Annihilate Me

by Christina Ross

  “I can see that.”

  “How’s your sandwich?”

  “Depressing.”

  “I’m sorry. But this is my home. It’s where I come from. I could have ended up like her, wishing I’d taken another route and had the guts to take a chance on a better life. Did you see the look in her eyes a moment ago? It was heartbreaking. She was remembering something from her past. I don’t know what it was, but it was clear that it was a missed opportunity. Or something along those lines. I’ve seen it too many times while living here to not know that look, so I worked hard in school and then drove myself to get out of this joint with Lisa in tow. Please don’t think that I’m judging her, because I’m not. She reminds me of some of my favorite stoic relatives. What’s eating at me is the usual—my parents again. My father expected me to become her. Since my mother refused to ever disagree with him or anything he did to me, I assume she felt the same way. As soon as I could, I got as far away from here and them as possible.”

  “I’m sorry you went through that, Jennifer. Nobody deserves that.”

  “In a way, I’m—what’s the word? It certainly isn’t grateful. But in an odd way, I’m OK that I went through what I went through. Yet in a deeper way, I’m not OK with it at all. If that even makes sense. I guess what I’m saying is that what I went through with them shaped the person I am today. I wanted more for myself, so I made that happen. They’d hate it if I said to their faces that their treatment of me actually helped me.”

  “And left scars.”

  “Just as your parents left scars.”

  He didn’t react to that. Instead, he dropped the subject and moved forward. With the focus now on him, this conversation had just ended. He picked up his sandwich, and took a bite. “Actually, this is delicious,” he said. “Yours?”

  I forgave him for all that he couldn’t face, because I’d been there myself for too many years. I knew how difficult it was to face your past, especially where your parents were concerned. I’d never judge him for keeping quiet. I wanted to tell him that whether you’re Alexander Wenn or Jennifer Kent, we all have to face the demons that affect our lives. In order to move forward, we needed to accept all the wrongs that were done to us, or else we would be stuck, just as I sensed the woman who served us was stuck. Or mired in the regrets of the past. It didn’t matter. It was all the same. I was getting to a healthier space—but I had a long way to go before I crushed my own demons.

  It appeared that he also did. No one knew who we really were but ourselves, especially if we denied whom that evolving person was because it was simply easier to do so. But I hoped that one day he would take the leap inward to figure out who Alex Wenn was without his parents’ abuse and without the devastating loss of his wife, because a good deal of that person no longer existed.

  I kept my voice light when I spoke again, the ugliness of my former life now cast to the breeze. I wasn’t going to let it ruin my day.

  “It’s all about the tomatoes,” I said, taking another bite. “And the cheese.” I shrugged my shoulders as he chewed. “Oh, hell, and actually the bread.”

  “I’m glad you’re satisfied.”

  “I am. I hope you are.”

  “I don’t think you realize how satisfied I am,” he said.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  When we left the farm stand, it was with three paper sacks filled with vegetables, two bunches of sunflowers, cheeses, breads and salads, all of which somehow fit into the Mercedes’ tiny trunk.

  While I was putting the bags inside in such a way that it would minimize the risk of everything rolling around on our trip home, I spotted Alex speaking again with one of the guards. He was gesticulating with his hands, and I saw him show the guard his cell phone, which the guard looked at before Alex addressed him again.

  Something’s going on. But how far do I press it? If it had to do with business, he wouldn’t consult with his security. He’d consult with his board. Or maybe with me. So what is it?

  When he came back to the car, he looked tense until he saw me, and then his face brightened. But that happened a bit too quickly—it was like a switch going on—and my suspicions deepened. We each got into the car.

  “Is something wrong, Alex?”

  “Just the usual shit.”

  “What’s the usual shit?”

  “People,” he said. “When I first met you when you interviewed for me, I told you that I wouldn’t mind leaving Manhattan behind and just living in Maine. But I can’t do that now, so I have to put up with distractions. All the time. Generally, I just deal with it, but I have no time for it here when I’m with you. Sorry if I sound agitated.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Can you elaborate?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it. It’s being taken care of. I’m not trying to shut you out, Jennifer—that’s not my intent. In fact, what I’m trying to do is just the opposite. I want to let them deal with whatever it is they need to deal with so I can let you in. Let them work through the bullshit.”

  What bullshit? “OK. But if you need to talk, I’m here to listen.”

  He started the car. “I appreciate that. And thanks for letting me vent and deal with it on my own. I came here to chill out and maximize my time with you. I plan to do that. They’ll handle the rest.”

  The rest of what?

  * * *

  When we got back to his place, we pulled beneath the shade of an elm tree and unpacked the trunk. One of the guards wanted to talk to Alex, but he instructed the man to talk to the other guard, who just now was parking up the street in his Range Rover.

  “Scott just briefed me,” he said. “Jennifer and I don’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the day unless it’s critical. Understood? Critical.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you, Ben.”

  What could be critical?

  Bags in hand, we went inside the house. While Alex unloaded the groceries into the already packed refrigerator, I stood over the sink and clipped the ends of the sunflowers with a pair of scissors I found in a drawer.

  “Do you have a large vase?” I asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  He left the kitchen, came back with one, and kissed me on the back of my neck. I arranged the flowers, filled the vase with water, and then admired the bouquet on the sideboard before I brought it to the dining room and placed it in the center of the long, rectangular table.

  Alex came up behind me and put his arms around my waist. “It’s beautiful,” he said.

  “I love sunflowers.”

  “Would you like to take a walk with me on the beach?”

  “I’d love to.”

  We walked down the wooden stairs that led to the shoreline, and started off to the right. Even with the breeze coming off the ocean, it was still early enough in September to be comfortable in shorts and a light shirt. I looked well ahead of us, and noticed for the first time that there seemed to be no other houses after Alex’s.

  “How much of the beachfront is yours?” I asked.

  “Pretty much as far as you can see.”

  I turned to him. “You own all of this?”

  “My parents did, so I guess now I do.”

  I wanted to ask him how his parents died, but I also wanted to keep the mood light after the earlier tension. I’d wait for him to tell me himself. I knew I could Google it, but that felt invasive to me. He’d tell me when he was ready.

  I reached for his hand, he grasped it tightly in his own, and he pulled me close to him. I wasn’t sure what I felt when his fingers closed over mine—a needing, a wanting—but it was meaningful. Something was happening to him now that he didn’t want to discuss with me. I needed to respect his privacy, just as I would expect him to respect mine if there was something I didn’t want to talk about. But at his level, our problems were worlds apart. I couldn’t imagine what it might be, but it was significant. I hadn’t seen him like this before. This was different from the tension brought on by too much work. This was somethi
ng else.

  We walked for about ten minutes before nature eventually did its thing. Gradually, I felt him begin to relax. His hand didn’t hold so tightly onto mine; instead, it softened against mine. I heard him take a deep, cleansing breath, and then it was just the two of us with the ocean lapping against the shore or crashing into rocks in the background. Seagulls sailed overhead with a cacophony of calls. I let go of his hand, reached behind me, released my ponytail, and shook out my hair. It immediately picked up the breeze and it felt wonderful. He watched me as I did it, and I could sense a shift in him.

  He stopped and turned to me. “I’m sorry about today.”

  “I know you’re under some kind of pressure. When you want to tell me, tell me. There’s no need to apologize.”

  “Thank you for that.

  “There’s no need to thank me.”

  “It’s just that sometimes things in my life can go to shit in an instant. I have no control over it. I’ll say it again because it bears repeating. The only thing I want during this week is to be with you and to have some normalcy with you.” He bent down, took my face in his hands, and kissed me hard on the lips. “And I want to make love to you, Jennifer. Now.”

  I wished he wouldn’t use the word ‘love’, but there was no stopping him. Until I knew that what we had was real, and that it was indeed love that was growing between us, I prefered that he just say he wanted to be with me. That was better. That made my own demons happier. Otherwise, it was confusing to me and to them. My trust issues kicked in, and my barriers went up.

  But I wasn’t going to let them get the best of me. Not now. Not after last night, and not after that confession.

  “You want to do it here?” I asked.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re out in the open.”

  “And that doesn’t interest you?”

  There was a dare in his voice that I instantly responded to. I rarely passed on a dare. I looked around us. There didn’t appear to be a soul in sight, but that didn’t mean that one of his guards wasn’t lurking within the tree line. “What if somebody sees us?”

  “What if they do?”

  “We could be arrested.”

  “This is private property. Come over here. It’s dry. No hard rocks, just fine gravel and some sand. Come.”

  Today had been such a mixed bag of weirdness. I had expected this to come later, not so early in the afternoon. And certainly not here. But I wanted it. I wanted it to be like it was last night when we were connected and before I knew that something was troubling him, and that men were guarding him and his property for some reason unknown to me. I wanted to get us back on course. So I followed him away from the ocean toward the edge of the trees. I sat down and looked up at him. The sun shone against his back, and cast his features in deep shadow.

  “Take off your shirt,” he said.

  “Take off your pants.”

  “Shirt first.”

  “We do this together, or not at all,” I said.

  “So, we’re always going to be on equal ground?”

  “Maybe not always—it’ll likely fluctuate—but right now we are.”

  “Fine. Then, shirt for shirt.”

  “I’m up for that.” I’m so not up for this.

  I pulled my shirt over my head, and he did the same. He laid his shirt down just to the left of me, and then took my shirt and laid it just below his, making a blanket of sorts.

  “Stand up,” he said.

  I did.

  “Turn around.”

  I did what I was told.

  He brushed the sand off my ass and then asked me to sit on our shirts. “No sand that way. You won’t want any of that when I enter you.”

  My lips parted at that, but I said nothing.

  “To be fair, you need to take off your bra. Then we’ll be even.”

  I hesitated, but then I removed it, and I couldn’t help but feel a chill of anticipation mixed with the unexpected thrill of exposure. How did he know exactly what to do to me to make me feel that thrill? Was I so easily read? Was I that obvious? I never thought I was, but he clearly knew what he was doing with me, and how far he could go with me. He pushed right up against my self-imposed line of ‘don’t go any further.’ Then he pressed it to the edge, and took it a bit further so I was just outside of my comfort zone, but not so far out of it that I became uncomfortable. He was wickedly evil that way, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a turn on. Alex took me to the point where I was nervous as hell, but not in such a way that I felt compelled to flee. It was a balancing act that he’d mastered.

  And I was his servant.

  He took off his shorts, and I saw that he was wearing no underwear, which surprised me. His cock, long and flaccid, hung beautifully between his legs. I thought it was perfect, and now, in the daylight and despite him being in shadow, I certainly had a better view of it than I did last night. Seeing it was enough to inflame me with desire. I wanted to reach out and touch it, but I knew he’d have none of that until I was completely naked.

  “Now, your shorts,” he said roughly.

  I removed them and saw the look of disbelief that crossed his face when he noticed that I wasn’t wearing panties. Feeling brazen, I spread my legs for him and leaned back, bracing myself with my arms on his shirt. I was already wet. I knew he could tell, and his face darkened as he took in the length of my body.

  Wordlessly, he sank to his knees and carefully placed his hands on his shirt so they’d collect no sand. He met my eyes for a moment. A hint of a smile appeared on his lips, and then with a force I wasn’t expecting, he buried his mouth between my legs.

  He entered me with his tongue, which caused me to arch my back in ecstasy and then writhe in excitement as the stubble on his chin did things to me that just intensified the act. He covered my clit with his mouth, sucked and nibbled on it, and drove me to orgasm faster than I had expected. It was still an alien sensation to me—how could I have betrayed myself this gift for so long?—but I had my reasons for doing so, and I didn’t regret them. There was a reason I was with Alex now. There was a reason why he’d taken my virginity, and there was a very good reason why he was close to bringing me to the edge again. He was rubbing his chin over my clit in little swirling motions, which made me want to reach out and stop him because the pleasure was almost too much. His hooded eyes looked up to meet mine, and between us was a fire that burned until I exploded again.

  I fell back on the shirts, but he wasn’t done with me yet. Now his mouth was on mine. I could taste myself on him, and then, just as meticulous as he’d been last night, he started to work his way down my body. He lowered his head to service my breasts, which he tended to tirelessly until he pressed a finger inside of me and told me to squeeze myself around it. I did, and he began to probe deep. First one finger, then another. And finally another. I felt full and on the verge again. His thumb lightly started to rub my clit, and I was gone. I shook my head at him as a wave crashed somewhere inside of me.

  “I can’t do it again,” I said.

  “You will.”

  “Give me a—”

  “Come!”

  I did, and it was more powerful than the last one. I closed my eyes, and felt him withdraw his fingers. And then it was he who was inside of me. He started to thrust in long, slow strokes, nudging up his body each time he came forward to make sure that he made contact with the most sensitive part of my sex. His eyes slipped over me with such an intensity that I couldn’t look at him. I turned my head to the side, and felt his hand gently turn it back so I was looking directly at him under my lashes.

  “Don’t turn away.”

  “It’s too much.”

  “Let yourself go.”

  I felt the pit of my stomach fall away as I did so. I felt weightless as he drove into me. I heard the guttural sounds he made, felt his hot breath against my skin, listened to the sounds of the seagulls soaring above us, and I went up with them. I opened my legs wider and started to meet eac
h of his thrusts in earnest with my own.

  “That’s right,” he said.

  I pounded myself against him. I dug into the sand on either side of me with a fierceness I didn’t know I had within me. I wanted to make him come. I wanted to make him feel what I already had felt four times. I lifted myself on my elbow, and wrapped my free hand around his neck. I gripped it, and pulled myself toward him.

  “Come on,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Faster,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Fuck me,” I said.

  I’d never used that word with him before, but we were nothing if not primal right now, and I could tell that it excited him.

  “So, it’s that?” he said. “You want me to fuck you?”

  “That’s right, you son of a bitch. Fuck me.”

  I clutched myself around his penis, and squeezed with everything I had within me. I brought his head down to mine, and we kissed deeply, meaningfully. This time it was my tongue that went down his throat. He moaned when he was nearly out of breath, but I held him longer, only pulling back when I needed to. I pressed my mouth against his ear and said, “That’s right. Come on, Alex. Fuck me.”

  “Stop—”

  “Fuck me harder.”

  “Jennifer—”

  “Don’t be a pussy about it. Come on! I’m not going to break!”

  And then it was on. For the next several minutes, he was on fire, and so was I. In the heat of it, I wasn’t sure if I could take what I’d asked for, but I did. I kept at it. I kept pace with him. I pushed myself forward as he slammed into me, and bit his nipple so hard that that was it. He held my head there—and kept driving into me—and then he came inside of me to the point that he spilled out of me and onto my shirt.

  He collapsed on top of me, and I held him close. I was panting. So was he. And then I started to giggle. He lifted his head and looked up at me as my giggle turned into a howl of laughter.

  He had a grin on his face when he said, “Why are you laughing?”