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The house creaks ominously, the sound of the wind whipping around outside. It sounds a little like a freight train descending on us. And all I can think of is Bennet being tossed around, of him not making it back here. To me.
My feet wear a path on the cement floor, my hands clenched by my sides.
I may not have liked him all that much, or at least I told myself I didn’t, but now things have changed, and I don’t want him to stop existing. I want him to stay alive. I want another day with him. Months. Years. How the fuck am I supposed to go on living without his silly comments and goofy smile?
“Why the fuck does he need to go run out there like a hero? Goddamn him,” I murmur as I turn around and pace to the other side of the small space and stare at a crack in the wall.
“If he dies, I will kill him again. I will find him and…I will…” My eyes well with tears, and I press the heels of my palms to my eyes.
Gods, I’m panicking. It’s been what feels like hours and he’s not back yet. What’s he doing out there, lounging about? Mowing the lawn? I’ve seen the pictures of these crazy Midwestern people doing that, a tornado looming in the background.
What the fuck is wrong with these people?
Something thumps above me and I freeze. Oh hell, that better not be an animal or a fucking dead body. Or the roof being blown off.
I swipe at my wet cheeks as I stare up at the ceiling. Gods, what the hell is happening out there? I’m so damn afraid. I don’t want to be alone out here, all by myself. Oh fuck, what about Bennet’s family? The kids? I hope they’re somewhere safe.
My mind is spiraling. I’m just a hot mess of nerves and worry. I’m mentally planning Bennet’s funeral when the door bursts open and the man himself comes rushing down the stairs. He’s completely soaked through from the rain but seems to be intact.
Oh fuck. He’s alive. He’salive.
My legs carry me forward, my mouth spitting out vile, mean things.
“You fucker!” I nearly scream. “You fucking left me here, for hours.”
I swat at his chest, and he smiles at me, his hair is soaked too, just hanging down all limp and wet.
I’m furious, sobs escaping my constricted throat. He was dead. I thought for sure he was dead!
“You cannot just go running into tornados to save a fucking cow. That’s not a thing you do, and don’t get me started on the rooster. We could totally do without him,” I rage, swiping at the tears streaming down my cheeks. His gaze softens, those eyes going all dopey and then he silences me by crushing his mouth to mine.
I slant my mouth over his and lick into him, our tongues tangling, our bodies pressed together tightly. Oh gods, oh fucking gods. He tastes so damn good.
I groan, my hands threaded through his hair, tugging on the wet strands roughly. One of my legs wraps around his thigh as I grind up against him.
I want him, want him inside of me.
He hefts me into his arms and walks to the dusty old couch, the two of us falling to it, him above me, grinding down against me. I just hold on to him, my legs wrapped around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust.
I hate that I need it. But I do. I need him.
Oh fuck. He came back. He’s here.
My fingers travel down to the end of his shirt, and I tug it up. It takes forever as it clings to his body, but I finally lift it, exposing his skin to my wandering hands, and then he’s reaching back and pulling it off over his head. My hands map out every inch of him, every muscled line of his back, his shoulders, his arms.
And the entire time, our lips never leave each other. We are just consumed, eating our way to the very cores of one another.
“Fuck, I want you,” he whispers against my mouth before diving in again, biting down on my bottom lip and then licking the sting away.
“Yes,” is all I can respond as I reach my hand down between us and rub against him.
He moans into my mouth, his hands sliding up the sides of my chest, pushing my shirt up to my neck. And then he’s ripping it from my body, tossing it onto the floor for the bugs and mice to cart away. But I don’t care. Don’t give a shit. I’m too consumed by him.
Suddenly, he’s up, leaving me gasping and whimpering at the loss of him. But he’s back a second later, a bottle in his hand.
“Are you serious? Doesn’t lube expire?” I breathe, all the while thinkingthank fuck for that.
“Nah, and listen, I was horny when I was a teen. I came down here a lot to masturbate,” he explains and then reaches down and shucks my pants off before doing the same to his. “No more talking, Jasper. The only word I want coming out of your mouth when I’m fucking you is my name.”
