Chương 100

Louis followed her out of the study, down the hall, and up the stairs. Willa led him to her bedroom at the end of the hall, with a window facing the dark pines. She closed the door behind them and locked it. Louis pulled her to him and kissed her again, backing her toward the bed. They fell onto the mattress together. He shifted over her, and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. He kissed her neck, and she arched against him.

"Louis," she breathed. He tugged her T-shirt over her head, exposing her round breasts in a simple white bra, then kissed down to them. He buried his face in the warmth between them, inhaling her scent. She smelled of clean skin and faint laundry soap. His cock throbbed against the mattress. He shifted enough to unfasten his pants and push them down with his boxers. Willa sat up at the same time and opened her jeans. He caught the waistband and helped pull them down her legs.

She kicked them off the end of the bed, leaving only her white panties. A wet spot darkened the front. He smelled her arousal.

"Touch me," she whispered. He slid his hand into her panties. She was wet and hot. He explored her pussy, his fingers moving through the folds, circling her clit.

"Don't stop," she gasped. He pulled his hand free and hooked his fingers under her panties. Willa lifted her hips for him, and he drew them down her thighs. He tossed them aside, then kissed the inside of her leg. She reached for him at the same time, her fingers closing around his cock. He shifted onto his back and guided her over him until they were lying in opposite directions, her pussy near his face and her head lowering toward his cock.

She braced one hand on the mattress, uncertain for a second, then took him into her mouth as he lowered his head and tasted her. She was salty and wet. He licked her slowly, exploring her with his tongue. She groaned and sucked his cock. Warmth enveloped him. Her tongue worked around the head as she took him deeper. He closed his eyes and thought of Élise, of how she had pleasured him. Willa was more awkward, but more eager. He opened his eyes and stared at her pussy.

The sight made him harder, and he went back to licking her with more hunger. She made a muffled sound around him, his name broken under her breath. He licked her clit harder, and she gasped with him still in her mouth. Her hips moved as he ate her out. She had stopped being careful. He wasn't either. He wanted to make her come, to taste her orgasm. It came suddenly. She cried out around his cock, her thighs trembling on either side of his head. He felt her spasm against his tongue and swallowed her juices.

It was different from Angelique and Gladice, but just as good. He didn't stop until she pushed him away, panting. He pulled his cock from her mouth and moved up beside her. She was flushed, her glasses askew on her nose. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking himself as he looked at her face and naked body.

"Come on me," she whispered. He nodded, his breath short. He positioned himself inches away from her head, and she watched with wide eyes as he stroked faster. When he felt it rising, he groaned and pointed his cock at her. The first jet of cum landed on her cheek, the second on her glasses. He kept going, painting her face with his sperm. He watched it drip down her skin, over her lips, and onto her neck. When he finished, she was a mess, but he liked the sight of it.

She looked at him through one clear lens and one smeared with white.

"I've never had someone do that to me before."

"Do you like it?" he asked, still breathing hard.

"I don't know." She reached up and wiped her cheek with her fingers, then looked at the semen on them.

"It's strange. And messy."

"I think it's hot," he said.

"You look hot like that." She smiled.

"You're a pervert."

"I'd call that innovative." He lay down beside her and propped himself on one elbow.

"Next time, I'll come inside you."

"Next time?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Next round," he corrected.

"Looks like I'll spend the night here."

"Will you? What about Angelique and Gladice?" He fondled her breasts with one hand.

"I think they will understand."

"Are you going to tell them?"

"Of course," he said.

"I don't keep secrets from them. Not anymore."

"Good." She took her glasses off and cleaned them with a piece of tissue.

"I don't like secrets either."

"Then we have something in common."

"More than you think." She looked at him.

"Now what?"

"Now," he said, "let's clean up your face. Then we can have another round." She smiled.

"Alright. Lead the way." They went to the bathroom and entered the shower together. Water streamed down their bodies.

"How many women have you showered with?" she asked, rinsing her glasses under the showerhead.

"I lost count after a while," he said.

"But not many outside the Dominion."

"It's a bit weird, isn't it? Being so intimate with someone you just met." She rubbed her face and washed away the cum.

"I think we are way past the stage of having just met." He turned her around and washed her back.

"Don't you?"

"Yes. But still."

"Still what?"

"I'm used to being alone." She tilted her head back and let the water run through her hair.

"I've never had to share my space with anyone before."

"And how does it feel?" he asked, working shampoo into her hair.

"It feels like I'm losing control." She rinsed the foam out.

"And I hate losing control. But at the same time, I like it." The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. He smiled and kissed the back of her neck.

"That's a good thing."

"Is it?" She turned to face him.

"I'm not sure. I think it's a weakness."

"Why?"

"Because it means you have power over me. And I don't like anyone having power over me."

"I'm not trying to have power over you." He washed her breasts, feeling their weight in his hands.

"I'm just trying to be intimate with you."

"Intimacy is power," she said.

"The more you know someone, the more you can hurt them. And the more they can hurt you."

"Then let's make a deal," he said, rinsing the soap from her breasts.

"We won't hurt each other. Intentionally."

"That's a weak promise," she said.

"People hurt each other all the time, even when they don't mean to."

"I know." He looked at her.

"But I want to love you, Willa. I want to share my life with you and with the others. And I don't want to live in fear of being hurt. Do you?"

"No." She looked away.

"But I don't know how to do it. I've never been in love before."

"Then we'll figure it out together." He turned off the water and took a large towel from the rack.

"With Angi and Gladie. They both like you, you know."

"Do they?" She raised an eyebrow.

"I thought they were just tolerating me because they have to."

"Not at all." He wrapped the towel around her and began to dry her skin.

"They like smart and pretty girls. And you are both." Willa's cheeks flushed.

"You're biased."

"Maybe." He kissed her.

"But I'm also right." She smiled.

"Alright. I believe you."

"Good." He dried himself with another towel.

"Now let's go back to bed." They returned to the bedroom and lay down on the bed together. He took her in his arms, and she rested on his chest. His cock stirred as he felt her breasts against him. He wanted to be inside her this time. He kissed her again and rolled on top of her. She spread her legs, and he positioned himself at her entrance.

"Ready?" he asked. She nodded.

"Yes." He pushed himself into her slowly. She was tighter than he expected. He felt her stretch around him as he entered her. He heard her gasp. He paused, letting her adjust to his size.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she breathed.

"It's just been too long since I've done this." He pulled out a little, then pushed back in. She moaned. He began to move, setting a slow rhythm at first. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper. He increased his speed, feeling her wet heat around him. He looked at her face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. She was beautiful. He leaned down and kissed her.

"Look at me," he said. She opened her eyes and looked at him. He took in her flushed face, her glasses slightly askew, her thin freckles scattered across her nose. His cock throbbed at the sight of her like this, so open and vulnerable beneath him.

"You feel so good," he said, his voice rough.

"You too," she whispered.

"Don't stop." He increased the pace, driving into her harder. Her breath hitched with each thrust. He wanted to watch her come, to see her lose control completely. He shifted slightly, letting his cock hit a different spot inside her. She gasped, her back arching off the bed. He knew he had found the right place. He focused on that spot, hitting it again and again. She dug her nails into his shoulders, her thighs trembling.

"I'm close," she moaned.

"Come for me," he said, his voice hoarse. She cried out, her body convulsing beneath him. He felt her pussy tighten around him, and that was all it took. With a groan, he thrust deep one last time and emptied himself inside her. He collapsed on top of her, both of them breathing hard. After a moment, he rolled off her and lay beside her, their bodies slick with sweat. Louis said, "I just realized something." Willa tilted her head against him.

"What?"

"I still don't know your last name. You only gave the first one." She lifted herself onto one elbow, her hair falling across her shoulder, and looked down at him with amusement.

"I did. And you never asked the rest, so I assumed you didn't care."

"Of course I care." He ran a hand down her arm.

"I want to know who I just fucked." She laughed.

"It's Locke. Willa Locke. And I guess I am never going to forget how you asked that." His hand stopped in her hair.

"Locke." He frowned slightly. She noticed the pause and lifted her head.

"What?" Houston came back to him at once: the white wall, the polished stone, the names under museum lights. Thomas Edward Locke. At the time, the name had only caught his eye. Now it was in the bed with him, attached to the woman lying against his side.

"Louis?" He looked back at her.

"Your father," he said.

"What was his name?" Her face closed a little.

"I never met him," she said.

"Why?"

"What was his name?" She held his gaze for another beat. Then she said, "Thomas. You've heard of him?" He tried to keep his voice even.

"No. I just know the name." He paused.

"Was his middle name Edward?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Yes. How did you know that?"

"I saw that name in Houston," he said.

"At the memorial." Willa sat back, her hair falling away from her face. She kept looking at him, but her face had changed.

"You were there," she said quietly. He nodded.

"With my father during the state visit." She was quiet for a long time. At last she said, "My father was in the city when the nukes hit. My mother was pregnant with me. She survived only because she was visiting a friend in Dallas that week. She moved to Boston after. Never remarried. Never talked much about him." She looked at the ceiling. Louis said nothing.

"She worked all the time," Willa went on.

"Accounting. Then office admin. She got sick when I was in high school and told me it was stress. Then she got better for a while and told me she'd been right. Then she got worse after I got into MIT." She gave a short breath through her nose.

"She died the first semester of my second year. I took a flight from Munich back for the funeral, and listened to people tell me I was lucky to be smart because at least I'd be able to make something of myself." She shook her head.

"That was the end of the family." Louis reached out and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

"I'm sorry." She looked back at him.

"It's strange, isn't it?" she said.

"What?"

"That you saw his name. That he died in the same city where you were, years before we ever met." Her mouth curved a little.

"Makes you wonder if things were always going to end up like this. With us here. Together." He did not answer. He kept holding her hand.

"I want to show you something," Louis said.

"What?" He got out of bed, found his pants on the floor, and took the half-ruined locket from the pocket. He came back to the bed and handed it to her. She turned it over in her palm, her thumb brushing the broken edge where his name had been.

"What is this?"

"It was in Houston," he said.

"I found it there. Or it found me." His mouth moved without humor.

"I never knew whose it was." She held it up to the light. Her thumb moved to the broken hinge and pressed once, then again.

"I can fix this," she said. He raised an eyebrow.

"You can?"

"I'm good with my hands." She looked at him and gave the smallest smile.

"I always have been."

"Alright." He took the locket back and set it on the nightstand.

"Fix it. And open it. Tell me what's inside." She got out of bed and walked to the dresser where her backpack was. She came back with a small leather tool roll and sat at the edge of the mattress. Louis picked up the locket and gave it back to her. He watched as she worked it open with a pair of fine tweezers and a miniature screwdriver. Her hands were steady, her movements precise. After a few minutes, she separated the two halves without breaking the remaining hinge. She opened the locket and looked inside.

Then she went still. Louis leaned forward. Inside, under the warped oval glass, was a miniature portrait. Heat, smoke, and time had faded it, but the face was still clear enough: a young woman with dark hair pinned back, pale skin, and a serious mouth. For a second, Willa did not touch it. Then she lifted one hand and traced the line of the cheek through the glass. Her face changed, though she barely moved. Her voice was very soft.

"That's my mother." Louis looked from the portrait to her face and saw it at once now that he had been told: the set of the eyes, the line of the mouth when she was not smiling, even the set of the jaw. He had been holding a part of her family in his pocket for weeks and never known. He reached out and put his hand over hers on the locket. She did not look up at him. She kept looking at the face inside.

"She was younger here," she whispered.

"Before everything." He nodded once. He had no words. Willa finally looked up at him. Her eyes were wet. She closed the locket gently and set it on the bed between them.

"I guess we're keeping it," she said.

"I guess so." She swallowed once, then said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For saving me from the church. For not leaving me in Atlanta. For being here." She hesitated.

"For being you." He took her face in his hands and kissed her slowly. She kissed him back, her hands holding his wrists. Then she pulled back just enough to speak against his mouth.

"Stay with me tonight," she said.

"Just me."

"Yes," he whispered. They lay back down together. She turned off the lamp. The room went dark, and they lay without speaking, listening to each other breathe. In the morning, he would decide what it meant.