12. Kinleigh
TWELVE
KINLEIGH
“You’re not gonna talk to me?” he asks, and though I keep my eyes on the mess, which is mostly stomach acid, I hear the clank of his belt knocking against his boots as he undresses. Relief flutters through me and my shoulders sag a little in response; he understands this is his chance to shower, thank God.
I keep my back to him out of privacy, but for him or me, I’m not sure.
Despite the circumstances, my body still fills with excitement and hope when in Colton’s presence, the exact way it did when I’d spot him across the playground as a kid, or when I’d peek out my window at night after he brought me home and see his strong back flexing as he guided his horse over the creek, back to his house.
I broke us and destroyed him and yet, my heart remembers. Call it muscle memory or call it the power of first love, but as I listen to his hands work soap over his body, little grunts of pain and stiffness, my belly flutters.
Guilt keeps me rooted to the floor for a moment as I blink at the drying wet spot on the ground. I'm fucked up, just like my father, if I’m able to get aroused by knowing he’s naked, even though he’s also a fucking prisoner.
I collect my things and wipe my hands on my apron, facing the back wall until I receive some signal that he’s dressed.
“If I wear the clothes you’ve brought me,” Colton starts, causing me to turn around.
He’s wet and naked, rivulets of water carving trails between his pecs and belly, his dark hair shaggy and tousled.
“He’ll know you let me shower.” Holding his dirty vest at his groin, his chains resting in a puddle at his feet, he whispers, “Was this all his orders, or was this you?”
I want to scream my response. This is me. I’m so sorry this is happening. I am trying in my limited means to help you.
I let my eyes drop to my hands, the way I’ve been trained to do when my father prods at me.
“Hmm,” he purrs his subtle restraint, looking as if he’s trying to solve a math equation, but it’s clear that I am his math.
“You aren’t helping him kidnap women and young girls,” he says to me, maybe thinking aloud but… it sounds like a statement. Despite ten years having passed, he knows my character.
The backs of my eyes burn at his comment.
I push the pipe back, covering the grated drain with stone, and replacing the cover for the pipe. My father will see that I did this, and I’ll pay for it, but it’s worth it to bring him a sliver of humanity in this hell.
He dresses, and a slight smirk curves my lips when I spot him: sweats, t-shirt, socks and his stinky flannel. He’d likely wear his hat if he had it here, too.
That’s incredibly sexy.
I’ve always loved my honest cowboy.
We cross the room, Colton collecting his shackles and chains before he does. He brings them over to the bed, resting them at our feet as he sits next to me, the way I found him when I came down. There’s a small flutter at my seam followed by a gentle whoosh of heat spreading through my pussy. If I reached down, I’d find myself slick on the outside, hot and needy on the inside. I blink at him as he adjusts on the bed, then I reach for the shackles. I collect the cuffs and put them back on, both of us somehow knowing that I can’t free him.
Taking the first aid kit from the basket, I balance it on my lap, my back to the cellar door. I focus on taking the vial of paralytic from beneath the elastic clasping it into the kit. With my free hand, I dig my father-approved cell phone from my back pocket, and pass the two items to Colton.
He looks at me before he looks at what I’ve given him. “Are you not talking because we’re being watched?” he asks quietly, still not looking at what I’ve handed him.
From the kit, I remove the syringe with a needle tip, and make a show of analyzing it where the security camera can indeed see. From my periphery, Colton watches, his hands still covered by my body at this angle.
Read the vial and look it up , I think to myself as I pluck a large piece of rubber from the kit. I lean forward, smoothing my hands over his forearm in an attempt to push the soiled fabric up, to expose veiny flesh.
His body heat is disarming, and the rigidity in his arm doesn’t help. I wrap the rubber around his arm and finally, I hear his finger moving across the screen.
“I knew it,” he breathes. “I’ve been so fucking tired.”
When he says that, I hold the rubber with one hand and reach into the basket, passing him the second sandwich. Using one hand, he begins unwrapping it as he lets my phone fall to the bed. I take the vial of paralytic from his hand and, where the camera can see, stick my needle into the bottle and pull the bottom of the syringe, filling it completely.
Our gazes collide in a silent frenzy where I can see Colton is trying to figure out if I’m working with my father or against him.
“Kinleigh,” he tries, his voice a fatigued blend of panic and sadness as he attempts to stop me from sticking him.
I rear my hand back, swallowing hard, and stab the needle directly into the clump of balled-up fabric on his arm, pressing the back of the syringe until every drop of paralytic is soaking the clump of fabric. I rip off the rubber from his arm and place the supplies back in the first aid kit. When I turn to face him, I see he’s slouched against the bed frame, as if I have administered the meds.
I draw nearer, my pulse frenzied beyond control. I lick my lips, the scent of Ivory soap making my body tremble. It’s so classic, so perfect.
My eyes traverse his body, socked feet poking out of sweats, his flannel on over the fresh t-shirt I’d brought him. This is the man I dreamt of spending my life with, giving my womb to, sharing my existence with.
I was going to be barefoot and pregnant, and I don’t give a fuck what anyone says. This man on his horse under the melting Wyoming skies, a broad smile on his lips, those sparkling eyes of his set on me.
I was going to breastfeed his babies and sniff his t-shirts, loaded with his scent, because when he’d be out on pasture, I’d miss him so bad I wouldn't be able to stand it.
That would have been us if we had the chance. I know it.
A stupid thought flashes through my mind as I slide nearer to him on the mattress, not stopping until my hip nudges Colton mid-thigh. Maybe that could still be us? It’s ridiculous. But he isn’t wearing a ring, I noticed that right away. Or maybe he took it off, knowing my father is an absolute scoundrel.
Another stupid thought hits.
I want to free him.
I wonder if he knows I’ll die if he goes free.
He must know I am a prisoner here.
Just like him.
Maybe worse off, even.
I place my hand on his thigh, letting my fingers span the width of his muscle. He flexes beneath my touch, reactively and maybe even nervously. I’d be nervous, too, if I didn’t need this so much.
If I didn’t need more of him so much.
I think having him in some way will keep me going.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I work my hand along his leg, up and down, curling my fingers when I can, applying pressure with my palm. His groans incinerate any lingering doubt that we can’t or shouldn’t do this. When I finally let my eyes wander to the place between his thighs, heat floods my neck and chest. He’s hard.
“Kinleigh,” he says, watching me stare at his erection, the rasp of his voice skittering across my skin like flames, leaving me flushed with hard nipples.
With now or never looping my mind, I make my move, reaching past the waistband of his sweats. Tugging them down, exposing him, I wrap my hand around his heavy, thick erection. Nude and hot in my palm, I take a moment to admire what I’m holding.
He’s so long and thick. I remember him this way but somehow it seems different now, in real life. I tighten my grip slightly, tugging gently on him, the first stroke causing him to huff out.
“Kin,” he groans, the sound of my name on his lips causing me to stroke him faster, wrap my hand differently, do whatever I can to make him feel good.
I just want him to feel good.
I look down at the glistening tip, wanting to put my mouth on it. To suck him into the back of my throat, warm and safe, and swallow what he empties inside me. I want him to know I’m here as much as I can be.
I touched myself to the memory of this erect penis so many times. More times than I could have counted, had I tried. We only made love one time, but it was the only time I ever made love. I never got to explore his body in all the ways I wanted. We’d just grown into our romantic selves, grown comfortable in our sweet whispers under the setting sun, felt safe in planning a future together. We were in the sunrise of things, despite the fact we’d been inseparable best friends since he shared his sandwich with me when we were just sprouts.
I stroke him a few more times, letting my pussy flutter privately between my legs as opaque liquid clouds the dark slit on his head. He groans, and I look up to find him watching me, studying my every move. His lips are parted but like me, he doesn’t say a word.
Bringing him pleasure amidst this pain… It’s all I can do for now.
I pump him again, and I don’t care that the angle provides a mere sliver of privacy. I broke the rules already and it’s clear I’m touching him. I can’t fucking help myself.
And I don’t know that my father even watches the footage. He never said a word to me when I started sneaking sandwiches down to the cellar a few days ago. I was wrapping them in toilet paper–clean, of course–so that he had no wax paper or plate for evidence. And he could use the toilet paper. I left them at the bottom of the stairs after he passed out after a beating.
I imagine crushing my mouth to his, letting our tongues slide together in a muted frenzy. I would love to press my body to his, to feel slight in his arms, to sink into the safe embrace of the one I love and trust.
But I can’t. I continue stroking instead, letting the tips of my fingers skirt his balls every few passes.
I imagine guiding the wide head of him between my legs, aligning him with my center, then swallowing his hefty cock with my cunt, clenching all around him as he orgasms inside me. I suppress a moan at the thought of him filling me full of his cum, that he’d touch my belly and pray for a baby.
“Kin,” he grumbles, his cheeks finally with some color.
He was sick this morning, whether from a concussion or too much paralytic, I’m not sure. But as long as my dad is gone, I’m not doing it. I will not drug him.
Moving my palm over the weeping tip of him, I slowly drag his arousal down his shaft, holding his deepening gaze. He’s hot in my palm, thick and veiny, and my stomach actually clenches at the thought of welcoming him into my body.
He’ll always be my first.
His eyes drop to my lips where my tongue is moving. I can’t help but imagine sucking this perfect cock into my mouth and giving us both a few minutes of the pleasure we both need. And deserve.
Colton lifts his hips slightly, the chains shifting on the bed a reminder that he’s a prisoner here. We aren’t dipping our toes into the creek and leaning over stripped-off clothes to share a romantic reunion kiss.
We’re in Forrest’s cellar and the idea of either of us leaving this property feels like more of a fairy tale than Cinderella herself.
But we can have this moment, I can bring him comfort and pleasure amidst the darkness in a way that I’m unable to with the rest of my body. I can’t speak soft words into his ear, hold him in my arms and let him know it’s all okay. I can’t tell him anything.
“I…” he groans, fighting the heaviness in his eyelids that comes from the pleasure I’m giving him. “Kin, I’m…” His eyes finally draw closed, and mine fall to my hand, my chest shuddering in practical disbelief that Colton is here and I’m… doing this.
I lick my lips, staring at the dark slit on his cock, the sight of his naked body dripping wet flashing behind my eyes, tangling with images of us together at school, his groin pressed into me behind the bleachers after school, our tongues twisting, my hands in his hair. He jerks on the mattress, his shoulders lifting from the wall as his eyes fly open, locking onto mine.
He gazes into my soul with just one pointed expression, seeing what feels like all of my secrets, though I know with a heart like his, he could never fully imagine what my life is like now.
“Kin,” he groans one last time, his timbre spreading bumps up my legs, my cunt tightening in frenzied pulses, both of our gazes dropping to where I’m stroking him right in time to see the first ribbon of heated release sail into the air between us.
It drops onto the clean t-shirt, turning the gray fabric dark as his cum slowly bleeds into the cotton. Cum slides down my knuckles, lubricating my hand as I stroke him through each throbbing shot. His orgasm lasts forever, and I’m in bliss feeling his cum on my hand, seeing it melt over my palm, inside my wrist– it’s nearly as good as an orgasm of my own.
Collecting a napkin from the basket on the bed, I begin wiping him up, still holding his softening erection with my other hand. Gently, I swipe around the base of his cock, up his shaft, and then over the t-shirt, which is now heavily streaked in dark gray. I use an unused edge of the tissue to clean my hand, drop it into the basket along with the soap I’ve scooped from the ground, suds drying on the cellar floor. Slowly, I head upstairs, leaving the basket for my return.
After switching off the water, I head back down to find Colton standing at the foot of the stairs, eyes wide, hand gripping the stone wall with white knuckles.
His hair is disheveled, his beaten face heavy with exhaustion, but his eyes are full of concern, brows drawn together. “I thought…” he starts, and though he doesn’t finish, I know.
I wouldn’t leave like that , I tell him in my mind, though my lips stayed pulled together tightly.
He reaches for my hand, but the chain falls short, and his touch falls shy by one inch. His gorgeous dark eyes search mine, my heart hammering at his intensity. “Say my name, Kinleigh. I’m dying to hear your voice.” He swallows, the bruising on his collarbone catching my eye for a second. “Please.”
My heart can’t break. It hasn’t been whole in over ten years. But the shards of it that float freely in my chest cavity seem to ignite in flames, burning me from the inside out.
Colton , I whisper in my mind, but again, with his eyes focused on my lips, they don’t move. I can’t.
I slip past him to gather the basket of supplies, turn on my heel, press my hand on top of his for a moment, then head up the stairs, tears streaking my cheeks.
I will always love him. Having him in the cellar reminds me of the world that exists around me. Not the one I live in, but the one outside of Forrest’s reach. The one where I was in love with the best boy in the world, where we grew up together and fell in love again as young adults. The one where we’d live happily ever after.
I know I can’t be part of that world anymore, not after everything that has happened, not with the name Conway.
But he can go back to that world.
I have to set him free.