14. Fourteen Ella
Fourteen: Ella
The highway stretched out endlessly before us. We'd been driving for a couple hours and were trying to find a spot to stay. Finally, in the distance, a motel. Its sign flickering intermittently as if debating whether it was worth the effort to stay alight. "Vacancy" blinked in a scattered pattern.
"Looks like shit," Chris muttered, his voice a low growl as we pulled into the gravel lot, loose stones crunching beneath the tires. He scanned the surroundings. Only one car parked in front of the rooms. Maybe they were on the run too.
"Cozy," I countered, forcing brightness into my tone. He turned and looked at me incredulously.
We approached the front desk, the bell dinging above us. The clerk barely looked up from his magazine, interest piqued only enough to take in our silhouettes standing at the counter. No names, no questions—just the way we needed it.
"Need a room for the week," Chris said, his words clipped, hand already shoving a wad of cash across the counter.
"Top floor, end of the hall," the clerk grunted, pocketing the money with greedy fingers before sliding over a key.
"Great." Chris's response was terse, the lines of his tattooed hands tensing as he grabbed the key.
We climbed up the stairs, the wood creaking under our weight. Honestly, I was surprised it didn't collapse.
The room was... disgusting to say the least. The walls were stained with the memories of previous occupants, the musty scent clung to the floral bedspread.
"Home sweet home," I said, my attempt at humor falling flat as I surveyed the space. The single window offered a view of nothing but a brick wall, another layer between us and the world outside.
Chris locked the door, slid the deadbolt into place, and turned to me, his expression unreadable. There was a rawness there, a wildness that both scared and attracted me.
I set my bag on the dresser, the surface scratched and worn. My fingers traced the grooves, as I got lost in my thoughts. What the hell happens now? Mindlessly, I began to unpack the small items I'd had with me. A toothbrush. Some wet wipes. Not much, really.
"Trying to get comfortable?" Chris's voice rumbled, pulling me from my thoughts.
"Something like that." I tried to smile.
"Good." He strode toward me, the air charged with his presence, commanding and yet vulnerable in a way that only I seemed to see.
He grabbed me by my jaw, tilting my head up towards him. "Goddamn. Your hair, it's... Fuck, it's too noticeable."
"It's all I have left. I'm not destroying it."
"Fine." His grunt was tinted with frustration as he pulled out his cell phone, thumbs flying over the screen. "I'll find a place to stash the Audi. It sticks out like a sore thumb."
"Makes sense. I'm hungry." My stomach growled angrily.
"We can go to that store a bit down the way. Doesn't seem like they'd have cams. This is a shithole."
It was a short drive, filled with silence. The bell above the door jangled, startling the cashier. Seems like no one really came here judging by the cobwebs that hung in the corner. Aisle by aisle, we gathered items to morph into anyone but ourselves. Chris reached for a pair of aviator sunglasses, placing them against my face.
"Hide those pretty brown eyes of yours," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in my ear.
I flinched, not from fear, but the electric charge his proximity always ignited. Clothes were next—plain tees and jeans that would swallow up our identities. Chris found a baseball cap and shoved it onto his head, shadowing his features before pulling one over my head.
"Helps if you keep your head down," he instructed, tilting the brim to obscure more of his face. "Act like you don't give a shit."
"Got it," I mumbled, my own cap pulled low.
"Grab some of that," he muttered, nodding toward the stack of instant noodles. "Cheap and it'll keep your stomach from growling."
"Right." Grabbing a few, along with some granola bars and water bottles, my hands were full.
We piled our selections on the counter, the cashier's dead-eyed stare gave me the creeps. Once we were done, we drove back to the motel.
Back at our sanctuary of desperation, the items spilled across the bed. Chris stood over them, hands on his hips, his tattoos peeking from beneath his rolled-up sleeves.
"Try these on," he said, tossing a shirt and jeans my way.
His coarse command sent a shiver down my spine. Stripping down, I reveled in the brief freedom, the cool air kissing my skin before I slipped into the new identity. The clothes hung loose, hiding the curves he'd claimed with rough hands and hungry eyes.
"Better," he growled, appraising me with a flare of approval in his gaze. "No one's gonna look twice at you now."
"Lovely." I straightened, finding strength in my reflection—a woman unrecognizable, ready to disappear into the night.
I sprawled onto the edge of the bed, its springs creaking an objection beneath my weight. This was going to be a shitty sleep.
"Here." He tossed an apple my way, its skin waxen and soft. "Eat."
"Thanks." It was old. Stale. Any semblance of the delicious crunch that once was, had long given way to early stages of decay. Chris watched, leaning against the peeling wallpaper, arms folded across his chest.
"Go to bed," he said. "We need to get a new vehicle and plot out a new safe house. We can't stay here."
"Got it." I nodded, trying not to check him out and ignoring the throb between my legs.
He busied himself with checking the locks again, the windows, casting intermittent glances my way as if to assure himself I hadn't vanished into thin air.
"Sleep." His command brooked no argument, but it was tinged with a protectiveness that made my heart stumble.
"Fine," I curled up beneath the scratchy blanket, craving the oblivion it promised. I closed my eyes, listening to the footsteps of Chris moving around the room.
I drifted on the edge of consciousness, the barrier between reality and nightmares. And then there was silence. A stillness that settled over me, pulling me into a restless sleep.
The neon buzz of the motel sign flickered outside, casting a sordid glow through the threadbare curtains. Chris stood near the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the dim light. The room was steeped in shadows, yet my eyes had adjusted to every contour of his form. I'd gotten up to pee when I saw him.
"Fuck," he muttered, the word gruff and laden with something more than irritation.
"Chris?" I whispered, as I moved to stand beside him. I watched him strip off his shirt, revealing his perfect body. His movements were deliberate, concise as he tossed his shirt to the floor.
"Need you," he growled, his deep blue eyes meeting mine, a storm brewing in their depths.
I stepped closer, my heart thrumming in my chest, desire coiling tight in my stomach. "What?"
"I need you." His arms encircled my waist, his heat enveloping me as I reached up to trace the lines etched into his flesh. He was so hardened by this life, but sometimes, the way he looked at me made my heart stop. He made me feel… alive.
"I want to feel alive, Ella," he confessed, his voice ragged. "With you."
"Show me," I breathed as our lips crashed together, a collision of hunger and raw emotion. His hands roamed over my body, rough and demanding, as if he could claim me entirely through touch alone.
"Such a perfect little ember," he declared as he lifted me, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carried me to the bed, laying me down amidst the scratchy sheets, his smooth fingers tracing my dips and curves.
"Oh God," I gasped, arching beneath him as he kissed along my collarbone, nipping and sucking a path to my breasts, worshiping them with a fervor that left me writhing. My fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, urging him on.
"God, you're so fucking beautiful," he groaned, his gaze devouring me just as thoroughly as his mouth did moments later. His hands slid down my body, peeling away the last barriers between us, and I shivered, anticipation skittering across my skin.
"Fuck me, Chris," I urged, spreading myself open beneath him, an offering willingly given.
He reared back, positioning himself at my entrance. "Look at me," he commanded, and when our eyes locked, there was no holding back the moan that escaped me as he drove into me, hard and deep.
"Fuck, Ella," he swore, setting a relentless pace that robbed me of breath, of thought. Every thrust pushed me higher, threatening to shatter me.
His hand slid into my hair, grasping firmly, tilting my head back. My pulse hammered at the base of my throat, exposed and throbbing. He watched it beat, a look of raw hunger etching deeper lines into his already rugged face.
"More," I pleaded, nails digging into his back, marking him as surely as he marked me with every stroke.
"Eyes on me," he commanded, even as his hips began to move again, slow and deliberate.
I forced my eyes open, locking onto his. There was no hiding from the intensity there, from the naked emotion laid bare between us. As he thrust, each stroke was a conversation, our bodies moving of their own accord. His rhythm built, coaxing my body open, drawing out moans that mingled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh.
"Fuck, Ella," he rasped, his voice strained with effort. "You feel so goddamn perfect."
I let out a guttural moan. My climax hit like a tidal wave, dragging him under with me. Our cries mingled, raw and real, as we clung to each other, riding out the storm.
"Christ," he swore raggedly, collapsing onto me, his breath hot against my neck.
"Never thought... it could be like this," he murmured against my skin, his words blending with the beat of my heart. The vulnerability in his admission wrapped around me.
"Me neither," I whispered back, tracing the inked paths on his skin, lost in the depth of what we were becoming.
We just lay there, his heavy breaths fanned my flushed skin, the raw scent of us thick in the air. His inked arms held me. His fingers traced circles over my hip bone, a touch that spoke of possession as much as it did of care.
"Got me feeling things I shouldn't," he murmured. The strength in his tone was softened somehow by the way his thumb brushed against the sensitive skin beneath my navel.
"Chris," I started, my fingertips dancing across the ridges of his tattoos. "It's... it's not wrong to feel."
He lifted his head, those deep blue eyes meeting mine. "You're like a fucking ray of light in all my shit darkness."
"Maybe you just need someone to share the darkness with," I suggested with a small smile.
"Share? Hell, Ella, you make me wanna chase it away. You make me want to change." His hand slid up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His touch was gentler than I'd ever felt, but every bit as commanding as when he had spanked me, held me down, made me his.
"Chasing away the dark, huh?" I teased. Our power dynamic was shifting, tilting into something new.
"Damn straight." He grinned, but it was a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. There was something haunted there.
"Chris," I said, my voice barely a whisper, "I'm glad we found each other."
"Me too, baby. Me fucking too." His words were a vow, a promise etched into the night.
His breathing had steadied. I lay there, cocooned in his heat, my eyes fluttering shut. Sleep clung to me, heavy and sweet, pulling me down into its depths.
"Sleep, Ella," he murmured. The words were soft, but they carried the weight of command, the unspoken promise of protection. I drifted off, safe in the darkness that Chris wrapped around us.
He was a statue when I stirred, muscles tense. His hand moved swiftly, decisively—a sharp crack fractured the silence as he snapped his cell phone in two. Pieces of tech skittered across the cheap laminate floor. I watched through half-lidded eyes, feigning sleep, as he dug deep into his pocket and retrieved another phone. It was the kind of phone that didn't hold family photos or love messages; it was a bearer of secrets, of orders that came from the shadows.
"Adam," he said quietly before he paused to listen.
"Make it quick," he said, his other hand raking through his hair, agitation rolling off him in waves.
"Get rid of it," he commanded. "Now. Use the burner. I'll be in touch."
The urgency laced through his words sent a shiver down my spine. Whatever peace we'd found was fleeting. He glanced at me, checking if I was still asleep.
"Understood," he clipped out before snapping the phone shut. He stood motionless for a moment.
"Shit," he muttered, his silhouette a jagged line against the faded motel curtains. His hand reached out to trace mine before he sighed. "Shit is about to get real."
My heart hammered a frantic beat against the silence of the room. We were in the eye of the storm, and it was about to break.