by Lola White
8
Weslyn woke up screaming. The pain ripping through her leg stole her sanity, the heat that came with it seemed to burn her alive. From her thigh to her calf, an unbearable, knotted mass of agony twisted and turned inside her skin. She’d never felt anything like it.
She tried to move, but that only brought another scream from her aching throat. She tried to turn over, but her hand was cuffed to the headboard. Then a warm presence sprang into action, jumping onto her bed and seizing her roughly.
For a moment, she traveled far beyond panic. Weslyn had no idea what was going on, who the man on the bed with her might be, or where she was. Fear pierced deep, but then a familiar voice called her name and a big, hot hand closed on her hip. Emotional comfort flooded her, instincts telling her she was safe, even as another pain scored her calf.
“Weslyn, what? What’s going on?” The bedside lamp flicked on, showing her the terror etched into Findley’s face. He tossed his gun onto his own bed. “What’s wrong?”
Tears streamed down her cheeks—she was unable to hold them back. Weslyn panted through parted lips and gritted teeth, but as another rolling cramp stretched down her leg, she had no words to explain. She could only pull against the handcuff and arch her back, fighting to drag her knee up to her chest even as she forced it straight.
Findley tore at her waistband. For the second time in less than twenty four hours, he pulled her jeans low, but this time he kept yanking until they were down her legs, then off and on the floor. Weslyn whimpered, caught between the fear of being in her underwear in front of him, and the possibility of something truly terrible happening in her muscles.
He glared at her plain cotton panties. “Is it the baby? There’s no blood.”
She managed to shake her head. She also made an effort to reach her calf, where the pain seemed to bite harder. “My…leg,” she gasped.
Huge, hot hands closed around her calf and thigh. Findley’s heat sank deep, through muscle and bone, maybe deeper, bringing an immediate relief of mind, if not body. For the first time in years, Weslyn wasn’t alone, and the federal agent’s presence next to her suddenly brought a larger measure of comfort than she could have expected.
In the lamplight, Findley’s eyes turned silver. “Charley horse. Back when I was married and my wife and I were trying to conceive, I read a bunch of baby books. What to expect, you know? It’ll be all right, Moon, relax and trust me.”
His voice was soft and smooth, encouraging. Weslyn let his tone wash over her and soothe her. His fingers worked over her skin, his hands kneaded and massaged. The pain still ebbed and flowed, but little by little the cramp released its awful grip on her. As the knot in her leg unraveled, Moon let her body relax more, and she closed her eyes to better appreciate the relief Findley brought her.
His hands felt nice on her skin.
She didn’t like to be touched. For years, she’d avoided any contact at all, but Findley had kept a near constant hold on her since he burst through her door in Chicago. At first, she could hardly think beyond the need to make him let go, but somewhere along the way, Weslyn had started getting used to him.
He’d been gentle and careful in the emergency clinic. He’d been a safe haven at the train station and agreed to be her legal protector in the car on the way to Cleveland. And now he was a healer, easing her cramp at the same time he teased her with the possibility of what it could be like, to let a good man touch, stroke and fondle.
A good man she’d been dreaming about for months.
“You should see the look on your face,” he whispered. “You close your eyes to hide, Moon, but I can still see you.”
She felt Findley’s touch change, soften. His palms smoothed over the curve of her calf, cupped the heel of her foot, then his thumbs dug into her sole with beautiful pressure. Pleasure bloomed, racing up Weslyn’s spine until she felt as if she could melt into the mattress. Her foot was warm and relaxed, and Findley repeated the caress on the other one.
His hands gripped her ankles, but his touch was light enough that Weslyn felt no panic, no fear. In some way, she trusted Findley, and she recognized the alien emotion and allowed it to work on her nerves. She remained pliant as he stroked up her calves, kneaded her knees, then massaged her thighs.
His touch changed again, not just a warm, soothing slide of skin against skin, but suddenly charged with intent. He drew circles on her thighs, edging higher, farther between her legs. Heat transferred from his hands to Weslyn’s body, curling through her at an alarming rate. But this was the fantasy she’d held secret since she’d picked his picture out of a book. She gasped, and before she realized what she was about to do, she’d spread her legs to let his fingers roam a little farther.
“Better now?” he asked quietly. “Or should I keep going?”
“W-we probably shouldn’t.” Weslyn tried to think past the tingling plea growing in her clit. She fought to be rational. “I’m your prisoner and…it’s probably unethical.”
“We’re consenting adults.” Findley’s fingertip drifted over the damp center of Weslyn’s underwear, then away. “I’ve just had my medical evaluation and I saw your records in the clinic. We’re both clean, and you’re already pregnant with my child.”
“But…but…” Weslyn gasped and arched as Findley found her clit with his thumb and rubbed over it a single time. His retreat left her feeling empty and deprived, a true battle against needs she hadn’t surrendered to in a decade.
She was torn, unable to decide what she really wanted in that moment. It wasn’t as if she’d never experienced pleasure, but after her last boyfriend, Weslyn hadn’t been able to trust anyone enough to let them anywhere close to her body. For some reason, Findley was different. Different than any man she’d ever known—harsher in some ways, but gentler in others.
And, as he’d said, she was pregnant with his child. Something in that statement released her inhibitions. Made it okay to do what she wanted with him.
She wondered if her pregnancy had something to do with the desire welling up within her. Maybe her lust sprang from hormones, but, then again, she had to admit that she hadn’t wanted sex before Findley found her—and she definitely wanted sex, if the sudden wetness of her pussy was anything to judge by. Perhaps it was a mental thing, where she went all soft and willing under his patiently stroking hands simply because she would be the mother of his child.
Maybe it was the way he didn’t pressure her to fuck him, or the single-minded way he looked at her or the possessive way he touched her. He was her hero, her protector and the best chance she had to escape the worst of the punishment she knew would be coming. Maybe her libido though she owed him, or could tempt him into a better plea deal.
Or maybe it was just him. Maybe she’d wanted him since the moment she saw his photo in the book at the Barre Birth and Reproductive Center.
“Have you ever had anyone take care of you, Moon?”
“My sister took care of me,” she whispered.
“Any man?”
She shook her head. Findley groaned. His fingertips traced indecipherable patterns higher and higher on her thighs. Weslyn could have sworn she felt the brush of his lips over her hip.
His hands kept rising. Soft and smooth, a drag of his palm over her waist, a stroke of his fingers around her belly button. Unable to help herself, Weslyn opened her eyes just as Findley drew back and swung his leg over her.
She’d refused to look at him when they’d arrived at the motel, while mild anxiety held her stiff on her bed, when he’d undressed to lie down. His clothes had been crumpled from their travel, but he’d taken them off and hung them over a chair before climbing into his own bed, two feet from hers.
Now, with him straddling her, Weslyn had an excellent view of Findley’s boxers, and the gapped opening gave a shadowed impression of what was beneath. She sucked in oxygen.
“Relax, Moon. Let me take care of you.”
She lifted her eyes to his. Silver, with bright flecks of
green rimming the edges. She nodded, wondering what the hell she was getting herself into, yet she obeyed the instincts begging her to let him do whatever he wanted. She dropped her gaze to evaluate him. Findley’s lips were curved in a gentle smile, his pulse made itself known in his neck. His shoulders were broad, his chest well-formed and the dark hair sprinkled down the front of him looked soft and tempting.
And his touch made her feel beautiful, wanted and treasured.
Weslyn wondered if she’d lost her mind. But she still said, “Yes.”
9
Findley leaned over her body and kissed her on the mouth.
Weslyn fell into the caress in small degrees, still too cautious to fully open, yet curious and thoroughly enticed by the unhurried, smooth slide of his lips over hers. He licked into her mouth, softly, slowly, shallowly. He didn’t ravage or conquer, but neither did he give her a choice. He took what he wanted, but also gave her so much in return—a sense of safety, trust and pleasure. Weslyn relaxed.
“Good, Moon. I want you just like this, looking sleepy-eyed and ready for more.”
She didn’t bother to answer as he dipped his head and kissed her jaw. He kept his weight off her as he licked down her neck, then dropped nipping kisses along her collarbone. His knees dug into the mattress at her hips and his one elbow was braced near her shoulder, until he drew back to remove her shirt.
Again, as he’d been doing all along, Findley made the exposing of Weslyn’s stomach a sensuous diversion. He had a habit of sweeping the fabric up her torso with short slides of his hand, but this time Weslyn felt the difference in his touch. Before, he’d been aloof, but now he was invested, and her skin prickled with anticipation under his palms.
“You are so damned beautiful,” he murmured. “From the first time I saw you on camera at the Reproductive Center, I—”
He didn’t finish his statement. Instead, he leaned down and kissed Weslyn’s navel, then licked a hot path due north. The sleek velvet of his tongue was a delicious contrast to the scratchy cotton he shoved above her breasts, and Weslyn twisted impatiently to get the shirt off. It tangled around the handcuff confining her, muting the sound of the metal against the headboard.
Findley unhooked her bra and removed it in less than a heartbeat. It, too, caught on the handcuff, but neither of them paid any attention. Findley stared at her, the silver in his eyes dimming under a wash of green, then resurging like molten mercury on a hot day. He breathed out roughly and cupped her breast with exquisite gentleness.
“Have you been sensitive here?”
“I-I don’t think so.” Weslyn struggled to answer.
Findley leaned down, licked her nipple and breathed over it. Hot, then cool—the peak puckered hard and fast, leaving Weslyn arching and gasping as sensation shot through her chest.
“Yes,” Findley growled. “Sensitive.”
He kissed both breasts in turn, moving his head from one to the other and using his mouth to great effect. His tongue and lips, a gentle, barely-there suction, his fingers to measure and fondle her flesh. Weslyn struggled to catch her breath as pleasure washed over her, a pleasure that didn’t come with doubts of how it would end or when it might get too rough.
Nolan would take care of her.
Weslyn let herself feel. She let herself live in the moment and accept the gift Findley gave her.
He moved down her body, licking, stroking and sucking. He showered her skin with sensation and delight. Heat. He kissed her scars and hushed her embarrassed murmurs. Weslyn’s nerves pulled taut and her hips rose off the mattress. Findley helped her out of her underwear.
And then she was naked before him. With unhurried finesse, he encouraged her to spread her legs, to let him push closer. He made a space for himself, angling his shoulders against her inner thighs until he could breathe over her aching clit.
“This is all for you,” he told her. “I want you to feel good.”
He held her stare as his tongue flicked out. Weslyn lost her breath, only to have it rush back into her lungs, too fast and hard enough to burn her throat. Hot and wet, the tip of his tongue traced her clit, rubbed and stroked. Nerves all around the peak quivered and hummed, and deep inside, Weslyn’s pussy trembled with need. She could feel how wet she got.
Findley settled in to feast. Never before had Weslyn thought of what it would be like to have a man’s tongue between her legs. She’d never imagined how it would feel to be licked, stroked and fucked with the hot, wet intensity Nolan brought to bear. He thrust into her pussy, tasting her thoroughly, before pulling back and sucking on her clit.
She nearly came off the bed. Weslyn gripped fistfuls of the covers in an effort to be still, but Nolan seemed determined to get her twisted. Soft licks, hard flicks and the delicate scrape of teeth had Weslyn grunting and arching, riding his face as he tongue-fucked her into oblivion.
She was close—so very close. Her fingers had made their way into his short hair, her nails scoring his scalp. One foot was planted on the bed for leverage as she worked her hips, the other was thrown over his shoulder, her heel pressed to his back. His tongue swept over her flesh, no inch left un-licked until she bit her lip, pleasure bursting inside her, hovering on the edge of a much-needed explosion.
Nolan pulled back. Weslyn nearly screamed in frustration, but he moved quickly, rearranging her limbs and settling against her body. He gathered her close, wrapped her legs around his hips and notched his thick dick against her dripping opening.
“Hurry,” she demanded.
“Hell, no,” he gritted out. “I’m taking my damn time. You’re pregnant.”
“It’ll be okay.”
“Oh, I know it will.” He pushed forward a single inch, opening her, stretching her, making her wild with need.
The reality of the situation smacked Weslyn upside the head. Still, he felt so good driving into her that she said nothing, made no protest and didn’t ask for a minute to get herself together emotionally. But somehow he knew, and he rolled to his side, keeping her close and pulling her leg over his hip. He adjusted them both on the mattress, until her handcuffed wrist was in a less awkward position.
“Take me when you’re ready,” he breathed. His hands smoothed down her back to grip her ass. He rocked a little, sending sheet lightning rumbling through her pussy, but otherwise didn’t push farther.
“I am ready,” she claimed.
Nolan kissed her. Sweet and slow, a leisurely kiss that implied they had all the time in the world, totally at odds with the pulsing, jerking hardness buried in her body. Weslyn broke the kiss and hid her face against his neck. Then she did as her pussy demanded and lifted against him, taking him the rest of the way inside her.
It had been so long. She’d been so empty, so lonely, and Nolan was there. His cock filled her, rubbing over the sensitive place that always made everything all right, his baby was in her womb and she was in his arms. At that moment, Weslyn couldn’t have asked for more.
But Nolan gave it. He withdrew and surged back in—gently, but no less intensely. Again and again, he thrust deep, working her nerves and her emotions until Weslyn was tangled in pleasure and desperate to get even closer to the hard, male body sheltering her from the world.
Writhing on his cock, pressing as close as she could, she gasped against his neck, licked out and tasted the salt of his sweat and the flavor of Nolan. His arms held her close and his dick hit just the right spot. Pleasure exploded in a wave of heat that melted her spine. Weslyn came with a strangled scream and a heavy convulsion of her inner walls, her cream slicking from her pussy to drip from his shaft onto her thigh. Nolan sped up, pressed deep and soon followed her over the edge of orgasm.
Somewhere in the silence that descended upon them, Nolan released her wrist from the handcuff and rubbed the raw skin he’d revealed. Then he turned off the light and gathered her close again.
Weslyn didn’t remember falling asleep.
10
They stopped for dinner somewhere in upstate N
ew York. Weslyn knew she probably should have paid more attention to where they might be, but the scenic drive was boring and she’d surprised herself by sleeping most of the afternoon away. Nolan came around to her side of the car and helped her put her seat back in an upright position.
“Are you going to run on me, Moon?”
She looked past him to the greasy spoon decorating the edge of the highway. Besides their rented sedan, one lone car was parked in front of the door and two tractor trailers were angled into spots in the poorly-lit parking lot. There was nowhere to go and no one she’d like to ask for help.
Besides, running meant away from Nolan.
She shook her head. “You’re my best chance at getting out of this mess. And after we…after what we did… No. I won’t run.”
His smile devastated her. “All right then, Moon. No cuffs for the good girl.”
“Oh, nice. I’ll be able to feed myself with some grace tonight.”
Nolan laughed and held her elbow as they walked into the diner. Welsyn wasn’t surprised at what they found inside, having seen the same thing in a number of old television show re-runs. Two men sat at the long counter working on heaping plates and unlimited coffee. They both glanced over their shoulders as Nolan and Weslyn entered, but neither commented.
Nolan guided Weslyn to a booth set in front of a large window. The male server reached the table before they did, and handed them plastic menus as they slid across the cracked and tacky vinyl seats. Weslyn looked at the kid’s face and the burn marks on his wrist, and knew he was the sole employee working that shift.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
Weslyn took pity on the guy. “What’s easiest for you cook?”
“Bacon and eggs,” he answered immediately.
“Weslyn nodded, smiled and snatched the menu from Nolan’s fingers. Handing them back to the server, she said, “Breakfast for dinner, it is.”
He nodded and stepped away with a promise to bring coffee. Nolan stared at Weslyn with a lifted eyebrow.