by Holly Hart
I fight the urge to let this just happen to me. I need more.
I lift my whole body up, reach up and press my lips against Ridley’s. “Bite me,” I growl. Again, I don’t know where this is coming from. I see a questioning light in his eyes, but also something more: intrigue, maybe; perhaps even more than that; perhaps delight.
Ridley licks his lips. “Ye want it hard?” He asks, and suddenly I know I was right. He is interested. He’s more than just interested, he’s desperate: for me.
“And fast, and whatever,” I pant. “I just want you in me: now!”
“Don’t forget, gal, it wasn’t so long ago ye were running away from some very bad men. Believe me when I say I’m going to take ye. But if you want me to stop, for whatever reason, just say…” Ridley scrunches his eyes shut, searching for a word.
“Say Goose.”
“Goose –?” I half-question. But then I realize that right now, I don’t much care.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Whatever. Satisfied?”
Ridley grins. “More than ye know.”
Ridley bites my lip. Hard enough that it’s my eyes that are watering this time, and the tiny droplets of my blood taste like I’m in my mouth. I tip my head back, and he tugs at my flesh. I revel in the pain. It feels good. It feels right. Every memory of what happened to me is erased; it’s like it was never there.
Ridley roughly pushes my legs apart. He drags a finger across my wet lips; then pushes it inside. He releases my lip and pushes me away with feigned disinterest.
God, he’s good at this. It’s like he’s been doing it all his life. Ridley’s playing me like an instrument – long, iridescent, trembling notes that reel me in until I beg him for release, then a short sharp blast that pushes me away.
“Ready?” He growls in my ear.
I don’t get a chance to reply before Ridley presses his cock inside me. God, it’s big. If I couldn’t keep my eyes off it when he was putting the condom on, I can’t stop thinking about it now. I didn’t know men could be this big. I didn’t know men could feel this good.
I scratch Ridley’s back with my fingernails, and just as I hope, it prompts his hips to buck forward. I feel his cock with the force of a kicking mule.
A blaze of pleasure erupts behind my eyelids. It’s a firework’s display back there.
“Ready,” I moan, giving my permission for what Ridley’s already taking from me; “So ready.”
Ridley grabs my hips and starts to thrust. It’s exactly what I wanted: rough; fast; hard. He digs his fingernails into the soft, pale skin at my thighs. He’s so strong it feels like he’s going to crush the huge bones at my hips. Even though I know he won’t, the danger excites me.
“I’m going to make you come,” Ridley growls at me. I don’t know how he can speak like this. When I look up at his face, I don’t even see a shadow of embarrassment. “I’m going to make you come until your throat goes hoarse and yer begging me to stop.”
“Yes,” I whimper.
I have to – my body is incapable of making any other sound. This whole time, Ridley’s not stopped thrusting inside me. Sparks of pleasure are blazing down my spine and popping in my stomach. My nipples feel like tiny volcanoes spitting fire; hell – even my knuckles feel good.
“More,” I groan.
Ridley looks at me, his expression clouded with something – an emotion I can’t read. It’s questioning, worried. But then he brushes it aside. He knows what I want. We’ve got a safe word – silly as it sounds. It’s okay. It’s good for him to be bad.
Ridley lets go of my hips and closes his fingers around my throat. He watches me the whole time, searching for any sign that this isn’t what I want. I don’t give him it. God, this feels good. I’ve not been with many men before, but enough to know that Ridley’s not like any of them. He’s an expert, a craftsman. He presses down the sides of my neck. I’ve never had a man do this to me before – choke me – but experiencing it, I know this is how it has to be done.
“Fuck, you look hot,” Ridley grunts. The hoarseness of his voice tells me that he isn’t lying. He’s enjoying this as much as I am.
I’d reply, but I can’t. It’s not that Ridley’s putting pressure on my windpipe, it’s that the wildfire building between my legs and across my body is building a wall of pleasure that blocks everything else out. It’s unstoppable.
“So fucking hot,” Ridley says. His voice seems different now: more guttural.
Then I feel it, and I know why he’s speaking like that. The whole of Ridley’s body begins to tremble: every muscle, every ligament. He’s so close, I can feel it. I want to feel it with him. I want to feel Ridley come inside me.
“Don’t stop,” I beg him, though I don’t know if he can hear me.
Ridley pulls his head back and rides me, using my neck and shoulders like a jockey might use reins. I can’t speak, I can’t move, but I can look up at him. I can look up at every one of his chiseled, rich muscles and drink them in. I can see that streak of white in his hair: his glittering eyes; his chiseled chin. I can see all that and know without a doubt that I’m not making a mistake. Ridley might not know it; heck, maybe I still don’t, but he’s exactly the man I needed to find.
“I’m going to –,” Ridley says, voice struggling over a lack of oxygen in his lungs.
His fingers loosen from around my neck, he collapses forward, but still thrusts; at that very moment, I feel my orgasm breaking over me. It’s like a tidal wave hitting a rocky beach. It sweeps up everything ahead of it: every thought; every sense. It’s all gone and disappeared into blackness.
I don’t know how long we rest, with Ridley on top of me, his breath tickling my ear, the heat of his skin burning my chest. It’s at least long enough for me to regain my senses.
I look up at Ridley, reach up and stroke his hair. I let a smile dance on my lips. I do it on purpose; just to make sure he knows I’m joking.
“Goose,” I whisper.
Ridley grins. “Yer the Goose, ye know that?”
I don’t know what it means, but it sounds great. I reach up, lips searching for his. Ridley presses his mouth against mine, and we rest there: not kissing, not breaking apart. It’s exactly what I need.
“I didn’t –?” Ridley asks.
“Hurt me?” I shake my head. “Not any more than I wanted, anyway.”
“Good,” Ridley grunts. I’ve never done that before with someone I –.”
He breaks off, not finishing his sentence. With someone I? I’m desperate to know what Ridley meant by that, but I don’t dare ask him. This moment’s too perfect to ruin.
“I’m all sweaty-sticky,” I laugh, breaking the tension of the moment. It’s an easy laugh. I’ve not felt lighter or happier since this ordeal started than I do right now. “This is the bit you never see in films, or read about in books, you know?”
“Tell me about it,” Ridley chuckles. “How do ye feel about a shower?”
“That, Mr. Byrne,” I say, looking up at him with a smile – already picturing Ridley’s naked body under a curtain of water droplets –, “is the best idea you’ve had all day.”
When I’m finally done toweling my long mane of hair dry, Ridley’s standing in the doorway, overflowing shopping bags in either hand. I have no idea how he had enough time to leave the hideaway and go to a store, all while I was getting ready. Still, I guess it gave me a second to think. That’s good, because I had a lot of thinking to do.
“Honey, I’m home…” Ridley calls out. The sound barely penetrates my concentration.
I can’t tear my mind away from the look in Ridley’s eyes. The look he got when his hands were around my throat. I don’t know if I’m just projecting … but I thought I saw bliss, there. It was almost as though Ridley was fighting a darkness of his own. As if I gave him the opportunity to forget it, even if only for a second.
Yeah, Frankie. That’s definitely projecting…
Ridley pushes the heavy steel door closed with his foot and turns
to face me. A heavy metal thunk reverberates around the brick hideaway. A couple of days ago, that sound would have been the door of my prison closing. Today, it sounds like safety.
“If I’m going to stay here,” I tease, “you’re going to need to buy me a hairdryer.”
“If yer going to stay here,” he grunts back, “you’re going to have to start paying some rent…”
I throw my wet towel in Ridley’s direction. Just about… I never was any good at sports. It lands somewhere off to the left: oh, well; out of sight, out of mind.
“Okay, okay,” Ridley adds, eyes roving my body, “maybe not. Ye can pay me in… other ways.”
“Oh?” I reply, raising an eyebrow. “And what ways might those be?”
“Ye’ll find out, Ridley grins unashamedly, “soon enough. But for now, we’ll have to get ye out of those clothes. With you wearing all tha’, it’s like sleeping with me brother. I like Mac, and all, but I like him more out of the bedroom. You know?”
I pout. “So no two-for-one offer?”
Ridley grimaces. “If ye think I’m lifting a finger to help that poor sod get laid, you better think again. Besides, I want ye all to myself.”
“Fair enough, I guess,” I reply. “So if it’s not another sexy Irishman, then what do you have for me in those bags?”
Ridley takes a couple of strides forward. I watch him the whole way. I still can’t believe that any of this is true. I feel like a cat that has fallen from a two hundred feet tall redwood Oak, only to somehow land in a bathtub-sized saucer of cream.
Okay. You get what I mean.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Ridley mutters, fishing through the bags in his hands. “I ain’t got no kind of eye for women’s clothes. But it’s better than darting around in me old rags, if you know what I mean?”
Ridley tosses a couple of pairs of Levi’s jeans at me. Somehow I clutch them from the air, arms waving madly like I’ve never caught anything in my life. I glance down at the leather label on the back.
“How’d you know my size?” I ask, glancing up at him with a wrinkled forehead.
Try as hard as he might, Ridley can’t hide the smug grin that briefly tickles his lips. “Lucky guess.”
“Got me anything –”
I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence before I’m buried underneath a pile of clothes. Ridley was right about one thing. He’s practically bought me an entire wardrobe full of clothes – but they are all the same: boring cuts, boring colors: even the underwear! If I had known where Ridley was going, and why, I would have sent him a list of my favorite shops.
“– pretty..?”
I decide right then and there that if I get out of here anytime soon, I’m going shopping. I’m going to buy something hot, something to wear when I put on a show. Ridley deserves it. I couldn’t have asked for better treatment. So the idea of twirling my hips while Ridley drinks every inch of my skin in, addicted to the sight of me, fills me with desire.
“But wait – there’s more.” Ridley grins, ignoring my question. He reaches into one of the plastic shopping bags, and pulls out a grease-stained brown paper bag. My stomach does a backflip. I have to touch my lip to make sure I’m not drooling. It smells incredible.
“Is that –?”
“Five Guys,” Ridley agrees. He makes as if to toss me the bag of fast food. I throw out my arms in panic – not willing to let the best meal I’ll have had all week end up smashed against the floor in a heap of broken buns and soggy lettuce.
In my haste, my armful of clothes ends up scattered across the floor instead.
“Just kidding, gal,” Ridley chuckles as he surveys the mess he inflicted on me. “Not bad, eh? Fer a big dumb Irishman. Now – if yer done messing around…”
I shoot him a withering stare. “If I’m done messing around?”
“Fair point.”
Ridley sets the grease-stained Five Guys bag down on a small wooden table tucked neatly against the brickwork. I’m drawn to it like an insect to a flame; Ridley heads in the other direction.
“Can I get ye a beer?”
I glance meaningfully around his hideaway. “Want me to get the full Boston experience, do you?” I ask.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ridley chuckles from somewhere inside the fridge door. I hear a tinkle as he pulls two glass bottles of the shelf, a hiss as he opens them and a thud as he swings the heavy door closed.
“Here ye go,” he says, handing me the cold bottle. It’s wet with condensation. Ridley rummages in another bag.
“Listen, Frankie. Goose –.”
“Don’t call me that,” I scowl, punching Ridley lightly on the arm. He shrugs the blow off like it’s nothing. In truth, I don’t mind Ridley calling me that at all. It feels kind of sweet – but only because I’m not used to kindness.
Ridley spins and grazes my lips with his. As soon as he kisses me, he’s gone. “I’ll call ye whatever I damn well please, Goose,” he winks.
I roll my eyes. “You were saying?” I reply, holding my hand out, palm up.
Ridley plunks a burger down on top of it. It’s still warm. “I was saying – I know this isn’t perfect: you, living here. It’s a shitty thing to happen to ye, Frankie. I know that and so do you. But it is what it is: for now.”
I push my hand up behind me and find the back of a wooden dining chair. I settle on to it, reaching eagerly for my dinner. The smell has me salivating.
“What do you mean, for now?” I ask. I focus on the greasy burger and unwrap it. With the paper off, it smells even more magnificent. Right now this is the equal of any Michelin star dinner. Not that I’ve ever had one of those…
Ridley waves his hand absently and sits back on the other chair. “There are things going on, so there are. I can’t promise ye anything, Frankie. But I’ll do what I can.”
I study Ridley’s face intently. He’s not giving anything away. For all I can tell, his face might be carved out of marble. He looks back at me innocently, and takes a huge bite out of his burger. With his free hand, he spins the brown paper bag around and pushes it in my direction.
“Cajun fries?”
I let out a deep sigh. I know that I’m not going to be able to wheedle anything out of Ridley. He’s infuriating. I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose: to protect me, perhaps? Maybe he thinks I can’t handle the truth, that I’m still too damaged. I want to prove him wrong. I just don’t know how.
“You’re a Cajun asshole – you know that, Ridley?”
I say it with a grin. He might be a Cajun asshole, but he’s my Cajun asshole. Wait – I didn’t mean it to sound like that.
“I hope not,” Ridley drawls back. “Sounds uncomfortable.”
There’s a short silence. Well – not silence, exactly. It’s punctuated by the rustling of burger wrappers, the sound of chewing fries, and a few satisfied slurps from our bottles of beer. But the longer it goes on, the more one particular topic keeps invading my mind.
That look in Ridley’s eyes.
I know I’m going to say something about it. It’s just who I am.
“Ridley?”
He glances up. “Frankie?” He replies, adding a singsong lilt to my voice. “How can I help ye?”
“Earlier,” I stammer, cheeks reddening with awkwardness. “You know, when we –.”
“Fucked?” Ridley says, cheeks filling up with a bare-faced grin. “Or was it making sweet, sweet love?”
I grimace. “When we slept together,” I say, choosing my words carefully. I feel like I’m picking my way through a minefield: hemmed in on one side by my own awkwardness; on the other by trying not to feel pride too deeply. “You – you know what you are doing.”
I pause awkwardly. That didn’t come out right.
“I should damn well hope so. Glad ye enjoyed it…”
I flick a soggy fry in Ridley’s direction. “Shut up!”
All I get in response is a self-satisfied smile.
“What I’m trying to
say – to ask, is how did you know what to do? How did you know to play me like that: to choke me; to mark me; to take me to the edge and hold me there without plunging over.”
I stop.
I’ve said my piece. I feel drained. Sometimes honesty – speaking your mind – is the hardest thing in the world. That’s even true in a committed relationship, and whatever Ridley and I are, we’re not that. Not yet, anyway.
Ridley pauses for a long time. His face is inscrutable. He stands up, and wipes his hands on a paper towel. The shadows running across his face tell me he’s not sure he’s making the right decision. I don’t know if that’s a good sign, or a bad one.
“Get up.” Ridley grunts.
“Where are we going?”
“I’ve got something to show you.”
17
Ridley
Oh, crap. The second I stand up, I start to question whether what I’m doing is just a bad idea – or a really, really bad idea.
But now I’m committed. If I make up some bullshit story, Frankie will spot it for exactly what it is. I know she can read me like a book. I don’t know how she does it, it’s like she has her own branded “Ridley” lie detector. It just so happens that I have my own model, for her exclusively.
I guess there might be positives. If we ever – whisper it – end up in a relationship, it’ll be the most damn honest relationship any couple’s ever had. Neither of us can lie to each other. Not for long.
“Show me?” Frankie repeats behind me, baffled. I’m sure she’s wondering why I’m being so secretive. She’s about to find out. “What are you talking about, Ridley?”
That’s a good question. As usual, I’ve lodged my foot as far into my mouth as it will go. There’s no coming back from this.
“This place,” I say quietly. “You know what it’s for?”
“What, here?” Frankie says. “It’s a bunker – your hideaway. Ridley, come on. Whatever you’re hiding, you don’t need to be so secretive about it. It can’t be that bad.”
Can’t it?