by Lucian Bane
“What you just said is.”
“No, the term, what does it mean?”
“It means those words you just strung together is the equivalent to earthenware full of fecal matter! A crock. Of. Shit.”
His lip quirked as he thought. “That’s disgusting.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Well, it’s not like a crock of shit pertains to the topic either.”
“It’s slang. And it should have been listed.” She nodded rapidly.
“Well, excuse me, I must have missed it, Miss Isadore.”
“So, what, are you trying to tell me your man parts are broken?” She waved a finger at his midsection. “You’re saying you’ve never been aroused?”
“Not that I know of, no.”
She choked on incredulity. “Have you had sex before?”
“No, I haven’t.”
She threw up her hands, “Ugh. Seriously. You’re a virgin.”
“As far as I know.”
His tone was dead serious and Isadore snorted and cocked a hip. “As far as you know,” she made her tone derisive then pointed right at him. “I call bullshit.” He gave her another perplexed look and she wagged her finger, refusing to be sidetracked. “I’ll get you a slang dictionary soon, don’t worry, but there is no way, you’re going to convince me you’re a virgin. So, that brings us to finding out how you got here and what happened to you that brought on this massive amnesia. Are you willing to go to the hospital and be checked out?”
“What?”
“What? What do you mean what, hospital, run tests, find out what’s wrong with you, or right, whatever.” Isadore tried to get a hold of her anger, she was being too harsh. She couldn’t help it. Hard nipples, virgin, yeah right.
“Of course I am willing,” he said. “When can we do this?”
She hated how excited he sounded, and sincere. Bastard. “Are you hungry?” She was ready to start over, she didn’t want to scare of her new found project.
The subject change softened his handsome face. “I am. Always.”
“Yes, you said that. How have you been eating?”
“I’ve been eating here.”
“Here? And how?”
“When you’re gone, I come in and eat.”
He said that like it was clearly the normal and practical thing to do. “Is that so. That’s illegal, you know.”
He regarded her as though connecting the meaning of the word with his actions. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes?”
She rolled her eyes and headed to the kitchen, giving up on his confounding cluelessness. For now. “So you break into my house and spy on me…” she pulled dishes from the fridge, looking for his mark on her exactly placed items, making sure all labels still faced forward. “And eat all my food.”
“I didn’t spy on you,” he said from the table. “And I didn’t eat all your food.”
“I see that.” She wondered how he managed to dig in her fridge and not move anything. She pulled out her gumbo pot and put it on the hot plate. “So you didn’t spy, you just watched.”
“Yes.”
“And did I know you were watching?”
“I don’t think so.”
“And did I want you watching me?”
“I don’t know.”
“No,” she pulled the rice out, “you didn’t know because you didn’t ask. Therefore you were spying on me.”
“You’re correct. I was spying in that respect.”
She put gumbo bowls on the table. “And by the way, you need to borrow my shower, you smell like the swamp king.”
“Shower.” He muttered the word, seeming to go over the various meanings of the word.
She set their silverware out and placed coffee cups down. “That thing in my bathroom? In the tub?”
His furrowed brow smoothed. “You have that,” he said, like he realized what he’d seen in her bathroom matched the definition of the word he knew.
“Yes, I have one of those.”
“I like water. And being clean.”
“Yes, you just need to like soap and shampoo.”
“You have those,” he said, just like he’d done about the shower.
“I do indeed and am more than happy to share.”
There was a long pause as she poured their coffee. “May I?”
She glanced at him. “Shower?”
“Yes.”
“Now?” He didn’t answer and she shrugged, “Sure, go ahead. By the way, where did you get those clothes?”
He looked down at himself. “I… stole them.”
Well, at least he had that correct. “I’ll wash your clothes, while you shower.”
He stood and went to the bathroom where she followed and demonstrated everything at a speed that discouraged any talk, then she showed him where everything was. “Capeesh?”
He stared at her.
“Understand?”
“Yes,” he said, looking around again. He sounded nearly relaxed and the small space suddenly got crowded. She hurried out before he called out everything her body did before she was even aware of it herself.
Chapter Five
Back in the kitchen, Isadore readied a feast, pretending it was perfectly normal to have a strange man in her house displaying symptoms of either extreme psychosis, a serial con-artist killer, or the last option that she refused to put a whole lot of stock in—some kind of malfunctioning angel.
“Thank you.”
Isadore turned at his deep voice then screamed and spun back around. “You’re naked!”
“Is that bad? You…said you’d wash my clothes.”
She blinked rapidly as her brain choked on the triple X image in her larger than life mind’s eye, with his enormous erection front and center, holy shit! “You… need to put a towel on!”
“Ok.” A moment passed then, he announced, “Done.” sounding oh so casual.
She nearly turned around. “Is it around your waist?”
He chuckled a little. “Yes.”
Now she turned with squinty eyes. At seeing he’d done properly, she allowed herself to look all the way and held out her hand. “Your clothes.” She realized he held the towel shut around his waist. “Uh. You need to… tuck your towel in itself to make it stay.”
He looked down and opened the towel, making her gasp and spin around. “I don’t mind you seeing me.” Like this was all about his comforts.
“Well, I mind! That is private,” she said with her back turned. “Did you get it? God, am I going to have to help?” she muttered finally in exasperation.
“It’s not private to me,” he reiterated. “I don’t mind you seeing.”
“Well you should mind, that is private!”
“Yes, you keep saying that.”
“And you keep…not getting it.”
“Because it’s not private to me.”
“But it’s supposed to be!”
“Why?”
She choked on a few breaths, feeling like he’d asked her to define justice! “Clearly I can’t explain it at this time.” She remembered her robe. “In the bathroom there’s a robe, you can put that on.” A span of silence next. “Are you doing it?”
“I can’t get my arms in it,” he called from in the bathroom.
“Ugh,” she cried. “Stay right there, I’ll find you something.” She hurried up to her room and dug around her drawer until she found those stretchy black shorts she’d worn when she went through a weight problem. She hurried back, pausing halfway down the ladder-stairs. “Are you still decent?”
“I don’t recall ever not being.”
“Are you covered?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t trust his yes’s one bit. At seeing he was covered with the towel, she took the shorts into the bathroom and put them on the top of the commode, then came out. “They’re in there.”
“Thank you.” He went in and she worried about what it would do to her, seeing
him in those shorts. Oh but she found out when he walked out. “My God,” she whispered. Of course he wouldn’t look stupid, of course he’d look wickedly delicious in them. But then at what angle did he not look wickedly delicious? It was bad enough seeing him in those too snug black slacks, now these too snug black shorts put the final glaze on her whore tinted glasses.
The idea of getting too close to him was suddenly a bad idea. Her body could not be trusted. She prayed silently that he wouldn’t pick up on her body’s—”
“It amazes me how you react to my body.”
Shiiiiit. “I’m a woman, it’s purely normal, but don’t worry, I won’t touch you or attack you.”
He chuckled, like he thought the idea was cute. “I know.”
Ohhhh. She turned to him. “You say that like you really know.” She realized her big confrontation mistake the second she faced him. There he was, leaning his butt against the counter, pants in his right grip, left hand planted on the counter. Legs crossed. Enormous penis still…enormous.
She fought to think medically. “I see your man parts work.”
He looked down. “I’m not sure. I do know it’s been hard a lot more lately.”
His honesty was as brutal as that green gaze of his. “Must be reflex.” She wondered if he’d make the connection. She stared at his torso, suddenly desperate to inspect his tattoos. Up close. With her tongue and lips, heaven help her.
“But I’m not touching it. It’s just like that.”
“Well neither was I when it happened to me.”
God, did he have to look at her so directly? “Right. So I don’t understand why you touch yours at night, if you don’t need to for it to work?”
Shock and shame slammed her. Then anger that he’d watched her. Her anger turned to fury at seeing the look on his face. He was goading her! He knew what he’d just done and said which far surpassed his dictionary skills, no, that was playing skills. She felt her head nodding absently. She wasn’t sure how he knew that game given his lack of “knowledge” but she wasn’t about to be played or ridiculed by him or intimidated. “I’m sure you know that’s called masturbation. I do it to have an orgasm, I’m sure you recall that word as well. It’s a very normal and healthy exercise.”
He slid his tongue across his lower lip and he cast his eyes down, like a tease! And it was working on the little lonely swamp slut! The idea of hiding it was infuriating because it was seemingly impossible. To be so pushed around really pissed her off. Truly.
She pursed her lips, fighting for words that would even the score just a little. There was no insulting the man, that’s for sure. And humiliating him seemed impossible. How about calling his bluff? “You should try it.”
He looked at her. “Try what?”
She placed a casual palm on the front of the fridge. “Rubbing your dick.” Her heart hammered at the effect that had on him.
“I’m healthy enough.”
“Well it’s not just for health. It feels very good.” Way, way down the rabbit hole now. No turning back.
“Pleasure isn’t something I pursue.”
“Yes, it can be intimidating.”
“I’m not intimidated.”
“Are you sure?”
“I know what you’re doing,” he said. “It’s not necessary.”
“What am I doing?”
“Trying to upset me somehow, the way I’ve upset you. I find it…sweet? But it’s not going to happen. I don’t seem to need pleasure the way you do.”
He said it oh so nonchalantly and clearly did not see the barb in the words he twisted in her already wounded ego. She wanted to scream bullshit on his claim again but no way would she do that. With words.
With her inhibitions obliterated by her anger, she walked over. Pausing just before him, she even met his cool green gaze. She lowered her eyes to his manhood, her heart pounding furiously, and ran the tip of her finger along his rock hard length.
He hissed and snatched her hand up in a brutal hold and the eruption of pain triggered terror in her.
She was suddenly pinned against the wall, his fingers burning hot and lethal around her throat. Again. His gasps hit her face, filling her lungs with more of that choking heat, mixed with the painful shards of the cold. She stared with wide eyes as he strangled her, the dejavu of it helping her to harden her jaw and draw on anger.
With a roar, he spun off of her then ran out the door, leaving her to collapse to her knees, her body aching on so many levels. This was bad. She held her neck, trembling all over. The room spun until she hit the floor and laid there, staring through tear clouded eyes across the floor. She fought to hold back the tidal wave of shit pushing for release. But not that. Never that. Can’t ever let that out, it was too much, it was too much.
She focused instead on another crisis. The shameful one. It was a really bad sign, she knew it was. Getting off to a man while he strangled her. She clenched her eyes tight, hating what it meant. She didn’t want to be that broken. She didn’t want to be the person who formed a lurid addiction to the trauma she’d endured. She wouldn’t be that person. She wouldn’t. She was a scientist. She was too smart for that.
She lay there, gasping for air, again focusing on other things. Why was this man here? She didn’t even think to ask his name. He could be an angel, he really could. More likely a sick person. But… she didn’t want him to be sick. She didn’t want him to be sick, she wanted him to be real. And healthy. So she could feel… so she could be…
The tears spilled out on a loud sob. She was stupid and lonely. So desperate to be touched and loved with a good love. God, help me. Am I going crazy? Am I having a really bad episode to the trauma? Please don’t let it take me. Please. I need you, don’t leave me. You’re all I have, don’t let it make me into a monster.
****
Ruin paced, feeling the need to run hard, do something hard, but every time he moved away from Isadore’s home, the fire and ice inside him grew unbearable. And yet, going near her made him tremble with a strange emotion he loathed. It was weak.
How did he suddenly become so unstable? It was her. Somehow, it was her. And the words he’d learned, they triggered something in him. But was it the words or the learning? All he knew was the need to do things was infinitely stronger.
An unusual sound reached him and literally hurried him to her door. Strained sobs hit his brain like a bomb, shooting a lethal amount of electricity into his body. He had to make her stop. Bursting into the room, he found her on the floor in a fetal position, and scooped her up.
She latched her arms around his neck, holding on tight, like he were there to help her and not save himself. That added to his pain and torment, drove him to need to do things as he hurried into the bathroom with her. It occurred to him that she was killing him without even trying. How was she doing that? How could she?
He managed to get the shower on and stepped in with her. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Let me down, I’m fine.”
“I’m not fine. I’m not fine.” The words rasped out as he clutched her to his body, muscles locked with the power raging inside, hungry to do things. Things that would hurt. Really bad. She gradually relaxed in his arms and he leaned against the back wall, feeling the spikes of power lessening with her slowing pulse. He was certain. “It’s you,” he whispered. “Your… feelings are affecting me and I can’t seem to control it. You have to help me understand.”
Chapter Six
Ruin watched Isadore from the foot of her bed, trying to process all of the new things he’d learned in the past four hours. He couldn’t sleep so, he chose to study the data in his head while he watched her sleep. His original intention was to gain more understanding while she wasn’t provoking him, and he seemed to need to do that in close proximity to the subject.
Only, she was provoking him still, even in her sleep, but not in a way he’d ever have guessed. He carefully draped the sheet over her exposed foot only to watch her kick it off immediately—as she had done the
previous ten times. Why would she not want her foot covered while cocooning the rest of her body, minus her arms, in the despised barrier? He paced around the bed again. There was a lot about her that affected him. He was sure there wasn’t one thing that didn’t, in fact.
She slept with no clothes, and two hours ago, that wouldn’t have been an issue for him. But it was clearly a huge issue. He dared not touch said huge issue, feeling like it would only cause more trouble. He was sure of it. Already, he simply had to relive the stroke of her small finger along his length and he was filled with fire all over again. Disdain shuddered through him at the thought of having any part of his body not respond to his will. That was a problem. The cock, as she’d called it, had a mind of its own, and it had Isadore all over its mind. Ruin couldn’t seem to resist the odd fascination that came when he considered the amount of power and influence the phallus exacted on him.
Since he couldn’t think about a thing he’d learned, he instead focused on that sheet. Was there a point during the night that she kicked it off entirely? Visions of her touching herself from that first night he’d watched her, brought that fire in his lungs. The curve of her spine when she arched into her touch and the way she’d held her knees back. He clearly recalled the way her breasts rose up, the peaks tight and hard. And how they bowed beneath her fingers when she ran them over them. At the time, he had no idea what she’d been doing. And now that he did… and that he’d felt her desire for him, he was beyond driven.
Ruin’s gaze rested on that sheet until it occurred to him—a lot like realizing where a light switch was—that he could get the barrier off. He blew softly, filling the room with hot air, careful to do it slowly and not wake her. But not because he feared getting caught, he feared not seeing her. He’d never been so hungry for anything.
The moment came when she did as he’d hoped. She kicked the sheet off, and Ruin’s legs literally weakened from what that did to him. This was bad. So very bad. Even as he thought it, he angled his head, etching her every silky curve into his mind like the security of the world rested on it. And it did, in his world.
As he stared at her naked breasts, it occurred to him. Out of all the wretched things he’d observed thus far in his limited time, he’d finally found something perfect. A cool breath filled his lungs and he blew gently over her, watching in rapture as her nipple hardened to yet another perfection. He swept his tongue over his lip. Everything he’d learned said it wasn’t normal to hunger for a human. And yet, with a near brutal intensity, he hungered for this one.
