Hansel 1-4: The Complete Series (20 page)

CHAPTER SIX

Leah
 

I awaken in the dark to a strange, static-like noise, and my mind picks up exactly where it left off: me crying into my pillow, surrounded by a room full of every toiletry, gas station snack, and random little amenity known to man.

I don’t know if he stopped at a gas station or pharmacy while I was sleeping, or if he got all these things at the desk downstairs and laid them out on my room’s TV table for me, but I do know packaged cinnamon rolls, two boxes of cereal, flavored water, lotion, hand sanitizer, a U-shaped neck pillow, and a fresh toothbrush don’t come standard; neither do the two bottles of milk I found in the refrigerator, nor the still-warm cheeseburger and fries tucked in a Wendy’s bag. What got me the most were the Twix bar, grape/strawberry Nerds, and two bottles of Sprite. I used to talk endlessly about my favorite munchies, and he remembered all of them.

I can feel how puffy my eyes are as I blink into the darkness.

Even though I can’t see the door that leads into the second floor hall, I know it must be shut, and I immediately start doing my deep breathing exercises to keep myself from freaking out even more than I already have.

I push myself up on one arm and lean back on my elbow, thinking I’ll go sit in the desk chair and put my feet on the floor so I can feel more grounded. As I slide off the bed, I notice that the door between my room and his is cracked. Because his boot is propped in it.

What the what?

Did he do that because I told him I didn’t like closed doors? When did he come do it?

I’m walking around the bed to examine the setup when I see a square of light glowing on a chair beside the boot-propped door. Hmm. Looks like…my phone? I scoop it up and find the screen is glowing pink.

PINK NOISE
, the screen says. So this is where that loud hum is coming from. I didn’t think I remembered the air conditioner being so loud.

I don’t have a noisemaker app. I
do
have a passcode on my phone.

The password is the date we were set free.

My breathing quickens a little. I feel slightly dizzy. Slightly sick.

Tears fill my eyes and overflow as I clutch my phone to my bare chest. Why did he do this: the goodies, the boot in the door, the white noise app? Why is he acting like he cares for me but saying he doesn’t?

I press the base of my palm against my forehead and let my shoulders shake as I start sobbing. I sink down into the chair, naked and exhausted, and let myself just go at it. The room is dark and slightly warm; I worry briefly about the diseases I’m exposing my backside to, sitting in a hotel chair, but mostly I just cry. And then, after a little while, I stop.

When my eyes are doubly puffy and my nose is so stuffy, I have to wipe it on my sheet, I tell myself I’m just emotional because of where we’re going tomorrow.

And because of him. Just…him.

I had a lot of specific expectations of him. Isn’t that what my therapist would say?

People change.

They do.

Just look at me.

I walk into his room knowing it’s a bad idea. Knowing that he asked me not to do this very thing.

I walk very slowly past a light-rimmed door, probably to the bathroom, and then tiptoe around a corner with my breath held. The room comes into view, dominated by two double beds with tall, spindly posts. I feel a slap of cold air humming out of the wall unit underneath the curtain-cloaked window.

My pulse quickens as I see a long lump on the bed farthest from where I’m standing.

For a moment, I think I hear him talking in his sleep. 

For a moment, I think of sliding into bed with him, just to enjoy the irony. We’re sleeping with a wall between us tonight, but instead of a hole in the wall, there’s a door. One he left propped open.

But he said he didn’t want your company.

I exercise my will power and tiptoe slowly around the bed, so I’m standing right beside his sleeping form.

At least I think he’s sleeping.

His cheek is pressed against the pillow, and his unhurt hand is curled into a fist up near his chin.

I’m fighting the urge to touch him, battling the forbidden desire to lean down close enough so I can brush my lips over his damp hair. From where I’m standing, I can smell the shampoo he used. It’s so fruity. Sweet. It’s so at odds with his big, rugged body. As if to make me want him more, he shifts his hips a little, and the sheet covering his chest slips down, revealing huge shoulders, smooth, hard pecs, and the upper portion of his holy washboard Batman abs.

Oh my.

That’s a lot of muscle there.

I take a step back, feeling exhilarated because he’s beautiful, and I’m a bad, bad girl for sneaking in to watch him sleep.

That’s when his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist.

I let out a little cry as he jerks me toward the bed. Then he’s sitting up. His hands close around my waist and I’m dragged atop his sheet-covered lap. He strokes up from my hips, over my sides, and over my bare shoulders, tickling my neck before he gets a firm grip on my face. 

“What did I tell you,” he hisses, “about coming into my room?”

Excitement sings through me. I’m in Hansel’s lap. He shifts his legs, still pinning my gaze with his dark one, and I can feel him hardening beneath me; his length springs up against me, pushing against my bare pussy from beneath the sheet.

He rocks it into me, and I feel a gush of warmth and need.

“What did I tell you, Leah?” He releases my face, then leans down and sucks one of my nipples. His tongue and teeth are merciless, twisting and nipping and sucking until I’m grinding against his dick. I just can’t help myself. I sink my hands into his hair and start to pant.

He pulls his long, thick shaft up so it tents beneath the sheet, and I start to rub him through the fabric.

“What a naughty girl you are, Gretel.”

“Hansel,” I sigh. My hands explore the firm ridge of his head, then drag down his thick, firm shaft. I try to pull the covers off him, and when he notices my intention, he snatches them off and tosses them behind him, exposing his big, delicious length. “Edgar is a bullshit name,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss his head.

He never really called me Gretel—even now, it takes me to a dark place—but I called him Hansel. The twisted fairy tale names are ours, and so it turns me on to be called Gretel.

I swirl my tongue around him as my tongue explores. Then I pull away, tickling over the smooth skin with my lips. “You’re Hansel to me.”

I can feel the truth of it as he shifts his hips out from underneath me, reaches up and grabs me underneath the arms, and tosses me down on the bed. He crawls up my legs and settles himself atop my hips, and then he turns me over, so my ass is in the air and his mouth is slamming, warm and damp and sucking, over it.

The onslaught is so shocking, so erotic, I scream.

Fingers thrust into my pussy as his tongue laps at my puckered hole. He stuffs another finger into me and I rock forward and backward on my hands and knees. His tongue slips inside my asshole, and my arms give out. My face presses into the pillows.

“I don’t want to hear a word of protest, Gretel. You came here on your own, knowing everything you know; you’re mine and I will treat you how I will.” He shoves his fingers deeper into me. I gasp, then let out a groan as the tip of his tongue bathes my most forbidden hot spot.

“Hansel!”

“Gretel,” he murmurs.

He grabs me by the knee and urges me onto my back again. He spreads my knees and sinks down in between them, his dick so long and heavy that it almost touches my pussy. I lift my hips and try to thrust against it as he fills me with his fingers.

His mouth claims my nipple, biting while his fingers fuck me. His thumb smooths up to trail moisture over my clit.

“Yes,” I cry. I grasp his hair and tug.

His hand snatches mine away from him and pins it on the bed.

“My way,” he growls.

His fingers thrust once more and then he pulls them out and snatches the sheet to his chest. His dick stands straight up, his balls bounce as he ties one end to the nearest bedpost and then twists the rest of it into a long rope, with which he binds my wrists.

Tightly.

I gasp at the tight knot he gets around my hands.

“I can’t move,” I squeak.

“That’s the idea.” His voice is low down in his throat. He’s got one knee on each side of my body, and he starts to rock his way up, toward my mouth. And even though I said I’d let him be in charge, I can feel his intention. I know he’s bringing me his cock to suck, and I open my mouth because I want it.

With a soft grunt, he slides his round, wet head between my lips and pushes deep into my throat.

At first, I almost gag. He’s long and thick, and even as I swallow to accommodate him, it seems like there is always just a little more. His head is big and plump. I swallow hard against it and he makes a throaty sound that makes me want to take him all.

I tighten my mouth around the base of him and let my tongue roll circles around him as he rocks his hips, pushing in, then pulling out a little, pushing in, then gliding out.

I suction with my cheeks, and I can feel his legs tremble. “Leah…”

His big hands are grabbing up my hair. Gathering it inside his palms and squeezing as he fucks my throat.

I’m finding that it’s all about rhythm, restraint. Open wide and swallow; breathe around it. Take it slow. I chant inside my head until I find my flow, and then it’s suddenly a little easier. Which is good, because even if it wasn’t, there’s no way in the world that I would stop. He’s losing it.

“Leah…”
I can feel his deep breaths; hear them, too. He thrusts deeper, faster, and I suck him hard, making sure it’s just my smooth, warm cheeks melding around him; making sure that every time he seems too big, too much, I keep my cool and swallow gently, stroking his smooth head with my throat.

He’s thrusting wildly now, tugging my hair until that’s not enough anymore and one of his hands clutches my head, pressing me against him as he shoves his huge erection down my throat. I realize the warm weight against my chin is his balls, and I feel damp and aching in between my legs. I want to touch him there. As if he hears my thoughts, he lifts his hips a little, pressing his head against the back of my throat and shifting his sac against my chin.

“Oh, god,” I murmur to his cock. I’m wet. So wet! I need to come. I need his cock or fingers inside.

He’s panting loudly now, and thrusting fast. “Leah,” he groans. “Suck me, Leah. Just like that.”

I guess I’m doing it right, because a second later, I can taste a hint of him. His dick swells, pumped up twice its size in just that moment. He breathes an exultant curse and then explodes inside my throat.

I swallow convulsively, and then it’s over. He’s gone stock still, leaning over me. His hand is still clutching my head. And there’s this crazy second where he’s resting there astride my face, with his cock inside my mouth, and the taste of him on my tongue, and I’m panting out my nose, my arms stretched out over my head, my nipples hardened in the chilly air. It feels perfect.

Too perfect.

Then he pulls himself from my mouth, shifts back on his knees, parts my thighs, and with his fingers parts my pussy lips. He laps his long tongue firm and velvet, wet and warm, from cunt to clit, and I scream. 

His fingers in my cunt. One finger gently pressuring my asshole. I gasp as the tip of it pushes inside my tight hole. That feels…kind of good. It makes me feel so full. It’s almost scary, but I like it, because it’s not all he’s doing.

Hansel is licking my pussy like…I’m ice cream. Icing. Melted chocolate. That tongue has got me spreading my legs open wide, lifting my ass up off the mattress so I can experience more of that tongue.

I strain against the sheet around my wrists because I want to push his head down, grab onto it like he did mine and hold him there until—

Until…

His tongue. Soft warm firm velvet, languid, warm and oh so slick.

“Leah,” he breathes between my lips.

His tongue traces a delicate circle around my clit, and then his slick and expert lips close around it, sucking gently as his tongue teases my slit.

His fingers in me fill me up: stretching, pushing so much that it hurts; but it hurts good.

“It feels so good.”

His tongue skates from my sopping entrance through my swollen lips, and circles all around my clit. And then, when the scream is in my throat, he withdraws it all.

My hands are untied, quick, and snatched down to my sides. With his hands on the inside of my thighs, he pushes slowly in, then punches deep inside me.

I scream.

I sink my fingernails into his taut asscheeks, and he groans, “Harder.
Harder
, Leah.” I squeeze harder as my orgasm rips through me, taking out my pleasure on the smooth globes of his ass. Just when my head is clearing and I’m starting to worry about how much my nails are hurting him, I feel the tension leave his body, braced above me. He drops down atop me, shoves a little deeper, till I feel his cock in every nerve and cell of my glittering body. His head drops down, and warmth shoots into me.