Leave Her Hanging: A Noir Thriller

Chapter Thirty-Five

I woke myself up sobbing. I’d been dreaming about Ella again, dreaming that it was her breaking my fingers. I came out of my sleep drowsily, confused about where I was. It was dark, but a small amount of light crept through the crack in the curtains. My broken fingers were bandaged, and a thick duvet cover coated me. Everything came crashing back. I felt pathetic, crying like this, but the sobs wouldn’t stop.

Something warm enveloped me. Another body, small, warm, hugging my back. Stephanie. I gripped her arm. She whispered something in my ear, kissed the back of my head. My sobs faded. Sleep took me once more.

When I woke again, the room was light. My tears had dried. Stephanie and I had switched places; now it was her with her back to me, my arm over her. Every inch of me ached, but I didn’t much care. Stephanie’s breaths came in slow waves. She still had her t-shirt on, but I could feel that she only wore underwear on her bottom half.

She was one of them, part of Malcolm’s group, and she’d shown that she wouldn’t openly betray them. But she’d fed me information, saved me, taken me into her home. I didn’t understand this strange, lonely girl. But most of all I didn’t understand what was going on inside me, the churning guilt that was nearly stilled by the feel of her warmth beneath my hand.

A small, pink ear poked out from beneath her black hair. I couldn’t help myself. I leaned forward, pressed my lips lightly against her ear.

Her breathing stilled. I pulled back. Why the hell had I done that? A moment passed, neither of us moving. Then she slowly rolled over so she was facing me, our noses a few centimetres apart. Her eyes were dark, unreadable. Beautiful.

“I’m not her, you know,” she said softly.

“I know who you are.”

She shook her head, her eyes sad. “No, you don’t.”

Then her lips were touching mine, her eyes were closed, and she tasted sweet, and her hands were in my hair and mine were in hers, fingers running between the straight, silky strands. Her nose ring was cool against my upper lip. I couldn’t think, could barely even feel the aches in my ribs, all I could do was feel and smell and taste her.

Her leg was looped over mine, her bare foot tracing my ankle. I kissed her hungrily, desperately, and she kissed me back just as roughly. Her hand was warm against my cheek. I tugged lightly on her hair and her head arched back. I kissed the delicate curve of her throat, nibbled, bit. The soft moan I got in return only fired me up more. I kissed down to the neck of her t-shirt, and when that got in the way my hands snaked down to pull off her top. I got halfway there before my ribs and my fingers remembered how badly they hurt. I winced and let go.

“Are you okay?” Stephanie said, sitting up.

I nodded and went to try to get rid of the shirt again. She brushed my hands away, took hold of the bottom of her top, lifted it over her head. I took in the sight of her, the narrow waist and the small breasts and the tiny dark nipples. I pulled her back to me, kissed her lips, her neck, her shoulder, and I was rewarded with more of those precious moans. My fingers traced the contours of her back while hers strayed down my side, carefully avoiding the cuts and bruises. I realised I was still naked when her palm drifted slowly down my thigh. Somehow, despite all the pain and injury, my body was responding. A different kind of ache was building in the bottom of my stomach.

I wasn’t in any condition to jump around, but Stephanie knew that. She silently took command, pressing my chest down with the tips of her fingers while her lips drifted across my abdomen, leaving whispering kisses on my bruises. With my good hand I stroked her flank, her breasts, feeling her nipples harden beneath my touch.

My fingers went lower. She took my hand, kissed the bruised knuckles. She let go and hooked her fingers around the edges of her underwear, pulled them down, kicked them off. She was shaved bare, just like me. The absurdity of the moment hit me, a pair of dumb hairless kids about to fuck, me so beaten up I could barely breathe and her my saviour porn star. I had to laugh, so I did. My ribs stung, but still I laughed.

“What?” she said, trying to sound indignant. But she was giggling too, and the brightness of her smile washed away everything, the pain, the guilt, the slow-burning rage. She collapsed next to me, still laughing, and kissed me again, long and slow, her tongue tracing my lips.

“You know,” I said, planting a smaller kiss on her lips, “I bought a box of condoms just the other day.”

“Oh? Where are they?”

“I threw them out.”

She shook her head. “You’re a strange boy.” She sat up, opened her bedside cabinet, and fished out a sealed box of condoms. I kissed her hip while she opened them and got a foil packet out. She pushed the covers aside, shuffled down the bed, and tore open the packet. I gasped as she wrapped her hand around my cock, holding me steady while she rolled the condom on.

Then she was upright, straddling me, her hands on either side of my head. I could feel her breath against my chest. I reached out to touch the hair falling down around her face. She lowered herself, and she was wet and smooth and hot, so hot I felt like I was on fire. Her cheeks were pink, her mouth was open in a silent groan.

And in that moment, I knew how much I needed her.

She began to move.

~~~

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