The Bargaining Path

by T. Rudacille

  ***

  I heard James and Penny in her room as he put her to bed. I was in the kitchen, washing the dishes, but I could still hear bits and pieces of the story he was telling her over the clinking of the glasses and the running water. Every few minutes, I heard her hysterical giggles, and then, after I had turned the water off, I heard her clapping as James finished his tale of ninjas and princesses (or maybe it was ninja princesses).

  “Alright, it’s time to go to sleep, turnip.”

  “Can’t you tell me the story one more time? I like the part about the zombie hedgehogs the best!”

  “Tomorrow night, I promise. It’s late, and you’ve got school in the morning.”

  She sighed heavily, and I could almost picture her rolling her eyes to the heavens. I heard him mimic her, and I could picture him rolling his eyes, too.

  “Stop!” She laughed.

  “You know how Brynn always lectures you about the importance of a good night’s sleep. She’d be mad at me if I kept you up any longer, and we all know how scary Brynn is when she’s angry.”

  They both laughed conspiratorially, and I rolled my eyes, though I was certainly smiling.

  “You’re right.” She said, “She is scary, and I do need to sleep. Violet says that if she doesn’t sleep at least nine hours a night, she can’t do any work at school or in her training. But Dr. Miletus says that she’s doing the best job out of anyone!”

  “See? So she must be getting those nine hours, right? Only then does her huge brain work the way it’s supposed to. And I know that your huge brain needs just as much sleep. So we’ll hold off the sequel to the tale of ninjas versus princesses versus zombie hedgehogs until morning. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I heard him kiss her forehead, and when I peeked around the wall, I saw that as he tried to pull away, she threw her arms around his middle and held him tightly.

  “I’m so glad you’re home again, James.”

  He was quiet, and I knew that he was trying to hide how deeply those words affected him, but when he spoke, I could hear the emotion in his voice.

  “Me too, baby. Hey… How much do I love you?”

  “More than any other girl in the whole world.”

  “And would I ever trade you?”

  “Not for any other girl in the whole world.”

  “That’s right.” He kissed her forehead again, “Goodnight, baby.”

  “Goodnight, Daddy.”

  I covered my mouth, shocked that I had finally heard her call him ‘Daddy.’ He had told me that she slipped sometimes, and I knew that she slipped with me all the time and called me ‘Mama,’ but now I knew that she did the same to him. My heart beat more quickly at the thought of it, because I was so afraid of disappointing her; truly, nothing else would devastate me more than for Penny to lose her father-figure the way I had lost my actual father. Mine and James’s relationship was shaky at best, though we had been together for nearly two years. Over those two years, we had experienced so many ascents and sudden crashes; when things finally plateaued, we waited with baited breath for the next up or the next down, even after we both promised to keep things steady and even. Still, I was not going to correct Penny, because in her heart, I could sense the comfort he brought her and the eternal love she had for him. We were her parents, and because we were her parents, we were her entire world. As I moved back to the sink to finish the dishes, I felt the tightness in the back of my throat that signaled incoming tears, which I quickly wiped away. I loved them both so much, and I did not want anything to change.

  He was behind me, expertly kneading his thumbs into my back until he found the tense spots. It was so strange—in fact, it was almost unreal—how good his hands felt on me always. I loved when he came up behind me, and massaged my shoulders, or rubbed my back, or put his arm around me. I have described the warm feeling that took hold of me whenever he touched me, but I cannot truly describe to you how good it felt. Several times, I had tried to analyze that feeling, though I was always afraid that doing so would take away its magic. But the conclusion I had drawn was that I had spent so long fearing the touch of a man that his touch—his gentle, loving touches—were my assurance of safety, that he loved me and would not hurt me, that no one would ever hurt me again. It was my assurance that Michael was the worst of his kind, but I did not have to fear him anymore.

  “Good Lord, woman, you need a chiropractor.” He told me, and I laughed softly. The laugh dissolved into a slow release of air as my head lolled forward and then to the side. “That helping?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I murmured, my eyes closed.

  He kissed the back of my head and continued to massage me.

  “Good.”

  The tension was being released slowly, and every part of me felt less fragile, more flexible. My shoulders could relax or they could move freely, whichever they chose. My neck was no longer stiff and could move by its own will once again. His fingers sought out the spots where I was in the most pain and cured me effortlessly.

  “You’re all I think about sometimes.” I said randomly.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yes. Sometimes, you don’t realize you are doing it, but you just make me want you so badly. Sometimes, we will be out, or you will be working, or you will come sauntering through the door, and I just want to…”

  “What, baby?”

  “I just want to rip your clothes off and throw you down right there, wherever we are.”

  “You can rip my clothes off of me any time you want, Brynna.” He said, and I could hear that he was slightly breathless. “You can have anything you want from me whenever you want it. I always want you. There isn’t a moment in the day when I don’t want you.”

  “I don’t even know why I’m saying this.” I told him, and truly, I didn’t know. All I knew was that I sometimes suffered from the most agonizing lust for him, and I had never experienced such truly painful sexual longing for another human being in all of my years. Of course, I had never been with a man, only a woman, but even with Rachel, whom I did love, I never felt that violent lust. I wanted her; I liked having sex with her. But I had been so disconnected, so dysfunctional at the time. I had tried to hide from my own sexual urges, from my love for her. I was afraid of her, because she was a threat to my safe, solitary existence. James had been a similar threat, and in fact, he was worse, because he was a man, and an older man at that, but I was a little older when we had met, and I had been slowly regaining my function, slowly re-connecting my heart.

  “I just thought about it today, when we were standing around, waiting to go in to see Paul. I just see you, and I suddenly feel so thankful that I have you, because I do not have to pretend with some younger guy, or torture myself waiting for a younger guy to turn into you. I never wanted a boyfriend when I was younger because I could not summon even the slightest bit of sexual interest in a young man. Still today, I see the young boys that Violet and Alice positively drool over, and I feel nothing, James. But for you, it is violent.”

  He pulled me slightly so my back was rested against his front, and his hand came around in front of me, ran up my chest, and cupped under my chin. Gently, he pulled my head back and up so he could kiss my neck, lightly at first, but then, a little deeper each time. He pulled my shirt down so his lips could move from my neck down my shoulder.

  “You are so freakishly good-looking all the time, and I love you so much, James, so much it scares me. I want you so badly sometimes that it’s an uncontrollable rage. I want you so badly sometimes that it hurts me.”

  With his hand that was not holding my head up, he rubbed over the front of my pants. Just as my hips began to push me further into his hand, so I could feel his touch better, he slid his hand beneath the waistline of my sweatpants, and began to rub me over my underwear. As his hand moved so perfectly, my head tilted back further. His lips came to my ear.

  “You will have…” He kissed me just underneath of my ear, “…anything you want from me…” He licked my ea
rlobe, “…whenever you want it… always.” His hand came away from my chin and slid down my chest into my tank top, and a shudder passed through me as he grasped my breast in one hand firmly and squeezed. The other hand stopped rubbing me to push my sweatpants down my legs. My hand raised and wrapped backwards around his neck. My underwear were on the floor, and one of his fingers was inside of me. A slow breath escaped me, and I wanted desperately for him to dispense with the foreplay and get on with it, because I was experiencing that absolutely painful feeling between my legs I had described to him.

  “Oh, you’re all ready for me, aren’t you?” He asked, and I nodded.

  “Just do it, James.”

  “Should I? I seem to remember you playing a very nasty trick on me, when we were in the ring at the training facility.” He said, and he slid a second finger inside of me, and one of my moan-sighs escaped me. In response to that sound he loved so much, he released a deep breath. “You’re making it hard for me, but I don’t think I’m going to let this be that easy for you.”

  “Oh, James…” I sighed, as my back pressed further into him. “You can’t… hold me responsible… for what I did when we were broken u—” My words dissolved into a moan when his other hand squeezed my breast even harder than before. He pulled his fingers from inside of me, and because I felt so full, so in need of orgasmic release, my hand came forward to finish what he had started.

  “Nope,” He said, and he grasped the wrist of the hand I had tried to use. Out of reflex, my other hand flew down, but he grabbed that one, too, and pulled both behind my back. “You know how much I love to watch you, but like I said, you’re not getting off that easy.”

  I wanted to say that he had made a pun, but my astute attention to all things linguistic was somehow lacking in that moment, though I could not imagine why…

  “James, stop teasing me, and just do it.” I ordered firmly, and he laughed softly. He was only planting light, peck-like kisses on my neck now, and I struggled against the grip he had on my hands.

  “I don’t think so.” He said, “Do you have any idea what that was like for me? What you did?”

  “I don’t care, James, just do it! You deserved what I did to you!”

  “Maybe I did. But I had been missing you for months, thinking about you every night, turning down other women who said they’d help me forget you, and then you came at me like that, and I have never wanted anything in my life more than I wanted to have you right then.”

  “I hate you so much right now…” I said, and my legs were pressing together tightly, and my hips were pushing outwards; I was literally squirming, and still, he would not touch me. In that moment, I was so beyond irritation, so beyond anger. I did not actually hate him, but I wanted to turn around and slap him for what he was doing to me. I wanted to storm away and handle my screaming sexual desires myself, even though I wanted him so badly.

  “Do you?” He asked, “So, I should stop?”

  Just as I began to struggle against his grip again, I heard him unzip his pants.

  “No…” I moaned, “Please, James… It’s…”

  “I know, baby. I know.” He said, “I can feel how badly you want me.”

  “You better not let go of my hands, because I am going to slap you so hard that you are going to be knocked into tomorrow, James Maxwell.” I hissed at him.

  He laughed hard at that and released my hands. Because I knew he had only released me to see if I would stay true to my word, and because I meant it when I said it, I spun around and swung my open hand to hit him. He caught my wrist, pulled me away from the sink, and pressed my back to the wall beside the kitchen table. I swung my other hand to hit him, and he grabbed that wrist, too. Both of my wrists were held over my head, and when I went to knee him between the legs, he dodged and then dropped his weight onto me to keep me firmly pressed to the wall..

  “You son of a bitch…” I spat at him, because now, I was writhing, breathing heavily, my heart pounding so heavily; I needed to come, the dense, heavy longing between my legs was so intense. His mouth came forward and claimed mine, and I kissed him fiercely, violently, attacking his tongue with my own, murmuring, “You son of a bitch,” “I hate you,” “I love you,” “I hate you,” whenever my mouth was free long enough and my mind was able to articulate the thoughts in my head.

  “Should I stop? Do you want me to stop?” He asked.

  “No.” I whispered.

  “I can’t hear you, baby.”

  “No!” I snapped at him, and he pressed his erection to me.

  “Do you feel that?” He asked, and he sucked my neck hard. I nodded. “That’s what you do to me. You don’t even have to touch me. All I have to do is watch you, and touch you, and hear you moaning, and I’m there. You are so perfect, but you’re also not, and God, it turns me on, Brynna.”

  He was unbuttoning the front of my shirt, and his lips were kissing my bare skin beneath it. All the way down to my lower stomach, he kissed me, and then, when I expected to feel his tongue moving between my legs, he came up, pushing my shirt off and shedding his own. As my hand reached out to run down his chest, his mouth came down to take one of my breasts inside, and his tongue was flicking rapidly around and over my nipples. When he sucked one hard, I actually whimpered, knowing that I was seconds away, if he would just touch me, or let me touch myself…

  But instead, he rose, pushed his jeans and boxers down, and slowly spread my legs. His lips were pressed to mine, and I was expecting to feel his fingers inside of me again, but a soft exclamation of surprise left my lips when he slowly pushed all of himself into me. That soft exclamation turned to a long, deep moan, and then, he could not restrain himself any longer. I was up, my back sliding up the wall, my body supported in both of his hands. I wrapped my legs around his strong torso, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. Never before had he ridden me so hard, and never before had I felt such savage vibrations throughout my entire body. From my middle, those radiations shot up and down, leaving me biting my lip to suppress absolute screams of something far beyond ecstasy, far beyond total and complete fulfillment. Never before had he been able to slide in and out of me so fast, or so fluidly. In a blink, my back was on our kitchen table, my legs were on his shoulders, and he was moving even more quickly, pushing even harder. My back arched, moving by my body’s desperate need to come; instinctually, I had adjusted so he could hit my spot perfectly. I counted down from five thrusts, knowing that on the last, I would release. I covered my mouth, but he pulled my hand away, and it finally happened; finally, I was coming, crying out his name, my entire body warm and full and throbbing with the power of that orgasm. But he was nowhere near done; his stamina seemingly knew no bounds, and I knew that I could not do it again… I couldn’t possibly come again…

  But I did. It was minutes later, but I came again, this time unable to suppress a louder moan. It was this louder moan that supplied the final push for James. He made a grunting noise and after a moment, collapsed onto me. My hands came up, ran down the back of his hair, and back up again. My arms tightened around him as he breathed heavily against me, moaning softly.

  “You’re going to kill me, woman. I swear to God.”

  “Don’t say that, loser!” I whacked him hard in the back of the head, and he laughed. “I didn’t even know that was possible. Two in a row…”

  “Have you not realized that I am Zeus?”

  “You’re a rape-bird? Get off of me.”

  He laughed raucously, and I found myself laughing just as hysterically. He kissed me deeply, and then, he moved down to kiss my chest.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “Did it sound like you were hurting me?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Exactly. That was…” I stopped, unable to find the right word.

  “See? I must be like Zeus if I could render Brynna Olivier speechless.”

  “Do not develop a God complex just because you can provoke me to make strange sounds whil
e we are having amazing sex, James Maxwell.’

  His lips broke away, ceasing their kisses down my stomach, and his head jerked up so he was looking at me. He began to speak with the eloquence and gusto of an actor performing Shakespeare, and I rolled my eyes, trying and failing to fight a smile of genuine amusement.

  “Then what of it, madam? What other words, all useless, can I use to describe such splendor? What other words, all inaccurate, all ineffective, can describe such an occurrence so rare, so strange?”

  “You are always so proud of yourself when you come up with the sentences intended to mock me.”

  “Damn straight. Now, come, you most perfect creation. I know that it is time for your daily bath in the royal tub, and after the tumultuous day you have had, you fierce, violent crusader of all that is righteous and just, you deserve for me to wait on you hand and foot, and so I shall.” He lifted me into his arms and carried me off to the bathroom as I laughed hysterically.

  “Sir James Maxwell, I love you tremendously. Do you know that?” I asked, as he laid me down on our bed.

  “I do know, for the minstrels sing of our love. And I love you passionately. Utterly, completely, passionately. And may you never forget it.”

  “I surely will not.”