Chapter 5

5

The next morning, it’s barely dawn, and Mack’s mouth is really going at it between my legs.

I woke up while it was still dark needing to pee, so I ran to the bathroom and got back into bed since it was too early to get up. A couple of minutes later, I heard Mack had gotten up too—probably for the same reason. But after a minute or two, my bedroom door opened, and he climbed into bed with me.

Needless to say, I had no complaints about the situation.

He fucked me on his knees with my legs in the air. Then on my stomach with my ass raised while he was gripping my hair. He came all over my lower back and bottom, so I assumed this session was over, but after a minute he decided to get busy again.

Which is what led to my current position with my legs hooked over his shoulders and my lower body lifted all the way off the bed so it’s easier for him to get in position to work with his lips and tongue and face.

I’m utterly helpless like this, and my stomach muscles are getting a workout. I’m drenched in sweat, and my hair is tangled, and I’m probably beet red from my forehead all the way down to my belly. My throat is raw from all my uninhibited vocal responses. It’s almost embarrassing how loud I’ve been. But I’ve already had two orgasms and he’s trying for another, and I never want him to stop.

His beard is tickling my sensitized flesh as he thrusts his tongue into my pussy, turns his head to nip my inner thigh, and then nuzzles until he reaches my clit, where he starts sucking hard. I have no idea how he’s managing to hold half my weight this way, but he’s not even straining, and he obviously has plenty of focus left for technique.

I’m clutching at the headboard and crying out shamelessly as all the tension breaks inside me again. I shake and moan through another orgasm, and the release levels me. Wipes me out.

“Oh God, Mack,” I gasp out as he’s licking me through the aftershocks. “I can’t take any more.”

He lifts his head and scans me from top to bottom with a little smile, obviously liking what he’s seeing. His mouth and beard are messy from my fluids, and he’s sweating and breathing heavily. “You sure? ’Cause I can keep at it. ”

“If you keep at it anymore, I’m going to literally pass out.”

That makes him let out a soft huff of amusement. He lowers me carefully to the bed, unhooking my legs from his shoulders before he collapses beside me.

I’m still desperately trying to catch my breath, and my entire body is throbbing with the lingering pleasure and exhaustion. But I reach out and fumble with my hand in his direction until it lands on his chest. I give him a pat. Then slide down to rub his flat belly. “You did good.”

He makes more of those hoarse huffs. Not his real laugh but at least some sign of amusement. “Glad you enjoyed.”

I’m still rubbing his abdomen as I blink up at the ceiling, and my hand accidentally slips lower and discovers he’s hard again.

“Oh, I didn’t realize that got you going.”

“No big deal. Think it was all that screaming in ecstasy you were doing.”

I gasp. “I did not scream!”

“Sure you didn’t.”

Still frowning with mild indignation, I start squeezing and pumping his thick cock.

He lets out a long, thick moan, and the bed shifts like he’s repositioning. Maybe arching up his back.

“I think my volume was entirely appropriate for the situation,” I tell him, intensifying the speed and force of my pumping .

“Screaming—” He breaks off to moan again. It’s the most carnal, sensual sound. He’s starting to rock his hips into my hand. “Screaming was appropriate for the… Oh fucking hell, Anna! …appropriate for the situation.”

I’m about to respond, but his cock starts to shudder under my hand, and his body jerks shamelessly through his climax. He doesn’t have much come this time. He’s panting as his body relaxes.

“There,” I say, giving his cock a few last squeezes. “That’s better.”

“Sure as hell is.”

We lie together for a long time, relaxing and trying to catch our breath. My arm is still slung over toward him, my hand resting limply against his groin since I never pulled it back.

When it feels like I’ve recovered, I turn my head in his direction. There are no lights on in the room, but the sun is starting to rise, so there’s some gray light coming in through the cracks around the curtains. I can see he’s not asleep like I suspected. His eyes are open and staring up at the ceiling like I was earlier.

“I was in your room yesterday to wash your sheets.” I speak the words without thinking.

He grunts. “Yeah. Thanks for doing that.”

“No problem. But I noticed the books on your nightstand.”

“So? I’ve been here for months. Not a lot to do but read in the afternoons. ”

“I know. But I didn’t expect you to read Jane Austen.”

“Oh. I’ve just been reading through what’s here. Those books were next on the shelf.”

“She’s my favorite.”

“I know. I remember.”

His words are soft and uninflected, but they provoke a weird pressure of nostalgia in my chest anyway. I have to swallow a couple of times before I continue. “What do you think so far? Of Jane Austen, I mean.”

“They’re okay. A little slow but not too bad. Interesting how marriage is the most important thing in the stories.”

“Well, at the time she was writing, marriage probably was one of the most important decisions in a woman’s life. It literally determined whether she would have a decent future or not.”

“Yeah. I get that. Makes sense. That younger girl in that one book—what a fucking fool.”

I giggle at that. “Do you mean Lydia? Or Marianne?”

He pauses. “Huh. Guess it works for either one of them. At least the one came to her senses eventually.”

“Yeah.” My mind is doing a ramble made up of Jane Austen characters and Mack and the world we live in now. Finally I say, “I guess we’re kind of back there again.”

He turns his head to look at me. “Back where?”

“Back in a world where the choices a woman makes about her man determine her well-being and safety. We can’t make it on our own anymore.” He doesn’t respond, but it feels like he’s thinking about the words, so I add, “ Chloe was telling me that just a few weeks after she lost her grandpa, Jimmy blurted out a request for her to be his woman. And that’s why she moved in with him. They weren’t in love or anything. She needed a home and a man, and he offered that to her.”

“They seem pretty good together—at least back before I left.”

“They are good together. They’re really happy now. She made a good decision. But I can’t help thinking about what might have happened to her if Jimmy wasn’t the man he is.” I sigh. “I’m probably not explaining it right.”

“No, you are.” His tone has changed. “I get what you’re saying. And you’re right. It’s hard for a woman to be without a man anymore, but it’s not impossible. You’ve done okay, haven’t you?”

I make a face and roll on my side to face him. “I guess so. It doesn’t… it doesn’t always feel like I’ve done as okay as I wanted.” I reach out to touch his face briefly before I pull back my hand. “And the truth is I never would have gotten nearly this far without you. I’d be dead a hundred times without you.”

I don’t know whether my words touch him or not, but there’s the slightest flicker on his face. He gives a small shrug. “We all need help. Men too. No one can make it in this world on their own.”

Because of the quiet mood shaped between us, I don’t point out the obvious irony. The fact that Mack is trying to do just that—live in this world on his own, by himself in this isolated cabin.

Instead, I say, “I don’t know. Maybe I was as foolish as Lydia. But I thought… I wanted…”

“To stand on your own. Without a man. I know, Anna. I’ve always understood it.”

I’m unexpectedly emotional, but I swallow back the tears. “It sounds kind of ridiculous to hope an apocalypse might give me the opportunity to finally learn how to be strong. But I did hope that. I saw all these other women—women like Maria and Rachel—who can hold their own in any situation, who can fight to save themselves and the people they love, who don’t fall apart no matter the pressure—and I wanted that for myself.”

Mack clears his throat. He sounds almost careful as he asks slowly, “Isn’t it possible… isn’t it possible that what you see in them isn’t the whole story? Maybe they don’t always feel strong themselves. Maybe they aren’t as different from you as you’ve always believed.”

“Maybe.” The topic feels too big for me to fully process right now. It’s like a tidal wave in my mind.

“Maybe other women look at you and wish they were as strong as you.”

I give him a shaky smile. “Thank you for saying that, but I can’t imagine anyone would.”

“Then maybe you need to widen your imagination,” he says lightly. “Or else see yourself more clearly.”

Twisting my features in an attempt to control emotion, I reply, “Mack, I’m trying not to cry here, and you’re not helping the situation.”

He gives a couple of those breathy huffs. “Sorry about that. I’ll do better.”

I smile at him. He doesn’t smile back, but his eyes are softer than they’ve been since I arrived in this cabin four days ago.

I’m not sure when it happened, but he’s closer now to his old self—his real self. He’s not there all the way. It still doesn’t feel like that fire that always blazed inside him, the one that cast its warmth on everyone he knew, has been reignited. But at least he’s not the mean, scowling stranger he was at first.

“Are you going to keep staying at New Haven?” he asks after a minute.

“I don’t know. I can’t really figure out what I want to do.”

“You can join back with Maria. I’m sure she’d love to have you. That might help you feel strong again.”

For years, Maria has led a group of women who travel throughout our home region and surrounding areas, helping those who need it and fighting to rescue people in trouble—primarily other women and children. I was part of her crew for a long time, and I enjoyed the camaraderie and how much I was able to learn from them. But it never truly felt like the place I belonged. I left, then joined back, and then left again .

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it, but I really don’t like the constant travel. I want… I want a home.”

“Well, make a home for yourself. You could move to Halbrook or somewhere like that. Some of those towns are stable enough that you’d be safe even by yourself. You could get a little house, and there’s all kinds of work you’d be qualified for. You’re skilled enough now you could do guard duty if you wanted. Or they could probably make a space for you to teach eventually, if you want to go back to doing that.”

“Yeah. Esther’s actually been nagging me for months now. They need someone to teach advanced writing and literature to the older students at the school. There aren’t a lot of them right now, but there’s a big group of ten- to twelve-year-olds and even more younger kids since folks are finally having babies again.”

“There you go. You can be an English teacher again. You loved that, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“So what’s the problem?” Mack is frowning slightly, visibly confused. “You could get your own place in Halbrook and teach school and have yourself a good home and a lot of friends and still stand on your own. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

I open my mouth and then close it again.

“Tell me,” he bites out, terser than he’s been all morning.

“I don’t even know. I’d tell you if I could put it into words. It sounds so good. Like a… like a dream. So I really don’t know why I’m not quite ready to do it.”

His breathing has picked up. It’s loud in the quiet room. “What else do you need?”

I make a sound that’s almost a small sob but not quite. I need him. Him . In my life again. In whatever way I’m allowed. But there’s no way I can say it out loud. It would dump so much guilt and pressure right back on his shoulders when he’s been trying so hard to be free of it.

If he comes back home, it has to be for himself.

It can’t be because I guilted him into it.

“I’ll figure it out,” I say at last. “Overall, I’ve got nothing to complain about. My life is really good, and that’s mostly because when I got to Fort Knox six years ago, I met the best man I’ve ever known. The first man I’ve truly felt safe with. And I know he thought I was a pesky little hanger-on, but I latched onto him anyway. And that changed everything for me.”

He makes a short, guttural sound, and tension flickers on his face again. But his voice is light when he says, “You were kind of pesky.”

“I know I was. I followed you everywhere.”

He gives me another very small smile. “I didn’t mind.”

Over our lunch of grilled ham and goat cheese sandwiches, I idly mention I feel like I’m getting out of practice with fighting and shooting, so Mack takes me through some drills in the afternoon.

Chloe’s grandfather had a huge stockpile of weapons and ammunition, so we’re able to work on target practice with a variety of guns. Then Mack takes me through the training routine of punches, kicks, and rolls that he taught me the first year we were together. After almost an hour of that, we practice with self-defense scenarios where he comes at me in different ways and I try to get away.

I do pretty well. Much better than I expected after not working like this with him for more than two years. He appears to be taking it seriously and not making it easy for me, but I’m still able to pull out of a lot of his holds, and once I even manage to get him down on the ground.

My advantage doesn’t last long. In less than a minute, he’s got me on my back in the dirt, and he’s using his weight to keep me there.

I struggle, half laughing and half frustrated because I thought I’d finally gotten the best of him. When I part my legs, he has to part his too in order to keep control of mine. That gives me an idea. I slide one leg free and bend it up, stopping short before I slam it into his groin.

I grin up at him, since both of us know this move would have worked.

“Thank you for your restraint,” he says, breathless and with a smile in his voice but not on his face.

“You’re welcome. But if I’d done it, I could have gotten away, couldn’t I? ”

“Maybe. Try.” He makes a show of a reaction to a kick in the groin and in the process loosens his hold on one of my arms. I use it to push against his chest with all my strength. He’s so big I can’t move him a lot, but I manage enough to slip out from under him, scrambling to my feet.

I’ve almost made it when he grabs for my ankle.

I squeal as I’m swung back down to the ground. He softens the landing with a hand beneath my head, and then he’s over me again.

“Damn it!” I’m pushing up against him and giggling at the same time. I’m not sure why I’m laughing so much. Maybe an overflow of joy at Mack being closer to his old self. “I almost had it.”

“Next time watch for my hand and then stomp on my wrist before I can grab you.”

“I’m not going to stomp on your wrist! It would hurt you really bad.”

“I mean, if I was really an attacker. I’d rather not have a broken wrist at the moment, if you want to know the truth.”

“Okay, good. But it’s hard when I’m so focused on getting away to pay attention to every little move you make.”

“I know. But you can never predict what they’ll do, so if you aren’t paying attention to every move, then they’ll keep having the advantage.”

I nod. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

He’s in control of my body again, holding himself up above me on his forearms. We’re both flushed and panting, and our faces aren’t very far apart. I like his weight on me. Even though I’m vulnerable and mostly helpless, his weight makes me feel safe.

I see the expression in Mack’s eyes shift as he stares down at me. A smolder that prompts a matching hunger in me.

But I’m nothing if not a good student, and he’s taught me well. So I arch my spine and let out a long, sensual moan.

It distracts him. Visibly. He makes a greedy sound in his throat and lowers his head toward me.

I push hard against him, freeing myself and jumping to my feet, narrowly managing to evade his hand when he bellows out in outrage and grabs for me again.

I’m spilling over with laughter as I turn around, raising my arms in victory. He’s on his feet already and coming after me, warm amusement and a feral kind of determination in his expression.

He chases me around the yard until he traps me against the side of the house. He grabs me and slings me over his shoulder as I laugh and squeal.

Mack holds me in place and carries me back to where we left all the weapons. Our training session is clearly over.

And he laughs.

It’s not just the breathy huffs of amusement I’ve heard over the past couple of days. It’s his real laugh. His old one. Full and free and familiar.

The sound of it now—at last, again—almost makes me cry.

We’re both in a good mood as we put up the weapons in the cabin’s storage closet where we found them. I’m hoping once we get stuff put up, maybe we can follow through on the hot moment a little while ago.

There’s a lot of stuff stocked up here. Chloe and her grandfather could have probably survived here another year if they’d had to. The prepper food is getting low, but there are still plenty of toiletries and first aid supplies and medication and weapons and ammunition.

A lot of weapons and not just guns.

I’ve pulled out from the bottom shelf the box where all the extra ammunition is kept so we can return the extras from what we used. I’m about to slide the box back in place when I notice that Mack has grown completely still. Motionless.

I frown up at his frozen face and follow the direction he’s staring.

Behind the box were stored additional weapons.

Including a couple of what appear to be grenades.

“Shit,” I breathe out, my stomach dropping sickeningly .

I wasn’t there when it happened six months ago, but I’ve heard the story told multiple times from Rachel and from Cal and from Chloe and from Jimmy’s parents. Mack and the others came to rescue Jimmy from the criminals who tried to capture him and Chloe. There was a gunfight, but the bad guys had the advantage. They all might have died if Mack hadn’t thrown a grenade.

Only to discover later that one of the bad guys was a young boy.

Mack killed him, and it was the final straw in everything he’s had to do to keep so many people safe after Impact. It broke him, and he still hasn’t recovered.

Despite the positive changes I’ve seen in the past days, he’s obviously not recovered yet. He’s frozen, staring and so tense I can almost see the emotion he’s hiding shuddering beneath the surface of his skin.

“Shit,” I say again. I reach up to take his shoulders and gently turn him around. “Let’s get out of this closet. We can go sit down for a minute.”

I wouldn’t be able to move him if he was actively resisting, but he walks when I push him, so I’m able to get him to a chair at the kitchen table. Then he just sits there, staring at nothing.

I have no idea what to do. I want to cry and hug myself and run away and cradle Mack all at the same time. I step around to the back of his chair and put my hands on his shoulders, starting to knead the tense muscles there .

After a minute, he lets out a long, hoarse exhale. He’s not relaxing, but something has changed.

I keep massaging him, moving to his neck. Then rubbing his smooth head as he releases another textured breath.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been working on him when he finally says, “I’m fine.”

“I know you are. But it’s okay if you aren’t.”

“I said I’m fine.” He was starting to lean back into my hands, like he loved it, needed it, but now he slumps forward, forcing me to drop my hands.

“And I said I know you’re fine,” I reply softly.

“I don’t need coddling.” He sounds gruff and bad-tempered again. The way he was the first couple of days I got here.

“I’m not?—”

“You were coddling, and I don’t need it. And I don’t need you to always be prying into my head. I don’t want that.”

I take a step back automatically, hurt by both his tone and his words. “I wasn’t trying to coddle or pry.”

“You were. Why are you even trying to deny it? I’ve asked you over and over to leave me alone.” He bites out the words, and they feel like a blow.

Like a physical blow.

“All right,” I murmur, doing my best to keep the hurt out of my tone. “I’ll leave you alone.”

I walk out of the kitchen and go back to the closet to finish putting things in place and hiding the grenades better so they won’t accidentally be seen again. When I’m done, I glance back in and see that Mack is still sitting in the same place, tense and brooding.

I’m angry with him and deeply upset for him at the exact same time.

I don’t have anything to do now. I could take another shower, but I don’t really want to. I want to work. Do something. So I collect some supplies and start cleaning the living room, dusting and polishing the furniture and then scrubbing the floor.

It takes a while, and I’m stewing the entire time, trying to figure out how I should handle this and what Mack really needs from me.

If I thought he was better off being left alone, that’s what I would do. It would be a real sacrifice, but I would do it.

But he was almost—almost—his old self this afternoon. I’m not expecting miracles, but the thing that did it was being around other people. People he knows and cares about. In this case, it was me, but it’s probably not only me that could make the difference. He needs fellowship again.

Mack simply isn’t Mack when he’s all alone.

I’ve finished the floor and am waiting for it to dry when I hear Mack moving around in the kitchen again. I want to go see what he’s doing, how he’s feeling, but he told me to leave him alone, so that’s what I need to do .

Instead of checking on him, I go to my room and change out of my jeans and top since they’re dirty from rolling around on the dirt and grass with Mack. I put on Mack’s old T-shirt and drawstring shorts since I don’t want to dirty up any more of my clothes for only part of a day.

The floor is dried when I return to the living room. I notice a stain on the big easy chair. It looks like food or drink spilled there. I search the closet and find a half-empty bottle of stain remover, so I put it on a cloth and work on rubbing the stain to see if I can get it out.

I’m still scrubbing when I’m suddenly aware of Mack’s presence in the door from the kitchen. I sense him rather than see or hear him. It feels like he’s standing there watching me silently.

I keep scrubbing, leaning over the arm of the chair to reach the stained spot.

Then I hear him walking toward me. Feel him pressing up against my back as I straighten.

“You’re mad at me,” he says in a low, gruff voice.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you won’t look at me. I don’t like when you’re mad at me.”

“I don’t like it either.” I love the feel of his big, warm body at my back. I’m dying to turn around and cuddle against him, but I don’t.

“You never used to get mad at me.”

“Because you never used to treat me the way you did just now. ”

He makes a soft, rough sound. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I am. I was an ass to you, and I’m sorry. It felt like you were… prying.”

“I wasn’t prying. I didn’t ask you a single question about how you were feeling.”

“But I could feel you. Trying to dig into my head.”

I let out a long exhale. “That wasn’t because of anything I did. You felt that way because you’re extra-sensitive about this topic.”

“I’m not?—”

“Yes, you are, Mack. Of course you are. You got hurt, and you pulled away from everyone and everything. And no one likes your decision or truly understands why you made it. Of course you’re sensitive about it.”

He doesn’t say anything, but I can hear him breathing. It feels like he’s listening.

So I clear the emotion from my throat and continue, “I really do get it, Mack. I know exactly how it feels to make a decision out of self-preservation that seems like the only option to… to survive and have no one else understand why I’m making it. You hold it close to you. You guard it like a treasure and lash out if anyone gets anywhere close. I know how it feels.”

“What decision did you make like that?”

“Are you kidding?” I’m dying to turn around again, but I still resist. It’s somehow safer to say all this when I can’t see his face. “Mack, do you have any idea how often other people either implied or said straight out that I was heartless and stupid for not marrying you and making you happy and having all your babies?” My voice breaks despite my best effort.

I feel a reaction from him behind me. His body jerks, and he wraps his fingers around one of my forearms in a grip that feels weirdly protective.

Since he hasn’t replied in words, I go on. “No one ever hated me. But everyone loved you. They loved you. And they resented me because they were sure I was hurting you. For no good reason.”

“I didn’t know they were doing that,” he murmurs in a very soft, very thick voice. “I never would have allowed it.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I know you never complained about me to anyone. But I’m not sure you could have stopped the talk even if you’d tried. It was inevitable. You’re… you’re Mack. And I was the bitch who kept breaking your heart.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, his fingers tightening on my arm. “You don’t get to talk that way about yourself. I’ve never let anyone say that about you, and you’re included. You don’t get to talk about yourself that way. Not around me.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I don’t really think of myself as a bitch. But that’s how it… it must have appeared to other people. It doesn’t matter all that much anymore. I think everyone was relieved when we broke up. And my point isn’t to make you feel bad about something that happened to me that was outside your control. My point is that I understand as well as anyone how it feels to protect yourself with a choice that no one else understands. It makes you defensive. It makes you want to lash out. I get it, but it’s still not right for you to take that out on me. I wasn’t trying to pry.”

He’s breathing heavily. His exhales are blowing against my loose hair.

I’m clutching at the arm of the easy chair in front of me. “What you’re feeling isn’t me poking at you. It’s me worrying about you.”

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” he says gruffly.

“I know you don’t. But I’m not sure how the hell I’m supposed to stop.”

He must have tilted his head down because I suddenly feel him nuzzling my hair. “I’m sorry I talked like that to you.”

“That’s okay. I understand. I forgive you.”

“But you’re still mad.” He’s leaned down even more, moving my hair aside and pressing a little kiss on the side of my neck.

“I’m not mad.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“I…” I gasp and arch my neck when he kisses me again, this time on the base of my jaw. The small gesture sends a shock wave of pleasure rippling through me. “I don’t know. ”

“Do you want me to go away?” he murmurs against my ear.

I brace myself with both hands on the arm of the chair because my knees are getting wobbly. “No. Don’t go away.”

This is obviously what he was waiting to hear. With a throaty hum, he kisses my throat again and at the same time reaches around to slide his hands beneath my baggy shirt.

He caresses my breasts and belly and keeps kissing me until I’m hotly aroused. Then he unties my shorts and slides them and my panties down my legs.

He’s aroused too. I can feel the bulge of his erection in his pants as he pushes it against me. I can hear him working on his trousers, and then I feel his cock rubbing against my back and bottom purposefully.

I’m panting and trying not to whimper as he bends me over the arm of the chair, parts my legs, and slides his erection inside me.

He fucks me like that, fast and forceful and urgent. I’m helpless and uncomfortable and come to a fast, deep climax and then another one as he thrusts into me hard while my shorts are still bunched up around my ankles.

After I’ve gasped and whined through my second orgasm, Mack makes strained sounds of effort. He yanks himself out and slaps his cock against my bottom until he’s grunting out his own release.

We’re both limp and breathless afterward. It takes a minute for me to recover enough to straighten up .

Mack helps me stand and turns me around. We stare at each other for a minute.

I really need to pull up my shorts and panties, but I don’t.

“It was always so good with you,” I say at last. “The best I ever had. But it was never this good. It was never like this.” Then I add in a small voice. “Was it?”

He shakes his head. Licks his lips. “No. It was never this good.”

There’s not much else to say. He finally steps back, and I pull up my pants and tie the string so the shorts won’t slip back down.

Then Mack says, “I guess we can start thinking about dinner.”

So that’s what we do.