Chiz eased his weight up off Elmo. He slipped out of her body, but he knew that it wouldn’t be the last time this night that he would be inside her. He pulled the condom off, and tossed it onto a pile of garbage, before tucking himself back into his jeans.
“Think you can walk, doll?”
“Can you?” Elmo half panted, half laughed. She had pulled her dress back down, and had turned around, but she was still leaning against the wall.
Chiz chuckled breathlessly. “Yeah. Just.”
“I think I need to get my breath back first.”
Chiz fished out his cigarettes, lit two, and handed one to Elmo.
Still leaning heavily against the wall for support, Elmo took the offered cigarette between shaky fingers. She drew deeply on it, and blew the smoke out with a satisfied sigh.
“So, your place or mine?”
Chapter Eleven
It never ceased to surprise Andy that while there were always clients willing to book sessions on Christmas Day, the dungeon was rarely, if ever, in use on New Year’s Eve. It was the only night of the year that the dungeon closed fully. The strip club, however, was packed to the rafters, despite the knot of men and women standing yards away from the door foretelling hellfire and damnation for all who entered.
Andy had spent a lot of the day in the club, generally just helping Jackie keep an eye on things, but she’d given herself the night off to spend with Chiz. The night before, they’d ended up in his motel room. She’d woken up there, which hadn’t been planned, although the morning sex had been a welcome consolation.
She’d invited Chiz to welcome the New Year at her place, and now they were camped out on the rug on her living room floor, eating Chinese takeout.
Andy snagged a king shrimp with her chopsticks. “So, are you going to tell me why you’re two states from home?”
Chiz finished chewing his mouthful of noodles. “I got into some trouble. I have some impulse control issues.”
“Really?” Andy deadpanned. “I never would’ve guessed.”
Chiz threw a spring roll at her, which she caught in one hand and started to eat.
“Smart ass. Well, I needed a break for a while. This is just where I happened to brake.”
“You get into trouble a lot?”
“More’n I should. I bet you never put a foot wrong, doll, do you?” He smiled as he teased her, and caught the wonton that she tossed at his head.
“I’ve made my share of mistakes.”
“What did you do? Before?” She wasn’t sure what he was asking. “At college?” He clarified.
“Oh. I studied Finance. I had a junior position in a small firm before I left to start out on my own.”
Chiz mimed choking on whatever it was he was eating. “You’re an accountant?”
“No. I’m a dominatrix who’s qualified as an accountant.”
Chiz put the carton that he was holding on the floor and edged over to her, wiping his hands on a paper napkin as he moved. Andy watched him come to her, and relaxed into his touch as he cradled her face while he kissed her.
“I think it’s time we did some dominatin’, doll.” His voice was a low rasp. Andy thought it might be one of the best sounds she’d ever heard.
“Okay, but let’s take it to the bedroom. I don’t want to end up rolling in Moo Shu Pork.”
When Chiz grinned, Andy scrambled up. Chiz stood, too, leaning heavily on one leg to do so. Once he was upright she caught his fingers and led him to her bedroom.
~o0o~
Their sex was unlike anything they’d done yet. It was almost gentle, powerful. They were making love. There was no other way to describe it. Andy was beginning to wonder if she was getting into something that she couldn’t get out of, that she didn’t want to get out of.
Chiz was sheathed deeply inside her, moving with small, measured thrusts. The intensity of his movement and gaze was keeping her on the edge of oblivion. The feel of him in her, the thickness, the friction, the pressure deep inside, kept her so close, but he wasn’t letting her fall into the abyss just yet.
Chiz stopped moving and held himself over her with his arms straight. He was still inside her, and his eyes were burning with a strange light.
“Do you trust me? I wanna try somethin’ with you.”
“Try what?” Andy answered his murmured question with one of her own.
Chiz transferred the weight of his body to one arm and skimmed his other hand up to her throat, sliding the fingers and thumb to either side of her neck, under her jawbone. His hand caressed her throat, squeezing slightly, then slightly harder. He was watching her face intently. His expression wasn’t giving anything away.
“That’s serious edge play you’re suggesting.”
“It’s an amazin’ high.”
“It’s pretty scary.”
“You up for tryin’ it?”
“Have you done this before? Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Yeah, it’ll be just my hand, doll. Have you played this before?”
“Yes. Have you ever had it done to you?”
“Yeah. That’s how I know it’s a rush. Don’t worry, I won’t mark you.”
“Okay.” Even as she said it she knew she’d lost her mind for this man.
Her breath hitched briefly as his grip tightened, but he had resumed the steady tempo of his thrusts, which was a dangerous distraction. His thumb and forefinger found the delicate pulse points, the taut skin between the digits spanned her windpipe, as his hand began to constrict and press down. The relentless pressure slowed the blood flow through her carotid arteries as the span of his hand gently pressed down on her windpipe, restricting her ability to breathe.
She saw in his eyes the exact crazy moment that he wanted to squeeze with all his strength. For that instant, she was completely paralyzed with fear, unable to feel any physical sensation other than to comprehend that she had handed her very life over to a stranger. The sudden and brutal realization hit her like a punch. He actually desired to kill her; not because she had done anything to him, offended him in anyway, but just because he could, just because he had that power. And she had been the one to give it to him.
Her instinct was to fight, but her head, governed by experience, overruled her body. She needed to keep still, to keep calm, or she might escalate what was obviously a far more unstable situation than she’d thought she’d agreed to. It was a hard-fought battle. Her brain was screaming for blood, her lungs were crying out for air. She watched the insanity leak away from his eyes, but then the effects of the deprivation of blood to her brain made themselves known.
This was a game of trust above anything else, and she’d glimpsed the real beast that Chiz kept caged. But she could see, even as the black haze began to creep around the edge of her vision that Chiz was studying her, paying attention to the feel of her pulse pushing under his fingers, scrutinizing her eyes for signs of bursting blood vessels.
His hips continued their unrelenting rhythm. He stepped up the pace slightly, adding definitive pressure at the culmination of each thrust. Elmo’s eyelids fluttered, and she lost sight of his face. She felt the hysterical giggle rise up as part of her body’s natural reaction, and at that exact moment, Chiz released her throat.
As the blood and oxygen rushed back and flooded her, they crashed into her orgasm. Ecstasy consumed her completely, not one inch of her skin was left untouched. All the blood in her body seemed determined to escape any way it could. Her heart pumped the viscous liquid in simultaneous thumping beats to her brain and her pussy. The two ends of her body were synchronized in a relentless, pulsing rhythm. The darkness was replaced by firework bursts of white light.
She was so overwhelmed that she barely registered that Chiz had started pounding into her at a frantic pace, hard and deep. Almost before she could comprehend the sensation, he was coming. He threw his head back and announced his release with an accompanying bestial yell to the ceiling.
Chiz collapsed onto her and then imm
ediately rolled off her, slipping out of her, as he gave her room. Sweat soaked and spent, it took a while for them to recover their breath, to regain lucidity, and to voice thoughts.
“I can’t believe I let you do that.” Elmo gasped, eyes fixed on the ceiling, unable to look at him as she remembered the fierce light in his eyes, the realization that he wanted to take her life.
Chiz languidly, tenderly, raised his fingertips to her chin to turn her gaze to his. “You agreed to it. You enjoyed it.”
“Yes. But… Jesus…” Andy stifled a sob, fighting back the tears that were threatening to overflow. He was being so affectionate, even though he’d come so close to committing murder, to murdering her.
Chiz brushed the backs of his knuckles over her cheekbone, but she couldn’t take the gentle comfort that he offered. She rolled onto her side, curling into a ball. She felt him leave the bed, and wondered if he was leaving for the night. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Perversely she needed him there, near her, but she couldn’t bear to be touching him right now. She felt the hysterics building, felt her breath give way, making room for the wracking sobs that were just a heartbeat away.
She felt his hand grip her shoulder, firmly, not brooking any refusal. She let him pull her upright as he sat next to her on the edge of the bed. He didn’t say anything, just cradled her. She felt him gather her hair in one hand, and nearly jumped at the unexpected touch of her hair bush on her head. Chiz was careful to smooth the knots out without tugging the strands out of her scalp. She relaxed slightly under his ministrations, submitting to the grooming, giving in to one of the most basic methods of comfort.
She leaned heavily against his warm and solid body. The motion of the brush was soothing. The regular strokes, just the feeling of someone taking care of her, eased her. She concentrated on the path of the brush, and eventually she relaxed, felt her muscles release their tension.
But the infinite care was her undoing. Her body was soothed, but her mind was a vortex of whirling, conflicting emotions and black memories. A sob broke free.
“Doll, what’s wrong?”
She tried to get up, but he wrapped one of his strong arms around her and wouldn’t let her move. She couldn’t look at him. “You need to go.”
He tried to turn her, so that he could see her face, but she refused to cooperate. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“No, you need to go.” She knew her tone was growing frantic. “I don’t want you here.”
“And I said, I’m not goin’ anywhere, doll. What’s wrong?”
“I… it’s just… too much. I can’t…” Her thoughts were too incoherent to form any meaningful sentences.
He interrupted her. “Ssshhh. I got ya, doll.” He was stroking her hair, smoothing his palm over her back, trying to calm her again.
Andy was exhausted, from the sex, from the fear, from the memories. She was drained, emotionally, physically, mentally. She simply didn’t have the strength to resist him anymore. She hated the weakness, the fatigue that made it impossible for her to do anything other than submit, even against all her better judgment. She wanted to believe that Chiz cared for her well-being, but she couldn’t erase the recollection, and the knowledge intrinsically tied to it, that for that one moment, he had wanted to tighten his hand and take her life.
She was defeated. She knew that Chiz sensed her reluctant acceptance because he maneuvered them beneath the comforter and laid her down. Andy felt the warmth of his body wrap around her, but she couldn’t find the will to move. She was worn out, but still her mental turmoil kept her awake. She felt his breath on her neck, felt it become deep and regular as he drifted into sleep. Encased in his arms she followed him into unconsciousness.
Chapter Twelve
He did need to go. It was irrelevant whether she wanted him there or not, he needed to be elsewhere. Despite the promises he’d made her, he needed to get gone.
Chiz had woken as the first light of dawn was just beginning to show around the heavy purple drapes that covered the massive window behind the bed. For only the second morning that week, he had woken feeling completely at peace. It was no great riddle that the reason for that was the female body tucked snugly against his.
He’d gotten up to take a piss, then found a glass in her stark kitchen, and had drunk a glass of tap water. When he’d gone back to the bedroom, his initial intention had been to crawl under the covers, wrap himself around Elmo, and let sleep claim him for a few hours more. They could deal with the night before in the calm light of day, and see where things should go from there.
It was that thought, the one heavy with future possibilities, that had made him see that climbing back into that bed would be the worst possible thing he could do. He couldn’t start anything with Elmo. Even as he thought that, he knew he was deluding himself, that something had already started, but he chose to ignore that truth. She was in a different league, from a different world, not to mention that there were around two hundred miles between their respective lives. She was savvy and successful, intelligent and discerning. He was rough and vicious, and spent most of his time living under the threat of a bloody and brutal death.
She’d been right; she was a holiday romance, and that was where this, whatever it was, whatever it could have been, should remain.
He’d sat on the edge of the bed and watched Elmo’s shoulders rise and fall with her deep, even breathing. He’d admired the graceful curve of her spine revealed by the bunched covers, and had even allowed himself to grow hard, and had decided that he would not be there when she woke up.
As Elmo lay in innocent sleep, Chiz admitted to himself that he cared about her. Even so, his personal demon had sprung up with the suggestion to play a little game of asphyxia. Why? He had no idea. Maybe it was part of his genetic makeup to tear down everything good in his life. The only thing he’d ever stuck with was the club, and that was only because his brothers were fucking stubborn bastards, and for some reason he couldn’t conceive of, seemed to want to keep him around.
The shadow that he carried around in his soul had risen up with evil whispers of invincibility, of power, of the supremacy of his being over the one beneath him. He’d fought the bastard back, but it had been a close call. Chiz wondered if Elmo had realized just how close and if that realization had been responsible for her momentary freak out.
No, the best thing was to go, before he hurt her, before she discovered that he was a monster wearing human skin. It wasn’t just the urges that afflicted his personal life, it was the things he did for his club, for his brothers, it was the man he was. That man had no business insinuating himself into the life of a woman like her. If they carried on with whatever it was that he was about to run from, then she’d find out just what sort of man, what sort of monster, he was. It was inevitable.
He had to leave before that happened.
He took his clothes into the living room to dress. He had no intention of waking her to say goodbye. Unless she still wanted him gone when she woke, he knew that he’d take one look at those deep brown eyes and be undone. It was better if he simply slid away. They’d known each other a week. They were a blip in each other’s lives. A week was nothing in the grand scheme of things. She’d go back to work, pick up her life, and forget all about him.
By the time Chiz had pulled his boots on, he’d almost convinced himself that what he was doing was the noble course of action, almost. He let himself out, and made sure that the door was locked securely behind him.
He’d remember her. No doubt about that. Elmo was etched into his subconscious. He knew he’d see her face in the face of every woman he’d ever fuck. He knew he’d never again touch such pale, smooth skin. He knew he’d never find anyone who intrigued him, who challenged him, who accepted him the way that Elmo did. It would be pointless to even try to look.
It was awkward, but he walked his bike yards from her house before he started the engine. The dawn was grey, cold and bleak, and utterly silent. The engine of his Har
ley was little less than explosion of sound. It seemed impossible that it shouldn’t wake her. He wrenched the throttle, intending to be well out of sight by the time she pulled the curtains back from her window to investigate the noise. She’d go looking for him then, but it would be too late.
He’d paid up at the motel for a week when he’d booked the room. He’d been intending to speak to the clerk in the morning about keeping his room for a few more days. There was no need for that now. It didn’t take long to stuff his belongings back into his tattered rucksack. In less than half an hour from his arrival back at the motel, he was racing west on the interstate, heading for Absolution, heading for home.
His Harley ate up the miles of the lonely stretches of highway at a reckless pace. Normally he would have been thrilled by this opportunity, he would have reveled in the freedom, in the pure unconstrained joy of having the open road to himself. But not this morning. He took little satisfaction in the ride at all. It was a means to an end, a simple mode of transport from Point A to Point B.
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