Hart of Darkness

by S. B. Alexander

  Where it went, I didn’t care. I cupped my breasts then shaped my waist before teasingly dipping my fingers into my capris.

  He removed one hand from his pocket and gripped his cock through his jeans. An intimate thread weaved between us, defying the roughness I’d asked for. My pulse sped up at the carnal knowledge of how the hunger, raw, strong, and powerful, oozed off him.

  The expression on his face said, “you’re beautiful, stunning, and sexy,” and for that, I shimmied out of my capris.

  His chest was moving up and down while he gnawed his lip. I wanted to be that lip.

  When I was standing in nothing but my thong and bra, he groaned, squeezing his erection.

  I licked my lip, debating whether I should make the first move or let him. I decided it would be more fun to watch the beautiful disaster that was etched on his face. I got the impression he wanted to pounce and feast on me. I certainly wanted him to rub his hands, his tongue, his lips, and his body all over me. I wanted him to claim me as his own. Why hadn’t he thrown me to the floor or bent me over the pinball machine? He was leading me to believe he was all about the foreplay, the anticipation. I couldn’t blame him.

  Foreplay was the prelude to a dance that was brightened with stars, soaked in sweat, and blanketed in kisses. I wasn’t a romantic, but I would be for him.

  I reached behind me and unclasped my bra. I slipped one strap off then the other before the fabric floated to the carpet. I wasn’t modest. I loved my body, as every woman should, flaws and all. I wasn’t rail thin or model skinny. I was pillowy in all the right places, and I was proud to say I wore a size twelve.

  Dillon groaned as he unbuckled his jeans.

  At that moment, if he didn’t do something to me, I was going to start playing with myself. I wanted to approach him, undress him, and do things to him that I’d envisioned doing while using my vibrator. But again, if he wanted me, then I wanted him to show me. I didn’t want to guess by witnessing the size of his erection.

  He raked his gaze over my breasts, unzipping his jeans. His hand disappeared into his briefs. He closed his eyes briefly before those hooded peepers opened.

  I took one step then another toward him with my hand inside my thong, and my breasts on display to admire, touch, and nibble.

  He shook his head. “Take your hand out. Play with your breasts.”

  I did as I was told only because he asked in a tone that said he would die if I didn’t.

  He shucked his jeans and briefs, watching me play with and pinch my nipples. Soon, he was full-on naked, and his cock was standing erect. And boy, it was a cock that I could write a full-page story about. It was thick, long, and big, and every ounce of willpower I had was about to combust into an orgasm without anyone touching my sex.

  He reached out and grabbed hold of my thong. I went to him on wobbly knees. The need to fuck him was beyond painful. I was beginning to understand what men meant by blue balls.

  “Please, Dillon,” I whined. I sounded pathetic but didn’t give a crap. I needed his cock inside me, and I needed to feel the stretch and the friction. I needed my breasts to bounce and for him to play, suck, lick, and slap if that was his thing. It certainly was mine.

  I got my wish when he spun me around and guided me to bend over the pinball machine. My vision colored with greens, browns, blues, and reds from the scenery below the glass. My heated skin cooled as my stomach touched the metal of the machine. The mere idea of him taking me from behind sent erratic pulses to my swollen clit.

  I swore one touch from him would make me scream to the high heavens.

  He ripped off my thong, and I giggled.

  Then his cock grazed my butt as he rubbed his hands up and down my back. I pushed back against him, wanting to feel him inside me. I tossed a look over my shoulder, my cheeks as hot as a bonfire on a cold night.

  One of his hands pressed into my back, while the other careened down in between my ass checks. I moaned as his fingers found my center.

  His expression was more painful than before. “Holy fuck. You’re soaked, baby,” he said, deep and husky, as he began to rub circles around my clit. Then his other hand disappeared from my back, and before I knew what was happening, two of his fingers were inside me.

  I opened wider for him as I rocked my hips back and forth as though I were humping the pinball machine. The irony of my position was that I was plastered against the machine, looking down at the KISS theme and Gene Simmons’s enormous tongue.

  As if on cue, Dillon kneeled behind me and replaced his fingers with his tongue. His beard was scratchy, sending tingles of electricity down my legs to my toes.

  I needed release and badly.

  His tongue was hot and wet. One last flick would have done the job, but then he disappeared.

  Whimpering, I plastered my cheek to the glass, breathing heavily and holding on since my legs were shaky.

  I heard the clink of his belt buckle. For a minute, I thought he was going to whip me, and I whimpered.

  He chuckled. “You want to be spanked?”

  “Only if you have that ping-pong paddle.”

  Silence ticked.

  I pushed off the machine and found him thinking. His head was angled to one side, his inked and muscled body perfect in every way.

  I lowered my hand and clutched his massive erection. “You can use the paddle another time.” I assumed he was thinking of where he could find a paddle in his house since the ping-pong table was at the shelter.

  He unleashed a menacing grin.

  “Now where were we,” I said more than asked, only using the question to connect us again.

  He tore open the wrapper of a condom that I imagined he’d gotten from his wallet, which lay open on the floor. Then he covered his smooth, silky cock and guided me around once again to bend over the pinball machine.

  I slid my hand down to my clit, but he caught my arm. “Oh no, you don’t. I promise that what you’re about to experience will be well worth the wait.”

  It already was, and I hadn’t even climaxed yet.

  One large hand grasped my hip and pulled me toward him, while the other hand guided his cock into my center. “Spread your legs.”

  As soon as I did, he maneuvered inside me as if he’d done it a million times. I stuck out my hips toward him as much as I could, and instead of plastering my body to the machine, only my hands held on to the edge as I let my breasts hang down.

  He jammed into me, hard and fast, and oh my word, he felt like heaven. Stars, bright and sparkly, glimmered behind my eyelids. I lost all sense of where I was.

  I twisted my neck to watch him pound into me, and if I thought his earlier expression was a beautiful disaster, I was wrong. He looked like a man who had found the drug he needed to take away all the pain he’d endured in his past.

  He pulled out and brought me over to the chaise lounge. “I need to taste you again.” He pushed me on my back.

  My body was singing, tingling, and on fire.

  I let my legs fall open as though he had willed them to. Then he dragged his scratchy beard along the inside of my thigh. Goose bumps shot free and sang hell yeah.

  “Dillon, now!”

  He chuckled before he captured my clit in between his teeth and bit down lightly. “You like it rough, right?”

  “Stop talking and do something.” I wasn’t nice in my deliverance. I was the one in severe pain now.

  He went to work, sucking and licking. I could feel a tinge of cold from his lip ring every time he licked, and the mixture of hot and cold added to the blissful feeling taking over my body, even more so when he drove his fingers into me.

  I pinched my nipples while my belly tickled, as though Dillon had dipped a million feathers inside me. I writhed, rocking my hips, needing friction. I latched on to his hair as those feathers morphed into a tornado, swirling, spinning, twisting, and turning until I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Dillon Hart!”

  He continued to suck on my clit as my vision blurred
, and I rode out the orgasm, not wanting it to end.

  Then he lifted his head, crawled up my body, and thrust into me, growling, sounding husky and in desperate need of release. “So fucking tight.”

  My breasts bounced as that lingering orgasm hung in the balance. I rocked my hips with him until he slipped one hand behind me, grabbed my butt, and held on while he rammed into me harder and faster. Then he slowed, sweat sliding down his face.

  I pouted.

  “I want this to last.” Despite his husky tone, he sounded melancholy as though this was our one and only time together.

  I squeezed around him to let him know we would tango in the future.

  “Mmm. Do that again.”

  So I did.

  His head dipped, his hair grazing my skin, heightening my nerve endings.

  He kissed his way up to my scar, my chin, and my ear, but never my lips. He’d wanted to leave our feelings at the door, and kissing was intimate. The act of two people’s mouths fusing together, tongues touching, sent a different message, one laced with feelings, closeness, and togetherness.

  I was tempted to pull his mouth to mine but decided not to test the waters unless he made the first move. Even then, I wasn’t sure if I would concede or not. But I didn’t have to make a choice. He nibbled on my chin before he started thrusting into me again.

  “Hike your leg over my shoulder,” he commanded.

  Poof. I was right back under his spell. His voice melted me to the fabric beneath me as I did as he commanded.

  He rammed into me deeper and harder, rougher and more ragged, until every muscle in him bunched. He grunted as he locked eyes with me. For a second, I wanted to look away from the desperation saturating every pore on his face. He looked as though he were afraid I would leave him.

  Damn heart.

  Damn feelings.

  Damn him.

  He groaned loudly, his face toward the ceiling, and his body shuddered as he pulsed inside me. The way his face contorted and his eyes rolled back in his head as he rode out his orgasm was bewitching.

  I knew then that I wanted more of Dillon. The problem was that I’d agreed to leave my feelings at the door, and that was my mistake.

  19

  Maggie

  Several of Nadine’s family members were sniffling as the priest read a passage from the Bible. I couldn’t see Nadine’s mom and dad since I was behind them, but I knew who they were since the priest had addressed them before he’d gotten started.

  Tears clouded my vision, and I hated that I hadn’t been able to help Nadine more. I should’ve insisted that she speak to Ted. More than anything, I regretted that I hadn’t brought Ted in right from the beginning. If I had, she might still be alive. But I understood her apprehension about running to the cops. After Cory had raped me, I’d been scared out of my wits of going to the cops.

  The gray-haired priest had a soft voice as he continued to speak.

  I dove into my own thoughts as I tuned him out, recalling Lou’s funeral, which was the only funeral I’d been to aside from Nadine’s. I remembered thinking that I didn’t want to end up dead. It had taken me about a year after his death and a few stints in jail for petty crimes to wake up.

  As I stood there, next to the man who had given me the best orgasms to date, I realized that I only got one chance to live my life, and I didn’t want to miss out on the finer things like a steady boyfriend or, dare I say, marriage. Before Dillon, I had begun to think I couldn’t feel that intimate connection with someone. But after the last week, I was slowly changing my tune. Maybe love wasn’t overrated. Maybe Dillon was cracking through my cement wall, bit by bit.

  I was surely getting ahead of myself, though. I’d all but forced us to be nothing more than friends. If I hadn’t gotten all weird about how he was making me feel, then our relationship would’ve taken a natural course. Maybe we would’ve kissed, or maybe Dillon wouldn’t be closed off. He’d changed from the way he’d acted before that day in his kitchen. Even during sex, I could tell he was holding back from showing me more of his emotions.

  On the drive up to Charlestown, we’d talked about everything and anything but us and the night before.

  The rustling and louder voices drew me out of my funk.

  Dillon cupped my elbow. “Do you want to pay your respects?”

  Nadine’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Glover, were standing over the coffin. Mrs. Glover, who wore a simple black dress and her dark-auburn hair pulled back into a tight chignon, had her hand on the casket. Mr. Glover stayed close to his wife, tucking his hands into his pants pockets. I could see where Nadine had gotten her red hair. Both her parents had red hair, although Mr. Glover’s was a brighter shade than his wife’s.

  “I’ll wait until she’s done,” I said in a low voice. I hated to disturb her while she was saying her final goodbyes.

  Most of the other guests had departed. Some were talking to each other in the parking lot, which wasn’t far from the gravesite.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said to Dillon.

  His whiskey-colored eyes sparkled in the morning sun. “Anytime.”

  I was learning that my belly was always giddy when I was around him. He looked like a man on the pages of GQ, with the sleeves of his crisp white shirt folded neatly up his forearms and his tattoos peeking out. His nose ring was glimmering. His beard was trimmed and hugged his angular jaw. His cologne was drifting on the light wind, and his wild hair was tamed with a small amount of gel.

  Mrs. Glover broke my concentration as she sniffled, walking by me.

  My nerves started to sing as I cleared my throat. On the way here, I’d wrestled over whether or not to put on my reporter hat or just pay my respects. Today wasn’t the day to probe her parents for information for my story. However, if I only paid my respects, then her parents might ask me how I knew Nadine, and I couldn’t tell them without spilling information that Ted didn’t want the public to know.

  “Mrs. Glover? Mr. Glover?” I interlaced my hands in front of me. “I’m Maggie Marx, a reporter for the Boston Eagle, and this is my friend, Dillon Hart. We’re very sorry for your loss.” I figured if I told them I was a reporter, then they wouldn’t ask me how I knew Nadine. In turn, I wouldn’t have to lie.

  Mr. Glover appraised Dillon and me. “We’re in mourning, Ms. Marx. Your questions can wait.”

  I wasn’t surprised. “Honestly, Mr. Glover, I would like to learn more about Nadine. Is there a good time when I can meet with you and Mrs. Glover?” Tears surfaced as I thought about Nadine.

  Mrs. Glover handed me a tissue. “I get the feeling you knew Nadine.”

  Dillon placed his hand on my lower back. “Nadine’s body was found not far from where we live. We feel awful about what happened to her.”

  I’d filled Dillon in on the way there that Ted hadn’t divulged anything about Nadine running from that house since he was still working on the case.

  Mrs. Glover shuddered, while Mr. Glover relaxed a little bit.

  I wanted to kiss Dillon for breaking the ice, especially since I was on the verge of crying along with Mrs. Glover.

  Then Mrs. Glover started in. “We never thought our little girl would be swallowed up by the big city. She had such high hopes when she packed her bags and moved to Boston. She wanted to be on her own, and we felt we needed to let her explore her life.”

  “We gave her enough money to get on her feet,” Mr. Glover said. “She called us frequently, and the last time we spoke to her, about six weeks ago, she informed us she’d found a job working in retail sales. That was the last we heard from her.”

  Maybe that was how she’d met Miguel. But Ted had said Miguel found runaway girls, homeless girls, and girls prostituting themselves, not girls who worked in retail. It sounded as though Nadine had lied to her parents.

  As if Dillon could feel their heartache, he said, “My sister did something similar. Sadly, though, my family and I haven’t heard from her in four years.”

  Mrs. Glover took Dillon�
��s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  Dillon sandwiched her hand with both of his. “Thank you. I hope to get closure one day.”

  I prayed that day would come soon for him.

  Mr. Glover cleared his throat. “Ms. Marx, we can’t tell you much more than that except we loved our daughter dearly. She was a bright light on a gloomy day. She had high hopes of studying journalism. But as we said, she wanted to take a couple of years and find herself.”

  Wow! Now I was more intrigued about Nadine. But I would never know more about her. I had enough info to use if the Glovers would let me.

  “Do I have your permission to print that, Mr. Marx?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  Mrs. Glover let go of Dillon. “We appreciate you coming.”

  That was our cue to go. I wanted to ask more questions, but I couldn’t without breaking down, and I had enough to use for an article.

  I hooked my arm in Dillon’s. “Again, we’re so sorry for your loss.”

  Silence followed us to Dillon’s car.

  Once we were on the road, I finally sighed. “Thank you for stepping in. I seriously was close to bawling.”

  He grasped my hand. “I got you.”

  I liked that. I liked that a ton.

  20

  Dillon

  I sat in my office, taking care of a few administrative items. Since Nadine’s funeral, frustration had ridden me hard for so many reasons. No matter how much I lifted weights or exercised to the point of exhaustion, I couldn’t relax or sleep.

  Waiting for anything had never been my strong suit. I was waiting for Denim to call me. When Maggie and I had gotten to the prison last Friday, we’d learned that Denim was in solitary. He’d gotten into a brutal fight with an inmate, and they had both needed stitches. The guard hadn’t told us much more than that. I could only assume Denim had asked the wrong questions, which had rattled the cage of a Black Knight member. I was relieved that Denim hadn’t gotten himself killed.