nibbles: Great part. How soon to kissing?
Very soon.
killjoy: Kind of cool it being Michael with the visions.
First of all, thanks for reading this fic, too. Second, I'm glad you like Michael having the visions. I'm usually adamant about portraying characters as the anti-hero rather than the traditional hero, but I wanted to write a fic where Michael's just this amazingly heroic guy, hence him being the one with the visions.
Christina: Anyway, I don't think I mentioned it, but I love the titles for your chapters April.
Thanks! I love coming up with titles for things, and I'll admit that I really do like these chapter titles. I can't take full credit for them, though. Some of them are song titles, and some of them are modified song titles. The title of this chapter is actually a song by the group Mogwai.
Krista: Seems kind of lame that natural forces and unnatural forces are against her.
Yeah, basically everything is against Maria right now (except for Michael, of course.) So it kind of sucks to be her, but . . . at least she has him!
tequathisy: Who's trying to kill Maria? Billy, Mother Nature, Fate . . . basically everything.
CandyLand: Michael/Maria have started a great friendship, which I think is leaning toward more on both parts?
Oh, yeah, for sure. It's leaning towards more on both parts. And this isn't like Passion, where everything is very slow and gradual. Things happen a lot faster in this fic. So Michael, for instance, is already completely in love with her, because . . . well, he just is. And he knows that he is. And as for Maria . . . well, how could she not start to feel things for Michael? He's hot and he's saving her life. Sounds like a winning combination to me.
singerchic4: can't a guy catch a break?
Apparently not.
spacegirl23: Thanks, I'm glad you like the premise of this story! The idea originally occurred to me after watching the movie The Butterfly Effect, and then I tweaked it and have since realized that it's exactly like a past storyline on the show Lost.
Thanks for the feedback! Enjoy this part.
Chapter 9: Take Me Somewhere Nice
We’re both out of breath when we get back to her place that night. We ran all the way there. I don’t know about her, but my heart is just about beating out of my chest. We both look like we just survived an explosion, probably because we both just . . . survived an explosion. We both have smudges of dirt and ash on our faces. She has a bruise on her forehead, and I have a couple of cuts and scrapes on my arms.
“You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?” I ask, locking the door securely into place.
She sighs heavily and mumbles, “I’m not sure.”
That’s a lie. “Who would put a bomb in your car?” I think I already know.
She rakes both hands through her messy hair and looks out the window when she finally gives me a truthful answer. “I think it was Billy.”
I assumed as much. “I think it’s time you tell me about him.”
“Oh, god.” She turns around, looking terrified and distressed. “I . . .” She frowns, looking as though some of these memories are very painful to her. “After I graduated high school and ran away, I started doing some work . . . on a street corner.” She winces, very much hurt by these memories. “Billy came along, and . . . he’s just a guy who I was stupid enough to get involved with. That’s the Cliffsnotes version.”
“So, what, you guys broke up and now he’s trying to kill you? Doesn’t really make sense.” Whether she wants to or not, she needs to tell me more.
She seems to realize that, because she goes on. “He didn’t seem that bad at first, okay? He gave me a place to stay, bought me anything I ever wanted. But I started to get suspicious, because he always had all this money, but he never had a job. I asked around, and I found out . . . he’s, like, the leader of this gang. Or, it’s not really a gang. His family has these mob connections and . . . I didn’t really wanna know a whole lot, so I just tried to ignore it. And I was stupid. Because I stayed with him even after I knew he was a bad guy, and it was just a
stupid thing to do. Because one night we were out driving. He said he was gonna take me somewhere nice, and I was actually kind of excited about it. He stopped at this gas station first, though, said he needed to take care of something. So he got out of the car, and I watched him walk inside. And he said something to clerk, and then . . .” She trails off, her bottom lip trembling, her eyes glossed over with fear as she retrieves the memories. “He just shot him. He shot the guy who was working there, point-blank range, in cold blood. And I sat outside and watched it happen.
“When he got back in the car, I was crying and screaming at him. He told me it was business, that the guy was a loose end that needed to be tied up. He said if I ever said anything, he’d kill me. He’d rape me and kill me. He made me promise to keep my mouth shut, so I did. I didn’t say anything for a month. But just when the cops were about to close the case . . . I couldn’t take it anymore. So I told them everything I’d seen. They arrested Billy and put him away.
My testimony put him away. So I got the hell out of there and came here, because I didn’t want his family or his friends or anyone trying to find me. But I guess they did. Or maybe Billy got out of jail or something. I know he was up for parole a couple months ago. I don’t know. The car bomb thing, though . . . there’s no way it’s
not related to him.”
I wish I’d known this sooner. I’m not sure if it would have helped, but . . . I just wish I’d known. “We might need to leave town,” I say.
“We?” she echoes.
“Well, I’m not leaving you alone. We can go to . . . I don’t know. Didn’t you ever think about something like the Witness Protection Program?”
“No,” she says adamantly. “I don’t wanna lead a completely different life. I know my life isn’t the greatest, but it’s still
my life, you know? Or at least it is until you get another one of those skull-crushing visions.”
“We can get out of here right now,” I tell her.
“No,” she says. “No, I don’t wanna go anywhere tonight. Whoever put that bomb there could still be there.”
“Tomorrow morning then.”
She nods her head in agreement. “Fine, tomorrow morning. We can go . . . somewhere.”
“L.A.,” I suggest, remembering that she wants to go to L.A. and go swimming in the ocean.
“Yeah,” she says. “Big city. Easy to blend in. Yeah, we’ll go to L.A.”
“Yeah.” I try to sound excited about it, but how can I be? Taking a vacation is one thing. Running for your life—or
her life, as the case may be—is quite another.
“Great,” she says, sniffing back tears. “It’ll be . . . great.”
“Maria . . .”
A giant sob wracks her body, and she coils forward, covering her mouth with one of her hands as her tears flow freely. I immediately go to her and take her into my arms, holding her forcefully against me. She clings to my torso and presses her cheek against my chest, crying, whimpering another apology. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh.” I tangle one hand in her hair and smooth my other hand up and down her spine, trying to comfort her, trying to let her know without words that I’m there for her. She’s not alone. I’m not going anywhere.
She stands there with me, shuddering and sobbing for only about a minute before she slowly lifts her head and gazes up into my eyes. Her eyes are shimmering with tears, brimming with emotion, and her voice is barely above a whisper when she says, “Michael, I . . .”
I can tell she wants to say something. What it is it what I don’t know, because she never gets the words out.
“Oh, screw it.” And then she kisses me. What choice (or desire) do I have but to kiss her back?
How many times have I imagined this, imagined what it would feel like to kiss these full, luscious lips of her? And how great is it that the real thing is blowing my imagination out of the water? A kiss from Maria is everything that I hoped it would be: forceful, passionate, and exhilarating. The best part is that she doesn’t let it stop. We keep kissing, because it feels like the right thing to do.
She turns her head to the side, gasping for air, and I trail a line of kisses along her jaw and down to her neck. I find my hands roaming her body, grasping each and every inch of her I possibly can, touching her waist, cupping her bottom, tangling in her hair. All I want to do is touch her, feel her all around me. I wanted this girl before I even knew her. I’m sure of it.
I feel her insistent fingers fumbling with the buttons on my shirt, and a moment later, she rips it apart. Buttons scatter everywhere on the floor, and my shirt joins them a moment later as I shrug it off my shoulders. I return the favor to her by pulling on the hem of her shirt, lifting it up over her head. She raises her arms to assist me, and I could care less about the garment as I toss it to the side.
She shakes her hair out of her face and seeks out my lips again. I thrust my tongue into the hot cavern of her mouth and mingle it with hers as my hands crawl up her spine, seeking to undo the clasp of her bra. Nerves start to kick in for the first time, and I struggle with the simple task.
She takes over for me, stepping back and reaching behind herself to undo the clasp. She shrugs it to the floor, and her perfect breasts fall free before my awe-struck eyes. Before I can even reach out to touch them, she plasters herself against me, mating her naked front to mine. She moans in pleasure at the sensation and tosses her head backward. I seize the opportunity to press a sucking kiss against her throat and run my hands up over her hips and sides at the same time. I cup her breasts, kneading the mounds in my hands, and she moans again.
“Oh, Michael,” she gasps, digging her nails into my back, holding onto me for support. I run my thumb in small circles over her nipples, reveling in the feel of the little hardened nubs. I have to taste them.
I lift her up and carry her backward to lay her down on the couch. Her hips land on the arm of the couch, elevated and arousing. I climb on top of her, not at all graceful, and latch my mouth onto one of her mounds. Her back arches upward, and she gasps. One of her hands burrows in my hair while the other grips the back of the couch.
“Oh god,” she murmurs. Her breathing is so heavy that I can barely make out what she is saying. Don’t need to. I know what she’s feeling, because I’m feeling it, too. That’s all that matters.
I make my way lower in my exploration of her body, raining kisses over her abdomen before standing up straight to rid her of her jeans. Whatever nerves I was feeling a minute ago, whatever performance anxiety I was experiencing, is gone now. We’re two people who are meant to do this. No question about it.
I unfasten her jeans and pull them off of her legs. I drop them down beside me and take a moment to appreciate the beauty of her limbs. Long, silky smooth . . . I run my hands up the inside of her thighs and stop at her pleasure center. She closes her eyes and digs her head back into the pillow, and I hook my thumbs into the side of her thong, removing the last clothing barrier to her doorway to heaven.
She’s so beautiful. Even though she’s literally filthy following the aftermath of that explosion, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
The sense of urgency is heavy in the room. I hurriedly undo my own jeans and push them down to the floor. My boxers immediately follow, pooling at my feet in a likewise manner. I step out of both of them and then match her in my nakedness . . . and most certainly my eagerness.
She slides backward on the couch, and I lie down on top of her. She spreads her legs, and I settle myself in between, taking my erection in hand. I run it up and down along her slick folds for a moment before easing inside. All coherent thought vanishes for a moment as I revel in the feel of it, of being surrounded by her, her hot, hot heat.
Her face contorts in discomfort at first as she adjusts to the size of me, and I feel bad for doing this so suddenly, for not taking things slow and making it romantic. But when her eyes open again and she looks straight up at me, I see such energy and excitement on her face. She wants all the same things I do right now. Sometimes, there’s nothing wrong with fucking.
I try to take it slow, but I’m no good at it. I find myself lifting her legs almost up over my shoulders as I pound into her, thrashing inside of her, feeling utterly primal and out of control. I give extra power to my thrusts by keeping one foot down on the floor. Her body jolts with every synchronized undulation, and eventually, we fall right off the couch and onto the carpet.
She rolls on top of me, somehow staying joined with me, and presses her hands to my chest, keeping me pinned down as she starts to ride me. The sight of her alone is enough to make me want to cum, the look of dazed concentration on her face, the images of her bouncing breasts, and most importantly, the precise point of our connection, where her body willingly accepts mine, where we two people become just one single person.
She keeps making soft, unintelligible sounds, a whimper of pleasure here, a groan of frustration there. She leans backward, placing one hand on my thigh while keeping the other on my chest, and then she really starts to ride me at something close to a frantic pace. She circles her hips around, adding another dimension to the ride, and all I can do is smile. I love what she’s doing to me. I really can’t hold out much longer.
I don’t want to be alone in the wave of sexual inspiration, so I reach out to circle my thumb over her most sensitive bundle of nerves. For a moment, she stalls her movement and just lets me touch her, but soon she starts right back up again, tossing her head back and finishing up the ride in astonishing fashion. Her orgasm triggers my own release, and I spill my seed inside her.
She collapses on top of me, sweat-soaked and dirty, breathless and terrified. I hold her against me, completely exhausted but still needing to be touching her. The fact that I’m still inside her is too erotic for words, and all I can do is conjure up another way to make love to her. Maybe against the wall. Or in the shower. It’s a small apartment, but the possibilities are endless.
I lie next to her in bed that night, spooning up behind her after hours of sex, some of it the romantic kind, some of it the animalistic kind. We didn’t say much to each other. We just moved. Now I lie here, completely captivated by her as she sleeps, and the reality sets in again: This is a girl whose life I’m trying to save. This is a girl who is supposed to be dead already.
I smooth my hand down over her bare arm, and I can’t imagine a world without her. I don’t want to. Any world where Maria DeLuca doesn’t exist isn’t a world worth living in anymore. I need her. She’s quickly become the most important person in my life. The
only person.
I know she can’t hear me. She’s dreaming, and I’m glad she is. But I have to tell her. I have to tell her how I feel.
“I love you,” I whisper, bending down to press a soft kiss to her shoulder. I really do.
I settle in beside her after that and manage to fall asleep easily. After all, it’s been a crazy, eventful day. I don’t know about Maria, but what we did tonight, what we did
together . . . I’ve never felt so alive.
TBC . . .
-April