The Price of Freedom

She was crying.

A feeling of helplessness washed over him, and he tucked himself back against her, stroking her back in what he hoped was a comforting way.

"I’m so sorry," he whispered. "I’m so sorry I hurt you. Please stop crying, Bethany. I won’t do it again, I promise."

That’s not why I’m crying," she replied, her voice breaking. "I’m scared, Jess. What will we do if this Jenner woman finds out you’re following her? What if she’s with other Pilgrims? They might hurt you."

"I won’t let them hurt me," he said.

"No?" she asked. "You think you’re so powerful? It’s a risk and you know it. Don’t you understand?

We’re free, Jess. We have money. We have time. There’s nobody in the whole damn universe who knows or cares where we’re going. Why are we following this woman when we could be making a life for ourselves?"

"Because I have to," he said, still holding her. "I have to do this, for my sister and for myself."

"You aren’t even sure where to find her," she said quietly. "There are a thousand places she could be, a million places. We could look for her the rest of our lives and never find her. Do you really think your sister would want you to waste your freedom on some stupid quest for revenge?"

He stayed silent, trying not to think of what Calla would say. Calla would agree with Bethany, he knew it in his heart.

But Calla and Bethany were women. They needed protection from the harsh things of life, couldn’t possibly understand why he had to find Jenner, to kill her. Every time Bethany sniffled, pain ripped through him. He hated this; hate the fact that she was suffering. He had to get her to stop crying or he would end up crazy.

So he lifted his head again, this time taking her mouth in a kiss that was completely different from that he’d given her before. This was a kiss meant to seduce. He nibbled at her lips, ignoring the salty taste of her tears, and she opened before him.

He pulled her entire body forward on the chair so that her br**sts were pressing against his chest and her legs wrapped around him. He dug his fingers into her hair, holding her still for his touch, and as his tongue delved into her mouth, she whimpered. She shifted against him and his c**k leapt to attention.

There was nothing new in that; it seemed like he’d had a full erection since the first time he’d seen her. No matter how much they made love, it was never enough.

He pulled his mouth away, ignoring her little sigh of disappointment as the kiss ended. His lips fell to her neck. There he traced the lines of her throat with one hand, each light touch followed by a kiss. He was filled with the realization of how special she was to him, how much his happiness was intricately and inevitably wound up in hers. He didn’t have any way to tell her his feelings with words, though. He had to let his touch speak; he could only hope she would understand.

She whispered something as he kissed the hollow at the bottom of her throat, but he ignored it. If she was telling him to stop, he didn’t want to hear it. He had to show her how much she meant to him, that they were made for each other.

She sighed and leaned back in the chair, allowing her arms to fall to one side. He took advantage of the change by gently opening the front of her blouse. It was soft, silky. So different from anything she’d worn on the Pilgrim station that he’d been concerned at fist that she wouldn’t like it.

She had loved it, just as she loved all the new clothing he brought her. She treated each item like an exquisite gift, though they were clothing any other woman would take for granted. She took nothing for granted, he thought. It was just one more thing he loved about Bethany. She was so very alive.

He kissed down the opening of her shirt, enjoying the feel of her br**sts rising on either side of his face.

He moved down along the curve of one, dropping light kisses on it and nosing the underside of the swell with infinite gentleness. She gasped, and he smiled. He did the same to the other side, taking care not to touch her ni**les. Indeed, fabric clung to them, twin points keeping the silky fabric from falling away to either side. He sat back for a minute, just enjoying the sight of her. She was spread before him wantonly, her face filled with nothing more than sheer pleasure in the moment.

He reached up with both hands, cupping her breast lightly through the fabric, allowing it to slide back and forth across her ni**les until she shivered. The tight tips pressed against his fingers, and she arched her back in the chair.

"Jess…"

He smiled, then pushed the cloth aside. Her br**sts were so lovely. Not too large, but full and round, gentle mounds topped with red ni**les that cried out for some kind of attention from him. He wouldn’t leave them wanting, he vowed.

Leaning forward, he took one of them into his mouth, sucking it deeply. She gasped, and raised one had to cup his head. He ignored her, moving back slowly until her nipple was free. She whimpered a protest, but before she could do more, he started on the other nipple. Back and forth he went, sucking deeply one time, flicking lightly with his tongue the next. She was whimpering more and more, her lower body twisting in the chair. The time had come to move to the next level, he thought with satisfaction. Soon she would be screaming for him.

Careful not to break the sensual spell that had come over them, he trailed one finger down across her stomach, pausing only briefly at her navel, then slid it beneath the loose waistband of the silky pants that matched her top. She had loved this particular outfit immediately, he remembered with a smile. It was sensual and modern, but also similar to what she had worn most her life. The pants were full, almost as full as a skirt, and they flowed around her as she walked like a bright river. She had laughed at herself when she’d first seen herself wearing them in a mirror, but she looked beautiful.

The ache in his c**k grew stronger; a damp spot appeared between her legs. She wanted him almost as much as he wanted her, he though in satisfaction. For one second he was tempted to simply rip the pants off and pull her down.

No.

This was about giving her pleasure, showing her how much she meant to him, he reminded himself.

Beside that, she would be upset if he ripped the pants, he thought with a grin. No matter that a thousand other women owned pants just like them, they were precious to her.

Instead, he allowed his fingers to reach down past the elastic, pulling it lower as he went. There it was, the forest of dark brown curls that marked her most private place. He touched her there, fingers growing damp as her moisture washed over him. There was her clit, a tiny piece of flesh that had the power to give so much pleasure that the world was hardly big enough to contain it. He rubbed one finger against it, feeling the slick flesh glide smoothly over the rough skin of his finger. Above him, she shivered. Oh, she liked that all right.