Stryker's Desire

by Meg Ripley

  Somehow her shirt disappeared, falling to the floor before Chelsea could think of what was happening; her bra followed, and she realized that Johan was leading her through the suite, half-carrying her in his strong arms as their clothing fell away piece by piece, trailing after them through the living room. She dragged Johan’s face up to hers, kissing him hungrily as she let her hands wander over the planes of his chest and back, exploring the topography of his body as eagerly as she had the first time they’d had sex. Johan lifted her up into his arms almost effortlessly, carrying Chelsea the last few steps into the bedroom part of the hotel suite. He didn’t even bother to close the door behind them, instead bringing Chelsea directly to the bed and almost throwing her onto the soft, unbelievably luxurious surface. He reached down, gathering up the fabric of her skirt in his hands and tugging the waistband sharply down over her hips. “I’ve been thinking about fucking you all day,” Johan told her, his bright eyes darkening as he drank in the sight of her.

  “We just had sex this morning,” Chelsea said, chuckling lowly as she squirmed and shifted on the bed, helping him to remove her skirt as he pulled it down along her legs. He tossed the garment over his shoulder, not even looking to see where it landed, and the next moment Chelsea moaned softly in pleasure at the feeling of his body covering hers as he pinned her to the blankets.

  “Ever since then,” Johan murmured, kissing her hungrily on the lips. His hands left her body, but Chelsea could feel him moving and shifting on top of her, feel the heat of his body as he wriggled out of his thick, fitted jeans. Her breath caught in her throat at the feeling of the hot, hard ridge of his erection pressing against her, thin layers of fabric the only thing separating her from what she wanted the most. Johan rocked his hips against hers, rubbing against her, a hot rush of pleasure flooding through Chelsea as the friction crackled against her clitoris. Chelsea wrapped her legs around Johan’s waist, pushing down against him, her hands wandering over his broad back eagerly. No matter how many times they had had sex—and in how many different locations—Johan’s body was still a revelation to her, even days later. Chelsea gasped and panted as Johan hooked his fingers in the elastic waist of her panties, dragging them down from her hips. She fumbled at the front of his boxer-briefs, her fingers not quite catching the waistband, as she shifted and squirmed underneath Johan, hungry to feel his body against hers.

  It seemed like only a moment later when Chelsea felt the heat and hardness of Johan’s cock brushing against her slick folds, sending a tingle of sensation through her. He held himself up, looking down into her face, smiling slightly as he rocked his hips slowly and steadily, teasing her with the feeling of his cock just barely grazing her, slipping against her drenched labia. “Do you want it?” he asked her playfully, pulling his hips back when she pushed down to try and rub herself against him more thoroughly. Johan’s smile deepened as he evaded her.

  “You’re such jerk,” Chelsea said, her voice taking on a growling note of frustration.

  “Answer the question,” Johan suggested, once more pressing up against her only to withdraw when Chelsea tried to get better contact. “Tell me you want it, and I’ll give it to you.” Chelsea squirmed, and Johan caught up her wrists in one hand, lifting her arms over her head and pinning them there against the mattress. “All you have to do is ask…” Chelsea groaned in frustration, struggling against his strength. Johan nipped at her bottom lip, carefully evading her attempts to break the hold on her wrists, to rub against him.

  Chelsea let out a little scream of frustration, twisting her hips away from him, pouting up at Johan as she fought against the need that consumed her. “You’re such an asshole,” she told him, shivering as she felt his cock brush against her yet again. “I’m not going to do it. You’re not going to make me beg.” Johan chuckled lowly, his lips dragging against her jaw.

  “You’re not patient enough to hold out, Chelsea,” he murmured lowly, nibbling sharply at the pulse point just below her ear. Chelsea shuddered, gritting her teeth as she fought against the absolute need to feel him inside of her. She wasn’t going to give in, she told herself; she wasn’t going to let him win. Chelsea tried to breathe slowly and deeply, but every movement brought the warm, sharp-sweet scent of Johan’s body into her nose, made parts of her body brush against him, sending a thrill of even deeper need coursing through her.

  “Fuck! Fine—yes, yes I want it,” Chelsea said, panting. “I swear to god if you don’t stop teasing me, I am going to find some goddamned way to get out from under you and—and—lock myself in the bathroom.” Johan laughed, bringing his mouth up to hers, kissing her hungrily. He reached down between their bodies, and Chelsea moaned against his lips as Johan guided the tip of his cock up against her, rubbing against her clit for just a moment. He shifted, and Chelsea’s breath caught in her throat as Johan thrust inside of her slowly, pushing past the initial resistance of her body. He rocked his hips, the thick, hard heat of his cock rubbing along her inner walls, filling her up inch by inch as he moved deeper and deeper inside of her.

  Johan let go of her wrists, holding himself up on his elbows, and Chelsea fell into his rhythm, pushing her hips down to meet his, taking him deeper and deeper. She kissed everywhere her lips could reach, licking his sweat-salted skin, writhing against his body as pleasure crackled through her veins like static. Chelsea moaned out as the tip of Johan’s cock barely brushed against her g-spot, a hot-and-cold jolt of sensation shocking her. She let her hands explore the planes and contours of his body, caressing and kneading, as she twisted and shifted her hips underneath him; every thrust brought his pelvic bones up to rub against her clit, every third push of his hips made her shiver as the tip of his cock barely rubbed against the pleasure center inside of her.

  They moved together in an irresistible rhythm, exploring each other’s bodies, touching and tasting, and Chelsea felt her pleasure mounting every moment as the friction built up between their bodies. She clung to him in near-desperation, her hips rising and falling, twisting against his body, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she felt herself coming closer and closer to orgasm. “It’s worth it—isn’t it?” Johan murmured lowly against her lips. “I always make it worth it, don’t I, Chelsea?” She shook her head, resisting his words even as her body tingled all over with sensation. Johan pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, carefully worrying it as they moved together as one, sweat gathering and slithering over their skin as they both heated up.

  Chelsea cried out as Johan began to thrust into her steadily, the tip of his cock rubbing back and forth against her pleasure center, every movement of his hips building the friction against her sensitive clit. She fought to hold back, wanting to savor the pleasure coursing through her, wanting to deny the subtle, sexual power that Johan had assumed over her; but in the span of a few heartbeats, she felt the last of her self-control breaking, and Chelsea shuddered as wave after wave of sensation worked through her, blanking out all thoughts. She heard Johan murmuring something in a language she couldn’t understand, heard his breath hitch as her muscles tightened around him in erratic spasms, but all Chelsea knew was the pleasure flooding through her. She hit the apex of her climax as Johan’s cock began to twitch inside of her; the spasms of pleasure had only just begun to abate as the hot, sticky-slick gush of Johan’s orgasm rushed into her, even as he let out a long, low groan of pleasure. They moved together mindlessly, pushing their hips together, touching and clutching at each other, and Chelsea was only barely aware of her waning orgasm as she slipped into a warm, dark, humming doze, sagging against the mattress, her arms and legs remote and nerveless.

  ****

  Hours later, after they had gotten their things out of the car, Chelsea found her mind once more turning to the questions that had plagued her earlier. “You should probably visit the salon here,” Johan suggested, sitting back on the couch while she flipped through the channels, trying to find something she wanted to watch.

  “Hm?” Chelsea glanced at hi
m; Johan had another book in his hands, and not for the first time she considered how utterly bizarre it was to think that a guy who carried multiple weapons on his person as a matter of course, who only had about three or four changes of clothes in a backpack to his name, somehow also had half a dozen books.

  “We’re putting distance between us and the guys after you,” Johan said, putting the book aside. “But it would be even easier to evade them if you changed your appearance a little bit.” Chelsea glanced at him sharply.

  “The salon downstairs would probably cost several hundred dollars,” she said. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m unemployed at the moment.”

  Johan smiled. “They charge it to the room automatically; no need for you to use your card.”

  In fact, Chelsea realized that from the moment they had left her house days before, Johan had paid for everything, one way or another; usually with cash, when they got gas or food on the road. “I would go with you, of course. There’s no point in you being undefended.”

  “Just how different could a salon make me even look?” Chelsea was not entirely sure why she was resisting the suggestion so much—a mixture of her doubts about Johan, her sense that everything in her life was changing, an irrational clinginess to one of the few things that hadn’t changed. Underneath that, there was a little voice in her mind, a subtle insecurity, that said that Johan didn’t find her very attractive. Even though he’d had sex with her every day since they’d fled her apartment, and Johan had told her she was cute, or gorgeous, or beautiful—the comment he’d made that she should never be permitted to wear more than a towel came to mind obediently in the man’s low, almost growling murmur—Chelsea had been plagued with doubts her entire life; no amount of compliment from even a gorgeous man like Johan was going to undo the years of taunts.

  “You would be surprised how much they can do with a haircut, color, things like that,” Johan said, shrugging. “Even if they start flashing a picture of you around, most people don’t pay that much attention to details.” Chelsea worried at her bottom lip, pulling it between her teeth for a moment while she considered.

  “How are you affording this?” she asked him, putting down the remote to the TV and pinning Johan down with a level gaze. “The hotels, the cars, the gas? I have never traveled this well in my life, much less while fleeing people who want to kill me.” Johan shrugged off the question, looking unconcerned.

  “I have an expense account. When we’re sure they’re not chasing you anymore, I’ll request funds to get you an apartment, and to get you new documentation—ID, bank account, all that. You’ll basically be in a kind of witness protection program until Rosen goes to trial.” Chelsea frowned.

  “But who’s paying you? This isn’t a federal thing—if it was, we’d be staying in cheaper hotels and eating more fast food.” Shadows flickered across Johan’s bright eyes quickly; so quickly that Chelsea almost missed it.

  “We have funding. You could get a full makeover in the salon and it would be a drop in the barrel. Don’t worry about it.” Chelsea brought her tongue up along the roof of her mouth and clucked it against her teeth.

  “Fine, if you want me to change the way I look, I’ll change the way I look,” she said tartly. “After all, I let you talk me into destroying my phone, I let you talk me into leaving town, I let you talk me into eating, sleeping, and fucking on your schedule…” she stood up quickly as her anger flowed to a sudden flashpoint she hadn’t realized she was approaching, snatching up the remote control and turning the TV off before letting the device clatter onto the coffee table once more. Johan’s eyes widened and her stared at her with something almost like alarm. “Let’s go down to the salon so they can make me look like a completely different person who isn’t running away from her entire life!”

  Johan stood in a quick, fluid movement that made Chelsea start. In an instant, it seemed, he was only inches away from her, looking down into her eyes. “If you don’t want to fuck me, all you have to do is say no,” he told her lowly. “If you don’t want to sleep, then don’t sleep. If you don’t want to eat, don’t eat. If you don’t want to go to the salon, don’t to go.” Johan’s hands dropped to her shoulders, sliding to her arms. “My only job is to get you away from the people who want to kill you and keep you safe,” he said, his hands tightening on her slightly. “If you want to make that harder for me, you are more than welcome to. If you want to sulk and starve yourself, or if you want to be an insomniac, be my guest.”

  “I don’t even know what I’m running from! I don’t know what I’m running to! All I have is your word that you’re supposed to protect me. Until what—four days ago?—I had never even met you before.” Chelsea twisted and pivoted, breaking his hold on her arms and stepped away from Johan, scowling at him. “I barely know you, I barely know anything about what is going on in my life, and you keep popping these—these—suggestions to me. ‘Let’s have sex to kill time.’ ‘Let’s get rid of your phone.’ ‘Let’s change your appearance.’ ” Chelsea waved her hands about wildly, feeling the anger thrumming through her body, the doubts exploding out of her in a torrent. Everything she had been thinking and yet not letting herself think rose to the surface of her brain. “I’m fucking terrified, Johan! And you’re just sitting there, driving the car, or reading a book, or—or—getting me off like nothing is going on at all. Because you know everything, don’t you?” Chelsea glared at him. “You probably know the damned size of my underwear.” Johan’s eyes flickered with amusement, his lips twitching.

  “Seven,” he said lightly. Chelsea inhaled sharply. “I helped you pick up your clothes yesterday.” Her hands curled into fists, her fingernails digging into the skin of her palms.

  “You know what? No. I am not going to the salon. I am—” she felt a jolt of fear; she had no idea where she was, she had no access to the car—at least not as long as Johan had the keys—and she believed him that there were, in fact, people after her. Where could she realistically go? “I am going into the bathroom, and I am going to enjoy being by myself for however long I feel like it.”

  “Sure,” Johan said, eyeing her with a mixture of amusement and irritation. “Like I said, you can sulk if you want to. Sulk as long as you want to, in fact. Stay in there all night.” Chelsea let out an irritated little scream, breathing in deeply and staring at him for a long moment.

  “I am locking the fucking door behind me,” she said, stomping barefoot in the direction of the master bathroom. Chelsea slammed the door shut behind her, only remembering afterward to twist the lock on the knob before she threw herself onto the rim of the bathtub. A sharp jolt of pain shot up from her buttock to remind her that anger would not make her invulnerable to injury, but Chelsea ignored the lingering ache, inhaling and exhaling slowly through her nose as her anger died down from a rolling boil to a simmer. I am not sulking, she thought bitterly. I need time to myself. I need space. I need to not be in the company of some gorgeous man who makes me forget that my entire life is in fucking shambles right now. Chelsea stood, pain rippling through her buttock and leg as she began to pace the small floor of the bathroom, unwilling to let go of the irritation she felt. She was going to stay in the tiny room until she figured some things out, she told herself. However long that was. Even if it did mean sleeping in the bathtub.

  ****

  “Chelsea,” Johan’s voice came through the locked bathroom door. “If you want to starve yourself, that’s your prerogative, but there’s food if you’re hungry.” Chelsea felt her stomach twist at the mention of food. She was hungry. She was also slightly chilly from the cold tile and porcelain of the bathroom, tired and slightly dizzy from walking in near-circles for what she estimated had to be over an hour. She worried her bottom lip, trying to decide if the blow to her pride was worth leaving the room and eating something, or if she wanted to stand on firm—if self-defeating—principle, and stay there all night just to show Johan he couldn’t and wouldn’t control her in any way. Screw it. I’m hungry, the
re’s food, I might as well eat.

  When she heard Johan’s steps retreating from the bathroom door, Chelsea took a deep breath, steeling herself from any comment he might make about her tantrum. She unlocked the door and opened it, breathing in the scent of another truly delicious meal. If nothing else, Chelsea thought, Johan had excellent taste in ordering room service.

  The object of her ire was seated in the living room, busily arranging and uncovering platters and plates, bottles and glasses and silverware. As she took in the oddly domestic sight, Chelsea’s eyes widened at the veritable feast of selections: chilled seafood, something that looked like it might be chocolate mousse, steaming, seared steak and chicken with crackling skin, buttery roasted potatoes, a crisp Waldorf salad, fresh strawberries, flaky croissants; so much food that Chelsea wasn’t certain that it was even remotely possible for them to eat it all. “You know, if you were trying to calm my fears about where all this money is coming from, this was not the way to do it,” she said. Johan looked up, casting a smile in her direction over his shoulder.

  “I’m glad you decided to eat,” he said mildly. “I was trying to come up with a way to slide a plate under the bathroom door but the gap is so narrow it seemed hopeless.” He gestured for Chelsea to join him on the couch, unfolding a cloth napkin and placing it a foot or so away from him.