Kelly Meding: Chimera

I took a furious step closer to him, near enough to reach out and poke him without using my powers. “You don’t know me.”

“I’m trying to.”

“Well, stop.”

“Can’t. You’re under my skin, Renee.” He moved toward me, closing the space between us to less than two feet. “Tell me I’m not under yours and I’ll leave.”

My heart pounded and my lips twitched, but I couldn’t say it. We had no future past this week, and I couldn’t say that, either. Despite the prison walls that would separate us soon, I wanted to feel something again. Feel beautiful and wanted and cared about—even if only for a little while.

I didn’t speak. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down into a hard kiss that banged our teeth together. Hands tangled in my short hair, holding me close—like I was going anywhere—while his mouth plundered mine. The tenderness of our first kiss was gone. This was fast, fierce, and then we were moving. My back hit the wall and his hips pressed into mine, and that was okay, too, because this was Derek, and deep down I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.

He was hard and I wanted him, and holy wow, this was going to happen. I worked a hand between us, down, until I cupped his erection through his pants. He shuddered, thrusted, moaned into my mouth, and I grinned at the power in such a simple thing. Then again, the man hadn’t had sex in more than fifteen years. He was so stoic, so controlled. Suddenly, more than anything, I wanted to see him fall apart.

I spun us so his back was to the wall, then broke the kiss. He watched me, wide-eyed and flushed, breathing hard through his mouth and so damn handsome. I unbuttoned his shirt with slow, deliberate fingers, never once breaking eye contact. So many things were in his eyes, including trust. Once I’d pushed his shirt off his shoulders, I admired his naked torso. The hard biceps and firm, not-quite-six-pack abs. The light smattering of dark hair on his pecs and below his navel, leading down into his slacks. There were scars, too, some as wide as a finger and others as thin as a pencil line. I touched, too, as I looked. Smoothing my fingers across his skin, sometimes soft and sometimes rough. His muscles jumped and bunched, and his breaths became shorter the longer I played.

The only real imperfection was the tracking monitor strapped to his ankle—a painful reminder of who we both were and still would be when this was over.

He made a noise that sent a bolt of arousal right through me. I dropped slowly, deliberately, to my knees, and he made the noise again. More desperate now. I made quick work of his belt and slacks and boxers. A surge of power washed over me, despite my submissive position. He was naked, beginning to unravel already, and I had barely touched him. His hands were plastered against the wall by his hips, so careful not to grab or startle. Letting me run the show.

He whispered my name, and that snapped the last of my patience. I took him in my mouth, and he released a fierce growl. His thighs shook. He wouldn’t last long, and I wanted to take him there so badly. I worked him with mouth and hands, savoring the taste of him, the feel of him against my tongue, the way his entire body trembled with need and pleasure. He jerked and shook, and when a hand finally landed on the top of my head in concert with a desperate moan, I pulled back.

I watched him come with a soft shout, his eyes wide and watching me the entire time—watching with shock and wonder and gratitude. And I was right. He was gorgeous when he fell apart.

I wiped my hand on the leg of my sweatpants, and then strong arms pulled me up by the elbows. I fell against his chest, a little dizzy from the sudden change in elevation, and right into a tender kiss. The kind of soft, exploratory kiss that made all kinds of promises about what he could do with that tongue. I kissed back, silently asking for a demonstration, and somehow he understood perfectly.

This meant, however, my getting naked. The thought stopped me cold, and I pulled back enough to make him freeze. He studied my face with worried eyes that saw so much more than I wanted anyone to see. Even though I was fully clothed, I felt like the most naked person in the room.

His fingers drifted to my bare right forearm and the scarred, purplish skin there. “Tell me what you want me to do, Renee,” he whispered.

“Wait here?” I said.

He nodded.

I felt incredibly self-conscious as I pulled the curtain on my room’s only window, casting a gloom on the room that was heightened when I turned off the table lamp near the door. Shadows played on the walls and floor. I saw everything clearly, despite the darkness, but I felt better in less light. Confident enough to take off my clothes in front of a man who wasn’t my doctor for the first time since January. Confident enough to show Derek the depth of my scars and the length of my flaws.

His breath caught several times as I stripped, and I swear he stopped breathing entirely when I turned to face him. My pulse jumped and my insides twisted with nerves and need, and I didn’t know what to do or say now. Derek saved me the embarrassment by not staring. He pulled me into him and kissed me thoroughly. Then he settled us both in my bed and began a quest to kiss every bare inch of my body.

His mouth paid equal homage to both smooth and scarred skin, and my fear lifted a bit with each new exploration. I didn’t always feel his touches but I knew they were there. He wasn’t pulling away in disgust. He wasn’t avoiding the less-than-perfect parts of me. He saw it all. He wanted it all.

Oh, Derek.

Emotion clogged my throat and tugged at my singing nerves.

When his kisses and caresses finally settled at my core, I nearly flew off the bed. He licked me with a hunger I hadn’t expected, a desire that fueled my own, and my body yielded easily to first one, then two fingers. I couldn’t stop the sounds I was making, didn’t want to stop. I forgot everything except him, us, this. Felt pleasure coiling deep inside, tightening, fighting its way out. My thighs shook with it, and I pulled at the bedspread, unable to do anything but fly as my orgasm crashed over me.

He was there as I came down off the intense release, holding me close, whispering things in my ear that I didn’t understand. He was hard again, the evidence hot against my quivering thigh, and I wanted him. I took a yearly injection, but still . . .

“Do you have something?” I asked.

He blinked, as if unsure what I meant, and then understanding widened his eyes. He reached over the side of the bed and grabbed his slacks. He produced a condom, which was exactly what I’d asked for, and yet couldn’t help being surprised to see.

“You raid the infirmary stock?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Believe it or not, condoms were a regular part of the supplies dropped onto the island by the government. I suppose they didn’t want us making more babies than necessary.” A touch of darkness hung on to those words. Several children had been born in Manhattan anyway, without doctors or the right medical attention.

“Well, their foresight is our good fortune.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He kissed me, then pulled back long enough to roll on the condom. “You’re certain?”

“Definitely.” I wanted him inside me so badly I ached with it. My body still trembled from my earlier orgasm and the need to see him fall apart again.

I grasped his length and guided him forward. Felt every stretch and slide as he pushed slowly, gently inside me. Once the ache of penetration disappeared, slow and gentle was off the table. I arched up to meet him, thrust after thrust, losing myself in the powerful man in me, around me. He’d taken control and I let him have it. I stopped trying to censor what came out of my mouth. I hitched my legs up around his hips and held on.