by R. J. Lewis
“Sit,” I said, without thinking.
I pointed to the chair and then looked up at him, expectantly. Hoping he’d understand, I gave him the same look he gave me when he had motioned me up. To my relief, he did. He slowly sat back down, and leaned back, kicking his legs back on the bed before crossing his muscular arms.
“Good,” I whispered, feeling like we were getting somewhere. “Now what?” He appeared curious of me, like he wanted me to figure out the next step. “I don’t know the next step,” I admitted to myself, another sardonic chuckle. “I should be pissed that you’re here. I should be screaming for you to go. I should be sick to my stomach you’re even here because you’ve been nothing but a mind fuck, putting your hand around my neck, dumping me in a bucket of cold water, feeding me from your goddamn knife that’s probably carrying the Ebola virus. I’m insane. I’m trying to talk to the man that’s forcing me to marry him. Ironically, it’s the most conversation I think I’ve ever made to another man in…a very, very long time. If you could understand me, you’d pity me hard right now. I pity myself, but Dad did say I have a thing for drama. Now I’m starting to see that.”
I frowned now, shocked at how much I was willing to admit to myself. I was gushing verbal diarrhoea from my lips, unable to stop myself. My mouth was running on a motor I couldn’t stop. The emotions buried inside of me surfaced, creating a lump in my throat.
“Fucking old man,” I muttered, shaking my head, remembering Eternity Man. “He said he was rescuing me…He damned me. With you.”
Reaper didn’t even look he was breathing, he was so still. He regarded me without restraint, looking at my face, hyper focused on it.
“If he’d just left me,” I mused now, thinking back. “If he kept walking by, I’d be…” I’d be what? “I’d be free. I mean, I might have ended up broke and back at the tunnel, maybe even begging again for that miserable bitch that used me as a pet, but…I’d have been free, I think. I would have been able to choose my fucking husband, at the least. Imagine that.”
Reaper’s brows came together in thought. What the hell was he thinking? I wished he’d talk. I needed that interaction. I needed to be stimulated by another person’s thoughts. But this was kind of like therapy for me too. I’d never said this shit out loud. It felt good. It felt…like a heaviness was leaving my shoulders.
“You know what would have better than all that?” I carried on, more life in me now. “Maybe if my mother wasn’t so selfish, or had her mouth buried in the needles and crack pipe, scraping the soot just to get a small fix, things would have been different. Maybe, anyway. Or maybe I was always doomed to be here with…you…and your nasty Ebola blade. What do you think?”
He just stared at me, but it wasn’t in an unclear way. He looked genuinely interested in what he was seeing. When I nervously bit my lip, his eyes fell to it, and just his hazy look alone made my chest flutter and my sex clench.
“You’re bad for me,” I murmured to him, shaking my head like I was shaking sense into me. “You’re like a bad drug wrapped in chocolate, and I fucking love chocolate.”
I felt heat travel to my cheeks. I was saying too much. This free speech was hard to admit in my head, let alone out loud! Jesus, I had to be more careful. Yet…
“Maybe it’s not surprising,” I said, looking him over swiftly, as the heat inside me flowed. “When you grow up surrounded by eyes from all directions, you can’t enjoy a man without feeling like…you’re being watched, or micromanaged. You can’t ever look at an attractive man longer than five seconds before he’s forced out of the picture. You can’t ever talk to one either; he’d just end up black and blue. That’s the way it was. Until Tony. Then…you.”
You being the man that was staring at me the way those guys did in those movies right before they fucked a woman hard enough to scream.
Would he make me scream?
I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. Finding an excuse to look away, I began to reposition myself. I went to cross my legs when my bruised toe brushed against the sheet. I winced, and my hand flew to it. “Shit!” I panted, my whole body going hot again as the wave of pain tore through me. Fuck, I was worried I’d broken it.
Reaper dropped his feet and leaned forward, looking down at my foot. He jerked his chin to me again, motioning me to him.
“I’m fine,” I told him.
Ignoring that, he jerked his chin a second time, determined to get his way. With reluctance, I scooted down a little, not close enough for him to grab –
He got off the chair and grabbed my leg and tugged me down the mattress to him, a flash of annoyance on his face.
Goddammit.
He settled back down and took my foot into his hands, bringing it up for him to inspect. “I’m fine,” I repeated, mirroring his annoyance. “I’ll live.”
I wanted to pull my foot from him, but his touch distracted me. He was being gentle again, like when he cleaned me. To be honest, I didn’t give a shit about the pain in my toe. I found myself staring at his face, wondering what he was thinking as he trailed his finger around the insignificant wound, uncaring of the dried blood on my skin.
It really wasn’t that big of a deal.
I was being a wuss.
“It’s nothing,” I muttered, frowning as I recalled all the shit my body had gone through. “This is nothing.”
He paused just then, a flicker of something in his expression that troubled me. He set my foot down, and turned his head to the side, closing his eyes briefly. I saw it quickly, a fleeting look of pain skirting across his face, disappearing quickly, hiding back inside him.
Had I triggered something?
I lifted my hand to him without thinking. I touched his arm and he looked at me, his face growing darker when he found my eyes. Heart beating frantically, I stiffened but didn’t drop my hand. His skin was cool and soft. My fingers found a scar on the inside of his forearm, just before his elbow. It was raised and pronounced, a lighter colour to the rest of his tanned skin.
Maybe it was loneliness, maybe it was a moment of weakness, or maybe he just plain intrigued me – whatever it was, I couldn’t stop my gaze from taking in the rest of him. I felt drawn in, but by what? Why was my heart racing to keep a distance but my body was magnetized to him? Why was I hit with a strange nostalgia, like this had happened before? I looked into his eyes, searching them, trying to find recognition, but there was nothing to grasp. Absolutely nothing. It was in my head.
When he saw the gentleness in my eyes, his hardness returned. That icy face that intimidated the shit out of me appeared, yet I couldn’t bring myself to let go.
I didn’t have to.
He grabbed me by the hand roughly and set it back down beside me, all the while glaring into my eyes with flared nostrils. I didn’t understand what he was angry at. I didn’t know what I’d done to get that look from him. My cheeks warmed from rejection. Feeling angry and foolish, I returned his glare with my own. It felt fake, like I was trying not to let him get to me, but I knew he was.
“You think I wanted to touch you?” I growled, my embarrassment thick. “You’re the one that came to me! You’re the one that touched me first! Who the hell would want to be touched by a guy named Reaper, anyway!”
He didn’t look a single bit perturbed that I was losing it. My anger was mirroring his, and it burned even more at the indifference in his eyes.
Goddamn him!
“Do you do this often then?” I exploded, panting through my words. “Do you kidnap women and hold them against their will and make them appreciate your fucking apples? Do you like us defenceless? Trapped? Forced to look at you and feel something? Has that imprisonment worked for you in the past?”
If I thought the previous look was frightening, I had another thing coming. Something in him …snapped. His hand shot to my throat, the suddenness robbing me of my breath. My hands jumped to his locked around my neck, clawing at it as he effortlessly threw me down on the bed. My back hit the mattress and a who
osh of air escaped me. He was on top of me, pressing down on every inch of my body, leaving me powerless.
He wasn’t squeezing tight enough to close my airway, nor was he hurting me, but it was squeezing nonetheless. A power play, but this time the air had changed. If I thought I’d hit a trigger before, this was on a whole other level. This wasn’t the same beast as before. This one was fighting to control himself. The veins in his neck protruded. He shook above me; a man with a hurricane of emotions he was fighting to suppress.
In response, every inch of me came alive. Adrenaline surged, tiny little dynamites of energy bursting through my veins. Yes, now this was stimulating. This was a rush. This was what I was pining for. But how did I get here again? My mind fired with questions. I didn’t understand what had happened, but then I did in some way.
“Do you understand me?” I asked him, shakily. “Is what why you’re pissed? Because of what I said?”
He didn’t respond, nor did his face give anything away. Had he understood me, I thought of what I said to him, wondering what it was that hit a nerve. Or had it been my tone of voice that triggered him? It was impossible to know. He was impossible to read.
For the next few moments, we stayed like that. Him over me, his hand wrapped around my throat, me tremendously aware that every inch of me was covered in him. I was breathing hard. Unsure of how far he was going to go this time, or if it was going to be the same song and dance as before. The danger awakened me, startling me because it was…exquisite.
My heart was beating frantically. I was sure he could feel it through my chest. I gave up clawing on his hand; I was probably hurting myself more. Instead, my hands dropped to his thick forearm, gripping it tightly, aimlessly seeking control of it when I knew I had none.
“Are you going to squeeze?” I wondered, seeking answers in his eyes. “You going to kill me? Or keep scaring me? Which is it?”
The darkness in his face lifted just barely. The grip around my neck didn’t tighten, but his eyes dropped to it anyway, like he was contemplating.
I was disturbed where my thoughts went. The fear was there, sure, but something else too. It was stronger than the adrenaline from before. This feeling flowed through my body instead, heating me, making me hyperaware of his scent and his breaths hitting my face. My breathing went light. I felt a stir within me, relaxing me. My eyes roamed his face, dropping to his mouth that were thinly parted. He seemed lost in thought too, drowning in whatever fucked up moment this was that kept his hand where it was and me wanting it there.
“You like this, don’t you?” I breathed out, catching the way he looked my face. “Me in this position? Me pushing your buttons?”
I squirmed beneath him, the warmth growing stronger between my legs. As if sensing it, he pushed his body up just enough for my legs to spread, no longer trapped beneath him. When he relaxed back over me, his hand still fixed to my throat, I was completely aware of his weight between my legs.
Completely unused to these feelings, my eyes fluttered shut. “Guess what?” I whispered, more to myself than him. “I like it too, and I don’t know why.”
There was no logical reason to like this in any way. He was a sick, possessive monster that had no right to be touching me. In any other situation, were he any other kind of man, I would have fought black and blue against him. So, obviously, this was fucked up. Because I wasn’t fighting back. I wasn’t screaming or spitting curses. I wasn’t crying like I did the first time. I was kind of just giving in. Because it felt good. The warmth of another human being – of a man his size, who looked the way he did, who stared at me the way he did – triggered something in me. Something primitive and instinctive, and fucking shallow beyond all reason.
In other words, I had completely lost my fucking mind.
I looked at him through half-open eyes, catching the way his face dropped closer to mine. We were hardly a few inches apart, my shaky breaths exchanged with his steady ones. My grip around his arm tightened, trying to pull his hand away, but he wouldn’t allow it. He tightened his hold around my neck, his lips pressing harder as he studied me, a look of suspicion in his eyes that made me wonder what in the fuck I could be doing to provoke it. He didn’t trust me. Well, I didn’t trust him, either, yet…
I squirmed under him again, aware how that smallest part of me – that smallest yet impossible to control part of me – was feeling as it rubbed against his body. I sucked in air, taken aback by the pleasurable jolts flying through me.
Without thinking, my hands loosened around his arm. My fingers travelled to his chest, and then down the side of his body. He was all hard. All man. When I was brave enough to look at him again, his eyes were shut, like he too was just as effected. His grip around my neck loosened enough for me to lift my head up, attempting to…what? What the fuck was I doing?
My lips barely brushed his when his eyes flipped open. He tightened his hold and forced me back down, staring at me incredulously. Equally stunned, I held my breath, waiting for his backlash. My heart could be heard in my ears. I swallowed, and he must have felt it against his hand. His eyes drilled into mine, and I couldn’t look away if I tried. His lips parted, a conflicted expression formed in his face. He glimpsed at my lips and then into my eyes. I squirmed my body beneath him, and he tensed, his eyelids lowering, a hunger in him breaking through.
He was in just as much agony as me, I realized.
“Let go of me,” I whispered, pained. “Or do something.”
Reaper’s emotions were hard to keep up with. One minute unaffected, the next minute bored or curious. Now he was neither of those things. He was a mixture of anger and…lust. For once, I sensed his uncertainty. His control wavered, strained by what my body wanted, what his body wanted.
The walls around me dropped. I was allowing myself to look vulnerable. It was dangerous, but I couldn’t stop the ache from growing.
“Please,” I murmured, a quiet surrender in my voice.
He let out a long breath, a light quake felt in his body. Then, still staring at me warily, he dropped his head down and brushed his lips against mine. My eyes fluttered to close, but his were watching me, taking in my reaction, that suspicion suddenly present. He kept his lips touching mine but didn’t move them. Feeling a delicious lick of excitement soar through me, I kissed his motionless red lips. They were unbearably soft, and so fucking delicious. Everything felt hazy. I closed my eyes, kissing him like this wasn’t the most fucked up moment in my life, though it was. But something about it being so fucked up felt good.
A sound escaped me. A light moan that travelled from my lips to his. I felt something shift in him then. His breaths came faster, and before I could even open my eyes to wonder what it was, his head dropped even more, and he kissed me.
He kissed me hard.
He ravaged my mouth, forcing my lips apart, kissing me so deep, his tongue tangled with mine, tasting me. I moaned again, and I felt his excitement, felt him harden against my hip, felt his hand let go my neck and travel to my right breast. He squeezed it roughly, possessively, growling into my mouth. It was primitive in every way, and my body fucking loved it.
His tongue forced my lips wider apart, stroking mine hungrily and without restraint. There was nothing hesitant about him. Just like everything, he led the way, taking control like he probably controlled everything else in his life. This man didn’t give, he took. There was nothing heart-warming about it.
Excitement zipped through my body, in sync with my quick heartbeats. I was hot everywhere, but it burned the worst in my core.
Jesus, was this what it was like? To be touched? To be wanted? To feel so…alive?
I tasted apple on his tongue, felt his heated breaths exchange with mine. It was intimate in a way I could never imagine.
He let go of my breast and tugged at the buttons on my shirt, trying to break them free. I winced when he tugged, the collar of it brushing harshly against the back of my neck. He let it go and resumed kissing me, ravaging my mouth while his
hand roamed beneath my shirt instead, grazing against my abdomen.
Feeling equally animalistic, I tugged at his tank, pulling it up his body. He broke from the kiss, giving me time to breathe. I opened my eyes, drunk on lust. He pulled his shirt over his head and threw it down beside the bed. The first sight I was greeted with was his chest, muscular and wide. Before I could look him over, he removed the blade from his belt, halting me entirely. I stared at it, my heart picking up before looking at him. He hushed my concerns immediately, using the blade to rip through the buttons of my top, forcing it open. He did it slowly, one by one, like he was savouring every moment. He looked drunk on what he saw, and it made me feel so good, so wanted. Then he tossed the blade down next to me and dropped his face to mine.
He groaned in my mouth, running his hands down my exposed front. Both his large hands fit around each breast perfectly. The simple action made me arch my back to his touch, turning me on in ways I’d never, ever felt before.
Fuck me, he tasted good. My hips went up on their own, trying to rub that needy part of me against him. It sent pleasurable jolts through my body. He groaned when I did it again, rubbing myself against his hardness. It was hard to believe I could give him pleasure like this. What experience did I have? My hands raked down his back and to his ass. Holy, it was hard. I squeezed it the next time my hips rolled, and we groaned at the same time.
I was going to combust. Sweat trickled out of me. I was so close to letting go. To removing the last articles of clothing between us. Because if it felt good with our clothes on, what would it be like pressed against his bare flesh, his throbbing dick moving inside me? An emptiness I’d never felt there engulfed me. I imagined it would be so good to be so full. How could it not?
I panted, shaking. The ache in my sex consumed me, but at the same time, I was aware of the blade close to my head. This man wasn’t the type to let his guard down, yet he’d put a weapon right next to me. Either he was certain I wouldn’t use it, or he hadn’t been thinking straight. Judging by the hard ridge pressing against my hip, I figured it was the latter.