Torch

by Roxie Noir

  I push him back onto the bed, and I pull the covers over his legs. He’s pitching a massive tent already, and just looking at it makes me a little wetter.

  Hunter sees me looking, so he gathers the blankets around his cock in one hand and then just holds it there, leaning back on the hospital bed, grinning at me, and it’s fucking sexy as hell.

  “Okay, I’m an invalid,” he says, his voice deep and raspy. “Let’s watch your ass in that skirt.”

  I slide my shoes off, then turn my back on Hunter and walk slowly to the foot of the bed, swinging my hips. It’s not very tight or very short, but I can still feel the soft fabric whispering across my ass as I move, and besides that, I swear I can feel Hunter’s eyes.

  When I get to the foot of the bed I put one hand on the railing there and look over my shoulder, sticking my ass out a little.

  Hunter’s pushed the blankets off himself, and when I look back he grabs his dick through his pajama pants, grinning. For a second, I’m breathless with desire, and all I want to do is crawl onto the bed and jump on top of it.

  “Eighty-seven percent,” he says.

  I blow my bangs off my forehead.

  “That’s it?” I tease. “What’s a girl gotta do?”

  “That was a pretty good start,” he says, stroking himself slowly, through his clothes.

  I swallow, because as much as I want him, I also have the wild urge to show off for him. Hunter makes me feel like the bad girl sexpot in an old movie, and dear God do I like it.

  The sink is across from the foot of the bed, so I walk to it, grab the edge, and arch my back, pushing my ass back. I look over my shoulder at Hunter, wiggling slowly from side to side.

  “How about this?” I ask, lowering myself to my elbows on the sink.

  He’s got his cock out and he’s stroking it slowly.

  “You’re not wearing panties, either,” he says, his voice low.

  “Oops,” I say, grinning.

  I move one hand to my ass, and rub it, like I’m checking for panty lines.

  “Guess I forgot,” I say.

  Hunter growls.

  I pull the hem of my skirt up the back of my legs, slowly, dragging it with one finger just to tease him. I’m so turned on it almost hurts, and his eyes following the hem of my skirt as I raise it are only making it worse.

  “Keep going,” he says.

  I bite my lip and pull my skirt the rest of the way up so it’s around my hips and I’m bent over at the waist, totally exposed and vulnerable and desperately, desperately horny.

  “Touch yourself,” he says.

  Something’s changed, just slightly, and this has gone from me asking him what percentage hard he is to him telling me what to do, half-naked in his hospital room. It’s new, but I think I like it.

  I reach behind myself, look over my shoulder at him, and slide my fingers over my lips, just barely parting them before I circle my clit with them. It’s a little strange to do it backwards — it’s not like I ever reach over my butt to masturbate — but the strangeness of it feels good, too.

  “Like this?” I whisper.

  I’m so slippery that my fingers slide over my clit by accident. My eyes close and I make a soft grunt.

  “Just like that,” Hunter murmurs.

  I keep going, my slippery fingers sliding over my clit. I’m beyond turned on and so sensitive that I have to bite my lip to keep myself from making too much noise, because it’s a strange new angle, and because I know Hunter is watching, hard cock in hand.

  “Don’t come,” he growls.

  I want to. I’m surprisingly close, and I want him to watch what he does to me without even having to touch me.

  “You don’t want to watch?” I say.

  “I want to make you come myself,” he says.

  Reluctantly, I move my fingers off my clit and back over my lips. Hunter’s still watching, so I push one finger inside, then two.

  I gasp and move my hips, trying to find the right spot, but my own hand is a bad substitute.

  “Jesus, Clem,” Hunter says.

  I bite my lip and look back at him, pushing my fingers deeper as I gasp.

  “Like the show?” I ask.

  Before he can answer, the doorknob turns.

  I spin around so fast I nearly fall over, and before the door’s fully open, I’m leaning against the sink, arms crossed over my chest, in the most affectedly casual pose I’ve ever managed.

  “Hello,” says the nurse. “Sorry, I just need to check his chart real quick.”

  “No problem,” I say.

  Hunter’s yanked his pants and blanket back up, and the two of us don’t say a word. I try to act like I wasn’t just putting on a sex show for my boyfriend, or that I’m still throbbing with desire.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks, looking at something up by his head.

  She’s facing away from me. Slowly, I uncross my arms and I rub my very visible nipples through my shirt, looking at Hunter the whole time.

  He clears his throat, staring at me.

  “I’m on the mend,” he says distantly.

  “That’s good,” she says. “Getting out of here tomorrow?”

  “Sure am,” he says.

  I re-cross my arms just as she turns around and looks at something else.

  “All right, everything looks fine,” she says. “Do you guys want this door closed?”

  “Yeah, we were having a private conversation,” Hunter says. “Thanks.”

  “Sure thing!” she says brightly, then leaves, the door clicking behind her.

  I can’t stop myself anymore, and before I know it, I’ve crossed the room to Hunter’s bedside. He’s already got the blankets off, his cock pointing skyward. I lean over and kiss him hard and he pulls my shirt up, over my breasts, and pinches both nipples between his fingers until I moan into his mouth.

  Then he pinches a little harder, and I bite his lower lip, my hands curling around the rails of his hospital bed. I pull myself up and straddle him, the underside of his cock against my slit, and I move my hips so I rub against him.

  Hunter growls. He pushes himself up with one arm so we’re face-to-face and reaches around me with the other. I push my fingers through his hair, and kiss him again. Then we separate, our faces together, his cock in his fist, the tip right at my entrance.

  I don’t move for a second because I want to mark this moment in my memory: Hunter’s body against mine, so close I can feel his heartbeat, just about to enter me and give me what I need, and even though everything about this is carnal as fuck, there’s something beautiful and simple and pure about it. Something I couldn’t dream of ever having with anyone else.

  Then I slide onto Hunter’s cock and moan as he fills me up, my eyes shutting as he hits that spot instantly and we start moving together. I try to start slow, control myself, make it last, but my brain’s not in charge any more. This is urgent and needy, hard and fast.

  And Jesus, it feels good. I lean back a little, hanging onto Hunter’s shoulder, and every time his cock hits that spot a bolt of white shoots across my vision. I’m gasping with every thrust and trying not to moan as he wraps his arms around me and presses his lips to my neck.

  I’m gonna come if we don’t slow down, but I don’t want to, not just yet. It feels so fucking good that I want to just do this a little longer, riding Hunter deep, my mind slowly blinking out with pleasure.

  “Slower,” I whisper. “I want this to last.”

  “Do you know how hard that is?” he whispers back, even though we slow together.

  “I just need this,” I say. “I need to be close to you.”

  He pulls me down by the hips, pressing our bodies together as hard as they’ll go, and I sigh.

  “Close enough?” he whispers.

  I just kiss him again, the two of us intertwined on this hospital bed. I have this urgent, driving impulse to possess him, to hold him close and never let him go, and it’s so strong I don’t think I can possibly explain it
with words.

  I move my hips against him, just enough for his cock to move inside me as I bite my lip. Hunter exhales and his fingers dig into my hips, one hand reaching around me to grip my shoulder from the back.

  “You’re fucking beautiful,” he murmurs. “I can’t believe I get to do this with you.”

  Even though we’re going slow I feel myself losing it a little. I push him backward until he’s almost upright against the tilted hospital bed, his breathing heavy, his hands still on my hips. I put one hand on his shoulder to steady myself, and he turns to kiss it, his lips surprisingly soft against my skin.

  “It didn’t work,” I murmur, my eyes half-closed, my hand on his shoulder.

  Hunter’s watching me with a look of pure concentration as I flex my hips back and forth again, taking him deep with every stroke.

  “What didn’t work?”

  “Going slow so I wouldn’t come,” I say.

  Hunter growls at me, his hands tight on my hips, and he brings he down hard again. This time I moan out loud, my hand tightening against his shoulder.

  “Then don’t go slow,” he says, a wicked grin on his face. “I missed you and this was all I thought about today.”

  I kiss him again, already moving faster.

  “What did you think about?” I ask.

  Hunter’s breathing is ragged, and he clears his throat before he answers.

  “I thought about bending you over the sink and watching your face in the mirror,” he says.

  He reaches one hand up and pinches a nipple.

  “But I’ll take watching you ride my cock until you come,” he growls.

  I sink onto him again and this time we both groan, so I lean backward, grabbing his leg in one hand. The other drifts off his shoulder and he grabs it. I ride him faster, leaning back, back arched, and Jesus it feels good.

  “You feel fucking perfect, Clem,” he says.

  I keep going and I can feel Hunter’s eyes raking over me, and even though it’s his fault I’m about to come hard, I fucking love that he’s watching me like that. I like showing him how good he makes me feel.

  His hand is in mine and I press it against my face. I’m whispering his name, over and over again and then suddenly he pulls me forward until my face is against his, my elbows on the pillow next to his head, his hands on my hips again.

  “Yes,” I whisper, and he pushes my hips down onto him hard. I’m about to come, at the edge of a cliff, about to dive over. “God, Hunter, yes.”

  He does it again and I explode, white light flashing through my vision and heat rippling through my body. I press my mouth to Hunter’s shoulder so I don’t scream but I moan, still riding him as wave after wave rolls over me.

  “I love how hard you make me come,” I whimper.

  “I love making you come this hard,” he gasps back. “Oh, fuck, Clementine.”

  He growls and curls his fingers into my hips and I can feel him come inside me, his thick cock jerking as he breathes hard. I keep moving until he’s stopped and is starting to go limp inside me, and he wraps one hand around my head and pulls me down. We kiss slowly, for a long time, our bodies touching. I pull my shirt back down over myself but I stay there, him still inside me, for longer than I should because it feels warm and good and right, and even though we’re on a hospital bed I just want this to last.

  Finally, I roll off, pulling my skirt down, and Hunter scoots over and then his arms are around me, my head on his chest, the scent of smoke still in his skin. He doesn’t say anything, but he plays with my hands, holding them up against his bigger ones, fingers splayed, palms together. Then he laces them together and kisses them slowly, pulling my arms over my shoulders.

  I don’t know what he’s doing, and I don’t care. For the first time in days I’m exactly where I want to be. There’s nothing else I’m thinking about. Just this.

  40

  Hunter

  I’m playing with Clementine’s hands, the two of us nestled together on the hospital bed. I’ve never been able to sit still so I’m running the tips of my fingers over her soft, bony knuckles, over the tendons in her hands, again and again. Sliding my fingers between hers, squeezing them, letting them go.

  Visiting hours are nearly over, and I know at 8:55 on the dot one of the nurses is going to come in here and tell her to leave, but we’ve got another ten minutes before that happens and I just want to lie here with her in my arms.

  “I’ve got something to get excited about,” she says at last, her voice slow and lazy.

  “What?” I ask.

  She flexes her hand as I stroke over her knuckles again, her fingers twisting against mine.

  “I’ve got a double bed,” she says. “It’s actually big enough for two adults to sleep in.”

  I smile into her hair, because I feel a little like a kid on the first day of school, excited and nervous.

  “I think we’ve done an admirable job with the available tools,” I say.

  She laughs softly, then kisses the knuckles on one of my hands.

  “I guess I should tell people about you,” she says. “They’re gonna be confused when I show up places holding hands with a tall buff guy they’ve never met.”

  “I can’t believe you haven’t told anyone we’re together,” I tease.

  “When was I gonna tell anyone?” she asks, laughing. “Hunter, I thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth until what, last week?”

  “Is it because I embarrass you?”

  “Yeah, it’s really horrible having to introduce my charming, former-Marine current-firefighter boyfriend to people,” she says. “I can just tell they’re thinking I could do better.”

  “You forgot cowboy,” I point out.

  “I should just tell people I’m lonely and I’ve hired a male prostitute,” she says. “Spare myself the shame.”

  “No one would believe you,” I say, laughing into her hair. “I’d be way out of a forest ranger’s price range if I were a hooker.”

  We’re both quiet for another moment.

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave,” I say.

  “I wish you were leaving with me,” she says quietly. “The real bed’s at my place.”

  For a moment, she threads her fingers through mine looking thoughtful. I let her do it and watch.

  “I’ve never done that,” I say, thoughtfully.

  “Done what?”

  “Woken up with you next to me.”

  She stops for a moment, looks at our hands, and then starts again.

  “The lookout was close,” she says.

  “It wasn’t the same, though,” I say.

  Before Clementine can answer, the door swings open and a column of light falls into the room.

  It’s followed by my mother.

  The moment she sees me and Clementine on the bed, she stops short. Her mouth comes open and for a second, she just stares.

  Then she clears her throat.

  “Clementine,” she says, her tone almost aggressively neutral.

  Clementine’s frozen, my arms still around her, but when my mom says her name she pushes me off her and sits up.

  “Hi, Mrs. Casden,” she says, and stands.

  She’s still not wearing a bra. I get out of the bed behind her and put one hand on her lower back.

  “I didn’t know you’d reconnected,” my mom says, giving me a look.

  “My ranger division hosted Hunter’s hotshot crew in Lodgepole between assignments,” Clementine says, and grabs her jacket off the chair, shrugging it on.

  “I see,” my mom says. She’s still standing just inside the entryway, wearing jeans, a turquoise belt, and a button-down white shirt, the picture of Western no-nonsense.

  “She presented us with a plaque for containing the Elkhorn fire,” I say, fingertips rubbing a small circle on Clementine’s back. “We got dinner later, and...”

  I shrug.

  My mom nods once, brusquely. She’s being polite, but she’s never liked Clementine
. Eight years ago, she was certain that Clementine was ruining me, a perfectly good, church-going, all-American teenager. And then we broke up while I was overseas, and I don’t think my mom’s forgiven her for making me go back to Afghanistan.

  I get it. If someone broke my kid’s heart as hard as she broke mine, I’d have trouble welcoming them back.

  “It’s nice to see you,” Clementine says, a forced smile on her face. “I should get going, though.”

  “Lovely to see you again as well,” my mom says, and even though her tone is perfectly polite, not one person in this room thinks she’s telling the truth.

  Clementine turns toward me, my hand still on her back.

  “Call me?”

  “I’ll walk you to the elevator,” I say, because I want to say goodbye to her without my mom watching.

  We leave the room silently, and we’re a good fifty feet away, out of earshot, before Clementine just starts giggling.

  “That felt familiar,” she says.

  “I might get to their house to find all my stuff in the front yard,” I say. “That, or every single twenty-something from their church is gonna be in my living room.”

  “It’s almost like there are downsides to living with your parents in your mid-twenties,” Clementine says as I push open the double door out of my wing.

  I hold it for her, then grab her ass as she walks through. A guy on the other side gives me a very judgy look.

  “I don’t live with my parents,” I say. “I work on their dude ranch for six months of the year, and like everyone else who works there, room and board is provided.”

  “And you’re not allowed to have guests.”

  “I choose to entertain guests elsewhere in order to keep the peace,” I say, turning the corner toward the elevator bank. “For example, in your bed.”

  She stands on her toes and I kiss her.

  “If I don’t hear from you within forty-eight hours, I’ll assume you’ve been forced into a re-education camp and report you missing,” she says.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  She gets on the elevator and I walk back to my room. I’m not looking forward to this. I knew it had to happen sometime, but I was planning on telling my parents tomorrow, with words, instead of just letting my mom find Clementine half-naked, in my bed, and probably reeking of sex.