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“I wish that too.” I let out a long breath and hug myself again. “Well, we’re ready to defend ourselves if we need to.”
“Yeah. I might step up the drills for the next few weeks. Just in case.”
I nod. It’s not a bad idea even if there ends up being no reason for it. I’m worried but not quite as much as I turn around and walk back inside.
***
AT BEDTIME, I WASHup and brush my hair and put on a nightgown like normal. Look at myself soft and pretty in flickering candlelight. Try to recognize the girl in the mirror as me. Wonder if this is who other people see when they look at me or if they see someone entirely different. The cool, controlled, efficient person I try to be.
At sixteen, I would have been thrilled to look the way I look right now. Clearer skin. Lusher curves in the hips and breasts. Some discreet muscle definition in my arms. Thick, wavy hair that hangs to the middle of my back. I look like a grown-up and not the girl I used to be. But I’m not sure anyone else sees what I’m seeing right now. No one stares at me in admiration or treats me like a sexy woman. I don’t get compliments, and the only people who hit on me are strangers we encounter outside our walls.
Even Jackson never gave a hint that he was interested in me as a woman until I showed up in his room one night. Molly laughed earlier when I said he didn’t like me, but I’ve never been one for lying to myself with wishful delusions. Jackson is a good-looking, virile, healthy, twenty-five-year-old man. He likes sex, and he would probably welcome any willing, available woman to his bed the way he does me.
For all I know, he does.
No revelation comes to me, unriddling these mysteries, so I open my window halfway to let in the breeze and climb in bed under my sheet.
I close my eyes and try not to think about Jackson.
I usually don’t. I can usually go right to sleep. Every few weeks, when I can’t relax, I go to Jackson’s room and get a good fuck, and then I can sleep fine for a while.
He fucked me just last night. I should be able to sleep well tonight with that itch scratched for at least a couple of weeks. I don’t need to be thinking about him right now. Remembering the way he looked and sounded when I talked to him outside a little while ago. Visualizing what he might be doing right now in his own bed, under his covers, completely naked. Imagining what would happen if I went to him again tonight. Right now. How he would touch me, take me, make me feel.
I groan and toss from side to side, telling myself not to be foolish.
The first time we had sex was eighteen months ago. We were having an argument all day about whether to expand to six new spaces for people in the old barn, and unlike most of our disagreements, we didn’t get it resolved before the end of the day. So I was lying awake in bed the way I am now, and I was debating Jackson in my mind over and over again. Until I finally got fed up and went down the hall to his room.
I tapped on his door before I opened it, and by the time I stepped inside, he was out of bed, buck naked, and aiming a gun in my direction. So much tanned skin and rippling muscle. Flesh. Sinew. Tension. Strength.
And cock.
Wrenching my eyes away from that part of him, I bit out, “Put that down, you big asshole. And where is your underwear?”
He put the gun down as I shut his bedroom door behind me, not wanting to wake up anyone else in the house with the fight I thought was about to happen.
It never did happen. Instead of replying, he grabbed me and kissed me, dragging me down onto the bed with the urgency of his embrace.
Before that night, I was aware that Jackson was a sexy guy and I could be physically attracted to him, but I’d never once considered acting on it. But that night it all changed. We fucked like animals on his bed—raw and sloppy and forceful and still half-angry with each other. We both grunted as we worked up toward climax with a primitive urgency, and I kept having to stuff my fist in my mouth to stifle the sound of how hard I came and kept coming. He took me with my legs hooked over his shoulders. Then from behind with me bent over the side of the bed. Then with me on top, riding him so vigorously that the wet slapping sound embarrassed me. But I couldn’t seem to help it. I needed it just like that.
I was nineteen back then, but had been three years since I’d really been young. I’d had sex before with a couple of other guys, but not like that. It didn’t make me come so hard. It didn’t leave me so completely satisfied.
It wasn’t wordless in the dark.
Afterward, limp and very sore all over and soaked with perspiration and messy from his come, I climbed out of bed to pick up my gown. I had no idea what to say to him. He was sprawled out in bed, panting and staring at me, like he was waiting for something.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I cleared my throat. “This can’t happen again.” Then I left.
Of course it happened again. A month later I was back in his bedroom. This time I didn’t even knock. I just walked in and closed the door behind me. He never questioned me. He pulled me into bed with him and fucked me exactly as I wanted.
And I’ve kept going back to him ever since. Not a lot. Not so often I get confused about what exactly it is we have together. Just enough to satisfy that bone-deep need I can’t seem to shake.
I feel it again right now. A hunger that’s trying to claw its way out from my core. But I can’t go to him again tonight. We just fucked yesterday. It’s too soon. I should be physically satisfied for a while.
I don’t need to be fucked again tonight.
I keep turning in bed, trying to think of anything else. Eventually I slide my hand between my legs and rub myself off to a ridiculous fantasy of Jackson coming into my room right now, seeing how I’m touching myself, and turning me over his knee and spanking me until I come over and over again.
The fantasy gets me so hot I come too quickly. Since that’s not enough to satiate me, I have to try again for a longer, deeper orgasm by using two fingers in my pussy. It takes some work, but the thought of him spanking me triggers enough arousal that I build up to a really good climax. I smother the sound of my release in the pillow and feel my pussy clamping down on my fingers.
