My frown descends again, annoyed at my lack of power given that I’m aiming a gun at his face.
“I’m holding a gun, Mr. Caldwell. Could you be anymore stupid? I’m the one in charge.”
There’s utter silence for a minute or so, nothing but air floating around as I half pace and he stands perfectly still staring at me like I’m something unusual. I don’t see why. Nothing’s changed as far as I can tell. Only the fact that we’re back to talking about sex rather than killing. My, how my life’s changed since I met this man. Sex and killing.
How clarifying.
I gaze at him, inching my feet over to the left in a charade of escape, all the time readying myself for giving in anyway. There’s no way this thing’s loaded, and I wouldn’t shoot him even if it was. He knows that. And for whatever reason I’m about ready to capitulate to sex. Maybe it’s the stalking I’m doing, or the fact that for just a few minutes he’s managed to take my mind off my miserable attempt at freedom and make me smile. Either way, Callie’s dead. There’s nothing I can do but make Lewis pay when I’m done learning to use this thing in my fingers.
“On the stairs,” I blurt out, flicking my gun towards the large spiral like I’m in a movie. He continues with his slight smile, probably now because of my moves as I cross my legs towards the first black step, but I see the falter in his eyes. Whatever those stairs are, or however unsafe they might be, they make him nervous. He’s bothered by whatever’s up them. That, and the fact that I’m holding a gun, makes me feel alive for once, completely in control of what’s happening in my life.
I tighten a small smile, interested by the thought that I’ve set him off balance.
He kicks himself off the dark wooden panelling suddenly, uncrossing his arms and still smiling as he makes his way to me. I back away, rapidly increasing the length of my strides from his to avoid capture.
“You’ve got a gun. Why are you backing up, Madeline?”
“It’s not loaded,” I reply, feeling every inch of power and control drain from me as I quickly glance around.
“How do you know?” he says, quickening his stride until he’s directly in front of me, lifting my hands and pushing his forehead into the barrel. “You’ll never know unless you pull the damned trigger, will you? Pull it.”
“I... “ I have nothing for this. My hands shake, jiggling the gun around on his forehead, to the point of him pushing against it harder to keep it still.
“You don’t know how to fucking kill, do you?” he says. No, I don’t suppose I do. The thought of those words makes my body sag as his finger comes up to my face, surprising me and tracing down the right hand side of it. He smiles softly, crinkling his eyes. “You wouldn’t know how to. You shouldn’t either. You’re too flawless for that sort of endeavour. Look at yourself. Beautiful, elegant, graceful.” He looks my face over again. “Vicious promises aren’t for you. Vengeance either. That’s my job.” He sighs and licks his lips, looking at mine and pushing the gun into his head some more. “Your future should never have been taken from you like this.” I stare at him, bewildered by what’s coming from his mouth. “The sun should still rise and set with your smile.”
I back away, drawing the gun with me and removing it from his head as I gaze at him, stunned at this romantic version of normal that has no business in this room.
“What?”
“Do you know how faultless you are? It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I’m so sorry.”
What the hell’s going on? What’s he talking about? His fault?
He moves again quickly, lifting the metal back into his head regardless of my attempt to halt the movement, both hands holding it still against him. “I miss us, baby. Pull it. Set me free.”
There’s nothing but space and silence as we stand there—me, holding a gun to his head, and him looking so utterly peaceful and at ease with that fact that it makes me wonder what he’s thinking about as I stare at him.
“Jack, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Say it again,” he says, closing his eyes and crawling his hands to my cheeks again, tentatively brushing his thumb back and forth. “Pull the trigger and say my name, baby. I want you safe again.”
I gaze at his strong, stone-like jaw, a carefree lilt of happiness caressing his mouth. He seems sentimental, as if he’s remembering another time and happily relaxing in it. His dark hair’s tousled, roughed about and lazily framing his face, and the morning sun glints off the gun, streaming in through the windows behind me and sending splinters of light over his chest as his ribs heave in slow, deep breaths.
The whole thing sends an eerie feeling through me, all my power suddenly evaporating at his demeanour. I try to move the gun away from him, knowing this has turned into something I don’t understand at all, but he snatches it back, pulling his hand from my face to cover mine with his and hold the gun where he wants it to be.
“Jack, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I mumble, unsure what’s going on as I try to lever my hand from his. I’m not shooting him no matter how much he might appear to want it. That’s not why I’m here. I need to go, not be here doing this. I need revenge. I need to find Lewis, kill him and stop this happening to me again.
The sigh that comes from his mouth as he eventually opens his eyes is never-ending. It matches his look as he gazes at me. If someone had ever tried to get inside me before now, they failed compared to this stare. It’s filled with love, adoration even. Why, I don’t know. We hardly know each other, but his shadowy brown eyes just sink into mine, somehow connecting us. I can feel it as we linger in this moment. It’s odd, almost unearthly. As if we’ve known each other a lifetime. And I can sense something, something that’s not mine. Distant thoughts circulate in my mind, ones I can’t latch onto for fear of losing whatever this is between us.
“Neither do I,” he says quietly, finally letting me inch my hands away from the gun and then taking it from me to droop in his hand.
We just stand there again, looking at each other. I don’t know what to do or say. Everything’s gone strange. Even the air smells different. Freesias, or certainly spring flowers of some sort, permeate the room instead of the dusty wood smell that’s normal around here. And I swear to god there’s a tear in his eye. They’re welling with them, subtly maybe, but the influence he normally holds so well, the one he held only a few minutes ago, is disintegrating around him. Vanishing.
My hand moves to his face, just wanting to comfort him in some way. I’m not even sure why. It’s like my arm has its own mind as I run my fingers into his hair, gently brushing it about. He instantly closes his eyes again, letting his body give in to my touch with no thought of stopping me. And for some reason, it all feels alien yet instinctual, the way my hand moves, and the way he moans beneath it, tilting himself into my fingers as he finally lets his body fall to the floor beneath us. It’s like a memory, like I’ve achieved that same reaction before.
I follow him down, still running my skin over his and bringing us closer together, unable to stop myself for reasons unknown. My other hand gently touches his shoulder, for the first time feeling his frame with no clothes on. It’s solid, toned to perfection and yet lithe under my touch, warm and pliable as it oozes masculinity and reminds me of a love I once felt.
“I love you,” he muses, tentatively reaching his hand forward to my body, unable to see it yet knowing exactly where he’s going.
Love?
I frown at the word as his fingers reach the back of my neck, perfectly placing themselves without any vision to get him there. There’s no love here, none that I know of anyway. There is something, though. I can feel it, no matter how much I deny it. But I don’t love him. I hardly know him. Yet there’s a presence, a force maybe, something drawing me to this man that I can’t describe. It’s fragile. Delicate. It’s faint in the back of my mind, like a tunnel that’s not quite opened, filling me with connotations of joy as I continue stroking his hair.
His fingers pu
ll me closer, close enough that I can feel his breath on my lips. Kissing. It seems so personal, such a close thing to do. And I can feel myself pulling back from it, hoping to keep the distance we’ve created to keep me safe and isolated. Sex would be okay, easy, simple. Just like the killing I hope to achieve. Final and non-descript, but nothing about this sensation is simple. I can sense complication and barriers, feel their challenges ahead of us, their hurdles, but I can’t stop myself moving forward into him.
It’s so very gentle, so hesitant, a bare whisper of touch as our lips meet, dry and feathering. My breath shakes out of me, the muscles on the back of my neck fighting a little but giving no real resistance to the movement other than fear. It’s not even fear really. It’s more like trepidation, like part of me is desperate to deny connection of any sort. It’ll weaken my resolve to do what’s necessary to Lewis, perhaps remind me that beauty does exist.
“I love you,” he whispers again, the words blown between our lips, and I so want to believe them. I feel the sentiment catch in my throat, my own words wanting to rise out of me and repeat back to him. My head shakes softly, barely containing lucid thought in the middle of whatever this is. I don’t know him. I know nothing of Jack, nothing, and yet his mouth’s on mine now, slowly moving us into a deeper kiss as his hand grips tighter and his tongue gently traces my bottom lip. It’s all so beautiful. It’s so perfect that I can feel my own tears coming, writhing their way behind my closed eyelids and threatening me with some madness I don’t understand.
“I want to feel you again. Let me,” he says, rubbing his hand into my neck and drawing me closer. It’s everything a perfect moment should be. It’s filled with sentiments of hope and courage, optimism. A future worth living and people worth loving. It’s not something I’ve felt for a while, if ever, certainly not beneath the hands of a man, and I can’t help but revel in the sound of his words, hopelessly loving him for them.
Chapter 9
Jack
S elma.
Warm skin and gentle fingers adorn my face once more, her lips gracefully meandering her way around mine. My heart lurches, hastily trying to hold onto its rhythm while she falls into my arms again. This makes no sense, but there’s nothing here but love and commitment. Nothing but times past and feelings of worship for the woman I love as we hover in strange shadows around the room. She’s here now, resting in my arms and desperately moaning her need for connection.
She moves, pushing herself into my embrace and deepening us. It’s enough to rid me of whatever last shred of reason I’m clawing onto as I skim under her t-shirt and tug at the hem.
“Jack.” I can’t tell if it’s real or not, don’t care. All I can hear is her echo in my ear.
That’s enough.
I turn her onto the floor, feathering her with as many kisses as I can for fear of losing her again, and draw the fabric up her body. She smells so good, flooding me with more memories and thoughts as I lick across her stomach. I bite into it gently, wanting to hear the groan, feel the reality of her between my teeth. She moans instantly, screwing into herself then straightening and presenting herself for more. My hand trails up her legs as I move up her body, pushing her open and inching my hand to the top of her jeans to flick the button.
“Yes,” she hisses, her hands still in my hair, tugging me about as she begins to grind into my frame.
My fingers gently run over her as I push the zip down, inching my hand in bit by bit and moving my body up to her face to gaze at her. Fuck, I love watching her come. Always have. No one has ever looked as she does. I love the rapture in her eyes, the way she grits her teeth, and the way her cheeks blush on the final scream.
I sink my hand downwards as her mouth parts, air filtering onto my face from her mouth, and breathe that in, too. It reminds me of her scent, as a shadow looms over the pair of us, casting us further into darkness. The sun might have gone, but the vibrancy of it hasn’t. It’s here, beneath my hands and waiting for me as I delve my first finger in.
She moans, instantly widening her legs for access and squirming against me. I relish the feeling of her gripping and twisting to help me get deeper, and forge another finger in, widening her further and languishing in the sound of her moans.
“You always were greedy,” I murmur, lowering my mouth and swallowing her moans as our lips connect again.
She writhes beautifully while I probe her as I used to, wanting to give her every second of my adulation and waiting for the squeal to come. She always was a squealer, little temper tantrums getting in the way of our playtime. I push on her clit, helping her on her way and rubbing it back and forth as my fingers continue delving in and out. Everything is still so familiar—the sound of her, the smell, the way she moves beneath me as part of me.
“Make me come,” she says, suddenly beginning to wrench at the top of her jeans, barely removing her mouth from mine as she does. I help her with that, too, grabbing at the other side of them to ease their path down her legs until finally, she’s bare under my weight, her body undulating as she strips her top away.
“So fucking beautiful,” I mumble, dropping my head to wrap my tongue around her nipple. She moans aloud, grinding herself down onto my hand and stretching her own out behind her. I smile, remembering the way I tied her hands occasionally, held them down before I knew what I was doing in that regard. “You want me to play?” I ask, not caring in the slightest either way. I’ll do this for hours with no need for kink. She’s enough, anyway I can get her. I’ll simply spend an eternity lapping over her skin and sinking myself inside it.
“Jack, please. Please…”
It’s yet more moaned torment as I turn my hand inside her, watching her writhe against the red Oriental rug as I create more irritation for her. She breathes her pleas like life depends on us making love. She sings them from her soul, just as she always has, nearly scorching the sky with clarity in the middle of this stormy obscurity we find ourselves in.
I increase pressure on her, turning to look at my fingers slipping in and out.
“So fucking sexy,” I mutter, bracing my other hand on her stomach to hold her still. She’s always been a mover, wrangling her way around the floor so I can’t finish her off. And she still is as her legs try to push away from the torment, her stomach muscles propelling her away from my fingers. “Stay fucking still,” I snarl out, rounding her body and lowering myself between her legs. Just a taste.
I chuckle, knowing that I long to be down here for hours, too, dipping my tongue as often as I choose and gazing at her fighting against my mouth. Not this time, though. This time, the first time in so long, I’ll fucking eat her out desperately. Chew down on her and pull her into my mouth, grabbing her to me as I do.
I pull my fingers from her and wrap my hands under her hips, yanking her along the floor and down onto me. The rug crumples with my force, rippling around us as she yelps out in surprise.
“Oh God, Jack, I can’t…” She can, and she will. She will wait until I’ve had my fill of her taste, and squirm until I’m ready to devour her more.
I rub my nose around her, letting the scent of her intoxicate my senses more. Selma. Not one woman has smelt as she does. It drives me mad as I suck the smell in, hardening my dick infinitely as I push my tongue out tentatively. I lap gently at first, desperate to elongate the moment and let her taste linger in my mouth. It’s fucking heavenly on my taste buds, beautiful, like wild flowers in spring woods, all mixed with sensual decadence.
The gentle laps turn ravenous as I let my wide tongue find its way around her again, licking and remembering its perfected course as it surges around. She groans and moans, tipping her hips into my mouth, her hands bracing the floor to lift herself into me.
“Jack. Oh god. Please…”
Lowering one of my hands, I try to undo my belt as she bucks about in my hold. I chuckle again, lifting myself off her and up onto my knees to rip at my pants. She’s still writhing, her frame barely discernible in the shadow I’m casting
over her and the murkiness in the room, but I know this woman. I don’t need to see her. I can feel her. Her outline is mapped in my mind. Her curves. The way her body flows effortlessly as she moves. Her long slender arms, her nails and the way they embed themselves in the moment of orgasm. I don’t need visuals. All I need is her sound as she keeps moaning beneath me.
“Jack, yes. More.”
I close my eyes as her hand wraps around my cock, tugging it towards her, delicate hands nimbly grasping at what she wants. I hover in the moment, remembering her mouth’s intensity and the way she swirls her tongue, aching with need for her to do it again and remind me.
“Suck it,” I almost growl, desperate to have her warmth around me again as she begins to stroke me back and forth. She doesn’t; she torments me as much as I have her, the occasional flick of her tongue here, a kiss on it there. I grunt, grabbing at her hair and hauling her towards me with little care for her comfort. She squeals a little, reminding me of her fragility. It’s not something I give a damn about at the moment. I want to fuck my way back into her soul any way I can. Her pussy, her throat. I don’t care how. I just need to join, to remind us both what we’ve been missing.
Her lips part as I push on them, and then warmth envelops me, sliding itself up my shaft and causing me to tighten my ass in response. I could come instantly, barely holding off the need to pump viciously into her throat and erupt, but her moan echoes in the room again, haunting the mysterious nightfall that’s descending and giving me a new focus. I grasp hold of the sound as my fingers grip onto her head, guiding her down onto me as I shove in deeper and close my eyes again.
“More, baby,” I murmur, sliding myself in further as her hands grip my ass and pull me towards her. She slides her mouth back, running her tongue around me as she goes and then forges back onto me again, swallowing and causing me to growl in pleasure. “Fuck, that’s good,” I groan out, pushing my cock back and forth in her throat and relishing the tight restriction around it.
The Spiral Page 10
