Jack Wilder - The Missionary

“Wait, we don’t have a—”

“It’s fine. I’m on Depo.”

“But—” He tried to slow her down, but she wasn’t about to let that happen.

“I promise,” Wren said, sinking him deep inside her. She groaned low in her throat as he filled her, stretched her. “Oh my god, Stone.”

“Shit, Wren.” Stone clutched her hips and held her still as he buried himself to the hilt. “How can anything feel so perfect?”

“That’s what I was thinking.” She pressed her feverish forehead to his chest and arched her back, whimpering as he slid out and buried himself once again. He was still holding her hips so she couldn’t move, and she was growing frustrated, impatient. “Let me go. Let me move.”

Stone chuckled. “I don’t think so, babe. Just lay on me, let me do all the work.”

Wren pressed her mouth to his pectoral and gasped as he set a slow pace. “Fine, but I need more. Faster.”

Stone didn’t answer verbally, only drove into her harder, faster, holding on to the crease of her hips and pulling her against him as he thrust. Wren couldn’t figure out how he was still lasting, since he’d been on the edge when she let go of him, but he was still going, still driving her to madness. She was filled, burgeoning with need, gasping against him, moving unconsciously now, unable to stop the fluttering of her hips as she swelled closer and closer to a second climax.

Only her hips moved, the rest of her was boneless on top of him, and now her muscles tensed, coiled, and then she felt something break inside her, burst open and detonate. She stifled a scream against his skin, and then he was there with her, moaning and pulling her down on him, driving into her relentlessly, and she felt herself filled by him as he released, coming inside her with a primal growl in her ear.

They moved together for long minutes more, milking their united climaxes, slick and sated and exhausted.

When they were both about to pass out, Stone shifted Wren so she was cradled in his embrace. “God, Wren. You’re fucking amazing.”

“Mmmm. So are you.” She could barely form words.

Even through her exhaustion, however, she felt the ache, the chemical need, the drowning desperation. She’d managed to push it away long enough to be with Stone, but now it was coming back with a vengeance. She shivered, cold now, and violently nauseous, but too exhausted to move.

Stone’s arms clutched her tighter as she shook, and then he reached down to pull the blanket over them. “You’re sick, babe.”

“It’s worse, all of a sudden.” She swallowed hard against the rising of her gorge. “It was bad, before, but now…oh God, I don’t want this. I hate this. Make it stop, Stone.”

Stone groaned. “I knew I shouldn’t have let us—”

“No.” Wren forced herself to move, to meet his gaze. “No. I wanted that. I needed that.”

“But now you’re even sicker. You needed that energy to fight the withdrawal.”

“I needed you emotionally, even more.” She wished she could express what making love to him had meant to her, but she was too tired to think anymore, too burned out and too sick to speak anymore. “Just…hold me.”

“That I can do.”

“Don’t let him get me again.” It was her last thought.

She heard him curse. “Never. Never.”

Blackness swarmed through her, sucked her under, and this time she welcomed it.

13

Stone held Wren in his arms, beyond exhausted but unable to fall asleep. She shook intermittently, her skin feverish. She moaned now and then, rolled away and then back, restless. Her fingers dug into her skin as she tried to scratch away things that weren’t there.

He’d known she was starting to feel withdrawal from the heroin Cervantes had forced on her, but he didn’t realize how bad it was until she’d collapsed in his arms after they’d made love. She was absolutely limp, yet unable to stop shaking, whimpering from the ache in her bones.

Part of him felt guilty, like he’d taken advantage of her somehow, but he knew that wasn’t the case. She’d wanted him, beyond the need for safety as her rescuer. She wanted him, as a man. And having wanted her back for so long, he couldn’t resist, and couldn’t keep inventing reasons to try.

And it had been better than he’d ever imagined. Even with both of them being hurt, tense with the knowledge that they weren’t out of danger, it had been the most intense and amazing experience of his life. And it had been making love, he realized. It was more than sex. He wasn’t ready to admit how deep his feelings ran for her, but what they’d shared had been far more than mere sex, and certainly more than anything so meaningless as fucking. It had been…necessary, somehow. They couldn’t have not gone there with each other.

Stone watched Wren as she tossed and turned and moaned, crying out in pain as her body tried to flush the poison from her system. She was soaked in sweat, wracked with constant tremors. And even then, she was beautiful.

He wanted to stay awake, guard her, protect her. But he also knew he couldn’t do that properly if he didn’t get some sleep. Calling on years of practice, he forced himself to shut down, to push away all thoughts of worry and love—was it love?—and sleep.

Stone woke to the sound of Wren screaming. She was tangled in the sheets, spine arched to breaking, head shaking, “ nonononono! ” shrieking from her lips. He reached for her, and she pulled away, kicked out, rolling off the bed and scrambling into the farthest corner against the wall and the nightstand. She clutched her left forearm in her fist, knees drawn up. Her breathing was ragged, drawn out whimpers and moans escaping with each breath.

Stone slid slowly off the bed, heedless of being naked. He crouched down near the foot of the bed, a few feet from her. “It’s okay. You’re safe.” He extended his hand, palm up. “Wren, babe. It’s me. It’s Stone. You’re with me, in a hotel. You’re not there anymore. Look at me, baby.”

Wren shook her head, trying to shrink farther back into the corner. “It’s not real. You’re not real.”

Stone inched closer, until he was able to touch her foot. “Feel that? That’s my hand on your foot. I’m real. You’re safe.”

Wren stopped breathing, blinking furiously, as if debating the veracity of her own senses. Then she glanced at her arms, her breathing going panicked again, her palms scrubbing at her skin, nails gouging her forearms. “Get them off. They’re biting me. They’re crawling on me, Stone! They’re all over me. Get them off…please!”

“Look at me, Wren. Look at my eyes, okay?” He touched her knee with his palm. “It’s me, it’s just me. They’re not real, Wren. I know it feels like it. It may even look real. But I promise you, there aren’t any bugs. It’s the drugs, the fever.”

“No…You promise me you’re real? I’m not dreaming again?” She uncurled slightly, and Stone took her arms in his hands. “I dreamed of us. Together. But now I’m back there, in the dark. He’ll come and put the needle in me again, make me forget.”

Stone slid his palms up and down her arms. “Feel that? That’s real. That’s me, touching your arms. And that dream of us, together? That was real. We did that. It wasn’t a dream. You’re not there.”

She looked confused. “I was so hot. Now I’m cold. My skin hurts. I itch.” She looked down at her arms and whimpered. “They’re back. They’re eating me. Crawling on me. Get them off!” She batted at invisible insects on her arms, hitting and scratching until Stone caught her hands in his.

“Listen to me, Wren. It’s not real. I’m real. I’m here.” He pulled her toward him, stood up and scooped her into his arms, sank onto the bed with her curled against him. “Feel that? Feel me? I’m right here. You’re here. You’re safe. No bugs, no drugs. Just me and you.”