Time's Hostage: The dangers of love, loss, and lus (Time Series Book 1)

by Brenda Kuchinsky

  “You sound awful. How close are you to Sonya’s?” Barth asked as his near-hysteria morphed into cool-headed concern.

  “Steps. Mere steps, thank Bacchus.”

  “Inebriation hasn’t impaired your quick wit,” Barth said.

  “Sometimes it enhances it,” Sophia shot back. “Oh, Barth. What about Lili’s ride to the airport? I’m shattered.” Sophia pretended that she had just recalled tomorrow’s promised ride to the airport.

  “Don’t worry. Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take them of course.”

  His relief at the knowledge that Sophia was fine had worked in her favor. Neither recriminations nor reproaches. No whining about Keith. Just cooperation. It was nice. She realized she was becoming a consummate thespian.

  “You’re wonderful. I’m going to call her right now and apologize to her. Good night,” she said.

  Lili was going to be tougher. She didn’t much want to dissemble when it came to her. It flew in the face of their newfound honesty. However, she saw no way around it. She wasn’t about to say that she had been with her lover, enjoying anal sex with wild abandon while gullible Barth brooded at home.

  She steeled herself for another unpleasant call as Lili’s cell began to ring. Maybe it’s too late to call, she agonized. But I’m not going to leave an impersonal text or wait for Barth to tell her.

  To her surprise, she started to sob when a sleepy Lili answered her call.

  “What’s wrong, Ma? Why are you crying?” Lili asked. “And why are you calling so late?”

  “Oh, Lili. I just called Barth, and he’s going to take you and Chanel to the airport. I’m such a shit. I went out with Sonya, one thing led to another, and we got plastered. I’m staying at her place right here and won’t be able to go so early. Plus now I woke you up. I feel awful,” she sobbed, hot tears soaking her face. “Just as we turned a corner and became real, I managed to fuck it up and let you down.”

  “Don’t be silly. As long as you’re all right, everything is fine. You can’t spoil what we are just beginning to build by skipping the airport. I’ll go right back to sleep, and we’ll see each other soon under happy circumstances. In idyllic Rouen, a perfect place to meet. You’ll love it. Now don’t be silly, and go sleep it off. I love you. We’ll talk tomorrow once we’re settled in the Big Apple,” Lili consoled her.

  “How did I get so lucky? I have the best daughter and husband. I swear you are related to each other even though I, of all people, know better. I love you, Lili. Love to Chanel,” she added, relieved that her crying spell had petered out.

  And finally, she texted Sonya, telling her to say they were together tonight and that she slept over, if anyone asked. She was sorry about lunch last week and would call to make arrangements to meet soon. Things had become crazy, and she had a lot to tell her.

  She felt like a defiant teenager sneaking off with her boyfriend and getting her best friend to give her an alibi. Things she had never done when she was a teenager.

  Dirk was quiet out there, and Sophia gave into an irresistible urge to snoop. She opened the medicine cabinet and was confronted with her latest medications. Lamictal and Topamax nestled among the ubiquitous aspirin and Advil, eye drops and eardrops, and Band-Aids. It was a disorienting moment. For a few seconds, she felt she was looking into her own medicine cabinet.

  All thoughts of Barth, Lili, and Sonya flew out of her head as quickly as startled bats zoom out of their cave.

  Barth must be bipolar, she speculated. Can’t be epilepsy. All the signs are there.

  She thought of him as a charismatic man, vibrant and sexy. Now she realized this translated into mania. No wonder he seemed larger than life, grandiose, excessively energetic, and vertiginously magnetic.

  She wasn’t going to hold that against him. If he was taking his meds, he should be okay. More or less. No wonder the sex was so steamy and inventive.

  She hadn’t heard Dirk pad into the bathroom as she stood frozen in front of the open cabinet door, pondering her new discovery. She slammed the ornate mirrored bronze door shut just as he gripped her phone arm. She was still holding onto the long-silent cell.

  “What are you doing, Zophie?” he asked, a note of menace lingering in the air.

  “You frightened me. I was just…just…looking for aspirin. Oh, what the hell. That’s one fucking lie too many. I was snooping and saw your meds. I take the same two for epilepsy. But I’m assuming you’re bipolar,” she confessed.

  “You naughty girl. Too nosy for your own good. Now you are in for a spanking,” he replied sotto voce.

  She was beginning to feel apprehensive. The sexual gleam and twinkle were gone. She felt a shimmer of real fear as he continued to assume a stern countenance. There was none of his characteristic playfulness. How well did she know this guy?

  Wordlessly, he rushed her into the bedroom, her phone clattering to the floor as she was whisked along by his powerful grip. Her attempt to drag her feet had no effect at all on his determined momentum. His black-silk pajamas seemed to add to his air of menace. He was like a ninja.

  Once he had thrust her onto the cocoon of a bed like so much dead weight, he wrenched off her bathrobe, turned her over with one mighty movement, secured both wrists to one magnificent bedpost, and proceeded to whip her firm, rounded buttocks with a small red-leather scourge he had held concealed in his free hand. The slowness of his rhythm added suspense to the whole affair. She shivered. When was the next stroke coming? Was it over?

  She cried out in terror as he flagellated her buttocks until he drew blood. Periodically he leaned over her raw flesh, licking her wounds clean.

  “Relax. Relax,” he urged as he slipped a hand under her belly and pressed down on her quivering belly button.

  This pressure along with his first soothing words transformed the punishing pain into excruciating pleasure. She began to thrash helplessly as a stormy orgasm gripped her in surging waves.

  She collapsed in a wilted heap, all emotion expunged. She found herself thinking how apt it was that the French called an orgasm une petite mort, a little death. A taste, a whisper of the final obliteration.

  Dirk quickly untied her bonds and wrapped her inert body in his arms. She was confused as she emerged from her petite mort. She felt seesawing emotions.

  She broke the silence. “Dirk, I was so afraid of you when you came into the bathroom. You seemed like a different person. You scared me.”

  “Zophie, you know the mind is where it all happens. The fear became ecstasy. What more do you want?” he asked, shrugging while he spooned her. She could feel the ravaged flesh rubbing painfully against the hair on his thighs. “Mmmm. I love the feel of your chastised rump against me.” He snuggled in more closely.

  “Why was I chastised?” she asked.

  “Does there have to be a reason? Punishment is reason in and of itself. It’s its own reward.”

  Sophia dropped off. All thought was suspended as her satisfied, punished body rested.

  She didn’t hear Dirk unlock himself from their tangled spooning. He was inspired to paint, to forge. The challenge to deceive through his talent and cunning was one of his siren songs.

  CHAPTER 28

  It took a few moments for Sophia to orient herself when she awoke early the next morning. Dirk was gone, but her burning backside throbbed, causing the memories to flood back like a high tide’s waves crashing on shore, drowning out all lesser sounds and actions with their primeval rhythm.

  Dirk, radiating energy, bustled in with Cuban coffee and croissants. Cuban coffee. That potent elixir of burnt bean and sugar, transformed into liquid speed. Sophia had become inured to its powers when she was an intern at Jackson Memorial Hospital where it was the only coffee.

  Sophia grimaced with pain as she sat up to indulge in the breakfast. She savored the foamy bitter brew as her training memories flooded back to her. Buckets of Cuban coffee and Jackson were interwoven in her memory. She had spent a lot of time crying that year. Mental illness can be extr
emely unkind to its victims. Add into the mix the damaged descendants of the criminally insane that the vengeful Castro shoved off onto South Florida’s shores in the 1980 Mariel boatlift, and you had a seething oleo of social ills rivaling the bitterness of the Cuban coffee and with no sweetness to temper it.

  Dirk, in tight jeans and a sweater, looked as delectable as the croissants. “Shall I feed you?” he asked, reading her mind.

  “Yes, please.”

  The simple act of Dirk’s nurturing, as he broke off small bits of flaky pastry and gently fed her, thrilled her.

  “I’m afraid I’ve overindulged in the coffee. I’ll be flying in a little while,” she said.

  “Overindulgence is good for the soul, my pet. I feel alive and rejuvenated. And you?” Dirk asked, leaning in to kiss her.

  “Let me put it this way. I never understood the expression, ‘the earth moved.’ And now I do,” she said, pink and panting from his kiss and the coffee. “I thought I was satiated, but between the stimulating coffee and your sexy presence, I’m hungering for more of you before I go. I’m a glutton for punishment,” she said, beginning to suck on his lips and tongue.

  Dirk had left the silk scarves tucked away in the bed. He produced them quickly, binding her wrists together and lashing them to the bedpost.

  He descended rapidly, relentlessly sucking, licking, and nibbling, as she writhed, all pain forgotten.

  Once she climaxed, her hands grasping his ears, he rose just as rapidly as he had descended, and entered her. He came quickly, shouting.

  “And now I have to go,” Sophia announced to an inert Dirk, her body still vibrating.

  “But what about your bum? I was going to cool it down with Triderm, this magic cream,” Dirk’s muffled words reached her as he lay face down on the bed.

  “Okay. I do need something for my skin. You flayed me alive,” she said.

  “Oh, don’t exaggerate. You’re still in your skin and having a grand old time. I marked my territory, and your buttocks are mine. All mine.”

  She hated to admit it, but she loved his being so proprietary. When had she turned into such a submissive follower? When the sex became so astoundingly good, that’s when.

  After he had creamed her screaming backside as gently as an empathic nurse tending to a burn patient, he turned her over, pulling her hair back, her throat arched up to meet his lips. He chose to give his instructions while nibbling on her taut neck, his whiskers bristling against her skin.

  “Now we must see each other once more before I leave town. I am really going to miss you. But while we’re apart, you can get that piercing done. That will make me feel close to you. And then we’ll have to meet somewhere. I’ll really be able to rock your world once you have that extra little…uh…shall we say, advantage in between your legs.

  “When shall we meet? I know New Year’s is out. Obviously you’ll be obligated to spend that with Barth. But no sex. Save that for me. I’m sure it’s insipid anyway compared to what we have, Zophie dear. No need to answer that,” he said continuing to attend to her neck.

  He released her and began to brood about their impending separation. “I’m going to get you that diamond stud for the clit hood. That will make me feel better. I know the perfect shop on Washington. Okay, so when will we meet again?” he urged.

  Sophia didn’t like to think of losing him so quickly. She had just discovered killer sex. “I can’t think,” she said, reverting to pulling on her left ear. “How about New Year’s Day? Wednesday? Barth always works on the first because he can catch up and accomplish a lot for the New Year. And that means we’ll be in bed early on New Year’s Eve. Probably right after the ball drops in Times Square.”

  “Maybe we should have a dinner date?” Dirk suggested.

  “No. No. Someone I know is bound to see us, and I’m already taking enough chances.”

  “We could go to the mainland. Far away from South Beach. Or North Beach,” Dirk said. “On second thought, why do that? Our time is limited. Why waste it out when we could be enjoying each other? I’ll order some food from Epicure, and we won’t squander any of our precious time. Come over around three, and we’ll have all day and some of the evening.” He paused. “Unless I come to your bed.”

  “Dirk, you’re mad. I would be too nervous. What if Barth came home early for some reason?”

  “That possibility would heighten the excitement.”

  “I think we generate enough fervor as it is,” she said.

  “Now don’t shower. I just creamed your butt, and I want you to keep me in you for a while. I’m going to look up the details on that piercing woman, Elayne Angel. She’s an expert and travels around the country offering these genital piercings. If we’re lucky, maybe she’ll be in Miami soon,” Dirk said.

  “I can’t remember where I left my clothes. I feel as if I’ve been here for days. You make time stop,” she said.

  “I’m glad you think I have so much power. Your clothes are downstairs. Let’s get you dressed and into a cab,” he said, taking her hand. He called a cab while she dressed. They lingered at the door, reluctant to part.

  Dirk kissed her good-bye and then reached for her. Since Sophia was unhampered by underwear, he easily plunged an index finger into her, then slowly pulled it out, putting it into his mouth. Once he had licked it clean, he repeated the process and put the same finger into Sophia’s mouth, urging her to lick it. She obliged, tasting him and herself.

  Then he pushed her out into the waiting elevator, applying the gentlest of pressure to her aching backside.

  “Your ass is the apple of my eye,” he whispered, causing her to grin from ear to ear.

  A raspy Auf Wiedersehen followed her out the door.

  CHAPTER 29

  Once in the cab, Sophia sighed, long and loud. She had not realized that she was feeling claustrophobic. Unexpected relief flooded over her in slow surges. In Dirk’s lair, his intensity thrilled her. But he also sucked the air out of a room, his dominance oppressive.

  I thought I was having the time of my life, she mused.

  Anxiety intruded on her confusion as she neared home. She had to face Barth.

  The cab reached her place in no time. After paying the driver, she trudged toward the front door and some consequences. She was sure of it. She wouldn’t get away with it. Dirk was drawing her into a new dimension. Was she already circling the drain?

  When Barth swung open the door, he mistook her anxiety for concern about Lili.

  “The ride to the airport was fine. They’re all excited about the marriage and the move. Don’t worry,” Barth said, embracing her.

  She felt dirty and deceitful. And she had the bruised buttocks to prove it. If Barth ever glimpsed her ass…

  “You smell weird,” Barth said, sniffing her neck and jarring her back to the here and now. “I can’t quite put my finger, or should I say nose, on it,” he wondered aloud.

  She thought of Dirk’s finger and where it had been. “My pores are exuding alcohol. Remember, I overdid it. Sonya and I went on a drinking rampage. What do you expect?” Sophia said.

  “You two didn’t hook up with any attractive men for the night?”

  “Barth. Sonya and I had a besotted girls’ night on the town. That’s all. Think of the age differential. Sonya’s twenty-five years younger,” she protested.

  “Could have been a father-and-son team,” he said. “Or, maybe you’re a cougar, trolling for younger men. Anything goes in South Beach.”

  “I already have a younger man. You, Barth,” she snapped.

  “One year doesn’t count,” he said. “Still, you don’t seem like yourself.”

  “I’m hungover. What do you expect? I’m grubby and in the same clothes,” she said.

  “You know it’s eleven now. Remember Keith’s nutty note? He expects me at his Starbucks at twelve. I’m certainly not going. But I’m wondering about repercussions. That little mad dog is relentless. I’m sure he’ll seek some sort of revenge,” Barth said.r />
  She was relieved that Barth had Keith to obsess about. It took the heat off of her. “I can’t anticipate his next move. I think you’re right. There’ll be a next move. I’m also concerned about Amanda. It seems like they shared a folie à deux, as we say in the biz. A shared madness kept them on an even keel. Amanda’s carapace of denial and obsessive-compulsive control cracked, the rabidness spewing out like so much poisoned groundwater gushing out of a breached pipe.

  “Let me change and check my calls. If Amanda hasn’t reached out and left me a message, I’ll call her and invite myself over. She needs to go into rehab now,” Sophia said.

  “She’s not going to go for that, is she?” Barth asked.

  “She might not have much of a choice,” she replied, climbing the stairs and wincing at every step.

  “I’ll make some coffee,” Barth called after her.

  “Great idea.”

  When Sophia reached the bedroom, she closed the door and then sat on the bed carefully, exhausted by the interchange with Barth. She wanted some alone time to reflect, meditate, and rest.

  She sneered to herself at the thought of Barth’s chicanery. His sexual misstep with Keith had led to all this crap.

  Here she had been thinking that she and Barth were gamboling and cavorting on verdant fields like two carefree devoted pups, only to discover she was mired in the stinking muck of deceit and treachery.

  The bedroom was suffused with the acrid smell of burnt garlic. Sophia started to wonder what Barth was cooking before the altered air, clammy and still, shut down her present and transported her to Chelmno.

  It was an odd assembly: attenuated inmates clothed in threadbare stripes, marked as cattle waiting for the abattoir, and their beer-and-bratwurst-fed overseers in snappy Nazi uniforms. They were all focused on her raven-haired, red-clad, voluptuous mother, who was singing her heart out to the musical accompaniment of her robust lover, decked out in his custom-made white uniform. A scraggly band of hollow-eyed weaklings, bent backed and spindly, were creating miraculous, beautiful music to support the diva. She was a splash of color, red blood pumping among the bloodless.