Page 25 of Shelter for Shay
She reached down between them, palm pressing against him through the thin layer of his boxers. He gasped, staring up into her eyes as if asking permission. She gave away her 'yes' in the form of a nod and an encouraging whisper, "Please."
Their clothes fell away with a sense of finality. She looked at him fully, drinking in every scar, freckle, and dip of his toned muscles. Her fingers traced his chest lightly, finding aberrant patches of worn-out skin that bore the remnants of battles he’d known before. But she loved each one of them—the ones that still hurt when pressed against too hard, the ones that had faded away to mere memories. It made him real.
"You're beautiful," she murmured against him.
He smiled, heavy lids half-closed as his hand moved down her body with clear intention filled with yearning. His touch on her softness made her arch her back and sigh, an electric charge passed between them like a secret message.
She seamlessly guided him inside her—two bodies merging like pieces of a puzzle fitting together perfectly. In those few moments, he became more than just a man who had helped hermother in her final stages of life—he became a part of her she hadn’t known existed but had found anyway.
Their rhythm was slow yet insistent. Every thrust stirred up emotions they had both suppressed deep within themselves for so long that it felt strange to let them loose. He held her close as she rocked against him, their bodies slick with sweat, breaths ragged and hitching from the effort. Her fingers pressed into his shoulders, leaving echoes of her touch that her lips followed.
“Shay…” he moaned, tipping his head back as she kissed along his collarbone.
“I’m here,” she whispered back. She could feel their shared tension rising, feel the way they were spiraling toward something beautiful and terrifying rolled into one—the powerful force of a climax, the rawness of their shared emotion.
Finally, when she saw his eyes flutter shut and felt him lose control, she gave in too—riding out waves of pleasure that fogged up her mind and made her body shiver uncontrollably.
When it was over, he held her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead while she curled against him. They basked in the afterglow, their bodies tangled together on the bed.
"I'm glad it was you," she said eventually. "I'm glad it was you I got to share this with."
He simply held her tighter in response, pressing gentle kisses against her temple as the night gave way to morning. It had started with incredible loss and heartbreak, and it ended on a surprisingly intimate note. They were bound together by grief and unexpected passion.
“No regrets,” he whispered.
“Not a single one,” she said.
7
MOOSE – LAKE GEORGE, NEW YORK
Parking Lot of Kelly’s Taproom – 6:47 p.m.
The bar hadn’t changed much.
Peeling paint. Neon signs humming behind dusty windows. The smell of cigarettes clung to the siding, even though smoking had been banned decades ago. Kelly’s Taproom was the kind of place that didn’t care about appearances—it only cared if you could hold your liquor and knew when to shut up.
Moose had spent more time in this bar than he cared to admit. He’d practically been raised in it. He knew every inch of it. He knew all the secrets. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Honestly, not much good came out of Kelly’s Taproom. It was a cesspool for drugs and sex workers.
When he’d been a teenager, the cops would get called at least once a week. If it wasn’t for a drug bust, it was because of a fight. Or because someone was soliciting sex for money. There was always some form of criminal activity taking place. Occasionally,the health department would get called in and every once in a while, the bar would get shut down. When that happened, Moose hoped things at home would get better. He’d had it in his head that if his mom was out of job, or away from all the drugs and the people who frequented the bar, she’d have to pay attention to her only son.
But that’s not what happened.
Not exactly, anyway.
She did pay more attention, but oftentimes that came in the form of a slap across the face. A fist to his gut. Or a demand that he go out and lie, steal, or cheat so she’d have money and drugs. It was a never-ending cycle.
Moose leaned against the hood of his rental, arms crossed, boot scuffing the cracked asphalt. His cell phone buzzed in his back pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and smiled.
Shay:I just wanted to send you some good vibes. I know this isn’t easy for you.
Moose:Nothing worth doing is easy.
Shay:Now you sound like my mom.
Moose:I carry her with me. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.
He tucked his cell back in his pocket.
