I Know What Love Is

by Bianca, Whitney

  What's going to happen when we get back to Seattle? I don't know.

  The future is the one thing I can't plan for.

  But until then I want a smooth ride.

  When I look up again, he's gone. I swim more laps, figuring I might as well finish up my workout if the shit's gonna hit the fan either way. I towel off afterward and then I take my time heading back up to the room. I want to give him time to cool off. But when I open the door, he's on me in half a second. I scream in surprise as he grabs my arm. My wet hair slaps against my back as I land on my stomach on the unmade bed. He yanks the towel from around my waist, leaving me in only my one-piece suit. I crane my neck to look at him as he leans over me.

  “Don't say anything,” he says, his voice low and dangerous as he undoes his belt. His eyes are manic and I freeze, knowing in I've earned a punishment. A delicious thrill goes through me, even though I'm pissed at him. I should be able to go out for a swim without him freaking the fuck out. But that's beside the point. He pulls his belt from his jeans with a whoosh and fashions the leather into a loop. My eyes widen as I realize what he's got planned for me.

  Even though I know what's coming, the first smack across my ass is still a shock. I gasp in surprise at the sharp pain. Elliot swings again, and the leather cracks against my skin, the sound echoing in the room. I grit my teeth, fisting my fingers in the sheet. I'm not going to lie—it hurts. But I take it. I haven't been spanked since I was a child. I didn't like it then...but maybe it's not so bad now.

  I jerk as the belt lands on my sensitive flesh once more. I can feel the wetness already slick between my legs. What is it about this man that makes me crave pain? He's given me all of his darkness and perversion and I've soaked it up like a sponge. He spanks me again and I have to suppress a moan. He swings again and again, until tears are running down my face and I have to press my face into the mattress to muffle my screams.

  Then he stops and tosses the belt on the bed beside me.

  “Don't you ever do that to me again,” he says.

  “I'll wake you up next time,” I say, not bothering with excuses.

  “Yeah, you do that,” he whispers. Without a word, he yanks at my one-piece, and I help him pull it off of me. He tosses it in a wet heap on the floor and then drops to his knees. I jump as his fingers caress my red, swollen flesh, even though his touch is gentle. Well, as gentle as he can be. He'll always be rough around the edges, but he's learning. When he drags his tongue up my thigh, I buck my hips in shock. He grabs my hips and holds me down as he licks me, up and down and all over. “It killed me,” he murmurs. “When I thought you were gone.”

  “I'm not going anywhere, baby,” I moan, my eyes rolling up in my head at the pleasure of it all.

  “You sure about that?” he whispers, then bites my left cheek, hard. I grip the sheets so tight I'm surprised they don't rip. He releases me and licks at the stinging bite, soothing it with his rough tongue. Then he spreads me open and runs his tongue from my clit upwards, not leaving an inch of me untouched.

  He's so damn thorough it's maddening.

  When he's done driving me up the wall with his tongue, he hauls me against the bathroom sink and fucks me like he didn't just spend all last night fucking me. I watch his big cock pumping in and out of me in the three-sided mirror that surrounds us. My ass is red and mottled from his punishment and my wet hair is tangled around his hand. Our hips bang out a primitive rhythm and he sucks on my bottom lip just like I like. My tits bounce with every thrust and their movement only turns me on more and more. The pleasure is all-encompassing, but I wonder how long we can sustain this. How long can we use our bodies to numb us to the shit-storm that surrounds us? The only thing I know for sure is nothing lasts forever. Not pain, not pleasure, not violence.

  It all has to end sometime.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  We leave Denver after two nights, just like I planned. No drama, no bullshit. We check out of the hotel at four in the morning and don't look back. We have to be in Seattle the next morning or eyebrows will start raising. The drive is nineteen hours and, if we drive in shifts, we can make it. I want to pull in my driveway before the sun comes up and the neighbors start getting nosy.

  I know my mother is probably freaking the fuck out already because she can't get ahold of me, but there's nothing I can do about that. I left my phone in Seattle so that no one can trace my location. I called her yesterday from the hotel in Denver, creating more concrete proof that I was there. It's all a part of my alibi. There's a paper trail that leads me to Denver and no where else.

  When I get tired halfway through Idaho, Elliot takes the wheel. The sun is already dropping in the sky, casting beautiful amber light against the mountains in the distance. My stomach is bunched up in knots, but it's hard not to appreciate the scenery. I roll my head to look at Elliot. He's wearing sunglasses, chewing on a toothpick like he's back in Texas and we're going for a leisurely Sunday drive. He glances over at me, his cruel mouth softening into an almost-smile. I raise my hand, brushing my knuckles over his stubble. He turns his gaze back to the road and I let my eyes droop closed as the rhythm of the road lulls me to sleep.

  When I wake up, I'm all alone in the empty car. I sit up, taking in my surroundings. I'm in a parking lot, I realize, behind a convenience store. It's dark all around me. I have no idea where I am. The car keys are gone, as is my wallet. My ankle holster is empty as well. I let out a shaky breath and yank back on my tennis shoes. Fear flares up in me. He wouldn't take off, I know he wouldn't.

  But I can't help but think it.

  I throw open the car door and step out into the cool night, wincing as my sore ass leaves the seat. I gnaw on my bottom lip as I hug my arms to my chest. I can feel the minutes ticking by and I wonder where he is. Panic rises in me. I don't want to leave the car, but I don't want to waste time either. Making a quick decision, I grab my purse and slam the door shut. I hurry around to the front of the store, the bright fluorescent lights stinging my eyes. I push open the door and a bell dings, announcing my entrance. I smile up at the old man behind the counter, then walk from aisle to aisle, looking for Elliot. The first one's empty, as is the next. My heart jumps in my throat as I near the last aisle.

  If he's not there, I'm going to lose my shit.

  Sure enough, it's empty. I stand there, swallowing hard as the beer coolers against the wall hum, trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do.

  Then I almost jump out of my skin when a hand slides around my waist.

  “Thought you were sleeping,” Elliot murmurs in my ear.

  “I woke up,” I say, sagging my shoulders in relief. He chuckles, low and slow, and pinches my ass. I glare at him, but I'm pretty sure I can't muster an appropriate scowl. I'm so damn happy to see him, it's scary.

  “What do you want to eat?” he asks, stepping around me and opening the cooler door. He pulls out three energy drinks.

  “Something not too shitty,” I say, picking up a snack cake and dropping it.

  “Girl, you've been in Seattle too long. They got you eating organic alfalfa sprouts or some shit?” he says, giving me a sideways glance.

  “No. I've been eating organic alfalfa sprouts since Austin,” I say with a smile, then my breath hitches. Austin. I feel my face freeze as the bad memories invade my brain. I can see he's remembering the same thing I'm remembering. His face hardens. I drop my eyes and grab an apple bearclaw off the shelf. “It's got fruit, at least,” I say.

  “Mm-hmm,” he murmurs.

  “You want one?” I ask, raising my eyes to meet his again.

  “No,” he says. “I want two.” I snort out a laugh, letting the tension dissipate before it strangles us. I grab the food and follow him to the front counter. The old man shuffles over to ring us up. I hold out my palm and give Elliot a pointed look.

  “Wallet?” I say.

  “You want to pay?” he asks, digging in his backpocket and pulling my expensive leather wallet out. “Be my guest.”r />
  “Thanks,” I roll my eyes and turn back to the old man. He's taking his time ringing up our items and my gaze is drawn to the TV above his head. I stiffen. Elliot's face is plastered across the screen, along with Lassiter's. The volume is low, but I can still hear the news anchor's voice.

  “In national news, two men escaped from a Texas State penitentiary three days ago...” The voice trails off as a loud ringing in my ears drowns it out. I feel Elliot stiffen beside me. I drop my eyes back to the old man, who's staring at me. His mouth moves but I don't hear what he says.

  “What?” I ask and my mouth feels like it's full of cotton.

  “That'll be eleven bucks fifteen, young lady,” he says in a wisp of a voice. I nod, digging in my wallet and pulling out a twenty. I slide it across the counter and he takes it in his shaky hand. I glance back up at the screen. A Texas ranger is on the tube now, detailing the ranger's massive manhunt to find the two fugitives. I let my eyes shift to Elliot and I see his hand drifting around to his back.

  I remember he's got my gun.

  The old man is counting out my change, slow as molasses. I let out a low breath, willing myself to say calm. There's no sense in freaking out. I hope my calm rubs off on Elliot. I glance back up at the TV and it's flashing the big mugshot of Elliot again. Biting down on my lip, I figure a distraction is the best thing for all of us.

  “You been busy tonight?” I ask, pasting a smile on my face. The old man doesn't look up, just continues counting change with his gnarled fingers.

  “Not after the work rush,” he says. “A few truckers passing through.” I nod, feigning interest. He holds out his hand and I take the change, trying not to seem to eager. He looks up at me with milky, rheumy eyes, one completely covered in a cataract. “You have a good night now, ya hear?”

  “You too,” I say with a nod, then glance at Elliot. His eyes are dancing with a familiar manic light, but he grabs the food and follows me out the door, just as the nightly news goes on commercial break. He lets out a low breath behind me, but I wait until we're behind the store to whirl around and look at him.

  “You have something else that's mine,” I say, holding out my hand. He smiles a cruel smile, and I can see the violence behind it. He would have shot that old man if it had come down to it. I know he would have. He reaches into the back of his pants, under his shirt, and extracts my little gun from his belt.

  “Only took it just in case,” he says, dropping it in my outstretched palm. I close my hands around the cold metal and let out a deep sigh. “I guess this makes us even,” he says with a wink as he pops the top on one of his energy drinks. “For earlier.”

  “My ass says we were already even,” I reply, dropping the gun into my purse. When I turn back to him, he tosses something round over his shoulder at me and I catch it with both hands.

  “Saw that and I thought of you,” he says, leaning against the car.

  I open my hand, revealing a plastic bubble from a kid's gumball machine. I hold it up to the light and snort out a laugh. Inside is a cheap metal ring with a shiny, fake sapphire.

  “Thought you'd like that,” he says, his face in shadow so I can't see his eyes. “So, we even?”

  “Yeah, we're even,” I murmur as I pop open the plastic bubble to get a better look. If he thinks he can buy me off with a cheap metal ring, he's crazy. But then again, it's almost... sweet.

  “Let's ride,” he says, dipping into the driver's seat. I slide the ring onto my finger, rolling my eyes at my own cheesiness. I know the ring's fake and cheap and doesn't mean anything. But I put it on anyway. Then I hop in the car and we take off, into the dark night.

  *****

  A light mist falls as we arrive in Seattle, blanketing the city in a gray haze. The sun is still an hour off from rising and all is quiet. The streets are almost empty. Elliot leans toward the window as we drive past downtown, as the skyline glitters in the distance. Seattle, Washington is a big change for a born and bred Texan, and I know that firsthand. I thought it would be hard to adjust to all the rain and gray skies. Truth be told, gray skies fit my moods most days.

  It takes another half-hour to reach my little bungalow in a nice suburb on the outskirts of town. I hit the button on the garage door opener and pull in next to my BMW. As the garage door closes behind us, I finally feel like I can breathe again.

  We made it.

  We're thousands of miles from Texas. Far from immediate danger. If we don't fuck up, Elliot could be a free man for a long time. I turn my face to look at Elliot and he looks right back at me. Now we just have to figure out what to do next. The hard part is over.

  But then again, maybe it's just beginning. We still have to figure out what to do with the rest of our lives.

  First, we need sleep.

  “Come on,” I say, looking away and getting out of the car. I'm tired as hell, but I know that busy day awaits me when I wake up. I have to scrub down and get rid of the Ford ASAP. It's the only thing remaining that ties me and Elliot together. We unload the car and then he follows me into the dark house. I flip on the light in the kitchen and toss my keys and purse on the counter.

  Elliot's eyes roam, across the pictures of my nephews on the fridge to the slightly droopy flowers in a vase on the counter. He runs his hand over the glossy blue tile countertops, like he still can't believe he's here.

  “Bedroom's upstairs,” I say, beckoning him to follow me into the living room. His eyes take in everything, from my rustic brown leather furniture (a gift from my parents, of course) to my fledgling guitar collection.

  “You play guitar?”

  “A bit,” I say.

  “Any good?”

  “I was in a all girls heavy metal band for awhile, in high school,” I say with a smile. “I can kick a little ass.”

  “I bet you can,” he says, his voice low. “What was name of the band?” He strums his fingers over the strings of my Fender.

  “The Cheeky Cockettes,” I say with a laugh. I haven't thought of my band in years, I realize. “We were a bunch of Catholic school girls who thought we were being clever.”

  “Little hellraiser, that's what you were,” he says, a smile creeping over his lips.

  “What about you?” I ask. “No, wait. Let me guess. You played football.”

  “All-American running back. Fucked up my shoulder first year in college. Dropped out, ended up in construction.” His smile fades and he moves closer to me, crowding me in the best way possible. “We done playing catch up?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, my eyes on his mouth.

  “Good.” He pushes past me and heads up the stairs. I twist the cheap metal ring around on my finger with my thumb, and I can see that it's already starting to turn my skin green. Sucking in a sharp breath, I follow him up the stairs. He's standing by my queen-sized bed when I enter my bedroom and I stop in the doorway to watch him. He runs his hand over the down comforter, again, like he can't believe he's here. It's strange to see him amongst my things. His black clothes and rough demeanor contrast with the white and airy fabrics that adorn the room. This bedroom is my sanctuary. I've never had any men in here before. It always felt too intimate, like I was letting them inside of me, somehow. I gave them my body, but none of them got any deeper. A fierce need for control over my personal life is the only thing that's kept me sane for all of these years.

  Well, not exactly sane, but close enough.

  As I watch him move around the room, I remind myself that I don't have to hide from Elliot. Even if I tried, he wouldn't let me. He would force his way inside and take whatever he wanted from me and I would be powerless to stop him.

  “There's a bathroom through there,” I say, breaking the silence. He looks up at me and I point to the dark doorway in the corner of the room. I walk into the room and toss my bag on the armchair beside the closet. He ignores me, opening the drawer in the bedside table. I don't bother stopping him, even though I know what's in there.

  He pulls out the small frame and holds i
t to the light to get a good look. I've looked at that picture many times over the years, ever since I stole it from his house. The picture of him as a happy child is the only one I have of him smiling. The others are pictures I cut out of the newspaper during the trial. I've got those stashed somewhere as well. He always glowers in those.

  “Where did you get this?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

  “I broke into your house,” I say matter-of-factly. “I stole it.” He places the picture back into the drawer, facedown, and slams it shut.

  “Take off your clothes,” he says, already pulling his shirt over his head.

  “No,” I say, knowing exactly what's going to happen to me for refusing him. His mouth ticks upward and I jump back before he can grab me. He lunges forward and I back up until my back hits the wall. He advances on me slowly, like a lion about to pounce. I sidestep him, and his manic eyes follow me as I skirt around to the other side of the bed. He's getting excited and my heart is pounding between my ribs. The glow of the lamplight highlights every ripple and every cord of muscle under his skin as he moves toward me, and I'm temporarily distracted from giving chase. I want him to catch me, but I don't want to make it too easy. If it's too easy, it won't be any fun. For either of us.

  I jump up and crawl across the bed on all fours, wrinkling the smooth linen of the duvet. He puts a knee up on the edge of the mattress and it sinks with his weight. He grabs my ankle, but I twist free, gasping for breath. I reach the other side of the bed and scramble off, falling to the floor. He's on me before I realized I gave him an advantage, shoving me over onto my back on the carpet. He yanks me closer to him, his big hands clamped on my hips. Overcome with the urge to fight, I push on his shoulders and smack his face, but it doesn't deter him.

  It never did.

  He rips my tank top over my head and crushes his big body to mine. He smashes his mouth to mine as he shoves my jeans down my hips. I try to push him off, but it's impossible. He thrusts his tongue in between my lips as he jams his hand between my thighs. His finger slides inside of me and I writhe against him. He's invading me, smothering me, wrapping me up in him. It's like we're back in his dark house in Austin.