The Burning City (21 page)

June closed her eyes. “I don’t fit your political lifestyle. I don’t fit into the world you come from.”

“I dated another politician once. It was awful. Imagine our egos clashing endlessly.”

She opened her eyes.

“You’re perfect,” he said. “You’re everything I could imagine wanting. You’re my polar opposite. You keep the world spinning.”

She leaned over, her hair sweeping around their faces. He sank his fingers into her, and she gasped.

“That’s the absolute corniest line I’ve ever heard in my life,” she murmured.

“Thank you.” He gripped her around the waist and rolled her over onto her back.

For the first time—ever, perhaps—she let her guard down and let emotions flood in. They were raw and ungainly and scraped at her insides, but she needed to feel them. She needed to know there was part of her that was human, that was able to feel something decent and good after all the hell she’d been through.

She kissed him with the kind of passion she saw in movies—the overblown, dramatic kind she didn’t believe existed—putting all of herself into it, letting him see what lay behind her walls. She prayed it wasn’t a mistake. She prayed he wouldn’t someday use it as a weapon against her.

He traced her body with his hands, touching everywhere, every curve, every indentation, each of her ribs. He even skimmed his fingertips across the rough skin of her scar.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep you. We’ll figure this thing out. We’ll make you well.”

She swallowed thickly. “I don’t want to lose you, either. I don’t want to lose this life. I think I finally like it.”

Tears slipped down her temples, and she discreetly wiped them away. This was like the night Muse died, in Aaron’s penthouse. His vulnerability and openness, the pain arcing between them.

He moved down and settled between her thighs. She closed her eyes and stroked his hair while he gently used his tongue on her, pushing his fingers into her as well. Not the frantic, hard finger fucking he’d given her at the storehouse, something more passionate, deeper, filling her with pleasure, making it build slow and hot.

She opened her eyes and stared at the canvas ceiling. She could almost see the stars through it. The wind rippled the fabric, like clouds passing across a summer sky.

He finally moved back up her body. His lips were hot and wet on her skin as he dragged his mouth up her stomach and chest. He paused at her nipples, to kiss and suck each of them, and she smiled.

“I should have always known,” she said, “that you were an amazing lover. Someone as passionate as you.”

He met her lips with his own. “I knew you’d be wild, hard to tame. I like a challenge.”

“You want to tame me?” She gripped his cock. Firm. Ready. “You want to lock me up and keep me?”

“If I tried, I think you’d break the lock. And then probably strangle me with your bare hands. But that’s kind of appealing too.”

She stroked him, slow and smooth.

“What do you want?” she asked softly. “With me? With us?”

“I want…” His breath hitched, his hips twitching. “I want to at least hold you now and then. I don’t want you tame. I just want you to be calm, with me, every once in a while.”

“You belong here. This is your home. What if I can’t stay?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” He grunted, pushing into her fist. “I don’t want to think about it right now.”

She squeezed him. “Let’s just live in the moment.”

“At this moment, I want to fuck you senseless.”

“I want that too.”

Sam had the foresight to bring condoms. He retrieved one from his bag, and she assisted him in working it on. Soon, she’d go to the doctor, and they could do it without this.

She gripped his shoulder blades and tried to keep her groan quiet as he pushed into her. Though the sounds of the party were far away, that didn’t mean they were alone out there.

“God.” He dropped his forehead against hers and pulled her knee up against his side. “I love how you feel.”

“Yeah?” she breathed out. “I love the way you feel too.” She caressed his back. “Give it to me.”

He did, a solid deep fucking, not too hard or fast, just perfect. So good it made her head spin, made little pinpricks of light dance in her vision.

After a few minutes, he stopped, pulled out of her, and rolled onto his back, dragging her with him.

“I want to look at you.” He cupped her breasts. “Ride me.”

She sank down on him, a louder groan escaping her as he filled her again.

She braced her hands on his chest and bounced, driving him up into her over and over. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and she could take him in, all his dusky skin, his hair spread around his head, his bottomless eyes, and that expression of helpless desperate pleasure on his face.

Screw Cindy and her boobs and ass. Her boobs bounced too as she rode him, tiny though they were.

He rubbed her, playing with the ring as she worked her hips against him. His heart pounded under her hands, which were still braced on his sweaty chest.

“Goddamn,” he gasped. “You’re so fucking hot.”

She rode him harder, bouncing faster, whimpers escaping her throat. Her inner muscles clenched around his thick length. She tried to draw it out, loving the buildup to the explosion.

She couldn’t fight it long, not with him rubbing her like that, not with the way he filled her. He pushed his hips up, meeting her, signaling he was getting close as well.

“I want to feel you come.” His voice was low and thick in the hot close darkness of the tent.

Her thighs trembled. She gripped his shoulders, everything inside her tightening.

She had to bite down hard on her lip as the orgasm rippled through her, and even then she whined and moaned as she came around his cock. She shuddered helplessly on top of him, digging her fingernails into his flesh.

“Oh, yeah.” He worked his hips still, fucking her through it. “There we go. Goddamn, June…”

She closed her eyes, continuing to quake. He worked his thumb on her ring, dragging it out, until it was too much and she had to push his hand away.

“Oh, fuck.” He gripped her hips and started pistoning into her. She sat on him weak and limp, letting him use her body.

“Yes,” she encouraged him. “Come on. Come for me, Sam. Come in me.” The notion flashed through her mind that she could make him come with her voice if she wanted to. It was both tantalizing and horrifying.

She didn’t need to, though. With a groan, he slammed up high and hard into her, and his cock throbbed. He clutched her hips, head thrown back, his body shuddering beneath her.

She caressed his slick chest. “That’s nice.”

He sagged against the floor. The wind flapped the tent. It was disgustingly humid now inside the small enclosed space.

She carefully slid off him, so as not to dislodge the condom, and collapsed in her own sweaty heap at his side. He rolled over and flopped an arm across her.

“I gotta confess,” he panted. “I haven’t had this much sex in a long time. It’s pretty nice.”

“Yeah, me neither. I’ve never been with anyone long enough to have this much sex with him.”

June was parched and sweating, but being close to him was too nice for her to pull away.

“I’m sorry”—Sam stroked her face—“that Cindy told you about what happened between us. She had no business doing that. I’m going to give her hell for it.”

“Did you fuck her the way you fuck me?”

“God, no.” He cupped her cheek. “Not even close.”

“Then it’s okay.” She kissed him. “She’s just got a big mouth. I forgive her.”

“It’s never been with anyone like it is with you. I mean that.”

“Me neither,” she whispered.

They finally sat up, pulled T-shirts and shorts on, and Sam unzipped the tent to let some air in. June grabbed a couple bottles of water from the cooler.

“We should leave this open tonight.” Sam batted at the flap. “No one is going to bother us, unless they’re really drunk. Then I’ll just have to kick somebody’s ass.”

She took a drink from her bottle. “Yeah, let the night in.”

They stretched out on the sleeping bags, the cool air blowing across them and clearing out the overpowering reek of sex—a shame. That was her favorite scent.

“You gonna go back to the party?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m in for the night. I’m a social butterfly, but right now I need to be back in my cocoon.”

“Butterflies don’t go back in cocoons.” She smiled. “Does that make me a caterpillar? I still like the cocoon and I haven’t blossomed yet.”

“You stay in there and let me back in every once in a while, deal?”

“You don’t know anything about nature.” She rolled toward him and kissed him.

Lying in the quiet, the tent flapping, the distant sounds of music and voices, the slosh of water, was more peaceful than anything she’d experienced in a long time.

Sam rolled his head toward her, bringing their faces close together. He threaded his fingers through hers between them.

“Can I tell you something?” he whispered. “Promise you won’t freak out?”

“I can’t promise,” she murmured. “But go ahead.”

He was silent a moment, and then he whispered, “I love you.”

She stared at his face, her breath held. Then she found herself whispering in return, “I love you too.”

God. That was certainly a development, wasn’t it?

They didn’t say anything else, didn’t discuss it, didn’t try to qualify it.

June clung to his hand, watching the night outside the fluttering tent flap. The world seemed peaceful for once, and so did the usual raging storm inside her head and chest.

June awoke in the middle of the night with the distinct feeling she was being watched. At first she was disoriented, and then her surroundings rushed back to her and she remembered where she was.

Sam lay next to her, facing her, breathing slowly. He still held her hand but his fingers were limp and his eyes closed. Her palm was sweaty.

No voices or music in the distance, which meant the party had died down considerably or stopped altogether.

She lifted her head and looked toward the open tent flap. The lantern still burned outside, light shining through the canvas.

And someone was standing outside the tent.

She jerked upright, untangling her fingers from Sam’s grip. She tilted her head, trying to look out the flap.

She couldn’t see from her angle, though. The person stood off to the side of the tent, but close enough to the lantern that he was casting a shadow. Who the hell would be standing outside their tent in the middle of the night?

Her mind raced to Robbie, and then Occam. The police were keeping unauthorized people off the beach, but Occam was extremely good at sneaking into places he wasn’t supposed to be.

She pushed the sleeping bag away and crawled cautiously toward the flap. Maybe it was just some drunken partier who couldn’t find his tent.

Breath held, she pushed the flap aside and poked her head out.

No one was there.

She stared at the empty spot where the person had been standing, her brain momentarily unable to process the lack of information. She drew back in and looked at the spot on the canvas where she’d seen the shadow. An optical illusion?

The shadow was gone too.

Had someone been standing out there, heard her move, and ran off? Why didn’t she see him run away?

She was wide awake now, debating what to do next. She could lie back down and be paranoid the rest of the night, or go investigate. Maybe the answer was simple and non-threatening: a drunken partygoer, one of Sam’s groupies, a lost person trying to remember where their tent was.

Or maybe it was Occam.

She crawled out of the tent and got to her feet. She turned in a circle.

The sea of tents around them was quiet, most of them dark, shuddering in the wind. She didn’t see or hear anyone. In the distance, a group of people was still sitting on the sand near the water, with lanterns around them. Their voices carried faintly on the wind.

A soft giggle erupted behind her, and she whirled around, eyes wide.

The giggle came from the direction of Cindy’s darkened tent. The giggle sounded again, accompanied by rustling, and June scowled. Cindy had a visitor.

Could her gentleman caller be the person June had seen? Unlikely, given that Cindy’s tent was zipped. The person would have had to walk past their tent—right in front of it, in fact—get in Cindy’s tent, and zip it back up, all in those few seconds before June crawled out.

She looked around again. Had she been dreaming? Seeing things?

Or were vampires on the beach?

She crawled back in the tent and zipped the flap. After grabbing her bottle of water and drinking some, she lay down on the sleeping bag next to Sam again.

Sam stirred and draped an arm over her, mumbling in his sleep. She scooted closer to him.

She studied the spot on the canvas where she’d seen the shadow. Nothing appeared. Nothing stirred outside in the darkness.

So much for getting a good night’s sleep.

* * * *

June opened her eyes to morning light and muffled voices. At some point, she had slipped back to sleep—not long ago, as she was groggy and didn’t want to move.

She was hungry, also vaguely sick. Drinking yesterday hadn’t been a good idea.

Sam was still asleep beside her, his arm across her chest. The canvas ceiling was bright now.

She grabbed her phone to check the time. A little after six AM. She had a text from her mother saying good night, and her chest tightened with guilt.

After a few minutes, she sat up and grabbed her water bottle. She would seek out the bathroom and get her morning barf over with if need be. Feeling like she would puke was worse than puking. At least once she puked she felt better.

What exactly had she seen last night? Occam was probably lurking around, watching her. She should have called out to him, tried to confront him. This seemed like a great idea in the light of day, not so much in the spooky night.

She grabbed her sandals and a hairbrush from her bag—pausing to stroke her fingertips over the picture of Jason and Diego—and unzipped the flap. Her queasiness wasn’t horrible yet, but she didn’t want to risk making a mess in the tent.