I went back to the women’s center I’d gone to when I first got pregnant. After that…horrible Day Which Will Never Be Spoken Of, I wanted to get a full panel of STD testing done even though condoms had been used.
My breathing stutters, even letting my mind near the periphery of thinking about it. I close my eyes and take another deep belly breath. I scheduled an appointment with a counselor only because I knew I ought to. I forced myself to keep the appointment because of Charlie. He didn’t need a mom any more fucked up than I already was. So I went.
Usually the fear is based on something that’s already happened or something that you’re afraid will happen in the future. To really get rid of the attacks, we need to get at the root of that fear. Why don’t you tell me what you think is driving the panic, Callie?
I never went back. I love my son and will do anything for him, but I can get through this on my own. I know the source of the panic, of course. The Day Which Will Not Be Spoken or Thought Of.
No doubt the nice counselor lady would want me to break a cardinal rule I’ve set up since then and, you know, talk about it. Which would require thinking about it. Both of which are strictly off limits.
It’s the past. It has nothing to do with me or my future.
Or it wouldn’t if I didn’t keep having these fucking flashbacks and resulting fucking panic attacks.
But getting pissed about it doesn’t slow the attacks down. I’ve learned that well enough. There’s nothing to do but ride them out.
So I do. I give myself up to it, do my best to belly breathe, and ride it out.
This one isn’t as bad as others I’ve had. Within five minutes I’m able to stand up and I can breathe mostly normally again. Just a few hiccups here and there.
I glance toward the exit to the club. The easiest thing to do would be to run with my tail between my legs. But what then? I go curl in terror under the covers for another week? After all, I’m just a poor little victim. I’m what they fucking made me.
See? Sometimes it takes just one session to break a bitch.
I shudder at the memory of Gentry’s voice.
But this time it doesn’t bring on another attack. I let the anger burn through my veins. My eyes pop open and I ignore the fact that I’m sweaty and probably look like hell. I glance around the dark little alcove I’ve been freaking out in. No one’s even noticed me back here. This club has lots of dark little cut-outs in the walls. If I squint my eyes, I can just make out some shadows in additional alcoves that I imagine other couples have discovered when looking for a discrete escape from the crowd.
Interesting.
Then I turn back to the dance floor and march my way back out into the mass of people. I start to move to the music, but I don’t lose myself in it this time. Every move is calculated. I dance my way through the people, eyes scanning every man as I go. I pass by the ones already attached to a woman.
I see a couple guys working the crowd. They approach a woman dancing on her own, always doing that move of coming up behind her and then just putting their hands on her body. Without consent. Some of the women welcome the hands, others don’t.
I’m not naïve, I know this is how it goes in clubs. It still makes fury burn in my belly and I want to go stab the pointy end of my stiletto into their instep. I want to yell at them: ask permission—never touch without asking! Instead I ball my hands into fists and pass by.
I edge by a group of women who are all dancing together and laughing. Like they’re a group of friends out for a good time. I pause, then smile and join the periphery of their group.
I’m easily welcomed in. One of the girls who’s voluptuous with wild, curly hair holds out a hand to me. That’s more like it. When I grab it, she spins me. It startles a laugh out of me. I dance with them for awhile.
Wow, I didn’t realize how much tension I’ve been carrying. It works its way out of my shoulders as we dance. It feels good to earn my sweat this way. It’s also a good cover to watch the crowd and keep up the hunt.
That’s when I find him. My target for the night.
He’s medium height and build. Medium’s a good word for him all around. Not too handsome, but far from ugly. He’s not aggressive in his dancing, either. He approaches women to dance, but he does it from the front. He moves into their space and holds out a hand in invitation to pull them closer. Giving them the choice to accept or not.
More often than not, the women give him a semi-apologetic shake of the head no. I roll my eyes in disgust. A lot of those same women are fine with the backside grinders, but this guy’s a gentleman and he gets the brush off for it. The song changes and the woman he was dancing with moves away from him. I roll my eyes. Idiots.
That decides it. He’s the one.
I thought I might have to dance in his vicinity waiting for him to be free, but no, looks like I can move in right away. I toward him.
The transition to the next song is smooth and it’s a sultry beat. The guy is just turning in the crowd, still moving his head with the music a little awkwardly like he’s trying to figure out where to go next. I slink up to him, eyes at half-mast and licking my lips for good measure.
I’m not big on subtlety.
His eyes widen when he notices me. A smile lights up his face and he starts moving with the music more. He looks like he’s about to do the not-so-smooth-move-into-my-space-ritual I’ve seen him do with the other girls, but I beat him to it. I step into him and drape my arm around his neck, my breasts crushed against his chest.
“Wanna dance?” I hiss into his ear.
“Yeah,” he chokes out, nodding his head at the same time.
I smile, but barely pull back. Instead, I drop my face into his neck. He smells good. Well, he might have overdone it a little on the cologne, but at least it’s not one of those obnoxious smelling ones. He didn’t douse himself in Axe or anything. It’s a fresh, cool beachy smell. It feels like everything else about this guy—a little overeager, but really kind of sweet.
I slide my leg in between his so I’m straddling his thigh. Then I dance the fuck out of the song.
And when I say fuck, I do mean fuck.
I’m all but humping his leg as I writhe my hips back and forth to the beat. I keep my arm hooked around his neck but let my upper body loose. I throw my head back and arch my body, breasts thrust up, held up only by my grip on the back of his neck.
I can feel his absolute focus on me, how completely I’ve captivated him. To him, I’m a Goddess who walked out of nowhere and chose him.
Oh yeah. My blood heats. I feel the beginning of the rush I’ve been seeking all night.
I roll my torso once, twice, then I pull myself back up toward him in a dramatic whip so that my fake hair flies and a little bit of the light-headed feeling comes back.
It only feeds my high. I grab Mr. Nice Guy’s face and kiss the fuck out of him. I don’t bother with the tentative, questioning kisses. No, my tongue immediately goes for the invasion. And after one stunned second, he’s reciprocating.
His hands drop to my waist.
My waist.
He’s so fucking adorable. Even with me mauling the hell out of him, he doesn’t go for the ass grab.
Now that’s a gentleman.
I pull back from the kiss, taking his bottom lip in between my teeth in a way that elicits a low groan from him. I can feel from the tent in the front of his pants where I’m pressed fully against him that this isn’t just a one-way street of sexual interest. Good.
I give his lip another nip and then move to his ear again. “Come with me.” I have to shout to be heard over the music. I back away from him, but not before I’ve firmly grabbed his arm to pull him behind me through the crowd.
An upbeat song with a techno beat blasts through the speakers and the crowd is going nuts. The hour has grown later and later. Bodies grind against one another. The raw sexual energy charges the floor. Instead of it making me squeamish, I absorb it. This club isn’t one of those super classy joint
s. I picked it for its mix of grunginess, clientele, and secluded corners. Finding all those alcoves earlier was just a bonus. Even more dark little spots than I thought.
Which is exactly where I drag Mr. Nice Guy. Except that as I’m heading to one of the alcoves, I spot something even better. Along the back wall there’s a small hallway that leads not to the bathrooms, but just to a couple closed doors—probably some offices or the janitorial closet.
Absolutely perfect. Private enough for what I need, but still public enough that I can feel safe. Still, I don’t lead him down into the shadowed depths of the hallway just yet.
My shoulders are still moving to the music when I slam Mr. Nice Guy against the wall right where we are and press my entire body against him. My lips are immediately on his as I push my pelvis up and into his groin and give several swiveling hip rolls against him. I feel the rumble of his groan through his chest even though I can’t hear much because of the noise in the club. He tastes like stale cigarettes but I don’t care. Kissing isn’t especially about enjoyment for me anymore. It’s about getting where I need to go. Establishing an order to things.
My hand snakes down the front of his stomach and I reach for his crotch. I squeeze unashamedly when I get to his dick. He’s nice and hard. I can’t feel too much about the size of him through his jeans, but he’s definitely not a shrinking violet. Always nice, though I’m not actually picky. It’s not about that for me.
His body jolts a little when I make contact, but he doesn’t pull away. With all signals go, I slip my hand down the top of his pants. He shudders when I make skin-to-skin contact and his breath hitches while he kisses me. I don’t bat an eyelash.
I suck his tongue further into my mouth as my hand closes around him. I wasn’t wrong. He’s got a fair size to him. Aw, a sweet guy with a good package. Jackpot. I wrap my fingers around his girth and grip him firmly, then rub up and down. He leans more heavily into me, pushing himself into my palm.
I roll my eyes. Slow down, buddy. There’s only one driver on this train and it ain’t you. He’ll learn quick enough.
I brace my arm against his chest and press him back firmly against the wall. He allows it for a few moments but then his hips are thrusting forward again into my hand. I shake my head and pull firmly away from his body. His face goes all desperate and his questing lips try to follow me, as do his hips.
I just wave my finger in his face. Ah ah ah. Nope.
“My way or the highway,” I shout in his ear.
In the dim lights from the dance floor I can see the disappointment coloring his face. But that’s all it is. Disappointment, not anger.
Which is all the confirmation I need to take his hand and draw him further down the hallway to the darkest corner at the very back. There I push them to the floor, reach into my bra for a small foil packet, and then sit down on top of his thighs.
In the dimmest light of an exit sign, I can see his eyes are wide as proverbial saucers. He swallows hard, watching every move I make.
The music is only slightly muted back here, but I don’t bother saying anything. His dick is still out from a moment ago, so I rip the packet with my teeth and don’t waste any time rolling the rubber down over his length.
His hands jump to my hips as I reposition myself to hover over him. I pause there for a moment, about to double check he’s cool with all this. He’s just staring at me all shocked looking. I’m the last person to want to take advantage of anyone if they’re on the fence at all—
But then his hands on my hips grip tighter like he’s trying to drag me down onto his cock. Alrighty, I’ll take that as a confirmation.
I smack both of his hands away hard, though. “I run the show, remember?”
He jerks back in surprise and that’s when I sink down on him.
His hands immediately try to come back to my hips but I grab them mid-air and reposition them, pinning one against the ground and lifting the other to my breast. His cock twitches inside me as his thumb braises my nipple.
Finally. The rest of the tension twisted tight in the core of my body starts to unwind at the sight of this fucker held down underneath me. I squeeze my hips tighter around him, pinning him in place.
Then I fucking ride him. His dick isn’t that big after all. Apparently he’s more of a show-er than a grower. But whatever. When I lean forward and grind my pelvis against him, my clit rubs at a good enough angle.
“That’s right, you dirty fucker.” I glare down at him. “You just lay there and take it like the dirty fucking bitch bastard you are.”
I slam down on him and it feels good. Not great. But good enough.
That desperate sensation starts to spark low in my belly. I throw my head back and ride him with more fury. It’s been too long. God, way too long since I’ve been able to feel this.
I thrust down on him especially hard, grinding ass to pelvis back and forth, back and forth before lifting off and slamming back down again. My body slides up and down his shaft.
“God. Fuck. That. Yes. Right there.” Yeaaaaaaaah. Fuck, this is nothing like when I use toys at home. Those just can’t do it for me anymore.
I look down at the man below me. Even with the little bit of light from the hallway, I can see the awed expression on his face. How I am blowing his mind. This stranger who came up to him and is dominating the fuck out of his dick, his pleasure, his fucking world.
I lift my hand to my mouth and bite down on it to muffle the high-pitched whine of pleasure that I can’t hold in. Damn, this is what I’ve needed. Not wanted. Needed. The knot has been winding tighter and tighter inside me, fear and panic threatening to choke me every time I leave my house. I need control.
So I take him faster, land harder, but it’s not enough. I need more. I need fucking more.
“You fucking bastard.” I slap him hard across the face but never for a moment stop riding him. I tighten my inner walls and feel him swelling inside me.
His hand clamps down on my breast, so hard I bet it will bruise. I slap him again and I’m closer than ever to the edge. Oh Christ oh Christ, almost there. The noises coming from my throat are uncontrollable and I lift my hand to stifle myself again. I can’t be too loud in spite of the cacophony of the club. A scream of pleasure will pierce through even that noise.
But oh God, I’m on the edge. Riding that fucking edge.
He starts thrusting harder into me from below.
What. The. Fuck??? Red rage flashes through my pleasure. Hasn’t he learned his goddamned lesson by now? I say how. I say when.
Why do guys always fucking assume they can just take over? What the hell is wrong with them? Even Mr. Supposed Nice Guy? Fucking piece of shit.
I drop even further away from the edge, and when he grabs my hip like he’s going to flip me over—like he thinks he’s going to be the one thrusting into me, I just fucking lose it.
I use one of the tricks I learned in self-defense to heft all my weight up into my chest and shoulders to keep him pinned in place. He lands back where he was with an oof that I can feel more than hear.
He got dislodged during this process, so I grab his dick, shove him back inside me and pump up and down even more furiously.
I glare at him and don’t bother hiding my wrath. This is rage-fucking now.
Bastard must have a death wish or not realize where my head’s at, because he grabs my thighs again. His fingers knead my flesh. I don’t knock his hands away this time, but neither do I let him guide the pace of the fuck.
And, his eyes closed, head back against the cold concrete, he doesn’t notice me slip the knife from the garter belt tied at the very top of my thigh.
But his eyes sure as hell do pop open when I lean over and hold it against his throat.
I keep pumping on him just as furiously, but my face inches toward his. “I’m on top, got it motherfucker?” I say loud enough so he’ll hear it.
He nods but just the barest bit so he doesn’t come in contact with the knife. His eyes are wide with
sudden terror. What a little bitch. I don’t even have the knife right up against his throat. There’s a good half-inch of clearance. Still, it’s close enough. As long as he’s a good boy, we can both get what we want out of this exchange.
He still an iron rod inside me but he’s learned his lesson. His hands drop flat to the floor like he’s afraid to move.
A momentary pang of regret hits.
I didn’t mean to scare him. I just needed. I needed—
I move the knife a little further back from his neck, but still close enough so that if I need to, I could strike.
Then I look down at him and take in the whole tableau—him prone and at my complete mercy. A shudder goes through my body and my back arches in pleasure.
Oh God, yes, yes, right there. I grind down on him deep and rub my breasts against his chest. I lick up his neck and suck on his bottom lip, relishing in his filthy, cigarette taste. I hear his pained groan and feel the tension in his body as he struggles not to move.
Oh very, very good boy.
I have fucking mastered him. This realization plus all the stimulation finally sets me off like a rocket. I come quick and sharp and hard.
It’s gone far, far too soon for all the work I’ve done to catch it.
Mr. Nice Guy’s face scrunches in concentration and anticipation. If I was a super bitch, I’d just leave now, maybe even wave my knife at him and forbid him to get off. But in the end, even if he had a few unruly moments, he pleased me. So I continue grinding on him, clutching my walls tight around his dick.
I lean over and speak loud enough so he hears. “You’ve been such a good boy for me. You may come now.”
Almost immediately his whole body stiffens and his pelvis pushes up into me once and then twice more. His eyes open in fear right after, like I’m going to punish him for it. The rush of power the very thought shoots through my veins surprises me. I climb off him, leaving him to deal with the condom situation.
I feel shaky all over now that the adrenaline high is wearing off. The knife is still in my hand and all the sudden it’s like, what the fuck did I just do?
Did I just really think it was okay to hold a weapon against a guy’s throat? He could fucking call the cops on me. I would call the cops on me. What if anybody had stumbled on us back there and seen me? Oh my God. Holy shit.
Crush Me Page 30
