As he repeatedly took the soap bar from her, he added more lather and worked his way down her torso and belly, stopping to spread wide, slow circles over her navel. She didn’t say a word but just pressed her backside to him in a way that produced a shudder. The moment his palm slid against silky hair, he petted the tender area in silent apology. Next time would be the way she deserved.
He could feel her thighs parting but took great care to rinse soap away, lest it sting. He reached for the soap and then slid down to a squat behind her, kissing the firm rise of her behind while splaying his hands along her shapely legs to coat them, caress them, kissing the backs of her thighs until she fell forward with both hands pressed flat against the tile wall.
Looking up at her wet behind from that position was tearing him up. But rather than hurt her again in an impatient rush, he soaped the backs of her legs and slowly stood to make soapy swirls over the firm swell of her bottom. The dip in her spine called his name, made him kiss it deeply and then plant kisses up her spine, finding each vertebra to anoint with his mouth, followed by soap. By the time his hands slid over her shoulders, she’d released a low moan and had leaned against him again. Soap created a slick emulsion on her back and sweet ass, causing him to slide against the slippery surface and release a quiet moan.
They said nothing as they moved against each other, but he dared not enter her again. The first time had been Russian roulette. His shaft had filled so hard and so fast his greatest fear at the moment was that she was already pregnant. One drop was all that was necessary.
“I should probably make you something to eat,” he murmured thickly against her hair. “If we keep this up…”
“I know,” she whispered, “but…”
“I can’t promise I can control it this time.”
She nodded but didn’t stop grinding her backside against his length. He understood more than she knew, and slid his hand down her belly until she moaned at the touch that found her bud.
“Is it still tender?” he whispered, gently massaging the outer folds that hid the pouting knob of flesh.
“It throbs,” she whispered, shivering. “I’ve never felt anything like this in my life.”
“The water’s getting cold,” he murmured into her ear, then swallowed hard.
“But it feels like it’s on fire.”
Her voice had come out in a quiet, strangled rush. Each time he moved against her, the muscles in her backside clenched, gripping him and driving him nuts. Cupping her breast with one hand, he kept the other palm moving in a slow, gentle graze against the tender region between her parted thighs. She needed to release again, and he could tell how close she was… just like him.
Water spilled down her chest and belly, and he caught it in a slight cup of his palm between her legs, allowing the water to add to his touch, sending it between the hot, sensitive lips in a pulse that matched his gentle thumb flick.
In total trust, she’d reached back with lathered hands, finding him, stroking him, almost making him forget that he couldn’t put it in again. When she came hard, her grip made his eyes cross beneath his lids. His body found a demanding rhythm against the outside of her soap-slicked ass at the same time his arms found anchor around her waist. Close to madness, he forgot about the possible danger of a slip-and-fall injury; he had to let her worry about that. She braced her hands against the tiles; he braced for the swift convulsion that dredged his groin and sent jerking, twitching spasms into his limbs.
This didn’t make sense. He lifted his head from her shoulder and they both turned around in the spray to rinse off again. He took her mouth hard this time and then held her face to look at her without playing.
“I have to put my pants on,” he told her firmly, saying it out loud more for his benefit than hers. “We have to get out of the bathroom. One more go-round like this, and I’ll lose it.”
He stepped out of the shower and snatched his pants off the floor, wondering how in the world one could get out of a shower sweating. He didn’t even bother to dry off, nor did he look back. The rifle went with him the moment his pants were drawn on, the fabric clinging. The soft padding of her bare feet was immediately behind him. The decision was clear—at full sunrise, he had to ride. At full sunrise, he had to find some gas. At full sunrise, he had to go into town. Full sunrise demanded action. Find a drugstore and some condoms.
Speechless, she slowly slid onto a kitchen chair, watching him quickly open and shut cabinets and the refrigerator and then reach down with plates and a bowl, slamming them on the counter hard. Eggs hit and splattered a black frying pan. Shells and egg whites got hurled at a trash can, leaving a long, clear ooze across the counter in the wake of his rush. All she could do was stare at it, remembering… the spilled whites a reminder to be more careful next time.
Bread got jammed into a toaster and the heating bar slapped hard to begin toasting it. Suddenly he’d slid two glasses on the counter and sloppily poured orange juice into them. Bacon went into a too-hot pan and sizzled. She tried to stand, but her legs felt like jelly. This man was so fine and so sexy, and the things he’d done to her body made her briefly close her eyes. But he seemed angry, like she’d really done something wrong. For a long while she stared at him, summoning the courage to find out what her offense had been so that she could swiftly correct it.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly.
“Yeah, I’m cool,” he said, slapping eggs on a plate and flinging a piece of toast beside it.
She didn’t say a word as bacon popped and sputtered, half-black on one side, half-raw on the other.
“Jose, what’s wrong? If I didn’t do something the way you liked back there—”
He stopped rushing about, let out a deep breath, and closed his eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry.”
“If I didn’t do it right, I’m—”
“No, it’s not like that,” he said, turning away. “Damn! Bacon’s burnt. You okay with just eggs and toast?”
“I’m sorry if you’re used to being with more experienced… I mean…”
He turned off the burners, leaned on the counter, and allowed his head to fall forward with his eyes closed. ” ‘Nita, baby, I’m not angry at you; I’m angry at me.”
“Why?”
He looked up at her and held her gaze. “I shouldn’t have started all that in the bathroom. You deserved a better place, better circumstances, for your first time.”
His urgent reply made her face hot.
“I wanted to as much as you did,” she said quietly. “It was more than I’d ever dreamed of… the way you make me feel. But then you seemed angry and—”
“I’m not angry; I’m just so horny right now I can barely breathe.” He turned away and began fixing their plates more calmly. “I’ve never been with nobody like you, ‘Nita.”
She watched his back expand and contract with deep inhales. It was as though she were witnessing his internal battle for composure displayed in every taut muscle that stretched beneath his skin. The sight of his raw arousal had reignited hers.
“There’s a washer and dryer in the pantry,” he said without turning to face her. “I’m gonna throw our clothes in, get dressed, and make a run into town. Cool?”
“Can I go with you?”
She watched him hesitate and his breathing become more labored.
“I’m gonna go pick up some supplies, and won’t be gone long.”
“Okay… but I just wanted to go to the drugstore.”
He turned slightly and looked at her over his shoulder. “That’s where I was headed.”
“Why don’t you sit down and have some breakfast?” she murmured. “The eggs are getting cold.”
He nodded, pushed a plate toward her, and dug into his eggs with a fork where he stood, never taking his eyes off her. She stood.
“Tell me where the laundry is.”
He indicated with a nod and sopped up egg yolk with his toast, shoving half a slice into his mouth. “I’ll straighten up the bathroom,�
�� he mumbled over the food he was chewing. “I got the dishes.”
“It’ll be an hour to wash and dry everything.”
He stopped chewing and looked at her, then at the kitchen clock, swallowing hard. “They don’t have twenty-four-hour joints around here. We’ve gotta wait until nine, at least. Some stores don’t open till ten.”
“That’s like four hours from now.” She sat down with a heavy thud in the chair she’d abandoned.
He began to pace in front of the stove and raked his fingers through his hair. She picked at her eggs and sipped her juice, knowing exactly how he felt. There was nothing else to say as they finished eating. Jose washed dishes and straightened up the bathroom. She kept her focus on the task at hand, laundry.
As she was standing there in a white cotton shift, her feet bare, the old house had such a comfortable feel that it almost melted into her bones. No matter what happened, she’d never forget this. What had happened out there in the streets of LA defied explanation. Oddly, terror had been replaced by knowledge. Being terrified all alone was something wholly different from having a witness to share the horror.
There was finally someone else who had seen what she had. There was a family that understood her dreams, like no one else did. For the first time in her life, she knew she wasn’t insane or possessed—demons did exist. Angels had sent her a warrior, and she didn’t even receive a scratch. And this man’s wonderful family of old Indian shamans had taken her in, would provide protection… she didn’t have to go anywhere else in the world but here.
Juanita let her gaze slowly take in the small pantry. Everything within the wood-frame ranch house was neat and tidy and old-fashioned. Big rose cabbage floral prints in bright yellows and pinks were everywhere. The sofa and chairs were overstuffed, the electronics minimal and two decades old. Pictures of family hung on the walls. Sheer lace curtains blew at open windows, and ceiling fans and box window fans were the only defense against the desert heat.
She left the thudding dryer and peered out the back window. She loved the old porch in the front and the back that held wicker furniture. Chickens pecked at pebbles in the yard. A lonely, dilapidated toolshed stood leaning a hundred yards away across dried, brownish-yellow grass. An ancient pickup truck rested idly against a garage with no door. Jose’s bike gleamed in the sunlight, marred by a dark green splatter she wished she could forget but never would.
Turning her attention to the positive, she spied tiny wildflowers peeking out in spots along the edge of the shed and garage. Suddenly her prayer came back into the forefront of her mind. She had asked the Almighty for a quiet place… with flowers and trees and family and a loving pair of arms to hold her. “Thank you, God,” she whispered, and hugged herself.
On a night when she was sure she would die, instead she’d become a woman. Warm arms had enfolded her, and the heart of a good man had beaten against hers. Heaven had sent a man so decent that he was openly losing his mind to be with her but had denied himself just to protect her from something neither of them was ready to deal with. That made her want him all the more, seeing his restraint. His gentle caresses in the tiny bathroom and knowing how close they’d both come to death had made her grasp life, cling to it, and experience it fully in his arms.
He’d cooked for her… saved her… breathed her name on a shudder. In this old, beat-up house filled with love, even in her bare feet and wearing a borrowed nightgown, she felt like a princess.
If he remembered correctly, the town had a run-down motel. Jose went into his old bedroom and stopped for a moment to take in the changes. Gone was his bunk bed. That had been replaced by a queen-sized wood-frame one. His old pine dresser and drawing table and ladder-back chair were still there, though, and Pops and Nana had even framed his old sketches to hang in the new guest room. Jose’s line of vision went to the blanket his grandfather had always tucked around him, and a sense of comfort began to thread through him. This was home, not East LA. This was the only place in the world where he felt unconditional love. What had he been thinking to ever leave? True, it didn’t have the fast pace and excitement of the city, but there was something to be said for the stillness it offered.
He crossed the room and stared out the window, wondering if his grandparents would mind if he turned the old shed into a studio one day. His mural project was history, and with a woman, now, he needed to get his art thing going. He needed to figure out a way to support them both, as well as give back to his elders who had given him so much.
Jose pushed away from the windowsill, breathing in the new day. It was gonna be a hot one, up in the high nineties, could even top a hundred degrees—he could smell it in the air. When Pops came back, he wanted to sit down with the old man and ask a lot of questions.
The first one would be, how did the tribal council know what would attack them? The second would be, what was this strange gift he had to be a tracker? A nose. Jack Rider also had that same trait. He just wished he’d spent more time learning about that when there was a chance to. But he also wanted to ask his grandfather all about the demon world, how one fought them, how one protected oneself and one’s family against them… were there more, or was there this whole other side of the universe that he had only just begun to see?
A small piece of notepaper on the wooden nightstand by the bed drew his attention. He went to it and carefully lifted it to read. His grandfather’s scrawl was unmistakable. The note was cryptic, like everything the old man said:
It will take three days and three nights to make the medicine. Learn your totem while we are away. Keep the house and your belief. There are more clothes in the drawer for both of you, as well as something to help your stay. The days are short and the nights are long. Make good use of your time.
“Cool,” Jose said, crossing the room to pull open a drawer.
Three pairs of jeans and three T-shirts, along with a three-pack of boxer shorts, greeted him as he peered inside the dresser. But a small brown bag made him frown with curiosity. The moment he peeked inside the parcel, he froze. Pops had left him condoms—oh, shit.
Jose quickly shut the drawer and then opened the next one beneath it. Three pretty sundresses in yellow, blue, and pink stared back at him. A plastic three-pack of girl’s underwear caught his eye, and there was another nightgown, this one pale peach.
He pushed the drawer closed with a quiet thud. The old folks knew!” His gaze tore around the room as he further inspected for anything out of the ordinary. They knew. Had left him and ‘Nita in the house for three days and nights while they went to go make spirit medicine? The realization made Jose pace. He wasn’t sure why all this was bothering him, but it did. Plus, ‘Nita might take it the wrong way. Then again, she might be cool.
Some things were better separated from the knowledge of the elders, especially like having a love jones and shower sweats for a gorgeous woman. His face burned with humiliation. If he used their quiet offering in the drawer, they’d know. That would put ‘Nita’s business out there, when the woman was trying to make a good impression. What had gone down in the two-by-four bathroom was bad enough, but under Pops’s roof with Nana’s and his knowledge?
It was still hours before the town stores opened and the sleepy little commerce area woke up. Jose looked at the drawer and then looked at the door. Aw, hell… he would just have to get over it.
“Yo, ‘Nita… wanna see some old sketches?”
Chapter Five
The moment she heard Jose’s voice calling out, it suddenly dawned upon her that she’d been all by herself in the pantry, standing near the washer and dryer, doing laundry for an entire fifteen minutes—alone. How had that happened? Wanting to be with him had her nerves so rattled that she’d temporarily forgotten about those things that had chased them? Was she insane!
Juanita ran to meet the voice that had become synonymous with safety. She couldn’t sort out why Jose, this house, or daylight had chased away her terror or the images that by rights should have given her a nervo
us breakdown. All she was clear about was the fact that this man’s presence made everything seem normal. His excited expression made her smile through the panic. He didn’t even have the rifle with him. The only weapon he had, which instantly blew her away, was his brilliant smile.
She stood before him in the hallway, now nearly ready to laugh, as he shifted his weight from foot to foot like an excited kid with a secret.
“They redid my room, and made it into a guest room. But they didn’t throw out all my old sketches. Wanna see ‘em?”
How could she refuse an offer like that? Juanita’s smile widened.
“You’d let me see your art?”
“Yeah. C’mon,” he said, dragging her down the hall by her arm. “I forgot about half of this stuff. I used to have some wild-ass images in my head as a kid, and me and this older guy, Rider, used to hang out, practice sharpshooting cans… then I’d see stuff, could almost smell it.” He turned to her as they entered the room. “I’m wondering, like, if we’ve been having the same dream, and hooked up like we’ve known each other for years, maybe some of the stuff I’ve drawn might be a trigger for you… like help you remember your dreams, too.”
“Okay,” she said, hedging, not sure if she had the special insight he was seeking. She would have been happy enough to see his work just on the basis of getting to know him better.
He took a deep breath and walked over to his old desk. “All right,” he said, hesitating. “Granted, some of this stuff is rough.” He ran his palm across his jaw, suddenly appearing shy. “I’m much better now, but, back then, I didn’t know how to always get the shading right, or the depth perception to make things pop off the page in three-D, and—”
Love At First Bite Page 12