by Gail Bridges
Jesus.
I didn’t want to find out. But what choice did I have?
Chapter Twenty-Five
At first light, I flushed Zenith’s note down the toilet. Then I cleaned up the rancid mess on the floor where I’d lost my dinner and Josh threw a towel over the bloodstains so we wouldn’t have to look at them. We crawled back into bed and huddled under the covers again. Our minds were still mercilessly, relentlessly clear.
Later we showered.
Then, subdued and nervous, we dressed. I pulled on a short gray skirt, not even bothering to match it with the proper blouse. It was ten minutes before breakfast. We each ate a yellow petal, tucked a couple of wilted flowers into our pockets and started down the eight flights of stairs for yet another gluttonous feast that neither of us wanted. It was Wednesday morning—Champagne Extravaganza morning. Zettia had been telling us for days how lavish the spread would be but I wasn’t ready to face all that food. Or all the people. Or Mr. Abiba. Especially Mr. Abiba.
I suppressed a shudder and reached for Josh’s hand, eyeing the new, painful-looking bruises that colored his knuckles, being careful not to hurt him. He stopped on the last landing and gave me a quick hug. “Okay?” he asked, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Because I’m scared shitless.”
“We have a plan now.”
He rolled his eyes. “Kind of.”
I had to agree. It was flimsy, made at first light in furtive whispers and with pantomime and innuendo and desperation—lots of desperation—but our plan, such as it was, made us feel a tiny bit better. At least it did me. The idea was to find Zenith, see how she was doing. And then to contact Vane. Find out if he knew what was going on. Perhaps sound out Zora and Valerian if the chance presented itself. Obviously it all had to be done furtively. We couldn’t do anything in the open—we’d have to tread very, very carefully. Taking Zenith’s example, we had each armed ourselves with two scraps of tightly folded, scribbled-on paper.
We want out!
And,
We need a plan, now!
Josh peered at me, frowning. “You’re sure about going to breakfast? I know you’re scared. We can go back up.”
“And do what? Hide?”
“Yes. No. Maybe.” He sucked in his breath. “Damn it, Angie, I don’t know. Maybe we can lay low and tough it out. Maybe things will blow over. Maybe things aren’t as bad as we thought.”
I just stared at him. “Do you remember what happened last night?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t say anything.
He let go of my hand and gripped the handrail, his knuckles turning white. “I remember every excruciating moment.” His face blanched. “But fuck it all, Angie! It’s already Wednesday—on Saturday Mr. Abiba has to let us go. Right? The vacation ends on Saturday. In three days this will be over and we can get the hell out of here and go home. Three days!”
I put my hand over his and shook my head. “We can’t stay, you know that. He’s probably hatching up some gruesome thing for me right now, as we speak. He loves me, remember? And what about you? He could do something awful to you! I don’t know, he might…” I shuddered, then spat out the words, forcing myself to complete the thought. “He might want to get you out of the way so that he can have me all to himself. After last night, who knows what he’s capable of?”
“He wouldn’t.” But it was clear that Josh didn’t believe his own words.
“Three days is a long time. Especially here. We have to do something.”
His eyes met mine. He reached for my fingers, held them to his mouth, brushed my knuckles with his soft lips. “Of course we do. You’re right. We’ll follow the plan.”
We stared at each other, steeling ourselves to move down the stairs, steeling ourselves for whatever might come next. Then we heard laughter.
“What the hell?” Josh whispered, his eyes narrowing.
We turned as one, leaning over and craning our heads over the banister, trying to peer into the dining room one floor below us at the bottom of the stairs. The door was open, but all I could see of the interior was a corner of the Turkish carpet and the back of Mr. Abiba’s chair. Why was everyone already gathered in the dining room? Tim and Rhonda-Lynne were there—I heard their voices—and they were always late for meals. The Champagne Extravaganza hadn’t started yet, so what was going on? I held my breath, bewildered. I couldn’t see in but I could hear just fine. There was a clamor of excited voices. Clapping hands. Shrieks and scuffling chairs. A male voice—Tim? Then more laughter. Logan said something—I couldn’t hear what, exactly—and the others erupted in gleeful amusement, Mr. Abiba loudest of all.
This was wrong. All wrong. It didn’t fit, this gaiety, after the night we’d just spent.
Then came peals of delighted laugher from Nikki, with Geoffrey’s booming guffaws as an underpinning.
Geoffrey!
A rush of pure, unadulterated lust slammed into me, hot and wild—a hunger so deep, so profound, that I could barely contain myself. I sucked in my breath and turned away from Josh, hunching over and crossing my arms over my belly, my cunt throbbing with need.
Geoffrey! Geoffrey! I want you, my sweet mountain man!
How lovelyit would be to hold him in my arms. Oh! To kiss him, to pull him to the floor on top of me, to feel his weight over the full length of my body, to writhe with him in ecstasy. How delightful it would be to take his nice, fat cock in my hand, raise my hips to him and guide his erection far, far inside my wet, willing body. Oh, how wonderful it would be. I could almost feel his beautiful big erection stretching me, filling me, opening me, reaching my innermost parts. So real, so intense! My knees went weak. My mouth watered. My insides clenched into hot knots as I almost felt his hairy chest tickling my breasts. Damn it all, I wanted to fuck Geoffrey, right then, right there on the stairs. Right against the wall, right below Mr. Abiba’s stupid tapestries.
I need you, mountain man.
Forget the fear. Forget the desperation, forget Zenith, forget everything. All those trifling annoyances faded away, unimportant now. I wanted Geoffrey as I’d never wanted anyone, not even my own beloved husband.
Next to me, Josh lurched against the rail, gasping. Nikki. Of course.
My head cleared just a little.
“Oh my god,” Josh wheezed, reaching for me. “What is this?”
We clutched at each other, catching our breath, staring into each other’s eyes, steadying ourselves, keeping each other from rushing to our objects of desire. I blinked. I shook my head, trying to think straight but failing as my body clamored for sex and my mind spun with infatuation. How could I feel that way? How was it possible after all we’d been through? How could my body betray me when I felt so wretched,so frightened and heartbroken? But there we were, wanting it again and wanting it badly. In the open, no less. I held Josh close and his erection rose, pressing into my stomach. He moaned as Nikki’s lilting voice came wafting up the stairs.
And then Geoffrey…
His voice. Those rich, throaty tones making my insides catch fire.
Oh my god, but I wanted that man.
I buried my head in Josh’s neck, trembling, leaking all over my underwear. He wasn’t Geoffrey but he would do.
Josh clamped his arms around me. “This is torture! Oh! Oh!” he screwed his eyes shut and his normal expression was replace by his sex face. It told me how close he was to apexing and I hadn’t even been anywhere near his cock. Yet. “This has to be for our benefit!” Josh said through gritted teeth. He kissed me. Hard. His erection probed at my stomach, demanding attention. “The bastard is playing with us, Angie!”
As soon as he said it, I knew he was right.
“Like we’re toys!” I said, settling the palm of my hand on Josh’s pants, pressing and squeezing, rubbing and tapping, amusing myself with his erection through the denim of his jeans. What a nice long cock my husband possessed! It would do just fine, even if it wasn’t as beefy as Geoffrey’s.
Ah, Geoffre
y!
My heart skipped a beat at the memory of my mountain man’s mighty erection jutting out of its bed of dark fur, his heavy chest on mine, the way he’d ridden me with such enthusiasm, such delighted eagerness. I spread my legs just a little, thrust my pelvis forward, causing my skirt to hitch up.
I unzipped Josh’s pants. “Goddamn Mr. Abiba, making us act like this!” I shoved his pants down around his ankles. “It’s like we’re freaking puppets or something.” I took handfuls of Josh’s ass and squeezed hard, pressing his erection against my mound, digging my nails into his soft skin, raking them across his butt cheeks.
He gasped. “Holy hell. That’s…that’s…”
“Like it?” I breathed.
“Fuck, yes. Don’t stop!”
I didn’t.
“You’re doing exactly what she does—what Nikki does. Shit,Angie! You aren’t drawing blood, are you? Fucking amazing!” He kissed me then, all tongue and teeth and low growls deep in his throat. He came up for air, breathing hard. “Marionettes. That’s what they’re called. We’re goddam marionettes! He’s controlling our sex drives, isn’t he?”
“Oh my god, yes. He is. The asshole. Yeah. Touch me now. Josh. Touch me.”
He slid his hand between my legs. He pinched my inner thigh. Just a little. Then harder. Enough to make me hiss with pleasure, writhe in his arms, soak my underwear more than it already was. “It’s barbaric,” he whispered, pinching me again, twisting and pulling my sensitive skin, making me squirm with pain and pleasure. “What kind of person does that?”
“He’s an asshole,” I said again, tossing my head from side to side, moaning, raking his butt in answer to the pinches. “A card-carrying asshole. I detest every moment of this! Ah…ah! Do that again, will you?”
“Liar.” Josh trailed his fingers along my leg, up my skirt, then dipped under the band of my underwear, where he followed the band to the point exactly between my legs. He snapped the elastic sharply against the delicate, quivering skin of my vulva, making the most luscious jolt pass through me, giving me my first apex. He grinned wickedly at me. “You lie! You lie! You do like this. And he’s a goddam fucker.”
He snapped me again.
“Ow! Ow!” I shrieked, shuddering. “Do that again!”
But he didn’t. Instead we heard Geoffrey and Nikki laughing long and hard, their voices intermingling from the floor below, a concert designed just for us. We stiffened, our hands on each other, hurting each other, pleasuring each other, holding on for dear life.
He moaned.
I gasped.
“Mr. Abiba is disgusting,” I said, trembling. “Horrible. A sadist. And we shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I know. We shouldn’t. Absolutely not. Claw me again? Please?”
I complied. “But it is awfully nice, don’t you think?”
He bit his lip and sagged against me, nodding. I worked my hands around his hips until they nestled on either side of his cock. Then I wrapped several pubic hairs tightly around my finger and yanked them sharply.
He jerked. And gasped. “Wonderful! Positively fantastic!” He kissed my neck. “But awful too. Stand still now. Don’t move.”
I trembled—I couldn’t help myself—as his long musician’s fingers, dancing and skipping and not at all compromised by their many bruises, passed over the place where my skin still smarted from the snaps and pinches. They made their way ever so slowly onto my clit, where they lingered, tracing tight circles, causing my insides to turn to mush. I closed my eyes. “Oh my god,” I moaned. Then I repeated the three words—ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod—until they ran together and stopped making sense.
“No,” Josh whispered in my ear, his fingers still working. “He is not a god. He’s the spawn of the devil. Making us do this when we clearly don’t want to.”
“Oh, I know! I so don’t want to be screwing you right now!” My breath caught in my throat. “And that’s…scrumptious, what you’re doing! Holy shit, but that’s marvelous.” I tried to catch my breath, spreading my knees even more, always helpful. “He’s a nasty, degenerate sex demon, that’s what he is.” I crouched the teeniest bit, to give his fingers a better angle for entering me. Which they did, three of them, together. They moved slowly, teasingly, farther and farther into my cunt, his palm warmly cupping my mound. I bit my lip, sucking air through almost-closed lips.
Delicious!
I started working my magic on his cock. I had a plan.
“A sex demon? Not a sex vampire?” Josh said. “You think?” He went limp for a moment, enjoying the workings of my hand on his cock.
“He might be. Hey, you want something new?” I asked, my voice husky, my lips brushing his cheek.
His boyish grin told me all I needed to know.
We let ourselves fall against the wall, almost unmooring one of the tapestries—the largest one, the one with the lunging white stag. The priceless piece of needlework bunched against my shoulder, all scratchy and stiff, as Josh and I, still standing, writhed against it. “This is all wrong,” I whispered. “You know that, don’t you?” I nibbled on his ear. “But you’re going to love what I’m about to do. Guaranteed.”
“Try me,” he said. At least I thinkthat was what he said. He had a hard time getting the words out.
I took the swollen tip of his erection between my index finger and my thumb, tugging gently. Nothing new there. But then I took it further, delving into new territory in the world of Josh-and-Angie hand jobs. Purely by feel, I located the exact place I was looking for at the head of his cock, the place Valerian had shown me. I pulled on Josh’s erection with only my thumb and finger—more, more, until it was almost more than he could bear—then I squeezed. He moaned softly. I leaned in to him, alternating between tugging and squeezing, tugging and squeezing. His fingers stopped caressing my insides, which I took to be a good sign. So far, so good. I concentrated, searching for the sweet spot where the hardness of his cock ended and the firmness of his glans began, just as Valerian had taught me in that mini-Lesson before we’d entered the ghost town.
I found it.
Josh made a gurgling sound and his erection leaped in my hand, got even harder, although he was already so hard it didn’t seem possible. Everything was in place now. My fingers tight on the magic spot, recalling the Lesson and trying to do everything just right, I began to jiggle his cock. Slowly. Up. Down. Up. Down. Then faster. Up, down, up, down. Then I added the last, best part—a smart flick of my pinkie on the very tip of his penis with each upstroke.
Stroke, flick!
Josh gasped and stiffened. “Good god, woman! Who taught you that?” He took a shuddering breath, his eyes screwed tightly shut. “But wrong, yes. So very wrong.”
Stroke, flick! Stroke, flick!
“Angie,” he said, barely audibly, “can I call you by her name?”
Stroke, flick!
I brushed my lips against his ear. “Um. I guess. If you need to. But I’d rather you didn’t.”
Stroke, flick!
He whispered in my ear, his words falling in perfect time with our lovemaking. “Nikki…oh Nikki, you’re the best. You’re so hot. Nikki…”
Stroke, flick!
“Nikki!”
Stroke, flick! Flick!
For some reason, I was making the flicking part of the sequence more painful than I necessarily had to. Much more. He shuddered, moaning, with each one.
Stroke, flick! Flick!
His fingers were on the move again. They explored deeper, deeper, deeper within me, making me moan softly. And then he made his own surprise move, touching a mysterious something far inside me—my G-spot, it had to be—then doing a crazy, wild, galloping, screaming something to it, a something that had me gasping for air and shrieking and seeing fireworks. My nipples burst with sensation, my clit sang for joy and I sprayed his hand and wrist with warm juices. I thought I might pass out.
“Angie, my love,” he said.
“Josh,” I answered.
I clung to h
im, shuddering. Apexing. Again. And again.
Stroke, flick!
Flick…flick…flick!
And then it was both of us, together, heaving and gasping, flinging ourselves against each other, apexing in glorious multiple rushes. The waves of feeling cascaded through us, ran rampant through our taut bodies then drained slowly away. Josh and I slumped against the wall for a long, long time, our hands still on and in each other, letting the warm shudders slowly dissipate. Then… I hate this part. I know I’ve said it before, but I really do loathe it—every time I hate it more. His fingers left my body and I was alone again. I sagged against his still-trembling chest. After a moment I looked up at him. He smiled shyly at me and we were ourselves again, just plain old Josh and Angie. “Zora taught me that,” he whispered. “What do you think?”
“I approve.” I kissed the closest part of him, which was the side of his neck. “Very much. Yes.”
Josh felt for my hand and brought it to lips. He kissed the knuckle of my big finger, then took it into his mouth. “I’m glad,” he said, sucking, his words all smooshed and wet-sounding.
And that was when it all came crashing down.
Mr. Abiba’s mocking, cackling laughter invaded our stairwell. He was laughing at us. Piercing, high-pitched, crazy. Going on and on and on. Cutting into me like icicles. Skewering me.
Bastard.
Chapter Twenty-Six
We froze.
“He hates me,” I whispered, my vision going dark as floating black blobs crossed in front of my eyes. “He doesn’t love me, he hates me!”
“Maybe it’s both. Maybe he can’t tell the difference.”
“I don’t understand!” My voice rose at the end, a cry of bewilderment. “Why does he act like this? Why is he nice sometimes and so horrible at others? Why does he bother with Lessons? With Guides? With Tools?” I wiped tears from my face. “Why does he help us have amazing sex, then turn around and terrify us? Why?”
