Maybe I was wrong.
“I wasn’t thinking about what it looked like,” I said finally and his grip loosened. “He hugged me, and I didn’t think to stop him.”
“You shouldn’t have been with him alone in the first place.” He moved his face in closer, his lips a mere whisper from mine now. His eyes, hard and cold, level with mine.
“I shouldn’t have been alone with him in the first place,” I repeated as he cupped my breast. “Even though it was completely innocent.”
He yanked my hair again, and his other hand pinched my nipple hard enough to make me cry out. “I’m not looking for excuses, Emily. I’m looking for acknowledgment that you understand what you did.”
“I do. I get it. Now.”
He twisted the taut bud, not painful this time, but as a reminder. “Then tell me, why shouldn’t you have been with him?”
“Because anyone could get the wrong impression.”
“Go on.”
“We could have been seen.” I was breathless and needy and desperate. My eyes closed, relishing his touch. “Anyone who saw might think that I’m with him or twist it to say that I’m with him. And I’m supposed to be with you.”
Smack. His hand slapped my breast, making me jump. “Supposed to be?”
“I am with you. I’m with you and I wasn’t acting like it.” I reached out to stroke his chest with both my hands, determined to reassure him. “I’m with you. Only you.”
“Precisely.” He let go of me abruptly and backed away.
I followed after him, pleading. “I’m sorry, Reeve. I messed up. I won’t do it again. I promise.” I sounded pathetic. Like an abused woman begging for her lover to strike her once again, though I hadn’t been abused. I’d been treated the way I loved to be treated and the possibility of losing that, of losing him, gnawed at me. Ripped at my insides. The things I’d said to Joe had been excuses, but I realized in that moment how much I’d meant them. My relationship, or whatever this was with Reeve, was more important than anything that could come between us.
He ignored me, standing with his back to me as he seemingly tried to make a decision of some sort. A decision about me, likely. Whether he was done with me or not. Whether he’d give me a chance or call it quits. Whether he’d end things by breakup or more permanently.
Whatever his choices were between, even as he might be considering the darkest of options, I still wanted him impossibly. I threw everything I had into my next entreaty. “Please, Reeve. You never said… and I didn’t know that was what you expected of me.”
He spun back to me, resolved. “Then since I ‘never said,’ I better make sure you hear it clearly when I say it now so that you can never say you didn’t know what’s expected of you in the future.”
He undid his belt buckle, and I imagined he planned to use it. To hide me with, I hoped. Not to strangle. But he didn’t pull it from his pants loops, undoing his zipper and pulling his cock out instead.
“On your knees,” he ordered, and in the grit of his voice I could hear just how angry he was.
I didn’t move.
Please, no. Not like this. I’d been okay when he said he’d do this on the phone, but I’d thought I’d have time to prepare, both physically and mentally. I’d been okay when he wasn’t angry.
“On your knees, Emily, or I’ll get you down there, and trust me you won’t like it if I do.”
I wouldn’t say no to him. Not just because of Amber or because I was afraid of what he’d do if I did, but also because I didn’t know how. Slowly, I got down on all fours, my head away from him, my behind displayed for him like a present. Don’t tense up, I coached myself taking a deep breath in, letting it out. It would only make it worse if I wasn’t relaxed.
“No, no. Not like that,” Reeve said. “Face me.”
Again, I didn’t move, sure I misunderstood somehow. “You said this morning…”
His forehead wrinkled, then comprehension flushed his face. “That was this morning. I’m not doing that now. When I fuck your ass it’ll be for pleasure not punishment.”
I bit my tongue, hard, so that I wouldn’t sigh in relief. But now with the unwanted element removed and the reassurance that I wasn’t losing him, I remembered I was also mad. I circled toward him then sat back on my knees, a pout firmly planted on my lips.
Except then I saw his cock, nearly erect in his palm, and my mouth watered. My mouth watered, and I hated myself for wanting him like this. After he might have been responsible for Missy’s death. After he’d had me followed. After he’d been an asshole with his jealousy and the hair pulling and the sniffing…
God, the sniffing.
Dammit. He was an asshole, and I was turned on.
He leered down at me as he stroked himself slowly. Once. Twice. “Take off your shirt.”
I did as he commanded, tossing it to the floor before sitting back and peering up at him under my lashes. His cock got harder, turning to steel, and the anger in his eyes was diluted with desire.
He took a step toward me, and my lips parted automatically before he even said, “Suck me.”
I wrapped my palm around him and took him in my mouth, pressing my tongue flat along the bottom of his cock as I slid down his length and back. Again, taking even more of him. Once more, moaning as my lips pressed against his flesh.
That was as much as he let me do before he took over. He grasped my head with both hands and moved me up and down over him. Forcefully. So forcefully that I had to hold onto his thighs to keep steady. His fingers dug into my scalp as he pushed me to take more on every glide, until I was taking the whole of him, deep-throating his cock on each descent. Until my face met with his pelvis, my nose pressed against him tightly, and he held me there. Held me still. Held me firm.
Then he let me go. He returned to the aggressive pumping, maneuvering my head over him in long pulses. I was no longer giving a blowjob but had become his fuck doll. His toy to use and defile however he desired.
After several strokes, he held me still again. He bucked his hips up, sealing my face so entirely to his body that my nose was blocked off, his cock crammed so far inside me, I gagged. I pushed at his legs, trying to move him just enough to get a tiny bit of air. He didn’t like that. He continued holding me with one hand, using his other to shove mine off of him. I squirmed, my knees burning as I rubbed against the carpet. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t swallow. Saliva gathered in my mouth, choking me, and my head started spinning. My eyes and chest burned with the effort. I was panicking now, desperate for him to release me, but the more I fought, the tighter he gripped.
It was a message, I realized. Take it. You take what I give. I decide, he was saying. I decide who you see. I decide where you go. I decide if you move. I decide if you breathe.
I got it. I stopped fighting.
He released me. He even let me take a break, catch my breath. For barely a few seconds, though. Then he drove back in.
This time, he allowed himself to enjoy it, no longer proving a point. Holding my head in place, he fucked my mouth. “Like that,” he told me, his voice rough and threadbare. “Just like that.”
His strokes were deep and fast and demanding, but no longer a message. Now he spoke what he wanted me to hear in raspy clipped phrases. “It’s hard to forget about me now. Isn’t it? When I’m balls deep. In your mouth. When I’m throbbing. Against your tongue. When I’m using you. The way you’re made to be used.”
“Mm-hmm,” I moaned against his rod. I was made for exactly this. To please men like him. To please him. I wanted this. Even as his thrusts became erratic and his tip knocked against the back of my throat, I wanted to give. Wanted him to take. Wanted him to use me. Wanted him to see that I did know my place. Wanted him to see that I liked my place.
It excited me even. I was desperate to have him finish. Have him explode in my mouth. I’d swallow it all, lick up every drop knowing it would be a gift. I was wet and aroused in anticipation of sucking him to the very end.
But, just when I was certain he was about to come, he pushed me off of him.
I tried to reclaim him, but he put one hand on top of my head to keep me still and used the other to jack himself to the finish. When he came, he aimed it at my breasts, covering me with his milky seed, bathing me in long spurts of cum. Marking me. Claiming me. Reminding me once more that I was his. Telling me loud and clear that he expected that I act like it first and foremost from now on.
He didn’t let me clean him up. It was a punishment, after all, and he denied me even this gift, picking up my shirt to wipe the last beads off of his cock instead.
It only turned me on more.
“Maybe now you can remember who you belong to,” he said, as he tucked himself back into his suit pants, in case I hadn’t gotten the memo.
I pinned my eyes to the floor. “I remember.”
“My dinner plans could take a short time or could take several hours. Regardless, you’ll be waiting for me in my bed by ten. It would be preferable that you’re naked.”
My head jerked up. “I’m not going to dinner with you?”
He was standing at the mirror by the front door, straightening his hair and tie. “No. You’re not.”
I scrambled to my feet, ready to beg for him to change his mind. I needed to meet his ranch staff, but it was more than that. I needed him to claim me to others as completely as he’d claimed me in private. I needed to prove I could be his in the way he wanted me to be.
But before I could voice my plea, he turned back to me. “How would it look that you were at one man’s house in the afternoon and then at dinner with me? It will look like I can’t keep my woman in control. Until you can act accordingly, I can’t claim you publicly as mine.”
Everything inside me deflated. His declaration proved he knew me well. He knew what I wanted and he refused to give it. This was the true punishment of the afternoon. This was the thing meant to hurt me most, and it did.
He put his hand on the doorknob but paused to say, “And, Emily, clean up, but don’t get yourself off. I know you want to, but it’s for me to decide if you deserve it. Right now you don’t.”
He left, and I knew he was right. I didn’t deserve it.
CHAPTER 20
I took a long shower to clean up and cry. Mixed with the hot burst of water that fell over me from the nozzle, my tears were easier to ignore. I kept my eyes closed and put my face in the stream so the salt-laced drops would wash away. If I tasted them, I’d have to acknowledge them. If I acknowledged them, I’d have to acknowledge their source.
The water was cold by the time I’d finished, but I still had a few hours before I went to Reeve’s. I poured a glass of wine. I nibbled at a salad. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I gathered myself and headed out. It wasn’t yet seven, but he’d said to be in his bed by ten. Waiting in his room, surrounded by his smell and his things, was better than waiting at home alone.
I needed gas so I stopped at the Corner Mart and went inside for an iced coffee. After filling a cup, I stopped to peruse the magazine aisle, chewing on my straw as I picked out familiar faces on the covers. Someone came up behind me and without looking up, I stepped forward to let the person pass but instead he just moved in closer to me. Too close.
I went rigid.
Heavy breath came at my neck followed by a low whisper at my ear. “If you’re being watched, don’t turn around. Just nod.”
I spun to face him. “Jesus, Joe. You scared the shit out of me.” Paranoid that maybe I’d been followed by Reeve, and not wanting to be seen with Joe, I glanced out the window, looking for the black car from earlier. Over my shoulder, I asked, “What are you doing here, anyway?”
Joe picked up a Hollywood Star and began flipping through it. “I wanted to make sure you were all right after Sallis left you today.”
Great, now I had two people following me. “I’m fine. I told you I was fine. Everything is fine.” A person who was really fine probably wouldn’t have to say it so many times.
“So you said. But I needed to verify that your ‘fines’ weren’t coerced. It was the responsible thing to do.”
My eyes found his reflection in the window. His head was buried in his magazine, seemingly engrossed in it, not me. He was protecting me this way. It was a nice gesture, so I tried to not be annoyed.
Certain there were no cars outside belonging to Reeve or his goonies, I turned to face Joe directly. “You’ve verified now. Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“You’re safe then?”
I didn’t know about that.
But I didn’t want him to be concerned. “Joe, I’m good. I promise. Thank you for looking out for me and especially for being discreet. I obviously don’t want Reeve to know about this investigation. Or you, for that matter. He has somewhat of a jealous streak.” Annoying as that was, at least it established that I had some modicum of meaning in his life.
Before Joe could say what it looked like he wanted to say, I added, “And not jealous like he’s going to hurt me, so stop worrying.” Well, Reeve had hurt me. I was just okay with it. The physical part anyway.
“All right,” Joe said, his tone reluctant. “I’ll let you be. But I also needed to show you something that came in today. After your phone call.”
He had his cell out now and he was tapping at the screen. He probably had a picture of some newly discovered horrible person Reeve was connected to. Or a report of something he’d done. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to see it. “I called the investigation off, Joe. I’m not interested in —”
He cut me short. “It’s another Amber sighting.”
“When?” Sighting meant alive, right? My heart was pounding in my throat, too scared to ask that question.
“Just before Thanksgiving. A woman went to an emergency room in Chicago with two broken ribs. She matched Amber’s description and she used that date of birth. The doctor who treated her noted possible signs of abuse, which meant he also took a picture for the file.” He stuck his phone in front of my face. “It’s her, right?”
I stared at the screen. Familiar blue eyes looked back at me, darker than mine, darker than I remembered hers being. She was shirtless, wearing only a black bra and a necklace with a jeweled dove that she’d owned for as long as I’d known her. The picture was from an angle and I could make out the top of a red tattoo on her shoulder, two columns slanting away from each other. Faded bruises ran down her neck and chest above her breasts. More bruises, newer, stretched up one side of her torso. I could guess the causes of each set. Choking bruises at the top. Then hickeys. The marks on her ribs were most likely left from shoes. From being kicked.
I’d had all of those marks at one time or another. Some of them invited, some – the ones that matched those on her torso – not. The Amber I knew wouldn’t have invited any of them. I could feel her pain so vividly as I surveyed her injuries. I hated that it was her feeling them instead of me. It hurt to look so I forced myself to keep looking.
“She didn’t press any charges,” Joe said, after he’d given me a minute to take in what I saw. “She walked out when they discharged her later that night. No idea if she had anyone with her. The phone number and address she listed in the file are both fake.”
I snapped my eyes up to meet Joe’s. “It’s not Reeve. He didn’t do this.”
“I didn’t think for a minute that he did. Chicago is where Vilanakis is based and that tattoo is a V, according to the records.”
A V like the one on Filip’s neck.
Joe hesitated, as if trying to decide if he should say the next thing. Or how he should say it. “There’s more. I’m sorry.”
“What else? Why are you sorry?” When he didn’t answer, I searched his face and found it more somber than usual. Traces of raw emotion peeking through his tough exterior.
My stomach clenched with fear – with horror – as I imagined the worst.
No. It couldn’t be that. I’d have to hear it to believe it and he was staring at me
dumbfounded, not saying anything. “What is it? Tell me, Joe. Just fucking tell me!”
“Yeah.” He ran his hand across his face, sobering up after, as if the action helped him put his mask back in place. “A few days after that hospital visit, a Jane Doe was found.”
“No…” I didn’t want him to go on. I needed him to go on.
“In a Dumpster a few miles outside of Chicago.” His voice was even. An emotionless narrative.
“No.” Stop, please stop. It’s not true. My chest was aching, splitting open. For the second time that day, I felt like I was suffocating. Except this time there was plenty of air, just no room for it in my lungs as emotion squeezed against them, compressing them and rendering them useless.
“She was identified as the same woman in this picture.” Joe gestured to his phone.
“No. No. No.” Tears stung at my eyes and slipped down my face despite my refusal to believe they were necessary. They weren’t necessary. They couldn’t be. I latched onto the first alternate possibility I could think of. “Who identified? Maybe they got it wrong, Joe.”
“Emily…” He rested a consolatory hand on my shoulder.
I knocked his arm away. “Show me,” I demanded. “Let me see.”
“That was four months ago now. She’s been cremated. But I have a report.”
Four months. Four goddamn months.
He flashed a new screen in front of me. An autopsy report that described the Jane Doe with blond hair and faded bruises, the tattoo on her shoulder, the jeweled dove at her throat. It was hard to refute. Plain as day, the dead woman was my friend.
But I still couldn’t believe it. Refused to believe it.
“It wasn’t her. It wasn’t her, Joe.” My voice was scratchy and too loud. People were staring at us, and I didn’t care. Let them fill the tabloids with reports that I’d gone mad at the Corner Mart, I didn’t fucking care.
The only thing I did care about at the moment was correcting this… this… misunderstanding. This lie. “Say it. Say it wasn’t her, Joe.” I clutched my fingers into his jacket, pleading. “Fucking say it!”
First Touch Page 23