Dead and Loving It

by MaryJanice Alongi

  She was so convincing, he actually panicked for a moment. To add drama to her little speech, she stopped eating, walked to the bed, got under the covers, and faced away from him the rest of the night. She never said another word, or looked at him, not even when he tempted her with a brimming bowl of frozen custard.

  Chapter 7

  He was right. The doors—this one, anyway—were oak.

  Thick and heavy, with the hinges on the outside where she couldn’t get at them. She threw her shoulder a few times—okay, thirty—into the door, but it barely rocked in its frame. “Fucking Brit wood,” she mumbled, rubbing her aching shoulder.

  She’d prowled around her cage for the last couple hours. It was a gorgeous room with plush, wine-colored carpet, a soft queen-sized bed with about a zillion pillows, and a truly glorious attached bathroom (free of all razors and other sharp things, she was sorry to note). But as far as Janet was concerned, if you couldn’t leave, it might as well have a cement floor and bars on the window.

  She went through the bureau and found several robes in her size, in various materials. No real clothes. No television, either, but several books. She saw some classics—Shakespeare, Mark Twain, and Tolstoy—as well as—too funny!—the entire collected works of Stephen King. She supposed she might stand half a chance if she threw Hamlet at Dick as hard as she could. She’d gotten the drop on him before in the alley, but she wondered if it was possible now. He didn’t believe she was a werewolf, the stupid dickhead, but he’d be careful. He thought she was one of the monkeys, but he respected her anyway. If he wasn’t such a fuckstick, she could have really liked him.

  She wondered what the pack was thinking—what boss man Michael was thinking. Probably that she’d been run over by a train or something. Death was about the only acceptable reason for skipping a meeting with the big dog. Interestingly, that thought—she’d unwillingly disobeyed a command from her pack leader—brought no anxiety. In fact, it was kind of nice, knowing Michael wanted her on the Cape, and here she was, still in Boston.

  If only Dick hadn’t been such a beast. If only he hadn’t been so nice about being such a beast—he might have wanted to really hurt her, but he sucked at it. She remembered him pulling out of her when he thought he was too big for her…remembered the excellent food, and the large quantities of it. The absurd marriage proposal. Absurd because…well, just because.

  If he wasn’t such a dick, she could start to like him. But nobody—fucking nobody—snatched Janet Lupo from the street, tied her down like a dog, and did whatever he wanted. He’d pay. She would have to wait for her chance, but it would eventually present itself. And then he’d better watch out for his guts, because she meant to have them on the floor.

  The smell of eggs basted in butter woke her up. Before she could open her eyes, she realized Dick was under the blankets with her. Then she felt his mouth on her neck and felt brief pain as his fangs broke the skin. She tried to push him away, but he pinned her down and held her to the bed while he drank. She had no leverage and could only lie beneath him while he took from her.

  “You piece of shit,” she said directly into his ear.

  He laughed against her throat. “That’s the problem, Jane m’love. If you screamed or fainted or cried, I’d have no interest in you—I’d want to be rid of you as quickly as possible. But you’re fearless, and furious, and it works on me like an aphrodisiac. Which is why you have to be my wife.”

  “I’d rather eat my own heart.”

  He licked the bite mark on her neck and then nuzzled the tender spot. “That’s a rather disturbing visual. Did you sleep well? I admit I was astonished you weren’t lying in wait ready to strangle me with the sash from one of your robes.”

  “I’d rather wait until you dropped your guard. Then you’ll be sorry,” she said with total confidence.

  He rested his forehead against hers. “God, you’re delightful.”

  “I’m going to skin you alive, you fucking undead monkey. Then I’m going to set your skin on fire. Then I’m going to roast your skinless body over the fire I made with your skin.”

  “And so ladylike, too! Umm…” His cool mouth closed over one of her nipples, and she brought her fist down on top of his head, hard. Then she yelped when he bit her. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing the top of his head. “That was you, not me. You hit me so hard my teeth nearly clacked together.”

  “Just you wait,” she said ominously.

  He kissed her wrist, her pulse point, and then the crook of her elbow. She balled a fist and got ready to sock him again.

  “Jane, as delightful as last night was—for me, anyway—I’d rather not tie you up again.” She punched him square in the face, a poor blow with her lack of leverage, but his head rocked back, which was gratifying. He went on as if nothing had happened. “So let’s make a deal, you and I. I won’t tie you up, and you won’t fight me. As of now,” he amended.

  “You won’t tie me up?” she asked suspiciously. “But I have to let you fuck me?”

  He looked pained. “Yes, you have to let me fuck you.”

  She pretended to think it over, but it was an easy decision. She could stand almost anything but being tied down. It went against her very nature and made her want to bite somebody. “Okay. I won’t punch, and you won’t get out the elastic bubble gum.”

  “And you’ll kiss me back.”

  “Forget it.”

  “All right, then, I will do all the kissing for both of us.” He smiled at her, put a hand on the back of her neck, and pulled her to him.

  “What, I can’t eat first? This deal blows.”

  “Later, Jane. I’m begging you.” His mouth was slightly warm, and his tongue slipped past her teeth to stroke her own tongue. She felt his hand cup one of her breasts, testing the weight of it, and then his thumb was rubbing her nipple.

  She wriggled, pushing more of her breast into his palm. “So the quicker you get off, the quicker I can have eggs?”

  He sighed. “You’re really killing the mood here.”

  “What mood? I’m a prisoner, for fuck’s sake. And I’m hungry,” she whined.

  “Oh, for—” But he let go of her and she bounded off the bed. She wolfed down her breakfast—eggs, six strips of bacon, four pieces of toast, and two glasses of milk—in five minutes while he laid on the bed and watched her with his fingers laced behind his head and a mildly disbelieving look on his face. She got up, wiped her mouth with a napkin, tossed it over her shoulder, and climbed back into bed.

  “All right, then,” she said, infinitely more cheerful.

  He smiled at her. “All right, then.” He reached out, took her hand, and led her to the bathroom.

  Ten minutes later, they were in his giant bathtub and the floor was soaked. Her legs were spread wide and resting on each rim of the tub, and she was gripping the sides so tightly her knuckles ached. Richard was beneath the water, nuzzling and tonguing and fingering her cunt. He’d been down there for five minutes, and she was about ready to lose her fucking mind.

  Now his tongue was inside her, and one of his fingers was worming into her ass. She’d never been interested in assplay—the idea had always grossed her out—but the sensation of his long finger sliding up inside her while his tongue darted and stabbed and licked her cunt made her throb. She had no control over her reflexes, she simply started to thrust her hips at his face. Her muffled groans (for her teeth were tightly clenched) bounced off the bathroom tile.

  He rose, water dripping down his marble-white skin, and grinned at her. He pulled her up to him and growled, “Now you’ll kiss me.”

  She did, without hesitation. He sucked her tongue into his mouth as he pushed her thighs wide, as he took himself in hand and rubbed his cock against her sopping cunt. She moaned into his mouth and strained toward him. He tore his mouth from hers, sought her neck, and she felt him bite her just as his cock thrust inside her. The combination of sensations—slight pain, swamping pleasure—made her come so hard she bucked against him, an
d another gallon of water sloshed over the side of the tub.

  “Ummmm,” he said against her throat. “Oh, that’s very good. I could do this all day.”

  “Better…not…” she managed. “It’ll kill me.”

  He laughed and leaned back. She was still spread up against the sloping end of the tub; they were connected only by his cock. He ran his hands over her soapy breasts, smiling as she groaned again. “Oh, you are going to marry me,” he said huskily. “Believe it.”

  “Why don’t you…stop talking…and finish fucking?”

  He grinned, flashing fangs, and obliged. When he finished, she was indecently satisfied, and there were only a few inches of water left in the tub.

  Later, he brought a second breakfast. “After that half an hour,” he explained, “even I could eat a few more eggs.”

  “Not bad for a dead guy,” she said casually, pretending she wasn’t still throbbing. The man had a fiendish touch between the sheets—or in the tub—and that was a fact. “I’m sure the ladies like you all right, when you’re not being such a jerkoff.”

  He didn’t answer, but just sat down across from her and watched her eat. After a few minutes, he started drumming his fingers on the table.

  “Yeah, that’s not gonna get annoying. The kidnapping and the fucking I can take, but not the nervous tics. Cut it out.”

  “Why only twice?”

  “What?”

  He was nibbling thoughtfully on his lower lip and watching her. “Why was last night only your second time? You’re in your thirties. You should have had hundreds of experiences by now. It can’t be a dislike for the act itself—you’re sexy, responsive, and open to new experiences. So what’s the explanation?”

  Her mouth was suddenly dry—weird!—and she gulped some juice. “None of your goddamned business.”

  “Did he hurt you? Because if he did, I’d be delighted to track him down for you and teach him a richly deserved—”

  “Am I speaking a language you don’t know? I said it was none of your business.” Her hand was shaking. She put down the juice glass with a bang and hid her hands under the table. “And even if it was, I don’t want to talk about it. Especially with you.”

  His eyes were narrow, thoughtful. “Ah…you hurt him. And felt needless guilt ever since—Jane, for heaven’s sake. Whatever you did, it was an accident. You didn’t mean it.”

  “Are you deaf? I said I don’t want to talk about it!” The glass zoomed at his head; he ducked, and it slammed into the far wall. Orange juice and broken glass sprayed everywhere.

  “All right,” he said calmly. “We won’t talk about it.”

  Her hands weren’t the only thing shaking. She grabbed her elbows and squeezed; she clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering. She was morbidly afraid she might puke, and soon.

  He got up from his chair, came to her, and scooped her up as if she was a child. For a wonder, she didn’t try to pull his eyeballs out of his head. “You’re tired,” he soothed. “You’ve had a rotten week. Why don’t you take a nap?”

  “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

  “Can’t we do both?”

  She chuckled unwillingly.

  Chapter 8

  Two nights before the full moon, and she was actually torn.

  Torn! It was almost like she was dreading her impending escape. Which only proved a steady diet of rich food and amazing sex lowered IQ points.

  Every day, he asked her to tell him the truth, promising to let her go if she did. And every day, she told him the truth…a lie would have choked her. She hadn’t broken their date by choice. She had wanted to see him again. And she almost didn’t hate him.

  That one she kept to herself.

  He hadn’t tied her up since that first night. And she hadn’t tried to attack him. Another example of her quickly lowering IQ. When they were between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or on the floor in front of the fireplace), the last thing on her mind was leaving. But far more disturbing, when they weren’t between the sheets, the last thing on her mind was leaving.

  And it wasn’t that she was thinking with her pussy instead of her brain. Well, it wasn’t just that. Because to be perfectly honest, what exactly, was she going back to? To be at Mikey’s beck and call? To hang out with a group of people who disapproved of her and then go home to her lonely bed? The pack didn’t much want her, and she sure as shit didn’t want someone who wasn’t pack, someone who was fragile—who would break if she really let loose.

  Dick fit the bill admirably, and he approved of her—to the hilt! He thought everything she did and said was swell. She could have farted on him, and he would have rhapsodized about it. In fact, she did…after a particularly strenuous sexual marathon and when she was relaxing in his embrace. Relaxing a little too well, in fact—she really cut one. Quick as thought, she pulled the blankets over Dick’s head, trapping him with the noxious odor. Cursing, he finally freed himself and then they both laughed until they cried.

  She rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling. It was getting rapidly dark in the bedroom; the sun would be down in a few more minutes. She’d adjusted nicely to his schedule and now slept her days away. Frankly, she preferred his schedule—she’d never been much of an early riser.

  He’d be here any minute. Any minute. She felt a tightening in her stomach and was disgusted with herself. Just thinking about him—about his long fingers and his mouth and his tongue and his cock—was making her wet. Some prisoner. Now she had Stockholm Syndrome. Except it was more like Bimbo Hypnotized by Bad Guy’s Huge Cock Syndrome.

  And then later he would bring amazing food, and they’d talk about everything and anything. And he’d read to her—they were halfway through Salem’s Lot, which he seemed to think was a comedy—while she paced. She liked books but couldn’t stand to sit still for the hours and hours required to read one. Or they’d wrestle, and once she’d thrown the leftover apple pie at him and they’d had a food fight that ruined the drapes.

  Jane sighed. If it was just his dick, it wouldn’t be so bad. She could always buy a vibrator. No, it was Dick. She really, really liked him, more than any guy she’d ever known, and she knew a lot of fellas. And she was having a helluva time remembering she was a prisoner. In fact, she didn’t think Dick remembered much, either.

  Her vision doubled, trebled…and then her knees buckled. Luckily, she was bent over the footboard, so she had some support.

  Dick let go of her waist and pulled her back onto the bed. “That was…sweaty.” Panting lightly, he flopped over on the pillows. “Jane, your stamina knows no bounds. Look at me; I’m actually out of breath. And I don’t even need to breathe.”

  “My stamina? Look who’s talking. We’ve been at it since—holy shit, the sun’s gonna be up in another hour. You’d better beat feet back to the coffin, old man.”

  He snorted. “It’s a bed, not a coffin. It’s one of the guest beds, in fact. You’re in my coffin, so to speak.”

  “So why don’t you sleep here?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it.” He propped himself up on one elbow, bent to kiss her shoulder, and then said, “More and more, actually. In the beginning, I dared not leave myself at your mercy, but now I wonder.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? You take longer to say something than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  He didn’t smile at her bitching like he usually did. “I’d be quite helpless, Janet. If you, ah, decided to be angry, there’s nothing I could do until the sun went down. And the tables in here are all made out of wood…so are the chairs. It wouldn’t be difficult for someone with your determination to fashion a rudimentary stake.”

  She’d never thought of that. She couldn’t believe she’d never thought of that. “Oh.” She mulled it over for a minute and then said, “Well, I don’t especially want to stake you in the guts.”

  “The guts I wouldn’t mind so much. How about the heart?”

  She rolled over and rested her chin on his che
st. “There either. I dunno, you’re okay. When you’re not being a total shit. Stay, go, I don’t give a fuck.”

  “Well, I can hardly turn down such a warm invitation.” Still, he glanced nervously at the table in the corner before climbing under the covers. “Ah, well, here goes nothing. Climb in next to me.”

  “I have chicken grease under my nails,” she pointed out.

  “So we’ll take a nice hot shower together later tonight.”

  “Sounds like, a date.” She snuggled in next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. His body was still slightly warm from their earlier exertions and, as she pressed closer to him, remained that way.

  “Ahhhhh,” he sighed. “You’re better than my electric blanket.”

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. You should write for fuckin’ soap operas,” she grumbled, but inside she was glowing. He was trusting her with his life. He knew he was easy prey, and he was going to sleep anyway. It spoke volumes about his true feelings for her…and her status as his “prisoner.”

  Well, shit, she thought, drifting into sleep. Her palm rested over his heart, which beat once or twice every minute. Maybe there’s hope for us after all.

  Chapter 9

  Richard woke, as he had for the last several decades, just as the sun slipped past the horizon line. He felt Jane’s head resting on his shoulder and smiled. A wonderful way to start the evening. And he was warm, so delightfully warm. She was better than a hot tub. He’d have to do something really nice for her for not killing him. Like…let her go?

  He couldn’t. He knew it was the right thing to do, knew he had no business keeping her as a sort of mid-sized boy toy, but every time he thought of his condo emptied of her refreshing presence, he wanted to shiver. Hell, he wanted to go for a walk in the sunshine.