by Carian Cole
“Of course.”
“If I asked you to, would you stop doing the fighting?”
That’s the last thing I expected her to ask me. “Maybe. Why?”
“Because I love your face. And I don’t want it getting hurt anymore.”
You skeeve me out.
Her words rock me, right into my soul. Right now, she doesn’t know how much those words mean to me, but I know she’s the only person I’ll ever meet that has the true capacity to understand. We’re kinda made of the same ripped-up cloth.
I chew my pancake and swallow it, not able to get my voice to come out. Instead I stand, walk around the table, grab her face in my hands, and kiss her until she’s breathless and clutching my shoulders. I fist her long hair at the back of her neck and lift her up off the chair, not breaking our kiss as I back her up against the table, pushing our plates to the other side. Fuck breakfast.
“Okay…” I whisper against her lips. “I’ll quit. For you.”
That gets a big smile out of her. “You mean it? You won’t fight anymore?”
“I won’t…if you do something for me.” I lift her up and set her on the table and move to stand between her thighs, my hands circling her waist.
“What?” she asks nervously.
I lean in and nip at her neck, eliciting a faint squeal. “Leave your books home.” I drag my tongue up the side of her throat. “Trust us to make our own story.”
Her head falls to the side as I ravish her neck, and her throat hums. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll try.”
“Don’t try.” I move my lips to her ear. “Just do.”
Her hands slowly glide up my back, her nails leaving a trail of shivers up my spine. I lift the hem of her shirt and let my fingers skim across her stomach, feeling her twitch in response. I dive into her mouth, kissing her deeply, leaving her lips just long enough to get her shirt up over her head. My fingers hook in the straps of her bra and slowly lower them as I move down to kiss her neck, my tongue leaving a trail of dampness straight to her peaked nipple. She gasps when I suck it gently into my mouth, and her hands squeeze my shoulders. I cup her breast with one hand, while my other hand slowly travels down over the curve of her waist to the band of her sweatpants.
My sweatpants. I have a beautiful girl wearing my clothes, kissing me on my kitchen table, even with my fucked-up face.
She lifts her body slightly as I slowly pull off her pants and panties, a subtle green light. I visit her mouth and, this time, her tongue meets mine and her leg wraps tighter around me as we kiss until we’re both moaning and frantically pulling each other closer, pressing our bodies together, seeking more. I cup her breasts in my hands, teasing the tips with my thumbs as I leave the sweetness of her mouth to bend down and kiss her stomach, my tongue lapping over the scars, erasing the intention of the word sliced into her. Her arms wrap around my head, hugging me to her, and she bows down and kisses the top of my head as I show her what mine really means.
Kneeling, I gently push her back with my palm until she’s leaning back on the small table next to the sticky bottle of maple syrup, legs trembling as I caress her thighs. I drink in the sight of her before I touch my lips to her, so warm and wet, waiting for me. Her hips rise, and her hands grip the edge of the table when I run my tongue through her folds, slowly, tantalizing her. I run my hands up her inner thighs, and when they reach my mouth, I gently part her with my thumbs and delve my tongue into her, licking her untouched walls. Her legs tighten around my shoulders and her hand clutches the back of my head, gently tugging my hair as she squirms beneath me and sighs my name.
Witnessing her desire, and the trust she’s put in me to share it with her, is the most beautiful experience of my life, and it placates all my deepest needs and wants. The pleasure and love in her eyes is a much bigger turn on than seeing fear.
My mouth finds her clit, pulsing with need, and I suck it into my mouth as I gently push my thumb into her. Her faint sighs and whimpers fill the room. My cock throbs as I fuck her with my thumb and my tongue, aching to sink into her wet pussy.
I will not fuck an abused virgin on my kitchen table.
No matter how bad I want to.
Standing, I move my lips up her body, sucking and nipping a trail up to her mouth. She kisses me hungrily as I lay my body over hers, and I lean my crotch against my hand, letting the weight of my body push my thumb into her, then slowly out, then in again, showing her what it’s like to have a man’s body between her legs, pumping into her. She tightens around my finger, her hands sliding from my shoulders to my neck, holding me and kissing me like I’m her lifeline. When she starts to shudder beneath me, I pull my mouth from hers so I can watch her eyes flutter closed, watch the shape of her lips as she comes, see the pulse in her neck throb.
As she comes down, I kiss her softly and my lips linger over hers as I gently pull my hand from between her legs and press my hard cock against her, feeling the warm wetness of her through my shorts.
I pull her up into my arms and carry her into the living room, settling down on the couch with her straddling me. She smells of syrup and lust, and I want to devour her like my last meal.
“I love you,” she murmurs dreamily against my lips. “The way you make me feel…I don’t even know what to say.”
“You said everything I need to hear.”
She sits up on me, her long hair flowing down over her breasts. My hands grip her waist tighter, not wanting her to move. Every inch of my body is screaming for a part of her, even an innocent wiggle on my lap.
She fingers a lock of my hair absently and peeks at me shyly from beneath her bangs.
“I know what to do.” She says softly. “For you…”
My eyes narrow at her in confusion as she stands, giving me a gorgeous view of her naked body, and she kneels on the floor between my feet. I instantly snap out of my haze when she reaches for my waistband, and I grab her hands in mine.
“Holly…” My voices catches in my throat.
“I want to.” Her gray eyes lock onto mine as she pulls my shorts down, and I’m powerless under her sweet, sultry gaze and the sudden warmth of her mouth descending on my rock-hard cock.
All the way down.
My eyes literally roll back in my head as she expertly deep throats me, her lips touching my balls as she takes the full length of my shaft.
Oh, fuck. Nothing has ever felt so fucking amazing.
Her tongue swirls around my tip, sucking hard, so perfectly…my cock and brain battle over the euphoria, and then the rage…women aren’t born knowing how to suck dick this way. This was taught. Practiced. Perfected.
I grab her head in my hands and gently pull her off me. “Baby, you don’t have to do this.”
Her eyes shimmer, her lips still puckered and damp. “You don’t want me?”
“I do, but…” Not if she’s forcing herself out of some trained habit.
“Please let me be normal,” she pleads with her hands gripping my thighs, on the verge of tears. “Let me forget. Let us both forget and just be us. I want you…only you…in every way. You are my choice. Let me show you. Please…”
Her wet lips sliding down my dick rob me of any defense, and I succumb to her, because I need her, and I love her, and I want all of her and everything she makes me feel, no matter how hard it might be sometimes.
And I guess we’re perfect together because her demons are strong enough to wrangle with mine.
29
Holly
Two months later
Time, something that once stood still for me, is now looming all around me. Choices need to be made, and no amount of talking to Feather and Dr. Reynolds has made it easier for me. Because I never had choices before.
Zac and Anna are moving soon, and their invitation to accompany them to New York is still a very intriguing option for me. A new start, away from this town, its memories, and its people, who know every single thing that happened to me, feels like a good choice. I’ve wondered if that me
ans I’m running away…but I don’t think it does. I just want to be Holly, not the Girl in the Hole, but if I stay in this tiny town, that’s who I’m always going to be. There has only been one time in the past year that I have gone out to the store, or to the café, or to the ice cream shop, where someone hasn’t stared at me, whispered about me, or approached me. One time.
And soon I’m going to have a niece. A tiny little person who will only know me as Aunt Holly. I can watch her grow up, experience new things with her, and celebrate all the milestones that I missed in my own life and in my siblings’ lives. She’ll never have to know that once I was stolen. She’ll never look at me with odd, fearful fascination like Lizzie does, still wondering how her dead sister is walking around. I blame my parents for that, and I’ve slowly accepted the growing distance between us. As Ty said, maybe in time that will get better but, for now, I have to make me better.
But going to New York means leaving Tyler. Not breaking up, but leaving our routine, and trying to build a new one. He says he’ll visit, but I know he won’t. He’s not ready to take that step yet. It’s that time thing again—he needs it to gain his confidence back. I’m not sure how happy we’ll be only seeing each other once or twice a month after we’ve been spending almost every day together. We both love our walks, our snuggles on his couch, our hanging out in his workshop, our long talks on his garden bench while Poppy and Boomer play around us. I’m afraid I’ll miss him so much I might be miserable living so far away. Zac suggested that Tyler move to New York too so we can both have a new start, together. But Tyler loves the woods too much. He would go insane in the city, with no forest to walk in and no mountains to explore on his motorcycle. He would be like a caged animal. He can’t live in a place where he will be so totally out of his comfort zone, and I would never want him to. And he could never bring a fox to live in the city. Rehoming Boomer is not an option.
I cross my bedroom and pick up the letter that came last week. I hold it and read it again, for the tenth time perhaps. I almost threw the envelope out when it came, thinking it was some sort of junk mail, but at the last minute I tore it open. My mouth dropped open when I realized it was from a publisher who wants me to write my story so they can publish it. Zac, Anna, and I had a conference call with them a few days ago, and they assured me it could be written by me, with the help of an editor, and they promised not to change my story or words in any way. They even offered me an advance for a surprising amount of money. All I have to do is sign the contract.
Do I want to write my story for the world to read? I’m not sure. I’m trying to get away from everyone knowing who I am and what happened to me. Publishing a book about it puts me right back in that place I don’t want to be in. And if I’m in a relationship with Ty, it puts him in that place with me, because I can’t write my story without including him. What I really want to write is children’s fairy tales, like the ones that filled my days with hopes and dreams. That’s what the world needs to read, not stories about little girls getting kidnapped. Anna suggested I approach the publisher with that idea, and I just might, once I get my thoughts together about it.
Another choice to make, on top of all the others.
I pull one of my old books out of my backpack and thumb through the worn, dirty, faded pages. In these stories, there aren’t any hard choices. Everything somehow magically works out. I turn to the last page, where the couple is walking happily in the distance together, and I touch them with my finger. Maybe the happily ever after just doesn’t happen, after all.
30
Tyler
I inhale more smoke and turn the small ring over in my fingers. She’ll never see it or wear it. But I feel a strange sense of comfort knowing it exists. It took me weeks to make, melting down the coins from my jar and fabricating a band of thin, intertwining branches. The tiny carved copper birds’ nest, filled with three miniature blue gem eggs, took the longest. A tiny piece of forest that would have sat on her finger. A weirdly good engagement ring that will stay in my drawer for the rest of my life.
What am I doing?
She’s home packing right now, getting ready to move to a big city and start an actual new life. She has so many possibilities: she could be a model, write a book, go to college, make new friends. The sky she loves so much is truly the limit. I urged her to go and promised her everything would be okay, that nothing will change. Every word a sword through my heart and an utter lie.
I don’t want her to go. She’s my heart, my love, my best friend, my sensual angel with broken wings. We’ve only just started our journey, and I know we could go so far, all the way to forever…
But if I love her, I’m supposed to set her free. Isn’t that what we’re told? She’s choosing to go, and I can’t stand in her way. What can I possibly offer her? A life of hiding?
This, I tell myself, is the way it’s supposed to be. Because I’m a mess and she’s a mess, and together we’ll probably be an even bigger fucking mess because my life has been, and probably always will be, one disaster after another and I refuse to do that to her, or to us.
She’s leaving.
I know my role in this story: I’m supposed to let her go. She’s supposed to be the one that got away, the one I’ll dream about, fantasize about, and wonder about for the rest of my life. I’ve known that all along. I may be the hero, but I’m not the happily ever after.
I can’t let her be like the fox, afraid to go out and live, trapped with me in a little place of nothingness in the woods where time barely moves. She deserves so much more. She deserves to see the world that was taken from her and experience all the wonderful and beautiful things that life has to offer her. Being with me will only hold her back.
I’m going to let her go and watch her fly. I’ll watch her from afar. I’ll catch her if she falls. Every time. Any time. But I’ll step back into the shadows and let her be free to have endless choices without me and my issues holding her back.
And me? I’ll be happy knowing she’s happy. I’ll hang on to every moment, every memory, every touch, every kiss. I’ll remember how it felt to be so unconditionally wanted, loved, and accepted.
31
Tyler
“What’s got you looking more fucked up than usual?” Tanner asks, punching my arm as he walks past me at my workbench and sits on the stool on the other side.
Holly’s stool.
“Nothin’. Just working.”
He cocks his head at me. “Don’t bullshit me, Ty. You’ve been moping for days.”
“Shouldn’t you be at the shop? Or at your own house?”
“I took a few days off.” He pulls a knife from his ankle sheath and starts to clean his nails with the tip. “Darcy won’t answer my calls or texts. She doesn’t want me in the house.”
Frowning, I glance up from the belt buckle I’m polishing, and he’s got a dead serious look on his face. Tanner has been with his wife forever, and I’ve never seen them fight, or even raise their voices at each other. I guess while I’ve been hiding, a lot has changed.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I fucked up. Bad. And I have no fucking idea how I’m going to fix it.”
“I’m sure you’ll work it out. She loves you.”
He scrapes the knife along his nail. “I don’t deserve her love right now.” He blows out a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about it. You havin’ a problem with that little cutie with the blanket? She’s a fuckin’ doll, Ty.”
I shoot him a warning glare and he grins back at me. “I know who she is, Ty. I wasn’t born yesterday. I think its cool. It’s about time you found someone to be happy with. Maybe now you’ll get your head out of your ass.”
“It ain’t gonna last. She’s moving.”
“Moving? To where?”
“To New York with her brother and his girl.”
“Why the hell would she want to live in New York?”
“To get away from everyone in this town who knows what happened to her. She go
es through the same shit I do. Assholes staring and asking questions. She wants to go somewhere where nobody recognizes her. And her parents treat her like crap.”
“That’s a lame reason to move, isn’t it?”
“You don’t know what it’s like, Tanner. It sucks.”
“How do you feel about her moving?”
“How do you think I feel? I love her. I don’t want her to move. But I’m not gonna ask her to stay here just for me.”
He flips his knife up into the air and catches the handle. Someday I know he’s going to slice his fingers off doing that. “Did you tell her you don’t want her to go?”
“Not really.”
“Why the hell not? You’re gonna let some beautiful chick that believes in magic blankets just walk out of your life?”
I shake my head at him, growing annoyed with this conversation. “Because I want her to be free to make her own choices. Because for ten fucking years she had no choices at all. That’s why. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Has it occurred to your dumb ass that maybe her choice is you and she just wants you to man up and tell her what you want? Maybe she needs to hear it.”
“Fuck you, Tanner.”
“I’m serious. Trust me on this; women want to hear what you want. I learned that the hard way. She doesn’t have to move all the way to New fucking York to get away from this town, Ty. As Pop used to say, use your fucking head. And for the love of fuck, tell her how you feel.” He shoves his knife back into its sheath and stands up. “I’m gonna go crash on your couch. Don’t fuck this up, Ty. You finally have a chance to be happy.”
As he walks out, Poppy comes running in and sits at my feet, wagging his tail expectantly.
“All right, all right,” I mutter.
I spend the next week putting a plan together with Tanner’s help. By some miracle, the first part falls into place with incredible ease, as if it was meant to be. Now, I just need the second part. I text Lukas, my tattoo artist, who’s the king of all things artistic: