The Spiral

by Charlotte E Hart

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he grumbles at me as my arse topples backwards and hands grab onto it. Nothing’s stopping the momentum, though. We’re both going down, heavily.

  The suction of my left foot popping free increases the fall, sending me flying back into him and crashing against his chest. His arms wrap around me, grabbing at bits he should not be touching, and it feels like slow motion as I watch the afternoon sun changing angle above me and let him brace my stumble.

  Eventually, we’re just lying in a heap on the wet ground, his hand still wrapped around my waist and the other far too close to my left boob. It’s kind of nice, and I find myself chuckling at the image of us down here. Could my life be anymore pathetic? First I dance around his ballroom, searching for dreams that are not meant for me. Then I embarrass myself with bruising and actions of the highest unprofessional order. And now I’m lying in a bog, covered in mud, almost ready to turn over and kiss him for attempting to be a saviour.

  “Nothing is funny about this position,” he says gruffly, not even trying to remove his hands.

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s one I’ve never done before. You?”

  And now I’m flirting, brazenly rubbing my hand down his leg and feeling the tension in it beneath his suit trousers. What else have I got to lose? Nothing. And he’s attractive, overly so. Callie was probably right. I could do with having sex with someone to get my mind off Lewis, and the man behind me is all male. Not only can I tell this by looking at him—I can tell by the feel of his muscles around me at the moment, and the way he isn’t the slightest bit ashamed of where his hands are grabbing. I don’t know him, and don’t really care to. He’s fit, attractive, and probably as interested in this moment as I am.

  “You should be careful with whatever thought you’re playing with, Ms. Cavannagh,” he whispers, brushing his mouth around my ear and sliding his hand across my stomach. Why? Why should I? I’ve been a good girl most of my life. I stayed true to Lewis even though he didn’t deserve anything from me at all. And before that I was naive, virginal even. Well, not quite, but you know. And I’ve got a new life to build now, one just for me. Perhaps I should take control of it somehow rather than letting these men make me feel incompetent all the time.

  “Why?” It comes out so quietly that I chew my lip as I say it, maybe hoping to pull the remark back in. There’s quiet for a while, and the rubbing of hands, which is getting nicer by the second as I gaze up at the sky, but still he’s so quiet I begin to think I was stupid to even say anything.

  “Because I’m not open to anything you might want, other than fucking,” he eventually says, no remorse in the words.

  My brows lift. Well, it’s direct. Quite refreshing really. At least that means I won’t have to second guess what mood he’s in, or whether he’ll beat me or not.

  “Are you married?”

  “No.”

  “Engaged? Because I won’t do—”

  “No.”

  “Right.” I’m actually considering this? Here, in a boggy field? What am I doing?

  “You should get up.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right.” I’m not moving, though.

  Nothing moves, actually. Nothing but the clouds drifting by in the sky as I continue to lie on him in the middle of a bog. It’s comforting somehow, warming. I can feel his breath on my ear, his chest rising and falling underneath me. It might even be classed as romantic if I think about it long enough, sweet, given his overbearing attitude. There certainly isn’t anything sweet about his nature in general that I’ve seen so far, or where his hand is still lying on my breast.

  “You’re not getting up?” he says brusquely.

  No, I’m not, and I don’t seem to be able to speak either. My throat feels parched, like I can’t find the will to move at all, let alone tell him I want to. And my privates ache. Why? I don’t even know him. Oh god, his hands are pulling my skirt up slowly as his mouth brushes my cheek again, and I’m helping him by hitching my arse around on him.

  “You want fucking or not?” I can’t do anything but squeeze my eyes tighter together at his words, perhaps scared of admitting it to myself. “I want you to say it.”

  “I …” Nope, there’s still nothing coming out as his hand inches up my exposed thigh and lingers over my knickers.

  “Tell me you want this, Maddy. Are you a Maddy, Mads?”

  Whatever is happening stops the minute he says Mads. Rational thought comes racing back, causing me to slap out at his hand, scramble myself out of his hold, and clamber to my feet.

  “This was a mistake,” I reply in a snotty voice as I search the ground for solid footing again, and attempt to straighten my mud soaked suit.

  “Not from where I’m lying,” he mutters, putting his hands behind his head and staring up at me.

  “You’re…” I don’t know what I’m trying to say. He’s what? Hot as hell? A pig? An animal with a dirty mouth? I’ve got no right to say that. We‘re both here, me having let him touch me, him lying there with an erection waiting for me. I lay there on top of him, not moving. No one forced me to do anything. My name came from his lips, the one I can’t take anymore, and it changed everything. I heard Lewis in it, heard his fists coming for me, and now I feel like a fool again.

  I brush some soaking mud from my jacket and button it back up to protect whatever feeling I’m confused about. Perhaps I’m embarrassed, or annoyed at myself. I don’t know, but now I can’t even find words to initiate conversation away from whatever this has been.

  He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at my lips for a while, frowning, and then eventually turns his face away from me as he gets to his feet.

  “You’re a cocktease. Still,” he mutters, walking straight past me.

  I pick up my bag, contemplating the words and frowning at his back. If I knew my way out without him I’d damn well do it on my own, but I don’t. So I wait as he tests out each piece of ground with his feet, and eventually follow, watching his ruined suit flap around with his movement. I don’t even feel like I can snap back at his remark as I jump into the places he’s stepped on. It’s true in some respects. Well, it will seem it to him I’m sure—dancing with him, lying in boggy fields and lifting my backside round on him as he hitches up my skirt—all good tease material. I’m not, though. Never have been. Never had a chance to be without fear of getting beaten because of it.

  He mumbles to himself as he keeps going, grumbling about something I can’t hear. I don’t suppose I want to either. It’s probably more about me, and his cock, something neither of us should be thinking about, regardless of the fact that I am. He looks so stylish, even with the mess we’ve created. It’s the first time I’ve noticed the cut and quality of the material. Who would have thought he could be so lacking in refinement with his ‘you want fucking or not’ statement?

  It makes me wonder who Jack Caldwell really is underneath that suit and this huge house he owns. Not that I care or will do any research on the matter because this has just been one of those things. One of those odd and unusual things. A bit like my dancing earlier.

  The ground becomes firmer as we approach a small stream and head through it to the other side. I shake my head, trying to see only the garage I need to get back to rather than this man, but his hand reaches for mine and hauls me up the bank. It’s disconcerting as he holds onto it that bit too long again, just like it was earlier when I first met him. I stare at him, waiting for him to release it but he doesn’t. He just holds on, barely managing to loosen his grip as I try to tug it away gently. It makes me start imagining things I shouldn’t even be contemplating, certainly not after him telling me I’m a cocktease, but I am. I can feel it in this hand of his, reminding me of ten minutes ago when that same hand was lingering on parts of me it should have been nowhere near.

  “You sure you don’t want fucking?” His lips twitch upwards slightly, making me stare all the more at how handsome he becomes when he loses that scowl. I tug again until he relents and le
ts my hand go, my own lips mirroring his as I look down at the floor and then away towards the garage. “Hmm. I’ll get your car fixed, and drive you home in the meantime,” he says, his hands in his pockets as he turns and ambles the last few steps of grassland up to the road.

  “No, it’s fine. If I could just use your phone, I’ll…”

  “I’ll damn well drive you home, Madeline.” My feet stop as I find road beneath my feet, fear drawing in at his tone and my mouth opening ready to retaliate in some way. He swings his body back to me, anger lacing his every feature and a look that fuels my panic. “Repeat after me. It’s fucking simple. Say, ‘Thank you, Jack’.”

  My mouth opens and within seconds his brow indicates his displeasure at anything but hearing the words he wants to hear. I’m not sure what he thinks he’s going to do if I don’t reply favourably, but given the amount of strength in his grip I’m not sure I want to find out. Visions of Lewis sidle into my mind again, forcing me to look at the floor and nod in reply.

  “Thank you, Jack.”

  He grunts some kind of response and turns away from me to head up the road towards the house, leaving me to trail behind him aimlessly until he leaves me at the door, his finger pointing at the steps and telling me to wait there. So I do, sliding myself down the wall to sit on the grey sandstone steps. It’s not like I can get any filthier anyway, is it? And at the moment I just want away from here. I feel lost again. Alone and foolish under his gaze.

  I pick out the drying mud on my skirt and jacket, hoping to detach some of it at least while I wait, then give up bothering and stare out into the estate instead. It’s quite beautiful with long rolling fields and the occasional plot of woodland peppering the landscape with tall trees and busy hedgerows. And the area around me, imposing and almost unwelcoming as the house I’m leaning on, towers behind me, dwarfing all it can see. I can smell the redwood’s musky scent. It’s not unlike Jack’s actually, woody and deep, giving a sense of age and wisdom. Wisdom—not a word I can use for what just transpired in the field. Nothing was wise about that, but perhaps this is what being free is all about? My choices. My thoughts.

  Time potters by and a rumbling sound around the corner draws my attention back to the here and now. I turn to see a dark green Porsche coming around the corner, gorgeous lines showing me every inch of the car I’ve always wanted. It makes me snicker as I get to my feet and gently walk towards it, desperate to run my fingers across its pristine surface.

  It pulls to a stop and Jack gets out, now looking every inch the lord again. He’s obviously showered and changed, which causes me to rub at my suit again, hoping for clean. Clearly nothing alters with my appearance. I shouldn’t sigh at the vision of him coming at me, a gruff frown on his face like he hates the world all of a sudden, but I do. He’s every girl’s dream—wealthy, attractive, and holding that authoritative air that simply begs to have you fall at his feet, worshipping the thought let alone the actuality.

  I find myself wavering and looking at my attire, unconsciously trying to fit in with his image. I’m trying to regain some element of professionalism again if truth be told, and find some determination to show myself as capable and strong. It’s quite hard given what happened in that field, and the sight of him walking purposely towards me, a rise to his brow as I look up at him, has me feeling completely inadequate again.

  “Are you ready, Madeline?” he asks, nodding at the car. I peer through the window at the interior. It’s as highly polished as Jack, suede seats and chrome elegantly lining its insides. There’s no way this suit of mine is going in there.

  “I think I’m too dirty.”

  “That’s yet to be determined,” he says, a wry smile on his face that instantly makes me forget about the anger I saw fifteen minutes ago. My insides flutter stupidly, making this whole situation even more debilitating to the professional air I’m aiming for. “As far as I’m concerned, at the moment you’re only mildly grubby, Madeline.”

  He chuckles after that, and I find myself gazing at him, bizarrely infatuated with the smile he’s delivering. The connotation of his words has nothing to do with the state of my clothes, more like the amount of whorish behaviour I might be prepared to show, I’m sure, but his continued smirk as he glances his eyes over me only increases my inability to look away. “Get in the car, Madeline. Unless you want to stay. Do you want to stay?” No. Yes. Absolutely not. I need to go home. That’s what I need to do. I need to go home and talk to Callie about this, and then I need a large stiff drink. Possibly several. “If it makes you feel more in control, you can drive.”

  I stare at him, letting myself fall into crinkling hazel eyes that are far too consuming for anyone’s good, and then walk round and lower myself into the car. Home. Home and forgetting about this little misdemeanour, or perhaps improving on it in some way. Driving a Porsche is a good start.

  Chapter 7

  Jack

  M y dick throbs. It throbs with the proximity of her, the smell of her, and the taste of her. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t kissed her, or that I’ve held back from doing so. It also doesn’t matter that I’ve gone out of my way to say her name repeatedly, trying to dismiss Selma from my mind. None of it has worked. She is Selma. Everything about her. The way she smiles, the way she groans, the way she grips me, and even the way she frowns and berates, not knowing she is doing it.

  She’s still doing it now as we near Atlanta.

  She’s frowned most of the journey and stayed quiet, occasionally trying to pull her soiled skirt further down her legs as she drives the car just as Selma did.

  “Where do you live?” I ask.

  She doesn’t answer, just reaches over and taps the address into the GPS then sits back again and looks out of the window, ignoring me. I sneer at her attempt to pretend this isn’t happening, annoyed by her denial. She has no reason to be in denial about wanting to fuck. She’s following human nature’s natural process. It’s inevitable.

  I stare over at her lips, watching them mould themselves up into a knowing grin, one that reminds me of Selma’s coy glances after we’d snuck out somewhere.

  “If it makes you feel any better, we could pull over and get the fucking out of the way.” She twitches her lips, reminding me of Selma even more.

  “I’m not available for only that,” she counters, still gazing outside. “And as you say, you’re not available for anything other than that, are you, Jack?”

  I look back at the road, irritation biting into every part of me at the thought of not being able to touch her again.

  “What if I was?” She turns back slowly, a coy glance at my mouth before she turns to look at the destination again. “Something more ongoing.”

  I glower at my own words, considering what the hell I’m doing. This isn’t real. She isn’t Selma. She’s just a woman who looks like her, walks like her, even talks like her, and apparently drives like her, but I can’t rid myself of the desire to lie in her arms and remember a life before this one. “I’d like to see you again.”

  “Would you?” she replies, looking shocked.

  “Mmm. See how much dirtier than mildly grubby we can get you.”

  “Because I’m not grubby enough already,” she says, snickering and brushing at her skirt.

  “Not nearly enough, Madeline,” I reply as we drive into suburban back streets. “But I want an honest answer to something first.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Who did that to your face?” She immediately turns her body back to upright and looks out of the window again, clamping her mouth closed as she does. “I don’t care, but I do want the truth either way. It’s what I’ll want from this arrangement. Truth.”

  “Arrangement?”

  “Yes. Arrangement.” She nods a little, nothing more, and then clamps her mouth closed, effectively trying to end the conversation. “That’s all I can offer, Madeline.”

  “Right.”

  Dread fills me as I watch her face disengage, but my statement isn’t about
her, it’s about me. It’s the only way I can see this working because desperate as I am to see her again, there has to be a way of separating Selma from Madeline. Dirty and rough is the only way I can think of. Making love to my dead wife isn’t on the fucking cards. It can’t be.

  I’m so engrossed in looking at her I nearly miss the brake lights in front of me, as the car comes screeching to a halt. I’m about to get out and shout at the idiot when I notice others getting out of their cars, too, all looking upwards.

  “What the hell?” I hear her say, as her door opens. She gets out and begins walking away, stripping her feet of her shoes as she does to hurry her pace. I get out, and instantly notice the vast plume of black smoke billowing out into the sky from the next street over. “That’s on my street. That could be my house.”

  I race after her as she takes off along the pavement away from the smoke, her skirt hitched up above her knees. And a short distance later, I catch up with her as she rounds to the left, careering into me and picking up her pace again as she keeps looking upwards.

  “Shit, that’s… Oh my god!”

  I’ve never seen a woman run so fast. She sprints round to the right, hitching her skirt higher and letting her shoes go behind her. “CALLIE!” she calls, her feet furiously chasing the ground as we near the house alight with flames. I grab at her, stopping her from going onto the front lawn and yanking her back to me. “CALLIE!” she screams again. Black smoke plumes into the air, choking us of oxygen as I try to pull her struggling frame away from the building. She screams again as heat assaults us from every angle, sparks jumping from the flames. I tug her more forcefully, pulling her back into the crowd of people that have come for the show. “CALLIE!” She pushes at me. “Get the hell off me,” she spits, fighting in my arms and twisting her body to kick out at me. “My friend’s in there. Get off me.”

  “Madeline, you can’t—” She slaps out at me again, her arms flailing and shoving for all she’s worth. “Look at the fucking thing,” I snap, shaking her body to get her back to reality. It doesn’t stop her, and now her eyes are streaming with tears of frustration, too.