Becky
Over the next month and a half, Chance and I live in the motel, but switch rooms and names every few days so that anybody following us will have a tougher time. The motel is Family-owned, but even so it’s better to be safe. I’m still caught up in a world of lust and recurring nightmares for the first couple of weeks. Some nights I’ll wake up screaming, sweating, sure that the bald tattooed man and his friends have their paws on me. Other nights I’ll wake up with my hands between my legs, rubbing myself, and then reach down and grab Chance’s cock. I love his cock. It always gets hard for me the second I grab it, like a resting snake which is always ready to rear up. I find that fucking Chance takes away the fear and the nightmares for a little while, so that I can fall back to sleep soundly.
Winter comes, a snow blanketing New York, and still we keep up this routine. Chance gets our food from a nearby grocery store and takeout place, or calls to the front desk for supplies to be brought to us. I ask him if I can call Dad again, and again he refuses. I find myself, as winter deepens, enjoying Chance’s company for more than just the sex. It’s not that we talk about anything in particular. I tell him that I’ve been painting since I was a kid and have always wanted to go to college to learn to be an illustrator, or just to have a few years to improve my craft. He talks about how he enjoys fishing, but rarely gets time to go; he tells me, “I like to sit on the water and just stare and it and forget everything.” It’s the closest he gets to having a heart that I can see, but it’s there. He’s not just a dead-hearted killer like he tries to make everyone believe.
Most of all, we have sex: frantic, raw, wet, hot sex. We fuck at least twice a day. I’m fascinated with him, with how one second he’ll be talking about fishing and the next that dark look will come into his eyes and he’ll be drilling into me, finger up my ass, and I’m fascinated with myself by how much I love it.
Some nights, he gets a call from someone in the Family and has to go out for work. When I ask him if this is safe, he just shrugs and tells me, “I’m the best they’ve got. Guess they can’t stop business on account of me being in hidin’. Anyway, I go at night. These’re hushed jobs. Nothin’ to link back to you as long as I’m careful.”
He usually comes back with a couple of cuts but nothing serious.
One night, as I’m lying in bed reading a novel, he walks through the door and I scream. The scream is reflexive, something I can’t control, because he looks like something out of a horror movie. He left the room dressed all in black, as he usually does, but now he’s dressed all in crimson: crimson-haired, crimson-faced, crimson clothes and crimson boots. Head to toe, blood drips down him, soaked into his clothes. I jump to my feet, feeling guilty about the scream. But Chance doesn’t even seem to have heard me. Wordlessly, like a wraith, he walks to the bathroom, not even closing the door behind him. I close the door, bolt it, and then join him in the bathroom, where he’s just sitting on the edge of the toilet seat, staining the porcelain red.
I go to him, kneeling down, not sure where to put my hands.
“Chance?” I say.
His eyes flit to me like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Becky,” he whispers.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
He looks down at his hands as though only just noticing the blood. “Oh, yeah.” He tries to laugh, but it sounds forced. “Yeah. Fine. It’s just, fuckin’ weird…it was a normal job, a normal fuckin’ job, and then you got into my head, and I started thinkin’ about how I’d rather be here with you than out there, covered in…in this, and then, I dunno, it was like what I was doin’, I couldn’t…I was there ’cause I wanted to be here…” He shakes his head. “Fuck, I need to get washed.” He makes to stand, but then slumps onto the toilet. “My fuckin’ head is throbbin’.”
My heart is breaking for him as he sits there, more vulnerable than I ever expected he was capable of being.
“Let me help you,” I say. “Let’s get those clothes off and get you clean, yeah?”
Usually if I talked to him in this babying voice, he’d snap at me and say something like, “I don’t need coddling.” But now he just nods shortly and allows me to help him.
First, I strip off his clothes, which are heavy with blood, soaked all the way through. I thought I’d gag at all this blood, or pass out like I did a couple of months ago at the warehouse, but I know that I have to be strong now, for Chance, so I just toss the bloodied clothes into the trash bin. Then I help him to his feet, just like he did that first night when I was in shock, and into the shower. I turn on the water and let it run down him, washing the blood away, but in places it’s scabbed to his skin so I lather shower gel over his scarred muscles, working out the blood until he’s standing in a puddle of blood-water.
“Get in here with me,” he says, some of the old Chance coming into his voice. “It’ll help you clean me better.”
His eyes are like I’ve never seen them before. Normally, with Chance, his eyes are hard, shielded, like he wants to hide from me. But now he just looks plainly at me, with emotion in there, even if it isn’t gushing and dramatic. It’s there. I undress, all the while staring at him, all the while watery droplets of blood dripping down his face. When I’m naked, I look at his cock, which is hard, wet.
“Clean you?” I say, a small smile on my face.
A grin almost touches his lips. He gestures to me with his hand. I jump into the shower, the warm water sliding over my nipples, and then he reaches around and grabs my back, pressing us together. I expect him to fall upon me like an animal now, as he has done this past month and a half. He never kisses, so I don’t even look up at him.
But then, with his other hand—all the while his hard cock pushed against my belly—he touches my chin and directs my gaze to his. He leans down, seeming like a nervous boy for a few moments, and finds my lips. After fucking so many times, kissing is a surprisingly titillating sensation. My lips buzz all over with his coarse, rough lips pressed against them. I push my body into his, my breasts pushing against his hard chest, his cock rubbing up and down my belly. He opens his mouth, his tongue sliding into me, and I push my own tongue against it, the tips massaging the other, a million tingles swirling around our shared mouth, our teeth clicking together in our untethered lust. I reach down and grab his cock, and feel his growl in my mouth, vibrating my lips, quiet over the sound of the blasting shower. His cock is slick, wet, and I jerk it as fast as I can, wanting him to come on my belly, finding the idea of it sexy as fuck.
But then Chance grabs my ass cheeks, both of them in handfuls, and lifts me off my feet. I wrap legs around him as he falls backward, into the wall, holding both of us up. We don’t stop kissing, not once, even when he lowers me down onto his cock. I’m so suddenly horny and his cock is so wet with water and pre-come that he slides right into me, deep, all the way into what feels like my belly. He always fucks me deep, but this time is different because he’s never been inside of me while kissing before. Apart from that first time I came onto him, we haven’t kissed. But now our passion takes over and we kiss frantically as he lifts and lowers me to his balls, burying deep and then lifting until he is no longer inside of me. I hear myself moaning through the kiss, hear his animal growling. We fuck harder, no longer kissing so much as breathing into each other’s mouth, teeth scraping together, biting each other’s lip.
I push down with my hips, driving my ass cheeks to his balls, riding the pleasure, wet, slick, so little friction that we have to fuck as hard as we ever have to really feel it. That’s what we do, with Chance thrusting upwards as I force myself downwards, both of us meeting in the middle for repeated, euphoric impact, his cock slamming into my sweet spot. Over and over, and I keep thinking about how amazing it is for my lips to be on his as an orgasm surges up inside of me. Over and over, I think: We’re kissing. He’s biting my lip. We’re close. Closer than ever before. These thoughts, combined with the crazed pleasure of it, drives me toward orgasm, until I’m screaming into his mouth, screaming loudly and bouncing and not sure if it’s water or my squirting come which is dripping down his legs, onto our feet. It feels like I’m floating, floating here in the burning heat of the shower with the burning heat of his cock buried balls-deep inside of me and the burning heat of his mouth against mine. I scream louder, and then gush one final time over his rock-hard cock. And then he starts coming, too, almost falling to the floor as his whole body thrums with passion, groaning into my mouth, both of us captivated by the pleasure.
Once it’s over and he’s lowered me to the floor, he holds me for a few minutes, holds me close, and then we wash properly and go into the bedroom. Chance doesn’t say a word. I get the sense that he’s too exposed right now to speak, so I don’t say anything, either. He lies on the bed—this one has somehow remained standing—and closes his eyes, falling almost instantly to sleep.
“Wow,” I say, looking down at his naked, sleeping, peaceful body, more peaceful than he’s looked all winter. “That was…just wow, Chance.”
In his sleep, he grins.
I lie down next to him for a couple of hours, waiting to see if he’ll wake up and need me, listening to the wind and the radiator and the faint noises of people and TVs in the adjacent rooms. I’m drifting off to sleep when, out of the blue, I feel sick to my stomach. I try to swallow away the nausea, but it won’t be held back. I barely manage to jump into the bathroom in time to be sick into the bowl, keeled over, my belly tight and painful.
As I kneel there, going over reasons why I’m painting the bowl in chunks, I try and reason it out. And then it hits me. Almost two months…and I keep wondering when I’ll need to have the awkward conversation of sending Chase out for tampons. But I haven’t needed to. At all. In two months.
Oh, fuck.
In the next room, I hear Chance talking to somebody on the phone.