Sacred Revelations

by Roxy Harte

  I accepted Tony for who he was, so why is accepting this arrangement with Kitten and Fyre causing me to feel odd?

  “Do we need to talk about this before we see her?”

  “Is she still on the phone?” I ask.

  “Lost the signal five minutes ago.” He looks at me hard; I inhale, hand shaking.

  I hold the tobacco in my lungs, wishing it was more than tobacco, hissing around a burning exhale of smoke. “It isn’t necessary for us to say anything else…not until we get Kitten back to San Francisco. It isn’t like we can make this happen. She may not want this.”

  “Kitten wants this.”

  “No, Kitten wants you and her. She may even think she wants me and her, but the reality is, until we put it into practice, it’s all theory anyway; and I know for a fact she’s never said anything about you and I, or the three of us together.

  “You’re scared, get over it. And we both know we’re not talking about our relationship with her. That’s not what you were thinking about. Who’s here? Mother? Father? Ex-girlfriend? Who’s the ghost who has you scared white as death?”

  I look at him hard, not liking what he’s saying, but understanding. Thomas has always had the ability to see through my façade. I’m jolted as he pulls into a driveway I wasn’t even aware we’d approached. I look at the two-story white-frame house and try to imagine Kitten growing up here. We’re here to rescue her; my drama is just going to have to wait. Turning back to him, I find him looking at the house too. “Let’s get her out of here, my ghosts can wait.”

  “Can they?” Car parked, Thomas turns to me and I make the mistake of looking into his eyes. The pull is there, even after years of hiding from it. I can’t deny the chemistry between us, the physical attraction. Suddenly, it can be mine, if I just accept that it can be, assuming Kitten agrees. I open my mouth but no words come out. I put my lips back together and lean in close to him, close enough to smell his cologne and soap and the warm, masculine scent that is his alone. He comes an inch closer, so that our foreheads touch, our eyes meet. “Get us both out of here with our sanity intact and then we’ll talk about relationship strategy.”

  “I can do that.” He winks.

  I kiss his jaw quickly before pulling away. “Let’s get our girl.”

  Stepping from the car, I toss the cigarette butt, squashing it beneath my heel. I’m really surprised Thomas didn’t say anything about the cigarette. I stopped years ago, for Tony. When I was with Thomas before, I smoked, too much, and he put restrictions on my smoking—that I didn’t do it while I was with him. I shouldn’t have grabbed the pack in the airport lobby, but they were there, and I really needed the distraction. Sleet hits me in the face and I hold my arms out to it, letting it lash me, enjoying the sting. Thomas climbs out and, facing me, shakes his head. “You’re insane.”

  “I am Ice.”

  We both turn toward the screech of wood against wood, seeing the doors to the church across the road fly open. For a second it is an idyllic scene, rustic church caught in a storm, dark gray clouds and fading sunlight casting an odd halo over the steeple, ice mixed with snow blowing lateral. Then I see Kitten and the scene isn’t idyllic anymore.

  She races down the steps and across the road, an icy gust both propelling her and holding her back. I’m hurt that she goes to Thomas first, but then I see just how needy she is, arms and legs wrapped around his middle, holding on for dear life like someone drowning. This isn’t about us. This is more, much more than the problem we left in San Francisco. I close the gap, wrapping around her from behind as Thomas holds her from the front. Between us, she is soaked through to her skin, her bare arms tinged blue, but she isn’t shivering. She should be shaking involuntarily, her body’s auto-pilot self-preservation mode to keep her internal organs warm.

  The pellets of ice sting my face and hands as I rub her arms briskly. I state the obvious, “We need to get her inside and warm immediately!” Thomas is already balancing her with one arm under her hips and yanking her wet T-shirt off her body with his free hand. She isn’t wearing a bra, so she is bared completely for the moment it takes to free her of soggy fabric. She immediately goes back to hugging him tight, her face buried against his neck. I pull off my leather jacket and wrap it around her.

  A man clears his throat behind us. I turn, Thomas doesn’t even look up. He whispers into Kitten’s ear and I hear her laugh softly. I’m so pleased to hear her laugh that I don’t even care what he said. Recognizing Lionell McCain, I am pleased to see that his nose is no longer as perfect as before.

  “There are neighbors here—with children—watching. I think that could have waited until you were behind closed doors.”

  His lips are blue, ice hitting him as hard as us, but he seems oblivious.

  “Is this how you treat guests in this part of the world?” I demand, spoiling for another go at his nose. “You let them get hypothermia?”

  He lifts his hands and backs up. “She won’t talk. She won’t go inside the house. What was I supposed to do?”

  I shake my head and look away, irritated that he is here. Irritated that Kitten came here to him.

  Fyre opens the car door and puts Kitten in the back seat. Tugging on my arm, he pushes me into the back seat with her, commanding, “Get her warm, now, whatever it takes.”

  He climbs in the front seat and closes the door against Lionell, who rushes forward to say something. Thomas ignores Lion, pulling out of the driveway. Kitten curls against me and I am shocked anew at how really cold she is. I don’t have to tell Thomas to turn the heat on full blast, as soon as he has the engine running, he turns it as high as it will go. He turns to face me, nodding at Kitten.

  “Where to?”

  I pull Kitten closer. “Where to, baby?”

  “I d-don’t know,” she answers, chattering. “Anywhere b-but here.”

  Taking her face in my hands, I hug her face, warming her, leaning in to kiss her. Her eyes and nose are red and swollen. As much as I want to ask her what’s happened, I don’t. I kiss her, willing her to kiss me back, teasing her lips with my tongue until she submits and opens her mouth to me. Her lips are cold but my greater concern is that her tongue is cold, telling me her core temperature has dropped. “A warm hotel room would be a good start.”

  I push her down in the seat before pulling my own shirt over my head and lying over her. The only thought on my mind is getting her warm.

  Amazingly enough, the small town has a choice of two hotel chains, Red Roof Inn or a Residence Inn, and that because the interstate passes over town, literally. Thomas pulls into the parking lot of the Residence Inn and, in less than five minutes, has us registered. He returns with the key to a ground-floor room and only glances in the backseat to determine how things are with Kitten. That I am lying over her body, our naked chests skin to skin doesn’t warrant comment. If she wasn’t shivering so hard, I might have found a way to enjoy the moment, as it is, I focus on using my own body heat to warm her.

  Moving the car to park closer to our room’s door takes a few moments because of the maze of buildings, but once the car is parked, I roll aside for Thomas to lift Kitten into his arms. I settle my leather jacket back around her bare shoulders before racing to the door and sliding our keyless entry card. Inside, I’m delighted by a room that is exceptionally fresh and clean, always a nice bonus and, from the older exterior, I’d had my doubts. Thomas doesn’t pause to look, carrying Kitten from the car directly to the bathroom. I follow close behind, kneeling to run water into the plain, white porcelain tub while he helps her out of my jacket and the rest of her clothing before helping her step into the tub. She cries out as she sits in the tepid water. “It’s too hot.”

  “It’s not too hot baby, you’re too cold,” I cajole, watching Thomas struggle with her only a minute before she is pinned in the tub, warm water covering her thighs. I slowly increase the temperature as the level of water rises and her body adjusts to the warmth.

  “It is too hot!” she insists
and Thomas silences her with his mouth, kissing her and holding her in the barely warm water. She fights, splashing even more as the water rises and grows even warmer, but he holds her in, both our shirts soaked by the time she calms down. With the water as high as the tub allows it to go and as warm as I dare make it, she slouches against the back of the tub, staring into space. Thomas kisses her forehead and stands. “You two be good. I’m going to go make a few calls to get our jet readied and bring back some food. I want to get us out of here as soon as possible.”

  He looks from me to Kitten, lying still and silent in the tub, lost in her own world. His words seem to break into her thoughts though, because she looks at him, a delayed reaction. “I can’t go.”

  We both wait for her to elaborate, she doesn’t. Kneeling beside her, I push her damp bangs out of her eyes and turn her face to me. She doesn’t resist and in fact seems lethargic, wrung out. She closes her eyes to keep from looking into mine, whispering, “My father’s dead.” All the puzzle pieces collide into place. “I have a funeral to plan.”

  Should I be concerned that Kitten hasn’t talked about it? Maybe. But then we still don’t know all the details. She isn’t crying and, as far as I can tell, hasn’t cried, but then everyone deals with grief in their own way.

  True to his word, Thomas did manage to rummage up a meal. Italian takeout from a local restaurant, three kinds of pasta, Caesar salad, homemade breads. I didn’t expect him to return with a fast-food paper-bag meal—that isn’t his style because he would go without food before putting into his body what he considers garbage—but we are feasting like gods. I almost feel guilty, because Kitten isn’t eating and even the threat of punishment didn’t make her open her mouth. Actually, I’ve never heard Kitten be a real smart-ass, but tonight she said, “That’s an idea, force me to eat so I can vomit on your pillow.”

  I left her alone.

  Now, she sleeps, pillow safe from vomit.

  Thomas kicks back in the small desk chair by her bed, bare feet on the mattress, not watching her, but seeming to watch over her. A littering of dirty plates, glassware, and Styrofoam coffee cups line the desk behind him and, out of nervousness or a need to tidy, I do, tossing empty carryout containers and putting the dirty plates and glasses in the kitchenette’s mini dishwasher.

  I’m surprised when Thomas comes up behind me and starts rubbing my back. “She’s going to be okay. She’s exhausted. Stop worrying.”

  “Who said I’m worried?”

  His fingers knead deeper, loosening tight muscles, making me moan.

  “Fine, if you’re not worried, you can come into the bedroom and rub my back.”

  I bend my head low, letting his iron fingers shred my neck muscles, sighing. “Please don’t stop.”

  His warm, deep chuckle vibrates against my back as he slides in closer, molding his body into mine. “I’m glad you still like my touch.” His voice tells me even more than his touch that he expects things to turn intimate.

  “We can’t,” I say, trying to shrug away from him, but he holds me in place, pushing his weight against me to wedge me between the solid wall of his body and the sink. “Kitten might wake up.”

  “Kitten isn’t going to wake up. Relax.”

  “We haven’t discussed this with her yet. She may not want us to be a ménage à trois for real, full-time.” I pant, my body responding to him, though at the moment I wish it wouldn’t.

  I never thought romance might be what I was bargaining for when I agreed that we should become a threesome. I expected to be pushed, hard, physically, painfully by Thomas, not seduced. Now, twice in twenty-four hours, he’s seduced, teased, and treated me like a new lover, a new boyfriend, and my mind is having a hard time wrapping around it. I never expected this and that makes me wonder if he’s playing a mind game, to see if I can deal with the consequences of a ménage à trois before announcing the plan to Kitten. Right now, this second, we could still back out. If we wanted to. I lift my chin. “What’s going on, Thomas?”

  He leans in, biting my cheek, hard. “Stop overanalyzing, Garrett. Relax.”

  “You’re going a little soft on me, I think I need to worry.”

  “Far from soft.” Hands on my shoulders, he pivots me to face him. I don’t resist when the pressure of his hands pushes me down onto my knees. He gives me a moment to balance myself, the space he has given me between his braced legs and the cabinet to my back just barely enough room; or maybe he’s giving me time to refuse, but honestly I don’t even consider refusing as he slides his zipper. I push his jeans down just enough to expose him to me completely. His erect penis springs forward, hard, ready.

  His hands pull me into him, insistent. I keep my lips pressed together, letting his smooth head bob against my closed mouth. He pushes harder. I like the feel of his hard cock pushing against my lips. I nudge in, just enough to let him know that I’m not saying no, just playing.

  “Bitch.”

  Catching his gaze, holding it, I watch his face darken with lust as I lick the tip of his cock, rimming his piss hole. I resist the pull of his hands as he tries to push himself into my mouth. I hold his gaze, taking my tongue in a slow slide down the sensitive underside. I give a fast lick around the base of his balls before pulling the smooth globe into my mouth to roll it around with my tongue. Lips closing, holding him snug in my mouth, I suck. Thomas’s eyes close and his head falls back. I pull the second ball into my mouth, holding, rolling, sucking, pulling his flesh hard until he moans and his fingers twine into my hair, pulling tight. I bite, a teasing bite, and his grip tightens. I run my hands up his hard, jean-covered thighs, letting his balls slide from my mouth, running a teasing lick up his shaft before taking his length into my mouth. His hiss of pleasure makes me look up and, for a moment, our eyes meet again. Low on his shaft, his entire length in my mouth, I bite, making him tense—teasing bites, bite, release, bite, release.

  “Garrett.” He growls my name softly, but it’s a warning growl. He needs me to give him quick release and I toy with him. I bite, harder. My name comes from his lips in a spasm.

  I grab his thighs then, pulling him into me deeper, setting up a rhythm, loosening my mouth to take him in and out smoothly, quickly. Sucking in my cheeks just enough to make my mouth feel as tight to him as a warm, throbbing pussy. His thighs shake beneath my firm grip and, around his cock, my lips smile. This I’m good at, really good, and I want him to remember that once upon a time I blew his mind with my skill.

  Swallowing more, I relax my throat, taking him deeper with my swallow. Hands gripping hard on his ass, I control the rhythm, forcing his cock deeper, letting him fuck my throat, but in reality, my rhythm, my control, I know he feels like I am fucking him…hard…harder.

  He tries to slow the pace, to force down his own need, his own desires, but I don’t let him, knowing he’s close, very close. I push him, tightening my mouth, quickening the stroke until I feel him tense, knowing he’s about to come.

  “Blessed mother,” he grunts, coming hard. “I’ve missed you.”

  Chapter 25

  “It is good to have among us such men, such balancing monsters of love.”

  -Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers

  Thomas

  Ohio is the land of ghosts. I heard that once, somewhere, but I can’t remember where for the life of me; but it must be true. I sit here watching Kitten sleep fitfully, wrestling demons she’d once locked far away. While she was with me at the beach house, she’d seemed to find peace, but now the old fight resurfaces here. Even in sleep, her brow is pinched like she is thinking too hard. Garrett lies beside her, staring into space, not the self-confident man of San Francisco, but made fragile by a single flight.

  I covered them both with the sheet and lightweight, institutional-grade blanket provided by the hotel, cranked up the heat, and hoped that we’d all find refuge in sleep. Kitten did, Garrett and I didn’t.

  I have no time for thoughts of Lattie and my children, but they are on my mind much since I bo
arded the plane—too much time to think. I miss them. Kitten has spent so much time escaping her father, her upbringing, and Garrett, though he denies it, has done the same. I wonder if my children will even remember me when they are adults. I wonder if they will hate me for my desertion or will they realize that events out of my control kept me from their lives. I sigh, crossing the room, escaping my thoughts with distraction. I sit down on the edge of the bed next to Garrett. He lies on his stomach. I rub his back, offering him the small comfort of my thoughts. “She’s going to be all right, she’s just exhausted.”

  Garrett sighs. “Ohio is an exhausting state.”

  “We’re in Kentucky.”

  “Same difference.” He arches his back into my hands encouragingly.

  My hands respond, kneading deeper, noting how tense his muscles are. It hasn’t escaped my notice that Garrett has been as despondent as Kitten since our plane touched down. “How far is your family from here?”

  He jerks with the question, admitting, “Across the river, ten miles.”

  “Really?” I keep rubbing, focusing on the places that make him moan. “Will you go see them while you’re here?” I don’t think he’ll answer because he takes so long doing so, but then he stretches. “I don’t know.”

  Sitting up, he looks from her, curled on the bed, to me. “She hasn’t said it, but this has to be destroying her. She didn’t get a chance to say good-bye.”

  “Lots of people lose loved ones without getting to say good-bye.” I find a really tight knot that makes him squirm.

  “I know, but isn’t it different when you choose to not see people on purpose, when you just write them out of your life?”