Stranger

by Robin Lovett

  Besides, comfort and Logan do not mix. He forced me to marry him for money. I am a tool to him. That is all. To depend on him for anything, especially support, is lying to myself.

  So I go to my room and close my door—wondering how long I’ll be able to stay away from him—wondering if I’ll last the night.

  Or the hour.

  * * *

  After I finish cooking, I hesitate three times before I knock on her door, the one that I fixed the other day.

  I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t be nice to her. But the look on her face when I suggested her brother was like her father—it was like I told her he’d drowned.

  “There’s food.” I rap on her door softly with my knuckles.

  She doesn’t respond, so I go back to the kitchen.

  My need to see her, to touch her, is only a sexual thing. That’s all. Though I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to tell myself that.

  Sick of watching so much damn TV, I take my food out on the deck and watch the sunset while I eat. As much as it irks me that she can afford this multimillion dollar view, it’s nice. When I forget to think about how much it costs, I like it.

  The reds, oranges, and purples of the clouds drip across the water. The sun descends and everything gets quieter, as if the disappearing light brings a hush.

  It bothers me. I frown and crack my neck. The peace, the quiet, it’s hard to enjoy. My life has been consumed by obsession. I don’t know if I’ve ever sat like this just to sit.

  I stay, ignoring the urge to get up and do something. There’s nothing for me to do. Penny knows. She believes me. I made demands on her brother. I’ve done all I can do today.

  But a restless feeling festers in my gut. Something stronger than the need for vengeance that’s been chasing me. I don’t know what it is.

  It’s something to do with her and how she won’t let me touch her. Something to do with her and how I’m afraid her brother will hurt her. My brain and heart and body are colliding and warring inside me and I can’t disentangle my thoughts from my feelings or desires anymore. It’s a blur, a garbled mess of intense things I don’t have names for, but there’s one thing I know: I won’t stand for her closed door.

  She will open it before the night is over, or I’ll pound on it until I break it down again.

  Her distance is messing with me, and it’s hurting her. The tangled web of confusion and doubt she’s wrapped herself in will unravel as soon as she lets me take it from her again.

  But like from the beginning, I have to restrain myself. She has to come to me.

  The sun is gone, the only light left the lingering pink among the clouds. She’s a welcome sight, stepping onto the porch, wearing nothing but these skimpy little shorts and this tiny tank top. Definitely no bra. Her nipples poke through her shirt like they’re begging to be let out.

  I have the strongest urge, though, to punish her for making us both wait. To make her wait even longer.

  But I’m not waiting longer.

  “Hi.” Her voice isn’t high, like it is when she lies or tries to fake things. It’s quiet and raspy. Her hair is tousled like she’s been rolling in bed. Or maybe that’s from my hands earlier when I kissed her.

  I sit forward. She moves closer. Her feet drag but the rest of her moves like she can’t wait to get nearer. She doesn’t fidget or cross her arms. Her shoulders are back, her legs apart. If she added words, I’d say she was begging to be touched.

  I can’t help growing hard. I’ve been desperate to fuck her for days. I thought it was all about making her feel denied, about taking from her. I forgot that I would be satisfying myself, and now there’s no stopping my craving for more.

  She shifts her feet, like she’s uncomfortable, like the ache between her legs throbs as badly as the blood flooding my dick. “You will let me come first this time.”

  I rub my hands to keep from reaching for her. “I will?”

  She swallows. “Yes.”

  I widen my legs and hold out my hands. She accepts my invitation and steps forward. My fingers slip under the hem of her shirt. I stroke her skin, reveling in the softness. Her navel, her hips, her waist, I own them with my hands, gripping and pressing. She sags toward me.

  I open her shorts. “You want me to let you come?”

  “Mm.”

  “Then get me the money.” I’m the manipulator here. Not her. And evidently, she needs reminding.

  Her eyes round like she’s forgotten. “Oh.”

  “You have five days, remember? Or I make your whole family’s sad little story public.” I’m bitter at myself for chickening out with her brother this afternoon. I was more worried about how she would feel than about my revenge. Unacceptable.

  She gulps. “Okay.”

  “You’re going to talk to your brother.”

  “I will soon.” She bites her lip.

  “You’re going to tell him the truth. And get him to give you the money.”

  She nods and keeps her eyes on mine for another moment, before they stray to my mouth.

  I slip my hand down her belly, into her shorts. “Now, what was it you wanted? Oh, that’s right.” My fingertips reach a patch of hair, then I go lower. “But you didn’t say how you wanted it.” I’ll play how she wants, for now, but she needs to know that I’m the one in charge.

  “Any way.”

  “Do you want my hand, my mouth, or my cock?” I rub into her with my fingers.

  Her eyes fall closed. “Both.”

  “There were three choices. Not two.”

  “Oh.” She bites her lip.

  I want to go deeper, but her thighs are too close together. “Open your legs.”

  She inches her feet out.

  “Wider.” I stick my knee between her thighs and press them farther apart. I creep my hand deeper and pry her open. She wets my palm, and I fail to suppress my groan.

  She grinds her hips into my pressure, but she’s not in control. I am.

  I grip her hip, stilling her. “You didn’t answer.”

  “Whuh?” Her eyes glaze, cloudy blue.

  “Which way do you want it?” I move my hand in her, stroking my fingers in little come here motions. Her mouth falls slack on no words. “Answer me. Or you won’t get to come.”

  She dips her knees, urging me deeper. “Your—hand.”

  My palm pressing her clit, I massage her in time with my fingers. “Are you sure?”

  Her breasts rise and fall faster with her breath. “Yes.”

  “You can have it any way and this is what you choose?”

  “I can—come—again.”

  “That wasn’t the deal. You bargained to come first. That’s it.”

  She moans a disappointed groan but sinks deeper on my hand. “I can’t—stop.”

  “But I can. Tell me you want my cock, and I’ll stop.” She starts to tighten, her body prepping for climax. “If you say cock, you can come with me fucking you instead.”

  She keens in her throat. Her hands fall to my shoulders, but I don’t stop my hand. I won’t until she says.

  “I know you’d rather come with me long and thick inside you.” I add a finger, widening her, pressing harder.

  “Pleeease.”

  “You have to say cock first.” She starts to shudder, her breath gasping. “Say it.” Her jaw works, she tries, but only a cry echoes in her throat. “You have to say it: I want your cock.”

  “I w—want—”

  I move my fingers faster, bringing her closer. “More.”

  “C-cock.”

  “Say, I want your cock.”

  Her neck weakens, her forehead meeting mine. “I want your cock.”

  “Say, fuck me with your cock.”

  “F—fuck me.” Her breath stutters. “With your—” She tenses, so stiff, I wonder she hasn’t come yet. “Cock.”

  She loses.

  With a groan for warning, she climaxes around my hand, squeezing me in brutal spasms. Her arms fail her, and she collapses
against my chest, her breath like a lash against my skin.

  My dick pulses hard, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from succumbing to the friction and coming in my pants. I want to be where my hand was. I’m not wasting it elsewhere. I wipe my hand on my shirt and stand.

  She leans into me, her face against my chest. “We’re not done. Are we?”

  “I think we gave your neighbors enough of a show.” I push her away from me toward the door. “Get naked. On my bed.”

  She nods and stumbles inside.

  I meant what I said. We play by my rules. And now it’s my turn. She likes it when I take from her, and I like it when she gives me more than she ever thought she could.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  He’s merciless—as though he’s found the outlet for all his years of pent-up emotions, and the outlet is me. Except it’s more than just that. Because if I were only a receptacle, he wouldn’t take care of me.

  And my God, does he . . .

  I lose track of how many times he fucks me that night, or how many times he claims he won’t let me come. But each time I do, and it’s like I’ve moved into a new world where bliss and badness are not only expected but required. It’s so fucking freeing after all the years of rules and regimens.

  It’s like he knows that’s what I need. Pleasure—the best kind of medicine for escaping my own thoughts. My mind overcome and ruled by the sensations of my body in a way that’s rewiring my senses.

  I’m so caught up in what it feels to be alive, I not only forget about the past—it ceases to matter. Like I am a separate whole person, not linked to my depraved parent.

  I sleep. Some. By morning, I trudge to my shower to get ready for work, and I hurt all over, my skin pulsing, my legs throbbing, my body thrumming.

  I stand in the shower spray. The water pummels me and pricks my tender skin.

  He kept asking me over and over if I wanted more. I said yes every time.

  * * *

  I wake hearing her get ready for work, but I don’t get up. If I get up, I might go at her again.

  I meant to stop, I really did. Six times in one night was too much. But every time I swore I was done, I’d roll over and feel her next to me. This overpowering need to touch her would compel me, and each time I did, the rest was inevitable.

  Whenever I asked her to say no, knowing it was the only way I could stop, she’d say yes instead.

  And I’m hard. Again.

  The front door slams closed.

  She’s gone.

  I can’t stay here. I don’t know why I think I can.

  She’s going to kill me. Really. The way she wants more and more, but fights me for it at the same time—it spurs me harder, makes me want her insatiably. But she carves out the best and worst in me so totally, I become something else with her. Not man, not animal, not anything I recognize. I am simply what she makes me, how she wants me, and everything I need to be to give it to her.

  But that doesn’t mean I like it.

  Blake better get me that money soon. I have to get out before she screws with my head so much I’m brainwashed into staying.

  But I’m too tired to do anything about it this morning, so I sleep.

  I dream I chase her, running in circles around her, never able to reach her.

  I dream she’s curled into a shell, sleeping, and no matter how loud I shout or yell, she doesn’t wake up. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t walk away.

  * * *

  I’m finishing with a patient, helping her tilt her baby’s head to the right angle against her breast, when another nurse comes in the room.

  “Penny, a call came for you at the desk. It’s urgent.”

  “Oh.” I glance at the patient. “Excuse me. I’ll be back.”

  The nurse in the hall turns to me outside with a worried look. “The call was from the ER. Your husband is there.”

  “Logan? Why?” My husband. The man who is fast becoming the center of my world—though he shouldn’t be. My heart trips over itself and speeds. He wouldn’t have come here to see me. Would he?

  But if he’s in the ER, he’s in trouble.

  I don’t wait for her answer. I dash to the stairs instead of the elevator, racing down them as fast as I can. Why would Logan be in the emergency room? Did he hurt himself running? On the beach?

  Then a terrible thought comes: did he get in a fight and get hurt? Him and my brother fighting each other in the parking lot at the bar was scary.

  But more than worried, I’m angry. How could he be so stupid?

  I trip on a step and slow down. I don’t need to rush. He probably broke his hand.

  But what if he was in a car accident? That truck of his is so wrecked. I have to convince him to get a new one. Once my brother gives him the money, he’ll be able to afford it. What if he was seriously hurt?

  I reach the first floor and run through the halls, dodging people, not bothering to apologize if I bump them. I don’t have time to think about how strange it is that I care whether the man who’s blackmailing me for money will be alive tomorrow. I shouldn’t care.

  I reach the ER and stop the first nurse I see. “Was there a Logan Kane admitted here?”

  “Um, I don’t recall there being—”

  “Penny.” I look up and it’s him, standing in the hall.

  He’s fine. Nothing wrong with him. I run to him.

  I realize almost too late I’m about to hug him. He stiffens and holds out his hands to stop me. “Don’t do that,” he whispers.

  “Why? I’m married to you. I should hug you.”

  “Because I don’t—” Confusion mars his normally stoic face.

  “What’s wrong?” He looks fine and able, no bruises, no bandages. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m not here for me.” He moves aside a curtain and points to a woman on the bed. “I’m here for her.”

  * * *

  I make room for Penny to walk inside.

  “Mrs. Toolen!” she cries.

  I’m relieved she knows the woman. I had no idea if she was telling the truth. “Nancy called your condo looking for help.” Crying out for Penny with a baby screaming in the background. I tried to be annoyed, but all I could feel was desperate to help her. I couldn’t stop myself from convincing her to tell me her story and let me take her to the hospital.

  Penny turns to the bruised woman sitting in the bed. “What happened?”

  Nancy Toolen refuses to answer. She wipes the tears that have been a constant stream since I picked her up at her house. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

  Penny glances at me. “You brought her?”

  “She didn’t want me to. But I had no choice.” I don’t want to lift up Nancy’s shirt and show Penny the shoe-sized contusion on her side from where her husband kicked her, or retell the story of how Nancy dropped her baby. Or how it awoke my limitless need to do something with all the pain I feel at seeing a woman who’s helpless and abused.

  Nancy tries to sit up but winces. “It was an accident. I fell and he . . .” She bites her lip, unable to finish her sentence.

  “It’s all right,” I say, my voice weakened by an alien gentleness, almost kindness, I didn’t know I could feel. “I’ll tell Penny. Try not to think about it.”

  Nancy nods. She was nervous at first when I answered the phone instead of Penny. Somehow I got her to trust me enough to bring her here.

  The nurse comes back and says, “We need some privacy.”

  Nancy wraps her arms around herself and cowers in the bed. “The nurse is here to help you,” I say. “You can trust her.”

  “How’s my baby?” She demands of the nurse. “Is she okay? I want to see her.”

  The nurse says in a soothing voice and with a smile, “She’s sleeping like a baby. She’ll be done with her CT scan soon and be back with you in minutes.”

  Nancy sighs and glances at me for confirmation.

  “Penny and I will be on the other side of the curtain. Call if you need
us.”

  I wait for her to nod, then close Penny and me outside.

  Penny pulls me out of hearing distance. “She called the house?”

  “Her husband hurt her and the baby. She waited for him to leave the house and called the number you gave her.”

  “And you went to get her?” The surprise in her voice is insulting.

  “Yes, I helped her. I’m not your father.”

  The murderous look in her eye lets me know I went too far, but she ignores it and asks, “But why didn’t she come to the hospital?”

  “She was afraid they’d call the police on her husband. But I convinced her the baby needed to be checked.”

  She closes her eyes.

  I grasp her arms and give them a shake. “Stop imagining it. It didn’t happen to you. You’re safe.”

  She opens her eyes and takes a deep breath. “This shouldn’t have happened. I suspected it was bad and did nothing. I should’ve gotten her help.” She chews her lip, and I have a foreign instinct to hug her. But I ignore it.

  “There must be somewhere she can go. She has no family here.” The sadness leaves her face, and she goes to the front desk.

  I stay where I am in case Nancy calls for us, but I can’t help the smile creeping over my face as I watch Penny. She’s doing something.

  I don’t have the heart to tell her even if Nancy agrees to go somewhere safe besides home to her husband, she’ll find a short-term place to stay, but a long-term one is more challenging. Or it was where I grew up. I’ve checked what options my sister would’ve had. If she’d tried to get us a more stable place than our mom gave us, the options weren’t good.

  I want to do something to help, too, but I don’t know what that is.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I drive, following him home from the hospital, and he holds the front door open for me when we get home. He’s been so nice today: to me, to Nancy Toolen.

  Once inside, I’m overcome with gratitude for what he did. If he hadn’t answered the phone, I don’t know what would’ve happened to Nancy. “Thank you.”

  He doesn’t look at me, just strides past me. “Don’t.”