Twisting her long tresses twice around one hand, I slide the other between the hood and her flat stomach and down between her legs. She turns her face to the side and rests her cheeks on the cold surface of the metal, watching me with quiet submission. I gently pull her hair and pinch her clit. She rewards me with a loud moan, her pretty, baby-blue eyes going out of focus. I give her more, more of the pain and more of the pleasure, making her moan a bit harder with each stroke until she shows me her threshold with a scream that tears through the air.
The bush around us goes quiet. The birds and crickets quit their songs. The hippo disappears under the water, and the sun sinks below the horizon. Sins and wicked deeds happen in the dark. In the shadows that give way to night, I steal what’s left of her resistance, taking her pleasure like a thief and owning it like it’s my right. She comes around me in a dazzling display of tightening muscles. I come the hardest in my life, not going slowly or being gentle. I’m beyond control. She falls apart, and I make good on my silent promise. I consume her.
The spasms that wrack me are so violent they’re painful. I ride it out, pumping to the crazed need until the pleasure fizzles out and all that’s left is the wild beat of my heart. Falling forward, I wrap my arms around her. Our cheeks are pressed together, our erratic breaths mixing. I inhale the air she exhales and give her mine.
Worried that I’ll crush her, I lift my weight. I want to stay inside her, but the temperature drops quickly after sunset, and she has goosebumps on her arms. In a pathetic attempt to avoid the inevitable, I rub her arms to warm her, and when she strains to get up, I finally straighten and pull out.
She stills. Frozen with her upper body midway in the air, she gives me a wide-eyed look from over her shoulder. That look on her spurs my fear. I’d been rough. Did I hurt her? Tear her? I slide a palm up her inner thigh and stop dead. She’s coated in wetness, too much to account for her arousal. The reason for the thumping of my heart changes from physical excitement to panic. I pull my hand away, expecting to see blood, but cum coats my palm. I look down at my softening cock. Fuck. I broke the rubber.
She twists around between my legs and stares at the damage. Her lips part with a frightened gasp. “Ian.”
“It’s nothing,” I say in an even tone, keeping my voice reassuring as I discard the condom and grab a handful of napkins from the basket.
“Ian,” she says again, her eyes large in the twilight.
I use a napkin to wipe up the spillage between her legs. “I’m clean.”
She stares at me. That’s not what bothers her. The fact that it doesn’t bother me is more than a little disconcerting. The realization jars me. I pull away from her to clean myself.
At long last, she pushes out the words hanging between us. “I’m not on birth control.”
All I can give her for now as I zip myself up, is, “It’ll be all right.”
“You don’t know that,” she says in a shocked whisper.
Irrationally, a part of me is angry with her for caring. I don’t want to think about the reason for that. Anyway, we’re not done yet. Gripping her jaw, I find another perfect place for purchase as I kiss her. Her lips are tight and unyielding at first, but I’m patient. I explore with my tongue and nip with my teeth, enjoying the curve and contours of her mouth as if discovering its shape for the first time. After a while, she melts against me and parts her lips to give me access. I steal inside and take what I want while I work hard on making her forget, but when I finally let her breathe, she says, “You have to get me the morning-after pill.”
Fury rages inside me as I think about screwing with her hormones like that. It’s twisted and fucked-up, but the idea of a child in her belly—my child—doesn’t scare me half as much as fucking with her natural cycles.
“Ian,” she says, threading her fingers through my hair and making me meet her gaze.
Her eyes are imploring.
I kiss the corner of her mouth. My promise is half-hearted, undecided. “Of course.”
It soothes her though. She relaxes in my grip, and I hug her to me.
Night falls fast in these parts. It’s almost pitch-black dark. I help her get back into her jeans and lift her inside the Jeep. Once I’ve wrapped her up in the blanket I keep on the backseat, I pack up the remnants of our sundowners.
The tension that coiled through my insides at my inappropriate thoughts remains as I drive back to the main road. It won’t leave me alone. The idea has been planted, and no matter how hard my conscience tries to uproot it, the darker part of me is telling my conscience to take a hike. I’ve always taken what I wanted. I’ve never asked for permission or let morals get in my way. However, Cas is a person, not a possession. I know that, but I also know I’m thirty-five years old, and for the first time in my life, I’m aware of my age.
I don’t take the road to the main building, but veer off on the dirt track and park at my bungalow. She protests when I lift her from the seat and carry her inside in my arms, but I need to do this. I need to still the beast in me that feels overprotective, especially now. It’s unlikely that she’d conceive at the first slipup, but the concept of her as a woman, a mother maybe, is not a vague image in my head. Her vulnerability and all the things that can happen to a woman in a cruel, hard world are real.
I make her take a warm shower with me and wash her hair and body. To appease her, I wash between her legs. When she smells of my shower gel on every inch of her body, I wrap her in a towel and pat her dry. I take her to bed, but I don’t fuck her again. I kiss and hold her. It settles me. Her body wrapped around mine calms me.
I tell her to stay in bed and call the kitchen to order supper, which Shona delivers promptly. We eat in bed—dips and pita bread for starters, followed by minestrone soup.
When I replace her empty bowl with a glass of wine, she says, “You’ll remember to get the pill, right?”
There’s uncertainty in her eyes, enough prompting me to make a solemn promise. “Yes.”
Her shoulders slump against the pillows, and the tense set of her mouth eases. “Thank you.”
I swallow my irrational disappointment. Taking my laptop from the safe, I put on a movie to take off some of the edge for her. It’s a spy flick with lots of action, and within no time she’s engrossed in the story. It’s cute to watch. Her eyebrows pitch together and her eyes flare at every fighting scene. While the movie takes up her concentration, I drift back to my thoughts.
There’s no place for a child in my kind of life. I can barely work around keeping a woman. I’ve never thought about it until now. No one has ever sparked these needs in me. I’m selfish enough to fantasize about the idea anyway. Maybe it’s making up for the wrongs of my childhood, to give a boy or a girl the happy life I didn’t have. Maybe it’s just Cas. She makes me want to do things I shouldn’t admit out loud. The idea of a family has always appealed to me. I like the idea of babies and fatherhood, of having a chance to be better than my old man. I just never considered doing it until now, and I should never think about it. I’m a professional thief. I live off what I steal. You can’t put what I am and good in the same sentence.
By the time the titles roll over the screen, Cas’s second glass of wine is empty, and she’s fast asleep with her head on my shoulder. I close the laptop and ease her back onto the pillows, taking care not to wake her. It’s warm enough inside, but I cover her with the blanket and take my phone to make a call outside.
The pharmacist is a local. I tell him what I need, and he agrees to deliver by sunrise. A hyena laughs somewhere, taunting my decision. A jackal agrees with a mocking cry. The landscape lies serenely in the light of the moon, the cycle of life taking place in a million different micro and macro ways. I take another moment to appreciate the night sounds before I go inside where the best sight of all awaits.
I’m a light sleeper. When the soft knock falls on the door, I’m awake. Careful not to wake Cas, I get from the bed and open the door. Wataida stands on the doorstep with a package i
n his hand.
“Ke a leboga, rra,” I say as I take it.
He nods and scurries off.
I break the seal with the pharmacy logo and tear away the brown paper bag. Inside is the pill I ordered last night. I take the leaflet from the box and read the instructions as well as the possible side effects and contraindications. When I get to the end of the leaflet, I push the pill from its foil casing and leave it in a saucer on the nightstand with Cas’s heart medication. After dumping the water in the carafe into a potted plant, I fill it with fresh water and leave it with a clean glass by the pills.
For a second, I stare at that little white pill. Picking it up, I turn it around as I imagine what the chemicals will do to Cas’s body. I glance at her sleeping form and the beautiful serenity of her angelic face. I should put the pill back in its place, but I don’t. I press my thumb and forefinger until the pill explodes under the pressure and only the powder residue is left on my fingers. Just this once, I’ll play Russian roulette. Guilt eats at me, but I brush it away like I dust the white powder off on my boxer shorts.
It’s early, but I’ve never been a late sleeper. I have a shower and get dressed. I’m tying my boots when Cas wakes.
She blinks sleep from her eyes. “Where are you going?”
I smile. I like that sleepy look on her. It looks good in my bed. “To check the solar panels.”
In a flash, she’s out of bed. “Let me come with you.”
I finish tying my laces and get up. “You should rest. It’s early.”
“I’m bored here by myself,” she says, already rushing toward the doors.
Her naked body makes me want to drag her back to bed. It takes enormous effort to keep my gaze on her face. Ah, fuck it. I ogle her pert tits and the triangle between her legs. I’m only a man. “You could read.”
Stopping, she props her hands on her hips. “I have no interest in learning how to build an airplane or how to make glue from tree gum.”
That puts a smile on my face. So, she browsed the titles. “I’ll get you some books you like.”
She taps her foot. “I can’t read all day. You didn’t really think this kidnapping thing through, did you?”
Cocky little minx. I want to kiss that sassy mouth of hers, bend her over the desk, and make the fantasies taking shape in my mind come true. I should remind her she’s in no position to make demands, but I love that attitude of hers too much. “I’ll get you whatever you want. Name it.”
“Five minutes.”
“What?”
“I’ll be ready in five,” she says before dashing through the doors.
Smiling, I inwardly shake my head at how easily she wraps me around her finger. There’s nothing I won’t do for her. I wasn’t kidding. She only has to name it.
Four minutes later, she bursts into the room, wearing the clothes in which I brought her here. There are wet patches on the T-shirt, and the darker color of the jeans tells me they’re completely wet.
I walk over and trail my hand up her thigh. “Your clothes are wet. You’ll get sick going out like this.”
She chuckles. “They’ll dry quickly on my body.”
I assume she washed them and left them in the bathroom to dry, not outside. Wise move. Otherwise the monkeys would’ve stolen them. The little rascals also like to carry off tablecloths and chair cushions. I make a mental note to do something about Cas’s clothes situation. It’s not an oversight. I’ve just been too busy to attend to the matter yet, and to be honest, I only imagined her naked in my room. Staying locked up in here doesn’t require clothes. Call it an impractical fantasy. What I do know for sure now is that locking her up isn’t an option. She’ll definitely get bored, and boredom isn’t conducive for a healthy mental state or happiness.
Grabbing my jacket, I hold it open for her. She steps into the leather obediently, letting me help her fit the sleeves. I turn her and zip up the jacket. She’s drowning in the garment, and a sudden pang of endearment pierces my heart.
“Come,” I say, making my way to the door.
She beams, moving as fast as her sore ankle allows her to keep up.
At the Jeep, I hand her the same cap and sunglasses from yesterday. I always keep a spare of each on hand. It’s only when she’s safely settled in her seat and sure I’m not going to leave her behind that her earlier elation—if the relief of not having to twiddle your thumbs can be called that—makes place for tension.
I glance at her as I start the engine.
She bites her lip as she contemplates whatever is going through that pretty head of hers, and I can only guess what that is. It has something to do with a small, white pill.
Not in the mood to get on her bad side when we’ve just started out more or less good, I rev the engine and put my foot down on the accelerator, making talking difficult over the noise.
I cross the cattle gate and park inside the fenced outcrop. The fences aren’t there to keep the people in. They’re there to keep the animals out. The minute I cut the engine, she jumps from the Jeep and goes over to the hill from where she has a view of the solar panels. The village is spread out at the foot of the slope.
“Wow,” she says, shading her face with a palm.
I take the toolbox from the back, select what I need, and stop next to her. “The panels are new.” I wave a screwdriver in the direction of the settlement. “They provide a hundred percent of the energy at the lodge and the village. We only keep the old diesel-operated generators for emergencies.”
She scans the horizon from left to right and points at the bigger buildings in the center of a cluster of neat huts with pumpkin creepers and zucchini vines in the backyards. “What are those?”
“A school and clinic.”
She looks at me quickly.
“We’re isolated, and most of the locals who live in the village don’t have cars. Even if they did, they don’t have driver’s licenses. It’s far to walk to town.”
“It’s very quaint.”
“Thank you.” I can’t help the pride in my voice. “The villagers do the upkeeping.”
“But you developed it.”
“As I said, they did most of the work.”
“What about teachers and medicine?”
“There’s a teacher in the village, and I fly supplies like medicine in from South Africa or elsewhere if needed.”
She lets her gaze travel over the fields of maize and sorghum and the cattle grazing in the distance. “They’re obviously prospering when most other people aren’t so lucky.”
I study her. “You’ve been to Zim before?”
“I visited the Falls with my parents when I was in high school. We did a little traveling, enough to know food shortage and poverty are problems on a national scale.”
“When given the resources, most people, if willing, can make a good living.”
When she looks back at me, there’s a curious light in her eyes. “It’s a huge investment.”
I shrug. “As I said, they helped me build the land back up.”
That inquisitive light in her baby-blues changes to something like hope. “That’s why you need so much money. You’re using it to rebuild a community.”
What she can never forget is that I’m not a good guy. “Don’t make me out to be some kind of Robin Hood. I steal for me, not for them.”
Her face falls. Point achieved. Hope crushed. She better get that through her head. I’m bad to my core.
I leave her to her disappointment to go check on the loose panel. By the time I’ve fixed it, her shadow falls over me.
“What else do you do with your money except for saving people and animals?” she asks.
Nice try, but the label she tries to pin on me doesn’t fit. “I’m not a savior.”
She kicks at a stone. “From where I’m standing, it pretty much looks that way.”
I straighten and stare down at her. “Then you’re either blind or standing on the wrong side.”
Her mouth tightens.
She bites her lip, which makes me want to sink my teeth into the plump bottom one. If I look at her for a second longer, I’ll forsake breakfast and fuck her right here in the field.
Turning on my heel, I head back to the Jeep. On my silent cue, she follows. I like her obedience, but I like it even more when she challenges me. I like to wrestle with her, whether it’s with words or our bodies, and I especially like that she’s no longer acting afraid of me.
Chapter 6
Cas
When we get back to Ian’s bungalow, the room is tidy and breakfast is waiting on the deck table under the cone-shaped lids.
“Why don’t the monkeys just take off the lids?” I ask Ian after we’ve washed up and he seats me at the table.
He pulls up a shoulder. “They’re scared of the cones for some reason.”
“How did you figure that out?”
“I didn’t.” He pours me a cup of coffee. “It’s a habit the locals have practiced for generations.”
“How many people are living here?”
“Only Shona and Banga live here in the bungalows, but there must be around three hundred people in the village.”
“Banga?”
“The guy you probably saw in the office. He’s my CFO, for a lack of a better word.”
In other words, Banga is the one who cooks the books. I suppose Ian is trying to make everything look as legal as possible for the sake of the community. “How often do you visit here?”
Stolen Life Page 5