Badlands (Hqn)

by Jill Sorenson

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  He stared at her for a moment, pinned by her empathy. Tears he hadn’t known he was holding back came rising to the surface. He brushed them away impatiently, pushing her aside. With their wrists cuffed together, he couldn’t get away from her. Kicking off his shoes, he stepped into the shower with his pants on, retreating the only way he could. He wondered if he’d ever be clean again. His chest ached like he was drowning.

  As he stood under the spray, letting it wash over him, he hung his head and cried.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  PENNY’S HEART BROKE for Owen.

  She stood by the shower door, her left arm getting wet from the spray as he crouched down with his back to her. He rested his forehead on the shower wall, his body shaking uncontrollably. He hadn’t taken off his pants, but they’d needed washing, anyway. The water streaming toward the drain ran reddish-brown from all of the dirt and blood the fabric had accumulated over the past few days.

  She couldn’t give him the privacy he seemed desperate for. Nor could she fail to offer him comfort while he was hurting. She studied the green clover tattoo on his right shoulder, watching droplets accumulate on his skin. After a moment, she shut off the faucet and stepped inside the stall.

  He flinched as she slipped past him, her cuffed hand grasping his. Sitting down in the tub, she wrapped her free arm around him. He didn’t push her away, perhaps because the damage was already done. His level of vulnerability couldn’t go any higher. So he just gave in. Burying his face in her neck, he let it out. All of the tears he’d kept bottled up inside, all these years. All of the rage and anguish and shame.

  She stroked his wet hair, murmuring words of comfort. He cried for a long time, his shoulders shuddering from the force of his sorrow. He’d endured so much, holding in the pain as if releasing it would unleash ugliness on the world.

  Finally, his sobs quieted. He seemed embarrassed by the loss of control, even though it had to be cathartic. This wasn’t the shower activity she’d fantasized about, either, but she was glad to be here for him.

  “Feel better now?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, sniffling. He sounded stuffed up, the way everyone did after a good cry. “I need a juice box and a nap.”

  She smiled at his self-deprecating humor, even though there was nothing weak or childish about his display of emotion. On the contrary, it revealed his inner strength. He’d had the guts to tell her about a horrific experience. He might not have wanted to cry in front of her, but he’d accepted her embrace rather than shut her out again.

  “Maybe finishing your shower will help.”

  He lifted his head from her shoulder, staring at the damp fabric. “I got you all wet.”

  “It’s not the first time.”

  His bleary gaze met hers and narrowed. “Are you trying to be suggestive?”

  “Too soon?”

  He didn’t answer. If he thought his story had cooled her desire for him, he was wrong. Sharing it had brought them closer together.

  “What happened doesn’t make you less of man.”

  “That’s the way it made me feel.”

  “Why?”

  “Because...men are supposed to be strong.”

  “You were just a teenager, and outnumbered three to one. Would you blame a woman for her own assault?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Because women are supposed to be weak?”

  “They aren’t expected to defeat a group of assailants.”

  “Men are?”

  “Yes.”

  “Says who?”

  “Bruce Willis.”

  She laughed softly, stroking his wet hair. He could still make fun of himself and challenge his own preconceptions. If that wasn’t strength, she didn’t know what was. He was the bravest person she’d ever met. Not because of the abuse he’d suffered, but because of the actions he’d taken to survive and the hardships he’d overcome.

  She rose to her feet with him and stepped out of the stall. He shut the door partway, leaving space for their wrists. Turning the faucet back on, he removed his pants and boxer shorts. From this side of the glass, she could see the blur of his tattoos, a dark shadow of pubic hair and the outline of his penis.

  A flush rose to her cheeks, and she looked away, giving him the same courtesy he’d shown her earlier.

  The air-conditioning kicked off as the room temperature stabilized. She heard the noisy banter of a news program. In an unprecedented move, her father had stepped down as the GOP nominee. The reporters didn’t mention the kidnapping or Cruz.

  Penny had seen the article at Owen’s mother’s house. She still couldn’t believe her father had dropped out of the race. His lifetime goal, shattered in one fell swoop. Even though she hadn’t wanted him to win, losing this way wasn’t fair.

  Owen shampooed his hair and washed up quickly, not lingering over the task. When he turned off the water, she passed him a towel. Like her, he couldn’t wrap it around his body with one hand, so he held it to his front as he slid the door open. Their eyes met, and her breath caught in her throat.

  The view through the beveled glass hadn’t done him justice. Even with the towel covering his male parts, he was a delicious combination of sculpted muscles and wet skin. His stomach was flat and tight, his biceps hard and his chest well-defined. Lightly tanned above the waist, his pale hip gleamed like marble.

  While she watched, mesmerized, he fumbled with the towel. Her knuckles brushed the narrow strip of hair on his lower abdomen as he secured the fabric around his waist. The terry cloth was thin and damp, leaving little to the imagination. His penis jutted forth, not fully erect, but not soft either.

  She was a puddle of womanly longing, eyes half-lidded. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her mind turned to mush.

  “I’m getting out now,” he said, giving her a strange look.

  She realized she was blocking his exit and moved aside. Although she could happily ogle his lovely physique for the duration of their entrapment, she didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. She’d already broadcast her desires, loud and clear.

  Her cheeks heated at the memory of her brazen behavior. Telling him he got her wet, como atrevida!

  She searched for something else to occupy her thoughts. And her hands. “I’ll bandage your wounds,” she offered, picking up the first-aid supplies.

  “Let’s do yours first.”

  She perched on the edge of the sink while he took a seat on the lid of the commode, soothing her skinned knees and sore feet with antibiotic ointment.

  “Your legs are smooth,” he commented.

  “I had them waxed before the convention.”

  His hand stilled on her ankle, his gaze traveling up her thighs. She’d tucked the hem of the T-shirt between her legs. If he’d peeked at her through the shower door, he already knew she wasn’t completely bare down there. His neck turned red, and his hand shook as he applied bandages to the raw spots.

  When he was done, they switched places, and she returned the favor, dabbing ointment on his various injuries. His knuckles were bruised, his palms blistered from the wheelbarrow. There were cuts all over his back. His elbows were in bad shape. She bandaged the worst of the wounds, wrapping his forearm up tight.

  The air conditioner came back on, rattling noisily.

  She lifted her gaze to his face. He was leaning against the sink, his left hand gripping the towel at his waist, as if he didn’t trust it to stay put. He had a raw-looking scrape on his cheekbone and his lips were chapped. She smoothed ointment on the affected areas, watching his blue eyes darken. “I thought Shane had killed you this morning. I put my arms around Cruz and covered his ears, turning away from the sight. When I heard the blast, I assumed you were dead. I felt like I’d been shot.”

  He stared back at her, absorbing her words.

  “That’s the second time I thought he killed you in as many d
ays. I’m afraid he’s going to shoot you tomorrow.”

  “He won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  He didn’t, so he fell silent.

  She changed the subject to something slightly less disturbing. “Was that girl you went out with a stripper, like Janelle?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  Penny wasn’t sure. Maybe because she’d been raised by staunch Catholics and led a sheltered life, she resented the rules of decorum. The idea of a woman being so free with her body both attracted her and repelled her. “None, I guess.”

  “I hardly knew her.”

  “What happened before the flashback?”

  “Just kissing, mostly.”

  “Did you touch her?”

  He seemed reluctant to say. “Yes.”

  “What triggered you?”

  “Penetration, maybe. I thought I’d be okay if I touched her and she didn’t touch me. It worked at first. But then I put my fingers inside her and...that was it.”

  She smothered a wave of jealousy as she pictured him with another woman, sliding his long fingers in and out of her body. If he only knew how many times she’d fantasized about him doing the same to her, stroking her with his fingertips, parting her slippery flesh.

  “You can do everything else?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Penetration isn’t that important.”

  “For men, it is.”

  “It was all Tyler wanted,” she said.

  “He wasn’t much on foreplay?”

  “No.”

  “Did he ever...satisfy you?”

  “Not even close.”

  He made a sound of commiseration. “Most teenage boys are clueless.”

  “Were you?”

  “I was drunk and clueless.”

  Tyler didn’t have that excuse. He’d been careless, rather than clueless, taking what he wanted after a token effort to please her.

  “Has there been anyone since?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve gone out with a few guys, but none of them held my interest.”

  “Why not?”

  “They don’t make me feel the way you do,” she said simply. He still didn’t seem to believe she really wanted him, despite her blatant come-ons. If only he could see himself through her eyes. “You’re brave and smart and hot...” She swallowed hard, glancing at his chest. “You have a good heart. You’re kind to my son.”

  “Is that what this is about?”

  “No,” she said, flattening her belly against his. “It’s about us.”

  He wanted to kiss her. She could feel the tension coiled in his muscles, the heat of his swelling erection. Their linked hands were braced against the edge of the sink. “I might not be able to...”

  She tilted her head back. “I don’t care.”

  He slid his free arm around her waist, moving slowly. She felt the cool air on her buttocks as the hem rode up. A moan escaped her lips, drawing him in. He brushed his mouth over hers, just once.

  She pressed her breasts to his chest, letting him feel her nipples through the worn cotton. “Is this okay?”

  “Unh,” he said, licking the corner of her mouth. She parted her lips, encouraging him to come inside. He touched his tongue to hers, tentative. Instead of delving deeper, he retreated after a shallow taste.

  She let out a little huff of frustration, wanting more. More of his tongue, his hands, his throbbing erection. Trying not to push him too far, she threaded her fingers through the short hair at his nape and nibbled on his lower lip, biting gently. He responded with a groan, tracing her open mouth with the tip of his tongue.

  “Touch me,” she whispered.

  He smoothed his palm over the curve of her bottom. “Like this?”

  “Yes.”

  His cuffed hand followed, cupping her other cheek. She bent her left arm behind her back to accommodate him. He held her against his erection, seeming to revel in the sensation. She certainly was. Her breasts felt full and heavy, her skin hot. She’d been aroused for hours, aching for him. Panting, she rubbed her lips back and forth across his.

  Penetration was important, she realized. She couldn’t wait for him to plunge his tongue into her mouth. She knew he wouldn’t be cured by one kiss, one conversation, or even one night of perfect sex, but every little bit helped.

  “I want to see you,” he said hoarsely.

  She raised her arms so he could tug the T-shirt over her head. Instead, he fisted his hands in the fabric and tore it down the middle, making her gasp. He tossed the ruined garment aside and stared at her breasts for a few seconds. His hungry gaze lowered to the apex of her thighs, stroking her like a caress.

  “Jesus,” he said, shuddering.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m going to come, just looking at you.”

  She smiled at the flattery, wondering if he was serious. Then his towel fell open, revealing a rampant erection. Passion-flushed, it looked painfully hard and swollen, encircled with veins. He was much bigger than Tyler. She had an overwhelming urge to drop to her knees and soothe the plumlike tip with her tongue, to stroke his shaft and kiss away the discomfort. But when she reached out to touch him, moistening her lips, he caught her hand and held it, preventing her from exploring.

  “You first,” he rasped. “Please.”

  She glanced at the closed bathroom door, aware that his brother could remove the barricade and barge in on them at any moment. “Let’s go in the shower stall.”

  His throat worked with agitation. “Okay.”

  She stepped over the edge of the tub, self-conscious. He followed her inside and closed the beveled glass doors behind them. Instead of standing face-to-face, he turned her around in a dance-style maneuver, with their linked hands crossing the front of her body. His erection nestled against her buttocks, hard and hot. She leaned back into him, her heart racing with excitement. He cupped her breasts and squeezed them together, panting on her neck. Her nipples tingled in the center of his palms. Kissing her shoulder, he brushed his thumbs over the stiff tips, making her stomach quiver.

  He didn’t linger on her breasts. Urgency seemed to drive his hand down her belly, between her legs. They both groaned as his fingertips found her, wet and swollen. He inhaled a sharp breath, parting the lips of her sex.

  “Like this?” he asked, stroking her clitoris.

  She jerked in response.

  “Too much?”

  “No.”

  “Show me.”

  She covered his right hand with her left and demonstrated the amount of pressure she liked. He strummed his fingertip over her in slow circles. He was remarkably apt and attuned to her reactions. Her moisture eased his way, and her soft gasps guided him, encouraging him to stroke a little harder, a little faster. The pleasure built inside her, hot and bright. Her focus narrowed to the rhythmic glide of his fingertip.

  She exploded, crying out his name.

  He seemed surprised by her orgasm and stopped too soon. She gripped his hand, holding it more firmly against her until her tremors subsided. When it was over, she became aware of his ragged breaths on the nape of her neck.

  As soon as she released his hand, he whirled her around. Teeth gritted, he lifted her against the wall. Her shoulders met the tile, and he gripped her hips, hooking her right leg over the crook of his arm. He slid his shaft along her slippery sex, up and down. His fingernails dug into her skin as he thrust against her. She held on for the ride, thrilled by the primal display. She imagined him deep inside her, filling her to the hilt.

  He came with a low groan, his body jerking against hers. Hot fluid spurted from the head of his penis, splashing her breasts and belly. It jetted across her torso in silky ribbons, dripping from her taut nipples.

  After spending a long moment with his face buried in her neck, he lifted his head. Seeming chagrined, he set her down and turned on the water. He washed her off in a hurry, as if his semen had defiled her purity.

  Penn
y moaned as his fingertips brushed her nipples. She felt sexy, not dirty, maybe because she was still aroused. This was the most erotic experience of her life, by far. “Owen,” she said, her voice strained.

  He shut off the water, curious. “What do you need?”

  “More.”

  His gaze traveled from her quivering breasts to her wet cleft. He lowered himself to his knees and kissed her there. She swallowed hard, her legs trembling as he swirled his tongue over her clitoris, sucking and stroking her. She was so keyed up it only took a few seconds. With a muffled scream, she climaxed again, sagging against his strong shoulders.

  When it was over, he stood. Cupping her chin with his free hand, he studied her flushed face. She didn’t know what he was looking for. Her eyes felt heavy, her body boneless with satisfaction. Leaning in, he touched his lips to hers. They tasted of her, slick and sweet. He surprised her by plunging his tongue inside her mouth, kissing her fully. She clung to his neck, her pulse pounding.

  He ended the kiss and pulled back, as if in awe. She felt the same way, her heart full of emotions she didn’t recognize.

  They prepared for bed, arranging the pillows and blankets on the floor. He turned off the light and they lay down. She rested her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes as he wrapped his free arm around her.

  “Now I feel better,” he said, sounding pleased with himself.

  She smiled, drifting into sleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  BY QUITTING TIME on Sunday, Janelle was exhausted.

  After her last performance, she slumped into the chair at her makeup station and scrolled through her phone messages, searching for a response from Owen. Something weird was going on with his family. He hadn’t responded to any of her texts, which was unusual. Apparently his mother had called her mother’s house to speak with Jamie, another rarity. Janelle hadn’t fostered a relationship with Shane’s parents for multiple reasons.

  Frowning, she set her phone aside.

  “What’s up?” Tiffany asked, breezing by her in a black spandex costume that wrapped around her body like electrical tape. “Hot date tonight?”

  “I wish,” she said, although she just wanted to go home, take a long shower, and sleep. “How about you?”