Once Upon A

by Charlotte E Hart

  I turn to face her and step forward, slightly unsteadily, my body wanting nothing more than to wander back into his arms and let him hold me still again.

  “I have to, Bree. It’s more than just…” I can hardly finish the sentence, for some reason feeling the word debases what this will become given the proper involvement. “It’s...”

  “It’s what? A fucking bully hurting you for fun?” she snaps, her eyes glaring at Blaine behind me as if she might launch at him any minute, her fingers flicking water at me as the rain begins in earnest.

  What? My eyes widen, fury rising at what she’s suggesting. I’ve not been forced into anything. I’ve been asked, been given options the entire way through this, and the only time I wasn’t he was fucking right to push me anyway. I snatch my laptop bag back from her, annoyed at her slandering him. She was the one who told me to do it in the first place and now she wants to call him a monster of some kind? “You’re a damn mess, Lana. I’ve never seen you this trashed. And what the fuck’s going on with the pills?” she says, grabbing my hand and holding it up to my face. “You’re shaking. Look at you. How many have you had? You need to get the hell away from him, not go straight back for more.”

  My mouth opens, ready to deliver an argument of epic proportions as I snatch my wet fingers from her grasp, but just as I start, his fingers link into my other ones, making me swing to him as he rounds in front of me and pushes Bree away gently. I just stare, dumbfounded at the move and then gaze down at our fingers mingling together. They’re so intimate, a true show of closeness, or a completion that hypnotises me out of any rationale I was clinging to.

  “You don’t have to describe any of this, Alana. Not until you’re ready to,” he says, his hand drawing ours up between us. “You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. Not yet.” He kisses my fingers, his mouth softly lingering there as the rain pours onto his face. It makes me frown at the connotation of a relationship. A real one. Something of substance that means this is all very real, that my life will never be the same again because of him. “You just have to get in the car and trust me. There’s something I need to show you before you explain anything to anyone.”

  “Show me?” Show me what? I don’t understand. I brush my hair from my face, the slick feel of it as I wipe it away as irritating as my current confusion. I don’t understand where this sudden change of mood has come from. He was angry and now he’s being gentlemanly? I stare up at him, watching the way his frown contracts as he says the words, announcing something he’s concerned about. And then he lets go of me, his body backing away towards a lamppost to wait for whatever decision I make.

  “Never had you down as stupid, Lana,” Bree’s voice says beside me. Stupid. I gaze at Blaine and watch his suit being drenched as he waits for me. I suppose I’m just deliberating the word now that I’m out here in the real world and trying to fathom whether it’s relevant or not. I suppose it might be in some ways. I’m undoubtedly bordering on insane given what he wants from me, but it doesn’t stop the way my pulse races as I watch him stare back at me, and it doesn’t stop the thought of being without him crucifying something inside. “It’s just a fucking body and good looks, Lana. Don’t let it fool you.” Oh god, it’s so much more than that. I don’t even care about the looks that much anymore, the ones I’m staring straight through in an attempt to see a glimpse of his core. I care about his hands and what they do to me, and I care about the way he’s inside my head, knowing me before I know myself. And I care about the way that same hand just held mine in the middle of this rain storm, showing me an intimacy in all of this, one that’s so far removed from simple fucking it’s inexpressible. But I care most of all about the fact that when he touches me, when he lays just one finger on me, I’m quiet again and floating in a void of tranquillity no one’s ever made me feel before. “Think about what you’re doing.” I push my hair away again, feeling the water pour along my cheekbones. Oh, I am thinking. I’m thinking about it all, a near sober head suddenly dowsing me with reality and making me question things again now that he’s here because she’s right to some degree. He is Blaine Jacobs. A sadist. A potentially unpredictable force who could end me for amusement once I let him free on my skin. He told me that, regardless of his attempted decency so far. He told me and let me listen to the words that fell from his mouth so easily it brought with it visions of unimaginable pain. And we both know he’s still not for falling in love with, no matter how much I already have done. But there has to be more inside him, doesn’t there?

  “Why should I?” I ask, willing him to mention love and make this all seem tangible in some way that fits into society’s embrace. He smiles as he pushes himself off the lamppost and walks towards his car, the puddles echoing with every step he makes.

  “You know the answer to that, Alana,” he replies, his head shaking to sluice the water away as he bleeps the alarm and opens a door for me. “You have from the first time in the pool.” Mmm. The pool. My own smile increases, my feet wandering closer without any help from me. “The feeling you wanted from me then, I’ll give it to you if you ask. It’s all yours.” Mine. “Just for you.” The words are as mesmerising as his face as he holds a hand out again and watches me moving closer. He smiles wider, showing me the beauty he has to offer and letting me into those eyes that are solely directed at me and what I need. It’s as immersing as it was from beneath the water, as focused, and just as filled with a kind of love I’m beginning to comprehend as acceptable. It’s all just for me, isn’t it? I can have it if I ask. “You just have to ask.”

  “Lana?”

  I don’t turn at Bree’s question, rather keep walking where my feet want to take me, listening to my heart’s rumble pushing them there. It’s all so quiet, so very peaceful and hopeful in there. There won’t be any chloroform this time. No surprises. I’ll take what’s offered and do it for me, not for any form of research. I’ll ask because my own body and mind need to know. And he’ll show me all of it, won’t he? He’ll be true to who he is and we’ll find a way forward, somehow.

  “You’re sure, Alana?” he asks, taking my bags from me as I lower into the seat and stare back at him. Oh god, I hope so because I’ve just burnt my bridges with Bree. I’ve just walked away from her and straight into his hands because of a feeling. He’s not professing love. He’s not offering me a lifetime commitment. He only offers what he’s said he wants to do to me. And while I hope she understands what I’m doing, while I hope I’ll be able to come back and discuss it with her when I have more understanding of it, no amount of her telling me it’s wrong is enough to stop me. It’s not wrong. It’s the most true version of right I’ve felt for a long time. My nod at his question confirms it to myself if nothing else. But as the door closes on me, I switch my gaze back to her to find her still standing there, the rain falling on her as she glares at me. It saddens me instantly. I wish I could find the words to help her see reason, to make he see that this is right for me, but I can’t. I haven’t got them yet. For once, and because of him, I’m without words effective enough to show her how this feels.

  The car pulls away with me still looking at her, my hand touching the window to somehow hold us together regardless of the distance I’m about to put between us. She’s my best friend, the only one I trust with everything. She knows it all, has been with me through all these years. She’s helped, cried, argued and laughed with me, but I can’t take her with me this time. The vision of her face retreating, still standing stock still with surprise and anger etched all over her face, is one that I’ll never forget.

  “Bree…” Her name creeps out of my lips, barely audible but filled with so much love for her that I feel tears pricking my eyes. “This is your fault,” I say to him, eventually turning back to gaze at the road instead of her and trying to stop my tears. It is. I’m arguing with my friend because of him, something I never would have thought possible of any man, regardless of how I felt about them.

  “Fault is an accessory after the f
act, Alana. You make your choices, not me. You are solely to blame for any emotion you’re currently having.” I swing my head to him to find him smirking, his fingers tugging his tie off as he weaves the car through traffic and stares out into it. It makes me question the heart I thought might be there waiting for me. My eyes flick back behind us to see if Bree’s still there, wondering if I’ve made the right choice. “If you want to replace the sentiment with something useful, get my cock out and wrap your mouth around it.”

  The very thought makes me turn back again, part disgusted at his appraisal of the situation and part infatuated with the imagery of it. “The gag should enthuse the tears further. Which is probably what you need to do.” I’ve got nothing to answer that with. “And you should consider what the fuck you’re weeping for anyway,” he says, his fingers ratcheting his belt and undoing the buckle as he chuckles a little. “A friendship that bears no ability to understand is irrelevant to where you’re going.” My eyes open further, trying to find a reason for accepting that as okay. It’s not okay. She’s my friend and she cares about me.

  “You’ve got no right to talk about her,” I mumble, my eyes trying not to look at what he’s doing with his hand as it continues working the belt.

  “I’ve got every right. The only reason I want to see tears is because I’ve caused them, not someone else.” Wonderful, what a lovely thought. It makes me huff out in exasperation, my hands folding in my lap as I try to understand what the hell I’m doing and look away from him. His hand slaps my cheek, making me turn and glare. He catches my chin so quickly and yanks it forward towards him that it makes me brace my hands to stop me tumbling over the seats. “Suck it and forget, Alana. Idealisation will get you nowhere with me.” I just stare again, feeling the pinch of his fingers and somehow bending to their will.

  “But it’s broad daylight.”

  He nods as he lets go of my chin, reaches inside his pants and draws the thing out. It’s already hard, the smooth lines tempting me and making me forget anything other than the sight of it as he palms it a few times. Pre-come seeps from the tip, making me lick my lips at the thought of it in my mouth. I’ve never sucked him. All this time, the things we’ve done and yet I’ve not had him in my mouth. The closest I got was offering to, and he ended up fucking me instead.

  “Use the emotion for something other than negativity.” Another palm, his thumb rubbing back and forth, a loose groan sounding as he keeps going. “There is nothing sexier than a woman crying as I offload in her throat.” I’m entirely sure there is, and it’s all about the way he speaks. He’s so damn direct with exactly what he wants. I’d like to be affronted by such coarseness as I gape at the cock on offer, but I’m simply not. I’m aroused, just as I always am when he speaks. I flick my eyes to the street as I hover over the middle console, noting all the people milling about, the cars right next to us, the slow creep of traffic not going anywhere. I might be aroused, but I’m not stupid, no matter how tempting the thought.

  My nerves get the better of me as I pull back and settle back into the seat again. I’ll just watch his little show instead. Besides, this feels manipulative in some way. It’s something I’m not comfortable with at the moment.

  “Not dark enough for you?” he says, his hand speeding a bit and then slowing again. “Scared?” No, not scared, just not happy to be arrested for indecency. The thought makes me snort given the man I’m sitting next to.

  He carries on, one hand continuing to palm his cock as he turns the wheel with the other. The vision makes me realise how relaxed he is using both hands differently, as if even under the pressure of coming he’s still in complete control of everything around him. It’s under that awareness that I notice the car merging through traffic onto a side street.

  “You need to appreciate how trashy you can be when asked,” he says, the car pulling up next to a small refuse area. What? He clicks the seatbelt off and grabs at my hands, using his strength to drag me across the seats regardless of my fight. “It’ll make you remember who you are.” He just gets us out, parts of me knocking off the car and very nearly falling to the floor as he finally lets me go and smiles. It all looks so incongruous. His suit, the area, his hand wrapped around his cock again as I glare at him and lick my lips unconsciously. He tips his head at me, indicating I should follow. I’m not doing that, no matter how much my crotch might be screaming for it.

  “Get your ass behind that dumpster before I drag you there.” And there’s that tone, the one that makes me think all of this is acceptable. It’s not. I’ve been manhandled again. I fold my arms in response, looking directly at him. Whatever this is, ordering doesn’t work with me.

  “You’re lying to yourself, Alana,” he says, his feet backing him towards the dumpster, my own feet forgetting I disagree as I try to keep my eyes on his. “Stop withholding. Let’s see the tears coming for a worthy reason, shall we?” I lick my lips again as I flick my gaze around, looking for other humans. “No, right here,” he says, making me look back at him. “Keep looking right here. Forget all of that. Use my eyes as your anchor if you need to.” It’s said with a sense of reverence, making something inside me swell with an emotional response to the situation around me. “Come on, Alana. Give yourself to me. That’s what you’ve come for, isn’t it?” His feet are still backing away, high-end shoes beginning to crumple discarded rubbish into the puddles beneath his feet. “You know that cunt needs what I’ve got in my hand.” It does. He’s right. It’s clamping inside me on nothing but air and desperate for filling as the rain keeps coming, irrespective of my hesitation. I wish it wasn’t, but the twitching, the emptiness building inside me, the confusion of noise I’m trying to fight with, it’s all there, still, and it won’t be once I’m in his hands. It’ll go away, leaving me quiet again. “It all stops here. Stop questioning and come to me. Let me guide you.” It’s reverent again, almost romantic somehow, and given the way his black holes shine back at me, a fire dancing in them and beckoning me forward into him regardless of location, I’ve got nothing to fight with, nothing to question. It’s what I want. He’s right. He’s what I want.

  “Good girl,” he says as my feet move closer to him, the sound of the water pouring down lulling me somehow. “See? So much easier when you give yourself over to the thought.” I’m not thinking. I’m just doing. One foot after another, willingly offering myself for anything he wants. Dumpsters, dirty floors, anything frankly. I just want what he’s got in those hands of his. I don’t care anymore. I’m all out of care or questions.

  My body is torn from realty with only one pull of his fingers, my back pushed against a wall behind a dumpster and then pressed down to the floor beneath his feet. There’s nothing romantic about it, but it’s sensual in some way regardless, a riot of vibrations crisscrossing my skin and making me crazy to have him in my mouth, maybe. The world doesn’t exist anymore. Nothing does, only his hand on my chin and the fact that his cock is coming at me, and the feeling when he drives it in? The sense of elation at being able to finally taste him with my tongue and wrap my lips around his girth? It makes my own orgasm chase through me from the knees resting in the wet dirt immediately. My shoulders are pressed back next, my head banged on the wall as he pushes in deeper and holds my cheekbone to keep me from moving. He doesn’t need to. I’m not going anywhere. Everything is here. There’s nothing else here but what I’m doing and what he wants. It’s all evaporating around me as I focus entirely on trying to get more of him in my throat, oppressing my gag reflex to ensure more depth. I feel consumed by him, overpowered and, for once, happily so.

  My hands hold on to his legs, giving me support against the friction he’s creating with every thrust inwards as he grabs my hair to tip my face to him.

  “Watch me come in you.” The words, his eyes, the way he groans on the very next breath, it all has me desperate to please him and gain more attention. It’s so dark in here, the feel of his hips coming at my face, the occasional brush of the fabric distracting me fr
om his eyes as water sluices, the moment reminding me of the pool again. “Fuck, yes,” he groans out, his fingers pinching my scalp as he yanks me sideways a little. And then he drives so deeply I swear it’s coming through me into the wall. Tears swell in my eyes, the sort wrenched from pain, not sadness or love, as I snatch at breaths and let him use me. It hurts. Everything hurts. My back’s banging against the wall, my head’s being strained about, and my knees are scuffing through my jeans and grinding me downwards further as he pounds in again. And I ache so much, my body screaming for attention as he drives in again and again. I want to hate him. I want to tell him this isn’t right, that it’s filthy, that’s its immoral and disgusting, but it isn’t. It’s filling me with anything but those sensations and I don’t understand why. I gag on the thought, bile rising in what little throat I have left as saliva tries to keep him slick inside me. “Fuck, you’re good.” Oh, god, those words, they fill me with a sense of pride I can’t describe as I look into his eyes. It’s all about the silence and his voice. It wells inside me as I grip tighter onto his calves, urging him on as the muscles in them pump in time with his cock. And just like that, my own orgasm still climbing inside me with nothing but the friction of my jeans to spur me on, he stills, the length of him lodged in my throat and both his hands resting on the side of my head to keep me in place. The come heats me as it pours in, the quiver of his hips the only real movement I can feel as only a pulse runs the length of his cock. But the groan that follows, the sound of him emptying himself inside me and using me as a vessel as he bores his dark eyes into mine, that’s what finally finishes any questions I have. That’s all that matters. It’s all I care about, because that groan belongs to me, as do the eyes that look thankful for what I’ve given him.