The black SUV was stopped sideways across the centerline at the apex of the bridge. Three black doors hung open, and the engine was still idling. Nash spotted the skid marks as he eased his raven black 67 GTO to a stop along the side. The SUV had looked unscathed until he pulled alongside it and spotted the bullet holes. The cement was stained with blood and gasoline, but the only thing he could tell about the bodies was that two were men and one was a woman.
Somebody might still be alive.
He shifted into park and rolled down the window. The bodies felt closer this way. He could smell the gasoline and blood. He teased the pedal with the tip of his shoe. The engine spat and growled.
Just leave this eye of whatever shitstorm it was or would be to whoever it rightfully belonged to. But then one of the bodies made a sound.
He left the Pontiac running and got out. He walked to the rear and popped the trunk with the extra key. He pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of the box he always kept there, then pulled out a couple of plastic convenience store bags, which he pulled over his shoes and tied around his shins.
The woman’s dress was black. Simple. It might have been elegant before it got smeared with blood and gas. Black pantyhose with lace patterns up the backs covered her slender legs. They were full of rips with scraped patches of skin showing through, but she didn’t seem to have any other wounds. At least there didn’t look to be any bullet holes in the dress. There were no shoes on her feet, but there was one broken black pump lying in the mess a few feet away. She was lying face down and Nash worked a couple of fingers underneath to touch her neck. Her pulse was racing like frightened horses.
He moved on to each of the men. There were enough holes in both of them Nash didn’t even bother searching for a pulse. Searching through their suit pockets, he wasn’t surprised to find FBI credentials.
There were loose papers stuck to the road in the bizarre mix of fluids spilled across the surface. The stench of gas and copper was beginning to give Nash a headache. He pocketed the dead agents’ IDs and went back to the woman.
The whispering rumble of the idling Pontiac was comforting. Perfectly organized yet feral. Patient and full of power. The sound reminded him of freedom. Everything else was FUBAR.
He squatted onto his haunches beside her and gently rolled her onto her back. Long, butter colored hair covered most of her face. The strands were matted with grit and blood. Scooping his arms under her legs and shoulders, Nash lifted her easily, standing back up to his natural 6’2” and carried her back to his car. He’d put the top down earlier, when it had still been hot, so it was short work to lay her across the back seat.
Then he pulled the gloves off his hands and the grocery bags off his feet, throwing it all over the side of the bridge to let the river take it downstream. He put the top up and started to get back in the driver’s seat, but he hesitated. He scanned both ends of the bridge for oncoming headlights, but there was nothing. He leaned back against his car and studied the carnage he’d been unlucky enough to find first.
It was too bizarre and convoluted a tableau to bother figuring out. He was just trying to absorb the raw, unexplained feel of whatever had gone so tragically wrong. He turned around and leaned inside his car, reaching in to brush the woman’s hair out of her face. She was like something rare and priceless that had fallen from a high shelf and come down hard on the floor.
When he turned back toward the idling Ford and the dead men on the road, he reached into his pocket for the Zippo, flipped the lid and sparked it, then tossed it across the bridge onto a patch of spilled gasoline. He got in his car and pushed the 400 cubic inch V8 toward the other side of the bridge before the flames hit whatever was left in the tank of the Crown Vic.
An hour and a half later, after a hard sprint across flat out desert road followed by a winding climb into the mountains, Nash pulled down a long, gravel road until it opened up into the circular driveway of his property. He parked in front of the California ranch house. Two trailers he used in lieu of outbuildings sat in a triangular configuration from the house. He put the top back down on the GTO, then went to set open the front door of the house before returning to the blonde in the back seat.
She groaned when he lifted her off the seat. Nash took it as a good sign. He didn’t want her dying on him.
Owls that never showed themselves called from the dark trees as he carried her inside. He took her straight to the bathroom and laid her down in the tub. He turned on the water and waited until it was running tepid. Pulling the hand held nozzle down from the bracket on the wall, he sprayed her hair and face. In a few seconds, she came to with a gasp and sputter.
She opened her eyes, looking out through the wet tendrils of hair covering her face. They were an improbably deep jade, tracking a haphazard circuit. Nash held the nozzle away and brushed the strands to the sides. She fixated on his scar a moment, but there was no reaction either way. His face might have been a perfectly unremarkable picture on a strange wall. She looked down at her own body. Blood and gas were rinsing out of her dress and running down the drain.
She might have been conscious, but she was still buried in the open grave Nash had found her in. She finally turned back to him in a gesture that came off like an accident. It was more like she was looking through him than at him.
Nash let go of the nozzle and took hold of her face with both hands, speaking straight to her.
“I don’t think you’re shot, but I’ve gotta get your clothes off to make sure you’re okay and get you cleaned up. Can you help at all?”
She nodded, accepting without fear. She sat up and leaned forward with her head bowed down. Nash pulled the zipper down the back of her dress and unhooked the black bra. He pushed everything down her arms. She pulled back with her elbows, extracting her hands from her clothes, leaving her naked from the waist up.
He held her head as she leaned back against the end of the tub again. Her breasts stood out like pneumatically pumped teardrops. They leaned to the sides as she arched her back with a painful groan and lifted her ass off the bottom of the tub. Nash took hold of her dress and pulled it down her legs, taking her ruined pantyhose down along with it. He tossed the wet ball of her clothes on the floor and took the nozzle back in hand to wet her down completely.
Her entire body looked pale, although her skin had a fine, pampered quality. Her muscles were slack but displayed carefully maintained shape and tone. Her pussy was bare except for a tightly cropped, pencil thin landing strip decorating her mound. She was speckled with bruises and scrapes, but nothing more serious.
Her eyes seemed to track Nash with a little more definition when she lay back naked and he moved the nozzle over the surface of her body. Then he dropped the spraying hose, letting it dangle against the side of the tub and grabbed the bottle of lavender scented bodywash. He angled it above, dribbling a clear line of viscous fluid beginning across her collarbones, zigzagging down her body as far as her scraped shins.
After he put the bottle back on the shelf, Nash laid his palm against her collarbone and rubbed a small circle in the liquid soap.
“Okay?” he said, waiting for a sign of approval.
She nodded mostly with her eyelids, then closed them while he began lathering her body with both of his large, rough hands. He went carefully over the bruises and scrapes, but she whimpered occasionally at the contact. He washed her as completely as he could, slipping his hands under her arms and then lathering the heavy pliancy of her breasts.
When he scrubbed between her thighs she parted them as far as the confines of the tub would allow and he scrubbed along her pussy. It was a strange sensation touching a woman’s smooth nether lips and feel nothing but the urgency of survival and healing. Then he held still a moment and realized he didn’t know there was anything else to feel from touching or tasting a woman’s pussy.
A hard wave of sadness and longing passed through him. He hadn’t found any marks on her so far that would leave scars, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have them. In another world or time, he could’ve been the greatest mistake of her life, and maybe that would’ve been just a little better than whatever mistake she was barely surviving now.
In another world and time, he might have peeled her apart like a dying orchid.
He pushed his fingers deeper, scrubbing the rim nestled between the spheres of her ass. She whimpered and lifted her legs. It was as if he’d touched a button and she was making an automatic response.
He scrubbed her ass slowly and carefully while she reached and held onto his arm. When he finished, he dragged his fingers up along her slit. Then he just pushed her legs back down without looking at her face. His good side was turned toward her now. Maybe she’d forget the other half until tomorrow.
It seemed sad to be touching a woman as beautiful as she probably was and not desire her. But something deep inside Nash told him being desired probably had something to do with her ending up naked, bruised and half dazed in his bathtub. He picked up the nozzle again and started to rinse away the lather and suds. Her eyes opened and she watched him in accepting silence. It was clear enough by now she wasn’t going to die in his house, but more than a little of what she was had died back on the bridge.
“Close your eyes.”
Her eyelids dropped shut again and he wet her face. Then dripped more liquid soap in his palm and carefully scrubbed her face. She whimpered once or twice, but they didn’t sound like whimpers of pain. At least not physical pain. With her eyes closed tight against the suds and scrubbing, her face took on an intangible quality of weak defiance.
Nash rinsed off her face and sprayed her hair again. She leaned up and lifted her knees at the same time, hugging her raised legs and burying her face on top of her knees. He dribbled shampoo on top of her head and patiently began massaging her scalp.
He was slow and methodical, washing her hair like spun silk. He arranged the stranger’s mane in a fall down along her spine and took the nozzle back to begin rinsing her off. She started sobbing suddenly and violently as he rinsed her. He didn’t say anything and neither did she. He just kept going, patiently finishing what he started.
When he shut off the water, her sobbing went on another minute or two. Nash put his hand on her back and lightly rubbed her shoulder blades until she finally seemed to notice the room was once again bathed in silence.
“Can you stand up?”
“I…I think so.”
She was shaky, but she got to her feet with Nash’s help. He held her by the arms as she stepped out of the tub onto the throw rug, and then Nash got a fresh towel and patiently dried her entire body.
He led her into his bedroom and sat her down on his bed. He got a big, cotton button down shirt out of his closet and handed it to her. She put it on without any help and pulled the sides in front of her to cover herself.
“Are you hungry?”
It took her a few beats to answer. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t know.” She was quicker this time, looking at her knees. She hadn’t looked at Nash’s face once since they left the bathroom.
“You should probably try to put something down.”
“What do you like?”
He took her by the hand. She walked, but she wasn’t too sure of her footing as he led her into the kitchen. He sat her down at the cheap formica table and turned on the small clip-on lamp above the sink. He got some mango and strawberries out of the freezer and threw them into the blender. Then he peeled a couple of bananas and tossed those in along with some plain yogurt.
The sound of the blender felt violent against the soft quiet of the night.
Nash finally brought two pint glasses full of purple to the table. He sat down and pushed one toward the blonde. She reached for the glass and took a careful sip without looking at him. Then she drained half the glass in one long, slow pull. Nash watched her face and sipped calmly at his.
“Is this where I live?” she asked, looking directly at him as if it were the first time she was really seeing him.
“No,” he said. “But you’ll be safe here.”
She spent a moment studying his eyes, as if she knew what she was looking for. Finally she nodded and sipped more of her thick drink.
“But we know each other, don’t we? You’re someone who loves me?”
Nash shook his head.
“Then why would you…?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “You were hurt.” Brief, awkward silence. “I don’t know,” he said again.
“Almost all of me hurts,” she said.
“Not surprised. You’re pretty well scraped up.”
She took down the rest of her drink, and Nash got the pitcher part off the blender and poured the rest of the concoction into her glass. She drank again, more eagerly than before.
“Are you sure you’re not someone I’m supposed to know?”
“Not until a couple of hours ago.”
She looked more disappointed than confused. “At first…in the tub…I thought you might be my husband. I’m wearing this ring…so…”
“I don’t know what my name is,” she said. “It feels…I don’t know…”
“How about we call you Jane – Jane Doe – until your real name comes back to you?”
“Better than nothing, I guess. I just…I mean…why is everything so blank?”
“It’s your brain trying to protect you. When someone ends up in something bad enough, the mind throws up a shield. I guess it’s supposed to keep you from breaking down.”
“I guess that must be how I’m all banged up like this.”
“Guess so,” he said, carefully. “I didn’t see that part.”
He waited to see if she was going to ask about where or how he’d found her, and he thought back to her lying in the middle of a deserted bridge in the middle of the night surrounded by dead men. But she didn’t ask.
“Maybe you should try to get some rest,” he finally suggested. “Probably the best thing for you now.”
“I feel like I’ve been asleep for a decade.”
“It’s not like resting.”
He got up from the table and guided her up by the hand. He led her back to the bedroom and sat her down on the bed. Then he went into the bathroom and got a bottle of pills and a glass of water. Sitting back down beside her, he shook a five milligram tab of Valium into the palm of his hand and held it toward her.
“You never met me in your life,” he said. “But you’re in my house, and you’ll be safe as long as you’re here. You’d be right not to be sure. Just trust your instincts.”
She studied his face for a long time. He sat still and let her. She looked like she wanted to touch his scar, but she didn’t. Finally, she took the pill from his hand and put it in her mouth. She reached for the water glass and washed it down.
She lay down on top of the bed clothes, and Nash sat at the foot, holding her by the ankle until she was breathing deeply. He got up and went out to the living room couch. He listened to the owls talk to each other outside. It took a while, but sleep finally came over him sometime after he gave up wishing for it.
His spine felt like a corkscrew. He was half lying, half sitting across the sofa. The scent of fresh brewed coffee brought him upright and then to his feet. His shoes were probably still in the bathroom, but he didn’t bother looking for them. He just went to the kitchen – the tiles were clean and cool against his feet – and poured himself a cup.
He put on the sunglasses he wore whenever he went out in public and brought the cup outside. Jane Doe was wandering the grounds in the shirt he’d put on her the night before and a cheap pair of flip flops she must have dug out from his closet. She was holding a mug with both hands, studying the grass, Nash’s house, the tree line, the cars and truck in his gravel drive. She looked at everything repeatedly and intently. Nash assumed she was just trying to recognize something familiar.
He didn’t know if that was supposed to be normal for an amnesiac or not, but he supposed it probably was.
She didn’t seem especially steady on her feet, either, but when Nash took a seat on the old city park bench haphazardly planted in the middle of the grass, she made her careful way toward him and sat down beside him.
“Morning, Jane. How do you feel?”
She looked at him curiously when he called her Jane, but then seemed to remember and nodded with her eyelids.
“I’m not sure. Kind of sore in places.” She paused and looked at her surroundings again. Her skin was fine despite being spangled with bruises. Every time she turned reminded Nash how naked she was under his shirt. “Are you sure this isn’t where I live?” she asked.
He nodded. “Maybe that’s ‘cuz it’s the only place you remember right now.”
“Maybe. It just feels…I don’t know. Familiar. And you’re sure I never met you before? Ever?”
“I’m afraid not. Sorry.”
“That doesn’t seem right. Why would a total stranger do what you did for me last night?”
“I don’t know. It just needed being done.” She seemed a little irritated by his answer. Then she slid across the empty space between them and pressed against him. She drew her feet up on the bench and leaned into him. He could feel the air of desperate entitlement in her face and gesture. That, and fear. He put his arm around her and drank some coffee out of his free hand.
“Do you think it’s normal to feel this alone?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Feels like I was born in a bathtub just last night.”
Nash went quiet a couple of minutes and gently stroked her hair. “I found you in the middle of something…let’s just say unpleasant,” he told her. “Something I’m pretty sure was very complicated. It’s probably better if you remember it on your own…whenever your brain figures you’re ready…but any time you feel like you want to ask…I’ll tell you.”
“You’re the only man in my memory right now. Your touch is my only reference,” she said after a while. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“I don’t know.”
There seemed an impossible responsibility that came with her realization. She raised her head and looked at his face a moment, then reached for his shades and pulled them off.
“It’s just a scar,” she said. “It’s not like your face is ruined.”
He was acutely aware of the scarred side being so close to her now. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t take his shades back, either.
Jane pushed her face back down until her cheek was against his chest and started sobbing. She sobbed hard and long. Nash felt like sobbing, too, but he didn’t know what for. He figured she didn’t know, either. He dropped his mug in the grass and held her with both arms.
After Jane went back inside the house, Nash went into the smaller trailer where he had a small office set up. He booted up the desk top and spent an hour searching for news that might shed light on Jane Doe’s identity, but there was nothing. The incident on the bridge never happened. She didn’t exist. Someone needed her erased. Not even the names of the dead FBI agents brought a worthwhile lead.
He finally gave up and took a shower in the trailer’s cramped stall. After, he threw on a T shirt and pair of shorts and lay down on the bunk. He tried not to think about her. All he needed was a little more sleep.
“Am I you? Or are you me?”
Jane Doe studied her own jade eyes in the bathroom mirror, but there was nothing but a vast expanse of darkness behind them. Somehow, the funky low rent get-away bunker, the remote greenery of the mountainside, the owls, even Nash himself, all seemed to fit into some natural continuum she didn’t understand but felt in her skin. Everything fit like an old shirt except the face staring back at her.
This place and Nash were all she knew, but as she studied her own, jade eyes, there was nothing but a vast expanse of darkness behind them. Everything made sense but her.
She turned to pick up the ball of clothes on the bathroom floor. They were still damp. Ruined, but they must have been very fine before whatever happened to them happened. She tried to imagine herself wearing them, but kept on drawing more blanks and tossed the whole mess into the trash can.
She leaned back against the sink and stared at the empty bathtub. It was a simple enough place in which to suddenly come to life naked, bruised and wet in the hands of a man who claimed they were strangers. But he was wrong. She might have been a stranger to him, but he was the only man she could remember ever touching her body.
The only real memory she had was in her skin of his rolling hands. It wasn’t so much that his touch was gentle, but it was careful. It didn’t feel right that a man who didn’t know her should touch her the way Nash had. Intimate, loving, sensuous even through the sting of her aches and bruises, as if his desire were only being deferred.
She stepped inside the tub and sat down the same way she’d awakened the night before. The buttons on Nash’s huge shirt popped open one by one under her slow moving fingers. She took it off and set it on the floor beside the tub. Maybe the gone half of her life would come rushing back. She turned the water on and let it run, worrying the indentation on her finger with the pad of her thumb as she waited for the tub to fill. A missing ring. Could she belong to someone? The thought of not belonging to anyone other than Nash felt like a black hole.
Everything she knew had been between his hands as they’d caressed her in the owl song night. It was as if he’d been sculpting her into existence. The bruises spangling her body looked dark and raw. She picked up the same bottle of scented bodywash he’d used and filled her empty palm. She began at her collarbone, just as he had, lathering her way to her naked breasts.
Her mind was a battlefield of dying questions while her body felt sure and alive. She gripped her breasts harder than Nash had – wondering why he hadn’t gripped them that way – wishing he had. Could he love the pale, brown nipples gathering up tight under the lathered scrape of her palms?
Somehow she knew he wasn’t lying to her. The sense in her marrow told her so, but she didn’t believe him. He knew her. Maybe not her name or the trivial details that accumulate through the days and nights of a human life. But he knew what she was. It was in his tragic eyes and half distant tone of voice. It was in the way his lathered fingers had created her shape.
She slid her palms down the insides of her thighs, following the path his fingers had taken over her smooth mound, along the awakening lips of her pussy, touching her rim, scrubbing the taut knot, dragging back upward along the damp furrow of her slit.
His fingers were long. Thick. Strong. They belonged inside her.
She sank lower while she stroked her slit, pausing to draw circles around the voracious blossoming of her clit. There was lingering pain in her muscles as she rolled her hips, but there was something natural and familiar in it, too. She began to understand her body had a memory her mind had no access to.
Fuck it. She slipped a finger inside the hot, wet elegance of her sheath and began to pump.
The water was rising over the top of her body, sluicing around the determined motion of the hand between her thighs.
Something in her cells told her she was nothing and everything. Ache of desire and belonging seeped through her like fog rolling through the streets of some forgotten city.
Keeping her fingers deeply buried in her pussy, she sat up with a painful moan and shut off the water. Sensing him, she turned to find Nash standing in the doorway.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll leave you to your privacy.” Then he floated out of the doorway as swiftly as he’d floated in. She didn’t know if a man his size was supposed to move that way. Like leaves falling.
“Nash?” She was louder and more definitive this time. He reappeared in the doorway. “Privacy is the last thing I need right now.”
He took a step into the room. She followed his eyes toward her pussy, wet and full of fingers.
“This isn’t why I brought you here,” he said.
“I need you.” She pulled her fingers slowly out to the tips, then pushed them back inside as he watched.
“That’s probably not…”
“Dammit,” she nearly spat in frustration. She pulled her hand free of her pussy, rose up on her knees. Pain from the bruise on the left one throbbed into her flesh as her weight settled down on it. She gripped the side of the tub, wet tendrils of hair curling around the quivering spheres of her breasts. “There’s no one else for me to need,” she said, straining to keep from wincing from the pain in her knee.
She stood up through the jolting aches of pain and desire. Her nipples burned, clit pulsing with powerful demands as she watched him study her. “It’s only everything I am,” she said.
Nash stepped toward her. His hands drifted lightly over her wet breasts, fingertips brushing the candied knots at the tips. “No, it’s not.”
She reached for the bottom of his T shirt and pulled it up. He raised his thick arms and she peeled it off. There were more scars on his body. A big one across his ribs on one side and a couple of small ones.
They were anything but surgical.
He turned his face to the side as she opened his pants and started to unzip them. She slid her hand over the hard shape of his cock through his briefs, but raised her free hand to turn his face back to hers.
“Don’t try to hide it,” she told him. “It’s actually…sexy.”
Nash’s face held a stone visage, but Jane didn’t miss the brief glimmer that passed through them. She smiled, drew a finger down the scar, then dropped her hand to his pants and pushed them down.
His cock stood out toward her face as she leaned down to lower his pants. It was thick and crossed with pulsing veins. She wrapped her hand around the shaft and Nash stepped into the tub beside her. He was looking at her face while he took her nipples between his fingers. She stroked his cock with both hands. His flesh was rippling with heat. It felt perfectly natural to hold and stroke him, as if his cock belonged in her hands, as if his smooth balls were made for the grazing tips of her fingers.
He raised one hand to her face. There was a warmth and kindness in his eyes she didn’t want to see just then.
“Jane, you don’t have to do this,” he told her softly.
“Yeah, I do,” she said. “And so do you. But if you’re going to think I’m just throwing you some kind of gratitude fuck then you might as well go back to your little bunker and I’ll just fuck myself with a hair brush. You do have a hair brush I can borrow, don’t you?”
Nash smiled. It was the first time she’d seen him do that. Then he laughed. It was the first time she’d heard him do that. The sound had a low, rumbling self-interest about it that comforted her. Then he leaned in and kissed her. She felt her lips part on instinct and his tongue swept through her mouth. He tweezed her rigid nipples harder and her hands grew more aggressive in their exploration of his cock and balls.
He was kissing her so hard she was fighting for breath. Everything was starting to feel like home, and whatever else could’ve been true, she knew she was either at the end or beginning of something large.
Her eyes were closed against everything but the sensation of Nash’s hands moving down and around Jane’s body to grasp the cheeks of her ass hard and tight. He pulled her against him, her heavy breasts mashing against the broad expanse of his chest. Something broke in his kiss as she felt her head pushing back against the deepening search of his mouth and tongue. It almost felt as if he were searching into her for her past. For the briefest of moments, she imagined him finding it and keeping it all to himself.
His cock felt like a pulsing spine of heat trapped between them, an insistent reminder he was there, stalking the hazy fields of the desire raging in her cells. Body memory. It was all she needed for now. The heat of his desire was gathering – broiling – emanating outward in waves to match and merge with hers. The good Samaritan was gone in the haze. The self-serving man she needed to bring her to life one more time was grinding the lather of his oozing precum all over her crawling flesh.
His kiss was overwhelming, but a nagging prickling sensation in her mouth was sending messages to her spinning brain. If his tongue was sweet, his cock would be sublime.
She pushed him back and studied his face studying hers.
“My time here has a shelf life, doesn’t it?” Her right hand cupped his balls. Fondle and caress.
Nash gave her a serious look that nearly came off as a sneer. His hand went around her throat, holding her just tightly enough to guarantee her attention.
“Yes,” he said. “But that part will be completely up to you. I meant everything I told you last night. You stay as long as you need. As long as that is, you’ll be safe here.”
Jane sank to her knees, wincing at the pain from the bruise. She gripped his cock, stroking and learning the contours of his dripping shaft. “I don’t want to be safe,” she said. “Protected…but not safe.”
“Jesus,” he groaned from above. She glanced up at him and felt her lips curl into a grin that felt a little foreign on her face. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, rubbing the long, hard shaft of his cock against her face. His skin was hot and silky. His shaft passed across her lips and air rushed out of her throat against his prodigious plug of meat.
Her eyes were full of darkness while the sound of his moans curled around her ears like tendrils of opium smoke. The simmering brush of his cock against her skin made her face feel different somehow, as if she were blind and reading the shape of her fine features for the first time. Sudden jolts of sensation throbbed across the surface of her skin. Tactile hallucination? No. It was something more real. Something like the memories that live in our flesh, far from those corridors in the mind where the life we’ve lived up to now resides. Cocks over her face. Voracious body heat rising off three…no…four…hard, throbbing shafts. Rubbing her cheeks, mouth, eyes, lips. Slapping wet against her. Skin and dripping fucksap hotter than skin or ooze was ever meant to be. Precum matting her fine hair. Two heads at once pushing through the moist portal of her ravenous lips…
Jane opened her eyes with a gasp. The vision had been hazy. Disembodied cocks surrounded by an aura of darkness. She gripped Nash’s cock and licked from his balls all the way up his shaft. Suddenly she winced hard from the pain shooting through her knee.
Nash reached down and pulled her to her feet. “There are better ways to do this,” he said.
He took her by the hand and guided her as they stepped out of the tub. Before they made it through the door, Nash grabbed a couple of towels and a bottle of skin oil. Jane’s skin tingled as she wondered what he might be thinking. But the last thing she was going to do was ask. Both of them naked and dripping wet from the bath, he led her outside toward the old park bench where they’d sat together earlier. Nash spread one large towel across the grass in front of the bench, and then draped the other over the back and seat.
He was bulky yet graceful. His cock held hard, bobbing and strutting before him as he moved. She wondered if she should tell him about the flash vision she’d had in the bathtub, but before she could come to a decision, he was holding her shoulders, pushing her down to the towel on the grass. She lay back while he knelt beside her, the large shadow of his body crossing over hers.
“You’re tan, but you don’t have tan lines,” he noted, pushing her thighs apart. He dripped oil on his palms and began massaging the insides of her widely flung thighs. “Do you remember how it feels to let the sun lick your pussy? Or does it feel like the first time?”
“I…I…was gonna suck your cock,” she said, using up the last of the breath left in her body. More rushed back in while his palms pressed and slipped over the supple flesh of her thighs.
“Oh, you will,” he said. “Just answer the question.”
She reached for his hovering cock shaft and stroked him. He dripped oil over her stroking hand and went back to kneading her thighs, sending an ache through her flesh to feel him grind his hand over her open pussy. She felt slick, smooth and beautiful. The oily scrape of his hands felt like pure confirmation.
“I…think my skin kind of remembers what I can’t in my mind,” she told him, not caring if he understood or not.
He reached for her pussy with his left hand, forking his index and middle fingers over her slit and prying open her shuddering sex lips. The pad of his right middle finger traced firm circles around the inner maw of her pussy. It was like he was sculpting her again, turning her into his work in progress.
“Our bodies know more than we do,” he said, his finger circling around the upturned bud of her clit. Suddenly he slapped her open pussy lightly. Two, three, four, five times. Something like a yowl rushed from her throat as she arched her hips, waiting for more, but then she felt the thickness of his finger enter her maw.
“Don’t know if that’s good or bad,” he went on, slipping and sliding his large finger while he clamped her clit between a thumb and finger with the other hand. “Maybe our bodies are smarter than we are. Maybe not. They say a man shouldn’t think with his cock, but that would mean ignoring a moment like this. It would mean walking like a zombie all the way to my own grave without the stain only you could ever leave on my spirit.”
Then he was moving, straddling the sides of her head, his voraciously hard cock dangling above her face while he pulled her legs open even wider and laved her open pussy with the flat of his tongue. Jane fought for air while her hands fumbled for the cock just inches over her face. She pulled his shaft downward and the head sank easily between her lips, gliding against her tongue. An oiled fingertip pushed against her rim while his tongue whipped and lashed across her pussy. Darkness and disembodied cocks shoving at her mouth. Two heads, tangy and slick with ooze push and pull in tandem through the wet ring of her open lips. Hands pulling and squeezing her breasts. Hard nipples clamped hard between fingers. Twist and pull. More hands shoving her legs high and wide. Someone fingers her rim. A different cock presses against each of her thighs. Voices. Groans and laughter. They’re calling her baby, angel, cock whore, cum dump. She hears the howl of need rip from her throat and pierce the darkness. She’s flying, but never high enough. Never fast enough. Something is happening off at the fringe of darkness she doesn’t want to see. She closes her eyes, drowning in a sea of spuming cocks and grasping hands.
Nash’s finger pried through the taut ring of her asshole while she pulled more of his cock into her mouth. She was gripping the base of his shank in one hand, searching for his rim with the other. He was suckling her clit while his finger nudged deeper. She rolled her tongue around his oozing dome and pressed her finger into his chute. She could feel him ripple and twitch inside as her finger shoved deeper. He growled into her pussy as if he were filling her body with the sound of his voice, shoving his own finger the rest of the way into her ass. No one calls out her name in the darkness. There is only so far her memory is willing to go. The safety valve of her inner soul is offering her a clean break.
There was a stinging sensation everywhere Jane’s body was bruised or scraped, but it all just merged with the swirl of sensation that came from Nash lunging and devouring her. And from her writhing and devouring him. Her heart was beginning to race like a derailing train, and just as she felt that strange mixture of tension and weightlessness that came with an oncoming climax, Nash suddenly yanked his finger from the clamp of her ass and reared upright with a forceful gasp for air.
He spent a few more moments letting his selfish cock glide in and out of her mouth. She lost her purchase on his asshole and her finger slipped free. Finally, he drew his cock out from her mouth and stood up. His shadow saved her from having to squint to see him.
“You’re gonna burn me right down, aren’t you, Jane?” he said. He gripped his cock and stroked, looking down at her the same way he’d been looking at her when she came to in his arms the night before. “You remembered something, didn’t you?”
“No…I don’t know…fuck it…I don’t want to remember! Just fuck me before I turn back into whatever I was.”
Nash leaned over and picked up the oil. Then he stepped across Jane’s body, one foot planted on either side. She tried looking up at his face, but the underside of his thick shaft and tightly clustered balls were in the way. He unscrewed the little squirt cap off the top of the bottle and flicked it off into the grass. Holding it up, then turning it upside down, the oil ran out and down his body until it was dripping onto Jane. When the bottle was empty, he pitched it into the grass, too.
He sank down, straddling her oil covered body. His balls and shaft slipped over her skin as he ground his hips against her. He scooped the heavy mounds of her breasts into his large, letting them slip in and out of his grasp as he massaged them. Then he scuttled forward and pressed the shaft of his cock down under the heel of his hand, mashing it back and forth across her breasts, massaging them with his unyielding stalk.
“Why don’t you want to remember?” he asked, slipping back down the trunk of her body, dragging his smooth, oily balls along her skin. He moved off her body and hunkered between her thighs, pushing his hands along her slick thighs, up along her torso and over her knot tipped breasts, massaging the length of her body with long, firm sweeps. The flares of pain whenever his hands passed over a bruise carried a kind of sweetness that made the lips of her pussy quiver and feel empty.
“Last night…” she tried to steady her breath but it was no use. “That just doesn’t happen. At least I don’t think so. Have you ever just suddenly come to life in the hands of tender stranger?”
He stopped massaging her and gripped his cock, stroking his slick dome up and down the length of her aching pussy. “Maybe not in her hands,” he said, sinking the length of his shaft deeply inside her. “But in her
Nash lowered his body until he was sliding back and forth on her, his cock stroking in and out of her pussy with the motion of his entire form. One fucking her mouth. Another in her hand. Two grinding into her pussy at the same time. One shaft slipping against the other, clamped tightly inside her core. No more talking or laughter. Only whimpers and grunts as the bodies whose faces she can’t see grind and fuck their way toward a fleeting flash of oblivion. They’re not even close to being enough. She needs something more. Hard is never hard enough. One of the men leans in and she can almost see his face. “Baby,” he grins, dripping sweat off his face, “you fuck like the devil.”
Suddenly Nash was rolling onto his back, pulling Jane along with him, never letting his cock leave her body. She straddled him naturally as sipping tea and felt the gnash of his bloated cock against the sodden walls of her pussy.
“I want you to feel the sun licking your asshole while we fuck,” he growled. “It’s the only lover you can ever count on. The only one who’ll come out to love and caress you every day of your life.”
“You’re wrong,” she sighed, sinking down the burning shaft of his cock. Swallowing his body up inside hers. “Clouds. Thunder, lightening, rain, snow and shitstorms. Where’s your precious sun then? Thanks, but I’ll take my chances with you.”
His cock went blunt through the hot, slick kiss of her lacquered petals. He started to thrust and pump as if he were swimming inside her. She rocked her graceful body against the aches and pains of the injuries that would slowly fade away, but this feeling would always be with her. Nash’s powerful cock thrust into her as if he were trying to stain her cells with the sensations shuttling back and forth between their heaving bodies.
Jane felt her body shudder, waves of tension and release pouring through her as she opened her mouth to cry out. As soon as the sound got caught in her throat, Nash rolled again. He was holding her to him, keeping impaled on his stalk as he gripped her firmly in his arms.
She was lying on her back now, lunging back against the pummeling onslaught of his driving cock. He rolled again, and then again and again. She lost track of how many times. Their bodies were covered with blades of grass sticking to the oil covering them both. She thought he was on top of her now, but he was moving away, drawing his cock out of her body.
His chest was heaving with breath as he reached for her ankle, gripping her hard and turning. She instinctively followed the turn until she on her knees, facing down against the grass. His large, heavy body came down against her back. He pushed her oil matted hair aside and tasted her neck while he held his cock and prodded her tiny rim.
Jane held still. She took in a hushed gasp while his dome teased the resistance of her rosebud.
“This is where you say no, I don’t like it like this
,” he said in husky whisper.
“No,” she said. “It’s not.”
The hard thickness of Nash’s cock pressed through the grip of her ring. Slowly, his shaft insinuated itself deeper in her channel. Jane’s eyes welled with moisture as her body fought to adjust to his throbbing shape and size. As soon as he seemed to be fully embedded he was already drawing backward again.
Whimpers that sounded like they belonged to someone else rose out of Jane’s throat. Her hand crabbed down under the crunch of her body to find her clit and rub. Nash was moving toward a steady rhythm. Easy, if not exactly gentle, at first. But they were covered with sweat and oil. Everything felt slippery, inside and out. Nash’s hands passed under her body, pushing across her breasts to come up against her shoulders, holding her in place as he began to rock them back and forth like ocean waves.
“Forgive me, beautiful Jane, but I hope you never remember.”
She couldn’t reply. Her fingers were gnashing her clit and she felt herself burst and ripple inside. Then his cock felt like it was suddenly blossoming deep inside her channel in bursting spatters of shooting cum.
As Jane remained in position, patiently awaiting her breath to settle back into her body, she realized the visions had stopped. She felt an inexplicable knowledge. There would be no more of them. She would never know exactly who she was or where she came from. All her muscles and bruises ached, and one of the scrapes had started bleeding again. She smiled, hoping Nash would see it on her face.
Then there was nothing left but oil, sweat and cum. Somewhere a world away, a man’s cock slowly relaxed and slipped quietly from his lover’s sheath. Jane felt him guiding her up to her feet, leading her on shaky knees toward the bench where they sat down on the other towel.
She pulled up her feet, tucking herself into him the same way she had that morning. His arm went around her and the side of his face settled against the top of her head.
“I’m sorry, Jane,” he told her.
“What are you talking about?”
“What I said before…about hoping you never remember. That was…”
“Just be quiet and hold me now, okay? Do it like you loved me all my life, because as far as I can see…you already have.”
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