by Cassie Mae
“Yes.”
“Yes?” He pulls back, hitting the stream of water square in the face. I laugh and bat it away from him. “Yes . . . you said yes?”
“Yes, I said yes.”
A large relieved breath leaves his mouth before he presses it to mine. Landon’s arms circle my torso, pull me up against his now hot and slick body, and every ounce of disappointment I was feeling evaporates with the shower steam.
“I thought I royally botched that.” He laughs, and a wave of minty breath travels from his mouth to mine.
“You did,” I tease before closing the gap between our lips again. “But I love you.”
He tickles just under my arm, enough for me to jerk and slip in the tub. But his arms stay strong around my waist, holding me steady as his tongue glides across mine. Happy and excited whimpers somersault in my throat, and I know Landon loves when I make those noises so I exaggerate them a bit for his benefit.
His scruff grazes the hollow by my shoulder as he grips my right breast and slides down my body. More of those noises run wild over my lips, now one hundred percent legitimate, echoing around the shower walls. Landon’s hands are all over me, slipping over the cooling water cascading over our bodies. His mouth keeps going down, down, down with aggressive kisses and nibbles, and my knees shake so bad I’m not sure how I’m standing.
Hell. Yes. Spontaneous nookie! I let my mind forget that it’s a given since we just got engaged. I’m going to ride the hell out of him in the shower just like we used to. And after we slip, we’ll keep on going in the bedroom.
I grip the top of his head and yank him up, wanting to kiss his mouth, his cheeks, his eyelids, his chin, his neck, his shoulders . . . but I grab too hard, and he yelps an “Ouch!”
“Oops,” I say, kissing my fingertips and pressing them to his hair.
He rubs his head, water trickling down his upturned lips. “Didn’t know you wanted it rough.” His hand tangles in the wet strands sticking to my upper back, and he tugs enough to expose my neck. His lips tease and tickle just under my jaw, and I feel him smile right before his teeth dig in, and he sucks . . . hard.
“Stop!” I laugh, smacking his shoulders, propelling water in my eyes. “No hickey, no hickey! I have work tomorrow. Landon, I mean it!”
He suctions to me as I giggle and squirm underneath his strong hands. I manage to slide my hand down, lock tight around his arousal, and squeeze.
“Drop it,” I threaten, slightly tugging. Landon laughs against my neck.
“You know that’ll only encourage me,” he says, thrusting into my hand. I quickly let go and spin around, pretending to get away, but I’m secretly raving about his arms catching me before I get too far.
“Oh, back entry!” he shouts when my butt smashes against him. I shush him in case the neighbors we share a wall with are in their bathroom. His voice lowers. “It’s about time you let me do this. And to think, all I needed to do was propose.”
He playfully jabs my left ass cheek, and I smack at his hands on my hips.
“You come near that hole, and I will flex my ass muscles so hard Little Landon will need six weeks to recover.”
I shoot a wicked grin over my shoulder, and he gasps at me.
“Little?” He thrusts against my butt cheek again. “You should call him Lord Landon.”
“Because he rules your brain?”
“He rules the Land of Liz.” Landon spins me around before I can even roll my eyes at him, but it’s so slick in the tub we almost topple to the floor. I grip onto his shoulders while he holds the walls, and after we catch our breaths from the avoided catastrophe, Landon reaches around me to turn the water off.
“Bedroom?” I offer, and Lady Nethers jumps for joy when he nods, taking my hand and helping me out of the tub. As soon as both our feet hit the solid bath mat, he pulls me onto his waist, not bothering with a towel.
“I just washed the sheets!” I shout as he throws my wet, naked body on the bed. He gives me a wide smile before sliding on top of me, and he’s so slick he slips right inside. My eyes pop open from the unexpected entry.
“Oops,” he says this time, but I don’t think he’s really that sorry about it. I start laughing and tighten my legs around his waist. Never mind about the sheets. We’re not having peas and carrots sex right now. We’re having engagement sex. And I like seeing all the water drip from the tips of his dark hair, onto my cheeks and nose and past my lips to my tongue. His playful gray eyes gradually dilate as he moves.
Laughter turns to deep sighs as Landon wipes my face free of all the water. He presses a soft kiss between my eyebrows.
“You’re going to be my wife,” he whispers, like a prayer, a wish, a dream he never thought would come to life. My heart thumps between our bodies, thumps against his, answering his beats with mine.
“Mrs. Wangford.” I bite my smile back, but it’s no use, Landon pauses above me, his whole face lighting up.
“Hell yeah! Now you can’t make fun of it.”
“I’ll say it in a seductive voice when I get my driver’s license.” I drop my voice an octave. “Wangford.”
“That’s so sexy,” he teases, biting my earlobe. I involuntarily giggle, goose bumps shooting up and down my entire body. That’s totally my spot, and he knows it, so he runs his hands across my puckered skin while he nibbles.
“Okay . . . you have to stop laughing,” he says.
“Can’t be helped.” I kiss his shoulder when he bumps it against my lips. “I really like it.”
“I know.” He bites again, causing more laughter and goose bumps. “But when you laugh, it does things. Down there.”
“I know it doesn’t hurt,” I say, then flex my Kegel muscles. He groans.
“No, it’s just . . . we haven’t done this in eleven days.”
“You’re counting?” When was the last time we counted?
He ignores me, resting an elbow on the pillow, and using the heel of his hand to hold his head up. “On most occasions I purposely make you laugh because of how it feels.” His lip twitches upward. “It’s like a hug.”
I stifle a snort, and he growls to the ceiling.
“Stop laughing!”
“I can’t help it.”
“You keep laughing, and I’m gonna shoot off before I can do my move.”
“I’ve felt your move,” I tease. “You need a new one.”
His jaw drops, and his stroking fingers turn to tickle monsters up and down, down and up my ribs, until he grips my sides and pulls me on his lap. My knees sink into the duvet next to his hips, and I run my nails through his damp hair. The stars in his gray irises seem to light the entire bedroom, echoing the moon dancing across the bed sheets.
I can’t believe I get a whole lifetime of this.
“Me neither,” he says, and a much smaller laugh tumbles out of my mouth. I had no idea my thoughts escaped me.
Landon’s lips meet mine softly, then harder, then all over. My laughter, my mind, and body drift away into just one of the many beautiful moments I get to experience with this man. He feels so good, and the last time we had sex like this feels like a lifetime ago.
I’m just getting into my rhythm when I halt mid-hump with a gasp.
“What, what, what?” Landon says underneath me, sweat and shower water covering his skin.
“We need a condom.”
He looks at me like I just spouted Greek. “Huh?”
“A condom, Landon. I stopped taking my pill a week ago.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“I didn’t want to hurt the baby . . . if there was one.”
“Oh.” He closes his eyes and nods. “Okay. Condom. Do we even have one?”
“Maybe . . . ?” I’m being optimistic. I think I tossed them out during my last sex drawer clean up.
He slowly lifts me off him, and we both groan when we leave each other. I roll off the mattress, probably not looking so sexy with my naked squat and crawl to the naughty drawer in my nightstand.
“I could just pull out,” Landon suggests as I dig around the lubricant, the sex tarot cards we’ve used maybe once, and the blindfolds we use much more than that, but not lately. There’s not a single condom or any other form of birth control in here—unless you count the picture of my parents that must’ve slipped through the cracks from the drawer above it.
“I don’t know. I think I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“But . . . we don’t have a condom.”
“Maybe Theresa does.” Actually, I’m almost positive she does. I put the picture of my parents back in the right drawer and get to my feet. “I’ll be right back.”
“Your nipple is poking out,” he says, pointing at my left boob as I shrug into my fuzzy purple robe.
“Thanks. Keep it up, will ya?” I point back at “Lord Landon” and speed walk out of the room, out my front door, down the hall, and rap on Theresa’s door.
And just my luck, she doesn’t answer. I slump back, lady parts laden with disappointment.
“No?” Landon asks, still hard and ready on the bed.
“She’s not home.”
“I’ll pull out,” he says, grabbing the tie on my robe and ripping it open.
“Let me get a towel.” I push him off before we get so into it I won’t care until we have to clean it. Then I’ll really care.
After placing the towel on the bed, Landon kisses me, probably knowing I’ve dried up and I’m losing whatever mojo I had ten minutes ago.
But we just got engaged, so no way in hell am I not having sex tonight.
As I see it, the only thing worse than death is life. Maybe not everyone’s life. But mine is a lonely, sad existence with no point other than to survive another day.
I got lotto’d out at my chance for a warm meal and a cot in a place away from the elements. The wind kicks up as if to remind me I have no way to escape it. I tug my hoodie tight around my neck and scan my surroundings.
The blue sky is a faded memory as each day ends sooner and dark falls earlier. I need to find a home for the night. The train trestle is my best bet, but it’s on the other side of town. I sure as hell don’t feel like making the hike.
A row of woods line the YMCA so I decide to head there and set up camp. I find a nice clearing and put my backpack down, retrieving my towel from inside and placing it on the ground.
I take out the only thing I have of value, say a silent goodnight, and then place it back in my bag for safe keeping.
My eyes flutter shut and I think of the life I once had, the one where happiness existed. It was so long ago, and I’m afraid if I stop remembering, avoid replaying it in my mind, I’ll forget. And I can’t. It’s all I have left. It’s the only thing that makes my shitty life a little easier.
“Who the fuck are you?” A deep, raspy voice echoes around me and I jolt up. Every muscle in my body tenses, knowing trouble is just inches away. I take a calming breath to push my fear beneath the surface and slowly turn, holding my hands up in defense.
A tall man in ripped filthy jeans and a t-shirt that was once white, but now a grungy shade of gray, glares at me. He grinds his yellow teeth and narrows his beady black eyes.
“How dare you come in my woods,” he barks, spit flying across the space between us. I step back, but he unleashes his fury in one swift blow, and I crumple to the ground. Blood pours from my instantly split lip, and I suck in a jagged breath, bracing for another hit. He kicks the wind out of me with his steel-toe boot. Bile rises in my throat, and I push down the cinnamon raisin bagel I had for dinner.
“This is my turf, motherfucker,” the bastard growls. He reaches into my pocket and wrestles out my last two bucks. I twist away, but my attacker places his sole on my throat. One strong shove and my trachea will collapse. A part of me wishes he would. The pain won’t last forever. It couldn’t possibly be as bad as the shit I’ve felt over the past ten years.
Do it. Just do it.
Seventeen may be young to die, but I’m okay with it. When I suck in my last breath and my heart goes still…I’ll finally be reunited with my parents.
Please.
I squeeze my eyes shut and think of my parents, but no matter how hard I concentrate on their faces, I keep seeing someone else’s.
My parents might be dead, but my sister isn’t. I promised myself the day the social workers ripped her from me I’d find her.
With a deep breath I prepare to fling the guy’s foot off me, but I don’t have to. He removes his boot from my throat and rips open my backpack. Before I can see what he’s taking, my surroundings dim, and the darkness consumes me.
***
Sun shines through my window. I grab for my pillow to block out the light but come up empty handed. There’s only one explanation—Josie, my pain in the ass little sister.
She needs to get over this monster bullshit. I roll over, and pain shoots through my gut, a scream erupts from my mouth, and my eyes pop open. Panic settles in as I realize it was just a memory, and I’m lying on the cold ground in a pool of my own blood. Slowly, bits and pieces of last night come back to me.
My backpack.
Shit.
I jump up, ignoring the searing pain in my ribs. My eyes flick from side to side, a damn ping pong match going on in my mind. I dive to my right where my black t-shirt sprawls across a pile of leaves. I toss it aside, but nothing. I jump back up and spot my other shirt. I come to a skidding halt in front of it, reach down, and toss the shirt aside.
Please be here.
My heart plummets to the ground, and I go with it, letting my head fall between my knees. The only thing I had left of my family was in that bag—the last link to my sister.
And it’s gone.
I fight the burn in my throat and run a hand through my hair. I’ve been through nine foster homes in ten years and never lost sight of it. Ten years and in the matter of seconds it’s gone.
I shake my head, my eyes landing on a pile of brush to my right. My bag!
God, please let it be there. I fall to the ground and snatch the bag into my arms. My shaking fingers yank on the torn zipper, tugging, pulling, praying he didn’t take the one thing I can’t replace. I rip back the plastic pocket. Relief floods into me, and I fall to my ass. I take the picture of my family and press it against my heart. The burn in my throat is impossible to fight and spreads, but I manage to swallow it down.
I hug the picture as if my family is really here and not trapped in a moment of time.
Seconds turn into minutes before my head clears and the painful memories fade. I count my single blessing, and with one last glance at a life I will never have again, I place the picture back in its protected place.
The bastard took my blanket, but at least he left my towel and clothes. Two outfits, not a lot, but it’s better than nothing.
I shoulder my backpack and get up. Hot searing pain stabs at my ribs. Shithead totally sucker-punched me. I’m just shy of six feet, but he was bigger.
Should’ve just gone to the damn train trestle. I let my guard down for three lousy seconds. I swear this is the last time I wind up motionless in the dirt, blood dripping into the ground marking my attackers so-called territory.
A laugh rumbles up my throat at the irony then I tug my hood over my head, pulling the strings tight.
My body rejects any and all movement, but I force myself to get as far away from these woods as possible. During the day, the library is my safe haven, so I head there. Heat and a bathroom sound like heaven right now, and for a few hours I can get lost in a book and forget about life on the outside.
My stomach growls, but with my empty pockets, there’s nothing I can do about it. The glass door slides open as I approach the library, and I step inside.
The woman at the desk peers over her glasses at me, her light eyes widening slightly. I pull my hood tighter and hurry to the bathroom.
“Excuse me, young man,” the woman says as I pass. My first instinct is to ignore her and keep walking, but I can’
t make her suspicious and chance losing my safe haven.
I turn, praying to God I don’t look as crappy as I feel. The woman sucks in a startled breath which only means I look worse than I thought.
“Are you okay? What happened? Do you need me to call someone?”
Emptiness fills my heart and rips at my soul. I focus on coming up with a believable story and ignore the fact that there’s no one to call.
“I misjudged the size of a curb and hit it wrong. Flew right over my handlebars. I’m sure it looks a lot worse than it is.”
“Maybe you should get checked out by a doctor,” she says, and reflexively my hands wave her suggestion away.
I’m a runaway, the last thing I need is to be found.
“Really I’m fine. Nothing a little soap and water can’t fix. Thanks for the concern,” I say and walk away before she can ask any more questions.
I almost don’t recognize my own reflection. Red splotches swirl with purple and blue just beneath my eye. Dirt and grime smear across my cheeks and remnants of leaves stick to my hair.
I inhale deep and instantly regret it as pain slices its way across my sides. I bite back the scream clawing its way up my throat and remove my hoodie. Dried blood outlines my jaw and dirt is caked in my hair. I clean myself up then take my spot in the farthest corner amongst the history books.
My stomach makes more noise, and I remind myself the soup kitchen will be open for the season in a few days. I can hold out till then. I’ve done it before.
There is one simple rule when it comes to volunteering: Do not get emotionally involved. Unfortunately, I learned the hard way, and as much as it hurts me to not get involved, I do what I have to do. Because once you open yourself up, it’s over.
You can’t save everybody, especially those who don’t want to be saved. The only way I can continue to volunteer and survive is to detach myself completely. Besides Princeton and Harvard aren’t going to count the number of lives I saved, just the hours I worked.
I park in the back lot of the old church on Main, grab my planner and cross sign up for soup kitchen off my list then head out to meet with Barney, the soup kitchen manager.