“I’m here,” he whispered.
He filled her, withdrew, slammed back again. So hard. So good. He gave her the weight she craved, the hot, wet friction, and she took it all, begging for more. Rotating, he nuzzled her womb with his tip, then out again, teasing her clitoris once more before giving her the full length. Over and over, in and out, up and down, inside out, every which way. Until the damn stars started to sparkle, then burst behind her lids. Spirals of heat shot down to their joining, then out again, each one stronger and hotter than the last. He called her name, he called to God and Jesus. As the pulse of his orgasm throbbed inside her and his grip turned to steel on her hips, a blindingly hot knot of tension seemed to explode inside her. She caught a glimpse of heaven, at exactly the same moment as Witt, she really did.
A long time later, when she could talk again, she whispered, “That was heaven.”
Though later, of course, she’d manage to turn it into hell.
*
A little while ago, he’d pulled them up to lean against the bed. She’d tried to wriggle free, but he held her tight with an arm around her shoulders. For goodness sake, the man was naked beside her. Witt was naked. The oddest little thrill tripped up and down her spine. Witt. Naked. At least she still had the shirt, but he hadn’t even bothered to put on his briefs. She really wasn’t sure she could handle the intimacy of cuddling naked in afterglow.
“Share something with me,” Witt whispered close to her ear. “Something besides just sex. I want more.”
He was always asking for more. “Jesus, wasn’t that enough for you?”
“Not when you give that away to everyone else.”
Ouch. He sure knew how to hit hard below the belt.
Trust Witt not to apologize. Instead he did far worse. He begged in a soft whisper. “I want something for me, Max. A piece of you that hasn’t been hanging out at the Round Up.”
Her nose tingled, like a sneeze was coming on, and her eyeballs ached. She would not cry, though. He hadn’t even questioned that he’d need a condom, as if her lifestyle left her diseased or something. Then again, he’d carried it around from the beginning, before he knew that ... stuff about her. Maybe he was a big protector and hadn’t wanted to get her pregnant. Yeah, maybe that was it. He was taking care of her. She closed her eyes.
Then she gave him what he asked for. A piece of her soul. “What I remember most is the night he died. Most of the time, I pretend I don’t remember a thing.” Even for Cameron, she pretended. “But I remember it all.”
Witt wrapped both arms around her, tightened. He leaned his forehead against hers, waiting for her to go on.
She couldn’t have said why she did, nor why she’d chosen this thing to tell him. “He was standing by the potato chips when they came in. It was all so fast,” she murmured, each sentence punctuated by a short silence. “The tallest guy had a gun out. He looked at Cameron. Then at me. Then he shot the clerk. And the little guy climbed over the cash register and started stuffing the money in his pockets. Couldn’t have been much. There was another guy. They were all talking, but I couldn’t understand a word they said. My ears were ringing. Then the tall guy raised the gun and shot Cameron in the head. I honestly didn’t think he could be dead. There was this little round hole, not even much blood. Not at first. Then he sort of slid down the rack of Doritos, dragging all the bags with him.”
She pulled back then, looked at Witt, then raised her hand, palm to his forehead. As if that would somehow keep him safe. She didn’t tell him why they didn’t shoot her then. He already knew because he’d read the file. She didn’t tell him how they’d raped, beaten and left her for dead. Witt knew that as well. What he couldn’t have read anywhere was that she’d wanted to die, too, would have if not for Cameron. Cameron, who’d lain on the cold, hard dirt with her, talked to her until dawn when a jogger found her. At the time, she actually thought he was still alive, that he’d miraculously escaped fatal injury. In the hospital, after they told her he was gone, she’d thought she’d imagined him. By the time she got home, she knew that though he’d left in body, he’d remained in spirit.
“I’m sorry we never got them.” Cameron was one of their own, a prosecutor. He’d worked closely with the cops.
She took a long time to answer. “I don’t think about that much. I never really did. They were like a hurricane that blew through. You can’t stop Mother Nature.”
His fingers massaged her neck. She wanted him to kiss her again, knew he wanted to kiss her. Neither moved.