Under Her Skin

by Adriana Anders

  For a while, Uma enjoyed his weight and the silence. The fire had died down, leaving the workshop dark and cold, full of unfamiliar shapes.

  Finally, she fretted. Again, that nasty habit: the worrying at night in bed. She’d managed to sleep in this bed before. She could do it again. Any reasonable person would pull the blanket up to her chin and snuggle in with the gorgeous man she’d made out with.

  But not Uma. She had to tear it apart, piece by piece, worry at it and make it into something bad.

  “What you doin’?” Ivan’s groggy voice broke in to interrupt her insane musings.

  After a brief hesitation, she decided to be honest. “Fighting with myself.”

  “What about?”

  “Whether or not I should leave.”

  He grunted and pushed up on an elbow, a dark shape above her. “Who’s winning?”

  She smiled briefly. “Guilt. I shouldn’t have even come here tonight.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just not a good idea. I’m too…raw. You know?”

  He didn’t answer right away, and Uma wondered if she’d hurt him a little. It never feels good when someone regrets what they’ve done with you, especially if they’re still right there in your bed.

  “Well, you may think guilt’s winnin’, but from where I’m sittin’, you’re still here, lyin’ in my bed.” He flopped back down and pulled her with him, tucking her head onto his chest. “Only regret is that you won’t let me into those pants so I can return the favor.”

  She laughed and pushed at the hand touching her waistband.

  “What is it? You don’t like to be touched? ’S that it? Or’s there something you don’t want me to see?” Uma stiffened. “’S dark in here, Uma. You don’t even have to take ’em off. We’ll keep the jeans on, okay? Lights off, covers on?”

  She didn’t say no, which was like a resounding yes. She could almost pretend not to notice what he was doing. Slowly, so slowly, he tugged open the button and pulled down the zipper. The jagged sound was muffled by the blankets. His hand slid into her pants, one inch at a time, giving her time to push him away.

  It was quiet with her breath tightly reined. She didn’t hear him breathing either, but she could have sworn she heard the lazy, measured beating of his heart. They were waiting, listening to each other. Every tiny, wet, embarrassingly sloppy noise was loud in the vacuum created by their held breaths.

  The thought of how long it had been since she’d bothered to shave down there gave Uma a brief moment of embarrassment, but then his rough fingers slipped through her curls and down, and he didn’t seem to notice, or mind, the hair there. His middle finger descended farther. She jerked when it glanced over her clit on its way to part her lips.

  That finger continued its tortuous downward trip, gently penetrated her, giving her a brief moment of satisfaction, and returned to her clit. Uma curled up on herself again, on a burst of expelled breath, and Ivan breathed out and in, the sound restrained.

  It was too much, too close, too quiet, too intimate, breathing his air, his smell. He dipped down again and pressed farther this time, his finger huge inside her, but nowhere near fulfilling this craving her body had suddenly developed.

  “You like this?” he whispered.

  Uma couldn’t respond. She needed air to respond.

  “You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

  Oh, that was embarrassing. Why did he have to go and point it out?

  She managed a little sound of protest, and he stopped entirely.

  “You want me to stop?”

  Did she?

  She hesitated, then finally shook her head, and after a beat, he chuckled gently and started up again, faster, finger pressing into her, thumb rubbing quick circles over her clit.

  “I wanna make you come so hard. Like you did for me. That okay? Will you do that for me?”

  No way could Uma respond. Besides, she didn’t want to tell him that making her come was more of a marathon and less of a sprint. That, if she was honest, she didn’t really come when someone else was involved. She couldn’t. Oh, she knew how to do it on her own, but no guy had ever gotten it right. She’d pretended for Joey, of course. Otherwise, he’d have punished her for it, pouted for ages afterward.

  “I’ll bet if I fucked you right now, I’d slide right in. You’re so wet. Nothin’ to stop me at all, is there?”

  Whoa. Those words ratcheted things up a notch. And Ivan apparently didn’t expect a response, which was good, since listening to him talk was its own sweet torture. A little mortifying, but so goddamned hot.

  He leaned in and pressed his face into her neck, ran his nose into the hollow behind her ear, and followed it with his mouth. Before Uma could prepare for the shock, his teeth were on her, nipping their way to her earlobe, and then biting, just how she’d imagined.

  More than the touching and the talking, it was the mental image of those big, strong teeth tearing her apart that did it. Uma moaned, an animal sound that would make her blush when she thought of it later, and a groan that she was incapable of containing. Her next utterance was closer to a scream, but Ivan took it from her, sliding his lips over hers to consume her shouts.

  And…oh fuck…there it was. That elusive orgasm. The one she’d heard about but never quite been able to achieve. The kind that takes you somewhere else, outside yourself, away from all the pain. She couldn’t say how her body felt, only that it blew her mind and left her completely spent.

  “Good girl,” he muttered, and she didn’t even bother to correct him.

  “Oh, shit.”

  Her words, when she finally spoke, were graceless, but he laughed gently into the side of her face and swooped down for another mind-numbing kiss before settling them back onto the bed in a cozy nest.

  * * *

  She fell asleep almost immediately, pressed to Ive’s side. Fully clothed. He, on the other hand, didn’t fall asleep for ages.

  He wanted to get her naked so fucking badly, and he was hard again just thinking about it. Why wouldn’t she get naked? He remembered the way she’d hidden the tat on her arm in self-defense class. He thought that might be it. Was she embarrassed by it, or was he completely off base?

  In any case, she wasn’t scared of him. Not with the way she’d ordered him around tonight. Ive smiled at the memory of Bossy Uma. Man, she’d been sexy. He pulled her tighter against him, loving the feel of her curves, all soft and warm, even through the layers of fabric.

  He ran a hand down her side, along the dip in her waist, and farther, over her hip, where he squeezed—just a little bit. This was the kind of woman you wanted to take big handfuls of. Grab on and ride. Or, in the case of this one, maybe let her ride you.

  He wasn’t used to that—women on top. All his life, he’d been big and ugly and mean, and women assumed he’d be the one calling the shots. Not that he minded either way.

  Sure, Ive liked getting a little pushy every now and then, but he didn’t want to hurt them. Hurting women was—he didn’t even like to think about it, especially not here, with Uma right there in his arms. He pushed the thought from his mind and smoothed his hand down her bent leg, to the cuff of her jeans.

  Gently, very gently, he slid his fingertips underneath, up above her socks, to her skin. Gently, so gently, almost like air, the way he’d touch a fawn or a barn kitten, he stroked her there. Not even stroking really, more just a soft settling. But it was enough. She was what he wanted. Not smooth, but stubbled over with lady hairs, a texture more feminine than anything he could imagine. Better than smooth, really.

  She shifted slightly, snuffling adorably, and he pulled away, not wanting to get caught in this forbidden foray. Man, even that little touch had been sexy. He thought about trying the same thing elsewhere, getting a tiny feel of her belly or her breasts. But that would be going too far, and he knew it.

  A bet
rayal of trust. The worst possible thing you could do to someone. No, he wouldn’t betray the trust she’d shown him thus far. He’d rather die.

  * * *

  Waking up fully clothed, wrapped up in the hottest potato of a man ever, with a dog nose wet against her face, was not exactly the most pleasant experience ever. Add to that Uma’s burning desire to pee, and she was pretty darned miserable. But opening her eyes to Squeak’s smile helped, followed by a glimpse of a naked Ivan, curled around her like an enormous vine. She kicked away the comforter and smiled at the John and Yoko portrait they made.

  Uma’s breath puffed visibly in front of her, confirming that it was absolutely freezing. Squeak pushed at her again, and she extricated herself fully from the big man’s hold, making sure to cover him up again. She speed-walked to the door to let the mutt out and cast a fruitless glance around, maybe hoping a bathroom had sprouted overnight. It was a brief struggle to locate shoes under the bed and a near-hysterical moment spent thinking she’d left her purse at the bar, keys and all. She finally found it sitting on Ivan’s anvil, in plain sight.

  Once she got herself as together as was possible, Uma went to open the door again, unsure whether to leave Squeak out or not. The dog answered that question by pushing her way back in, followed by two black cats, and running to Ivan’s bed, where she rooted her way back under the covers.

  Uma smiled at the sight of them there, awash in a wave of premature, bittersweet nostalgia. This could—and probably would—be the only time she’d get intimate with this man. If he ever saw what was hiding under her clothes, he’d run as far as possible.

  Without letting herself think about what she was doing, Uma reached into her purse and pushed the battery into her old phone—a relic from her other life. As it powered up, Ivan snuggled farther under his comforter and wrapped a thick arm around his dog. Maybe he thought he was still snugged up to Uma. She smirked.

  The photo would be perfect: lovely, warm man, smelling like sleep, his big body no longer an instrument of intimidation, but one of pure, sweet pleasure. Ivan’s hair was a dark, tousled mess that Uma wanted to run her fingers through. There were so many things she hadn’t gotten to do, to touch and smell…and taste.

  Two legs peeked out from beneath the blanket—one human and one canine. Uma pressed the button, and the stupid, electronic shutter-click sound was like coming home. She glanced at the screen, memorized the image, and quietly pulled the door closed behind her.

  The music started, just as her finger moved to power off the phone. It was immediately recognizable and entirely chilling.

  Joey’s ringtone.

  She’d know it anywhere. A glance at the screen showed his photo, the one she’d taken of him singing karaoke one night in a bar with a bunch of his colleagues. He’d done “My Way” in a near-perfect Frank Sinatra imitation. And there it was, “My Way,” ringing out as if he’d been waiting for her all this time. As if he’d known the second she turned on her phone.

  How? How had he done that? Did he know where she was? Could he trace her? Or was it some kind of auto redial?

  Uma’s shaking hands dropped the phone, and it landed with a dull thud in the grass. She bent and shut it down, frantically, before rushing back to Ms. Lloyd’s house, happy glow utterly decimated.

  16

  After the phone call from Joey, things changed for Uma. Everything was worse. Much worse. The fear was constant, and even the pain was back, her skin raw. Twice, her boss commented on the constant scratching. She must have looked like a smack addict coming down.

  The worst part, though, when she really allowed herself to feel it, was how she’d lost all sense of hope. Again. That tiny spark she’d barely sensed a few days before was gone, leaving nothing but a brittle, hollow shell, her heart a dried bean rattling around inside—hot and parched and feverish with fear.

  Joey was out there. Uma could swear she felt him closing in. And all because of that photo. She’d followed an honest impulse, and everyone could be punished for it. For a stupid picture. She regretted that impulse; she truly did. If Joey found her, she’d have to delete it—the only proof she had of what had happened with Ivan. The thought made Uma sadder than anything else.

  But she couldn’t involve Ivan in her sordid life. She wouldn’t put him in the crosshairs like that. The biggest favor she could do for him would be to stay out of his way. If Joey ever found out about him, he’d obliterate him.

  So, Uma avoided Ivan all day Sunday—a difficult task.

  She walked to the bar for her car, keeping an eye out for passing vehicles. She also went so far, later in the day, as to hide out in the kitchen when Ivan dropped by to see her. It killed her to pretend she wasn’t there.

  Because Ivan would do something crazy for her. He’d said so himself. He’d go after whoever hurt her and go back to prison and it would all be Uma’s fault. She liked him too much to destroy him like that.

  So, instead, she let Ms. Lloyd lie, straight to his face.

  Sunday night was the worst she’d had since arriving in Blackwood—dark, agitated hours spent fighting the memories of Joey’s hands on her. The hot prick of the needle in her skin, the electric buzzing of the machine in her ear, ink blossoming stark on the carpet beside her face. She eventually succumbed to sleep only to dream of him killing Ivan.

  When Monday finally dawned wet and nasty, Uma felt hungover, the pain physical.

  The only spark was the thought of the self-defense class that night, until she realized she’d have to skip it. She couldn’t risk going.

  Her eyes closed against the memory of Ivan. His touch, his arms around her. For such a short time, he’d made her feel so alive, so real. No way would she risk going to class and running into him again. Finally, Uma pulled herself out of bed, heavy and exhausted.

  Breakfast was a gray smudge on the day, the first of many. Laundry, cleaning, lunch, all succeeded each other as occupations for her body, while her mind…her mind ached, alone, somewhere outside of herself.

  “Girl, you’d best get your head out of your ass right now,” Ms. Lloyd said when Uma burned dinner that night.

  “Sorry, Ms. Lloyd.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t give me that crap, or I will fire you.”

  “It’s none of your business, okay?”

  The woman stared at Uma, clearly waiting for something more.

  Another standoff, only this time, Uma didn’t have the strength. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t lie to Ivan and stonewall Ms. Lloyd. Finally, on a harsh exhale, she let the words come out. “I’m scared.”

  “What you scared of?”

  Uma didn’t respond.

  “Get out.”

  “What?”

  “Just go.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No.”

  “You’re firing me?”

  “I’m not firing you, girl. I’m telling you to go outside and get some fresh air.”

  Uma turned to look out the window. “It’s raining.”

  Ms. Lloyd blew out a grumpy sigh and pushed Uma toward the back door. “Go visit your boyfriend.”

  “Hey! He’s not my—”

  “Whatever.” The woman shooed her outside and closed the door, leaving her on the back stoop in the cold early evening.

  Are you freaking kidding me?

  Uma banged on the door, yelled “I need my jacket!” and waited as Ms. Lloyd shuffled toward the living room. After a couple of minutes, she returned with her fleece and purse. Left with no choice, Uma walked down the steps, through the soggy grass to her car. It looked like she’d be attending self-defense class that evening after all.

  She was secretly glad.

  * * *

  It was a relief and a disappointment to see that the back half of the gym was dark whe
n Uma walked in a few minutes later. No men duked it out on the mats. Instead, a gaggle of women took off rain gear and spread out, stretching and chatting.

  Class was good, easier than the first time, although Binx was there, which wasn’t easy to stomach now that Uma knew about the ad.

  They learned how to get out of a stranglehold from behind. A good skill, surely, but Uma couldn’t help but wonder: Would things really have turned out differently if she’d known how to protect herself the night Joey had held the gun to her head?

  “What if he’s got a gun?” The question popped out of her mouth, mid-demonstration, louder than intended.

  Her comment drew the attention of every woman in the class.

  “The attacker?” Jessie asked.

  “Yeah. What if…” Uma swallowed. One in five, she’d read. One in five women has been sexually assaulted at some point in their lives. These women weren’t judging her. Chances were, at least a couple of them had been hurt by a man. They were on her side. “What if your attacker has a gun?”

  “You run.”

  “What if it’s not an option? Like, maybe he’s got that gun to your head?”

  “If you want to stay alive, you do what your attacker wants.” Jessie turned to the rest of the class, and Uma’s body sank, just a little, with an odd sense of relief. “I can show you a couple of moves, but really, ladies, these are last-ditch choices. Weapons up the stakes. If someone approaches you with a gun, your best bet may be to talk yourself out of it.” She caught Uma’s eye, delivering this message right to her. “If all else fails, do what he wants. There’s no shame in doing whatever it takes to stay alive.”

  Uma blinked and looked away.

  Jessie called them all forward to teach them a disarm and paired them off to practice. Uma’s awkward moment was quickly forgotten.

  Beside Uma, Binx stage-whispered to her partner, “You guys see Ive yet?”