“I am,” he said, still barely moving.
“I want it hard,” she said, pulling him back down for a kiss, “and deep.”
“Like this?” he asked, pushing all the way in. “Deep like this?”
“Yes,” Tara moaned. “More.”
Mark stopped holding back. He moved in her faster and faster, the games over. His cock stretched her, seeming to swell even thicker as he thrust deep inside her ass on every stroke. The sensation was all consuming, knocking the breath out of her. She rocked her body to meet him, needing to take all of him inside her, to possess as she was possessed. She wasn't so lost in pleasure that she couldn't see how close to the edge he was, how finesse and control were being burned away by needed. She wanted that. She wanted him to abandon himself to her body's embrace. Wrapping her legs around him, Tara dug her heels into his buttocks urging him on. Sweat mingled as their bodies came together, again and again. More threw his head back, teeth gritted and grimaced, his hips a blur as he thrust into her ass. It was too much. Tara came, just as she felt his body go rigid and shudder as spurts of semen filled her.
Mark lay on top her like a dead man for a few minutes before had the strength to lever himself off and position them higher on the bed. Tara closed her eyes and curled into his body. He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin.
“That was amazing,” he said, tracing one of the lines the crop had left on her back. “It's like you were made for me.”
“Or you for me,” she said, kissing his clavicle.
“Or me for you,” he agreed, sighing.
Later that night Tara curled up on the couch eating ice cream and watching reruns. Mark had run back to his place to pick up some clothes. He'd asked Tara to come with him, but she was tired and told him she would stay put. She was safe enough inside the apartment with the door locked. She was still worried about Jack, but the afternoon's session had done a lot to take the edge off. She still ached where he had whipped her, but the pain was only a reminder of the incredible pleasure he'd given her. She smiled at the memory of her earlier doubt that she could get use to this kind of treatment. She not only had, she loved it. She didn't think she could do this every day, but she was definitely looking forward to the next time.
When it got past 11:00 pm she started to worry. Mark had been gone a lot longer than she expected.
Tara: Where are you?
It was an achingly long 15 minutes before he answered.
Mark: Downstairs. Can you let me into the parking? No spaces on the street.
Tara: Give me five.
Tara grabbed her keys and went to the door. It was a good thing her neighbor didn't use her spot. She'd have to drop by tomorrow and give her a chocolate orange or something. She always had extra stocking stuffers lying around this time of year and Mrs. Smith definitely had a sweet tooth.
Tara had barely opened the door when she realized she had made a mistake. Jack was standing right outside, an evil smirk on his face. Tara moved to slam the door, but he was too fast. He jammed his foot in the opening and pushed hard, forcing her back. Tara stumbled, almost losing her footing, and just like that he was inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. Tara opened her mouth to scream, but again he moved with preternatural speed, punching her in the face so hard she must have flown backwards three or four feet. She slammed into one of the accent chairs, the pain in her face like a hot brand. Her legs had turned to jelly and she was sliding to the floor, a choked sob escaping her lips.
Jack looked huge, swelled up with rage. His face was a livid red. The fist that had struck her was still clenched at his side.
“Where's your boyfriend?” he snarled, moving slowly towards her. Tara scrambled backwards, hitting the couch. She was petrified. Where was Mark? He must be on his way up. He was probably sitting in his car outside, waiting for her to come let him in. Where was her phone?
“Don't worry,” Jack said. “I'm sure someone's stopped to help him with his flat by now.”
“What?” Tara moaned. Mark was downstairs, wasn't he?
“Too bad I have his phone,” Jack said. “He should be more careful with it.”
A chill went through Tara's body. If Jack had been the one who texted her, there was no telling where Mark was. No wonder he hadn't texted her to say where he was. He was stranded somewhere without a way to reach anyone.
“Do you know how uncomfortable I was all day,” Jack said. “Sitting in my car waiting for you to come out? Just my luck that loser stops to get gas. Smiled at me when I asked for the time too. All I had to do was distract him, pick up his phone and make a little slit in one of his tires and here we are, just you and me. I wanted to finish what we started last night without anyone in the way. Now we can have some fun.”
Tara scrambled to her feet and ran for the bathroom. It locked and her phone was in her pocket. As long as she made it she might be okay. She could call 911. Tara was fast, but before she got to the bathroom Jack had grabbed her robe and yanked her backwards. Her feet slid from under her, sending her backwards into his body. They made hard contact, but he kept his balance, his surprisingly strong arm wrapping around her torso like a steel band. He force-marched her towards the bedroom and a red tide of fear and anger spread across her vision.
“No!” she screamed, trying to twist out of his grasp. She grabbed the open doorway to the bathroom and held on, kicking wildly. When he hit her this time, her ears rang and her vision darkened. She was lost, barely aware of where she was, like swimming in black water. She was vaguely aware of him carrying her into the bedroom and placing her on the bed. He was pulling at her clothes, his hands like ice on her flesh. Even as out of it as she was, she fought him, trying to pry his hands away from her, but she was weak and ineffectual.
“You freak,” Jack said, when he got her pajamas down and saw the welts the crop had left. “You must have really got off on what I did to you last night, huh.” His icy hands forced her legs apart. Tara felt sick to her stomach. He was planning to rape her. This couldn't be happening. She didn't know if she could survive this. Mark was rough with her, he punished her body, but it wasn't this. He would never do anything to her she didn't want. Jack's actions came from a place of hate. He was a monster.
He loomed above her, pinning her wrists with one hand while he tried to undo his pants. Tara was still woozy, but she had to do something now or it would be too late. She relaxed her body, letting him think he had won, but the moment he eased up on her wrists she rolled to the side, pulling free. He lunged for her and she brought her knee up, connecting sickeningly with his balls. His howl of pain and fury was one of the ugliest things she had ever heard. She scrambled to the floor, pulling her pajamas up. She didn't look back to see if he was still down. She had to get to the door.
Tara ran into the living room and unbolted the door. She almost sobbed with relief. Mark was standing in the doorway.
Mark was halfway through changing his tire when he figured it out. He should have realized the man who followed him into the gas station convenience store was following him, but he'd seemed so normal and nondescript. He fit Jack's description – blond and medium height – but so did two other guys in the store at the same time. It hadn't help that Mark was a brooding about what had happened with Tara that afternoon. She'd just been attacked and still had bruises from her run in with Jack and he'd taken a crop to her. He knew she'd loved every minute of it, but he still felt a bit weird about the timing. She'd just been so angry and ready to lash out, and even if she couldn't articulate it he knew what she needed. He needed it too. They had taken back her control. It was almost an act of defiance against her attacker. It might not make sense to anyone else, but it had felt right to both of them. He just knew that if he had explain it, he wouldn't be able to.
With his mind on other things, when the stranger had asked Mark for the time, he'd just pulled out his phone without thinking. The guy had immediately spilled coffee all over Mark's jacket. Mark didn't even miss his phone until he
pulled over to fix the flat. He'd thought it was just bad luck until he saw the knife shaped hole in his tire. At that point he didn't know if he was more scared for Tara or angry at himself for not picking something up when a stranger fitting Jack's description distracted him right before his phone disappeared. He had no way to call Tara and warn her. He had to get back to her place as fast as possible.
He hadn't even known it was possible to throw on a spare tire so fast. He blood was pounding when he rode up the elevator. He ran to the door and pounded. No answer. He had a sinking feeling, but maybe she was just in the bathroom. He slammed his fist against the door, again, but Tara didn't come. He couldn't hear anything from inside. Could he risk trying to find a phone? What if Tara was trying to get to the door? If he left there would be no one on the other side when she opened it. Mark paced back and forth trying to decide what to do. He raked his hand through his hair. There was a sound on the other side of the door. It flew open and Tara practically fell into the hallway.
Mark rushed forward and caught her. She was breathing hard and looked scared out of her wits.
“He's here,” Tara said, gasping. “He tried to...”
“Don't either of you move,” Jack said. He was standing in the living room, pointing a big ugly gun at them.
Mark pushed Tara into the hallway and yelled, “Run.”
Tara didn't hesitate. She sprinted towards the elevator. Mark kept his eyes on Jack.
“Don't be stupid, Jack,” Mark said, stepping into the room. “Shoot me and you'll spend the rest of your life in jail.”
“But you'll be dead,” Jack said, grimly. “Get out of my way.”
“I'm not letting you go after her,” Mark said, stepping through the door.
“Get out my way,” Jack said, “or I will shoot you.”
“So shoot me,” Mark said, edging into the kitchen. If he could get far enough out of the guy's direct line of sight maybe he could force him closer.
“A little further,” Jack said, looking pleased.
Mark edged further, letting a space open up for Jack to go through the door. Could Jack really believe that Mark would let him go after his girlfriend, that he'd just let him walk past him?
“Get back,” Jack said, gesturing with the gun. Mark stepped back, three feet, four. It was far enough that he might not be able to grab Jack as he went by, but nothing would stop him from going after the bastard. He noticed that Jack's belt was loose and felt a flash of anger. Apparently beating up on women wasn't enough. Mark didn't want to think about what Jack had 'tried' before Mark got there.
“Couple more feet,” Jack said. Mark was getting a little worried. He was getting too far from the door.
Jack moved in front of the door. Mark wasn't sure how he knew what was coming, maybe it was an almost imperceptible rise in the level of the gun, or some quick expression of triumph that flashed across Jack's face. Mark listened to his gut. He lunged forward just as the muzzle of the gun flashed. The bullet him in the chest. It felt as if he'd been run through with a hot poker. His momentum carried him forward onto Jack. They crashed to the floor, the gun flying out of Jack's hand and across the floor. Mark pulled his arm back and slammed his fist into Jack's face. Blood gushed from the blond man's nose. Mark could feel his own blood seeping through his shirt. He had no idea how bad the gunshot was, and he wasn't going to let Jack get way because he was weak from blood loss to stop him.
Jack was fighting back, struggling to get Mark off him, using his fists to hammer Mark's head. Mark had been sparring for years, so he knew how to take a punch. He inhaled, willing himself to ignore the pain and hit Jack again. Black spots were forming before his vision, but he had to hold on. Jack was getting weaker too. Mark landed a solid punch on Jack's cheek. There was a sickening sound as fist connected with bone. Jack screamed in pain. He landed a punch near the bullet wound. Mark cried out. He was losing blood. He had to win this fight before was too weak.
Mark thought of going for the gun, but he couldn't chance it. There would be a struggle and Jack might end up being the one with the gun again. Mark didn't want to kill anyone, but he couldn't risk holding back. Mark punched Jack in the throat. Jack grabbed at his neck, struggling for breath, but Mark wasn't done. He slammed his fist into Jack's temple. Jack's head slammed against the floor violently and he went limp.
Mark crawled towards the gun, trying to support himself on his arms, but they were shaking uncontrollably. He felt so weak. The floor was slick with his blood and his hands slid out from under him. When his chest hit the floor he wanted to scream in pain, but he had no breath. The black spots nearly filled his vision. Maybe if he just closed his eyes and focused he could get up, but once he did that, his eyes refused to reopen. His last thought as he slid into unconsciousness was of Tara. If she wasn't okay, he'd just let himself get shot to death for nothing.
Tara ran towards the elevators as fast as she could, feeling the ache of her injuries with every step. There was a horrible taste in her mouth, acrid and sour. She slammed her palm against the down elevator button and turned to see if she was being pursued. There was no one there. She peered around the corner. Her door was still open, but Mark wasn't in the doorway anymore. Tara couldn't move. Jack had a gun. Mark was in terrible danger, because of her. Could she live with herself if Mark were killed or hurt trying to help her?
The sound of a gunshot rang down the hallway. The elevator arrived, but Tara didn't get in. She knew the smart thing to do was get in the elevator, but what if Mark was hurt? She looked around the corner again. Still no one. Maybe Mark had the upper hand. He knew how to fight and he was taller and probably stronger than Jack. But Jack had the gun.
Tara crept down the hall back towards her apartment. She could barely hear anything over the pounding of her heart. Why hadn't she picked something up to defend herself? She slipped her hands into the pockets of her robe. Her right hand closed around her cellphone. She had completely forgotten that it was there. It was a godsend. She dialed 911; it seemed an eternity before the operator picked up.
“911,” a woman's voice said. “What's your emergency.”
“I've been attacked,” Tara whispered.
“I can barely hear you, ma'am,” the operator said. “Are you in a safe place?”
“Sort of,” Tara said. She moved back down the hallway. “He's in my apartment, with my boyfriend. I'm in the hallway. I ran, but then I heard a gunshot and I came back.”
“Who had the gun?” the operator asked.
“His name is Jack Hughes,” Tara told her. “He attacked me yesterday and tonight he got into my apartment and...My boyfriend came home, but then Jack pulled out a gun and I heard a shot.”
“And you're sure Jack had the gun?”
“He pulled it out when I was in there and Mark pushed me and said run. While I was waiting for the elevator I heard the shot, but that was almost five minutes ago and no one's come out of the apartment.”
“What's your name and address?” the operator asked.
Tara told her. She felt a bit better. The police would be arriving in a few minutes. If she had any sense she'd wait for them in the lobby like they asked, but it worried her that Mark still hadn't come to find her. What if he was lying in her apartment right now, bleeding to death?
Tara made up her mind and walked back to the door of her apartment. She peered around the jamb and had to stifle a scream. Both men were on the floor, unconscious. There was blood everywhere. She couldn't tell who had been shot. Jack was on his back and Mark was a few feet away on his stomach, his right arm stretched towards the gun. Tara walked gingerly into the apartment, not taking her eyes off Jack. He looked like he was out cold, but she wasn't taking any chances. She grasped Mark's shoulder and pulled. He was heavy, but she was able to flip him over with some effort. The answer for where all the blood had come from was obvious. He'd been shot and he was still bleeding. Tara tried not to freak out.
What were you supposed to do in a situation like this? On TV
they always applied pressure, so she grabbed a towel from the kitchen. His whole shirt was bloody. She ripped it open. She could see where he'd been shot now, on he right side of his chest. The hole was jagged and still seeping blood. She fought down the urge to throw up. With the folded up towel, Tara covered the wound and pressed down, hoping she was doing the right thing. Mark moaned softly, but didn't wake up. She looked over at Jack. He was starting to stir. Tara hesitated for a moment and then grabbed the gun, keeping the towel pressed down with one hand and pointing the gun at Jack with the other.
Jack moaned and grabbed his head. Tara's hand was shaking. The gun was heavy. She had never even held one before. Where were the cops? She didn't even know if she could hit the broad side of a barn, and here was Mark possibly dying while the guy who had shot him was only a few feet away. Jack's eyes opened and he pushed himself up. It was a few seconds before he noticed her. He froze, his eyes locked on the gun.
“Stay where you are,” Tara said. “The cops will be here any minute.”
“Or what?” Jack asked. “You're not going to shoot me.” He backed towards the door, his movements stiff. Tara felt a surge of alarm. She couldn't let him get away. How could she be sure he wouldn't come back in a week or a month? This had to end tonight.
“Try me,” she said, doing her best to fake confidence. She'd done it enough in her professional life. His hesitation showed her act was working.
But Jack was halfway to the door and it seemed was more afraid of being arrested than of being shot. He turned and started limping towards the door.
“Stop!” Tara said, but he ignored her.
This is it, Tara thought. It's now or never. She wasn't going to let him have the chance to escape justice for what he'd done to her or to Mark. He wasn't leaving the apartment. Tara grasped the gun in both hands and pointed the it at Jack's retreating form. She didn't want to kill him, but she didn't know if she had the skill to hit something as narrow as his legs or arms. Gritting her teeth, Tara pointed at his back and pulled the trigger.
Fast Friends: Reunion Page 21
