I strain against the sheet around my wrists because I want to push his head down, grab onto it like he did mine and hold him there until—
Until…
His tongue. Soft warm firm velvet, languid, warm and oh so slick.
“Leah,” he breathes between my lips.
His tongue traces a delicate circle around my clit, and then his slick and expert lips close around it, sucking gently as his tongue teases my slit.
His fingers in me fill me up: stretching, pushing so much that it hurts; but it hurts good.
“It feels so good.”
His tongue skates from my sopping entrance through my swollen lips, and circles all around my clit. And then, when the scream is in my throat, he withdraws it all.
My hands are untied, quick, and snatched down to my sides. With his hands on the inside of my thighs, he pushes slowly in, then punches deep inside me.
I scream.
I sink my fingernails into his taut asscheeks, and he groans, “Harder. Harder, Leah.” I squeeze harder as my orgasm rips through me, taking out my pleasure on the smooth globes of his ass. Just when my head is clearing and I’m starting to worry about how much my nails are hurting him, I feel the tension leave his body, braced above me. He drops down atop me, shoves a little deeper, till I feel his cock in every nerve and cell of my glittering body. His head drops down, and warmth shoots into me.
And then it’s morning.
He’s in one bed. I’m in the other. But hey…no wall.
I’m so tired from a good night’s sleep, I can hardly remember how it happened.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Leah
Everything is different today.
Maybe it’s the frigid air blowing down over the mountains, turning the sunlight pale and filmy, like the dull light of a memory. Maybe it’s the cinnamon rolls, which I haven’t eaten much since the summer I was thirteen, and Lana went insane for all things cinnamon, forcing Laura and I to join her on a Cinnamon Toast Cereal diet for a whole week. Maybe it’s the waking up beside him. The way his eyes roll over me as he props his hand up on his head: possessive, almost. Thirsty.
He doesn’t speak to me, just checks me over with his eyes, but I can tell from the moment he walks across the room and pushes one of the curtains open, then turns and walks toward the bathroom, that he isn’t angry today. Not like yesterday.
He’s in the bathroom for a few minutes, and I hear the shower going, so I grab the sheet off my bed, wrap it around myself, and start to pad back to my own room to get dressed. The door bathroom door opens out in front of me just as I approach. He’s standing there with a towel tucked around his hips, steam drifting out into the room.
“I ran the water for you,” he says simply.
Then he steps into the little hall area and nods at the bathroom.
My stomach clenches. “Thank you.”
I don’t have any of my toiletries on hand, but I’ll be damned if I won’t enjoy the shower he ran for me, so I step into the bathroom, shut the door and drop the sheet, and get into the shower with a handful of hotel soaps.
“Ahhh.” I sigh.
There’s nothing like a nice, hot shower.
A few seconds later, I hear the door open, and my heart begins to race. The curtain opens just a little, and my soaps and shampoo appear on the tub’s side.
“Take your time,” he says. I see a brief flash of his big hand, pulling shut the curtain. Then he’s gone.
I do what he says and take my time bathing every part of myself. I think about last night with him, unable to keep my mind from the gutter of reimagining his gorgeous cock. I used to laugh at Lana for calling it a cock, but now I understand completely. When it’s that big, when it’s that perfect, there’s no other word.
As I wash my hair, my thoughts turn to Mother’s house, and to the day she took me. I let the memories play out even though they make me sick—or maybe that’s the hot water. I turn the shower off and dry myself, and then the door opens again, and he rolls my suitcase inside.
He’s quick. It’s really just his arm I see, and then the door is shut again.
My fingers shake as I put on some light makeup and dry my hair. When I finally step back out into the room, I find him dressed in dark jeans, a different pair of boots—these are brown, and not as crappy—and a green sweater that somehow seems to emphasize the yellow flecks in his hazel eyes.
I laugh, because his hair is wet, which means he showered, too.
“What’s so funny?” His lips curl fractionally, as if he agrees that something is, but isn’t quite sure how much so.
“You take my shower?” I ask him.
He nods once, looking me over as he does.
I’m wearing black jeans and a red sweater. My hair is blown out, hanging to my shoulders, and despite how off I feel, my face is made-up like nobody’s business, right down to my favorite red lipstick.
I’m holding the handle of my rolling suitcase. He steps forward to grab it, moving quick and graceful.
“Let me get that for you.” He nods at the door. “Everything else from your room and mine is already loaded in the car.”
I’m nervous as we walk side-by-side down the hallway. Really nervous.
This is what you wanted, I tell myself. You wanted nice Hansel again. Remember?
And I do, but I am nervous. Why the change?
On the elevator down, I feel his eyes lap up and down me, assessing but admiring, too. He shifts his stance a little, and I swear I see his hand flit briefly to his pants.
As we walk through the lobby, his hand bumps into mine, and I get the weirdest feeling that he did it on purpose. Like today, he wants to touch me.
That’s weird, too.
The automatic doors swish open, and a cold wind slaps against us as we step into the parking lot. His car is right there, idling below the hotel’s awning. Above a row of bushes that surround the lot, I can see the mountains rising stark unto the pale sky.
He lets go of my luggage and gets the door for me, and as I slide into my seat, I can’t help remembering the thickness of his cock inside my throat. Inside my pussy. Is that what’s behind all of this? Enthusiasm for Sex Leah? It doesn’t make sense, though, because he’d loaded my room down with all that stuff before he even brought me up to it last night.
I get into the car and shut the door, and then I see the open console. It’s filled with Neutragrain bars of every flavor, two packs of Pepto, and a small bottle of ginger ale.
*
“I have a really bad stomach,” I tell him, angling my cheek, propped on my arm, so I can see through our wall hole.
“Mine is iron. It can handle more than I can.” He smiles a little, and it’s a miserable smile. The sort of aching smile that makes me wonder what he does when he leaves his room.
“That sounds like a mixed blessing,” I tell him.
“Maybe.”
That very afternoon, she comes for him. An hour later, when he returns, he doesn’t speak to me—he never does; just heads to his cot—but he stops at the peep hole to leave two round Pepto Bismol chewables.
That night, after he knocks, and we meet at the peep hole, and I sing, I have to hide tears from him.
Mother stopped bringing him pencils, he told me recently. “Just charcoal and oil paints.”
That means this hole will never get much bigger than the width of his forearm.
A sob sneaks out, and his hand clutches mine.
“What’s the matter, Leah?”
“I’m just...lonely.”
*
Lucas
We’ll be there in an hour, and I’m worried.
I was fucking stupid, agreeing to bring her to this place. All day, since the moment I saw her lying half asleep in bed, I’ve known she was…at risk. For what, I’m not quite sure, but I swear to God you could see it in her eyes this morning: something bare and cautious. Something hurt.
The first two hours, I tried talking to her. Shit, I know it wasn’
t perfect. I didn’t know what the hell to say, so I asked her dumb shit, like if she liked the biscuit that we picked up at a fast food restaurant.
I gave her the blanket I packed, not one from the club’s bedding, but one I keep in my room when I’m away for a few days. It’s fleece, pale blue, and even though it’s Echo’s, it’s not one I think would be missed, so I take it with me.
I like seeing her wrapped in Echo’s blanket, but the more we drive, the smaller she seems. And now we’re here, just past Grand Junction, and I’m feeling fucking ill because she’s been fake sleeping for two hours.
What should I say to her?
I’m not good at this shit.
I wonder what she’d say if I kept driving right past the Arapahoe National Forest turnoff, where the house is. We could go straight down to Denver. She grew up in Boulder. Maybe she would feel better being there again.
My head feels hot. My throat feels tight.
No she wouldn’t asshole. She was taken from there. Why do you think her family moved?
Her closed eyelids are making me crazy. I feel fucking sick myself, and I’ve got a goddamned iron stomach.
We pass through Fairplay, Jefferson… Sprawling valleys, lots of sky, and of course, the snow-capped peaks.
I want to say her name. To take her hand. I know for damn sure that she’s not asleep. Why won’t she talk to me?
Our highway road winds between massive mountain peaks, twining alongside a river, and I know we’re nearly at the turnoff to the forest. I hang a sharp and sudden left, pulling into the parking lot of a rural, mom and pop establishment that probably serves the summer crowd, and as I park, her eyes slit open. Slide to me.
“Han— Edgar?”
“You can call me Hansel,” I say. “Edgar is a stage name, and you’re right, it’s kind of fucking stupid.” I lean toward her, struggling to keep my fingers from a strand of hair that’s drifting in the stream of warm air from the heat. tucking hair behind her ear. “Listen, Leah, do you want to turn around—or keep driving? The turnoff isn’t far, but this is fucking dumb. I’ve got one thing to do there with plumbing. I can do it after I take you to the airport. You can change your mind.”
Her mouth draws up, and she shakes her head, but she’s not looking at me. Her eyes are trained on the wood and stone building in front of us, with a sign advertising Best Burgers East of China.
“No,” she says. “I need to do this.”
I exhale. Back out.
“We can make it fast,” I say. It’s a struggle to keep my gaze off her face and on the road. “I stay there some, and I changed how it looks.”
After a long moment she says, “That seems strange.”
My throat feels full and tight. To answer her, to talk about this shit…it kind of throws me off, but I say, “Why?”
“Well, you made The Forest look like it, that’s all. I would think you would want it to look the same.”
I try to think of how to answer her. I’ve gotten used to hiding myself from people, so it’s hard to think of being honest—even with Leah.
A moment later, she speaks again. “You really stay there? Why?”
She cuts her eyes at me, and I decide to give her something honest. “Because…I like to leave.” The words feel big in my throat and clumsy on my tongue, but I manage them. “The groundskeeper watches it when I’m not there,” I say, as if that matters.
Then we’re at the turn. It’s just a little dirt road, marked only by two food carts. We’re in a rural ass area, so I’m not sure who buys the jerky and burgers, but I guess someone does, because the carts are always there.
In late fall and winter, the forest is closed off sometimes, but I’m a resident. As long as my car can make it, I don’t let the snow or cold restrict me.
The road is bumpy, sharply curving, lined with trees and topped by low-lying power lines that service other houses tucked away in the forest. We pass a modern-looking home with a large, grassy yard and a swing set sitting unused at this moment. On the left of the road, a river runs; over it, metal and wood bridges stretch, leading to houses.
“We’ve got a few more miles. We’re on the other side of the forest, more toward Georgetown,” I tell her.
I watch her look around as I navigate the dirt road. It winds up through mountain peaks so high they’re bare except for rock and snow. Gravity bares down on my chest because it’s high up here—about twelve thousand feet above sea level. I’m used to the sensation, having come here dozens of times since our captivity. But Leah isn’t. I can see her panic in the pallor of her face.
I open my mouth to suggest we turn around, or just keep driving. We’re descending slightly from the last summit we passed, surrounded by nothing but the rock-scattered desolation of the high Rockies. All along the left of the road is a frozen lake. I think something in her recognizes it, because, as I wind slowly down the road, toward the fork that leads to Mother’s place, her lips press flat together, and her shoulders stiffen.
I hold my right hand out for her to grab, then realize she probably won’t, because it’s swollen and still wrapped up in gauze from yesterday.
She’s got her left elbow propped on the console, so I just let my fingers brush it gently.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Her eyes, stretched wide, flick over mine. My chest aches as I slow the car from twenty to ten. Over to our left, there’s a smaller dirt road, winding past some aspens, down a slight slope.
“Leah.” Her name catches in my throat. “This is the turnoff, baby. Are you sure you want to—”
“Yes,” she whispers. Her gaze clings to mine. “But…can I hold your arm?”
I hold my arm out to her, fucking glad to be of use in some way. “Hold on all you want. We’ll make this fast.” With my left arm, I start to steer us down the long, half-mile drive, along to the mountainside, toward the slightly sloping, twenty-acre valley that’s mine now.
“Can…we go inside?” she whispers as we drive between the aspens, with their thin, pale trunks and small, round, orange leaves.
“I don’t think we should. We’ll see,” I say as I watch her looking out the passenger’s side window.
I don’t know for sure, but I bet she doesn’t recognize the landscape. I didn’t either, when I came for the auction.
My fear is that, even though I had the house redecorated on the inside, she’ll remember it too well.
Her fingers stay locked around my arm as the driveway levels out, and the house comes into sight. I’ve changed some things on the outside, mostly due to maintenance issues, but it’s still a stone base, with lots of windows and some wood beams incorporated into its vast, two-story layout. Two peaks rise around it, making it look almost cottage-sized, despite its eight-thousand square feet.
I watch her wide eyes take it in, and press the brakes, despite us being about a football field away from the house. “Do you want to turn around? It’s okay if you do.”
She shakes her head.
I wonder what she’s thinking as she looks out at the house and squeezes my arm.
The ivory sky above us seems to sink down low. I roll slowly down the narrow, dirt road, and I can feel the thinness of the air up here. The pressure on my chest.
I slow to park beside some firs. It’s the same place I always park. The same place Mother parked when she brought me here that first day.
Call it masochism. Call it OCD. I don’t know what the fuck it is, but I have never parked anywhere else.
I park the car and look at Leah, beautiful Leah, older now but still herself. Even now, with her skin so pale and her eyes so big, my Leah is a fairy tale. A princess, like I used to tell her.
I know I’m not the prince. I’m not the happy ending for her. Christ, I know. But I have plans. I have plans to make her feel the way she should. To show her, if only for a few hours, how much I love her.
I have plans to get this part over with as fast as I can, and drive away as fast as I can. I imagine it will f
eel much better than it does when I leave here myself. Taking Leah with me…fucking perfect.
In Denver, I can take her to this donut place I think she’d like, and then I’ll park my car in an airport lot and walk her to her gate.
She won’t know much of me—just these few hours, on this single day—but I will do my duty. I will show her Mother’s house and get her back to hers, in Georgia.
It’s not much, but it’s all I can do.
The goal is not to keep my princess. I brought her here to set her free.
Right now, she looks frozen, so I take her hands in mine and turn her body gently toward mine.
“Leah? Let’s just go.” My fingers stroke hers. “You don’t need to see the inside. This is it. It’s mine now,” I say, stroking the top of her hand with my thumb. “Nothing happens here. It’s boring, this place. It’s not what it was when we were here. Look around us,” I tell her. “Look at the trees and the sky. That’s what’s real. This house is bullshit. If you want me to, I’ll tear it down.”
Her vacant eyes meet mine. She shakes her head slowly, and my chest tightens. My fear and worry congeal into daggers. I can feel the stabbing just under my throat.
“Leah, this is wrong. I’m sorry.”
I’m not sure why the fuck I brought her here. I wanted to make her better, but she’s clearly worse.
I let go of her hands and start to put the Rover in “reverse.” “You don’t need to see this shit.”
She throws her door open. I press the brakes.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go inside. I just have to see my room. When I’m finished,” she says, looking over her shoulder as she perches in the doorway, “we can leave. You will be my hero,” she says, smiling palely. “All I need to do is go inside.”
I watch her inhale deeply, and she looks okay.
“C’mon. I mean it,” she says strongly. “Put it in park and escort me inside. We’ll pretend it’s our place. Maybe it’s magic. Maybe it’s a castle. You never know.” She smiles a little, alluding, I’m sure, to the stories that I used to tell her when we lived in prison here.