Page 36 of Hemlock

"What the fuck happened?" I growl as I grip her shoulders.

It's an effort to keep her at arm's length as I fight the urge to pull her to my chest and tell her everything will be okay. I have no business making this woman any sort of promise, especially considering this might very easily be the last time I see her.

"Nothing," she lies as she lifts the back of her hand to wipe away the tears from her face.

"Don't lie to me," I growl.

"S-something just freaked me out at work today," she confesses.

This could be it. I could finally get the information that I need from her, but I struggle with making sure she's okay and digging for more answers.

"With that asshole Jersey?" I hedge.

She shakes her head. "It isn't important."

"It's important enough that you're sitting in bed with a gun pointed in my direction."

In the moonlight, I see her eyes narrow. "You break into my house in the middle of the night and then try to gaslight me into believing it's my fault?"

She shoves at my shoulders, but the woman would have to triple her strength in order to get me to move.

"I needed to see you," I confess, knowing there isn't a hint of a lie in my words.

My first intention with her was to use her, walking away without remorse when I got what I needed, which was Tommy Wilkinson behind bars. I was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen, including getting into a sexual relationship with her and telling her what she needed to hear. I made that decision the second I spotted her smiling face that first night at the bar, but then I got near her. Then she spoke, her voice sounding like that of an angel. She smiled at me when most people were cautious and refused to even make eye contact.

She was different. She made me feel different, and that wasn't something I could ignore after decades of feeling completely out of control.

She gave me some of what I was missing. Like cocaine or heroin... how was she any different?

That initial decision included the knowledge that I didn't have to hurt her, and it makes it glaringly clear now that there's no way to keep that from happening. Rather than standing up and walking away, I pull her to my chest, unconcerned about the way her tears soak into my shirt and dampen my skin underneath.

I run my hand over her hair as she cries. Jesus, what did this woman go through tonight?

Is this her response to only tonight or has this been building up for a while? Although she didn't seem to live through much excitement, she did go through a divorce after finding out her husband was selling drugs out of the garage he was working for. Not to mention the countless women he confessed to having affairs with to prove to the judge and jury that his wife wasn't involved, not that the cops working his case even thought that of her.

I lean back on the headboard, moving her until she's lying damn near on top of me. Her cries transition from sobs to sniffles, and before long, she's completely still in my arms, asleep.

This isn't even close to what I came here to get from her tonight, but I don't move a muscle, afraid I'll wake her when it's clear she needs the rest. When the sun starts to peek out from behind the mountains, I'm still in her bed, my arms still wrapped around her, my hand still stroking her fucking hair.

I don't know what wakes her, but when she slowly comes to, she startles as if she doesn't remember that I'm here with her. She pushes herself back off my chest and stares down at me like I'm a science experiment she didn't expect to work.

As if it takes a moment for her brain to come back online, she jerks away from me, eyes wide and hand covering her mouth.

"Morning breath," she mutters behind her hand as she climbs out of the bed.

Her eyes dip down the front of me, getting frozen by the gun still on the bed. I never moved it last night, and she doesn't seem the least bit scared when I pick it up, pop the clip out, and slide the barrel back to make the chambered round pop out. I lean over, pull open her bedside table drawer, and drop all three things inside before closing it again.

She backs out of the room, not turning around until she's more than halfway to the bathroom.

I should probably go. Holding this woman while she cried and then staying with her in my arms all night was never my intention. I have no fucking clue why I strip out of my clothes, chuckling when I reach to pull my socks off and grab a condom from my wallet before following her to the bathroom.

I roll the latex down my thick cock a mere second before I shove open the bathroom door. She's at the sink gargling with mouthwash when we lock eyes in the mirror.

"Shower with me," I grunt.

She looks over her shoulder, her eyes roaming down the front of me until they land on my hard cock. I swear if this woman licks her lips one more time, I'm not responsible for how hard I take her.

Instead of arguing, she turns and pulls her t-shirt over her head before hooking her thumbs into her panties at her hips, letting the fabric fall to her feet before stepping out of it as she crosses the small room to the shower.

---