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When Laura was about three weeks into her unlawful imprisonment at the police station, she got her period. The thought of this happening hadn’t occurred to her. She’d been preoccupied with other, more pressing matters, and her menstrual cycle had always been an inconstant, unpredictable mess regardless. But one morning, after crouching gracelessly over the toilet in her cell, her tissue came away with streaks of red. She stared at it for a few moments, and then let out an unabashed, “Fucking seriously?”
Admittedly, it wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to her lately. But the idea of having to free bleed all over a jail cell for the next five-ish days had her flushing the toilet as aggressively as she could, then stuffing a wad of paper in her panties with a resounding, “Ugh!”
“Laura?” Max called from a few cells down. “You okay?”
“Fine!” she hollered back. She wouldn’t bother him with this. It wasn’t important and there was nothing he could do about it anyway. And honestly, the sound of Max’s voice was starting to grate on her ears something awful. She didn’t want to talk to him about this. She didn’t want to hear him rummage up some insincere sympathy, when she knew all he was really feeling was sorry for himself. He’d been useless these past few weeks, sabotaging her interactions with Sheriff Hackett at every turn, painting them like immature brats instead of young adults who could totally be reasoned with, and consequently, set free.
She was smoldering by the time said sheriff came by with their breakfast trays. He walked past Laura’s cell, always choosing to feed Max first. She listened to their exchange, her eyes rolling.
Max: “Let us out.”
Sheriff Hackett: “Shut up and eat.”
Max: “Screw you, asshole!”
So on and so forth, several times a day, every day. She couldn’t definitively say who, at this point, she was more frustrated with, Travis Hackett or Max. But when Travis strode up to the bars of her cell, food tray in hand, she decided he was worse, for the time being. Fucking cops.
“I’m not hungry,” she said. The food he served her wasn’t bad. Today, it looked like he’d made buttered toast and eggs. But the thought of eating made her stomach roll. Stupid period. Now that she knew it was there, she could feel all the usual signs that she’d been ignoring.
He frowned at her and set the tray on the ground. “Don’t eat it, then,” he replied, clearly not giving a damn. There was a juice box on the tray and she was thirsty, but she didn’t reach for that either. She was afraid, if she moved abruptly, there could potentially be…leakage.
Maybe she was making a strange face, because the stupid sheriff didn’t leave, just kept looking at her. She sighed, feeling her face go red with embarrassment and anger. How was he going to look at her later, when she’d bled through the sweatpants he’d given her to wear?
She was being ridiculous. He took them to the showers every few days to wash up, and gave them fresh changes of clothes frequently, including underwear, and a sports bra for Laura. He’d handed her a pink toothbrush on her first night. He wasn’t a monster. As uncomfortable as it was…maybe she just needed to ask him.
“What the hell is wrong with you today?” he asked, evidently tired of waiting on her to stop being weird, which, fuck him. It wasn’t as if she’d asked him to stay and stare at her.
She walked up to the bars, risking leakage in order to keep Max from hearing their conversation. He appraised her approach with a wary, closed off expression. Once she was closer, she could see the faint dark circles under his eyes and the tension in the way he held his shoulders.
“Could you get something for me?” she asked, thinking that, perhaps, if she was clever enough, he could see in her eyes what it was she needed and she wouldn’t have to go into specifics.
“Let me guess,” he snarked, rude as ever. “You want the keys to your cell? My head on a platter?” He gestured down at the tray. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”
She ignored the command and pressed on. “You know how I’ve been here for three weeks?”
He squinted at her, nodded sharply.
“You know how,” she grasped for a metaphor he would understand, “how the moon has cycles?”
There was an unmistakable flash of fear in his eyes. But it was gone again in an instant. “Yeah,” he said, his tone weighed down by some emotion Laura couldn’t quite place. “So?”
“What if I told you that, much like the moon, half of Earth’s population has similar cycles they experience?”
“What are you—?”
“I got my period,” she snapped. “You’ve had me locked up here for three weeks and now I’m on my period.”
“Oh,” he said dumbly, eyes going wide. “I didn’t think about that.”
“Men never do,” she sneered. “So unless you want it to look like a murder happened in here, could you bring me some stuff?”
His wide-eyed stare turned swiftly into a cruel glare. “You could have said something earlier. I went to the store this morning. I could have picked you up something then.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I was allowed to give you an errands list. And I literally just got it ten minutes ago. Maybe you should have thought ahead before wrongfully imprisoning a young woman with a healthy reproductive system, asshole.” Fuck. She sounded like Max. That wasn’t going to win her any points. “I mean—”
He held up a hand to silence her. “Save it. You’re no good at pretending to be nice.” He turned abruptly and left, without saying another word.
She stared after him in surprise. Seriously? He was just going to leave her like this? She grabbed the juice box through the bars and went to sit on her bed with a huff. Thought twice about it and sat on the floor instead. God forbid she stain the mattress and be stuck with it that way for the rest of her life, which was probably going to be spent exclusively in this cell.
“Fuck!” she yelled.
“Laura?” Max called. She could tell by the muffle in his voice that his mouth was stuffed with food. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” she answered sharply, hardly in the mood to talk to her useless boyfriend. All she really wanted to do was cry, but she wouldn’t risk that here, wouldn’t admit to herself or Travis Hackett or Max that she was weak. Instead, she grabbed the pillow from her bed and curled up on the floor, staring at the label on her juice box. It was apple. Her favorite.
How obnoxious.
--
She let sleep take her under and only woke up when a cramp dragged her back into consciousness. She groaned as she sat up. She may have been youthful and in great shape, blah blah blah, but a stone floor was a stone floor, and her back was screaming at her for sleeping on it. To make matters worse, she could tell as soon as she shifted that she’d bled through her clothes.
She laughed a miserable laugh and was halfway to the toilet when her eyes caught on something sitting just inside her cell. It wasn’t the breakfast tray; that was gone. In its place was a large duffel bag. She hurried over to inspect it, looking around for Travis Hackett and not seeing him anywhere. He must have snuck in when she was sleeping. A post-it note was stuck to the side of the bag.
“My niece uses these,” it said in a blue-inked, messy scrawl.
She sifted curiously through the contents. Inside was a mammoth box of tampons, accompanied by an even bigger package of pads. She smirked, pleased. But that wasn’t all the sheriff had stuffed into the bag. The exact contents were as follows:
- One package of Fruit of the Loom underwear in a size M
- Two new pairs of sweatpants
- One Hackett’s Quarry Summer Camp hoodie in mustard yellow
- One pair of fuzzy pink socks
- Ten chocolate bars
- One bottle of Ibuprofen
- One roll of Charmin’s toilet paper, extra plush
- One package of baby wipes
- One package of small, lavender scented trash bags
Laura sat in front of her pile of menstrual accessories, utterly dumbstruck. “What the hell?” she whispered, her fingertips grazing over the softness of the hoodie. It looked old, old enough to make her wonder. The camp had been around for a long time, after all. She checked the tag inside and bit her lip to contain her startled gasp. Written in black marker on the inside of the hoodie were the initials “T.H.”
Had Travis Hackett…given her his old camp sweatshirt to wear? No. No, it was only a coincidence. She blinked away any lingering surprise, double checked the sheriff wasn’t coming around the corner anytime soon, and hurriedly set about to utilizing the supplies. According to Travis, or at least his niece, pink fuzzy socks were a necessity for managing periods. She couldn’t deny their appeal and slipped them on. The little luxury was nice, but it wasn’t what she really needed. What she really needed, she carried to the toilet and swiftly used. When she was freshened, she was greatly relieved to have the small trash bags, since there was no trashcan in the cell.
Armored with a pad, fresh panties, and clean, stainless sweatpants, she set about swallowing a pain reliever with her apple juice. Then she munched a chocolate bar on her bed. And then. Then. She examined the yellow camp hoodie.
On second thought, it was too big to be for a child. But could that asshole sheriff have been a counselor once? It made sense, him being a Hackett, that he’d have been involved with the camp in some form or another over the years. She tried to imagine him being in charge of a bunch of screaming children and couldn’t quite manage it. Maybe that’s what made him decide he would rather be a cop, and arrest children in need instead of looking out for them.
“Pfft,” she scoffed.
“Laura?” Max called out. “You awake?”
She instantly wanted to pull her hair out at the sound of his voice. So she ignored him, shoved more chocolate into her mouth, and chewed thoughtfully as she kept examining the hoodie.
“Laura?” Max asked.
She rolled her eyes and pulled the hoodie over her head. It was soft and warm and the cell did get a bit nippy in the evenings. Maybe she’d sleep in it. That wouldn’t be weird, would it? To sleep in something Sheriff Hackett probably slept in once? Nah.
“Laura, are you okay?”
“Yes, Max! I’m fucking fantastic! Stop asking me the same question over and over.”
She heard a snort and knew it wasn’t from Max. Glancing up, her eyes met Travis’, where he was watching her outside the cell. She straightened her back and hid the half eaten chocolate bar behind her back, as if being seen with it would prove something to him that she didn’t want proven.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, standing up to speak to him. She walked to the bars and wiggled her pink-socked toes, daring him to comment on them. He didn’t take the bait. Didn’t even look down.
She didn’t notice the bag in his hand until he was passing it to her. “What’s this?” she asked, wondering if he’d brought her even more feminine hygiene products. One sniff, though, and she knew that wasn’t it. She peered inside. It was a burger and fries. When she looked back up, he was passing her a juice box.
“Eat,” he scolded, then turned to leave.
She watched his retreating back in bemusement. “Hey!” she called.
Instead of ignoring her, like she expected, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. The thin line of his mouth was impatient. “What?”
She shook the paper bag at him. “What’s this for?” He hadn’t been starving them, obviously, and the food he’d served had been decent so far, most of it stuff he’d clearly made himself. But he’d never brought…something like this. The smell of greasy fries reeked of indulgence. Delicious indulgence. She couldn’t wait to tear into the bag and start eating, but she needed to figure this out first, because this felt like a present. The bag of period supplies felt like a present, too. But the look on his face painted a different picture. Because he looked at her like he hated her.
Fair enough. She wasn’t a big fan of his either.
“Did Max get a burger?” she asked.
He pursed his lips. Sauntered slowly back to the bars of her cell. “What’s it to you?”
“Just wondering why you’d give this to me and not him,” she said, a thought forming in her head and giving her heart rate a kick. “Are you trying to poison me?”
His eyes darkened with anger. He’d reacted similarly before, every time she’d implied he was a shit cop who acted above the law. Like the mere suggestion of him poisoning her was heinous.
“You need to eat,” he repeated. “You didn’t eat your breakfast and you slept through lunch, so I bought you a burger.”
She stared at him.
“Don’t you need, I don’t know, iron? When you’re,” he waved a hand toward the lower half of Laura’s body, “doing that?”
She blushed furiously. Oh. He was still thinking about her being on her period. He was still trying to…help? “Uh, sure,” she replied stiffly. “That makes sense.” Did it? She didn’t even know. But she hadn’t had anything but chocolate and apple juice all day and it probably would help to eat something more substantial.
He nodded. His ears were pink, but his face was still twisted in the infuriating smirk she’d grown accustomed to. “Eat.” His eyes flitted down, widening a bit at the sight of her in the hoodie, like he’d only just noticed she was wearing it. “If you eat it all, you can shower,” he added, his voice deeper than usual. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”
With that, he left.
“What the fuck,” Laura whispered.
“Laura?” Max called. “What was he saying to you? You weren’t talking loud enough to hear! Do I smell food?”
“No!” Laura answered as she unwrapped the burger. Ooh, make that cheeseburger. “He was just being an asshole. Nothing new.”
Max grumbled something unintelligible while she concentrated on eating. The food was hot, like he’d just picked it up and rush-delivered it to her. Was it wrong to feel pampered while locked in a cell? She was pretty sure it was wrong.
It took some effort, but by the time Travis returned half an hour later, she’d managed to work herself back up to resentment and bitterness, even though it was definitely muted now, because of her pleasantly full stomach.
He rapped on the bars with his knuckles. “Did you finish?”
She threw the bag, which was crumpled into a tight ball, in his direction. It bounced off the bars in front of his face and he rolled his eyes. “Shower?” he asked.
She didn’t hesitate to nod. There was no denying she felt gross and needed to wash up. She walked over to him and slid her hands through the opening of the bars so he could cuff her. He narrowed his eyes as he slid the cool metal over her wrists. Her obedience always made him more suspicious of her, like he expected her to be up to some trickery one hundred percent of the time, when really, it was more like seventy percent.
He sneered at her as he opened the cell, and she sneered back at him as he grabbed her shoulder to lead her into the hall. His touch was firm as he directed her towards the bathroom. It was depressing in there, no windows, dull grey tile, dim lighting. But a shower was a shower.
After three weeks as captor and captive, Laura and Travis Hackett had a Showering System. Since she couldn’t properly wash up whilst handcuffed, he would free her hands in the main room of the bathroom, and she would disappear behind the half-wall divide, where two shower heads were attached high on the wall. It was uncomfortable, because her privacy depended solely on Travis Hackett staying on his side of the room. There was no door separating them. But he hadn’t bothered her yet, and as the days went by, her anxiety around him in that regard had decreased. It was still uncomfortable, because he was a strange man who was keeping her locked up, but she never got that insidious, deviant vibe from him.
Now, he handed her a towel and a shower caddy and turned away, leaning against the wall that would separate them. He crossed his arms and stared at the floor, saying nothing. He didn’t speak to her during the Shower System, not even to rush her for taking too long. He always waited silently, and then, when he heard the shower turn off, tossed a plastic bag with fresh clothes toward the opening, where Laura could snatch it up without being seen in her towel. It was their system. It worked. She didn’t know what kind of system he had with Max. She kind of just pictured Travis hosing him down like a dog.
She was lingering too long, and he looked at her questioningly. Without another moment’s pause, she ventured into the shower section of the room. He’d filled the caddy with generic body wash and shampoo. Conditioner that smelled like apples. She didn’t get a razor, which was…becoming a problem, but she knew he’d never give her one if she asked. It’s not like it mattered whether or not she had smooth underarms.
She undressed, hanging the hoodie carefully on the wall’s only clothes hook, then piled everything else in a bundle on the floor, as much out of the splash zone as she could. Usually she left her dirty clothes there, and he’d get them later, wash them, give them back to her. But this time, she was a little concerned with him handling her things. Mostly, she was worried about the pad plastered to the inside of her panties. She couldn’t just leave that there for him to find. She worried at her lip as she turned on the shower head and stepped into the stream. One thing she could say about the police station, it had great water pressure and the water was always nice and hot. And Laura liked it hot. Steaming. She cranked up the temp as far as she dared and stood under the water with her eyes closed. The crown of her head ached from keeping her hair in a ponytail all the time, and she massaged her scalp, easing the tension headache nestled there.
She tried not to think of anything.
But she was acutely aware, this time around, of Travis Hackett waiting for her just a few feet away, kept apart only by some wall tiles and drywall. She gave her head a shake and reached for the shampoo, her eyes darting to the entryway, the vulnerable threshold that the sheriff had never crossed. Once, a few months ago, Max had walked in on Laura when she’d been in the shower. She hadn’t felt well, so when he climbed into the stall to join her, she’d been put off. But he’d wanted to fool around, and he hadn’t even noticed the glassiness of her eyes or the slight fever of her skin. She’d given him the bare minimum and sent him away, tears prickling her eyes. He never seemed to consider her. It was always what Laura could do for him, how she could make him feel.
She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about anything, though, especially this. She rinsed her hair. Slathered on the conditioner. Kept doing her best not to think.
The steam was getting to be too much. The water felt too hot. She bent down to grab the body wash, and when she stood back up, her vision went wonky with little black dots. Fuck. She knew this feeling. She was going to pass out. Her hand shot out to brace against the wall. Her head swam and her vision darkened rapidly. She panicked.
“I’m gonna pass out!” she yelled, and then, eyes rolling back in her head, she collapsed.
--
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Laura drifted slowly back into consciousness. She took careful stock of her surroundings without opening her eyes. She was lying down, the surface hard and damp. Slick. Was she still in the showers? Yes, she could hear the water running, could still feel the beating of water droplets on her legs. But her head…her head wasn’t on the floor. It was tucked against something warm and firm, softer than tile, but not soft.
“You can wake up any time.”
That voice. Travis Hackett. Sheriff Hackett. On the other side of the wall, waiting for her, protecting her while she bathed. Wait. No, that wasn’t right.
“Wake the fuck up, please.”
Oh. Oh no. That voice was too close to be on the other side of the wall. She cracked open an eyelid. Gasped. Travis Hackett was looming over her, his hands cupping her face, his hair soaking wet. Droplets traveled down this temple. Her head was resting in his lap.
“Shit,” he said, meeting her eyes. He was breathing kind of hard.
“Shit,” she agreed, because she was naked.
He must have heard her cry out and rushed into the room, gotten soaked pulling her out of the water, and cradled her head in his lap. Now, as she stared up at him, mouth agape, his hands started moving to the back of her head, searching for injury.
“I think I had a controlled fall,” she murmured as he kept patting around her wet hair. “I don’t think I hit my head too hard.”
“I don’t really care what you think,” he snapped, kept searching. “A controlled fall,” he scoffed. “Unbelievable.”
She felt woozy, and the shock of being pulled against his body like this had her uncharacteristically compliant. She let him feel around her scalp until he was satisfied. When he leaned down to stare into her eyes, she tried to look defiant.
“Pupils look okay,” he muttered gruffly to himself.
“I’m cold,” she complained, a shiver wracking her slender frame. “And naked. Can you cover me up?”
“Fucking hell,” he said, scrambling to grab the closest thing he could, which happened to be the dirty clothes she’d piled on the floor. He shook out the sweatpants and draped them over her, carefully not touching her bare skin. “Um.” She felt something sticky being plucked from her thigh. Groaned when she realized what it was.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, watching Travis Hackett toss the used pad into the corner. She curled into herself, mortified.
“It’s okay, it’s fine,” he hushed. “Don’t even think about it.”
She wasn’t crying and she wasn’t going to cry, but this was stacking up to be the most embarrassing moment of her entire life. “Sometimes I get dizzy spells,” she tried to explain, as if an explanation fixed anything. “It hasn’t happened in a while.”
“My niece gets them sometimes,” he said. “I’m going to pick you up now.”
“Huh?”
Before she could protest, his hands were scooping beneath her bare thighs and under her back, and he was standing up. His wet hair flopped against his forehead, sticking there and making him look younger. She fumbled to adjust the sweatpants, which were barely keeping her covered. “I can walk,” she insisted.
“Like I’m going to trust you to walk,” he said, “when you can’t even stand without falling down.”
“Wait, let me down,” she yelped, growing increasingly flustered as she remembered aspects of her particular predicament. “I’ll get blood on you.”
“Are you bleeding somewhere?” he asked, voice switching into something high pitched as his eyes swept frantically down her body. “You’re hurt?”
“No!” she cried. “My fucking period, remember? I’ll get blood on you!”
He calmed down instantly. “It’s nothing. I’m used to it,” he said, and started walking them from the bathroom. She caught a glimpse of their reflection in the mirror: her body draped indecently in his arms, her head resting against his chest, his uniform so wet it was plastered to his skin. She swallowed hard, tightened her grip on his wet shirt, and tried not to focus too much on the way his forearm was pressing against her crotch. It rubbed her in a disconcertingly pleasing way with the rhythm of his gait.
As soon as they entered the hallway to the cells, Max called out, “Laura? You okay?”
She sighed, exasperated, and pressed her face against Travis’ chest instead of answering. She felt the vibration as he spoke for her. “She’s sleeping, kid. Try shutting up for once.”
“Hey, fuck you, asshole!” Max yelled.
“Yeah, yeah,” Travis said as he set Laura down on the bed. Then, in a quiet voice: “Your boyfriend’s a real piece of work, you know that?”
“Screw you,” she said half-heartedly, clutching the sweatpants to her naked body. She waited for him to get up and leave. He got up. But he didn’t leave. Just went to the duffel bag and dragged it close to the bed.
“What are you doing?” she asked, watching in horror as he unwrapped a pad.
“What does it look like?” he hissed, pressing it into the crotch of a fresh pair of panties.
“It looks like you’ve lost your fucking mind.”
“Shut up and slip these on,” he said, thrusting the panties into her hands and twisting around so he wasn’t facing her.
She did as she was told, noticing, now that he was turned around, that there was a small red stain on the sleeve of his shirt. Where he’d carried her. With his back still turned, he passed her a t-shirt. She threw it over her head quickly. He didn’t pass her any pants, and she didn’t think about asking.
“Are you decent?” he asked, after a few moments.
“Yeah.” She tucked her knees to her chest. The sweatpants which had kept her covered before were wet, so she threw them on the ground. They landed beside Travis with a damp thud. When he turned back around, she suddenly became very aware that he’d seen her naked, had touched her naked body, and had her period blood on him. And that he didn’t seem to give a single fuck.
“How do you feel?” he asked, and she wondered what he would do if she answered honestly. If she said, ‘I’m feeling pretty attracted to you right now and I can’t explain it.’
“Fine,” she said, because that was the safest route. But she couldn’t deny she was thrumming from head to toe. That the sight of Travis Hackett wet and kneeling beside her bed was doing something to her. That the idea of him running into the showers to help her had her thighs clenching.
“Did you,” she ventured, shy but curious, “see anything?”
Clearly caught off guard by the question, it took him a long time to answer. Like, thirty seconds. Which meant of course he’d seen something, he just didn’t want to say. His eyes avoided hers, roaming instead over her bare legs. His hand was resting on the mattress, right beside her foot, but not touching.
“Doesn’t matter,” he finally answered.
She shifted her foot, wishing she had the pink fuzzy socks on, and nudged his hand with it. He huffed in irritation, so she did it again. And again. He cut her a mean look and wrapped his hand around her ankle, stilling her.
His hand was hot against her skin.
“Stop messing around,” he said. And this. This was the first time he’d touched her like this. Before didn’t count, when he was carrying her, and when he was searching her for injuries. Because this was the first time he was touching her unprompted, not out of necessity. And he wasn’t taking it away, either. He was holding her ankle with his hot hand, his fingers longer than she’d realized and wrapping around her goose-bumped skin.
She wiggled her foot, just to feel his hold tighten. The sensation pulled a gasp out of her, and they looked at each other with mild surprise. Mild, because touching felt like the next logical step in how this worked. Like him sitting with her and holding her ankle was inevitable and…well, only mildly surprising.
“I’m cold,” she complained softly.
He grunted. “Still?” When she nodded, he shook his head. “I’m the one in wet clothes.”
“So take them off,” she said, before remembering that was definitely not something she should say. She opened her mouth to backtrack, but then didn’t. She stared at him in challenge instead.
“I’ll pass,” he said after a very pregnant pause. “I think we’ve had enough bare skin for one night.” He released her ankle.
She thought of the yellow hoodie still hanging up in the showers. She thought of its softness, its faded lettering, the initials penned into the tag. She thought of how he’d given it to her to wear, something that was so indubitably his. She thought of other things, too. The chocolate and the pads and the French fries. The way he leaned against the bathroom wall, never trying to steal a glance at her body. The way he cradled her face. But mostly, she thought of the hoodie. And how she wished she could be wrapped up in it right now.
She slid off the bed and wrapped herself up in Travis Hackett instead, her thighs slipping around his waist, her arms slipping around his neck. She nuzzled her face into his throat and inhaled. His skin was still damp. He smelled like freshly brewed coffee and apple conditioner.
He sat frozen beneath her. “I’m thinking you really did hit your head.”
“I don’t think so,” she admitted. She lifted her face to meet his gaze. She knew she was blushing, but it wasn’t so embarrassing, because he was blushing too. More importantly, he was thawing out, his hands running softly up and down her bare thighs. She let her hips sway back and forth, rubbing herself against his lap. Fuck, maybe she did have a concussion. Maybe she was still unconscious on the bathroom floor, having the weirdest dream ever. Or maybe she’d just finally realized why Travis Hackett riled her up so bad every time she saw him, ever since the first time, when he’d appeared outside the car window like a specter.
“Hey, Officer Dickhead,” Max called out. “You there?”
Laura held her hand up to Travis’ mouth, shaking her head. “Shhh,” she whispered. His lips were soft against her palm, and when she dragged her fingers down to slip into his mouth, his tongue was hot. His eyes were fire as he sucked on her fingers. His hands were iron grips on her thighs, squeezing bruises into the flesh, punishing her. For what? Her behavior? Certainly. His behavior? Definitely.
“Laura, you awake yet?” Max tried again.
Travis Hackett smirked and bit at her fingers. She pulled them out of his mouth and was instantly yanked forward, into his waiting kiss. It startled her, being kissed so aggressively. He kissed her the same way he handcuffed her. Roughly, but not recklessly. The way he bit at her lip wasn’t to hurt her. The way he pulled her down against the seat of his lap wasn’t to force her. His every touch was mindful, but not stifling. He was thinking about what he wanted, sure. But also, and firstly, he was thinking about what she wanted.
“Hey! Laura!” Max yelled. “Answer me!”
“How can you stand him?” Travis rasped against her lips in a hoarse whisper.
“I can’t,” she replied, running her fingers through his damp hair, pushing it off his forehead.
“Don’t let him hear you,” he warned.
She raised her eyebrows at him questioningly, right before he tugged her underwear aside and plunged two fingers inside. This time, it was his palm that slapped over her mouth, while the other hand stimulated her ruthlessly. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She exhaled heavily against his hand, breathing through her nose, fighting the urge to moan. His lips were parted as he touched her, and his eyes were dark and disbelieving. Everything about his expression screamed, “What the hell is happening?” But his fingers were sure. The way he plunged in and out of her was enthusiastic and precise.
She rocked into him, riding his hand, the slide too wet to just be her arousal, but Travis Hackett sure didn’t seem to give a shit about a little blood. And pretty soon, Laura stopped worrying so much. She’d never ever let Max touch her when she was on her period. He was so squeamish about stuff like that, and she was self conscious. But the man in front of her now appeared to be nothing but pleased. Totally bewildered, but pleased. His palm slid from her lips, grabbed her chin, and pulled her into a deep, claiming kiss.
Laura pulled at his hair and then raked her fingers down his shoulders, finding purchase on the top button of his uniform. She worked the damp fabric open, button by button, revealing a broad, pale chest with a dusting of hair, black with flecks of silver. She pulled the shirt free from its tuck and pushed it off his shoulders. He looked at her with disapproval, and she wasn’t sure if it was for undressing him or for interrupting his fingers.
“I said I was cold,” she whispered, and his skin was hot to the touch now that his wet uniform had been stripped.
“And I’m supposed to warm you up?” he asked against the shell of her ear.
She nodded. “Make me warm.”
He kissed her again and unzipped his pants. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He didn’t realize he’d been making her warm all day, that his words were always cold but his actions were a furnace. She could see that now. It was a rush to realize it all at once the way she had, but now that the flint had sparked, she wanted the heat to consume her.
“Come here,” he ordered, pushing her hips up so he could align himself with her entrance. The head of his cock was slick as he rubbed against her teasingly. Laura was hallucinating. Sheriff Hackett was about to fuck her and she was so super into it. “Gotta stay quiet,” he whispered. “You gonna be good?”
“Yes,” she whispered back. “Yes.”
“Yeah?” He guided her down his shaft until she was sitting in his lap again. She felt him twitch inside her. He was…fuck, he was bigger than she was used to. That was unexpected. She hissed at the stretch, already extra sensitive down there. She glanced down, where his hands were holding onto her hips. There was blood on two of his fingers, and he’d spread some over her skin.
He pumped his hips upward, surging into her, and her entire body tingled. She gasped and he gave her a disappointed look. “Quiet.” He kissed her, brought his mouth close to her ear, and whispered, “Keep your mouth shut and ride my cock.”
Arousal shot through her like a fucking bullet, and she did what she was told. She bounced in his lap, trying her best to be quiet. Still, the slap of their joining seemed to echo through the cell, and the wet sounds of him entering her were becoming worse and worse. After several sweaty minutes of this, he broke his own command and grunted loudly, his hands squeezing her ass, helping her ride him faster.
“Hey!” Max called out. “Laura?”
“Fucking come on,” Laura whined, picking up her pace. Travis pulled her shirt off and cupped her small breasts.
“Are you ignoring me or something?” Max yelled. “What’s that weird sound I’m hearing? Do you hear it?”
Laura’s thighs were burning, but Travis realized it before she could say anything and lowered her onto her back. This was even better. She held her legs open wide for him, letting him in deeper. But her pad and panties were still on, and they were getting in the way. He quickly pulled out, yanked them off, slid off his own pants and boxers, and was back between her legs in record speed. Now they were both totally bare and the feeling of their skin sliding together had Laura’s head spinning, like she might faint again, but in a good way this time.
The sounds, however, were becoming unexplainable. Especially because Travis seemed to have completely forgotten they were supposed to be quiet.
“Oh, yeah,” he moaned, fucking her hard.
Laura didn’t have the strength to try and cover his mouth again, nor could she contain the moan that spilled from her own lips when he hit a spot inside her that made her brain melt and her toes curl. “Fuck!”
“You like it?” he asked, thrusting faster.
“Yes, yes,” she answered.
“You warming up?”
“Mmm, uh huh.”
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON OVER THERE?” Max screeched.
“You wanna live another day or do you wanna keep running your mouth?” Travis shouted back.
“WHAT?”
Laura pulled at Travis’ hair, bringing him closer so she could kiss him. He hummed into it, his hips rotating, his strokes growing slower and more powerful. Laura’s legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his backside, drawing him in, wanting him deeper and deeper.
Max was babbling on and on in an outraged tone, but Laura was so close to coming, all she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears and the huff of Travis’ breath against her skin. He moved against her just right, and there it was. Her body went rigid with pleasure. She shook and shouted and pressed crescent moon indents into Travis’ back with her fingernails.
He pulled out of her and they both groaned. Then he took her hand and wrapped it around his cock. She held tight as he fucked into her grip. Watching him come was something else. The way his eyes shut tight, the way he licked his lips, the way his shoulders hunched like he’d been punched in the gut.
His spend went everywhere. On her chest, on her stomach, all over her hand. After a quick glance, she saw that, overall, he’d gotten more of his own fluids all over the place than she had. She sighed in relief. There was blood on his softening cock, but not a lot. And all of it was wiped quickly away by Travis with a wet wipe. He got her cleaned up first, even slipped her panties and pad back up her legs, giving her groin an affectionate pat once it was covered with clean cotton.
When all suspicious stains were cleansed from both their skin, he finally settled back down, still naked, leaning his back against the bed. Laura was still lying on the floor. Sprawling, really. She couldn’t move. Her legs were jelly.
“This wasn’t the day I’d planned on having,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at her. “You probably think I’m gonna let you walk out of here now, don’t you? Seduce the cop, make him fall for you, get his keys. Something like that?”
“Wait,” she said, leaning up on one elbow. “Did you fall for me?”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” he quipped, but his eyes were softer than his words, and warmer. Always warmer. “Come here.”
He liked bossing her around, she’d come to realize. And letting him get away with it was possibly something she liked. So she went to him. He pulled the blanket from her bed and wrapped it around both their shoulders. “Warm enough?” he asked.
She wanted the yellow hoodie, but this was good, too. “That depends,” she said, pressing a kiss to his neck that made him shiver. “Are you going to let me go?”
“That depends,” he said, mockingly. “What do you know about werewolves?”
Laura blinked at him, waited for him to laugh or smile or do anything other than stare at her smugly.
He didn’t.
“DID YOU SAY WEREWOLVES? JESUS FUCKING CHRIST,” Max yelled.
Laura exchanged a tortured look with Travis. “If you get me out of this cell, I will learn everything about werewolves you could ever want to know. I won’t even call you crazy to your face.”
There it was. There was Travis’ smile.
“Well, then,” he said. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
--
Later, when she looked back, Laura would remember this day as the best time she ever had whilst bleeding steadily. Travis would remember it as the best day. Period.