And the story he’d selected. Sweet baby Jesus. She knew it was intentional. On the page he marked the monk was already undressed and so was the virgin. Nature was taking its course. She started to read.
“‘In this posture, the girl’s beauty was displayed to Rustico in all its glory, and his longings blazed more fiercely than ever, bringing about the resurrection of the flesh. Alibech stared at this in amazement and said-’” Caroline moaned as Jack pressed a finger against her clit. Her voice cracked, just a little. “And she said-”
“Having trouble, sweetheart?” He was easing her panties down her thighs.
She blinked, trying to refocus. “No,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” The underwear reached her ankles. “Lift your legs up one at a time,” he said, tossing her panties to the side. “Keep going.”
Caroline wasn’t sure she’d ever worn a skirt without undergarments before. It felt odd. Her husband’s hand crept up the inside of her thigh again. She took a deep breath. “‘Rustico, what is that thing sticking out in front of you, which I do not possess?’”
Jack chuckled and slid a finger inside her. He must have seen her hands trembling on the desk. At least her voice was steady. Translation was proving to be more difficult than she anticipated.
She took a deep breath. “‘Oh my daughter,’ said Rustico, ‘this is the devil I was telling you about. Do you see what he’s doing? He’s hurting me so much that I can hardly endure it.’”
Jack slid a second finger inside her, his erection hard and heavy against her leg. “Do you feel the devil?” he whispered.
Filthy, perverted, terrible man. Caroline wanted to tell him any number of things but kept her eyes glued to the page. Her breath hitched. “‘Oh, Dieu soit loué,’ dit la jeune fille, ‘je vois que je suis mieux-’”
“That’s not English, sweetheart,” he murmured, his fingers now massaging her clit. “Try again.”
She was finding it very hard to remain upright. “Jack-”
He withdrew his fingers and pulled her skirt up around her waist, smacking her ass with a firm palm. He’d only recently started doing that, and he never did it often enough or hard enough. She restrained herself from asking him to do it again.
“Try again,” he said. “I’d hate for you to have to start over.”
The hell he would. The man was a sadist. A pure sadist disguised as a bibliophile. And God, she loved him for it.
“If you want my cock inside you, you’ll start reading again,” he whispered.
Caroline widened her stance, no longer encumbered by her skirt. She whipped her head around to give him a defiant look. “Do your worst,” she said.
“I will.” He ran the back of one hand under the curve of her chin, swatting her ass again with the other. “Back to work.”
It took longer to refocus this time around. “‘Oh, praise be to God,’ said the girl, ‘I can see that I am better off than you are, for I have no such devil to contend with.’”
Jack twisted his fingers inside her. She could feel every slight movement, could hear the sounds her body made as he brought her closer. And he knew damn well how turned on she was.
He laughed. “You’ve definitely got something to contend with. How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
“Fuck you,” Caroline choked out.
He brushed her hair off her shoulders then leaned down and started kissing her neck. “Did I say you could stop?”
Now he was being unfair. “Please, Jack. I-”
“I like when you beg,” he whispered. “But I really want to hear the rest of the story. Go on.”
She stared down at the page and the words somehow arranged themselves in her head. Who knew that being brought closer to orgasm wouldn’t negatively impact her translation skills? Was that something you could put in a CV? “‘You’re right there,’ said Rustico. ‘But you have something else instead, that I haven’t.’” Caroline inhaled sharply, feeling Jack’s hot breath in her ear. He wasn’t as in control as he thought. That tiny concession was enough to keep her going. “‘Oh,’ said Alibech. ‘And what’s that?’”
Her voice started to hitch as she stumbled from word to word, with Jack toying with her clit with one hand, stroking her hair with the other. “‘You have Hell,’ said Rustico. ‘And I honestly believe that God has sent you here for the salvation of my soul, because if this devil continues to plague the life out of me, and you are prepared to take sufficient pity upon me to let me put him back into Hell, you will be giving me marvelous relief, as well as rendering incalculable service and pleasure to God, which is what you say you came here for in the first place.’”
Jack chuckled. The delicious movement of his fingers ceased. “Having trouble?”
She’d almost given in to the pleasure but wasn’t done reading yet. A request was a request. An order was an order. The distinction was irrelevant. And the story wasn’t over yet.
“Please don’t stop,” she whispered.
“I won’t.” She could tell that he was smiling. “You’re almost done, sweetheart.”
He had no fucking idea. She was so close she could barely stand it. Caroline gritted her teeth. She’d get even with him. Maybe in an hour, maybe in a day, but she’d get her payback. The words blurred again and it took her a minute to register where she’d left off.
“‘Oh father,’ replied the girl in all innocence, ‘if I really do have a Hell, let’s do as you suggest just as soon as you are ready.’”
Jack lifted her left hand up off the desk and guided it to his cock. “Do you think I’m ready?”
She sure as hell was. So. Goddamn. Close. She kept her hand pressed against his pants. “‘God bless you, my daughter,’ said Rustico. ‘Let us go and put him back, and then perhaps he’ll leave me alone.’”
He continued to tease her with his fingers. “One more line, baby,” he said softly. “Then you can let go.”
Caroline moaned. His words were worse than his touch. “‘At which point he conveyed the girl to one of their beds, where he instructed her in the art of incarcerating that accursed fiend.’”
Jack wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him as his fingers caressed her clit. “The devil wants into Hell,” he whispered.
That was all it took. Caroline came so hard that she saw stars. She grabbed onto the edge of the desk for support, careful to avoid the delicate pages of the book. Jack brought them both to the floor with her sprawled on his lap.
She leaned into his chest, struggling to catch her breath. It had been a while since she’d had an orgasm that intense, which was saying a lot since Jack always made sure to take care of her.
“Je t’aime,” she said softly. “Merci.”
“Did you forget how to speak English?” he asked, brushing her hair out of her face.
Everything was jumbled up in her head. “Oui,” she said.
Jack kissed her forehead. “Well, de rien.”
You’re welcome. Caroline gulped some air. “When did you learn to speak French?”
“That’s the only French phrase I know. I figured it was the only one that mattered, what with you and your screaming orgasms.”
If she had the energy, she would give him a speech on alpha male ego. But she felt so good that she decided to let it slide. She felt even better when he flipped her on her back and pulled her arms over her head.
“Did you like that game?” he asked, releasing her wrists. “Because that was fucking hot.”
Caroline wouldn’t object to playing another version of it in the future. “Yeah.” She heard him unzip his pants. “What game are we going to play now?”
Jack pressed into her, just the tip. A little tease, he was. “The one where we fuck on the floor of your library?”
She gasped. “My library?”
He fisted her hair, biting her earlobe. “Your library,” he emphasized. “It’s been here since I bought the house, just waiting for you.”
Forget concentr
ation. She was barely able to breathe. “You say the most romantic things when you have me pinned down on the carpet.”
“The devil still wants into Hell,” he said.
If she had to wait any longer she’d probably pass out. “Then take him there.”
The words barely passed her lips before he thrust inside her. There was something about sex on the floor. In the library, surrounded by antique books and polished wood. Fucking in the most elegant of environments, the two of them almost fully clothed. It was raw and primal.
She cried out with his every movement, partly because he drove the sounds from her and partly because she knew it spurred him on. During their games he never tired of her, of them, and they moved outside themselves when they played. Staying at that safe emotional distance, the agony and passion, the longing and desire.
His tie fell into her eyes. His grunting grew louder. She clawed at his shirt, trying to get him closer to her, begging him not to stop, until he came inside her with a torrent of swears that would have made the raunchiest sailor proud.
He lay on top of her, cheek to cheek, their sweat mingling together. Jack didn’t say a word. Sometimes he never did. On those nights Caroline would follow his lead. The games weren’t romance. They were animalistic urges. The romance always happened in the bedroom.
But tonight felt different. Tonight she felt that deeper connection, the one that had been building since the summer had started. The one that scared the shit out of her because she was starting to realize she had him always. That his heart was hers. She swallowed back tears, wrapping her arms around him, hoping that he’d doze off and she could enjoy the feeling of him on top of her for just a moment longer.
She wanted him inside her. Forever. She dreaded the thought of being without him. Without his touch, his voice, his smell. But she bit back the urge to soften the moment by saying anything.
Later on, when they were in bed, she wondered if he’d wanted her to speak. To tell him how much she loved him. How much she needed him. How desperate she was for him. But he never said. And she never asked.
And in hindsight, she wished she had.
Chapter Six
The Safe House
“She said her husband’s name the other night,” Crunch said.
That brought a sharp look from Gabe. “She did?”
“Yeah. Mumbled it a couple of times, then went right back to sleep.”
“Well,” Gabe said. “That’s good, right?”
“You tell me.” Crunch rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s burning up with fever. Those steroid shots aren’t doing shit. How can we keep her in decent health if she doesn’t wake up long enough for us to get some real food in her?”
“It’s only been a few days,” Gabe pointed out.
“I know.” Crunch yawned. “A few really long days.”
“In case I haven’t mentioned it, you’re doing a fucking amazing job, dude. It makes me feel better to know that she’s in good hands when Jonesie and I are gone all night.” He clapped Crunch on the back. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Fuck, I am too,” Crunch said. “Might not be in such good shape if you hadn’t taken me in.” He glanced over at the bed. “And we both know where she’d be. I’m not gonna let anything happen to her. I just don’t know if what I’m doing is making a difference. If what we did mattered.”
“She’s not going to die,” Gabe said.
His friend seemed to always know what he was thinking even before he said it. Crunch shook his head back and forth in disbelief. “You might need to face some hard facts, man.”
“She’s not going to die,” Gabe repeated. “She went through too much in that place. We aren’t gonna let her die.”
“Not sure what we can do about it besides pray. Are you a praying man, Gabe?”
“Not anymore.”
Crunch smiled wanly. “Me neither. We’d better find another angle, then.” But he said a silent prayer anyway. He hadn’t been to church in years but maybe his words had a little more impact since he wasn’t making a selfish request.
And miraculously, over the next few days she started to improve. Slow differences. The fever dipping down. Attempts to speak, to open her eyes. He even managed to get a bit of juice into her a few times. But she never quite woke up.
So he waited.
* * * * *
Caroline shifted in her bed. She was laying at an angle. That was weird. All she remembered was the lousy mattress and no pillow in that dank cell at The Fed.
Someone was feeding her minestrone soup. Did she like minestrone? She couldn’t remember. If she asked the person to give her something else, would they? She tried to speak. Heard a male voice in return. Opened her eyes.
She saw the smile first. It wasn’t manufactured. The man was happy to see her awake. He had light brown skin. Eyes the color of honey. Kind, beautiful eyes. He was young, maybe mid to late twenties. And he was speaking to her. She couldn’t make out the words. He spoke again. She read his lips.
You’re okay.
Was she? Was she safe? Was she free? What had happened? She closed her eyes again. Juice. She wanted some juice. Would he give her some juice? She tried to form the words.
A straw inside a cup containing cold liquid. Tasted like grapes. Slow to go down but it made her feel better. She wanted more to eat. Why wouldn’t he feed her more? She was so hungry.
She was hot, then cold, then hot again. She could hear people whispering about her. More than just one voice. Back and forth. Debating something. The whispers weren’t harsh. They seemed sympathetic. Concerned.
Tender, shaky hands fed her. Soup. Juice. Milk. Never as much as she wanted but enough to keep her going. She’d open her eyes when she had the energy but was so tired that she’d often fall asleep while eating. Sometimes it would be too much and she wouldn’t be able to swallow. Her body wasn’t responding properly. But she was never chastised. She heard no laughter at her expense, only compassion.
She slept. Awoke. Dreamt. Heard the male voice again. He was always speaking to her in gentle tones. She was so exhausted that sometimes she couldn’t make out the words.
He was reading to her from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. One of her favorite books. Pure coincidence, or intentional? She wanted to thank him. She struggled to wake up. She wanted to see him again.
She tried and tried until she succeeded, blinking at the young man with the beautiful eyes. He smiled and smoothed a bookmark between the pages, setting the novel down. No dog ears. That won him points. This time when he spoke, she heard him.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re safe.”
Could she move? She felt like she should try to move. She tried to shift in the bed and groaned. The pain caused her eyes to water and he helped her lay back down.
“It’s okay,” the man said reassuringly. “Don’t move too much. You’ve been in and out for a long time.”
She did as she was told. She wasn’t exactly in a position to do otherwise but felt like a coward for obeying so quickly. Even if he was right she made a mental note never to acquiesce so easily again.
“My name’s Crunch,” he said. “You’re safe. We got you out of that place. Don’t move around too much or you’ll dislodge that IV and I don’t know how to reconnect it.” He patted her arm. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”
Could she talk to him? Would he answer her questions? There was so much she wanted to know. She swallowed and tried to speak. “Okay?” she rasped.
“Yes,” Crunch said soothingly. “You’re in a safe house. No one knows you’re here.”
How could he be sure? “Safe?” Caroline repeated.
There was that smile again. “Yes, ma’am. You’re safe.”
He was so courteous. And calm. She had to believe him. She closed her eyes again. She’d barely spoken at all and already felt drained. But she wanted to talk to him. So badly.
“Safe,” she said softly. It was hard to process everything she
wanted to say. “What happened to me?”
He looked like he didn’t want to answer the question, glancing at the splints on her hands. Oh yes. The hammer. She had forgotten. The belt, the knife, the pistol whipping, the mental and physical torture…maybe it was best not to try to remember. Not when there were so many other things to be worried about.
“We tried to fix you up,” he said quietly. “Gabe did your fingers. I don’t know how long you’ll have to keep them wrapped up. I, uh, stitched you up. Your stomach, I mean. Does it feel okay?”
Gabe? Who was Gabe? How many other people were there? If she asked Crunch, would he tell her? She swallowed again. “It feels empty.”
“You haven’t been eating much,” he said. “Do you want something to eat?”
Caroline tried to think of the proper words. She was so sick of liquids. “Can I have real food?” she asked.
He laughed. “But you seem to have such an affinity for apple juice.”
Her lips curled up, a gesture of sociability she thought she’d forgotten. It was so difficult to say what she wanted. Why was she having such a hard time expressing herself? “I-”
He patted her arm again. His hand was warm. “It’s okay,” he said. “It might take a while before you’re back to normal.”
Normal. What was that? The standard, the routine, the familiar? What was her ordinary? Everything she knew was gone. She couldn’t fathom what it would take to feel normal again. Caroline thought back on what he said about her stomach, which felt tight. And oddly numb, like when she had her C-section.
“Are you a doctor?” she asked.
Again with the uncomfortable look. “No,” he said. “I’m, uh, a tailor.”
She must not have heard him correctly. “A what?”
“I used to work at this place on K Street. Alterations and such.”
Holy goddamn shit. Her splinted hand immediately went to her torso. She could feel the jagged line across her upper abdomen, even though it was bandaged. Crude but effective. “You seem to have done okay,” she whispered.
That didn’t stop him from looking guilty about it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You got here and you were so hurt, and we knew we had to do what we could and-”
The Bellator Saga: The First Trilogy (Dissident, Conscience, and Sojourn) Page 70
