by Hannah Ford
But this time, when the guy passes back under the streetlight, I see the lanyard around his neck, with the ID badge at the end of it, identifying him as a driver for a food delivery service.
Gage is ordering food? To his car?
For some reason, this fills me with rage – it’s the fact that Gage is just able to get whatever he wants, whenever he wants, that even when he’s supposed to be out there, uncomfortable and tired and hungry, someone is still doing his bidding by hand delivering him food.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m shoving my feet into my sneakers and marching outside.
I knock on Gage’s window firmly.
If he’s surprised to see me, he doesn’t show it.
“Hello,” he says after rolling the window down. My breath hitches. He sure as hell doesn’t look like someone who’s been living in his car for the past two days. He looks amazing, even with the stubble on his chin and the faint dark circles under his eyes. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a soft-looking sweatshirt with a hood.
He smells like spicy aftershave and shampoo. How?
In front of him, spread out on the passenger seat, is a picnic of what looks like sushi and some kind of noodles.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Having dinner,” he says. “Would you like to join me?”
“It’s midnight.”
“Yes, well, when you have an unconventional living situation, you’re sometimes forced to keep unconventional hours.” He gestures toward his phone, which is resting in some kind of contraption that’s attached to his dashboard. “Plus I have an overseas conference call.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “So that’s it? You’re going to stay outside of my house until what?”
“Until you talk to me.”
“I’m talking to you right now.”
“You know what I mean, Chloe.” His eyes bore into me, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m wearing only a thin sweatshirt and a pair of pajama shorts. It’s cold outside, and I shiver. His gaze travels up my body, and I can already feel my body responding.
“If you want to talk, then you know what I want to talk about,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Would you like to get inside my car?”
“Not really.”
“Chloe. Get inside the car.”
I think about it. It is cold. And he hasn’t said that he doesn’t want to talk about what I want to talk about. And besides that, I’m desperate for him. I miss him. I can pretend all I want that I’m pissed at him, and I am, but the reason I’m pissed at him is because I miss him and I want him.
I get into the car.
He spreads a napkin over my lap and sets down a plastic tray of sushi on top of it.
I want to protest that I’m not hungry, but the smell of the food is intoxicating. I take the chopsticks that are sitting next to the sushi rolls and use it to pop one into my mouth.
“Where did you find sushi this amazing in Syracuse?” I ask as the flavors explode against my tongue.
“It’s not from Syracuse.”
“Where is it from?”
“New York.”
“You got sushi delivered to you from New York City to Syracuse?” I ask incredulously as he wordlessly hands me a bottle of water. I accept it gratefully, then take a sip and set it down in the cup holder in front of me.
“Yes.”
“But… “ I bite my lip. Of course he did. It’s just another way he gets whatever he wants, and I realize he’s doing the same thing here, with me, right now. I glance at him. “And your clothes?”
“Delivered,” he says.
“Showers?”
“Mrs. Britsky has been nice enough to let me use her shower.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mumble.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say. “It’s just that you always seem to get everything you want, like it’s easy.”
“Nothing is easy, Chloe,” Gage says, his eyes darkening. “And I don’t get everything I want.” His eyes skim back up my body, and I know he’s thinking of me. Of my body. And yet I offered it to him the other day and he rejected me.
And suddenly, I’m sick of talking in semantics.
I set my chopsticks down. “You could have had me,” I say. “The other night. But instead you decided leave me.”
“Is that what you think?” he asks, setting his own food aside. “That I decided to leave you? That that’s what I wanted?”
“Of course it’s what I think Gage, and unless you’ve somehow become a puppet or a robot, it’s true. You decided to leave me there in that room, alone.”
He takes in a breath, and he reaches for the steering wheel, his hands tightening around it.
“Stop pushing me away,” I say. “And tell me what’s going on.”
He looks at me. “That night, I….I wanted you more than anything.”
“And I wanted you.”
“But I couldn’t… your first time shouldn’t be with me, Chloe. You’re beautiful and perfect, and I’m…” He trails off and takes his hands off the steering wheel, turns his palms over and looks at them.
“You don’t get to decide who I give my virginity to,” I say. “That’s my decision.”
“But you don’t have all the facts. So I refuse to let you make that decision blindly.”
“Then tell me,” I say. “Tell me the facts.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not that easy.”
“I’m not saying it’s easy, Gage, I’m saying that if that’s what we need to move forward, then we need to find a way to do it.” I shake my head. “Because I’m not doing this anymore. None of this, the sneaking around, the secrets, you shutting down… I’m not doing it. I just want things to be normal.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to let the wave of longing for just how badly I want that overwhelm me.
“Grace is missing.”
“What?” Gage’s voice is sharp as he looks over at me. “What do you mean, she’s missing?”
“I haven’t heard from her in days.”
“Are they looking for her?”
“The police say they are, but… it’s not like with a child, you know? She’s a grown-up, and she was last seen in New York City. She was staying with a friend of ours, who says that yes, she did come over and spend the night, and then she was gone the next day, supposedly heading back to the dorms to meet me. But after that, no sign of her.”
“Jesus,” Gage says, his shoulders straightening. “Okay. We’ll go back to New York.”
“What?”
“We have to go back to the city. We have to find her.”
“You don’t even know her,” I say.
“She’s your best friend, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s all I need to know.” He’s picking up his phone, scrolling through his contacts. “I’ll get in touch with an investigator I know. He’s retired NYPD, he can help.”
“Thanks,” I say, twisting my hands in front of me.
“You’re welcome.” He sets his phone back down and looks at me. “Chloe.”
“Gage.”
“Come back to the city with me.”
I shake my head. “There’s nothing there for me.”
He reaches his hand out, and takes mine, his fingers warm and comforting. Reflexively, my fingers entwine with his. I want to be so close to him that I ache. My eyes fill with tears, and he reaches out and takes the back of my head with his other hand, and rubs my neck softly.
“Don’t cry,” he whispers. “Jesus, please don’t cry.”
He hesitates just for a moment, the first time I’ve ever seen him do that, and then he’s kissing my cheeks, his lips smudging my tears.
“Gage,” I say. “I just…”
“Come to the city with me,” he murmurs into my ear. “Please. I’ll try. I promise.”
“I can’t,” I say, but I’m gripping the front of his shirt, and I’m so consumed with him, so caught up in h
im, that even as I’m saying that I can’t, my hands are twisting the material, desperate for his body to be closer to mine.
“Chloe,” he breathes. “Chloe, please.” He’s pulling me toward him, and now I’m on his lap, and he’s still kissing away my tears, his hand on the back of my neck, gently running through my hair, and then his lips are on mine.
It’s instant explosions through my body, glittering fireworks that spread through me until every nerve ending is alive.
His tongue presses past the seam of my lips, his stubble brushing against my face. He’s trying to be gentle as his tongue slides erotically over mine, and I can tell he doesn’t not want to push me into anything I’m not ready for.
But I want him.
His kisses are making me dizzy, the feel of his hands on my body making me forget about everything -- Grace, my internship, Brandon, my sister… all of it disappears as our kiss deepens.
I pull back, my eyes locking on his.
“Chloe,” he murmurs, running his thumb over my bottom lip softly.
But if he thinks I want soft, he’s confused. I don’t want soft. I want hard. I want him to do the things that he wants to do to me.
I don’t care if it’s one night.
I don’t care about what I just said.
Because right here, right now, with him, I can’t resist.
I just want his hands on my body, his lips on mine.
“Sir,” I say, averting my eyes.
“Chloe – ” he starts. “You don’t have to…”
But I’m climbing further onto his lap, and his arms wrap around my waist and his hands slide down to my ass, squeezing gently.
His mouth is on mine, and I can tell he’s trying to hold back, can tell that he wants to be gentle with me. I bite his bottom lip, knowing that he won’t like that, won’t like that I’m being rough with him when he’s being gentle.
Sure enough, a low growl emanates from deep in his throat, and his nails dig into my ass, through the thin material of the pajamas I’m wearing.
He takes control of the kiss, his tongue delving into my mouth. One of his hands finds the back of my head and pulls me into him, like he wants to devour me, and I sink into his body, feeling the outline of his cock through his jeans against my open legs.
“I’ve been bad, sir,” I whisper against his mouth, so close that my lips brush against his. “I didn’t listen. I left without telling you, I dodged my security…”
I list my transgressions, knowing that he won’t like it, knowing that his need to protect me is all-encompassing.
He takes my wrists and pins them behind me, forcing my hands onto his knees. My breasts thrust out toward him, my nipples already poking like two gumdrops through the thin fabric, betraying how turned on I am.
He leans down and his tongue traces the outline of my nipples through the material, his breath hot against my skin. I moan and arch up into him, wanting more.
Now that I’ve given in, now that I’ve crossed that line, I’m greedy, wanting him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
“If you don’t stay still, baby, I’m going to have to hurt you,” he murmurs, his tongue still making lazy circles around my nipples. As if to illustrate this point, he reaches up under my shirt with one hand, covering my breast and twisting my nipple until I whimper.
I arch forward again, wanting more, more, more, but he pulls back.
“You need to stay still.” He’s stopped touching me, but his eyes are on my breasts, the desire for me evident in the darkness of his gaze. “Your tits are so fucking perfect.” Still, he doesn’t make a move to touch me. “I can’t wait to watch them bounce when I fuck you. Slide into that tight little cunt and rail you until your tits bounce up and down with each thrust.”
Shots of heat explode through my pussy, and I need him against me, need friction, something to relieve the pressure that’s building between my legs.
I move my hands again.
He sighs, as if I’m a naughty school girl who can’t be taught. He reaches down and runs his hand along the bottom of my t-shirt. “I see we’re going to have to do this the hard way.” He pulls off my shirt, leaving me in just my shorts and panties, then takes my wrists and pins them behind my back, using his free hand to pull off his belt and tie my wrists together expertly.
“Gage,” I murmur. “Please, I…”
“Yes, baby, that’s right,” he says with a wicked grin. “Beg for it.”
He pushes me back against the steering wheel and takes my hips, begins to guide my body up and down on his, rubbing me against his jeaned cock.
I moan and bite my lip.
“More,” I whisper. “Please, more.”
“You want my cock?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me.”
“I want your cock. Please.”
He undoes his pants, the whole time his eyes on mine, watching me as it springs into view, hard and swollen.
He begins to stroke it, slowly, his eyes on mine, and it’s so erotic that I close my eyes as another moan escapes my lips.
“No, baby,” he says. “Open your eyes.”
And then, in one swift movement, before I even realize what’s happened, he’s ripped my shorts at the sides, tearing them down the seams and pulling them off of me. Now I’m poised above him in just my panties, his bare cock resting on the thin material.
I groan, gathering every ounce of my willpower and using it to stay still, not wanting to displease him anymore, knowing that if I do, he won’t let me come.
“I want to fuck,” I say, still not used to the dirty words that are coming out of my mouth. But it’s true. I do want to fuck him, would fuck him, right here in this car.
He grins cruelly. “No, baby. Not in this car. Not like this.”
“I want to come,” I try.
He presses the palm of his hand flat against the crotch of my panties, and I wriggle against it, desperate for the friction.
He pushes my panties over to the side, then rubs his bare cock against my bare vagina.
“Gage,” I groan. “Jesus, Gage.”
I try to arch toward him, but with my hands tied behind my back, it’s impossible.
He places his hand around my throat and pushes me back so that my back is forced hard against the steering wheel.
His fingers slide along the slit of my pussy, and then he’s pumping them inside of me while at the same time rubbing his dick up and down my slit.
“Watch,” he says. “Watch how that greedy little cunt takes my fingers.”
I do as I’m told, watching as he finger fucks me while his dick rubs up and down my slit. He keeps going, faster and faster, his hand tightening around my neck, just enough pressure to make me aware that it’s there, to let me know that I’m completely at his mercy.
“Gage,” I say. “Gage, oh my God, Gage.” I can feel my channel tightening around his fingers, feel myself coming all over him as he chokes me, feel myself losing all control and shattering under his touch.
It’s only a few seconds after my orgasm has finished pulsing through me that he’s pulling me off his lap and setting me down on the seat next to him, pushing my head down until my lips are a seal around his cock.
He explodes in my mouth, his cum hitting the back of my throat, and I swallow it all down, not leaving a drop, just like I know he wants.
After a few minutes, when we’ve caught our breath, he gets a blanket from his trunk and we climb into the backseat, where he holds me close.
“You know, this would be a lot easier if you would come back to New York with me,” he says, running his fingers through my hair.
“Easier for who?”
He doesn’t answer for a second, then finally, he pulls back and looks at me, his hand cupping my chin. “I meant what I said to you, Chloe. About trying. About…letting you in. It won’t be easy for me. But I’ll try.”
“I know.” I nestle back against him. “I just… I need to think about it.”<
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“I understand.”
I lay there like that, nestled in his arms, and after a moment, I fall asleep.
When I wake, the sky is just starting to lighten, the dark indigo of the night starting to fade into a soft purple.
“I need to get inside,” I whisper to Gage, pulling on my t-shirt and my ruined shorts.
“Take this,” he says, opening his eyes and handing me the blanket. I wrap it around my arms and he pulls me back to him, kissing me softly on the lips. He takes my wrists and turns them over, seeing where the marks his belt left are already starting to bloom. “Chloe,” he whispers. “I don’t… I’m not going back to the city without you.”
“You’re going to live in your car?” I laugh. “In front of my house?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
His tone is dead serious.
From the house across the street, the one next to Mrs. Britsky’s, the garage door starts to open. The neighbors are leaving for work.
“I have to go,” I say again, and this time, I do leave his car, holding the blanket around my shoulders as I do my best to hold my ripped shorts together.
Already my body is aching from everything we’ve done, and my legs are stiff and sore as I climb the steps to the porch.
But before I can open the front door, it opens from the other side. I’m so shocked that the blanket I’m holding around my shoulders falls to the ground.
My mother stands there in her robe.
“Oh!” she says when she sees me. “Chloe! I thought I heard something outside, I was just coming to…” She trails off as she takes in my appearance.
I lean down and pick up the blanket, pulling it around my shoulders.
But it’s too late.
She’s seen my ripped shorts, and now her eyes are moving down to the bruises around my wrists.
She glances behind me to Gage’s car, where he’s getting out of the backseat and climbing back into front.
“Mom,” I start.
But she looks sick.
Because she’s just figured it out.
Figured out that her daughter is in a BDSM relationship, which is the exact reason her other daughter was murdered.
And before I can say anything, before I can even try to explain, she does something I never would have imagined her doing.