WickedSeduction

by Tina Donahue

  “By the time I was eight, her days and mine revolved around avoiding or placating him. No one talked at meals unless he did first and then we told him what we thought he wanted to hear. He controlled what we saw on TV, how hot or cold the house was, what we wore and ate, how Mamá cooked the food. I knew his rules better than I did my subjects at school. At night, I’d write in my notebook how he reacted to whatever we’d said earlier. I’d put a smiley face next to our answers that got no reaction from him, guessing they were safe. If he’d frowned even slightly while we were talking, I’d remember exactly what we said and put an exclamation point next to the words, making certain to tell my mom the next day. I didn’t want her to use the same answer because I was afraid he’d finally get upset enough to blow.”

  “Jesus, Marnie, that’s a big job for a kid.”

  “I didn’t know any different. I honestly thought all families were like mine until I got older and had dinner at my friends’ houses. I couldn’t believe how noisy and messy the kids were, the way they joked with their parents at meals and whined about stuff like they had the right. I kept waiting for their fathers to explode but they never did. Rather than envying my friends for the great home lives they had, I doubled down, trying to satisfy my father. Mamá kept trying to make things right by saying he’d had a bad day, his work was hard but didn’t pay what he was worth. There were no benefits or vacation time. That was for rich whites, not poor Cubans like us. She said he wasn’t being appreciated or respected like he deserved because his skin was darker.”

  Marnie sighed. “Poor Mamá. She couldn’t see how selfish and pure mean he was. He was the baby of the family. His parents had given him whatever he wanted. His brothers and sisters doted on him. His life wasn’t hard. What he lived was paradise compared to the hell he put my mother through but she kept saying if we would only try harder, things would be different. Do you have any idea how impossible it is to predict a batterer’s moods? I’d get better odds in Vegas. The older I got, the more his violence escalated. Perfection wasn’t enough any longer. If my mother breathed a certain way, he’d go off. God forbid, she’d look at him too long or not long enough when he was giving one of his many orders. He’d accuse her of mocking him with her eyes and would punch her until she begged him to stop. By the time I was twelve, she hadn’t been out of the house in months. He wouldn’t let her see or talk to her family and friends anymore.”

  “Wait, please.” Tor looked appalled and worried. “Did he hit you too?”

  “Never. I think that’s a big part of why my mother stayed. He told her if she ever tried to leave, he’d get custody of me. She probably knew he’d use me as his next punching bag and she tried to save me.” Marnie paused, having to clear her throat before she could continue. “I tried to save her.”

  The panic she’d felt the last day with her father returned, making her feel like a kid again, scared and helpless.

  As Marnie related to Tor what had happened, she could still smell the plantain chips her mother had made that afternoon, their comforting aroma filling the kitchen. Sun had poured through the window over the sink, the spotless counters and floor gleaming in the light. It had been a Sunday, no school to escape to, no landscaping work to keep her father away.

  He’d strode into the kitchen, imperious as always, his face a mask of rage.

  Marnie had tried to guess what had set him off. She’d brought in the paper as he’d expected. Her mom had done the laundry and scrubbed the kitchen floor earlier. A task she did every day. The house was tidy, perfect, but his mood had been foul.

  With one swipe of his hand, he’d sent the plate of plantains crashing against the wall. Oil speckled the cheery daisy wallpaper. One of the chips stuck for a moment then slid down, stopping on the white petals of a flower.

  Marnie hadn’t moved; neither had her mother. They hadn’t stared at the destruction he’d caused but at his fists, waiting for the worst.

  He’d grabbed the skillet and hurled it across the room, hot oil flying everywhere. Some hit her mother’s arm. She’d gasped.

  Marnie had started to cry. Her father hadn’t seen, heard, or cared about her, his full attention and rage focused on his wife.

  “Bitch,” he’d said, shoulders pushed to his ears like an animal ready to attack. “Cunt. Can’t do anything right. This place is a fucking sty.”

  Her mother kept backing away, hands raised to protect herself as she’d apologized repeatedly, confessing she hadn’t folded the towels the way he liked, hadn’t vacuumed enough, had failed to leave the magazines on the cocktail table exactly as they should be.

  Lies. Everything had been perfect. Marnie had made notes of her mother’s efforts, showing them to her, ticking off everything that could possibly anger him.

  He’d slapped her mother’s face, shoved her into the wall and lifted his fist.

  “Don’t,” Marnie had screamed, the first time she’d interfered.

  Her father hadn’t heard or chose to ignore her cries.

  Worried he’d kill her mother this time, Marnie had grabbed the skillet and hit him on his back.

  “I wanted him to stop,” she told Tor, her mind still picturing what had happened. “I wasn’t strong but there was an awful thud when I’d struck him. Mamá’s skillet was one of those heavy, cast-iron types. For a minute, I thought I’d killed him he wavered so badly. And then he’d turned…”

  Marnie told Tor what being terrorized was truly like. How her father had looked at her in surprise, confusion, then the same hatred he’d shown her mother. Until then, he’d been indifferent to Marnie, his fury focused solely on his wife.

  Not any longer.

  “I was too afraid to run,” she said. “Honestly, I couldn’t move. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. He raised his fist. I thought he was going to punch me in the face as he’d always done with Mamá. He called me filthy names, told me I was as ugly as she was, as stupid, that I never should have been born. He said after he got through with me, I’d wish I was dead.”

  She shuddered in memory. Tor took her hand.

  Marnie wrapped her fingers tightly around his. “At one point, I must have been backing away from him, though I don’t remember doing so. Suddenly, he was at the counter where my mother had been slicing the plantains. She kept her knives there. When he grabbed one of the biggest ones, Mamá threw herself at him, hitting his shoulders and head. He rammed his body into hers, sending Mamá into the wall. She fell to the floor. ‘I’ll teach you what happens when you dare strike your own father,’ he said to me and raised the knife.

  “I didn’t feel anything,” Marnie said. “I could see my blood everywhere but nothing hurt as he kept slashing at me. My mother was screaming. I saw her heading for her skillet and wanted to tell her no, to run, go to one of the neighbors, to protect herself. But I couldn’t speak. All of a sudden, I was cold and felt horribly tired, as though I’d run for miles. I couldn’t catch my breath. Everything went black. The next thing I knew I was in the hospital.” She lifted her shoulders.

  Tor went to his feet and helped Marnie to hers. Then he sat in the chair she’d vacated and settled her on his lap. She curled into him, needing his strength and warmth.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, rubbing her back. “He had no damn right. Thank God your mom stopped him.”

  Marnie pressed her face into his neck. “She didn’t. She said after I passed out, he stopped stabbing me, realizing what he’d done. He left the house and raced away in his pickup. I don’t know whether what happened after that was an accident or intentional but he rammed into a tree at high speed and died instantly.”

  Tor held her closer.

  “I’m not sorry,” she said, refusing to feel bad. “Even though he was my father, he was a monster.”

  “He can’t hurt you any longer.”

  “Not physically but what he did isn’t easy to forget. Moving on seems impossible at times.”

  “I know. Wait, I don’t. What you and your mom went th
rough isn’t something I can even imagine.” He hugged her carefully. “No wonder you’re cautious. Anyone would be. Has his family given you trouble?”

  Marnie eased back to see his face. “What do you mean?”

  “You said he was the baby and everyone catered to him. Did they blame you for his death? Have they been threatening you all these years?”

  Marnie finally realized where his questions had been heading. He probably thought she’d been afraid to pose for the portrait, had so many locks on the door and kept the blinds closed because of her relatives. She should tell him about Ethan but couldn’t. Sometimes, Marnie was more like her mom than she realized, hoping bad stuff would disappear if she simply stopped remembering what had happened—what her father’s violence had led her to long after he’d died.

  “They’re in Miami,” she said at last. “Mamá didn’t stay in touch with them after the accident. Whatever you find odd about me isn’t their fault.”

  “Oh hey.” He smiled softly. “I don’t think you’re doing anything odd. I’m trying to understand your caution.”

  “I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember,” she said, hedging slightly. “What I lived isn’t easy to forget. His treatment of my mother colors a lot of how I see things today, though I am trying to change. I’m going to be a badass mujer.”

  Tor smiled. “An in-your-face woman, huh?”

  “Only in yours tonight.”

  “What?”

  Marnie answered by slanting her mouth over his.

  She felt his hesitation and then his smile against her lips, giving him one in return. They made out like teens with nowhere private to go when she had a comfortable bed waiting no more than five feet away.

  More than anything, Marnie wanted Tor with her tonight. She needed to feel safe, pretty, desired. She had to chase away the specter of the past during the next hours.

  She kissed him hard one last time and then pulled her mouth free. “Even if we can’t make love, there’s plenty we can do until next time when you do remember to bring condoms.”

  “Oh yeah? Like what?”

  Marnie rested her forehead against his. “Bad boy that you are, you need instructions? Seriously?”

  Tor eased back and searched her face, his expression surprisingly somber. “You’re sure?”

  “I want you. Have from the moment I saw you in the window at the parlor. Days and days before you finally noticed me.”

  Surprise crossed his face. “I didn’t know you were there…I should have.”

  “You were busy smiling at your fans. Totally understandable. And to answer your question—yeah, I’m sure about tonight. Let’s go to bed.”

  Marnie got to her feet before Tor could stop her. After closing the blinds, she faced him and pulled off her top, hesitating only slightly when she uncovered her scars. He smiled to let her know she was perfect. On a happy grin, she twirled the garment above her head and finally let the thing fly.

  Definitely badass.

  “You want more?” she asked, leaning down to him, wiggling her boobs, sending a wave of her fragrance his way.

  His cock went from semi-hard to rigid in three seconds flat. He stared at her bra, the fabric shiny and pink, tiny rosebuds gracing the curve of the cups that barely trapped the swell of her breasts.

  He stood. A few minutes ago, Tor had thought Marnie might need time to digest what she’d told him, to calm down, shake off the past. Clearly, she’d had more practice than he at moving on from bad stuff.

  Not that she’d told him everything. He sensed she’d held back on part of the story. Why, Tor couldn’t imagine, except the last piece of the puzzle that made her who she was must be really bad.

  The fact she’d survived her father’s brutality was a miracle. Despite what the man had forced her to endure, Marnie wasn’t bitter or angry. If anything, she’d seemed weary when she’d been speaking of her father’s attack. Now, Tor figured she wanted something good to make her forget.

  Wearing a suggestive smile, she backed away, hands on the front clasp of her bra.

  Tor followed, pulling off his shirt, tossing the garment aside. Marnie watched its journey to the floor, releasing her bra clasp at the same time.

  Her breasts spilled out, the tips reddish with arousal, halos constricted.

  Tor’s mouth went dry.

  She ditched her bra and turned on the nightstand lamp, the pink shade making rosy puddles of light on the comforter. Warm. Romantic. Beguiling.

  Tor stopped Marnie before she could pull off her skirt.

  “Let me,” he said.

  She kissed him in answer—hard and deep—then dropped her hands to her sides, allowing him access to what he wanted.

  Although Tor longed to crawl all over her and have her do the same with him, he didn’t want to rush and risk scaring her. Marnie desired him but she’d been through a lot. Best to take these moments slowly and prove he was a nice guy.

  He lowered her to the mattress. Her breasts quivered slightly with the movement, her nipples begging for his mouth. With a shitload of will, Tor forced himself not to make any sudden moves. He slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of her skirt, surprised at how hot her skin was, and eased the fabric down her hips and off. Rather than dumping her clothes on the floor, he laid the garment at the foot of the bed, taking care.

  Marnie wasn’t as heedful. She ran her fingertips down his torso, making Tor’s muscles jump, pulling a growl of delight to his throat. The sound died quickly at her foot resting on his upper thigh, toes pressed to the thick ridge between his legs.

  If his cock got any stiffer…

  Fuck, Tor wished he’d brought condoms. Her touch was killing him. her panties straight out of a wet dream. They were pink, like her bra, with the same rosettes, but also sheer enough for him to see the delicate curls between her legs. Her crotch was damp with her passion.

  God, God, God.

  His rod was raring to go, his boys beyond the point of no return, but he couldn’t rush this. He wouldn’t.

  Tor planted a kiss on her mound, relishing her clean, musky scent. Holding back a frustrated groan, he looked up. Marnie’s eyes were hooded, face flushed with color, smile downright smoky.

  Time to get serious. He peeled her underwear away, noting how the damp fabric stuck to her cleft for a moment. Her soft folds were as ruddy as the tips of her nipples, plump with passion, glistening with moisture. Dizzy with need, he brought her panties to his face and inhaled deeply of her womanly scent.

  The noise that escaped him sounded crazy with lust.

  Easy, dammit.

  “I’m not going to break,” she said, as though reading his thoughts. Or maybe seeing his struggle for control.

  He laughed. “I might.”

  “Get naked. Please.”

  Tor wanted nothing more. He made quick work of stripping to his skin, dropping his sandals and clothes in a heap on the floor. His cock was hard enough to lift the crown, the head defying gravity to point at Marnie’s cunt.

  Propped on her elbows, she studied his nudity. “Wow, you’re better than a Greek god.”

  Tor laughed but puffed up a bit too.

  “Come here,” she said, reaching for his shaft.

  He kissed her palms then lifted Marnie’s hands above her head, the crown of his cock skimming her thigh. She moaned softly.

  Tor touched the tip of his nose to hers. “Try not to move.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  She stopped him from moving back, kissing him passionately again, turning his brain to mush. Lightheaded, Tor positioned Marnie’s legs, thighs spread widely, knees bent, the soles of her feet on the bed. He stroked her toenails, polished a delicate pink, the same as her fingernails.

  Marnie laughed. “You’re tickling me.”

  “Hell no. This is tickling.”

  She shrieked and tried to roll away. Tor wouldn’t let her, running his fingers up and down her ribs.

  Marnie choked out
another laugh and cried, “I can’t stand any more—stop.”

  He did immediately, breathing nearly as hard as she did, loving the sound of her laughter.

  Marnie finally quieted and gazed at him in wonder. “I like how you play.”

  “Hell, that wasn’t play. This is.”

  Tor eased his hands beneath her plush ass and lowered his mouth to her cleft, finding the folds slick with passion.

  She made a soft, feminine sound and opened her legs even more. The best invitation of all.

  Taking care not to rush, Tor licked the length of Marnie’s cleft, her skin warm, soft and fragrant with a hint of salt. She tasted awesome. Loving her was like coming home. He flicked his tongue over her clit, enjoying how she inhaled sharply and pushed her body closer to him, obviously wanting more.

  No way could Tor deny her. Latching on to her clit, he held the bud between his teeth, licking her steadily as he eased two fingers into her cunt.

  Marnie moaned loudly in what sounded like satisfaction.

  She didn’t know the half of it. Her sheath was incredibly tight and hot, the perfect shelter for his rod. Next time. Tonight was only the beginning.

  Marnie twisted the comforter in her fists, trying not to come too quickly. Tor’s first lick on her pussy had sent her reeling. With his fingers buried inside her channel and her clit between his teeth, she was as defenseless as a woman could be with a man and didn’t mind.

  He’d proven himself again when she’d told him to stop tickling her. He had without argument or pretending he hadn’t heard. He’d respected her wishes, making her want him more.

  Trust was a powerful aphrodisiac.

  Her skin burned with excitement. Each of his licks on her nub built pleasure within her cunt, the sensations intensifying to an unbearable level.

  Dammit, she couldn’t come this soon. Once she had, the feelings would fade and be over until next time. Who knew how long she’d have to wait before experiencing this again?