Delayed

by Nathan Kingsly

  “I’m taking that as a yes.” Looking down again, her fingers move with the flow and changing color of my main chest tattoo. “Do all your tattoos hold meaning, or are some beholden to the overall aesthetic? I’ve never seen so many on one person before.”

  “Don’t know of Rick Genest?”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.” I force my laugh down.

  “I wouldn’t put anything on my body that doesn’t mean something.”

  “You’re inked with all your secrets.” She blinks, and when she opens her eyes, she’s looking at me again. In her gaze, I'm exposed, naked, more than I have been in a very long time.

  “Not all,” I respond, but I don’t offer anymore.

  Being human, we tend to subject ourselves to relive the worst pain closest to the beats of our heart. Wearing it on the outside, for me to reflect on every day, wasn’t a choice; it was penance.

  What had moments ago felt relaxing is causing an ache as I watch her fingers glide around unaffected. Grabbing her wrist, I bring it to my lips and kiss it. When I release it, she runs her finger down the bridge of my nose and smiles. “I like that your nose veers a bit to the left.” She sits up, the sheet falls, and drapes around her hips. I could feel myself get hard again.

  “Why?” I ask as I make circles on her thighs.

  “A physical reminder you're not perfect, but you’re close enough that you should have a girlfriend.”

  “There's another question coming on, isn't there?”

  “You could answer it before I get the chance to ask.”

  Smirking, I reply, “That would take the fun out of it.”

  Rolling her eyes, “Why aren’t you with someone?”

  “Working third shift doesn’t leave much opportunity for a relationship unless it’s the scratching an itch kind.”

  “Do you have one of those?”

  Why do I get the feeling she’s invested in my answer? Or, it’s only my hope that she is.

  “No,” I say. “Why aren’t you with someone?”

  “I was, a week ago. He was supposed to go to my brother's wedding with me.”

  It shouldn’t be surprise me that I’m a rebound fuck, so why does it sting?

  “What happened?”

  “He was cheating.” she shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal.

  “Let me guess-”

  “Predictable.” We say together, and we laugh.

  “You know, I’ve never cheated,” I say after the room had a chance to settle back into silence.

  “No?”

  “Figured it’s crowded enough with two people, why bring in another. Now, if it were consensual…”

  “I knew you were going to go there.” Her eyes roll for the second time tonight. “You keep losing points every time you open that mouth. So … ” she shifts her hips against my erection, and I bite back a moan.

  “How about we make better use of it? You have such a pretty mouth. To end its use with what we’ve discovered so far seems like a waste.”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about your calling my mouth pretty, but I can show you the many uses for it.” Gripping her hips, she comes to my waiting lips.

  “Oh.” Her hands delve into my hair, her fingernails graze my scalp, as her hips rock against my face. My chin becomes coated in her juices with every pass. When I alternate sucking and flicking my tongue on her sensitized bud, it overflows, sliding down the slope of my neck. The noises coming from this woman are a contradiction of everything she appears to be on the outside. There are sure to be noise complaints.

  My arms wrap around her lower back as I start to move. She gasps, her thighs clench around my head, her fingers grip harder as I flip her onto her back. My tongue slows as I coax her to relax. It’s a relief when her grip on my head loosens. Chuckling, I kiss her hip bone and slide my tongue up the curve of it.

  She smacks my shoulder as I move to kiss her ribs. “That wasn’t funny.” She growls.

  “Depends on the angle because I enjoyed it.” I use my tongue on the underside of her breasts, the soft tissue giving under the pressure as I make it to my prize. She sucks air between her teeth when my mouth latches onto her nipple, swirling my tongue until it hardens beneath it.

  There’s a satisfying pop when I release it, and I’m tempted to go to the next one; somehow, I resist because I want something more.

  She’s ready for me; she spreads my mouth open with her clever tongue making us both moan. My fingers grasp her chin as I tilt her head to the side so I can kiss her that much deeper. When we finally part, she surprises me by licking from my chin to my bottom lip before taking it in her mouth and sucking. She releases me, licks her lips, and when she hums a ‘mmhh’ in the back of her throat, it’s not possible for me to be any harder.

  “That was hot,” I breathe. My erection is painful when I grasp it with a harsh desperate hand. “I can’t wait; I need to be inside you.”

  “Yes,” She says, and it’s all the permission I need to push in.

  Her fingernails dig into my shoulder as I rotate my hips. There's an urgency, an unsettled rush every time we are together that I can’t explain. I can’t get deep enough or have enough of her, but this time I force myself to take my time.

  I try to convince myself that the flash of light that brightens her features is in how we look at one another. A momentary spark from our intensity, the thunder hits our ears, but neither looks away as the storm rages outside; we have our own to classify right here.

  Playing a child’s game of hide and seek in between slow kisses, long caresses, and whispered pleas are flashes of clarity gifted by the storm. Eyes glaze over, her mouth shapes in ecstasy, and hair mats against her beaded brow. She is the most ethereal beauty, and I can’t stand it. Panic builds inside my chest.

  How can it be that while the rest of my life is falling away, the one thing I don’t want finds me among the chaos? She feels right, fits me perfectly, and I know I can’t keep her.

  The sheets crumple in my grip as I break our connection with a punishing thrust. The light strikes across the room, and her eyes are searching. Getting to my knees, I grab her legs and pin them against my chest as I push in again and again. Her nails dig, scratch into the sheets, her eyes seal shut, as her mouth forms around her moan. Though I can feel her release and the impact of my own, I regret, for an instant the tie I broke. It's the easiest way, knowing I have to walk away.

  I lean my head against her feet that are cradled in the slope of my neck, and wait for her to open her eyes. She wears a smile I'm coming to know well after sex.

  “I thought that your laugh was my favorite thing, but now that I’ve heard your moans and little gasps, I think I’ve changed my mind. I’m addicted to making you feel good,” I say, with my smile.

  “You won’t hear me complain.”

  “It’s good to know there’s one thing you won’t fight me on.”

  When she laughs, I think about changing my mind again. With a sigh, I pull out and flop back onto my pillow. Only a minute passes when Emma moves up the bed. She presses her back against my side, and she knows I can’t resist holding her.

  Burying my nose in her hair at the curve of her neck, I breathe her in. Such a sweet, relaxing scent, even mixed with the sex perfuming the room. Trying not to close my eyes will be a losing battle. With her wrapped in my arms, the tension in my limbs is already fading fast.

  Jolting straight into a seated position, I look around.

  Emma is up, gripping the sheet around her. When our eyes meet, hers are wide and frightened.

  “What was that?” Her tone seems far away, as if we were driving a car down the highway with the windows down.

  I shake my head, not knowing the answer but having a good idea. The click of the bedside table light garners no result, the only light still coming from the gap in the curtains. Lightning strikes, close, and through squinted eyes, I see it. Getting out of bed, I investigate—the window is splintered at the center; a pinprick is gone
from the glass.

  My eyes search the floor, and a perfect round globe of ice has rolled halfway into the room.

  “Hail,” I shout and point it out. Not checking to see if she looks, I search around to find something to plug the hole. Remembering the kit, I pull it from the closet and rummage in it.

  Even with the low light, I can tell there’s nothing in here for this, but I do come across the matches and set them out on the dresser. Looking around again, I see a napkin flapping under our forgotten paper coffee cups.

  With careful fingers, I stuff it into the hole after wadding up one end. Relief on my eardrums is immediate. Looking over, Emma still seems rattled.

  “You okay?”

  She looks up. “To be honest, I forgot about the storm for a while.”

  I nod. “So did I.”

  I’m a foot away from the bed to comfort her when we jump and look towards the door. It comes again, and then a muffled male voice. “Anyone in there?”

  “Yeah,” I call back. Grabbing the nearest piece of clothing, I try and put it on to discover it’s several sizes too small.

  “Everyone alright?” he asks.

  Emma giggles as I tear her leggings down my calves. The sound of her amusement loosens some of the anxiety enough for me to smile. I throw them to her as I go searching again. Boxers, I pull them over my hips.

  “Can you answer the door?”

  Looking through the peephole, I recognize the guy from the front desk. He's twitchy, looking up and down the hall. Assessing the threat, I decided to answer the door. It doesn’t escape me that I forgot earlier to lock us in. The deadbolt, with the chain undone, sends cold shivers down the back of my neck making the hair there rise.

  “Yeah?” I say as I rub the prickles away.

  He takes a step back, giving me the once over, before looking back down the hall. I take a look myself, and I see several people out of their rooms, mostly men.

  “Sorry to disturb you sir, but we need volunteers to help with preventive measures. The storm’s gotten … “

  “Yeah, it’s getting bad. It cracked a hole in the window.” I point over my shoulder. “What do you need?”

  He tries to peer over me, but I shift into his view. He swallows, and his eyes cast down, listing things with his fingers. “Sandbags for the entrances into the building, inventory of the supplies, secure and stock our last resort location--”

  “I can help with the inventory,” Emma says around my shoulder while she hands me my jeans.

  “Thanks.” He says, and that’s when he looks at me over his glasses. “Will you also be volunteering?”

  “Sandbags,” I say flatly. “Then inventory.”

  “A--A-Alright.” He walks off and knocks on the door next to ours. I close the door before our neighbor answers.

  “I wish you hadn’t volunteered,” I say gruffly.

  “But I can help.”

  Pulling the jeans up, I button them, then go searching for my shirt. “It could get dangerous.”

  “Counting stuff can get dangerous?” Sarcasm seeps into her tone.

  “Depending on the location of the things you’re counting, yes,” I growl.

  “Calm down, caveman. You, by far, will be in more danger than me. If anyone has the right to be annoyed, it's me. What am I going to tell our imaginary future kids if you die on our honeymoon from hell?” Kids? Now there’s a thought. Fuck, I am in real trouble.

  I bite my lip, trying to hold onto my frustration, but it’s useless. “Fine, but don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

  “You, happy, never.”

  I grunt as she slams into my back. At the last second, I catch myself from falling to the ground as I grip her legs as they come around my abdomen. I swallow around the pressure of her arms before I can adjust her on my back.

  “Giddy-up, we got some shit to do.”

  Shaking my head, I swing one of my hands back and catch her ass in a sound smack. She squeals and adjusts on my back. “A little warning next time,” I say as I walk to the door.

  “Nope, I won’t let you take out the fun.”

  “Fun for who?”

  “Me, obviously.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  Swinging the door open, I have to crouch so Emma doesn’t hit her head on the frame. When we get down to the lobby, she’s one of the few women to volunteer. One of them being the older lady from yesterday, or from earlier today, and she waves us over. It’s hard to tell time with the storm casting a dark shadow no matter the hour.

  Walking over, I release Emma’s legs, and she slides off.

  “Not what you had planned, huh?” she says.

  “You could say that,” Emma replies.

  There is hail scattered, the size of bouncy balls, but so many of them that the ground looks like a blanket of snow. Tree branches swinging, in danger of ripping off as their trunks stress to bend with the wind. The door frame rattles, the glass shivers as the groaning wind continues to whip against it.

  Two men come out of a side room, hauling two sandbags each.

  Glancing at Emma, “Stay safe, and close,” I demand, and without hearing a promise back, I head over to help.

  The closer I get to the door, the floor squishes under my shoes. It’s already starting to get inside. The closet is lit by a single flashlight, MacGyvered with some string to point at the mound of sandbags from a wire shelf. Grabbing two bags as the others before, we meet at the doors giving a nod before we start to create a pattern, much like bricks for a house, against the door.

  When I think about it, I turn around; Emma is gone, so is her older companion. The urge to go searching for her is almost too much to ignore, but in doing this, I also keep her safe.

  Once we're done with one door, there are others to cover, and after we barricade ourselves in, I pray there won't be a fire.

  When I search for Emma, it’s several hours later. I find her huddled on the floor with several women, talking at once. Items passed from one person to the next, one person writing down something on a piece of paper, and I realize this chaos is inventory. They have three flashlights stored around the room, the most light I have seen since the lights went out.

  Before I can escape unnoticed, she spots me in the corner of her eye and waves me over. I shake my head, and she laughs.

  “Ladies, meet my husband, Liam.”

  I can feel the scowl on my mouth.

  “Oh, you were right. He is cute,” a woman says to my right.

  “I don’t know... tattoos aren’t my thing,” another says.

  I take a step back, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. The ladies are either smiling or laughing at my expense.

  “We won’t bite, ” someone says.

  I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. “Someone’s calling me.” No way am I going to get caught in that trap, there were other things that needed to be done, and I'm going to find them. Where she is, it is safe enough. There are no windows, and she is far enough from an exterior door. If things go south, I know where to find her.

  But in case, I point a finger at her, “Don’t wander.”

  “We’ll see.” She winks, her wicked smile brightens her face, and there are a few awes from the other women before I back out of the doorframe.

  The guy that had the checklist for the lunches walks past with a tower of towels.

  ”Hey,” I call, trying to get his attention.

  He cranes around the stack, “Me?” He asks as he spots me.

  “Yeah, got something else for me?”

  “They need help in the basement.” He clicks on his flashlight before he reaches the corridor. “Follow me.”

  When we get to a door, I hear several people raising their voices and something else I can’t place until taking a few steps down the dark hole. A gasp escapes me when my leg's submerged past the ankle with water. My shoe fills with it, and my toes shift to adjust to the sudden cold of the intrusion.

  Off in a corner, a light flickers as someone shifts, and
it takes me a minute for my eyes to adjust to see what I'm looking at.

  “Where the hell are those towels?” The voice is rough.

  “Right here.” My companion says behind me, and I move out of his way to follow him to the group.

  “What’s going on?” I call.

  “One of the water lines is leaking,” someone says.

  “Anyone shut off the valve?” I ask.

  “As if we hadn’t thought to do that,” someone says flatly.

  “We need a ladder,” another says. How many people are down here?

  “What about--” I start.

  “No need to repeat what we know.”

  “A piggyback to reach?” I continue.

  It gets quiet. “Are you volunteering to be the base?”

  “Sure.” I roll my eyes.

  “Tom, get up on his shoulders. You know where it is, and you can take the kid to the valve.”

  I hear Tom tread water as he comes closer, and I force myself not to jerk away when a hand lands on my arm. Working in pitch black is on my list of never to do again.

  Crouching down, I grab hold of his legs as I lift us both back up. He’s about a buck fifty, and I follow his instruction to where the valve is. Water pours down, and I end up having to close my eyes as I put one foot in front of the other.

  There’s a sigh of relief when the water stops pouring from above, but now that is no longer an issue the other problem becomes clear.

  “How long will it take to fix?” I ask.

  “Not sure we can. We don’t have the tools here. Thankfully it isn’t the main, but that means some guests don’t have running water.”

  “Under the circumstances, I don’t think they will mind sharing,” someone suggests, but I know I will mind.

  “Got any duct tape?” I ask

  “Son, tape won’t hold back the amount of pressure we’re dealing with. This line is staying off.”

  Worth a shot, but then I recall the hole in my window. “I’m needing it for something else,” I say.

  “Sure, we have some in the supply closet that had the sandbags stored in it. I’ll take you.”

  “I helped with the sandbags; I know where to go.” I go up the stairs two at a time. Once I get to the hall, I use a hand on the wall until I get to the lobby and the closet. It takes me a few minutes to find the roll of duct tape. It’s buried behind a stack of batteries, which I also pocket a few in case we end up needing them.