The Very Bad Fairgoods - Their Ruthless Bad Boys

by Theodora Taylor

  However, his next words are just as hard and cold as a block of ice. “You’re body’s turning on you, Purple. You’re going to give in soon. You’re probably going to end up crying when you do. Then you’re going to wonder why you ever wanted to deny me. Because denying me means denying you.”

  I shake my head, “No—”

  But my denial is ironically cut off by another powerful surge of lust.

  I curse. “Just fuck me. Please.”

  “No.”

  “Isn’t begging enough?”

  “I already told you it wasn’t.”

  I pant, not knowing what else to do. My arms are tired, and so is the rest of my body. Wrung out and aching with unmet lust. Desire, the last time I checked, isn’t supposed to hurt. But this hurts. My body hurts to have him. My throat burns raw with the unspoken words.

  But I hold on. Keep the words trapped behind my clamped lips…

  …then watch helplessly as Colin gets up and leaves the room, the bathroom door creaking, then clicking shut behind him.

  I dimly hear the sound of a shower running in the bathroom. Colin, despite his profession, doesn’t seem to be much into pampering himself. The shower shuts off in less than five minutes, and soon after that he comes out of the bathroom.

  I watch him pass back by the bed in a fresh pair of jeans and start a new fire. He throws in enough wood that soon I’m only a little cold in my current position, which is tied up and covered in my own sweat.

  But I’m not allowed to feel too grateful for the new fire. As soon as it really gets going, Colin walks over to the bed, and bends down, disappearing out of sight for second.

  I realize what he’s fixing to do as soon as he stands back up. With my clothes all bunched into one fist. My leggings, my sweater. Even my underwear and bra.

  “No,” I say. “Colin, don’t—!”

  But it’s too late. He pitches my clothes into the fire before the words are even fully out of my mouth.

  “You psycho!” I watch my clothes go up in flames. “Fucking psycho…!”

  Colin just grabs a poker and uses it to make sure the clothes get eaten up by the flames within seconds. When it’s done, when there’s nothing left to the outfit I wore in here but ashes, he turns to me with an expectant look on his face.

  Five words or two.

  It feels exactly like a game of chess. But I’ve never been good at chess. I only know how to play because it was Paw Paw’s favorite game.

  Five words or two.

  I clamp my lips together and look away, letting him win the stare off.

  “Alright, then,” Colin says. And then he goes to the kitchen.

  Over the next hour, I get to watch him make breakfast for one. And eat it. And then fiddle with his phone for a while. And then move to the couch and watch ESPN on an old-fashioned set whose screen is too small to see from the bed.

  I’m not in a comfortable enough position to fall asleep and there’s nothing else to look at, so I kind of don’t have any choice but to watch him do all of this. He doesn’t watch me back, though, only spares me the occasional hard glance. Like having a naked women tied up in his bed is the exact same thing as having peeling paint on your ceiling. Something annoying you’d rather deal with later, after you’ve had your morning coffee, which is exactly what Colin does. Taking long swallows of coffee out of a dented tin cup.

  Does it piss me off? Well, as a matter of fact, it does. I’d love a cup of coffee myself. And while he’s watching ESPN, I’m trying to put out the raging firestorm tearing up my body with nothing but sheer willpower and pride.

  And it doesn’t seem to be working.

  No matter what I say to myself, my core continues to throb, and my body continues to ache between painful waves of lust that cramp my stomach and make me stamp my one free foot in frustration. My inner thighs are sticky and wet as I watch him watch ESPN, and I feel beyond nasty. Like a 5’5” vagina, so riddled with lust, it can barely think beyond the next moment. Even if I did give in—which I wouldn’t—I wonder if he’d even be willing to have me in this state, covered in my own sweat and lust.

  Eventually the SportsCenter credit theme, which I recognize from my months of bringing Beau lunch in his office, sounds and Colin clicks off the TV.

  He glances at me as he passes by the door again, but doesn’t break his stride, and soon I hear more water running in the bathroom.

  When he comes back into the room, he has a chipped bowl in his hand. And a washcloth. He dips it in the bowl and starts cleaning me up. He’s careful though, I notice with great bitterness, not to come anywhere near my clit.

  His movements are clinical and dispassionate and I recognize this for what it is: a sponge bath, the kind I sometimes have to give older patients. Designed to do nothing but clean.

  But what I want is a whore’s bath. My body’s like a sexual lightning rod, with all its sensitive areas set on red. I shudder when he rubs the cloth over my inner thighs, trying to get closer to the cloth, trying to make him give me the bath I want.

  No reaction on Colin’s part. He finishes below, dips the cloth again, and starts on my upper torso. I somehow hold it together when the cloth cruises over my stomach, even though the heat from the cloth only exacerbates the sharp lust now set on permanent pulse inside my womb. But when he brings the cloth up to my heavy breasts, I just can’t… a full groan escapes my lips when the cloth scrapes across my nipples and sends another spasm of lust shooting down my already overwrought body.

  It feels a little like mercy when he moves the washcloth to my arms and eventually drops it back into the bowl. At least it does for a little while. But then the true torture begins again.

  He slips two fingers back into my wet pussy, his face as hard as stone.

  “Say the words.” His voice is quiet, but forceful as a lion.

  “No,” I say with a whimper. His fingers feel so good. But only for a few moments, and then they feel like what they really are. Torture devices that tease, but aren’t coming anywhere close to giving me what I really want.

  Soon I’m straining against my ropes, wild with lust. Begging him to fuck me.

  But he doesn’t fuck me. He just stops, pulling his fingers away, leaving me cold and empty. Again.

  I can’t help it. I completely lose it this time, begging, “Please just fuck me,” over and over again until I’m a blubbering mess. Crying just like Colin said I would—but not because I’m happy, because I can no longer deal. It feels like I’m having a nervous breakdown. I wonder for real if I’m having a nervous breakdown, and if Colin was serious about not wanting to pay my therapy bills.

  It’s humiliating. The second most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me. Maybe the first. Because I didn’t cry during the incident that finally convinced my mother to leave Alabama.

  But then I feel Colin’s hand on my cheek, turning my face to look at him. He’s lying beside me now, his blue eyes filled with concern.

  “Purple,” he whispers. “You’ve got to submit. I know you don’t want to be this person, but you are. I could tell you were from the first moment we met. You’ve got to submit to me. That’s the only way this works.”

  I shake my head, wanting to deny him. Wanting to say the two words, not the five.

  But then he says, “There are ways I can be for you, better ways than this. But only if you submit. Please, Purple.”

  And I’m not sure what happens, but I hear somebody gasp out, “My pussy belongs to you,” in a strangled yell, like somebody pushing out a baby after a difficult birth.

  And I’m pretty sure it’s me.

  A few minutes ago—hours ago, I’m not sure at this point—but while Colin was watching ESPN, I was pretty sure he was unaffected by this situation. That it was all a game to him.

  But his next action proves I was dead wrong on that point. He’s on top of me so fast my head spins. Pushing into me with sloppy thrusts. Going in so deep, he’s crushing my hips into the mattress with every shove of hi
s cock. Suddenly, I understand the term caveman sex.

  “My pussy,” he hisses. It’s a declaration of triumph.

  I should feel ashamed of myself for giving in, but Colin’s rough strokes are sending me completely over the edge. I forget about my sore arms and receive him with grateful cries. My whole body is on fire for him, burning with a lust only he can make right.

  And when he pushes into me deeper than I ever would have thought possible, I completely fly apart, coming harder than I ever have in my whole life. Soon after, I feel Colin’s entire body go rigid above me.

  “Fuck, Purple…” He explodes inside of me, coating what he’s just cleaned up with his release. Making me nasty again.

  But I’m no longer capable of caring about the mess my body’s become. I’m barely breathing and my arms flop backwards, lax against their restraints.

  Colin also goes lax on top of me, his heavy weight blanketing me. For a moment, I think I’ll fall asleep like this, underneath Colin, my human blanket. But after a few heavy breaths, he lifts up. Seconds later, I feel my arms tugged upwards, then go loose as the ropes fall from around my wrists. My arms near about sing a praise song of relief when they’re finally allowed to rest properly by my side.

  “Come here,” I hear Colin say, his voice urgent. “Come here.”

  Suddenly I’m wrapped up in his arms. My body squeezed against his chest in a cradle hold. And then the most shocking thing since my arrival at this backwoods cabin happens.

  Colin kisses me. So sweetly and with such passion, ten different country love songs go off inside my head at the same time.

  “You were so good, Purple,” he croons against my lips. “Do you have any idea how hard you made that for me?”

  It’s a strange compliment, but I take it. A pathetic smile of pride splitting my face, as I say against his lips, “I’m glad you had fun.”

  “I’m having fun,” he corrects. “More fun than I’ve had in years. You’re something else, Purple.”

  A shadow crosses over my good mood, because he’s right. I had been something else, someone bad I hadn’t known existed inside of me.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it now,” he says. “People put a lot of stuff about sex in women’s heads. But know this, you’re sexy as hell, and at the end of the day we’re two consenting adults. What we do is between us. Don’t let other folks get a weigh in.”

  Then he gives me another deep kiss that just about melts every single reservation I have about what just went down between us.

  But I have to pull back from the kiss. Have to ask, “You really knew from the start I’d be okay with this?”

  “Knew is a strong word,” he answers, stroking a hand over my faded purple curls. “Suspected more like.”

  “And you were right.” I get the feeling Colin is often right about a lot of things, which is probably why he was so upset when he turned out to be wrong about Josie.

  The thought of Josie makes me stiffen inside his arms.

  “But… you know you wouldn’t have been able to do that with Josie, right? You would have triggered her after what she’d been through with her first husband.”

  Colin’s eyes narrow on me. “Why are you bringing Josie into this conversation? You barely know her.”

  A strange guilt sends ants skittering inside my stomach. Colin doesn’t know about my job, that Josie hired me to assist Beau at their home, which meant I now knew her a lot better than I did four months ago. To Colin, it must look like I was concerned for a woman I’d only spoken to face-to-face with one time. A woman he hasn’t spoken to since the last time he was in Alabama, over four months ago.

  “I’m just saying I don’t think she would have been cool with this.”

  Colin looks away, his expression unreadable. “No, she wouldn’t have been.”

  And I realize… “You weren’t planning to show her the monster. Only the saint.”

  He shoots me an annoyed look, but he doesn’t deny it. “Yeah, Josie would have required another set of rules.”

  I shake my head, not liking what I’m piecing together from this conversation. “So your plan was to what? Keep this from her? Marry her without telling her?”

  I suddenly feel upset for Josie, who deserves better than a guy who’s keeping secrets from her.

  “And then what would you have done after you had her… kept some girl you could trust on the side?”

  Some girl like me, I think, a sick dread filling up my stomach.

  But Colin draws back, shaking his head like I just accused him of a federal crime. “No, I wouldn’t have cheated on her. That’s not me. I hate liars, and I don’t ever let myself lie either. If I make a vow, I keep it. If Josie and me had gotten together, I would have been… different.”

  Now I don’t have a degree in psychology like Josie’s former boss, Sam, but even I can clearly see where he was going with his plan to “close the deal” with Josie. And how messed up it was.

  “That’s the real reason you wanted her so bad. Because you’re messed up and you wanted her to fix you. And when you couldn’t have her, you settled on me.”

  I disentangle myself from him and not only move all the way out of his arms, but also sit up in bed. I don’t know who to be more disgusted with. Him or me.

  “That’s what you think? That I couldn’t have Josie, so I settled for you?” Colin asks. He sits up, too. “I wish… I wish that was the case.”

  “You’re trying to tell me it’s not?” I shoot back. “Because if that’s not the case, I’m not understanding your motivation for going after her, then deciding to do this with me.”

  Colin’s eyes find mine. His gaze as cold as the wind I can now hear raging outside the window.

  “Did you really think I didn’t remember who you were?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Did you really think I didn’t remember who you were?”

  An anvil drops down on my heart, and I stare at Colin, speechless.

  “You know who I am?”

  “Yeah,” he says, dipping his chin like this is a conversation he really didn’t plan on having tonight. Maybe not ever. “From the moment I saw you singing. You’ve changed a lot.”

  He points to my now very messy curls, which had been dark brown and straightened with a flat iron that long ago night. “Especially the hair. But I remembered you clear as day. And I could see from the look on your face you remembered me, too.”

  “But…” I shake my head, trying to process what he’s just told me. “Why didn’t you say so? Why did you pretend we were meeting for the first time?”

  Colin scrubs a hand over his face. “Do you really think I wanted to get turned on by that fight we had that night? By one of Mike’s girls? You think I wanted to keep obsessing over you after it happened… like a goddamned psycho?”

  He breaks off and turns his head away from me, staring into the morning fire. “I tried the whole dom/sub thing. For years I tried to make it work. But it just got to feeling… hollow. So I decided to try something else with Josie, who I had a nice, wholesome teenage crush on before you came along. I figured if anybody could have cured me, it would have been her. Sorry if that doesn’t sit well with you, but I was fighting hard against becoming the beast you saw that night.”

  He turns back to me, his stare now pained. “But then you had to go and fuck that up for me.” He throws me a half-wry, half wary look. “The truth is, you’re lucky I let you out of that hotel room, Purple. Lucky I didn’t pin you to the floor and fuck you right there, after you blocked my last path out. Because that’s what I wanted to do.”

  “I—I…” …have no idea what to say.

  “And then you called me.” He bares his teeth at me. “Asked to be friends.”

  I shake my head, feeling defensive and confused. “I thought we were friends.”

  Colin shakes his head. “We’re a lot of things, Purple,” he tells me somberly. “But friends ain’t one of them.”

  I stare at him, my
mind a complete blank for moments on end. He remembers me. He’s been remembering me all this time, just like I’ve been remembering him. Remembering and trying to fight against becoming the guy he was with me that night.

  “But I should thank you for calling me,” he says. “Talking to you… getting to know you helped. Helped me come to terms with something I’d been fighting for a while now.”

  I think about his earlier words about us being consenting adults and not letting other folks get a weigh in on what we do, and realize he must have said them to himself a whole lot before he ever said them to me.

  “I’m really not sure how I should be handling this,” I tell him.

  My shaky words seem to bring him back from some emotional ledge, and a little of the intensity fades out of his eyes. “You don’t have to handle anything. We just had a lot of fun together. That’s all that matters.”

  His face then breaks out into the easy going smile that graces all of his album covers. Like he’s decided to flip some kind of switch back on.

  “You know what, Purple? That coffee didn’t do nothing for me. Come on over here, and cuddle with me while I catch a few Zs.”

  I want to take him up on his invitation. Maybe because I’m tired. Maybe because I’m as out of my mind as he is. Maybe because when all is said and done, the thing I want most in that moment are his arms back around me.

  But when I carefully lie myself down with my back toward him, it’s on my side of the bed. A small defiance to say the least, one I’m not sure he’ll even notice...

  “You want me to fuck you again, Purple?” he asks my back. “Because that’s what’s gonna happen if you don’t get over here like I told you to.”

  I lie there, completely paralyzed. Knowing I should just move over to the other side of the bed. My body already feels sore and battered, and besides, what does it matter? My pride’s already been stomped out like a big dog. I should just do as he says.

  But I don’t move.