Wild Abandon

by Ronica Black

  Sarah nodded, seemingly unable to speak, but her eyes spoke volumes, churning in a hurricane of hungry blue.

  Touching her, feeling her, inhaling her ignited Chan’s arousal once again. She thrust against the powerful hand and held Sarah’s eyes as their fingers continued to delicately stroke. “Are you okay?” she asked, making sure.

  Sarah nodded again.

  “Does your touch feel good?” Chan rocked into her, the pleasure mounting.

  “Yes,” Sarah rasped.

  Chan felt herself tighten inwardly at the response. Yes. Yes. Sarah’s words. Sarah. “I’m going to come again,” she declared.

  Her budding orgasm was different. It was deeper than she had ever gone within herself before, and she had to let Sarah know. “I’m going to come because of you. You feel so good to me.”

  As the last word crept from her throat, she exploded within. Arching her back and neck, she groaned as it took hold of her like a giant gripping hand. It squeezed her—held her tight as she pulsed within it and then fought to be free of it—suspended in time, despite her writhing, despite her pleas. And then, just as powerfully, it released her.

  Her entire being went limp. She raised her heavy head and offered Sarah all she could manage at the moment. A lazy grin.

  The cop stared at her, eyes softening and hazing. She was moved and aroused and feeling deeply. Chan could see it in her just as she saw it within herself. Even if she couldn’t explain it.

  Chan eased herself off Sarah’s fingers and placed a leg on either side of her, straddling her as Sarah sat lotus style. She waited patiently, hoping Sarah would speak. When she didn’t, Chan became slightly worried.

  “Are you okay?”

  Sarah didn’t nod this time, but rather glanced away and swallowed slowly. Chan stroked her cheek and felt her own throat go raw at the emotion hanging thick on the air. “Hey,” she whispered.

  Sarah turned and pinned her with her intense gaze. “I’m okay.” She hesitated for a moment. “I’ve…It’s just that I’ve never…felt like that before.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  Sarah tugged Chan closer and nibbled on her neck, stifling any further conversation. “Let’s just do this instead.” Her mouth moved up Chan’s neck to her jaw, awakening her skin with goose bumps.

  Chan trembled and couldn’t resist voicing her desire. “I want to make you come now.”

  Sarah responded with a quick breath and a shudder. Chan felt the muscles in her strong body tense with excitement. She met Sarah’s mouth, but didn’t kiss her, instead lingering there, teasing. Sarah leaned into her, trying for the kiss, but Chan refused, her way of taking control. She blazed a hot trail of kisses down Sarah’s neck, devouring her scent, her skin, eliciting small cries of pleasure from Sarah.

  Relishing the response, Chan traced their intertwined fingers down the firm skin of Sarah’s chest to her satin-covered breasts. Her desire got the better of her, beating back her patience, and she pinched through the material, kneading the nipples. Sarah stiffened beneath her and Chan groaned, caught up in her own desire.

  She looked to Sarah for another kiss, but froze as she saw a look of fright on her face. Panicked, she asked, “You okay?” and watched helplessly as the arousal that brushed Sarah’s cheeks vanished, leaving in its place a pale fear.

  Sarah seemed to stare right through her, lost in another, obviously very dark place.

  “Sarah? What is it?” Chan knew and she was afraid to ask, but she had to. She reached out to trace her jawline, but Sarah flinched and grabbed her hand, stopping her.

  “I need to go.” The words were cold and firm, mirroring her look.

  Chan crawled from her at once and got to her feet alongside her as Sarah stood up and shoved her arms back into her shirt.

  “What’s wrong?” Chan’s panic receded as a new feeling overcame her. Fear. Fear of the pain in Sarah’s eyes. Fear that she had caused it. “I thought it was feeling good.”

  “It was.”

  “Then what is it?” Chan looked at her with pleading eyes, hating how desperate she was suddenly feeling and sounding.

  Sarah walked briskly to the front door, where she paused. She turned and looked at Chandler, who was nude and hugging herself against the chill that had washed into the room.

  “It stopped,” Sarah said.

  “What stopped?”

  “The good feelings.”

  Chan’s mind flew. She was feeling good as long as we were doing it together. And as long as she was touching me. Of course. As soon as that stopped, something dark overcame her. The focus solely on her was too much.

  Desperate to get her to stay, Chan said, “I understand.” She tried reaching out to touch her, but Sarah dodged her hand and grabbed the doorknob. Chan spoke again, pleading. “Wait, please. I know—”

  “No,” Sarah said flatly. “You don’t understand.”

  “I do, Sarah. More than you know.” Chan saw the pain in her eyes, and her voice hitched with emotion. “It doesn’t have to be like this. I can help make it go away.” She saw the demons clouding Sarah’s eyes, and she wanted desperately to fight them head-on, to force them from Sarah’s life. But she wasn’t going to get the chance.

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “But it doesn’t ever go away.” She opened the door and stepped out into the black of night—a place where her own darkness, it seemed, seeped out and melded into it, making her right at home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It doesn’t ever go away. Sarah jogged to her truck, needing to escape, needing to flee. Her wall was crumbling fast and her breath shook in her throat as she started the vehicle and caught one last glimpse of Chandler standing at her front door, hugging her creamy breasts, watching her leave with anguish on her beautiful face.

  God damn it. She threw the truck into gear and peeled away as fast as she could. Her body trembled as her mind raced. Chandler had gotten in. Somehow, the woman had penetrated through her lifelong barriers, threatening everything she knew, everything she was. It wasn’t supposed to ever happen. She should have never let her touch her. But dear God, it had felt so good. Chandler made her feel alive.

  No. It was a mistake. She was just shaken up right now. More vulnerable than usual. That was all. She would push Chandler from her mind and go on with her life. Get things back to normal. She would go to work for the FBI, exercise, and refocus. And everything would be fine. Sarah met her own eyes in the rearview mirror.

  Normal. She hastily wiped away a pooling tear and forced back her pain, shoving it down her raw esophagus and into her chest, where it shook with every breath. The faces of her past entered her mind, reminding her that she had never known what normal was, no matter how hard she tried to pretend.

  Clenching her steering wheel, she sped up, anxious to get home, needing to go faster. Her thoughts drifted to what she soon would have to face, causing panic and fear to rocket through her. Could she do this? Swallowing back the biting tears, she willed herself to be okay. She was grown now and nothing could hurt her. And yet he was. He was hurting her right now. Everything was. Ever since the phone call she had received weeks before.

  She hadn’t spoken to her parents at great length for almost ten years. So it was quite a shock in itself when she answered and heard her mother’s voice on the other end of the line. The older woman sounded weak, beaten.

  “Roy is sick,” she had said. “He’s dying. It’s cancer.”

  When she heard those few words, Sarah’s life had suddenly whirled into a tailspin. Feelings she had forced down deep years ago came screaming back up to the surface. Her childhood, her parents, Scottie. They all resurfaced and bobbed in the wake of her mind, unsinking and unrelenting.

  “Your father wants to see you. He doesn’t have much longer.” But Sarah couldn’t bring herself to go, finding numerous reasons to put it off. But it wasn’t going away. Even if he died, her past would still be there. Waiting for her to face it.

  She grunted with anger a
nd hardened her body as she flew down the road.

  Once home, she slammed her truck door shut and stormed up the stairs to her apartment. Her hand trembled as she tried to insert the key. She stopped herself and straightened, taking in a deep breath. She tried to convince herself that she wasn’t falling apart, that she was home now and everything was in her control.

  Steady enough to unlock her door, she pushed her way inside and secured the entryway behind her. She stood in the dark, in no mood for the light. Her heart hammered loudly in her ears as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Her keys clanked against the countertop as she navigated with ease to the fridge, where she gulped at some bottled water. She was so damn thirsty, but its chill was not near strong enough to rid her guts of the churning and burning.

  As the water stung its way down, she concentrated on her breathing. Out of the corner of her eye, a blinking red light got her attention. She bent and pressed the play button on her answering machine. Her mother’s voice once again spoke to her, slamming all that she was running from right into her face.

  “Sarah, it’s me.” Long, shaky sigh. “It’s any time now. Please come soon.” A soft click ended the recording.

  Sarah set down her water bottle and leaned on the counter with one hand. She suddenly felt dizzy with emotion. Mechanically she raised her other hand to wipe away water from her mouth. She paused, though, as a scent caught her attention.

  Chandler. Yes, just think about Chandler. Nothing else.

  She rested her fingers on her lips. She could still taste her, still smell her. Her heart rate kicked up as she remembered the feel of her, clenching and tightening, holding her deep inside. The lovemaking was earth shattering and mind altering, just like it had been before. Chandler was wild and free, passionate and sensual. And the way the woman touched her…

  Sarah closed her eyes and remembered Chan’s hands and mouth on her, awakening her. She had been lost in a world of soft pleasures and hazy moans, pleasing Chandler as Chandler pleased her. Never before had anything felt so good, so right. And for the briefest of moments, she had thought it would last.

  She lowered her hand and stared into the darkness as her mind continued. The wonderful feeling, the connection with Chandler, the passion, it was all so powerful and overwhelming. Then she thought about the way she had felt inside. Like every last bit of her being had been touched and awakened for the first time. Not just her skin, not just in a physical sense. But her soul.

  For the first time she understood what it meant to be truly touched by another. Just like in the books she read and the movies she enjoyed. Finally, she had found it. And it was more than any word could ever describe, more than any scene a movie could capture. She had found it and felt it, and just when she thought she could fly with the weightlessness it brought with it, it ended.

  It had only teased her, letting her know what she had been missing all along. It had shown her and then disappeared, vanishing into the darkness that was her past. The darkness. Forever lurking, waiting, cruelly riding on the coattails of Chandler’s touch, hiding in the shadows, watching as Sarah felt and found what she had been searching for. And just as she lowered her wall to feel the exquisiteness that was Chandler, it struck. Suddenly Chandler’s fingers were not Chandler’s. They were his. Touching her, using her, tainting her.

  Sarah fought down the nausea that was quickly rising from her stomach. She took another sip of water and as she caught the scent of Chandler again on her fingers, she lost what little control she had left. The plastic bottle flew across the room to a destination she could not see but was able to hear. The splat was loud and quick, enraging her even more. She needed more of a result to represent what she was feeling inside.

  Anger, cold and fierce, hot and overwhelming, surged up through her. Why couldn’t she let Chandler in? Why did it have to be this way? Raising her hands to her head, she grabbed her hair as Scottie’s face filled her mind once again. He was laughing at her, toying with her, loving that he could still control her, even now. And there was no one to stop him.

  “No!” She reached out and began knocking everything off the kitchen counter. The movement and the crashing noises fed her, encouraging her to keep going. The more she destroyed, the further he would go from her mind.

  She moved violently, as if possessed, tearing her way through the darkness, wrecking anything she bumped into. Images and thoughts soon faded as she raged on, acting on feelings alone.

  All of her adult life she had been in control. Neatness, perfection, punctuality, all of it. All so she could keep the demons away. But what good had it done her? Not one bit of good. Now the past was back and destroying the neat little life she had worked so hard to build. It was useless, all of it.

  She shoved some houseplants off of their corner stand and heard them shatter on the tile floor. Dirt would be everywhere, but she didn’t care. The dirt was everywhere inside her, no matter what she did, no matter how she ran her life. She was stained. Forever.

  Trembling with anger, she bent down and scooped up the cool soil and remnants of the clay pots. She crushed them in her hands, welcoming the pain, bleeding into the dirt that marked her internally. It fell from her hands in grainy clumps disappearing into the dark abyss of the floor.

  Thin bars of light lit up her miniblinds, showing her the grays and blacks of her hands. A loud banging came from her door and she could hear her neighbor shouting, calling her name. Like a zombie, she walked to it and pulled it open slightly.

  “Señora, are you okay?” Maria, her neighbor questioned with a thick Spanish accent.

  Sarah squinted into the light from her landing.

  “I’m fine.” Her voice was forced and tight.

  Maria stared back at her with silver strings of hair springing out from her tight bun, which wound like a black and white snake on top of her head.

  “I heard noises. Like banging.” Her eyes widened. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Sarah raised an unsteady hand to her forehead. “I’m fine, I just got a little angry…”

  “Ay, Dios mío! You’re bleeding!” She reached for Sarah’s hand, but Sarah recoiled.

  “I just got a little angry and threw some things around. I promise there won’t be any more noise, okay?”

  Maria’s eyes remained large and alarmed. “I will go, then. But if I hear anything else, I will come back and I will bring Arturo. ’Cause this is not like you, señora.”

  She gave her neighbor a weak smile and Maria continued to eye her warily as she walked away to return to her apartment across the landing.

  Sarah eased the door closed and rested against it. She suddenly felt exhausted as she flipped on the light. Her small apartment lay in ruins. Her framed movie posters had been torn from their place on the wall, glass candleholders lay shattered.

  She walked slowly to where one of her lamps rested next to the end table on the floor. Placing it back in its position, she stepped through the dark soil from her plants and eyed her kitchen. Broken coffee mugs littered the floor, along with her toaster and spice rack. A few oranges rested close to the dining room wall, slightly disfigured from their thud against it.

  She took it all in numbly, her body and mind too weak to care. As she moved through the mess she had to remind herself to breathe. That act too had become difficult.

  Leaving the enormous mess behind her, she moved down the hall to her bedroom. She was tired and felt like melting into the bed. Kicking off her boots, she flipped on the small bedside lamp. Her reflection in the dresser mirror startled her to a standstill.

  The woman she saw was a stranger, a woman weak and pale, tattered and torn. Her hands were covered with dirt mixed in blood, oozing blackberry. Her white shirt was filthy, her arms scratched and bruised. She looked up as she began to tremble again. The eyes she saw were full of pain, dead with cold, pooled with the past. This stranger terrified her, angered her. This wasn’t who she was. This wasn’t who she was supposed to be. But the image wouldn’t go a
way. It kept staring back at her, insistent.

  She bent down and picked up her boot. There was only one way to get rid of the beaten woman. With all her might, she smashed the heel of her boot into the glass, distorting the image into a spider’s web of cracks. She stared at the woman who had multiplied into dozens of small wedges and slowly lowered the boot. It was useless. She couldn’t escape her. As the realization hit, she dropped the boot and began to cry. The sobs came in giant, burning waves, consuming her from the inside out.

  This was it. This was who she was. Nothing she ever did would change it. The cries continued, rocking her weak body, stinging her face. She collapsed down onto the bed and curled into a fetal position as her filthy hands raised to blend with hot tears. Having not been released for a decade or more, the sorrow conquered her and stomped on any remnants that remained of her wall until finally, she drifted off to an exhausted sleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Dr. Brogan?” her secretary Cynthia queried over the intercom. Right away Chan picked up on the distress in her voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Your three o’clock is here.”

  “Thanks.” Chan reached automatically for the client file. It wasn’t there.

  Just as she sighed with irritation, there was a knock and Cynthia slipped into the room. “Looking for this?”

  The unease on her face tempered Chan’s relief at the sight of the missing file and she realized who her three o’clock was. Michael Gold. Great. Just what I needed today.

  She thanked Cynthia and fingered her throbbing temple as the secretary breezed out. Gloomily she flicked through the chart. She’d been thinking about the problem this client presented. If he was genuine in his search for help, she would refer him to another therapist. But if, as she suspected, he had an entirely different agenda, this appointment could get ugly.

  She was about to summon him when the door swung open after a quick knock and Michael entered the room softly. “Good morning, Dr. Brogan.” He pushed the door closed behind him, his expression one of smug confidence.