by N. S. Moore
I remind myself that it will wash out with a few shampoos and keep going until my whole head is pink.
“Is it working?” Code asks, opening the bathroom door without knocking.
I jump in surprise but manage not to snap at him. I’m going to be agreeable. That’s my resolution. “Yeah. There’s a hairdryer on the wall, so I’m going to dry my hair. You should wash that stuff out now.”
So I dry my hair while he takes a shower.
When he comes out, I’m still wearing just a towel, and my hair is pink and shiny. He’s got a towel slung around his waist and his hair is streaked with an almost white-blond.
It really doesn’t look that bad. Kind of punk, which isn’t him, but he can pull it off.
His eyes are raking up and down over my body, lingering on my hair. “Pink looks fucking good on you.”
It’s rather crude, as compliments go, but I flush with pleasure anyway. What the hell? Why do I even care what this guy thinks?
“If I put on that fake leather skirt and the halter top, I don’t think anyone will be able to recognize me.”
“Yeah. Same with this stupid blond hair. You want something that calls attention to itself enough to distract people from our faces. These’ll do.”
“So should we start out again?” I ask.
“Let’s rest a few hours. If we’re traveling this late at night, we’ll just call attention to ourselves.”
That sound good to me. I supposedly slept at the other motel, but I don’t feel rested. I’m just too wired and confused about this whole thing to be anything but exhausted.
He steps over so he’s just a few inches away from me. He feels very big, and he’s almost unfamiliar with the strangely blond hair. But his blue eyes are the same, and so is his body, which I’m suddenly tempted to run my hands over. I’ve never seen shoulders like his, and the way the one arm is inked by the tattoo is just mesmerizing.
I feel myself shudder inside, but I manage to keep my hands still.
“I like the pink hair,” he says, his voice a little husky. He reaches out and runs his hand down the length of my hair.
“You already said that.” I look down, hiding my expression with my eyelashes. I’m trying to be agreeable again, but I don’t want him to see that I’m excited.
It doesn’t seem to matter. He always seems to know how I’m feeling. He reaches out and untucks the towel from under my arm, gently pulling it away from my body. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re gorgeous,” he mutters, staring down at my naked flesh with hot, hungry eyes.
Arousal starts to pulse between my legs, and I clench my fingers at my sides. I glance up to see his expression but then drop my gaze again. I’m going to let him do anything he wants to me, but there’s still something inside me that doesn’t want him to see how much I want this.
“Look at me, Wren.”
I start to look up instinctively but then resist the impulse.
“Look at me.”
This time, I can’t deny the rough authority of his voice. I meet his eyes.
Then he’s grabbing my face and kissing me, and I moan in the back of my throat as I start to kiss him back.
My whole body is on fire, alive with the power of him, the blaze of him. His tongue is delving into my mouth, claiming all of it for his, and I open wider for him, meet his tongue with mine.
He makes a guttural sound and lifts me up by the hips until I wrap my legs around his waist. Then he carries me over to the bed and lays me down, almost gently, before he moves over me to claim me again.
I’m breathless from his kiss when he trails his way down to my breasts. His mouth is urgent and skillful as he teases my nipples in turn with his lips and tongue and teeth.
I’m whimpering with pleasure now, arching up into his mouth. I’m so aroused it aches, and I can’t seem to stay still beneath him.
“Do you want this, Wren?” he mumbles over my skin as his mouth moves lower, skimming my belly.
“Oh God,” I gasp, parting my thighs and wrapping one leg around his shoulder. “Oh, Code, please.”
“Do you want this?” he asks again.
I’m so turned on I’m practically sobbing as his hand explores between my thighs. He feels how wet I am as two of his fingers penetrate me. “Oh, please, make me come.”
“I will,” he rasps, lifting his head to gaze down on me. “Baby, I’ll make you come until you scream. But first tell me if you really want this.”
Now I’m so shameless I’m trying to ride his fingers with my hips. “Can’t you feel if I do?”
“I know your body wants this. I know how turned on you are.” He strokes my pussy with his fingers. “But I want to know if you really want this. If all of you wants this.”
I don’t even know the answer to the question. I’ve never wanted sex before—body or soul. Now my body wants him like crazy, but I don’t know about my soul. “Please make me come,” I beg, since that’s so much easier than trying to figure this out.
“I will. But only if this is what you want.” He leans down to kiss my nipple and murmurs, “If you don’t want this, Wren, then tell me no.”
I’ve never been any good at saying “no.”
I’ve spent my life not saying it.
I whimper and keep trying to ride his fingers, and he eventually either has pity on me or can’t resist, since he moves down farther and tongues my clit.
I nearly buck up off the bed at the jolt of pleasure.
“Yes,” I cry out, too loudly. “Please.”
He teases my clit some more with his tongue and then starts to apply suction as he fucks me with his finger. I totally come apart with the orgasm that slices through me, shaking wildly and practically screaming.
I’m gasping helplessly when he raises his head and removes his fingers. He moves up and kisses my belly, my breasts, my throat. “I want to take you now. I’m dying to take you. But, if you don’t want this, then tell me no.”
I’m not any good at saying “no.” I’m not even sure what it feels like to say “no.”
And now, here, Code is making me tell him the truth.
Which means I have to figure it out.
He’s not moving now, and my body is temporarily sated, so I’m not as desperate as I was a few moments earlier. He’s looking down on me, holding my gaze, and I can’t seem to look away.
“Baby,” he murmurs thickly, “Tell me no.”
“Would it…” My voice breaks, so I have to clear my throat. I’m suddenly strangely chilled, strangely frozen. “Would it matter?”
“Yes, it matters. If you tell me no, then I won’t do this.”
He’s very turned on. I can feel his hard cock against my thigh. And he hasn’t seemed to have many qualms about making me do what he wants me to do before. But he seems to mean what he’s saying.
“Do you want this, right now? Like this? All of you? If you don’t, then tell me no.”
He’s so tense, he’s almost shaking, and I’m not even sure why. But his urgency is infectious. I’m trembling with suppressed feeling.
He leans down to kiss my mouth, just a brush of his lips against mine. “Tell me no.”
He seems to already know the answer, so I say it. I just say it. “No.”
Code pulls up, his eyes dark and focused and deep. “Okay.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Okay. We won’t.”
“But your hard-on—“
“Won’t kill me.”
I have no idea what’s happening here, and I feel young and bewildered and strangely terrified. He gets up and goes to the bathroom for a few minutes, and then he comes back to bed.
He looks more relaxed, so I guess he jerked off, but I’m huddled under the covers now.
He gets in bed with me and pulls me against him. I suppose it’s for the same reasons it was before—he’s afraid if he happens to fall asleep, I might try to get away if he’s not right next to me—but it feels different this time.
He feels almos
t protective.
It doesn’t make any sense, since he’s a criminal who took me hostage, but I feel a little safer as I press against his warm body.
It’s a long time before I stop shaking. And a longer time before he lets me go.
Twenty-Two
Code
Holy shit.
I’m not even sure what it is that I’m supposed to do because, right now, I don’t even feel like myself. I mean, it’s not like I’ve never had a girl tell me no before, but this is the first time that I actually encouraged it.
And yeah, I could’ve jerked off in the bathroom—Wren probably thinks that I did—but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. No. I wanted her, and my hand was a poor substitute. It never was before. Only now.
Since Wren.
It’s dark, and I’m lying here, and can tell that she’s finally relaxed enough to let herself sleep. I was always aware that there were people as fucked up as I was—and I thought I was the poster child for fucked up. But listening to Wren and getting to know her¸ I can see that what’s going on inside her is far deeper than anything I ever imagined.
And now I feel like a complete dick for all of the things I’ve done to add to her troubles.
I know that letting her go would be what’s best for her in some ways, but the reality is that I’m not ready to. And for completely selfish reasons. I mean, there’s Deke and all that, and I really do want to keep her safe, but I’m kind of feeling a little…something for Wren.
I want to fuck her again—that goes without saying. A lot. Hell, if I wasn’t in such a damn rush to get to Mexico and be done with this part of my life, I’d keep us locked in this room for days just so that I could keep fucking her.
As if she senses my thoughts, she wiggles her ass against me, and my cock instantly gets hard. Not that it’s anything new. Ever since the first time in the basement, she’s had the ability to make me hard. Fast.
But for now I just want to hold her. It feels…different. And it kind of feels…good. I’m not holding her because I think she’s going to fucking bolt or anything. I’m just holding her because, well, I think she needs to be held.
And to be honest, I’ve been such a selfish prick for so long, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to just give rather than take.
I wait a few minutes and let that sink it.
It feels pretty good, too.
It doesn’t make me a pussy or anything. I know people who would argue that point but…fuck them. I don’t care who you are or how bad-ass you pretend to be, every once in a fucking while you just need to…feel.
And Wren makes me feel.
Right now? A little too much.
She was just supposed to be a way to get out of a bad situation, and now she’s the only thing keeping me fucking sane.
Beside me, she lets out a soft snore, and it makes me smile. An actual fucking smile. I feel protective of her, and I’m so damn tired that all I can do is kiss her temple and let myself fall asleep.
The next time that I open my eyes, the sun is shining through the crack in the curtains. I don’t know what it is—whether it’s because of what’s happened between me and Wren or something else—but I haven’t slept this good in years.
“Hey,” I whisper in her ear and nudge her a little to wake her up. She turns sleepily to face me, and I say the first things that comes to mind. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Not the most eloquent of compliments, but there it is.
She blushes—almost as pink as her hair—and looks up at me. Uncertainty is written all over her face, and I know her well enough by now to know that she’s thinking about last night and what didn’t happen.
I reach up and cup her face in my hand. “Hey, it’s still all right.” She seems to know immediately what I’m talking about, and she visibly relaxes.
“So what’s the plan for today?”
“More driving,” I say. I have no idea what time it is and I don’t really care. As long as we hit the road and get some driving under us, we’ll be fine. “I’m thinking…” And then I stop. Her hand is on my cock, stroking me, and I can’t help but hiss out a breath because it feels so fucking good.
“Wren,” I say roughly, but she tries to keep me quiet by placing a finger over my mouth. “You don’t have to do this.”
“But I want to.” She curls up next to me, her hand never letting me go.
And the thing of it is, I can tell that she does. She’s not just going through the motions. She’s not waiting for my command, she’s touching me—jerking me off—because she wants to.
Because she wants to.
“Christ, baby, your hand feels so fucking good.” My hips are pumping in time with her movements, and her hand is so small, so soft, it’s almost as good as fucking her pussy.
Beside me, she moans a little and leans forward and gently nips at my neck and I just about come out of my skin. I’m normally the one in control. I’m the one giving the orders—taking what I want.
And what I want right now is to come. “Harder,” I tell her. “Grip me harder. And faster.” Her hand does as I command until I’m covered in sweat and wound as tight as I can be. I think about how she looks when I’m fucking her, how her mouth felt when she blew me and suddenly it’s like sensory overload. “Oh, shit…yeah…that’s it…yeah, Wren…” And then everything in me stiffens as I come harder than I thought possible from a hand job.
She makes a throaty sound beside me, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. My body is still shaking from coming, and I’m a fucking mess and maybe just a little embarrassed. Before I can say a word, Wren gets up and gets a towel and hands it to me.
I have no fucking words. Not one. I didn’t expect her to jerk me off—hell, it never even crossed my mind to ask her to. The fact that she did it on her own tells me that some of what I said last night got through to her.
Throwing the towel to the floor, I stand and reach for her. Roughly, I cup a hand around her nape and pull her forward and kiss her as if my life depended on it. My tongue damn-near crams down her throat, and she whimpers and pulls me closer.
We pull apart, naked and gasping for breath. “We leave in an hour,” I say and head to the bathroom to clean up.
Twenty-Three
Wren
Maybe I really am a snob and a spoiled brat.
Money has never been an issue for me or my family, and I know that’s not the case for most people in the world. But I’ve never really considered myself spoiled. I’ve never demanded extravagant gifts or pouted when I didn’t get the designer shoes or car I wanted.
But maybe I’m a snob after all because I really hate putting on the cheap, tacky clothes we bought at Walmart.
Having pink hair is one thing. But putting on a skin-tight, fake-leather skirt is something else entirely. But I’m doing it anyway, as part of my disguise. Not to mention the halter top and stripper heels.
Code gives a wolf-whistle when he sees me fully dressed.
I jerk my head over to glare at him, but he’s leaning against the door waiting, half-smiling in a way that proves he’s just teasing. He’s dressed differently too—in cargo pants and a wife-beater that emphasizes the impressive muscle-development of his arms. With the blond streaks in his hair, he really does look a lot different.
But not as different as I look.
“Okay, let’s get going,” I say. “I don’t want to wear this any longer than I have to.”
“I don’t think it’s too bad.” He straightens up and smiles again as he opens the door.
He really should smile more often. I do my best not to smile back. “You wouldn’t, since I look like I should be pole-dancing in this outfit.” I walk out the door in front of him.
“Your ass looks particularly good.”
I make a surprised sound and look over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the part in question.
He pats my bottom and says, “Just trust me.”
I really shouldn’t feel like smiling again. I mean, what the hell
is wrong with me? It’s one thing to decide it’s better to just cooperate with your kidnapper, so you don’t get yourself killed. It’s another to start to have softer feelings for him.
Surely that’s not what’s happening here.
I feel different after last night, though. Like something has changed. Not just between me and Code, but inside me. I have no idea what it is.
“Can we stop for coffee?” I ask, since I need to distract myself from this line of thought. Quickly.
“I guess, but it will have to be quick. If we don’t run into any detours, we should be able to get to Laredo before noon.
We stop at a fast food drive-through for coffee and breakfast, and then hit the interstate again.
I really think we’re going to get all the way to border without running into any problems. I have no idea what the cops have been doing, but they don’t seem to be really on the ball. We haven’t seen any of them much at all, and there have been no signs of danger except my face plastered over the newspapers.
I look quite different now. I don’t think anyone is going to recognize me. The pink hair is so diverting that I doubt anyone will even notice my face.
It’s fine. I don’t really care if Code gets caught or not now. I just want to get through this alive. If he gets away, I don’t really care. He can set up a nice life for himself in Mexico and screw as many pretty senoritas as he wants.
I don’t actually like that visual, so I wipe it from my mind.
Since it’s morning, there’s not much traffic on the highway as Code starts to accelerate.
“Don’t go too fast,” I say, glancing at the odometer. “You don’t want to get stopped for speeding.”
“You’re not one of those naggers, are you?”
I’ve been sipping my coffee, but I stiffen at his dry question. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t take you for one of those women who nag.”
“I’m not nagging. It’s common sense not to speed when the cops are trying to find you anyway. If you want to get stopped by a cop for being stupid enough for going over the speed-limit, then you go right ahead and do it.”