- Chapter Fifteen -

Georgia Mary King

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They locked me in my room for three days after my escape attempt.

Conway brought me food and water, but that was all. He wouldn't look at me. He wouldn't say a sentence. I didn't mind. I didn't know what to say to him, either.

But on day four, a problem arose.

I was starting to stink.

Conway had brought me a small bucket with a sponge, cold water and some weak soap before. Apparently my escape attempt had forbidden that luxury. “Conway,” I said, jumping up when he finally opened the door. He was carrying a paper plate with a peanut butter sandwich. Not looking at me, he set it on the floor. “Conway, wait! I need something!”

He paused with his hand on the knob. “What?”

“A shower. A bath. Fuck, toss me in the ocean, just anything so I can get cleaned up.”

Pressing his lips together, he slid his eyes over me. My heart spun under his hard stare.

“Please,” I said, putting my hands together.

“You're nice when you want something, hmm?”

I faltered. “I'm...”

“Tempted to hit me with a witty comeback. I know. Swallow your pride and ask me properly for what you want.”

Tightening my jaw, I approached him carefully. My hands stayed in front of me, and I did my best demure princess face—head tilted down, wide eyes fluttering up at him. He wanted me to play this game? Fine. “Please, please let me have some soap. It's getting really bad.”

Conway sighed. The corner of his smile lit up my spirit. “Alright. Come with me.” He started out the door then paused. “If you try anything reckless, you won't just be locked in. You'll be tied down. Understand?”

Touching my wrists like the plastic straps were still there, I shuddered. “Got it.”

****

He led me to a bathroom deep in the house. A single droplet of water tapped in the huge copper basin over and over. The whole place echoed with our movements. When he turned on the lights, it felt more pleasant. Then he ran the water; the hot steam made the room damn near romantic.

The sound of the water running kept us silent. When it was done, and the tub was full, I glanced at him. “Yes,” he said calmly, “I'll be staying.”

Glowing pink, I shrugged stiffly. “Fine. You've seen me naked, who cares?” I cared.  Stripping for Conway wasn't old news; I could count on one hand the number of people who'd ever seen me naked.

I'd only managed two brief relationships as an adult. And only one of those had turned into sex, thanks to me being “tired” of feeling broken. That encounter hadn't fixed me, and I'd been stupid to think it would.

Shoving my clothes into a pile, I faced the tub. I was overtly aware of every round shape my body created. On locked knees I climbed in, catching my wobbly reflection in the water.

“Ah,” I groaned, my toes sinking in, then my knee. “This feels amazing.” The water sizzled up my lower half, erasing aches and pains and weeks of sweat. When I was lying in the basin up to my neck, I dared to glance at Conway.

He was eating me up with his eyes. He caught me watching, and to my shock, he looked away. “Here,” he said, offering me a small square of white soap in one hand, a cloth in the other. As I took them, I brushed his left pinky. The indent where his skin had been removed drew me in.

What happened to him? I could see his old injuries, but they couldn't speak for him.

He wrenched away, facing the wall again.

Using the dried piece of soap, I scrubbed my scalp. The suds were exquisite. I washed myself until my skin buzzed, scraping like I could escape this place by removing my physical body in layers.

Conway hovered by the door. It reminded me of when he'd guarded me at the rest stop. He'd tried to keep me from causing trouble, and I'd still managed. “About what happened,” I said, searching for the right words.

“Don't apologize for attacking Lonnie. Or for running.” He shrugged. “You'd only be lying.”

Shifting uneasily, I reclined with my head on the rim of the tub. Steam condensed on the sink and single, small frosted window. “Where is he right now?”

“No clue. He does what he wants.”

It was weird to be sitting naked and talking so casually. But I clung to it. “He told me... that you told him all about me and the things I like. So he could use them against me.”

Black lightning slammed through his eyes. “I'd never.”

“I thought so, too. But he brought me candy... and lemonade... and a book.”

Conway leaned closer. “Where did you put them?”

His inquisition wasn't settling my nerves. I withdrew in the water up to my neck, eyeing him. “Me? I didn't put them anywhere. They weren't in my room when you brought me back.  I guess he took them when he left. How did he even get out? I'd locked him in.”

“He called me. I released him before we went after you.”

I should have checked Lonnie for a phone. A spike of disappointment had me sinking lower. Water tickled my chin. “If you didn't tell him, how did he know? The Valley of the Horses is too specific to be a guess.”

Conway moved, sitting on the floor next to me. His head was level with mine. “Maybe he saw me bring it to you. I don't know. That was a long time ago.”

“It was,” I whispered.

We sat in silence. I wondered if he was reliving the same memories. Were they fond ones for him, or horrible? I knew where I fit into his present, but where did I fit into his past? I itched to learn everything about Conway. I knew where I had to start.

My arm dripped water as I swooped it out, catching his left hand, lifting it into the light. The notch in his finger reminded me of a crater on the moon. “How did this happen?”

He studied his own finger as if he'd never seen the damage until now. “My father was accused of cheating at poker. The girl who was bringing him his drinks was blamed.  The other players thought she'd been slipping him cards. They took his money, then were going to take her whole hand... until I said I'd been the one helping him cheat.”

My mouth went dry. “Were you?”

“Dad is many things, but he's not a cheater. They just wanted to bully him to make a point.”

I was hanging on his every word. “You risked your life to save her.”

He smiled wryly. “Please. Those big bastards over the border are all talk.”

“If they're all talk, why did you get involved?”

He frowned and slid his hand out of mine. “I said they were all talk, not that they're good people. Ultimately, they backed down, agreeing to just take Dad's winnings, and part of my pinky instead of a whole hand. It worked out for everyone.”

He acts like what went down was normal. “That's awful. I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“You said the border. Is that where Facile took you both? To Mexico?”

I could tell he was debating whether to answer me. Finally he sighed. “Yes, that's where we ended up. Little lawless town—well, mostly lawless. Dad made new friends and new enemies both.”

“It's dangerous around him,” I whispered.

“Of course. It's always been that way.”

“Why didn't you ever try and run?” The question came out in a rush. My tongue was working to keep up as I let my heart speak for me. “If you were smart enough to survive for so long, what stopped you from just escaping Facile?”

A wicked, spiky thing welled up in his eyes. His knuckles turned bloodless, and when the ceiling bulb flickered, I imagined it was because of the unseen darkness flowing off of him that looked for every source of light it could wipe out. “What makes you think I wanted to leave his side?”

I was falling... slipping through the fingers of courage that had been cupping my heart. Conway couldn't mean it, he couldn't. I was so fucking confused again. “I don't understand.”

“Enough. I agreed to get you clean, not to play a hundred questions. We're done here,” he said, starting to stand.

“One more question, please.”

He stopped mid-motion. Slowly, he settled back on the floor. “Fine. One more, that's all.”

“Did you mean what you said before?” I asked in a hush.

“Which thing?”

My gaze fell to my knees where they poked from the water. I remembered everything that had happened so acutely; my face in the ceiling mirror, flushed with passion, was seared into my head. “When you told me I was beautiful.”

His silence was torture. I'd never cared what people thought of me, because none of them had left a mark on my heart. But Conway was different.

It was why everything he did hurt so much.

He has nothing to say. Guess everything was a show for the damn camera. “Fine,” I said, laughing weakly. When had I become so frail? “Forget about it. What a stupid question.”

I started to pull my head under the water. He caught my chin, guiding me up and around until I sank into his tunnel vision. “I meant what I said with every fiber in my body. You're more beautiful than anyone I've ever known, Georgia Mary King. If you searched every star in the sky, you couldn't find one more glorious than you. Not if you looked for a thousand years.”

I reached for his wrists, holding his palms to my face. “I've changed so much over the years. You didn't like me better when I was a skinny teenager?”

His sharply handsome features became perplexed. “Thin as a needle or round as the moon, you're stunning either way. That will never change.”

A compliment had never roosted so solidly. My lips were on his, seeking out more of this addictive feeling—to be wanted. To feel loved.

He returned my kiss, not caring that I tasted like soap. Lifting me from the tub, he wrapped me in a towel. “Back to your room,” he whispered, his voice husky. “Now.”

Reaching my hand down, I palmed the erection in his pants. He openly groaned. “Not yet. I don't want this moment to end.”

Every glimpse at the real emotions Conway kept bottled up was magical. If we left the room it would be over. I knew it and I couldn't handle it.

“Georgia...”

“Please.” I stroked his zipper, opening the button. “I need to feel you. You keep working me up and driving me crazy, you keep warping me into some sort of sexual toy, but you won't let me taste you. You won't fuck me.”

He dug his fingers into my upper arms so roughly it hurt. “Is this what you're asking for? You need me to fuck you, stretch you out with my cock? Say it. Say that's what you need.”

Jolt after jolt of delicious heat rolled through me. “I need your cock. I—fuck- just put it in me. I've never wanted anyone as badly as I want you.”

He grimaced like I'd hurt him. “You're going to ruin me. Aren't you afraid I'll ruin you in return?”

“I'm not afraid of you,” I said honestly, looking him in the eye. “I haven't ever been.”

Wrapping me up like an avalanche, he glided his tongue in my mouth. His thumbs brushed my temples, clasped my naked shoulders and shoved the towel to the floor.

Kissing me again, he yanked his shirt over his head. Murals of ink cascaded over his flesh. He wasn't free of scars, but unlike his arms, there were far less of them here. Only one drew my attention—a jagged thing that tracked from his collarbone to his right shoulder.

He saw me looking; when I touched the scar tissue, he chuckled. “Relax. It's not like it hurts anymore.”

“You're used to it,” I whispered. “But I'm not. Seeing it for the first time is like I'm the one being stabbed.”

Dismay wrecked his features. He inhaled my worries, linking his fingers so we traced his scar together. Unable to help myself, I rolled my hand over his denim, caressing the outline of his massive hard-on.

“Jesus,” I breathed out. I'd seen him touching himself. It was nothing compared to doing it myself.

“Take it out,” he said.

I'd already popped the button.  It was quick to spread the zipper all the way to the base. I half-crouched, sliding his jeans over his trim waist. His cock jutted proudly against his black boxers. Reaching around, I palmed his firm ass, loving how he growled in his throat above me. Every inch of this man was pure, masculine power.

Slowly, I edged his underwear out of the way. Flexing in the air, his shaft bobbed heavily. My mouth watered at the sight of his naked cock. I ran a fingertip over his full length—he hissed.

“Lick me,” he said, his hand settling on my head.

Conway thrust himself closer. The tip of his cock-head was beaded with pre-come. Wildfire curled up inside of me. His scent, his color, the tremble in his voice as he commanded me... I couldn't have resisted if I'd wanted to. And I didn't fucking want to.

Wetting my lips, I circled him tenderly. “Fuck!” he crowed, fingertips working in my thick hair. His patience stunned me—he clearly wanted to ram himself down my throat. His whole body was shaking with his arousal.

Cupping his balls, I shivered at how they flexed. His grip tightened. My pussy clenched in response. When I rocked on my heels, I felt the sticky juice coating the inside of my thighs. My labia were swelling.  I was a being of desperate lust.

Pulling off of him, I gasped for air. Tears leaked from my eyes; drool fell from my lips. Conway studied me, his eyes burning bright. “You actually wondered if I thought you were beautiful?” he asked.

He lifted me up and kissed me one, quick—teasing. It was his turn to crouch, his face level with my sensitive clit. His tongue flattened, circling me, eager to taste me. His fingers crossed like he was making a promise; they slid inside and massaged my walls.

Conway shifted his finger-pads until they pushed relentlessly against the roof of my pussy. He explored until he found the sponge-texture of my G-spot. He wrote words inside of me letter by letter. This man brought me to the cusp of orgasm the way poetry could make you break open and cry before you were prepared.

I came hard, choking his fingers, listening to him eat me out with glee. His face was shiny when he stood again. Kissing me, I tasted myself, and it made my insides tighten with new pressure.

He slid a condom from his fallen jeans. The sight of it pulled me from my pink bubble—it reminded me of logic, and logic would say that fucking this man was idiotic. He caught my stare, peeling the rubber circle free. “No accidents,” he said, and that word made my heart shrink.

His eyes reminded me of charcoal engulfed in flames. I could taste the smoke. “Georgia, we can't pretend for a second that getting you pregnant would be—”

“I know.” But the pain had calcified inside of my blood. It would always be there.

He was hesitating, so I took his hand, rolling the latex down his shaft with him. The action was erotic, it brought us back to the moment we wanted to be lost in. “Face the wall,” he said, fisting himself a few times.

I spun, bracing my palms on the tile. His hand settled over one of mine, his other running the tip of his cock up and down my slit from behind. I thrummed each time he rubbed my swollen clit. “Fuck me,” I begged. “Please, I'm tired of waiting for this. I can't... I don't want to wait. Not anymore.”

I'd waited so many years for Conway.

And he was finally here.

His cheek scraped over mine; he nipped my ear then kissed me with breathless abandon. The head of his dick spread me an inch, then he withdrew, my muscles begging to squeeze, to keep him inside.

He did it again, teasing me every time.

I was blind with desire.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

He'd expected something filthy to spout from my lips. I had, too. We got something else entirely. “I want to be yours,” I said. “I never wanted anything so much.”

Crushing my hand in his, Conway panted like an animal. His cock stretched me open in one great thrust. He was done playing—had my response been the one he'd actually been seeking?

He swelled inside of me. That sensation, nearly breaking, barely able to fit him, sent me coming again. The latex didn't keep me from feeling the heat of his come. It reverberated through me, pulse after pulse. Overwhelmed, I thought I heard him cry out my name. I couldn't be positive... and when I tuned in, it was only his breathing that echoed on the tiles.

Conway embraced me in my arms. He played with my tits as he finished, his pulse so frantic I worried he'd pass out. But of course he wouldn't. This man was strong enough to conquer the world.

“That was amazing,” I whispered, relishing our nearness. His chin balanced on my head; he turned me to him, kissing me softly. It was more tender than I believed he was capable of.

There were a great many thoughts rotating through his eyes. He opened his mouth. The words never came, replaced at the last second by new ones. “It's time to go.”

Draping a towel around my body, he started to link his hand with mine. He pulled back, because such a gesture was meant for sweet couples. Not enemies, like he wanted us to be.

We walked back to my little prison together.