“For what?”
I gaped at him. “For saving my life, dumb ass.”
He shrugged, color flooding his face. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t have done for me. I can’t let you get eaten, El. I’m still getting over you.”
The final sentence was the utter truth. It was audible in his inflection. My throat grew tight, and my stomach flexed. I shook my head, meaning to tell him to knock it off. That this world was not built for connections or relationships. People died. People got lost. People relocated, got separated, people disappeared. Often.
Instead, I dropped the towel and murmured, “Keep watch. Keep me safe.”
I sank to my knees on the small throw rug he was standing on, his big, chunky boots looking out of place on the aqua and marine blue swatch of brightness. I pulled at his belt buckle and his button. His zipper almost outsmarted my shaking fingers.
“El—”
“Don’t you tell me I don’t have to,” I growled at him, finally getting the zipper down. “Or so help me god, I’ll bite you.” I rested my forehead on his belly and hooked my fingers in his waistband but didn’t pull it down yet. “I need to do this, Evan. Let me do this. I want to.”
He said nothing. I could feel him breathing. Then he settled a big hand on top of my head, and I felt relief. I smiled. Pulled his jeans down, his boxer briefs, found him with my mouth. I delivered an open mouths kiss to the side of his shaft, breathed in the scent of him almost greedily.
I loved sucking his cock. I always had. It made me feel as if we inhabited the same heartbeat, the same space, the same skin for those moments in time. It was magical. I craved it.
His hand on my head grounded me, spurred me on. I worked him with my hand even as I licked his cockhead with eager swipes of my tongue. His pre-cum tasted sweet and salty. I hummed softly as I made sure to get it all.
“El,” he said, his voice a gruff whisper. “You’re seriously testing my ability to focus.”
“Shh, just make sure we’re good,” I said. I dragged my parted lips down the length of him, licked his balls until he groaned. Sliding my hand in firm but lazy strokes, I slipped the tip of my tongue along the glistening slit on the crown of his cock.
He smelled perfect. He smelled like Evan—which smelled like love and sex and laughter and…acceptance.
In high school when all the girls had wanted to be cheerleaders and club leaders, I’d been learning to fire different guns with my dad. I’d been doing target practice in the woods. Evan had never batted an eyelash. He’d joined us, after getting his parents’ permission. He learned escape routes and bug-out plans and how to filter water on the fly.
He’d bonded with my heart and with my dad’s. My father had been almost as heartbroken as I had when I’d broken things off with Evan not long after we graduated. He’d looked at Evan as the son he’d never had. But I wasn’t ready for a big commitment. Life had seemed too open to settle down so soon. Showed how much I knew. Now it was a whole other matter, love. Since losing my mom, just the thought of it caused me fear. Love meant being vulnerable. Love meant pain.
I pushed the thought away by driving my mouth down on his shaft. The head of his cock nudged the back of my throat bringing a rush of water to my eyes. I sucked in air through my nose and moved up to tongue just the tip of him. Then I plunged my mouth back down again until my lips brushed his pubic hair.
“Jesus, El,” he growled and grabbed my shoulders to lift me up.
I tried to stay exactly where I was, but he got ahold of me under my armpits and pulled until I was standing. I saw a bright deserted swatch of my neighborhood in my peripheral vision.
“Let me finish, Evan,” I whispered, standing on tiptoe, crushing my naked body to him. I kissed him, desperately. That anxiety in me had grown teeth and claws and was mauling me from the inside out. The reality of what had almost happened was smacking me hard. I was shaking.
“No. Turn around,” he managed. He moved me even as he said it, planting my hands on the windowsill. Cold air licked along my bare breasts, and my nipples peaked.
He dropped to his knees, licking a hot line along my back and then down each ass cheek. My body bucked at the sensation of his teeth grazing along the skin of my bottom, then lower to the backs of my thighs.
“Evan, I want—”
“You want to watch the street to make sure we’re safe,” he reminded me.
I tried to focus. I really did. His nose pressed near my back hole as he tongued my drenched slit, my thumping clit, from behind. I shut my eyes to steady my breathing but then forced them open to watch.
His tongue slipped along my clitoris over and over, getting me closer and closer, but he paused and kissed my lower back. Evan pushed a finger into me. When I groaned, he added a second. Fucking me with his slippery fingers and laying a line of kisses along my skin, he kept me there, watching but hardly seeing.
He stood and said, mouth against my ear, “Don’t stop watching.” He kissed my neck, then: “Do you have condoms? We should have thought of this earlier. We should have been sm—”
“No condom,” I blurted. “I’m clean. On the pill. Unless you’re—”
“I’m fine. Clean as a whistle on my last mandatory physical. Are you su—?”
“I want to feel your skin on my skin.” I announced the truth to the cold glass of the window. I never took my eyes off the road; I didn’t look at him as I bared my soul. “Nothing between us, Evan. Nothing at all.”
He bit the back of my neck. Found my breast with his hand and pinched my nipple hard enough to shoot a shiver through me, before smoothing a gentle touch over the skin he’d just abused. “Spread your legs.”
I did, but he knocked them wider with his knee and a thrill curled through me. He forced me to angle forward more and moved in close. “Jesus. You’re messing with me, Eleanor. Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?”
I shook my head, chewed my lips, pushed back eagerly for him to fill me. But he simply ran the tip of his cock along my damp entrance. My pussy gripped up tight, anticipating his penetration. Wanting his intrusion.
I didn’t answer—couldn’t answer—because in that vulnerable moment I would admit I’d missed him, too. That I’d thought about him for ages. Compared every guy I slept with or dated to him. That I still dreamt about him sometimes.
That all stayed bottled up, and I swallowed my confessions, instead just murmuring, “Please, Evan…please.”
He groaned as if defeated, grabbed my hips and drove into me. My body rocked forward, my forehead kissing the cool glass, my breath fogging up a small round circle. I pushed my hands to the sill and arched back. Like yoga, only more orgasms. I laughed wildly.
“What’s so funny?” He shut me up by bringing a hand around to stroke my clitoris, his fingers working in a complimentary rhythm to his thrusts. I hung my head and swayed slightly with the pleasure.
“Nothing’s funny. Nothing. I feel…” I shook my head and reached a hand around to find his thrusting hips. I touched his skin. Just wanting to feel him, his presence and his warmth. Nothing more, nothing less.
“What, El? Tell me what you feel?” He had moved in even closer if that was possible, his lips grazing the back of my neck, stirring prickly sensations. One arm looped around my middle as his finger continued to draw circles over my thrumming clit. His thrusts were short and brutal, driving me closer to orgasm. “You’re such a closed fucking book, baby. Tell me.”
I shook my head, pushing back what I was feeling. It was too big, too much.
He kissed my neck, my cheek, my ear. He whispered sweet things to me as I got closer and closer to the edge. I locked my eyes on the desolate street, but his fingers moved from my clit to slide up over my belly and find my nipples. Evan stroked my breast, then pinched me hard enough to make my body go rigid. I came, my toes brushing restlessly over the small rug.
“I’m glad you’re here with me,” I confessed as the quick, sugary spasms worked through me.
; I felt his intake of breath, sensed his gratitude. Human connection—real connection—is tricky nowadays. I had given him something. The same something he’d given me without realizing it when he arrived.
“Again,” he said, not responding to my words. Instead, he levered me forward, and I held myself stable with the windowsill. Body angled, legs spread wide. He grabbed my hips a bit more roughly, yanked me into position. Anticipation and excitement snaked through me as he fucked me.
Evan paused and pulled free of me. I mourned his absence. But his finger delved into me, replacing his fingers, and then he changed again. His cock returned to my entrance, thrusting deeply all over again. I sighed, hanging my head, my wet hair obscuring my face. His finger pressed to my back hole, slipping slowly past that stubborn ring of muscle. A pinch and burn I hadn’t felt since being with him years before recalled many moments of our time together. Wet, sticky, laughing, sweaty, treasured memories. A sob ripped out of me. He didn’t stop. Evan knew he wasn’t hurting me because I was moving eagerly to take him.
His finger sank deep, his cock rocking me on my feet with every thrust. “Come for me, El,” he demanded.
“I did.” Laughter rushed out of me even as I got closer to obeying him.
“That was ages ago—”
I snorted.
“Do it again. Come with me.”
I set shaking fingers to my swollen clit and rubbed, moving in time with him to get him as deep as I could. His finger filled my ass, adding pressure to the scenario. He leaned in close, body sealed to mine, both of us facing the barren street. His lips came down on my neck, and he kissed me. His breath came in gasps and puffs as he whispered, “I’m so glad I came. I’m so glad I found you again.”
Those were dangerous words. In this age, losing people was as common as the sun rising in the morning. I laid my head against the cold glass and let myself go, my orgasm rolling through me even as he stiffened, clutched me tight and came. Our bodies moved together and yet in their own personal dance of release. It was perfectly awkward, blissfully contrasting. And still we peaked as a unit.
He wrapped his arms around my middle as his cock softened and our bodies ceased being joined. I looked down at the big arms around me, speckled with hair and a smattering of freckles. “What’s this then?”
“I’m holding you,” he said. We both stared at the street. Nothing moving.
“I see that.”
“I know you,” he said. I felt him grin against my cheek.
“What’s that mean?” I trailed a finger over his forearm.
“You’ll run if I let you go. You’ll move away as fast as you can.”
I blinked, my throat grew tight. “Why do you say that?”
It was true. It just hurt to hear it.
“Because I know you,” he repeated. “But for now, I’m going to hold you so you can’t run from me. Relax, it’ll just be a minute.”
I wanted to be angry. I wanted to pull away. But part of me must not have wanted that because I sank back against him. My body still beating steadily with the force of my release and the power of our intimacy.
Even I was not strong enough to completely ignore the warm glow I felt in the center of me. It had nothing to do with orgasm and everything to do with connection. A deep one. One that went back many years and had always meant the world to me.
I let him hold me, stroke me. I let my body go limp against his and let my heart feel good. Until the guy showed up.
Chapter Six
It was the guy we’d seen this morning. The redneck who’d been scoping the joint. Only this time he wasn’t alone. He had three other guys with him, and he made a beeline for the van.
“Shit,” Evan growled, hitching up his pants and buckling his belt. “That yahoo’s back.”
“With extra yahoos.” I put myself back together and felt a moment of grief as the good feeling from the sex and connection fled.
“They want my van.”
“What’s in it?”
Evan shrugged. “Nothing really. Nothing that can’t be replaced. Clothes, some food, some money, but—”
We watched them surround it. Looking in the windows. Giving it an experimental rock. They glanced around to see if anyone was watching. If anyone would stop them. I sighed. “Want to go shoot their asses?”
He looked as though he was considering it. One of them took a big survival knife from his belt and then glanced at Mrs. Delaney’s house. Then at my house. He angled the handle end of the knife to the window.
“Here’s the thing,” Evan said, stepping back a bit from the window. I didn’t think they’d be able to spot us from the street given the sun’s angle on the glass, but I wasn’t sure. I stepped back, as well. “He came back with more of them. What if we go out there and make a big fuss over an old van and let on the we’re here. And your neighbor lady becomes known.”
“Her son’s coming to get her today,” I sighed. “I wouldn’t want that to go down bad.”
The driver’s side window seemed to disintegrate, looking like a pale, glittery waterfall as it went form a solid sheet of safety glass to a million little pieces. “Glass breaker,” Evan said. “They’re in.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing in there you—”
“Nothing worth tangling with them over. I have pictures of my family in my wallet.” He tugged it out to show me. And there they were. His dad, mom, brother and sister. All had moved to Vermont a few years ago from what I’d heard. He’d chosen to stay, obviously. “And I’m going to see them anyway.”
I pushed the small accordion slip of photos open a bit further and grunted. There was me. My senior portrait. “What the fuck was with my hair?” I asked, instead of letting it really hit me that he was carrying around a picture of me.
He moved his thumb, and I saw it wasn’t just one picture, but two. A picture someone had snapped of us at a picnic. Me riding him piggyback. His arms hitched up under my legs, me with wild summer hair and a sunburned nose grinning over his shoulder as I clung to his back. My throat locked up.
“You carried that around dating other girls?” I asked. It was a stupid question but the first thing that came into my head.
“I covered you up.” He grinned. “I’d put a picture of other stuff over it. Or my library card or something. But…” He shook his head, his face suddenly growing sober. “You were always in there.”
The noise of his van firing to life broke the moment, and I was free to turn to the window. “There they go, Ev. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He took my hand and squeezed. That showed me he was more upset than he was letting on. Then: “It’s not safe in your neighborhood anymore, Eleanor. There are hollows walking around suddenly and obviously…” He nodded to the window. “The fucked-up ones who take advantage and see what they can get away with are moving in, too.”
I knew he was right, but my stomach rolled sickly at the thought of having to leave my home.
“I don’t want to leave,” I said.
“I know.” He didn’t look at me. Just squeezed my hand again. The room smelled like sex. It smelled warm and close and comforting. It smelled like me and Evan combined.
“But it’s time, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“What if I say no?” I asked. Just because I wanted to know the answer.
“Then I’ll stay here with you until you change your mind.”
An idea was already coming to me. An idea I’d stored away for a rainy day in my mind. It was an idea that when I turned it over in my mind, often when I couldn’t sleep because my brain was full of what-ifs, I knew my dad would approve of. He’d be proud of me.
I turned to Evan. “Let’s go eat something. I’m starving. And we’ll need the energy.”
He waggled an eyebrow at me. Comic relief. I knew because his face still looked too serious for his personality. “Yeah?”
“To help Mrs. Delaney and her son!” I said, giving him a playful punch to the arm.
He nodded. “Okay.” We didn’t watch them drive his van away. But we heard it. “Needs new spark plugs,” he said.
“While we eat, we can brainstorm.” I spent a lot of time brainstorming.
He agreed. He held my hand all the way down to the kitchen. And I let him because it felt good.
* * * *
The street was quiet once the poachers—that’s what I called them—had driven off. I couldn’t imagine how Evan wasn’t more upset. If someone drove off with everything I owned, I’d be livid. Then again, I held on too much because what my father had built here when he was still alive—right around his beloved family—was a survival nest. But I realized, what good was it to just survive if I was the only one here? Mrs. Delaney was leaving. Mrs. Riggs was dead. The rest of the area from what I’d seen had been deserted long ago. I’d be utterly alone in my safe house. But when would my house become my tomb?
I’d heard of neighborhoods where rough characters moved in, and their noise and fires drew the hollows. They didn’t care; they treated it as if it were target practice. Communities that had once boasted families and pools and big barbeques at sunset in the summer were now burned-out danger zones. Then the military would move in, roust the poachers and clean out the hollows. But the mess just moved on. Now that scenario seemed to have come to my home turf.
I wanted to go. I wanted to stay. My heart was breaking.
I heard a vehicle and went to the side window to look. I pressed my face to the wrought iron cage on the inside. I wasn’t a fool. Should someone want to get in—really want to—they could breach the windows. But they’d have to take their time, and that was the whole point of my jury-rigged security.
“It’s Mrs. Delaney’s son. He’s pulled his truck right up to the porch. Good thinking. Ready?”
Evan stood, wiped his mouth and we both grabbed our guns. “Back door,” I said. It was easier to lock up and less conspicuous. Once he was out, I locked just the two main locks, making it easier to get back in fast.
The thought hit me: this rush to be able to get back in my home was new. Just a few weeks ago I’d felt relatively safe here. Now I felt as if I was under siege.
Hollow Men Page 5