Page 10 of Haven

He works up to the same fast, rough rhythm, and this time the angle of penetration helps. I whimper as an orgasm tightens again. My hair is in my face, and it ruffles with my breath.

Jackson gathers it in one big handful so it’s no longer in my face. Then he uses the hand to push down against my neck until my elbows buckle and my upper body falls down, leaving only my bottom in the air.

He gives a grunt that’s almost primal. Fucks me so hard the bedsprings are groaning and the bed frame shifts against the old hardwood floor.

My cheek is pressed against the mattress now. I try to keep quiet. I even bite my lower lip. But I make a helpless, sobbing sound as a hard orgasm breaks, spasming out from my core and slicing through my whole body, all the way to my fingers and toes.

Jackson knows I came. Even overwhelmed by the sensations, I hear the rough sound of satisfaction he makes as he watches me, feels me coming all around him. Then he finally falls out of rhythm, giving me a few last hard pushes before he yanks out his cock and gasps wetly as he comes in several spurts onto my lower back.

We stay in position for a minute—me with my face pushed into the bed and my ass in the air, him kneeling behind me with a fistful of my hair. The only sound in the room now is the texture of our heavy breathing.

Then he’s moving. He grabs a piece of clothing from the floor—it looks like the T-shirt he wore today—and wipes his semen from my back in a quick, efficient swipe. I roll onto my side, stretching my back and thigh muscles until I’m confident I can move without wincing.

Then I climb off the bed, grab my gown from the floor to pull it on over my head, and go to pick up my candle from the table.

I don’t say a word and neither does he as I leave, making my way down the dark hall and returning to my room.

There I pee and clean myself up a bit before I fall into bed. This time, when my eyes close, the world doesn’t whirl around me. I’m asleep in less than five minutes.

Maybe it would be different if we were in a relationship, but we’re not. He’s not my friend or my boyfriend, and we don’t spend every night together.

But sometimes I go to his room after the sun goes down. I need to. Not for sweet words or soft kisses but because his arms, like the flickering light of that one candle, are the only things that can hold back the night.

three

WHEN IT’S HOT LIKEthis, we try to do most of the hardest manual labor first thing in the morning—even before breakfast. So the next morning I get up, throw some clothes on, and go to work in the garden for a couple of hours. Jackson and some of the guys are reinforcing one of the perimeter walls, so I don’t try to talk to him until that project and the gardening is done.

Then it’s midmorning, and I find a private spot at the creek to bathe since the creek is flowing well this year and it’s a lot easier than pumping up enough water for a bath in the house. I take the time to comb out my wet hair so it will dry without too many kinks and tangles in the sun.

When I’m as clean as I ever get anymore, I check in on Molly again, who shows no improvement since yesterday.

That’s it. I’m not going to wait anymore.

Molly is going to die unless we find her some antibiotics.

I haven’t seen Jackson return to the house yet this morning, so I wander toward the barn to look for him.

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