Taking Care Ch 04

I showered, again, needing to rinse his touch away, needing to convince myself I was clean. I

wasn't

clean. My body still hummed with the memory of the pleasure. My forearms were red with rugburn from where he'd tied the towel - a towel that made me snarl and snap and then gave me the excuse I needed to melt. Did he know? That I just needed an excuse?

"Say it, Skylar. It won't cost you anything."

That "please" had cost me quite a bit, actually.

When I came out, it was to a quiet house. Ben had left a note, saying he was on kitchen duty and that I should come up to the big house when I got hungry.

I paced for a while, then decided to go for a walk. It was late afternoon, and I wanted to absorb this southern sun.

I found a footpath worn along the canyon wall, and followed it west. It led past a handful of small houses, some with people moving through the yards. If that's what you'd call it; I wasn't sure. Everything was just gravel and brush.

I kept my eyes down. I didn't know how people would react to me. They would probably be friendly, but I also wasn't feeling particularly social.

I thought of how it'd felt to catch Grady's attention. When we'd first arrived, I'd wanted to scream Ben's transgressions to anyone who would listen. I didn't have that impulse now. Every smile we'd shared, every touch I'd allowed, implicated me. And this most recent orgasm felt like guilt painted in neon all over my skin.

I was a hypocrite. I wanted to hide.

I realized I was hearing my name, and it pulled me out of my thoughts, disorienting. It was Jesse, making her way down the path behind me, catching up from a house I'd passed. I forced a smile and waited.

"Hey!" She panted, all full of good cheer. "I was calling."

"Sorry," I blushed, as if she could see what I was remembering. "I was kind of in my head. And I guess it hadn't occurred to me that anyone could be calling for me here."

She chuckled, "

That

won't last long. You'll know everyone soon, just because there are so few of us to know, relatively. And because everyone is dying to meet Uncle Ben's lady." She laughed shyly, already seeming to understand that the title embarrassed me, even if she didn't know why. "I'm honestly just so happy to have another young person here."

It was funny to me that she seemed to consider me young, and Ben old. "How old are

you

?"

"19," she answered. About what I'd thought then. "You?"

"24," I told her. I guess she was right to lump us together, but she was so guileless and happy. She certainly seemed much more childlike than I had been at 19.

I hesitated for a second, wondering if it gave too much away, that I would ask, but quickly caved and wondered aloud, "How old is Ben?"

"Oh, I think 30? 31? But he

acts

old; he acts just like my dad. Except when he's goofing off like the kids. There's no in between with him."

She eyed me, realizing. "Oh! I don't mean-"

I just laughed. "I'm not offended. Ben and I aren't..." I didn't know how to finish that.

She cocked her head to the side. "Are you not dating? I thought you guys were kind of serious. He said you were staying."

"He said that?" My cheeks were warm.

"You're not?"

I hated the disappointment on her face.

"I'm just... I'm just visiting right now. Ben and I are complicated. He -" I was fumbling, trying to dance around this line. "He has some pretty big expectations. I don't know if I'm ready for what Ben wants."

She didn't say anything to that, and we walked along together in amicable, if somewhat awkward, silence.

"How long have you lived here?" I finally asked her.

"My dad brought us out here when I was 13. The timing was... difficult. He pulled me out of school just before my freshman year."

"Ouch." I tried to imagine my formative years without the companionship of anyone else my age. It sounded desperately lonely. Like, a million times worse than my own self-imposed loneliness.

"Do you ever think about leaving?"

She exhaled a sharp, bitter laugh. "Yeah. I was accepted at Georgetown. Enrolled, actually. I was two weeks from moving when the riots started."

The memory of a photo flashed through my mind - a car burning, the rioters captured in silhouette against the orange flames. I had watched the news report on Aunt Lisa's little kitchen TV while eating a bowl of corn flakes, late for work. DC was one of the first cities affected.

I grimaced. "Well, that's exceptionally bad luck."

Jesse just shrugged. "Or, my dad would argue, exceptionally good luck. That I was still here. Safe. Always super, duper safe."

She kicked at a rock, then seemed to realize she wasn't exactly selling the whole homestead life, and made a visible effort to rally herself.

"Come on, let's go get some dinner. And after I can kick your ass at pool."

I laughed, remembering Ben doing the same.

"You'll have to get in line."

----------

We took the long way back to the big house, so the dinner rush was in full swing by the time we arrived. The cafeteria tonight looked more like something from a military base than it did my old YMCA camp, and the sight of so many people casually wearing firearms was jarring to me. I wondered if this was just an initial response to the call to gather, whether it would relax in time. Had they all walked around their previous homes armed? I didn't like it. I tried to remember whether Ben had been carrying this morning.

He came out to eat with Jesse and I when he spied us from across the room. I couldn't meet his eye, didn't know how to react around him. I was pissed off, and ashamed, torn between aiming my ire at myself or him.

Ben pretended not to notice, pulling me to his side and carrying on as lightheartedly as ever. He introduced me to Brett, but I tuned out as their conversation devolved into hypotheses about what was causing the tractor's troubles, and plans for the summer's crop rotations.

When everyone at our table had finished and people began to excuse themselves, Ben began collecting plates for the dish bin, and I retrieved a nearby rag and bleach solution bottle. Wandering the room wiping down tables, I smiled to realize I actually felt like myself again, this familiar motion strangely comforting. How many counters and tables had I cleaned in the last six years? More stale beer and peanut shells then, fewer organic veggies, but still.

I carried a bus tub back to the kitchen and joined Ben at the sink. Although no one would have ever called it top of the line, the Weary's kitchen had been outfitted with a chemical dishwasher. Here it was old school - nothing but a four compartment sink and lots of hot, soapy water. I wondered if they made their own soap, or eventually would. Wondered how one went about doing that. I slipped on a pair of gloves and started scrubbing the soaking plates, as Ben continued scraping the compost and rinsing.

We worked next to each other for about half an hour before Ben was compelled to break the silence. I had found the quiet sort of comfortable, but it was clear Ben had interpreted it differently.

"I know you're pissed at me for this afternoon, Bunny."

He said it quietly, his voice a little rough. "No use sitting on that. Better to get it out."

I turned to him, eyebrow raised. Was he prodding me to pick a fight? Seriously? He'd prefer that to me calmly working alongside him?

Then I noticed his fidgety hands, this time twisting the dishrag with... intent. I looked up at his face, his mischievous grin.

"We had some blunt truths today, babe. That'll happen from time to time. It's only natural that it would piss you off, I get it. But no simmering now. No stonewalling. Let's have it out."

He spun the dishrag a few times like a jumping rope, so it twisted into a tight line, and I'm sure I looked absolutely horrified as I realized.

"Ben, don't you fucking d- EEK!" I interrupted myself with a truly humiliating squeak as the towel snapped out at me, bit me hard on my arm. I was sprinting across the room before I could consider what a fool's errand that was. There was nowhere to go, only a steel table to circle around.

Ben was laughing as he gave chase, breathless with it. I'm sure that's all that gave me the tiny lead I had. I slowed once I had the length of the table between us, then burst forward as he smiled evilly and came at me again. He snapped the towel at my thigh and twice on my ass, and if he'd thought I was pissed before, he was about to see what pissed really was. The fuck kind of conflict resolution did he think this was? He was way too happy - it fucking hurt!

I clipped my hip on the table's corner, irritated about that, and about running around it in the first place. I didn't want any part of his little game. Motherfucking man chil-

Snap! The towel lashed against my inner thigh. I growled.

On my third pass around, I swiped the sponge out of the soaking sink and pivoted to threaten him with it. Only, Ben was closer than I'd anticipated, and instead of threatening, the sponge slammed into his face, shooting nasty, soapy water all over both of us. I'm pretty sure he got a mouthful.

We froze, both stunned speechless, and then a wave of hysterical laughter overtook me as I watched a clump of bubbles fall from his chin in slow motion. I covered my face to hide it, and turned to run again, but Ben tackled me almost instantly.

He wrenched the sponge from my hand, squeezing it over me so my shirt was drenched, as I tried to get a breath in, tried to stop the laughter, tried uselessly to block him.

"Fuck, I love your sass." He was absolutely gleeful.

He had me pinned to the floor, and once the sponge was squeezed dry, he threw it aside and attacked me with tickling fingers. I was convulsing, snorting as I tried to get air in, twisting to escape. He made a fist that he twisted into my clenched armpit, the bones of his knuckles the worst kind of torment, and I couldn't even rally my voice to say 'no,' just shook my head against the hard floor. There was no air in my lungs. I was laughing so hard, now I was hiccuping.

When he finally relented, he joined me on the - probably filthy - terracotta tiled floor. We lay sprawled out, sore and soaked, trying to catch our breath, and his pinky wandered over, wrapped itself around mine.

I let him.

And I found that my cheeks, too, could hurt from smiling.

----------

Because he knew I preferred it, Ben signed up for mostly farm work the next several days. I never signed up for anything, but liked to keep busy, so I joined him more often than not. There were greens ready to pick and wash, and peas. The broccoli and cauliflower were getting close. Although there were already rows of peppers well into their season, we'd spent yesterday transplanting younger versions of the same crops. For a longer harvest, Ben had explained.

Today we had trellised and pruned tomatoes. Ben pounded rebar stakes into the ground, and I had followed with twine, weaving it between the bars, around the plants. I had never been much of a gardener before, but I thought I could learn to be. I was feeling a bit motherly towards the fuzzy, fragrant plants, now supported in a crib of twine.

I was putting away the spools and clippers when Ben followed me into the tool shed. I assumed he was returning the mallet, but something about the way he loitered in the door, watching, made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

We'd had sex twice since the afternoon he'd tied me up in his bathroom, but both of those occasions had been initiated in the dark early morning, while I was still out cold. I was a heavy sleeper, and Ben had been a quick study in the art of using his tongue and fingers to work me into a frenzy while I couldn't object. Both days, I'd awoken to his cock sliding inside me, already swollen and on the verge of coming. There was no stopping it then, and I hadn't judged myself too harshly for chasing the pleasure he offered.

Today, though, it was evident that he wanted more than my unconscious submission.

"Ben," I warned. "There are people-"

"There are," he confirmed, smiling darkly as he shut the rickety door. "Three within twenty yards."

I backed up until I hit the workbench, my pulse picking up as Ben followed me, caged me in. He licked his lips, leaning his hips into mine and running his hands over my hair, shoulders, torso, like he was reassuring himself I was really here. He had that wild, excited glint in his eyes, that little touch of crazy. I felt hot and cold at the same time, seeing it. Fear and anticipation.

"All fucking day, Bunny, you've been teasing me with these tight little jeans, bending over and waving this tight little ass."

He ground his erection against me, slid his hands under my butt, squeezing rough handfuls.

"Did you pick this shirt on purpose? Do you know how sheer it is in the sun? Everyone out there is looking at what's mine. I want to claw their eyes out. That's not a very nice way to make a man feel about his neighbors."

"Ben, no," I told him, trying to smooth his arms away from me, trying to keep my voice steady and rational. "No, I don't want them to-"

His hands had wandered into my hair, trying to get a grip, I'd thought. But I saw the bigger picture a half second too slowly. His fingers snapped around, tugging my bandana from headband to muzzle. Those fucking lightning-fast fingers, mother fuck. He had the knot free and re-tied, snug, before I could do anything more than slap uselessly on his chest.

"Don't be salty," he grinned. "You

were

just saying you didn't want them to hear."

His grip slid around my waist and under my shirt, smoothly unfastening the back of my bra while he ground against me in a giant, cocooning bear hug. I shivered and then growled with frustration. My pulse was thundering in my ears. How anyone could make me so furious and so horny at the same fucking time was absolutely beyond me.

"God, fuck, what a waste too, stuffing these pouty fucking lips, smothering your pretty little sounds. Because, Bunny? I'm going to make you fucking

scream

."

My arms weren't restrained this time. I realized I was gripping his shirt tightly in each fist, not pulling him closer, but also certainly not pushing him away. I was holding onto him like an anchor. I tried to slow my breathing, tried to stay very still and remember that he had done unforgivable things to me,

was currently doing

an unforgivable thing to me. I had said no, goddammit. I tried to blink the lust out of my eyes. Fuck fuck fuck.

"Don't think I've forgotten about how it turned you on to be taken in that alley. Don't think I've forgotten how your pussy milked my cock, knowing that we could be discovered at any moment."

He had my jeans unbuttoned, one hand sliding in the back, the other into the front.

"But if I'm wrong, if this doesn't turn you on, I'll stop right this second, sweet girl. If you're not wet for me, we'll stop all of this right now."

It wasn't fair, it wasn't fucking fair! I was

always

fucking wet for him!

Goddammit, the fucker knew it too, so fucking smug as his giant index finger slid easily up and into my body, pumping in a 'come hither' motion. My eyelids went heavy and the cloth in my mouth hid a sigh I couldn't stop, but there was no hiding the rush of lubrication that leaked out onto his finger. Ben made a whining groan of his own, pulling out and licking a line of slick off his palm.

There was no stopping it now.

Ben's kiss was ferocious. He forced my mouth open with his lips and tongue, pumped it into my face like his finger hand just pumped into my pussy. My shirt and bra were pulled over my head, my boots tugged off, my jeans and panties pushed down and tossed aside. I was naked, completely exposed to anyone who might walk through that door, while he hadn't removed a thing from himself.

I hadn't let go of my grip on his shirt; couldn't. I just kept grabbing tighter handfuls. And if maybe my fingers were tracing his pectorals as I did that, it was beyond any conscious intention.

His fingers went back to exploring my intimate parts. He held me in place by the small of my back while he slid circles around my clit, parted my pussy lips, and scooped up my wetness with his middle finger. Now that hand reached around, used that slick to slip, unexpected and fucking fast, into my asshole.

Holy mother of god. I'm sure my eyes went glassy with the shock. He held me in place with that finger shoved deep into my anus while he opened his pants and lined himself up with my core. It should have been humiliating, being held still like that, by my asshole. It

was

humiliating. Only - I realized as he drove his leaking cock into me - it was also the most amazing fucking thing I'd ever felt.

He fucked my front with his dick and my back with his finger, driving both hard and steady, meeting in the middle. I was groaning, grateful now for the gag, which was covered in drool. My eyes rolled back and I lost myself completely, let the beautiful, rhythmic sensations overpower everything else. This was fucking bliss.

It felt so good from the first thrust, I'm not sure when exactly I started coming. But at some point I realized my thighs were shaking, melting against him, my pussy spasming a flurry of contractions. He fucked me through it, didn't slow or show any mercy. In fact, he was driving into me even harder now. On and on and on, and one orgasm rolled into two, maybe three, it was all connected, never ending, everything was a steady pulse of pleasure.

At some point I realized Ben was whispering in my ear again. Maybe he'd never stopped.

"Don't be mad, Bunny. There's no shame in having a man who knows what you need. There's no shame in submission. Can't you see this is a blessing? Most people won't ever feel this good, not once in their whole lives. ...Can't you see it's a blessing?"

__________

He built a fire in the wood stove that night. It was finally cold enough to need something other than his body heat. He gave me that, too, though - positioned me between his legs, outstretched on the couch. Tucked my head back into its little nook beneath his chin.

I thought about his gentle caresses, his need to hold and touch. Thought about how painfully beautiful his smile was, and the way everyone, men

and

women, seemed to want his attention. He was playful like a child, strict like a man. And, yes, obviously a little crazy, too, although no one here seemed acquainted with that side of him. Maybe it was a recent development.

So how was he possibly single? How had he ended up wanting

me

, of all people? It couldn't possibly have just been the novelty of a woman walking away, although I was sure that

was

a fucking novelty.

Finally, hesitantly, I decided to voice the question.

"Why aren't you married?"

He was quiet for long enough that I began to suspect I'd offended him. It

was

kind of a rude question. I wondered how to backtrack.

"Not that thirty is old to be single. Or thirty-one. It's just, you so clearly crave intimacy. And... well, shit, you've got a mirror." I let my finger trace the vein on his forearm. Squished it a little, pushing it into his muscle. Another awkward beat went by.

Finally, he nuzzled his nose into my hair and answered.

"Before I met you, I didn't tend to look for intimacy from women."

"You liked men?" I didn't mind, but was surprised.

"No," he chuckled. "That's not what I mean. I just didn't tend to look for intimacy from my sexual partners."

"Oh," I answered, discomforted to find I was more unhappy to imagine his past female conquests than I had been to imagine him as sexually fluid now.

"I didn't like to see a woman more than once, didn't like the expectations. I had this community as my family. After everything we've been through together, I don't have to worry about that loyalty. This is a family in a more real way than what I grew up in. It had seemed like enough."