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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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One Silent Night
by bigdick2012h (no address provided)
***
A broken man is in love with a woman he feels is
beyond his grasp. (MF, rom)
***
Carter stood by his window, one eye on the watch on
his wrist. It was just after eleven, that magical hour
when most of the traffic died down and the
neighbourhood in the old downtown area settled in for
the night, the quiet creeping through the air with the
mist from the small stream to the west of his
apartment. Across the road he could see some early
Christmas decorations, but he knew that the real
lighting up would start in about two weeks.
She would be along soon.
He shifted the threadbare curtain a little to the side
and tried to peer down the street, attempting to see
her approach sooner, but he knew she would appear
around the corner as always, and that he would have no
chance to look at her neat little form until she does.
He looked at his watch. Another minute had passed.
She would be along soon.
He fretted restlessly when the minutes continued to
trickle away, like the incessant dripping of droplets
in the back of his mind; a tap that didn't quite close
all the way.
She would be along soon.
And then, finally, she was there. His hands tightened
around the folds of the curtain as he watched her
round the corner, his very being tightening up in
anticipation as his eyes followed her hungrily. She
was wearing her dark, mid-thigh-length coat, and he
could see her shapely leg taking carefully measured
steps.
Her head was bent down, as always, obscuring her
features, and he wondered once again what he would see
if she looked up. He knew a little about her – her
skin was milky pale in comparison to her dark coat.
Her hair was also dark, cut in a straight, no-frills
bob that reached her chin and was usually tucked away
behind her ear. Her arms were always folded across her
chest, as if she was trying to get away from her
surroundings by climbing into herself. She was a
picture of despondency and hopelessness as she walked
down the pavement, the mist from the river swirling
around her legs with ghostlike tendrils.
She was breaking his heart.
He followed her with his eyes, knowing her pattern
well. Under the next streetlamp she would stop, bend
over to adjust her shoe in the weak glow, and then
continue around the corner to wherever she was going.
And he would have to wait until tomorrow to see her
again. What did it say about him, about how low he's
sunk, that these two minutes of watching an unknown
girl walk down the street was the culmination of all
his hopes and dreams? That his every day was spent in
a state of endless waiting, waiting? He was forever
waiting for something – for the night to be over so he
can get up, for the shops to open so he can struggle
down the stairs with his bad knee screaming in protest
to buy coffee and a microwave dinner. For the
afternoon to pass so he could sit on the small little
balcony his apartment was outfitted with and watch the
sun set over the dingy part of the city horizon he was
privy to.
He watched her as she stopped on cue, her fingers
busily tweaking at the straps of her shoes. More than
anything, he was always, always waiting for her.
She got up after a few seconds and his eyes followed
her as she proceeded down the street, her pace a
little faster now, as if she was suddenly aware of the
hour and the fact that she was a pretty girl, walking
alone. When he could no longer see her, he pulled the
curtains in place and turned around, facing the dingy
apartment he owned.
And deep down, he knew, the longest wait of all was
the countdown of years that would mark the end of his
miserable existence.
*
"What can I get for you?" Mia asked the two men who
were sitting in a booth in the back. They were both
dressed in similar casual attire – jeans, dark
jackets, sneakers – but she knew without asking that
they were cops. They had that shrewd look in their
eyes, the restless air of inquisitive minds.
Her shoulders tingled and she forced herself not to
twitch nervously. They were just out for a meal, maybe
discussing a breakthrough or a dead-end in a recent
case. Nothing to worry about. Cops and officers came
in here all the time for coffee and doughnuts and
meals.
They are not looking for you. They are not looking for
you. They are not looking for you.
She chanted her mantra repeatedly in her mind as her
fingers scribbled down their order. It was never wise
to allow cops – or anybody else, for that matter – to
sense your fear. It gave them reason to start
questioning things she preferred to remain
unquestioned – what's your name? Where are you from?
Her feet were killing her. Her swollen ankle was
throbbing from her earlier slip on a wet floor, and
she wanted nothing more than for the day to end so she
could go home to Nikita. Her back was no longer aching
as much as burning from carrying the heavy trays back
and forth, the pain a constant companion in her lower
back. She shot a quick glance at the clock on the wall
behind the counter as she unloaded dirty dishes in the
sink and swiped her tray down where a cup had left a
ring.
It was a few minutes to ten – closing time was ten
thirty – so she had a while to go yet. Angelo had
gotten one of the girls to wrap threadbare tinsel
around the clock and cash register. Despite the fact
that it was clearly older than the shop, it was still
ugly and gaudy, a glittery, cheap string of false
cheer that did nothing but highlight the shop's worn-
down visage.
She ended her shift at ten thirty with an argument
with Angelo, the owner and manager, who wanted her to
stay for 'stock taking', his term for sexually
harassing the girls when there was nobody around to
help them. She refused and, as a result, lost her job.
Her heart sank at the idea of finding something new,
again. How much longer? she wondered as she packed the
things in her locker over into her bag. How much
longer was she going to struggle through life like
this? Every day was a fight to survive. There were
bills to be paid, a house to clean, a little sister to
care for. Somebody needed to put food on the table,
needed to make sure the police didn't discover them
and send them back to...
Not going to happen, she thought. No matter what
happened, they were never going back to that dark,
dark place they'd escaped from six years ago. She was
twenty-three now, old enough by law to become her
sister's legal guardian, if they needed to take a
legal route for any reason. She could only hope that
would never happen. If there was ever any questions,
any queries, she would pack up their things and they
would leave. Again. They'd done it before, when it
seemed necessary – it was so easy to disappear into
the night, after all.
She clutched the black carry-all that held an extra
shirt, some clean socks, a comb and a few tampons in
case she ever needed them unexpectedly. The cheap
second-hand cell phone was stashed in the pocket of
her coat, where she could feel it vibrate if Nikita
phoned her.
She was in a bigger hurry than usual, walking as fast
as she could on her sore ankle and looking around her
edgily. The shadows seemed denser, the streetlights
dimmer, the air quieter.
She hated this part of the city during the night. It
was dark and it smelled like old trash and the murky,
filthy water of the little stream on the other side of
the dilapidated railing.
She was being stupid, Mia decided. She has been
walking this route every night for the past three
years, and nothing has ever happened to her before.
She swallowed her fear and walked out from under the
tree. The rest had not done her ankle good. It was
cooling down and stiffening up and she winced each
time she stepped on it. She limped around the corner
that would take her down the semi-nice street with the
old buildings. Most of them had been townhouses in
their hey-days, but they had fallen into slight
disrepair since. She imagined living in one of them.
It would be warm, and the roof wouldn't leak in eleven
places every time it rained. In the winter, she would
light a fire in the living room, and she and Nikita
would sit in front of it.
And maybe the sky would rain money and Unicorns soon.
*
Carter managed to convince himself not to watch for
her again. How much longer was he going to wait for a
miracle that was not going to happen? His dark-haired
girl was never going to do anything else except walk
past his building. He'd considered going downstairs at
eleven more times than he could count, but three
guesses as to how she would react to a man waiting to
talk to her at that time of night.
He had tried to follow her a few times, but his knee
was so bad that he couldn't keep up, not without being
seen. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her
into taking a different route. She was his fantasy,
his perfect vision of innocence and beauty and hope.
No matter how the weather looked – whether it was a
balmy spring evening, or an icy cold snowing one, she
walked down his street every single night. He'd been
watching her for close to three years now, and he knew
that she was off one Sunday a month, always the last
one.
He wished, for the hundredth time, that he knew more
about her. He wanted to know where she worked, wanted
to know her name. Was she married, maybe, with a kid?
It was a moot point, in any case. Even if she wasn't
married, she wouldn't waste her time on somebody like
him – jobless and injured beyond repair, with nothing
to give her but his name and an old apartment that
used to belong to his grandmother.
He forced himself to stay seated as the clock ticked
closer to eleven. It was ridiculous, this fascination
of his with a girl he's never even met. He spent his
time building fantasies around her in which she needed
his help, and in his dream world, his knee was still
in its pre-explosion condition. He was still fit and
strong, a Navy SEAL who could do anything he set his
mind to.
Forcing himself to be realistic, he took a swallow
from the beer he rarely indulged in. She was probably
married, or living with somebody. Probably had a kid,
and took a night job so that she could spend time with
the little one during the day. She was probably
perfectly happy with her life, and this desire to
rescue her was a left-over emotion from his SEAL days
where being a hero was part of the job description.
He missed his team.
And there it was – the crux of the matter. He missed
his team, his friends, almost more than he missed the
mobility that had been stolen from him in that awful
explosion four years ago. So far, he'd beaten the
odds, but for the past couple years, he hadn't made
any progress beyond walking with the help of a crutch.
After his time in the hospital and physiotherapy rehab
centre ran out, he moved back to the city where he had
grown up. It was as far away from the base as he could
find, and he had needed the distance at the time, not
to mention the rent-free apartment his grandmother had
lived in until she passed away.
But now, after months of seclusion, the truth was
finally sinking in. He was never going to be able to
run through jungles and over desert dunes again. His
days of scaling mountains and hiding out yards away
from the enemy camps were over. No matter how hard he
worked, his leg was never going to be up to it again.
He was going to have to consider those options the
psychologist had tried to talk to him about.
His mouth thinned. Private security: where SEAL
careers go to die.
He managed to avoid the window until just after
eleven, when he couldn't take it anymore and he stood
up, cursing himself for his weakness.
A few minutes later, the girl came around the corner.
Carter felt the familiar constriction of his heart as
the streetlight casted a dull glow around her dark
hair. She was limping tonight, favouring her right
leg, and carrying a black bag in one hand. He frowned,
watching her progress with concern. She was definitely
stepping gingerly, and she was moving much slower than
usual. So much so that he would probably be able to
keep up with her if he followed her.
Carter made the decision in less than a second.
Grabbing his crutch and a jacket, he left his
apartment.
*
It happened in the darkness under the overhanging
branches of a gnarled old tree, where the searching
fingers of light could not reach. The gap in the
pavement where two slabs of concrete had pulled away
from each other snagged at the sneaker on her injured
foot and she pitched forward with a sharp cry of pain.
She landed awkwardly on all fours, and the sting of
scalded palms joined the pain in her foot. She gave a
tearless sob and uttered a few choice swearwords. She
must look a sight indeed – down on all fours with one
leg elevated in the air behind her at an awkward and
unattractive angle.
"Are you all right?"
The voice behind her came from absolutely nowhere. Mia
swung around as much as was possible for a human in
the dog-near-a-fire-hydrant-position and ended up
landing on her butt. She scrambled back and saw the
man limping closer. From her position on the ground,
it seemed as if he was a giant, rising out from the
mist, leaning heavily on a crutch and yet managing to
walk without making a sound.
"I don't have a lot of money on me," she said, holding
her black carry-all up like an offering. "But take
what I have. Just please don't hurt me." Panic
tightened her voice.
"I don't want you money," he said, stopping at a safe
distance from her and holding out his hands to show he
was unarmed. "And I'm not going to hurt you."
His voice was deep and soothing, somehow managing to
calm her nerves.
"Let me help you up," the stranger continued. He came
closer and held his hand out. She hesitated a few
seconds before letting him haul her up. She dusted her
palms on her jacket, felt the sting of asphalt cutting
into her skin like pieces of brittle glass. The
enormous man held onto her elbow as she balanced on
one leg.
"Thanks," she said stiffly. "I hurt my ankle earlier
tonight and I tripped on the pavement. I'm fine now,
thank you."
He didn't reply and for the first time, she looked at
his face. The faded street lights were casting
mysterious planes over his face, highlighting his
features. He had dark hair about a week overdue for a
cut, and from what she could see, a strong nose and
chin. His eyes appeared to be dark and intense, and
his cheekbones were just high enough to make him
pretty. His lips, however, looked soft and full and
like an exotic dish, one you needed to serve up with
strawberries and chocolate sauce and whipped cream and
what on earth was she doing, thinking about his mouth
like she wanted a taste?
A sudden, unexpected dimple made its way to surface
when he gave a small crooked smile, and suddenly he
looked much younger.
"My name is Carter," he said, as if it was important
to him that she knew who he was. "I live in that
building over there. See the balcony? That's my
apartment. I hurt my knee a few years back and it was
bothering me tonight, so I decided to take a short
stroll around the block. Saw you falling down. Why
don't you let me have a look at your ankle? What's
your name?"
"Mia," she said.
"Mia," he murmured, and for a single moment, it seemed
as if he was tasting her name on his tongue, rolling
it around his palate like a fine wine he wanted savour
and appreciate. He led her over to the railing, and
she balanced against it as he got down with some
difficulty to examine her foot.
"Do you have first aid experience?" she asked when he
started to prod lightly at her swollen ankle. He held
her heel and rotated her foot slightly. She gasped,
instinctively yanking back when pain shot through her
leg.
"Easy," he soothed, softly stroking. "It's a really
bad sprain. I used to be a hospital corpsman for the
Navy SEALS, so I've seen my fair share of injuries."
"You were a SEAL?" she asked and closed her eyes as
the touch of his fingers on her leg sent tingles
dancing over her skin. His hands were so soft, so
gentle, as he tested the tightness of her shoe around
the swelling.
"Yeah, but I screwed up my knee in an explosion so I'm
no longer active. Listen, you need to get off your
foot. It must be killing you."
"It's painful," she admitted. "But I'm not too far
from home."
"Is there anybody who can fetch you?"
"No, only my sister and she's too young to drive. Not
to mention that we don't own a car. Ouch, dammit, that
hurt!"
"Sorry," he said and got up. "Look, how far do you
live?"
Mia looked at him. How far could she trust this man?
She didn't know him, but he seemed... kind, somehow.
Gentle.
"About two miles,' she admitted, and at his glower,
looked down at her hands. She got the sense he was
angry with her for some reason.
"I'm not letting you walk that far on an injury like
that. Why don't you let me drive you home?"
Trusting somebody to help you up after a fall was one
thing, but getting into a car with a stranger, leading
him to her sister... that would be stupid, and
reckless, and many other things she couldn't afford to
be.
"Thank you, but I'll just call a cab."
He nodded once. "Come wait inside, at least," he said.
"I'll give you some ice and painkillers."
She hesitated as the logical part of her mind warred
with the part that was in pain and wanted nothing more
than to get off her foot, have some painkillers and
let somebody else make the decisions for once.
"All right," she said after a few seconds. "Thank you
very much."
He tried to see his apartment through her eyes, and
wasn't sure what to think. It was small, with an open
plan kitchen and living room that was separated by a
breakfast counter that held stacks of books on the one
side. There were three doors leading from the sitting
room. Though it was reasonably clean and neat and
didn't scream 'poverty,' it was a clear exhibit of his
lack of funds.
She was glancing around anxiously, her eyes darting
from his TV to the front door and back to the kitchen,
where the dishes were piled neatly in the sink. He saw
them linger for a few seconds on the three doors that
lead out of the living room and sensed her fear of
being trapped. She reminded him of a little animal,
cornered and shivering, waiting to be attacked by a
predator.
"The bathroom's through there,' he said, pointing.
"Those two doors lead to the bedrooms. Don't worry, I
set up the torture chamber in the basement."
He expected her to laugh at his lame joke, wanted to
lift her mood, but she just gave a small, tight smile
and clutched her tote bag closer to her body.
"Sit here," he said, cupping one hand under her elbow
and leading her to a comfortable wingback chair. "You
have an interesting accent," he said as he went into
the kitchen to switch on the coffee machine that was
his only indulgence. "It's very faint, but I have an
ear for languages. Are you from Europe?"
She was silent for a few seconds before replying. "My
family came to America when I was very young. But yes,
I was born in Europe."
"Your accent is almost Slavic," he said. "But not
Russian. Not quite."
She didn't offer any further information, so he
pressed. "Are you from Poland?"
"No," she said, reluctantly. "Georgia."
"It borders Russia and Turkey, doesn't it?"
"I... yes. Yes, it does. You're good with this."
"Simple matter of geography. So how old were you when
you left?"
"I was five."
He did the quick maths. "So you must have left in the
time of the civil war in the early nineties."
She nodded her head and he watched the movement play
with her hair. "We first went to Poland, and from
there made our way here. My stepfather had some...
business associates that helped us."
He could read between the lines as well as anybody,
and guessed it to mean they didn't follow the legal
route. Which probably meant she was still an Illegal
immigrant.
It explained a lot, but he wasn't going to call her
out on it.
"Would you like some coffee?" he asked as the rich
scent filled the apartment. "To take the painkillers."
"I would love coffee, thank you," she said. He poured
her a cup and added sugar generously. He handed it to
her with an unopened bottle of strong pain medication.
"You can have that," he said. "It's prescription. It's
what I drink for my knee, but I try to avoid it over
the long term because it can be addictive. But you
should be fine for a few weeks. Just take one now, and
another before you go to sleep. These pills will make
you sleepy, but it should help for your ankle. Will
you let me put a bandage on?"
She looked up at him from under her dark lashes. "I
will, thank you."
Carter stood on the pavement, watching the taxi's red
taillights disappear around the corner. It felt all
wrong, letting her drive off after finally meeting
her. He pressed the heel of his hand against his
chest, as if he wanted to rub away an ache. He'd given
her his number, but what were his chances of getting a
call?
"Idiot," he muttered to himself before turning around
and limping up the stairs. Why on earth would she call
him? Even if she was the type of damsel in distress
who called for help, he was probably the last person
she would ask. What kind of help could he offer her,
in any case? Without his mobility, who was he?
No-one. He was no-one.
The call came three weeks later, after he had finally
given up hope. He still waited by his window every
night, and though the disappointment was no less
intense each time she didn't show up, he couldn't seem
to stop himself.
When his phone rang, he was halfway through a brutal
workout on his living room floor. For a moment he
considered letting the call go to voicemail, but his
muscles were burning in protest and he hardly had
enough breath to put the weights in the holder. His
heart was beating furiously, trying to escape the
torture through his rib cage.
"Carter," he said, his voice sounding like it had been
through a cheese grater.
"Carter?" The voice on the other end sounded very
young and scared. "This is... you don't know me,
but... My name is Nikita. You met my sister a few
weeks ago. I don't know if you remember her. Mia."
Carter sat up, his heart stopping for a second before
pounding even faster than before.
"I remember her. Is everything all right?"
There was a muffled sob. "I... I don't know. Mia told
me somebody has been following her home from work for
a few days, so I'm not allowed to leave the apartment,
but now she's over four hours late and I am really
scared something happened to her. She told me you
helped her last time and I don't know who else to
call."
Ah, hell. Carter pressed his palm on the floor and
pushed himself up. "You did the right thing," he said.
"Exactly the right thing. Where do you live, Nikita?
I'm coming over there to see what we can do. I'm going
to help you, ok? You can trust me."
The apartment was about the size of his living room.
It had one room that functioned as bedroom, living
room and kitchen. He felt appalled when he looked
around at the obvious poverty around him. There was on
small twin bed against the one wall, with a mattress
on the floor. Since the little girl with the same dark
hair as her sister headed right back to the bed after
opening the door for him, Carter could guess easily
where Mia slept. It was also freezing cold. Winter had
finally set in, but they clearly didn't have extra
money to heat the small place up.
The bed was piled high with blankets, and Carter was
willing to bet that not many of them ended up on Mia
during the night. He took in the water-stained walls
and dingy linoleum floor, the meager contents on the
grocery shelf. Mia had tried to cheer the room up with
some homemade Christmas decorations, but it was about
as effective as putting jewellery on a pig and calling
it a bride.
A small radio on the bedside table was blaring out
equal amounts of 'Frosty the Snowman' and static buzz.
The girl – she looked about eight and if she was
healthy, he was a horse – was reading a book that had
clearly been through the mill a few times. The
lighting was very poor, and the small window across
the room over the kitchen sink would probably not let
in a lot of light, even during the day.
Now, at nearly eleven in the evening, it was pitch
black outside, except for the sycophantic blinking of
a red 'motel' sign across the alley. It was close
enough to the window to light up the room with a faint
crimson glow every few seconds.
Nikita gave him a wary, distrustful look so like her
sister's that his heart clenched in his chest.
"Where does Mia work?" he asked her, sitting down
carefully on the only chair in the room. Nikita sat
up, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders and
covering the sweater she wore over her nightgown.
"At a restaurant. She used to work at another one that
was closer, but she hurt her ankle and the boss fired
her 'cause she couldn't walk as fast as he wanted her
to."
So she had stopped walking past his house because
she'd lost her job, not because she was avoiding him.
Carter didn't know whether to be relieved or upset
about that.
"Do you know the address of her job?" he asked the
little girl who didn't look old enough to be left
alone for an hour, let alone a day.
Nikita shrugged. "There's a number against the fridge.
I didn't want to call it. Mia said I must not phone
her at work unless there's something wrong here or I
get sick."
He watched the tears brimming in her eyes.
"I didn't know who else to call," she said in a small
voice. "I don't know why she's so late. She's never
this late."
"I'm going to find her," he said, fear clenching in
his gut. What if something had happened to her? She
walked alone in the dark, through a very unpleasant
part of the city. The mere thought was harrowing. "Let
me phone the restaurant. Perhaps she just needed to
stay late today."
Half an hour Carter had worn a path through the
linoleum floor from his pacing.
Nikita had fallen asleep about ten minutes ago, but he
was still trying to find out where Mia was. The
diner's owner said she had left around six, when her
shift ended. It was nearing midnight, and there was
still no sign of her. And to make matters worse,
Nikita said she mentioned somebody following her a few
times.
He had phoned the police, and the all the hospitals in
the area, but with no luck. Nobody had seen her. He
thrust the phone in his pocket and buttoned up his
coat, winding his scarf around his neck as he looked
for a piece of paper to write a note for Nikita. He
didn't want to leave her alone, but he needed to go
look for Mia.
Just then there was the sound of footsteps outside the
door, and a key jingling in the lock. Carter put his
hand on the butt of the gun he carried in a hip
holster under his coat. The door opened slowly, and
relief made him breathless when he recognised Mia in
the low light. She looked up, saw him, and gave an
involuntary gasp and a step back.
For a moment, it was Mia's worst nightmare, come to
life. There was a man in her apartment; a big, hulking
shape of a man standing between her and the bed where
her sister was lying motionless. Fear clawed its way
into her throat and stole her breath.
They found Nikita.
And then she recognised the man who had been haunting
her dreams for three weeks.
"Carter?"
"Yeah," he said, holding his one hand up in a non-
threatening position and taking a step back, using his
crutch to help him keep his balance. "It's me."
"What are you...? How did you know?"
"You're sister phoned me when you didn't come home.
She was scared and she didn't know who else to call."
"Thank you for staying with her," Mia said. "I
appreciate it. I was... mugged, and the man got away
with my phone and my bag. I couldn't call her to let
her know I'd be late, and I took a different route
home."
Carter didn't say anything, but his silence was
unnerving, so she hurried through the story she'd
fabricated on her way home to placate her sister.
"I was halfway home when he grabbed my tote bag. I let
him have it since it doesn't have much in it. He ran
away with it, but I was scared, so I took a long way
home. I didn't want him to come after me when he
realised it was pretty much empty. "
"I call bullshit," Carter said calmly. "I don't think
it was a grab and run at all. Tell me, was it the same
man you told your sister was following you?"
Mia could feel the last blood leave her cheeks.
Fooling a sick thirteen-year-old was one thing, but
then, he wasn't a sick thirteen-year-old, was he?
"Yes," she said, sticking as close to the truth as she
could. "But in the end, I'm fine. I got away, and he
got nothing. There's no ID or address or anything in
my tote, so..."
"How much pain are you in?" he asked brusquely. "And
please don't try to lie to me again," he added.
"He kicked me in the side," she said, touching her hip
where one of the smaller bruises sat, aching. She
didn't need a mirror to know she was a mess of blue
and black. The three men had spent about an hour,
slowly making sure she remembered exactly who was in
charge.
She might not have been living with her father
anymore, but he still controlled her life. She had a
bitter taste in her mouth. For six years she had been
thinking she was clever enough to outwit her him. She
had taken such pride in the fact that she could live
without him, had drawn so much inner strength from the
knowledge that she managed to evade him.
And now?
Now she realised, anew, how very useless it was too
fight against him. He would always find her, always
remind her of the power he had over her. The only
reason she was alive and not dead after the beating
she'd taken tonight was because her father had wanted
to send her a message.
Next time, she knew, she would not be so lucky.
A small sound made her look up. Carter was still
standing there, his eye on her face, his brows
furrowed as if he had been reading her mind.
"You should..." her voice broke and she cleared her
throat. "You should go home. I thank you for looking
after my sister, but we'll be alright now."
"Like hell you will," he said. "Pack some things. You
can come stay at my place. Even if it's just for the
night. I'm not letting you stay here alone. And for
the last time, where did he hurt you?"
She stared at him and let her stubborn streak kick in,
tired as she was. "That's really none of your
business," she said. "And thank you for the offer, but
we'll stay here. We're perfectly safe."
He pointed his finger at the bed. "What would have
happened if I wasn't the one to come to Nikita? What
if it was some rapist, or a thief, or a murderer? You
say you took a long way home. Can you be sure you
weren't followed? What if they come back during the
night and kill her? If you don't want to come for
yourself, at least come for her. She'll be safer with
me, and you know that."
"You son of a bitch," Mia said softly. "Don't tell me
what's best for my sister. I've been looking after her
for thirteen years."
"I thought she was about eight," he said, surprised.
Mia shook her head. "She's thirteen, but she... she
has cancer. The last doctor I took her to told me
she's not going to see the next spring. She has gone
into remission twice, but her body simply can't take
another round of Chemo. He said she'd probably be more
comfortable at home."
She looked around her at the shabby disrepair and
shook her head. "He was wrong, wasn't he? I can't even
give her a warm room."
Carter held out his arms and like a kid, Mia stood up
and walked into his embrace. He said nothing as he
held her, stroking her back with one big palm. Mia
allowed herself to lean into him, to take the comfort
he was offering her, to draw some strength from his
closeness.
Finally she stepped away. Carter had no idea how right
he was, how risky it would be to stay where they were.
He knew only that she'd been mugged, not that the men
had been hired by her father, or that her body was
covered in bruises that ached as if she'd been in a
train accident.
"Come home with me tonight," he murmured. "Or let me
stay here. I'll sleep on the floor, or the chair.
Just... Just don't ask me to leave you for the wolves.
Because I can't do that."
She pulled away. "I don't expect you to take care of
me," she said. "I can't ask it from you."
His face blanched. "Is it because of my leg?" he
asked. "I know I'm not... what I used to be, but I
assure you, I'm still able to protect you from..."
"It's not your leg," she said and put a hand over his
heart. "I can't risk getting you involved in the
clusterfuck that is my life at this stage."
"I'm offering you one evening's respite, Mia," he
said. "That's it. I'm not asking you to move in with
me forever."
"You don't even know me," she whispered, touched. "Why
would you want to do this for me?"
He gave a small, crooked smile. "How can I not?" he
asked simply. "Helping you... it feels like breathing.
I can't not do it."
Carter waited in the living room with two cups of
coffee while Mia helped Nikita settle in the spare
room they would be sharing while they were there. He
had turned the heat up and the whole apartment was
slowly getting warmer. Mia sat down on the couch
across from him and took the cup he offered her.
"Why don't you tell me where it hurts?" he said,
leaning back and crossing his ankles, the perfect
model of relaxation. "And please don't tell me it's
just that one place on your side. I've been watching
you all evening, and you're in pain."
"All right, yes, but I'm fine. It's just some
bruises."
"Show me," he said. "I'm a medic, remember?"
Mia battled with her will for a moment before she
stood up and started unbuttoning her coat with quick,
business-like movements. Carter had something good and
pure about him; something sweet and somehow innocent.
It went deeper than just offering his home to two
strangers. He wouldn't hurt her or her sister in any
way. The goodness of him... It went all the way to his
soul.
Oh, did she even have a soul anymore?
The thought made something fog over in her mind and
her hands started to shake when she took the coat off
and laid it over the back of the couch. Carter didn't
move from his position as he watched her fingers curl
over the bottom hem of her simple brown sweater. She
did not, could not, look at his face while she pulled
it up and over her head, wincing when the movement
pulled at sore muscles and bruised flesh.
Carter's mouth was so dry he almost expected a
sandstorm to originate under his tongue. Watching Mia
as she took off her clothes was an exercise in self-
control, though there was nothing sexual about the way
she undressed. Her mind seemed to be elsewhere, her
stare blank and empty, as she untucked the second
sweater from her pants and pulled it up. He watched
the way she held her arms close to her body, trying to
minimalize the pain, and felt like the worst kind of
man for wanting her so much when she was suffering.
She was wearing only a cream-coloured, long-sleeved
button-down blouse, but her fingers were trembling so
badly she couldn't get the buttons through the holes.
He watched her struggle with the bottom button for a
while before he couldn't take another second of the
slow torture.
"Let me help you," he said, keeping his voice as
gentle as he could. She nodded and let her arms fall
to her sides. Carter put his cup down and stood up
slowly, hoping that there was no visible evidence of
the stirring in his lap. He gave a single step, and
then he was in front of her. He searched her eyes, but
there was no sign of fear or distrust in them.
He looked down at his hands as he found the first
button at the bottom. They felt unnaturally small
under his big, suddenly-clumsy fingers. He tried to
keep his breathing even as he managed to slip it
through the little hole. His fingertips felt the
coarse, starched material of her shirt as they stroked
upwards to the next button. He undid it with an equal
amount of fumbling, trying to remember that this was
not a prelude to the horizontal tango.
He was halfway with the buttons when it happened. His
finger slid under the material of her shirt and his
knuckles skimmed over her skin. They both hissed in
surprise and he looked up at her face for the first
time since he'd begun the unbuttoning. Her eyes were
wide and dark, her lashes almost impossible long,
casting little half-moon shadows over her cheeks. Her
face was flushed a delicious shade of desire, her
mouth slightly open. He watched the shimmering trail
when she extended the tip of her tongue and wetted her
lips unconsciously.
She wanted him.
Carter swallowed and forced himself to look away from
her face. He tried to focus on the buttons, but saw
only the little nubs of her hardened nipples swelling
under her clothes.
Oh, dear ...
He opened another button and realised that he had
reached the one right under her breast. He swallowed
convulsively and undid it. He felt her breasts
pressing against the back of his hands. The material
of her shirt strained very lightly against the swell
of her breasts, and he had to pull the edges of the
material closer to the middle to undo the button. It
popped open, and then there was just one left. His
fingers were trembling almost as much as hers had
done, but somehow he got it through the little hole.
He pushed the edges of the shirt away, to the side,
and braced himself for the sight of her body.
And then all thoughts of desire fled from his mind in
an instant.
Bruises bloomed over her skin like an obscene painting
of a tortured flower. Her torso was covered with them,
and he could see the darker spots where they
overlapped. Down her side was a trail of blue and
black stains where she had been hit, repeatedly, by
the same blunt object. Her lower abdomen looked
better, but he was willing to bet there were a few
cracked ribs under the welts that covered her skin.
"Mia," he breathed, horrified. He sank down, mindless
of his knee, and pressed his fingertips against the
black bump on her hip. He tried to stay objective,
willed his training to kick in, and waited for his
heartbeat to calm down. He switched into medic mode,
pressing against every bruise and testing her ribcage
with care. She stood as still as a mouse, watching his
movements with those big, sad eyes of hers. He asked
her questions, peeled the shirt over her shoulders and
off her arms. Her back looked even worse, if that was
possible. It was a portrait, done in shades of agony.
But there was no sign of any broken bones, or ruptured
organs. Whoever had done this had known exactly how
much pressure and force to use, and had been careful
to inflict only pain. There would be no lasting damage
once the bruises faded.
Or not to her body, in any case.
"Mia," he said hoarsely. "This was a punishment
beating, wasn't it?"
She nodded.
"What are you involved in?" he asked, touching an
unmarked spot under her bellybutton with one finger,
as if he wanted to reassure them both that her body
would heal.
"I can't tell you," she whispered.
"Is it drugs?" he asked, brusquely. There were no
needle marks on her arms, and though she was too thin,
her skin wasn't the sallow colour of a user.
"Nothing like that," she said, and for a moment she
rested her hand on his head, her fingers stroking his
hair like a beloved pet. "It's just... an issue from
my past. But I'm handling it. I've been handling it
for years. It's under control."
He looked up at her, at the tired defiance in her
shoulders. "Who are you trying to convince?" he asked
and stood up. "Come on, I'll put some ice on the worst
bruises and give you some pain medication. You should
actually see a doctor."
She lay down on the couch on her stomach, her arms
forming a little nest for her face. "No doctor," she
said firmly, as he had known she would.
Mia swallowed the two tablets he gave her and winced
when he put the frozen gel packs on her back. Her
muscles seemed to tighten up in response. Carter
murmured calming words and soft encouragements while
he moved the ice packs around slowly. He was sitting
on the couch next to her, and she shifted closer to
the back to make a little more room for him. His hip
pressed against hers and he delighted in the intimacy
of it.
He admired the curve of her back, his gaze starting at
the low-rise jeans she was wearing and ending at the
nape of her neck, where little curls and wisps of
baby-fine new hair covered her porcelain skin. His
eyes were drawn again and again to the little dimple
just above the hem of her jeans. One way or another,
he was going to have his mouth on that little dip in
her skin. When she was better. When she was better,
and when she trusted him, he was going to make such
sweet love to her that she'll realise she can't live
without him.
"Turn around," he said after a while, and moved so
that she could do that.
"This will be even worse than your back," he warned.
"Ideally, you should take a cold bath."
"Hell, no," she said and jerked when the ice pack
touched her skin. "Ouch," she said in a small voice.
"Sorry, baby," Carter soothed and put the second pack
on the other side. "Just breath, it will settle down
in a second."
She put one arm over her eyes, and Carter couldn't,
for the very life of him, stop staring at her boobs.
They were on the small side from being so underweight,
but they were hers, and therefor they were perfect.
The bra she had on had been designed for comfort and
support, not seduction, but damn, if he wasn't feeling
seduced anyway. Her skin broke out in goose flesh and
like magnets, his eyes found her nipples. He watched
them grow harder and wondered if she was aware of it,
since she didn't make a move to cover them. He wanted
to feel them under his fingers, roll each between a
thumb and middle finger, wanted to put his mouth on
her and taste the unique flavour of her skin.
Mia took her arm away from her face and looked at him.
"Carter, can I... Can I ask you another favour?" she
asked, her voice hesitant. As if there was anything he
wouldn't do for her.
"Of course," he said immediately.
"I'm afraid... I don't know how easy I'll sleep. I
don't want to bother Nikita. She needs the rest so
much. Can I... Can I sleep with you tonight? In your
bed?"
For a moment, all the wires in his brain seemed to
fuse at the same time. He had never, not even once,
allowed himself to hope for this. He imagined, for a
second, how it would feel to go to sleep and wake up
with her next to him. He would be a bastard and wait
until she was asleep and then pull her into his arms,
very careful not to wake her.
She seemed to misread his silence.
"It's ok if you don't want to," she said quickly.
"I'll just sleep here on the couch. This is fine. I
just..."
"Mia," he said, putting a finger on her lips to stop
her. "I would love it if you sleep in my bed tonight.
I'm not going to let you sleep on the couch. If you're
uncomfortable with me, I'll sleep on the couch. But I
would never let a guest do that. Especially not an
injured one."
She closed her eyes, as if in relief. "I just can't
stand the thought of sleeping on my own tonight," she
said in a small voice. "I'm always alone, always the
one who needs to take responsibility. I'm so tired.
I'm just so tired of being alone, Carter..."
He wasn't sure how it happened, or who made the first
move. Either he had bent down, or she had reached up
and pulled him down, but the next moment he was
bending his upper body over hers, his one hand holding
onto the back of the couch to avoid pressing against
her injured body. Her one hand cupped itself around
his neck, holding his face in place as they kissed.
The first touch of her lips were like a spring rain in
the middle of the desert. Soft and honey-sweet,
hesitant and unsure. He could taste her awkward
inexperience in her fumbled movements, but it did not
bother him in the slightest. He rubbed his lips
against her, a back and forth movement to soothe and
excite. Her breathing was loud, but he could still
hear the frantic beating of his own heart over it.
He had been hoping for and dreaming about this for so
long that he wanted to savour every moment in case he
woke up and found it had been nothing more than a
figment of his subconscious.
He pressed his lips against the corner of her lips and
lingered there for a few seconds before trailing over
her mouth to the other side. He touched the tip of his
tongue to the little dimple there, and she turned her
head towards him, anxious for more. He pulled away and
comforted them both by rubbing his check against hers.
His day-old beard rasped lightly against his skin and
he loved the feeling of it. He held his face there,
breathing in the fragrance of her skin and her hair,
before touching his lips against hers in a chaste
kiss.
She murmured something and tilted her head to the side
again. He took the hint and gave her a single soft,
sipping kiss. He slipped his tongue over the seam of
her lips once, twice, and then she opened them for
him. He didn't stick his tongue inside her mouth,
instead teasing her further by taking her bottom lip
between his and pulling it lightly. He sucked it into
his mouth and slid his tongue over the smooth skin on
the inside as he let it go.
She gave a soft moan and he awarded her with another
lingering kiss. He tugged at her bottom lip again,
this time using his teeth. Her fingers tightened
around his neck, sliding up and into his hair. He
changed the angle of his head and licked his way
slowly into her mouth, swallowing her soft gasp when
his tongue found hers. He stroked it once, and then
used the tip of his tongue to explore her mouth. He
slid his tongue out and tested her reaction. She
moaned her dissent and he slipped it back in. She was
ready for him this time, touching him back hesitantly.
He advanced and retreated a few times, teasing her
with an erotic display of what he wanted to do with
her body. She whimpered and he could taste her
urgency, so he deepened the kiss. He tried coaxing her
tongue out of her mouth, but she was not experienced
enough to know what he wanted.
"Give me your tongue," he whispered against her lips.
She didn't respond immediately and he pressed his
mouth against her ear.
"Your tongue," he said again, feeling the shiver that
shuddered through her body when his breath tickled
her. "Put it in my mouth."
He licked a little trail back to her mouth and kissed
her again, waiting patiently. After a few moments, he
felt her warm, soft tongue against his lips. He
surprised and shocked her by sucking it into his mouth
with unexpected urgency. He kept it there, suckling
rhythmically for a while. Her moan was one of pure
need, a sentiment that echoed in the blood coursing
through his body, fuelling his desire for her.
They made out like teenagers in the backseat of a car
for a while, and as her confidence grew, so did her
proficiency. He taught her what he liked, and showed
her things he thought she might like. He forgot about
everything – the screaming pain in his knee from the
twisted position it was in, her sister in the spare
room, the fact that it had finally started snowing.
This was magic, he thought as she did something with
her tongue that made him moan. His eyes were closed,
but he opened them because he wanted to see her face.
She looked spectacular. Her hair was dishevelled and
her face flushed. Her lips were swollen from his
kisses, and she had a slightly red mark of beard burn
on the side of her neck where he'd nuzzled her.
"Look at me," he said and she opened her eyes with
obvious reluctance. Her lips were parted, hoping for
more kisses. He almost obliged, but they had the whole
night, or what was left of it in any case. She
struggled to focus on him and he couldn't prevent the
pure male smile of satisfaction. Her pupils were
dilated by desire, her gaze glassy and impatient and
dazed. He kept his eyes on hers when he cupped her
ribs, ready for her to groan or gasp.
She did gasp, but because he was staring into her eyes
at that second, not even he could mistake it for a
sound of passion. Her eyes filled with pain and for
the first time since his lips touched hers, he
remembered about her injuries.
"Shit!" he said, pushing himself away from her and
staring at her with horror. "Mia, I'm so sorry. I
can't believe I forgot about your bruises. I lost my
head completely. I'm really sorry. Are you all right?
How badly did I hurt you? Let me get new ice packs,
I'll be right back..."
"Carter," Mia said. "Stop. You didn't hurt me, and
please don't get me another ice pack. I'm begging you.
It's too cold."
"I'm so sorry, Mia," Carter said. "I shouldn't have
kissed you like that. Please forgive me, I... It won't
happen again. You're just so lovely, and..."
"It's fine," she said, slowly pushing herself upright,
wincing slightly. "Look, it happened, and I can... I
can understand if you don't want to do it again, so
let's just... let's just go to sleep, if you don't
mind."
Half an hour later, Mia settled in under the thick
warm duvet with an added blanket over her. Carter
hadn't come to his room yet, and she knew he was going
to spend the night on his own couch. It felt strange,
being in an empty bed that belonged to somebody else.
She pummelled her pillow into a better shape and tried
to lie down again. Her body was sore, despite the
painkillers, and she wished Carter would come to her.
She wanted to feel his heat, hear his breathing, maybe
wait until he's asleep and roll over to lie against
him. She wanted to lean against him to ease the ache,
wanted to feel his arms around her.
"Stop wishing for the moon," she told herself and
turned on her back.
It was going to be a long night.
*
A week later, they were still with him, and Carter
couldn't believe how happy he was. Mia's wounds were
healing slowly, but she refused to tell him what had
happened. They haven't kissed again after the first
night, and she had moved back to the spare room with
her sister. Every time she tried to mention the
possibility of their moving back to their own
apartment, he ruthlessly used Nikita as his winning
argument on why they should stay.
Nikita was very sweet girl, but Carter could see her
health failing with every passing day. He took her to
another specialist who prescribed different medication
that seemed to ease her pain. The doctor suggested a
hospital, but Nikita cried at the idea, so they got
all the necessary equipment to look after her at home.
He surprised both them by going out and buying
Christmas decorations, something he had never owned in
his life. For the first time in years, he felt at
peace with himself. He loved Mia, and he had the
patience to wait for her to fall in love with him as
well.
"You can't hang that ball there," Nikita said, rolling
her eyes at him. She was cuddled around a teddy bear
hot water bottle that he had bought for her, a thick
blanket around her as she sat on the couch. Her face
was pale but her smile radiant as she laughed.
"There's another red one right next to it. It'll look
stupid. You need a golden ball. Right, Mia?"
"Definitely," Mia agreed promptly and took the red
ball from him. "Don't you know anything about
decorating a Christmas tree?"
"No," he grumbled, secretly pleased with the way Mia's
finger lingered against him when she took the
offending ball. "I've never done this before, just so
you know."
"Why not?" Nikita asked.
Carter was quiet for a few moments. "My parents
weren't big into Christmas," he said. They did enjoy
the sales on liquor that came with the season, but
Nikita and Mia didn't need to know the sorry tale of
his abusive childhood.
"I can't remember our mother," Nikita said. "She died
in an accident when I was a baby, right, Mia?"
"That's right," Mia said. Carter could hear the strain
in her voice, but Nikita was oblivious.
"But I remember our father. He was cruel and mean and
I didn't like him. He also didn't put up Christmas
trees. But Mia and I have always decorated, since we
left the farm six years ago."
Six years ago, Carter realised, Mia had been about
fifteen or sixteen. That was too early to leave home,
and with a little sister in tow.
His gut clenched as more pieces of the puzzle fell
into place before his eyes.
"Nikita,' Mia said, clearly desperate to change the
subject. "You'll never guess what Carter bought this
morning."
"What?" Nikita asked, instantly diverted by the ideas
of more goodies, as she referred to almost anything he
brought home in a shopping bag.
"Sparklers," Mia said. "To burn on Christmas Eve.
We're going to go out on the balcony and light them,
what do you think about that?"
"It sounds like fun," Nikita said and gave a big yawn.
"I'm really tired. I think I'll go take a nap. I'll
see you again a bit later."
He kept hanging up random balls on the tree, waiting
for Mia to come back from helping her sister.
When she did, he didn't look at her, wanting to give
her space. "Why do I get the feeling your father was
behind your attack?" he asked calmly, still not
looking at her. She was quite for a moment before
sighing.
"He was. He wants me to come home and bring my sister
with me. It's a power thing for him."
Carter stopped the pretence of decorating and stepped
closer to her. "Mia, its time you tell me the whole
story. I know you don't owe me any explanations, and I
won't push you on this, but I can help you. I have
connections and friends. I can make it all go away.
But I need to know what's going on."
"I was born in Georgia," Mia said after a few minutes
of awkward silence. "My mom was married to a good man.
The country was in the middle of a civil war, and my
father was murdered one evening on his way home from
work. I was about four. My mom got married a few
months later to an American who was visiting the
country on a tour through Europe. She needed money,
desperately, and he made all sorts of promises.
"He brought us here – my mom and I didn't have
passports or visas, but he had friends who helped him
get us here. He turned my mom in a sort of slave, I
guess. She cooked and cleaned after him and his three
brothers who lived with us. I guess he fucked her, but
I didn't know that until later. When I was ten, my mom
got pregnant with Nikita, but she died from an
accident a few months later."
Carter knew better than to interrupt, even though he
already knew how the story would end. His heart was
beating slow and painful in his chest
Mia sat down on the couch and played with the packing
material of the decorations. "I don't want to tell you
the rest," she said quietly. "But I need to. It's not
pretty, ok? Its shit, and not pretty, and I'll
understand if you never want to see me again when you
know. But you deserve to know. You see, after she
died, he forced me to take her place. I had to do the
cooking and cleaning and everything. It all sort of...
escalated. He fucked me the first time when I was
thirteen, and after that at least once or twice a
week.
"A-and when I turned fifteen, he started looking at
Nikita, and I-I... couldn't let that happen. So, I
waited till he and his brothers went out one evening,
packed some things, grabbed my sister and ran away. We
couldn't go to the police – neither of us had any
identification. I didn't know what would happen. We
went from one city to the next. I pretended to be
eighteen and got jobs in restaurants, waitering and
washing dishes."
She twisted her fingers together in her lap. "I was
scared that they would send her back to him if they
got to us, because he is an American citizen, and she
is his daughter. I thought I'd be deported back to
Europe and never see her again. I just... I couldn't."
"When did she get sick?" Carter asked, letting the
rest of the story go for the time being.
"About three years ago," Mia said. "The doctor told me
then she wasn't going to live long, but she went into
remission after the chemo. After a year she got sick
again, and the chemo helped, but now..."
She shook her head, her voice a broken whisper. Carter
didn't know what to do. The specialist they took
Nikita to had said the same thing as the previous
doctor. There was no way her body could handle another
round of chemo, and they should start preparing
themselves.
It was hell on Mia.
He sat next to her and for the first time in a week,
put his arm around her. She curled against him, hiding
her face and her tears against the soft fleece of his
sweatshirt.
"Your stepfather... Is he involved in anything
Illegal?"
She nodded. "He thinks I don't know, but he is
involved with a lot of smuggling."
Carter smiled. "I'm going to need an address for that
farm," he said.
The morning before Christmas dawned bright with an
almost cloudless sky for a change. Mia made pancakes
and bacon while Carter entertained Nikita with a game
of chess.
"I have an early Christmas present for you," Carter
told Mia once Nikita went to her room for a nap before
the evening. He took the folded up newspaper article
from his pocket and held it out to her. She looked
mystified when she took it. He watched her expression
while she read it. Her face grew whiter by degrees,
and he watched her go back and re-read a few sentences
over and over.
"How did you do this?" she whispered, her voice
strangled. Her finger grew slack and he watched the
cut-out article floating down to the ground, the photo
of four men being arrested facing up.
"I told you I have friends," he said. "I used to be a
SEAL, remember? My team came through for me. They
always do," he added, feeling something in his chest
lighten. His team would always be his team, no matter
how crippled he was. Maybe it was time he moved back
to the base and took up a teaching job.
Maybe it was time to start living again.
"I don't know what to say," Mia said, dazed. She sank
down on the couch and picked the paper up. "I can't
believe you did this for me. What... how did you do
this?"
"I phoned my old commander," Carter said. "He knew how
important it was to me, so he called a few of his
connections. They got a warrant to search the farm and
found Illegal weapons that your stepfather had been
hired to smuggle out of the country. It was enough for
an arrest. They cited the source as an 'anonymous tip'
and crumbled the whole organisation in a few days."
"I don't know how to say thank you," Mia said. "I
mean... There are no words for this."
"I wanted to go kill the bastard for what he did,"
Carter said. "I wanted to rip his throat out with my
bare hands. But calling in for back-up was the best
way to deal with it."
"I can't believe it's over," Mia said. "Will they need
me to testify against him?"
Carter hesitated. "They might ask you to," he said.
"It might extend their sentence. It will definitely
add years to your stepfather's. Raping, especially the
raping of a minor, is a big deal. But you have to be
sure you can deal with it. I won't let you do it if
you don't want to."
"I'll think about it," Mia said. "I don't want to be
haunted by it for the rest of my life. He stole
everything from me – my mom, my childhood, my
innocence. When he fucked me... He was usually drunk
when he came to my room, and there was never any...
any foreplay, or kisses or anything. It always, always
hurt. You're the first man I ever kissed, and..." she
swallowed, her face bright red. "It felt good. And I
want to do it again."
Carter sat down next to her she all but crawled onto
his lap. He let his crutch fall on the ground and
folded his arms around her. These past few weeks have
been his idea of paradise. He loved taking care of her
and Nikita, loved that they needed him. They didn't
seem to realise how much he needed them in return, but
he was working on that.
They sat like that for a long time, not talking. He
rubbed her back and wished the clothes between them
would melt away. He loved her so much it overwhelmed
him. He was pretty sure she was in love with him too,
but he couldn't be sure she was ready for anything
more than friendship. Between her stepfather's abuse
and Nikita's cancer, she had a lot to deal with. But
he could, and would, be patient, until she learned to
trust her heart and love him back.
*
They ate dinner by the lights of the Christmas tree
and a few candles. It was snowing at last; a light
dusting that promised a white Christmas in the
morning. Nikita convinced them to exchange their gifts
after dinner, rather than wait for morning. Mia and
Carter were both inclined to give her whatever she
wanted, so they agreed after a teasing argument.
Mia gave Nikita some new clothes and a few books she
had bought with what was pretty much her last money.
Carter gave her a silver charms bracelet with
different charms and a little flower-shaped watch
hanging from it. She exclaimed over her gifts, and Mia
had to fight against the tears. Her sister was so much
braver than she was, and it humbled her to see the
young girl fight for every single day. She could see
the fear in Nikita's eyes every time she went to bed,
and knew her sister was afraid that she would not wake
up again. But not once has Mia heard her say anything
about her coming death. They all avoided the subject,
as if talking about it would make it more real.
"I have a gift for you too," Mia said shyly to Carter.
"It's not much, but I thought you might like it. I
made it," she added when she handed him the small
packet that she'd hidden under the tree. He gave her a
brilliant smile and seemed genuinely pleased when he
opened it to find the scarf she'd knitted in secret in
her and Nikita's bedroom. She wasn't much of a
knitter, but her mother had taught her when she was
young and she had bought the wool and needles when she
went shopping for Nikita's present. It was pretty
lopsided and uneven, but he wound it around his neck
anyway. Mia knew he would wear it to please her, and
she gave him a shy smile.
"Don't you have something for Mia?" Nikita asked with
the innocence of a child.
Mia blushed. "He already gave me something," she said.
He had given her so much more than she'd ever expected
or hoped for. She wondered if he had any idea how much
it all meant to her – the way he took care of her
sister, the fact that he was going to so much trouble
to make it a lovely Christmas, with the tree and the
gifts and the laughter. He had given her the freedom
she has never had before.
He had given her a reason to go on living after Nikita
passed away, because she loved him.
Oh, but she loved him so much.
"I do have a gift for you," Carter said. "Wait here.
I'll be right back. It is in my room."
"But you didn't have to..." she protested, but he just
grinned and grabbed his crutch, limping to his
bedroom. He came back a few seconds later, his hand
behind his back.
"Close your eyes," he said and she obeyed him
dutifully. She sensed him coming closer and then there
was something on her lap; something soft and furry and
light.
She opened her eyes and blinked. "Oh,' she breathed.
It was a little kitten, grey and playful and utterly
sweet. Nikita squealed in delight from her position
next to Mia.
"She needs a home," Carter said. "And a name. I was
thinking Faith or Hope of Love, but you can pick
something else."
"I like Hope," Mia said and nuzzled the soft bundle in
her neck. She handed her to Nikita and got up to go
hug Carter, but he tripped her with a clever manoeuvre
of his crutch and she fell against him, where he
grabbed her and kissed her soundly before letting her
go.
She blushed a little as she returned to the couch, but
there was a warm spot inside her that somehow lighted
up all the dark spaces she's ever known.
"Can we take her with us to go light the sparklers?"
Nikita asked.
"I can't see why not," Carter said. "Just keep her
inside the blanket with you."
He got the sparklers and a box of matches and they all
went out on the balcony. Mia helped Nikita in the
chair, first dusting off the snow that had covered it
with her hands. The direction of the wind and the
building at their backs was in their favour, and
though it was cold, they managed to light the
sparklers with little trouble.
There was such magic in the moment – Nikita was
laughing and drawing pictures in the air. There was a
joy on her face that Mia had never seen before, and
despite the cold, she looked so healthy, sitting
there, covered in a blanket and with a little grey
kitten poking its nose out from under the blanket. Mia
turned to Carter and caught her breath. He looked
magnificent, standing there with his feet planted
firmly on the slippery floor, wearing a warm jacket
and a poorly-knitted scarf, grinning at her while he
twirled his sparkler like a martial-arts weapon. She
looked him in the eye and, as clearly as she could,
wrote 'I love you' in the air with her sparkler.
The golden light of their sparklers lit up the
balcony, and the hiss and sputter and faint smell of
lingering sulphur was a symphony for the senses.
Carter reached for her, the light in his eyes burning
brighter than any sparkler, and it was the most
natural thing to step into his embrace.
They lit all the sparklers in the box, and when it was
over, Nikita declared that she was ready for bed, as
long as Hope could sleep with her. Since Mia was
determined to spend the night with Carter, she agreed
readily.
"Leave the cleaning up," Carter said when she started
picking up plates and wrapping paper. "We'll do it in
the morning."
"Are you sure?" Mia asked, suddenly shy and hesitant.
Carter held out his hand.
"Come with me," he said. "Please, Mia. Come to bed
with me."
She looked at his face, and his eyes were still
burning with that golden light.
"Yes," she said and put the dishes in her hands on a
little table. "I would love to."
Carter's heart seemed to be working overtime again as
he led Mia into his room. He held her hand in his, and
he was overly aware of how much smaller she was than
him. Her skin was still slightly cold after being
outside, and he threaded his fingers through hers in
an intimidate gesture as he closed the door behind
them and turned the lock, just in case.
He switched off the bright overhead light, so that the
room was lit only by the softer glow of the bedside
lamp. He sensed Mia's nerves and wondered how he could
make it easier for her when he put the crutch against
the wall.
"Kiss me," she said as if she could read his thoughts.
He cupped her face in both hands and stroked her
cheeks for a second, lingering over the softness of
her skin. He looked into her eyes and then leaned his
forehead against hers for a second, sharing the moment
with her.
"I love you," he said. "I've loved you for about two
years."
"But we only met a few weeks ago," she said, clearly
confused.
"I have a confession to make," he said, one hand
sliding to the back of her neck and down, tracing her
spine to her lower back. "I watched you walk pass my
house every night. I felt like I knew you after a
while. I fell in love with you long before we met."
"I wish I had known," she whispered. "Carter, I love
you from the bottom of my heart. You've given me so
much."
"You've given me hope," he said. "And faith. And love.
Will you give me yourself, tonight?"
"Oh, please, yes," she said, and then he kissed her.
Though he was gentle, his mouth was insistent, and she
followed his lead, opening her lips when his tongue
probed at her. He swept it inside, tasted her, teased
her, caressed her. She put her arms around his neck,
standing on her toes to get closer to him as they
angled their heads to deepen the kiss. He could taste
her breath in his mouth when she touched her tongue to
his. She still tasted like the peppermint chocolates
they'd eaten after dinner in lieu of dessert, and he
made a little sound of approval.
He walked her backwards until her legs hit the bed and
pressed his face into her neck. He could feel her skin
breaking out in Goosebumps when she turned her neck to
give him better access. He kissed her almost
mindlessly; open-mouthed kisses that dragged over her
while his tongue drew little patterns on her skin. He
kissed his way slowly up to her earlobe. She gave a
little gasp when he took it between his teeth and
pulled it lightly. He let it go to flick it with his
tongue, taking a break to lick at the sensitive little
spot just under her ear, tormenting her.
She slid her hands into his hair and drew his mouth
back to hers. They were both out of breath by the time
he let go of her lips. He pulled at the zipper on her
jacket and as soon as it was open, slid his hands
under it to cup her breasts through her sweater. She
pressed against him slightly, letting him know it was
good. He pushed the jacket off her shoulders and down
her arms. It fell on the floor, where it lay forgotten
and ignored. Carter pulled her plump lower lip into
his mouth for another burning kiss while he got his
hands under her sweater and the white tank top she was
still wearing. He dragged it up her body, his hands
stroking her in a firm movement. She moaned a little
and helped him by lifting her arms so he could pull it
off.
"Oh, baby," he whispered against her throat. Her
bruises had faded to that sickly yellow-green colour,
but they didn't make her any less lovely. His hands
rubbed her skin possessively while she reached behind
her to undo her bra. It joined the pile of clothes on
the floor. Carter's hands cupped her breasts again,
and he moaned when he felt the warmth and softness of
her skin. He squeezed them lightly and had the
satisfaction of feeling her nipples pebble against his
palm. He took his time, pleasuring both of them by
rolling the hard little nubs between his fingers,
rubbing, pinching, pulling, flicking, until she
clutched his shoulders and kissed him pleadingly.
He pushed her lightly and she obeyed his touch, lying
back on the bed. He leaned over her, bracing his
weight on his arms while he kissed her. He trailed his
mouth down and she shifted uncomfortably when his
mouth found one breast. He licked a little circle
around the areola, taking his time to enjoy the
puckered texture of her skin on the tip of his tongue.
He laved the little ridges generously, eliciting a
quickening in her breath. Her nipple was a hard little
nub and he tugged at it, using only his teeth and
lips, until she arched into his mouth. He licked over
it; a broad, flat stroke of his tongue that made her
twist her torso.
She wound her fingers through his hair, holding his
face against her when he finally relented and sucked
her into his mouth. They moaned together, a perfect
duet of passion and desire as he suckled at her,
alternating between long, hard tugs and teasing little
sips, taking the occasional nibble just to delight
her.
He kept her other nipple happy by playing with it with
his fingers, echoing the movements his mouth made, but
he was all about equality, so he switched and repeated
the whole process. By the time he was done with her
breasts – for the moment – her nipples were a deep
rosy pink that made him want to start all over. They
glistened from his saliva and he took a primitive male
pleasure from the fact that he had been the one to get
them in that state of arousal.
He shifted her on the bed with ease, so that her head
was on his pillow and she was lying down exactly on
the same spot he slept every night before stretching
out next to her and pulling her into his arms for
another soul-deep kiss.
She sighed and moaned and turned on her side to press
closer against him. He held her body against him, his
hands exploring the ridges of her spine and the
feminine softness of her skin, the scent of her
arousal permeating the air in the room. He rolled her
on her back, careful not to crowd her.
Her hands were pulling at his jacket, trying to get it
off him. He reared up and pulled it over his head,
taking the long-sleeved shirt and his new scarf with
it in one movement before going back to her addictive
kisses and eager lips. He gave a soft moan when he
felt her breasts press against his chest. They were
skin to skin, and he revelled in the contrast between
their bodies. He was all hard muscles and rough skin,
and she was... she was perfect. Soft and smooth and
female and Mia and perfect.
The intensity of their lovemaking spiralled when he
undid the fastening of her jeans and pulled them off
her legs. She was wearing only a pair of socks he got
rid of very quickly, and lacy panties he knew she had
bought especially for him with money she really
couldn't afford to spend on fancy underwear. He made
sure to show his appreciation by not ripping them off
like he wanted to.
Carter propped himself up next to her on one arm. His
other hand was tracing lazy circles on her belly,
scraping her with his short nails to tease her. He
focused on the area between her hipbones, and she
responded with the expected arching of her hips and
opening of her legs when the nerve-ends there sent
tingles up her spine and to her breasts and the inside
of her thighs.
He skimmed his finger over the edge of her panties,
tracing the small, sexy little bow at the top. He
followed the pattern of the lace and satin with one
finger, noticing that she was very neatly trimmed. He
slipped his finger under the lace and pulled it down
very slowly, baring her mound with the small little
triangle of curls for his viewing pleasure. He tested
the soft, plump, pillowy area and just for a second,
put his mouth on her. She gasped in surprise, her hips
rising off the bed.
He rubbed her hip on the side furthest away from him
and stroked his hand around and under her thigh. He
moved his body in between her legs and hoisted her
knees over his shoulders, stroking her thighs to
soothe her when she made an agitated sound. She
settled down and he pressed his mouth against the soft
skin of her inner thigh, stroking her with his tongue
and taking the occasional, small nip just to tease. He
could smell her excitement much clearer in this
position, and it made the bulge in his pants an almost
painful experience when he hardened even more.
He pressed his lips against the warm, damp crotch of
the panties and she gasped again. He had no trouble
finding her clit with his tongue and he rubbed against
it with small, hard, circular movements. Her hips
started to strain against his hold, and he shifted his
arms to get a better grip for the bucking he knew
would come soon enough. Her hands pushed at her
panties; clearly, she wanted them off.
And Carter was nothing if not willing. He slid three
fingers under the satin crotch through the leg opening
and felt the wetness of her against the back of his
fingers before he pulled the panties off. He had to
relinquish his position between her thighs and made
use of the opportunity to peel his own pants off,
revealing his stiff, hard cock. It sprang free, happy
to be released from the confines of his pants.
"Can I see it?" Mia asked, lifting herself up on her
elbows to get a better look.
"Ah, Mia, now might not be the best time," he said. "I
don't know how long I'll last and I want to make sure
you cum first. If you touch me now, it might not..."
"Please, Carter," she said. "I need to see that it's
not the same as... I need to see it, that's all."
"Of course, baby," he said immediately, and he wanted
to hit himself for not realising why she would want to
get a closer look. He shifted up on the bed, allowing
her access to his cock.
Mia put out one finger, tentatively stroking it with
just the tip, as if it was a wild animal that needed
to be tamed. Actually, Carter thought, that wasn't a
bad description. He watched her fascination with the
drop of pre-cum. She touched it with the pad of her
thumb, and rubbed it between two fingers. Her smile
was beautiful.
"It's slippery," she said. "I thought it would be
more... watery, I guess."
"Ah, Mia," Carter said when she started spreading the
moisture over his shaft. "That might not be a very
good idea at the moment, baby. I don't want to..."
But she was ignoring him. "You're pretty big," she
said hesitantly. "Are you sure you'll fit?"
"If you keep touching me like that, big won't be a
problem for much longer," he said between clenched
teeth when she wrapped her hand around him and stroked
him, measuring the girth and length. His cock jerked
in her hand and she let it go with a little jump.
Carter pinched it between two fingers at the base,
trying to hold back the need to cum.
"Let me take care of you," he said. "I need to do
that. Please, Mia."
"All right," she said, lying down on her back again.
He resumed his position between her thighs, propping
her open with his big shoulders and breathing in her
feminine fragrance. He spent a few seconds, looking at
her. Her outer lips were juicy and plump, the inner
lips small, like the petals of a flower that had not
opened yet. Her clit was already a little bit
engorged, but he knew it would get much more so before
he was done. He used the fingers of one hand to unfold
her pussy lips as if it was a delicate present he
wanted to unwrap.
He stroke one finger through the wetness pooled at her
entrance. She lay perfectly still, but he could sense
the mounting tension. He played there for a while,
enjoying the sight of her glimmering lips. He painted
a trail of her juice up to her clit and traced a
circle around it.
Mia's breath hitched in her throat when he started
playing in earnest, rubbing her clit in little
circular motions. He watched the little hood draw back
as she got even more aroused. She was the most
delicious shade of pink down here, and he wanted a
taste. Ducking his head, he held open the love petals
and sucked her clit into his mouth. He flicked it with
his tongue, grazed very lightly with his teeth, and
made her gasp when he brought her to the brink and
held her there. Just before she came, he left her clit
to go dabble in her little hole.
"No!" she moaned, her hand clutching her hair and
trying to draw him back where she wanted him. He
resisted and shocked her further by slipping his
tongue inside her, feeling her smooth skin and tasting
the proof of her desire.
So sweet, he thought when he started licking at her,
first only with the tip of his tongue and then with
broad strokes.
He moved back to her clit and started sucking on it
again, moving his hand to slide first one finger and
then a second inside her.
She hissed, he growled, and her walls tightened
against him. He shifted his body and moved his hand,
pushing his fingers deep into her well-lubricated hole
and curling them upwards. He found the spongy area and
pressed his fingers against it, rubbing her wet
muscles. Her body started jerking and bucking against
him, and he held her down with his other hand. She
panted his name when he stroked his fingers in and out
of her, pumping them fast and sure, stopping to rub at
her g-spot every few seconds.
It was inevitable, really. As the orgasm built, Mia
let go of his hair, her hands fluttering around,
looking for purchase somewhere, She arched her back
and cried out softly, and found the headboard behind
her. She clutched it tightly while he flicked and
suckled her clit, his fingers doing wonderful things
inside her. Her eyes were shut so tightly that she saw
little pinpricks of lights against the back of her
lids.
Her breathing was a rasping sound in the room, her
heart pounding faster and faster as the orgasm grew in
intensity and magnitude. Her body was straining
against his hold, the sensations sizzling through
every nerve ending. She felt it in her toes, all the
way to her fingertips, and electric zing that rushed
from one nerve ending to the next like a wildfire of
want and need and responses.
And when that torturous build-up finally reached the
peak, it threw her off the cliff mercilessly. The pin
pricks behind her eyes became little golden sparks
that exploded like sparklers the size of fireworks.
She was falling, and the sensations were so
overwhelming that it threatened to ruin her pleasure.
But Carter was there to keep her grounded. His mouth
and fingers carried her through the explosive orgasm
that had her legs bucking and her toes curling. He
eased her when she became too agitated, and when the
grip on her senses finally let up he soothed her
sensitive skin with slow strokes.
She was breathing like somebody who had been trapped
under water for too long when it was over. She lay
there with her eyes still closed, her one arm over her
face as she waited for the room to stop spinning.
Carter shifted up, pulling her into his arms. She
could sense the tension in him and shifted him so that
he way lying on top of her. She cupped his cheek in
one hand and dragged his mouth down for a slow,
bottomless kiss. His tongue tasted strange, and it
took her a second to realise she was tasting her own
essence in his mouth.
She was shocked at how much she liked it.
Carter felt Mia's shift from blissful to sated, and
briefly considered letting her sleep. His cock, which
felt like it could break steel boulders at that point,
screamed in very loud protest. He was pretty much on
the brink of an orgasm, so maybe he could go to the
bathroom and...
She shifted her legs open under him, cradling him in
the little nest of her body. He felt her damp skin and
automatically thrust his hips against her, sliding his
cock through her wet slit. It felt... unbearable good.
He pulled back and did it again. And again, and was
considering to just go on like that until he came,
when she shifted her hips and he found himself poised
at her entrance. He forced his eyes open to look at
her. He would not, could not, take her without her
permission.
She was achingly lovely, with her skin still damp and
her hair curling around her face in little tendrils,
her face flushed and her lips swollen from his kisses.
Her eyes were lazy pools of contentment, and when she
nodded, he plunged.
That first sheathing was exquisite. Her body was so
soft, so tight, so well and truly loved that he slid
in without any trouble or difficulty. She opened up
for him, her passage adjusting to his size and pulling
him in flush against her. He braced himself on his
arms and gave her a minute to get used to him,
breathing through the primitive urge to start pumping.
Eventually he felt her push up against him and he
pulled out until only the head of his cock was still
inside her. Her body felt so perfect that he had to
grit his teeth as he did so because he didn't want to
leave. He slid back into that slick, wet hole, feeling
the way her muscles pulled at him and contracted
against his hard cock. He repeated the process, the
delicious friction rubbing between them building his
desire.
He increased his pace stroke by stroke, heartbeat by
heartbeat, until he was gasping for breath with every
lush slide into her tightness. He could feel his balls
tightening up, the tingle starting in the base of his
spine a dead giveaway. He quickened his thrusts almost
desperately, wanting it to last longer but simply
unable to draw it out this first time. He trembled,
lunged deep inside her held himself there when the
orgasm claimed him for its own. He could feel the warm
rush of semen in his cock, felt it explode out of him
and into her hot wet pussy. Her body was helping him,
the muscles milking his cock with hot, fluid
contractions that pulled the orgasm out of orbit. He
spun around helplessly for a second, straining to make
it last, and when it crashed around him and inside
him, he let himself press his face in her neck. He
kissed the skin there, tasting her fine sheen of sweat
as he tried to get control of his breathing.
It took a while for the ringing in his ears to
subside, and he realised that he had slumped on top of
her and was crushing her with his weight. He rolled
off her and pulled her close, his arms trembling
around her. He sensed it when she started drifting off
to sleep, that lazy floating of the senses only a good
orgasm could induce. With a grunt, he got up and
worked the blanket loose under their bodies, pulling
it over both of them. He gathered her close again and
she shifted her head onto his chest. Her deep
breathing tickled the shuttering of hair and her hand
settled over his heart. He took it in his and threaded
their fingers together to deepen the emotional
connection.
And only when he was sure she was asleep, did he let
himself do the same.
The miracle happened the next morning when they woke
to find Nikita in the kitchen, rummaging through the
cupboards.
"I didn't want to wake you," she said apologetically.
"But I'm starving. Why are you wearing Carter's gown?"
"It's warmer than mine," Mia said. "Honey, why don't
you go lie down? You must be tired."
"Actually, I'm not, not really. Or I am, but not as
tired as I've been lately. I need to walk a bit,
stretch my legs. Oh, and merry Christmas, by the way."
Mia and Carter could only stare when she smiled and
took the bowl of cereal to the couch, where Hope was
playing with some discarded wrapping paper.
"The fever must have broken," Mia said in a low voice.
Carter shook his head.
"It's more than that. I think we should take her back
to the doctor." He folded his arms around her and
pulled her close, pressing his face into her hair and
breathing in her scent. "Merry Christmas, my love," he
whispered against her. She made a sleepy noise and
nuzzled against him.
"Merry Christmas," she said, wrapping her arms around
him and holding on like she was never going to let go.
Her eyes caught sight of the snowy white world outside
through the window, and she just knew:
It was going to be a Merry Christmas indeed.
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 76