by A. O. Peart
The door flew open. Ethan barged into the room. “Lisbeth, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
He turned the light on, and I winced, covering my face with the crook of my arm. I was shaking and kept repeating my mantra.
“Where are your pills?” he asked.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t break the mantra. I had to keep going. This was the way to beat the panic attack. I’ve done it before. I was going to do it again. “I am not having a panic attack. It was just a bad dream. I am not having a panic attack. It was just a—”
He gently pressed his finger to my lips and said, “Shhhh, you’re fine. Breathe, Lisbeth. Just breathe. Like that, you see? Good. Shhhh. Breathe.” He smiled and gently stroked my hair. “I will get your meds.” Although he spoke in a soothing voice, there was a raspy edge to it. I liked it. I concentrated on that calming sound of his voice.
“Are they in your backpack?”
I nodded once.
Ethan stood up and came back with the backpack. He dumped everything on the bed, and when he didn’t see the medicine container, he looked in the front pocket. There it was, together with two sticks of a chewing gum, and a pen.
“I’ll bring you some water. Will be right back. Do not get up. Just breathe slowly for me. Can you do that?”
I grabbed his hand. “Don’t go. Talk.”
He looked questioningly at me.
“Talk,” I repeated. “No matter what about.” I closed my eyes. My heart slowed down a notch. It was easier now. Ethan made it easier.
“There was a small village in Afghanistan, close to where we stationed,” he started in a voice barely above whisper. “They raised some skinny goats there, mostly for milk. That milk was the best I’ve ever had in my life. But really the best milk came from this funny-looking goat owned by an old woman. I would always bring her a little gift—a notepad, a pair of socks, a bar of dark chocolate.” He smiled. His gaze seemed unseeing, watching something that nobody else could see.
I realized I was still clutching onto his hand, so I let go, embarrassed.
Ethan turned his face back to me. For a fleeting moment, he looked surprised; disappointed even. But then it was gone, and he continued, “One day, the woman asked for a tube of toothpaste. She wanted specifically the Sensodyne. I was amazed how she even knew the brand name, until I saw that she had it written down in English. The note read: SENSODYNE. A TOOTHPASTE FOR SENSITIVE TEETH. She must’ve gotten it from another American soldier.”
“Did you bring her that toothpaste?” I asked.
He smiled and nodded. “Yep, sure did. She was very happy, pointing to the goat and speaking in her native language, which I didn’t understand. I got curious though, when she kept pointing to that goat. I managed to let her know that I didn’t understand, so she motioned for me to follow her.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, grinning.
“What?”
“She wanted to brush the goat’s teeth with Sensodyne. Actually, she did, and I watched the whole thing. It was something to behold.”
“You can’t be serious.” I propped myself up on my elbow and realized that my panic attack completely ended. I felt almost normal again. What a relief.
“I am. She really cleaned the goat’s teeth. She would put the toothpaste on a small rug, wrap it around her finger, and, holding the goat tight by its neck, she would rub the Sensodyne onto the animal’s teeth. Then she would quickly wipe its teeth with another wet cloth.”
“And the goat stood still for that?” I couldn’t believe such a crazy tale.
“Not really, but it didn’t freak out as it should.” He shrugged. “It was a strange animal.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Yep. I wonder if the milk from that goat tasted so much better because its teeth were clean.” He chuckled.
I laughed too. I imagined a grinning goat, its teeth sparkling, like in a Sensodyne commercial. The visual was so funny that I couldn’t stop laughing until the tears prickled my eyes. “This is the most hilarious story I’ve heard in a long time!”
“Oh, I could tell you some crazy stuff you would never believe.”
I wiped my eyes and blinked a few times. Then I remember why Ethan was here. “I’m so sorry. I woke you up and freaked you out too.”
“Nah, it’s okay. I wasn’t sleeping. Glad you’re better though. Ready to go back to sleep?”
“I’ll try.” I turned onto my side, hugging the pillow and looking in front of me. I could see Ethan from the corner of my eye.
“Good,” he said in that deliciously hoarse voice and quickly put everything back into my backpack. “Look, if you… if this happens again, just knock on this wall.” He pointed to the wall behind my headboard. “This separates our bedrooms, and I don’t sleep much. I read into the wee hours, so no worries if you need any help.”
“Okay,” I said quietly. “Thank you, Ethan. I’m such a burden.”
“Nonsense.” He stood up and walked to the door. He turned around and added, “Never think of yourself as a burden. We all need help from time to time. Such is life.
Chapter Fifteen
ETHAN
I lied down on top of the covers and opened my book. Flipping the pages, I tried to find the spot at which I stopped reading when I heard Lisbeth scream and ran to her bedroom. But I couldn’t concentrate on the book. My thoughts kept going back to her. So I switched the bedside lamp off and draped my arm over my eyes, hoping to fall asleep.
A while later—maybe ten minutes, or maybe thirty—I was still awake, thinking of how scared Lisbeth was. I’ve seen such expression way too many times to count on the Afghani women and children’s faces. The fear, the uncertainty of tomorrow, the confusion... it was all in Lisbeth’s eyes, and there wasn’t much anyone could do to ease her anxiety now. Not until her pursuers were caught, or better yet—dead.
I turned the lamp back on and pulled my M9 from the bedside table drawer. I normally wouldn’t keep the gun loaded, but I decided to be prepared now. It was a beautiful piece. Jack had the same 9mm Beretta. We often went to the shooting range to keep them in good use. I could only hope I wouldn’t have to use it to shoot any other target than the paper ones in Karl’s Range.
The gun went back inside the drawer, which I promptly locked. The small lock didn’t provide a lot of safety, but it had to do this time around. It was better than nothing.
I switched the light off and went to the window. The moon made the scenery almost creepy, with its cold, silver light reflecting off the quiet water. A few small clouds surrounded the moon, as if threatening to choke it with their soft bodies. The peacefulness of the daytime continued through the night, as it always did here. So what was it that bothered me tonight? I crossed my arms against my chest and kept looking out there.
Half hour later I decided to give sleep another try. I slid under the covers and closed my eyes. The cabin was quiet, and I could only hear the rustling of the trees outside. The wind got stronger, as if often did at night. I thought about Lisbeth, sleeping in the next room. Only a thin wall separated us. Her bed was pushed against it as it was mine. We were practically just inches apart.
That thought was a mistake. My drowsiness gave way to desire, and I grunted when my groin went hot. My boxers pressed unnervingly against my awakened cock. I tore them off, hoping to relieve the discomfort. But now the softness of the sheets made me think of a woman’s delicate skin against mine. And not any woman’s… Lisbeth’s. The memory of her hand clasping mine came rushing through my mind. My cock was rigid, and I had to do something to release the furious tension, or there was no hope for a sleep tonight.
I closed my eyes and slipped my arm under the covers, until my hand wrapped around my raging hardness. My mouth opened and my breath came forcefully in and out. Lying on my back, I tried to imagine Anne Fisher kneeling between my legs, sucking me off. She had a perfect mouth for it. But I could only see Lisbeth’s lips wrapped tightly around my cock, her eyes dreamily raised to mine, her head bobbi
ng up and down, her mouth sucking.
I tightened my hand over my length and started sliding it up and down, first slowly, and then quicker and quicker. My breathing became labored, and my teeth clenched in response to this sweet agony. I thrust my hips, imagining Lisbeth’s long, lean legs and arms enclosing around me, pulling me in and out of her hot, wet pussy. No, I wanted her handcuffed to the bed, pretend-play she was my captive, fighting against the restraints. The possibilities were endless. I would have her any way I wanted, giving her more pleasure than she’s ever known.
God, I wanted to fuck her so badly. This wasn’t the time to feel bad or reminding myself that I had to keep her safe and protected; or that she had to stay completely off limits. This was the time to fantasize. A little fantasy wouldn’t hurt anyone, but it would help me. I badly needed a release.
I threw the covers off and pumped my cock with my hand, moaning quietly. I wanted to scream, feeling the raging orgasm approach. Faster… faster… faster… now! My eyes squeezed tight, and a loud groan escaped me when the seed shot out, and a violent release shook my whole body. Oh, yes, that was what I needed. But I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to keep going. I wanted more, much more.
Sweat dripped from my temples. It also collected on my chest and stomach. My underarms and the areas under my knees were damp too. I wiped the sperm off my abs with my discarded boxers and stood up, heading for the shower. My cock was still hard and bobbed against my stomach. I tried to ignore the fact that I was still aroused, almost ready to go again.
Right before I opened my bedroom door, I remembered Lisbeth. Not that I forgot about her even for a moment. That was impossible. But she shouldn’t see me like this—still rock-hard and completely naked. Or should she? Damn, of course not!
I quietly closed the door and pulled the sheet off the bed. It had to do. I wished so badly there was another bathroom upstairs, even though I’ve never brought a female company here. But when my family visited, that single, shared bathroom was always a problem.
Trying not to make a noise, I locked myself in and dropped the sheet onto the floor. I turned the water on in the shower and realized that Lisbeth was recently here, bathing. That didn’t help with calming down my desire. Instead, it surged through me with renewed strength. I closed my eyes. She was so close… maybe she felt the same… maybe we could… no, that would never happen! I didn’t bring Lisbeth here to have my way with her, no matter how tempting it was. I had to make my hungry cock understand that.
The only way to keep my hands—and my mind—off her was to masturbate again, to get rid of the nagging need. I picked up the soap and immediately thought that she used it to wash herself. God, this was too much. I lathered up my hard core and pumped it fast, leaning against the shower wall with my other hand. Water ran down my back, caressing my skin like a lover’s lips. Like Lisbeth’s lips…
I was getting close. It felt so damn good. Not as good as the real thing. It never did. The real thing… a woman… I needed a woman so badly… maybe in a few days… Anne Fisher or Rita… there were always willing ladies… no, I didn’t want any of them! I wanted Lisbeth. Only her!
A vision of her on her knees in front of me, with her wrists bound behind her back and a scarf tied over her eyes, her mouth tight around my length, her head bobbing up and down… oh, yes! Serving me, submitting to me… I threw my head back and groaned in a primal need.
“Lisbeth,” I whispered.
Water ran over my upturned face and throat, down to my chest, cascading down onto my groin and my fist clenched over my wild-with-need cock. The release should come now. I worked it hard, unable to stop, to wait much longer. I wanted an orgasm… I wanted it… nothing else mattered… faster… faster… God, faster, harder, yes—harder!
The sperm shot out, bringing me over the edge, and I moaned, unable to stop the sound of an incredible pleasure. I watched the white, creamy substance mix with water and run down the drain. It kept coming, and I kept panting and grinding my teeth. I hated it. I loved it. No, I hated it, because it wasn’t the real thing. I never had to masturbate. A simple text or a quick phone call would always be enough to get a willing mouth and pussy.
I stood in the shower for a long time, numb and spent; maybe even satisfied, at least on a very primal, physical level. What else did I want? Wasn’t it what I was always content with—an orgasm?
Later that night, I returned to bed, listening for any sounds that would indicate Lisbeth was awake. But the cabin was completely quiet. She was asleep.
I had to get some rest. I was drowsy and spent. The pillow under my head felt soft against my cheek. And then, mercifully, sleep had come, and I dreamed of Lisbeth’s silky skin under my hands and my tongue licking deep inside her slick, hot opening.
Chapter Sixteen
LISBETH
The morning sun woke me up. It squeezed its bright rays between the half-closed blinds in the window. I cracked my eyes open and yawned, shielding my face from the light with the crook of my elbow.
A delicious smell of coffee teased my senses. I sat up and rubbed my knuckles over my eyes. Ethan must have gotten up already. What time was it? I looked at my wristwatch—nine thirty! Oh, no. He let me sleep so late. For some strange reason, I felt guilty, if I had somewhere to be, something to take care of. I didn’t want him to think I was lazy.
But why did I even care? In a couple of days I’d have to leave and find another place to hide. I may never even see Ethan again, because he had no obligation to keep helping me. What he was already doing was enough—much more than anyone had ever done for me. He was actually risking his own safety to give me a place to stay immediately after what had happened yesterday. I wouldn’t ask him for more.
With that resolve in mind, I brushed my teeth, wrestled with my hair, trying to put it up and failing terribly. Finally, I settled on braiding it into a simple plait. I changed into a clean t-shirt and shorts, and folded my makeshift pajamas into a neat square on top of the made bed. I’ve been taught in every foster home I stayed in to make my bed in the morning and pick up after myself. That stuck with me. It was a good thing.
I looked around the room and saw the clothes I wore yesterday in a small pile. I didn’t have a laundry hamper in here, so I felt excused for that small mess. This was Chris’s outfit and, at some point, it needed to be returned to her, but first I would have to wash it. I knew there were a washer and dryer in the garage, because I noticed them when we arrived in the cabin yesterday. I made a mental note to ask Ethan if I could use them.
The heavenly fragrance of freshly brewed coffee got stronger when I opened my bedroom door. My bare feet were quiet on the wooden stairs and then on the hardwood floor downstairs.
I entered the kitchen and gulped. Turned with his back to me was shirtless Ethan, wearing only a pair of a low-riding, loose-fitting shorts. His body was sculpted, all angles and ridges, smooth, tanned skin, and hard muscles. He had strong, long legs and a small, taut butt—yes, my eyes went there right away, and it was apparent that I enjoyed the view. More than I should.
He was washing something over the sink, his back muscles shifting gently. He was wide in the shoulders and his back tapered down to a small waist.
I must have stood in the kitchen door for a while, gaping until he turned his head to look at me.
“Good morning,” he said without stopping his task. “Help yourself to some coffee. I just made a fresh pot.”
“Uhm… yeah… sure.” Oh, great. I grew speechless at the mere sight of a half-dressed male. That was quite awkward, but he seemed not to notice my reaction. Or maybe he simply decided to save me some embarrassment.
“The coffee mugs are in the cupboard over there.” Ethan pointed across the kitchen to his left.
When he finally turned, I saw the tattoo on his left pectoral and shoulder that I got a tiny glimpse of yesterday. It was a flying raven in black ink, with its wings pulled back, large beak curving down, and talons stretched out as if preparing to grab and lift s
omething up in the air.
I walked closer, mesmerized by how this image was actually designed. The bird’s whole body was constructed from the other flying ravens. The effect was fascinating—from the distance, the image looked like that of a regular raven, but close up, what seemed to be feathers, were actually the other, smaller ravens.
“This is beautiful,” I said quietly, my eyes on the tattoo. “Does it have any specific meaning? Oh, wait… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.” I felt my face grow very hot.
“It’s not a secret.” He shrugged, looking at me. There was something masculine and confident in his gaze. “All guys in my family have a raven tattoo, although each of us picked a different design.”
I stared with my eyes wide open, waiting for him to explain the reason behind that weird family tradition. He dried his hands on a towel and crossed the kitchen to retrieve one of the white coffee mugs from the cupboard. I realized it was for me.
“Oh, thanks,” I mumbled.
“Grandma Ruth, who’s my father and my uncle’s mom, has been saved by two ravens when she was a small child. She was five at that time. Her family lived in a small village, and their house was the closest to the woods.” Ethan poured some coffee and handed me the mug. “One day, Grandma was playing outside, and a wolf attacked her. Those two ravens came from nowhere and flew down onto the wolf, scaring it off. Since then, they would be often seen sitting on the roof or on a nearby tree, as if watching after Grandma. She says they were her guarding spirits, and if it wasn’t for them, none of us, brats—as she calls us—would exist. So to humor her, we all got raven tattoos for her seventy-fifth birthday; except for the youngest guys, who had to wait a year or more back then until they were allowed to get inked.” He took a sip of coffee, his eyes twinkling with mischief over the brim of the mug.