by Shade, S. M.
“I know you do. Because I know you. Inside and out.”
He slips his hand up around my throat, and my heart tries to climb out of my chest. Tightening his hand, he tilts my head back and puts his lips to my ear. “Come.”
It’s not fear that rips the scream from my throat, but a sweeter agony as I’m pulled under by wave after wave of pleasure made stronger because it’s so wrong.
Before I’ve fully recovered enough to function, he stands me up and steadies me for a moment until I find my equilibrium. His hand grips my jaw, tilting my head up and a fortuitous but brief flash of lightning gives me a glimpse of bright green eyes and dark hair.
“Next time, I’m going to fuck you.”
With that, he turns and walks out of the sunroom door into the darkness.
Minutes drag into an hour while I sit, wrapped in a towel on the lounger, struggling to come to grips with what just happened. What he did. What I let him do. It replays in my head, scene by unbelievable scene. Tears run down my face, born of shame, regret, or shock, I’m not sure.
Shouldn’t I be ashamed?
A man broke into my house, put his hands on me in places that haven’t been touched in years, and instead of fighting or running, I begged him not to stop. I came. Twice.
Wrong. It’s so wrong. Yet my body disagrees. Even the memory of the way he handled me, firmly but without hurting me, offering a choice that didn’t feel like a choice, makes my nipples harden again. He could’ve killed me.
Maybe if I say the words aloud, they’ll mean more. “He could’ve killed you.” My voice echoes through the sunroom. “He could’ve raped you, tortured you, murdered you.” The words don’t carry any more weight than the thought did. Because I don’t believe them, I realize. The man has stalked me, broken into my home, and somehow, he doesn’t register as a threat as much as something…dangerous and exciting.
I was the kid who played with snakes, knowing they could strike at a whim. The older I got, the more I dared the world to come at me. It would anyway, so why not try to stare it down?
It makes no sense though. He didn’t fuck me. He didn’t rob me. He risked imprisonment for a home invasion to what? Make me come? Is this his way of screwing with my head?
His parting words sounded more like a promise than a threat, but why warn me? Will he really come back? So many questions churn inside me, but it’s the most disturbing one that keeps me awake the next few nights.
Do I want him to come back and make good on his promise?
Chapter Five
“Darcy! Do you know how close I was to driving over there to check on you? You haven’t answered me in days!”
Thea’s irate voice is harsh first thing in the morning. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
There’s a long pause before she huffs. “That’s all I get? Are you going to tell me why? Wait.” Hope rings in her voice. “Are you writing again?” It’s a fair question, though it sends a pang through me. Disappearing into my head for a few days isn’t unusual for me if I’m writing.
“No, not writing. I just couldn’t find my phone. It fell into the recliner. I finally got it out.” Lying to my friend isn’t something I’m proud of, but it’s not like I can tell her the truth. Oh, sorry, I’ve been freaking out because some psycho invaded my sunroom to give me two orgasms, and for some reason I can’t stop thinking about him even though I don’t know who he is or anything about him. She’d have the cops at my door so fast.
“You’re the only person I know who has no problem going without a phone. I’d go crazy. So, what have you been doing?”
“Same old. Walking. The weather’s been nice. I’m going to start a garden.”
“Darce, I love you, but you sound about eighty years old.”
If she only knew what had really happened this week. “Shut up. Tell me how things are going with your drummer. Let me live vicariously through you. What’s his name?”
My attempt to change the subject works, and she sighs like a lovesick teenager. “Paul. He’s so amazing! I can’t wait for you to meet him! That’s why I was calling. When I can get some time off work, we want to drive down to visit.”
Shit. How’s that going to work? Surely, the crazy man won’t show himself if I have friends here, right? There are no good excuses that come to mind, and I don’t want her to think I don’t want to see her. Maybe once she picks a date we can meet somewhere, stay at a hotel or something. I can tell her I’m having some work done on the house.
“That sounds great. I can’t wait to meet him. Let me know when you have a time in mind.” We talk for a few minutes until she has to go. Her life seems much the same since I left. I’m glad she’s happy. I’ve always been amazed and envious of her ability to find happiness no matter what’s being thrown at her. She also takes no shit. If it’d been her the guy broke in on, she would’ve drowned him in the pool, not let him touch her.
It’s been a few days since that night, and the suspense over whether or not he’ll come back has me bouncing between anxiety and anticipation. It’s a hard thing to admit, but I’m not sure what I want to happen. I’m exhausted from fretting over it and getting little sleep. It’s tempting to crawl back into bed, but I know I won’t be able to shut my mind off.
Maybe just a shorter walk today. I could go into town and get something quick for dinner tonight. Then come back and take a nap if I still feel tired. There’s no need to bring my bag this time. My I.D. and credit card tucked into my pocket will suffice. The day’s bright and sunny. A glance at my arms in the mirror last night showed me I’m getting a farmer’s tan so before I leave, I change into a tank top to get some sun on my shoulders as well as my arms and face.
It’s a pleasant walk. The sun draws a light sweat out of my skin that’s quickly dried by the breeze. I’m only a few blocks from the Chinese restaurant where I plan to grab dinner when I notice an elderly man sitting alone. The stone steps he’s sitting on used to belong to a house that’s been torn down. Now they rest at the edge of a grassy lot. He becomes familiar when I approach him, but it takes him a few moments to recognize me. In his state of mind, I’m lucky he knows me at all.
“Mr. Wallace. Hi.” We don’t know each other well, but he lives at the senior center where I volunteer. He blinks at me a few times. “I’m Darcy.”
A smile bursts across his face, showing yellowed dentures. “Darcy, of course. You call the bingo numbers and read those dirty books to the women.”
Perfect description. “That’s me,” I laugh, taking a seat beside him. “How are you doing?”
“Not too bad. Went for a bit of a walk and got kind of turned around. So much has changed.”
“It has.” The senior center doesn’t just let their residents wander off for a walk. “How did you slip past Patty?”
“Nurse Ratched? She always goes to the bathroom right at two o’clock. Probably schedules her shits in her little notebook. Walked right out.”
“I knew you were my favorite for a reason.”
He beams at me. “None of the women can resist me. It’s a blessing and a curse.”
“If you’re ready to go back, can I walk with you? I’m headed that way.” The Chinese restaurant is actually nowhere near the senior center, but he’s obviously lost.
“I’d love to have the company.” He gets to his feet, and we start down the road. “Did I ever tell you my wife and I were married for forty years?”
“No, that’s amazing. What was her name?”
“Milly. We got married when I was thirty-two, a little late for my generation, and her Mama and them sure hated that she chose me.” He chuckles, his eyes bright with memories.
“Maybe they thought you looked like a troublemaker,” I tease.
“I was a troublemaker! Spent over eight years in prison. Met Milly just a few days after I got out.” Shock must show on my face because he laughs. “Oh yeah, I was a bad guy. Wouldn’t begin to tell a pretty young woman like you the things I’ve don
e. They’d shock you into next Tuesday. But she didn’t see any of that. Or she overlooked it if she did. I straightened myself out because I didn’t want to be away from her again.”
“Forty years. You must’ve done something right.”
We’re around the corner from the senior center when he replies, “She was the best thing, the only thing I cared about, well, her and my daughter. My daughter’s grown now. Just married a few years ago. To an ex-con like her father. She seems happy.”
“Good for her.”
Two cop cars sit at the curb in front of the senior center when we turn the corner and Patty calls out. “There he is! Mr. Wallace! We’ve had half the town out looking for you!”
He grins down at me. “Some women love the bad boys. Ain’t nothing wrong with that. Life’s too short to play by all those rules and so much more fun without them.” He winks at me then shuffles faster up the walkway toward the officers and nurse. “What are you yelling at me for? I’m just an old man lost and confused. You shouldn’t let me wander about like that.”
Biting back a laugh, I wave at Patty, who gives me an exasperated glance and waves back. That was an interesting little interlude to my day.
Forty years. I can’t imagine it. Sometimes I forget that other people sometimes get that fairy tale that’s sold to us. Even after I pick up my food and head home, they’re on my mind. I’m sure his wife was judged by more than just her parents. She must’ve taken a huge risk marrying someone just out of prison, but they built a life together. Has anyone ever found a happily ever after with their stalker?
The thought makes me laugh at myself. How desperate and pathetic am I? A psycho breaks in, and I’m daydreaming about a future with him when romance is something I’ve never believed in. Not for me anyway. I learned early that there’s something about me that makes me easy to leave. I can’t be loved. People don’t connect to me, and the best thing I’ve managed to do is adopt that trait. It’s grown easier over the years to stay distant.
It’s still light outside so there’s no danger in walking the tracks across town. I prefer them most of the time. It’s much quieter. Except for the rare occasion when a train comes, like today. I’m between streets in an industrial area, but there’s plenty of space on either side of the rails. Shifting the bag of food to my other hand, I move over, walking along the edge of a warehouse parking lot.
The freight train is moving fast and it rumbles my chest when it starts to pass by. There’s a lot of interesting graffiti on trains. Some real pros have worked on these. Instead of a bunch of scribbled names describing who was there or what sports team sucks, bright colorful paintings travel past. In between a drawing of a soldier and a collection of flowers, I get a glimpse that sends my heart into overdrive.
For just a moment, I see him. The sensation of him watching washes over me, and I stop to stare, straining to see between the train cars as they rush by. All I’m afforded, over and over is a split second, a peek of a man standing on the other side of the tracks.
Tall, dark hair, a flash of sun touched skin. It’s him. I’m finally going to see him properly, not hidden in shadows or the dark of my sunroom at night. The excitement I feel at the prospect is ridiculous. Any sane person would be running in the other direction, calling the police. What could he want from me on some railroad tracks in this isolated area, well away from any help? A place where no one will hear me scream, and he can leave my body?
Still, he’s a mystery that’s gotten into my head. I have to know. I have to see him. With only about ten train cars left to pass, he disappears. One second I’m seeing the flash of him in each space between the metal, then there’s only the scrubby tree line behind him. A few steps in either direction doesn’t help.
My lungs burn from holding my breath while the last cars rattle past, and I prepare to see him, half expecting him to run across the tracks.
He’s gone.
Nothing but the trees and sky wait for me once the train passes.
What the hell? He had plenty of time to retreat through the trees and out of sight, but why? He knew I saw him. Why is he playing with me?
Disappointment is insane, but it’s there.
Things start falling into perspective a little better by the time I get to the next street. I’m lucky. Who knows what this guy is up to? Sometimes, I have to remind myself that I should be afraid. Someone who isn’t fed up with life and its miseries would be terrified. Whenever I see him, there’s some fear, but it’s overtaken by curiosity. And anger. Because he’s interrupting my peace, but he’s also giving me a reason to wake up that’s more than wandering the streets and trying to force words onto a screen.
The rest of my walk home is uneventful. After eating dinner and watching a few minutes of mindless television, my eyes grow heavy. My jeans get kicked off, and I grab a soft throw blanket to curl up on one end of the couch. A nap sounds perfect. Or maybe I’ll just sleep here all night. The drone of a sitcom lulls me to sleep in minutes.
I sense him a moment before he touches me, but by the time my eyes open, he’s perched on the edge of the couch. “What the—”
He shoves me back down easily, and holds up the rose shaped sex toy I left on the charger. A slice of dim light cuts between the curtains behind him, showing me a face obscured in shadows. “You won’t be needing toys anymore.”
The fear I felt at his first appearance doesn’t surface this time. Embarrassment sets a match to my anger, igniting it, and I grab at the rose. “Give me that!”
“You want it?” The threat laced through his question doesn’t escape my notice but I’m not the most reasonable person when I’m mad. This man broke into my house—twice—and it’s no mystery what he’s here for again. I should be afraid. I should be trying to get away, call for help. Not indignantly insisting he give my sex toy back.
“I want you to get the fuck out of here and stop stalking me!”
“Do you?” he says, crawling farther onto the couch, between my bent legs. One leg is trapped between him and the back cushion while he tucks the other around his waist.
All I can see is his outline in the gloom—tall and expansive. If I wanted to try to fight him off, I wouldn’t stand a chance. That’s made obvious when I try to pull the leg from around his waist and wriggle free. “What are you doing?”
“You wanted the toy. I’m giving it to you.”
Without removing my panties, he runs his fingers between my legs, parting my lips. His dark chuckle at finding me wet makes my face heat. Yeah, I’m turned on. I don’t know why either. I’m totally fucked up.
Instead of undressing me, he tucks the toy beneath my panties, and tugs them up a little where they’ll hold it in place. Instinctually, I reach down to stop him. He grabs both of my hands in one of his, effortlessly pinning them to my abdomen.
No escape.
His other hand picks up the tiny remote. Now, I bought this particular toy because the reviews said it could devastate you in seconds. Many cautioned the user to ease into it on the lowest setting. Too bad it’s not up to me.
He clicks a button and the toy surges to life, suctioning onto my clit. My hips leap upward, and I cry out, but he holds me down. Whatever setting he’s put it on, devastating isn’t the word. There’s no pulling it off of me with my hands restrained. Moving around does no good. It’s latched on tight.
In a steady pulsing pattern it sucks, over and over. Too hard. Too much.
“Please, I don’t like it!”
He pulls it away and holds it up in front of my eyes. “You don’t want this?”
“No.”
“You’re goddamn right, you don’t.” The words are scarcely out of his lips when he has my panties off and his mouth on my already sensitive clit. He’s released my hands and grips my thighs instead. I have options. I could hit him, push him away, kick him.
Or I could grab his hair and pull it while he devours me. The last option wins. I can’t help it. It feels too good. His tongue and lips, the scruff
rubbing against me. Oh, he’s good. A toy could never imitate this level of finesse or heat my skin with the sound of a growl that shows how much he’s loving this.
An orgasm rolls through me, long and pulsing, and he continues until I tug his head away. What’s just happened again takes a few seconds to filter back in. I’ve had three orgasms from a man I’ve never really seen. I don’t even know his name.
This madness can’t go on. He doesn’t prevent me from getting up this time. The light switch is only a few steps away, but my legs shake on the journey. I’m finally going to see him.
A spin of the dimmer switch reveals him, and the sight steals my ability to think or reason. He doesn’t move or speak, only stares at me with eyes a green I would’ve said couldn’t exist. They’re set in a face so severe, angular. Rough and intimidating. He’s beautiful in a way that’s almost awful to look at and impossible to ignore. His intense gaze tears through me while his impassive expression gives nothing away.
He's dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt that clings to broad shoulders, displaying well defined muscles in his chest. When his gaze travels down my body, I realize I’m standing there in nothing but a T-shirt that barely covers my ass. Does it matter when he just had his mouth on my pussy?
My thoughts are pulled in a hundred different directions, but a question finally finds its way out. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because I know who you are. I know the darkness of your mind and what you want. I’m going to give it to you.”
What the hell does that mean? “What if I say no?”
“You will. You’ll scream it. You’ll beg for my mercy and love every second of it. Now strip.”
Sweat breaks out on my skin. From arousal as well as fear if I’m being honest with myself. “I could call the police.”
“But you won’t. You’re going to come over here and sit on my cock. If you take it all, I won’t put it in your ass.”
His words stun me into silence, but one part of me responds. The pulsing between my legs is almost painful. My brain screams for me to think. The only thing I know about this man is that he must be insane. Another side of me argues that I also know he’s the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen and he hands out orgasms like Halloween candy.
