They Call Me Teddy: (Enemies to Lovers Horror Romance)

by Ella Burns

  My hips move in time with him, pushing back and aching for more.

  “Please,” I beg as I press against him, feeling myself flutter when he hits a certain spot. “Ooooh….”

  “Not yet, Little Doll,” he says, his voice quiet but raspy.

  When he pulls his hand away a moment later, I let out a whimper. My body is aching for his touch, thighs clenching together, eager for friction. I feel cold without him touching me, and my head moves around searching for him, though I don’t move from where he placed me. I imagine I can feel his eyes on me.

  It feels like it takes forever, but really is probably only a few seconds, until I feel his hands come to my waist, gently pulling down my underwear.

  “Your skin is so warm,” he murmurs, and I feel his breath against my thigh, his hands caressing my ass and down my leg as he pulls down the panties. Lips press down on my thigh and I lean into him, humming lightly in pleasure.

  “I shouldn’t make this good for you,” he whispers as he shifts behind me. His hot length presses against the crease of my ass and I lean my head back, pushing into him. “I should make this hurt, because you fucking deserve it.”

  His rough hands grip my waist and I shift my legs more open, eager to feel him.

  “Somehow, though, I can’t help myself.” He slides into me without warning and I cry out as a sharp pain strikes deep inside even as I marvel at the fullness.

  “Holy shit,” he whispers as he stills inside me to the hilt. The pain fades quickly and slowly he begins to move. I don’t hold back another moan. I feel so full and perfect, every motion rubbing against something delicious that sends sparks through my body.

  Without my hands free, all I can do is try to stay upright as he picks up speed, my legs planted in place. I feel myself begin to tense around him, the feeling of him pushing me over that edge.

  “Branson!” I cry out as he hits that perfect spot once more and I shatter. I’m vaguely aware of the guttural shout behind me as he thrusts deeply, my own orgasm pushing him over the edge. My entire body feels on fire, my skin sensitive to every moment and touch. Even the feeling of his breath on my back sends shivers down my spine.

  I let out a laugh.

  Bound and blind with a red bum after killing my mentor and a fucking cop, not to mention losing my virginity… and I’ve never been happier.

  Chapter Four

  Branson

  My heart is thumping so loudly in my chest it drowns out the sound of the heavy rain. My legs feel weak and I have to pull myself up so I don't press down too hard on Amelia. Teddy. Fuck.

  Looking down at her, the silk band around her eyes, bent over with her pink bum exposed… Despite having just come, I feel my dick twitch and frown at it.

  I had wanted to punish her, deny her the pleasure she craved. I couldn't help myself. Listening to her moan, feeling her wetness coating my fingers, it was all too much. Shaking my head at myself, I lean down to untie her and catch sight of redness between her thighs. Reaching out I touch it lightly and she jumps at the surprise touch.

  "Why is there blood?" I ask, rubbing it between my fingers before leaning over and pulling the silk scarf from her eyes. She blinks a few times before I help her stand and she peers down at her legs.

  "Hmmm," she says. "Just a bit of blood is all. I've heard it's quite normal."

  She holds out her wrists for me, but I ignore them, looking at her quizzically.

  "What are you talking about?"

  I'm aware that I wanted her pain and I probably shouldn't be concerned about a bit of blood, but at the same time I am so out of my realm here. Sex is something that’s been so abstract in my life, I hardly know where that all came from. I don't intend to stay naive for long, though. Not after I've found out how fucking incredible it can be.

  She looks at me with a strange expression as the belt falls free and she rubs her wrists, watching me.

  "I've heard blood isn't uncommon the first time," she clarifies, looking closely at my face. It takes me a moment before my brows shoot up. Somehow, I don't think she would ever lie to me. Hurt and torture me, perhaps, but not lie.

  "But, the... boys, the...." I struggle with the words, unable to articulate the things I saw and heard. How can she have never...

  She shrugs but a smile plays on her lips.

  "I've had my fun, but some things... well, some things are special." She leans up and kisses the side of my mouth, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "I'm going to go move that cop so he isn't out in the open."

  She walks off in her tinted-red panties, mud splattered all over and her ass still red. All I can do is watch after her and shake my head.

  "Fucking woman is going to be the death of me," I mutter before following after her.

  ✽✽✽

  By the time we get to the kitchen again, the storm is in full effect. The wind blows the old shutters around with a clacking noise, and the rain beats relentlessly. We managed to move the cop and his car, but it's only temporary. We need to figure out what the fuck we are going to do next, and this is all rapidly getting away from me.

  I haven't had time to process any of it, and I have a feeling that time won't come soon.

  "Here," Teddy says, handing me a towel. I take it gratefully, quickly patting myself dry. I hear a noise and realize she turned the TV on. The news plays in the background, an ambience I'm not used to. My attention is brought back to her standing in front of me expectantly.

  "Are we..." she hesitates, "Are we staying?"

  I feel the smallest swell of something. Pride, maybe? Some sort of satisfaction that she would turn to me to ask this. The word 'we'.

  "I don't know," I reply, putting the towel down slowly. "With Jane gone we could..."

  "We're here today at the Black Roses Nightclub where only days ago a vicious scene played out resulting in one body and one missing girl...."

  A picture pops up on the screen of a blonde woman. She is vaguely familiar, but considering I don't know anyone, I don't see how that could be. I move toward the TV on autopilot, pressing the volume button as I listen to the news report.

  "Police have just recovered video footage from a nearby parking lot, where a blonde woman was seen carrying the missing girl to the wood panel station wagon shown in this video. Anyone with information on the vehicle or woman are encouraged to contact the police immediately. Police Chief Stanson has advised there have been some leads and his officers are currently canvasing the nearby townships."

  We both stand there staring at the television as a blown up and slightly fuzzy picture of Teddy pops up on the screen. I turn to her to see her eyes wide.

  "What the fuck did you do?" I rasp.

  Chapter Five

  Teddy

  My mouth is open, eyes wide, as I watch the video on the screen of me dragging Lola into the car play out .

  The car that the cop was looking at outside.

  “That’s how they found us,” I whisper, turning to Branson. He’s watching me rather than the TV, his face harsh and firm.

  “What are you talking about?” he asks, his voice gruff and his eyes never leaving my face.

  “The car,” I tell him, pointing to the TV, “You can’t see the license plate, I’m better than that, but they must be going around looking for people with that make of car. That’s why the cop was here.”

  His jaw ticks.

  “The cop you just killed.” A statement, not a question.

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  “He was snooping around.”

  Branson lets a huff of air out his nose, bringing his hand up to the bridge of his nose. My annoyance fades and I reach a hand out to him.

  “Headache again?”

  “Always,” he mutters, raising his face to mine and pulling back before I can touch him. I feel the cold stab of rejection.

  “It seems like they’ve been getting worse?” I comment, not adding that maybe that’s because I’ve been actually paying attention.

  "That was really
stupid," he tells me, ignoring my concern, "You can't keep fucking doing this shit anymore!"

  "Don't fucking judge me," I tell him, pointing a finger at him. "Besides, that was days ago. Not like I just went and killed a hooker to piss you off.”

  “Sounds like something you’d do,” he spits.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “And don't think for a second that just because I let you have your way with sex that you can fucking boss me around the rest of the time. Fuck. You."

  The last word isn't out of my mouth before he grabs my wrist, pulling me harshly toward him. His other hand grips my chin hard enough to bruise, his face only inches from mine.

  "Don't push me, Mia. I already told you, I own you," his voice is low. The hand gripping my wrist reaches down to my ass to grab it and squeeze his claim. "This body is mine. Your mind, your life, everything is fucking mine. You fucking owe me."

  Despite my automatic instinct to pull back, to reject the authority he thinks he holds over me, I can't help but feel the desire in me rise at seeing him like this. There's a reason I'm more than willing to let him dominate me in the bedroom.

  "If I say no more, then no more," he tells me, "Understand?"

  I look into his eyes and feel my heart crack at the judgement I see there. I’m not a complete psycho, I know I'm not normal, but of all people I’d want to understand, to accept me….

  "I thought you would accept me," I whisper, my voice breaking, "Jane was fucking crazy, but at least she accepted me for me, what I need."

  He moves away from me like I lit on fire, a sort of growl coming from his throat as he begins to pace.

  "You'd compare me to that fucking psycho!" he yells. "You want me to treat you how Jane treats people? Next time should I whip you, starve you like a fucking dog, instead of making you fucking come?"

  I flinch at the accusation and he continues to walk across the floor, muttering to himself slightly in a way that reminds me too much of Jane the past year.

  “You realize they’ll come looking for that cop, right? We can’t fucking stay here now all because you… FUCK!”

  The anger and sadness I felt a moment before washes away with my amazement, and I realize I don't think I've heard him yell before. His chest heaves with the exertion of his anger but he doesn't turn to me. Indecision fills me. The fear of being controlled and forced to be someone I'm not wage war with how badly I want this man in front of me.

  "I don't know if I can stop," I tell him, and he stops pacing but still doesn't look at me. I start to open my mouth again but leave it at that.

  "Will you try?" he finally asks, his voice quiet and calm. I swallow deeply but don't answer. He steps up, his hand hovering in the air a moment before he lightly turns my chin up to look at him once more. Unlike the other times he's held me like this, this is tender and infinitely more terrifying.

  "I don't know if I can," I repeat, my voice hoarse. Just the thought of not being able to find my release in the thrill of a kill scares me to my core.

  "Will you try?" he asks again before dropping his hand with a sigh. "Mia… You know where I stand. You know what I've been through, what we've both been through. Will you let this dark place follow you your whole life, or can you put it aside to be with me?"

  My entire body is trembling, and I don't know if the thought of not being able to kill or of losing Branson scares me more. It's strange to think that only months ago, hell, days ago, my response to such a question would have been to simply lock him up for a few days without food until he agreed with me. The thought is sobering.

  "I don't know if I can," I say for the third time. I shake my head, dispelling the thought of my confusing younger years. I remember once, when I was no more than eight or so, my mom found me playing with a bird with a broken wing in an alley and beat me for it. I later heard her telling another hooker that she had found me torturing a bird, and I never thought anything of it until now. "Even before Jane, I always had these… urges. Thoughts."

  He nods as though this makes perfect sense. Then again, he knows me better than anyone. He may not accept or like my urges, my darkness, but he certainly seems to understand it well enough.

  "I know you're scared, but if we are going to get out of this place, be together... Please, Mia. For me. For us." His thumb comes up, trailing over my bottom lip and a shiver runs up my spine.

  My voice comes out in a shaky whisper, "I'll try."

  The corner of his lip turns up, and he leans down to kiss me lightly.

  “You know how much I fucking love you?” he rasps. “You realize we can be free now?”

  Despite the fear and trepidation still coursing through me, a small smile graces my lips.

  “Free,” I whisper. “Where should we go? What should we do?”

  He tenses up.

  “Mia, I don’t know what’s out there. I don’t know what to do about the cops that are almost for sure coming here. You know the world, so you tell me. Where are we going? What should we do?”

  I consider this for a moment. I forget so often how little Branson has been in the world. Although much of my last decade has been spent in this house, I still had years in the city and I haven’t been forced to stay in the house in years. He hasn’t left this property since he was a kid. For the first time, I feel a pang of regret about my recent kill. If I hadn’t killed that cop, maybe we could have stayed here for longer, made a plan.

  Then again, I could go back further and say what if I hadn’t taken that stripper, Lola?

  What if we had killed Jane years ago?

  Too many what ifs.

  I need to focus. Think about what our problems are, how we can solve them.

  If the cops come here and we’re gone, they’ll eventually search the property even if they don’t find that cop. If they find the basement, Jane’s gallery, and associate it with my picture, that station wagon, with Lola…

  They can’t find any of it.

  “I have an idea,” I say slowly, turning over the idea in my mind. “I don’t know where we’ll go next, but the city is a big enough place for us to hide for now, especially if I dye my hair. That picture wasn’t great, so it’ll be a blonde in a station wagon they are looking for. Easy enough. The real problem is this place.” I gesture to the house.

  “Why?”

  “If they find it, they’ll never stop looking for me,” I tell him simply. “You know, most people don’t keep galleries of human body parts in their basement.”

  The corner of his lip turns up a fraction.

  “Yes, I was aware,” he replies wryly. “So, what do you propose we do?”

  My grin grows.

  “We burn this place to the fucking ground.”

  Chapter Six

  Branson

  Adrenaline courses through me as she pulls us out of the long gravel driveway, faint hints of smoke beginning to wisp out from the house. We started the fire in the workroom and basement, covering it in everything flammable we could find. It took some effort, but I managed to drag the cop’s body back into the house to burn along with it. There was nothing we could do about his car, so we just drove it around the back of the barn so it’d be out of sight a bit, but really, it doesn’t matter.

  Once this place goes up, this place will be crawling with cops.

  “Here we go,” she says in a quiet voice as we turn onto the road. I feel my entire body freeze as I realize this is already the farthest I’ve gone in fifteen years. I look at Mia beside me as she drives. Her blonde hair whips around her face, green eyes focused on the road ahead. A small smile plays on her lips, I’m pretty sure from the arson she just got to commit.

  If there’s one thing that’s always been true for her, it’s how much this woman loves her mischief. I think back to our earlier conversation and her acknowledging her urges. I’ve known for a long time that Mia has always had a darkness about her. No, not Mia, Teddy.

  After years of being confined mentally and physically, it’s a strange concept to try to control
her. I know what it’s like better than anyone how it feels to have someone oppress and push you down. It's maddening to think she was the cause of much of it, yet I still feel guilt at the thought of reciprocating.

  There’s a difference between me whipping her ass or ordering her about as my little doll.

  Overriding the hint of guilt, though, is logic and sure knowledge. I know the control is what I need to stay sane. After all those years of suffering, of having no power or control, weakness or inability to act is the only thing that could break or kill me now.

  I don’t want Mia to try to be someone she’s not, but I don’t think I can take it if, after everything, she’s just like Jane, anyway. It’s not even guilt or a sense of morals or rightness so much as needing to be as far removed from Jane and the things she did as possible.

  A normal life may be something I’ll never have, but fuck would it be nice to try.

  We stay mostly silent as we drive toward the city and every so often one of us looks back, but we’re far enough we can’t see the smoke anymore. My headache is growing with every second, though, and the outside light I’m so unused to is making it worse.

  Mia reaches over to the radio, turning the dial until some music comes on.

  “Can we keep that off?” I ask after a moment, my hand on my temple rubbing. She turns to me with a frown but nods and clicks it off.

  “Maybe we should go to a doctor,” she says after a moment. “See if we can get you some medication or something to finally help with your headaches.”

  “I don’t need a doctor,” I reply even as the migraine grows. “Just get us out of here. I’ll be fine.”

  ✽✽✽

  I know I should be looking out the windows intently, but the rolling farmland surrounding us holds no real interest for me, and I find myself caught up in my own head. I eventually let her put on quiet music that's easy to tune out. Closing my eyes, I lean against the window, enjoying the cool touch on my forehead.