Thump.
Thump. Thump.
Three thumps.
I sit up in bed, pulling the cover up to my chin, dazed from sleep. At first thought, I was sure it was the door. However, when I hear it again, uneven pattering that seems to come from the walls, echoing around me, I realize it's not.
I listen to the mysterious noises the house is making with curiosity instead of fear, wanting to understand it all. I crawl out of the blankets, slipping my feet into slippers, wearing Aidan's plaid shirt. I open the door, glancing around the dark hallway, my heart thumping in my chest.
"Aidan?"
I know it isn't him, but it's a reaction, something to help with the uneasiness of it all. I step out with my nearly extinguished light, and decide to investigate. I'm on the third step when the sound of a laugh, distant, moves through the air around my body. It happens again, and a sigh of realization escapes my lips.
Child's laughter.
I feel it everywhere, in my soul. I feel the depth of Aidan's words, his attachment to this place, to these unnatural, unearthly presences and I understand. It's that easy.
Here, his daughter is partly alive. Here, his daughter reminds him of her.
I continue down the steps, seeking more evidence, more noise. The pattering continues, the sweet child-like laughter echoing through the halls like a television left on in another room. The fireplace in the parlor is still raging, and when I place myself in the doorway, I find Aidan, sitting on the loveseat, elbows on his knees, listening to her too.
He must feel my presence because he looks up to me, his features festered with torment.
"You hear it too?"
I nod, smiling softly. He sits up when I enter, setting down my candle. He's shocked that I sit down next to him, and when I scoot more until I'm on his lap, his mouth trembles. I take hold of his face, realizing the pattering has stopped. The laughter is gone.
We have been left alone.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice emoting pure pain. I shake my head, my mind clear, my heart settled with reality. I touch him gently, allowing him to bask in my caresses. I watch him take it in, thriving on it like a drug.
"We don't need to say anything else."
His eyes pour into mine as I hold nothing back, wanting him to see the depth of my feelings for him. This is the end to our hideaway. This is most likely an end to us.
"Touch me," I whisper to him, shifting until my knees end up on either side of him. I'm showering him with kisses, adorning his face with them—soft, fleeting pecks. He's gasping.
"Oh, Josephine," he breathes painfully, his hands grabbing my sides, giving into this crazy thing between us. His fingers dig into my skin hard enough to hurt, but I welcome the pain. Our mouths meet, with hasty driven kisses as I begin to unbutton the shirt on my body. Before long, his tongue is driving through my lips and I'm sucking him in, tensing with need, pleased that he's responding the same way I am.
The room is dead quiet. Even the crackling fire has dulled. Our uneven breaths are the only sound. I release the last button and he's already pushing down the material, rendering me bare to him. I clasp his face, kissing him as he begins to pull down his pajama pants. We're out of condoms, but that hasn't stopped us. He's careful, aware of the risks. Completely trusting him, I lift myself enough to urge his cock toward me, gasping as he devours my breasts, tugging and sucking on my nipples.
I feel a gust of his breath against my chest when I lower onto him, sinking down over his length. It's deep this way. I clasp the back of his neck, moaning softly when I rock my hips slowly, enjoying the way he fills every inch of me, a puzzle piece finding it's space.
His hands travel over the long canvas of my back, all the way to my shoulders and then back down to my hips. In my relief, my relief to be with him this way, I memorize the way he touches me, the way his mouth slacks or how his eyelashes flutter as his eyes roll into his skull, overwhelmed by the heat between us.
He's glorious, and perfect to me. His sufferings only make him more real.
He's no carbon-copy. He's no picket fence man.
There's a world within him, a world I haven't seen.
He makes my searching's, my knowledge's of the world seem insignificant.
I hardly live in my soul. He's trapped in his.
"Aidan," I whisper onto his hair, not allowing myself to regret, or sadden. His fingertips flinch tighter at my mention of his name. So I do it again. "Aidan."
Within seconds, he's got me on my back, flat on the antiqued cushions and he's buried himself between my thighs and surged into me intrusively enough that my hands freeze, my throat tightening in shock. I release the air gathered in my chest, and look at him, nudging my cheek into his hand that cups my face.
With his knuckles digging in the pillow beside my head, he moves within me slowly, absorbing the tension around us with long, languid strokes set to drive me wild and crush down any defenses. My legs curl around him, wanting utmost closeness. He kisses my face, clasping my chin tightly, forcing me to give him my mouth. I gasp when he inches away from them, and changes his tactic, sucking in a deep breath.
My back arches into him as his lips cover my ribs, traveling lower. He settles into his destination with an admirable dedication, driving his tongue through my sensitive folds with a guttural moan. My legs cage him to me, tormented by his priming, his fingers that spread my arousal over my lips, my clit, dousing me in my own lust. With two long, skilled fingers, he pushes them into my throbbing canal, which my body clenches hungrily for more.
"Ah, god," I cry softly, lost in the feel of his velvet tongue curling, circling around my small tender bundle of nerves, the tips of his fingers flicking upward within me with repetitive coaxing nudges to my cervix. He's consuming the lower half of me, fucking me rough and deep with both his hand and tongue.
Tension—sweet, mind-numbing tension—spreads through me, preparing me for the wave of pleasure he's ensuring I'll experience. My back bows. My fingers sink into his shoulder, and unable to take the pulsing pleasure vibrating through me, I whimper, squeezing my eyes shut.
"Don't stop," I beg him, urged to scream out. I can't breathe. Aidan pushes me into my orgasm, targeting my clit, and the groan he makes when my hips unabashedly rock into his mouth quakes through me, adding more intensity, bringing me higher, ridding me of my sanity.
"God, the sounds you make," he says, climbing back over me. I tilt my head back, sighing when he kisses me thoroughly, holding himself above me with a steady hand on the handcrafted loveseat. My eyes open when his hand covers my dripping sex, and his fingers tuck back through my lips, and circle my sensitive clit.
"Fuck," I gasp in shock as he smiles against my lips knowingly, his fingers working below, massaging my clit back to insane need. "Aidan."
The budding pleasure hurts. I'm still so sensitive, but he's determined to give me more. He looks down at me, watching my torment, watching me come apart with immense enjoyment.
"Christ, you're beautiful."
My fingers wrap around his waist, urging him to me. "Aidan, have me."
"Let me have this," he whispers, his eyes adoring. "Let me pleasure you. Let me arouse you."
"You've done that and more."
He smirks, stunning me. "Hush. Come for me. I know you're close."
He's right. My insides are twisting violently, the strike descending upon me quicker than I could have imagined.
"Look at me," he says, when my eyes close. "Give me your eyes."
I force my eyelids apart, nodding at his intensity. His eyes are dominantly dark, encompassed by darkness in his lust, in his restraint. He's a dark angel, surrounded by despair and stone, but shining light, light that's buried deep and well enough that I can only see it in broken cracks of his frame.
Right now, those cracks are seeping through many parts of him, as his body and his mind fight, at war with each other. I'm positive he wants more. I'm positive it's his guilt and his guilt alone that are keeping him from me completely.
If only he'd let it go, we could be a force, an unbelievable force.
For now, I have to settle for this, and pray when I'm gone, he'll need me more than he knows now. I give him my gaze, thriving, building at the sight of his own, taking in my slightest movements, taking in my reactions to his sweet fingers.
It's erotic, to come staring into someone's eyes, to fight the urge to fall apart and howl, simply so they can watch you struggle with how much they're making you feel. Aidan's eyes brighten, sharpening with need as he feels me tremble beneath his hand, listening to the small, weak sounds I make as he rubs out the duration, every sweet shudder of my orgasm.
And then he takes his cock, and feeds himself into me, giving me no down time to recover. I grunt, my swollen sex tight around him as he plunges into me, rolling his hips into my cleft with a soft moan. The fact that we're surrounded by complete silence, by an empty house, lost in the middle of nowhere is enough to arouse me. But, his animalistic groans, and the way his fingers squeeze my skin excruciatingly tight, do so much more than that.
"Deeper," I command, urging him closer. He obliges, clasping the back of my head with both his hands, giving me all of him, right in this moment. I won't have it forever, and that makes me savor it. I close my eyes, shoving my face into his chest, just so he won't see how difficult it is to keep all the tumulus emotions hidden from him.
And it's naïve to think he'd allow me to do that. He hasn't once since I've arrived. As much as he pushes me away, keeps himself hidden, his desire to see me, to force me to bare all, is constant. He needs it.
"Look at me," he whispers into my ear, breathless. He kisses the space right below my ear, and a shudder blows right through me. "Josephine."
His hands cradling the back of my skull urge me to him softly as he slows, waiting for me to submit. He doesn't want to see what's in them, but I let them flicker to him once more, burning from unshed tears. I've never cried so much in my life than I have in my time here.
He slows down to a stop, catching onto my reluctance, and his eyes slant in regret. He smiles softly, leaning down to nuzzle the tip of his nose to mine, and my heart clenches in reaction, fawning over his tenderness.
"Let me make love to you," he says, softly.
I stare at him, observing the lack of restraint in him. He's gloriously alight, gloriously here and now, thriving on our present. It brings me back, and I begin to nod, clutching onto him tighter as he rocks into me, his eyes drifting to my lips.
"Make love to me," he says, smiling when I nod.
"Yes."
Our lips meet, soft and searching, without haste and naturally, we settle into tender lovemaking. His touches are lingering, his kisses are raining and constant. By the time we're both reaching great heights, we're hardly moving. We're nearly there and it's our mere grazes, our mere trembles that spur the other on. His skin is glowing, perspiration shown against the firelight.
The room smells of us. His skin is marked by my nails, mine adorned with his teeth marks.
Aidan tugs on my lip, absorbed in kissing me, and I feel the release of my skin in my groin. Sent into a soaring, bludgeoning wave of pleasure, he conceals my cries with his mouth, groaning as my sex tightens around him, coaxing him to come as well.
He gasps, releasing my mouth with a low groan, pulling out of me in time for him to release between us. My eyes shut serenely as he settles upon me, recovering his breath.
I can hardly hear over the throbbing in my ears. I feel serene, overcome by the multiple orgasms he's bestowed upon me in an unrealistically unnatural amount of time. I wrap my legs around the back of his thighs, humming softly as his hand travels over my skin, up to my neck.
"Come," he whispers, lifting himself up. He extends his hand. "Let's get cleaned up."
***
My eyes slowly part at the first ray of light upon my face. It's a dull gray shade of sky outside, but bright enough to rouse me. I'm still wrapped in Aidan and his blankets, warm by the fire we started only a few hours ago, having spent most of the night wide awake.
My eyes zone in on a point of space, a stone in the fireplace, realizing that what actually woke me up was the sound of machines, of vehicles. They're not far, and the loud beeping thickens my blood painfully.
They are here to prepare me an escape. They are clearing the snow.
I'm leaving today.
I go back to life today.
On the nightstand is Aidan's camera. Without thinking, I reach out and turn it on, turning it on him. He's peaceful and unaware to the shot I take. I wake him with soft kisses to his chest, and he stirs, his eyes fluttering.
"Aidan."
His brows rise, but his eyes have shut again. "Hm?"
"I want this picture."
His sleepy smile falls lopsided, and he nods, but pulls me closer, not prepared to let me go yet.
***
"Have you eaten enough?" Aidan asks, as I set down my bag on one of the chairs. He's fed me quite a bit since the electric company restored the power. We've showered, and fallen into mostly silence, both appreciating and loathing the simple luxuries people provide.
"I can't eat another bite," I say, chuckling.
"Do you have everything? I could check around."
"Or you could call me if you find anything," I hum, and his smile grows.
"Or that...you're right." He settles his hands onto his hips. "Have you left something on purpose then?"
My eyes slant at his teasing. "What? Leave something so you'd be forced to keep in touch? No, no. I'd never do such a thing."
He shakes his head, fondly. "All right. I want you to see a doctor when you get to Seattle, just to be cautious. Your body went through a lot this past week. It's better to be safe than sorry."
I hadn't thought of that.
He sticks his hands in his pockets, clearly keeping his hands off of me. "Promise me, okay?"
I roll my eyes. "Okay."
"Jo."
"I'll go to a doctor."
"Okay."
I pull my hair behind my ears uncomfortably, deciding that it's long past time to go. I grab my coat, but he takes it and extends it open for me to slip my arms in through the sides. I smile when he gently pulls my golden locks that had gotten stuck out from under the heavy material.
"Thank you."
He nods, and I notice how much he's closed himself off. His mannerisms are the same as they were when I first met him in the diner. It gets significantly worse the closer we get to the main foyer hall. The last time I was in this hall I was inches from death. Like a flash, one that guts me to the core, I remember the bits and pieces of that day. The feeling of knowing every inch of me was paralyzed. The knowledge that I was so far gone that I couldn't feel pain anymore. The spirits I saw at the edge of the river, the same ones that are in a family photo on a hard surface right here. Aidan, full of fright, his tears, his desperation. I remember him shedding my clothes, carrying me up the stairs in effort to save me.
I haven't realized I've stopped walking until Aidan speaks to me.
"Jo?"
I blink, looking at him, and then at the items, the walls, the rugs. I have a massive urge to cry, cry because this place feels like home. In one week, Aidan's taken me in and made me feel I belong with him.
And I want to yell at him, scream at him, try to make him understand that he'd be better with me, but I know him. And I know that forcing him will give me nothing.
At least there is a chance for us if I leave now.
With one last glance to the precious antiques, I conjure up a smile, glancing at him. "All right, well...wait until spring for the solo climbs, okay?"
He hesitates before opening the door, noticeably in his thoughts. We both step out into the main entrance, and into the cold weather. He went out earlier for me and made sure my car could start, removing the frozen ice from the windows. It's only a couple feet away now.
"Oh, I, um, almost forgot."
He walks back in through the door, and reemerges within seconds, a book in hand. He places it into my hands.
I smile at the cover of Lady Chatterley's Lover, also, at the picture folded within the bindings.
The picture he developed for me this morning in his dark room. I watched him work with intrigue, transfixed by how he walked around the room, how he did it all. Now, I have this picture, and this book, and god, this feels way more like a goodbye than I imagined.
"Thanks," I murmur, peering up at him, my face stiff in the sharp wind. He's beautiful...the most imperfect perfect man I've ever known. The very sight of him takes my breath away. His movements, his laugh, his smile...it pains me to walk away from them.
"What are you going to write about...in the article?" he asks, softly.
"I'm not writing the article," I state, having decided when I was in his arms last night. This is my experience...no one else's. I'll face the consequences.
It peeves me how shocked he looks. "Nothing?"
"You didn't necessary grant me an interview, did you?" I tease condescendingly. "What would I tell my readers? That I nearly died? That you have a great ass?"
He chuckles, pursing his lips. "I get your point."
I nod, pushing my hair back in aggravation. "Well, um, you know where to find me."
He looks down as I open the driver's side, and throw my bag into the passenger's seat. I glance up, and exhale, trying to be brave. I have things to say, and I'll never forgive myself if I get in this car and drive away without saying them to him.
I approach him slowly at first, but by the time I reach him, I'm determined. I stop in front of him, and touch his chest, feeling his beating heart beneath my palm. It's racing. He's a statue on the outside, but within, he's a mess.
He's letting me go, and he doesn't want me to. I know it. He knows I know it.
My hand travels up to clasp the back of his neck, feeling the silky tendrils of hair between my fingers. I run my hand over them, gazing up at him.
"I need you to promise me something."
He stares at me, his features restrained. "Anything."
The edge of my thumb dances along his cheek bone as I memorize his features now, drink him in to live on it later. I know he's changed me...I have yet to find out how much.
"Promise me...that if you are ever that low again...you'll call me. You'll come to me, reach me somehow."
His eyes close as I caress him gently, offering him as much as I can while I'm here. He can't handle it. As always, tenderness cracks the rough exterior, bringing forth his truths.
His truths are that he needs me, more than I need him. And that's okay.
I lift onto the tips of my boot heels, bringing myself close to his face. My eyes sweep over him, fondly, worriedly. "I don't care what time. Day or night. Wherever I am, I don't care." I press my forehead to his skin, exhaling, trying to wish my fears away. "I'd be here. I'd be here anytime for you."
He's breathing heavy when I pull back to look at him. For the first time in hours, he touches me, stroking my hair gently. I kiss his cheek, and my lips drag down beside his mouth.
"You're never alone," I whisper. "Aidan, you are never alone. Please."
"God, Josephine."
"Promise me." I hold him between my hands, stubbornly. My teeth grit together. "Promise me."
"I promise," he whispers, nodding. I'd been sucking in gulps of breath. I can finally release them.
We come together at the same time, our mouths sealing as one, conforming and moving in perfect time. We know each other, we know our bodies. Our feelings have been made plain, even if we haven't voiced them in entirety.
This week was special. This week was extraordinary.
It was life-changing.
His lips are soft, and seeking, and desperate at first. I moan softly as he clasps my face tightly between his hands, exerting force when he cannot contain himself any longer. His lips become brutal, the sounds he makes full of agony.
His tongue tastes sweet, and I yearn for more, clasping onto his clothing, pulling hard enough to ruin the knitting. I kiss him, lost in passion until I can no longer breathe, until I have to tear away.
I rush to the car, overcome, feeling the loss of his hands, the loss of his mouth. I climb inside without another word, turning on the ignition. I hear small, weak noises wheezing from my lips as I set down the book he's given me onto the seat beside my bag.
I feel desolation. I feel fear.
I feel his own fear and yearning for solitude.
Placing my hand on the wheel, I try not to focus on him as I reverse carefully, mindful of the cliff leading off the mountain. It takes me a minute to gear up the courage to touch the accelerator.
I exhale and turn my face to the window, taking one glance to him.
He smiles, softer than I've ever seen him smile, and it destroys me. I don't let it show. My chest is breaking from within. I've never felt this before. This is what I've always tried to avoid—this feeling right here. He holds up his hand in parting, but I can't respond.
I force my gaze forward, and press on the gas, and I begin to drive.
My car shakes under the unevenly paved snow as I start down the rough mountain terrain, passing through the grounds. Victoria and Bud's cabin is lit up, the chimney at full throttle. I'm sure they can hear my car. I wonder if they're glad I'm gone.
The gates opens easily from the inside, and I feel full-fledged panic as I wait for them to let me out. An existential crisis comes down upon me like a cloud when I notice the gates of Aidan Hughes home disappear the further I go, and I have no time to work through it.
Within moments, he's gone, and I'm back on the road, back in my own life.
Leavenworth is far less crowded in preparation for New Years, but there's enough traffic in town that I have trouble finding a parking space. I slip past the inn owner undetected, and I find my hotel room.
The space is cozy, and warm—ready to host a guest. I never got the opportunity.
On the bed is my luggage, everything I need to make it back to my old life.
I could pack up and leave. I could plug my phone into the charger and alert my friends and family that I'm safe.
I could do a lot of things.
Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed, and I drop my head into my hands, and I let myself feel what I've lost.