Page 68 of Hell In A Handbasket
But her hair still smells of the shampoo inside our apartment.
Her hair still smells likehome.
Fuck, that’s my favorite place to be.
Bursting, I crowd her against the trellis and fill her pussy with my seed. I lean on her, because my lungs are empty and my legs are weak. My thighs burn, and if I try to step back now, I worry I might drop her. So I lean and pray she can hold on a moment more. I claw air into my lungs—oxygen inhaled through the filter of her hair—and massage her thighs. And because I’m a prisoner to her, I come again. A second round that feels like electricity in my veins and red-hot pokers on my nerve endings.
“You’re heavy.”
“I know.” I cough out a soft laugh. “I’ll get off you soon.”
“We didn’t last very long.” Snickering, she combs her fingers through my hair and draws a long, whistling breath. “We typically have more finesse.”
“Fucking outside is a teenager thing to do.” I kiss her neck. Her shoulder. I slide my tongue along the skin covering her collarbone and work on slowing my heart. “We fucked like teenagers, and teenagers rarely do it well.”
“Joke’s on us.” She fists my hair and tugs me back, dislodging my lips from her skin and grinning when our eyes meet. “I didn’t say it wasn’t good. I said it was lacking finesse. I was so sure, once I became an adult, I would never have to sneak again. But here we are.”
“Committing another crime.” I draw her bottom lip between my teeth and suckle. “If only the rest of the world knew how nasty the upstanding Chief Mayet was when no one is looking.”
“I suspect the world would be more interested in the hard ass son of a mafioso, turned homicide detective.” Her lashes flutter down to kiss her cheeks. She’s tired and needs her Factor, whether she admits it or not. “Your father’s enemies would be aghast to know who you are behind the badge, Detective. Your lieutenant would be stunned.”
Doubtful.
I carefully lower her legs and force her to stand on her own two feet, and when she’s steady, I pull my cock free and swallow her sigh.
Loss. Contentment. Desire for more, probably. Desire for a bed, most likely.
“I want it on record that having your cum roll down my thighs after sex isnotpleasant.” Yawning, she bends and picks up her panties, stepping into the fabric and drawing them up. “It never feels nice.”
“Maybe we should go for a quick swim in the lake before bed.” I tuck my cock away and close the zipper, then I grab her pants and lower into a crouch. “Hand on my shoulder, Minnnka.” I place her hand to help her balance, then I open her pants and wait for her to slide one foot in. Then the second. I press a kiss to the fronts of her thighs and look up into her sleepy eyes, then I slowly stand and bring her pants over the perfect swell of her ass. “The bus’s shower facilities kinda suck, so maybe a swim in the lake would do us both good. Cool us down before bed. Then we can infuse and go to sleep.”
“You insist on micro-scheduling my medication, don’t you?” She drapes her arms over my shoulders and leaves me to finish dressing her. Then I make quick work of fixing my belt and preparing for our walk home.
To a bus.
To someone else’s broken-down bus in a town we never truly had to come to.
“I could even wait until tomorrow night before I infuse,” she murmurs. “It’s not a big deal.”
“But it’s best if we do it tonight, right?” I tuck her hair behind her ears, then I slip my hands beneath her shirt and fix her bra. Everything I undid, I fix. Every article of clothing I moved, I move back. For the rest of my life, I vow to help her put herself back together again after I’ve messed things up. “Is there any reason you don’t want to infuse tonight?”
“Besides not relishing the thought of being a circus freak, stared at while I’m doing it?”
“I’ll shield you.” Finally done, I pull away and trace her cheek with the pad of my thumb. “I’ll keep them away if you need me to. I promise.”
“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if you married someone else?”
She elicits a stab of fear that cuts through my gut like a sharp silver blade. Her words sting. But her gentle smile, in response to my terror, softens the ache.
“I mean, someone not so fragile.”
“Often.”
“Really?”
“Wonder?” I clarify. “Sure. I try to imagine a world where my wife is a gentle, softly spoken Suzy Homemaker who bakes me cakes and prepares a home-cooked meal every night.”
She rolls her eyes.
