by K. L. Savage
I want more.
He is still hard, and he pushes me down, flat against the bed, and lifts my legs on his shoulders. He holds them down, scoops his come off my face, coats my pussy lips, and then rams himself home.
“Zain!” I scream, fighting the straitjacket with every thrust he gives me. I want to rip it off me and scratch my nails down his back. I want to touch him, but I love being able not to at the same time. It’s a sick and twisted desire I have inside me.
To be used and dominated, maybe even a little humiliated too.
As long as it is Zain doing it, I don’t care what he does.
Just as long as he never stops.
“Harder. More. Fucking give it to me, Zain.”
“You’re a slut for my cock, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Only my cock.”
“Only yours,” I say. “You fill me up and stretch me out so good. It hurts.”
“That’s right. Your greedy cunt only gets fed by me,” he says, then flips us over until I’m on top of him. “I bet you wish you could touch me.” He digs his fingers into my hips and holds on tight, rocking me back and forth on him. My clit rubs against his pelvis. His cock is buried so deep, I swear I feel him in my throat.
I move the best I can since I can’t use his chest for leverage with my hands. “You’re so deep,” I moan, bouncing on his cock faster.
His hand goes to my cheek while the other helps me rock quicker. He lifts his hand and gives me a slap across the cheek. Only four of his fingers connect. He doesn’t hit me to the point of pain, just enough to give me that delicious sting.
“Fuck! Again,” I beg, arching my back, when the slap has an orgasm brewing.
“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he says, slapping me again. The burn feels good, feels right. My body is on fire. He isn’t hitting me hard enough to bruise or anything, just enough to feed the sadistic beast inside me.
“I’m so close, my love,” I tell him. I can feel the sweat gathering on my back and between my breasts. “Again. Do it again!” My voice carries through the room as I raise it with every word I speak. “But harder.”
He doesn’t question me. He doesn’t stop fucking me. He takes what I want in stride.
This time, he backhands me, the taste of blood pooling in my mouth.
And that’s all I need.
I come.
My orgasm crashes inside me like a tsunami. “Yes! Oh, god. I love your cock. So big. So good, Zain. Yes,” I scream. I can feel my walls flex around him, trying to suck him deep.
He rolls me to my back and thrusts into me three times through my orgasm, before he comes, releasing his seed for my trembling walls to pull in.
Zain flops down and kisses me, long and passionately, then rolls me to unzip the jacket.
I fucking love that jacket.
“I love you,” he says, placing a kiss on my shoulder. “I’d do anything for you and Chloe.”
I flip over and bury my face in his chest, the hair scratching my cheek as I allow myself a moment of weakness and cry. I’ve never been loved before. I always thought I was unlovable. “I love you too.”
Zain wraps his arms around me in a hug. Not like the restriction of the straitjacket, but the softest warmth I’ve ever felt. He plants a kiss on my forehead.
“I’ll take care of you two forever, Jessica.”
I lay my ear against his heart and close my eyes, happy for the first time in forever.
“Zain!” Reaper knocks on the door. “Hate to interrupt, but the cable guy is here and needs your signature. I’m heading out with the guys. I need to go check on Knives from the concussion you gave him.”
Zain grumbles. “I guess I need to apologize.”
Reaper’s boots fade and the front door slams shut in his departure.
“Let’s get dressed, little rebel. And then I’ll fix you breakfast, let the cable guy do what he needs to do, and then we go to the clubhouse to take care of that damn asshole who touched you.”
Damn, Chloe and I are two very lucky ladies.
And it’s a good thing I’m happy to share, or we would have a problem.
Jessica vanished the moment Zain opened the front door, and for some reason, my jaw was killing me. I’ll have to ask Zain what happened.
“Sorry about the wait,” Zain says to the cable guy. He’s younger, tall, blonde hair with a baby face. He’s cute, but he doesn’t compare to Zain.
“It’s okay. Not a problem. I’m Tyler.” He reaches a hand out and Zain shakes it. “Is this where you want the cable? Just this room and nowhere else?”
“Yes. I’m tired of watching movies in here every time,” Zipper says, startling me in my seat. The coffee spills on my hand and I hiss in surprise. “I want options.” He jumps over the back of the couch and lands on the cushion. Oli, Goldie, and Apollo—who is still wearing a toga—walk around the sofa and sit down.
“I’ll be in and out of here in no time.” Tyler walks across the living room and grabs a few tools from his tool belt and gets to work.
Zain comes back over to me and kisses me senseless, no doubt tasting the coffee lingering in my mouth since that’s what I’m drinking.
“You feeling okay?” he asks.
“Why does my jaw hurt?” I make sure to lower my voice to a whisper. “Did you and Jessica…”
He clears his throat and nods. “You’re okay with that, right? You know I love you both.”
“No, absolutely. I’m fine with it. Are you kidding? Do you know how happy I am that I found someone who accepts both sides of me? But… why does my jaw hurt?”
Zain leans down and his lips tickle my ear. “She likes it rougher than you do, sweet girl.”
“Oh,” I say, leaning my hand against my cheek. My scalp hurts too, but that doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that’s from hair pulling. “You liked it?”
“I loved it, just like I love being with you.”
I grin, reaching for my coffee cup. “Good,” I say. And it is. I’m not jealous or angry. I’m actually satisfied, and so is Jessica. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. I just… feel it.
Fifteen minutes later, the cable is installed, and Tyler gives Zain the remote. “Alright. You’re alright. You have all the channels—”
“—Wait. I only wanted basic,” Zain says. “There’s a mistake.”
“Yeah, someone over at the Ruthless Kings paid for you to have 120 channels for the next year.”
“Awesome! Holy shit, we can watch football. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve watched football?” Zipper says excitedly, bouncing on the couch cushion.
“Thank you, Tyler. Have a good day,” Zain says.
“Bye. Bye. Bye.” Oli adds three waves to his farewell and Tyler salutes us before heading out.
“Well.” Zain flips the remote in his hand. “How about we see what’s going on in the world before we go?”
“Where are we going?” Goldie sniffles.
“The clubhouse. I have business waiting for me there,” Zain replies, no doubt leaving more questions in Goldie’s mind.
Zain points the remote to the unusually large flat screen TV and turns it on. “Hell, I don’t know what channel to go to.” He keeps clicking until a news channel appears, and on the bottom left side it has a Nevada News logo.
“The news? Boring,” Zipper says, then pretends to sleep by snoring.
“I just want to see what’s going on. I haven’t known anything in… well, a long time.”
“Sorry, Zain. I didn’t mean—”
“Zipper, it’s fine. No hard feelings.” Zain turns the volume up and a woman with brown hair, blue eyes, and too much makeup fills the screen.
She brings the mic to her mouth and smiles. “Hi, I’m Michelle Pope reporting live from North Las Vegas, where a brutal double homicide took place. A Dr. Randall Washington and his wife Theresa were found dead this morning by Mr. Washington’s mother, who grew concerned when she hadn’t heard from her son
in nearly four days. There are no suspects at this time, but police are active in their search for the killer. The police do not think this is an act of a serial killer, so there is no need to panic. We will keep you updated as information comes forward. I’m Michelle Pope reporting live, stay informed with Nevada News.”
“Well, there you have it—” another woman fills the screen, but Zain changes the channel before she can finish her sentence.
“Well, that was fucking depressing,” Zipper mumbles. “All caught up now?”
I sit there frozen, shocked, and forget to breathe. I lay my hand to my chest and think about the last time I saw my therapist. Who would do such a thing?
The man I loved.
The man who knew me better than I knew myself.
Four days ago
“I’ll see you next week, Chloe. You’re making great progress. I almost think we can cut it down to one day a week. You’ve really accepted Jessica, and you’re doing well on your medication. I think it’s time we see each other less.” He smiles, happy at the thought of only seeing me once a week.
“Oh,” I say with disappointment and heartbreak.
“Chloe, this is what we have been looking forward to for the last three years. This was the goal. Aren’t you happy?”
“Of course, I am Dr. Washington.” I close my eyes when he places his hand on my cheek. He does that a lot. He likes to touch me every chance he gets, but we have never crossed the line because he is my therapist.
Closer to the goal.
Oh. Oh! We are closer, because eventually I won’t have to see him at all. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. “Thank you so much. I can’t wait until next week.”
He pats my back and pushes me away. “Let me grab my briefcase. I’ll walk you out. You were my last appointment for the day.”
I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and smile. “I’d like that very much.”
He gives me a quick tilted grin and grabs his briefcase from the chair, then we walk out into the hallway. He closes the door and locks it. As we walk down the hall of his private practice, the floors echo our footsteps. The marble is polished, a rich black that reminds me of the night sky without stars.
“What are your plans for the night?” he asks, and my heart kicks up when I wonder if he is going to ask me out.
“I’m going to go to my apartment tonight, put in a movie, eat bad food and enjoy the night off from work.” It isn’t an important job. It’s mindless work, but I can’t have a job that challenges me too mentally, or Jessica likes to rear her head. I’m a file clerk. It’s boring, and it’s part time. My parents are wealthy and give me all the money I want, but I want to be on my own. It’s too bad I’m too incapable of having a real job or I’d support myself fully.
I’ve been fired eight times for punching my bosses in the face.
It wasn’t me.
It was Jessica.
“You?” I ask him as we head into the cold winter night. Our breaths fog the air, and they mix, swirling together as they rise to the sky.
“I have plans. I’m going out to dinner with a few friends.” Dr. Washington is so handsome. He’s taller, with thick hair that has an edge of silver to it, and round glasses that make him appear more intellectual than he already is. He has stubble on his jaw, but not a beard. I can tell he works out by how his shirt stretches across his chest.
“Sounds fun,” I say in yearning, wishing he’d invite me.
How long are we going to dance around each other?
“Well, this is where I leave you,” he says. “I’m meeting my friends at the other end of the street.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll see you next week. Have a good night,” I say, hoping he leans in and gives me a kiss.
“Have a good night, Chloe. Be safe.”
I’m disappointed when he doesn’t even hug me goodbye. He walks away, leaving me staring at his back. I turn around and start to walk away, but then think, what if him and I accidentally run into one another at the restaurant? Then, he’ll ask me to join him and his friends.
It’s perfect.
I turn and look over my shoulder to see he is far enough away to know he won’t be able to see me. I switch directions and head down the sidewalk, following him from a safe distance. The sidewalk is new, with no cracks, and the cars are parked on the side of the road by the parking meters. Crossing my arms to keep my torso warm, I pass a few dark alleys and toppled trashcans.
There is a homeless man sleeping on the ground, his dog cuddled up next to him. I reach into my purse and pull out a twenty-dollar bill. It’s all I have on me. I bend down and tuck it into his shirt pocket. I hope he finds it. I pat the dog on the head. I wish I could do more to help them, but just because I have a large bank account doesn’t mean I have access to it.
My parents made sure of that because of my condition, I can be impulsive and spend a lot of money if I want to. So mom and dad put a leash on me. I can’t spend a single cent without their approval. And they never approve of anything.
I continue walking, keeping an eye on Dr. Washington as he comes to a stop in front of a Fat Jay’s steakhouse. The sign is in neon blue and green, casting a glow on top of Dr. Washington’s dark head of hair. I jump behind a parked car and hide myself when he turns around. I wait a few seconds, giving myself enough time until I know he is gone.
I stand up and wipe my butt off, then head toward the restaurant. I peek inside the glass, my breath causing it to fog, and I wipe it away. I hold my hand over my eyes and look for Dr. Washington. I scan the crowd of people and when I see him, I jump up and down. I go to knock on the window but stop short. My smile slips off my face when I see a beautiful woman stand up from the booth with a wide smile on her face.
She’s gorgeous.
Red hair, blue dress, and big lips.
He looks just as happy to see her, because he leans in and does the one thing I’ve always wanted him to do.
He kisses her.
It isn’t quick.
It’s long and deep. He dips her over his knee and her long flaming hair nearly touches the floor.
I press my back against the glass so no one can see my face as I cry. The sobs that leave my chest are loud, and they hurt my throat. I wipe the tears and I notice black streaks on my hands. My mascara is running.
I thought he loved me, but it was all a lie. He didn’t love me at all.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, then exhale. When I lift my lids again, I’m fucking angry and want revenge.
No one does that to Chloe.
No one.
If he wants to play games, then check-fucking-mate.
Chloe is gone. The nice, level-headed, good girl is in the shadows, and her stronger half is here. How dare this man? I’ve only met him a few times, but I didn’t like him at all. He thinks he knows everything about why Chloe is the way she is. It’s because of him she has accepted me, but he is trying to fix her now and pretend as if I’m not here.
I’m not going anywhere.
This is my body as much as it is hers.
I run across the street in a nearby alley, feeling the urge to dance under the moonless sky. That’s for another time and another place. I dip into the narrow alley and watch the man Chloe loves enjoy a night with another woman.
I don’t know how long I stand there. Minutes. Hours. All I know is my feet fucking hurt in these boots, and it’s getting colder the later it gets. Finally, after a bunch of laughs and a few drinks and steak, Dr. Washington pays the bill and helps the woman up. When they walk out of the restaurant, they are hand in hand, still laughing.
Are they laughing at Chloe? Is he talking about her? I follow them, keeping enough space between us that they can’t feel anyone behind them.
But I’m there.
And I’m fucking pissed.
We pass a few Spanish style homes, some with personal gates, and some with sand as a lawn. He’s a therapist, so he makes good money. That’s why I’m not surprised
when we come to his mini-mansion. It doesn’t have a gate. The home is Spanish style as well, with big columns in the front. The door is large with black hinges and a reddish-brown stain with a glossy finish.
When they get to the front door, his hand lands on her ass, gripping it and pulling her to his body. They kiss, their tongues shining in the porch light.
My body burns with rage when I feel Chloe banging against the veil between us.
No way in hell am I going to let her out.
I hide behind a truck parked on the side of the road and watch them devour each other as they stand on the doorstep. He slams her against the door, running his hand through her luscious hair. I can hear them moaning from the sidewalk as he aligns their bodies and rubs himself against her. He fumbles with the lock, and he must say something because she laughs.
He pushes her inside and slams the door.
I come around the back end of the truck and step on the sidewalk. Dr. Washington has a fence but it’s small and black, more for decorative purposes than protective.
His mistake.
I hurry down the walkway and when I get to the door, I listen by placing my ear against it. I don’t hear anything. I try the handle to see if he locked it in his hurry to get into the woman’s pants.
It opens.
“Tsk, tsk, Dr. Washington.” I sneak into the house and close the door quietly. A few bangs from upstairs tell me where they are, and a second later, I hear a loud moan. That bastard. I check out the house. It’s plain. Nothing special, just like Dr. Washington. He’s boring. The entire place is beige on beige, even the furniture.
I head down the hall, keeping my feet light, and find myself in the kitchen. I look around at the stainless-steel appliances and the oversized kitchen island with copper pots hanging above, until I find exactly what I’m looking for: the block of knives.
Don’t mind if I do.
I grab the butcher knife, the biggest one there is, and my reflection shines back at me. I tilt my wrist when I think I see Chloe screaming at me in the metal, but with another flick, she’s gone. It’s just my mind playing tricks on me.
My feet are light as they carry me down the hall and toward the steps. I have no second thoughts as my hand lands on the rail. I climb the steps.