Then I went to the dog that rested in the shade, the darker hair above his eyes twitching as I approached. Did dogs have eyebrows? He sat up on his haunches.
“Okay, dog. Let’s look at that paw. She will keep.”
I ignored Red and let the dog sniff my hand – wouldn’t do to get bitten. He licked me, once. “Good boy.” Slowly I went to one knee beside the animal. “Got a name?”
His collar was bare of any ID, but surely most pets would be microchipped?
“Let’s call you Banjo for the moment,” I murmured as I put my hand out for his paw.
As I’d hoped, he whined but let me examine it. One soft but hefty paw was in my hand. The feel of this, of an animal trusting me, echoed in a good way. I smiled then patted his ear. I hadn’t had a pet in years.
Angling my head let me see the likely culprit. The pad was worn away and bleeding in one spot.
“So. Okay. Maybe rest will fix it? We’ll get you to a vet, later?”
He panted at me.
“I’ll take that for a yes.”
The next town, Borgeman, might have a vet. It had seemed big-ish on the googling I did.
I fetched an old coffee cup from the ute, rinsed it and filled it with water then let Banjo drink. After he was satisfied, I washed my hands and returned to Red, my one remaining and bestest-ever victim.
An idea surfaced, and I swerved to prowl the edge of the trees, where I picked up a sapling branch of just the right whippiness. Supple, thick enough, and once stripped of small branches, it made a great switch. I tried it out as I approached her, still tied to the seat with her ankles slightly apart.
“If you’re bored, I plan to wake you up, darling sweetness.”
She turned her head to me. A frown sprang onto her brow, though she shut her eyes as I pushed a finger fully into her pussy. I pumped it slowly in and out. “Nine?”
At first Red made indignant noises then she melted closer to the table, grunting and with her ass shifting, each time I penetrated her.
“Nine then.” I extracted the digit, noting the stickiness decorating it, and raised my switch hand, giving it a twitch to see how it flexed.
It would do. It would make pretty stripes and crisscrosses.
The swish and smack of the first hit, then her yelp, those sang to me as the red bloomed in a line on her ass cheek.
Red on Red. Pretty enough to take pictures of. So I did. Between strikes, I snapped out a few photos then left handprints on her butt, both sides, and took another pic before I placed the cellphone on the table.
I sat up on the table then lay down beside her to kiss her on her gagged mouth. “You didn’t smile enough for those.”
She seemed more intent on staring at me, so I figured my words had gone whoosh overhead. For a second or three, the switching had left her in limbo.
I kissed her again, then stroked away the new crease between her eyes, played with the gag where it squashed her lips. When her tongue poked at the gag, I touched it.
Then I said quietly, “Maybe one more.”
The flicker of her eyelashes when I said that… The way she followed me with her gaze as I climbed off the table, that grabbed at me and sank in hooks. She wanted this, and yet she hated me, or most of me.
A dilemma for her and me. I did not wish to see her go.
Keeping her was easy. Making her want me to keep her, that was different and new.
CHAPTER 9
RED
“Ten.”
The last strike made me jerk, my muscles clenching.
“Look how wet that made you, my pretty little thing.” Isak spoke in a low, rumbling tone from behind and to my left where I couldn’t quite see him. Smug man. That he liked hurting me was not news.
That I liked it too was irksome and problematic.
He pushed his finger along my entrance and left it there a moment, sliding it, pushing on me but not quite inside, teasing. “I could fucking swim in this cunt.”
I stayed quiet, mortified in a way, making myself not react, even as my pussy spasmed inward and my psychotic libido begged me to hump that finger.
I yearned to be done with him, wanted entire oceans and continents between us. On the other hand, life was going to be pale and lifeless minus Isak.
It would also lack blood, pain, and murder.
The throb of those strikes still radiated outward, morphing and lingering in that pleasing sexual way.
He didn’t need to say my pussy was wetter than before he had whipped my butt. I knew. There was a squish at the crease of my thighs when I shifted from side to side.
I clasped my bound hands together and huffed into the metal slats, prayed he would do nothing more sadistic because I really, really needed dick right now. My clit was pebble-like, a hot and aching nub. Subtly, I ground at the table.
Fuck him for making me want.
The unzip of his pants and removal of them was obvious, as was the sound of him stepping in. The switch he’d used landed to the right on the tabletop, a wicked thing with those tiny bumps where twiglets had once been. I’d had worse. I was so aroused, all I could do was wonder what he intended next.
Fucking me, surely? Please.
I felt his palm move over my stinging ass. Not fucking. Not quite yet.
I whined in frustration as he kissed me there, with his tongue leaving warm, wet trails and his hands leaving tingles of desire. A few times his fingers slipped near either pussy or asshole, and I sucked in a breath, anticipating the invasion.
But no. Still not yet.
He bit me, sharply, enough to make me jump at the pain.
His teeth hung on before releasing the flesh, and I felt the shift of his body over me, the press of him on my back and tied hands. He licked my fingers, nibbled them, which made me swear through the panties where they stretched across my mouth. The cloth of those was already disgustingly wet and unpleasant against my tongue.
I gargled my annoyance at him, but he only laughed, then finally, finally, I felt the push of his cock, as he introduced it to my entrance. By the smallest of increments he fucked me.
I gargle-swore some more, possibly wept my frustration.
He would know, being a mesmer. He’d know how desperate I was for this. How needy.
He thrust in.
He shoved and parted my flesh like the spear of a god. It was mind-blinding, a sea washing in and drowning me. Sound and sight resolved down to being nothing more than this, us, seeking each other, him taking me. Impaled.
The possession of a man never failed to fuck with both mind and body. I heard the incoherence of my noises, all my gasps and squeals, and couldn’t stop myself, and did not want to.
The stretch and the rhythmic ram and withdrawal. The grunt of him at the bigger thrusts.
He stopped, breath against my ear, my neck. His bites and kisses. The hand shoved into my hair. The digging fingers at my ass and hips while he waited, fully deep, appreciating his act and my submission to it. I twisted my hands, thrilled at the bondage, at my helplessness.
He was not silent as he was before, at other times, in other years.
These were words I never thought to hear from Isak.
“Beautiful. So beautiful.” Followed by a groan and the run of fingers down my spine.
“Christ, being inside you,” spoken as he thumped into me, hard.
And shorter cryptic ones, such as, “Why did I never—”
Unwilling to understand all of his meaning, for now I chose to accept his war on me, his dominating, sweat-slippery, aching war on and in my body. The slaps, the bites, the throbbing pains. Accept, accept, because these acts were mine too. He took me to orgasm, made me fly and splutter choking, joyous gasps as I shuddered in his bonds and arms.
While I was limp and barely able to move, he untied me and sat on the table with me in his lap. I panted for air. I couldn’t tell if the traffic passing might see us. By then I didn’t care.
Coaxing me to desire again was a simple matter for him, w
ith his powers and his mouth and fingers on me, in me, slipping cock inside me as he toyed with clit, and tongued and kissed my mouth, my breasts.
I shuddered and clawed at his back, his biceps, anywhere I could grasp.
Willing him utter control over my body, I sighed and whimpered at his touch. Such a perverse and perfect seduction of my body. His fingers went places as I bucked and locked my hands in his hair. He’d never let me do that to him… not before this.
He laid me on my back, eyes fervent as he slowly penetrated me again. My legs were spread wide of my own doing, my hands were at his shoulders and waist and ass, as I tried to pull him inside me.
The last of it, his climax and the momentous swell of come within… I was left open-mouthed and riveted by his look of snarling exultance. After the last twitch of him inside, with the last drop ejaculated, I expected him to pull out and leave me there, sated, messed-up, and exhausted. Instead, with dusk creeping upon us and the table cooling beneath our skin, he stayed with me, all tangled limbs and dwindling gasps.
It was a togetherness that made me wonder.
What if?
Headlights were cruising by on the highway.
We finally fumble-rolled and slid off the table, only to find a dog watching us, paws crossed and head on paws.
“He looks hungry,” I ventured.
Isak only grunted. “Go wash. There is a towel in the car. We will be leaving soon.”
I eyed him. Were we back to limited communications? Had that been a momentary lapse?
Though unfed – for chocolate bars seemed unwise food for him – the dog hopped into the back of the car when invited. The steering wheel was in my hands again.
Mind unclouded, sore and abraded below, but strangely at peace, despite the recent murder – and how screwy was that – I drove us south-west.
We had a dog, it seemed, until we reached the right town.
I also had an Isak who was changing. For the better, I thought, hoped, prayed.
He had recently killed a man, and with no remorse. How could he ever be trusted? Just because his lovemaking was less cruel… well, less distant. Was distant the right word?
I remembered the pills on time and watched him swallow. Whatever this was, it was better than before.
Then I remembered something else.
“The passenger on that truck filmed me. Does it matter? It might go viral.”
He only stared.
I thought it might. It depended on where and who he showed it to. Isak seemed unworried. In spite of my CIA past, I might not show up on anyone’s facial recognition database, but still. Still… I could extrapolate. If it went viral, someone who hated Isak might see it.
CHAPTER 10
ISAK
At Eight PM, the town of Borgeman was livelier than expected. A cattle sale was on, as was a biker meet-up from the looks of all the motorbikes parked on the main street. This was cattle country, so the former wasn’t a shock. And there was definitely a vet… and one of them was female. I found her easily, and by the time she opened the clinic, we’d bought both dog food and burgers.
Banjo had slurped up half of the filling from Red’s burger when it slid to the dirt at a gas station stop. So the dog food can was currently unopened.
“No.” The vet straightened and placed the scanner on the stainless-steel examination table by her elbow. “He isn’t microchipped.”
No lab coat, just a T-shirt and jeans. Such a disappointment. All my TV show standards about veterinarians were wrong. “Okay.”
I thought a while, ignoring Dr. Vicky or Debbie or whatever. She wouldn’t protest if we stayed here all night, but I had no real need of that. No microchip. “And you don’t recognize him?”
I waved at Banjo, who promptly sat back and barked at me with a deep woof. I raised my eyebrows.
“No.” Dr. Vickie reached down to pat the dog. “There are a lot of cattle dogs kept around here. He might also be from further away because—”
“Because of the cattle sale.” I finished her sentence. I eyed the critter. “You can stay with us for a while, boy. Just don’t get too settled.”
Anything could happen. I was currently unsure of my direction.
He pricked his ears, whined, and held up the paw she had bandaged. I wondered how long it would last before he chewed it off. It would heal in a week apparently. A week of rest.
“So there is an animal rehoming refuge the next town over?”
The vet nodded.
Red frowned. “You can’t just leave him in one of those.”
“We can’t keep him forever.” We… using that pronoun made me feel odd.
She folded her arms in protest but seemed less certain when she regarded Banjo.
“Red, we are the least likely couple to be given a Great Pet Owner award.”
“This is true,” she said reluctantly, as if straining the words through her heart. “He is super cute, though. But you…” She eyed me. “Best Serial-killer Award, maybe?”
I guffawed. Ridiculous. But Red knew that Miss Vet couldn’t reveal anything, so here we were making dark jokes. Here I was laughing at them. The vet looked as if she wished to crawl under a table and hide.
I had killed a great number of people. Mostly women.
Me. The man who almost married, who used to, on occasion, champion lost causes.
Who threw his fiancée’s cellphone into the sea in a fit of anger.
Which really was not on the same scale as murder. However, any normal man, assuming he’d somehow forgotten, would be horrified if told he was a murderer. Me, how did I feel? I knew it was wrong, and I wanted to avoid it in future.
I knew it was wrong… was that a new thing? I shook myself back to the present.
“That was poor taste, Red. Way too macabre. Okay. Maybe we can keep him until that paw heals.”
“Great!”
I left the vet to close up, strolled outside with Red and a leashed and collared Banjo to our new pick-up… new ute. This one was white and dusty. Dented too. The vet hadn’t protested the exchange. No wonder. What did she do with this thing? Herd buffalo? I walked around it, checking all the damage, the tires, looking under the hood then slamming it closed. The rust-colored dirt was everywhere.
Moving on. As long as it gets us to the next place.
Red peeled off the side of the building where she’d been leaning. I held out my hand to her, and nearly took hers when she offered it.
I stopped myself. The accidental gesture jarred. I was not going there. Make her want, need me, need to stay, but affection was not forthcoming. I didn’t understand the pleasure people got from it anyway.
But I used to, my mind reminded me, dredging up the scenes from my life pre-mesmer, before I nearly married. The wedding that never was. I used to hold hands. It had felt good.
That man had died. I’d worn him out and thrown him away, then the mesmer in me had burned out the last few fragments.
I dithered, dusting my hands on my jeans then hooking them in my belt.
The ute was not going anywhere, and I had an itch to scratch. The girl I’d sent off at the picnic area, the hitchhiker, she was here. We’d seen her as we drove in, and she’d waved. The bronze pick-up had been distinctive.
Tammy might not be with us, but once I locked onto a woman, I could find her again, if the area was small-ish. Like it was here.
And I had locked onto her. I’d come so close to doing dirty things with her. So close to making her take part in a small orgy at the rest stop. The itch grew less potent when I thought of Red. It would feel like incest to make her take part. That had to be the drug affecting me?
And I knew where the dark-haired girl had gone with that sweet ass of hers. Into the hotel up ahead to the left.
A semi went by towing two containers, headlights creaming away the darkness, showing the length of this wide street with the huge footpath areas. Empty cattle trucks lined the opposite side of this small commercial area. As the headlights faded, t
he few streetlights came into prominence. Patrons from the hotel overflowed onto the footpath – leaving for home or wherever they were staying or kicked out by a bouncer.
No doubt the town planned to expand to four lanes, on a day a long way in the future. Borgeman was likely deserted when the cattlemen and the bikers weren’t in town. The scent of cows and the lowing from the beasts carried from the yards where they were kept somewhere to the west.
This itch was not going away.
The young vet was locking up the front door behind us, and I turned and gestured.
“Red, we can stay with the vet, tonight. We won’t get accommodation elsewhere in town. Not with all this on.”
With a nod and a few words to Dr. Vickie, I arranged that. Too easy, as always. I had more things I wanted to arrange, this night. Interesting things.
“I’ll be back, later.” I strolled into the street and followed the sidewalk in the direction of the noisy, light-blaring pub.
HOTEL BORGEMAN. I read the sign as I passed under it.
Inside, the place was humming with people. Past the bar and to the right, a dance floor was packed – bouncing with dancers and with a small band doing what sounded like covers. The front area was all tables, chairs, bar stools, and rowdy people. Hearing anything in here would be a miracle unless you were in kissing distance. I ordered a beer and sat on a corner bar stool, watching. She was in here. I could feel her presence.
The riding boots, faded jeans, and hard-worn look on the men in here said most were from the cattle sale, though the tattoos on some men and women said there might be bikers also, or they might be locals. They might have a hybrid here, like a kangaroo-horse-biker for all I knew.
I could have had any of the females in here, but this had become a mission. I had a raging need to dominate and hurt, to really hurt.
Be kind to others? That ruled out Red, and I’d missed this female earlier… it had to be her that I took. Tammy.
Enlisting a few other females for the fun might be worth it.
I sucked on the beer and finally spotted her due to the swirl of action on the dance floor, the swish of her hair, and the man trying to drag her away by her arm.
ISAK & Red: An enemies-to-lovers Dark Romance Page 7
