The desire to lose myself in her is stronger than ever. Lose myself in her body, in her taste, in her scent. Impulsively, I withdraw from her and drop to my knees, giving in to the urge to bite her ass cheek. I hear her yelp, so I lick the spot, caressing the other cheek with my hand.
I move my hands to her hips and turn her around, facing me. With my palms against her skin, I move up the inside of her thighs and part her legs. I run my tongue between the crease of her lips, sucking her clit into my mouth while I delve into her wet body with one finger. The tunnel is slippery with our combined fluids and still spasming gently, her orgasm beginning to ebb.
Straightening, I bring my wet finger to her shocked and parted lips and I slip it into her mouth.
“This is us together. Taste it.”
Obediently, she takes my finger into her mouth and closes her lips around it, sucking, her smoldering eyes locked on mine.
When my finger is clean, I reach behind her and grab her toothbrush and toothpaste, handing them to her. Automatically, she takes them from my grasp.
Without a word, I zip my pants, turn around, and walk back out the way I came.
* * *
I rub my stinging eyes, the interstate in front of my headlights blurring for an instant before my focus comes back. I glance down at the dashboard clock. It’s nearly two a.m. I don’t know exactly what time it was when I left Marissa’s, but I know I’ve been driving for hours. I knew it was time to turn around when I crossed over into Tennessee.
After I left her standing in her bathroom, I went out to the car. As soon as I started it up, I wanted to shut it off again and go back inside. That’s the only reason I didn’t—because I wanted to. And wanting to is not a good sign.
I was already feeling guilty about taking her in such anger, and that didn’t leave a good taste in my mouth. Guilt and I don’t get along, much less guilt over a woman. That’s exactly why I avoid emotional entanglements with the opposite sex. In the last few years, I haven’t been in one spot long enough for it to be an issue, but I remember all too clearly from life before exile what it feels like to get involved with a girl. Thanks, but no thanks.
It irks me that I’m anxious to get back to her condo. I keep telling myself it’s because I’m tired. But it’s not the bed I keep picturing. Well, at least not an empty bed.
I texted her a few minutes after eleven, just to make sure she was okay. I don’t think she’s in any danger, but I’d be an idiot not to at least be cautious. My question was the same simple question I’ve asked before.
U ok?
And her answer was the same simple word it’s been each time I’ve asked.
Yes.
But that was a while ago. Surely she’ll be asleep when I get back. That ought to make things a little less . . . messy.
I’m relieved when I see the familiar curb come into sight, and even more so when I see that all the windows are dark. I make my way to the door and slip the key Cash told me belonged to her door into the lock. I guess they haven’t really had time to sort out all that his-shit, her-shit stuff. Quietly, I creep through to her bedroom door. It’s open and I can see her form beneath the covers. It’s illuminated by a shaft of moonlight peeking between the curtains.
I realize the considerate thing to do would be to crash on the couch. Luckily, I’m not the considerate type, so she would expect nothing less than for me to come to bed. To her bed. At least she should expect that from me.
Silently kicking off my boots and stripping out of my clothes, I ease onto the bed and slide under the sheet. She’s rolled up in a ball on her side, facing me. I watch for her eyes to open and listen for her to speak or stir, but she doesn’t, so I close my eyes and relax into the pillow.
A couple of minutes later, just before I drift off to sleep, I hear her voice. It’s quiet in the darkness, but still it startles me. And the touch of her soft fingers gives me chills.
“What does this mean?” she asks, tracing part of the tattoo on my arm.
“You scared the piss out of me. I thought you were asleep.”
“I couldn’t sleep until I knew you were back.”
I don’t know if that means she was afraid of being alone or she was worried about me. I like the thought of her worrying about me, but at the same time it irritates me because I like it.
“Well, I’m back, so go to sleep.”
“I can’t yet. I’m too keyed up. Talk to me. Tell me about your tattoo.”
“I don’t talk about it. Ever.”
“But you can tonight, can’t you? Please.”
Something in her voice, in the vague glint from her eyes that I can see in the darkness, pricks me, pricks my thick scar tissue.
I sigh and close my eyes again, going back in time to places and people and events I’d rather forget. Only I can’t. I’ll never be able to.
“When I first started on the boat, I had no idea what kind of business those guys were into. I thought it was just a cargo ship. I figured we’d haul merchandise from point A to point B and then go back for more. It wasn’t big enough to haul very many containers, and all the ones I got to see the inside of were full of tires. There was no reason for me to think there was anything foul going on.” I pause as I remember the day I first witnessed a deal for something other than tires. “Until we made our first trip into the Indian Ocean and the Arabian Sea.”
Marissa moves in closer to snuggle against my side and lay her head on my shoulder, her fingers continually tracing the swirling patterns on my bicep.
“The first time, I was more an observer than anything. I stayed on the ship while some of the crew loaded crates that were buried behind the tires onto a smaller boat and took them to shore. It was broad daylight and we could see everything that happened on the beach. I thought it was strange that we were meeting on a near-deserted island, anyway. When I heard the gunshots and saw two of the guys from our ship fall, I knew why. I knew something illegal was going on.
“That night, Dmitry, the one my father put me in contact with, came to my room and told me that if I didn’t keep my mouth shut, he couldn’t protect me and there was nowhere on earth I could hide. He was very matter-of-fact about it, but I knew he was serious. I didn’t ask questions, but I tried to stay out of anyone’s notice as much as I could. It was one day a couple months later that I heard Dmitry arguing with Alexandroff, the ship’s captain I was telling you about.