“I could say the same thing to you,” I whisper, staring into his blue eyes.
“Will you take the truck and fetch me more water?”
“Who was your bitch last night?”
“You,” he declares. “But I’ll never call you that in the light of day.”
“I know.” Tasting his kiss on my lips, I hesitate, “That’s why I didn’t take the keys and my packed bags and leave.”
“You packed? You’re leaving?”
“I was,” I painfully cite. “And then it dawned on me that would be the biggest regret of my life. The greatest mistake I could ever make would be not to know how this story ends.”
“You should stay with me,” he suggests with a flirtatious twinkle in his eyes. “I’m a filthy fucking gentleman.”
13
The Dark of Night
Jynx
I finally finish piling the branches in the clearing and hop into the truck just a little after dusk. The night is coming on way too fast.
She’s driving because I’m damn exhausted. The property had significant damage, with over a dozen trees having major breaks. The giant limbs are cleared and chopped, and I plan on having the Ag boys finish the smaller shit.
“You need a shower,” she softly says. “You should let me make dinner or go get something from town.”
“I wanted to make you a steak.”
“I could grab some Chinese or pizza.”
Do I trust her to return?
“How do I know you won’t leave?”
“Jynx, if I were going to leave, it would’ve been after last night,” she replies, parking the truck where I always put it. Damn, this girl. She kills the engine and lays her hand on my thigh. My pulse skyrockets. “I’m not leaving you.”
With a nod of my head, I extend my hand, and she easily crawls over the console and sits on my lap like making a wish to Santa. “Spread your legs.”
She straddles over and lays her hands on my chest. “It’s dark outside, but I can see you.”
“I know,” I mutter, running my hand from her delicate jaw down to her slender, feminine neck. She would look fabulous in a collar with that long neckline and her hair up. I hold her close, tightly against my chest. I’m beyond nasty, but she doesn’t resist my advances. “Stay.”
“Trust me, J.”
She wiggles just enough to turn my issue into a significant problem. “What are you doing?”
“Putting ideas in your head.”
“I don’t need any more ideas,” I mutter like a crass motherfucker with one thing on my mind. She kisses my neck. “I sweat all day, baby.”
“I don’t give a shit.” Her mouth works its magic, sucking and biting as my hands slip to her ass, and I grind once, adjusting myself against her heat, imagining I’m sitting deep inside of her folds. A moan escapes from my lungs, and my eyes close as she slides onto the floorboard.
I back the seat up all the way. “What are you doing?”
“Basking in your masculinity.”
“I fucking stink.”
Her eyes sparkle in the incandescence of the house lights. “I need time to explore the male anatomy. I’ve never done any of this. Humor me.”
I lick my lips, and a smirk elevates. “I will give you as much time as you need. I will be your guinea pig. Your plaything. Your toy.”
“And at the witching hour…”
“I will show you what your wild womanly ways do to a man.” Staring at the bulge, she coyly blinks as if needing permission. “You don’t have to ask, sweetheart. I’m not an isolated Dominant.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you want to touch me, you can. I won’t react unfavorably. Some Doms want all of the control both ways—they can touch you whenever, but you have to seek permission to touch them. I am not a one-way street. I don’t have Mommy or Daddy issues. I have issues because when I thought I was in love with a girl, she was taken from me. Feel free to mess with me. Flirt with me. Play with me. Touch me. I won’t reject you.”
“Go back there,” she whispers. “You thought you were in love with her?”
“Knowing how I am starting to feel about you,” I tenderly say. “I don’t believe that what I felt for her was real at all. It may have been young lust.”
“You care about me.”
“I care about you greatly, more than I wish I did because I was certainly not prepared for you to vault into my life.”
With a jagged breath, she inches her trembling hand up my thigh and rests it on my erection. “Holy fuck…”
I snarl at her gullibility. “Can I see it?”
“No.”
“When?”
“In time.”
“So, there are limits?”
“There are,” I correct. “But, I think you’re too afraid to come after me boldly.”
“Would you stop me if I unzipped your jeans?”
“Yes, because I’m grungy, and you deserve better.”
Mischief ignites in her expression. “What if I snuck in your room and mounted you in the night?”
“I don’t know what I would do,” I say, smirking. “I’ll be sure to lock my door now, though.”
“Damn!” She snaps.
“You’re a Southpaw.”
“I am,” she says. “You’re not.”
“Only in some things,” I tease. “I like holding your hand with my left.”
“Go take a shower, Jynx. I’ll get your dinner.”
“You’re amazing.”
“I am just a girl smitten with a man.”
Something about the way she says the words force my inquiry, “Are you trying to impress me, Miss Maines?”
“I am,” she whispers, trailing her fingers over the length of my denim-covered cock. “Is it working?”
“Very much so.”
Echo
With a slight nervousness, I go to town and pick up Chinese food. His truck is massive, but I manage to wrangle the big bitch with ease despite a few patrons looking at this tiny girl hopping out of the beast. I order way too much food and pay for it with the credit card that he insisted I take.
I stop at the corner store and pick up a twelve-pack of beer, a carton of smokes—Marlboros, and every flavor of sunflower seed that they have. I drive the twenty minutes to his grandparents’ place set back in the boonies.
Pushing the button for the gate, I notice one of the peacocks out in the driveway. He’s cutting up, making all kinds of noise at the intrusion. Jynx tries to make sure they all return home to nest for the night, but some of them are stubborn and prefer to roost up in the trees. They’re loudmouths—at all hours—amidst the frog, owl, and bug symphony.
Jynx’s rural existence is a far cry from being in a sleeper suburb where police and ambulance sirens carry on like a triumphant jazz band through the night. I’m slowly adjusting to the difference. I step out of the car to howling coyotes in the distance.
I grab the two bags of Chinese food and head inside. Jynx doesn’t surface, so I bound back to the truck for the beer and haul from the convenience store. I shut the garage and lock the door before tiptoeing through the house. I haven’t been upstairs in the three-story Plantation Home. I take the curved grand staircase in the foyer up to the landing.
I have no idea where his room is.
There are four doors, three off to one side, and double doors on the opposite side. I try the three doors first, all bedrooms, similar to the one I’m staying in downstairs. The rooms are decorated in a shabby chic style, each with their own bathroom. I head back across the landing to the double doors, which are locked.
Hmph.
I eye the spiral staircase up to the third floor, which is rather scary. The wrought iron artistic focal point is suspended above the foyer with vast open space and a glorious view with the wall of windows. The step groans with my weight, but I reason that if Jynx takes his big frame up the steps—he probably clocks in around two hundred pounds—my ass can climb up it.
/> On the third floor, I find another set of double doors at the end of a bridge walkway. Again, suspended above the first-floor foyer. Upon closer inspection, I note one of the doors is cracked open. I peek inside to the enormous four-poster canopy bed with a sleeping Jynx sprawled out on the white chenille and lace bedspread.
I step inside.
His hair is damp. His snug midnight blue boxers provoke my fantasies. I grab the wet towel off of the bathroom counter and inhale the scent of him in the room. The mixture of body wash, cologne, and aftershave is Jynx. I note the almost full hamper and toss the towel in before carrying the whole thing down the two flights of stairs.
Once downstairs, I open the washer to discover his nasty clothes from the day. I pick them up and sniff them. He claimed he was gross, but something about a man smelling like a man turns me on. I didn’t realize this until in his presence. He liked to play hard and dirty outside; I prayed that would remain true in the great indoors as well.
I start a load of laundry and put the beer and food in the fridge. I should probably eat something, but I’m restless and beyond curious about what is behind the double doors on the second floor. I scavenge around the drawer where my car keys are and find a single key on a green piece of silken string.
I rush upstairs and try the key in the lock. It slides in easily, and I open the door without a sound. The room is massive with the height of two floors and more BDSM gear than I ever imagined a man like Jynx possessing. Racks. Kneeling benches. A padded table. And a bed that looks like it belongs in a dungeon because…this is his dungeon.
I close my eyes as the reality divulges more than I can handle.
“He doesn’t bring girls home,” I mutter, spinning right into him.
Boink.
Oh. Shit.
With a curious expression, he demands, “Why are you in here?”
“Explain this to me.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “It doesn’t concern you.”
“You have an entire wing devoted to your fetish and yet claim that no woman ever comes here? I’m not buying your lies. You’re just like everyone else.”
He lowers his head with a perturbed look. “I don’t need to explain anything to you because I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I’m leaving,” I remark, feeling sick and rushing past him. “Which is what I should’ve done last night.”
His fingers seize my arm. “Abigail!”
“Don’t call me that,” I sass, struggling against him. “I hate it!”
“Why?”
“Because my mother always calls me that when she is angry or judgemental or just herself. It makes me cringe.”
“Last night,” he mutters, stepping closer with an effortless bravado. “Abby fell from my lips, and it made you come.”
“I’m not ever coming again with you!” I cry, knowing I cannot escape his grasp. “You lied to me! You promised you wouldn’t lie! That you lived in the real and not the fake.”
He tosses me over his shoulder, and we leave the room. He sprints up the spiral staircase with me bouncing along on his shoulder, dangling three flights up in mid-air.
I hysterically scream when he tosses me onto his bed face down in the darkened room. Quickly, he locks my hands together with a pair of thick brown leather cuffs and tosses my shoes across the room with a thud. He tugs my jeans and panties from my body as I attempt to roll away from him.
I’m an idiot to wrestle with a monster.
Not only is he fucking psychotic, but his mammoth size prevents my leaving.
“Stop fighting me!”
“You’re using your size to bully me,” I snarl and kick his hard wall of abdominal muscles. The force of the kick only propels me back, and I hit the floor because of my stupidity. He lunges across the bed and topples onto me.
The swing of his arm is nothing compared to the burning sensation of his palm on my bare ass cheek. He grunts, lashing out and spanking my ass red. “I did not lie to you!” He plops on his butt with his back against the bed and pulls my body across his lap. More smacks. More tears. “I promised you I would not lie to you!”
“Jynx!” I wail, losing my ability to process what is happening. “Stop!”
He doesn’t listen.
I’ve never been spanked in my entire life. I’m humiliated and mortified, but I feel the upsurge of his arousal pressing into my belly.
The more I fight, the more his monster surfaces.
He slides my body over his mighty thighs and opens the fly of his boxers. “Suck me!” Pushing his hard cock into my mouth, he firmly grips my hair, forcing my mouth to welcome his engorged dick. I’m gagging and crying as he bucks like a savage and thwaps my ass. “Faster! Tighten your goddamn lips and suck me properly, wench!”
I’m a blubbering mess, not having the faintest clue as to what I am doing. Selia says this is natural, but there is nothing natural about this man driving his colossal member repeatedly into my throat while swatting my ass like he’s serving a volleyball.
Somehow, through his guidance, I slowly find the rhythm, stiffening yet softening my orifice to provide an accommodating service. I moan as tears drip from the corners of my eyes and drool pours out of my mouth, cascading over his sack and thighs. His hand rubs my stinging rear end, and he teases my entrance, blotting in the dew with his finger pad. He refuses to penetrate me.
Bastard.
In my peripheral vision, I watch as he brings it to his nose, breathing in the soppy scent of my youthful vigor and tasting the richness on his tongue. His thrusts increase as I gulp him down, and he maintains a vigilant clutch of my hair.
“I’m going to come, baby. Oh, God… you’re going to make me come.” He explodes in my mouth, coming with a ferocity and holding my head down. “Swallow me, Abigail. Swallow me.”
And I do.
14
Pushing the Needle
Echo
After downing his spunk, I leave his room. I move the laundry, swipe a beer, and peel open the carton of smokes. I remember seeing a lighter in the junk drawer with the keys. Grabbing my journal from the bedroom, I step outside and sit on the wicker loveseat overlooking the lake.
Fourth entry, the fifth day
He is an asshole.
An utterly deranged dickhead.
And I think I have real feelings bubbling up for him. His salacious ways aren’t sugared with kisses but perversely bittersweet.
I want to be in his room. I want to be tethered down and tortured for hours by him without regard for my feelings on the matter.
I desperately want him to conquer me.
Fuck getting raped.
I want his absolute Dominion over me.
Claim me. Take me. Use me.
Til the end.
I cry warm tears of anguish.
I asked for this—every bit of it—but it’s a lot to accept. I’m not expecting him to indulge my sadness or even express concern, and when I note his standing in the door, I’m left speechless.
He’s trying, and so am I.
We’re meeting in the middle and finding the missing pieces to make this thing work. Because—we like each other.
We speak the same peculiar language.
“You got another one of those?” he asks, sitting down beside me and twisting the cap off of the beer for me.
I hand him my cigarette. “I don’t smoke. I’m just doing it to look cool.”
He grins, and I laugh. “You don’t need to look cool. You are cool, Ekky.”
“I’m not sure what the fuck we’re doing, Jynx.”
“… Are you happy?”
My face contorts. “Happy? One minute we have a remarkable intimate bonding, and the next thing I know, shit is spinning out of control.”
“But do you like it?”
“I want you to fuck me.”
“So you do like it?” With a chuckle under his breath, he beams a smile at me. His fingers gently brush my hair over my ear. “You should probably know a f
ew things about me before we go any further. I’m not the kind of guy who would ever use my fetish as an excuse for violence.”
“But it is inherently violent.”
“It is, but there is a hard line. I won’t ever be genuinely angry and take it out on you.”
“You’re not mad about my snooping?”
“Fuck no,” he says, shrugging. “Make yourself at home.”
“Why did you spank me?”
“Because I saw an opportunity to fuck with your mind.”
“And I fell for it.”
“You did,” he cockily snickers, laying his hand on my bare thigh. “But I would never truly hurt you. I’m a bastard and an asshole in the confines of a scene, but filthy fucking gentleman pretty much nails who I am. I like my kink. And I like it dark. And fucked up. And uncomfortable. And painful.”
“You’re a sadist on every imaginable level.”
“And I told you I was,” he reminds, taking a drag from the smoke and rubbing my thigh. His hand keeps inching up—higher and higher. “I wasn’t lying. This is the tip of the iceberg for me. But if it’s already too much, then maybe you do need to go. I won’t rape you. I’ll push your limits hard and even go beyond them, but you also need to know that I would never cause serious harm. I don’t want to disassemble your sanity. I need to take care of you, making you better than you already are.”
“You’re already harming my heart because I don’t know how you feel,” I allege, taking the beer from his hand and swigging back a gulp. “During the day, I feel like you’re the boyfriend I’ve always dreamed about, but when the night comes, you’re a damn pornstar with a sharp edge.”
He bumps into my shoulder. “Don’t give up on me.”
“I’m not,” I promise, wishing his fingers would dip into my hollow. “I just want to know where we’re going.”
Beautiful Things Evil People Do Page 12
