by A. J. Downey
Thankfully, the crying jag was swift and over by the time the kettle started to scream.
We drank our tea and talked of other things – lighter things to balance out the dark and to chase the shadows away. I needed that, and I think Mace knew I needed that. For someone with such a rough exterior, he was, at least to me, incredibly generous and kind. I couldn’t say it was because of what I’d done. I think he was always this way. I just don’t think anyone from the “citizen world” as he liked to call it, had ever given him the chance to be soft around them.
I understood that, somewhat. As a Pagan, as an outlier and outcast, I guess I’d chosen a gentler path. Something akin to the lone wolf howling at the moon until the rest of my Burner tribe had howled back.
“I found a place among them, but I guess I hadn’t wanted to or wasn’t necessarily ready to completely give up on the rest of the world,” I murmured to Mace. I sat curled on the opposite end of the couch, my knees up, cup cradled in my hands as we talked over our tea.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to; if you’re not ready,” he said and put his big warm hand atop my foot, rubbing over it, pressing slightly with his thumb. I jumped slightly at the initial contact, and closed my eyes, sinking into that touch, fathoms deep and sighing in a mix of frustration and relief.
“No, I do…” I said. “I really do.”
“Why you think?” he asked, and I sighed again at the monumental task of climbing this particular mountain.
“Because I need you to know it’s not you,” I answered.
“I know that, beautiful.”
He sounded so sure, but it wasn’t cocky or anything. I couldn’t tell you what it was, but it wasn’t that.
“I haven’t been with anyone, like that, since…” I averted my gaze and felt my cheeks color. I’d never been embarrassed by talking about sex before. This was new and uncomfortable, and I didn’t like it.
“Nothing has to happen tonight,” he said, tapping the top of my foot. I looked at him and met the sincerity in his gaze. “We can just go to bed, and I can hold you, and call it good. I’m good with that.”
“You actually mean that, don’t you?” I asked, slightly stunned.
“You bet your ass, I do. I like my women willing and to enjoy it. I’m not down for anything else. We do anything? We do it at your pace, your way.”
It was a completely foreign concept.
“I’m not used to men acting that way,” I murmured.
“For all that they call us the barbarians…” he muttered, but he didn’t need to finish. I caught his meaning perfectly, and he was right.
“I’m afraid I’ve never been good at initiating things,” I whispered.
“That’s okay, I can do that, but you have to promise me if you aren’t ready, that you’ll tell me,” he said.
I nodded.
“You say ‘stop’ and everything stops,” he said.
I nodded again, and he smiled, looking over my face.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly. “Just like looking at ‘cha.”
I blushed and bit my bottom lip to keep from giggling and his smile bloomed into a grin.
“I don’t think that’s ever going to get old,” he said and caressed my calf through my leggings.
We talked more, and eventually with my every other sentence being punctuated by a yawn, he got up and took my cup. I looked up at him and with a soft smile he said, “Be right back,” and took the two cups into the kitchen. I heard him deposit them carefully with a slight clack into the bottom of the sink and then he came back around.
He reached down and took my hands and said, “Come on, up you go!” He hoisted me into the circle of his arms and cocked his head, looking at me for several long heartbeats before asking softly, “Ready for bed?”
I nodded mutely, and he nodded with me before pressing his lips to my forehead. My eyes fluttered shut, and I melted beneath that kiss, the safety and security I felt with this man enveloping me tightly even as he kept his touch light.
He let me go and turned, leading me to my bed by the hand and stopping beside the low mattress, gripping the hem of my oversized, tan, post-apocalyptic sweater.
“Arms up,” he murmured, and I obediently raised them. He swept the soft garment over my head and dropped it to the floor beside us.
“Again,” he whispered, and I hesitated for only a moment, raising my arms so he could sweep off the dusky olive-green cami that clung to me underneath the sweater. He peeled it up and off from over my head and I crossed my arms over my chest. He didn’t go for the black sports bra. Instead, he dropped to his knees in front of me and pulled his tee and the waffle pattern thermal shirt he had on beneath it up over the back of his head, turning the sleeves inside out as he stripped it from his body.
He looked up at me, the question of permission in his eyes as he brushed the waistband of my leggings with gentle fingertips. I nodded carefully and he hooked fingers into the waistband and peeled the fawn-colored, thick second skin off my pale legs. God, I was grateful I’d shaved them earlier in the day on a whim.
He left my black cotton bikini panties in place, helped me to step out of the leggings then reared up on his denim-clad knees, tracing light fingertips up the backs of my legs from my Achilles over my calves, eliciting a light giggle out of me when he tickled the backs of my knees, and a gasp when he touched the backs of my thighs.
I closed my eyes, relishing that light touch, and ever the gentleman, he skipped touching my ass altogether, and instead put hands to my hips, drawing me forward a hitching half step to press his lips above the line of my panties but below my belly button, turning his head to put his ear to my stomach and to gently cuddle into me. He nuzzled me softly, his arms twining around my waist and simply holding on.
My arms lowered along with my defenses and I ran my hands through his short hair. God, it was softer than it looked. He looked up at me, and the depths to that look, like staring into still waters, the surface placid and impassive, he really meant it. He would be satisfied with simply going to sleep, nothing else… and for whatever reason, that turned me on, so, so, much.
“Come up here,” I whispered, and he got to his feet. I stepped into him and raised my lips. He smiled and lowered his mouth to mine.
I pressed against him and he gathered me up, his hands on my lower back, hands daring to slip lower on my hips, but still restrained. I opened my mouth beneath his and he moaned into it, his tongue flicking against mine lightly, mine meeting his, a careful dance, feeling each other out, groping in the shadowy dark for lines and boundaries that were quickly dissolving and becoming as insubstantial as a soap bubble with the fires lit by this passion, and these needs I felt. A need to be close to someone, a need to feel something other than this ugly and deep shame.
Mace made me feel things other than bad. He made me feel beautiful, made me feel wanted and not just as a prime piece of meat. He made me feel like it was my very soul he wanted. Like claiming my body wasn’t enough, that my heart and mind were what mattered, and I was so… so grateful for that.
I clung to him, pressing my body into his warm and inviting one and he tore his mouth from mine, looked into my eyes, and asked, “Yeah?”
I nodded, breathless, and answered him, “Yeah.”
“Protection?” he asked.
“Please.”
“Mm.” He returned his mouth to mine and slid his hands to my front, letting me go to work at his belt, unbuttoning, unzipping, sliding his hands inside the waistband of his jeans and shucking them off his hips, letting the weight of his wallet and chains drag them past his knees, stepping on the cuffs and dragging his legs out of them, all while he kept his lips firmly melded to mine.
He pulled me against him once more, the second he was free of his pants and socks and I was less shy about things, pressing myself tight, letting my own hands wander over his heated skin, desperate to touch as much as be touched.
He
slid fingers up my back, tucking them under the bottom band of my bra, sliding them around to my sides.
“Arms up?” he asked against my mouth and I whimpered, knowing it would pull his lips from mine but complying with the request. He pulled the restrictive garment up over my head and took the time to look at me, groaning as his gaze swept over my chest, my nipples tightening in the chill of my apartment.
He lowered his mouth to the hollow of my throat and pressed a kiss there that was chaste at first, flickering his tongue against my skin, dragging it down before tucking it back between his lips and gently scraping me between my breasts with his teeth in a delightful nip that made me throw back my head and shiver in delight as I let out my breath on a throaty little, “Oh!”
I dropped my head and looked at him, meeting his gaze that was rolled up to mine as he took the majority of my left breast into his mouth, teasing the point of my nipple with his velvet tongue, sending whole body shivers through me, his arms locked around me, holding me tight, holding me up as my knees threatened to buckle.
“Mace!” I gasped in warning as they did, but he had me, taking his mouth from me and lowering me carefully to my bed.
“I’ve gotcha baby,” he breathed, and I believed him. He climbed over me, kissing his way back to my mouth, settling between my thighs, grinding softly against me, showing me how hard he was, grunting at the contact, closing his eyes and turning his head slightly as though listening to the sweetest music he had ever heard, and in truth, perhaps he had… whatever music his own body made for him at my touch.
I lay back, and he kissed me, one arm delving behind my shoulder and back, his hand cradling my head lovingly. The other, drifting over my skin, grabbing my hip, holding me as he rolled his hips against mine and groaned. I watched his handsome face, his strong features smooth out in bliss and I felt something I don’t think I’ve ever felt before… cherished, special.
I wrapped my legs around him tight and dragged his mouth to mine and kissed him fiercely. I let go of my false apprehensions. I knew real when I saw it, and this was something so very real, so tangible, the emotions shimmering between us almost something I could touch if I wanted to.
He reached down between us and slid his boxers off. God, he was beautiful. Long, not overly thick, and cut, the head of his cock a deep red and richly engorged, throbbing in time with what I could only assume was his heartbeat. I gazed at his body, hungry to have it against mine, positively starving to have him fill me; to feel him inside of me.
“Oh, fuck…” he whispered, and I looked up. The raw need and heat in his gaze made my body respond in ways I couldn’t even imagine. Without hesitation, I slipped my fingers into the waistband of my panties at either hip and took them down.
He helped me whisk them down and off my legs the rest of the way and with a light-fingered touch gazed upon me, letting his eyes feast on me the way mine had feasted on his only moments before. He groped off the side of the mattress that I had long thought of as ‘his’ ever since his stay here and pulled a box from the top of his backpack. He tore it open, ripping a condom from the line of them and tearing open the package with his teeth.
He took the slippery rolled rubber disc and made himself ready for me, asking me as I watched him slide the condom on, “You sure?”
“Yeah,” I breathed, nodding.
“I don’t care if I’m mid-stroke,” he said, dropping back down over the top of me, brushing the loose hair off the side of my face, gazing deep into my eyes. “You tell me to stop, I’m going to stop,” he whispered and swallowed hard. I swallowed hard myself and nodded.
“I mean it, baby. You tell me to stop, I stop,” he whispered.
I nodded and feeling like he needed to hear it, hear something from me by way of understanding I whispered, “Got it.”
He swept his eyes over my face, and kissed me gently, sweetly, turning the heat back up between us until I was wriggling beneath him, silently begging for more.
He reached between us, his other arm back beneath me, cradling my head in his hand, massaging my scalp some, hand buried in my tresses as he met my eyes with his and breathing heavy, asked me, “Yeah?”
I nodded, whispering, “Yeah.”
He smiled at me and pressed the head of his cock into my wet and waiting pussy slowly.
I gave myself over to surrender and tipped my head back, moaning, breaths short, body arching lightly into his as he filled me. He let himself go, bringing his other arm up to brace himself, staring down at me, eyes passionate burning embers, his gaze a warm, almost physical touch all its own where it swept over me.
He was careful with his thrusts at first, his cock feeling so good, pressing out against my walls, setting off all manner of sweet sensation inside me as he put a little twist into his hips as he worked himself inside me.
I bit my bottom lip and panted, holding onto him tightly, pulling him down over the top of me. He let out this almost groan of gratitude and let himself go just a little bit more, his pace quickening, his body finding a secret rhythm that sought to unlock all of my secrets.
He felt so good, so wonderful, and my body came so alive under his touch. I tensed, tightening around him and he brought his head up to gaze down at me once more.
“Yeah?” he asked, and I knew he was asking if I was feeling good.
I smiled up into his kind face and whispered back, “Oh, God, yeah.” He smiled, bowing his head, chuckling and picking up his pace. I gasped as he slid over just the right spot inside me and the gate of what could only be described as paradise opened before me.
Dear God, he was good… so good.
13
Mace…
Handling a broken woman is like riding a bike with shot brakes. You don’t go too fast. Bad brakes or no, I was going to take her for a ride, but all I had to do was take it easy. That was alright, I wanted to ride her, but I didn’t want to do that in a parking lot burnout, we had all the time in the world, for a night.
She was sweeter than I expected.
It was like getting an old bike, one that has had miles thrown on it, but had been waiting all its life to end up under you. Raven reminded me of that sort of bike, one that had been treated like shit by its last owner, paint scratched, chrome chipped, spark plugs burned to hell and back.
The joy there was bringing it back.
Bringing a nearly dead bike back from the scrapyard was nothing but joy.
Raven was that broken bike – misused, abused, and then discarded.
Maybe there was something wrong with me, maybe those frat jackasses knocked something loose in my head with whatever they low sided me with. Balls deep in a crazy Burner girl, one that was stirring serious feelings in me, and I was thinking about pipes and cracked seats.
She groaned, and it brought me back around, back to Earth.
I wrapped her up in my arms, sliding one beneath her, cradling her head in the palm of my hand, her sleek bronze hair winding around it, trapped between my fingers and the feel of it was something luxurious. The way she looked up at me, her storm-swept eyes heavily lidded with the pleasure I instilled in her… it was marvelous. She was breathtaking. Limbs that I found so statuesque twining around my body; her touch lighter than falling leaves drifting on eddies of wind.
She showed a gentleness and a care that… fuck… I doubted no consideration like it had ever been given to her and I wanted to be that man which was seriously different territory for me. I was used to breaking people when the occasion called for it. Not for putting them back together – not that Raven seemed to need it much. She was something wild and fierce. A woman who seemed to have it figured out, she just needed a little help along the way.
She moaned, eyes closing, head thrown back, her back arching, pussy tightening around me and I smiled. She was close, really close, I could tell, and I just wanted to drag it out and make it last as long as possible. I wanted to keep her in that place where it all felt good and everything that wasn’t that feel good sensation just f
ell away. That was the difference between the men and the boys. A boy would thrust away until he was spent, not realizing that the fun wasn’t the destination, it was the ride.
I wanted to ride her as long as I could.
Run her through her gears, take her up and down the hills, feel her tighten around me, shudder, and swoon.
Then again.
How many times could I get her over those hills, how many of the bad things in her life could I make her forget with what I had between my legs?
Several times it would seem.
She looked into my eyes, her cheeks flushed, and her legs trembling. When I couldn’t ease her over another hill, I kissed her as I came. I held her for a moment, and then we both eased down onto the mattress. One of the very few compliments I could give to a condom was that they were certainly tidy. There was no mess that required attention or a towel.
We were a tangle of limbs and soft kisses for a long time; I didn’t even care about how much my ribs burned from the effort.
“I was lonely,” she intoned after a tremulous breath, and I stilled for a moment, putting my hand that had been tracing patterns on her back, flat to it. I said nothing, waiting for her to continue her story.
“So, I signed up on one of those dating apps on my phone and matched up with this guy named Max,” she said. “We talked, for a long time, a few weeks maybe? Then he asked to meet for coffee, and I agreed because he seemed really nice and was a gentleman, you know? Not crude, no dick pics, and sure he was in law enforcement so it would be fine, right?”
I held her a little tighter when her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, sighed, and said, “He talked about his Italian mother, wore a gold crucifix, and seemed like he had a great respect for women. Told me all about it, right?”
My first thought was if a dude had to tell you something like that, sell you on the idea, it should honestly be your first red flag. Dudes that respected women just did. They didn’t have to sell you on the idea that they did. Actions speaking louder than words and all, but I wasn’t about to say any of that. There was no point. All it would serve to do would be to make her feel like somehow any of this was her fault when it wasn’t. It was this Max guy’s fault.