Chapter 31
Moe
––––––––
Moe shut the front door behind them and locked it. The faint click echoed through the house. The weight of the town pressed against the walls like a presence waiting to seep in.
"Fuck this." He moved through the living room and pulled the drapes closed, blocking out the pale Everstill light. "We're not taking any chances. Don't open the curtains. No one needs to see inside my house."
He checked the windows twice, making sure they were locked. The cold seeped through his skin like a warning he didn't want to acknowledge.
Glancing at Jillian, he whispered, "Everstill's watching. I can feel it."
He walked back to the door and tested the lock again, jiggling it until he was satisfied it wouldn't budge. Jillian hovered near the hallway, her hands twisting nervously.
"I wish I had something to fight with." He stepped into the kitchen and opened the cabinet, staring at the few dishes that lined the shelf. "There's nothing here."
He shut the doors and focused on the drawers in the kitchen, rummaging until his fingers brushed metal, pulling out a pair of scissors and two steak knives. "It's not much, but it's something."
He held one knife out to her, offering it handle-first. She stepped back and shook her head. He softened his voice. "If you don't want it, that's okay. I'll take care of you." He slid the knife into his back pocket, making sure she saw where it went. "But if you're not carrying it, you stay by me."
If he was back in her world, his old world, he'd have access to a gun, a proper knife, and weapons to protect her. But in Everstill, he would have to depend on his hands. Hopefully, the others hadn't thought far enough ahead to make any weapons.
He went to Jillian and slipped his fingers into her hand. They moved down the hallway together. The air seemed to grow heavier with every step.
"The bedroom is the safest area of the house." He shut the bedroom door behind them and locked it. "You need to rest."
Jillian sat on the edge of the bed and shook her head. Her wide eyes appeared haunted. She was exhausted. Fear was the only thing keeping her upright.
"I don't think I can sleep. Not after today," she whispered.
He sat beside her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I'll get us out of here."
She looked at him, her eyes searching his face. "What do we do?"
The plan formed in his mind. It was dangerous, but they had no other option. "When the storm comes, we move."
Her fingers curled into the blanket. "The veil will open again?"
He nodded, firm and certain. Everstill always shifted during storms. They both survived the last time they went through.
She reached for his hand, her touch trembling. "You'll be with me?"
He squeezed her hand. "I'm not letting you go alone."
She leaned into him, her forehead touching his shoulder. Her breath was warm against his skin.
"Then, I'll be ready," she said.
Moe closed his eyes, knowing there were more dangers than the veil waiting outside for them. "Come on, let's go to bed. You're hurt and need sleep if you're going to recover."
He stood. Instead of standing up, she unbuckled his belt and looked up into his eyes.
"Please. It'll help you sleep, and I need you." She moistened her lips. "For a few minutes, I want to close my eyes and feel like we're back home, and you're as close as possible to me. We're safe, and no one is after us."
Jillian caused a weird reaction in him. His body gave up all fight. A war could be going on outside, and he would always, fucking always, go to her when she needed him.
"You're not saying anything," she whispered.
He let out a long, shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders finally giving way. "I'm trying to remember how to breathe," he admitted, his voice raspy.
Her gaze softened. "I'll help you breathe."
He brushed his fingers through her hair, pulling her closer and pushing the world outside the door farther away. Heat pooled in his lower stomach. It took little for Jillian to get him hard.
Lifting her off the bed, he peeled her shirt away. The moment she reached behind her to unclasp her bra, he hustled to rip off his own clothes until it turned into a competition to see who could get naked first.
They collided in the center of the mattress, the impact knocking the wind out of both of them with a dull thud.
There was no grace to it, just a raw, desperate necessity to be skin-to-skin.
Her softness against the hardness of his chest was exactly what he needed to silence the static of the men in Everstill.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the warmth of her skin.
She smelled like everything he ever wanted.
Jillian wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into her as if she could merge their skeletons. Hyperaware of the way he shifted his weight on her, he traced the curve of her hip with his calloused thumb.
She cupped her hands against his face, pulling him down. He captured her mouth.
His movements were heavy and deliberate.
He found the pulse that brought a mew from her.
A surge of protectiveness so intense he couldn't expand his lungs.
He didn't just want her. He wanted a future with her.
He wanted to build a damn wall around her that nothing, especially dark shadows, could penetrate.
He pulled his mouth off her. Her eyelids fluttered, and her lips remained parted. Her gaze locked onto him, reading his soul.
She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. "Fuck me."
"You never have to ask." He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her collarbone as he fisted his cock and entered her. The sensation was sudden, shattering, and violent, drowning out everything going on in Everstill.
Driving into her with a hard, rhythmic intensity, his muscles strained. His gaze locked on her eyes, which were squeezed shut in a focused, blissful concentration.
The world narrowed down to the friction of their bodies and the erratic beat of two hearts hammering against ribs.
Jillian arched her back, her voice breaking into a low, guttural moan that spurred him on.
He leaned into the raw, unpolished nature of the act, wanting to feel every inch of her, to push until they both reached a breaking point where thought ceased and only sensation remained.
He fucking hated bringing her into his world. He needed to get her out.
Moe's grip tightened on her thighs, his fingers bruising slightly as he pulled her closer, trying to eliminate every possible millimeter of space. Jillian's breath hitched, stuttering against his ear.
He plunged into her, sliding her further across the bed. Pulling her legs up, he cupped the back of her knees. He wanted her completely open, completely exposed to him. He reached down, his hand finding the sensitive curve of her hip, pulling her back toward the edge so he could drive deeper.
Greedily, he buried himself, over and over, inside of her. Gave what she needed. Took what he wanted.
The friction grew hotter, the air between them thick and humid. The tension in his calves and lower back reached a breaking point. His movements became shorter, more urgent.
Her eyes flickered open for a split second to lock onto his with a raw, starving recognition. There was no tenderness in the moment, only a fierce, mutual demand. He wanted to consume her, and he could tell by the way she was clawing at his back that she wanted the same from him.
"Yes." She pressed the back of her head into the bed. "Deeper."
He curled his toes into the blanket and pushed harder, faster.
"Oh, God." She panted.
He stared at the way her mouth opened, gasping for air that only he could give her.
"I'm. I'm. I'm." She exhaled harshly, raising her head off the mattress. "God, yes."
As she orgasmed, the world blurred at the edges.
Moe let out a low, ragged groan, his entire body locking up as the first wave of release crashed through him.
It was a violent, shuddering eruption that left him breathless and blind.
He buried his face in her shoulder, muffling a shout against her skin as he shuddered against her, his muscles twitching with the effort of the exertion.
Jillian clung to him, her legs tightening like a vice around his waist, her own release mirroring his in a series of long, trembling spasms that left her limp and gasping.
For several minutes, the only sound in the room was the synchronized, heavy rasp of their breathing and the distant, rhythmic ticking of the clock in the hallway.
Moe stayed collapsed against her, his forehead resting on her shoulder, his skin slick and radiating a heat.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was their shared space that they'd found together.
The steady thrum of Jillian's heart against his chest reassured him that they were both still together.
Slowly, the fog of endorphins began to lift, and the physical reality of their surroundings returned.
Moe shifted his weight, feeling the cool air hit the dampness of his skin.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, noticing the way her cheeks were flushed a deep, petal-pink and how her eyes were glazed with a lingering, dreamy disorientation.
He reached up, brushing a stray, damp strand of hair away from her forehead, his fingers trembling slightly from the aftershocks of the exertion.
"We're going to make it out of here." He kissed her softly. "I promise."