by Lacey Alpha
It allows me to be more like my old self. “I'll walk you, if you like?”
She nods keenly, standing.
I raise a brow. “Now?”
“Now,” she insists, her eyes darting down my body.
She takes my hand, encouraging me to my feet. A grin pulls at my mouth, an actual genuine smile.
We walk hand in hand, taking our time as we head away from the busy street. The roads are quiet, the air cool. It feels like just the two of us exist here, us and a sea of stars overhead.
Annalise shivers and I instinctively wrap an arm around her shoulders.
“Thanks,” she mutters, glancing up at me.
I avoid her eyes, keeping my gaze on the road ahead. “Your friends seem nice,” I remark, my breath leaving a fog of vapour in the air.
“Yeah, I've known Libby and Kat forever. Since school. I think they liked you.”
“Yeah?” I'm not so sure about Kat but Libby seemed keen enough.
“Uhuh. Don't worry about Kat, she's always like that.”
I nod, satisfied it wasn't just me that noticed her frostiness.
“I'm glad you came tonight,” she says after a beat. “I didn't think you would...”
“I didn't think I would either,” I mutter and I sense her frowning. “Not that I didn't want to. I just...”
“Just?” she prompts, her shoulders stiffening in my hold.
“I dunno, I think you're better off without me around. I'm not good for a nice girl like you.”
“How do you know I'm a nice girl?” she responds smartly.
My mouth tugs down at the corners. I know who she is. But I can't tell her so.
“You seem like one,” I say vaguely.
“Hmph, well maybe you should stick around a bit longer to find out.”
I'm a little taken aback by her response. This girl knows what she wants, and for some reason she wants me. How can I argue with that?
“Maybe I will,” I growl.
We walk further, turning onto a busier street where bars are heaving with people. We weave amongst the crowd and Annalise slips her hand into mine so as not to lose me. It's endearing, the casual gesture making my chest expand.
As we approach a wine bar, I catch sight of a bright flash of red hair. The woman steps into the street and my gut drops in alarm. Fuck – is that Clarissa?!
I instinctively grab Annalise, forcing her against the wall and caging her in with my arms.
“Ethan!” she says in surprise.
I glance over my shoulder for the briefest of seconds, catching sight of the woman's face. I'm paralysed. Clarissa is strolling along, her arm linked through that of her tall escort.
In a moment of panic, I force myself against Annalise, crushing her, hiding her, my lungs unable to draw down air.
I press my lips to her open mouth, halting the words forming on her lips. She melts against me, tugging my hips toward her. I'm torn between panic and lust, driving my tongue into her mouth, lifting my arms as I press my hands to the wall, my jacket opening, concealing Annalise from view.
Fuck. If Clarissa sees me with her I'm in serious trouble. She'll know I've been lying. She'll call the fucking police.
I lean back an inch, holding Annalise in place by the hips. She gapes at me and I know I should give her some explanation for my erratic behaviour but I have none.
I sneak a glance over my shoulder, spotting Clarissa slipping into a taxi and heading down the road. My shoulders drop an inch and I step back, releasing Annalise from the confines of my arms.
“What was that for?” she asks, breathy.
Her husky voice makes my body respond, my cock growing hard. I try to force the desire away but it grows and grows until I'm desperate.
“I wanted to kiss you.” I take her hand, encouraging her down the street at a quickened pace. “Something wrong with that?”
“No,” she says after a beat. “You just took me by surprise, that's all.”
“Sorry,” I mutter and her fingers tighten on mine.
“Don't be,” she breathes, sending my pulse from zero to sixty.
Hell, I want her so bad. I don't know if I can help myself.
We soon arrive outside her flat and I release her hand, knowing I should walk away, I should go home.
She sucks her bottom lip, eyeing me keenly. I know I could take her if I wanted. The thought of her body on mine sends me crazy, my end throbbing at the thought alone.
“Do you want to come in?” she asks, looking embarrassed for asking.
My throat dries out as I eye her perfect form, her knotted hands hanging in front of her.
“Yes,” I admit, the word slipping from my mouth before I can stop it.
I hound after her into the stairwell, the voice in my mind growing louder.
Psycho.
As we climb the stairs, Annalise turns to me, taking hold of my shirt and leaning in for a kiss. I slide my hand into her hair, giving it to her, guilt stirring in my stomach. I slide my tongue between her lips and she moans, the sound melting all of my resolve.
She starts tugging open my shirt, one button at a time, setting my pulse racing.
I gaze at her, captivated as her fingers slide beneath it, searching, exploring my abs. I let her look, the marks on my ribs reduced to nothing. She finds the two bullet scars, her fingers splayed across my chest.
She glances up at me, her eyes leaving me raw. “What happened?”
“Crossfire. Iraq,” I say simply and her expression melts into sympathy.
“That must have hurt.”
“There are worse things,” I growl, snatching her waist.
Killer.
I lurch back. Evidently my anti-psycho drugs aren't enough to block out the voice.
A small frown creases her forehead and she takes my hand, turning and guiding me upstairs.
When we enter her apartment, she disappears into the bathroom, returning a minute later with a white Alice band.
Without a word, she pulls it over her head, covering her eyes. I'm frozen in place, shocked by her easy surrender to me.
My cock aches as she raises her arms, giving me permission to undress her.
I stalk closer, admiring her, circling her slowly.
You don't deserve her.
I blink away the voice, my desire overwhelming it.
Standing behind her, I slide my hands around her waist, gently pulling the tank top over her head. Her back arches and I eye the dip at the base of her spine, wanting to taste it.
I kneel, pressing my mouth to the space, sensing her shiver. Tugging her skirt down, I trace my mouth over the string of her black thong, tasting the curve of her cheeks with the tip of my tongue.
Standing, I glide my hands around to her stomach, pulling her flush against me so she can feel my arousal for her. She moans softly – a delightful response – and I reward her by slipping my hand into her knickers.
She rests her head against my shoulder, tipping her chin up, sighing my name. “Eth-an.”
I caress her, stroking, running my fingers through her slim line of pubic hair.
“I want to devour every part of you, Annalise.”
Her stomach firms as I pull her to me, grinding myself against her. Her hips begin to sway, rubbing me until I'm solid.
I remove my hand from her knickers, lifting it to my lips and sucking. “You taste so sweet,” I growl in her ear.
She gasps at my words and I promptly place my fingers between her lips, giving her the rest of herself.
“Mm,” she moans, rolling her hips again, her mouth hot around my fingers.
Her hands reach backwards, holding my hips, pulling me to her.
I let her touch me for a while, but know I'll soon need to break the contact. I need to control this. This needs to be about her.
Stepping away, I unbuckle my belt, running my thumb over my lower lip as I regard her.
“Hands in front,” I demand and she complies, clasping them together.
&n
bsp; “I'm going to tie them in place,” I warn and she nods.
Clarissa's words ring in my head. That's bondage, not making love.
I clench my jaw, the belt hanging from my hand, reluctance sweeping in.
Sicko. Sicko. Sicko.
This is the only way I can do this.
I bind her wrists, my breathing increasing as I watch her. She wets her pastel pink lips, moistening them for me.
Clasping the belt, I guide her to the bedroom, pushing the door closed and pressing her against it. Taking her bound wrists, I lift them, hanging them over the hook at the top of the door, growing desperate for her.
“Ethan,” she gasps, wary.
In response, I drop to my knees, tugging her thong down. I glance up at her, absorbing her expression as I slip two fingers between her legs. I want to give her so much pleasure that her body bows and bends to my will.
She moans, arching her back, hanging her weight from the hook.
I lean forward, breathing in and out on her heated pussy. Her hips rock as she waits for my tongue.
I graze my teeth over her first, surprising her. She presses her thighs together, locking my hand between them.
“Kiss me, Ethan,” she begs.
I respond fervently to her pleading, sliding my tongue onto her, licking and sucking.
She grinds her hips against me and I cup her behind with my free hand, stilling her as I get my fill. She's heavenly, her flavour possessing me.
I pump my fingers, stealing a glance at her expression again, wanting to watch her come. It's so powerful to have this girl at my bidding, especially after desiring her for so long.
“Take me,” she pleads and I obey, standing. This woman can have anything from me. Everything.
Pinning her in place with my hips, I remove my hand from between her legs.
I take out my cock, holding the head against her clit, slowly rubbing her. She pants, widening her legs, trying to lure me into her.
I take hold of her, lifting her thighs so she clamps them around me.
I position myself, breathing out her name as I rock into her. I'm slow and firm, delighting in the feel of her heat around me.
I claim her inch by inch, eyeing her mouth parting wider and wider as I fill her.
I work tortuously slow, wanting this to last forever, observing her all the while. When I can't resist her mouth any longer, I kiss the corner, tugging at her bottom lip.
I increase my pace, bringing her toward ecstasy, high off knowing it's my body doing this to hers.
She tightens around me and I rock my hips harder, kissing her at last. Her tongue meets mine, full of longing and hope. Hope that I'll give her what she craves of me.
I keep my pace steady and firm, groaning her name in her ear, telling her to give in to me.
“I will, I will,” she pants, desperate. And, when she does, it's rapturous.
⊱✿ ✿⊰
I'm torn.
I should leave. I shouldn't stay the night.
She lies beside me on the bed, her head on my arm.
I gaze up at the ceiling whilst she silently paints circles on my wrist with her fingertip.
I'm lost and found at once. My instincts tell me I belong here, so viscerally that I almost believe them. But the truth creeps in: the dark, haunting voice that always knows best.
Look at you. Look at what you're doing. How can you inflict yourself on her?
I cringe, puling my arm from beneath her, sitting up.
She follows, her hand sliding across the sheet toward me. She doesn't touch me.
“Ethan, what is it?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head.
Rat.
She remains silent and I long to give her more.
“I just have these, thoughts sometimes...a voice, I guess.”
“Voice? What kind of voice?”
I blink hard, trying to keep it at bay. But it's so close, I can't ward it off.
Dirty fucking psychopath.
“It reminds me of what I am.”
She curls her hand around my arm, shuffling closer, keeping just behind me. “And what's that?”
I'm choked, it's like hands are around my throat, I can almost feel fingers digging in.
Say it. Tell her what you are.
Stalker stalker stalker.
I bash the heel of my palm to my forehead, fury unleashing inside me as try to force the voice out.
“Ethan!” Annalise throws her arms around me.
I grind my teeth, stilling in her hold. Her mouth is on my ear, in my hair, soothing.
The tension eases in my shoulders and I sigh.
“Tell me about the voice,” she urges, her words a hoarse whisper.
Go ahead. See what she thinks of you then.
I swallow the lump in my throat. I guess I have to tell her, though I have no doubt that she'll want to know more.
The truth slips from my tongue, revealing one of my darkest secrets to her, “My father. It's my father's voice.”
ANNALISE
His father's voice – oh! What does that mean? Why him? I have to know. I long to. This is why I took psychology at university: my fascination with the human mind. But it's more than interest, it's absolute passion, a necessity to know, especially when it comes to people I care about.
I clutch his arm, not moving into his line of sight. I know my eyes trouble him. It has to do with the girl in Iraq, I suspect our eyes are similar. But he won't admit that to me.
I wait patiently, knowing it's the best mechanism for drawing people out of themselves. If there's something more he wants to say, he'll offer it.
“He's dead,” Ethan says offhandedly like he doesn't care that he is.
That's an unusual response to such a thing.
“Oh, what happened?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.
“Heart attack. Overworked, under-slept. From what I heard, anyway.”
“You didn't know?” I raise my brows, intrigued.
He shrugs, his broad shoulders lifting and dropping heavily. Oh this man is so hurt inside, what I'd give to crawl into his chest and kiss those wounds better. But the soul doesn't work that way. It takes time. If he doesn't work through these issues, he'll never heal.
“I hadn't seen him in nine years.”
“Oh,” I breathe, my mouth close to his skin. He smells of salt and sweat and sex. I brush my lips over his arm, unable to fight the urge.
He glances at me and I determinedly keep my eyes averted from his, so as not to hurt him again.
“Why do you think it's his voice in your mind, if you haven't seen him for so many years?” I question, gentle, not probing. He has to feel safe, like he doesn't have to answer if he doesn't want to.
He inhales deeply, releasing the breath in a slow sigh. “He had a big impact on me, I suppose.”
I wait for him to go on, nodding my chin against the crook of his elbow. He slides his arm over me, drawing me into his lap.
I circle my hands around his neck, burying my face in his chest, hiding my eyes.
When he speaks, his voice rumbles through his body into my ear so I can hear the place it comes from deep inside.
“My mother left when I was very young. My father raised me. He resented that she'd left him, I think. Took it out on me. Blamed me.” He cracks his neck, his shoulders bunching.
“Oh Ethan.” I kiss his throat.
My stomach tightens into a knotted ball. How horrible to think of him like that. He's so strong on the outside, you'd never guess the vulnerability that lays beneath his tough exterior.
“What does he say to you, in your head?” I whisper softly.
He clears his throat, shifting. I've noticed the quirk before; he does it when he's uncomfortable.
I have to relax him. “You know...the voice in my head tells me what to do, particularly when I'm acting recklessly. It's the voice of reason to me. But there can be other kinds of voices, too. Everyone's different.”
He nuzzles my chee
k, turning my head so I look at him. I blink, fearful of him seeing my eyes but he gazes steadily at me.
Oh, his eyes. I've barely had a chance to study them. They're ashen grey and palest of blue all at once. Like the ocean beneath a cloudy sky.
“The voice in my head tells me what I am. It reminds me not to rise above my place. But I do so all the same.”
His place? His place as what?
I nod slowly, my gut stirring, hoping he'll give me an example.
What I'd give to glimpse the inner workings of his mind. There would be so much to unravel, so much to heal.
He drop his eyes, becoming stiff. “My father used to drink. He'd drink so much he couldn't even walk straight. But he'd still manage to get hold of me. Throttle me, beat me, force me to repeat the insults he'd throw at me.”
“Like what?” I say, panicked, the image so clear that it pains me deeply.
“He'd call me names, I dunno...waste of space, creep, freak. He'd spit them at me until I was crying. Then he'd hurt me for getting upset.”
I wrap my arms and legs around his waist, kissing him.
“Oh Ethan,” I sob against his lips, my own tears spilling over.
“Please. Don't,” he says softly, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “He's not worth more tears than the ones he already got out of me all those years ago.”
“Tell me more, I want to know more.” I rub my cheek against his harsh stubble in encouragement.
“When I was older - fifteen, sixteen - I started boxing. I wanted to get stronger so I could take him on when he tried to hit me.”
“And did you?” My eyes go wide and I can't help but lock my gaze with his.
He winces a little but holds out, clutching my waist. He nods solemnly then lifts his arm, turning it to show me his forearm. There's three pale scars in a row, looking once-deep.
“What did he do?” I groan, rubbing the marks like my thumb is an eraser that can steal them away.
“He smashed a vodka bottle and came at me with it. It was only after I started bleeding out that he realised he had to take me to the hospital. Told them I'd had an accident, of course.”
I lay my mouth on the marks.
“That's why I joined the army. The second I was old enough, I enrolled and got the fuck out of that life. Never looked back.” He taps his temple angrily. “I guess he stayed with me up here, though, didn't he?” He looks bitter, snarling the words.