Chapter 28

28

GINA

I was so excited to see Porter that I didn't consider anything else. All our careful secrecy went out the window after the exhausting day I had. My shoulder still hurt, though it was becoming clear it wasn't broken or torn. I would likely have a large bruise in a day or two. My head was throbbing. The pressure, both emotional and physical, had drained my resources and generated a massive headache. I wanted nothing more than to curl up with Porter in bed, turn out all the lights, and sleep.

Standing at the entrance to the treatment center, his arms around me, was the next best thing. There was a chill in the air that evening. A wind blew through the parking lot, touching all of the participants. The residents had been spooked. Those who could be evacuated to other treatment centers had been sent over by hospital vans. Those who requested release were being processed slowly, allowed to wait outside while their paperwork went through.

The nurses and orderlies were pacing, staying close to the patients until they were declared competent one by one and allowed to leave of their own accord. My boss and my boss's boss were both there, talking to the police and to reporters. The flashing lights of the squad cars lent the entire scene an eerie disco vibe, like it wasn't quite real.

Once I had found Porter, I latched onto him, as if without his support I would fall. He guided me back to the table and helped me to sit down, staying with me, holding my hand. I wanted to tell him everything, but I didn't know how to start. I wished I could use telepathy to show him images of the trauma I had suffered. I would share an image of me crouched in the hallway, glass raining down, another of me being hustled to safety by the orderlies, and a third of George being brought out in handcuffs.

They had hidden me in the break room, leaving Cindy to babysit me while the real action took place on the floor above. I had heard the police storm the building. Their boots on the stairs had sounded like a stampede. They had found me as they searched the building, room by room, assuming the worst.

"He's in room 204C," I told the officer who rescued me. "He has a gun, and he's locked in."

She radioed that information to whoever was listening, helping me back out through the lobby, to the parking lot. Cindy led me to the picnic table and sat down beside me. I hadn't had the energy to tell my story then, just accepted a bottled water and put my head down while the earth spun. Five minutes later, the doors opened, and five police officers strode by, George between them.

He didn't see me. He was moving with his head down, muttering to himself. They walked him right past me and settled him into the back seat of one of the squad cars. A moment later, the arresting officers got in the front seat and drove away. My nightmare was over.

Police had converged on me, eager to get the details. I told them what I could, promising to come to the station the next morning to give a full report. They asked me not to leave, and I agreed, having no ability or desire to drive myself anywhere. Cindy had gone home after an hour, just a few minutes before Porter found me.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" she'd asked.

"I'm fine," I assured her.

She hesitated. "You don't look fine."

"They just want to cover their bases," I said. "You don't need to stick around. I'll be fine."

"Okay." She leaned down to hug me.

I hugged her back, thankful for her concern but too tired from her shift for much else. Then Porter had appeared, just popped out of the mass of people around me, and I couldn't believe my good fortune. I stumbled into his arms in relief, feeling all the terror and anxiety of the day disperse.

"You don't have to tell me what happened," Porter said, bless him.

"I want to tell you," I insisted. "But later."

He threaded an arm around my shoulder and let me lean against him. He was my rock in a turbulent sea, my feast after a day of fasting. I loved him far more than I should have.

Our reunion did not escape the notice of my employers.

My boss, Ray Thompson, manager of the treatment center, spied us from across the parking lot. He approached, not with anger but with barely concealed disappointment and just a touch of frustration.

"Ms. Matthews," he said.

"Mr. Thompson," I responded, too tired to stand up.

"Porter Hayes." Porter stood for the both of us, offering his hand in greeting.

Mr. Thompson took it but looked as if he had just tasted some bad fish. "Mr. Hayes. You were a patient at this facility recently, were you not?"

"Yeah." Porter sat back down, engulfing me in his arms, oblivious to the consequences. I leaned back into the embrace. If Mr. Thompson wanted to fire me, that was just fine. As long as it wouldn't interfere with my evening alone with Porter, I couldn't care less.

"We didn't start our relationship until he was released," I offered.

Mr. Thompson nodded. "I think it might be best if you took a week off while we sort everything out."

"I'm already on vacation," I said.

"Then take an additional week," he snapped.

I agreed with a sigh, burying my nose in Porter's chest. Another two police officers came to talk to me before someone finally told me I could go home. I stood up. They had impounded my car. After the crazed joyride we had been on and my own description of drugs in the glove box, they wanted to be sure there wasn't more evidence to be found. I allowed them to take it, not putting up a fight. It was too late, and I was too tired.

"Come on, I'll drive you home," Porter said.

I linked my fingers through his and smiled wearily. We threaded our way through a parking lot that was still crammed with people and vehicles. Climbing into the cab of his truck, I felt the weight of the world lift from my shoulders. I gave up all responsibility for myself and for anyone else, letting Porter take the wheel. It was just a five-minute drive to my apartment building. I pointed out the parking garage underneath the structure. He was able to fit his truck into one of the longer spaces in the back, and we climbed out, ready to throw in the towel.

"Please stay the night," I asked, hoping he would agree.

"Of course. I'm not leaving you alone this time," he answered easily, walking me to the elevator.

We rode up in silence, none of the frantic foreplay of two nights ago passing between us. My door was still open when we reached it, the broken television lying in the middle of the room. I shuddered, remembering the abduction when I hadn't known the assailant was my own brother. I could still feel the carpet against my cheek as he dragged me across it. I found Porter's arm and clutched it.

He reassured me, turning around to fasten the dead bolt. "We'll clean that up in the morning."

I nodded. I didn't even have the energy to brush my teeth, but Porter insisted that I get into my pajamas. I wanted to go to the bed, to crawl inside and not wake up for a week. He went to my dresser, pulled open the first large drawer, and scanned the contents.

"Bottom drawer," I sighed.

He opened it and pulled out a matching set of pajamas. Setting them on the bed, he led me to the bathroom. I followed, limp as a rag doll, docile as a child. My bathroom featured a small tub, which I had almost never used. He fit the stopper into the drain and began running water.

"Porter…" I whispered, almost asleep on my feet.

He took hold of the hem of my shirt, gently drawing it up over my head. I felt fresh air against my skin, and it was like being set free. Suddenly it seemed that my clothes were the problem. They contained the memories of that evil car ride, and if I could shed them, I could rid myself of the trauma. Two pebbles of glass clattered to the floor, rolling away under the sink.

Porter stepped close, accepting me into a light embrace as he worked the clasp of my bra free. One more piece of the wall came down. I was safe in my own bathroom, with the love of my life. He undid my fly, helping me out of my pants and underwear, until I stood fully naked in front of him. For some reason, the act of undressing lent me more energy. I felt like I could see again, like climbing into bed wasn't so urgent.

He slipped out of his own shirt, throwing it down to mix with my discarded items. Testing the water, he found it to his liking. Frowning, he rose to examine my shoulder. I could feel the whisper of gentle fingertips along my bruised arm. Then he pressed his lips to it, and the pain vanished.

Without speaking a word, he helped me into the tub. The water was hot, so hot that it chased away the nightmares. I sat slowly, immersing myself inch by inch until my entire lower half was submerged in the blissful heat. Porter kissed my knuckles, smiling encouragingly before reaching for the bodywash.

He drizzled soap on a loofah and began washing me. Up one arm and down the next, he scrubbed in gentle circles, scooping water up to wash the suds away. He encouraged me to lean forward, drawing the sponge up and down my back. It felt so good. He was being so tender, such a stark contrast to my brother.

"Did you drink?" I heard myself ask. Even though I knew he was sober, I wanted to hear it in his own words.

"I went to a meeting," he said, inching one of my feet above the surface.

I lay back, allowing him to continue. As he rubbed the loofah over the sole of my foot, I felt a sob growing in the back of my throat. I let it out, releasing all the tension I had been carrying. He stripped his jeans off, flinging his boxers and his socks onto the back of the toilet, and sloshed into the tub beside me.

There wasn't enough room for the two of us. My hips squeezed painfully against the sides. Water spilled over the rim, soaking the bathmat. I didn't care. I circled my arms around his neck and cried into his naked chest. He just held me, smoothing damp hair from my eyes.

"It was awful," I said finally. He didn't respond, just listened. I spilled the entire story, from the altercation in the entryway to the desperate flight through the city. I relived the parked car behind the 7-Eleven and the gunshots on the second floor.

When I was done, he laughed. The sound was both jarring and refreshing, as if maybe the event hadn't been so traumatic. "You are such a badass," he replied, pulling me in for a kiss.

I found myself grinning. After all I had been through, I didn't feel like a badass. I felt like a flower that had been crushed beneath someone's shoe and peeled off the sidewalk. But from his point of view—no, from any point of view—I had saved myself. I had saved everyone in the treatment center, and I had probably saved George as well. I fell into the kiss with renewed vigor.

One arm was crushed beneath the weight of my body, submerged in the tub. With the other, I pulled him closer. He slid his palm down the curve of my spine, lighting a fire deep in my core. Suddenly, falling asleep wasn't so important; it had been replaced at the top of the food chain by something even more primal.

He cupped my rear end, trying to bring me around on top of him. My knee hit the side of the tub, blocked by the porcelain wall. I flinched. There was no room to maneuver, and I wanted desperately to drape myself all over him.

"Let's get out," I breathed, hauling myself to my feet.

He watched me land safely outside the tub before following. I grabbed a towel, running it down my body superficially before flinging it over to him. As he dispensed with the worst of the runoff, I pulled the bathroom door open and raced to the bed. He joined me in a moment, and we fell down together, laughing.

Now that we had room to move, he climbed on top of me, stretching my arms out. He kissed me hungrily, first on my lips, then my jaw, and then my neck. I felt my body awakening to the new sensations, growing in power like a rosebud in the sun. I arched up to encourage him, to stretch my spine and press my chest into his. He took the invitation, kissing his way down to my breasts.

I sighed at the first brush of his tongue against my flesh. All thoughts of George vanished, replaced by a hunger that had only one cure. Porter found my nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth. He slipped one arm under the curve of my back, giving him leverage to work his magic. I spread my legs automatically, yearning for him at the center of my being.

As he sucked, he pressed gently against me in a slow rhythm that promised more to come. I matched his thrusts, leaning into his embrace and relaxing when he pulled away. He responded by abandoning my breast and searching lower, down to my navel. Painting it with kisses, his tongue explored the indentation in my abdomen as if I were a delicate dessert.

I knew where he was going, and I wanted to stop him. I didn't want to be the star of the show—I wanted to share my passion. I reached down to his shoulders, gently guiding his lips back to my mouth. With soft fingers, I traced the curve of his spine down to his buttocks. They were so firm and fit magically into my hands. After giving them each a squeeze, I skimmed around to the front, finding him stiff and ready for action.

Using two hands, I primed the pump, massaging his manhood from base to tip. He put his hands on either side of my ears and let me touch him, rocking into my embrace. When I was ready, I guided his head to my entrance. As soon as he was in position, Porter took over, lowering himself carefully into my canal.

I let him fill me, feeling my passage expand to accommodate him. The sensation was so delicious, so welcome, and so comforting. After the explosion of activity and the aftermath, sex burned all the negativity away. My body came alive but in a gentle, glowing way that made every fiber of my being sing.

He just sat there for a long moment, completing me, buried deep within my soul. When he moved, it was with luxurious strokes, more refined than frantic, like fine dining compared to ravenous consumption. I ached every time he withdrew and rejoiced when he reconnected.

Together, we built slowly toward the finale. I pushed upward, eager to take every inch of what he had to give. He restrained himself to the very end, allowing me to luxuriate in the sensation. I rose by degrees to the top of the mountain, as if I were floating into the sky on gossamer wings. At the very peak, he sped up, hammering his tool into place, breaking the gentility of our encounter.

I cried out, thrust over the edge into an abyss of pleasure. We came as one, grinding together in our relief. I felt my inner muscles grip his cock, pulsing around him with infinite delight. He pressed forward, emptying himself into me, crawling even deeper.

I inhaled triumph, weary from the journey. He relaxed on top of me, dropping his head into the space between my neck and shoulder. I felt the comforting weight of his body, his cock still inside me, and drifted deliciously toward slumber. The last thing I remembered was Porter disengaging, helping me find the pillow and climb beneath the covers. I fell asleep with his arms around me, safe and sound after a whirlwind of a day.