Retribution

by Natasha Knight

  I stayed with them for a while and listened to their stories of the last few days. This place soothed me. As little sense as it made to feel at home out in the open beneath the deafening thunder of the train overhead, I did. About an hour later, I got up to run back, said my good-byes, and took off, my muscles sore. But sore was good; the pain distracted.

  Stuffing the earbuds back in, I changed my selection, listening to Berlioz’s requiem. Having burned off energy, I needed this, to quiet my thoughts. Not to think at all. I slowed my pace a few blocks from home, but, about a street away, I went right to avoid a woman trying to open her umbrella before stepping out of a cab, only to collide with another woman: Elle.

  I stopped short, and she bounced off me, gripping a bag tight.

  “Adam?”

  I pushed the hood off my head and scanned her in her hoodie and tight running pants. “What the hell are you doing out here in the rain?” It had begun to pour by then, and I nudged her so we both stood under the awning, which at least offered some protection.

  “I went running and decided to replace the bottle of wine I’d broken earlier. You’ve been running, too?”

  Her gaze scanned my wet running clothes. She looked hot as hell in her tight little spandex and hoodie, her soaked hair in a ponytail, her face damp, clean of any makeup, cheeks flushed from exertion or cold.

  “Offer still stand for a drink?” I asked, not sure what the fuck I was doing.

  “Are you going to make the decision for me if I don’t choose correctly?” She searched my face. My rejection earlier had apparently hit harder than I’d expected.

  I chuckled and placed my hand at her back to guide her toward our building. Inside the elevator, I shoved her up against the mirrored wall, caging her in with my forearms bracketing her face while she stared, her expression one of a deer in headlights, her big crystal-blue eyes so fucking innocent all I could think was she needed to close them, to stop seeing me. And so I did the only thing I could to make that happen. I kissed her. I kissed her sweet little mouth, one hand cupping the back of her head as my tongue pushed past her lips to claim hers, her taste like warm honey as rain cooled on our skin. The bell sounded, and the door opened. My forehead to hers, I gazed at her still-flushed face, taking the brown paper bag from her hand, kissing her once more before leading her to her door. Her fingers trembled when she handed me the key. I unlocked the door and let us in, kicking it shut as I pushed her once more against the wall, devouring her mouth, my cock like steel against her soft belly as her hands traveled up along my arms to wrap around my neck. I led her down the hallway and into her bedroom, our bodies always touching, unzipping her hoodie along the way.

  “Wait. I need a shower.”

  “No.” I kissed her again, stripping the hoodie off her and tossing it aside.

  Her hands searched my chest, pushing my sweatshirt off as I reached for the hem of her tight T-shirt.

  “Adam.” She pushed at my chest. “I need to shower first.”

  “I said no.” I yanked the top off so she stood in a sports bra, running pants, and shoes, the strip of exposed belly trim and petite. I peeled the sports bra off and licked the trail of sweat between her breasts before seating her on the bed. Kneeling between her knees, I looked at her, at her small, high breasts, the nipples pebbled, her hands first on my shoulders then on my head, pulling me to her. I took one full breast into my mouth and she moaned as I sucked, pulling back slowly until I had her nipple trapped between my teeth. She watched me as I did, her pupils dilated, her eyes black with the tiniest sliver of blue around the dark. She looked fucking amazing, and my cock would not be patient tonight. Not this first time.

  Pulling my shirt over my head, I tossed it aside and watched her face as she scanned the tattoos covering my chest and arms. Ink to give me strength, to make me remember. She opened her mouth, in awe perhaps? But I didn’t give her time to study me, time to read what was written there. Instead, I sucked her other breast while working her shoes and socks off then gripping the waistband of her running pants. She lifted up slowly as I peeled them off her. She wore no underwear. I pushed her backward on the bed so she lay down, her legs parted. I looked at her pussy, bare but for the little strip of neat, dark hair above her slit. With my thumbs on either side of the lips, I spread them open. She leaned on her elbows and watched me, her breath coming in short gasps as she waited for me to take her in, pretty little pussy lips gleaming pink, her clit now uncovered and swollen, the scent of her stronger for her run.

  I met her gaze before bringing my mouth to her sex, her gasp filling my ears when I closed my mouth over her clit, her hands on me, pulling me closer as she ground her hips up into my face like a greedy little slut.

  “That feels. Oh…” Her hips bucked. “More. Please more.”

  Pushing one finger into her cunt, I licked her pussy before sucking hard on her clit, sliding a second finger to join the first as she began to whimper until, finally, she called out my name, the groan coming with it a deep sound from her chest as she came on my tongue, her taste so fucking sweet I could eat her forever.

  ADAM ROSE TO HIS feet as I lay there, limp, knowing if I closed my legs and pressed my thighs together to trap my clit, I’d come again. He stripped off his running pants, freeing his cock and taking it in his hand, holding it over me as he rubbed its thick length.

  “Pull your knees up and open them wide.”

  He kept massaging himself, and I swore his cock grew even bigger, even thicker. When I didn’t move quickly enough to do as he said, he pushed my legs painfully wide himself. He must have seen me flinch because the grin it evoked made me shudder, made me want him more.

  “Next time I tell you to spread your legs, I want them wide before I’m finished with my sentence, understand?”

  I nodded. Christ, I could come from listening to him.

  “You have a sweet pussy, Elle. It tastes like fucking honey.”

  “Adam, please,” I begged as he began to rub his cock through my folds.

  “But, sadly, I’m unprepared. Do you have a condom, or are you going to make me fuck my hand and come all over those pretty little tits of yours?”

  My mouth fell open. I couldn’t speak, there was no way, especially when he lowered himself to one knee and pushed two fingers back inside me.

  “Focus, Elle. Condoms,” he teased, a grin on his face when I opened my eyes while he slid his cock over my wet sex. “I can’t wait too much longer, honey.”

  Condom. Yes. Condom.

  I turned to the nightstand drawer but couldn’t quite reach it. Adam pulled me upward, so I lay on the center of the bed, and straddled my torso, his cock inches from my face.

  “Condoms are there?” he asked, grinning, again thrusting into his hand.

  “Yes.”

  He reached over and pulled the drawer open, taking one out and tearing the package open, looking down to find me staring at his cock.

  “You want a taste first?” he asked.

  I nodded. He seemed different than the few times I’d seen him before, his face more relaxed, eyes bright, cheeks wet from rain and sweat, his hair falling over his forehead, in thick, damp black.

  “Lick it.”

  I did. Like he offered me a Popsicle.

  “Good girl. Now open up. Wide.”

  He leaned forward, gripping the headboard, positioning himself as if to thrust into my mouth.

  “You’ll need to open wider if you want to take all of me.”

  I tried, waiting, feeling like a whore and never more aroused for it. He smiled and slowly slid his cock into my mouth. The taste of salty sweat and man along with his unique scent of arousal mingled, making me want him more. More. He moved slowly, fucking my mouth, going deeper and deeper until I nearly choked. But, too soon, he pulled out.

  “No.”

  “Greedy little slut. You can suck my cock later. Right now, I want to be inside that wet little cunt of yours.”

  No man had ever talked to me like this
before, and all I could do, as he gripped my inner thighs and spread my legs wide, was watch his face. I felt the head of his cock at my pussy, and, all at once, he pushed inside me, eyes locked on mine, seeing me flinch, seeing that he’d hurt me. He pulled out, and I lifted to him, wanting the hurt again, wanting him to fill me. This time, he gripped my wrists and spread my arms wide, pulling out again then thrusting, all the while his eyes never leaving mine.

  “I want to see your face, Elle. I want to see you come. I want to fuck you raw and watch you take it.” He acted as he spoke, pumping slow and deep. “I want to hurt you,” he whispered at my ear, his breath damp on the side of my face, his words making me shudder, making me fear him and want him at once. He moved faster, harder, deeper; the contact at my clit combined with the thick intrusion of his cock inside me sent me over the edge fast, making me come again, our eyes locked, his darkening, his face tightening. His cock swelled inside my throbbing walls, his hands closed tighter around my wrists, and when he came, he bit his lip, closing his eyes for an instant, groaning, orgasm somehow making him even more beautiful than before.

  He’d left just as I had fallen asleep. I barely remembered it; I’d been too far gone. Even though I knew he’d left, I still felt the loss of him.

  Sitting up, I saw my running clothes scattered throughout the room. His scent still clung to the bed. Our smell. Sex mixed with sweat and urgent need.

  What the hell had happened last night? After my jog, I’d stopped to get a bottle of wine, never expecting to run into him, and yet, there he’d been. I’d literally collided with his wall of a chest.

  The memory of his naked body, his thick, muscular arms, his cut stomach and then his cock, it made me flush. I wondered how much he worked out to keep himself in that sort of shape. He hadn’t allowed me to shower. With any other man, it would not have been a question. I’d never, in my twenty-four years, felt the kind of passion I’d felt last night, the kind where you have to be with someone, where there’s no choice made, but a pull, an invisible, live wire binding you, sparking at every touch. I’d also never come with a man fucking me before, not without other stimulation. Never felt a need to be filled like I did with him. I’d come twice. He’d stripped me, spread me open, and licked me until I’d come on his tongue. He’d talked so fucking dirty. And he’d owned me. I’d been like a blubbering fool, doing as he said, unable to resist.

  This wasn’t like me. I didn’t jump into bed with a man I’d just met. I never had. And him making me want it and then leaving without a word after he’d had me kind of pissed me off.

  Stripping the bed, I marched everything into the washing machine, overloaded it with detergent, and turned it on. I picked up my running things and went into the bathroom to have a shower. That was when I saw it, and the happiness I felt at the note, a scrap of paper, gave me pause.

  You’d fallen asleep when I left. I want to see you. Have dinner with me tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven.

  How presumptuous of him. Although the mirror, when I took the note down, reflected a wide, happy smile.

  “Get it together, Elle. This isn’t high school, and he isn’t the captain of the football team taking you out for a milk shake.”

  I tossed my clothes into the hamper then turned the water on hot and stepped into the shower.

  After shampooing and scrubbing myself clean, I dressed. It was almost nine. Enough time to grab a coffee and get to the photography studio at the mall. I only worked one day a week. Five hours. I had it better than most people, but it still took all I had to suck it up and do it.

  My belly did a little flutter when I locked up behind me and hit the button to call the elevator, but when the doors opened, his face wasn’t among the other tenants. Riding down to the garage, I eyed the empty spot where he parked his bike then walked past the little yellow bug, to climb into my Mini. I loved this car, loved both my cars but this one — a gift from my dad on my twenty-fourth birthday — I loved a little more. I only drove it when I went to the studio and never out with friends. I don’t even know why, really, but some part of me wanted to be like them. To fit in with them and at least pretend to have the same struggles in life, even though I didn’t. I didn’t worry about making rent or car payments. Money cushioned me from those sorts of things. And although a part of me longed to experience the things my friends did, to truly do it on my own, a bigger part feared the uncertainty. I wasn’t proud of the fact — felt more like a coward too attached to her life, actually. Attached to her luxuries. Her ease. It was a part of myself I hated, feeling like a hypocrite. My behavior didn’t hurt people, but lies were lies. It was wrong. I couldn’t even remember how it had started, but now, I was up to my eyeballs in the lie and telling the truth didn’t seem like an option anymore, not if I wanted to keep my friends.

  Turning on the radio to switch off my brain, I drove through the Starbucks’ pickup window and ordered a grande latte and a cinnamon muffin then headed to the studio to take photos of people like me. People with money. People who didn’t struggle. People I hated because every time I looked at them, I saw my lie.

  The workday passed as usual, and I got back home at a little after five. I had a shower and dressed in tight black jeans and a pretty, close-fitting dark-gray blouse with sleeves split from the wrists up to my shoulders. I put on a pair of red Jimmy Choos, the only pop of color in my outfit. My hair I left loose, although I did blow it dry to smooth out the curl and make the long, thick locks shine. A little mascara, some sparkly blush and pink lip gloss, and I was ready to go — with an hour to spare.

  You are so lame!

  I dated. Not a whole lot, but certainly not for lack of invitations. There just weren’t many men who piqued my interest. The ones I found myself physically attracted to never seemed to have the mental capacity to keep up with me. I wanted a man — not a boy — but I also didn’t want someone twice my age. With Adam, it was different. The attraction was there; it was freaking incredible. It was his dominance, his ability to take charge of a situation and not be afraid of me. When he was doing it, all I wanted to do was rebel, but he didn’t even blink when I did. The sex last night had been insane. Incredible. It had been dirty. I hadn’t come like I did with Adam in — well, that may have been a first, actually.

  Okay, I needed to relax. I poured a shot of vodka and sat down behind my computer to play around online while I waited. At exactly 7:00 p.m. came his knock. My heartbeat picked up. After a quick check of makeup and hair in the hallway mirror, I opened the door. Adam stood in the hall, his frame so large it took up almost the whole of my doorway. Wet hair told me he must have come fresh from the shower, and he’d shaved his beard closer so it was more of a five-o’clock shadow. He wore a long black coat unbuttoned to show a T-shirt and jeans underneath.

  “Elle,” he said, scanning me head to toe before kissing me on the cheek, a small tremor inside my belly at his touch, his scent.

  “Adam.” I tried to go for casual. He couldn’t hear my heartbeat, after all. He couldn’t know how nervous I was. Couldn’t know the blush I felt creeping up my neck and face came from images of him standing over me last night, naked, his thick cock in his hand.

  “You look great. I hope you’re hungry. I’m taking you to my favorite Mexican place.”

  “Starving.”

  “Where’s your coat?” he asked.

  I went back to grab it and my purse then locked the door. Dropping the keys into my bag, I turned to find Adam smiling at me. With a hand at my back, he guided me along and we rode the elevator to the garage.

  “No bike tonight,” he said, leading me toward an immaculate black truck with windows too dark to see into.

  “I didn’t know the truck belonged to you.”

  “I usually ride the bike but figured you’d be more comfortable in this tonight.”

  “Well, that was thoughtful of you.” He let me in then climbed into the driver’s seat himself. “This feels weird.”

  He glanced at me before pulling ou
t of the tight spot and navigating out onto the street. “Why?”

  Heat burned my cheeks and I glanced away.

  “Is it because we’ve already fucked and now I’m taking you to dinner?”

  “Jesus, Adam! You don’t have to just blurt it out like that.”

  He laughed, eyes bright with mischief. “I don’t waste words, Elle, and it’s the truth. Isn’t it?”

  I shrugged a shoulder.

  “I think I can read you pretty well.”

  “Because you’ve run into me a handful of times and…well, other things?”

  “Other things.” He chuckled. “You didn’t answer my question. Is that the reason this feels weird to you?”

  “I guess. Yes. I don’t usually…”

  He raised his eyebrows when I trailed off. “What, sleep with someone you’ve met a few times on an elevator?”

  I nodded, feeling the smile fade from my face, realizing I cared what he thought.

  “I didn’t think you did,” he said, his expression serious. “I’m attracted to you, and you are to me. I liked fucking you and hope to do it again tonight. Nothing wrong with that.”

  My eyes must have bulged out of my head because he laughed outright as he parked the car in a nondescript neighborhood where a broken neon sign hung over what looked to be someone’s garage. I chose to ignore what he said, my panties already damp from being so near him, from hoping tonight ended as he wanted, and instead climbed out and waited for him to come around to my side.

  “It’s not fancy, but they have the best enchiladas and guacamole you’ll ever taste.”

  “It smells great, and I love Mexican.”

  He shook his head, the flat of his hand guiding me into the restaurant where most tables were taken and a line of people waited on the street. “You haven’t had Mexican until you’ve had Mama Tia’s enchiladas,” he said, as a woman I imagined was Mama Tia came around the counter to greet him, kissing him on the cheek before taking his hand and squeezing it affectionately. I guessed she was in her mid-fifties and, judging from the stains on her apron, she did the cooking here. They spoke in Spanish and too quickly for me to follow more than a word or two. Adam must have said something about me to Mama Tia because she wiped her hands on her apron and shook mine then led us to the one table available in the corner, removing the “reserved” sign as we sat down.