Page 56 of Cutter's Hope

It showed up in the form of Hex and Nothing, just as things started to get light enough to become sketchy. They rumbled up the road in an old 70’s camper van that was wheezing and choking, which conveniently sputtered and died at precisely the right vantage just past the old house’s drive where there was a gap in the trees in front of the house.

Hex and Nothing got out and made a great show of lifting the narrow hood, fanning steam out of their way and talking about what to do and this and that. Cutter and I made a break for it and made it back to the bikes just as someone started shouting at Hex in thickly accented English about moving his fucking van. Cutter and I waited in the grass, tense. He looked through the field glasses and chewed the inside of his cheek as our boys and theirs had some kind of exchange.

Finally the tension eased out of Cutter and he breathed out, “They’re staying with their van. Russian went back in the house.”

“They’re good then,” I said.

“Yeah but for how long? Swear to Christ that boy has some kind of a death wish,” he muttered and I watched the two figures of Hex and Nothing get back into the van.

“Come on, let’s get going,” Cutter said and Trike took the binoc’s and put them in his saddlebag. We pushed our bikes back down the road away from the house a good ways before firing them up and heading back to the hotel.

We grabbed some food and took it back with us. Sleep was a long time coming but we needed it. I lay in the air conditioned hush of the cheap motel room, the nude length of my body pressed against Cutter’s, my head resting on his chest listening to the steady thrum of his heart and I was wide awake, my mind working in overdrive.

Finally, with a harsh exhale, Cutter was up and over me. His fingers curling around my wrists pinning my arms over my head as he settled in between my thighs, hips moving, looking for purchase. His mouth covered mine, and he swallowed my sound of initial protest and before I could buck or make another, he found what he sought, the length of him sinking inside of me. My initial second attempt at any noise protesting what was going on changed mid voicing into a moan of desire.

I was a little sore from our tryst earlier on and that just added a certain dimension to what he was doing now. His grip around my wrists loosened and he smoothed his hands over mine, palm to palm. His fingers found the spaces between mine and we locked hands which brought another moan out of me. I opened my legs, twining them around his, tangling myself with him until you couldn’t tell where his body left off and mine began.

This round of sex wasn’t rushed or hurried, if I had to describe it, I would say it was fierce but gentle. I loved the feeling of his skin against mine, the taut planes of his back beneath my hands, as he stroked every place that counted both inside and out.

“Mmm, kiss me?” I begged and he did. I tangled my fingers in his hair and held him to my mouth, drinking him in deep. Soon his thrusting became, hard and fast and wild, as if our kiss were the match to ignite the kerosene inside either of us.

“God I love the way you make me feel!” I gasped and was rewarded by one of the most dazzling smiles I’d ever received from him.

“Just the beginning, Baby,” he murmured and God was it true. He made love to me until I was too tired to think, which I think was his whole intent in getting things started in the first place. Problem was, it was having the unexpected side effect of making me love him just that much more… this man who took care of me, took command of me, who turned me on and turned me inside out likenobody’sbusiness.

We slept, and woke sometime mid-day to Cutter’s burner cell ringing. He picked it up off the nightstand and flipped it open.

“Yeah?”

I could hear clearly, Atlas’ voice from the speaker, “Yeah Captain, lap dancer just showed up and went in, was in there maybe five minutes. She just took off.”

“Shit, any movement?” Cutter asked, I’d stiffened in apprehension upon hearing the news myself, he was on my wavelength, speaking my thoughts aloud.

“No, Sir. It’s business as usual, whatever the fuck that is for these assholes.”

“What time is it?” Cutter asked.

“A little after thirteen-hundred.” Christ, we’d had around four hours of sleep. Not enough, but better than none.

“Call us if there’s any movement.”

“Aye Captain,” and the line went dead.

“Sounds like they’re still in lockdown,” I mused.

“Yeah, think it’s time we crashed their party. You up for it?”

“Hell yes, when do you think would be a good time to do it?”

“Dusk sounds about right, guess we’d better sit down and make some plans.”

I nodded against his chest and debated with myself, finally sighed and pushed off of him, struggling to sit up in the tangle of sheets and legs. I looked down at him.

“Thank you,” I said, chickening out at the last second. He traced a thumb lightly across my cheek and smiled softly, searching my face with his gaze as if he were committing it to memory.

“Any time,” he murmured.

He knew. I saw it plain as day, that he knew that by ‘thank you’ I meant ‘I love you’ and it was as clear as the bright blue sky outside that by ‘any time’ he meant ‘I love you too’ so why was it so damn hard to say the fucking words out loud?

---