by Jordan, Drew
No one even fully trusts himself, so how could you trust another person? That was the sad reality of moving past infancy. We learned that sometimes, you fell and no one caught you.
But he had caught me, over and over again. He had earned a large chunk of my trust. Leaving had me nervous though about coming back. Maybe I would be walking into something totally different than I had left, and it made me cling to him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, yanking my head back, hard, the movement in complete opposition to his gentle words. “I don’t understand how a face this perfect can exist.” His rough fingers traced over my lips, my cheeks, my nose. He brushed over my eyelashes, and I shivered, relaxing into his touch.
That’s when he said, “Would it turn you on if I squeezed your throat, cut off your air just a little?” His other hand stroked over my neck, loosely, testing my response.
I lowered my eyelashes, submissively, like he expected, but I was honest with him because it was a question, not a command. “I think it would make me panic. It’s not something I would enjoy.”
“That’s disappointing.” His hand dropped away. “I’m going to take a shower.”
The idea of standing under a stream of hot water was very exciting. I hadn’t done that since the accident. “Should I join you?”
“It wouldn’t be the same without you.” He winked at me.
Suddenly I wanted a picture of him. I wanted to capture that look he gave me, when he was being flirtatious. I wanted proof that this was real. We were real. I had no clue what his reaction would be to the idea though. I was going to have to be sneaky about it. Wait for the right moment.
He reached out and took the neckline of my t-shirt, technically his t-shirt, and jerked on it hard. The cotton tore, my breasts spilling out. My mouth fell open but I didn’t protest. My role was to let him do what he would. If he didn’t care about destroying a t-shirt, then it wasn’t my job to care either. Plus when he took charge, it turned me on. It always did. I liked to think he couldn’t wait. That he couldn’t resist me.
His mouth lowered over my breast, his tongue flicking across my nipple. It was already hard. He blew gently on the nub, and I shivered, sighing in pleasure and appreciation. This would never change. There would never be a time when he touched me and I wasn’t his, an immediate pool of arousal and desire. I let my head fall back, arching my chest towards him. But he moved away from my breasts, leaving my untended nipple aching with need.
He finished tearing the t-shirt methodically, ripping the fabric down the center until he reached the waistline. Hands, strong from all that chopping wood, running dogs, hauling fish and large animals, had no issue getting the remaining fabric to give way. I loved that his strength wasn’t achieved via juicing and pumping iron in a gym that smelled like rubber and arrogance. The ripple of his muscles was created all by constant use in the pursuit of survival. Heating and feeding himself. Now me as well. That was the sexiest thing ever and I stood there, the cool air of the small room drawing goosebumps out of my skin. I missed the stove we had back at the cabin, the air here too chilly and still for my comfort.
But there was a shower and that did trump a fire, at least for one night.
“Go wait for me in the bathroom,” he said. “You can start the shower and get in, that’s fine.”
I raised my lips up, questing a kiss, but he didn’t give me one. He was done comforting me. He had switched gears to sex and sex wasn’t about reassuring me or treating me with tenderness. Sex was about making us both feel intensely alive. So I let the remnants of his shirt fall to the floor and I turned, pausing two feet away to bend over and sweep the loose jeans down over my hips. He gave a growl, deep in the back of his throat, and I was pleased in the most elemental feminine way possible. The knowledge that he found me attractive was concrete, unwavering. There was no doubt, and I enjoyed that, and the power it granted me. Walking naked to the bathroom, I raised my hands up to tangle into my dirty hair.
My relationship with my body had never been one of loathing the way that it was for some women. But I had never felt its full force either. We had a dreamy connection before, whereas now it was sharp and angular and aware. When you’re cold, when you’re hungry, when you’re in pain, when you feel the brightest most intense pleasure ever, you appreciate your body more than you do lukewarm, with a full stomach, no complaints.
So I could walk with confidence now, breasts full and heavy, the hair between my thighs fully grown back, wild and free. Everything about me was natural and I knew my body in a way I never had before.
I left the door open and turned the water on in the shower, holding my hand under the stream until it was suitably hot. I realized I didn’t have any toiletries in the bathroom and there were none provided. So I went back for my carry on bag that Harry had retrieved from the plane and set it on the toilet lid, unzipping it. A waft of perfume hit me when I yanked it open. A patchouli based body spray I’d bought at a Ren faire. It must have shattered. The scent seemed out of place here, in this stark room-to-let in rural Alaska. But I breathed it deeply anyway before digging around for my zipper case of tiny travel size bottles. I took the shampoo and conditioner into the shower with me, along with the razor for my legs and armpits.
The hot water was bliss. I tipped my head back into it, closing my eyes and opening my mouth. It rained between my lips and I swished it around, swallowing. It ran down my back, my arms, my legs, and I worked my fingers into my tangled hair. At some point I had given up combing it and it took massaging to work the knotted strands apart. I shampooed it, and let some conditioner sit while I shaved my pits. My cheeks felt warm, pores opened by the steam and I started to hum a song, some pop music that had been played on the radio nonstop the previous summer by an artist whose name I could never remember. But a young blonde with a bouncy name and a bouncy body.
I had my legs stubble free, my hands running down their silken smoothness in amazement when he came into the bathroom. My delight at being alone, tending to long neglected hygiene, gave way to the usual heady cocktail of anticipation, excitement, fear. I never knew exactly what he was going to do, though I was getting better at making predictions. This was different though, an environment we didn’t have back at the cabin. Plus he’d been feeling sentimental, if that was the right word, about the idea of me possibly being pregnant. It either meant he would be protective, gentle as a residual reaction, or the reality that I wasn’t carrying a child would allow him the freedom to really turn up the control. The pain. The pleasure.
Straightening up, I set the razor down in the corner of the tub ledge, where I wouldn’t sit on it or step on it, and I waited.
The room was steamy, despite the door being open, but I had a clear view of him removing his pants and shirt and socks. He didn’t look in the mirror, which fascinated me. He didn’t seem to have any vanity whatsoever, no need to assess his appearance, his features, his hair. There were no large mirrors at the cabin, just a small mirror he used to trim his hair and his beard. I could almost imagine what he would say if I asked him about it. I know what I look like. That seemed like something he would say.
I knew what he looked like too. Every inch. Every muscle. Every scar. He moderately groomed his body hair, but he wasn’t shaved clean like the guys back home. It was part of his masculine appeal and even though I’d just taken off my itchy leg and armpit hair, I left the patch between my thighs so we would match. But then it occurred to me that I should ask. “Do you want me to shave?”
“Shave what?”
“My pussy,” I said, even though it made me blush. I hated that I still got shy with him.
“No. I like to tug it.” He reached out, shoving the curtain all the way aside, and showed me what he meant by pinching a few strands between his thumb and forefinger and yanking it forward.
It didn’t hurt so much as it was an odd sensation.
The bathroom felt steamy and intimate and I felt clean and aroused and in love. I had no other ques
tions for him and I didn’t want to think. To worry. To wonder what was going to happen when I returned to Seattle and then returned to Alaska. Or what would happen when nosey cops started asking even more questions and realized that no one had seen Michael or talked to him and his cell phone had no activity since the very day he’d last been seen in our company.
All of that would be dealt with later.
Right now, I was just a woman with her lover and we had a getaway in a hotel for a romantic evening.
The stranger had brought a bungee cord with him from his backpack. He used it now to tether my hands together. I stood there, passive, grateful he was letting me go back to Seattle to tie up loose ends. He raised my wrists up and hooked them over the showerhead. I had to go up on my toes to avoid dangling, which made me unsteady. I felt like an acrobat, ready to spin, high up on stage, lights trained on me.
If I was leaving him tomorrow for a week I wanted to give him a fine performance.
Water hit the top of my head, rolled down over my shoulders and breasts, and fell warm between my legs. I felt like a sacrifice, like an ancient goddess, as he ran his hands over me, slowly, starting at my knees and moving up my thighs. His thumbs brushed along the sensitive skin, teasing over my curls, and briefly along my clitoris. He leaned in against my belly, tipping his head, to let the water down my body and into his mouth.
His hair was getting damp, falling both back and in his eyes, and my feelings were a cacophony of tenderness, arousal, and fierceness as I watched him. There were so many things I wanted to say, but I didn’t even know what they were. Nor was it the time.
He swallowed the water and without warning slid his mouth down and sucked my swollen clitoris. I clamped my lips closed so I wouldn’t make a sound. It was an odd sensation to not be able to wipe water off my face, or push my hair back. But I was used to him roaming over my body without interruption from me and so I let go, relaxing my shoulders, tipping my head back to feel the water. It rolled into my ears, muffling my hearing, as I struggled not to spiral out into an orgasm already.
“You smell delicious,” he murmured, against my body. “Like I could eat you. Carve you up and consume you bite by bite.” He pulled the soft flesh of my lips a little between his teeth, as if he were eating me.
It started out gentle, and he moved all over my inner thighs, up my pubic bone, and to the rise of my hipbones, his speed increasing, nips hardening. He went down on me, attacked my pussy like a shark in a feeding frenzy and I wobbled, losing control, overstimulation setting my muscles taut, my teeth sinking down into my bottom lip.
Then equally without warning he pulled away and I couldn’t prevent a small cry of dismay from escaping.
He stood up and those pale blue eyes bore into me. He moved his face in close to mine. “Shh.” He ran his thumb over my lip, eased it inside my mouth. “Bite down on my thumb.”
It was a seemingly backwards command. Normally he required silence, obedience. Never for me to do something to him and it confused me a little. I had a heart beat’s hesitation before I obeyed, easing my teeth carefully down onto his flesh.
“Don’t hold back,” he growled next to my ear. “Bite me hard.”
I didn’t think I could, but then he entered me, plunging his cock into me, my feet jerking up off the tub floor. My balance was lost, wrists lifting, cord slackening briefly, and my ass hit the cool tiles of the wall. It was terrifying to be so off-kilter, so certain I was going to fall at any given second, crack my head, turn an ankle, bust my ass, and I needed to grip something, hold on, so I did as he asked. I bit down, hard, pressing my teeth into his thumb, breathing hard through my nose.
It was a riot of sensations, his thrusts sending goosebumps racing up my thighs, stomach, and tightening my nipples. Cool tiles, hot water, my soft ass, his hard cock, opposites that collided together with an intensity that kept me from closing my eyes in bliss. Instead, I stayed wide-eyed, alert, hanging on as he took me to the edge, waiting for his permission to fully let go.
“Come for me,” he murmured, his beard scratching the side of my cheek.
That was all I needed to explode, the waves of pleasure rolling over me. He yanked his thumb out of my mouth. “Scream if you want.”
I did. I let out a primal cry of ecstasy, before sucking in a huge lungful of air, blinking, my entire body trembling. He gathered my legs up, wrapped them around his waist. He took my wrists down off the showerhead, and looped them around his neck. I sank into his hold, needing his strength, amazed at my own. He gripped my ass, pumping himself into my body, his eyes locked on mine.
The urge to look away was compelling, desperate. But I couldn’t. He had me mesmerized, held. To look away would be weak, and it would be disrespectful to our passion, our intimacy, our connection. So I held. I would never hide with him. Never.
His orgasm was controlled, but for the first time during sex I felt like the shield over his emotions came down and he showed me a wild and wicked glimpse of his inner soul, but also the depth of his love for me. Tears pooled in my eyes.
The stranger loosened his grip on me, breaking our gaze by kissing my neck. I realized the hot water was running cool and I shivered a little, relaxing my shoulders. He turned off the water, stepped out of the tub with me in his arms. My wrists were still tied together, my legs trembling. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around me before carrying me to the bed.
He undid the cord tying my wrists together and dried me off slowly, his touch worshipful. The stranger’s look was one of appreciation, awe. I couldn’t think of him as Cody under these circumstances. His name came too late to me. He was still the stranger. Especially when we were alone and he was him, not the polite friendly Cody he presented to Harry and the other cop.
“I love you with a protectiveness that shocks me,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He almost sounded surprised by that. Maybe like me, his relationships had been ones marred with selfishness, possessiveness, and childish tricks of manipulation. “You won’t.”
“I could. But no, I won’t.” His thumb rubbed over my bottom lip.
“I didn’t break the skin when I bit you, did I?” I asked.
“My skin is way too callused and thick for that.” He didn’t lie down beside me and I wished he would.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. It made me jump. “Should I see who that is?” I asked. I was waiting for a phone call from Harry saying that Michael’s body had been found. I knew that phone call would arrive someday, I just didn’t know when.
“You probably should.”
I lifted my phone up and out in front of my face. It was just a text from my old roommate but I realized that having the phone between me and him allowed me the perfect opportunity to take a picture of him. He was hovering over me. I hit camera and centered him on the screen. His damp hair fell forward and his gaze was intense. I took a picture quickly before he realized what I was doing and set my phone back down. That would give me something to look at when I was traveling, yet I felt the thrill of having done something that he would most likely forbid. “That was just one of my friends texting.”
“If you don’t come back, I’ll be forced to come and look for you. Just so you know. I’d prefer not to have to do that.” His tone was casual, matter-of-fact.
I smiled up at him, running my fingers through his beard. “Of course I’ll come back.” I meant that with everything in me. “That’s why I’m going in the first place. So I can take care of things so I can be with you, forever.”
He smiled back. “I thought so, but I was just checking. You’re a good little falcon. I’ve trained you well. I can release you into the wild, free, but you’ll always return to me.”
My body warmed at his words, my inner thighs dampening again. I wanted more. He always made me want more. “Yes, I will. You have definitely trained me well.” It pleased me that he agreed with that this time. Then because I couldn’t resist telling him my feelings, I added, “No one has ever loved
me like this. No one cared if I came back or I didn’t before.”
He kissed, softly. “My very life depends on you coming back. Remember that.”
A tear spilled over and ran down my cheek. I had a lump in my throat too large to speak.
“Are you crying?” he asked, swiping at the teardrop. “Why?”
“I’m scared of losing you.”
That seemed the simplest way to state the most complicated of feelings. I was scared of a lot of things. But time to leave the closet and face the monsters.
Including myself.
I drugged myself with sleep aids for the multiple flights back to Seattle. I slept, groggy, tense, heart racing, breath shallow, stomach sour. The memories of the plane crash came over me, gripped me, and wouldn’t let go. I kept waiting for the plane to drop out of the sky without warning. I didn’t feel safe until we were safely on the ground and I was off the plane in Seattle, walking slowly up the jetway. Sammy was picking me up and I wasn’t ready to face her, to face anyone. I felt disoriented, suspended between two lives. My old life and my new one.
Standing outside, I scanned left and right, looking for Sammy’s car. The wind was warm, and I remembered it was still fall. It was probably sixty degrees. I squinted, clutching my bag in front of me. I was very aware of my rumpled leggings, my beat up boots, my oversized sweatshirt that was really the stranger’s. I had the hood on over my disheveled hair. Sammy was parked feet away from me. She glanced over at me, and dismissed me. I felt a giggle burble up inside of me when she didn’t recognize me. Pulling the hood down, I waved and started towards her.
Her mouth dropped open, then she shoved her door open and leaped out. “Oh, my God…
Sammy burst into tears. I felt sheepish for some reason, and I walked over to her, gave her a hug, my bag between us. “Hi. Thanks for picking me up.”
She squeezed me tightly, tighter than I preferred. “Laney. I can’t believe you’re alive. God, I’m so happy you’re alive. But OMG, you look so skinny and your hair…” She lifted a few of my frizzy dull strands before letting them drop. “Whose clothes are these? You smell like wood chips.”