“I’m welcome to stay in your bed?” I stared at him, trying to make sure I didn’t say more than that. I couldn’t. I felt crazy, and I was sure he must think I was crazy too.

  “Yes,” he said, and his eyes flashed. “You’re welcome to my bed. And anything else.” He bit his lip. I sucked in a breath. And then he was looking back down at his hands again, his voice once again even and low, calming and sure. “This has been a rough day. I hope it’s the worst one you ever have, and the start of something better.” Dylan glanced up at me one more time. “Stop feeling bad about needing help. Please.”

  I swallowed. I didn’t know what to say.

  Thank you? For the millionth time? I can’t do this—I can’t stay here, it’s too much kindness to handle, so I’d rather go back to the ‘hood and die? I stood up, clenching my hands, then ran over to him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He stiffened below me, then reached up and patted my back before leaning away from the hug and into the cushions.

  “Don’t forget your tea, girl,” he said gruffly, and so I went and grabbed it before I ran down the hall.

  ~~~

  Dylan

  You’re the only person I feel safe with…

  Fuck me, I thought, staring at the ceiling in the dark. My house is comfortable, my furniture’s comfortable, my blanket was comfortable, and I was exhausted. I should have been asleep hours ago. My eyes practically spun in my head as I went over our conversation again and again, unable to shut my eyelids and escape into the dark. I thought about getting up and making myself a mug of that tea, but it smelled funky. Maybe I just needed to jerk off. But I rolled onto my belly, pressing my stiff cock into the cushions beneath my body weight, and groaned into my pillow instead. Jerking off was… Beyond unappealing.

  I didn’t just want to cum.

  I wanted to cum inside of Riley. I wanted to pin those strong, slender wrists above her head while I sucked her nipples and sank so deep inside of her I felt her spine on the tip of my dick. I wanted to fuck her until we were both damp and dripping from sweat, until she moaned my name so loud it echoed through this empty house, until the sun rose and fell again.

  I wanted her to say it again: you’re the only person I feel safe with.

  I wanted to keep her safe. I wanted her to stay here, with me, to walk up and down the hills and pet my dogs and eat the food I cooked for her and lay beneath me at night, open wide and inviting me inside, saying my name like she loved me.

  I wanted some crazy shit, man. Truly fucking crazy.

  I remembered my mom telling me once that until I fell in love, nothing people who were in love did would make any sense. And after I felt the same thing, I would understand everything. Love made you do things, she said, her eyes growing damp. Love didn’t betray you—even when your lover did. Love was the reason, she said, why all great things happened in the history of the world.

  Like you, she told me, and kissed my forehead. You happened because of love.

  At the time, all I could do was remember the bullshit my dad put her through. The times he showed up drunk, the times he hit her, the times he promised her the world and then ripped it up in front of her. I didn’t understand that it didn’t matter whether he loved her or not; she loved him. I still wished she hadn’t wanted to be with him, but that wasn’t the same thing, I was realizing now; she could have left at any time. She did, actually, several times. But love… Love is ungovernable.

  He was abusive and horrible and all wrong. Loco McIntyre, king of the shit pile. But the problem was that she didn’t want to be away from the man she loved more than she wanted to be away from that man, the man I knew, the man I hated. She didn’t have the strength to leave her love.

  I could forgive her for that, now. I understood it better, even if I still wished—goddamn how I wished—that she had.

  Riley would never have put up with that shit, I found myself thinking, my chest growing warm. And as much as I loved my mother, I knew this was true.

  And I knew it was one of the reasons I was falling in love with Riley.

  Riley was not only proud, defiant, and stubborn to a fault. Riley was strong. Riley was survival personified, a smooth, golden-eyed beacon of sheer will. And I adored her for it.

  I loved her for it.

  I knew this would pass—all of this, the feverish panic that took over her body at the wrong time, the way she felt like everything was out to get her, that time was moving too slow and too fast at the same time—it would end, and sooner rather than later, knowing her. She would want to go back, she would have to; she had plans, and a life, and she wasn’t interested in sitting on a couch in the country, going to bed at nine o’clock, just because some pricks back in the ‘hood decided they didn’t want her around.

  And I would have to let her. My chest seized at the thought, my hands clenched. But I would love her, and I would let her go when she was ready, and I was not going to fuck up her life by sticking my dick in the middle of things.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  I was just closing my eyes again when I heard a muffled sound, a strange sound, out there in the dark. I froze, and listened.

  It was inside. It was coming from the bedroom.

  The bedroom—where Riley was.

  I moved so quickly through the shadows that I forgot to grab my gun—a good thing, as it turned out, because when I sidled up to the door and pressed my ear against it, I realized no one was breaking in; the locks hadn’t failed, the dogs weren’t somehow immobilized. No; it was Riley, crying out in her sleep.

  And then I couldn’t stop myself from going inside—I opened the door and had her in my arms in less than a second, yanking the blankets back as I scooped her lithe body onto my lap and clutched her to my chest. “Hush, baby girl,” I whispered, caressing her back as I kissed her temple. “Riley, baby, you’re alright. It’s alright.”

  I could hear it in my own voice: I loved her, alright.

  And there was nothing I could do about it.

  ~~~

  Riley

  The nightmare was so real that I felt my head throb, felt the crush of the blow as Curtis snapped the handle of the pistol against my temple. I felt it, and the searing pain that followed, the helplessness and fear—all of it. And so I screamed, as loud as I could.

  But I didn’t scream like I had in real life, the small, sad sound as my brain shut down and the dark took over; this time I screamed for Dylan. I needed him—I needed those strong arms with the wicked tattoos, I needed them to hold me; I needed his low, gravel-strewn voice in my ear, promising me things would be okay, I needed to hear him, now, his lips by my skin; I needed Dylan. I cried out for him, helpless before the wave of terror that shook me down to my core, and reached into the empty space of my dream for someone that wasn’t there.

  Except… Then he was. As I slowly started to return to reality, I felt him all around me—not just the smell of him, the scent so ingrained in this bed that I’d luxuriated in it, loved it—his strong hands cupped me close, the scratch of his cheek caught my hair as he whispered my name. I turned towards him, needing more of him, and wrapped my own arms around his neck, feeling the bare muscles of his shoulders slide under my palms as I pulled him tighter still. I was twisted in his lap, my cheeks stained with tears as I panted his name and buried my face against his throat. I would not sob. I was going to stop crying, damn it. But right now, while I was still so raw, so frightened by my own helplessness… Right now, it was okay to need him.

  So I did.

  It took me a long while to calm down. He murmured to me, his voice a gentle interruption of the flow of terrorized images flooding through my brain, and no matter how tightly I clutched him with my hands he held me tighter still, embracing me and pulling me against his rigid torso. And eventually, I felt safe. Finally.

  “Dylan,” I whispered, “I had a bad dream.”

  “It’s okay, baby,” he whispered back, “they happen sometimes. It’s just a dream. Promise.”

  I leaned against his chest, my ear against his heart. The reliable thud was so perfectly like him that I felt a smile flickering on my face. “You… You sure you came from the Terrace? Because I swear, Dylan… You’re like a… A fairy tale knight. King Author, Lancelot. They don’t make them like you, where I’m from.”

  “They must,” he said softly, and I felt his full lips press against my temple, the bruise wide and ugly under my hair. “’Cause here I am.”

  “I must still be dreaming,” I said, and then I pulled back to look at him.

  It was a clear, bright night. The moon lit the entire room with a dreamy glow, the shadows on the floor stark and black against the blue kiss of the moon’s light. I stared into Dylan’s eyes, the only sign he watched me in return the reflected sparkle of his pupils as they moved. His whole face was in shadow. I turned a little more in his lap, leaving my arms around his neck, and slid even closer to him, my nipples hardening as they mashed against his chest. His hands were around my waist, now, and I could feel the broad expanse of his fingers over my spine.

  I wanted to kiss him, I realized.

  I wanted it so bad.

  So I did. I moved my weight onto my thighs so I could raise my face to his, then gently pressed my lips against his full mouth. Dylan’s entire body froze, holding perfectly still as I entwined my fingers in his curls and kissed first his upper, then lower lip; I felt him soften as his hands clenched into fists on my back and his face dipped to meet me, and then he was kissing me back. Hard.

  Dylan sought my tongue as his hands eventually opened and spread across my hips, and when I gave it to him he pulled it into his mouth, sucking until I felt my legs open involuntarily, my wet center spread against him. Dylan’s hands clutched my hips as they rolled against his own, seeking pressure, seeking more… His teeth grazed my throat as I moaned and leaned back, using the strength in his hands to support me as I raised my breasts, my nipples hardening as they grazed his chest through the fabric of my t-shirt. When his hands slid lower, he felt my bare skin—I’d forgotten I wasn’t wearing any underwear. I’d just grabbed a shirt from his drawer, figuring that would be enough… I felt the drag of his nails as he seized my bare ass and sank his tongue into my throat, and then, if I moved just the right way… There he was.

  Damn. Damn.

  He was huge. That was no surprise—Dylan was a big guy all over. But this was… Intimidating. “Dylan,” I whispered, breaking our heated kiss and pulling back. “Dylan—” I lost my protest in a moan as he ground into me from below, the huge, heated specter of his cock sliding roughly along the bare crevice of my body, separated only by his sweats. Then, just as suddenly, he stopped.

  Our foreheads were pressed together, and he was breathing as heavily as I was. I rested my palms on his shoulders, trying to gather my breath. I had to tell him. He deserved to know. “Dylan, I—”

  “It’s alright, it’s alright, Riley,” he said, his voice barely more than a rasp. “I… I know.”

  “No, you don’t,” I protested, but he shook his head and before I could say anything else he was letting me go, putting me down. “No! No, please—” He froze again, unsure of what to do, so I resettled in his lap and looked into the shadows where his eyes hid. “Dylan… I…” I gathered my courage for a second, but before I got any further he was moving me again. I found myself flipped around, facing the other way as he resettled me in his lap, spreading my legs open on either side of his with my ass pressed tightly against his enclosed shaft. I couldn’t keep from groaning as he moved me one more time and slid it deftly beneath me, the entire length of it pressing against my exposed cleft. Very slowly, he moved his hips—just an inch—dragging along my body beneath, my sensitive folds feeling every vein and bulge through the fabric. A rocket of pleasure shot through me. Dylan’s hands slid over my thighs, beneath my shirt and across my belly. When he reached my nipples, his lips skimmed along my throat as he seized them and squeezed—“Uh!” I couldn’t keep from grunting as he gently bumped into me, mashing my swollen pussy onto his cock. He couldn’t slip inside, because his pants were in the way, but I knew he had to feel the torture just like I did.

  “I couldn’t keep kissing that mouth or I’d do something to you, girl, something rough,” he growled in my ear. “I know you need something to help you sleep, Riley. I get it.” Dylan trailed spark-filled kisses along the column of my throat. “Do you want it?”

  “Please,” I begged, not caring for an instant how desperate I sounded.

  “You want to cum for me?”

  “Yes,” I hissed, “Dylan, please, I want—”

  I didn’t get any further than that, because one of his strong hands dipped between my legs and stroked my pussy from back to front, the entire way, just before a wide thumb pressed down on my clit as he arched into my center, grinding his broad cock against my tender hole. I moaned his name again, and then felt his fingers teasing my nipple as he bit down on the juncture between my neck and my shoulder; those sparks gathered in my belly, preparing to fly. Dylan made my hips work over his cock again as his thumb picked up speed, and nipped my earlobe while his fingers teased my breasts; he seized my nipple, squeezing it tightly just as his thumb tapped down with force on my clit, and I saw stars. I breathed his name into the night as they took over every nerve ending, every muscle, as the fire swept over me all at once and everything inside surrendered to the ecstasy he stoked as he made me cum for him, over and over, his heated, expert hands demanding I bend to their will.

  When it was over, I could barely open my eyes. Dylan’s arms wrapped around me, my head laying back against his chest; I felt his breath on my neck as he tucked his chin below my jaw, watching me sigh in the moonlight. My legs hung listlessly on either side of his, and my pussy ached. I’d cum harder than I ever had in my life, but… Beneath my body, I could still feel the hard length of him, waiting, stiff and full of what I needed. I started to move again, but before I had the chance to reach down and touch him Dylan was already lifting me up. He gently laid me down, then pulled the covers up to my chin before standing up and walking away from the bed.

  “Dylan—don’t you want—”

  “No,” he said softly. He stopped in the doorway, his shadowy form barely visible. “Not a good idea.”

  “Please don’t go,” I said, sitting up. I wanted so much more; I wanted him inside of me, I wanted things I didn’t understand and had no words to describe—emotions and sensations overwhelmed me. But more than anything, I just wanted him next to me. “Please.”

  I saw him glance down at the floor for a minute, but then he walked around the foot of the bed and climbed in behind me. I started to slide my body against his and felt him quickly slip a pillow between us, down between his hips and my ass, thick enough so that I couldn’t feel his cock gliding along my entryway. I was about to protest when he kissed the nape of my neck and began stroking my hair; I don’t even remember falling asleep.

  I’d never felt so safe.

  Or loved.

  ~~~

  Dylan

  I stared at her silhouette in the moonlight, that cute little nose, those long lashes casting shadows across her cheeks. Her lips puckered occasionally, as if she were dreaming about our kiss.

  I knew, if I could just fall asleep ever again in my damn life, I would definitely be dreaming about it.

  I’d had the craziest thought, when it happened—when she kissed me, I thought, I must be asleep. This has all been some kind of nightmare, the whole thing—rescuing a beautiful girl from a terrible fate, falling in love, feeling her soft lips on mine, only to know, instantly, that she was too mixed up from everything to really want me that way, to understand what she was doing… I sat there feeling Riley for the first time and thought I must be hallucinating again. Maybe my whole damn life was imaginary, like some Shutter Island bullshit.

  But no.

  It was real. It was all real.

  She was right there; I listened to her breath, and had to run my fingers through those silky strands of hair once more. I couldn’t keep my hands off of her, not for a minute, but I managed to keep my contact to a minimum—a feat worth recognizing, considering I had a lead pipe strapped to my balls that was so ready to fuck it actually hurt. I kissed her shoulder—the hard little knob of bone just barely protruding from under her muscles—I stroked her cheek with my knuckles—I held her hand. I couldn’t stop. I tried, but then a minute later I was touching her again.

  She didn’t seem to mind.

  Quite the opposite, in fact; when she rolled toward me and whispered my name with her shirt riding up it almost made me lose what little self-control I had. Her breasts were just visible—the underside, round and heavy, her hard little nipple peaked in the moonlight. Even in this unearthly glow I could see the colors of her body: cinnamon on café-au-lait, the golden undertone of her skin beneath it all. Jesus. I probably could’ve cum just looking at that view.

  But I didn’t. I clenched my fists and tried to either stop touching her and go to sleep, or just get the hell up and go watch TV. Decide what to do tomorrow, when daylight interfered and she realized what she’d asked for in the night.

  She didn’t like cops. No one from our world did. There was no way in hell that she would want the same things she’d asked for last night in the morning light. I was grateful I’d managed to grasp that truth in the heated second after I realized she wasn’t wearing any panties and just before I plunged the head of my cock inside of her.

 

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