blue paste onto a tiny brush. He brings it to his mouth and begins vigorously scrubbing. Foam spills from his mouth into the bowl under the mirror. He reminds me of the animals that sometimes get the madness. But he winks at me and it causes a flash of heat to course through me. He spits into the sink and then turns a lever. Water comes out and he rinses the brush. Once he’s all clean, and his teeth certainly sparkle now, he hands me the brush. I hold it steady while he squeezes more blue paste out. Mimicking his actions, I start scrubbing. The paste makes my mouth cold, but I like it. Actually, I love it. I scrub and scrub until I’m foaming from the mouth too. I’m mad. Positively mad. I giggle and nearly choke on the foamy paste.
I spit and rinse like he did. My mouth feels clean and smooth and refreshed. “Can I do it again?”
He chuckles and it reminds me of how Nathaniel would laugh when he was a boy. Soft and playful and warm. “After every meal if you want. But now we need to get the rest of you clean. Just take the shirt off and bathe under the hot spray.” He turns on the shower and then leaves me alone.
I’m not sure about this shower he speaks of, but I do as I’m told. I take off the shirt and pull the cloth to the side to peek inside. All white smooth rocks of some sort. Steam billows around me. When I reach out and the hot water pounds into my hand, I shriek.