by R. K. Lilley
She opened her mouth (as though she was actually going to answer!) when the loud sound of the bolt being thrown outside made her pause.
I barely had time to throw a sheet over the essentials before the door was opening, Heath taking a step inside.
He started cursing when he set eyes on us. “What the fuck? I’m closing this door, and when I open it back up, she better be decent, and you better have your pants back on. You have exactly three minutes.”
He stepped back, slamming the door hard.
We obeyed him, because I didn’t particularly want to deal with him without pants on, and I certainly didn’t want him seeing Iris naked.
In what I assumed was exactly three minutes later, the door opened again.
We were sitting on the edge of the bed, side by side, holding hands.
Heath glared. “Dinner time. On your knees, facing the wall, Masters.”
I obeyed, tensing when I heard a gun cocking behind me.
I heard Iris gasp and cry out, “Heath, please don’t—”
“I won’t hurt him unless he tries something stupid.” He told her, voice soothing. It changed suddenly, going back to hostile. “Hold still if you enjoy keeping your head on your shoulders, Masters.”
A long pause, then, back to his soothing voice, “Just go into the bathroom while we bring the food in. You giving me that look is not helping the situation.”
A door slammed (the bathroom, I assumed).
For a few minutes there was no noise except for some rustling behind me, then the squeaking sound of what I assumed was some sort of a cart being wheeled in, chairs being moved, then, “All right, Masters, I’m coming back for this in exactly one hour. When I knock on the door again, you’d better still have your fucking pants on.”
“Can I turn around now?” I asked him, my tone wry.
“Go ahead.”
I turned my head, taking in the situation with a few confused blinks.
A makeshift table for two had been set up for us on a meal cart, with a white tablecloth, and what even looked like decent food.
Heath hovered in the door. I’d clearly heard the sound of at least two men setting this up, though they hadn’t spoken.
They were gone now.
All of this was beyond bizarre. Why had he brought me here, and why the hell had he set up what looked like a romantic dinner for Iris and me?
“One hour,” Heath repeated, backing out of the door.
“Wait,” I said.
“What?” he snapped.
“Thank you for taking bullets for her,” I told him, finding the words very hard to get out. “And for bringing me to her.”
“I didn’t do any of it for you. If you weren’t reading the subtle signs, I fucking hate you. I did it for her. Now eat your dinner, and keep your fucking pants on.”
With that neat little tirade, he slammed the door shut, then bolted it.
CHAPTER SIX
I hadn’t even gotten up from the floor when Iris came back out of the bathroom.
She seemed just as confused about the dinner setup as I was.
“Why?” I asked her as I got up from the floor.
She shrugged. “Who knows why Heath does the things he does? I learned a long time ago not to even try to understand it.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
“How long have you been mixed up with this guy?” I asked as I pulled out her chair, seating her at the table.
She sent me one of her looks, like I should know better than to ask. “I can’t tell you that.”
Well, at least she hadn’t lied.
I sat down, taking in the table setting. It didn’t fit our surroundings at all, in fact, was way too nice for a dump like this. The hotel was cheapness personified, whereas the silverware and plates looked like something my mother would use at a formal dinner. Like so many things going on here, it made no sense.
“How long have you been staying in this dump?” I asked her.
She just shook her head, looking down at her plate.
I hadn’t figured she’d answer that one, either.
The food was decent. In fact, it was actually quite good, flavorful beef ravioli in a rich cream sauce, with a full basket of garlic bread that had me reaching for seconds, and then thirds.
“At least they’re feeding you well,” I told her, studying her as she ate like she was starved. “Why are you losing weight?”
She grimaced slightly, then kept eating.
I set down my fork, jaw clenched so hard it ached. “Was it because of your injury?”
Finally she looked up at me. “That was probably it. I’m eating fine now. I’ll gain the weight back in no time.”
She caught my tense expression, returning it with her own. “You’re not allowed to start treating me like a child now, just because I’m younger than you thought I was.”
That was so out of line that I went back to eating just so I wouldn’t say something I’d regret later.
“We shouldn’t fight. We only have a few more hours together,” she said quietly.
I set my fork and knife down again. “Stop saying that, and get it through your stubborn head that I’m not leaving you here.”
“You don’t have a choice. Neither of us do.”
“There are always choices,” I said, tone ominous. I’d take that fucker out with my bare hands, if that’s what needed to be done.
“So you’re going to try to fight him, when he tells you it’s time to leave?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. She knew what I intended.
In what I assumed was exactly one hour, Heath came back to clear the table from the room.
I still had my pants on.
“Back up to the wall, hands above your head,” he told me as he came into the room.
I did it, toying with the idea of making an escape attempt right then and there. Would I get a better chance?
“Did she eat all of that herself?” he asked after he’d studied her empty plate for a long moment.
The two of them were looking at each other tensely, and as usual, I had no idea what was going on.
“She did. Why?”
His jaw clenched as he swung his icy pale eyes to glare at me. “She didn’t tell you? She’s been on a hunger strike. Care to know why?”
I nodded, feeling my stomach drop.
“She refused to eat until I let her see you again. So congratulations. You’re the reason she’s wasting away. Is that a nice stroke to your ego?”
I was ignoring him by the end, my eyes boring into her. “Iris,” I said softly, feeling so helpless. “Don’t do that again. Please.”
Her stubborn chin was set. “I won’t, okay? I just . . . couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Don’t,” Heath warned her, as though she’d said too much even with that short, cryptic statement. “Masters, go wait in the bathroom for a minute.”
I looked between the two of them.
Iris waved me on. “It’s all right, Dair. He won’t hurt me.”
“Do it, or I’ll separate you two,” he growled.
I did it, putting my ear to the door the second it was closed.
They were arguing, voices tense but too quiet for me to make out any actual words.
It didn’t last long, and as soon as they grew quiet, I heard the other door open and then shut.
I came out.
Iris was closing the top drawer of the nightstand closest to the outside door. She straightened and whirled as she heard me enter, slamming it shut tight with her knee.
I didn’t give it a second thought. It was one of those things that I’d remember later and have a sort of aha moment, but at that moment, all I cared about was being alone again with her.
“Heath told me that we have four more hours before you have to leave,” she said, sounding forlorn.
I was done arguing about it. I figured I’d do what I needed to when the time came.
And then I remembered what we’d b
een talking about before our strange impromptu dinner date. “Eighteen,” I sighed out, recalling it all again. “Barely fucking legal.”
This information put a damper on things, to say the least. I wasn’t sure I could ever reconcile with the notion.
Men my age with girls her age were creeps. Period.
Twenty-four had been pushing it. Eighteen was out of line.
She folded her arms across her chest, setting her jaw. “So what? I’m no different than I was before you knew that.”
She didn’t get it. But then, she was eighteen. I recalled my eighteen-year-old self and all of the things I hadn’t gotten.
She seemed to read my mind. “Oh no. You’re not going to do that. You don’t get to start treating me like a child just because your perception has changed.”
I sat down on the bed, pushing my shoulders back against the headboard. I folded my arms across my chest, wondering what the hell I was going to do with her. With myself.
She was still wearing her sweats, and I’d been in my dress shirt and slacks since I was ordered to put them back on.
She was staring at me like I was the only piece of food on the planet and she was STARVING.
“This thing between us can never work,” I told her, hating the words.
Hating the truth.
She shook her head, her long, mussed hair shifting back and forth across her shoulders. “You’re wrong. I know you are. I’m more than an age, Dair. I’m a person, a woman, and I’m in love with you.”
I swallowed hard at the glint in her eye.
I had exactly a zero percent success rate at denying her, and I doubted today was going to be the day that changed.
In fact, if I were a betting man, I’d have put odds that I wouldn’t even want to in about five more minutes.
“Tell me what you meant when you said our first meeting wasn’t random. You said you knew I’d be there, and you sought me out. Explain that to me.”
She was shaking her head before I’d finished. “No,” said Iris firmly. “I’m not explaining that to you, not with how you’re reacting to the last thing I told you.”
I shut my eyes, frustrated beyond all reason. “But you could tell me that? That’s one of the things you’re able to tell me, if you so desired?”
“I shouldn’t. It’s for the best if I don’t, but I’d been considering it. Before.”
“Before?”
“Before I saw your reaction to my age. If that bothered you this much, you will totally wig out about the other.”
I took a few deep, calming breaths, wondering if she was just messing with me now.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
I still wasn’t looking at her, eyes still closed, but I felt her mood change.
Suddenly and drastically.
“We’re wasting precious time here, baby,” she said, soft voice breathless.
I opened my eyes and knew I wasn’t going to be able to resist her.
Twenty-four or eighteen, hostage or hustler, sinner or saint, whatever she was or wasn’t, whether she lied to my face or taunted me with hints of the truth, all of this seemed always to defer to the more pertinent fact at hand.
She was mine.
Inconceivably.
Undeniably.
Mine.
It was that devastating and that simple.
In a last ditch, desperate effort, I put my arms out, warding off that look of hers from several feet away. “Iris, please.”
“Yes, okay, but only because you said please.”
She smiled and shrugged off her sweatshirt. Gloriously topless, her heavy breasts quivering with every shift, she reached back and gathered her hair, twisting it into a flimsy bun on top of her head.
My eyes didn’t know where to look, darting from her low slung sweats (that looked in danger of falling off) and her out of this world mesmerizing tits. She’d lost weight everywhere but there, it seemed. She was as top heavy as ever.
She took a few steps back, pushing down and out of her sweats and panties as she went.
Naked, she perched herself on the hotel room’s flimsy, old desk.
She took her hands, gripped both of her knees and parted her legs wide.
Put a fork in me. Done.
I was up, dick out of my pants, dressed body pressed to her naked one, before you could say—‘jailbait.’
It was a quick, jarring fuck, but she didn’t complain, and I couldn’t stop.
We didn’t say much after, just cleaned up and started touching again, as though we had only hours left to be with each other, because we did.
I had her sit on my face, her hands gripping the flimsy motel headboard, banging it hard against the wall as I went to work on her with my tongue.
She circled her hips, bearing down.
I got her off, flipped her over, and started from the top.
It was hours later when I started to recover brain function again. Not all of it, just enough to remember that our situation was less than ideal.
“We need to get dressed,” I told her. When Heath showed up again, I intended to be ready for him. It could be our best and only shot at an escape.
To say she wasn’t listening was an understatement. She was to listening what writers were to math.
Not even in the same realm.
She was straddling me, playing with her tits while I rubbed my thumb over her clit in slow, lazy circles.
I wasn’t inside of her, but under, and she was gliding up and down my semi-hard erection like it was a slip-and-slide.
It was just a prop at this point, putting on a good show, but more than likely useless.
She reached a hand back and started scoring her blunt nails lightly over my scrotum, dragging them to my taint, then back again.
Not so semi now, I reached up and squeezed a hand over hers, kneading hard at her soft breast, knowing I didn’t have the time, but still wondering if I could possibly fuck her again.
I bucked up lightly a few times, bouncing her hard enough to slam my cock against my naval.
She didn’t let up on that addictive glide, and possibly quickly flowed into maybe, then turned to probably, and stopped decisively at Fuck Yes.
“Are you sore?” I asked her, heavy-lidded eyes watching her pussy teasing over my cock.
She moaned out a languid yes, then shifted until she caught the tip of me with her entrance, easing me in that first tight inch.
Without warning, she slammed herself home, and I nearly shouted the roof down, hands (not lazy or slow now) shooting to her hips to guide her to the perfect rhythm.
She leaned down, gripping my head to suck at her heaving breasts with one insistent arm.
The other arm was busy elsewhere, but I wouldn’t connect those dots until later, when it would do me not one bit of good.
I folded my body as much as I could to accommodate both her furious riding of my cock, and her needy tits pushing at my mouth.
I was as hungry as she was needy, and I got rough with her, drawing firm at one abused peak until she sobbed.
I pulled back, but she gripped me to her, hard nipple rubbing against my lips until I started sucking hard at it again.
I switched to the other, leaving bruising marks along the skin between on the journey there.
I helped her jerk up and down my length, keeping her flesh in my mouth.
She’d be sore and bruised tomorrow, every twinge of it a reminder of to whom her body belonged.
She came first, a loud, clenching orgasm that had my balls drawing up tight with a few tight squeezes.
My nails dug into her hips as, with a hoarse shout, I slammed home and shot my load deep.
I was still catching my breath underneath her when she leaned back to look me.
Without blinking, she covered my nose and mouth with a piece of material that reeked of chemicals.
I’d never actually smelled it before, but almost instantly, I knew what it was.
Green eyes met mine over the ether
soaked cloth.
“I love you,” Iris mouthed, right before the world went black.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I woke up alone and in my own bed.
Alone and sore as hell, head to toe.
I doubted the bastard had been gentle when he’d transferred me back across who knew how many states and to my own house again.
Alone, sore as hell, and furious.
I slammed through my house, feeling a need to lash out and vent in a way that only helplessness could breed.
I didn’t know if I was relieved or more pissed off when I found a note on my kitchen counter.
It wasn’t written by Iris, of that much I was sure.
I could only assume by the bold writing and the hostility that fairly leapt off the page, that Heath had penned it.
DON’T TELL ANYONE WHAT HAPPENED OR WHERE YOU’VE YOU BEEN. YOU’LL BE PUTTING IRIS AT RISK IF YOU DO, SO JUST KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT. AND DON’T TRY TO LOOK FOR HER. BY THE TIME YOU READ THIS, I’LL HAVE MOVED HER AGAIN.
I really hated that motherfucker. Sincerely.
What was I supposed to do?
Just wait around until he decided to kidnap me again?
So that I could go drive for hours in the back of a creepy van, fuck Iris raw, then have her knock me out again while I was still twitching inside her.
Iris had fucking ether tapped me.
I couldn’t get over it.
Whose side was she on, anyway?
It was hard to say what was worse, the before or after.
No, it was definitely the before, I decided, because though the after was torture, in the before I hadn’t known if she was whole and alive.
Now at least I had that.
Even so, I was plagued by thoughts of her in that dingy motel, being held captive by that bastard Heath.
What was going on with them? Did he and she—
No, I wouldn’t think about that. No good could come of it.
—Were they lovers? She’d said he didn’t hurt her, but it was a fact that she had no problem lying about any damn thing.
Still, I didn’t think they were, but whether that belief stemmed from anything logical, or merely a strong desire to believe it because the alternative was unpalatable to me, well, that was anyone’s guess.