Hollow Men (19 page)

“Will there be room for us?” I asked, not answering his question.

“Of course. There’s this house and a separate house on the back of the property. Last I spoke to Aunt Penny, that house was still empty. We can have a room,” he said, smiling. Then quickly: “Or two, I guess.”

I reached out and touched him. “One works. For now.”

He laughed. “Always have to add a qualifier, don’t you?”

“It’s who I am.”

“Let’s go inside. Say hi, get some food, plead exhaustion.”

I insisted on taking all my gear with me. Call me paranoid. It would be true.

Chapter Twenty-One

They fed us. Roasted chicken, baby red potatoes harvested from their own grounds, green beans and roasted carrots and cake. There was actual fucking cake made by Evan’s aunt.

I ate two pieces of cake.

“Now the water might be a bit off color when you go back there to the old house,” she’d told me. “But let it run a bit, and it will be fine. We haven’t used that house in years, but Virgil goes out there regularly to make sure the plumbing stays up to par. You know, just in case.”

“They live just in case, too,” Evan had said. He’d nodded to me. “Her dad was a prepper. Expected the worst but hoped for the best. But he was prepared, and he taught El to be too.”

Uncle Virgil nodded to me. “Only way to be,” he said. “It’s logical. Nowadays they say it’s because you’re paranoid.” He laughed. “When I was growing up it was just called being prepared, and what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all,” I said and finished my cake.

At the house, exhaustion had settled on me as if it were a blanket. We were actually here. It felt too surreal to be real. I licked my lips and tasted a tiny bit of chocolate—it was real. The water that ran over my head was real and also hot. Hotter than hot. And it felt so damn good. Washing away every little fleck of dirt and dread from my body. I wanted to stand under the spray forever. Instead, I stood there until the water ran cold, and I started to shiver.

I cut the shower and grabbed my towel from the toilet tank.

“You ever coming out of there?” Evan asked. Judging by his voice, he was standing in the open doorway. I peeked around the shower curtain.

“Nevah!” I laughed. It felt good.

“How you doing?”

“Tired beyond belief. All that happened today…it feels as if several days instead of just one have passed. Several really bad days strung together.”

“Yep. A nightmare, only it’s real. That’s how I felt the first time I saw the reports about the hollows.”

I stepped free of the shower, watched his eyes dance over my body. Then he forced his gaze to my face. “I think we all felt that way,” I said.

I wrapped myself in a towel that smelled dusty but was totally clean. The furniture in the house had been shrouded in plastic, and we’d run through ripping all the plastic off before coming up to find a room. Everything smelled shut up, unused—but good. It felt secure.

“Anything you need?”

“A comfy bed and about twenty hours sleep.”

“Aunt Penny brought up some snacks. And linens. She insisted on making the bed. So we have nice white, freshly washed sheets. She didn’t even raise an eyebrow that we’d be cohabitating in sin.”

“Life is short,” I laughed. “Especially nowadays.”

“I have clothes for you,” he said.

I nodded, walked past him, dropped the towel. “Take a shower,” I called. “Then come find me.”

I dropped to the bed and curled on my side. It was chilly in the room, but instead of getting dressed, I just pulled the sheets and the quilt up over me. The quilt was an old fashioned one, obviously handmade, and it seemed to weigh about a hundred pounds. It was perfect.

I heard someone laugh outside and fear prickled my skin, but I realized it was a real laugh and not the sobbing whimpering of a hollow. The water cut off, the old pipes rattled. “Shortest shower ever,” I whispered and smiled.

I waited for him. And I waited…

The bed dipped, and my eyelids fluttered. I sat up, realizing I’d been asleep. How long had he taken?

“Evan?”

“Shh, yeah,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“You let me fall asleep,” I said, dumbly.

“You were asleep so I let you sleep,” he chuckled. “I want you to rest.”

“Why’d you take so long?”

Did he not want to be with me? Was this thing between us over? Had I read it all wrong? Maybe just wishful thinking on my part, a chance at happiness. Dread flickered just beneath the surface of my skin, tightening my heart.

He paused. A long scary silence unwound in the dark. You don’t realize how dark dark can be until you are utterly rural.

“I was checking the house,” he confessed. He found my hand under the covers, squeezed it. “I just wanted to make sure we were safe. I needed one last look.” He laughed and then: “And there are a lot of windows and doors in this old house.”

It hit me as a fist to the throat. I wasn’t the only one traumatized and mangled by our short but eventful journey. He’d been there with me every step of the way, and he was recovering too.

I slipped closer, put his hand to my belly. When he made a soft noise, I moved it slowly up to the spot between my breasts. I knew he could feel my heart thumping crazily. “Evan?”

“Yeah.”

“You weren’t going to just go to sleep, were you?”

Another long pause.

“I didn’t want to wake you. You’re tired. You’re…”

“Standoffish, abrasive, worried, angry, sad, lost…” I felt my eyes fill with water and blinked furiously.

“You need time. Space probably. I came in all intense. Wanting to be your knight in shining armor. You don’t need a knight, Eleanor. You never have.”

I slipped even closer, insinuating my leg between his. I moved his hand to my left breast so I knew he could feel my heart. He couldn’t not feel it.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“For what?”

“For pushing you away and making it seem as if it wasn’t important to me you were here. For me. With me.”

Damn, I can be a fucking idiot. Every positive step I’d taken with him, I’d undone by pushing him away. Either mentally, physically or emotionally. Sometimes I went crazy and did all three.

“I—”

“Evan?”

“Yeah?” His fingers curled, just the slightest bit against my skin as if he were counting the beats of my heart.

“Will you forgive me?” I thought I was being nice. I thought I was being a good person. It turned out I was truly being sincere because I started to cry.

“Christ,” he muttered, turning on his side. “Now I made you cry.”

“You didn’t make me cry!” I laughed, sobbing a little in the process. “I did. Because I’m an asshole.”

His arms wrapped around me, and he pulled me close. I felt him bare and comforting. Just boxer shorts on his trim frame.

“You’re not an asshole.”

“I am.”

“No. You’re holding it together the best you can. We all are. But things will be different here. Did you notice, even given the circumstances, they all seem pretty happy? Pretty secure.”

My pessimism didn’t want to let go that easily. “For now,” I said.

“For now is all we have for sure,” Evan whispered, pressing his lips to my hair.

“You’re right,” I said. “So we need to make the most of it.” I tilted my head up and kissed his chin, his jaw, found his mouth with mine in the dark.

His fingers spanned my lower back, and he pressed closer to me. I could feel his cock growing hard, his breath growing short.

“So, Evan?” I slid my hand low over his belly, feeling it quiver, to grip his cock through his silly boxers.

“Yeah?” His voice had come down to a gruff rasp.

“You need to take these stupid things off, please.”

He let me go just long enough to do as I asked, and when he returned, he pressed to me—hot, bare and ready.

He met me in the middle of the bed. Gripped my right leg and held it high, ran his cock along my opening. I arched my hips to get him in, hissed with delight when he entered me. “I’m sorry,” I said as he thrust in deep, finally filling me the way I truly needed. I felt his body inside mine, but I felt his energy too. The way being close to him lifted my heart even when it seemed too heavy to bear.

“For what?”

“For being a jerk.”

“You’re not a jerk, El. You’re not even close. I won’t tell you I love you because—”

“I’m an idiot,” I snorted. Tears wending down my cheeks, I reached out to grab him, yank him tighter to me, deeper in me.

“You’re not. Hush,” he kissed me.

“Not enough,” I growled, rolling to my back. He went with me, settling between my legs, hovering over me in the dark.

“Not enough what?” He gasped, rotated his hips in firm circles so he triggered every nerve ending deep inside me with a wave of pleasure.

“Not enough friction. So here we are. I’ll be on bottom this time.” I was trying to joke. Trying to sound cavalier. Instead, I sounded so undone it was almost embarrassing. Almost.

“You’re bottoming to me?” he chuckled.

“Just this time,” I said. I was lying.

He pushed my hands above my head, held my wrists firmly. His rhythm was steady, but under it all, I could feel the need to just let go and fuck me until we both came. No finesse, just orgasms.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, arched my hips up to get him inside me as deep as he could be. Every thrust brushed my clitoris, and I shook as if I had a fever.

“Okay. Just for now. But might I remind you I have spanked you.”

He kissed me before I could answer. I held him close, moving in time with him, and when it all got to be too much—too much goodness, too much pleasure, too much love, I simply said his name.

“Evan.” My body rippled with spasm after spasm, gripping him up, sparking warmth and light inside me. So much sweetness I felt as if I was fucking glowing with it.

“El,” he said and trembled against me. A final thrust and he came, pressing his mouth to my ear, kissing me, saying my name over and over.

In the silence, I said, “So yes, you spanked me.
Once.”

He laughed softly and wrapped an arm around me, pulled me against his side. “Once,” he echoed.

I couldn’t see him, but I spread my hand over his chest and let the sleepiness, the pure dog-tired exhaustion of the last few days, start to drag me under. I yawned and even as I started to drift I said, “But I’d like it to be twice, someday.”

Evan kissed my head and squeezed me. “I think we can manage that,” he whispered. Then he started to snore.

It felt good to be with him. To be safe. This was our do-over. I wanted to make the most of it. I wanted to make it last as long as I could.

About the Author

Sommer Marsden is the wine-swigging, fat-dachshund owning, wanna be runner author of multiple erotic novels. She's also gotten it in her head to edit a collection or three. Sommer currently writes erotica and erotic romance from her funky little Baltimore home. Sommer's short work can be found in over a hundred erotica anthologies and in numerous print magazines.

Sommer is the proud owner of one man, one boy child and a girl child to round it all out. She likes to drive winding roads, crank up music and sing way too loud for inspiration. When she's not writing (which is rare) she can be found reading good books, quilting, baking, crocheting, taking long walks with her man and their wiener and hanging out with her kids in front of an 80s movie or a good TV show. You can find out more about Sommer's online work and current projects or read her serial novel Wanderlust at SommerMarsden.blogspot.com

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