Escape (20 page)

As if trying to prove the truth of his words, Tarik surged in again and took Luka in a deep, overwhelming kiss that sent electricity sparking over every inch of Luka's skin. He wanted that kiss to last forever, but after just a few moments Tarik pulled away, then went and turned on the shower. “Get in.”

Luka wanted to go back into that kiss and live out the rest of his life high and dreaming on the drugs Tarik's touch pumped through his body. He wanted to be back in Tarik's warmth, close and connected. Apart, away, with Tarik looking at him, being naked was awful. He was a hermit crab out of his shell, ugly and unprotected. He scuttled past Tarik, got under the water and drew the curtain.

Tarik pulled the curtain open again, and that terrible moment of being seen, exposed and vulnerable, of the hideous sensation his guts were dissolving in acid, suddenly diluted and washed away as Tarik stripped off his own clothes. God, Tarik was so beautiful, the sight of him, naked and so close, unleashed a startling flutter in Luka's belly and an ache in the center of his chest. When Tarik stepped into the shower, when he slowly came close, the thrill of hope surging through Luka's body felt like it would shake him to pieces.

Water trickling over them, Tarik brushed his wet lips to Luka's wet cheek, then said softly, “I hope soon, you can learn to get as much pleasure from your body as I do.” Tarik trailed a soapy finger over Luka's shoulder, down his arm. “That someday it'll excite you to undress for me. It makes me sad that it scares you, that it hurts you when I undress you.”

Luka shrugged.

“What does that mean?” Tarik gave him a teasing grin, but his voice was soft and his gaze was kind.

“I'm...”

A feathering of lips and tongue against his neck, just below his ear, down, over his wet skin. Luka gasped as a sudden thrilling jolt surged through him. Then Tarik met his eyes again. “What are you, Luka?”

Skinny. Doll eyes. Fat lips.
“I'm ugly.”

Tarik's grin disintegrated. “You don't really think that?”

Shy eyes hidden under downcast lids and lashes.

“Look at me.”

He raised his head and met Tarik's eyes. Took in his faint smile.

“You're perfect. Now that you're finally letting me look at you...God, you're fucking gorgeous. Just seeing you, being close to you, you make me ache.” A grin and a look that made Luka's heart thump hard. Voice intimate, almost a whisper, “You make me hard.”

Even looking at the proof of it, Luka couldn't believe it, that he could have that effect on anyone. On Tarik. Brave, strong, beautiful, kind Tarik.

Tarik sighed, sounding as weary as aroused. Frustration twisted around Luka's lungs and guts. He was ruining it. He wanted to kiss, to touch, to make Tarik sigh, to fill him back up with the need that had driven him to climb over Luka and flex and grind until they both gushed their frantic pleasure, but he couldn't make himself move, and finally he just mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Ssshhh.” Looking down at Luka, Tarik had a serious, thoughtful expression, like he was trying to solve a puzzle or understand an obscure text.

Another kiss, slow and tender.

A look.

A smile.

Impossible joy. A metric ton of euphoria on a thin sheet of glass. It would crack. The plummet would crush him.

Tarik's palm cupping a creamy pink puddle, hands cradling Luka's scalp, fingertips pressing and circling.

“What are you doing?”

Tarik grinned. “I'm giving you a bath, dirty boy. Does this feel good?”

“Yes.” The wild muddle of emotions in chaotic battle twisted around Luka's throat, making it hard to speak. But the only thing that had ever felt better, were the last two nights in their sleeping bags, and earlier that day, by the tree.

Tarik's grin turned into a smile. Then his smile faded and his eyes went dark and sad. “I look at these bruises,” Tarik touched a mottled patch of yellow and purple under Luka's left pec, “and I want to give you a gentle touch, give you pleasure for every blow, every kick, every hurt you've ever felt.”

Slippery, soapy caresses. Tarik's fingertips gliding over Luka's wet skin. Taking his time, lingering over every little part of him. Under Tarik's hands, Luka felt his body coming vividly to life, as if he'd been a partially animated corpse until Tarik stirred the nerves in the hollows behind his collarbones, the ridges of his shoulder blades, the tendons running down the length of his neck, the shallow valley just under his last rib.

Even turning the water on only intermittently, Luka never got cold, and didn't know if it was because the basement was warm, or because of the press of Tarik's body, or if the thrill rushing through him was flooding his body with heat. How could Tarik's hands touch him so gently? The same hands that had cut open two men just days earlier?

“Are you cold?”

Luka would give up the rest of his life to stay there, like that with Tarik gazing into his eyes. “No. Are you?”

“No. But you're trembling.”

“I just feel too good.”

Tarik's warm, wide smile. “If that's what it is, I'm going to keep touching you.”

Those words provoked a response—a tingling, warming thrill—nearly as intense as Tarik's caresses. Every inch. Top to bottom, front to back. That joy, that pleasure, Tarik's gaze, his smile—this was happiness. Even in the midst of his bliss, Luka's heart ached a little, realizing he'd never known this much joy, this much pleasure was possible. Realizing how much he'd been missing.

Luka gasped as Tarik slid one soapy hand down over his belly, through the curly hair below, and gently encircled his stiff cock as the other slid down his back, down one ass cheek, up the other, then lightly along his cleft. Heat rushed up Luka's throat and across his face and he couldn't stop himself from squirming in embarrassment.

Tarik kept stroking and rubbing. Eyes mirthful, one corner of his mouth curled upward. “Hold still for me. I want every inch of you clean before I take you to bed.” Tarik grinned as if he knew his ribbing would just embarrass Luka even more. The hand around Luka's cock opened and slid under, cradling and gently massaging his balls. When Luka gasped, Tarik murmured, “Don't you dare. Not yet. I want to keep you trembling like this a little longer.”

Tarik's breath against Luka's throat. Brush of lips. Touch of tongue. Panting, melting, Luka surrendered to that stunning rapture, too big to believe, almost too intense to bear.

A look. Tarik's stunning eyes focused on him, lingering. A kiss so deep and urgent, Luka forgot to breathe.

Tarik looking down at him, panting, his gaze suddenly sharp. “Turn away. Face the wall.”

God. They were really going to. Luka had wondered if Tarik would want that. The fearful pounding of his heart competed against the aching thrum of need tormenting his balls and cock.

Tarik's mouth by his ear, his stubble rough against Luka's cheek. “Don't be afraid. I promise, I'm not going to hurt you.”

Heart hammering harder and harder, Luka turned toward the wall. “You can. I want you to.” He meant it. The need, the ache to give Tarik anything, everything was as driving, as consuming as any he'd ever felt. Even if the idea of that act had always been vague, amorphous, and as scary as it was alluring. An image knotted up with dread of a secret, sweaty violence.

When Tarik's hands slid over his belly and he felt the press of Tarik's chest against his back, he braced his hands against the wet tile because he was so giddy with fear and want he didn't trust his legs to hold him up. Another brush of Tarik's rough jaw, this time against the nape of his neck. Voice soft. “You want me to what?”

He could barely say it. “To...” Every word he could think of was wrong. “...have me.”

Tarik groaned. “God, Luka, what you do to me, saying that.” Kisses down Luka's nape. Soft lips. Then the rousing brush of tongue, so wildly, unfathomably different that the caress of fingertips, then wet sucking kisses set loose a fluttering, tickling chaos in Luka's belly. “I'm dying to. I've been dying to for days. But not yet.”

Tarik's embrace slipped away, but a moment later Luka sighed under the slick, soapy caress of Tarik's big hands across his belly, rounding his hips, massaging his cheeks, teasing between. Luka tried to resist the urge to squirm away from that intimate touch, let Tarik slide his fingers along his cleft. When Tarik took hold of Luka's hips, when he leaned into him, when he flexed his hips and his hard cock worked its way between his cheeks, Luka gasped and shuddered.

“God, Luka.” Tarik wrapped his arms around him, pulled him close, nuzzled into his neck and rocked his hips, sliding his cock up and down his cleft. Hand gliding over belly, touching his cock. Sliding his other hand up his torso, Tarik teased Luka's nipple. “Are you okay?”

“I'm so okay it feels like I'm dying.”

A soft growl of a laugh by Luka's ear. “You're so still. Don't you feel the urge, the need to move with me?”

Luka realized he'd braced himself against the tile wall, and his whole body was a rigid line between his feet and his planted palms.

Nipping and sucking his ear, Tarik drove a gasp from Luka's chest. “Do something for me.”

“Anything. Anything you want.”

“Push yourself into my hand.” Tarik kept his hand wrapped around Luka's cock, but stopped stroking him.

Not sure why it was so hard, so embarrassing, Luka forced himself to move, to flex his hips and slide his cock against Tarik's gentle grip. When Tarik sighed and kissed his neck again, a sweet thrill thawed a little of Luka's shame, and he flexed again, even surrendering to the sigh of pleasure erupting from that place of delicious contact.

“Fuck, you feel wonderful.” Tarik gently bit his neck, and spiking through the ache of joy provoked by those words, that wild thrill shot down and doubled the incredible sensation of pushing into Tarik's hand and the strange, startling feeling of Tarik's hardness rubbing and burrowing between his cheeks. “Make yourself come. Use my hand and make yourself. Feeling you wiggle against me has me so fucking hard, so fucking close.”

It was like there was a cord wound tight around his whole body, keeping him from moving. He loved Tarik's embrace, the feel of his hot breath on his wet skin, the low purr of his groans, and, God, Luka wanted to feel Tarik tremble against him in another eruption of pleasure like he had earlier that day against the tree, and the night before in the sleeping bag. But every time he flexed his own hips to rub against Tarik's palm and fingers, his own pleasure got twisted with barbs of shame.

“It's okay, Luka. You're safe with me.” Pulling him tighter against his chest, Tarik rolled his hips, pressing himself hard against Luka's ass, and groaned. “Come on. Come with me. Come with me.”

Luka flexed and whimpered, dizzy, weightless, floating senseless in a violent tide of fear and need and joy and a pleasure bigger than the provocation of nerves.

“Fuck, yes. You're so good. So beautiful. Don't stop.”

Clutching, Tarik was humping, slowly but with a frenzied desperation that drove Luka past the snagging wires of doubt and fear and he sought Tarik's touch greedily, needfully, and when Tarik tightened his grip and Luka had to plead, to push, to root into his palm, he lost himself, seizing, collapsing into Tarik's cradling, suspending embrace.

“Jesus, yes, yes.” Tarik held Luka under him, shuddering and growling. After, while he panted and calmed, he kept kissing, nuzzling, stroking Luka's hair. Finally there was the low growl of laughter. “Now I need to clean you up again.”

Starting the water again, Tarik ran his hands over Luka's back and ass, then killed the tap and handed him the dry towel.

Sated on pleasure and happiness, Luka forgot his own hunger and fed on the joy of watching Tarik devour his stew. Was it normal, was it really possible to get turned on by seeing someone chew? There was something about the flex of Tarik's defined jaw, the contraction of his throat that prodded at Luka's want, not the least bit dormant or remote, even though he'd just come. Even bigger than his insistent, relentless want, an unfamiliar, lulling contentment wrapped itself around him. If Tarik weren't determined to cross the border and get to his child, Luka could have happily stayed in that dim, warm basement with him for another week. No, a week wasn't enough. Not nearly enough time for that quiet solitude, just the two of them close and safe. He would have stayed for a month. A year.

“Aren't you hungry?” The way Tarik smiled over his raised spoon at him made a sweet ache swell in Luka's chest. “The stew's delicious. You're a good cook.” When Luka blushed, Tarik grinned.

Luka forced himself to eat a few bites.

“Anything wrong?” Now Tarik looked concerned.

Luka laughed, not sure if he was just happy, or embarrassed, too. “Nothing's wrong.” He'd said those words a hundred times, but he couldn't remember when he'd ever said it, before, without lying. Now Tarik was looking at him so intensely, he felt his face flushing hot. He tried to think of something to say, to give Tarik something to focus on other than how many bites of stew he'd eaten. “Was it hard to get away?”

“From what?”

“From your platoon?”

Tarik frowned, and Luka's suddenly felt like there was a lead weight in his gut.

“I probably seem like a coward.”