by J. Jenkins
“Shut up or I'll bloody your nose. But you'd like that wouldn't you,” she yelled, kicking him hard in the shin and finally felt him release her upper arms. Reaching into his pocket, she yanked out her thong and threw it in his face, “Try that on for size because you surely didn't wear the pants in your marriage. She cheated on you more times than there are drops of water in the ocean and then she divorced you. But you were all over her like a dog the first time you got a strong whiff of the putrid odor seeping from between her thighs knowing she'll do worse if you go back to her.”
“Life with Liz wasn't any worse than what you're doing right now.”
“I doubt that. But, since all the women in your life have cheated on you, maybe we aren’t at fault. Liz will screw anything so she doesn't count, but your brothers told me that all of your many girlfriends before her chose them over you. Gosh almighty, the beautiful love of your life, your fiancee Vega, ditched you and married Chris instead, and now I, plain simpleton that you think I am, have slept with Patrick right under your nose. It seems the common denominator in the problem is you. I mean, you were so upset that Patrick didn’t think you were hot that I should have guessed what’s been going on. You’re batting for the wrong-”
He slapped her, not hard but with enough force that she stopped talking and blinked in surprise, rubbing her cheek that was turning slightly pink. “I've never hit a woman in anger before and I regret havin' raised my hand to you now, but Carolina, you don't know when to let a man alone. Now keep quiet and go change that dress.”
Lowering her hand from her cheek she kept her eyes glued on his, all the while removing the high heels. She rapidly fired one shoe at his head, then the other, not waiting around to see if they made contact with their target, she spun and took off running, her bare feet sure on the patio stones.
Feeling the clip of one heel, he successfully dodged the other then took off in pursuit, catching her before she got far. He jerked her around to face him, holding her in place with one hand wrapped around both her wrists. Dylan could feel the stinging cut the shoe heel had left on his forehead. Gazing beyond her lopsided hairdo, he saw impeccably dressed guests crowded together looking at them from behind the glass doors and windows. Leaning forward he growled in her ear, “People are staring.”
All she could see and hear was him in bed with that viper. “Well let's make the show a bit more interesting.” She delivered him a vicious head butt that sent him staggering backwards. Whirling around, she quickly wriggled up the rear hem of her dress and revealed a drawing across her bottom, Patrick naked and erect, kissing and fondling her bare breasts. Lowering the hem, she sprinted away from the murderous bellow he let loose.
When Carolina ran into the house, she hit a muscled wall and was knocked backwards, her bare feet skidding on the polished floor. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Dylan rapidly approaching and she just managed to duck behind the eldest Savage before Dylan stormed into the room. She was set to take off again when Chris caught her arm and pulled her from behind him to stand along side Dylan.
Giving them both a stern look, Chris spoke for their ears only, “Have y'all gone crazy? There are visitors in this house. Stop behaving like brats and mind yourselves.” Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he handed the white cotton square to Dylan and motioned for him to clean the blood from his forehead. Taking in Carolina's wild-woman appearance, he shook his head in disbelief knowing his pockets contained nothing that could even begin to smooth out her rough edges. Giving them one last look of warning Chris stepped aside ordering, “Now greet your guests.”
With her head filled with imaginings of Dylan lying atop Liz, rutting wildly, telling the stale tart that he loved and prized her above all women, Carolina silently fumed. However, feeling duty bound she spoke with great sincerity to the large group, “First of all I'd like to thank Vega, Chris and all of the Savages for making me and my boys feel we are family. My heart fills and my spirits brighten every time I think of the motherly affection August has shown me and my children especially over the last few days as the stress surrounding the wedding plans has really begun to take its toll on a few of us. I'm of a mind to say that I almost don't want to marry Dylan for fear of ever loosing him or any of you as I did with the majority of my own kin. But I know we must move forward and no matter in what direction we travel, be it on the same or different paths, I know wholeheartedly now as it will always be, that I'm more than I'd ever imagined thanks to being nurtured at the bosom of the extended Savage Clan.” She inched away from Dylan. “Next, I'd like to thank everyone for taking the time to come out and help us celebrate our pending nuptials. I look forward to becoming better acquainted with you all and hope to grow into the type of person you'd look forward to considering as a close and trusted friend.” Moving further from him, she swatted at Dylan's hand when his fingers tried to grip her wrist. “Enjoy yourselves and if I'm unable to tell each of you personally tonight, I say now, with the utmost sincerity, that your being here means the world to me,” and with that she took off like a jackrabbit in search of a briar patch.
Dylan simply offered, “It's good to see y'all.” He then took off after her, hell-for-leather. Carolina's flame-red hair was entirely undone, flying out behind her as she ran. Clutching a handful of the blazing strands he reined her in, successfully stopping her flight. Oblivious to onlookers, he drug her back to him and swung her up over his shoulder. He felt her pummeling him with strong fists all the while he carried her up to their bedroom where he entered, locked all the doors then tossed her violently onto the bed, knocking empty jars of honey and chili sauce from her nightstand onto the floor. Following Carolina down onto the bed, he caught the dress at each side of her neck and with one fierce tug ripped the clinging material completely from her body.
****
She fought him, but with two-hundred-plus-pounds of furious male muscle holding her down, she didn’t have a chance of getting away. In frustration, she bared her teeth, tried to bite his wrist, but only succeeded in making him flip her onto her stomach so she couldn't try again. She struggled to get free until her joints ached.
Still trapping her wrists in his grasp Dylan drug her from the bed so he could clearly see the entirety of the tattoo Patrick had drawn across her rump and his violent mood intensified. He shoved her away from him, furiously demanding, “Did you give yourself to Patrick the way you promised to do for me?”
Her heart wept because he'd slept with that witch. “I did. Yesterday in this bed.”
He couldn't accurately read her expression. “You're lying.”
“Believe what you want. At least I had the decency not to let you catch us.”
Glancing around the room at the yellow walls, the stone floor, the honey oak furniture, then finally at the king size bed, he hoped the inanimate objects would reveal the truth he wanted to hear, that she'd been faithful, that she loved him. He found no answers one way or the other. Frustrated and afraid, he yelled at her, pointing his finger in her face, “Did you have sex with Patrick?”
“Yes.” She stood nude and defiant before him.
“Okay I'll find out for sure.” He stripped out of his clothes and hauled her resisting form into the bathroom.
“I hate you,” she spat, kicking and pulling back all the way.
His tone was furiously unconcerned, 'It's a thin line Carolina, a very thin line. Now shut up and get into the shower so I can scrub that tattoo off and I mean now because if I have to tell you a second time I'll give you another reason to hate me.”
“Screw you,” she yelled, socking him hard in the face and knew immediately she'd finally pushed him too far.
Rubbing his jaw he advanced on her, his eyes narrowed and his manhood fully erect, “Screw me. No screw you Carolina and that's exactly what I plan to do.”
She backed away from him but he kept right on advancing and when he'd forced her to retreat as far as the room's length would allow she stood unyielding between him and the oak encased jacuzzi. S
pinning her around so her back was to him he shoved her down, barred her escape by the enraged power of his body, bent her over the edge of the tub and with a steely hold on her hip forced her to stay in place as he caressed her from her nape to her rounded tush. Possessed with the need to know the truth, that she hadn't betrayed him, he slid his penis up-and-down the divide of her buttocks before bringing the tip to stand at attention against her puckered opening. He lowered his head, his fingers digging into her skin and in a hoarse voice he implored, “Please, I'm asking for the last time, for the truth, did you allow Patrick to do this to you?”
“Yes, he repeatedly shoved his gigantic cock into me until I cried. Then I whispered his name, begging him not to stop, telling him I was glad he was the one who'd finally taught me, cherished the fact that he was always my first, the biggest and the very best I'd ever know,” she blurted out brazenly, bracing her hands on the edge of the tub.
With a wounded roar, Dylan thrust into her, knowing anguished pleasure at initial entry until his mind registered the agonized scream she tried repressing, felt too much resistance and tightness to her opening and immediately froze, under his breath severely admonishing himself for his gullibility, for acting the primeval pawn to her sophisticated Svengali. Perspiration covering his brow, fingers trembling, he released her hips to stroke her back, felt her muscles twitching and started pulling out, advising, “Don't move.”
Carolina forcefully pushed her hips back against him, craving the tearing pain. She'd wipe the memory of him bedding his whore of an ex-wife from her waking thoughts and nightmares if it killed her. With eyes closed, she focused, her mind reaching out to his, urging him to take her as hard and as fast as he could, and if just this once she'd prove herself worthy of his desire, surpass that woman's place in his life.
Despite his better judgment and best intentions, he felt himself lurching further into her and lost control. Gripping her hips once more, he finished the long journey into her untried passage, his movements rapid and fierce, his lower body slamming into hers rhythmically, the entrancing music of their pounding hips drowning out her muffled cries. Her tightness lured him, her flesh gripping and urging him on. Pulling all the way out, he surged back in with a long powerful stroke that rocked her forward. He yanked himself back and slammed into her again, needing to hear the carnal sounds of their heated joining, became crazed by the sensation of her closing tightly after his departure. His every reentry, hindered by the same level of resistance he'd first encountered. The sensations were excruciatingly pleasurable, causing a low electrical hum to start in the room, a signal that he needed to stop. Instead, he heard himself say, “Take all of it, all of me,” the speed of his thrusts quickened and within the room their combined energy teemed.
Removing one of his hands from her hips he drew it back and swatted her across the tattoo of her in Patrick's arms, her backside bouncing and shimmying at each blow, the sound of his cupped hand meeting her flesh making him groan as he kept up the piston action of his flanks against her bottom. His hand swung and made contact again and this time he demanded, “Tell me.”
“No,” she shrieked as he lunged into her again.
His free hand, warmed from having repeatedly slapped her rump, worked its way down to the opening of her vagina, rubbing and massaging her in seductive swirls, one calloused finger strumming the sensitive nub, his hips continuing their assault until she was whimpering loudly, her entire body as far as he could see taking on a pinkish radiance. His hand was covered with her wetness and he used her slick lubricant to aid the entry of his fingers into her honeypot while he continued ramming into her behind. Feeling his penis moving in and out of her, through the thin barrier of flesh separating one opening from the other, sent him a little mad and he yelled hotly, “Carolina say it.”
She couldn't think and he'd closed his mind to her so she had no idea what he wanted, but knew the torturous, uncontrolled, dual penetration would continue until she said or did something. Pushing away from the tub, she forced him to sit back and take her more into his lap and the penetration deepened, assuming a new dimension of sensual-torment that had her hiccupping and gasping out the first words that popped into her head, “Yes, yes Dylan. I need you so much. Don't stop.” Reaching down between her legs, she grasped his wrist and continued pushing his hand in, up to his wrist. She'd been starving and now she was so full of him, almost satisfied and when he placed the fingers of his free hand in her mouth to be licked and sucked, mirroring the rhythms of his hips and his hand, Carolina's mind and body short-circuited, the lights in the room starting to dim.
Feeling the flicker of electrical change, Dylan groaned deep in his chest, body aching from sexual cravings. Taking his fingers from her mouth, still moving his hand up-and-down inside her in tune with the fierce bowing action of his rod in and out of her backside, he placed his lips to her ear and issued an ironclad decree, “You're mine. Do you understand?”
“Yes Dylan, I understand.” she lamented, her body feverishly convulsing and shivering, her breathing erratic.
Body bathed in sweat he shoved her back up and over the tub's edge, slowly withdrawing his hand from inside her he resumed ramming into her, slapping his wet palm against her buttock until he heard her scream, felt her trying to dislodge him by bucking wildly beneath him. With colossal strength he gripped her hips, forcing his body in and out of her at a furiously passionate tempo, alternately chanting his ownership of her and reverently calling her name until with one final deep thrust, that forced her pelvis cruelly against the tub's marble edge, he let out an aggrieved, lusty shout, that died down to a muffled groan as he pulled out to ejaculate all over the tattoo, streams and globs of his essence springing forth in abundance leaving his legs weak.
Immediately Dylan felt cold and alone, wanting the warmth that normally followed their lovemaking, not the icy chasm of uncertainty he needed to cross to make amends for violations too numerous to count. He sat back on his haunches wishing he could undo the last few days, wanting in some way to comfort her. He reached for her and watched as she scrambled away on her hands and knees across the marble floor to the toilet where her body was wracked with dry-heaves.
Walking over to her, he held her hair back until she finished. Then with unsteady hands, he lifted her to her feet. He directed her to the shower where he cleansed them both under a forceful spray of hot water, determinedly scrubbing the tattoo completely away and hating himself the whole time because she wouldn't look at him, her body shaking and trembling at his touch.
****
Escorting her to the bedroom, he wrapped her in his blue cotton robe before easing his aching body into blue pajamas and a white tee. Sitting on the side of the bed, he faced where she stood near the closet and spoke sincerely, “I never wanted to hurt you. When we first met, all I could think about was how wonderful being near you made me feel. I wanted you to feel the same way about me. It seems like an eternity since we met and although I only ever desire your happiness, all I seem to do is make you miserable. I need you to help me understand what I'm doing wrong?”
Her voice was unsteady, raspy, “I hate that you choose her over me.”
“Liz? I slept with her once and I've apologized. Enough already for pity's sake. I don't want to spend the rest of our lives fighting about her. We're getting married Sunday no matter what you do with the exception of killing me. If you plan to do away with me, make the process quick and know even then I won't let you go. Not ever.”
Carolina's voice rose slightly, “No you won't let me go, you just keep pushing me away when the mood strikes you while keeping a hold on the leash you control me with. You didn't just have sex with Liz, you comforted her, held her, listened to her and in the presence of your brothers while that woman listened you humiliated me by saying I wasn't Justin's mother when compared to Liz a toadstool would be a more maternal presence in Justin's life. I can't believe you think she's a better mother for him than me.”
“You're obsessed with hi
m Carolina. It's not a choice between the two of you. She's his mother,” he stated adamantly, looking at her, willing her to understand.
“No she isn't. I'm his mother,” she cried passionately.
He saw in her eyes that she really believed what she was saying. “Carolina-”
“Justin's my son. On Friday he was hurt and he went to me, not her.”
“He was trying to avoid being grounded again for fighting.”
“The situation was more serious than a prep school skirmish.” Opening the closet, she pulled out the hand-painted gift box Patrick had given her. Sitting it on a nearby chair, she removed the Lavender decorated top and withdrew from its interior a clipping from the local Sunday paper. Nervously she walked the newsprint over to him.
He accepted the article and quickly scanned its contents, “What's this?”
She shoved her hands into the pockets of his robe and made herself meet his gaze, felt her eyes filling with tears for Justin and for him before she had the courage to admit, “Last week those men abducted and hurt Justin.”
He felt as if all the oxygen had been extracted from the room, his ears ringing and his head feeling ready to explode. Calmly he asked, “What are you telling me?”
“When Justin came to my office he not only needed to ask why I wouldn't allow him to visit, he was there for my help. As we talked, I could tell something was wrong with him but he refused to call you and didn't want me to contact you either. He was leaving my office when he collapsed. He wasn't breathing and I couldn't get a pulse.”
He endeavored to remain calm. “You're telling me my boy died?”
She couldn't ever voice the words so instead she admitted, “I had to resuscitate him. He told me he'd taken pills because men, those in that article, had hurt him. He didn't want me to call you and he didn't want to go to the hospital because he knew you'd be notified. Patrick facilitated getting Justin medical treatment then I called asking if he could stay the weekend. He's afraid you won't love him anymore and that, for him, will be worse than the actual abuse. Dylan, please understand why I couldn’t say anything. From the beginning, I could tell how much he cares for you but it's much more than that; he actually worships you. His tree house is a temple he's created to Dylan Savage, full of your image, representations of you as a son, brother, family member, father, musician, celebrity and a god.”
