My own hand rushed straight to his stomach to feel his solid abs. Tearing at his shirt with a shameful desperation, I pressed my fingers deep into his skin eager to feel his strength, his unwavering masculinity.
I didn't need to look down to know he was hard, I could smell it, imagine the end becoming wet as the blood rushed to the tip. I was growing wet myself, feeling hotter by the second, feeling almost pained by the need to be touched.
There was the sound of my zipper as he peeled it down.
"What if someone's watching?" I whispered.
He didn't reply. Of course no one was watching. There was no one around for miles.
His hand slid easily into the front of my panties with both his fingers and thumb becoming wet as he massaged me. I trembled for a second, too overwhelmed by the sensations to move. Then I gasped as his fingers entered me and hit the sweet, sensitive spot that Craig could never reach.
Instinctively, I burrowed into his chest to feel the warmth and protection of his body before sinking my teeth into his shoulder.
As I cupped between his legs he let out a groan with the heat of his breath blowing through my hair.
"Turn around," he said, pulling his hand away and spinning me by the waist. "Bend over."
Never in my entire life had I felt so exposed. Never had Craig and I made love outdoors. The closest we came was in the car at night on a deserted road. This was something far scarier.
"Are you sure no one can see?" I said over my shoulder.
He brushed the hair from my eyes and said "What's wrong with someone watching?"
A pang of anxiety snapped in my chest, but it dissolved the second he entered me roughly, his thighs slapping mine as he grunted. I felt my eyes roll up into my head, felt the unbearable longing to have him harder, deeper, so much deeper, then faster until I was consumed by him, until I was completely filled by him.
The smell of his sweat mingled with the pine trees and the gritty sand of the rocky shore. His breath came in short, sharp shocks as he prepared to climax. Below me, my knees were stinging against the roughness of the rock, my jeans scratching into my skin and my hands reddening as I balanced precariously. But for once I liked the pain and how it married with the pleasure that overflowed from me, the ecstasy rising and falling through me in great tidal waves of euphoria.
When his hand reached round and gripped my jaw, I leaned back into him, wanting him to take control of my body. I pushed back against him, smacking my buttocks off his rigid stomach in an attempt to push him inside just an inch further to last a moment longer.
With one final thrust, he shook violently and fell onto my back as I tumbled to my knees, red raw and burning. He was forming inaudible words through his labored breath, struggling to speak as he regained his balance and pushed himself to his feet.
Feeling satisfied, though at the same time undignified, I hurried to button up my jeans before the imagined watchers in the forest saw me for a second longer. I glanced into the trees with a growing sense of paranoia but there was nothing and nobody.
Slight movement out the corner of my eye made me panic, but when I looked over, it was just a rabbit hopping through the grass. Up high, the woodpecker continued to drill its way through a redwood.
"I'm sorry," he gasped as he held my hands and pulled me up to him.
He kissed me tenderly before closing his arms around me, his breath hot and moist in my ear.
"What are you sorry for?" I asked, concerned there was something terrible he had to confess.
"That wasn't very romantic," he replied, his arms tightening around me.
Romance... it seemed like a hollow word now. There were relationships and orgasmic experiences but romance... what was that? Rose petal covered silk sheets and heart shaped chocolates?
"You respect me," I said. "And that's romantic to me."
He smiled and looked into my eyes.
"Are you even real?" he asked.
Perplexed, I frowned and involuntarily wiggled the end of my nose, a habit of mine that displayed itself during moments of great confusion.
"You're just so lovely," he said as he clapped his hands to my cheeks and kissed my forehead. "But I mean it. I want a special night with you so I can... take my time."
There was a peculiar intonation to his voice. It made him sound like he wanted to devour me piece by piece, savoring each morsel of my body. Then it dawned on me that Hannibal Lecter was also a doctor and the frown returned.
"What's the matter?" he asked as he crossed his arms behind his head and lay back on the rock.
"Nothing."
"You don't think I'm serious, do you?"
He sat back up and looked up to the sky as though searching for a sign before reaching for my hand.
"I bet you think all guys are jerks now."
"Just the ones with a penis," I replied but I didn't really mean it.
He pursed his lips to stifle a laugh and ran his hand through my hair.
"I will give you a special night," he said. "Away from that house you're in. It's about time you came over to mine anyway."
"Like... an official date?" I asked, my heart quickening at the thought.
He'd been so kind to me, so dazzling and impressive. Too impressive. There was always the fear that he'd leave the moment he got what he wanted but somehow an invitation to his house seemed like a step toward a relationship, if that's what I really wanted...
"Yeah, a proper date," he said. "I'll cook dinner, pick out a nice movie or we could have a dip in the hot tub. If it's a nice night we could even sleep outside beneath the stars.
"That sounds terrific," I said and just hoped he was everything I hoped he'd be.
Chapter Four
Phaedra
A knot of nausea was pulling itself taught across my stomach. I pulled the crucifix from around my neck and held it tight in my hand until Jesus' arms almost punctured the skin. Looking around the waiting room, I wondered if I should even be here. It was too risky and I could kick up the dust that I had made sure was settled for all these years.
"Erm.. Phaedra?"
Detective Berger stood in the doorway to his office with a file under his arm, his tie pulled loose and large bags beneath his eyes. He ran a hand through his cropped, greasy hair and gestured for me to enter.
"Thank you so much for getting in touch," he said as he pointed his file at the seat in front of his desk. "Please, take a seat. Can I get you anything?"
I shook my head politely and sat in front of him, my crucifix now safely tucked back in against my heart.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like some tea?" he asked.
"No, really I'm fine," I replied to ensure I didn't stay too long.
"So..." he tangled his fingers together and leaned on his desk. "How can I help you?"
My heart raced as I took a deep breath. Pressing my clammy palms together, I said, "Another one of our girls... she's gone... missing. I think."
His face fell. Screeching his chair back, he stood back up and began pacing.
"No. Are you sure? Really? Shit!"
He kicked the leg of his desk and dislodged a pile of papers that fell to the floor.
"I'm sorry," he said, walking over to the window and looking down at the street.
With his forehead pressed up against the window, he looked as though he was on the cusp of crying.
"Fuck," he said to himself before falling silent and staring off into the distance. "What's her name?"
"Roberta," I said. "But she never gave a surname," I lied.
He didn't question it. We had so many transient girls stay at the house, most of them running away from someone or something, all of them trying to forget the past. It wasn't unusual for girls to omit the truth occasionally.
"Is that her real name?" he asked.
I turned my hands over and raised my palms to the ceiling with a shrug.
"It's all she gave us."
"How long has she been missing?"
"We're not sure
. It could be two hours, it could be twelve."
He bristled and stared back out the window.
"Are you sure she's missing? She's not just away somewhere with a boyfriend."
As much as I wanted to believe him, I knew that wasn't the case. Roberta never had a boyfriend. There were times when she had a pimp. She'd told me all about them, how they bought her gifts and made her feel safe but she never had a boyfriend. If anything, she remained cynical about love, thinking it was reserved for suckers.
"No boyfriends," I said. "I would have known. She would have told me."
He was scribbling furiously in his notepad while shuffling papers across his desk.
"Age?"
"She told me she was twenty one but..."
He nodded without looking up. He knew how much girls on the street lied. She could have been a lot younger.
"Family?"
I shook my head.
"Description?"
I thought about those eyes of hers, the ones that were rimmed with kohl and could stare through you with the wisdom of a hundred year old.
"Petite, five foot four at the most. Redhead. Tattoo on her arm."
"Tattoo?" he asked as he looked up. "What was it?"
I shook my head again.
"Can't remember. They all have tattoos and they're always much the same, a loved one's name, a rose, a skull, a heart, Marilyn Monroe..."
"It wasn't a red spiral was it?"
The question sent a shock through me.
"No. No spiral."
And I knew that to be true. So far I hadn't figured out the significance of it. All the poor girls who died had one but I didn't know why. They certainly never had those fiendish red tattoos while staying in the house so where did they come from? It had kept me awake, had driven me wild as I thought about what it could mean.
"Do you know who she saw last?" he asked.
"We think it's a new girl who was staying with us on her first night?"
"Any convictions?"
"Most likely, although I never asked for the specifics. I don't judge any of the girls."
She did have a criminal record, one as tall as she was.
I watched him continue to scribble, knowing it was only a matter of time until he started asking more questions, started to dig deeper into Roberta and the house and me...
"I'm sorry detective but I have to go now. The house needs attending to and-"
"Please, sit back down," he motioned toward the chair.
Gingerly, I perched on the edge with my car keys clutched in my hands.
"Please, I really do have to go."
"I need to ask you a couple more questions. Won't be long."
For a second it looked as though his hand shook but he steadied himself before resuming his line of enquiry.
"What was her link to the other girls?" he asked with his pen poised and his knuckles white.
I knew exactly what her connection was but could never say. It was then that I realized I shouldn't even have reported her missing. I should have just let her disappear like the others but wouldn't that look more suspicious? Especially with Jet kicking up trouble? If it wasn't me in this chair it would be her.
"Link..." I said, stalling as I tried to think of a good lie. "Apart from staying in the house I don't think there is one."
He looked into my eyes. There was something about his posture, his voice, the way he regarded me through narrow eyes that hinted at his suspicion. He knew I was lying but didn't know why.
"I brought a picture," I said, fishing elbow deep into my messenger bag to pull out the Polaroid I'd taken of her on her birthday.
"You're just telling me now!" he snatched it from my hand.
Holding it up close to his face, I could see he was trying to remember her.
"I interviewed her," he said. "She was a quiet girl, wasn't she?"
I nodded.
"Really, she was no bother. Just kept to herself. Anyway, I really must be going."
I bolted for the door but he dashed over and pressed his hand into it.
"Why such a hurry to leave?"
Looking down at my shoes, I prayed he'd step aside and let me leave.
"You know something, don't you?"
The nausea returned, my hand becoming slippery around the leather straps of my bag.
"If you know something you have to tell me."
"Please, I don't know anything."
He sighed and opened the door.
"Come back if you think of anything," he said. "I'll put out patrols for her right now."
But I was barely listening. My mind was on a hundred other things, a thousand other problems. I stepped into the elevator and vowed never to enter anther police station. As it descended, I reached back into my bag and picked out the envelope of photos. The top one showed Roberta and the three dead girls with smiles on their faces. Three other girls stood out of shot, laughing and joking as they drank. In the center of the room lay a baby's crib with the heads of twins poking out from the white cotton blanket.
As I stepped out the elevator into the street, I turned right up the first alleyway. Crouching behind a dumpster, I placed the envelope on the ground, sparked a match to light a cigarette. Then I took a step back and let the match fall onto the photographs.
For a second, the flame refused to take hold of the paper, but when it did, it consumed the photographs in seconds, shrinking and warping the girls' faces until they morphed into the ugly demons they were. Or at least, the ugly demon I was.
Chapter Five
Lincoln
As I switched off the engine and settled into the silence of the street, I thought I could hear voices from inside the house, girlish laughter and the sounds of clinking glasses, but I dismissed it as a figment of my imagination. There was seldom laughter in the house. It must have come from elsewhere.
When the lithe figure of Jet slinked out from the shadows at the back of the building, I almost didn't recognize her. In her thick duffel coat with her hair scraped back, she could have almost been a boy. But as she unzipped her coat and reached for the passenger door, I caught a glimpse of her slender, feminine body and the full breasts that were so perfect they almost looked fake.
"You shouldn't be here," she said as she slid into the passenger seat. "Drive."
"Woah, can't we talk for a minute?"
She glanced up to Phaedra's room.
"I don't like sitting around like an easy target," she said. "Can't we just get outta here?"
"You're the boss," I replied and twisted the key in the ignition.
~
When we arrived on the edge of the docks, the fog lay thick amongst the buildings, covering the nearby river so it felt as though we lingered in the ether.
"Is this private enough for you?"
She nodded and reached into her pocket.
"So you got it?" she asked.
"Have you?" I replied.
She gave me a caustic look.
"Okay... I got it. Sapphires. That's what you like, isn't it?"
She nodded and licked her lips.
"And diamonds. All girls love diamonds."
As a sliver of moonlight fell upon her face, I could visibly see her pupils dilate with lust. She reached forward, her coat falling further open so I could see more of her cleavage.
"I brought what you asked," she said as she fumbled in her pocket. "Worn, right?"
She lifted out the balled up, white panties and handed them over.
"I don't know what guys like you do with these but whatever steams your pudding."
I took it gratefully and opened them up. In the center, a wet spot lay darker than the rest. I folded it up neatly, took a Ziploc bag from the glovebox and slid it inside.
"Thank you," I said with a polite smile.
She spread her legs wide, a hole in the crotch of her jeans showing me a patch of her pale skin and a hint of blonde hair.
"So... you said diamonds," she purred.
I reached dow
n the side of the seat and presented her with a small black matte box. The girl in the shop had asked if it was going to be an engagement ring and I'd nodded and played along. It's not as if I could tell her the truth.
Jet yanked it from my fingers, her red nails scratching my hand as she pulled it close to her chest like a feral animal. When she flipped the lid, she gasped and squealed.
"For real? Holy shit!"
She tore the ring from the box and slid it onto her middle finger.
“I can’t believe this,” she gasped. “You’re a crazy bastard.”
“Huh…” I gave her a wry smile and watched the glint of the diamonds in the fading light. Outside, the fog grew thicker and the sound of her excited chatter drifted away. In the deepening fog, a shape began to form, the outline of a door perhaps or the silhouette of a person. No, it’s a door, I thought. Nobody would be out here at this time of night. Not unless they were some sort of serial killer…
Beside me, Jet continued to jabber, her voice becoming higher as she fawned over her jewelry. Some girls were so easy to please and what were diamonds and sapphires anyway? Just chunks of rock. Never understood why people went wild for them, even killed for them.
I looked back into the fog. The figure was growing darker as it neared. It started to form limbs, a head, maybe even the hint of a face. I squinted and leaned forward, confused as to what I was seeing.
“I’m going to have to hide this from Phaedra,” I heard Jet say but I didn’t reply.
I leaned even further forward and wiped the condensation from the windshield with my sleeve. A man was walking toward us, staggering and swaying like a tree in the breeze. His face was pained, his eyes clenched shut. I knew that face. I’d seen it leer over me a thousand times, had seen its twisted evil and cruelty.
“Who is that?” Jet frowned.
“You can see it too?”
Her eyes widened.
“I know him,” she said.
“So do I.”
It was my father.
Bile rose in my gut, acid burning mixed with fear and sweat. He walked closer.
How could this be? How…
Jewels and Panties (Book, Two): Jewels in the Night Page 3
