by Cee Smith
“Dominic, please. Oh god, please.”
“Please what, baby, tell me. Do you like when my tongue does this,” he said before beating his tongue rapidly against my clit. I wanted to turn my head away, but felt compelled to watch. My body was pulled deeper into his mouth, and I finally let go, letting him take over. He lavished me with every touch of his hands, every thrust of his tongue. I was floating. I’d never taken drugs before, but I imagined that was what it felt like—to be a separate entity than your body. It felt like my insides were spiraling through a funnel, leaving nothing but darkness in its wake as every lick took me higher.
“Let go, Hailey.” He nibbled my clit gently, and it seemed to be just what I needed to set me off.
“Oh, Dominic. No, no, no. Wait!” It was like a water balloon bursting in slow motion where you can see and feel the millions of particles dance before your eyes. Time slowed and sped up, all in the span of a few moments, and blues and greens danced behind my clenched eyes. When the last of my tremors subsided, he dipped his fingers inside me, and I closed my legs with a crushing force, squishing him between my locked knees.
“I’m just checking you.” His eyes were sincere, so I let up a bit and he continued prying, submerging his fingers a little deeper as I panted. It was too soon, everything too sensitive. I couldn’t take feeling him there so soon after coming.
“I can’t. I’m sorry, Dominic.” He looked up at me and removed himself from between my legs. The halogen lights from the bathroom burst across his lathered face before he used the rag to wipe himself down. He wiped between my legs tenderly and thoroughly, and I yelped when his hand strayed to the puckered ring that he passed over a few times. He pulled the rag back and smiled mischievously.
When we both settled in, our breaths finally calmed, and when I was just about to doze off, he sidled up to my back—his kisses on my shoulder feeling like pats through the cloth of my shirt. “This doesn’t change anything between us, matakia mou. If anything, it just proves you’ll be mine forever,” he whispered. I wasn’t sure if those words were meant for my ears to hear so I didn’t move, counting my breaths to make sure there wasn’t a hitch. He must have believed it because he just rolled over and fell into a deep slumber.
I sat in the converted lounge of my basement staring at the one man whom I hated, yet would be the one to save me.
“I take it you haven't had a drink since the last time we met,” he said as the glove smacked against his wrist. He always looked at me with this sinister sneer as if I was the butt of all of his jokes. But the joke was on him if I died—he was only to receive the full fifty million on the completion of my liver transplant. That was what my life was worth to a man like him, and despite my distaste for the man, I knew I could trust him with my less than legal means of surviving.
I lifted my tumbler of water in reply, “No vodka, just water.” I hadn't had a drink in over eighteen months—not that I was counting—but you kind of begin counting time when you're on a countdown to your death.
It was genetic, they said. My father had it, too—something he forgot to mention when he and my mom vanished off the coast of the motherland, Greece. After much prying and calls to lawyers, they revealed that a few years before I was born, he had a liver transplant. Unlike me, he was put on a list like everyone else, sitting and counting days, waiting for others to die or a match to be made.
Some days, I would wake angry that he wasn't there, but then she wouldn't be in my home, somewhere upstairs, probably hating what I did to her the night before. I started to feel stirrings of my excitement when I thought of her chained to the bed with me between her legs. I was the first man to give her an orgasm, and the way she burst for me was, well, it was precious. She was a virgin, whose innocence was questionable—as I recounted the rawness between us. The way she let me pull her hair while she clawed my back. Mmmm. There was no question she was a virgin, but there was definitely something dark in that one. My stirrings turned to a raging hard-on as I imagined what it would be like to take her.
I took a swig of water as Dr. Reynolds’ voice broke through, “—blood, then we'll take an ultrasound of the liver and we'll see from there, but the hardest part is done. You have her here. We should be able to do the procedure in a few weeks. I'll need to run some tests just to make sure she's as good of a donor as her labs suggest.”
After my first meeting with Dr. Reynolds, at which point we discussed my less than legal means of procuring a donor, we searched the medical databases for patients admitted for liver testing. Hailey was the closest match.
“Don't go counting your dollars just yet. My tests didn't look so great last time, and a few weeks is a long way away.”
Two chairs sat in front of the fireplace with a chunky wood coffee table positioned between the seating and fireplace. Vines of roses were carved into the pine that surrounded the mantel—an elaborate design that was echoed in the crown molding. On the wall next to the seating area was a large gilded mirror—a family heirloom that had collected a slightly white film and chipped varnish over the years.
Up until eighteen months ago, this was my favorite room, a room where I felt like any moment my parents would come downstairs and find me sitting in Dad's chair, forcing me to go to bed for the night. I looked at the other end of the room and was reminded how lonely my life had become. A hospital fridge with containers of my blood sat in little vials marked with the evolution of my sickness. The dates bundled close together when it looked like my iron was getting too high.
Other medical paraphernalia littered that side of the room, sterile things that reminded me of sickness and death. This included a table, racks filled with gloves, sanitizer, empty tubes, a portable ultrasound, and a CT scanner—everything I would need so I never had to leave my home, at least not for my health.
Dr. Reynolds wrapped the tourniquet around my arm, and I clenched my fist rapidly, presenting a clear vein. He pricked me, filling the vial with my blood. Three remaining vials sat on the metal tray, each to be filled with blood. He typically took four—three to run tests on and one to keep in my fridge of sickness.
“I must say. The girl's very pretty. And young, too.”
I didn’t know if he was trying to get a rise out of me, or if he was trying to fill the silence with the sound of his loathsome voice. Either way, his words definitely had an effect on me.
“You're not here to look. You're here to see to it that's she a good match and that we both survive. The only thing you should be concerned with is her organs, nothing more.”
“Ooh touchy, this morning. Or, is it my mentioning of the girl?”
The tourniquet bit into my flexing arm, sending sharp tingles down to my fingertips. I stared at my reddened palms that looked like I’d just smacked someone, which was what I felt like doing at that moment. I felt a growl ripping from my stomach when I thought of his eyes on what was mine. The growl must have escaped my mouth because he patted my shoulder condescendingly as he chuckled to himself.
When the last of the blood was drawn, he took imaging of my liver and surrounding organs before scheduling the next meeting.
Once he left, I opened my laptop, poring over my emails and checking the video feed for the house. What I saw wiped away the memory of that self-righteous pompous ass that I constantly had to put in his place.
“What are you up to?” I said to the vision of Hailey on my screen, walking past the clothes laid out for her and leaving the closet with a set of new clothes. I smiled at her obvious rebelliousness. She was such a brat. She did the same thing last night, coming down to dinner in clothes that she herself picked out. I let it slide because I didn’t really expect her to put her soiled clothes back on, but clearly she was pushing it by picking out her own clothes this morning. I shook my head, laughing to myself as I continued reading my emails.
From: Robert Moore
To: Dominic Callas
Subject: Founders Ball attendance
Time/Date: Friday, March 23rd 7
:09 p.m.
Dominic,
Your leave of absence seems to coincide with this year’s Founders Ball. I asked Lily if she knew what your plans were, but she informed me that she wasn't assisting you during your time off.
I don't have to tell you this deal with Sampson is becoming difficult to navigate. I know he'll be there, and your attendance would put his fears at ease.
Let me know,
Robert Moore
CEO, Callas Enterprises
I reread the email before saving it in my inbox. Fuck. I didn't plan this well enough because I completely forgot about the Founders Ball, and if it weren't for the deal with Sampson, my absence would go somewhat unnoticed, but Robert was being kind when he said the deal was looking, “difficult.” It was tumultuous at best. I had been monitoring it for the last couple weeks, and his stocks were dropping—nothing too significant yet—but if we didn't garner a deal soon, he would definitely start running into some problems.
Sampson was a colleague that ran in some of the same circles I did. He held a very small cornerstone in the oil industry, which was how we became acquainted. Some of the companies I own, own land where oil is in abundance. Before I left, he wanted to partner with us to grow both of our oil businesses, but I had my reservations.
Some of those reservations being that he was ruthless, someone you didn't want on your bad side and one that legitimate businessmen didn't want to associate their names with. I just so happened to be one of those legitimate businessmen. Sampson's problem was that he couldn't be a silent partner because he needed my name to capitalize on.
It looked like Robert was fighting a losing battle. I didn't like the idea of going to this ball, especially with it being a few hours flight from South Dakota, but it wouldn't be so bad if she came with me. How could I pull that off? Hailey was wily. Who knew how she would react around a crowd of potential saviors? What if she screamed the roof down that I had kidnapped her? I sent an email back to Robert, letting him know that I would give him a definitive answer in a couple weeks. That would give me enough time to mull over possible outcomes.
I got up from my chair, stretching my arms and shoulders. I felt the small tear of a scab being reopened on my back. Damn, she did a number on me last night. That morning, when I got in the shower, my back stung from the open wounds from her scratches. Looking in the mirror, I had red puffy lines running from the back of my right shoulder down to my waist. Fingerprint-sized bruises dotted my back, reminding me of the sickness that weakened me, making me look as brittle on the outside as I’d felt on the inside.
On the video feed, I watched Scout shadow Hailey as they paced thirty feet from the back porch. I could see her clearly on the camera, looking like a dirty marshmallow with her brown sweater and beige pants that puffed out against her frame, hiding her svelte figure. Not like what she wore to bed the night before.
God, sleeping next to her was a nightmare. Her scent drifted to my pillow, and every whiff sent my mind reeling. Not only did I have to deal with her throughout the day, but since the first night I had taken her, she had been starring in my dreams. It was starting to mess with my mind. In the dreams, she wasn’t my captive, but my lover. I never saw how we actually met, but I knew she was with me of her own accord. I would wake up in the middle of the night angry that I had to chain her up, that my dream was just that, a dream.
After visits with Dr. Reynolds, I usually spent a couple hours in the gym, reminding myself that I was still strong and fast, despite my illness. I skipped my session, deciding to go see Hailey instead.
Just like I had instructed, Scout hung back about fifteen feet from her at all times. I didn't want her to feel smothered, but I was also curious to see what she'd do with a longer leash. They had traveled a few feet from where I had last viewed them on camera, and I crept up, as much as one could creep up on Scout, signaling to him that he could leave and I'd take it from there.
Hailey continued moving, unaware of my presence. She had more sure footing than the last time I had brought her outside, showing how easily adaptable she was in new surroundings. I followed behind her quietly, darting between the thick trees, concealing myself from her watchful eyes. I was a mere few feet away from her when she finally stopped to notice that Scout was no longer following.
Her body made a full 360, head sweeping left and right while she looked for her watcher. She made no sound and didn't call out his name as I almost expected. Once again, she surprised me by making a beeline for the nearest tree that hid very little of the thick padding of her vest. She was stealthy as she bolted from tree to tree, trying to evade an absent Scout.
“Don't do it,” I said loud enough for her to hear me five trees northwest of where I was standing. Through the whistling wind, I could hear her panting grow heavy and deep. She knew how to run, but not in snow, and that was apparent by her harried breathing and how her body collapsed as she shifted from one foot to the next.
“Is this what you do? Steal girls so you can hunt them?”
“Only prey that runs wants to be hunted.”
“What am I supposed to do? Stand here and do nothing? Just wait for my life to end? What would you have me do, huh, Dominic?” Her shouts had turned into warbled cries by the time she was finished, and I watched as she collapsed against the tree at her back, her body dropping down into the snow gathered at its base like a tree skirt.
When I made my way around the tree she had collapsed at, her pants were completely soiled, and her shoes were buried beneath a few inches of snow.
“It's too cold to cry out here,” I said, gathering her in my arms. I readjusted her legs within my grasp in my attempt to avoid the snow that penetrated her pants. Her little body shook with every sob that broke from her chest, her cries echoing above the howling winds. I tried brushing off her tears with the hand wrapped around her upper back, but she wouldn't stop crying.
Once inside, I set her down on the couch in the living room, instructing Clema to grab some proper pants for Hailey, while I built a fire to warm her up. I looked back, sneaking glances as she curled up into the corner of the sofa, her knees pressed tightly against her chest while her hands masked the tears that continued to fall without provocation.
“Here, Hailey,” Clema said, holding the pants so Hailey could see what lay in her hands. Hailey peeked over her shoulder, paying more attention to Clema than to what she held. She finally grabbed them and escaped to the bathroom to change. She returned, her face red and swollen from tears and her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. But what really stood out to me was the way she kept rubbing at the column of her neck.
“You aren't sore, are you?”
She shook her head, but continued to cover the faint red bruising that lined her neck like a collar. When I held her outside, I had noticed the tiny teeth marks that dotted her neck like “cut here” instructions. She wasn’t covering her neck up outside, which led me to believe that she had just noticed them. I wanted to bark at her to stop her attempt at covering them up; it was pointless, and her failure only seemed to piss me off.
“Come here,” I pointed to where I stood before the cackling fire. It pleased me immensely watching her walk to me without hesitation. Taking her hand, I guided her down on the blankets I had removed from the chest. I pulled her down with me, enveloping her in my arms as I placed her between my open legs. I felt her chest expand, as a sigh passed her lips just before her head leaned against my arm.
We sat like that until her body jerked and I pulled us both down, sprawling across the blankets with tangled limbs seeking warmth. She slept with her head on my shoulder and her palm on my chest, and it was one of the most surreal moments of my life.
Then I thought of the other night. I knew when she wasn’t in my bed that I would find her in hers. I had stopped in the doorway of the closet when I heard soft moans floating from her lips. Her body was still atop the covers, her legs writhing in bliss or agony I couldn't tell, but if those moans were an indicator, she was havin
g a really good dream. It took everything I had not to turn around and finish myself off quickly before waking her up, and then she screamed my name, and I almost came right then and there.
She had dreamed about me, and not just any dream, a wet dream. A light film of sweat lined her face, and her breaths were hurried. She woke up confused and disoriented, but the look when I made her remove her clothes was priceless.
I wondered if she was dreaming about me now, all huddled close and bundled within my arms. What did she think of me, her abductor? I tried not to put too much thought into it as I watched her sleep comfortably on me. It didn't matter what she thought. She was here for one purpose. One purpose.
Except, that hadn't been the case for some time. Not since the first time I saw her. I had sent Scout ahead to find out more information on her. He returned with her daily schedule, eating habits, names of friends—but none of that mattered when he scattered photos of her across my desk. A few days later, we were off the coast of Mexico, where I was able to take a few of my own photos.
Clema brought our lunch to the living room, propping up a tray so we could eat in front of the fireplace. I petted Hailey’s hair, pecking her forehead with my lips until she started to stir. When her eyes started to open, I shifted her off of me and onto the blankets so I could set up the tray between us. There was something very domestic about the setting. It reminded me of moments stolen between my own parents. How my mother would let my father lie in her lap while she sipped hot chocolate, in between feeding him bits of food from her plate. I didn’t think Hailey would let me feed her.
