Chapter 11 #2
Glancing out the window above the sink, the rain doesn’t relent, and a few cows and horses are standing in the middle of the pasture, relaxed.
I hope that when Oklahoma is better, he can take me on a tour of the ranch. I’d love for all of this chaos to be behind us so we can enjoy what’s to come.
Pausing the daydream, I twirl around to see where he keeps the mugs. I find a stovetop coffeepot sitting on the oven. Opening the cabinet to the left, I find a handful of mugs. All of them have a Dead Man’s Ranch logo.
Except one.
“Always follow the storm. —Banks.” The mug seems handmade. It’s horrible. It might be the ugliest mug I’ve ever seen, but it was made with love.
The rim is lumpy, and the handle is skinny on one end and thick on the other. The surface of the mug is bumpy too. This looks like a failed pottery class assignment.
I think drinking from this cup is exactly what Oklahoma needs right now.
But that’s not all he needs.
Taking another mug from the cabinet, I set it on the counter, then pull a knife from a wooden block pushed against the backsplash. Hissing as I pull the gauze away from the small cut I made on my palm earlier, the tape tugging on my skin, I press the blade against the semi-open wound.
I turn my head away, squeeze my eyes shut, and dig the blade in deep. I hold my breath, waiting for the pain to pass. Making a fist, I tighten it in pulses, the blood flowing into the mug, filling it slowly.
Time seems to stand still for me. I lean over, my elbow resting on the counter, propping my head up with my free hand. The last of the sunlight fades, leaving the kitchen darker than it was.
When the blood stops at the rim, I stretch my arm over the sink to rinse my palm. Pressing a paper towel against the cut to stop the bleeding, I use the same gauze and tape to cover the wound. I probably need stitches.
Grabbing the mugs, I hurry back to the bedroom, stopping in my tracks when I see Oklahoma. He’s so still. So pale. Blood lines have dried on his cheeks. His arms lie peacefully by his side.
I can’t see his chest moving. I can’t see him breathing.
“Oakley?” I whisper, taking a step forward when thunder causes me to jump, nearly spilling the cup of blood.
He doesn’t answer.
Rain continues to pour outside, clinking against the windchimes.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket. I ignore it, walking around to the other side of the bed where the nightstand isn’t in pieces. I set both mugs down, then grab the thermos and pour the rest of the bitter melon tea.
I sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress slightly dipping from my weight, and I bend down, pressing a kiss to his cold cheek.
The air catches in my lungs. “Oakley?” I shake him, panic beginning to set in. “Oakley!” Tears spill freely when he doesn’t answer me. His eyes don’t move. His body remains still.
I cover his body with mine, pressing my head against his chest, needing to hear his heartbeat.
“Please, please, please,” I beg in Japanese. “Please, beat.” I shut my eyes, focusing, boxing out the rain against the roof and the loud songs from the windchimes.
Ba-dum.
“Oh, thank you.” I kiss the middle of his bare chest, the saltiness of his sweat tangy against my tongue. “Come back to me, Oklahoma. Where are you?” I kiss up his chest, my body heating from being so close.
Even in his sleep, his cock hardens under me. The heat that I’ve been fighting hits me full force, and I drag my tongue up his neck, gathering his natural flavor.
I groan, pressing kisses against his sculpted jaw hidden beneath a thick scruff. Liquid pools in my panties, soaking them, and I grind myself on his rigid length, loving how thick he is.
My hand slides down his abs, the trimmed hair tickling my palm.
“I need you. Wake up.” I grind against him harder, the crown pressing against my clit.
I moan, dropping my hand more.
Then, I freeze.
I fly off him and fall to the ground with a hard thud that has pain shooting through my right hip. I crawl away from him as quickly as I can, slamming the back of my head against the bedroom door.
What did I do? What have I done? He isn’t even conscious, and I nearly…I almost…
I push myself up, my legs struggling to get under me as I try to run down the hall. I have to catch myself on the walls a few times, zigzagging like a pinball in an arcade machine.
My feet slip on a cowhide rug in the living room, and I catch myself on the arm of the black leather recliner.
A cramp shoots across my stomach, the agony causing my knees to buckle. My hand lands on the doorknob, and I take a second to catch my breath.
“What is happening?” I moan, a wetness coating my thighs as my pussy throbs with the invisible ache to be filled. “Oh, god.” My body is on fire. I press my head against the cool glass that makes a window in the door, sighing with so much relief.
Spreading my legs, I glance down. The front of my shorts is soaked, and liquid shines against my thighs.
“What the fuck?” I whisper to the empty room, watching as the slick flows down, puddling on the floor.
My nipples bead under my shirt, tightening to tender points that are begging to be pinched and sucked.
Is this what dying is like?
Dying to be fucked, maybe.
I arch my back when another cramp slices across my abdomen, more hot liquid spilling from me. If Oklahoma were to spread my legs and slide into me, he would have no resistance.
I’m ready.
Lightning cracks nearby; the bombing of electricity causes the lights in the house to flicker.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Another boom of a bright, bold light lands closer to the house, the glow illuminating through the window. The next bold crack across the sky leaves me in pitch-black darkness.
Another cramp clutches my insides, more pain and slick consuming me. I struggle to catch my breath, the temperature in the house rising.
No. Not the house.
Me.
I’m sweating. I’m drenched. My skin is scalding to the touch. I can’t take it anymore. I need him. I need Oklahoma.
My tank top is drenched with sweat, and it sticks to my body. I grab the hem, tugging it over my head, then toss it to the side. The soaked shirt lands with a wet plop on the floor.
Somehow, even more sweat drips. My eyes burn from the invasion of salty liquid, my vision blurring from the sting. The heat heightens, and the scratch of any clothes against my skin is too much. I can’t take it. I need everything off!
I fumble with the button of my shorts with trembling fingers, shaking from the chaos in my system.
“Come on!” I sob, yanking on the button as hard as I can.
It pops off, clinking against the floor and rolling away.
I don’t care.
I need relief.
Pulling down the shorts, I kick them off along with my panties. I struggle with my bra and end up snapping the straps and breaking the hooks in the back.
I’m finally free.
I lie on the cool wooden floors, doing my best to catch my breath.
The storm rages outside. Rain pours harder. Thunder growls louder. Lightning strikes closer.
The air has changed.
My phone buzzes next to me, and I reach for it, patting the floor until I have it in my hand. It’s hard to see the text. I’m dizzy. The words on the screen, stretching and bending into blobs I can’t read. I rub my eyes, narrow them, doing my best to focus to see a text from Ruka.
Ruka: “Following a possible supercell about an hour away. The local storm’s cap is too strong. We don’t think it will break. We are following another lead.”
For the first time in my life, I don’t fucking care about the chase. I don’t care about a storm or a damn tornado. I need this pain to stop. I’m tempted to take Oklahoma in his sleep.
“He won’t mind, right? He won’t.” I shake my head back and forth. “No, no, no.” I practically sob, not wanting to do anything without his consent.
Maybe he doesn’t want to be mated to me. His life would be easier. He wouldn’t be worried about losing me. He wouldn’t be stuck with someone who loves what he doesn’t.
“No. No. No,” I whine, not wanting to believe the negative voice in my head.
With fire in my muscles and my skin tight, I whimper as I try to push myself to my feet. I hold my arms out, steadying myself, my knees buckling from weakness. I catch myself on the back of the couch, using the cushions as leverage to drag myself across the floor.
When I get to the edge of the sofa, I stare at the wall just a few feet away. I hold myself steady, taking deep, needy breaths to gather the energy to move.
More slick pours from me, lust boiling my insides as if the sun is trying to shine through me. I slip my hand down my body; my skin is sweaty, and I revolt at my touch.
“Fuck!” I hiss, yanking my hand away as if my flesh burned me.
Stumbling forward, I hit the coffee table with my leg, and another damn lamp teeters before it crashes to the floor.
I don’t care.
“Oakley!” I call out to him in desperation. “Oklahoma!” I fall against the wall, staring up at the high ceilings of his home. “Oklahoma!” I shout as loud as I can, my voice raw and hoarse from the force.
I peer down the hall. The only sound is my own ragged gasps of breath. The storm brings its newfound rage, thunder vibrating the floors, and rain slamming against the sides of the house from the howling wind.
In the dark’s quiet, nothing can be seen except two blazing crimson-colored orbs at the end of the hall.
A terrifying growl makes my body react, and a moan slips free. My nails dig into the wall for support, the scarlet eyes moving as my vampire tilts his head, snarling like a wild beast.
He’s finally awake.
And I’m in need.