by Brown, Tara
"You don’t scare me." I whisper but I know I can't hide the horror on my face. It takes a second for the shock to sink in. I tremble seeing the paddles. I wonder if any of them are the one he hit me with. My feet cramp up.
He takes a step towards me.
His voice is gruff and cruel. He spits when he talks and points around the dark room, "You texted me, Sarah. You needed me. This is me. This is what I have to offer. I don’t have anything else to give you."
My fingers are unsteady when I lift them to the zipper on my coat and pull down slowly, watching his gaze. I let it slip off my shoulders, challenging him with my gaze. I'm terrified and excited. It's the first time I've felt anything since the last time he touched me. He steps back and sits in the chair in the corner. His grin is smug and cocky. He sits with his legs spread, like before.
"Undress." He watches me.
I take a deep breath and pull my shirt off, dropping it to the floor next to my jacket. I slip off my boots. He licks his lips. I'm wearing the bandeau, which I've grown fond of. His eyes are burning. I hold his gaze when I unzip my pants and wiggle my way out of them. I'm standing in my bandeau and panties.
I shiver, and not from the cold. The crackle of the fire and my racing heart fill the air.
"Go to the bed."
I turn my back on him and walk to the bed slowly. I don’t know what to expect. I put my hands on the bed. Before I get a chance to crawl up on it, his body is against mine. He's got me pinned with his arms around me. He grabs my hands and lifts them up in the air. I grip the railing on the top of the bed.
"Don’t move those hands," he whispers into my nape. I nod and lick my lips. I'm on my tiptoes. My breath is catching and coming out spurts of rough air. His hands run down my arms. I shiver and pant. His lips brush the back of my neck. He sweeps my hair to one side, kissing down my shoulder blade. Heat and nerves battle low in my belly as his hands grip my hips, pulling me back to him.
"Don't let go of that railing, Sarah." His words are growled between kisses and licks. I hear the menacing threat in them.
I wince when he nibbles my back. His hands are rubbing and lightly pinching my stomach. He doesn’t touch anything I want him to. His lips reach my panties. His fingers trace the fabric along my butt. It tickles and makes me squirm but I don’t move my hands. He is the man from the room, with the paddle and the cocky smile that felt no remorse. I fear him in a way that excites me.
His fingers dip into my underwear, trailing their way around my waist. I feel him stand and lean against me, like he is trying to make me let go of the railing. I am obedient if I am anything. He has made me this way. I grip it for dear life and anticipation of where it will all go.
In the dim light I see his movements making shadows on the wall across from me.
A blindfold is pulled over my head. The darkness is familiar. He moves around me and sits on the bed. I think I'm standing between his legs. I can feel the heat of him around the front of me and the heat of the fire behind me. I'm shivering but I'm not cold in any way. He feels so large, like he's all around me, encompassing me.
Something brushes against my right nipple. I gasp. I think it's his finger tracing my nipple through the rough lace of the bandeau.
I falter in my ability to stand on my tiptoes. He thumbs my nipple until it sticks out. Then his other hand finds my other one. He's flicking and lightly squeezing both my nipples. He does it in a pattern that resonates through my body. I'm squeezing my thighs together and biting my lips. His mouth caresses my stomach. He kisses and trails his tongue up my abdomen. He flips the bandeau down, I moan loudly. I don’t even know why. His mouth clamps down on my nipple as his fingers continue the pinching and tugging of the other. He sucks and licks in a swirling motion. My stomach tightens. I don’t know what's happening but I'm getting lost in it all.
"Are you going to come for me, Sarah? Before I even touch your pussy?" His voice is warm against my wet nipple.
I moan louder and squeeze my thighs so tight, I lose my grip.
"Come for me baby." He sucks harder and tugs on my nipple. I orgasm. I let go of the railing, twitching and crying out. I'm gripping his shoulders and head.
Instantly, he's off the bed. My face is shoved into the soft blankets. I'm still breathing heavy and confused. I can barely keep my mouth closed.
"I told you to keep your hands there." He's pressed against me. One of his hands is holding me against the bed, dragging up and down my back. He steps back. I lie there and wait, breathing into the bedding.
I hear him walking, making his shoes make noise against the floor. My eyes try blinking against the blindfold. I don’t know what to expect. I'm terrified about the paddles. My feet are clenching the floor in desperate protests.
His hand touches my ass cheek again. I whimper.
I jump when he rubs something cold against me. It's wide and I have no idea what to expect.
"If you struggle, I will hit you harder." His voice is ice. I'm clutching the blanket and breathing into it. My jaw is trembling with terror and a perverse idea of where this is going.
His hand creeps along my underwear to my belly. He presses and then suddenly something connects with my skin. I scream out. It stings but shocks more. It's gone and then his hand presses into my stomach again and the metal cracks me on the ass cheek. I've squirmed slightly. He pulls my hips, arching my back more.
"Touch your toes together," he growls at me. I do it quickly. He pulls my butt back further. The third strike hurts a bit but the vibration of the impact against my groin makes my scream sound more like a moan. I never saw that coming. The smacks mellow out but come more frequently. My stomach is tightening again with every vibration the striking creates. Each smack vibrates against my groin.
I feel like I need to move in a thousand different ways but can't. He slows down the rhythm.
"Faster." I mutter breathlessly into the blanket.
He chuckles, "No, no, no. You've had an orgasm. You don’t get another one." The next hit is hard, it stings. I wince and suck my breath.
"That's my girl." The next hit is the same. My butt starts to go numb to the heat of the room but still stings. I hear the paddle drop. It makes the same sound it did when he dropped it from paddling my feet.
I hear his zipper pulled rough. My underwear is ripped down. It scrapes the front of my thighs and calves.
He's between my thighs again. I feel his erection seeking out the moisture. He rubs it up and down my slit and then thrusts into me with a grunt. I cry out as he pulls my hips back.
I'm almost off the ground. He rocks into me several times hard and fast. His body pounds mine. I'm building up again from the pause in the spankings. He orgasms before I can.
He grunts and finishes using me. He pulls back. I'm holding the bed, spent but frustrated. I am close to tears. I don’t even know why.
My ass cheeks are on fire, they match my cheeks. My jaw trembles. He leaves the room before I can even comprehend what's happened.
His semen is dripping down my thigh again. I feel dirty but it's soothed by a sickening, depraved happiness. The pain in my heart is making me happy on a level I never want to explore.
My arms and legs are weak. I feel like I've done one of my harder runs. I stand up and fight my legs from buckling. I look around for my underwear but they're gone, again. I pull on my jeans and shirt. A tear slips from my eye as I get my boots on. I wipe it away and grab my coat. When I get to the doorway my hand almost refuses to grab the handle.
I look back at the room. It isn’t how I imagined the night panning out. In a place in my heart, larger than I want to admit to, I imagined he couldn’t get enough of me. I imagined those ten texts were him reaching out. Not him checking to make sure I was alive, so he could use me for a few minutes.
His mixed signals are epic and worthy of a girl's. My heart breaks when I think about leaving Sebastian for this. I know he would never treat me this way. He is the right choice. He is the normal I want.
> This, this room is a darkness and a sickness and an underworld that I want no part of. The excitement is there and the forbidden desires but they are chased down with a bitter feeling that I can't forgive him for. A feeling he has made me want.
I pull my phone out and text Sebastian with trembling fingers.
'Meet me tomorrow at my dorm. I won't have this number anymore.'
'You sure?' His response is instant. Like he was waiting for me.
'I need you too help me become the girl I want to be. 8pm my dorm. Goodnight.'
He doesn’t respond. I put the phone on the bed and walk to the elevator. I can hear the water in the kitchen. I press the button. I'm frozen. It isn’t the lonely. It's so much worse. It's emptiness but it's also like a world war inside of me. I want to run to him. I want to kiss him and attack him and slap him. I want him to hold me.
Thankfully, I have just an ounce of self-respect left. I don’t want to force him to do it. I want him to want to do it. It doesn’t feel like too much to expect. Too much to ask for.
"Don't leave." He speaks softly behind me. The elevator opens. I don’t move. I can't.
I also can't face him. My ass is on fire. My jeans are making my cheeks sting.
I begged him to humiliate me.
I can't look at him when I say it, "I don’t want your money anymore. Or anything. I'll make it work on my own." I step in as the door is closing. I hear him leap and press the button but I press the M and collapse against the wall. I'm a sobbing wreck when the elevator moves.
It dings and I miss it somehow. The door closes. I don’t push any buttons. I curl into a ball in the corner. It opens again. Feet step in. Matte leather shoes with squared tips and dark-grey dress pants. I hear him push a button. I want to kick his feet out from under him but I'm frozen in terror. Not of him, but of me. Me and the dark places I will allow myself to be taken.
He bends down and picks me up off the floor. He holds me to his chest and kisses the top of my head. He walks into the apartment when the doors open again. It's dark and warm but I've never been in a colder room.
He carries me to a room. He flicks on a light. It's a huge master bathroom. He turns on the shower. I flinch. He pulls my coat out of my hands and lifts my arms in the air. He pulls my shirt off and my bandeau.
"No. Please don’t." I whisper. He undoes my jeans and pulls them down. He kneels and removes my boots and jeans. He kisses the front of my thigh once.
He stands.
His eyes look dead. Like how mine used to look, before he beat the ever-loving hell out of me and woke me up.
He looks at me expectantly. I reach up and undo the buttons of his dress shirt. What's underneath is so different from what's on the outside. He's always dressed like he's attending meetings all day.
Underneath he has a huge cross tattoo done in almost Celtic looking artwork. The banding is thick and winding. The top of the cross is just under his left pec. The t of the cross spans the bottom of his entire left rib cage. The bottom of the cross goes from the t on his pec to his hipbone. A name is delicately sketched onto the cross in the very middle. I trace it with my fingertips. The name doesn’t belong to me and it doesn’t feel like it's mine. For the first time in my life, the name of the dead doesn’t belong to me.
I pull his shirt off and notice the scars along his bicep. They run thick and deep. When I touch them they slow my stroke like a speed bump would. I undo his zipper slowly and gently. I slide his pants past his groin and knees. I drop to my knee and lift his feet to remove his shoes and socks. There is huge scar on his left thigh. It's massive. I can see the staple marks. Like Frankenstein would have. His body is hard but not chiseled or sculpted the way Sebastian's is. It's meaty though.
"Where did you get these scars?"
"I was hard on myself as a kid."
I leave it at that and run my finger along it, but he stops my hand and lifts me off the ground. The bathroom is humid and filled with steam from the shower.
He steps in and pulls me to him. He presses my head against his cross. Her cross. Our cross.
Chapter Eighteen
The shower was steamy and relaxing. I felt like he let me in by letting me see his scars and tattoos. He has seven tattoos. They're not all huge like the cross but they're bigger than I would have imagined. His back ribcage has a quote. I peel back the covers of the blankets he has wrapped us both in and look at it.
'If you prick us do we not bleed?
If you tickle us do we not laugh?
If you poison us do we not die?
And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? '
It's Shakespeare. I remember it from Lit. I brush my hands across the words and wonder if he will ever find peace. His hand moves like a snake and snatches mine. He pulls it up and turns his face and kisses the back of it. "Go to sleep."
I shake my head, "I can't. Someone got me all worked up and now I'm kind of buzzing."
A grin plays upon his lips.
"You came. In case you forgot."
I laugh, "I forgot. I think you should remind me how it felt, jog my memory."
He shakes his head, "I think I like you how you are now." He opens his eyes and looks at me, "Do you want me?"
I fight the pathetic face I know I'm wearing. I nod.
"What do you say?" He's being cocky. He wants me to beg.
My natural instinct is to fight against him when he's being that way. Acting submissive is not a natural state for me. It's there from the torture. I don’t fear him anymore and have a harder time submitting to his attitude. I rip my arm from him and climb from the bed.
I smirk and walk to his closet. I pull a pair of jogging pants and a t-shirt from the shelves of the huge walk in. I walk out and pull my long hair into a bun and tuck the ends in to make it stay. It won't but it gives me something to do with my hands, beyond scratch his eyes out.
"Where are you going? In my clothes?"
"You won't miss them. You don’t wear anything but Armani. I'm pretty sure these are from Old Navy. You probably didn’t even know you had them."
He snorts, "Get back here." His tone is the one from the chair. I smirk and shake my head. My legs break into a run. I grab my jacket and boots and bolt for the stairs. I unlock the door to the stairs and pull it open fast. I can see him running in his boxers. I fly down the stairs barefoot and out into the lobby. I can hear the elevator. I've played this game before. I tug on my boots and run out the front door as the valet opens it. My boots slip a bit in the snow. I tug on my coat and let the fresh air wash me clean of the shame I'm battling.
"Sarah." He shouts, barefoot from the awning.
I look back and wave, "Goodbye Eli. It was nice seeing you again." I shout into the blizzard.
"Wait for me. Give me one minute. Please." He yells back and then he's gone. He sounds angry and demanding but he said please and he never says it. It makes butterflies in my tummy. I pull my hood up and tug on my mitts. His jogging pants are warmer than my jeans but I still don’t wait long. I turn and start to walk. I hear him come jogging up beside me. I glance at him and sigh. He looks sexy in his hoodie and sweats.
I grin, "I like casual Eli. I mean don’t get me wrong, I like the suits and dress pants and groomed thing you have going on, but this is nice too."
"What are you doing?" He asks looking intimidating.
I shrug, "I want pancakes."
"I'll make you pancakes."
I laugh and turn around to walk backwards, "I don’t want your pancakes. I want normal pancakes. Not head game pancakes. Not maybe I'll make you happy or maybe I'll scare the shit out of you. You know?"
He squints, "You're awfully playful and free suddenly. Where is the girl from the elevator?" His voice is mocking my pain and embarrassment.
I jam my mitts into my pockets and shrug, "She's in here. I think there are a few of us in here. Besides, I'm on to you. I see your ploy."
He laughs, "Ha. You think you do." He does something I don’t expect. "When I was
a kid I used to do this all the time. My dad would take us to our cabin in Aspen and I would do anything to not be with them. When Emalyn was gone they canceled their divorce. They stayed together, hating each other and drinking. I would stand out on the deck and catch snow flakes till I was nearly frozen solid." He tilts his head back and lets the snow fall on his tongue.
I watch him for a moment and wonder if we're both friggen bipolar.
I don’t last long watching him, before I grab his coat and plant my lips on his. I suck his tongue and kiss him with everything I have. I slide against him, tugging my mitts off and climbing him like a tree. His hands wrap around me and carry me to the wall of the building we are beside. He thumps my back into the bricks. We make out like there is no need for air or food. Just as he puts me down and starts dragging me back to his place, I dig my heels in.
"No."
He looks back at me, "You want this."
"No I don’t."
He grins, "I can make you."
I laugh nervously and jerk my hand free, "I want the you that tilts his head back and eats the snow. I want the you that holds me and snuggles into me. I want him but you hardly ever show him to me. I see a glimpse of him and then it's you that’s back." I point disappointedly. "I want the sweet guy who puts his hand out for me."
His eyes fight something. His lips tighten, "He's in here too. I think they're a few of us." He lets go of my hand and walks away. I hate him as much as I'm addicted to him. How do I always end up as the bad guy? My sexual frustration overwhelms me.
I snarl and turn to walk home. I make it a few blocks when an exhausted-looking Stuart pulls up.