CHAPTER ELEVEN
In spite of what happened the previous night, not much changed between them. Perhaps the pressing situation allowed them to momentarily overlook it. Perhaps it had been the conversation they'd have whilst watching the telly later that night. Perhaps it was just the fact that – for once – they were being adults about this sort of thing.
No matter what it was, things were still normal – as far as normal went. Molly remained skittish, Greg tried to keep her calm, and they continued trying to figure it out until they thought their brains might explode, when they'd do something to distract themselves and rest their minds.
Although it had taken Greg an hour to connect Molly's mobile to the computer, and although Collin sat on watch for the connection for hours, the stalker didn't call that next day.
This set Molly into a frenzy, pacing about the cabin for hours, ringing her hands together, and jumping at every last noise.
"You know," Greg said after several hours of watching Molly walk from one side of the room to another like a cat chasing a ball of yarn, "I'd think you'd be a bit more…relaxed without him calling you."
"You'd think," She muttered, her voice higher than normal. "I'd think. We'd all think."
With this, she collapsed next to him on the sofa. "Oh, I'm going insane."
"No, you're not." He said, hating watching her in such a passion. "You're afraid."
She gave him a rather uncharacteristically sceptical once-over. "Are you just trying to make me feel better?"
"Is it working?"
Pressing her lips together, she thought this through. Then, for the first time in that day, she smiled. "Yeah."
The next day, the stalker didn't call again. And, still, the day after that, the mobile did not ring. It bothered Molly a bit less, then. She still muttered to herself, but she managed to eat and play a few rounds of Solitaire while Greg had meetings with his team via the web-cam. She'd look over her shoulder at him occasionally. The serious, stoic look etched into his features; the set of his jaw; the raw concentration in his eyes.
She liked looking at him. She liked talking with him. She knew all this, but wasn't exactly sure how to go about it. The situation was rather complex, after all. He'd voiced it the other night, Molly remembered, while watching a film on Netflix after they'd kissed.
"Look, er, Molly…" he had said. "I probably shouldn't've done that – you're so shaken and everything."
"Well…don't apologise…I…I kissed back."
"I know," He had said, tugging at his collar. "But still…let's give it a rest. While we're getting all this sorted, while we're putting this bastard away. Wait for things to be less…complicated."
It set her heart on fire, cutting like a knife. Yet, she understood. Greg had never been one to enjoy complications in his own life – she supposed his job came with enough of those.
One part of her mind pressed for optimism, reminding her that, although she had no control, things would work out for the best and she ought not to let the situation chase her away from the possibilities.
The other part of her wanted to lock herself away in a cupboard and starve to death – that'd be less painful. She couldn't imagine what would happen if they didn't find the man following her. Would she hide for the rest of her life? How long, exactly, would that be? Would Greg tire of it and leave her? She couldn't know.
She sighed as he said good-bye and signed out of the video-chat.
"Anything new?"
"Nope." He shook his head, and then, spinning around in the office chair, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Are you sure you have no idea who he is?"
Molly nodded. "Absolutely."
"No familiar faces at all? Nobody who you saw more than other nameless strangers?"
"No one."
"Well, it's someone."
"I do realise that." Molly said, crossing her arms. "I just don't know who."
"There's something you're missing. Has to be." He shook his head. "It can't take a genius to figure this out."
She frowned. Slight frustration welling up inside her, Molly shook her head, starting up the stairs and into the washroom. "I'll go have a shower, now."
With nothing else to do Greg pulled out the mattress from inside the sofa, and began to make the bed, tucking in the sheets, the shower making subtle background noise from the floor above. He shook his head, trying to rid it of anything his imagination might try to come up with.
After a minute, his makeshift bed was all made up and he sat down, beginning to thumb through his mobile. Once Facebook and Angry Birds grew passé, he flicked on the telly, watching a rerun of some old soap opera showcasing (surprise, surprise) someone's long lost, switched-at-birth, gay twin in a coma. He was only able to handle it for about a quarter of the hour.
Then, he sat and waited. How long would Molly be in the shower? What was she doing in there?
No sooner had that thought entered his brain, than he sighed loudly, lying back on the mattress, shaking his head. Best not to get started – at least not until he could have the washroom to himself.
He laid back on the pillows, and began flipping through his mobile once more, looking at his case notes. Nothing of consequence, nothing new. No epiphanies. No bright light came, and no new conclusions. Nothing clicked.
Suddenly, and without warning, an ear-shattering scream pitched through the cabin. Greg was on his feet in a moment, running towards the sound, tripping over stairs, pushing open the door to the washroom. Steam enveloped around him, the water pounding against the shower sounded loud in his ears. Molly was standing against the far wall, entrapped in the glass, staring at the frosted window opposite her.
"Molly!" He yelled out to her, reaching over and turning off the water. "What happened?"
Molly's chest heaved. "I—I thought I saw someone outside the window."
"There's no balcony – there's no way anyone could be…" Greg paused, allowing the scene to set into his mind. He coughed. "Could be out there."
He tried to keep his eyes up, at her eyes, but it was no use. Her hair sticking to her face, as she breathed roughly out of her mouth. The water slid down her body, dripping off the subtle curvatures of her hips and breasts, her entire body soaked through.
In a second, he realised where he was staring, and he shook his head, hoping the effect of it all wouldn't show through his jeans. He ripped off his Oxford shirt, pulling Molly's arms through, and walked her out of the shower, back into her room, his arm around her shoulder.
He sat her down, as she continued to breath loudly.
"Calm down, Molly," He said softly, keeping his hand on her shoulder, his thumb tracing small circles on her arm. "It's all right. You're all right."
She swallowed and shook her head. "I saw someone. I really thought I did."
"You're scared," Greg said, nodding to her. "A lot's happened to you."
She shook her head with shaking breath, "He was in my flat. He was in my flat and I didn't even know it. He could've followed us here…just waiting. He killed her – raped her, mutilated her, and slit her throat." She snapped her head over to face him. "And I'm next."
"No, you're not," Greg shook his head adamantly, tightening his grip on her shoulders. "I told you once, I'll tell you again, I'm not going to let anything happen to you. We're going to catch him."
"He escaped the police twice. How is now any different?"
"This time it's personal."
Molly narrowed her eyes, allowing the corners of her mouth to twitch slightly upwards.
Greg felt his heart tremble, and his neck grew hot. "You know what I mean."
His eyes betrayed him again, and he looked down, at the way his shirt was completely soaked through, clinging to her body, long enough to cover her, but short enough for him to see almost all of her legs, still gleaming from the soap and water.
In the next moment, he found Molly's fingers slowly, absentmindedly, tracing up and down his bare stomach and chest. He suppressed a groan at her touch.
Molly noticed, and gave a soft smile at his reaction. It was odd. Considering the recent circumstances, she realised she ought to be shaking, afraid, and certainly Greg ought to have been the very last thing on her mind, rather than creeping to the forefront. Yet, she couldn't help but stare at the subtle outlines of his muscles, over his abdominal and biceps. Without her own consent, she found her breathing rate increased quite substantially.
"Mmm," She muttered just as absentmindedly as the way her hands meandered. "You know…it's kind of funny."
Greg paused, then he managed to choke out in a whisper. "What is?"
"I'm excited now." Molly said softly. "Not scared, just…excited."
He hadn't realised how close they'd gotten. Foreheads touching, with Molly's hand still slowly tracing over his middle.
"I've been told to have that effect on people," Greg grinned jokingly.
Molly grinned – the first real smile he'd seen on her in a while – and then mindlessly swatted at him, and bit her lip.
He couldn't stop staring, watching the pressing of her teeth onto her thin lip.
"Greg," She said softly, slightly above a whisper.
"Yeah?"
She blinked, shuffling closer on the mattress. Then, she spoke, running her words together from nervousness. "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee sometime."
Greg smiled. "Yeah. That sounds great."
She blinked, an anxious smile lying on her flushed face. She was unsure what to think. Somehow, all the fear from earlier melted away, and all she could think about was how close Greg was, how he made her warm and ticklish from the inside out. If she could sit there for the rest of her life, she figured she'd always be content, just like that.
She leaned forward, softly pressing her lips into his. He reciprocated, lightly moving a hand through her soaked hair, fingering out water as it ran down his hand.
They came apart, staring at one another, mere centimetres apart, breathing in each others air.
Greg, suddenly began to chuckle.
Molly frowned. "What is it?"
"Nothing. It's just…" He paused. "This is bloody awful timing. But…"
"Yeah." Molly nodded. "I know. Me too."
Then, in a flashing second, they collided. It was a mess of lips and tongues and bumping teeth. She pushed through his open mouth and, rather boldly, bit onto his lip, causing an instantaneous erection.
She moved from his mouth to his neck, and he tightened his grip over her waist, pulling her in.
He flipped her over onto his back, so that he was on his hands and knees on top of her. The shirt came all the way open, exposing her completely, and Greg lowered himself, closing in the space between them. Molly ran her hand up his neck and moved her fingers through his hair.
He heatedly burrowed his mouth over hers, and she reciprocated, putting forth incredible effort. As though it was the only thing her body required of her. She pulled on his hair, biting his lip, running her tongue along the inside of his mouth.
"Molly," Greg grunted between kisses as her hands lowered down his stomach, "Are we…you sure you wanna…oh my God."
She smiled sweetly, before she began to trace her lips along his jaw. "That answers your question?"
"I don't have anything." He grimaced.
Molly, however, didn't seem to care. "I trust you."
Without another word, he sat up on the bed, and swiftly began fumbling with his belt. Molly followed his lead, unbuttoning his jeans, throwing them off his legs with surprising dexterity.
She leaned back onto the pillows, knees apart, and he settled in between them. He was starting to ache as their hips bumped together, already bruising.
He found himself a bit surprised. She seemed a bit uncertain as she moved, as though she wasn't sure exactly what to do. But when he noticed how she reacted every time he put his hands on her, he hardly minded.
As his fingers traced her ribcage, she whimpered lightly, and when he moved it upwards to cup her chest, it grew louder. Everything he was doing had a profound effect over her. It was rather flattering.
Molly pressed towards him, feeling as though she could never be close enough. She was slightly embarrassed, not fully aware of what she was doing. She was a bit rusty, not having been in a relationship in over a year. Still, she knew something she could do that might make up for rustiness.
She sunk to her knees off the mattress, letting her tongue caress the bulging vein before allowing the rest through her lips.
Salt came spurting in her mouth, for a moment, she recoiled, coughing. Then, she locked eyes with him. Smiling, her eyes dancing with amusement. "I'll take that as a compliment."
He burned for a moment, embarrassed. He normally wasn't quite so quick of a fuck. Then, he recovered, sliding off the mattress to lift her in the air, the warmth of her sticking to his torso.
They wound up against a wall – pushing and pulling to each other, pressing against the wooden walls for leverage – and tumbling down the stairs, wrapped up in a comforter, falling down into the soft suede sofa, settling into the corner.
"Greg – " Molly managed to splutter, each syllable broken off with another heated kiss. "Just…get…on…with it…will you?"
He shoved inside, biting her mouth, kissing down her jaw, her neck, sucking on her collarbone as he slid back and forth, and then returning to her lips.
Molly moaned into his mouth, breathing heavily in his ear, bucking her hips for any measure of control.
He was in a fog – his heart raced all over - he pulsated and couldn't move fast enough, as he grunted her name, watching her back arch from underneath him.
She moaned, trying to form syllables into something intelligible.
He felt the familiar warmth and pressure developing below his abdomen. Oh, living Hell, not again – not already.
Molly pushed upwards, moving them both into a sitting position. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clutching onto him with her arms and legs, damp from water and sweat.
He pulled out, quickly as possible, the sticky liquid staining the material of the furniture, and then he returned to her, keeping his eyes poised on her.
She couldn't take it. The feeling consumed her. She'd never been necessarily greedy, but, in that moment, she felt as though she could never have enough. She wished he hadn't left when he came. The ghost of him lingered, teasing, every moment he wasn't there, making her wish he was there, and deeper still than before.
She cried out. He felt her stiffen, then relax, releasing, eyes rolling back into her skull, everything leaking out of her.
Their mouths came together, agape, sharing hot, ragged breaths.
He rolled off her, lying back on the arm of the sofa. She laid beside him, hand sweeping through her dripping fringe, chest heaving heavily and quickly. They looked back at each other.
He couldn't quite comprehend exactly. It was the first time in a long time he had been the more experienced of the two in bed (he didn't even want to think about how many people his ex-wife had been with, and Abigail had a promiscuous streak as well). But, then he thought of how every little touch affected her. And he liked that. Not to mention she just felt so damn good – and then with all that pent up energy. It sent shivers down his spine and nearly rejuvenated his erection just thinking about it.
"Holy shit." Molly said, eyes returning to the chandelier overhead.
Greg stopped. He'd never heard her curse before. Then again, he'd never shagged her before, either. He regained control of his own breathing. "Why d'you say that?"
She blinked, still facing the ceiling. "Words do not…I can't explain how fantastic that was."
He cocked his brow, a smirk on his lips. "You should see what happens when I go more than ten minutes."
"What happened to 'giving it a rest,' then?" Molly asked, turning her eyes to face him, smiling.
"To hell with that," Greg muttered, rolling back over her again.
