by K. S. Adkins
Not that it was that hard of a sell, considering the weather seems to be getting worse instead of better and I had Rio to pass the time with. Just this morning, there was a letter under the door alerting us the ferry was still delayed and they were sorry. Two days ago, that would have sent me into a spiral but today, I was rolling with it.
After transferring more money, I took a quick shower and promised to meet Rio at the main bar. The problem was I seemed to have trouble leaving the room. Last night I had genuine fun. Depressing thoughts were nowhere to be found when one man was my sole focus. That man believed our meeting wasn’t an accident and so badly, I wanted to believe it too. I was struggling hard because one word kept banging around in my brain.
Fate.
I don’t believe in fate, I can’t. Because if I did then it was fated I’d lose them, that I was going to forever be this living breathing disaster. Fate aside, the scariest part of all was with him I was truly me, I wasn’t drowning in guilt and that in turn piled the guilt even higher. I actually feel guilty for not feeling guilty and that was my fucked up reality. My life was a vicious circle of emotional pain. Sure there were days I totally functioned without rocking myself in a corner but there were also days where the pain was clawing to get out. Those minutes which turn to hours as the grief turns into something so violent and vicious that I’d blackout from it.
Emotionally, I have never found a good place. But since he stormed into my life, I was feeling too much and I didn’t like that I had no control over these new urges either. Christ, I had no control over anything anymore. The urge to keep him was seductive even though long term, I knew I wasn’t good for him. The urge to say fuck it and ask him to sail the world with me was strong. The urge to scream that he’s mine! The urge to hide in the bathtub because he has the potential to seriously hurt me was a potent taste in my mouth. Most of all, it was the urge to let him save me that had me walking out to the deck to sit in the rain instead of meeting him as planned.
Curling up in the plastic chair, I look at the tree line wishing that I had never met Rio. Not because of anything he did, but because I know my strengths and weaknesses. When it comes to this mystery man, I have no strength just weakness and I can’t allow him to capitalize on that. I refuse to let him change my mind either. With him I’m cocooned in feeling. It’s almost suffocating it’s so intense. Just his skin touching mine warms me and I knew that regardless of how good he fucked me, I couldn’t claim him. I refuse to destroy him; I refuse to let him go down with the ship.
Smiling inward, I was strangely content knowing that when I ended my life my last thoughts would be of Rio and that I’d die with a smile on my face. However my smile faded when the guilt took over once more. Since I was fifteen no man compared to Alan but today it’s Rio’s face I see, not my husband’s. I vowed to him to love him all the days of my life and here I was thinking of how another man fucks me, makes me feel. Kicking the chair back, I reach for the nearest object which happened to be an empty wine bottle and throw it into the trees. Then grabbing a chair, I throw that too. Bending at the knees, I try lifting the God damn table, but couldn’t.
Screaming “Fuck!” for being too much of a wimp to lift it, my ass hits the wet deck and I proceed to kick at it with my heels. When I look up and see Rio holding the table down with both hands, immediately my mouth dried out.
“You bailed on me,” he says in a dark voice, “Don’t know why you did, but you’re gonna march back in that fucking room and explain it to me, now.”
No one tells me what to do. Fire was in my eyes. I knew it. Just as I knew if I had a mirror handy they would be blazing back at me. Every time I get a handle on shit, there he is flipping the script. Fuck the challenge, fuck this island and fuck him. I’m done with him calling the shots. I’m the head honcho here, me.
“Got nothing to say? It’s cool, I got enough shit to say for both of us. Dry off, grab your shit and meet me on that fucking couch, Bet. We’re gonna have words.”
Still standing there in the rain, chest heaving, fists clenched I want to bust his jaw I’m so pissed off. He stands there daring me to defy him and I want to knock that look off his face. Come to think of it, I want nothing more than to kick his gorgeous ass all over this fucking resort. This was his fault. All of it from the flirting, to the fucking, and now the God damn feelings I’m having too. Reaching for me, he wraps his fingers around my upper arm to steer me inside, which was a bad move.
I don’t know why I did it; I’m not a violent person. But I did do it, then I backed the fuck up.
I’ve been hit before.
Hell, I’ve even been knocked out once or twice. But I ain’t never been hit by a woman I cared about under these conditions. Thing was, the punch didn’t hurt and if the situation wasn’t so fucked I would have laughed about it. Another thing was, it was the fact that she did it that made the blow feel like a mac truck slammed into my face. That God damn punch had feelings behind it. She wanted to hurt me and she succeeded.
Realizing she just crossed a line, she backs away into the corner and I watch as shock registers followed by remorse. I don’t react when she holds her hand; in fact I don’t do anything. It wasn’t but a week ago that Rion hit me. Granted, I was asking for it but her hitting me only annoyed me. Bet hitting me put me in a bad fucking place.
This woman says my past doesn’t matter but she’s full of shit. She likes me fucking her because she senses the danger inside of me. Bet likes danger, thrives on it. I feel it and respond to it in kind just like she wants me to. To her, this island is temporary. What happens here can be written off, forgotten. It ain’t that easy and I think she just figured it out and that’s why she flipped. Narrowing my eyes, I see hers are rimmed with red. She’s trying not to cry and though it shouldn’t matter to me, it does.
I knew the time would come when she would compare me to her dead husband. That she would feel guilty and maybe even lash out. Hitting me never crossed my mind but here we are having a standoff in the God damn rain. Bet isn’t afraid of me and I never gave her a reason to be, that was an error that was getting corrected today.
If she knew why I was put her in path she wouldn’t get anywhere near me. If she knew the vile things I’ve done to stay alive, she’d look at me with disgust. If she knew how fucking badly I wanted to be better for her, she would have thought twice before hitting me. I tried being a good man; it’s obvious she doesn’t see the real me yet. But she will because Bet Lennox just fucked up.
“I ain’t him,” I tell her while staying perfectly still. I don’t want her to know how I’m hurting right now. Bet can slay you with words and I wasn’t giving her the opportunity to dig the knife in further. “I ain’t never gonna be him either. I ain’t never gonna be your precious Alan. He’s dead, I ain’t. You ever fucking hit me again, you ain’t gotta worry about paying me to end you. I’ll do that shit for free.”
“Do it now then,” she says bravely. She doesn’t lower her eyes either, just stares me down. She wants this, she wants it over with. “Rid yourself of me, Rio. Rid me of myself.”
“You shouldn’t have put your manicured hands on me, little Bet. I’m afraid I can’t let that go.”
“So you want to hurt me back?” she asks wiping her hair from her face. “That’s fair; go ahead. I won’t fight you.”
“Little Bet,” I laugh as I advance on her, “I love that you think you could.”
Then I let the darkness take over.
Oh shit.
He’s going to hit me. I’ve never been hit before, I didn’t know if I should cover my face or curl into a ball. The fault is mine though, I know that. My father used to say that if you ever put your hands on a man in anger, you best be prepared to get hit back. Moral of the story, don’t fucking hit people.
I deserved to get rocked upside the head. That doesn’t mean that I was okay with it. In fact, I thought of offering him a ton of cash not to hit me back. Then I said fuck it, I had it coming and closed my eyes. He towe
red over me, not touching me but I could feel his anger and intent. I wondered if I would respect him more for his vengeance or less? Then I wondered why the thought of him hurting me was appealing. Knowing that train of thought was fucked up; I opened my eyes willing to take his punishment head on. If he wanted to hurt me, there was a strong chance I may actually enjoy it and keeping my eyes wide made sense because I didn’t want to miss it. At that moment I couldn’t name why I switched gears from fear to anticipation but I did and I figured I may as well embrace it.
Alan never got angry, emotional, or overly excited, he was just…level. Nothing riled him up, nothing made him keel over in laughter either. Everything between us was what I wanted, what had made me happy. I wanted him to be happy too, yet he never asked for a thing. I even wondered if when death came for him if he just shrugged and went with it. Alan was not a fighter. The man breathing in my face was.
“Hurt me,” I whisper with our eyes locked on each other.
His large hands come up and slowly span my throat. Without a word or change in his breathing, he tightens his grip. I wait for the panic to come but it’s noticeably absent. I wait for my vision to dance and my fight or flight responses to kick in but that doesn’t happen either. I’m actually disappointed how anti climatic this is. I was a cruel person for wanting this but I’m smart enough to know that if I push hard enough, he’ll snap. Rio is not as unaffected as he appears to be. “Hurt me,” I demand him but he still doesn’t move. Bringing my own hands up, I cover his and stare him right in the eyes before I scream my head off. “Make it hurt you fucking pussy!”
A man’s hands tell a story. His story was he’s done this before, this was a skill. A skill he’s perfected. His eyes were black, his brows furrowed and his strength was legendary. Pushing Rio to hurt me was the only thing that mattered. God knows he’s been pushing me from the moment we met persuading me to do things out of character for me. Now it was his turn to be pulled from his comfort zone. It was when his lip turned up in a mock grin that I knew he wanted to punish me and so I grinned back letting him know that I wanted it too.
“Be careful what you wish for.” He says losing the smirk.
Ah, there it was…the pressure.
She wanted it.
No, fuck that, she needed it.
That hurt, that fear that reminds you, ain’t shit you can do when you’re defenseless. Thing was, the only one in control here was her because this is what she wanted. Bet, in that moment, truly wanted to die. She’ll never know how much that scared me, how much I needed her to stay alive and breathing. What started out as a job turned into a craving I refused to deny myself. Switching tactics, I let her think she was getting what she thought she craved most. Applying the right amount of pressure I let her think that she was getting the ultimate release.
Death.
Thing was, it wasn’t about what she thought she wanted anymore it was about what I needed. Bet wanted a taste of my darkness and I was willing to submerse her in it. I wouldn’t stop until she begged me to. Any sane human would struggle because it was the natural thing to do. Not her though. Just as she started to lose consciousness she fucking smiled almost like she was thanking me.
When she went limp in my arms, I fought back a moment of panic. Knowing I crossed a line today, I reminded myself that Bet needed help, she needed my help. I told myself I was justified in doing this because if I get through to her it would mean she was willing to try. Carrying her indoors, I took my time getting her settled because when she woke and realized she wasn’t dead and that her fate was truly in my hands she was going to lose it.
Bet was convinced she wanted to die.
And she would.
In pleasure.
Her soft moans make my dick stiffen in anticipation of what’s to come. As she rouses herself and tries to rub her sleepy eyes, I see the moment of disappointment set in when she realizes that she’s still breathing. In the beginning, I thought she was talking shit but she wasn’t. I’ve met some wacked out people over the years but never a pint-sized stunner with more money than Moses that wants to off herself. Bottom line, if I don’t change her mind she’ll call that number and she would follow through. I found that I couldn’t accept that.
A small growl escapes her when she realizes she’s bound. I was a gentleman and gave her a bit of room to move, but not much. Staring me down again, she has the balls to look at me like I betrayed her for not killing her. Christ, the way she smiled when she thought I was, fucked with me and made me desperate.
“Welcome back,” I say pulling up a chair. “Why so angry, little Bet? ‘Cause you’re still here and I’m still an asshole?”
Turning her head away she does her best to ignore me. I let her do it because if there is one thing I know for sure about her is that even when she pretends she’s not listening, she is. Bet doesn’t miss anything.
“Kinda disappointed in you, little Bet, never pegged you for a quitter.”
“Go fuck yourself.” she says closing her eyes.
“Babe, if I could fuck myself I’d never leave the house. Now we can finish having words or you can suck my dick. I’m a gentleman, so I’ll let you pick.”
“Put your dick in my mouth and see what happens,” she dares me. There was no lust behind the statement and I had to seriously weigh my options here. Yeah, I wanted it in her mouth but if she so much as nibbled, I’d be screaming for a medic. Bet ain’t a violent woman but she does have a mean side, she may just bite the fucker off out of spite.
“Look at you,” she laughs. “You want it in my mouth but you’re wondering what I’ll do. Smart man, because right now, you fucking prick, I don’t even know what I’ll do.”
“Tell me you want to live, I’ll untie you and even let you get another swing in.”
“No can do,” she says instantly, “I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“Just with thugs like Adrian.”
“You have a tone in your voice when you say his name, why is that? What aren’t you telling me, Rio? Oh that’s right, you don’t tell me anything!”
She was getting too close to the truth, so in an act of self-preservation, I did what any man with a bound woman would do. I took advantage of my good fortune and pulled my dick out.
There ain’t no situation a blow job can’t fix.
I didn’t like this. It wasn’t because I was essentially helpless; it was because I woke up feeling again. I sensed him the moment I came back to awareness and it pissed me off. Obviously he’s taking this challenge seriously and I didn’t know what else I could do to prove to him I wasn’t worth the effort. The second he applied pressure to my throat restricting my air, I thought it was poetic that the only man to ever make my body thrum with pleasure would be the one to give me the ultimate release.
Oblivion.
Refusing to let him see how his presence affects me, I go on the offensive. He’s brought Adrian up multiple times and I swear there’s something there, a thread, a tie, but he won’t spill. He wants me to tell him that I want to live and part of me wants to, just to shut him up but I won’t lie. For me, there was no shame in being realistic. I didn’t want to be here any longer, not even for him. You hear people beg for more time when death nears and there is no shame in that, so why should be ashamed that I want to die sooner rather than later. To me, there is something beautiful about embracing death on your own terms. I don’t expect him to get it, hell I don’t expect anyone to get it which is why I’ve never said a word.
Screaming at him because of his secrecy bullshit backfired. I had hoped he’d back off, he didn’t. Instead he tied me up with the belts from my robe, knelt between my legs and spread my knees apart with his shoulders. Initially I found it odd that he only bound my wrists leaving my legs free. But now that he’s spread me open I wished he’d taken this a step further. I don’t like the look he’s giving me; it’s one that says I belong to him. Closing my eyes, I tell myself I belong to one man.
A dead man.
/> Without saying a word he runs his finger over my slit. Biting the inside of my cheek I refuse to encourage him while also praying he doesn’t stop. Removing his hand, he takes his index finger and trails it between my breasts, down my stomach and back over my slit again. Opening my eyes, I watch him. He pays the rest of me no mind, his sole focus is below the waist. Minutes pass and he trails that fucking finger over every inch of my skin, except my face. When he backs away, I wondered if I drew blood I bit my cheek so hard. I wanted his touch back and I hated myself for needing the contact. Without warning, he nudges my thighs further apart with his shoulders even further; he takes one long inhale between my legs and runs his tongue slowly over my sweet spot. Clenching my fists, I still watch him.
He’s in no hurry, instead he finds a rhythm; and lust strong and swift takes me over. I watch him lick me, he watches me fight the urge to scream. When my first orgasm strikes I was able to be silent about it. The only indication I exploded at all was the hitch in my breathing and the juice he licked from his lips. Finally able to breathe normally again, he reaches in with thick fingers spreading me apart. He won’t allow me to come down from this gracefully. Spearing me with his tongue and fingers, I come again and again and again.
Four orgasms later, I was close to tears. This was the best and worst punishment ever. For a full hour he didn’t move from between my thighs and I couldn’t stand it anymore. Death by orgasm sounds like heaven but it’s hell. As sleep calls me, I listen and start to shut myself down to rest. He flicks my clit hard with his fingers, which not only startled me, but it actually hurt, he gives me that smile again and in return I tell him with my eyes I’ve had enough.
