Chapter 18
Jillian
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By the time the last load of laundry finished tumbling in the dryer, the sun had warmed up the house.
Light from outside spilled across the kitchen floor as Jillian folded shirts into neat stacks, her mind drifting back to the way Moe still held her hand when they slept as if he was afraid of losing her if he closed his eyes.
She shook herself gently and carried the folded clothes down the hall, placing them in the dresser where they belonged. When she stepped into the garage, she found Moe crouched beside the motorcycle, jaw tight, hands braced on his knees.
The bike didn't look any different than it had yesterday, but Moe's expression did.
"It still won't start?" she asked softly.
He shook his head. "Battery's dead."
She leaned against the table her mom used for gardening, watching him run a hand through his hair. "That's not unusual."
"It is for this bike." He frowned at the engine like it had betrayed him. "It's never needed a new one before. Not once."
She stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Things aren't the same here as they were in Everstill."
He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little under her touch.
"Bike shops are probably closed today," she added. "It's Sunday. But I can help you get a new battery tomorrow before I go to work."
He nodded, though his eyes stayed fixed on the motorcycle. "Yeah. Tomorrow."
She rubbed his back gently. "In the meantime...I could cut your hair. If you want."
That finally made him look at her. His expression softened, the frustration in his eyes giving way to something quieter. "Not too much."
"Of course not." She smiled. "Come on."
He let her lead him back into the house, his hand warm in hers. He seemed quieter today. Not withdrawn, just thoughtful.
She gathered scissors, a comb, and a towel. When she returned to the living room, he was sitting in the kitchen on one of the wooden chairs from the table, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he was trying to solve a puzzle only he could see.
"I ordered you some clothes online," she said as she draped the towel around his shoulders. "A few pairs of jeans. Some shirts. They should be here tomorrow."
He grunted in acknowledgment, but she could tell his mind was somewhere else.
"It'll be easier than having to wash your clothes every day. Unlike in Everstill, I don't have any sweats in the house for you to borrow."
"Where's your dad?" he asked.
She stilled. That came out of the blue.
"I take it he's not in your life?"
She inhaled deeply. "No, he's passed away."
He raised his gaze. "Recently?"
She combed the snarls out of his hair. "It happened when I was four.
He was involved in a car accident. He ran a red light coming home from working graveyard shift.
Mom believes he fell asleep at the wheel rather than missed the light, but who knows?
I don't really remember him, and the things I do remember are more like pictures in my head that my mom built by talking about him all the time. "
She stood behind him and ran her fingers gently through his hair, separating the strands before lifting the scissors. His shoulders loosened under her touch, the tension slowly melting away. She worked carefully, combing and trimming, letting the quiet settle around them like a blanket.
The only experience she had cutting hair was when she trimmed her mom's hair. She got agitated when the nursing home tried to cut her bangs out of her eyes, so it was a job she did when she noticed her hair growing longer.
Every so often, Moe closed his eyes, breathing a little deeper, as if the simple act of being cared for was something he didn't quite know how to accept.
She didn't rush. She didn't push. She just stayed close and let him enjoy the pampering.
"What about your family?"
"Probably dead." He grunted. "My parents wrote me off the second I turned sixteen. They were dead to me back then."
She raised her brows but kept her opinion to herself. In her experience, families stuck together. Though it made sense that his parents were probably dead, considering Moe's age.
Whatever Everstill had done to him, stopping him from aging, had its perks. She didn't understand how it happened, but she believed him. She'd seen and lived through time stopping.
When she moved to trim his beard, he lifted his chin slightly. "Do you have a razor?"
"I have a pack in the bathroom." She shrugged. "Though, they're pink...lady razors."
"Trim it close. I'll shave it all off later."
"Why?" She tilted her head. "I like the beard."
"It'll grow back. For now, I'm less recognizable without it."
He tapped his chin, motioning for her to go ahead. She inhaled deeply. Her fingers brushed his chest, and he let out a slow breath.
"Don't touch the mustache, though," he muttered.
The more she cut off, the more curious she became. Would he look different without a beard?
"Better?" she asked softly when she finished.
He opened his eyes and looked up at her. The warmth in his expression made her chest tighten.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I don't have any money to pay you for the cut or the clothes you ordered."
"Hm." She smiled. "I can think of a few ways you can pay me back."
She set the comb and scissors aside and removed the towel over his shoulders, dumping the hair in the trash. He hooked her waist, dragging her back against his hard body.
Moe kissed her neck and whispered, "Bedroom."
His fingers circled her wrist, fingers sliding up her arm. The contact was electric and deliberate. Jillian's pulse jumped under his grip as he guided her through the dark, their steps uneven, her breath already coming faster.
Already, she thought of her bedroom as their room. The place smelled of him—clean linen and something darker underneath. She barely had time to register it before his hands were on her, sliding up her sides, under her shirt. The fabric wrinkled, his palms hot against her skin.
"Fucking beautiful," he murmured, his mouth brushing her ear. "Been thinking about putting my tongue on your pussy since I woke up."
She gasped as he bit down on her earlobe, sharp enough to make her knees wobble.
He pushed her back onto the bed, and she landed with a bounce, the mattress dipping under his weight as he followed her down.
His fingers made quick work of her jeans, yanking them down her thighs before she could kick them off.
The cool air hit her bare skin, but it didn't last. Moe's mouth was on her before she could process it, tongue dragging rough over her clit.
Jillian arched off the bed with a choked noise, her hands fisting in the sheets.
He didn't ease her into it. He licked her like he was starving, one hand pinning her hip down while the other teased her entrance, two fingers pushing in without warning.
"Moe," she gasped, thighs trembling.
His tongue circled her clit, relentless, and she could hear the wet sounds, could feel the way he watched her even as he worked her over.
"I got you, sweetheart," he growled against her, the vibration making her jerk.
His fingers curled inside her, sending her hips bucking. He laughed, low and dirty, and added a third finger, stretching her.
She whined as his thumb pressed down hard, tipping her over the edge with a ragged cry.
Jillian was still shuddering through the aftershocks when Moe pulled his fingers out with a slick sound, her thighs clamping down instinctively.
Before she could catch her breath, he was crawling up her body, his mouth glistening with her.
She reached for him, but he caught her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand while the other tugged at his belt buckle.
The leather slid free with a sharp snap, the sound her only warning.
"Your turn," he muttered, guiding her hand to his cock.
She wiggled down the mattress until her face was in front of his cock, wrapping her fingers around him, the heat of him searing against her palm.
He was already leaking, the tip slick when she thumbed over it.
Moe hissed, his hips jerking forward, but he didn't let her take control.
He pushed her back down, his grip tightening. "Ah-ah. Slow."
She dragged her tongue along the underside, tasting salt and precum, and his groan was filthy, his fingers tangling in her hair.
He let her work him for a minute, his thighs tense under her hands, before he suddenly pulled her off roughly. "Enough."
His cock twitched against her cheek. Before she could protest, he flipped her onto her stomach, one knee nudging her legs apart.
The mattress dipped as he settled behind her, his palm smoothing up her spine before gripping her hip.
"You're gonna take it just like this," he murmured, the head of his cock nudging against her, hot and insistent.
Jillian braced herself, but nothing could've prepared her for the way he filled her.
One brutal thrust, no teasing, no mercy.
She cried out in ecstasy, her nails digging into the blanket, her body arching under the sheer force of him.
Moe set a punishing pace, his hips slamming into hers with every stroke.
"Fuck, you're tight," he gritted out, his fingers digging into her flesh.
Jillian's moan dissolved into a broken gasp as Moe's cock dragged against her walls, the friction bordering on painful, deliciously so. His grip on her hips was bruising, his breath hot against the back of her neck as he leaned over her, his chest pressing into her spine.
"Tell me you like it," he demanded, his voice rough, fingers tightening when she hesitated.
He bit down on her shoulder, sharp enough to make her yelp.
"Yes. God, yes," she panted as he angled deeper, hitting a spot that made her vision blur.
Moe growled in approval, his pace relentless, the bedframe creaking under their combined weight. His hand slid down her stomach, fingers finding her clit with absolute precision, rubbing tight circles that had her trembling.
"Gonna come again," he murmured the promise.