Page 7 of Fury

A ripple of tension spread through my insides as I stroked his pecs. Back and forth. Down his middle, his abs shuddering under my fingertips, his body flinching slightly and easing. My heart picked up speed, thudding in my chest, as my hand slid over his thigh and around his length. His breath caught, his eyes gleamed at me. His long fingers clamped around my wrist, a noise escaping the back of his throat.

Or was it from me?

“Let me give you something.” I stroked over his cock, and his hips jerked. “Relax. I don’t have any weapons on me. I’m not going to cut your dick off or anything.”

His brows jammed up his forehead.

“Check for yourself.” I presented myself as close as possible for his inspection. My pulse pounded as his hand shuffled over my chest, quickly around each breast, my middle, around my waist, the small of my back, in and around my boots.

“Okay? It’s just me.” I stroked him again. He stiffened in my hand, and my insides tightened. For the first time in a long time I wanted to touch someone else. For the first time in a long time, I really liked it—the feel of his skin, his muscles tensing, his uneven breaths.

That eye pierced mine. “Why are you here?” his voice was husky, scratched, damaged from Motormouth’s assault.

“I’m not supposed to be here.”

His grip on my wrist tightened. He didn’t like my answer. I only kept stroking. He still didn’t let go of my wrist. My eyes held his fierce one as I stroked harder, firmer, faster. His jaw loosened, his breathing grew loud and choppy, his hips flexed a few degrees, rocking toward my hand.

The drawn face of the young warrior became softer. Pleading and full of need. A need that was savage and deep. My insides pulled and twined as his grip tightened around my wrist. He held me against his cock, his face drawn tight.

I knew about that kind of need.

I leaned down closer to him, and his face tilted up toward mine. He didn’t want to lose contact either. He wanted more. Was this crazy, searching for pleasure in hell? All I knew was I felt compelled to offer him something, some measure of comfort. Just for a moment.

And I wanted some myself.

A groan escaped those bloodied lips, and his one good eye winced shut, his head knocking back. He hadn’t groaned or grunted or cried out very much at all as he’d endured the beatings, the slaps, the punches, the slashes the past two days. But here he was, crying out and moaning for me, coming in my hand. There was something thrilling about it, exciting.

Our secret in the dark.

He cried out softly. My heart lurched.

“That’s it, yeah,” slipped from my mouth, my pulse racing at the throb of him in my hand, the swarming sounds of his pleasure in the throes of all that pain still clutching his body. I swept back his long hair from his sweaty forehead.

What the hell are you doing?

His head stirred under the contact, and he moaned a little louder. My heart lurched under its bolts as he came in my hand, his cock pulsing, cum spurting, his head thrown back. I gently stroked his spent cock, and his tense features finally softened. Those lips wobbled. He wanted to speak, to say something, but words didn’t come out.

I released him, and his breathing deepened. I leaned over the puddle of water next to us and swirled my hand in it, rinsing off his spunk.

“Sleep now.” I took in a deep breath and ran a hand lightly across his forehead, down the sides of his face, his shoulder. The inside of his arm where his skin was smooth and hairless. Down and up again. His skin cooled under my fingertips, and that eyelid drifted shut and didn’t open again.

“You have to go?” he asked, his voice suddenly small, that vulnerability coloring it like a wash of indigo blue over a canvas. Moody, soft, eerie.

“No. I’m stuck here ’til they come get me. They forgot about me.”

“Huh. I get forgotten about a lot too,” he said. “Lie down next to me.”

I laid down next to Kid and curled my body against his. He smelled of perspiration and blood, and I inhaled it in, focusing on that, the warmth of his skin and the movement of his chest beside me as he breathed in sleep. Yes, he was lost in sleep. I wanted to be too. Badly.

I closed my eyes, my lips brushing his flesh.

At least, this time, I wasn’t alone in the dark.

3

There was onlythat oneslice of motherfucking Wonder Bread every morning, or at least I assumed it was morning, but I couldn’t be sure, here in this dark cell in the bowels of their fort of a clubhouse. My cell.

The first day I spit it out.

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