Page 53 of Phobia
And then I’d remember Cody’s crumpled, broken face. The blood on Larkin’s hands. Blood, I reminded myself, I’d cleaned off on more than one occasion when his anger got out of control. Is that how it started? Explosive rage? Beating someone to a pulp until there was nothing left to beat? What did one of his roommates say after he left Cody for dead in his room?Larkin’s a fucking psycho.
When they weren’t balled into fists, Larkin’s hands were so gentle it was hard to imagine him hurting anyone, even if it meant protecting someone else. When they caressed my face or pulled me close, I trusted them implicitly. I played with them while we curled up with one another in bed, spoon-style, tracing along each of his fingers, following the pink line where I’d sutured his palm not too long ago. He was drunk when he cut it, claiming he was trying to capture a goose. Maybe he cut it on broken glass in the park. Maybe he ripped it open on a chainlink fence. There were a dozen possible scenarios, but none of them explained the cleanness of the cut. The only thing that did fit, however, was some sort of sharp-edged blade, like the kind you’d use to cut up a corpse, just like his father did…
Larkin wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tighter, kissing the back of my neck, derailing my train of thought before it went somewhere I couldn’t come back from.
“Are we going to your grandma’s house this weekend?” I asked in the quiet darkness of my bedroom.
“I suppose we should. I have to finish cleaning that stuff out before a realtor can come in.”
“You don’t want to keep it?”
“Fuck no.” He held me closer, his breath warm against my skin as he buried his nose in my hair. “I’ll get a place here in Winslow.”
“You’re still giving up on the FBI?”
“You’re more important. Besides, if I get a few years under my belt on patrol, I have an even greater chance of getting in if you ever feel like relocating.”
“Are you worried you won’t?”
He got quiet for a moment. I could actually count the long pauses between each breath. Four in, hold, four out, hold; like he was trying to control his breathing. Or maybe he was on the verge of falling asleep.
“Because of your… past?” I ventured quietly, opting not to bringhiminto it directly. Still, I wished I could see Larkin’s face, to see if he was worried or angry or sad. Maybe even relieved he didn’t have to hide that part of his life anymore, that he could finally talk about it with someone, even if that someone was me, Victim Number I-Don’t-Want-To-Know.
“They’re going to know he was a killer,” he replied just as quietly. “They’re going to get those police reports. Those pictures…”
I rolled over to face him, linking my leg through his and caressing his cheek. It was hard to see much of his face with only a sliver of moonlight coming in through the cracks in the curtains. “That was all out of your control. You were a kid. They’re going to know that.”
“I didn’t stop him.”
“Youcouldn’tstop him.”
“I could have tried. I should have tried.”
“He would have killed you too.”
“Maybe he should have.”
“Don’t say that.”
“If he had, he would have never had a reason to come back to New Hampshire. He would have stayed on the other side of the country and you would have been safe.”
“But then I would have never known you.”
“I’m sure you would’ve been just fine. You would have gone to Boston College and then conquered the world. Married rich. Adopted a brood of children. The family would go sailing on the weekends and use seasons like verbs.” His voice shifted into an English accent. “Yes, Harold and I summered at the Cape with the children. It was brilliant. Are we wintering in the Caribbean this year, Schmoopy, or would you prefer Baja?”
I grinned at him, even as I shook my head. “Schmoopy? Really?”
His cheek twitched beneath my hand and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Snookums?”
“I’m not calling you Snookums.”
“Well, no, ‘cuz I’m not rich like Harold.”
“I don’t want Harold. I never wanted Harold. I only want you.”
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. It was tender for a moment before it turned fierce, possessive. I rolled my hips upward, deliberately rubbing my semi-hard cock against his through the thin material of our boxers. It was all the encouragement he needed before he was just as hard as I was.
Tearing his mouth from mine, Larkin shed his boxers before ripping mine off as well. As soon as we were both naked, he pounced, resuming his hungry kiss and grinding his dick against mine. He thrust down as I thrust up, our tongues and cocks slipping and sliding against each other. With our bodies pressed together, we had plenty of friction, but apparently Larkin wanted more.
