Runaway Girl

by Bailey, Tessa

  “Jason,” she murmurs, her dreamlike voice, our surroundings, making me wonder if I’m still asleep. Imagining all of this. “It wasn’t real.”

  “Is this real?”

  Without answering me, she peels off her T-shirt and pulls me tight against her, skin to skin. She twists side to side a little, rubbing her bare tits against my sweat-covered chest, tugging a choked groan from deep inside me. “You’re always a little dirtier in the dark, aren’t you, baby?” I give her ass a final squeeze, then curl my fingers around the waistband of her panties, ripping them off her sexy body, purely because I can’t stand the thought of her those legs lowering for even a second. “Tell me you were missing me up in your bed.”

  She feels me tugging down the waistband of my sweats and whimpers. “I was missing you.”

  I drag the head of my freed dick through her slickness, making sure she’s ready for me…but I hesitate to drive into her. Something is different. Planting and rubbing myself in her heat is always incredible, but there’s a slippery friction now that hardens my balls, blowing an invigorating shiver up my spine. “Condom, baby. Don’t have one on me. Goddammit.”

  Her mouth seeks mine out, breathless and whining. I feel her misery down to my soul and answer it by trying to fulfill her with my tongue, sliding it in and out, capturing her lower lip with my teeth. And all the while, I tease her clit with the bare tip of my cock. Around and around until her thighs are trembling around me, her tits heaving against my chest. I’m lost. I’m so fucking lost for this woman, I swear the ground is quaking under my feet, the organ in my chest on the verge of ripping free it’s beating so urgently. I’m not sure how I end up inside of Naomi. Her hand is on mine and we’re both guiding my dick closer, closer until I’m penetrating her sex and ramming deep, slamming her up against the house.

  “No, no…yes.” I breathe heavily against her forehead, trying to withstand the intense pleasure of being inside her without a rubber. All that sweet, wet pressure is bearing down on me from all sides and I could live here. I could fucking live here forever. “Yes. Yes.”

  “Yes. I know. Yes,” she babbles beautifully into my neck. I cinch my hips back and pound into her, grunting as her teeth bite down. “Jason. Yes.”

  Even as the most insane satisfaction of my life approaches at a rapid rate, I tell myself I can’t get this woman pregnant. I won’t be able to let her go. Won’t be able to live with the possibility of it unless we’re together. So I tell myself she’s part of the dream. I excuse the way my lower body pins her repeatedly to the house, jarring the thighs wrapped so tightly around my hips. I draw her knees up as high as I can and fuck her harder than I ever have before. And every time I drive deep, my good intentions blur into something primal. No help for it. I can’t lie to myself with my defenses stripped away like this, so I admit the truth. I want her to take a piece of me with her when she leaves. I never want to let her escape me, and if that makes me a bastard, then so be it. I love her. I love her.

  On some level, she wants this, too. She’s working her pussy on me, grinding down, matching my movements, moaning my name. There’s no condom. We both knew it when I sank into her. I’m too afraid to hope that means she loves me back.

  No, Naomi letting me take her raw is just proof that I satisfy her. That our attraction transcends common sense. I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever I can get.

  With her ass in a brutal grip, I thrust deep and pin her hard between me and the house. “No man’s cock is ever going to feel this right inside of you. Only mine.” I absorb her sob with a nasty kiss. “You remember that. You remember Jason and how he fucked you like the world was ending. Maybe it is.”

  She wets her lips. “J-Jason—”

  I shhh her, beginning a slow bump and grind, my right hand sneaking over her hip so I can stroke her clit with my thumb. “Your pussy is going to miss me. Going to cry for me in the middle of the night, wondering where its new daddy went.”

  Naomi’s body jerks with shock, and moisture floods around the pumping length of my cock, her back arching like she was electrocuted. “Oh m-my God.” She’s not seeing me, because of the orgasm she’s spiraling through, because of the darkness. But I’m seeing her, watching her come from the treatment of my body and my mouth—it’s the most exquisite vision I’ll have stored in my memories for the rest of time. “I can’t, I can’t—”

  “Feels like you can.” Gripped by my own need for release, I rear back and begin tunneling in and out of her snug sex again and again, letting my climax approach, no more holding back. I can’t believe I’ve held on this long without a barrier of latex separating us. “Listen to me, Naomi,” I rasp against her ear. “You’re never going to get it like this again—and I’m never going to give it like this again. Never going to give myself like this again. So take it all, baby. Take it and run away.”

  I sink into her one last time and cut loose, my heart squeezing when she wraps her arms around my head and pulls me close, kissing my face and mouth through the tumult of mind-numbing sensation. Mine, mine, mine. It’s a claiming and a letting go at the same time. How is that possible? Fuck. The experience of filling her with everything inside me, holding back nothing…and leaving the outcome to fate has me sucking in droves of air, crushing her to my body while my cock continues to spasm, my hips jerking with disorganized movements.

  I’m not sure how long I hold Naomi, but it’s not enough. She slips out of my arms and finds her shirt, her flushed and sated appearance gorgeous in the build of morning light. Once she’s covered and my sweats are back in place, we stare at one another, the distance between us yawning wider even though we’re unmoving.

  When she turns and flies back to the staircase, floating up them like a fairy—like the dream I’m convinced I just had—the finality of what just happened settles in and I turn and level a punch at the wall.

  Over. It’s over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ConspiracyCrowd.org

  Username: IWant2Believe2000

  To quote The X-Files, “Sometimes the only sane answer to an insane world is insanity.” Definitely supports my Bigfoot is an alien theory.

  Naomi

  I just have to get through today. I’ll worry about tomorrow tomorrow.

  It’s a mantra I’ve been repeating since I woke up from one hour of fitful sleep and forced myself through a shower and a breakfast of oatmeal and sausage. My body is sore all over from the way Jason wrenched my legs wherever he wanted them and attempted to bury me in the house last night. I’m afraid for those twinges of pain to fade. Afraid to lose this proof that I’m not breakable. That there’s someone out there who knew it, treated me like I was durable, fuckable, strong. Is that what he intended?

  Stop.

  Stop replaying every moment of making love in the darkness and all the words that were spoken in heat. In frustration. If I dwell there, I will never get through this day. I’ll never do what needs to be done. And I have no choice but to do the responsible thing or life as I know it will never be the same.

  Ignoring the questioning voice in the back of my head wondering if a shift wouldn’t be so bad…if it would be scary and glorious—I slip a final bobby pin into my hair and smooth my hands down the bodice of my dress. Old Naomi stares back at me from the small bathroom mirror over the sink. The same woman who stared back at me on my wedding day, nothing more than a lump of clay molded in her parents’ hands. There are subtle differences to her, though. Her nose is pink from the sun, her neck has whisker burn.

  My eyes mark the biggest difference, though. There’s a weight to them that wasn’t there before. My heart beats faster the longer I look. Perhaps my intentions were frivolous, but they weren’t all for naught, were they?

  A lump rises in my throat and I turn from the mirror before hope or satisfaction creep in. I don’t have room for those things today. All I have is duty.

  Although, the pageant doesn’t feel like a responsibility. Not at all. I’m excited. I’m nervous on Birdie
’s behalf. I’m afraid I didn’t do enough. Or didn’t give her a strong enough chance to succeed. I’m also…confident I did my best. My best is not just adequate, either. In only a couple months’ time, I’ve helped transform a total pageant rookie and—

  Again, the hope that I could be something more, something of my own making, begins to inflate, but I shove a pin in it and leave the bathroom, smacking the light off with an impatient hand. Across the room on the bed, my suitcase is packed and closed, my purse sitting neatly on top. I’m going to leave straight from the pageant, so this is my last time here in this room. This room where I’ve been free to get dressed how I choose, eat what I make, stay in bed past a reasonable hour. This room where I resisted falling in love and failed.

  I press a hand to my stomach and breathe deeply, mentally placing my personal turmoil on the back burner. Today I am one thousand percent focused on Birdie.

  And I have the distinct desire to help her kick some ass.

  I can feel eyes on me as I carry my suitcase down the stairs, all the way to my Range Rover, where I stow it in the back. So much for putting turmoil on the back burner. By the time I close the hatch, my entire body is covered in goosebumps and I’m having a hard time swallowing. Perhaps ironically, I dig deep for my own pageant poise and walk toward the house, pausing when Birdie and Jason pile out, plastic-covered dresses draped over their arms, tote bags likely containing makeup and shoes slung in the crooks of their elbows.

  It’s almost impossible, but I avoid eye contact with Jason and paste a broad smile on my face, reaching out to take some of the burden. “And how are we feeling today, Ms. Birdie?”

  “Er…vomity?”

  “That’s perfectly natural.” I shoulder a tote bag and reach for more. “There will be vomit receptacles backstage.”

  Birdie blinks. “You’re kidding.”

  “I never joke about vomit,” I say, winking, feeling like an actress in a play about my life before Florida. But it’s working. It’s pushing me from point A to B. Encompassing Birdie and an inscrutable Jason with a brisk look, I turn on a heel toward my Rover. “I’ll bring this stuff in my car and meet you there. Let’s go make magic!”

  As soon as I’m behind the wheel with the engine started, I deflate a little, then perk back up. Keep going. Keep moving. It’s a twenty-minute drive to the pageant venue and we arrive in the parking lot at the same time. Jason insists on carrying the entire haul of clothing and beauty equipment to the rear entrance, Birdie and I taking over from there. In a scene straight out of my memories, backstage is a chaotic whirlwind. Teenage girls huddle in half-naked groups, their overly caffeinated mothers trying to apply makeup from awkward angles, unplugged curling irons tucked under their arms like weapons. Ready to be plugged into the closest outlet and used at the drop of a hat.

  Two girls I recognize as Pastel Hell in Heels jog past, stopping to drop kisses onto Birdie’s cheeks, wishing her good luck. She repeats well wishes back to them, her shouldering relaxing somewhat at their easy acceptance over her being there. I want to run after them and smother them in hugs, but I’m distracted by the pageant director marching through the fray with a clipboard. She rattles off call times and answers questions with her pen lifted gracefully.

  “Is it too late to back out?” Birdie drones.

  “Yes. Come on.”

  We weave through dozens of brightly made-up girls who stare at Birdie with open curiosity—and it’s no wonder, since she’s wearing a Guns & Roses T-shirt with the sleeves cut off so wide, the sides of her bra are visible. “Why is everyone ready so early?” She whispers to me as we pick our way to our assigned preparation area, complete with beauty station and changing room. “The pageant doesn’t start for two hours.”

  “To socialize. Network. Learn each other’s weaknesses. Maybe catch sight of the judges on the way in and gauge their moods. Anything to gain an advantage.”

  She falls into the padded chair. “You didn’t think we’d benefit from any of that?”

  I wink at her. “No one benefits from waking you up early, Birdie.”

  “Not even I could sleep with Jason pacing back and forth until the sun came up.”

  My hands pause in the act of removing Birdie’s beauty kit from the tote bag. “Oh.” My heart has shot up into my mouth, but I settle the case on the smooth, lacquer surface and brighten. “Can I get you a coffee before we get started, then? Have you eaten? We want to make sure we keep your blood sugar in range.”

  Birdie gives me a measured look. “Excuse me, but this is fucked.”

  “Birdie Bristow,” I admonish without heat. “We really do need to get you ready.”

  “I’m no masterpiece, but we totally don’t need two hours.” She tugs on the neck of her shirt, her movements restless. “You came here for a new perspective. An adventure. Didn’t you find that? Didn’t you have one?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “And you’re content with that? Finding something and somewhere that makes you happy and being satisfied just to know it exists.” She shakes her head at me, like I’m a difficult math problem. “I don’t get that. I don’t get why you wouldn’t hang on to something that makes you happy. Won’t you miss it?”

  “Every day.”

  “Then don’t.” Her eyebrows slash together. “Don’t miss it. Hold on to it.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Why can’t it be, Naomi?” Silence stretches between us, filled in by the muffled chatter of other contestants. “Why can’t it be as simple as keeping what and who makes you happy?”

  “For me? For me…my happiness has the power to make others unhappy.”

  “Well, fuck them.”

  It feels so good to laugh. To have this honest moment after falling back into my old self for the last hour by sheer force of will. “Them are my parents.” Emotion makes my cheeks feel heavy and stiff. “If I don’t go back to Charleston tonight, I’ll be…removed from the family. I’ll have my inheritance taken away.”

  She jolts in her seat. “That’s what your father came to tell you?”

  “Yes,” I say, reaching for the dresses Birdie is still holding and beginning to hang them up in order of the schedule. “Among other things.”

  “Did you tell Jason?”

  “No.” Urgency rises in my middle like a tide. “And I don’t want him to know. First of all…” In the tangle of my heartache, I was only partially aware of my reasoning for keeping my father’s threats from Jason until now. But the truth flows out, inescapable and real. “Jason left home at eighteen, made his own way. Joined the Army. Rose to the top of his profession and still he’s not satisfied he’s done enough. I can’t…I want him to remember me as my own woman who lived without restraint for two months. Not a girl whose parents still have the power to discipline her. That’s just sad. You know?”

  “I mean, I get that? I get what it’s like to have your parents make it look so easy to be separated from you.” She’s quiet for a moment. “But I can’t help but think if you were just honest with my brother, you guys could work it out. Find a way for you to stay and…”

  I can see her running into snags in that plan, just like I did. Or would have if staying was ever on the table. “He hasn’t asked me, Birdie.” My mouth does its best to form a reassuring smile. “Jason knowing why I have no choice but to go home won’t change anything. It’s where I belong. He’s going back overseas when you graduate.” I give a jerky shrug and lie straight through my teeth. “I’m good with everything. I’m good.”

  Birdie scrutinizes me while I finish hanging dresses, a robe and her fitness category outfit. Next, I lay her makeup out on the table and begin applying foundation. We don’t speak again during the whole process of doing makeup and styling her hair, but I can feel her demeanor tensing as the clock ticks past, making mincemeat of two hours. The pageant director stops by to give us our specific call times, clearly curious about Birdie, who she hasn’t seen on the local circuit. This is where I’m able to s
hine, though, and the woman is laughing and giving us gossip on the judges by the time the applause sounds from the theater, the host having begun his spiel.

  “Okay, this is it, Birdie,” I say, kneeling down in front of her as the director sashays away. “The pageant is going to feel interminably long while it’s happening, but when it’s over, you’ll swear you didn’t blink once. That might be fine if you did these all the time, but this is your only pageant. Just this one. So I want you to slow down and remember why you decided to do this in the first place. Okay? We found each other for a reason, didn’t we?” Birdie nods, continuing to resemble a deer in headlights. “Forget everyone else in the theater. You’re not here for them. You’re here for your sister. We’re here for her.” I reach for my purse and take out a slim jewelry case, handing it to Birdie. “Here’s a reminder in case you get overwhelmed out there and forget.”

  Birdie stares down at the box for several beats before popping it open. She doesn’t cry when she takes out the charm bracelet. Or when she reads the inscription, “For Natalie,” on the dangling heart charm. Instead, her spine straightens and she gets some fight back in her eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever had more pride in anyone in my entire life. She’s extraordinary.

  “Thank you,” she says, handing me the bracelet so I can clip it on. “Can you look out at the crowd and let me know where Jason is sitting? Just in case I need to focus on a friendly…and hairy face?”

  “Yes,” I murmur, standing. I take a look at the clock on the wall and hand her the fitness category outfit. “Introductions and fitness are up first. Wave and walk. Smile with teeth. One side of the stage to the other. Make eye contact with the judges. Easy-peasy, just like we practiced. We didn’t suffer through all that running for nothing.”