by Lilah Pace
And then he shoves inside.
I gasp, or try to around my panties. Jonah pushes in all the way and hooks his other arm around and under my hips, forcing my back to arch as he holds me up. Even so I’m at the limits of my flexibility. He’s keeping me exactly where he wants me, and there’s absolutely no way for me to break free. He starts moving in and out, slowly at first, but quickening with every thrust. Growing stronger too—my breasts jiggle with every slap of his body against mine, and I have to fight to keep my balance, though the angle of his muscular arm is bearing enough of my weight to make that possible. Each stroke kindles yet more of the fire building inside me.
“Is that not what you wanted?” Jonah is thrusting into me savagely now. “You didn’t want to get fucked?”
My moan sounds desperate even through my gag.
He only laughs again. “Too bad, bitch. ”
Then he lets go completely. The illusion of force is complete. I close my eyes; every muscle in my body trembles, and I’m hanging on every way a person can. It’s like he gets deeper every time, though it’s impossible—his enormous cock splitting me in two. And he fucks me, and he fucks me, and then I know nothing but the pleasure swelling inside me, tightening my cunt around him, until I come.
It hits me like a tidal wave, and I scream so loud and long that even the gag can’t hold it all back. Jonah’s thrusts speed up even more. Limp in the aftermath of orgasm, it’s all I can do to hold on for those final moments. Then he goes tense, makes an animal sound that seems to come from his gut, and slams into me one more time. When he comes, his fingers grip me so tightly they dig into my flesh, as if he were trying to claw his way inside.
But then his fingers relax. He pulls out, and I feel hot wetness begin trickling down my bare legs. “Stand up,” he whispers. Shaky as I am, I can pull my legs back together; he quickly unties me from the rope overhead before freeing my wrists. Letting my arms fall to my side again is a relief. Only now do I realize they’re tingling. Soon I would’ve been numb. With cool, clumsy fingers I extract my sodden underwear from my mouth and let them fall atop the remnants of my dress.
Jonah pulls off his mask and braces me with an arm around my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m good. ” My arm and shoulder muscles are a little tender from having been stretched upward like that, but the soreness I’ll feel will be more than worth it.
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“Did you like this game?”
“God, yes. It was so intense. ” I smile crookedly. “I loved it. ”
Jonah pulls me into his arms, and for a few minutes we make out like crazy, as if we’d only started having sex instead of having just finished. At one moment, while he’s kissing my throat, I glimpse my etching on his wall. The image of two masculine hands cradling a bird is eclipsed by our reflection in the glass—me naked, Jonah fully clothed. He still grips his mask in one of the hands circled around my back.
I want to be so happy now. Completely reassured that Jonah’s okay with our games, and that we’ve fully reclaimed our gloriously twisted, utterly satisfying sexual bond.
But he still hasn’t let go of that disguise.
“Did you need it?” I whisper, pulling back enough to look him in the face. “The mask? Did you have to wear it to play? You—you couldn’t look me in the face last time either. ”
His eyes meet mine; he’s steadier than I would’ve thought. “The mask made it easier. That’s all. ”
“You’re sure?”
“Anything that brings me back to you is worth it,” Jonah says. Then he sweeps me up in his arms like Rhett with Scarlett, takes me to bed, and kisses me until I fall asleep from pure exhausted satisfaction.
• • •
“You’ve had too much coffee,” Geordie says, the next morning. “Or too much sugar. ”
“Just because I’m more cheerful in the morning than some people—”
“You aren’t. ” He gives me a dark look across the table at Moonshine Patio, where our half-finished huevos rancheros sit on brightly colored plates. “If memory serves, you normally awaken in the sort of mood one associates more with grizzlies roused from hibernation. ”
“I’m not that bad,” I insist, though Geordie has a point. But it’s not like I can explain why I’m so elated right now. That has to remain secret. I made sure to wear bangle bracelets that will cover the rope marks on my wrists. “Besides, it’s not that early. ”
“Normally any time before noon is too early to approach the awakened Vivienne in her natural habitat. ”
I laugh, though his jokes are getting too close for comfort. Phoning Geordie for an impromptu brunch this morning felt a little weird, especially since I was still at Jonah’s when I made the call. But Jonah had already headed into his labs to study the Japanese fault line data, or whatever, and I know it’s important to keep checking on Geordie during these first stages of his recovery.
Still, it can be a little inconvenient hanging out with someone who knows you this well. I try to cover. “It’s just that I—um, woke up on the right side of the bed this morning. Finals are nearly over, I had a great day in the studio yesterday, what’s not to like?”
Geordie sighs, and it hits me how forlorn he looks. How worn out. He’s lost even more weight since his release from Mullins, probably because he’s now drinking more water, fewer margaritas. But that wouldn’t explain the uncharacteristic stubble on his cheeks, or the dullness in his eyes. I realize he’s not picking on me because I’m overly cheerful this morning. It’s because he’s down. When you’re depressed, no one is more irritating than an optimist.
I dial it back. “What are you doing for the holiday? Going home to Boston?”
“Going really home, actually. Mum and Dad want us to visit Gran. So it’s across the pond to Inverness for me. ”
“That sounds lovely. ” Again I imagine the inn Jonah and I visited in Scotland, on that wild and beautiful coast. What must those craggy hills look like when they’re covered in snow?
“I suppose. ” Geordie pushes his huevos rancheros around his plate with his fork. Even though he doesn’t look up, he seems to sense my staring at him. “It’s just—the culture over there, they drink more than Americans do. If you want to hang out with your mates or your cousins, you go to the pub, right? It’s bloody everywhere. ”
Oh, no. “You can explain, though. Can’t you? You don’t have to tell them the whole story if you don’t want, just that you’re not drinking right now. ”
Geordie shakes his head and laughs. “In America, that works. People assume you’re in a twelve-step program, or giving up gluten, or being the ‘designated driver’ or whatever else. But Scotland’s not received the memo. Someone’s going to put a pint glass in my hand for me, sooner or later. And I want to think I’ll put it down, but I don’t know if I will. ”
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“Hey. ” I reach across the table to take his hand. From the way he looks at me when I touch him, I worry that I might’ve done too much—but hopefully he understands this is from one friend to another. “You can do it. I know you can. ”
“Right. ” He couldn’t seem less convinced.
If he believes he won’t make it, then he won’t. “Are you going to your meetings? They probably have them in Inverness too. ”
“Christ, they’re enough of a pain here. Alcoholics Anonymous is the last place I want to spend Christmas Eve. ”
I think fast. “Do you have to go to Scotland?”
Geordie looks up at me. “My parents and Moira already bought their tickets. ”
“Your sister will understand. Your parents will forgive you. ”
“But they don’t know. ”
“You still haven’t told them?” I don’t know why I’m so surprised. He can’t be the first person to have hidden his substance abuse treatment from his family. “You could, you know. Moira would listen. ” I’ve never met his parents, but Geordie’s big sister is feisty, funny, and down-to-earth. She
came to Austin last spring when we were still together and was pretty much nonstop terrific.
“I’m going to, all right? But not now. Not before Christmas, and not while I’m still—” He sighs so softly the sound is almost drowned out by the clatter of plates, the murmuring chitchat of brunch. “I want to tell them once I know I’ve got it together. Then they don’t have to be scared for me, you know?”
“But then they don’t know to look out for you. ”
My father’s the only one in my family I never told about Anthony because after Mom and Chloe didn’t believe me, I couldn’t take another letdown. So he’s never realized that I try to avoid Anthony. He’ll suggest that we make a run to the store together, or leave it so that I have to sit next to Anthony at the dinner table. My mother and Chloe, for all their denial, at least wanted to keep the two of us apart. Ignorance can harm you as surely as malice.
So I keep thinking up solutions. “If you’re not ready to talk to them, then remain in the U. S. this Christmas. ”
Geordie raises an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me home with you?”
“Umm, I think Jonah might be coming with me. ” Not that we’ve worked this out in detail, but it seems possible. Certainly Jonah has no desire to spend the holidays in Chicago.
“Awkward, then,” he says, easily enough. “Best avoided. ”
Inspiration strikes. “I know. You should spend the holidays with Arturo and Carmen and Shay. I bet they’d love to have you!”
“Ahh, come on. It’s baby’s first Christmas and all of that. They won’t want some loudmouth Scotsman in recovery hanging around. ”
“Of course they will. And they already understand the whole story, so you’d be with people who can help you stay strong, right? You might even get to play Santa Claus. ”
“Father Christmas,” he insists. But I can see a small, unwilling smile.
“I’ll check with them to make sure it’s okay. ” Volunteering friends for Christmas hosting would be a leap if I weren’t as close to Carmen and Arturo as I am. But they care about Geordie too, so I’m sure they’ll agree. “Tell your parents you’re sticking around to help some friends who have a new baby and need their support system around them. It’s true enough. ”
“Guess so. ”
“Great,” I say, hardly able to stop grinning. He needs human connection if he’s going to truly recover. I’m doing my part—but the ex-girlfriend can’t be the only one involved. Otherwise he’s doomed. Getting Arturo, Shay, and Carmen involved might make all the difference.
Geordie tucks into his brunch again, humor still uncertain. “What’s got you in such an ungodly good mood today, anyway? Don’t tell me. Big plans with Jonah later?”
I remember everything Jonah did to me last night. We don’t have immediate plans, but there’s so much more he could do to me. That he will do to me. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I can’t look at Geordie any longer.
“Thought so,” he says, and turns back to his food.
• • •
When I had sex for the first time—consensual sex—I walked into high school the next day feeling like everyone would know. As if a neon sign floated overhead, glowing letters reading Vivienne Went All the Way with Derek. Of course, nobody did, and Derek was a good guy, not the type to brag in the locker room. At the end of the day, when my secret remained undetected, I felt silly for having worried about it in the first place.
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Nearly ten years later, that feeling is back.
I make my way through campus that afternoon, backpack on my shoulders and portfolio case under one arm, wondering if the neon sign has returned. Geordie definitely figured out something was up, and it seems as if everyone should see rope marks on my wrists despite the bracelets. My body remains mostly unscathed; Jonah takes such good care of me. The sting I feel on my skin is purely psychological. But every time someone passes me on the sidewalk, I can’t help feeling like they should guess. If nothing else, the bone-deep satisfaction I feel ought to tip them off—the way my walk is still loose, the way I blush every time a memory from last night fills me with mingled shame and delight.
Then again, today I could dress like a rodeo clown and nobody at UT Austin would notice. Finals are upon us. Professors wear a harried look, no doubt surrounded by endless begging for deadline extensions or better grades. Students shamble around even sloppier than usual. They’re cramming until dawn, then showing up for the tests almost brain-dead. To judge by the number of cardboard-sleeved paper cups I see clutched in people’s fists, the campus coffee shop is doing record business.
I hurry upstairs to the fine arts department, where Kip sits at his desk. The sweet old lady who preceded him as secretary used to put out a glass dish of peppermints every Christmas season. Kip, however, goes all out. His work area is draped with silver tinsel and blue lights . . . and the dish of peppermints, which he proclaimed a worthy tradition.
“You never struck me as the kitschy type,” I say as the lights begin blinking in some sort of synchronized pattern.
“How little you know me. I’m wounded. ” Kip never looks away from his typing; his painted green nails seem to fly along the keyboard. “I’ll have you know an actual vintage black-velvet Elvis painting hangs on my wall at home. ”
“I take it back. You’re the king of kitsch. ” I laugh as I grab a peppermint. “You don’t dress like it, though. ”
“Ugh, no. Only hipsters dress ironically. Decorating ironically, however, is another matter. That’s what you do until you can afford the good stuff. Better hilariously tacky than some sort of pitiful Ikea-catalog concept of style. ”
I guess I won’t mention my Ikea table and chairs.
Kip gives me an up-and-down look. The clicking of his keyboard ceases. “Aha. I see things are heating up again with Lava Boy. ”
He pronounces it to sound almost like lover boy. “I told you we were trying to work things out. ”
“Not that you had worked them out, apparently to your glorious satisfaction. ”
Now I’m flustered, though I try to cover it as well as I can. “What’s my tell?”
“That ponytail. Messier than your usual—it practically screams, I had to drag myself out of bed after being sexed up this morning. Now tell me of your adventures with the volcano scientist. Describe the most recent eruption. ”
“Stop it. ” I laugh to cover my discomfort.
I remind myself that Kip only knows I slept over at Jonah’s. He doesn’t have any idea what I let Jonah do to me, or why. So there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.
But bringing Jonah into my life—making him more than my dirtiest secret—it’s been tricky.
“Seriously,” Kip adds, “there’s a glow about you. That’s more than sex, darling. Either the two of you are falling in love, or Jonah Marks does something for you in bed no other man has ever done. In which case, spill. ”
The best defense is a good offense. “I’m not the only one glowing these days. Speaking of lover boys, how’s Ryan?”
Kip lights up. Sometimes I forget that he’s only a couple years older than I am; at this moment he might be a teenager in love for the first time. “He’s a revelation to me. Ryan’s not what I used to think of as my type. You know, he’s so butch. ”
Ryan’s muscled like a bodybuilder. “But you like him? His personality matches that hot bod?”
“Oh, we have our little disagreements, but who doesn’t? I’m learning to manage things for him. ”
“Manage things?”
“You know. Learning his pet peeves and avoiding them, so on, and so forth. ” Kip looks pensive for a moment, then sighs dreamily. “I’ve never been so . . . passionately wanted by someone. It’s amazing to feel that way. ”
“Yeah, it is. ”
Then Kip frowns at his screen, leans forward, and puts one hand to his chest. “Oh, no. ”
“Oh, no, what?” Have they pulled our parking privileges? Is one of the professors il
l?
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But the truth is so much worse than that.
“Campus crime alert,” Kip says. “There’s been another rape by an intruder. Last night. They think it’s the same perpetrator—same creepy ski mask and everything. ”
So what happened to that one girl a week ago wasn’t an isolated incident. It was part of a pattern—a pattern that has only just begun.
Which means there’s a predator on the loose, right now.
Eight
“I’m not upset,” I insist next Monday during my session with Doreen. “My house is secure. I have pepper spray on my keychain and a baton under the bed. Plus I’ve taken self-defense classes. I know how to look out for myself. ”
Doreen isn’t distracted by my personal array of armaments. “You’re not upset by this at all? Most women would be. Hell, I am. ”
I fold my arms in front of my chest. “Obviously it’s terrible for those women. And the sooner the police catch this guy and lock him up, the better I’ll feel. But I don’t think I’m in more danger than any other woman in Austin. Less than most. ”
“Fear is a natural reaction, but sometimes our responses to things like this are more complicated than pure fear. ”
The best and worst thing about Doreen? She can see right through me. “Volunteers will have reached out to both of those girls by now,” I say. “Other survivors, who have come forward and told their stories. I’d like to help too. But I can’t, because I’ve never told the world the truth. ”
Doreen nods. “After your mother and Chloe responded so badly, nobody could blame you for being hesitant to tell anyone else. ”
“Jonah reacted badly at first too. Not like Mom and Chloe—he believed me, stood up for me. He freaked out about his own damage, that’s all. But it was weeks before he would touch me again, and even that only happened because I pushed him. ”
“What else happened after Jonah learned the truth?”
“He told me about his own past. He opened up to me in a way I don’t think he’s ever opened up to anyone else. ”
“Honesty is the foundation of intimacy,” Doreen says. “When Jonah learned the truth of what you went through, it took him a while to come around. But he did. Do you think it’s possible that other people in your life might respond as well as he did? Maybe even better?”
I try to imagine Carmen’s face. Or Geordie’s, or Shay’s. It’s impossible. “There’s no point. None of them need to know anything about my sex life. But Jonah and I had to work through this together. We’re . . . wounded in the same way. We share the same scars. ”