Chapter 9 #2
"Guess so."
We've reached a small clearing in the woods.
The trees open up enough to see the sky—pink and orange now, dawn breaking properly.
It's quiet here. Private.
The kind of place where you could scream and nobody would hear.
The kind of place Helle probably came to break down earlier.
She sits on a fallen log, pats the space beside her.
I sit.
"Tell me about the fire," she says. "The real story. Not the summary version."
I don't want to.
I haven't talked about it—really talked about it—in years, but I find myself talking anyway.
"I was fifteen. It was a Friday night in October.
My parents let me go out with friends—first time I'd been allowed to stay out past midnight.
" The memories are so clear they hurt. "We were being stupid teenagers.
Hanging out behind a convenience store, smoking cigarettes we stole, thinking we were so cool. "
Helle's quiet beside me, just listening.
"Got home around two AM. Saw the flames from three blocks away." I can still smell it. Still see it. "The whole house was burning. Fire trucks were already there, neighbors in the street, everyone just—watching."
"Your family—"
"My mom and dad slept upstairs. My sisters shared a room on the second floor too—Emma was nine, Claire was seven." My throat tightens. "Firefighters said the blaze started in the kitchen. Electrical fire, maybe. Spread fast because our house was old, lots of wood, everything just—went up."
"Bravos—"
"I could hear them screaming. That's the worst part—I could hear them inside, and the firefighters wouldn't let me go in.
Held me back. Said I'd just die too." I close my eyes.
"My dad tried to get my mom and the girls out.
They found all of them in the upstairs hallway.
He'd gotten them that far before the smoke—"
I can't finish.
Helle's hand finds mine. Squeezes.
"They died trying to save each other," I say finally. "And I survived because I wasn't there. Because I was out being a stupid kid when I should've been home."
"It wasn't your fault."
"I know that. Up here." I tap my head. "But knowing it and feeling it are different things."
"Yeah. They are."
We sit in silence for a long moment.
"Is that why you're a Nomad?" she asks. "Because staying somewhere feels like—"
"Like building something that can burn. Yeah." I look at her. "I learned that night that caring about people just gives you more to lose. So, I stopped staying. Stopped caring. It worked for eighteen years."
"Until?"
"Until you."
The words hang in the air between us.
"I scare myself," she says quietly. "The things I'm capable of. The things I've done. Sometimes I look in the mirror and don't recognize who's looking back."
"I know that feeling."
"Do you? You seem so—controlled. Like you've got it all figured out."
"I don't have shit figured out." I turn to face her fully. "I've been dead inside for eighteen years, Helle. Walking around like a ghost, going through the motions. Then I met you and suddenly I'm feeling things again. And it's terrifying."
"Because feelings mean—"
"Mean I have something to lose. Yeah." I reach up, tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "But maybe—maybe those years with my family were worth it. Even though I lost them. Maybe having them was better than never having them at all."
"You really believe that?"
"I'm starting to."
She leans into my touch, eyes closing briefly.
When she opens them, they're shining with unshed tears. "I don't know how to do this," she whispers. "How to want something and not ruin it."
"Yeah. Me neither." I cup her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "But I'm not ready to walk away yet."
"I'm leaving though. As soon as Dad's okay. I can't stay here."
"I'm leaving too. Back to Texas in a week, maybe less."
"So, this is what? Temporary?"
"I don't know what it is." I'm being honest—more honest than I've been with anyone in years. "All I know is that when I'm with you, I feel alive again. And I don't want to give that up. Not yet."
"Even though it's going to hurt later?"
"Yeah, maybe, but what if it doesn’t hurt?"
She studies my face, searching for something. Whatever she finds makes her decision.
"We're both leaving," she says. "Both going back to Texas. Different parts, maybe, but—"
"Forty-five minutes apart."
"Yeah." A small smile. "It’s not that far."
"No. It's not."
"So, maybe this doesn't have to be temporary. Maybe we just—see what happens."
Hope flares in my chest. Dangerous, fragile hope.
"Are you asking me something?"
"Maybe. I don't know." She stands up, pulls me with her. "I'm asking if you want to stop running. Just for a little while. See what it feels like to stay grounded for a bit back in Texas."
"With you."
"With me."
I should say no.
Should remember Phantom's words, remember that I'm a Nomad, remember all the reasons I don't do this.
Instead I pull her closer, until we're inches apart.
"Yeah," I say. "I want that."
"Good." She rises on her toes, mouth close to mine. "Because I want it too."
I kiss her.
Not like in the parking lot after the fight—that was desperate, adrenaline-fueled, survival.
This is different.
Slower. Deeper. Intentional.
Her hands slide up my chest, into my hair.
Mine go to her waist, pulling her flush against me.
She tastes like beer and something sweeter, and I can't get enough.
We kiss until we're both breathing hard, until the world narrows to just this—her body against mine, her mouth, her hands, the small sounds she makes when I do something she likes.
"Bravos," she breathes against my lips.
"Yeah?"
"I need—" She doesn't finish, just kisses me again, harder this time.
I understand what she's not saying.
Need to feel alive.
Need to forget everything else.
Need this connection, this moment, before reality comes crashing back.
My hands slide under her jacket, finding bare skin beneath her tank top.
She gasps, arching into my touch.
"Here?" I ask, pulling back just enough to see her face.
"Here." Her eyes are dark, pupils blown. "I don't want to go back yet. Don't want to share you with anyone else."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure." She's already pulling at my cut, pushing it off my shoulders. "Unless you don't want—"
I kiss her again, answering without words.
The clearing is private, hidden by trees.
For the first time in eighteen years, I'm not thinking about what I've lost.
Only what I've found.
My mouth crashes against hers, hungry, demanding.
She kisses back just as fierce, her nails digging into my shoulders.
I back her up against the rough trunk of an old oak, the bark scraping her shirt as I press my body into hers.
Her breath hitches, but she doesn't pull away—she arches into me, her hips grinding against the hard bulge straining my jeans.
"Bravos," she whispers, voice husky, but I silence her with another kiss, my tongue thrusting deep, tasting the beer on her lips.
My hands roam down, yanking her shirt up over her bra, exposing the soft swell of her breasts.
I shove the lace down, freeing her nipples to the night air.
They're already hard peaks, begging for attention.
I break the kiss, dropping my head to latch onto one, sucking hard.
My teeth grazes the sensitive bud, tugging just enough to make her gasp.
She threads her fingers through my hair, pulling me closer as I alternate between sucking and biting, my tongue swirling around the pebbled flesh.
Her other breast gets the same treatment—wet, sloppy sucks that leave her skin glistening under the moonlight filtering through the branches.
I knead the flesh with my calloused palm, pinching the nipple between my fingers until she whimpers.
But I want more.
I want her unraveling.
Dropping to my knees in the dirt, I hook my fingers into the waistband of her jeans, ripping them down along with her panties in one rough yank.
She steps out of them, kicking them aside, her pussy bare and already slick, the lips swollen and glistening.
I don't waste time.
Grabbing her thighs, I spread her wide, hooking one leg over my shoulder to open her up.
Her scent hits me—sweet like vanilla, aroused—and I dive in, my tongue flattening against her clit.
She jolts, a sharp cry escaping her lips.
I lick harder, circling the nub with firm strokes, then sucking it between my lips.
My fingers dig into her ass, pulling her closer as I devour her.
I thrust my tongue inside her pussy, fucking her with it, tasting her wetness coating my chin.
She's dripping, her juices running down my face as I alternate between lapping at her folds and sucking her clit like it's the only thing keeping me alive.
Her hips buck against my mouth, grinding desperately.
I slide two fingers into her tight heat, curling them to hit that spot inside that makes her knees buckle.
She screams then—a raw, throaty sound that echoes through the trees.
Panic flashes in her eyes—the clubhouse isn't far, voices still carrying from the bonfire pit.
She clamps her hand over her mouth, muffling the next cry as I pump my fingers faster, my tongue flicking relentlessly over her clit.
Her walls clench around me, pulsing, her body trembling on the edge.
I don't let up.
Sucking harder, I add a third finger, stretching her, the wet squelch of her pussy filling the air.
She bites down on her palm, her muffled screams vibrating through her hand as waves of pleasure crash over her.
Her orgasm hits like a storm—her thighs quake, her juices flood my mouth, and I drink her down, lapping every drop as she rides it out against my face.
Her free hand fists my hair, holding me there until she's spent, her body slumping against the tree.
But I'm not done.
Rising up, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my cock throbbing painfully against my zipper.
I spin her around roughly, pressing her front to the bark.
The rough texture bites into her breasts, her nipples scraping against it as she braces her hands on the trunk, ass pushed out toward me, inviting.
I free my cock, thick and veined, pre-cum beading at the tip.
Gripping her hip with one hand, I line up and slam into her pussy in one brutal thrust.
She cries out again, hand flying back to her mouth, but I don't care— the sound is music, her tightness gripping me like a vice.
I pull out almost all the way, then drive back in, hard and deep, my balls slapping against her clit.
The bark digs into her palms and belly as I fuck her relentlessly, each thrust pounding her into the tree.
Her pussy clenches around my cock, slick and hot, sucking me in deeper.
I reach around, pinching her clit between my fingers, rolling it as I fuck her into oblivion.
Leaning over her back, I grab a fistful of her blonde hair, yanking her head back.
My other hand snakes under her, cupping her breast again.
I pinch her nipple hard, twisting it while I suck on the side of her neck, biting down to mark her.
She muffles another scream, her body arching, pushing back to meet my thrusts.
The tree's bark rakes her skin—red welts forming on her chest and stomach—adding that edge of pain that makes her even wetter.
I feel her building again, her walls fluttering around my shaft.
"Fuck, you're so tight," I growl against her ear, slamming harder.
My cock stretches her, hitting her cervix with every brutal plunge.
Sweat slicks our bodies, the night air cooling it as I rut into her like an animal.
She drops her hand from her mouth just long enough to gasp my name, then covers it again as another scream builds.
I release her hair, both hands now on her hips, fingers bruising as I pull her onto me, fucking her faster, deeper.
Her second orgasm rips through her, her pussy spasming, milking my cock.
She bites her own hand this time, tears of pleasure streaking her face as she shakes.
The sight pushes me over— I thrust one last time, burying myself to the hilt, and come hard, flooding her with hot spurts.
Rope after rope paints her insides, leaking out around my cock as I grind against her, prolonging it for both of us.
We stay like that, panting, my forehead pressed to her shoulder.
The bark has left angry scratches on her skin, but she doesn't complain—instead, she reaches back, squeezing my thigh.
Slowly, I pull out, watching my cum drip from her swollen pussy down her thighs.
I turn her gently, kissing her bruised lips, tasting salt from her tears.
"That was..." she starts, voice hoarse.
"Not over," I murmur, already hard again at the thought of more. But for now, we catch our breath, the alliance—and whatever this is—feeling unbreakable in the afterglow.