Crossing the Line

by Lauren Landish

  How did he react?

  He told me he knew about it. He's known for months. How the fuck could he do that?

  Hold on here. Shawnie, I don't know if you were doing it intentionally, but it's not that hard to find the story about Chris Lake. He was from a semi-respected family, at least in that community. The tabloids love stuff like this.

  I . . . I didn't know. I started to lose control, and I tried to seduce Rafe there in the simulator, and he turned me down. I got pissed and walked out, and in the hallway . . . I basically asked him if he wanted to be my boyfriend or my fuck buddy.

  What did he say?

  He didn't come right out and say it, but I think he wants to be my boyfriend. But he said that I have to work on fixing myself.

  That’s quite a challenge. So how do you see Rafe? As your boss? As a romantic interest? As just a man?

  I guess he's becoming a mix of things to me. I mean, I totally respect his genius when it comes to work. But beyond that, I feel like there’s a chance there could be more.

  So what's the problem?

  Because I'm worried that I can't trust him. He's known about Chris Lake for months and he didn't say anything until after I broke down. What if I'd never told him? Would he have just gone on doing what we were doing . . . whatever it is?

  That's a question you're going to have to answer for yourself. Shawnie, do you have anyone besides me that you can call to talk to? I’m happy to, but a friend would be helpful too.

  Abby, but I’ve always tried to hide it from her. I think she knows something is up and she just hasn’t pressed me on it. She mentioned something about it last time we talked. By the way, she named her baby Shawn. I spent twenty minutes crying when I found out. It felt so awesome.

  Sounds like you have something else to push you on the path to recovery, a namesake. Still, this call from Mr. Robinson worries me.

  It worries me too. If the security at The Club is making people disappear, there’s only one man who they would take those orders from.

  Chapter 14

  Shawnie

  Leaving the counselor's office, I feel better about one thing. It's okay to be confused, to feel torn. And she's right, I've got plenty of worries.

  The problem is, on one hand, I know that I can't trust Mr. Robinson. I heard the threat in his voice, even if I don't know why he's feeling the need to threaten me. He wants the demon side of me in control, he wants me to feel worthless and in The Club. And he’s dangerous, I know that. It’s part of the reason the demon likes me to listen to him so much. Mr. Robinson isn’t looking out for me. He’s looking out for himself.

  But that’s not what I really want, and with Rafe, while he was blunt, it’s what I needed to hear. It’s like he knows just how to challenge me, just how rough and tough to be with me.

  But can I trust him? Is charisma, a clearly genius IQ, the world's greatest body, and a cock that should be enshrined in the Hall of Fame more than the constant secret that I feel is at the center of his life? There's something he's hiding from me. He's told me as much. And it's not just that he has a play room. It’s obviously more than that.

  Of course, I wasn’t exactly up front myself. But maybe it’s time for me to see what I can dig up on Rafe Meyers if he’s not going to give me any answers.

  I head to the library, where I grab a study cubicle and pull out my laptop.

  “Okay, Rafe Meyers, I did a little bit on you before. Let's find out some more,” I say to myself, starting my search.

  I quickly find that I'm in for more of a challenge than I thought. Just searching his name turns up nothing more than what I’ve already seen. There aren’t a lot of people named Rafe Meyers, but there are still enough that finding out about my Rafe Meyers is like searching for one particular piece of yellow sand at the beach.

  For the next three hours I dig, reading and scrolling through what I can, when finally, I find something in someone’s Facebook comment about him.

  Rafe Meyers, nicknamed “Suicide,” also has an earlier nickname of “The Nietzschean.” Most people probably wouldn’t know where that’s from, but I’ve always loved science fiction, and the show Andromeda was one of my favorites, so for me, it geeks me out a little bit. Probably because I had an early teen crush on Keith Hamilton Cobb.

  According to what I’m seeing, my Rafe Meyers just popped out of nowhere fully grown into a lab at Cal Tech, skipping everything from birth through his Bachelor's degree. I can't even figure out where the hell he was born.

  I chew on my lip, a bad habit of mine when I'm frustrated. It feels like I'm swirling, going down the rabbit hole and chasing a man who doesn't really exist when something catches my eye, a sports report from the Pasadena Local Underground. “Local Wunderkind Loses Match For North American Title.”

  I click, shocked when I see a picture of Rafe in boxing gloves, shorts, and a mouthpiece in the corner of a boxing ring. I read, my chin slowly dropping to my chest as I read. “Rafe Meyers has, in his first year at Cal Tech, become something of a campus sensation. In addition to academic achievements, it was only last month that it came out that the still yet to turn eighteen-year-old has been spending his weekends with, until now, perfect results in professional kickboxing . . .”

  I keep reading the one-page article, which appeared in a small unknown newspaper, about how Rafe went down to Mexico and fought twenty fights in a year, winning all but one of them by knockout in the first round before taking on the North American champion. In his first fight north of the Mexican border, on an Indian reservation in Arizona, he lost in the sixth round via knockout.

  After that, I can't find anything involving Rafe Meyers and kickboxing. I shut down my computer, more questions than when I even started, and head over to the lab. Maybe I just need to confront the man directly.

  “Rafe?” I ask, feeling a hint of yesterday's anger and fear as well as my confusion tearing me apart. We're alone in the lab, it's late, and everyone else has either gone home or didn't come in today.

  “What do you need, Shawnie?” he asks. He's been slightly apart from me today, giving me space while going about his own work. “You did good work today, by the way. Nice work on the fuel pump system analysis.”

  “Thanks. But I wanted to ask 'The Nietzschean' about something,” I say, handing him my phone. I'd pulled up the article on his kickboxing, and he lifts an eyebrow as he reads the article. “What’s all this?”

  “It’s one article,” Rafe says, handing my phone back to me. He's not happy about this, I can tell, and his mouth thins as he grows tense. “Shawnie, we both have secrets.”

  “I know that!” I yell, slamming my hands on the table. “But you don’t know what I’m going through!”

  “You have no idea what you're talking about,” Rafe says, getting off his stool and towering over me. “Every day, every single day, I'm taking a risk. You don't know what I’ve been through.”

  “No shit!” I yell again. “You just pop out of the fucking smoke one day at Cal Tech, and since then, you've been blazing a trail that leaves the whole fucking world blinking stupidly in your wake, and all I know is that I'm feeling like I'm caught between two dangerous situations, you and The Club, and I'm—”

  Rafe reaches out, pulling me to him and crushing my lips in a soul searing kiss, his hands not letting me go as I start to fight him. I push back, but his strength is like steel, undeniable, and inside me, I know that it doesn't matter how hard I fight him. He's going to win. Instead, I relent, letting my fears out into a deep kiss that leaves us both breathless when we part, and I stare into his eyes.

  “Does that feel dangerous?” Rafe asks, his blue eyes dark with desire.

  “Yes,” I admit, reaching down and cupping his cock. “But I still want it.”

  “I want it too. I told you twice now . . . you're mine.”

  Twice? What? I blink, a few more pieces falling into place. The words, the voice, the amazing body . . . “Club Paradise. You were the masked man.”

 
; Rafe nods, stroking my face. “It was either that or make a scene and drag you out of there. I wasn't going to let anyone touch you. You're mine.”

  “Then take what's yours,” I challenge, leaping into his arms. We tumble to the floor of the lab, pulling and tearing at each other's clothes until we're both topless, Rafe's lips fastened around both my nipples as he pushes them together, shockwaves rolling through my body at how good it feels. “Rafe . . . oh my God, sir . . .”

  “You know it drives me wild when you call me that,” he whispers, and I nod, fumbling with his pants to free his cock. It springs free, hard and throbbing, and I wrap my hand around it, pumping him carefully. “And that too.”

  “I know,” I moan as he pulls back, staring at me with still a little bit of anger in his eyes. “Sir?”

  “You shouldn’t have gone poking around. I told you that I'd tell you everything in time,” he chastises me, but his voice isn't angry. “You’re going to need to be punished.”

  His words make the heat in my pussy rise a few degrees, and I can't help but smile. “Then punish me.”

  He adjusts himself, rolling away from me and lying on his back, his cock pointing straight in the air as he looks at me. “On your knees.”

  The commanding tones in his voice send a jolt of energy up my spine, and I'm on my knees, straddling his knees as his massive cock stands in front of me hard and proud. He takes his thumb and sticks it in my mouth, and I suck it just like I would his cock. I can see him start to ooze precum, and I fight the urge to gobble it up. I’m waiting for him to give me permission.

  He gives me an approving smile and nods. I waste no time, licking the tip of his shaft like a lollipop, tracing the edge of his flared head with the point of my tongue. Rafe gasps when I lick the slit at the top.

  Rafe groans as I swallow him, running my lips down the immense shaft until he's buried in the back of my throat, pressing against my gag reflex. I’m about to try to go further when Rafe shakes his head. So I lift off, letting the head of his cock pop out with an audible smacking sound. “You do that, and I'm going to come down your throat,” Rafe warns me. “And I don't want that.”

  “What do you want, sir?” I ask, smiling when he pulls me up and runs his hands inside the stretch pants I wore today, massaging my ass roughly. “You want back there?”

  “Mmm, next time,” Rafe says, kissing me deeply again and rolling me onto my back. “I want you to look into my eyes. I want you to know that you’re mine.”

  I help him get my pants and panties off, spreading my legs until I'm nearly in the splits, Rafe taking me in with his eyes and growling.

  Rafe pushes my knees back and lines his cock up with my aching, dripping pussy. I get to watch as he sinks into me, both of us moaning as I'm stretched wide, my pussy clinging to him even as he sinks deeper and deeper until I've taken all of him, our hips pressed together in an ultimate stroke. “This is where I belong.”

  I gasp, reaching up to pull him down into another soul searing kiss. Rafe pins me to the floor, the utility carpet digging into my skin and prickling a little, but I love it. He kisses me hard as his hips lift and he thrusts again, both of us gasping at the feeling. He sits back, staring deep into my eyes.

  He starts fucking me earnestly, different from either of the times we've fucked before. Instead of hammering me relentlessly, overwhelming me with his power and totally dominating me, he mixes up his strokes, short wiggles that rub deep against my g-spot and clit mixed with long, slow strokes that make my fingers curl around his arms, digging in as he almost erotically tortures me, making me want to call out for more. “Not this time, Shawnie. I'm in control.”

  “Yes sir . . .” I moan, wrapping my legs around him to rest my heels on his hips as he brings me right to the edge of coming. He slows down, letting me recover slightly, and switches up to long, powerful strokes that shake my body from ass to shoulders, my breasts shaking wildly because he's so strong. “Fuck! Yes!”

  “No,” Rafe teases, slowing down again and grinding his cock deep into my pussy. “Your punishment isn't over yet.”

  Again and again, he brings me to the trembling edge, my fingernails clawing into his arms and shoulders as I'm so close to coming before pulling back, freezing solid and pinning me underneath him as he leaves me caught. I'm reduced to tears, begging him blindly for release, and Rafe's eyes never leave me. “Please, sir . . . please. I'll be good.”

  He doesn’t respond, but his cock speeds up in an instant, pummeling my tired, aching, trembling pussy. I'm blasted over the edge of orgasm, my scream so loud that even my own ears ache as I feel a release even greater than before. Rafe thrusts one final time and comes, his cock spurting deep inside me as he freezes before collapsing into my body, rolling to the side and holding me safe and secure.

  “My beautiful Shawnie,” Rafe whispers, stroking my back while I go into tremors. “I'm sorry for not telling you.”

  “I'm sorry, sir,” I whisper, clutching him desperately. “I didn't mean to anger you.”

  “I’m not angry,” Rafe says. “It's time you understand.”

  “Understand what? That you're perfect?” I chuckle, and Rafe shakes his head sadly.

  “No . . . that I'm a monster.”

  Chapter 15

  Rafe

  Where do I start? Shawnie's looking at me, her beautiful eyes open wide, shocked by what I just said so soon after our mutual climax, and I'm suddenly stuck again. I know why. I've spent nearly a decade trying to get past the blocks, the hypnosis, some of the same drugs that were pumped into Shawnie but administered by people who knew exactly what they were doing.

  “A monster?” she asks softly, unbelieving. “What are you talking about?”

  I withdraw from Shawnie and sit up, realizing that I'm naked, but then again, with what I'm about to tell her, it's pretty fitting. “I used the word broken yesterday when I described you. I think you've used the same in talking about yourself. I've seen every scar, I see the way you rub at your left shoulder when you're nervous or scared, a total PTSD reaction because of the dislocation.”

  “But why?” Shawnie whispers, stunned. “What’s that got to do with you saying you’re a monster?”

  “Because I've seen that pain before in my own face,” I admit. “Because I'm tired of living my life behind a mask, a mask even more complete than the one that I wore at Club Paradise. I hide things from the world every day, like the fact that I know how to speak seven different languages, two of which are dead. Because seeing such a unique, beautiful mind, soul and body trapped in a prison of the pain and horror of what Chris Lake put you through is a crime against humanity. And because . . . because I'm lonely.”

  The word is out before I can stop it, and Shawnie's face clears a little. “So you’d actually want to be with me?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? When it started, I thought . . . well, I'll admit, I thought I’d just try to remind you that life is more than the pain that you've felt for so long. Let you ‘rebound’ safely with me, so to speak. But the more I work with you, the more time I spend with you, the harder it's been for me to separate what is best for you from what I want.”

  “And what you want to do is . . .”

  “To never let you go. But I want you, not the slowly self-destructing stranger I saw in Club Paradise. I want the woman who surprises me and has made my life better for the past few months.”

  Shawnie smiles, then shakes her head. “Listening to you, I almost believe that woman exists.”

  “She does,” I insist, “but I can't demand that from you until you understand where I'm coming from. You still don’t know who I am . . . what I am.”

  “You say that as if you really are a monster,” Shawnie says. “What makes you such a monster? Your past?”

  I nod, and she reaches out, our nudity totally forgotten, taking my hand. “Tell me your story, Rafe. But I have a feeling you’re not going to tell me anything that’s going to make me feel any different.”

  I find the
path I'm seeking in her eyes, and knowing that I need to teach as much as I need to expose myself to her, I open my mouth, letting the words flow naturally. “This is going to be long and probably confusing.”

  “Can I ask questions?” Shawnie asks, and I nod. I must look pained though, because she squeezes my hand, and for the first time in our budding, screwed up relationship, I feel like she's the one giving me strength.

  “First of all, Shawnie, realize that as much hell as Chris Lake put you through . . . imagine a lifetime of that. Imagine a darkness beyond dark, a pit within a pit. That is my childhood.”

  She looks at me skeptically, and I continue. “In 1859, Charles Darwin published his most famous work, On the Origin of Species. I’m sure you know it was essentially his theory of evolution. However, one of the dark offshoots of this debate started in 1883.”

  “What happened then?” Shawnie asks, and I smile a little. It's the perfect question to further my story. My beautiful, perfect Shawnie, knowing me without even knowing.

  “In 1883, Francis Galton advanced and advocated a theory that eventually became known as eugenics,” I continue. “His basic idea was that there are genetic traits that give people advantages over others. And that by breeding people a lot like dogs, you could increase those traits.”

  “You’re starting to lose me,” Shawnie says. “I’m an engineer, not a doctor.”

  “I figured. Just bear with me for a second. Anyway, in 1890, a very radical group of eugenicists started in London. Their leader was Geoffrey Meyers. The difference between his—yes, I share his name—and other movements is that instead of arguing that certain people were superior to others, Meyers stated that everyone was deficient.”