My cock slides in deeper, and there are no words for what it’s like being this deeply connected.
This is coming home to somewhere brand new.
In the half darkness, I fuck her, and she rides me with her hand braced on my chest. Her nipples pink and tortured. Pussy so wet, I can hear it as she takes me. I don’t feel anything but arousal, what I should feel during sex.
She comes, and I come right after, filling her up and laying her down. I know she’s on the shot, but I like the thought of my cum inside her all night.
“You like that position,” she murmurs.
I keep my eyes on the peeling paint overhead. “With you, I do.”
She shifts, snuggling deeper into the pillow. “Were you really claustrophobic?”
“No,” I say. “That’s how she used to fuck me.”
“Holly?” Her whisper is weak, sleepy.
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. She understands. The soft tip of her finger touches the tattoo on my ribs. A flash of pain ripples through my memory. It’s a brand, underneath the ink. I watched grown men cry when the iron touched their skin, but I was so used to pain for pleasure at that point, I just got hard.
All my cum is inside her already, but I still feel the pressure of arousal beneath the quilt.
Goddamn it.
“I’m sorry, Jensen,” she murmurs, barely conscious. “I’m sorry.”
Her breathing deepens. I’m grateful she went right to sleep. The last thing I want is sympathy for her over something that happened twenty years ago. I’ve always hated when people say sorry for the past. It’s awkward, and I’m usually pretty over it at that point.
Something is different tonight.
I think coming back here and facing down my past is changing me, giving me back my control. Back then, I got hurt before I realized what was happening. Now, I have my guard up. I’m used to defending myself.
Rolling my head to the side, I study the curve of her body.
I’m also defending her. Out in the swamp, I was on high alert flooded with adrenaline at the thought she might get hurt. Up until that point, I’d wondered how Della was with Leland. She talks about him like he’s Satan himself, but she’s so plucky with me. Now I know she gets scared, and that makes me pretty fucking angry at the man who hurt her.
I close my eyes.
I thought we could get out of this state without spilling blood. Now, I’m not sure I want to.
Sleep comes quickly, and it feels like just a moment before my eyes snap open. It’s still dark, and Della is laying against my body,burning up at about a hundred degrees. Gently, I untangle her limbs and push myself up against the headboard. The clock says it’s five in the morning, still dark. Residual rain drips from the trees to the roof.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
There’s something outside.
Moving gently, I get up, covering her, and take my pistol from the bedside table. The extra magazine goes into the pocket of my sweatpants. Stepping on the sides of my feet, I cross the loft and lift the curtain an inch.
A flashlight sweeps over the woods.
What the fuck?
Did Brothers send someone after us? That doesn’t make any sense when he can call my phone if he wants to talk nonsense in my ear again. Narrowing my eyes, I squint into the darkness, waiting.
An engine revs on the other side of the clearing behind the barn.
Alright, time to go. I don’t want anyone setting foot in the house with Della inside. Moving quietly and swiftly, I get dressed, grab my boots, and climb down the ladder. I left my canvas bag sitting on the kitchen counter. Inside is my AK, my revolver, and two bags of ammo. I rummage through it until I find a suppressor and screw it onto the pistol in my hand.
I put on my boots and turn out the light over the stove. Softly, I unlatch the door and crack it, listening. There’s a truck idling on the road to the left side of the yard. Men are moving around the backside of the barn. I can hear them talking in low tones.
