Erin Dameron-Hill (18 page)

His frantic hands pulled my face back into his and he kissed me forcefully, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, tasting me as I tasted him, darting my own tongue deeper into his mouth, licking up every part of him.

I barely heard the horns honking around us as the Hunter pulled away from me and parked on the curb. His breathing was hard and raspy and his heart was beating uncontrollably, thumping loudly in the silent vehicle.

“We’re less than a mile from your place,” he said, his hands winding over my shoulders and trying urgently to untie the jacket knot, “If we can only wait a little while longer…”

But instead, I felt his weight crash on top of me which made things tight and wet.

His legs were shaking, his palms sweating, his heart beating frantically as I helped him untie the sleeves that were covering my body, getting ready to ease this thing pulsing with life between us.

The air reeked of drying blood, swamp dirt, and a sexual hunger that I just couldn’t take anymore. The metallic tinge that perfumed the masculine musk was nearly more than I could bear. My beast howled inside its cave, pacing eagerly with anticipation.

I pushed him off of me, throwing him back onto his side of the vehicle and reached for the button that would push his seat backwards.

The seat slammed backwards on its hinges, thundering in between our heavy and raspy breaths. My legs crossed over him, my knees digging into the gray upholstery while my head slightly bumped on the roof of the vehicle. You would think there would be more head room in a vehicle this size, but you’d be wrong. But that didn’t matter. I just tilted my head to the side a bit and bent forward to lick that pulse that was beating just under his smooth, tanned skin. He tasted like a hundred starry nights glimmering in autumn, like a perfect breeze on a hot and humid day, like wilderness that has never been touched by man--wild and untamed.

His rough and calloused hands scratched along my naked flesh as he kneaded my back harder and clutched tighter at my shoulders. He had a hang nail, probably from cleaning his guns, and it tore straight down my back sending chills of both pain and pleasure forcing me to bite none so gently on that beautiful pulse that fluttered just under the skin. I moaned throatily and moved my lips past the pulse and closer to his heart, his nipple. I flicked it back and forth with my tongue and heard the thumping of his heart grow louder inside my mouth, heard the soft groan of desire become more and more loud as I licked and sucked deeply on that small, pink nub.

I felt his soft lips brush against my shoulders, felt his teeth gingerly caress my skin sending wave after wave of lust tearing through my body. I felt the hot wetness inside me pour out from me and drip onto his dirty and mud-stained jeans. I hadn’t been with a man in so long, that even the foreplay was bringing me closer and closer to orgasm. It’s actually kind of pathetic that just kissing him sent my internal muscles squeezing against air.

My hands reached for the jeans button and I tried to unlatch it, but I was so caught up in feeling his warmth, licking his stomach that I couldn’t unfasten the damn things. I growled silently to myself as I tried to focus on the clasp, becoming more violent as I became more and more frustrated.

“Here,” the Hunter said, bringing his hands to both unfasten and unzip his pants. I should have been embarrassed that I couldn’t even remove his jeans, but so long as they were off his body, I didn’t care who took them off.

We both pulled at the denim until it was past his thighs and hinged on his knees. The plaid boxers were easier to remove, or rather not remove. My hands reached tenderly inside that cottony slit and I pulled his large, erect, and hard member through the hole and into my hands. It was velvety smooth with extraordinarily soft skin that felt like both silk and suede. As much as I wanted to put it in my mouth, my inner thighs began to shake and tremble and I knew I wanted him inside me, deep inside. I wanted every inch of him pulsing and pounding within me, thrusting and fucking me uncontrollably, violently. I wanted to scream and yell when I came and that can only be accomplished by rough and heavy sex. And that’s what I wanted.

I didn’t want emotional sex, tender sex or gentle sex, I wanted to be fucked. I didn’t want to deal with emotions, I just wanted to feel something other than sadness, depression, and loss.

The tip of his head brushed against my inner lips, slipping on the wetness that was issuing and sliding down my legs.

“God, just put it in,” I said, tensing under the pressure and the longing for this. The anticipation was killing me. I wanted it, him, so badly, “Just do it already,” I screamed.

He pulled back for just a moment and said, “I don’t have a condom.”

Shit.

“I don’t care right now,” I said through gritted teeth. Didn’t he know that I needed this right now? What’s with the hold up?

“I know you don’t care now,” he replied, his breathing coming at odd intervals and his voice raspy like he couldn’t talk, “but when we’re done, you’ll care.”

“God! What is your deal?” I yelled and threw myself off him. I landed with a plop on the passenger side seat and crossed my arms over my breasts. I was so frustrated, so angry. Nothing had been going right lately and even my attempts at sex was failing miserably.

My heart was pounding against my chest, thudding now through rage instead of lust. Adrenaline had ran through my body leaving me breathless and annoyed. I picked off the clear goop and green algae from my collar bone and winced. I had been so caught up in the moment that I had forgotten how dirty and probably stinky I was. The grime was still covering my body and now I had my vaginal secretions adding to list of extreme filthiness. Not that my secretions were filthy, it’s just, well, they’re only good when having sex. Afterwards, you just want to clean up and sleep.

My breathing slowed down again to a normal pace and I looked out the window, through the very dark tinted window, and realized we were still parked on the side of the highway. My home was only a few seconds from here.

I wiped at my forehead and pulled slick goo off and thrust it onto the dirty, gray floor. I was a mess. Both physically and emotionally. The Hunter had been right all along; I didn’t need the extra aggravation of sex and intimacy. I needed time to deal with what had happened to me. I needed time to deal with the loss of Charlie, Clyde, and probably Billy. I needed time to face my nightmares, to no longer show fear in the presence of that powerful shadow. I needed time to be myself.

The roar of the Hummer’s engine sounded loudly in the quiet and awkward interior and I knew I was going home. At least I would be back in my sanctuary, in my safe haven. Even though my home had a horrible track record of safety, i.e. being attacked by a rogue werewolf; I still considered it my refuge.

Chapter
Sixteen

After what seemed like hours, although only two minutes had passed, the Hunter and I pulled up in front of my one bedroom condo. It was a relief to step out of that crowded and stuffy SUV. I needed fresh air, I needed to be alone.

My hands reached back at my long, hard, and crusty hair and then I realized I needed a lot of things; for one, I needed a bath.

I looked over at the Hunter, Damon, or Morty, whatever he was going by these days, and knew I needed to repair our relationship, if we even had a relationship. I had tossed him aside like moldy bread and stewed in my own juices. I had just wanted to feel alive, to feel his heart next to mine, to know that my own heart was still beating. So many people had perished around me that I was beginning to feel like my turn was next. Or rather, my turn
should
be next. Why my friends, why my family, why not me? Why were they taken away from me? And why was I left alone?

I turned the key into my lock and opened the door to what would normally be my sanctuary. But today, it was crowded and uncomfortable. I knew the Hunter needed to stay by my side just in case the murderer returned, just in case the attacker stopped by to say hello and rip my body apart. Still, though, I could have used the alone time. I’m not used to constantly being with others. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m a lone wolf. And that’s how I prefer to be.

If you’re alone, then you have no one to lose.

The tarot cards from Ms. Jean’s reading, or rather, from my reading were still laid out on the table. I hadn’t been listening to their advice. I knew what they had told me, what the Entity had told me, but I just ignored it.

The cards looked up at me with disappointment because I wasn’t paying heed to their words. Or perhaps I was just as disappointed with myself as they were. Cards aren’t real, they don’t take on personalities nor do they come alive, but the reading stays with a person, constantly reminding the person about obligations and responsibilities. The cards can be hard to ignore.

The Two of Cups stared menacingly at me from the other three cards. I was supposed to have partnered with someone in order to face the difficulties ahead. But I hadn’t. Instead, I had brushed the Hunter off because I was frustrated with my own emotions. The Hunter had been so kind to me and I had turned him away, probably made him feel like shit. I was so miserable, did I want everyone around me to be miserable too? I was becoming a crotchety old grandma who has hated her life and so she makes everyone around her hate their life as well. Is that who I wanted to be?

No.

The Hunter’s jacket was still wrapped around my waist, barely covering anything. Dirt and grime still lingered and glued themselves onto my skin. And the Hunter still stood by me. He was a little bit further away than he had been before; he was constantly peeking out both the front sliding glass door and the bedroom window, pacing occasionally and being just all around busy. He wasn’t watching me anymore, he was doing his job.

I wanted him to look at me again with those beautiful dark eyes, with caring and understanding instead of ignoring me. I guess he was just giving me time to deal with everything. He had been right all along--I did need time to mourn. So much had happened in such a short time that I just skimmed over the events without so much as a pause. What I really needed to do was come to terms with each loss, with each regret, with future consequences.

It sounds nice to be able to focus and move on, but it’s not that simple. Life never is. Life is always complicated and most of the time, life is difficult. Life is a constant challenge that a person must rise to face. I wasn’t facing life. I was hiding and avoiding.

Even now, all I was doing was staring at these tarot cards. I wasn’t speaking to apologize for my behavior, I wasn’t trying to deal with the death that had surrounded me, hell, I hadn’t even fully dealt with my wolf. I was just avoiding everything as much as I could.

It’s really frightening to face your fears, to overcome them. I couldn’t even look at my fears let alone beat them. I had been scared all my life, ever since I lost my parents. Fear begets fear and my life was in a constant state of terror. No one should have to live like that. No one should have six locks on their door or bars on their window. No one should constantly look over their shoulder for fear of rape or assault.

Life should not be a constant stream of horror.

I’ve seen movies, Disney ones mostly, where everyone has a happy ending. Sometimes I wish my story would end happily; that a prince would take me away from the evil in this world, that he would love me for the rest of my days. It’s easy to wish for someone to erase your problems--problems can only be solved by yourself.

And I just wasn’t that strong.

“I’ve done my rounds,” the Hunter said, now looking at me cautiously, “it’s safe enough for you to take a bath now.”

“Oh, I didn’t know I needed your permission,” I said, staring at the cards. Geez, what is wrong with me? Why am I lashing out like this? Why am I so angry?

I heard the Hunter sigh silently and then his soft padded steps came toward me. His rough hands rubbed gently and delicately on my shoulders and then he brought me into a big hug. My cheek rested tenderly on his firm chest and those strong arms held me tightly and securely.

“You’ve had a rough few days,” he said softly, “If you need to be angry, it’s okay. Take it out on me.”

I wanted to. I wanted to hit him, I wanted to yell, I wanted to scream. I had lost my parents, my friends--Charlie, Clyde, Billy--the Entity had returned, I was in love with a Hunter, and I knew my attacker was waiting for me. How can one person deal with all of that? How can
I
deal with all of that?

I stood in his arms silent and unmovable. As much as I wanted to cry, to be angry, I couldn’t. All I could feel was his warmth and listen to his heart. The constant and rhythmic thumping nearly hypnotized me into a peace-like state. I could listen to that bass and quiet down. I could almost feel calm, almost feel as if nothing bad had ever happened to me. Almost.

The Hunter’s right hand rubbed up and down my back, occasionally getting stuck in the leather folds of the jacket. The silver zipper was beginning to rub at my belly the wrong way so I stepped out of that warming touch and into the humid and stuffy room.

I walked towards the air conditioner and turned it to ‘on’. Immediately, sharp, cold blasts of air sounded throughout my condo. It was nice to know that at least the air conditioner was still working. Every summer I have to replace some wire or tube and yet, so far this summer, it’s been running like a dream. It’s the only thing that seems to be working around here.

“I need to take a bath,” I said quietly, rubbing the back of my neck, feeling the grime and grit roll under my fingers.

“I’ll wait outside the door,” the Hunter replied sympathetically, “If you need me, just yell.”

“Sure.”

I walked into the bathroom alone, just like I had done for several years. This was the first time, however, that I regretted that action. I keep saying I’m a lone wolf, that being alone is better than being with someone, but as I look into the large and empty bathtub, as I stand silent in the vacant room, as my mind scurries from loss and love, I realize I don’t want to bathe alone. I don’t want to face my fears alone. I don’t want to be an old maid who has suffered every misery that life can bestow and who has turned mean and nasty because she has never known happiness.

I didn’t want that.

I pulled off the jacket, peeling parts of it from goop-infested skin and said firmly, “Morty?”