Elena's Lovers & Hush!

Chapter Two-2

With the paralysis disappearing, Elena wondered if it was really his eyes boring into her that was taking her fear away. And was that wise? Could this man be trusted anymore than the brigade of escapees from an LA street gang that harassed her?

“Did you have to use the gun?” she asked.

“I shot it in the air,” he explained.

“You wear it all the time?”

He looked down at her with a friendly smirk. “You’re gonna need air in there,” he warned. “Let the window down.”

Should she feel chagrined, seeing the expression on his face? He was treating her tenderly as if he did care. Elena rolled the window down, but not yet half way; she didn’t want to leave room for him to suddenly advance on her.

“I know you don’t trust me, but your car’s not going anywhere,” he said.

“How do you know?” she asked him.

“Try it, we’ll see.”

Hoping with all her heart that the engine would start this time, Elena turned the key, dismayed when the same flat empty click was all that resulted.

“Probably the alternator,” he said.

“And that means?” she asked.

“I can take you into town, have the car towed later.”

“I don’t know. Maybe you could just call.”

“Will this make any difference?” he asked her, whipping from his pocket identification. Jose Dakota, Detective, Tucson Police.

“You’re pretty far from Tucson,” she said.

“I’m not on duty,” he replied.

“So, I guess I shouldn’t worry about you hijacking me?”

He chuckled, while Elena thought of the dream she had before the kids woke her. Rescued? Was this Spain all over the again? Running her hand down her thigh, she made certain that she could feel herself—yes, her flesh was flesh, and time didn’t distort things, it was about eleven fifteen, just as it should be. He was real, the desert was real, the heat and her broken down car were facts she had to live with. Getting out of the desert was another one.

“How are you on a bike?” he asked, turning to the cycle behind him

Elena was instantly thinking back to Sam and his bike. The lover from her distant past taught her how to ride behind him and not be scared. Even if it was years before, she shouldn’t have lost her touch.

“How far?” she asked, starting to gather her things together, knowing how much she hated leaving her car in the middle of nowhere. Would it even be there when she found someone that could tow it?

“I expect about fifty miles, until we find someone useful,” he told her.

Jose Dakota touched her as she opened the car door, his hand on her arm full of affection. So surrounded by that comforting aura, she decided to trust him. Could it be the official badge had calmed her panic, or was it just who he was?

“You don’t look like a detective,” she said, as she climbed on the cycle behind him.

“What’s a detective supposed to look like?” he asked, looking back.

“It’s your hair,” she remarked, noticing how his dark hair floated about his shoulders behind him, how it made him look American Indian. He probably was. The reddish tan of his skin did the same. He was secure with what he was doing, and that made her feel secure. He was also erotic, generating from his crotch a continuous potency. She felt it even when she was in the car, and felt it amplified a hundred degrees higher when she mounted the cycle, his ass to her crotch as if they might be as lovers.

She rode with her head to his leather covered back, her tucked skirt flapping around her, his hair and hers tangling together in the wind. From the outset they were already acting as if they belonged together, though they knew nothing of each other but her car troubles and his occupation.

There was a mechanic in the one-horse town, a gas station, a diner and an Indian shop. There was no hotel.

“Your car’s going to take a while,” Jose said leaning into her over his dish of rice and beans. “You want me to take you to Phoenix?”

“I guess I don’t have much choice,” she said. She was having a difficult time thinking. Some of her mindlessness was weariness, some the heat in the diner, the grating sound of a broken ceiling fan, the clanking dishes, and too much tobacco smoke.

“You could come home with me,” Jose suggested.

“Home. With you?” She was alarmed.

“An adobe just north of here, in the mountains.”

“I really couldn’t,” she said.

“I’ll take you to Phoenix, but it’s a long ride.”

They stood together for a while outside the diner. If it could be cooler outside, if that was possible, it was. No air conditioning, and the tepid stench of food in all stages of decay inside made the desert air seem clear as an ocean breeze. They watched the old man tinker with her car, amazed that he’d managed to tow it to some salvation, though Elena was sure that it would rust and rot right where it sat in the gas station. The prospects of his being a cracker-jack mechanic were not good.

“I’ll order the parts, be a couple of days, if we’re lucky,” he said. Grunting, he stood up and wiped his hands on a greasy rag. His toothy-tobacco stained grin might have been a heartwarming sight, if Elena weren’t already too hot and tired to take another step, and any more of this wasteland and the people in it were making her wish for LA, as bleak as it was.

“You say your cabin isn’t far?” she looked up to Jose for an answer.

“Let’s just go there,” he said, making the decision. “We’ll talk it out where we can relax,” he pulled his arm around Elena. “We’ll check with you tomorrow,” he called to the mechanic. And guiding Elena to the bike, she was riding behind him again, before another word was out of her mouth, or another thought in her head. She leaned into him wearily, her head against his back, as they sputtered out of town, and took a dusty road toward the mountains. If only she could sleep again, maybe she’d wake up on the other side of this nightmare.

***

“Ah, good. You found something clean to wear,” Jose said, seeing Elena in the doorway of the house, wearing a white cotton sundress. “You like my hideaway?”

“You never said it would be like this,” she said. The cool adobe was like a nurturing cocoon, the windows placed where the winds would pass through the simple structure and keep it cool in the heat of the day—though Jose looked cool enough in the shaded patio. Having changed into white linen pants and shirt, there wasn’t a trace of detective in his being, or the wild man that rescued her. Elena wondered for a moment if he was a ghost. “Are you real?” she asked.

“What do you mean real?” he asked back. He was sipping from a tall hand-blown glass, another—hers—sat on the table beside him.

She chuckled. “My mind’s been playing tricks on me lately, and I’m wondering if this is another one.”

“Tricks, huh? Do I look real?”

“I don’t know.”

“I am quite flesh,” he said rising, taking her hand in his. “This is better than Phoenix, isn’t it?”

“I probably should have called my friend in Flagstaff. She would have driven down to pick me up.”

“You weren’t thinking, were you?” he said kindly. “We can do that in the morning. Tonight you can stay here.”

Elena agreed. From the patio she looked out at the vista of purple and red cliffs and rock; there was nothing quite as striking as this stark landscape. She might have stared for hours into the distance just to watch the way the shadows changed as if the spirits of these mountains were moving from place to place.

“You know, this is a world away,” she said, for a moment thinking of Spain, the last time she was in a place outside the realm of reality. Spain seemed so remote now, Nikos and all of it. And it paled in comparison to this.

“It’s my home, and I’m glad you joined me,” Jose said.

There was never any doubt from the moment she consented to ride on his cycle that she would make love to Jose. He didn’t offer her options, preliminary small talk unnecessary. She bonded easily with him, many erotic sensations converging at once: the vibration of the bike, the smell of his leather jacket against her face, the fierceness of his heritage melting her resistance, and now the cool white and the way he moved within his clothes. And of course, the hawk-like, visionary eyes, which could see for miles and to the depth of her heart, and even beyond that into the human soul itself. Could one man be that powerful? Or was she conferring on him abilities it was absurd for any man to have?

There were so many things exchanging places in her mind, marching one after another through her thoughts: who he was, why had he found her and brought her to the adobe? Could she trust him? She thought she needed answers, and yet when he was about to offer her a place to sit, and his arms reached around her instead, she buckled in his grasp, her head lifted to his lips, her lips touching his so they kissed a first time. She didn’t make a single protest. Being easy with a man was becoming easy for her—in Spain and the desert, so it seemed. She was giving herself away without a thought, where at home—unless she was pretty well inebriated—she’d scowl at any man that didn’t meet a book full of criteria. She didn’t have to ask Jose anything to know she trusted him, even if she didn’t trust these strange circumstances that aligned a fragment of a dream with the reality of being rescued.

“You don’t need the clothes,” Jose said, drawing the straps of the summery white away from her shoulders. The dress fell to her ankles limp, and she stood in front of him naked.

He had her crotch in one hand, the other hand fondling her ass. His fingers went deep fast, and she replied to the suddenness, with a whimpering “ahhhhhhhh.”

Dropping at her feet, Jose’s lips were on her clit, as her hands combed though his thick hair. Such soft hair, fine like a misty rain. With his mouth pressed tightly to her opening v****a, she rocked against his face, against the probing, teasing tongue until the quickest of orgasms wrenched her with a sharp end. Almost falling from her feet, Jose caught her.

“Rescued you again,” he said, pulling her down to the ground with him and holding her tightly.

She could smother herself in his affections, they were taking her with him to such a profound degree. He kept kissing her about the face, while his hands roamed her skin. Dozens and dozens of kisses on her face, across her brow, to her ears, and nose and eyes, and lips, where he wasn’t content to stay. He laid her out, the cool brick against her back while the heat still baked them from above; and raising her arms above her, his lips teased her underarms, making a line of kisses that went down her torso, to her hips and to her thighs shivering with an odd desert chill.

“I want to come again,” she gasped over and over as a way to beg for his kisses at her womanly doorway.

“In good time,” he replied to her, and there were another hundred kisses, everywhere but between her labia. “You’ll be alive everywhere, not just your cunt,” he murmured.

Grasping her tightly in his arms, he picked her up and carried her to his bed in the dark interior of the adobe away from the light where her eyes could rest. His c**k slipping by the sloshy center breached her as if she was a virgin again, the entry hurting.

“You’ve never been as full as this,” he surmised from the grimace on her face. “Relax with me.” And that phrase he replayed over and over as comfort, the penetration expanding her to what felt like a limitless degree.

For a long time he moved inside her while their eyes met. And though she wanted to look away, she didn’t.

“Ah, ah, ahhhhhhh,” such sound, and little whimpers, tiny panting, the breathing in and out almost difficult. She rocked with him as he moved himself to orgasm, as he swelled bigger yet so that she was delivered from everything but the consuming sensation that began between her thighs and ended somewhere beyond her body.

Jose, over her with such force, stared into her even when his climax arrived, such a vision his face was with such gratitude appearing as the thick c**k burst. He didn’t smile with his lips as much as his whole expression looked inspired in that final moment.