by J. Kenner
I realize that I am biting my fist.
"She'd start over again, and every time I came, she punished me." He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then opens them. When he looks at me, his expression is fierce. "That's how it started." I watch his throat move as he swallows. "Those were the easy days. The ones that came after..."
He breaks off with a shudder and I can no longer stay away. I move into his arms and hold him tight, tears streaming down my face. "Don't think about it," I order. "Just hold me."
He does, and I cling to him, and suddenly I'm shaking with sobs. I can't stop, and I'm choking as I try to catch my breath.
"Oh, sweetheart. Baby, it's okay."
I cling to him, letting him stroke my back until I can pull myself together, ashamed that I have lost control. "I should be the one comforting you," I manage to say through my sniffles and sobs. I pull back so I can see him through the blur of my tears. "I'm so sorry."
I reach out and cup his cheek, needing that connection. I know that he hasn't told me everything--I could see the shadows in his eyes as he edited his words. But he has told me enough to know the truth. And the truth is horrific.
"You should have told me," I said. "Back then. You should have told me what she was doing."
"And bring that nightmare between us? Never? Even in that hell hole, being with you was perfect. No way was I going to spoil the bubble we'd built around us."
I nod, because I understand. I do. In a small way, hadn't I done the same?
"But afterward, when you were free? Why did you lie?" I ask. "Why have you always said you don't remember?"
"It was too much," he says. "Too hard. Too everything. And I couldn't process it. And I didn't want Mom and Dad to know. Or you," he adds before I can ask. He takes my hand and we walk back to the bed. "I was ashamed, even though I knew none of it was my fault. And I think even back then I understood that it had changed me."
"Changed you?"
He sits on the edge of the bed, his hand tight in mine. "I'm not the boy from the dark, Jane. The dark's inside me now. The things she did. The things I do now."
"You started to like it," I say. I'm not horrified. I'm not shocked. I'm just numb.
"Like? I don't know. But I started to need it."
He rakes the fingers of his free hand through his hair. "When I told you I was broken, I meant it. I'm fucked up, baby. I do fucked-up things. And I never wanted to taint you with that."
I shake my head. "Don't do that. Don't make it sound like I'm something you're going to get dirty. Don't put me on a pedestal, Dallas."
"I'm not. But I also don't want to take you down with me."
"You mean kink, right?" I don't tell him I know that he goes to The Cellar. That's not a confidence I can break.
"That's a nice, polite term for it," he says, and a little frisson of excitement cuts through me.
"But maybe you need it," I suggest. "Maybe you need the dark--the kink. Maybe it excites you. Maybe it gets you hard." I squeeze his hand. "Maybe you need it to stay hard."
He lifts our joined hands and brushes my knuckles over his lips. "That's what I'm afraid of. Christ, I don't want to have this conversation."
I lick my lips. "What if I want it? Not the conversation," I clarify, "but, well, what you do. Maybe I want to do it, too."
He looks at me silently for a moment, and there's an edge to his voice when he finally asks, "What are you saying?"
"Just that I'll go there with you. You won't taint me, Dallas. I want to. Whatever you need, I want to give it to you."
His smile is sweet but a little sad. "I don't think you understand what you're offering."
"Tonight was a little kinky," I point out. "And it qualifies as one of the hottest nights of my life."
"We played tonight, baby. That's not the dark I'm talking about." He brushes a strand of hair off my face as he looks into my eyes. "I don't want sex with you to conjure ghosts. I don't want what she did in my head when I'm with you."
I shudder, just the mention of the Woman giving me chills. She knew what Dallas and I were to each other almost from the beginning. I didn't realize it at first, and I never told Dallas. I was afraid if he knew we were being watched, then he would stop coming to me. Stop making love to me. And I needed it.
Even when the Woman would bring a whispered comment along with my food--"You little slut, you're a whore, you're cursed, you incestuous little bitch"--I said nothing to Dallas. But the Woman only spoke to me. Just words. Hurtful, yes, but not physically.
But god only knows what else she did when she had Dallas alone.
"You can talk about it with me, you know. Whenever you need to."
The corner of his mouth rises in an ironic smile. "I thought I just did."
"I mean about the rest."
I see the haunted look in his eyes and know that he may never say a word to me.
"You don't have to," I assure him. "But I want you, Dallas--and I will take you however I can get you. Even so--and I'll only say this once--I admit I want to feel you inside of me again. And I know you want it, too. So if going into the dark together is what you need, then I will. I'll go in with you."
I take a breath, because I've been talking too fast and the words are spilling out on top of each other. "You need to be in control, and I need to let go. And if this is what we need to do for us to be together, then I will stay in the dark with you."
"Together," he repeats. He doesn't have to explain what he means. The truth is that we both know that for us together is a hell of a lot more complicated than working through sex. Together means secrets. Complications. Lies and misdirection.
And I will do all that and more if it means I can have Dallas. I will do anything. Everything.
I squeeze his hand and meet his eyes. "Together," I confirm. "I'm not scared, Dallas. I'll go in the dark with you. I'll go anywhere with you. And I'll stay for as long as we need."
He looks at me, and for a second I think I see hope, even excitement, before it fades away.
I can't deny that I'm disappointed. He's afraid I can't handle what he needs. That I'm some fragile thing that will run screaming if I see the truth.
Secrets, I think. All these damn secrets.
It's stupid and frustrating, and I'm starting to think that I need to talk to Brody and get some tips on how to set up my room like a dungeon. Because other than going all-in with Dallas, I'm not sure how else I can convince him that I will go with him wherever he leads.
But then he pulls me to him and kisses me, and it's so gentle and tender and filled with so much light, that it pushes every thought out of my head, so all that I am left with is warmth and love and Dallas.
I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have because when I wake the clock shows that it's already after three. I blink sleepily, secure in the circle of Dallas's arms.
I'm spooned against him, my back to his front and his cock nestled against my ass, and I like the way it feels. Intimate. Sweet. Sexual.
That's when I realize that he's naked against me. I don't know when he took off the suit--and I really would've liked to have seen that show--but honestly, I don't even care about that right now. Because he's hard. Seriously hard, the head of his cock teasing my rear, making my mind spin out all sorts of nasty, wonderful scenarios.
And then I think...why not?
Slowly, I pull out of his embrace. He stirs, but he doesn't wake, not even when I roll him over so that he is on his back, and I bite my lower lip because he hasn't lost his erection. If anything he's harder. And though I know that doesn't mean anything--he told me he loses it when he tries to penetrate--I can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe...
I straddle him, moving slowly because I don't want to shift the bed and wake him. And, yeah, this feels kinky to me. And it feels a little like cheating. But I don't care, because if he can fuck me in his sleep, then he can fuck me awake--we just have to figure out the key to get us there.
But first things first.
And then I slowly lower myself, carefully positioning the tip and then slowly--so excruciatingly slowly, I start to thrust down. I bite my lip as I press against him, not wanting to hold his cock just in case that extra touch makes it all go away.
I can feel the pressure of entry, the way my body gives, and then he's inside me. Just the head, but he's inside me and it feels amazing and he's still asleep, and I'm thinking this may work.
I'm excited enough--optimistic enough--that I go faster than I should, taking him all in with one single, hard motion. I know it's a risk--I know he could go soft the moment I feel his balls against my rear--but even if it's just for a nanosecond, I want to feel him inside me again.
But he doesn't go soft--he's hard as a rock and he's filling me and I'm so incredibly turned on that I can't hold back and I ride him, pounding myself down on him, filling myself, and absolutely glorying in the fact that--oh, god, yes--this is possible.
I explode, bursting apart at the seams, and as I do, he loses it, and I barely notice because I can't do anything but break apart, and I can't feel anything but this insane pleasure wafting through me.
But as soon as I've come down and sanity returns, I realize what has happened. More than that, I realize he's awake, and I steel myself for his disappointment that he couldn't finish. But then I look down, and it's not frustration I see. Instead, there's a small, satisfied smile playing at his mouth.
"We're going to get there," he says, his eyes burning into mine. "And think how much fun we'll have trying."
I start to snuggle back against him, ready to fall off into sleep and the warmth of his arms, but Dallas is having none of it.
"No," he says. "I'm not through with you."
The command in his voice eviscerates my exhaustion and sends a trill of anticipation shooting straight through me, getting me excited all over again. "Oh?" I roll over and start to straddle him, but he holds me still.
"Oh, no, baby. For this, I want you dressed."
I frown--because "dressed" is not the direction in which my thoughts were going--but when I start to ask why, he gives just the slightest shake of his head and I keep my question to myself.
I go to my closet and start to pull on a pair of jeans, but once again he stops me. "Tank top, no bra. Skirt, no underwear. As short as you own."
"We're going out?"
"Did I say you could ask questions?"
Another tremor of excitement cuts through me in response to both his words and his tone, and I wonder what the hell he has in mind. This may be New York, but it's already after three, and even the late night clubs are shutting down and will be empty by four.
"Now," he says, and I start to rummage in my drawer for a tank top. I find a pink one, but then I remember the very thin, near transparent tank that I bought to go over a workout bra. It's not meant to be worn by itself, and I hesitate for a few minutes, but finally I put it on. I want to see the look on his face, yes, but more than that, I want him to realize that I'm willing to go with him. Wherever. However.
As for the skirt, I have a short leather skirt that I usually pair with leggings, since it barely hits the bottom of my ass. This one is a little more dicey, as I won't even be able to sit in a taxi without my bare rear touching the upholstery.
But same principle, right? He orders, I obey. He needs to know that I get that.
I turn to look at myself from all angles in the tri-fold mirror. I look hot, yes. But only if you define hot as the latest in streetwalker fashion.
Still, I did as he said, and that should count for something.
He didn't tell me what to do about shoes, so I slip on my tallest stilettos in fire engine red, then strut out of the room. Or try to. With the heels and my own self-consciousness working against me, I can't say that I'm really rocking it.
He is standing as I enter and he's wearing his suit again, and with his hair mussed from sleep and sex, he looks all the hotter.
I look at him, trying to read his expression, but this is a man who knows how to hide his thoughts, and so I can only stand there nervously as he comes toward me, moving as smoothly and sensually as a panther on the prowl.
When he's less than a foot away, his eyes skim over me, pausing at my hemline and again at my breasts before finally focusing on my face. "I can see your nipples, baby. Hell, I can practically see your cunt."
The words are raw, deliberately vulgar, and I can't help but think that he's testing me. I take a step toward him, then press my fingertip lightly against the indentation at the base of his neck, then trail it down his chest and abdomen to finally hook on the waist of his slacks. "And you like it," I say, trying to put a purr in my voice.
For a moment, his expression doesn't change and I think that I've misjudged him. Then I see the heat--and the amusement--flare in his eyes as an easy smile touches his kissable mouth. "Yes," he agrees. "I do."
He presses his hand to my back and steers me out of the room. "Are you going to tell me what we're doing?" I ask.
"What do you think?"
"No," I say, as we go down the stairs. "You're not going to tell me a thing."
"Does that turn you on? Knowing that everything is in my hands? Not having the slightest clue where I intend to take you or what I intend to do with you?"
We've reached the landing, and I'm breathing hard.
"Tell me, Jane," he orders. "I want to know if that makes you wet."
"Why don't you touch me and find out?" I pause as I say the words, then spread my legs just a little in invitation. My heart is pounding. My skin tingling from the electricity between us. There has always been heat between us, but there were always boundaries, too. We're unfettered now, and even though infinite possibilities lie between us, in this moment all I need is the slightest brush of his fingertip over my clit to make me completely explode.
He doesn't answer. He simply smiles and heads toward the door, then pauses before opening it. "With me, baby."
"Always," I say.
The night is warm, which is convenient since I'm practically naked. He leads the way to the subway station, and I can feel my anticipation grow, because I'm certain that he intends to finger me in the car, and I'm not certain how I feel about that, and when I realize how empty the car is, I start to think that train motion and Dallas and an explosive orgasm would be just fine by me.
But the bastard doesn't once touch me.
"Patience," he says, when we finally get off the train, and I'm so frustrated that I don't even know where we are because I haven't been paying attention to the signs or to my surroundings.
Which, frankly, is a big deal. I'm always aware of my surroundings and I never let down my guard.
Never, that is, until I had Dallas back in my bed.
"What?" he asks.
"You make me feel safe."
I understand from the way his expression goes sweetly tender that those weren't the words he was expecting. "I told you a long time ago that I'd always protect you."
"You did," I agree. "I believed you then, and I still believe you now."
He pauses at street level and kisses me gently. Then he waits a beat, smacks my ass, and orders me to walk ahead of him.
I grin and do, adding a little swing to my step just for the hell of it.
I can feel his eyes on me the entire time, and when I see a penny on the ground, I bend over at the waist to pick it up, just to give him an extremely naughty view. I hear his soft, "Christ, Jane," and smile with victory before I stand and continue walking without once turning around.
"Here," he finally says, stepping up beside me as I pass in front of a twenty-four-hour bodega located next to a poorly lit pay-to-park lot.
"Here?"
"Problem?" he asks innocently.
"We rode across the city to
go to a market?"
"We did." He leaves it at that and goes inside.
I follow, both curious and amused.
The bodega serves ice cream, hand scooped into waffle cones, and Dallas orders a vanilla one. It costs less than two dollars, and we're on our way again.
"I come here at least once a week," he says. "Best ice cream in the city."
"Mmm." I don't know what he's up to, but I'm pretty sure it's not a snack break.
Instead of heading back the way we came, he leads me into the parking area, all the way into the back, past the last flickering yellow light, so that we are hidden in the shadows cast on the rough brick wall of the building that marks the back edge of this lot.
I look up at Dallas, intending to ask what happens now, but the words die on my tongue. All teasing has gone from his eyes, replaced by a burning desire so potent my knees go weak and my pussy clenches.
I watch as he licks the ice cream cone, and then have to stifle a moan when he brings the cone to my lips and orders me to taste it. I do. It's creamy and sweet and I want to lick it from his lips.
"Remember this, baby," he says, then taps the cone against my nose before licking the spot off. "This is as vanilla as I get."
I swallow. "Dallas." I don't say anything more. I'm not even sure what I was going to say.
"Lift your skirt."
I start to protest--we're outside, after all--but the truth is that his words have excited me. Both the idea and the no-nonsense command with which he's issued the order.
I raise the skirt until my sex is exposed.
"Oh, no, sweetheart. All the way."
I bite on my lower lip, but I do as he says, and as I do, I watch him. His eyes are on my pussy at first, but he lifts his head, then meets my eyes, and I want to cry out in victory at the look in his eyes. A look that says that I am his. And, yes, that he is mine.
"Tell me what you want," he says.
"You," I say simply. "Whatever you want me to do. Whatever you want to do to me."
"Whatever?" I notice the cone is starting to drip over his hand. "So if I told you to turn around and let me fuck that sweet ass right here, you'd be okay with that?"
"Yes." My nipples peak at the thought.
"If I told you to drop to your knees and suck my cock?"
"You know I would."
He leans closer and whispers in my ear. "And if I told you to move to the light and get yourself off in full sight of anyone walking by, simply because I want you to? Because you're mine now?"
