by Olivia Chase
“And you think this makes me a killer?”
“I think it makes you a person who’s able to turn their emotions on and off.”
“And this makes me a bad person?”
“Stop trying to talk to me like a lawyer!” I said, balling my fists up in my lap and struggling to keep control of my emotions. I took a sip of the wine Graham had set in front of me, hoping it might take the edge off my nerves. It was smooth and crisp going down, and I took another big gulp, letting the alcohol warm me as it moved down my throat.
“Then stop interrogating me like one,” he said. He sighed and leaned forward. “Look, did you ever stop to think that maybe the fact that I’m able to hide my emotions isn’t some deep character flaw or personality disorder? That maybe it’s something I’ve had to learn to do to survive?”
“No!” I said. “No, I haven’t ever stopped to think about that, because you’ve never told me that. You’ve never told me anything.”
“And I explained to you why that is.”
“No, you haven’t.” My voice was rising, and I realized how ridiculously absurd it was to be having a conversation like this in such a fancy restaurant, with a bottle of wine that probably cost more than my rent sitting in front of me, with a delicious meal set out in front of us. It was a perfect metaphor for what was going on between us – everything was supposed to be perfect, I wanted everything to be perfect, but everything was so broken beneath the surface that it was impossible.
“Yes, Charlotte, I have explained it to you. I’ve told you about my difficulties when it comes to getting close to people.”
“No.” I shook my head. “All you’ve said is that you have a hard time getting close to people, because you’ve lost people. You never told me how you lost people, or what happened to make you the way you are.”
His eyes blazed a warning to me across the table, telling me not to go there. I was pushing him, and he didn’t like it. But I was past the point of caring. Why should I have had to let my guard down with him, push all my barriers down sexually and emotionally, while he could just decide something was too much for him and shut me out?
“What happened to you when you were younger, Noah?” I asked. “What’s in your juvenile record?”
If he was surprised I knew about it, he didn’t show it. “I’m not discussing that, Charlotte.”
“Yes, you are!” I said. “You’re going to discuss it if you expect me to be able to help you.”
“You think I want your help? Like I’m so damaged that I need you to save me? You think I’m that fucked up, Charlotte?”
“No!” I said. “But I wouldn’t know, because you won’t tell me anything.”
“What do you want me to say?” he asked, pushing his chair back from the table angrily and jumping to his feet. “You want me to tell you what’s in that record? How I got arrested for assault when I was seventeen? How my father was beating my mother up so bad that I had to take a bat to his knees? That I broke the motherfucker’s knees, Charlotte, that he ended up in the hospital? That my mother and brother both turned on me, protected my father, said it wasn’t self-defense? Do you want to hear about that shit, Charlotte? Because I sure as fuck don’t want to talk about it.”
He grabbed the table and picked it up, then dropped it, slamming it against the floor angrily. Water sloshed out of his glass, and my wine tipped over, spilling all over the tablecloth, leaving an angry red stain.
But Noah didn’t stop. He picked up the table and dropped it again. And again. And again.
I flinched each time it hit the floor, flinched each time the sound echoed through the room. When he was done, he stood there, breathing heavily, and I could see the anguish in his eyes.
It was different than the other times he’d let his guard down in front of me. This was more raw, more real, the pain of a man who’d done his best to cover up his sins and bad memories at all costs.
“Noah,” I said. “I didn’t – ”
“Don’t,” he said. And then he was walking away from the table toward the back of the restaurant, disappearing down the hallway.
I sat there for a moment, not realizing I was crying until I felt a tear hit my lips and tasted the salt. I took in a shuddering breath, then stood up and moved toward the back hall.
There were two heavy oak doors off the corridor, one of them marked W and one marked M.
I stood in front of the men’s room and put my ear to the door. I could hear the faint sound of water running. I tried the knob, but it was locked.
I knocked. “Noah?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
There was no answer, and I knocked again, louder this time. “Noah!”
Still no answer.
The water shut off, but the door didn’t open.
“Please,” I called. “I’m sorry I pushed you.”
A second later, the knob turned, and Noah appeared. His eyes met mine, the two of us just staring at each other. I felt powerfully connected to him, even though we’d just had a fight, if you could even call it that.
He didn’t say anything, just stared at me.
I felt like I was hanging on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall off and head down into the canyon below. I felt like I could save myself if I just knew what to say.
You do know what to say.
I swallowed. “I need to be punished,” I said softly.
He raised his chin, his eyes questioning.
“I should have trusted you,” I said, reaching out and touching his arm softly. “I want to trust you.”
He opened the door and I slipped inside.
He shut the door and locked it, the click of the bolt echoing through the silent room. I thought of the waiters and waitresses out there, coming back to our table to see if we needed anything else. They’d find Noah and I gone, our table a mess of spilled wine and disheveled silverware.
They’ll know you’re in the bathroom with him.
I wondered if he’d brought other women in here, if the waiters and waitresses would be surprised to know what we were doing, or if they’d think it was normal.
But I took those thoughts and wrestled them to the ground, pushing them out of my mind. If I thought too hard about what I was doing, I wasn’t going to do it.
And I was sick of thinking. Right now all I wanted to do was feel.
Noah stood with his back to the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest. And then, suddenly, so quick I wasn’t even sure it was happening, he was on me, lifting me up and setting me down on the counter that ran the length of the room. He pushed his mouth into mine, his tongue entering my mouth, his hands grabbing at my hair.
He kissed me hungrily, his mouth searching, looking for answers neither one of us could give.
When he finally broke away, his eyes were blazing with determination and anger.
“Stand up,” he commanded.
I stood up and he ran his hands up under my sweater and over my breasts. He pulled my sweater up and over my head, then lowered his mouth to my neck. He kissed me softly, his tongue sliding over my collarbone and over my cleavage, moving down over my stomach until he got to the top of my jeans.
He undid the buttons, sliding the zipper down slowly, so slowly I was afraid he was going to stop. He pulled the denim off my legs, his hands stroking my skin as he went, leaving goose bumps in their wake.
When I was in just my bra and panties, he backed away from me, his eyes raking up my body. Then he grabbed me around the waist, pushed me up against the hard tile of the bathroom wall and kissed me again. His hands grabbed at my ass, his pelvis grinding into mine.
I could feel his cock, hard through his pants, and I pushed myself against him, rubbing his dick, feeling my panties get wet. The friction was almost too much to bear, and the feel of his tongue in my mouth and his hands on my ass while I dry fucked him almost made me come.
But he pulled away.
“Get on your knees,” he growled. He pulled his sweater over his head, tossed it on the ground
.
I did as I was told.
“Look at me.”
I looked up at him, at that gorgeous body of his, toned pecs and washboard stomach and the planes of his body, all fit and lean and sexy as all hell. How do you exist? I wondered. How does someone as beautiful as you even exist?
He reached down, gathering my hair in his hands before yanking my head back roughly, his index finger trailing over my lips and into my mouth.
“Please,” I moaned.
“Please what?”
“Please, I want to suck your cock.” I went to grab for the front of his pants, but he pushed my hands away.
“Beg for it.”
“Please,” I said. “Please, I want your cock in my mouth, I want it in my face, I want to suck you.” The words were dirty and degrading, the kind of thing I never could have imagined myself saying. But now they were charged with meaning and excitement, and I wanted him so badly, I would have done anything he wanted.
“Stand up, Charlotte,” he said.
I stood up.
“Turn around.”
I turned around.
“Slower.”
I turned around slower, letting him look at my body. This time, as I turned around, he reached out and slapped my ass. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small length of stretchy rope, his eyes glinting with desire.
“What is that?” I asked, my heart pounding with fear and arousal.
“Put your arms above your head,” he instructed, ignoring my question.
I hesitated for just a second, and was rewarded with another spank on my ass, this one harder than the last. My backside was sore from where he’d spanked me earlier, in his kitchen, and these new slaps stung even more. The pain pulsed through my flesh, swirling with my desire to create the most pleasurable sensation I’d ever felt in my life.
I put my hands over my head and he pushed his body up against mine and threaded the rope around my hands, twisting it around the hook on the back of the door.
When he was done, I was standing there in my bra and panties, my hands over my head, tied up and vulnerable. The rope was long enough that I could turn around, but I couldn’t do much else.
“Bend over,” he commanded.
I bent over.
“Stick your ass in the air,” Noah growled. I stuck my ass up in the air, felt his hand come out and caress it softly before pulling back and smacking it again. His hands gripped the top of my panties, pulling them down and ripping them off me.
“Spread your legs,” he growled.
I spread my legs and felt his fingers slide up against my pussy, stroking my clit softly. I bit my lip. I didn’t want to moan, didn’t want to make a sound, knowing that if I did, he would stop.
He pushed his body down onto mine, his fingers moving in and out of me, faster and faster until I felt like I was going to explode.
“Mmm,” I gasped before I could stop myself.
“Shhh, Charlotte,” he breathed into my ear. “Quiet. You don’t want them to hear us, do you?”
His tone was teasing, like he couldn’t care less if anyone caught us. And why would he? I would be the one to have something to be embarrassed about, tied up and exposed, letting Noah do what he wanted to me.
His fingers moved in and out, in and out, sliding faster and easier the more turned on I got.
“Do you like that?” he rasped.
“Yes,” I groaned.
He reached around with his other hand, grabbed my chin and pulled it back so that our mouths were centimeters apart. “Tell me.”
“I love it.”
“You love what?”
“I love it when you push your fingers into my pussy and finger fuck me.”
He moved faster and faster, his fingers moving expertly as his thumb massaged my clit. Then, just when I was about to come, he stopped, pulling his hand away and moving it up and over my ass.
I moaned as his fingers slipped in between my cheeks.
I tensed automatically, panic and exhilaration skittering up my spine.
“Have you ever been taken in the ass, Charlotte?” he asked.
My pulse quickened, my heart stopping. “No,” I whispered.
He moved his finger slowly around the outside of my asshole, teasing me. “Soon,” he said wickedly. “But not tonight.”
He reached up and grabbed my restraints, pulling them tight until they cut into my flesh. He was going to leave marks again, and I loved the thought of it, loved that my ass was going to be raw from his spanks, my wrists red from his ropes.
He pulled tighter and tighter, so tight that pain almost became unbearable. And then the rope snapped, and I was free. It was so shocking, the loss of tension in the restraint that I almost fell to the ground, but Noah grabbed me around the waist, holding me up as his mouth melded to mine.
He kissed me for what seemed like forever, our mouths moving in a rhythm until my legs were weak.
Then he pulled away and pushed me down to the floor until I was on my knees, the tile cold and hard against my skin.
“Take off your bra,” Noah demanded.
I reached behind and started to undo the clasp.
“Slower,” he growled and I slowed down. “Look at me while you do it.”
I kept my eyes on his as I finished unhooking my bra and sliding it off.
“Hold your tits up for me,” he said.
I clasped them in my hands, presenting them to him, my nipples hard and sticking up straight at attention, my body so hot I thought I was going to burst into flames.
He reached down and massaged my breasts, his hands moving over my nipples slowly and gently, our eyes never leaving each other.
“Unbutton my pants, Charlotte, and take out my cock.”
I reached up and undid his fly, pulling down his zipper until his cock bobbed in front of me, hard and thick and perfect.
He reached up and laid his hand on the back of my head, guiding me down his shaft, slow at first and then faster, until I could feel the head of his cock hitting the back of my throat.
His dick slid in and out, rubbing against my tongue, and I loved the salty taste of him. He controlled the rhythm and the pressure, guiding my head on his cock, taking my mouth as he fucked it.
“Stand up.”
I stood up and he grabbed me around the waist, picked me up like I was a rag doll and pushed my back up against the door.
I wrapped my legs around him as he entered me, my nails digging into his back as he fucked me.
“God, you feel good,” he said.
I moaned, and leaned my head back as he started moving faster, his cock pounding my pussy harder and faster as my back slammed against the door behind me.
I closed my eyes as his mouth returned to mine, our tongues moving against each other in a wet frenzy as we fucked.
He pulled away. “Look at me,” he whispered. “I want you to look at me when you come.”
“I want to come,” I groaned.
“Do it,” he said. “Come all over me, baby. Come on my hard dick.”
I came, crying out, not caring who heard. Our eyes were locked on each other as my orgasm ripped through me. The connection between us was so intense it took every ounce of my self-control not to look away from him – the feeling was so amazing, so pleasurable that I almost couldn’t take it.
At the end of my orgasm, just as my pussy was spasming on his cock, I felt him release his load inside of me, shot after shot, filling me with his cum.
He collapsed against me, both of us spent.
When we’d finally caught our breath, I unwrapped my legs from around his waist and lowered them to the floor. I was breathless, light-headed, almost high from what we’d just done.
“Charlotte,” Noah said, pushing my hair back from my face. “I don’t ever... I thought I’d lost you. I don’t want to ever feel like that again.”
He pulled me close, so close I could feel his heart beating rapidly against mine.
Then, fina
lly, he pulled away.
“Well,” he said, picking his sweater up off the floor. “I should probably head back to the table. I’ll give you a second, and then you can join me.”
Once he was gone, I let out the breath I’d been holding.
I splashed some water on my face. My cheeks were flushed and my hair was a mess, but other than that, I didn’t look that bad. I dressed quickly and smoothed my hair down, hoping the waiter wouldn’t realize what we’d been up to, but knowing he probably would.
When I got back to the table, Noah was standing by the table, with his coat on.
“Hi,” he said when he saw me.
“Hi.” I looked at our table. It had been cleared and reset with new place settings.
“Oh,” I said. “I guess we’re not having dinner.” I was disappointed. I was suddenly ravenous, and I wanted my steak.
“I had them wrap it up,” Noah said. “I thought it would taste better at my place.”
I smiled. “It will taste better at your place,” I said.
“Then let’s go.” He took my hand and led me through the main part of the restaurant toward the front door. I liked that he was holding my hand, that he was showing the world that we were together.
I liked belonging to him.
When we got out onto the sidewalk, I looked around for his car.
“The car’s waiting down the block,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to take it, or if you were more comfortable walking.”
“I’m okay with the car.” I appreciated that he was asking me this, loved that he wanted to make sure I was okay with taking the car after I’d been hesitant before. And I was okay with it now. I felt foolish for not trusting him, for going against my instincts and thinking he might have done something wrong.
Noah wasn’t a murderer.
He was the man I was falling in love with.
We were halfway to the limo when it happened.
Three police cars pulled up to the sidewalk, their sirens blaring, throwing beams of red and blue light onto the concrete.
Two cops got out of the car, guns drawn.
“Noah Cutler,” one of them yelled. “Put your hands up in the air! Right now, put your hands up in the air!”
