Saving Her

by B E Brouillard

  She shot an angry glance in his direction as he continued to stand there. Arrogant jerk. Everything about him oozed confidence. As if he knew he had her attention. Like he could snap his fingers and she’d jump.

  As if reading her mind, he did exactly that.

  Snap.

  The sharp clicking sound as he flicked thumb and finger together almost gave her a heart attack. To her credit, she didn’t actually jump. But her start of alarm was pretty damn close. She clenched her fingers into small fists, determined not to look at him as she scurried past.

  A deep chuckle filled the silence between them. The sound echoed through the empty hallways of the deserted building. And he was laughing at her.

  ‘Shit. Bastard. Jerk. Asshole!’ she muttered to herself silently. ‘Careful, Des, if you say that out loud, he’ll think you have Tourettes.’

  The chuckle morphed into laughter. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to run blindly, pure embarrassment coloring her face.

  And crashed into a wall…a wall of hard, muscled man. He was right in front of her. She clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her shriek.

  How the hell did he get there so fast?

  She literally bounced off his chest, stumbling back a step, staggered back a few more until she felt herself pressed against a door. He advanced on her, eyes never leaving hers as she cowered like a startled rabbit blinded by bright lights, frozen.

  “Don’t be afraid, Desireé…” he murmured, and she squeaked.

  How did he know her name? She’d never told him her name.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here? I’m going to call security!” she snapped.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he continued, eyes still boring into hers; he raised a hand and stroked the back of his knuckles down her cheek. She shuddered, swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath but still feeling herself panting.

  “Bud! Mr. Brixton!” she called out. Her voice rang through the empty hall, unanswered. She was more convinced than ever that the place was empty.

  ‘It must be a holiday! Why would I have come to work on a holiday?’ Her mind spun. The events of the morning were beginning to feel hazy to her. How had she arrived here? She couldn’t remember driving. There’d been the shower…the heart on the mirror…coffee. She was sure she’d had a cup of coffee, hadn’t she? Dressed for work…

  She glanced down and blinked – this was not her usual conservative attire. Her navy skirt was skintight and barely met her knees, stiletto heels had her teetering in front of him, and her chest heaved beneath a white cotton shirt that felt at least a size too small. An edge of black lace bra was visible where her top buttons were undone too far down.

  “What on earth?” she muttered. She felt like she’d dressed up as someone’s idea of a secretarial wet dream.

  ‘That must be it,’ her mind raced. ‘This is a dream. Maybe I’m dreaming!’

  “Do you like what you see?” His lips quirked up in a taunting smile. “I know I do…” He traced his fingers over her lips, and she licked his fingertips without thinking, then gasped at what she’d just done. He didn’t taste like anything from a dream. His smile broadened.

  “So lovely…like a doll. A perfect, porcelain doll,” his words were a whisper that fluttered over her like a breath. “I’m almost afraid I’d break you if I touched you.” His fingers were so gentle as they traced the line of her jaw she almost believed he meant it. “Do you think you would break? If I touched you? Desireé?”

  Oh, God, was she really doing this? It had to be a dream! But why did it feel so real?

  She swallowed, the convulsive movement shuddering under the smooth skin of her throat. He ran his hands down there, clasped around the slender column of her neck. He moved a step closer, mere inches separating their bodies now; she could feel heat radiating from him in waves.

  She broke the contact, spun, turned her back on him, and strode into her office with more confidence than she truly felt. Her arms were clutched around a bundle of files she kept pressed against her chest like armor.

  “Don’t you want me, Desireé? I know you wanted me the other night…at the club… You were burning for me…” His words were mocking, and she hated him because she did. Did want him. Craved him. Her chest heaved, and she ducked her head toward the files, squeezing her eyes shut.

  “Just go,” she pleaded. “Leave me alone. I don’t know why you’re here, what you want.”

  “Oh, but I want you, Desireé.” He kept saying her name as if he relished the feeling of it on his tongue. “And I’m here because you want me too. You called to me.” She shuddered, confusion swirling. Shuddered again when she sensed he was right behind her. His breath on her neck. How had he moved so fast?

  “Go away,” she groaned, but it seemed pointless because he was pressing against her now. The sound of the door slamming shut behind them was strangely loud because she knew it should slip closed with a crisp, metallic click.

  “But don’t you want me…Desirée?” he repeated, his lips against her ear now. “Say it…you know you want to say it.” Dammit, he was toying with her.

  Fuck!

  Even thinking the word made her cheeks heat. ‘Oh, my God, what am I doing?’ her mind reeled.

  ‘You’re thinking about fucking me,’ a voice answered in her head.

  ‘Jesus! He knows what I’m thinking!’ she thought, almost feverishly, then silently chastised herself for taking the Lord’s name in vain at such an unholy moment. ‘I work in a freaking convent, for heaven’s sake!’ The whole picture was wrong, come to think of it. ‘Jesus,’ she thought again, more of a prayer this time.

  “Not Jesus, babydoll,” he chuckled, his hand sliding up her back, pressing her forward. She dropped the files she’d been holding; papers scattered everywhere. The broad expanse of her desk stretched ahead of her, and he nudged her forward until her hips met the edge of it. “But I do know what you’re thinking.”

  His palm was so hot through the fabric of her blouse she could feel it burning as he spread his fingers over her spine. The sensation was so distracting that she barely noticed him pushing her chest down. One hand had run down her bicep and fastened around her wrist, steadying her, restraining her. She was bent, facedown, over the surface of her desk, one arm angled behind her back as he pressed up behind her, his hips against her ass. She heaved in a breath, the action lifting her torso as her breasts rose and fell.

  “Hmmm… that’s good,” he whispered as he slid a hand down her ribs to her hip, fingers roughly prodding into her hipbone as he angled her higher. She could feel the heat of his cock through his pants, pressing against the soft flesh of her ass as he prodded against her. “So good…good girl,” he murmured again, the gentleness of his voice a stark contrast to the sensation of his denim-coated thighs pushing between her legs. He released her wrist and slid both his hands over her hips, reaching for the fabric of her skirt, bunching it as he hiked it up her thighs and hitched it over her waist.

  “Oh, you’re so so bad,” he chuckled, running a hand over the curve of her exposed ass. Her cheeks flamed as he ran a fingertip along the taut elasticated band of her suspender belt.

  Suspender belt? When had she put on a suspender belt?

  “Old school, darlin’? Fuck, I love that!” She couldn’t know it was how he’d learned to love the women he’d grown up with, the pinup models he’d lined his walls with. He drew in a breath and ran that fingertip under one of the slender ribbons, snapping it against her skin. She gasped. Squirmed.

  “Like that, babydoll?” he taunted, not waiting for an answer he knew she wouldn’t give. He ran a hand down between her ass cheeks, cupped it between her thighs and felt her heat through the fabric of her panties. “Oh, my God, I know you’re going to be so wet down there. I can feel it already on my fingers.” He withdrew his hand and raised it to his face, inhaling deeply. She cringed with embarrassment but couldn’t help the small squirm her body gave in response.

  A booted foot
nudged between her legs, not painfully, but harshly enough that she could feel the rough graze of leather against the fragile skin of her ankles.

  “Open.”

  She spread her legs without thinking, sliding her feet apart and splaying her thighs without questioning the instruction. He was nestled between her legs now, the crude fabric of his jeans grating against her silken skin. It was wrong, but it just felt so right. When he slipped her panties aside and slid his fingers along her slit, she didn’t try to muffle her moan.

  “Oh yes…so wet…” He was crooning to her, soothing her as he slipped his fingers into her slickness. “Fuck… What it will be like to be inside you…” He pressed up against her ass while his fingers plundered her pussy, and she whimpered. Mewled.

  “I’m going to fuck you, babydoll, right here on your desk. Would you like that?” he asked, still taunting. She was speechless. And then jolted almost upright as a sharp slap shocked through the soft flesh of her ass cheek. Another on the other side.

  “Would you like that?” he repeated, his hand stroking a soothing circle over the warm, stinging skin of where his palm had just met her ass.

  ‘It’s a dream, it’s just a dream, it’s a dream,’ she told herself over and over. ‘I’m not really doing this, it’s all in my mind!’ She felt his palm lift again and realized he was waiting for an answer, would probably deliver another slap if she didn’t give one.

  “Mmmhmm,” she assented, barely capable of creating words, pressing her flaming cheek against the cool wood of her desk. He rumbled in satisfaction, slipping his fingers back under her panties and sliding back into her wetness.

  “Jesus, you’re dripping.” His voice was hoarse. His fingers twisted coarsely into the fabric of her panties and yanked at the garment, the fabric biting into her skin as he ripped it and tore through the elasticized band over one hip, rolling it down her thigh. She could literally feel her juices trickle and stream down her inner thighs as he exposed her naked sex. Without thinking, she moaned, tilting her hips up, back arching as he prodded a thick finger into her gaping channel. Her skin shivered into a rippled of gooseflesh as she heard the metallic clatter of his zipper. Prodding denim was replaced by smooth skin as he freed his cock and nudged the tip against her slit.

  “Oh, God, yes!” she gasped, instinctively pressing towards his heat. His hand on her hip steadied her.

  “Hold on, babydoll,” he warned, “this ain’t gonna be a gentle ride.” She barely had time to close her fists over the rim of the desk before he’d thrust himself into her.

  “Unnh!” she gasped as he slammed in to the hilt, hearing him hiss as he drove forward. Her hips hit the hard surface, but she didn’t care, spreading her thighs wider and tilting higher as she sucked him in. Before she had time to adjust, he’d slid out and back in again with the same brutal force. The thrust brought tears to her eyes, but she could feel fresh juices pooling in response, feel her body clenching around him. His fingers tightened around her hips, lifting her higher as he angled down into her. She raised onto her toes, nails sinking into the oak of the desk as he set up a shattering rhythm that plundered her depths. Hitting spots in her body that she’d never known existed.

  “Fuck!” he grunted. “Like oiled velvet! You’re killin’ me, darlin’.” He plunged harder; his fingers would leave bruises. She was sure if she could see inside herself, there’d be bruises there too. She didn’t care.

  She arched. Strained towards him, a hand reaching back to clutch at him, raking at his ass and meeting jean-coated butt, feeling how his ass muscles bunched and flexed there with each thrust. How could she be so exposed while he remained so covered? All it took for him to take her was a snick of a zipper and the release of a shaft of flesh that had her writhing beneath him. The metallic teeth of his zipper grazed lightly over her burning skin as he ground against her. The air crackled around her, and for a moment, she felt as if she was enveloped in a red haze…glittering. She lifted her chin, looked up, and stared at her own reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. Her reflection and his as he pounded against her. He lifted his face, and their eyes met. Her blue gaze met eyes of pure crimson. Glowing. Her mind spun out of control. Those eyes…

  But more.

  ‘I don’t have a mirror on that wall!’ Her brain wanted to explode.

  Her body did too. She dropped her head and let her forehead rest on the desk again. It was just too much to think about.

  He’d reached a hand around her hip, down over her mound, and found the bundle of nerve-endings that poked out between her pussy lips. Even the desk beneath her was slick with her desire now. He pinched that little bundle. Rubbed a lazy circle over the nub, and she moaned, pushing back at him, meeting his thrusts. Feeling the pressure building. Feeling the waves unfurling. Feeling the moment almost there…almost…almost—

  And he pulled out. Withdrew. Slid out of her.

  He. Pulled. Out.

  Without thinking, Desireé wailed, reaching back to find him, bring him back.

  “No! Please!”

  “Please what?” he asked her.

  “Please…don’t stop…”

  “Don’t stop? Don’t stop what?”

  She could literally feel his mocking gaze trailing over her exposed flesh. His fingers stroked along the gaping chasm of her desire, dipped in, re-emerged dripping with her juices. He raised his fingers to his mouth, sucking at them wetly. She felt him shudder in response, knew he wanted to plunge back in.

  ‘Why is he doing this?’

  “If you can’t tell me what you want, how can I give you what you need?” he asked. She shook her head from side to side, incapable of voicing what she yearned for.

  “Always leave them wanting more,” he chuckled, and she heard the sound of his zipper sliding shut. His words tapered into the air around her, and then there was silence. She slid her hands up the smooth surface of the desk and raised herself, turning to look back over her shoulder. He was gone. How could he be gone? She dropped her face to her office, expecting to feel the cool surface against her cheek.

  Only it wasn’t cool. It was warm. Soft… She wasn’t sprawled over her desk. She was curled on the couch in her living room, her face pressed into a cushion. From the adjoining bedroom, Jules snored and gave a grunt.

  Her instincts had been right. She’d just dreamed the whole thing.

  But she couldn’t remember when last something in her waking world had felt so real.

  ◆◆◆

  “What the fuck were you doing?” Alaric snapped at the arrogant bastard lounging in front of him. The asshole had the good grace to look sheepish but didn’t stop the studied swing of his booted foot.

  “Not taking no chances, man,” he drawled. He was tracing a badge stitched to the front of his leather half-jacket, and it occurred to Alaric that he hadn’t seen the man in his full biker kit for a while. When he’d first arrived as a newly-dead soul, he’d projected his tough-guy persona like a shield. It seemed to be back. “Chances get you in trouble,” he continued.

  “Chances?” Alaric was incredulous. “Chances of what?”

  “Busting my load in that sweet piece,” he answered. “Jesus, she was so good…” He licked his lips at the thought of it, and Alaric wanted to punch his stupid face.

  “Yes? So, what of it? We do this. We go down there and pleasure them, pleasure ourselves. Why would you do that to her? Shame her?”

  Axel grew serious. “You saw what happened with the fucking Spartan, bro,” the younger man replied. “He got his bitch knocked up, and then he left.”

  “Well, yes, of course!” Alaric rolled his eyes. “He attained atonement. It’s why we’re here. To make amends for our fucked up lives!” What the hell was wrong with the kid??

  “Yeah, I get it,” Axel conceded. “But what if…” He stalled.

  “What if what?” Alaric ground out. After eons of watching the souls of damned men try to amend the damage they’d inflicted in life, he’d grown impatient with stupid
ity.

  “What if she’s not ‘the one’?”

  “What?” Alaric was confused.

  “What if I get her knocked up, and she’s not ‘the one’ and I have to go back and stay with her till we get old and die?”

  For a few moments, Alaric was dumbfounded. He had no words.

  “Wait a minute…are you asking me if you should be playing the field until you find the right woman?” The calm of his voice masked his incredulity.

  “Well…” The kid shrugged, but he was clearly uncomfortable.

  “Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me?” Alaric roared. Despite his size, Axel withdrew from the older man’s rage. Was wise enough to stay silent.

  “We are here for one thing. One. Fucking. Thing!” Alaric continued to rage. “We screwed up down there. Big time. Now we go back. And we make things right. Make. Them. Right!” He enunciated each word as if it would help drive sense into the fucking moron’s brain.

  ‘I’d have more luck if I had a pile-driver to get the words in,’ he thought furiously.

  “You don’t get to go down there and play the field, motherfucker,” he continued. “You will be called. You will be called by a pure, precious soul. You will be given a chance. And when you get that chance, you don’t fuck it up! Has Lilith taught you nothing in all of these years??” He ground to a halt, glancing around himself quickly, as if waiting for the woman to shoot a bolt of lightning through his black heart for doubting her abilities.

  “Alright, alright, I geddit!” Axel responded in tones that were as conciliatory as he was capable of. “I’m sorry…I’m just…afraid, ya know?”

  “More afraid than dying in a dark alley riddled with bullets?” Alaric snapped. “Anyhow, I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.” His mouth was set in a grim line that told the younger man the conversation was about to be over.

  “You’re right. I’ve been a complete fucker,” Axel acknowledged. “I just…It’s just that I see her doing things…see the way men treat her. She’s like my mother all over. Letting them use her like a doormat, then drinking herself into oblivion rather than standing up and fighting for herself. Why doesn’t she fight?”