To be honest, it’s a bit awkward. Because we’re two people who want each other so badly that we can feel it in our souls, in our bones, and yet we need to time to really join up, to connect, to work.
But it only takes a moment. We’re both practically motionless until I adjust myself under him and he adjusts himself in me and then this is happening.
This is good.
So good.
“Jessica,” he moans, his grip tightening on my hips, sliding up to my waist. “Fuck…”
There are no words. He’s watching me, watching himself, watching us, where he sinks into me. He’s entranced by the sight, the slow push in, the slow pull out.
Each rock of my hips, each thrust of his, pushes us further together, like magnets attracting, and I find myself watching too. It’s mesmerizing. The way his abs clench as he pushes inside, the tiny beads of sweat that gather in the creases. I shrug his ass toward me, wanting more, and he drives in so deep that the air leaves my lungs.
My head goes back again, my eyes pinching closed in shock before I surrender. He’s in me in such away, so deep, that I can’t imagine how I’ve gone so far without this feeling.
It sets something off inside me, like a spark on a stick of dynamite, slowly making its way through my body toward the core. I circle my hips now, suddenly hungry, and he responds instantly.
With a grunt he starts thrusting faster, leaning over me. A bead of sweat rolls off his forehead and onto my chest.
He kisses me, quick and hot. He tastes like salt, like lust, like heaven.
And then we meet our stride, our bodies coming together in a frantic rhythm. I would say it’s effortless, the way he glides in and out, the way we work together, but it’s not. I’m holding on to him, holding on to the sheets, trying to keep my leg out of the way, all while chasing down the spark as it travels through me.
He’s pounding and pounding and pounding me. It’s work to fuck like this. Such a big, big man, he seems to take over the whole room until he’s all I can see. The muscles in his neck are corded, sweat rolls off of him, his eyes are lost in a fiery haze. The sounds that come out of his mouth with each thrust are animalistic, primal, raw. I don’t even think he knows he’s making them but they make me so fucking hot for him that I’m that much closer to coming.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The bed slams back against the wall in a sordid tempo, shaking us. The sheets are pulled loose, my breasts are jostling. The landlady will definitely hear this but I don’t care.
A rope inside me tightens and tightens. I radiate outward, the feeling spreading, white hot. He slips his fingers over my clit. “God, I want to see you come,” he grinds out.
He doesn’t have to wait long.
The rough swipes of his finger cause the tension in me to shatter like glass.
I cry out, the rawness of my voice overtaking the room.
His eyes blaze in victory.
Then I’m twisted, the orgasm tearing through me, taking my mind out of the equation until I am just a body, just a soul. My eyes pinch shut as I jolt and quake underneath him, the sounds coming from my lips belonging to someone else.
This, this, this. Always this.
I’m lost in this haze, not wanting a way out, when he starts to come. I open my eyes to watch.
It’s such a beautiful sight.
His neck arches back, exposing that throat, the muscles in his neck, chest, abs, arms, all straining for release. He works me hard, fast, the rhythm punishing.
The bed inches across the room, and the sound of the legs scraping the floor, his grunts, the slap of sweaty skin, fill the air.
The power in his hips as they slam into me is momentous, like he’s a fucking warrior and I’m his battle to be won.
Then he lets out a long, primal moan, shoulders shaking as he comes.
The pumping slows. The grip on my skin loosens.
His head tilts forward, hair damp and sticking to his brow. His eyes take me in, his breath heavy and hard. My own breath is still a torrent raging through me.
“Was that okay?” he asks, gulping in air. He grabs his cock and slowly pulls it out of me.
I nod violently. “Yes,” I say. I can barely talk. My body feels like it just ran a marathon. My heart is still pounding in my ears, and I can’t catch my breath.
I want to do it all over again.
But my body has other plans. My stomach growls, absolutely starving now, and he smiles at me while he ties up the condom and throws it into the rubbish bin.
“I don’t know about you, but I could really go for a big fucking burger or something right now,” he says, moving around the room and handing me back my clothes. “A burger and a fuckload of beer.”
“That sounds amazing,” I tell him. I shyly add, “I think I worked up an appetite.”
He stops before me, his cock half-hard. He leans over and puts his hand to my cheek. “Thank you,” he says gently, peering into my eyes. He looks so satisfied that I feel a jolt of pride. I did this to him. I brought him this peace.
“For the sex?”
He nods. “For giving me a piece of yourself. I’m going to hold on to it. Keep it safe.” He pauses. “You can trust me, Jessica.”
Something pinches in my heart. Feelings I’m not sure how to deal with.
I like him. So, so much.
I quickly kiss him, trying to push the thoughts away. “I do,” I tell him. “Now let’s get some pants on you before you poke my eye out.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Keir
It’s been a week since I last saw Jessica. No surprise, it’s been one of the most trying weeks of my life.
It’s not that I haven’t tried. But with a road trip on the horizon, I had a car to fix up and she had to do the same with her leg. Physio appointments have kept her busy, while the late 60s forest green Jaguar I bought has taken a lot of work to get road worthy. Hell, it’s not even about being road worthy at this point, it’s about being Jessica worthy. I want everything to be perfect.
When Wednesday morning rolls around though, I’m pulling up outside of her place, my stomach a blender of anxiety. To be honest, I’m still shocked she said yes. I’d heard her mention so many times that she wanted to get away, start anew, escape. I thought I had the perfect solution for both of us.
Even though it’s the last week of September, the weather is holding out for the most part, which is rare, and even when it’s been pouring in Edinburgh, I’ve been watching the reports carefully. So far the Highlands seem to be experiencing a very late summer, and while the odds of it lasting aren’t good, I’m willing to take my chances. Besides, I’ve heard they are beautiful any time of the year, and since we’ve both dealt with Scottish weather like pros, we can handle a rainy road trip if we need to.
I have a rough plan of what I want to do. Since neither of us have explored the north, I decided we should do the North Coast 500, which is Scotland’s version of Route 66 and now touted as one of the five best drives in the world. The whole concept is new but the tourist office is pushing it hard, and while at the moment there won’t be many tourists, in the years to come that may change.
That’s all I really have down. I know a lot of the hotels and bed and breakfasts close down as winter approaches, but we should still be good until at least the first week of October. Hopefully if we time it right, we’ll be back here in a week, in time for her next support meeting.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t admire this woman’s bravery. She’s doing so good, facing this whole tragedy head-on instead of hiding. She’s stronger than she knows and it almost makes me forget my role in her circumstances.
Almost.
It’s still there, festering in the back of my heart. When we fucked last week, when I was buried deep inside her, making her body quake in abandon, there was a thread of guilt I couldn’t shake. I knew that sleeping with her—finally—would be intense, but I hadn’t expected it to do suc
h a number on me. And while I’m burning to be with her again, the guilt that comes with it, the reminder of who I am in our most intimate moments, will probably be there again too.
Unless she can fuck it out of me.
The sound of the door slamming brings my attention to the door. She gives me a wave from the front steps, a small rolling suitcase beside her, and I get out of the car to help.
“I can handle it,” she says, then her eyes focus on the car, shining like a forest in the weak sunlight. “Wow, she’s beautiful.”
I’d been texting her pictures of the car all week while I worked on it, but I guess it looks better in person.
I take her suitcase and that’s when I notice what’s different about her.
“No crutches?” I ask.
She grins at me and picks up her cane, giving it a twirl. “Nope. Now I’m dapper.”
“You certainly are,” I tell her and then lean in to kiss her on the cheek. She smells delicious. My blood starts to run hot. “You better get in the car before I ravage you right here.” I look over her shoulder to see Christina and her dorky husband peeking out the window, watching us. I give them a nod and they disappear into the shadows of the house.
“Let me guess, they don’t approve,” I ask her as I carry her suitcase to the trunk.
“Hell no,” she says, getting in the front seat and tossing her cane in the back. “But there’s not much they can do to stop me when I put my mind to something.”
“That I believe.”
I get in and start the engine. To my relief, the Jag purrs like a hungry kitten and we set off down the road.
“So how has your therapy been?” I ask. Even though we’ve been texting each other often and she’s been keeping me updated, it’s not the same as being there in person. In texts, it’s easy for Jessica to put on her brave face. It’s only when I’m with her that I see how she really is.
She shrugs, sliding her hands along the dash, inspecting all aspects of the car. “It’s been fine.”
“How’s it really been?”
She gives me side eye. “Pretty shitty.”
I nod. “How so?”
“Well, I won’t bore you with much detail but let’s just say both sessions ended with tears and swear words. I’m not sure how Kat deals with me, let alone anyone else undergoing it. I guess that’s why she’s so tough—she has to be.”
“Any improvement?”
“Well, getting rid of the crutches was one. I rely on the cane a lot and probably will for a while, but when it’s combined with the splint, I can pretty much walk. Well. It’s not so much walking as awkward striding with a giant limp, but I’ll take what I can get at this point.”
“Honestly, that sounds promising. I’m proud of you.”
She faces me, blinking slowly.
“You’re doing good, little red,” I tell her, making sure she hears it. “Before you know it you’ll be out there fighting crime.”
She lets out a sweet laugh. “What?”
I shrug. “Isn’t that how this works? The heroine rebuilds herself after being left for dead, and then uses her newfound strength to fight evil in her city?”
“The only evil I’m fighting in Edinburgh are those goddamn seagulls. Barely missed being shit on the other day.”
We lapse into an easy silence as we motor across the Forth Bridge to Perth, then to Pitlochry, heading to Inverness. Sure, there’s tension between us. It crackles constantly, like downed power lines. Having her so close and having to keep my hands on the wheel is nothing short of pure torture. Because I know now what her skin tastes like, I know how she feels from the inside, tight and hot and velvety soft. I know how her body melded to mine in such a way that it went beyond the usual rutting, the easy fuck. Don’t get me wrong—it was easy. Fucking her feels as natural as breathing. But the connection wasn’t something I’d anticipated.
The same connection I feel right now.
We take turns picking the radio stations. The car only has AM, so I settle on Motown while she favors swing music. We talk about everything—British politics, the Canadian Prime Minister (pretty sure she has the hots for him), do aliens exist (most definitely), and memorable vacations.
At the last subject she turns inward and I know that I’m making her think of a childhood she doesn’t want to, so I tell her about the first (and only) time I went hunting with my father.
“I’m not even sure it can be called a vacation,” I tell her as we zoom down the motorway. “My mother rarely had footing in our household—my father overpowered us all. But at her insistence he took my brother, Mal, and I up to Loch Lomond to go grouse hunting. I’m not even sure that there is grouse that far south of the Highlands—we certainly didn’t spot any. But that wasn’t the point. He thought he was making us into men and really it was the only time he ever spent time with us.”
“How old were you?”
“Mal is nine years younger than me. I was sixteen at the time.”
“So he was seven years old when he went hunting?” she asks incredulously.
I nod. “Aye. I guess my father saw a missed opportunity with me. I didn’t turn out to be the man he needed, the son he needed, so he went after Mal instead. Well, if you met Mal you would know that didn’t work out very well.”
“Let me guess, he’s gay.”
I laugh. “He would love to hear that. No, furthest from it. Manwhore, I believe is the term my sister has thrown around a few times. I don’t blame him though. Weeds and flowers grow from the same dirt. If he wants to be a ladies’ man, more power to him. But the whole settle down and raise a family thing doesn’t apply to him. Doesn’t help that he’s a photographer and is constantly surrounded by them all day.”
“Rough life.”
“Yeah. He’s done well. I’m proud of him, even though I don’t think I’ve ever told him that. In fact, it’s been a year since we last spoke on the phone. Emails are sporadic, as are texts. I don’t even think I have his number anymore to be honest.” I pause, getting off track and a wee bit sentimental for my liking. “Anyway, so we went hunting and I was sixteen and totally rebelling. Getting in trouble with school, with girls…hanging with the wrong crowd, and in Glasgow, the wrong crowd is pretty savage. But I wanted to be around my father, and I also wanted to protect Mal, so I agreed.”
Jessica tenses up beside me. “Was your father violent?”
“Aye,” I tell her simply. “That was his way. Beat us around a bunch. Nothing to send us to the hospital, nothing we could complain about without being called a pussy.”
“Even Mal?”
“He was spared the worst of it. I took the brunt for him. It was fine. I was bigger than my dad later on, and I knew how to fight back. That’s all he really wanted, I think, for me to fight back and be a man. He sure as hell didn’t do that. He gambled and lost our money, and then one day disappeared. Never saw him again.”
“Even now?”
“Oh, he’s dead.”
“Oh god. I’m so sorry,” she says with a gasp, hand flying to her chest.
“Don’t be,” I tell her. “I can say this easily now because I’ve had a lot of time to think. I went on to live my life and have bigger things to worry about. He was stabbed in a fight. Money-related. Died on the streets. I feel bad that things turned out so shit for him, but he was a man with many demons who refused to look them in the eye.”
She grows silent at that, back to staring at the window. The towns outside have dropped away and the Highlands are beginning. The motorway carves through the hills, the heather and peat turning gold with the season. They aren’t dramatic yet but it’s a good precursor of the scenery to come.
I continue, hoping to lighten the mood. “The hunting trip was, of course, a disaster, because as I mentioned before, there were no grouse. The three of us had to share a tent, and it was raining the whole two days we were there. But my father didn’t wallop us and both my brother and I did what he asked without complaining. Lots of tramping thr
ough the peat, getting wet, waiting around with our rifles. The only thing we saw was a rabbit, and even then my dad missed. But you know what, despite all that, it’s nothing but a good memory. I buried it away for the longest time because I didn’t want to remember my upbringing or my father in any positive light. Then I realized that you can appreciate the memories and the good times, no matter how rare they are, without condoning all the shit that happened to you. You should never feel guilty for trying to pull the good out of the bad.”
More silence. She nods, so I know she’s listening.
I push her, just a wee bit. “You must have a memory, a good one, that stands out. It doesn’t negate all the shit you went through…”
“I’m not sure,” she says dismissively, and I know enough to leave her alone. She’ll talk when she wants to talk. I won’t push further.
It’s not long before we’re pulling off into the town of Inverness, famous for being on the River Ness which leads, of course, into Loch Ness. It’s the perfect stopover for the drive up north.
We check into our hotel, a small row house across from the river, and take our suitcases up to the room.
“This is nice,” she says, going straight for the large arched window that looks straight out to the river where a lone fisherman in waders stands in the middle.
It is nice, but for different reasons.
That tension builds around us again. It’s just after lunch and we haven’t eaten more than petrol station snacks. We should go out and get some proper lunch somewhere, really soak up the atmosphere. Yet my appetite is of a different variety.
“How hungry are you?” I ask her cautiously as she stands at the window, the light coming in creating the perfect silhouette of her form.
“It’s manageable,” she says, turning around to face me. There’s heat in her eyes that wasn’t there before.
“Good,” I tell her, striding across the room until I’m holding her face in my hands. “Because I’m starving.”