by Paula Hawkes
Still only semi-conscious, Philip gently feathered the back of her neck with kisses. She sighed and pressed harder with her hand, rotating hard flesh against soft flesh, feeling a slow wave of pressure building up between her legs. Her stomach was almost cramping with the tension and she felt a nip of hard teeth pinching the flesh on the side of her neck, just where it curved into her shoulder. She gasped, her body shuddering as a shockwave of pulsing intensity flowed through her body and her mind crested that wave in a breaking sigh of pleasure. Philip continued to nibble her neck and kiss her as she descended slowly from her joyful climax, and in her mind all she could see were emerald eyes aflame with desire.
Chapter 12
23:44: Tarb4u : Tell me what she’s wearing
23:45: Tarb4u : Better still, send me a picture
23:48: HornEnvy : I’ve just sent it
23:48: HornEnvy : Don’t forget to delete it
23:49: Tarb4u : Oh no, I’m keeping it ..
23:49: Tarb4u : .. as evidence
23:52: Tarb4u : Is that the best you can do ?
23:52: Tarb4u : It’s a bit tame
23:55: HornEnvy : I won’t be able to get better than that
23:56: Tarb4u : Never mind. I’ll send YOU a picture
23:56: Tarb4u : You won’t believe what I’ll make her to do for me !!
Her breath was starting to settle into an easy rhythm now, perfectly timed with the slap of her bare feet on the cold, rough pavement. There was a burn of stitch in the side of her abdomen but she was used to dealing with that. Many hours, and even more kilometres, spent pounding the streets in her seemingly endless marathon preparations had taught her techniques for dealing with physical and mental pain.
She had read, in many of the crime books that she was so fond of, that terror paralysed. Luckily for her, or maybe just in her case, that wasn't so. The blow she had received to the back of the head as she walked to the tube station had stunned her. A sharp pain that instantly brought stars to her eyes and made her stumble. As she had crumpled, grazing her knees on the pavement, her high-heels had fallen off. Another stroke of luck she calmly told herself as she paced her running carefully. She was only able to maintain this thin skein of calm, a tenuous skin that stretched so tightly over the fear that it threatened to tear, because the sound of pursuit wasn't getting any closer. It wasn’t dropping further back either.
The streets were empty. Empty, that is, apart from herself and her shadowy, relentless pursuer. When she had checked her watch, just before leaving the restaurant, it had been almost one o'clock in the morning. Much later than she had intended to leave. Her husband wouldn't be worried about her. In fact, she had thought as she walked out into the deserted streets, before the assault, he would have been even more excited than ever by her lateness.
It was hard to think about the earlier part of the evening, but she tried. It helped to keep her from panicking, keep her from thinking about the attacker sprinting along just fifty yards or so behind her.
She could hear his breathing, far more ragged than hers, and she was desperately hopeful that he would tire soon. For added insurance she put in a short burst of speed, the kind she was used to engaging to up the pace a bit and leave fellow marathon runners behind. It was harder without trainers on, the soles of her feet stinging with each new impact.
She forced her mind back to earlier in the evening again. It had all gone perfectly, exactly as planned. The man was charming and oh so good looking. She couldn't believe her luck. When she and her husband had made contact with him online a good rapport had developed almost instantly, but the photos he sent through had looked just too good to be true. So she was pleasantly surprised, no that was a gross understatement, she was astonished when she met him for the first time that evening. He was perfect.
The meal had been good, but she hadn’t been concentrating very much on the food. The company had been too compelling. His smile was simply breath-taking. He was easy to talk to, quite interesting actually, a real bonus. They had flirted outrageously, and she was amazed at how easily that had come. None of the awkwardness she had expected from a first real life encounter with someone who she had already virtually agreed to have sex with. But tonight hadn't been about that. It was intended as a 'suck it and see' evening. Her husband and her had laughed at that expression, but all had agreed there would be no actual 'sucking' that evening. The intention was for her and the 'bull' to meet up and see if there was a real connection, a physical attraction to back up the online interaction. There most definitely was. She had been tempted to break that no sucking rule, but had just about managed to contain herself. Anticipation would only sweeten the reward she knew. This was her first time doing this kind of thing so she hadn’t wanted to rush anything, no matter how tempting that thought was, and she couldn't believe how well it had been going
Until some fucker had tried to cave in the back of her head that is. As she had fallen her attacker was instantly upon her and she saw the flash of metal that looked scarily like a long bladed knife. She had kicked out and her strong leg muscles had been very effective. She had heard a satisfying grunt of pain as she caught her attacker on the side of his thigh. He had staggered backwards and she suspected he had a dead leg. Her survival instincts had then taken over and she leapt to her feet and started to run, glad that she didn't have to waste time removing her shoes. He hadn't taken as long to recover from his dead leg as she had hoped, and was soon keeping pace, albeit a good distance behind her.
Suddenly, a stone dug into the heel of her naked foot and made her cry out in anguished pain, hobbling for a few steps. She could hear the renewed vigour of her pursuer. His panting came faster, as did his footsteps. She tried another sprint but was struggling with the bruising pain in her right foot. She could hear him getting closer.
She pumped her arms harder, raised her knees higher in an attempt at lengthening her stride, but each time her right heel landed on the unforgiving pavement she winced and her leg almost gave way. She tried to run on just the front of her damaged foot but that slowed her down even more.
Panic was starting to rip through the thin fabric of control as she heard her attacker rapidly gaining ground. His panting sounded wet now, as if he was salivating at the prospect of finally catching his prey, a wolf that had patiently tracked along behind the doe, waiting for the moment to strike with slavering jaws. An uncontrolled whimper escaped from her mouth and she could feel the sting of tears adding to her myriad of other pains.
With a broken sob she stopped and turned to face her nemesis. His slender silhouette was within ten yards now and she could see the rapid flashing of the blade as it caught the meagre streetlight, and noticed with almost professional detachment his unskilled, spasmodic running technique. Tears were blinding her, and her panicked brain tried to think what she could use to defend herself. She would punch and kick, though she couldn't rely on the luck that had delivered her first blow. He would be ready for her to fight back now so she would have to fight dirty. If only these damned tears would stop, and she could see clearly.
Abruptly the shadow leapt sideways into the bushes of a front garden, and her eyes were blinded further by the bright lights of an approaching car. She stood slightly bent, sobbing uncontrollably as the car drew up alongside her. It was a black taxicab. A middle-aged man wound down the window and leaned across. "What's the problem, sugar?"
She couldn't answer, angry at herself for her lack of control, but she was so scared that her crying just would not stop.
"Hey look. Just jump in. I'll take you wherever you need to go and you can tell me all about it. If you want."
As soon as she heard the click of the taxi door releasing she leapt into the warm sanctuary of its dark interior. Her breath hitched in her chest and she was totally failing to gain any sort of control, but the feeling of intense relief that washed over her was overwhelming.
To his credit, the driver remained patiently silent as he waited for her instructions. When she wa
s finally able to speak, all she could do was blurt out a barely intelligible "Thank you" and her address. The driver smiled at her, sympathy and concern creasing his face, but without a further word he drove on and she sank back into the warm dark leather of the rear seat and let the remaining tears flow like a river. The back of her head stung where she had been hit with God-knows what, and the stitch in her side was an agonising fire, but slowly and surely her breathing settled from broken, gasping sobs into a more comfortable pattern.
She should call the police as soon as she got home but how the hell would she explain her reason for being at the restaurant that evening? They'd want to talk to her new companion, and she only knew his first name, his mobile and his moniker on the online cuckold dating site that her and her husband had recently joined. They'd want to look into that, most definitely. He would want no part of any investigation, and neither did she in reality. She was hurt but alive. The shame of talking to the police about her most secret fantasies would be unbearable. Her husband would feel the same way. Slowly, the tears stopped flowing, and she just felt dreadfully tired. Sleep crept up and numbed her pains as the warmth from the vehicle's heater blanketed her troubled mind.
Chapter 13
The following morning China’s ankle was so sore that she was hardly able to walk. She decided to stay at home and extend her weekend. Anyway, she thought, it would do her good to stay away from the temptation of the café for a day. Get her thoughts straight. “Sort your life out, China Dark,” she told herself as she sat flicking through the myriad of rubbish that washed mindlessly through daytime television.
Philip had left her stretched out comfortably on the sofa, with a large bottle of water, and an array of snacks within arms reach. He had also jokingly laid an old walking stick next to her. “For the invalid,” he announced. “At your age you have to look after yourself.”
The news channel kept replaying the same cycle of news over and over again. Nothing new to say on each repeat of the same subject, but a brutal, unsubtle hammering home of world events. The standout item of the day, which was inspiring a frenzy of speculation from the excited newsreader, was the discovery of another body in London. It caught China’s attention because the body was found not very far from where she worked, and was the third in a month. The police weren’t yet admitting to these deaths being related but the newsreader had no such qualms, sensationally speculating as to whether there was a serial killer on the loose who was targeting young women in London. As the journalist stood in front of a building China recognized, wind whipping her hair across her news-serious face, she dropped barely veiled hints about each of the three cases and their commonalities. All were women in their twenties or thirties, all very attractive, each of them stabbed to death in a frenzied attack, but with no evidence of sexual assault. One was a young, newly engaged, personal assistant in a local firm, barely in her twenties, who lived at home with her family who were now, rather obviously China thought, “devastated at their loss”. The second body found was a Romanian woman of twenty eight who worked as a waitress in a cocktail bar, (China felt a stab of guilt as the Human League song ran uninvited through her brain), and as a lap dancer. The body found yesterday had been identified but the police were revealing no details until later in the day, revealing only that a family liaison officer was helping the family through this “difficult time”.
China shivered and pulled her thin black cardigan closer around her. These events were too close to easily dismiss. The familiarity of the scenes in the news story brought home the fragility of any assumed safeness. The thin veil of civilization could be shattered by one simple violent act, and when that possibility was just around the corner rather than thousands of miles away, in a different country, it brought a new perspective to life. She felt almost silly thinking it, but she was going to be more careful from now on. More observant. In the past she hadn’t thought twice about walking home in the dark through the supposedly safe streets near her work, or between the rail station and their house. She couldn’t avoid these situations, to do so would be to give in to primordial fear and let the bad guys ‘win’, but she could take a few sensible precautions. She could try to make sure that she was never fully alone after dark whilst out and about, keep with any crowds rather than trying to find the routes that avoided them.
The news program had moved on to the weather now, and China couldn’t help wondering what the girls’ families would be thinking as they sat in a hurricane’s eye of grief while the world moved on to other matters, such as whether or not an umbrella would be needed today.
For a few moments the television news reports droned on as China’s mind wandered. She reached for her bag and rummaged for a nail file. She felt a sharp pain in her finger and pulled out Mark’s business card.
She rejected the thought that she could call Mark, to see what he was up to today. She put that temptation down to boredom. Still, she thought, he would be wondering where she was when she didn’t turn up at the café. She looked at her watch. It would be about now that he’d be sitting alone at the table, sipping his cappuccino. Devak would be looking on seriously of course, but he might also be wondering where China was.
Before she could stop herself she had started to type Mark’s number into her mobile. Her thumb hovered over the call button, but then she changed her mind and selected ‘Message’ instead. She typed in ‘Hi Mark, China here, at home today, ankle too sore to walk far. Thanks for the help yesterday. x’. Then she backspaced to delete the kiss that she had added on auto pilot, and before she could think about it any further she clicked ‘Send’. The second she sent the text she felt horrified. “You idiot. Why did you do that?” she said out loud, disgusted with herself. Earlier she had been telling herself she would be more careful, and now she had just texted a near stranger and revealed her mobile number at the same time. What if he called or texted while Philip was about? What if Philip saw the message on her phone?
Almost immediately her phone chimed and her stomach churned with excitement and dread.
“No worries. See you soon x”
She quickly deleted both messages, smiling, guiltily pleased at that final ‘x’. She felt like a teenager, obsessing over the inane hidden meaning behind a single character in a text message.
Her phone chimed again. It was Mark. There was a single emoticon. An image of a camera. “Click” she thought automatically, picturing Mark raising his hands to mime taking a picture.
“In your dreams” she texted back.
Again, almost immediately, “Of course x”. In her head she could hear his voice singing this in his inimitably arrogant way.
“I don’t think so”
“Shame x”
“Why???”
“You’d make a great model x”
“Don’t be silly”
“Serious x”
China stared at her phone for a second, then in a moment of childish temptation took a quick pouting selfie. Sending the image seemed to take an age, “What like this? ;)”
It was a while before the response chimed back, and her shame at flirting so outrageously grew with each passing minute.
“I can do a better job than that you know x”
“I’m sure you could”
“Then let me…. Please xx”
“I’ll think about it”
The moment after she had sent this last message she regretted it. What was she thinking? She was not going to let this man take pictures of her. That was wrong on so many levels. She waited nervously for a response from Mark but none came. She rather hoped that the message had failed to get through and that she could forget about it.
For the whole of the following weekend she sat at home doing very little but thinking, as her ankle healed. No more surreptitious texts arrived, and she respected Mark for his consideration and restraint, although she couldn’t help feeling a little peeved at the same time that he hadn’t used the excuse of her ankle to drop her at least one or two more surreptitio
us texts.
In her head she had decided that if Mark wanted to take some pictures of her, that would be fine. A simple portrait. What harm could that do? The trouble with sitting around doing nothing was that she had too much time to ponder and her mind tumbled from chaotic guilt to the rush of excitement. Many wives had portraits taken as presents for their husbands, and this would be no different. The fact that China couldn’t stop thinking about the photographer almost every minute of the day was another thing altogether.
21:33: HornEnvy : I can hardly wait now
21:33: Tarb4u : You won’t have to wait…
21:34: Tarb4u : Not much longer
21:34: Tarb4u : It will be worth it
21:36: Tarb4u : I ruined some bloke’s wife last week
21:36: Tarb4u : She was screaming as I split her in two
21:36: HornEnvy : Jeez
21:37: Tarb4u : And last night I nearly claimed another one
21:37: Tarb4u : She was panting for me
21:37: Tarb4u : Gagging for it
21:39: HornEnvy : Please. Do it soon
21:40: Tarb4u : Lol. Be careful what you wish for. Your life will never be the same again