by Iris Astres
He nodded, silently agreeing to do as she asked.
For the time being.
Chapter Seven
“Gordon tells me you have a boyfriend.”
Dinah shielded her eyes, looking down at Rocco Evers, Gordon’s dear old dad. The men in town were all repulsive in their own distinctive way. Rocco’s way was extra-creepy. In a town crusted with dirt and grease, he kept his squat, muscular body noticeably clean. His arms looked rough and red, like he spent hours scrubbing at his skin. His fingernails were chalky white. Parboiled cauliflower—that’s what the man looked like.
The big black hog he always rode had given her a heads-up on his visits, which was good. When local boys used stealth to come up on her, she would worry.
That said, his being in her yard was not good news. She’d have some wiggling to do if she expected to get out of this. Dinah glanced up at the sun and made a promise to herself: when the light disappears from the sky, my life won’t be gone with it.
“Cat got your tongue?” He took three quick steps forward. She matched him step for step, meeting him out in the drive to head him off.
“What is it with you and cats?” she said. “Gordon told me you threw a hissy fit in front of him because of one. Can that be true? What kind of reason would that be to break the heart of your own son?”
Maybe that was not the smartest thing to say, but Dinah didn’t like the man. There wasn’t any hiding that. Sweet talk would have teased up his suspicions. Mentioning what a worthless father he was would give him something concrete to be pissed about.
“Oh my God; is that a criticism?” Rocco’s face looked affable enough, but she could feel the anger in him. “Is perfect little Dinah Kelley, who after being married all those years has zero fucking children of her own, is she criticizing my parenting techniques? Well hell.” He turned his stocky body in a circle, looking at the trees like they were spectators in a Roman coliseum. “I guess you women really do know everything.”
Dinah waited while he took his shots. As long as they stayed verbal he could take as many as he wanted.
“The bitch of it is I came here to be neighborly. To make sure that stranger my boy saw out here wasn’t up to no good. Is he still here?” Rocco fixed his hard gaze on her house and took another step toward her.
Dinah weighed the pros and cons of answering his question yes or no and couldn’t quite decide.
“Well, neighbor,” she said broadly. “Like you can see, I’m fine. Although I do appreciate your kind concern.”
“Looks like you appreciate a lot of things.” Rocco looked her up and down and nodded like he’d just won some internal bet. “Well if your guest is gone, I wouldn’t worry much. Plenty of local boys willing to fuck you, now you’ve cast your thoughts in that direction. We’ll see to it that you never have to order out for men again.”
“You have a girlfriend, Rocco. Her name is Julie. When I first heard about her, I swore she had to be imaginary, but people say she’s real.”
“Baby Doll, I wouldn’t stick my dick in you for practice.” He hocked up something foul and spit it out. Dinah tried but couldn’t keep the gross-out off her face. His lizard eyes grew bright at her discomfort. The man was keeping tabs on her dislikes. “No offense, but skinny, uptight bitches who think they’re better than everyone else don’t exactly get me hard. Some of the boys in town aren’t quite as picky. I’m talking about Roy and Jim. Charlie, since you like ’em old. If you’re putting out again, I’m sure one of the boys will be glad to stop by.”
Dinah shifted onto her back hip and shook her head. “That man your son saw was a friend. I’m not putting out for anyone. If you want to be a neighbor, go spread that around.”
“Spread your own manure, sweetheart,” Rocco gritted at her through his shiny teeth. “I’m not buying any of your shit. I can see sex on you. I can smell it. You have the look of someone got her pussy licked not long ago. How was it, huh?” He took one big step forward. Dinah didn’t move. The dirty bastard was disgusting but not scary. She would not be scared of him.
“You get enough?” he said. “You want some more?” The door behind her opened, and she knew it was over. All of it. Her independence, and her solitude at home. At best she’d undergo a temporary exile. Like many, she held out some thin hope the Outlands would be reincorporated. Law and safety would come back and with it normal people that might balance out the psychos. When that happened, she’d still own the place and things could go back to the way they were. All she had to do was hold out until then.
Rocco stared up at the porch. The sneer across his face went rigid. Dinah waited, hoping Malcolm would have the good sense to stay where he was.
The shadows in the yard were thickening. She could see the jagged pattern of acacias just beyond the drive. With luck Rocco would see a man. An out-of-towner. Not someone from outer space. Maybe he’d even let go of it. At least he’d wait until she was alone again before he got back to whatever this had been about.
“Sorry for the interruption.” He gave them both a surly smile, bowed his head with greasy gallantry. “I guess I’ll leave you lovebirds to it!”
Rocco strode back to his bike. When he was revving up the engine, Dinah risked a look over her shoulder. Malcolm’s elongated frame was still and straight, the angry keeper of some magic gate, but slanted shadows from the porch roof meant she could barely see his face and that was good.
Good at this point meaning not fucked-up beyond all hope.
The motorcycle sped away. Making a huge point of what a loud and dirty thing it was, it left the stench of hybrid fuel behind.
Dinah waited and then took a breath. She kept filling her lungs until it smelled like green again. The air was cold and slightly damp. The smell had promise, crisp, exciting. In midspring there’d be a sweetness added to it. In summer it would turn into the richer, ashy smell of old leaves yellowing with heat.
Then what? Would someone else be in her house come fall? Dinah turned around, the imagination game no longer fun for her. She mounted the three steps and looked at Malcolm, her offended warrior.
“He’ll be back,” she said, agreeing with the anger in his eyes. “But not tonight. He couldn’t see you, which was good. At least we won’t have Earth First weirdos bearing down on us. You still shouldn’t have come out. Not even in the shadows.”
“He was about to touch you.”
“Maybe,” Dinah said. Whether he was right or wrong on that particular point, she didn’t know.
It was over. This was not a maybe or a what-if. This was real trouble. A tingling started in her body. She felt sick to her stomach, the way she had the minute she knew Cy was really gone.
Again, she’d overestimated her own wherewithal and underestimated how much real disaster hurt. Knowing there were risks was not the same as being ready for a loss. The weight of this new threat descended, and she felt like she’d been thrown onto the wrong amusement ride. It jerked and spun and dipped until she wished that she could scream and scream.
And make it stop.
Chapter Eight
They stopped playing the game. They stopped speaking more or less. In place of their companionship came steely vigilance. Malcolm stood watch. Dinah listened. She turned the earth with heavy strokes, straightening at intervals to stare into the trees, at which point, he could hear her constant questions seek their answers. Were there cars approaching? Was there someone in the yard?
To temper these worries, she dived into a constant stream of work. When it was too late for her garden, he had to watch her cook and clean. Malcolm did so with increasing agitation. Her fear was like a constant drip that set his nerves on end. He should have murdered that insulting man the minute he’d dared step into their yard. Why hadn’t he? To maintain peace in Dinah’s home?
That peace was gone. She must know that as well as he did. The scales had tipped; her safety fled. But they could still retaliate against the worst of the offenders.
“I think I’ll make pota
to salad.”
Dinah had already stretched his patience to the limit. Malcolm could think of much better ways they could spend the evening. He blocked her on her way toward the fridge.
“No more,” he said
“No more?” She stared at him.
“No more today. You’re done.”
Smiling like he’d told a joke, she moved to go around him. Malcolm held his ground until her sweet expression darkened and she pushed against his chest.
“You don’t tell me what to do.”
“I do,” he countered.
“What?” She reared back, and he ended the fruitless discussion by grabbing her around the waist. Malcolm dragged her backward, setting her off-balance, and then he picked her up and dropped her on the bed.
She was quick, scrambling to get to the side. He was quicker. When he was on top of her, there wasn’t anywhere for her to go.
Her eyes were wide and fixed as she stared up at him. Anger first. He’d been prepared for that. What came next was the hardest: hurt, betrayal, and a tiny thread of fear. She struggled, and it sobered him to see how little chance she had against him. No chance. None at all.
“You’re done working today.” Malcolm gave her some small bit of space but not enough to let her think she’d get away.
She bucked against him. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I can.” He made his voice stay calm as he exerted just a bit more force. “On rare occasions, my love, you are generous enough to let me tell you it’s time to stop. That’s what I’m telling you. You’re finished for today. No more.”
HE WAS SPEAKING to her like she’d just awoken from a coma. Calmly, reasonably explaining her behavior to her. And he was actually telling her she allowed this—that she’d tacitly agreed to be hauled off to the bed and pinned.
“Get off.” He eased his body off her slightly—just enough to make her comfortable. She didn’t even bother trying to get free. It made no sense that he would act this way all of a sudden, but she didn’t need to understand his little game of cat and mouse. She was no fucking mouse. This was a game of cat and cat, and he was fucking in for it.
“You’ll pay for this,” she warned.
He nodded. “You can name your price. Flesh, blood, body, soul. Anything I have, I’ll give.”
What the fuck was he doing? She pushed against him, and it felt incredible—that same exhilarating rush she felt each time their bodies pressed together. His mass and muscle gave her something real to rail against, some way to expend her pent-up energy and fury. She fought his weight until she was exhausted, panting but much calmer somehow. A knot inside her had begun unraveling. And that felt good.
“I don’t let anyone boss me around.”
“Boss?” His brows drew inward like the thought was foreign to him. “You’re the boss, my love. I said you let me. You allow it. On exceptional occasions like today.”
That was definitely some bogus you’re-not-yourself voice he was using. Dinah didn’t like it much. She slipped a hand under his sweater and dug her nails into his skin, wincing instantly as phantom pain pierced her own flesh. That wasn’t fair. She couldn’t wound him without feeling it more deeply than he did.
“No.” She arched one last time. It was hopeless. Tears of frustrated effort dripped into her hair. Malcolm dipped his head and nuzzled her, gentle, tender, whispering in her ear.
“Be generous and help me, Dinah. I can’t watch you worry anymore. I can’t see you fret. It has to stop now. You have to let me make it stop. For just a few hours. Name your price for that.”
Dinah sniffed and looked at him. A price? What price? Revenge? Some kind of punishment or compensation? There was only one thing she wanted from him now, and she was absolutely desperate for it. “Take that off.” She nodded at his sweater.
He rose immediately to his knees, pulled his sweater off, and threw it on the floor. “Take it all off,” Dinah said.
He stood up, freeing her. She didn’t move. It was too good to watch him strip down to his skin. His cock was hardening, the heat in his blue eyes driving her crazy. He came to the foot of the bed and started tugging off her pants. She helped by wriggling out of shirt and bra.
“Okay then, make it stop.” She gestured for him to come closer. “If that’s what you want, do it. Fuck me hard until it disappears.” Naked, Dinah lay back on the bed and covered her eyes. He slid his arms underneath her thighs, pulling her toward his mouth. And that was wrong. She glanced at him with some surprise. That wasn’t at all what she wanted.
Still, when Malcolm slid his tongue into her pussy, the nerves inside her roared to life. This was where she felt his training most, all the practice in his touch. He seemed to have a thousand nuanced variations to the way he licked her clit. Any moment he could make her come or not come: quick and hard, slow and body wrenching. It was heaven, but she didn’t want to be in heaven now. She wanted weight. She wanted grit and struggle. And he should know that since he knew everything else.
Dinah spread her legs for him. She arched into his mouth and let him bring her to the point where stopping would be painful, and then she made him stop.
At her insistence, he lifted his head. His eyes were on her, sharp and focused. Interested. He always looked at her with interest, and she loved that about him. What he saw now must have been a woman very near the edge.
Dinah was submerged in sexual feeling. Tingling and heavy. She scooted higher on the bed, pulled the drawer on her small nightstand open, and blindly fished around until she found what she was looking for and tossed the small bottle over to him.
He glanced at what she’d thrown him for a moment, then squeezed some lubricant onto his fingers, testing it like they were in a lab. When he looked up at her again, she thought she saw lust ripple through him. There was nothing hotter than the sight of him when he was just about to fuck her.
“Roll over.”
With heavy movements, Dinah turned herself onto her stomach. She pushed her face deep into the bedspread and fought the nervous tingles running up and down her spine. She’d never come close to having anal sex before. She was afraid, but it was an exhilarating fear. The fear of haunted houses, teenage dares—all breathless palpitation with no worry. And better yet, it chased her real fears far away.
Malcolm was caressing her, his warm hands moving over the swell of her ass. At times he pinched, pulled her cheeks apart, and swatted at her with no warning. All of it felt very good. All of it.
She spread her knees and crawled forward a little in a shameless gesture of impatience. He spread the silky liquid over her small opening and made her very wet, then wetter still. She sighed and waited while he pushed and teased. Her breasts felt heavy, her pussy wet and swollen from the orgasm denied. In time he pushed one finger into her. It felt strange, and it felt wrong, but it was not even a little painful. More slipping, sliding touching between her ass cheeks, and he got another finger in. She felt a very base and primal satisfaction that was good.
Then he was out, his fingers slipping up and down her crease. “Push against me.”
She raised her hips toward him.
“Push against me with your inner muscles,” he explained.
Dinah did it, unresisting. What she accomplished must have satisfied him, because he lay on top of her, his chest flattened to her back. His weight was wonderful, his hot breath on her neck almost as good. Malcolm felt hard everywhere, his muscles, his cock, and his riveting intensity. He reached down and positioned the thick head of his prick between her ass cheeks.
She was frightened, heartbeat speeding up, breath coming short, a prickling of sweat along her spine. It was just the wild fear she wanted.
He pulled her tight, their bodies flush against each other. His cock exerted pressure, making its way in. She felt a pinch and tensed at the discomfort.
“Push back,” he said. His breath was hot where tears had cooled along her hairline. Her skin drew into gooseflesh from her shoulders to her breasts. “Push
against me.”
She pushed. He entered her in one smooth slide, and she was stretched and filled with that same base satisfaction spreading into all her cells.
“You let me.” That’s what he had said.
She inched her thighs farther apart and sought more of his weight by lifting up against him. It was like he’d said it would be: she felt molten at her core, liquid on her skin, just as he’d promised. She heard him sigh or growl, or maybe he’d said something. Dinah turned her head and felt him nibbling from her neck out to her shoulder.
He moved inside her, shallow nudges that sent ripples through a growing pool of sexual excitement in her belly. His chest was hot. The night air on her breasts felt cooler, and her nipples gathered tight. Dinah flattened both palms onto the bed and reared against him hard. His free hand slid over her stomach, worked itself between her thighs, and pressed against her pussy.
“Good?” he asked.
Dinah rolled her forehead no against the mattress. “You,” she said. “You say it’s good.”
The air rasped out of him, almost a moan. He shifted, rising slightly higher over her. “You know it’s good to fuck you. Feel how good it is.” He pulled back, thrust a little deeper. “Imagine you’re the one who’s fucking.”
Dinah closed her eyes and tried to understand what is was like for him. She really wished she knew. He worked himself more deeply into her, and something flickered in her mind, the clench of hot, pliant flesh around an aching cock.
“Oh.” That tiny flash of understanding was incredible. She grabbed his hand and ground her pussy hard against it. One knee raised for leverage made her pussy lips spread open and her ass cheeks part.
“More,” she said, and he obliged her. Sensation swamped her like he’d flipped a switch. He thrust. Her consciousness slid from her body into his. Penetrating force. Clenching heat. Fucking, being fucked, and back again.
“I want to hear you lose control,” she said in a breathy, broken voice. “I want to feel you sweat and jerk and shout with it.”
