Seize me From Darkness (Pierced Hearts Book 4)

by Cari Silverwood

  “Sir! Too tight. Hurts!”

  Had I found a pain she found overwhelming? I stuck it deeper into her again, slamming in hard, and she descended into animalistic noises. I fucked her until both of us were panting and crying out louder than the noises of the squall. The rain poured down on us in a mad accompaniment.

  I reached around and found her clit, massaged that little female button as I pumped slower, in and out. The clutch of her pussy on my cock was enough to make me come in ten seconds if I didn’t keep it slow.

  I gasped and stopped, tensing for a few seconds, holding back from erupting. Then I worked at her clit while only thrusting an inch in, an inch out, until she stiffened, mouth wide open, and cried out oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck in a high-pitched voice, while shaking through a long climax.

  “My turn,” I grated through my teeth. The base of the plug down there reminded me of what I could do to her. One day. My cock in her there. Soon. But right now, this minute...

  With the plug in her ass and her thighs squashed in there was almost no room for my cock. Damn. It would probably come out two sizes smaller.

  Holding back any longer wasn’t happening.

  As I hammered into her cunt, the squall hit us full force, blowing me sideways a bit and whipping up the water. I came so hard I didn’t notice the rain thudding into us until she bowed her head and slowly collapsed forward. I had to use serious muscle to keep her upright.

  I spent a while just leaning on her neck, breathing there, before I popped out the anal plug, undid the leash, and helped her stand. Washing us off was easy with the rain and the sea.

  The only problem, when we reached the beach, was that all my pages were wet or blown away.

  When she wobbled on her feet, I decided to let them go where the wind took them. Letting her snuggle head first into my chest, enclosing her in my arms, feeling her sighs and mutters of that was good, sir...far, far better than chasing her past.

  Maybe this was the tipping factor. She loved these hugs. From now on I would dole out both daily spankings and hugs.

  I had this in hand. Everything was working out well.

  Chapter 32

  Fishing had always been a great hobby – relaxing, a way to think of nothing. Here, it was also a way to provide food for us both and more satisfying because of that. I’d left her back in bed at the hut, but tied up enough to keep her out of trouble. She’d been sleeping. We’d played under the stars last night with the flare of gas lanterns flickering light across her curves as I beat her with the flogger. I wanted to catch something for breakfast. With no fridge, fish didn’t keep for long.

  That little inlet with the rocks had looked promising, but when I reached the top of the dune above, there was a small, dilapidated boat rocking in the waves.

  Fok. No rifle. Keeping the salt, sand, and rust off it was a full-time occupation here and I’d left it behind for once. The only time, really. Murphy’s law.

  I set down the fishing rod on the beach but kept the canvas satchel with me. The fishing knife would do, for now. A man snored in the stern, a bottle rolling back and forth at his feet as the sea tossed the boat. At least he’d remembered to throw out an anchor. Sails and a motor. I hadn’t heard him arrive, so he must have sailed in.

  I waded out and checked in the cabin. Nobody else. Good.

  So I gently woke him up, standing in the water with my hand on the gunwale and saying howdy like some American. Most couldn’t place my accent. If he didn’t speak English, I’d figure out an alternative way to scare the shit out of him.

  His snoring choked to a halt and he blearily opened his eyes then jerked fully awake.

  “You scare me!” His hand was on his heart.

  “Sorry.” I nodded at his boat. “What are you doing here?”

  He shrugged then clambered to his feet and staggered to the side. “Hey, I don’t know. I’m going to fish here. There’s a time to get away from your lady, some days. You know?”

  The grin splitting his dark-skinned face invited me to smile back.

  “Ahhh. I get it. You’re in trouble?”

  “Yes!” He half fell, half climbed over the side, landing with a splash, and I caught his arm. “Yes. That is it.”

  So the poor guy had gone on a drunken bender in his fishing boat to get away from his woman. It was hilarious in a way. God knows how he got this far without sinking.

  I guessed he was fortyish and his face, teeth, and clothes were as battered as his boat but I hadn’t met anyone so cheerful in a long while.

  We sat on the beach exchanging silly stories about women and fishing for half an hour before I managed to tell him the island was off limits and private. I hadn’t conversed with anyone for days, apart from a few times on the sat phone with Glass. Sad to have to shoo him off the island, but necessary.

  “You got any friends coming here, looking for free stuff?” I gestured at the beach in front of us.

  “No. Nobody I know comes here. Why?”

  “Ahh. I’m having trouble with a few. Make sure people know. Okay?”

  “Sure. Sure.” He shot me another gap-toothed grin. “I’ll do that. I have something of yours here, maybe. I found this on the beach last night.” He shoved his hand in his pocket, pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. Though wet, he managed to uncrumple it, and smoothed it on his thigh. He tapped it. “She looks like your woman maybe? This one? I see woman last night when I sail past. All lit up. You play rough?”

  I’d had a couple of gas lanterns out last night, with Jaz tied under the roofed shelter at the jetty. Crap. With all the light, I’d not seen a thing outside the circle. I was getting careless.

  “I guess I do.”

  He had the first page on his knee and there was Jazmine’s picture, clear as day. Damn.

  “You read English?”

  He shook his head. “No. No. Not much. I read little.” Then he gave the paper to me.

  Little?

  I tucked it away. “Thanks. Shh on this though. Okay? It’s just what she likes me to do to her.”

  “Yes? I guess I can shush but...” He shook his head while looking down at the sand. “I don’t know. It don’t seem right.”

  Where was the line between reading little and reading enough?

  I rubbed my forehead.

  Words could be powerful when said to the right people.

  I shrugged, annoyed, tired, and feeling sad about where my accidental decisions were taking me.

  “My mother always told me to take care of my wife. You think you do that? By beating her? But hey.” He held up his hands and gestured, pushing the air outward. “Don’t want to interfere in your marriage with her. No. Your business, for sure, but I feel for your soul.” He thumped his chest.

  This fisherman had principles. He was right, of course.

  Drunk old bastard that he was. Like most people he deserved better than life had delivered to him.

  That familiar tug awakened and pulled me between caring for Jazmine, loving her, and wanting to hurt her. I’d sat out by myself a few nights trying to reconcile this new facet of myself. Being a sadist was old news, wanting to do things the woman didn’t want and then doing them anyway? New. This freedom was making me have second and third thoughts.

  “We have souls that gather dirt as we live our lives. Mine has many spots, I know this.” He nodded, lower lip curling out. “Is bad. Yours? Is yours dirty?”

  For a drunken fisherman, he was giving Aristotle a run for his money.

  “A soul?” I smiled weakly. “Sometimes I think I don’t have one of those.”

  “You do! Some of you is a good man!” He snuggled his arm across my shoulders and breathed fumes in my face for a moment before his arm slid off. “Don’t want you going to your death with bad things weighing you down.”

  “Uh huh.”

  In the middle of nowhere and I was getting into a philosophical discussion with a fisherman.

  “So why are you here? Hmm? This is nowhere.” He pulled a horrible
face, wrinkles folding on wrinkles as he surveyed the beach. “Is pretty but shithole. Storm will blow you away, if the waves don’t get you.”

  “A shithole? Damn, I could show you worse than this.” I chuckled despite everything.” I came here with her to...” I had a compulsion to tell him some of the truth. “Make sure we agreed on things.” Inside, I laughed again. That was sort of it.

  “By beating her until she screams?” His eyebrows shot up. “Wow.”

  “Wow?” What was wrong with giving this guy some of my time on this beach? Nothing. It wasn’t like I had an appointment to get to. “What’s your name?”

  “I am Miok.”

  “I’m Pieter.” I shook his hand. “Okay, here’s a pretend puzzle for you. Something bad has happened. If you do one thing, all your friends go to jail. Maybe for the rest of their lives. But...” Why was my heart beating so fast and hard? “One woman is freed from prison. Do the opposite and she is in prison but your friends are free. Which do you choose?”

  “That’s a moral puzzle.” He took a swig from his bottle. “I know what morals are. Shit. And I know answer. I think.”

  “Go for it.”

  A late ghost crab scuttled past my toes along the sand. The waves gently shushed back and forth, shifting the gravel and sand. I was missing the best fishing time arguing morals with this guy but it had become important to me.

  Swaying, he held up his finger. “Depends. Did she do anything bad? Did your friends?”

  I thought a while. “Both. Her, it was accidental badness with some bitchiness too. The friends have done many deliberate bad things, but they’ve also done good.”

  “Ahh. Hard one. You try to trick me, but...but, the rights of many really bad people should not mean more than the rights of one little bit bad person. I say let the friends go to jail. Okay? Fixed?”

  His was the viewpoint of the average good man. And well said too. Clear as day, none of the wishy-washy stuff I told myself.

  “Fixed.”

  “S’not just me saying this. You know? My son shot a man once and he wanted to run but I told him no. He was good boy. He got out of prison and now he’s got a good wife, a little baby coming. Hmm?” He peered at me. “See?”

  “I see. Yes.”

  I let him talk for a while longer before I decided I’d spent enough time being his new friend. Jaz was tied up at the hut. It’d be cereal this morning, not fish. I drew in a long breath and stood up. My offer to help get the boat out to sea was accepted.

  “It’s going to storm again today. But late,” he said as we trudged down the sand.

  I waded out after him and we pulled up the anchor.

  “Get in.”

  I gave the poor guy a shove to help him climb into his boat, while I steadied the vessel with my hand.

  He peered back at me, saluted sloppily. “Thank you, sir. Small storm. Little one. I’ll be fine. I hope your moral problem is now fixed.”

  “It is. Yes.”

  The people you meet in the middle of nowhere. Life isn’t always a box of chocolates. Hand still on the hull, I fingered the paper in my back pocket.

  “Sit down. Let’s get you out into deeper water.”

  Chapter 33

  I’d been dying to pee and managed to wriggle out of the straps, since they were looser than normal, and to go outside to pee. If I didn’t get back in them, I might be in trouble. My head was telling me that even as I held his rifle across my hands.

  The fucking thing shone where the morning sun lit it up, but the metal of the barrel was cold and oily on my palms.

  I had the means of my escape in my grasp. Shit, shit, shit. Deep breath. Think. I peeked about, terrified he’d return and find me like this. Past the shipping crate, the huts, toward the beach and the palm trees on every side. The fishing rod was missing. No. Nowhere in sight.

  Kill him? God no, my soul shrank at that idea. He’d know that too. I wasn’t a killer. He’d been kind as well as scary. Shit.

  Decide. I had to do this properly and with courage, or not at all. And fast.

  Could I shoot his leg? That might kill him anyway. I’d seen plenty of gunshot wounds in my early days as a reporter on the police beat. But...yes, I think I could.

  I could.

  Check if it’s loaded.

  As I looked for the catch to release the magazine, a shadow moved in front of me, coming up from the beach. Him.

  He’d seen me, what I was doing. As he advanced, the stark expression – rigid mouth and eyes as still as stone – said a nuclear holocaust was a minor disturbance compared to his fury.

  “What are you doing, girl?”

  Dumb question. He was trying to get close enough to grab the gun, or me.

  Shit.

  Clutching the rifle, and aiming it at him as I backed several yards, I shored up my crumbling willpower. I can do this!

  “Stay there or I shoot!”

  He stopped level with the box and held out his hands. They dripped water and his hair and clothes were wet too. “I come in peace.”

  “Sure you fucking do.” My words shook, and my heart beat hard enough to make me worry it’d explode any second.

  “That’s sure you fucking do, Sir.”

  “Not anymore.” I resisted the need to wipe my face. Sweat had prickled up on my brow, probably due to my stomach turning into a block of ice. When nervous, confuse your inner thermostat. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

  How was I going to do this? He’d grab me still. Were there handcuffs that fi –

  “Before I will do that, let me tell you something important. A story.”

  A what? “A story?” When I hesitated, he sat on the box.

  “See. I’m no threat to you. Besides, I don’t think you know much about guns, do you?”

  Was he trying to decide if I could shoot? “I can pull this trigger fine. I didn’t say sit, I said turn.”

  His monotone delivery continued. “If you shoot me and kill me how will you get off this island? The sat phone is locked away. You going to wait for Glass and shoot him too? Let me talk then you can think about these orders again? Maybe I’ll cooperate?”

  His logic was impeccable. Bastard. He was setting a trap here, but what was it?

  “Talk. Two minutes.”

  He shifted his feet, rested his forearms on his thighs. “I remember, meisie, how much you like what I do to you.” His eyes narrowed. “Last chance to give me the rifle without fuss. I’ll only punish you a little.”

  My grip crunched in enough to strangle the rifle, if it were alive. “One minute forty.” Pity I had no watch.

  “Suit yourself. I wanted to tell you who I met on the beach just now. An old fisherman, drunk, lost. He ended up here by accident. Was a nice guy with a boy of his own. His son has a baby coming too.”

  He went on with more detail about his talk with the fisherman. Now and then, as he spoke, he would study the rifle in my hands then look away, then stare at it again. It made me think he respected what a bullet could do. But then he stopped looking and I agonized that it wasn’t loaded at all. Damn him. He’d been in combat and been fired on many times. Were there bullets in this thing or did he scorn the threat of me with a loaded gun?

  I frowned. And why was he saying this? Was his new friend sneaking up on me? The tension of wondering if there was someone there, about to jump me, became a compulsion. I did a quick scan behind me then whipped my head back around to check Pieter. He hadn’t moved. Thank god. My heart stuttered back to life and he smiled at me.

  “So?”

  “So he told me his life story. I told him some of mine. He’d found a bit of paper on the beach, from your resume. It had your picture on it and I was worried he might have read your name. He said he could only read a little English. Then he went on to tell me he saw what I did to you last night.”

  That...I recalled, all the pain, all the climaxes Pieter had forced from me. In his strange way, he cherished me, yet here I was ready to shoot hi
m. Why? Was what I was doing right? If it wasn’t... An unwelcome tear rolled down my face.

  Fuck it. I was right. I must be.

  Except I sort of, kind of, loved some of him. How was that possible?

  The rifle seemed heavier every second. Where was this heading? “And? Sixty seconds left.”

  Only I was the one dreading the end of my countdown...and I had no clue why. Just something about how he regarded me. As if being held down and hurt a million times while he fucked me into nirvana wasn’t going to have psychological impact. Be strong.

  “Not giving me the gun?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “I don’t think so. He gave me this big speech about being good in this lifetime, which I agreed with. He’s right about what is morally correct. I agreed that what I’m doing to you is wrong.”

  Stunned, I rearranged my fingers on the rifle. Was he saying he was going to let me go? Did I dare ask him that? My vocal cords wouldn’t function for all of half a minute. If I never said it, I’d never hear him say no.

  “Are you...are you saying you’re going to free me?”

  He nodded, looking sadly at the ground between my feet.

  This couldn’t be.

  “I’m saying that after I pushed him out to sea, I climbed aboard, and I strangled him, and then I dumped his body overboard.”

  Blankness filled my head as everything seemed to jerk into stillness, then I kicked over into horror. He’d killed a man. Just now. A complete innocent. Was this a lie? I stared into his eyes, concerned if I looked away for a second, he would pounce.

  “You’re lying.”

  “The day my brother died, I ran through the crowd of demonstrators to Aden, my fellow officer, planning to, I don’t know, just stop him. My brother was curled in a puddle of blood at his feet, dead, brains spread out in a splatter. I pulled my pistol and shot Aden’s face off.

  “I lost a brother, a country, a wife, and for a long while, my respect for myself, but I’ve come to terms with who I am. Killing is what I do.”