by W. Winters
“That’s another question.”
“Please,” I beg him out of instinct, my fingers gripping the comforter tightly with the single word. Marcus’s head rises ever so slowly and a pale, pale blue stares back at me. The case matters. I knew it did. Other questions scream in my mind. What about Cody? How much does he know? They line up one by one, held back only by biting the inside of my cheek.
He’s my witness, my ghost. But this isn’t a courtroom, a cell or an interrogation. I don’t have an ounce of power here and I’m left at his mercy.
The small voice that’s been reckless and foolish reminds me of the kiss we shared and my gaze drops to his lips. It reminds me that he came to me. There’s a small bit of power in my grasp, but just like every other fact I’ve uncovered, I don’t know why. “I just …” It takes great effort to lean back in my bed and its groan of protest doesn’t stop me from a plan that’s more than likely foolish. “How do you know Cody? You know him, don’t you?”
“He thinks I’m someone I’m not. He wants me to be that person.” Marcus’s swallow and exhale reveal the cues of a man struggling. But also a man who’s dying to confess. I can be his priest, his doctor, his executioner … whatever he wants, so long as I’m given that confession. I want it more than I’ve wanted anything else in a long damn time.
“I’m not that person, but he keeps my secrets and pretends. And together, we’ve done so well. We both lost someone at the same time in our lives. I think it’s really the bonding that binds us together more than anything. It’s the loss.”
The cryptic words don’t tell me everything, but they tell me enough to know Cody lied. He lied to me. He’s keeping Marcus’s secrets … or at least that’s what this man believes. “What about—”
“Stop,” he commands with an authority that’s frightening. One not to be denied. “Shhh.” He’s quick to add the gentleness to his voice when he shushes me, but it’s far too late to prevent fear from pressing my back firm against the headboard. “I gave you another question because I have one of my own.”
“Yes?”
“Did you like it when I kissed you?” he asks, repositioning himself in the chair, leaning forward so his forearms rest on his thighs as he stares at me through the dark.
The rush of my blood in my ears nearly drowns out every other sense.
Logically, I should tell him yes to appease his ego, his need for control. I’ve been trained on how to deal with personalities such as his. Although, this is much, much different from any scenario I’ve confronted in the past. The reality, the truth of his question … it’s still a yes. Even as scared as I am, there’s a spark that crackles between us. Knowing what he’s capable of and yet how soft he has been with me draws me to him for reasons I can’t explain.
“Yes,” I say and take a deep breath.
“Another trade?” he asks me and before I can stop myself, I answer yes. More than any other reason, it’s because I don’t want him to leave without knowing more. I need to know what happened.
“A touch for a touch?” he says and my eyes widen at the offer. “I didn’t let you last time and that seems … selfish of me.”
I can’t help the innate fear I feel. The idea of him getting closer to me, close enough to touch, to kiss, all while I stay buried in my bedsheets is both erotic and terrifying.
I know he must see it; I’d be a fool to think I could hide it. Hell, my heart beats so hard, he’d have to be deaf not to hear it staggering with dread. “I’ll sweeten the deal. I’ll tell you how I know your code. I’ll tell you now, if you want.”
My gaze peers deeper into his, and I find myself wishing for more light. His desperation is … not understood. He shouldn’t want me, but he does. I can sense it; his desire caresses every inch of me, preparing me for him.
Marcus wants me and I’m ashamed to admit what that knowledge does to me.
Met with silence for too long, Marcus continues. “I have small cameras on the outside of your building. I can watch who comes and goes and more importantly, I can see you put in the code, Delilah. And anyone else I want.”
“That’s not true. I searched the place down myself.”
With a huff of laughter, he leans back in the chair and responds, “They look like nailheads, so small, and everywhere I want them to be.” The arrogance doesn’t go unnoticed.
“How long?”
“How long have I been watching you? You have so many questions that you already know the answers to, don’t you?”
His taunt prompts me to remember the first week I moved in when there was a day when the power went out. There wasn’t an ounce of me that suspected anything. That was years ago … Years. The answer sends goosebumps down my shoulders that don’t stop until a shiver takes over.
“I have unusual ways, invasive, I know. But I tried to stay away and let you be. This is how I managed. And then … you kissed him. You fucked him. It … it’s taking a lot of effort to not be jealous. He’s been there for you and you’ve seen what he’s done for you. It makes sense. You haven’t seen what I’ve done for you, though.”
I can barely breathe listening to him.
His jealousy is a shock. And given all this new information, my body trembles. “You told me not to be scared, but I am.” I admit the truth out loud because it’s too much. It’s far too real.
“You’re a good girl for telling me.” Good girl. From anyone else, I would snap at those words. There’s a trigger inside of me wound tight and it would spring free. But from him …
He adds, “We’re going to have to work on that. Lie down and let me help you.”
“What do you want?” I ask and my voice shakes.
“Again … You already know the answer.”
He’s not wrong. I know what he wants; even my body is aware as my nipples harden against the soft cotton of my sleep shirt.
As if he’s read my mind, his nearly silver gaze drops to my chest. “Fear is a funny thing, isn’t it?” he comments but remains where he is. “I bet you’re hot too, aren’t you?”
All I can think about is Cody. Marcus may know things, but Cody may not. And whatever I do here, could come back on a man who has done nothing but protect me.
“Marcus … I’m with—”
“I know. I saw it all. I saw you kiss him again yesterday. Really kiss him like you love him. You do, don’t you?” There’s not an ounce of anger in his voice, only knowing.
“Marcus—”
“I’m not mad. You don’t have to be afraid. But I deserve a chance. I don’t regret much in life, but I regret not taking you when I had the chance.”
“When was that?” I ask only to allow more time to pass. To give space to the moment so I can think.
“Questions. So many questions, my Delilah.” Sitting straighter, his fingers wrap around the arms of the chair as if he’s holding himself back. “I answered you, I gave you more information than I should.”
“You told me not to be scared, but—”
“If you’d like, I can make it easier on you.”
I can only nod.
“Lie down, Delilah.” With trembling limbs I slowly do as he says, lifting the covers for a moment, glancing at the gun that’s still within reach and knowing it was never going to protect me against Marcus. He takes his time giving me orders, and all the while I listen obediently.
“Close your eyes,” he whispers and they’re the most seductive words I’ve ever heard. If only sinning with your eyes closed saved your soul from the devil.
Every little hair stands on edge when I hear the telltale creak of him rising from the chair. My chest rises and falls chaotically, every fight-or-flight instinct within me screaming with pure adrenaline.
“Don’t turn around,” he commands and I’m certain his steps are deliberately loud as he rounds the bed, walking behind me. Ever so slowly, the weight of him is felt when the cool air from a raised comforter kisses my skin.
With my eyes closed tight, he climbs in behind me and
I have to part my lips to inhale. It’s a shaky breath that’s suffocated in his heat as he gets closer, inch by inch, until his hard chest is nearly against my back. With every breath, I barely graze him. With one more adjustment, his erection presses against my ass. A whimper leaves me and it’s then I feel his shadow weighing down on me. His fingers slip a strand of loose hair down my shoulder and he whispers along the curve of my neck.
“He likes to kiss you here … I understand the desire.”
Marcus
I’m ever so careful with my little mouse. The corners of my lips tug up at the nickname that’s been buried so long in my conscious. It’s been a lifetime since I thought of her like that. Which is quite different from what I imagine she’s thinking right now.
Her shyness and timidness are … more appealing than I ever dreamed. Although my illicit fantasies that included playing games didn’t hold an ounce of wavering. Not on her part and certainly not on mine.
“Touch for a touch, little mouse,” I whisper and let the promise … or threat … linger before I add, “I go first this time.”
The hitch in her breath is accompanied by her eyes shutting tight. The light lays there on the delicate hollow at her throat and unlike what I planned, I graze my teeth along her slender neck, noting how her back arches and her heartbeat pounds. My bottom lip tips just slightly before lifting away, leaving a small bit of moisture just beneath the tender side of her ear.
I can’t resist blowing ever so slightly and my reward is a sudden, sharp intake of breath.
“Your turn,” I tell her, but she’s still for far too long. Doesn’t she know what she does to me? How everything twists with her around. Black and white bleed together and all that remains are gray blurs, bringing only her into sharp focus.
“Whatever you want,” I say, practically pleading with her as I drop my lips to the shell of her ear. “Take it, ask it, do as you please.” Everything about her threatens to make me lose control.
“A question,” she says and the words rush out of her. “A touch for a question.”
Disappointment is a heavy weight, but I should know better than to push her too soon. My scared little mouse.
“My touch, your question,” I respond although I don’t agree.
“What do you want after?” she asks and I smirk, my lips grazing her ear as I admonish her, saying, “So expectant.”
Goosebumps flow down her caramel skin and I’m eager to touch, lick, and cover them in every way I’ve dreamt. “After what?” I practically dare her to say it.
Her bottom lip quivers ever so slightly and those long lashes stay down, covering her gaze I’m desperate to see.
She doesn’t answer even though her lips part. I have mercy on her. She deserves that at the very least.
“Don’t be afraid. No matter how much I want to fuck you, I won’t until you beg me.”
I hate how her body relaxes even if she doesn’t do it purposefully. It’s a tangible sense of relief and that tells me many things. For one, she thought I would take from her. Pressing my hand against her lower belly, my fingers would play along the seams of her panties if the shirt wasn’t in my way. I push her back to my front and make sure she feels how hard I am for her before telling her, “Your body may want me now, but you’ll be begging me to fuck you, Delilah. You will feel deprived without me inside of you.”
A huff of amusement leaves me as the sound slipping from her lips mimics both a moan of pleasure and tortured agony.
“Another question?” I ask her. “My next touch will be lower.”
With my warning lingering, she surprises me. Lifting her arm slowly and whispering, so low it’s almost not audible, “A touch.” Although her eyes stay closed and her body remains as it is, her arm moves behind her head and then behind mine.
Closing my eyes, I let her press her palm against my neck, certain the rough stubble will grate along her soft skin. Her fingers linger there, feeling every inch of the back of my neck and then move higher, up my jaw. When she trails them to my lips, I can’t resist the urge to nip them.
Shock ignites within her and she rips her hand away, her eyes opening for just a moment. A moment where perhaps she felt the danger once again.
She’ll learn, she’ll grow to be at ease around me. I’ll make sure of that.
With her breathing erratic still, she forces her eyes closed and I make my next move obvious. Slipping my left hand under the thin fabric of her sleep shirt, I slide all the way up to where it was just a moment ago and then lower, lower still, slipping beneath the elastic of her panties until her pubic hair rests against my fingertips. She’s hot, every inch of her, but I’m more than aware that just a bit lower will greet me with a warmth that already has my cock leaking precum.
“Another move on your end?” I whisper softly, daringly. “Question?” I whisper against her hair. “Or touch?” I let the tip of my nose touch her, acutely aware that it breaks the rules, but not giving enough of a damn to stop myself.
It takes every ounce of effort not to turn her onto her belly and take her how she wants to be taken. The way I imagine it is raw and deep. Far too tempting for my lack of patience right now. I allow myself the small nudge of my nose against her neck.
Her swallow is slow, her words even slower. “If I ask you for a time and place, would you agree to only seeing me then?” she asks and what a waste of a question it is.
“No.” I answer her with honesty as I slip my fingers lower, drifting them to her slit and bringing her arousal to her swollen nub to rub gentle circles. Her back presses against my chest and her neck arches, bringing her chin closer to my lips when I admit, “I’ll see you whenever the fuck I want.”
I don’t stop the heavy petting, loving her ass pressed back against my sweatpants. Just the feel of her writhing against me forces an aching need to override my senses. Her body tightens and I still, not wanting to send her over the edge just yet. “Another question?” I dare to ask and I do something I haven’t in a long damn time. I pray. I pray she has one more so I can press my fingers deep inside her cunt and feel just how tight and hot she is.
“If I message you to come to me, can I see you whenever the fuck I want?”
I hope she can feel my smile against her heated skin as I whisper something I’ve heard her say a thousand times when she’s well aware the answer is no. “We’ll see.” I wish I could. I wish it were that easy.
With the rest of my answer unspoken, I thrust two fingers inside of her heat, curling them and stroking along the front wall of her pussy while my thumb still presses against her clit. I’m meticulous, drawing it out and memorizing every detail of how her body reacts to the pleasure. Her fingers dig into the covers while her plump lips part and as much as I want to take them with my own, rules are rules. One touch is all she gets.
“Marcus,” she says, mewling my name. That’s how she comes undone. With me inside of her and my name on her lips.
My last commands to her, which she willingly obeyed: Stay very still. Close your eyes now. And sleep.
Marcus
The bad men always lose.
The boy told me that. I truly believed him back then. I can even remember nodding my head in agreement.
They will lose. They always lose. I look back on it now and know it was the heroes that led us to believe that. Comic drawings depicting superpowers and cartoon shows that came on every morning on the weekends. Even if it was naïve, it’s still true. I’ll be damned to admit anything else.
The bad men will always lose.
His large eyes stared back at me from across the cell. He said it like it was a question; after all, I was older by almost a year than him and taller too.
“Yeah,” I told him, my voice scratchy from lack of water. “They always lose.” I think the entire time we were there together, I barely spoke. Those may have been the first words I uttered out loud besides my name. Because he needed to hear it, and deep down inside I needed to hear it too.
He was th
e one who did the talking. All his stories kept us going.
The boy said that first night, sometimes they win, and that’s what makes them bad guys. Everyone has bad thoughts, but they have to act on them … for someone to truly be bad. He went on and on, but I didn’t respond or agree with that ideology. The boy weaved a story, while I sat against the cold broken stone of reality and let him.
It was only months later when I decided the man who came into the barn every so often with a victim of his own was a bad man. He didn’t prey on little boys like the ones in the cell did, but those women were victims nonetheless.
The first time in the barn, my safe haven and escape, I was shocked and sat in horror because it couldn’t possibly be happening. Not again. The second time, I crawled out and tried to wake the woman the moment the barn closed with that eerie creak from rusted old hinges. I shook her, I did everything I could to get her to move. That’s when I realized I was too late.
What a weak being I was, to shy away until it was too late. Yet that was who I was at my core. It’s what defined me. Both the boy and the woman showed me that. Her blond hair was matted with dirty blood when I realized how lacking I was in morality. Hiding to protect myself while allowing others to perish disgusted me, but that’s what I did.
I didn’t know if the woman was innocent, but the boy was and that’s when I heard his voice again: The bad men always lose. Wasn’t it bad that I didn’t do the right thing? That I wasn’t the hero he’d told stories about. I was nothing like the person he thought I was.
And so I waited and I watched because I wanted the bad man to fall. I thought maybe it would make it right. It would make sense, all of the tragedy would, if only I aided in this man’s demise.
So I waited, I followed, I watched and planned a way to help the good guys bring him down … because back then, I thought there were heroes who wanted to take down men like him. I thought they would listen and they’d bring the monsters to justice.
