by Jordan, Drew
I had saved my best sexual performances for him.
Until the stranger, that is.
I tried to imagine having sex with Michael, which was what I’d been planning. I was going to try him on for size, see if I wanted to be a part of his life, see if I wanted to take the time to nurture something between us. Living together. Marriage. Kids. But it was too hard to go back now and remember what it had felt like, to recapture any sort of feelings of attraction I had harbored towards Michael as we had talked on Skype all those nights.
Chewing my lip I tried to forget how the body had been rolled into that tarp. Tried not to picture what it must look like lying out there in the woods, exposed to snow and wind and scavengers. I wasn’t even sure what animals would eat human flesh off of a corpse in Alaska but I knew they existed. I kept imagining hyenas and lions and then got annoyed that I was mentally in Africa. Why couldn’t I pull an Alaskan predator out of my brain?
But maybe that was better. I shouldn’t go there, in my head. I needed to remember what the stranger had told me about how I needed to act. Michael was still alive. It hadn’t happened. He was just missing, nothing more.
I was good at convincing myself of certain things. It was a skill not everyone possessed. People held on to things and obsessed and clung to guilt. If I wanted to, I could let something go. I had let go of Victoria, hadn’t I? Because I knew it was better for her to not be that kid whose mother was also her stepsister. And a teenager. So I let her go because it was better for her, even though part of me wanted nothing more than to be able to admit in public that she was my child. That her beautiful little face and soul were the blending and creation of me and Dean, conceived back in my innocence.
The stranger shifted a little in bed, rolling towards me. I kissed his shoulder, brushing my lips so softly over the surface of his skin he didn’t seem to notice. I was glad Stephanie was dead. Because if she wasn’t, I couldn’t be here, in his bed.
“Go to sleep, Laney,” the stranger suddenly said. His eyes were still closed.
I studied his face, but it was just shadows in the dark. “I can’t sleep.”
“Close your eyes, you’ll be surprised at what will happen.”
“Is that a sexual innuendo?” I hoped so.
His eyes snapped open. “No. I want to sleep and all your sighing and wiggling around is driving me crazy.”
I kind of thought he was halfway there on his own. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
Busted. “You’re right, I’m not. I mean, I am, but I’m glad you’re awake now. I was feeling lonely.” I kissed his shoulder again, flicking my tongue out so I could taste his flesh. I wanted to tell him I’d had a nightmare, but I wasn’t sure he would be brimming with sympathy so I didn’t.
Without warning, his hand shot up between our bodies, his fingers landing very close to my neck, enough to cause me to pull back, startled.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
He wasn’t applying any pressure, but the grip was a veiled sort of threat, a reminder of his strength, dominance. I felt a rush of adrenaline, the thrill of fear. I didn’t think he would hurt me, but I welcomed his alpha display of his size. His power.
“I want you to stop touching me so I can sleep.”
“That hurts my feelings,” I said, in a whining little baby voice that usually got me what I wanted.
Not with him though. I should know better. He didn’t like that whiny manipulation and I liked that he didn’t like that about me. Because it made me better to let go of that sniveling wheedling girl.
His hand squeezed, for just a split second, around my throat, and my breath cut off. My arm instinctively rose to grab at his wrist but he had already released me. It was just enough pressure to spark concern, before I was able to take a full lungful of air again, panic abated.
“Jesus,” I whispered. I had to admit, it was kind of sexy and unnerving all at the same time.
“I would never hurt you without meaning to,” he said.
For a second, I thought it was meant to be a sweet statement. But then I realized what he had actually said. “So if you inflict pain on me it’s intentional?”
He shifted closer and I could see the corner of his mouth turned up, his sleepy eyes still sharp and amused. “Yes.”
There wasn’t much I could say in response to that. I knew he meant it. When he brought me the pleasure of pain in bed, that was intentional. And I knew that he if ever decided to harm me in any way that would be a conscious choice too. But he wouldn’t. I knew he wouldn’t.
“You don’t look like a Cody to me,” I mused.
His hand dropped down off of me, and I snuggled in closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder. “What do I look like?”
“I don’t know.” I lifted my head again, briefly, to study the angles of his face in the moonlit room. “I see a man that is a mystery, but for whatever reason, I don’t seem to mind.”
He yawned. “What you see is what you get. Now you ask me the same thing, because I know you want to so I can answer you. I just want to go back to sleep.”
He knew me so well. “What do I look like to you?”
“Mine. That’s all I really see when I look at you.”
A shiver of pleasure ran up my spine. He was asleep again within seconds but I still stared at the ceiling, pleased.
He would have me. All of me. The good, the bad, and the fucked up.
With him, I had to hide nothing.
I jerked awake, startled, unsure why, my heart pounding and my head spinning from my sudden forward motion. I didn’t remember having another nightmare but something had yanked me out of sleep. The stranger was already sitting up, throwing back covers. “What’s wrong?” I asked, because his movements were purposeful, his hand reaching out for the rifle he kept propped up against the wall by the bed.
“There’s someone or something out there. Listen to the dogs.”
Sitting up, I strained, trying to decipher what I was hearing. What had ripped me out of sleep. The dogs were whining, a high pitched keening cry of irritation. There was something else too. Like a crunching of snow, being packed down by boots. The approach of people to the front porch. “I bet it’s those guys again. Oh, God.”
I needed to get dressed so I swung my legs over the side of the mattress, wincing when I stepped down onto the ice cold floor in my bare feet. There were no curtains or blinds on the windows. I stood up, fully naked, intending to go for the sweat pants and shirt I’d discarded on the chair by the stove, a trick I’d learned that made for cozy warm clothes first thing in the morning. The stranger swore violently.
Glancing over to him, I asked, “What?” I didn’t see the immediate danger. He was in his briefs, gun raised up towards the window. That’s where I took my gaze and I saw what had him angry. There was a cop on the front porch, looking through the window, hand cupped over his eyes to reduce snow glare. Head leaning in, eyes sharply focused. Right on me. His hungry gaze was raking over my naked body with shocked lust. My first instinct wasn’t to run for my clothes. He’d already seen me. My goal now was to embarrass him for being an asshole. Who looked in windows?
So I waited until his eyes made their way back up to my face and I let him see the disgust I felt for his behavior. For his violation of privacy. I should be scared that there were police on the property but he made me angry. Men shouldn’t get away with being perverts. I might be submissive to the stranger but that had been a choice, even when I’d been his prisoner. It might not make sense to everyone but it made sense to me. I didn’t like not having a choice in who lusted after me.
He jerked back, eyes darting away. Good. He knew I knew he was a bastard.
“I’m going to kill him,” the stranger said, voice tight, but eerily calm. “He was staring at you.”
“Of course you’re not going to kill him,” I said, moving out of range of the window, reaching for my pants. “He’s a cop. We have to act normal. Be normal.”
<
br /> “I should have known that little dick would go running to the cops.”
I got dressed, quickly, shoving my feet into boots right as we heard a pounding knock on the front door. The stranger was dressed too, scratching his beard, his brow furrowed. “Stick to the story,” he said under his breath as he moved past me, kissing the back of my head.
We hadn’t exactly gone into detail on the story. I was going to keep my mouth shut and take my cues from him. I swallowed hard, palms sweating from nerves. I was Stephanie. Stephanie something or other. I couldn’t remember Stephanie’s fucking last name. Damn it.
He opened the door and gave a surprised, but pleasant, “Hello there. You gave us a start this morning, officer.” He still carried his gun, but it was down by his side, barrel facing the floor. His grip was loose, casual.
“Yeah, um, sorry about that.” His cheeks were either wind chapped or pink from embarrassment. He looked around the stranger to me. “Miss.” He dipped his head. “My apologies for the intrusion.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear and just gave him a nod. I refused to say “that’s okay.” Why did we do that, as women? Why did we let men off the hook? Not doing it.
“Come on in,” the stranger said, his voice to my ears, fake. It was too polite for him, but I realized he was taking my advice. He was being normal. “It’s starting to feel like winter out there.”
“Yep. Sure is. Thanks.” He stepped inside the cabin and his embarrassment over studying my naked body disappeared as his steely gaze quickly took in the room in just a few seconds.
He was clearly alone. I shivered as the gust of cold air swept across me and the room when the stranger closed the door again. The cop took his knit hat off and finished his perusal of the cabin. There wasn’t anything to see, other than a lot of guns and knives. Our coffeepot. The stove. Our bed, with its blankets thrown back. My restraints that the stranger liked to put me in. Hm. What would he think about that?
I decided my best strategy was not to look too innocent. I had to be a little sexual. Make him think bondage, distract him with his own inappropriate and dirty thoughts. Not captive girl. But hot ass woman. It was annoying to have to resort to that, and it fucked up my ideas of feminism, like so many things did. But there was a lot at stake here. Michael hadn’t been in the woods long enough. We needed more time.
“Can I get you some coffee?” I asked.
“I would hate to be a bother.”
“No bother. I’m going to start some for me and Cody.” The name rolled off my tongue fairly easily. I moved over to the sink, shifting by the cop, teasing my teeth over my bottom lip as I did. He stiffened.
“So what brings you by so early?” the stranger asked. He stuck his hand out. “Cody Doyle.”
The cop shook his hand, still wearing his gloves. “Harry Robertson.” He glanced back at me. “We seem to have ourselves a little mystery and you know how folks like a mystery.” He stomped his boots, knocking off the snow.
The loud noise agitated my already strained nerves. Harry was not my favorite man and I was afraid, more than anything else, that the body had been found. We knew nothing, I told myself. We’d seen Michael in town, he’d stopped by to catch up with me, an old friend, and then he left. Could I cry if I needed to show emotion? Yes, I was sure I could. It did upset me to think about Michael dead. Never being able to speak to him again. I could cry, definitely.
“Oh, yeah, what’s that?” the stranger asked. He bent over, fed more wood into the stove. Seemingly unconcerned.
I pumped water into the coffeepot. I glanced back at Harry the cop, trying to look the appropriate amount of curious.
“So there was a plane crash three weeks back. Maybe you heard about that?” He didn’t wait for a response from either of us, he just continued. “So the pilot and one passenger were found in the wreck. But there was a girl on the plane too and her body wasn’t found. I mean, I suppose it’s possible she wandered off in shock and froze to death somewhere in the woods, but we’re pretty sure we’ve covered the whole area and we didn’t found anything. She couldn’t have walked more than a couple of hours so she’s either somehow dead and we can’t find the body, or she’s somewhere safe and sound tucked in someone’s cabin, riding out the winter. Which is what we’re hoping.”
Was I supposed to admit that I was Laney? He was clearly leading up to that. He wanted me to say it first, that was clear. For whatever reason he was suspicious. Probably because of the men on the river. They had to have gone into town.
There was no way to maintain the Stephanie farce. This guy would have my picture, my stats. Hell, maybe they had my DNA or dental records, ready to make a positive ID if they found me frozen like a popsicle in the woods. I didn’t know. But Michael had been looking for me and so had the authorities, clearly.
So I turned and smiled. “That’s not much of a mystery. I’m Laney Turner. Cody found me in the wreckage and saved my life. I had a sprained ankle and some lacerations.”
The stranger stood up and his expression was surprisingly calm. He went right along with my story. The truth. Didn’t everyone say when you lie stick as close to the truth as possible? It was our best option in the face of the cop’s prying.
So Cody said, “I heard the crash. It was a hell of a hike, but I figured I was most likely the closest person and I wanted to see if I could help. I found Laney unconscious in the plane and I brought her back here.”
Harry seemed surprised we’d coughed up the information he wanted so readily. “Oh, is that right? Well, Laney, I’m relieved to see you alive and well. I’ll call off the dogs, so to speak. We’ve been looking for you.”
“So you got the pilot and the other man?” I asked. “I’m glad to hear that. They should be taken back to their families.”
“Absolutely. Indeed.”
Harry had the blustering good cop role, clearly. He was in his fifties, big old belly straining behind his coat. Large ears and the wide ruddy nose of a drinker. His eyebrows had gone wild, jutting in various directions. He passed his knit cap back and forth from one hand to the other. Gloves still on, so I couldn’t see his ring finger but I would guess he was married to a chunky and cheerful woman who lived in jeans and flannels, her hair short and low maintenance. I would bet they were even happy for the most part, but even the good cop couldn’t resist looking at a twenty-four year old naked when the opportunity presented itself.
“I feel so fortunate to be alive,” I said. Again, truth.
“I can imagine.” He wandered a little, floating towards the bed. “So why didn’t you let anyone know you’re okay? Folks are worried about you.”
“There’s no cell reception here,” I said. “And I was injured, the river not safe for travel. We just made it to town a couple of days ago.”
“Yeah, and uh, you still didn’t bother to tell anyone you’re alive. That makes this still a mystery.” He smiled at me, attempting to look disarming. Non-threatening.
I’d almost prefer he was straight out a dick to us. This faux friendship was a pointless farce. At least I could say that about my mother-she never pretended and she never pulled punches.
“I should have told the authorities, I guess,” I said. “I honestly didn’t think about it. And my friend knew, so it didn’t seem to matter otherwise. I don’t speak to my family back in Seattle.” That was somewhat true. “Besides, Cody and I really clicked. I decided to stay for the winter, see how our relationship goes.”
Harry was bent over the nightstand, reading the label on my birth control pills. He stood back up and swung his gaze to the stranger. “Oh, yeah? Well, that’s a pleasant surprise. I can’t say as I blame you though.” He winked at Cody. “Nothing like a pretty girl dropping in your lap. A man gets lonely out here.”
“Yeah,” was all the stranger said. “I feel very lucky.”
“So, people were telling me they thought you had a wife. No?”
“Just Laney,” he said. “One woman at a time is all I could handle.”<
br />
The cop laughed. “Ain’t that the truth? Never could understand those polygamists. Who wants to deal with all that nonsense? Four wives. Good Lord.” Then he casually reached over and touched the hand restraints on the headboard. “What’s this?”
I gave a giggle. A vapid, babydoll simpering laugh. “Oh. God, I’m so embarrassed.” Then I looked at him from under my eyelashes and leaned against the countertop, so my breasts would jut out in my T-shirt. Without a bra, he would be able to see my nipples, and the swell of my breasts. Given he’d already seen me naked, it would be a reminder. “I have a thing, you know, where I like Cody to tie me up. That must sound so weird, but it’s fun.” I moistened my bottom lip with my tongue. The words, my voice, told a story of cutesie innocence. I let my body tell a sexier story. He clearly read it.
Harry cleared his throat and stepped away from the bed. “No, no, not weird at all. Done that with my Mrs. a time or two. Got to keep things interesting.”
Now there was a fascinating image. Harry tying up his wife, his stomach falling all over her face as he tightened her wrist restraints. If he was being honest, more power to him. Get your freak on, Harry.
“Is there anything else you need us to do?” Cody asked. “File some paperwork or something?”
“Your friend knows, you say?” Harry asked. Oh-so-casual. Not answering Cody’s question.
“Yes. I saw him in town two days ago.” I looked to the stranger. “Or was it three?”
Harry didn’t let him answer. “Huh. Okay, then. Because he was putting some heat on us, making demands. He wanted you found, that’s for sure.” He gave me a pointed look. “Said you were his girlfriend.”
“That’s not true.” It wasn’t. I found it hard to believe Michael had said that, but maybe he had thought it sounded more urgent. That he would get more police interest. I didn’t know. I’d never know. “We’re friends. We grew up together. That’s all.”
“Okay, then.” He gave me a smile. “Again, I’m mighty pleased you’re still alive, Laney. Next time you’re in town, drop on by and we’ll do some pesky paperwork.”
