Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)

by S. R. Grey

  Sighing, I force myself to look away. I’ll get some of that later.

  Raising the bottle of tequila, I declare, “Time for another shot.”

  “Go for it, killer,” Farren replies.

  “I meant for you,” I say.

  I’m a little tipsy, but Farren appears to be barely affected by the alcohol he’s consumed. Plying him with more might make him open up. Sure, he’s been forthcoming, far more so than at the beginning of the trip, but I sense he’s holding something back, something big.

  I pour him a shot, and then hand him the glass along with the saltshaker and a wedge of the lime we cut up earlier.

  Eyeing me mischievously, he grasps my ankles and straightens my legs from their cross-legged position. I tumble back slightly, giggling. That doesn’t deter Farren. He sits up, leans down, and licks the inside of my right thigh. He then sprinkles a little salt on my now-wet skin and licks it off slowly.

  I can barely breathe.

  When he straightens up, he raises his shot glass. “Cheers,” he says, smirking before downing the contents in two seconds flat.

  While he sucks on his lime wedge, he pours me a shot. He pops the lime out of his mouth and says, “Your turn.”

  “Okay.” I eye him seductively. “But I get to do a body shot, too.”

  Laughing and lying back, he says, “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  I contemplate whether to take my shot from his wide chest or his hard abs. “Decisions, decisions,” I murmur.

  The abs ultimately win. And after licking, salting, and licking again, I throw back my shot.

  I then sit up straight and say to Farren, “Tell me something about you that I don’t know.”

  He laughs as he hands me a lime wedge. “Where would I begin?” he says.

  I suck on the lime and smack his leg. “See,” I mumble around the lime. I take the wedge from my mouth and toss it onto the nightstand. “That just proves there’s still so much you haven’t told me.”

  His expression turns grim. “What do you want to know, Essa?”

  This is my chance to dig for more info, to possibly uncover more secrets. But do I really want to turn our fun, cut-loose night into something serious? It will turn to exactly that if I keep pressing Farren to divulge more regarding his line of employment. I decide I’d rather keep things light. So I focus on something more benign.

  “Tell me about when you were a kid,” I say.

  “Hasn’t Haven filled you in on all of this?” he asks tiredly.

  “Sure, she’s told me some things. But those are her stories. I want to hear yours.”

  “Okay, fine.” He crosses his arms across his smooth chest and leans back against the headboard again. “Do you want to hear a happy story or a sad story? I have plenty of both.”

  “Happy,” I tell him.

  “Hmm…” He appears lost in thought. “How about if I tell you a story from when my mother was still alive?”

  “Sounds good.” I scoot a little closer to him. “All right, I’m ready.”

  “One day,” he begins, “back when Haven was about seven, and I was around fourteen, we found this tiny stray kitten in the backyard of the rented house we were living in.”

  “Was this in Buffalo?” I interject. “Haven told me you moved around a lot after your father left. But I think I remember her saying you and she spent a few years there when you were kids.”

  “Yes, we were living in Buffalo at the time,” he confirms. “Anyway, the kitten was probably only a few weeks old. It was still at an age where it needed to nurse. But Haven and I couldn’t find his mother anywhere. We assumed something must have happened to her.”

  “Aw,” I say, “that’s sad.”

  “It was, but we gave the little guy a home.”

  I smile, and he chuckles. “Shit, Essa, that kitten was such a raggedly little thing. He later turned into a pretty gray tabby, with dark stripes, but at the time he was this scrappy little puff of fur.”

  “He sounds super cute,” I say softly.

  Farren nods. “He was. So, since he was so young, we had to feed him with a dropper until he was old enough to eat solid food.”

  Smiling, I say, “How sweet. I bet Haven loved feeding him. She’s such a softy.”

  “That’s for sure,” Farren replies, laughing. “Haven was ecstatic. She even made up a feeding schedule for him. Not that Mom and I ever had a chance to take a turn. She took over all the kitten-parenting duties.” Quietly, he adds, “Haven sure loved that little guy.”

  I sense the “little guy” was not only special to Haven but to Farren as well.

  “What was his name?” I ask.

  The side of his mouth curves up into a grin. “Wadsworth.”

  “Wadsworth?” I start giggling.

  Shaking his head, he’s sure to inform me, “That was Haven’s doing, not mine.”

  I laugh once again, and Farren shimmies down from the headboard. When he’s lying flat on the bed, he pats the spot next to him. I lie down on my side and rest my head on his chest.

  Farren, while he plays with my hair, continues his story…

  “Once Wadsworth was a little bigger and stronger, he was nothing but trouble. Cute trouble, though. He got stuck in the ductwork, climbed up the chimney. Haven wanted to make him a house cat—we even had him neutered—but he was having none of that.”

  Farren takes a deep breath, my head rising and falling in tandem. There’s a short period of quiet, and I think it’s spent with Farren and I just enjoying this closeness. He wraps his arms around me and holds me for a minute before continuing his story.

  “Anyway, when Wadsworth started going outdoors, that’s when the real trouble began. One day, when he was about six months old, he disappeared. We couldn’t find him anywhere.”

  “Oh no,” I gasp. I raise my head and look up at Farren. “Did you ever find him?”

  Farren smiles down at me. “Yeah, we found him. Here, he’d climbed up a tree in the woods behind our house, an old oak that must have been around seventy-five feet high. He was almost to the top and couldn’t get down.”

  “Did you call the fire department?”

  That remark earns me a level stare. “Essa, you do know they don’t do that kind of shit anymore, right?”

  “I know it now,” I cheerfully retort. And then, in a more serious tone, I inquire, “So, how’d you rescue Wadsworth?”

  Farren pauses. His gaze, though directed my way, appears faraway, like he’s remembering, reminiscing.

  At last, he says, “I climbed up and got him.”

  “What? You climbed a seventy-five-foot tree without any safety precautions?” I’m wide-eyed and, though it’s many years later, scared for Farren. I’m also impressed.

  He nods. “It wasn’t that big of a deal. I just did what needed to be done.”

  I’m flooded with a rush of emotions. Farren is fearless. He’s a man who does whatever needs to be done to protect the vulnerable. Long ago it was a little kitten that needed rescuing. And nowadays Farren helps with something far bigger—rescuing and saving young women in dire trouble.

  I suddenly want to hug Farren, kiss him, love him…

  Did I just say love?

  Before I have a chance to unwind that statement and analyze it, Farren scoots over, keeping me in place until he’s completely under me, our faces inches apart. He slides his hand under the back of my tank top and says, “Do you want me to tell you more stories, or do you want me to touch you?”

  I can feel him hardening beneath me, which makes me rasp, “I want you to touch me.”

  His eyes hold mine as he begins to touch me everywhere. He peels my clothes off one by one, and when there is nothing left to remove Farren touches me with his mouth.

  His lips skim over my shoulder, down to my breasts. I arch, and he sucks, licks, and nips at one nipple, then the other. Soon, he’s moving down my body, showering kisses across my abdomen. He moves lower still, till he reaches where I’m hot and wet.<
br />
  “Farren,” I gasp, his tongue teasing at my clit.

  I swell under his touch, come undone under his mouth.

  Farren discards his jeans and his boxer briefs. He moves back up my body.

  I feel him—all of him—pressing at my core. And I want this. I want him, in this most intimate way.

  “Please,” I whisper, so afraid he’ll stop.

  But he doesn’t stop. Not this time. He settles his body more solidly between my legs. I open wider, and the tip of him goes in. “God,” I gasp.

  Just that tiny bit feels so good. But I want more. I want all of what Farren has to give me.

  “Look at me, Essalin.” His hand is at my chin, thumb brushing over my cheek. My eyes meet his, and he says, “You sure you want this? There’s no going back.”

  The tip of him is still inside of me, and I try to move my hips to take in more, but his weight on me holds me in place.

  “I want this,” I assure him. “I want all of you.”

  “I don’t come with promises,” he says softly. “I’m not some college boy you can wrap around your finger.”

  I hold his gaze, searing green, darkened by the lust he is feeling. “I know,” I respond. “I don’t want that anyway. I never wanted that.” And then I admit, “I’ve always wanted you, Farren. It’s always been you.”

  He stills. He’s inside me, but not. His eyes search mine. “Essalin…”

  He sighs. His gaze is raw, and I know he can’t hold off any longer.

  And then it finally happens. Farren shifts his hips and fills me. And nothing has ever felt so right.

  He doesn’t move. No one does. He leans his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. And maybe Farren doesn’t come with promises, but I do. I belong to him. Whether it was intentional or not, he’s molded me to be his and his alone.

  We breathe together, joined as one. And then he begins to move…just a slow in and out. He’s still molding me, just in a different way. He’s teaching me what to expect from him. He picks up the pace at some points, goes slow at others. He shifts me this way and that, drives into me from various angles. He’s trying me out. And as I learn how Farren likes to fuck, I respond to him accordingly.

  Wrapping my legs around him tightly, I dig my nails into his back. “You feel so fucking good, Essalin,” he tells me.

  I want to tell him he feels amazing, too, but hell if I can talk. It’s just moans and incoherent sweet nothings that escape my mouth. That is, when Farren’s mouth isn’t on mine, kissing me insistently, making me accept his tongue as willingly as I accept his cock. And accept it, I do. Farren fucks like the alpha he is. He’s amazing, and before long I’m at the threshold of unparalleled ecstasy.

  When he feels me tensing, he quickens the pace. “Let go, Essa,” he commands.

  His words push me over the edge. I close my eyes and grip his shoulders as I come and come. He pumps into me, a final succession of hard thrusts that don’t stop until he empties into me. He knows I’m on the pill, and we both know we’re clean, so I revel in the fact that even when he withdraws, he’s still in me in some way.

  Farren gets up to go to the bathroom, and I watch, in awe that his amazing body was just on me, in me.

  He returns with a warm washcloth and starts to clean me up. “Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asks.

  He appears concerned, so I make sure to respond in a cheerful, satisfied voice. “Are you kidding? I feel great.”

  He chuckles, kisses me lightly, then continues to dote on me. I stretch languorously as he finishes with his gentle ministrations with the washcloth. He eyes my body lustily, and when I look down I see he’s starting to get hard again. It makes me feel good that I can turn him on so quickly after he’s just climaxed.

  I pull my knees up, and he places a hand on one. “Want to do it again?” I ask, brow rising.

  With a suppressed smile, Farren spreads my legs and climbs in between. “Essalin.” He says. “What have I created?”

  While he’s smoothing away hair from my face, I say to him, “You’ve created someone who wants you again, and again, all the time, a lot—”

  He silences me with his mouth and gives me what I want—him.

  The plan is to leave bright and early so we can meet up with Rick and Haven in Albuquerque by noon. But then Farren gets word that there’s been a delay.

  “The doctor couldn’t be reached until yesterday evening,” he explains.

  We’re in the little café attached to the side of the store across the street from the motel, the one where I bought the tequila.

  “He’s seeing Haven today,” Farren continues. “Once we get the all clear for her to travel, Rick will notify us.”

  I haven’t spoken to Haven, but I suspect Farren has, so I set down my fork—I’ve barely touched my pancakes anyway—and ask, “Have you talked to Haven?”

  He lifts his coffee to his lips and murmurs from behind the ceramic cup, “Yeah, I talked to her briefly, once.”

  While Farren sips his cup of joe, I ask if I can talk to her.

  “Essa,” he responds with a sigh as he lowers his cup to the table. “Even the burner phones aren’t one hundred percent secure. They can be tapped into and traced. I think it’s best if we wait.” He offers a stunning smile, one surely meant to placate me. “You’ll see her soon enough.”

  I’m placated, for now, but I still have another question. “Are we still heading to Albuquerque today to wait for Rick and Haven there?”

  “No,” Farren replies, “we’re staying here until I get word that they’re heading up there.”

  “I’m fine with staying here,” I say quietly.

  I’m speaking more to myself than to Farren. And it’s the truth. I like this little piece of serenity out in the middle of nowhere. I like our tiny motel room, where we laughed and loved last night. I liked how afterward the neon glow from the motel sign kept the night illuminated, even when all the lights were out. Farren’s body was cast in shades of blue as I watched him sleep. He appeared as contented as I felt.

  I sigh now, and Farren looks over at me across the table. “What are you thinking about, Essa.” He smiles coyly. He knows.

  But I still reply. “I was thinking about last night.”

  He reaches out and takes my hand in his. “It was pretty amazing,” he murmurs.

  “It was,” I agree.

  After our moment has passed, we finish our breakfast and head back across the street to the motel. Much later in the day, we hear from Rick. The doctor, though, we discover has advised Haven not to travel for another day or two. Rick informs Farren that his sister is suffering from a respiratory infection—the result of having been kept locked up in “cold, damp” places.

  When I’m told this, by Farren, I shudder at the thought of what Haven must have endured. Cold, damp places? Ugh. Where were Eric and Vincent keeping my friend as they traveled from state to state with her? I ask Farren that exact question but get no answer.

  I don’t press, and as we stay on at the Blue Cactus Inn, Farren begins to grow quieter and quieter. He withdraws into himself. I know he has a lot on his mind, so I try to be understanding. And even though he’s not as talkative as usual, I enjoy being around him nonetheless. Farren comforts me in a way no one else ever has, and, as a consequence, I’ve grown quite reliant on his presence.

  Best not to dwell on exactly what that might mean.

  The afternoon that we hear from Rick that Haven will soon be well enough to travel, Farren says to me, “How do you feel about driving out to the desert today?”

  “Aren’t we already in the middle of the desert?” I deadpan as I gesture to the window in our motel room.

  Farren, standing near the bathroom door, levels me with a not-amused expression. “What I meant was I think we should drive to someplace more desolate. An area with less people.”

  Hey, we’re in almost desolation here at the Blue Cactus Inn, but it’s true there are still people around. Not many, but enough.

>   I don’t know what Farren has planned, but since we’ve remained local up to this point, I nod once and say, “Sure, sounds good to me.” I’m on the bed, lying on my stomach and casually flipping through a magazine I found in a drawer.

  I rise to a seated position and ask, “What exactly are we going to do out in the middle of the desert, Farren?”

  He steps over to the bed and sits on the edge. He reaches out and trails a finger along my jaw. “It’s a surprise, sweetheart,” is all he says.

  Farren’s surprises have, thus far, proven to be rather amazing, so I’m eager to leave.

  “Let’s go, then,” I say as I toss the magazine aside and stand.

  Farren turns to grab the car keys from the dresser, and I take a moment to straighten my shorts. I also make a quick adjustment to the bra I’m wearing under a tank top. My bra is black, but my tank is vibrant blue.

  When Farren and I step outside the room, he says, “Your shirt matches the sky, Essa.”

  “It does,” I reply, laughing as I glance up, down, and then back up. With my eyes still on the clear sky, I add, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how pretty it is here in New Mexico. Does it ever rain?”

  “It does,” he tells me, “but not much.”

  As we stroll to the car, Farren takes my hand.

  Minutes later, we are driving down the road—fast—with hot wind whipping through my hair. On a whim, I ask Farren, “Can I drive on the way back from wherever it is we’re going?”

  Farren’s car is beyond sweet, and though he let me drive it the day we picked it up at the warehouse near the state line, I’ve not been behind the wheel since.

  “Maybe,” Farren replies, a ghost of a smile curving his lips. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  He’s totally giving me a hard time. I know I’ll get to drive the car back to the motel.

  “You’re so mean,” I playfully retort. “First, you won’t tell me where we’re going, and now you have to ‘think’ about whether or not I can drive. It’s just cruel, I tell you.”