Nightfall (24 page)

Exhausted yet wired, needing a moment to breathe before returning to Jenna, he slid to the concrete floor next to a photo display of fresh, fluffy carpeting in a large living room replete with sunshine. The high-res scene looked like Disneyland. It hadn't been that long since the change, but he couldn't imagine people aspiring to such a dream anymore, all bright windows and gleaming countertops.

Carpeting. Blinds. Exotic hardwoods. Who'd need them anymore? Folks out there lucky enough to be alive would be content with a dry cave.

Forearms draped across his knees, he let his body go quiet and his eyes sag to half-mast. His mind drifted and found Jenna. He always did, across a path of magic and mystery that didn't hold up to logical scrutiny. But who needed logic when he could see her like this? She was standing naked in front of the grill, framed by the entry to the enclosed gazebo. The russet embers cast her skin in a warm glow. She picked up one of the expensive chamois curtains he'd cut into strips for washing, then slid the material against her neck, reveling in the softness. He felt more than saw her shiver.

His cock went rigid. Tight muscles bunched and ached. But he didn't move. Watching her this way—voyeuristic, almost a daydream—seemed safer. He'd been so brutal. They both had, the most vicious way a couple could fuck. A huge part of him didn't trust that he'd be any different if they tried again. Taking still came easier than asking, even after all they'd shared.

But that was just an excuse. He was being a coward. He needed something more from her, the bit of the tenderness she'd offered with her mind—there in the tower. She'd touched him, eased him, shown him how it could be. Just before dropping him cold.

He swallowed hard. No, he didn't trust himself or Jenna. Not fully. So he watched from afar.

She wet the cloth and rubbed hand soap from an industrial-sized refill jug until it lathered. She scrubbed it over her arms and shoulders, beneath her arms, then started down her chest. Collarbone. Breasts. Flat, smooth stomach. Her nipples puckered in the cold. Mason moaned. She bent at the waist and worked from the feet up. Her breasts swayed gently as she worked, and he wanted to cup them, massage them. Instead he rubbed a hand along his cock where it strained against the fly of his jeans.

The walkie-talkie crackled. “You're an idiot.”

Eyes still closed, he picked up the handset. “I like watching you.”

“Do it in person.”

Need and instinct overpowered whatever pride he had left. He made a beeline back to the garden section. Upon reaching the gazebo, everything was as he'd pictured, except now her hair was dripping wet and clean. She shoved a hank of it out of her eyes, then wrapped a length of chamois around her head like a turban. Arms raised, her naked breasts stretched high. Dizziness swept the strength from Mason's muscles, leaving him weak and trembling.

He closed the distance between them. His feet, if they were still attached to his body, had gone numb. Jenna dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out, then shot him a look he couldn't understand. But it scorched him.

“I missed a spot.” She held out the fabric, water dripping quietly onto the floor.

Mason took it, not surprised to see his hand shaking. His naked chest brushed hers. Their fingers intertwined at their sides, bodies flirting. He inhaled sharply. Jenna simply ... purred.

“Where?”

She nudged his hand toward the heat between her legs. “Here.”

Air sizzled in his lungs. But he was determined to take back a scrap of the control she'd stolen. If she wanted his touch, she'd get it. And more.

Mason knelt. Tight curls hid her softness, but he explored. She tipped her head back, moaning as he used the cloth to clean and stroke. Jenna's fingers latched onto his shoulders. She dug her nails into his skin, sending dark fissures of pleasure deeper, deeper still. He kissed her upper thigh where bruises dotted her flesh, then spread his fingers across each one, finding them a perfect match.

He'd marked her.

“Nothing I didn't want you to do,” she whispered.

“Witch.”

She made some noise of agreement in her throat, one that turned breathy when he replaced the cloth with his mouth.

Her groan tore a hole in his control, but Mason forced calm, even breaths. He wrapped one arm around her backside, kneading her ass. With the other, he eased two fingers inside her slick pussy. She clenched around him. The clean scent of her sank into his brain. Her taste washed over his tongue as he darted it between her folds, slipping over her clit with a sure, quickening rhythm.

“John
,
” she gasped.

The climax built beneath her skin, rising with the shivers of reaction even while she held completely still. He could have stayed there all night, suckling and nipping, but he pulled away. She moaned. Eyes dusky with passion tipped down toward him.

He didn't break eye contact as he leaned nearer and pressed his mouth against the soft skin of her upper thigh. Baring his teeth, he bit gently. Her breasts rose around a quick inhale. Her mouth opened. And her flesh gave way beneath the pressure he slowly increased. Biting. Testing them both.

When at last she squirmed in his arms, he released her. He kissed the crescent of teeth marks. “Mine,” he whispered against her skin.

She shuddered. “Yes.”

Mason caught her in his arms and swept her back into the gazebo. After laying her on their makeshift bed, he shucked his pants and resumed his place between her legs. This time he didn't stop. He licked and tasted until her breath came in ragged bursts. Her hands fisted at the back of his head, holding him there. He pushed his fingers inside as the orgasm tightened her muscles.

Her satisfaction dripped into his mind like warm molasses, easing the fierce ache of his own body. He kissed the skin just below her bellybutton and waited for her to come back to him.

She did with a laugh and a deep sigh. “Jesus.”

Moments later, she ran a tentative hand along his lower ribs before trailing down to his naked hip. “I'd like to return the favor, John. Tell me what you want.”

“A BJ would be nice, but I'm not picky.”

She leaned closer. Her breasts brushed against his upper arm. “You're holding out on me. Why?”

His mind flashed to the moment she'd cut him deepest, drawing him in before slapping him down. Jenna followed him there, and understanding shimmered between them.

“I ... I—” He cleared his throat. “I can't do that again.”

“I left you wanting.”

“Yes.”

“And that hurt.”

“God, yes.”

“You're hurting. I get it now, John. You're trying. Really trying. I know that.”

She was killing him by inches. He sensed what she needed—even now, asking him to reveal his own desires—but he couldn't form the words.

“I felt your teeth on my skin and I trusted you,” she said. “Trust me now.”

Jenna waited, her fingers feathering against his straining, twitching cock. So he let go. He let the truth fill his thoughts first. Then he voiced them.

“I want you to touch me. Kiss me.” He cupped her face. “You showed me that, remember? How it could be.”

She nodded, eyes luminous. Kneeling, she tugged him around until he sat cross-legged, his back bowed. She moved behind him and smoothed her hands over his skin, over each painful ridge of scar tissue that marred his back. Nothing remained but Jenna.

Warm lips and damp hair followed in the wake of her hands. She eased those old wounds with gentle kisses, again and again, until the pain was a memory—a dark, twisted memory that she wouldn't ever let return. He read her vow in the aching caresses.

Shuddering, he called to her. Maybe with words. Maybe with his body or his mind. But she came to him, made of fluid grace. She settled onto his lap, enveloping him with a fire that burned and cleansed and set him free. Where before Mason had hammered inside her, frantic, she now set the pace, easing up and over. So slowly. He caught her nipple in his mouth and sucked, all languid tenderness. Her moan flayed his defenses and stripped him to the bone.

She arched, crying out. Even then, finding release again, she dragged out each sensation, grinding her pelvis, pulling his head to her breast.

Mason wrapped his arms around her and held on with the fervency of a dying man—just one more breath, one more moment. One more thrust. But he couldn't hold back. He surrendered to her. He bucked beneath a fierce, hot orgasm.

“Jenna,” he groaned. And when he licked his lips, he tasted the salt of his own tears.

It seemed wrong to be so happy.

God only knew what was happening back at the station, but Jenna couldn't make herself worry. Not now. Time belonged to her and Mason. This day, ostensibly devoted to resting up for the long hike back, couldn't be touched by outside forces.

After they'd made love—and there was no other term for it—he held her. Jenna lay back in his arms, head tucked beneath his chin. She never would have believed him capable of such tenderness, but his hands sifted through her hair with idle delicacy. His heart thumped in a steady, reassuring rhythm, keeping time with hers.

She smiled, shifting to glance at his face softened by the sepia gloom. Even with the ring of flashlights, it wasn't bright in the closed-off gazebo. The sun was up, but they were too far from the windows. Just as well. She didn't want anything to do with the horrors outside.

“I love your voice,” she murmured, dreamy. Drifting.

He stirred against her. “That so?”

“Even when you're telling me what to do, it's sexy. Gravelly. I could come just listening to you.”

“Huh.”

“Plan on putting that to the test?”

Mason touched his mouth to her ear and growled, “I might.”

A shiver worked through her. “Had a lot of practice talking dirty, have you?”

But her question gave her a fierce, unwelcome twinge. For the first time, she understood how he must have felt when she paid attention to Chris. The idea of Mason touching anyone else made her want to curl her hands into claws and do some damage.

He'd voiced it, but she felt it too.

“No,” he said simply.

Jenna tried not to display visible pleasure. Listing a roster of past lovers was useless. Most must be dead by now. He laughed softly, as if he'd glimpsed her feeling. In comfort or reassurance, he stroked the curve of her waist. She felt her own skin when he touched her, strange as that sounded.

Her breath hitched. His unspoken wonder did crazy things to her insides.

She'd never spent so much time naked. They hadn't brought spare clothing, instead saving room in their backpacks for extra supplies, so she'd washed their things in the bathroom sink while Mason rigged a laundry line between the aisles. Until those dried, they had only rugs, curtains, and bare skin. Not that she was complaining.

Tilting to the side without leaving his arms, she snagged a candy bar. She unwrapped it and offered him a square of chocolate. A little shimmer of pleasure overtook her at the feel of his mouth on her fingertips. In that moment, humbled and happy, she knew she'd do anything for him. Anything.

Mason broke off a piece. Her eyes slid half closed as he placed it on her tongue. She nibbled his finger along with the chocolate. His arms tightened, but she felt like drawing out the moments before he'd enter her again.

“So tell me, John Mason, what did you want to be when you grew up?” It was a silly question, but she wanted to know—wanted to know
him
.

“A fireman.”

So he'd always wanted to be a hero.

Not a hero,
came his silent response.
Just valued.

“So how come you didn't make it happen?” She knew his determination, and she couldn't imagine him giving up on anything he truly set his mind to.

“I grew up.”

His tone made her wary, and she didn't want to ruin the moment by poking around in painful places. Today was about pleasure, not past trauma or future threats. Just them. Together.

“Yeah.” Jenna brushed a kiss against the curve of his elbow, where he held her. “People have a tendency to do that.”

He laughed softly, a real honest-to-God laugh. She closed her eyes and shivered with delight.

“What about you?”

“Normal,” she said. “I just wanted to be ... normal.”

“I can never give you that.”

Wrapping her arms around him, she held on tight. “You give me something better.”

By the way he tensed against her, she guessed he didn't believe her—that he thought she was being kind. So she opened to him and showed him the truth of it. However sad these stolen moments might seem, she'd never known such pure, unfettered joy.

“Jenna,” he whispered, and rubbed his rough jaw against her cheek.

In sweet silence, they fed each other the rest of the chocolate bar. Not an ideal diet, but they could survive on chips and candy and stale peanuts until they got back to the station. Jenna thought maybe she could survive on him.

They talked of little things until late in the day, and then she nestled into him, drifting toward sleep. In the early hours of dawn, she awoke with her bottom tucked against his pelvis. She didn't know if he was fully awake—or just his cock—so she gave a little wriggle.

“Mmm.” His big, calloused hand cradled her hip. “Morning.”