Rules of Survival(42)
My pulse spiked when I remembered I’d taken off my underwear, rinsing them and leaving them to dry. He stopped at my middle, finger just barely skimming my center, and I bit down on my bottom lip, involuntarily pushing up. The sensation was beyond electric. One thin layer of cotton was all that separated his hand from my core.
“All the way to here,” he said. His breathing was elevated, and as he moved his finger up and down across the thin material, so gently, so slowly, I swear I heard him groan.
A tremor rocked through me, and I closed my eyes and held my breath to keep from crying out. How could anyone stand it? If actual sex was a fraction of this, how did you survive it?
“And then, with my hands.” He flattened his palm, cupping me for a moment before reaching upward. He stayed above the shirt, the warmth soaking through to my skin like his touch was pure fire. The power of the sun harnessed in the skilled fingers of a god.
He ran his palm up to my throat, fingers splayed, then worked his way down my arms, one at a time. When he was finished, he moved to my breasts, cupping each one and running his thumb across the nipples. He moved his hips against me and I nearly lurched off the bed. The friction sent intense waves of pleasure shooting through me.
“I’m sure you’ve figured this out by now,” he whispered. “But I have impulse control issues. Anger, and…” He groaned and stopped moving, placing a hand on either side of my head and leaning close. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
I wanted to tell him he was mistaken, that something this amazing wasn’t wrong, but reality began creeping back. What would my mom think? I’d already broken so many rules when it came to Shaun. Pursuing this felt like the ultimate betrayal. “Yeah,” I said, throat thick and breathing quickened. My body rebelled, desperate to know, firsthand, the extent of his “impulse control.” Several measured breaths later, my mind won. “You’re probably right.”
…
We took turns sleeping to ensure that at least one of us was awake close to sunrise. We needed to be long gone by the time the lot opened at ten. It wasn’t much, but we each managed to catch a couple hours or so. It was better than nothing.
After grabbing munchies from the truck stop, we hitched a ride with a trucker from Pembroke Pig Farms. The cab smelled foul and the driver was even worse, but beggars couldn’t be choosy. We needed to put some distance between us and Jaffe’s men. This was the fastest way to do it without chancing public transportation.
When the driver pulled in to make his delivery, Shaun and I thanked him and hopped out. I’d never been so happy to breathe fresh air before. We ended up in Rochester. I remembered passing through here once with Mom when I was a kid. I hadn’t known what we were running from at the time, but now it all made sense. All the subtle glances over her shoulder, all the double and triple checks on the door locks each night. Everything had been harried and rushed. She’d been waiting for the past to find us.
And eventually, it had.
We tried Patrick again—he had answers I needed—but there still wasn’t any answer. I could tell Shaun was edgy, but we hadn’t said much to each other since the camper. What had almost happened last night felt like a cloud hanging over our heads. Things were different now. Charged. Every movement held an unspoken tension that I wanted so desperately to explore.
Having no other choice, since we couldn’t just sit around and wait for Patrick to give us answers, I let Shaun talk me into giving one of his “friends” a try.
“Why do you think this friend of yours can help us exactly? Do they have a fully loaded arsenal to lend us?” I asked as we turned the corner of Chester Street. Shaun seemed to know the area well and hadn’t broken stride once since we’d left our ride in town.
“I helped out the family a while back. Chris has some skills that might come in handy for information-gathering…”
“In my experience, just because you help someone doesn’t put them in the eternally—and loyally—grateful category…”
“You’re so jaded,” he snipped.
“Jaded? I think the word you’re looking for is ‘realistic.’”
“Trust me. This is one hundred percent safe. Chris would never call the cops.” He stopped in front of a white house with bright-red shutters. There was a tall, thin girl outside pulling weeds from a small flower bed in the middle of the lawn. I bit back a snide remark. If her shorts were any smaller, she could have worn them as a belt.
“Not the cops I’m worried about,” I said under my breath.
“Chris?” he called, ignoring me and starting across the lawn. His enthusiasm was obvious, and had I not been shackled to him like a prison-yard thug, I would have hung back.
The girl stood and turned to face us.
I would have hung way back.
“Shaun?” She squinted against the sun for a moment before hopping up and down. The way she bounced and jiggled in her teeny-tiny tank top was almost obscene. “Shaun Denver, is that you?”
“Denver?” I whispered with a snicker. “Your last name is Denver? What’s your middle name? John?”
He made a show of turning away from me and greeted the annoyingly perky brunette with a one-armed hug. “God, Chris. You’ve grown!”
She eyed him up and down, and let out a mock growl. “You, too, handsome. I haven’t seen you in years! What are you doing back here? Come to check out the old place?”