Under Her Skin

by Adriana Anders

  “Seems reasonable to think of the future.”

  “Well, it didn’t pan out.”

  “I know how that goes.” Something about his reticence made her want to spill her own story. That was why they’d come out here, after all. But still, she hesitated.

  He must have sensed what she was thinking. “Why don’t you tell me your story, Uma?” he asked gently.

  She sighed. “I had plans before I met Joey.”

  Ivan went completely still, his breathing taking a backseat to his listening.

  “Joey was…convincing. Lawyers are like that. And he’s good at what he does. Got me to do things I didn’t really want to do, you know?” She wasn’t sure if he did, but he nodded anyway. “It all happened so fast between us, like he’d decided on me, and he wanted me, and he wanted me now. I kept thinking we’d talk about what I wanted later. And then later and then later and then…later never came.” She closed her eyes and continued. “I used to have friends. I didn’t notice they were gone until I looked around one day and it was just me. Well, me and Joey. But not even that, ’cause he worked all the time, came home late—dinners, drinks, schmoozing. All that political crap. And I had weddings on the weekends.”

  “Weddings?”

  “I’m a photographer. Weddings are my bread and butter.”

  “Makes sense.”

  She shifted and craned her neck to look at him. “What makes sense?”

  “The photographer thing. The way you were with that camera last night. And the stuff you do. How you look at things…at me. Like you’re framing a shot in your mind.”

  “I do that?”

  “Also, your hands.” She clenched them unconsciously. “You’re always doin’ that. Squeezin’ ’em, openin’ ’em, like you’re itchin’ to pick somethin’ up.” He nudged her gently. “But go on. You were talkin’.”

  Uma took a huge breath in and continued. “I was in so much denial that it could have gone on for a while, I guess, but then he cheated on me. With a colleague. They’d been working this case together—the first time he was lead prosecutor on something that major. That was his excuse, at least. How high stress it was, how they were thrown together, a tight-knit team, blah, blah, blah.” The shifts in breathing beside her told her of Ivan’s reactions, but he didn’t interrupt. “It got so confusing. He apologized, so loving and so, so sorry.” She huffed out a frustrated breath, trying to explain why, how she’d let it happen. “He convinced me to stay, but I felt different. Things had changed, and I think he knew it. We had an okay couple of months after that, although he still spent so much time at work. But when he was home, he was this perfect boyfriend. Like diamonds and flowers and spoiling me rotten and constant, constant attention.” She shrugged. “I guess I kind of liked it. Even though I never entirely trusted it. But, frankly, it wasn’t what I wanted.”

  She shifted a little, enjoying the arm that wrapped around her. Comforting, but not imprisoning.

  “Then he lost the case. It was a big deal. In hindsight, he must have been on something even while they were trying it, to keep up with the workload and the media, all the pressure. When they lost, his boss made him take some time off. That was the last straw. He’d be sucking back the booze, probably popping pills, while I was trying to process photos in the next room, him constantly breathing down my neck. One night we fought, badly. And he hit me.” Tears pricked at Uma’s sinuses, not uncontrollable, but enough to let her know that the emotion was there. Clean and unfamiliar. “He apologized, said he couldn’t help it. He was overtired… The whole fucking rigmarole you hear from battered women. I couldn’t let myself keep falling for that. So, I decided to move out. Packed up, because I wouldn’t stand for that kind of crap. Nobody gets to abuse me, you know? He acted normal. Probably too calm. He seemed resigned to it and…”

  She swallowed, and his arm loosened a smidge, enough to let her know she could go whenever she needed to. She appreciated his subliminal support and wondered if he was even aware of it. “I was all ready to go when he broke everything. All my equipment. Every camera. Even my goddamned Nikon. He smashed every single thing that mattered to me. He was wasted, weird.” Uma’s throat clicked dryly as she remembered bits and pieces. “Earlier that week, he’d come home with a tattoo machine.”

  Machine, she thought, not gun. “Guns are for shooting, Uma. For hurting or killing,” Joey had sneered. “Only white trash use the word gun for this.” Ironic, of course, considering what he’d done in the end—the way he’d used the machine to torture her.

  “He didn’t say where he’d gotten it, but it didn’t look new, and I wondered about…you know, cleanliness.”

  “Why did he have it?”

  “For us, he said. To show our undying love. And, that night, I’d never seen him so amped. Pupils like black holes. I don’t think he’d slept all week. I heard this buzzing in the bathroom, like a deranged doorbell or something. I slammed my way in, looking for my things as I packed everything up, furious, and there he was, sitting on the toilet seat, etching my initials inside a heart. In black, right on his own forearm. Like something you’d see scratched into a tree.”

  She paused, recalled Joey’s words as he’d shown her the bloody, red mess he’d made of himself. “Proof of my undying love,” he’d said. That was when she’d started shaking.

  “It flipped a switch in me. One second I’m packing to leave him, and the next, I’m freaking out. Really freaked. But also still pissed and ready to… I don’t know…”

  What would she have done that night if he hadn’t caught her and… Who could say? She might have cooled off and left. It wasn’t worth thinking about what could have been.

  “I was beyond reasonable. Screaming, scared. Just out of control. Before, I’d wanted to cut up his clothes, his precious Armani suits, you know, to hurt him. But by then I realized how far gone he was and… He disappeared into the spare room. I tried to turn, but he came back and he had a…” She choked on the words, the image—no, on the feelings it all brought up. Fear, absolute terror. And surprise. That prickling skin that signaled her fight-or-flight instinct kicking in.

  The rush of adrenaline had made her feel strong that night.

  What a joke.

  “He had a gun. I’d never seen it before. He just…walked into the bathroom and put it hard against my head. The front. Right here. Like this.” She put her finger to her head, no longer feeling Ivan’s reactions against her, completely lost to the memories she’d worked to suppress these past few months: the cold sink against her cheek, the tiles under her shins as she sank to her knees.

  “‘I’ll shoot your fucking brains out, you stupid bitch.’ That’s what he said to me.” She gulped past the lump in her throat. “I believed him.”

  Ivan’s thick arm tightened, and she had to shrug it off. Too much, too tight, too warm. She sat up a bit, to breathe, and turned her face away, relieved that they were doing this outside where there was air. Cool and cleansing and a little painful in her throat.

  “There’s this moment…” Uma paused, not sure she could tell the rest of this. But she swallowed and made herself keep going. “When you have to decide whether you want to live or die. And I wanted to live, damn it. I’m not the type of person who just gives up…but after a while, I changed my mind. It wasn’t the pain, so much. I’d stopped feeling how bad it hurt. It was the other stuff. There was this regret, like, oh fuck, what have I done? It was so permanent…that feeling that there’s no going back now or…or ever. But the worst thing? Worse than anything else in my entire life? I was so fucking helpless. Trapped there, like a…a…bug pinned down. A butterfly in one of those frames. I couldn’t move. He held me, and I was forced to…to take whatever he gave me. He wanted to mark me for life, to make me his, and fighting him just made it worse. I had to take it.”

  The buzzing of the machine, that dark, chemical smell, and Joey, yelling obscen
ities when he couldn’t figure out how to change out a bent needle. Other things too, like the way he’d watched her face instead of his hand, not caring what he wrote on her skin, just eating up her hurt, getting off on it.

  Ivan’s voice rumbled out from the darkness, sharper than ever. “I’ll kill him, Uma.”

  She shook her head.

  “Where is he?”

  “No, Ivan. You can’t.”

  “I can.”

  “I know you can. But I don’t want you to. Please.” His breathing churned beside her, and Uma wondered what this kind of story did to this kind of man.

  “Tell me who he is.”

  “No way.”

  22

  He’d fucking rip the guy to pieces. She might not think she wanted him to, but it didn’t matter. Men like this Joey guy didn’t deserve the air they breathed. He’d hunt him down and tear him apart like the—

  “I’ve lost you, haven’t I?”

  “No.”

  “Liar. You’re thinking about all the ways you’re going to hurt him.” Uma sat up farther and leaned over him, her head blocking out the stars, which he couldn’t even see anymore anyway—not through the cloud of rage.

  She put her small hand in his hair and pulled, bringing everything sharply back into focus. “You, Ivan, will not do anything to Joey. I will not forgive you if you do.”

  The burn at the roots of his hair felt good. It shocked him back to earth and forced him to listen. Forced the rage to bank again.

  “Kiss me, then.”

  “Not until you promise.”

  “Just fuckin’ kiss me.”

  “Repeat after me. ‘I, Ivan…’ Ivan what?”

  “Shifflett.”

  “‘I, Ivan Shifflett…’”

  “I, Ivan Shifflett…”

  “‘…do solemnly swear…’”

  “…do solemnly swear…”

  “‘…not to go against the wishes of one Uma R. Crane.’”

  “What’s the R stand for?”

  The hand in his hair tugged, harder this time. “Shut up and repeat after me.”

  “Shut up and—”

  Another tug elicited a groan from him, and her face moved in toward his, as if to eat the sounds right out of his mouth.

  “You will not go against my wishes,” she whispered.

  “I will not go against the wishes of the beautiful Uma R. Crane.”

  “I’m not beautiful.”

  “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I can’t get enough of you.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with you, Ivan?”

  “You got all night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Whatever. There’s no way we’re wastin’ it talkin’ ’bout me. Come ’ere.” He reached for her, pulling her down atop him.

  This kiss was different. Like every kiss they’d shared, it had its own place in Ive’s mind, a catalogue of their time together. This one was almost unbearably tender. Gentle. He’d never been close like this with anyone. He’d been with women, and he’d even thought he was in love once—with Angela—so they must have shared something, but it had been nothing like this. How could you even feel shit like this from a kiss? And after only a couple of weeks of knowing each other.

  The idea scared him suddenly. What the fuck was he doing, falling for a woman who’d leave him one day, just like the rest? The difference with this one, he figured, was she’d already warned him she had no plans to stay. At least she was honest. That was more than he could say about the others.

  She’d leave him, eventually, but he didn’t think she wanted to.

  Above him, Uma shimmied slightly, and he forgot, momentarily, the anger and the panic.

  * * *

  It happened amazingly fast between them. Every single time they touched, it was like a fuse igniting. A ridiculously short fuse. Only this time, there was something more there. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she thought it might be her story.

  It made it all the more intense, more real, and, at the same time, completely reckless. It was in her, and she sensed it from him. Ivan the Terrible completely, madly desperate. For little ole me.

  Strange how his desperation gave her so much power. There was something truly messed up about that. Yet, the titillation was so strong that she couldn’t even bring herself to feel bad. That’s just the way it was.

  She pulled his hair, ground their hips together, and let their mouths move from sipping to licking to devouring each other. At some point, her hands managed to unzip and open pants, yanking his down slightly, and with his help, pulling hers off entirely.

  Her mouth moved, and “I want to fuck you” came out in a voice that belonged to someone she’d never met before. That woman gave orders and didn’t wait to see if they were followed.

  The little moan he let out in response was perfect, one of those sounds Uma could get addicted to if she wasn’t careful. The challenge was to see how to get him to do it again. She shifted down his thighs to take hold of his stiff erection and squeezed, still awed by the thick heft of him. The weight was perfect. Even heavier than she remembered. After a few tight strokes, she let it smack back against him and moved off him to root around in the picnic basket. She found the strip of condoms and ripped one off with her teeth.

  “Hey, you’re not supposed to do it like that.”

  “Oh, yeah?” she taunted, using her teeth again to rip open the packet. “How am I supposed to do it?”

  He didn’t respond as she leaned back and rolled the rubber down his shaft. They shuddered together.

  “You ready?” he asked, even though she was clearly in charge.

  “Are you?” Who the hell was this woman? A woman who got on top of a man and undressed him just enough to guide him inside her. What had happened to the old Uma, who always let other people’s personalities overshadow her own?

  “Yeah, come on.” Ivan tugged at her waist, her ass, her hips, trying to move her without taking over. “I gotta fuck you, Uma.” The man sounded frantic. He didn’t wait for a response but pulled her back up, so their bodies lined up.

  Her stupid brain went back to the first night she’d met Joey, how he’d cajoled her into having sex with him. It had been a true seduction, not quite against her will, but not entirely what she’d wanted either. In hindsight, Joey must’ve gotten off on the coercion, the surrender, the ambiguity of her consent. There’d been none of this urgency, none of this raw need—so honest, so fucking real.

  Ivan’s cock nudged her, seeking entry from below, and she came back to the present with a slight Joey hangover. Suddenly needing to know she really could stop this anytime she needed. “Stop!”

  Ive stilled, sank back down. Not impatient or angry at all.

  “I just…” She turned, swallowed, and blinked away the tears that suddenly threatened to fall. “Why’re you so nice to me?”

  “I like you.”

  Oh. Uma tried to pause her ever-racing mind.

  That simple, huh? He liked her, so he showed it. No games, no denial, no manipulation, no bullshit. He likes me, she thought, barely comprehending the simplicity of it all. He likes me.

  “I, um…I like you too, Ivan.”

  “Good.” His boyish, excited smile was barely visible in the dark, but it brought a jolt of worry, shadowed by guilt. I’m going to hurt this guy.

  “You’re thinkin’ too much, Uma.”

  He was right.

  She was about to have sex in the back of a pickup, and instead of enjoying it, here she was, worrying—again.

  Enough. It was time to let go and enjoy the moment. No Joey, no worries—nothing to get between her and this man so hell-bent on having her. She let herself feel, really feel, the point where their naked skin came together.

  Planting
her hands firmly on his chest, Uma leaned forward, filled with the anticipation of what she was about to do. She lifted up onto her knees and reached beneath her. There he was, hot and willing, and before she could think too hard about the last time she’d done this—

  No, not the last time she had done this. Tonight had nothing to do with the last time she’d been penetrated. But she wouldn’t think about that right now. She refused to remember it.

  Instead, she took him firmly in hand, lined him up with her body, and worked him, slow and steady, inside her. Her breath hitched once when the fit was too tight, and she paused. They stopped—breathing, listening, waiting for the other to put a halt to everything. He didn’t. She didn’t. Somewhere close by, something hooted.

  Ivan flexed.

  “Don’t move,” she managed. “Give me a second? Just—”

  He held himself utterly still inside her, his self-control palpable, and she loved him a little bit for that restraint.

  Perhaps more than a little.

  Suddenly, she remembered a time with Joey. It was a hotel room in Atlanta where he’d gone for a conference. She’d gone along for fun, and it had been fun. Good food and music. She’d taken a ton of photos there. But it was the sex that came back to her. Their hotel room had been equipped with a jumbo mirror, which, if you happened to have sex on the desk, provided quite a perspective. The thing was, Uma had only noticed the mirror halfway into it. She’d turned her head and taken in the way Joey’s body had slammed into hers from behind, the quick, mechanical piston of his hips. She’d stared at where their bodies came together and gotten turned on.

  Her eyes had wandered up his body, to his face. With a jolt, Uma had realized Joey wasn’t staring at her body or their bodies together. He’d been mesmerized by himself. His own face, his own muscles. Like a scene straight out of American Psycho, the man she was having sex with was more interested in flexing for the mirror than sharing anything of consequence with her.

  And here she was, thinking about that bastard—again.

  It was time to stop. Now. Forever.

  Uma shifted, squeezed her inner muscles, and Ivan moaned, tightening his hold on her.