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by Jordan, Drew

  “Yes, she was.” That was true. She was jealous of my innocence. Of my youth. Of my pouty lips. Was it arrogant to think that?

  “Of course she was.” He reached out, his hands covered in dried mud and ran a finger over my lip. “You’re beautiful. You’re intelligent. You’re sweet. You have a body that drives men to insanity. How many men have you driven crazy, Laney?”

  The thought made the corner of my mouth turn up. “I couldn’t say.”

  “Don’t be modest.”

  I kissed him fingertip. “I haven’t taken a survey.”

  “How many men have you had sex with?”

  That was the most loaded question in the world. There was no right number for a woman. I wasn’t going to tell him the truth, which was that I had never counted, but that it was more than five, less than ten. So I lied. “Including you? Three.” An underestimate, but not hugely so. I did some mental calculations. Dean, Trent, that guy at the bar, Harrison, two other guys I had dated, the stranger… seven. Lucky seven. It definitely was that.

  “Do I believe you or not?” he asked, though he didn’t look like he particularly cared one way or the other. “You seem a little old to have only had sex with two guys before me.”

  “One was my stepfather.” He might have figured that out already, so there was no sense in hiding it. It felt good to say it out loud. I never did. None of my friends knew. They thought Dean was in prison for tax evasion, which he was, and no one had bothered to actually check out my story. No one cared enough to look it up, to see that it was his second trip to the big house, the first for having sex with a minor. Me. The scandal of that had long since died down in my hometown. After a mother killed her husband and two kids in a murder-for-hire plot our little May-December family affair was no longer so salacious or interesting. We weren’t the house with the darkest secret on the block.

  The stranger didn’t look surprised. “And you had a child.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes. My grandmother has been raising her. At first my mother and my stepfather did, but it wasn’t working out.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “Yes,” I answered truthfully. “But I gave her up so long ago I have…” I wasn’t sure how to explain it. “I’ve learned to ignore the ache.” I touched my chest. “It sits here, all the time, this deep sense of emptiness, like I’m missing a piece of me. It left me and it went somewhere else and I can never fill the hole, ever. So I ignore it.” I reached out and smoothed his hair back. “Is that what losing Stephanie was like?”

  “No. She was mostly an inconvenience.”

  The coldness of his words sent a shiver up my spine. Maybe if she hadn’t died they would have divorced anyway. I was eager to actually believe that. “So I shouldn’t be jealous of your love for her?”

  “No, not at all.” He kissed me softly. “I’m sorry you had to give up your child.”

  “Me, too.” There was a painful lump in my throat that I tried to swallow and ended up coughing a little instead. “I don’t know if I would be a good mother or not though. I didn’t have the best example.”

  “We choose to be our own people.”

  That was true, but I knew it wasn’t that simple. Not for me. “I’m sorry about Sadie. I can see how upset you are.”

  “Nice deflection.” But he didn’t look upset. “I know you’re sorry. I appreciate that. I really do. Even if it makes me uncomfortable.”

  “Why would it do that?” A log popped in the stove, and I shifted to see his face better.

  “It makes me weak.”

  “It makes you human. And not a sociopath. Never trust people who don’t like babies or animals.”

  “I’ll remember that, my little wise one.” He reached up and rubbed his jaw. “But I detest my own weaknesses nonetheless.”

  “I don’t. I don’t detest anything about you.” It was my turn to kiss him, but it wasn’t soft. It was hard, yearning, eager. “I detest that I didn’t meet you sooner. I detest that I was stupid enough to give my body to any man but you.”

  “That wasn’t stupid,” he said. “It was molestation.”

  He was referring to Dean, of course. I didn’t think that it was molestation at all. It had been me, always me. I wanted to explain that, be honest. But he was already skimming his thumb over my waist and down lower and I didn’t want to ruin the moment. Take that vehement look from his eyes. Have him turn on me. I wasn’t sure that there was a way to make anyone understand how desperate I had been for love, for the ultimate love. I had loved Dean and I had wanted to be his, truly, completely his. I didn’t want my mother to be able to turn him against me. The logic didn’t entirely make sense to me eight years later, but at sixteen I had acted out of fear, devotion, longing, and a misguided thought that bonding us together sexually would simplify everything.

  Young and stupid but that was beside the point now. What if the stranger thought I was just a manipulative slut? It would destroy me if he didn’t understand that was the furthest thing from the truth.

  Besides, this was supposed to be about his grief and here we were talking about me again. “I don’t want to talk about the past. I want to talk about now. The future. I want to make sure you understand that I’m here for you. In all ways.”

  The look he gave me was so tender it took my breath away. “I know. I won’t let you go, Laney.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” I touched his cheek, caressing it. I expected him to turn away from my touch, like he usually did, but instead he turned toward my hand and kissed it.

  “Lovely Laney,” he murmured. “Take your clothes off.”

  I did immediately, embracing the shift from sad to seductive. He was ready to be done with what had been one of our longest, most intimate conversations ever, and I would let him retreat, give him time to cover his emotions, especially if it was into sex. I stripped off my shirt and pants and lay back down, waiting for his instruction. Just knowing what he could, what he would do to me, already had the effect of making my nipples tighten, my inner thighs moisten. I was well trained to be ready for him. Conditioned. One look, one word, and I went wet. I wondered if it were possible for him to snap his fingers and I would orgasm. Probably. The thought amused me.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked, pulling his own shirt off over his head.

  “I was thinking that you have me well-trained.”

  My comment didn’t seem to amuse him the way it did me. He just gave me a look. “There’s always room for improvement. Don’t get cocky.”

  I sobered instantly, the smile fading away. “Of course.” Saliva filled my mouth hot and thick as I realized he was going to punish me. Fear interlaced with arousal. Anticipation and hesitation co-mingled. I enjoyed the pain but bracing myself, the wait, was a scary phase to be in, a difficult place of trust that made me feel vulnerable to him.

  But he didn’t tie me up. He didn’t spank me.

  He went onto his knees and pulled me up, urging me to wrap my lips around his cock. He never let me do this. Ever. It wasn’t something he had ever wanted and I had no idea why not. It had almost felt like by denying himself that he was placing himself to a higher sexual standard. Like getting sucked was beneath him.

  I liked to think that it was. Yet at the same time I welcomed the opportunity to show him some appreciation. To feel his body fully, to give him the greatest pleasure possible every time. So I eagerly opened my mouth and slid my lips down his shaft, feeling his pulsing heat. I couldn’t prevent myself from making a sound of approval when I pulled back, like I used to as a child with an ice cream cone. Yum. I studied his shaft, teasing my tongue over the tip. His hands dug into my shoulders and I was afraid he was going to push me away after that one brief taste, so I quickly stopped indulging myself and descended over him fully again.

  He didn’t make any sounds of approval, or disapproval for that matter, but I didn’t expect him to. He pulled pleasure inside of himself, like an energy source. He didn’t allow it to escape. I f
ound that fascinating, though frustrating. I had spent many nights wishing he would give me that obvious indication that he enjoyed me. But it wasn’t his style and truthfully, I admired his strength and self-control. When I thought of him absorbing me and the pleasure I gave him back into his body, I wasn’t sure there really could be anything sexier.

  Cupping his balls, I felt their weight in my hand, stroking gently as I worked over him. Greedily, I took him deeper than I really could and I gagged myself, the sound super unsexy, my eyes watering. Or so I thought it was unsexy. It actually drew an involuntary sound deep down in his throat, and his fingers dug painfully into my shoulder. He had liked it, and I realized immediately it was because it was submissive. It was the point where pleasure and my discomfit collided, and he liked that space. So I did it again, lowering my head hard so that he went way deep, causing an involuntary choking sound from me, and a rush of saliva.

  He growled again and it amazed me at the same it excited me. So he liked it sloppy and unsophisticated. He didn’t want the choreography of the porn star, but unskilled overenthusiasm. I could do that. I moved closer, rising up higher on my knees so I could get a better grip. I wanted more height to drop down further onto him, taking him as deep as possible into my throat. He released one shoulder and reached over my back and landed a smack on my ass.

  “That’s it,” he said, voice tight, but controlled. “You want that cock, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I breathed, and it sounded so earnest it amused me. I couldn’t have imagined in my former life how happy this would make me. But it made my skin prickle and my body hum. It cleared my head of all those cobwebs, those thoughts that went around and around in endless circles. I felt razor sharp and focused. Alive. He did this to me every single time and I knew that I was doing it for him too. He kept a tight lid on his emotions, his pleasure, but he felt complete with me the way I did with him.

  His doll.

  As my backside stung, he gripped both sides of my head and took over the rhythm, holding me still so he could pump in and out. I kept my throat open and let my eyes drift shut, content to allow him to create what he needed from me. That’s what we were both doing.

  Creating what we needed from each other.

  He let himself explode inside my mouth, unexpected. I took it and swallowed.

  I took all of him and I wasn’t letting go.

  “Remember, be normal,” he told me.

  Cody told me, I reminded myself. Remember to call him Cody in town. The word normal amused me. What did it mean, really? I felt the totally inappropriate urge to giggle as I climbed off the snow machine and started walking across the parking lot of the police station.

  “Got it,” I reassured him.

  I thought he was the one who might struggle with normal more so than me. I had years of experience playing the part. I wasn’t sure when the last time was that he had mingled in the real world.

  I hitched my jeans up. They were his and they were insanely big on me. The pair I’d been wearing when the plane went down had been cut by the stranger. I’d been wearing sweat pants and loose jeans for a month. I wondered what it would feel like to put on skinny jeans or a pair of tights again. It was like slim cut clothes constricted my sexuality. They compressed it. Now, I felt mostly naked walking around with loose pants falling off me and no panties, which was perfect for the cabin. Yet it felt like the wrong costume for the circumstances of being in the police station, being questioned.

  Being normal.

  Cody held the door open for me. So maybe he did know how to bow to convention when eyes were on him.

  Three pairs of eyes looked up as we entered the small building. It was gray, the floor sloppy with melting snow. Funny how the natural world in Alaska was so beautiful but what humans built in the wilderness always looked tired, dirty. Muddy floors and cloudy windows. Scruffy men and old signs on the wall that proclaimed YOU ARE ON CAMERA and NO SOLICITING. Like a paranoid old man neighbor along with his GUARD DOG ON DUTY sign and a Confederate flag flying high over his cluttered lawn.

  I recognized Harry immediately. His expression revealed no surprise. He simply smiled. The other men stared at me with naked curiosity, the one young, maybe only a year or two older than me. His eyes went dark with lust, interest, as they raked over me head to toe. But then he saw the stranger and he dropped his gaze immediately. I glanced over at Cody. He had one brow raised as he stared down the young cop. The other man was in his forties, super skinny, with a strong nose, and hipster glasses. Where the hell had he gotten those from? They looked out of place in that office, resting above that uniform.

  “Well, good afternoon,” Harry said, in that booming jovial voice of his. He stood up and came around the other side of his desk, hand out to the stranger, nodding his head at me. “Nice to see you folks again.”

  “I came to fill out whatever reports you need,” I said. “And I’d like to call my stepfather to let him know I’m okay.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it even if you have had your troubles with each other.” Harry gave me a sympathetic look. “I saw he’s in federal prison for tax evasion. I’m sure that shook things up in your family.”

  “It did.” But not nearly as much as the earlier prison stint. The one for having sex with a minor.

  I wondered what my face looked like to the men. I was trying to stay expressionless, yet normal. How the hell did one do that? I felt like my brief statement needed more to it. “I love my family but I needed some time away from them. Maybe you understand that, maybe you don’t.”

  It sounded more belligerent than I’d intended.

  Harry ushered me forward. “Sure, sure, everyone has felt that at some point or another. Come on over here, Laney, we’ll just do a quick question and answer session and then you folks can be on your way.” He gestured to the men next to him. “This is Officer Devin Sparrow and this is Lieutenant Gene Willis.”

  I nodded, “Hi. I’m Laney Turner.”

  “Cody Doyle,” the stranger said.

  “We met before,” Devin said to Cody. “At the gun show.”

  “Oh sure, right. Good to see you again.”

  His voice was so different, so polite, friendly. I shouldn’t have been worried. He was as good at wearing the mask as I was. Say what people want you to say. Say what people expect you to say. Keep all the other words and all the screams locked inside your head, where they bounce off the cage bars and into each other.

  “Have a seat, Laney. I’m going to talk to you first, then Cody.”

  I glanced over at the stranger, seeking his approval for us being split up. He gave me a slight nod.

  When I turned back to Harry, I knew I’d made a mistake. He knew what I had just done, that I had sought permission. It read as suspicious. I couldn’t afford any more mistakes. But the ironic thing was there seemed to be concerns around town that I was being held against my will. Not that I had murdered Michael. They were barking up the wrong tree and I wasn’t sure if it even mattered if they believed me or not when I had said I was there on my own.

  “So do you remember the plane crash?” Harry asked, after I sat down and he lounged in his office chair in front of me.

  I went still. “Yes. I remember going down. Then I woke up and it was very quiet.” I shuddered. I didn’t like to remember that moment. The hazy confusion. The drip of the pilot’s blood onto the floor of the cockpit. “Then I saw Cody. My leg was trapped, I was in a lot of pain. He pulled me out and I passed out again.”

  “So he took you home?”

  I nodded. “He doesn’t have cell reception or a radio so he couldn’t contact anyone. And he explained to me the river wasn’t frozen yet so travel by snow machine was impossible. Plus my ankle was messed up so I was just going to have to sit tight for a few weeks.”

  “That must have been upsetting. Alive, but you can’t tell anyone. You must have been worried that your family and friends would be scared.”

  Hadn’t he ask
ed me all this already?

  “It was frustrating at first. I’m used to the world of instant communication. It was hard to be without my phone and access to everyone. But I got used to it faster than I would have expected, and honestly, I was just glad to be alive. I thought I was going to die.” I shifted on my chair. My pants were slipping, exposing the top of my ass and I could feel eyes on me. Glancing over, I saw Devin checking me out again. I lifted my butt and yanked my jeans up past my belly button, the seam of the denim crawling up into my labia I jerked them so hard. He had no right to look at me like that.

  “And you mentioned you and Cody hit it off right away. I can understand that. Two young, good looking people, trapped in a cabin together for days. Things can happen. And maybe you forget about going back home and start thinking you can have a different sort of life.” Harry rocked back in his chair, the springs groaning and creaking under his weight. He had his meaty hands folded over his thick, rounded middle.

  He was trying to lead me somewhere. I just wasn’t sure where. “I guess you could say that.”

  “But then there was Michael. Tell me about him. He pushed hard looking for you and he seems like a good guy. A little pretty for the usual sort of Alaskan, but sincere. Nice fellow.”

  “Yes.” Present tense, use present tense. “Michael is a very good man. I was coming up to visit him for two weeks. He is really excited to be making a life for himself here. Michael is a daydreamer.” I smiled. “He’s always enthusiastic.”

  He was dead. And I killed him. I felt my smile cracking, my nostrils flaring, my fingers shaking. There was no normal. Only the act, and right now I wouldn’t win any academy awards. “As a matter of fact, now that I’m in town I’m going to give him a call. I’d still like to go up and see his place. I’m sure he’s going to be successful at subsistence living. He’s good at everything he does.”

  He was. Just maybe a little too goddamn insistent when he shouldn’t have been.