by Lyra Marlowe
“Please,” she whispered, “please don’t do this.”
John straddled her again, undid her shorts and pulled them down her legs. “I’ll do whatever I damn well want with you, Miss Bellino.”
He sat on her pelvis again and pulled up the little white t-shirt. She wore a sports bra under it, and he could see her hard nipples through it. He brought his hands down, covered both breasts, kneaded them roughly. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch your tits? You have beautiful tits.” She squirmed under him, rubbing against his crotch.
He slipped the bra up, freeing her breasts, then sat back, staring at them. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Just beautiful.” He leaned forward and placed his mouth over her right nipple, sucking hard. Lucy thrashed. He sat up again, running the pad of his thumb roughly over the damp, rock-hard nipple.
“Stop it,” she moaned. “Please let me go.”
“You don’t want me to stop.” He rolled the nipple between his thumb and finger. “You love this.”
He pinched her, hard.
She rolled right and left as far as she could go, and then brought her knee up, hard, into his back.
John grinned. “Try all you want. You can’t get away from me.”
He glanced back toward the front of the van and improvised. He slid back between the bucket seats and grabbed her right ankle. Pulling off her shorts, he grabbed the passenger side shoulder belt from behind the seat, where it was anchored, and looped it twice around her ankle. Realizing his intention, she gave a low shriek and struggled fiercely. The belt gave her a little slack and then locked. Quickly, John caught her left foot—as it swung at his head—and bound it to the other seat.
Then he knelt between her spread knees and looked down at her.
The blindfold was nicely in place. Her dark hair spread under her, tangled and soft. Her lips were bright red, parted as she murmured her pleas over and over. She threw her head back and forth, the last part of her body she could still move. Her hands stretched up over her head and she wasn’t struggling much against the cuffs. Her shirt and bra were stuffed up around her arms, her breasts bare and soft, but her nipples hard, dark.
Below, her belly was flat, trembling, her bellybutton perfect, rising and falling with her rapid breathing. Her skin was flushed, glowing faintly. Her legs were bare and stretched and beautiful. She still wore panties—low slung, black—but John had planned for that. In good time.
Seeing her like that, entirely at his mercy, made him more aroused than he could ever remember being. His cock stood nearly straight up in the loose confines of his sweatpants. But he ignored the yearning. In good time. In good time.
He touched the inside of her thigh with the back of his hand. She flinched, trying in vain to close her legs against him. “Please,” she cried. “Please stop. Please don’t.”
“You keep saying that,” John answered quietly. He turned his hand over, stroked the thigh again and then pinched it, making her jump. “You keep asking me to stop. But then why, Miss Bellino,” he turned his hand again and brushed the crotch of her panties with his knuckles, “why are your panties so wet?”
She shook, cried, didn’t answer. John shifted so that he was stretched out beside her, his face at her ear, one leg tossed over her thigh, his erection pressing her hip. He put his hand to her crotch again, rubbing gently. “I think you like it,” he whispered in her ear. “I think you like it a lot. I think I could even make you come in my hand.”
Her whimpering reached a higher pitch as his strokes became firmer. She tried to roll away, grinding closer in the process. John closed his eyes and took a deep breath, slipping his fingers under the panties to feel her flesh directly. He felt her go still, tense, waiting. “Please don’t,” she murmured.
“But I want to. I want to.” He took his hand away, ignoring her whimper, and reached into his pocket again. He watched her face as he snapped the blades of his bandage scissors together. They made a very soft metallic sound, unmistakable. “Be still,” he said, “and I won’t hurt you.”
Swiftly he cut both sides of the panties and pulled them off. He put the scissors away and settled back beside her, whispered to her. “I want to watch you. I want to watch your face when I make you come. You don’t want to, but you will, you know you will, you’re so close. And I’m going to watch. And then I’m going to fuck you.”
He waited then, counted to ten while his hand hovered above her, watched her breasts heave as her breathing grew faster, more uneven. He touched her then, not gently, feeling her jump as he jammed his middle finger deep inside her, rubbed her clit with his thumb. Her body began to coil. “You like that, don’t you? You like having my finger inside you.” Her hips lurched up toward him. “You want more, don’t you?” A second finger joined the first, and a cry that was not protest escaped her lips.
“More?” he demanded, and added a third finger.
She did scream then, her hips bucking straight up. John stayed with her, thrusting his fingers again and again as her orgasm rolled on and on. The sensation of her squeezing and releasing traveled down his arm like an electric shock straight to his groin. His cock began to weep, unwilling to be denied any longer. He withdrew his fingers and she collapsed to the floor of the van, squirming and whimpering incoherently as tiny aftershocks ran through her.
John moved again, knelt between her outstretched legs and slipped out of his sweatpants. He glanced behind him out the window. It was lighter now, half-dawn, but there was no one around, only the blank bricks of his apartment building.
He reached into his pocket and brought out his last prop, the free condom, the one with the ridges. He took his time opening it, watching her listen, watching her body tremble with anticipation even as she tried to be still. He unrolled the condom slowly over his stiff cock, enjoying the sweet torture of his own anticipation. He glanced down. His cock was rigid, eager, sheathed like a weapon.
Like a weapon.
John froze. The passion, the fun of the game, faded with alarming quickness. Like a weapon—her helplessness—this was wrong, this was very wrong.
“John,” she said very quietly, her voice at the edge of breaking, “John, please.”
His name reminded him. This was a game. She had a safe word, one she had not uttered. This was her fantasy. She was not a victim. She was willing. Very, very willing.
He took her in one long, solid stroke.
She came again immediately, her hips desperately coming up against him. He used his weight to push her down and hold her, stretching full length along her body. “Be still.”
She cried again, trying to pump against him.
“Be still,” John repeated. “Just lie there. Lie there and feel me inside you.” She bit her lip, moaning. “Feel how I fill you. How your body wants me. It’s mine. You’re all mine.”
“Please,” she whispered, very low.
“Please what?” John demanded. “What do you want? Tell me.”
“Please,” she whimpered again.
He drew out slowly and slammed into her, then stopped again. “You want that? You want me to fuck you?”
She drew a hissing breath. “Yes.”
“Say it.” He pumped her once more. “I want you to say it.”
“Please, please.”
“Say it!”
“Please…fuck me. Please.”
John complied, taking slow, deep strokes, ignoring the frantic gyrations of her hips. “I want you to remember that,” John told her. “When you call the police, I want you to tell them.” He picked up the tempo, feeling the ache of his own impending orgasm. “I want you to tell them how hard I made you come. How often. I want you to tell them.” He gritted his teeth as their strokes finally fell into synch. “Tell them how you begged me to fuck you. Tell them…I was… The. Best. Fuck. You. Ever. Had!”
She came up hard against him and they froze in mid-air, her muscles squeezing, milking him as he came. Her orgasm seemed go on forever, and John felt himself coming with
her, so hard it hurt, so hard he screamed before collapsing onto her.
He lay there, felt their passion subside in erratic pulses, felt her hot breath in his ear, the damp tears that had sneaked out under the blindfold. John wanted to untie her, hold her, kiss her quiet. But he knew it would ruin the game. He jerked out of her, back onto his knees between her thighs. His erection subsided and he pulled the condom off, tossing it aside. Wiping himself off on her panties—why not?—he put his pants back on. Then he climbed over her, opened one side of the back door, and climbed out.
The sun was just peeking red over the horizon. John stood and stretched, enjoying the cool air.
He leaned back into the van. Lucy lay still, silent, gasping for air. “Have a good day, Miss Bellino. I know I will.”
He slammed the van door and walked back to his apartment. When he looked out after his shower, the van was gone.
Chapter Eight
The high was very high, and the low that followed was very low. By the time he got to the shed, John was practically sick with anxiety. What if he’d hurt her? What if he’d done something wrong? What if he’d crossed some line, actually strayed into the unwilling zone? What if…
She’d had a safe word. They’d reviewed it. She’d never come close to saying it. The whole encounter had been completely consensual. The sex had been fantastic, for both of them.
So why was he so anxious about it?
Maybe, he thought, there had needed to be some wrap-up. Some kissing and cuddling afterward, to ease back into reality. Slamming the door and walking away had felt right at the time, but now he had second thoughts about that. And third. And fourth.
He didn’t regret it, exactly, but he slipped into an unfamiliar funk.
She never wanted to stay after sex. She always walked away before his zipper was closed. She seemed to like him well enough, but the minute the sex was over, she was gone. Back to cuddle with Nolan, and sleep in his bed.
His partner had been exactly right. John was banging Lucy, but Nolan was sleeping with her.
John pondered for a minute. He wasn’t jealous, exactly. He was a little hurt, though he had no right to be. Usually he was the first one to jump out of bed and go home. He was only annoyed because she beat him to it. Wasn’t he? And if Nolan was getting some comfort and affection, God knew he deserved it. It should have all been perfect.
But the whole situation was, honestly, just sad.
Nolan came into the shed, as fresh-faced and tidy as always, and John shook off his thoughts. “Hey.”
“Morning.”
“Did you, uh, did you see Lucy this morning?”
Nolan frowned at him. “No, she left early. I thought she was with you.”
“She was. I just wondered if she got home safe.”
“Give her a call.”
“Yeah.” John gestured. “There’s coffee.”
“Bless you.”
John went outside. It was starting to get muggy already. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number. She answered on the fourth ring, sounding like a cat uncurling from a nap. “’Lo?”
“It’s John.”
Her voice woke and warmed. “God, you were perfect.”
John hesitated, aware that already he was blushing. “Uh, thanks.”
“Are you okay?”
“Am I okay? You were the one—” He stopped himself. Just hearing her voice on the phone was arousing him. He imagined she was naked, maybe just stepping out of the shower. Steamy and soft and relaxed. Damp. Beautiful…stop. “I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.”
“You’re so sweet.”
Less than two hours ago he’d had her tied up in the back of her van. Now he was sweet. John shook his head. “Hey, Lucy, do you think we could, um…”
“Anything you want, love.”
“Do you think, before you go home, do you think we could sleep together?”
“Huh?”
John had sounded clingy and needy in his own ears. He quickly adjusted his request. “I mean, I’d like it if we took a little time once. You know, got completely naked, sprawled out on a big bed, showered together. Whatever. If we didn’t rush through it for once.”
“Oh. Sure.”
“Maybe tonight?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, I’m not complaining…”
“John. Take yes for an answer. Your place, tonight? Maybe around nine?”
“Yes.” He shook his head, trying to clear the fog. “Yes.”
“Cool. See you then.”
The phone went dead. Thoughtfully, John put his cell away. So, right. Lucy at his house for the night. Lucy naked in his bed, and all the time in the world to do whatever they wanted. His cock stirred as he vaguely considered the possibilities.
He’d gotten what he wanted, and all he had to do was ask.
Perfect.
Except it didn’t feel perfect. It felt as if he’d stolen her from Nolan.
Well then, what the hell do you want?
I want— But then John shook his head. What he wanted, what he really wanted, he could never have.
But he could have Lucy. For the night this time.
He nodded firmly and went back inside.
*
They started the morning with a stroke victim, and by the time they got him to the hospital they had to race out to a car accident. It was a minor fender-bender, but one of the drivers was thirty weeks pregnant and badly frightened, and the other driver was falling-down drunk.
“It’s not even ten in the morning,” Nolan said under his breath.
“Bars open at seven,” John answered. “Don’t ask me how I know that.”
One of the responding police officers came over. “You guys want to hear the weird part?”
“Weirder than being drunk at this hour?” Nolan asked.
“Oh hell, we see morning drunks all the time.” The cop shook his head. “The weird part of this is, the pregnant woman pulled out in front of the drunk. She’s the one at fault.”
John looked at the cars. The cop was right, the woman had pulled out. “Of course, if he wasn’t drunk he probably could have avoided her.”
“True.” The cop scratched his head. “I gotta figure out how to write this up.” He walked over to meet the first tow truck driver.
“It’s gonna be one of those days,” Nolan said. “I can feel it.”
John shook his head. His gut agreed with his partner. “And it started out so well.”
*
They finally got a break around two in the afternoon. With no guarantee how long it would last, they grabbed fast food to go and wolfed it down while they sat in the squad in the parking lot.
Once John had his first burger under his belt, he made himself chew more slowly. If the radio called them now, at least he wouldn’t be starving. He sipped his iced tea, opened a little ketchup packet for his fries. Thought about Lucy. Finally, he was going to actually get her into bed. It was going to be a great night.
He glanced at Nolan. Suddenly he wasn’t sure it was a great idea. “Hey. I hope it’s okay, I asked Lucy over to my place tonight.”
“Okay.”
“It’s just— I know she’s leaving this week, I didn’t want to…you know.”
Nolan chewed a bite of his second burger slowly. Like John, he’d passed the point of panic eating. “She’s my friend, John, not my property.”
“I know. I just—if you had plans or whatever.”
“If we had plans, she would have said no.” Nolan shrugged. “Actually, I was going to work on floor plans tonight, so it’ll be good to have her out somewhere.”
“Floor plans?”
“Yeah. With the new couches and the bigger TV, I want to rearrange things some. I’ve got this computer program that let me input the room measurements and then move virtual furniture around to see how it looks.” He paused. “What?”
John chuckled. “Sometimes you are just so gay.”
“You already knew that.�
� Nolan wasn’t offended, they’d been comfortable on this topic for years.
“I don’t mean in the good sex way. I mean in the interior decorator way.”
“I like to change things around,” Nolan answered.
“You know, if I got a new couch, I’d put it right where the old one was.”
“I know. You’re boring.”
“Ouch,” John answered. “At least I never trip over things and break my leg.”
Nolan grinned. They both remembered that run well. The patient insisted that his wife was trying to kill him because she’d changed the living room around. He’d tripped over the chair, then caught his foot under the couch and spiral fractured both his tibia and fibula.
The wife calmly said that if he’d helped her move the furniture like she’d asked him to, he would have known where it was.
The couple had bickered without pause the whole time they were preparing him for transport, and John and Nolan had fought down laughter every minute they were there.
They were quiet while they finished their meal and cleaned up the wrappers. Both of them enjoyed the silent radio.
Nolan yawned. “We should head back to the shed.”
“Yeah.” John didn’t start the truck. They both knew that on the kind of day they were having, no matter which way they went they’d get a call in the opposite direction. John chewed his lip. Finally, he said, “Can I ask you something? About Lucy?”
Nolan hesitated. “You can ask,” he answered cautiously.
“Has she always been like she is? So…”
“Easy?” Nolan supplied. There was the barest trace of bitterness in his voice.
“I was going to say elusive.”
His partner’s eyebrows shot up. “You think Lucy’s elusive?”
“Yeah, I do. I mean, not sexually, she’s not a tease about that, except in a good way, but…” John hesitated, struggling for the right words. “But emotionally, I guess. I mean, the minute the sex is over she’s gone, you know?”
Nolan’s brow furrowed. “And you don’t like that?”
“I did, I guess,” John admitted. He could feel his cheeks getting warm. “You know me, Nolan. I’m not about relationships or whatever. But this is different.”