by Drew Jordan
“Sure.” He wasn’t listening that closely to me. He was already stripping my pants down and starting to tease between my thighs with his fingers. Then he stopped. “Let me get you warm clothes.”
I rolled onto my side as he moved away from the bed, so I could watch him. I should feel afraid of him. He was strong and volatile and hiding from the world. He had tied me up. Strung me up. Locked me out. But I wasn’t anymore. It was like surviving a day in the shed had shown me that I was made of sterner stuff than I’d ever given myself credit for before. Than anyone had given me credit for.
The babydoll could be dropped and she wouldn’t break.
It made me smile, even as my body felt pummeled, bruised and tired, cold and weary.
He turned and caught me. “Why are you smiling? Are you going to kill me with the chainsaw after I show you how to use it?”
That was for me to know and him to find out. “Don’t be silly. I don’t like the sight of blood, you know that.”
“I like the sight of you. In my bed.” He stood there, clothes in hand, watching me. “Forever.”
“I’m clearly not going anywhere.” I held out my hand. “Come and teach me a lesson about my place.”
I was being too flippant. I couldn’t help it. I felt a certain sense of giddiness. I wasn’t going to die today. And the stranger cared about me.
His eyes narrowed. “I would have thought you would be cowed by being out in the bush all day. Or in the shed, anyway. You don’t seem like you learned a goddamn thing.”
But he liked me more for it. I could see it in his blue eyes. My sassiness was arousing him. Unleashing the beast. He tossed the clothes down on the foot of the bed and peeled off his own shirt.
“Are we taking a nap?” I asked.
“Naps are for babies. We’re going to fuck.”
Without warning, he reached out and grabbed me by the hair. I winced at the sudden sharp pain. He rolled me onto my stomach, but when I started to rise up onto my knees for him, he shoved me back down. “Stay on your stomach.”
I twisted my head to see him, trying to gauge what he wanted to do, my body responding to him like it always did- eagerly and with instant moisture. I expected him to bind me, but he didn’t. He just leaned in next to my ear and said, “Don’t move. Save your energy.”
That alarmed me. I started to rise instinctively. Save my energy for what? But he pushed me down again, harder. I went still.
Then he hauled my ass up and lowered his head. His tongue teased around the sensitive flesh between my cheeks and I jerked, shocked. I didn’t expect that. It didn’t seem like a dominant move. Then again, he was no trained Dom. He was just a man who took whatever he wanted. I gave a cry as he delved deeper, feeling way too exposed, too awkward. It wasn’t a comfortable position, the angle of my head cutting off some of my air, back arching too tautly. Besides, I’d never been one for this type of play. Not sober anyway.
Then I thought about how good it actually felt when I stopped being self-conscious, how boneless and liquid the position had me, and how truly sensual it was to be exploring sex without alcohol. I could never go back to drunken hook-ups, half-numb bumblings in the dark. I could never go back.
The thought had me giving in, offering myself up fully to him, moaning my approval. He stroked in my damp sex, the rhythm of his fingers matching his tongue and I tensed up all over again. Not from discomfort but from the need to hold off an orgasm. The sheer forbidden, at least to me, quality of what he did to me, always took me to the edge faster than I expected. It was like arriving too soon for a party and catching the host off guard. You never knew what to do and say. My body was flushed, the chill finally beaten off by his hot breath, his arms enveloping me, the steady pace of his plunges into me generating friction.
Without warning, he pulled away and I heard his jeans unzip and the fabric rustle as he removed them. I lay there, cheek smashed into the mattress and tried to breath, my mind empty, clear. He took me to a place I didn’t even understand, but where I wanted to stay indefinitely. A beautiful, serene, yet frantic state of existing wholly in my body, in that very moment. No past, no future. Just now. It was completely grounding, and freeing, and when he shifted me so that he could ease into my ass, I shuddered in awe at the agonizing pleasure of it.
His hand slipped underneath me and he teased my clitoris. I raised my hips to give him better access to both front and back, the easy, gentle plunge lulling me into that nothingness I craved. That place where it was only him and me and a connection so real, so raw, the world disappeared. The place where not only did he have no name, I didn’t either. I was skin, I was bone. I was blood. I was an undulating amoeba-like sexual creature, just nerve endings and breathing, overwhelmed by pleasure.
“You know the rules,” he told me, pushing a little deeper.
“Yes,” I murmured. “I know the rules.”
“Not until I say.”
“Only when you say.” I was starting to pant, inner muscles tight, the onslaught of his fingers and cock simultaneously driving me crazy. I wanted release. I needed it. But I wouldn’t ask for it. Never. He had to give it to me. It made me feel strong to hold on, to prove that I was obedient. Going to the river had raised suspicion, made him question my intentions. He was right to question them. But here, in his bed, there was no question. He was totally in charge and I would willingly submit to him. It had nothing to do with wanting to leave.
He paused and it was agony. Glorious agony. It was hell to stay still, to not push myself back onto him, but I did. When he moved again, I bit my lip hard, eyes cast back over my shoulder to have something to focus on. He slipped two fingers inside me and said, “Come now. You have sixty seconds or your chance is over.”
That was new. I’d never had a time limit before. It made me anxious, but it was for nothing. Before he was even finished speaking I was crying out from my orgasm, letting it roll over me like a fire backdraft, all flash heat and oxygen robbing. Before it was done, he was moving again. I lay there, overwhelmed, blinking, clitoris still tingling, and he went on and on. It was slow, easy, methodical. Infinite. He took me for what felt like forever, with a control that was insane.
I was used to him coming with a barely detectable grunt under his breath. He never yelled out. Maybe he thought it was too revealing. Maybe he was still just holding on to his control. Whatever it was, at times, I found it sexy, masculine. Other times I wished he would show me that he really enjoyed me. That I overwhelmed him.
He wasn’t going to give it to me. Instead, he pulled out and without a sound came on the curve of my ass, the hot fluid still giving me a sense of satisfaction even without his verbal approval. I laughed softly, amused at the oddity of sex. I could never get enough of him.
Could I leave him and give it up? What if sex was never the same? What if the intensity of my situation took it to a different level and I could never find that kind of connection again? It was possible. The thought made my stomach tighten.
But for now, I let him turn me over onto my back so he could stare down at me. He shook his head.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I smiled. “Oh, come on. You can tell me.”
His finger trailed down my jaw. “If I ever decided to fall in love, it would be with you.”
That was unexpected. Goose bumps rose on my flesh. “What’s holding you back?” I whispered.
“I’m waiting for you to fall in love with me first.”
I had been turning my head, rubbing my chin against his palm, craving his touch. But that gave me pause. It was a trap. I could only gain his love by giving mine. Which left me in the vulnerable position of wanting more first. I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that. I’d be a fool to do that. Though everything inside me shuddered with longing to feel the full depth of his affection. His love. It would be a powerful, amazing triumph. It would be a loyal and intense love. His eyes would never stray to other women or to a cell phone screen. He would be all in,
more so than most women could handle.
It was all I had ever wanted. I could handle it. I would grab and hold it and relish in it. I would fucking wrap my hands around it and squeeze it so it could never escape and we would drown in happy solitude, our relationship our mutual obsession.
First though, I’d have to hand him my heart on a plate and I couldn’t do that.
“I already do love you,” I said. It was a lie.
Yet it came off my tongue very easily.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
There was no response from him. But I had learned to read his enigmatic eyes. He was pleased. Slightly skeptical. But pleased. He pushed back off the bed and padded across the cabin naked. I would never get tired of that view. Instead of cleaning up at the sink, he pulled his clothes right on and went into his boots. He plucked his coat off the hook.
I was still sprawled out, damp and dewy, sticky at the curve of my backside. “Where are you going?”
“You’ll see.”
That alarmed me. “How long will you be gone?” Panic rose and I sat straight up.
“Relax. I’m just going in the yard. I’ve been thinking about doing something and now is the time.”
That could mean anything. So I would just wait. I wasn’t getting any better at it, but I was getting accustomed to it. When the door slammed behind him, I gingerly stood up, pulling on my sweatshirt and socks, but nothing else. The shirt fell below my butt and covered me well enough. I just didn’t want to put on pants when I felt so sore and sticky. All my muscles were tired and aching. I finished drinking the tea he had brought for me, even though it was cold now. It still tasted good.
Rummaging around, I found some banana chips and I munched on them. I was hungry. Ravenous, actually. There had to be something I could cook for myself but all I could find was canned vegetables and beans. Deciding it was better than nothing, I opened a can of corn and dumped it into a pot. As I was stirring it, he came back in, barely visible behind a giant metal something he was hauling in. When he set it down by the stove, I realized what it was. A bathtub. Oh, my God, a bathtub. The idea of soaking, and getting clean, totally squeaky clean, made me shiver in anticipation.
I hesitated to ask him what he was doing, in case I was wrong, or if my question would irritate him. I just fished out a spoonful of corn kernels to test how hot it was and ignored him. He disappeared again and returned with an armful of stones, which he put directly into the stove. Then he left again. When he returned a third time with a drum of water, rolling it through the door, I was eating corn on a cracker. Not exactly gourmet, but it filled my stomach.
When I bent over to access more crackers from the pantry, he made a sound in the back of his throat. I realized I had given him a flash of ass. I straightened and smiled at him. “Are you hungry?”
He shook his head. “You are so beautiful it hurts.”
There was no way I looked good. I was lacking in hygiene and a hairbrush. I hadn’t looked in a mirror in almost two weeks. But I could see his attraction to me and I preened a little. I couldn’t help it. I was a girl who liked pretty things and it had been hard to be without my lotions and scrubs and tweezers and perfumes. “Thank you.”
“How about a bath?” he asked. “I can put some bath salts in it for you and you can soak for awhile.”
Yes. Yes, yes, and a million times yes. “I would love that. Thank you, that’s really sweet of you.”
“You’ve had a rough day.” He turned and started to fill the tub using a hose connected to the drum.
“It wasn’t all rough. Or at least not a bad rough.” I ate another cracker. Funny that I could say that and genuinely mean it.
He shook his head slightly, scoffing a little. “You’re asking for it, you know that?”
“Yes.”
He laughed. “You like to push back, don’t you?”
Maybe I did. “I like to think of it as flirting.”
“No one ever accused me of being a flirt.” He draped the hose over the side, then went and got a bottle of bath gel. He squirted some into the tub. Then with tongs, he started retrieving the stones from the fire and dropping them into the bottom of the tub. Bubbles rose enticingly.
I could smell the lavender scent of the gel and I wandered in closer. “Why do you have a bath tub outside but not inside?” I’d never seen it before. It must have been in his other shed.
“Because in the summer I use it outside. In the winter it’s too much of a pain in the ass to fill it and it wastes water, so I didn’t bother to put it in the house.”
“Thank you for filling it for me.”
“You’re welcome. I never meant to buy a tub. It’s kind of a funny story, actually, how I got it.” He went to the cupboard and got me a bath towel. He pulled the chair up next to the tub and set it there.
I waited, but that was all he said. “So what’s the funny story?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s funnier in my head than if I tell it out loud. Get in the tub.”
Frustrated that he couldn’t even share a stupid story about a bathtub I lifted my sweatshirt off and tossed it angrily on the bed. At the edge of the tub I peeled off one sock then the other. I was using the edge of the tub to climb in but he forced me to use his hand for stability instead. Except his arm moved and holding on to him was far more unstable than a solid metal tub. For a second I thought I was going to slip when one foot hit the bottom, but he held me with an iron grip. The water wasn’t hot, but the tepid liquid still felt fantastic on my sore muscles and itchy, dirty skin. My bathing had been sponging off and nothing could compare to the sensation of sinking into the floral scented water and washing away the stink of sweat and sex.
I sank down and leaned against the back. It wasn’t a bathtub for a house in the lower 48, but more of an oversized wash bin. But it might as well have been the most glamorous tub in the world’s most luxurious spa the way it felt right then. I sighed, closing my eyes.
“Does that feel good?” he murmured.
Eyes popping open again, I saw that he had sat down in the chair. He was going to just sit there and watch me. “It feels amazing.”
“Better than sex?”
That was a trick question. “No. Nothing feels better than sex with you does.” There was truth in that, though I wouldn’t have turned down a piece of chocolate cake and a glass of red wine. But every time I thought about him, how he touched me, his firm hand coming down hard on my ass or his cock thrusting into me, I wanted him again. I wanted more. I wanted him to push me as far as I could go.
“Good. Because I’m not finished with you yet.”
I studied his face, not sure what he meant by that. Whether he meant right now, or if there was a general as yet undetermined expiration date for our sexual relationship. Arms resting on the side of the tub, I said, “Do whatever you need to do to me.”
Take the pleasure, milk it from me. Nourish us both in ecstasy. The warm honey of desire laced with pain.
He reached out and yanked my hair, pulling me away from the walls of the tub. I winced, tears forming at the assault on my roots. But I kept my hands down by sheer will power. I had to. I couldn’t risk letting my instincts take over, where I would try to block him or defend myself or shield my body from him. I had to take it, even as my weight dragged me further under the water and I wanted desperately to brace myself.
“Do you like it when I spank you?” he asked.
I nodded.
“And when I tie you up?”
I nodded.
His mood had shifted. His cock was hard beneath his jeans, just inches from my head. I had no idea what he was thinking or wanted to do, his expression telling me only that he was aroused.
Without warning he yanked my head down, submerging me completely under the water. I got a mouthful of bubbles before I tightly clamped my lips and eyes shut, holding my breath. I was about to start panicking, fighting him, when he pulled me back up.
“Your hair was dirty,” he said. As if that were
an explanation.
I was coughing a little, blinking to get the water off my eyelashes. Sucking in a lungful of air made it worse, though it felt good to know that I could breathe. He used his free hand to scrub my hair, a rough and futile shampooing. This time I was ready when he took me under, clamping my mouth shut on the way down. He held me under even longer, seconds ticking by slowly, me fighting to stay loose, relaxed. Compliant.
When he brought me up, he wiped my eyes for me, and my mouth. He was clearly pleased, his grip loosening. He kissed my damp lips softly. “I do love you,” he murmured. “I never want to be without you.”
I wasn’t expecting him to say that.
Nor was I prepared for the emotion that overwhelmed me at his words. My heart swelled. My goddamn motherfucking heart actually swelled in my chest and I was giddy. Pleased. Triumphant. Bashful. Awed. None of which I should be feeling. Yet I was. The corner of my mouth lifted before I was even aware I was going to smile.
“Yeah?” I whispered. “Why do you love me?”
“Fishing for compliments?”
“I just want to know if it’s me or just the fact that no other women are available to you.” I did want to know that. Would he keep any woman? Or just me?
“I can have other women. I can go get a woman. But I want you. I love you. Because you’re smart and sexy and sweet and trusting. You’re the perfect combination of all those things. You’re perfect.”
It meant more than it should. Everything in me softened and I felt my eyes widen with unshed tears. My whole life I had wanted a man to look at me the way he was right now and it was all wrong. All wrong but so painfully right. “I love you too.”
I did. I could deny it or call it something else, but I loved him for loving me. For choosing me.
His hair fell forward as he bent and I thought he was going to kiss me again. But he held me there, keeping all my weight on his arm as he brought my face to his so he could stare into my eyes. I raised a hand to touch the softness of his beard stubble, to trace his jawline with one finger.