Almost Gothic

by Tymber Dalton

  Part of him never wanted this to end.

  For the first time in his life, he truly understood all the bullshit in the sappy rock ballads about love.

  He wanted to remain a step behind her for the rest of his life.

  It was his own stupidity that brought it to a close. At some point, his left hiking boot laces had come untied, and he stepped on them with his right foot and tripped himself as he tried to pivot from one of her blows. He couldn’t bring his shield or sword up fast enough to deflect, and she didn’t realize he was going down until after she’d made contact with his right side.

  “I yield, M’lady,” Rusty said, finally remembering they were supposed to be in character.

  Duke blew his whistle. “Kill! Match to the lady!”

  Around them, everyone cheered as Eliza smoothly slipped the sticks back into their pouch without taking her gaze off him.

  Then she extended a hand to him to help him up.

  He dropped his sword and let her, the darkness between them burning hotter and brighter even than the Florida sun blazing overhead.

  She smiled up at him. “Let’s go sit in the shade and get some water in us.”

  He nodded, then bowed from his waist. “After you, M’lady.”

  Chapter Two

  Now

  Eliza poked Rusty in the shoulder. “Come on, barbarian. Make a move. You’re holding up the game.” It was their regular Tuesday night D&D game at Grant, Darryl, and Susan’s house.

  “Don’t rush me.” Rusty stared at the battle map on the table. There were several options available to him, but few which wouldn’t cost him at least several more hit points that he couldn’t afford to lose, unless he dropped all his weapons and made a full withdrawal.

  That was an option he didn’t want to take. The coward’s way out.

  The way that might even lead to a TPK, and he was kind of fond of this character he was playing.

  But he was low in HP to begin with, and he’d already used his barbarian rage ability once earlier in the game day and couldn’t use it again until tomorrow.

  Axel, their DM, wore a shit-eating grin where he sat at his end of the table. “Do I need to start a timer?”

  “Shut up, sadist,” Rusty growled.

  That made Eliza, Axel, Michael, and Grant all burst out laughing. No coincidence they were also sadists.

  As did Darryl, Susan, and Skye, the masochistic members of their merry band of murderhobos.

  John and Milo weren’t completely in on the joke, but they chuckled anyway, as did Darryl’s teenage son, Kyle.

  Rusty knew his character was in serious jeopardy of dying before this battle ended, but he was hoping to postpone that for at least a few more rounds. Maybe one of their other player characters making a move might help him.

  “Hold action,” he muttered. It was the best of a bad batch of options.

  Eliza’s left eyebrow arched. “Seriously? You have a twenty-five initiative, and you’re holding action? When you’re our party’s meat shield?”

  “How many healing spells you got left?” he shot back.

  She snagged his player sheet from in front of him, then her jaw fell. “Yikes. Sorry.” She returned his sheet.

  “Exactly.” He sat back. “And I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m out of healing potions.”

  “Told you we should have stopped at that last town,” Darryl said. “Nobody listens to the damn bard.”

  Grant snorted. “To be fair, you playing a bard is sort of typecasting.”

  “Why? Because I play musical instruments and get easily distracted?”

  “Yes,” everyone else at the table said, prompting another round of laughter.

  By the time they ended that evening a little after ten p.m., Rusty was down to three hit points, but he was still alive, as was most of their party. Although Milo’s character was down to zero and would have to make stabilization rolls until someone could heal him back to at least one HP to keep him alive.

  After saying their good-byes to everyone, Rusty grabbed their things and followed Eliza down the hall and out to her SUV. He opened the passenger door for her and then walked around to the driver’s side, stashing their things in the back seat before climbing behind the wheel.

  She was smiling at him.

  “What?”

  An eyebrow slid up.

  “Ma’am,” he belatedly added.

  Apparently she was in a mood to let that slide. “Feeling a little better, barbarian?”

  They’d spent most of Saturday afternoon and evening at Venture, taking part in the club’s new critter group’s first play session, then back later after dinner for a heavy scene. He still bore marks on his ass that ached in a wonderful way when he sat.

  They’d spent most of Sunday cuddled together, and a little talking. Mostly cuddling.

  He was pretty talked out right now. “Yes, Ma’am.” He started the car and backed out of the driveway.

  “Did you hear from Corey today?”

  One of the things he really didn’t want to talk about, but he answered. “Yes, Ma’am. I offered for us to come up this weekend if they need us, but he said no, they’re okay, and they’ll keep us posted. He was fully cleared by his doctors on Monday.”

  Her hand came to rest on his right thigh and she gently squeezed. “Then we need to sit back and wait.”

  “I know.”

  It wasn’t an option he liked, though. Corey was his little brother. It was kind of his job to take care of him. Like he’d been doing ever since their dad died when they were kids, leaving their mom alone to work two jobs to raise them and keep a roof over their heads.

  It grated his soul raw when he couldn’t do something to help.

  “How’s Marcy doing, did he say?”

  “She had another chemo treatment yesterday. It’s still too soon to tell. Doctors are still hopeful, but won’t give them anything better than that.”

  * * * *

  Eliza got it. She understood Rusty’s frustration and helplessness. Marcy’s breast cancer, and Corey’s heart attack not long after her diagnosis, had drained Rusty’s emotional tank.

  It didn’t help that his brother and sister-in-law lived outside of Atlanta, while they were here in Sarasota.

  A whole houseful of emotional baggage weighed on her sweet husband’s mind, but there were few ways for her to access it to talk to him about it. Trial and error during their thirty-plus years together had taught her that.

  Now, she had a fairly reliable way of getting through to him.

  Except it meant waiting for him to break down and let her in through one of the cracks in his facade once they formed, before he hurriedly plastered over them again.

  It also usually meant having to beat his ass to finally get him all the way there, to a vulnerable place where he’d finally open up, the way she had on Saturday.

  “I’ll walk Boo, Ma’am,” he said when he pulled into their driveway.

  “Thanks, sweetie.” She dug her keys out and while Rusty got their things from the car, Eliza unlocked the front door and did the familiar back-and-forth dance with the fifty-pound bulldog to keep from getting slimed on her way to deactivate their alarm.

  She kicked off her shoes and reached down to scratch the bulldog’s rump. “Daddy said he’ll walk you shortly.”

  She shnurfled at Eliza and did her little hopping dance, rearing up on her back legs a few inches and bouncing. The fawn and white dog had the coordination of a drunken rock, but she was a sweetheart with a loving personality.

  Eliza dropped her purse on the couch on her way down the hall to their bedroom. Behind her, she heard the front door open and close and Rusty’s voice as he greeted Boo, along with more excited shnurfles from the bulldog and the sound of her nails clicking on the tile as she excitedly danced for him.

  Eliza missed Kailey while she was at college, but she wouldn’t deny it was nice having her barbarian able to freely indulge his nudist side without worry about them being walk
ed in on. As Eliza prepared for bed, Rusty returned from walking Boo, naked except for his leather collar and wrist and ankle cuffs. He carried his clothes over to the hamper.

  No doubt he’d stripped as soon as he’d stepped inside the back door after Boo’s walk.

  Except…

  She sighed as she watched from in the bathroom while he walked over to the end of the bed and knelt on the floor there, instead of at the side. Full formal bow, his forehead resting on the backs of his hands, which were pressed flat against the floor.

  My poor guy.

  But sympathy wasn’t what he wanted right now.

  Wanted, or needed.

  What her sweet barbarian needed was telegraphed clearly in this one silent action. While it hadn’t exactly been on her game plan tonight, especially so soon after she’d beaten the crap out of him Saturday night, no way would she put it off or deny him.

  After she finished in the bathroom, she walked over to the closet without speaking or getting dressed. She quickly selected a harsh riding crop and returned to sit on the end of the bed, her feet in front of him.

  He edged forward so he could kiss and nuzzle the tops of her feet, his touch feather-light but not tickling her.

  His soft, straight, dark brown hair was only lightly peppered with strands of silver here and there. Most people assumed he was years younger than he actually was, in his late thirties or early forties, not almost fifty. Especially if they saw him rolling around in combat during SCA or a LARP with people half their ages or younger.

  Marks from Saturday night’s play still striped his shoulders, back, and what little she could see of his ass from this angle. She also knew his thighs still bore her stripes and marks.

  Over the years, the chiseled angles of his muscles had softened a little, but he was still in damned good shape. Around two hundred and eighty-five pounds, most of that was muscle on his six four frame.

  He had a nice ass, too. Always had.

  She set the riding crop on the bed next to her and patted her lap, and it was just loud enough he could hear her. He sat up and laid his head in her lap, his arms encircling her, hands clasped behind her. His breath felt warm against her bare thighs. As she ran her hands through his hair, mussing it, she leaned over, folding her body around him. Skimming her hands down his back, she rested her head against his.

  “Say it.” She always made sure.

  “Please, Ma’am.”

  She nuzzled her face against his scalp, inhaling, loving his scent. He always smelled sweet and that was just him, like green spring grass wet against your toes.

  She made him wait for it as she stroked his back, feeling the tension bunching his trapezius muscles and deltoids and the shallow breaths that hardly made his ribs rise and fall.

  Waited for him to settle, like a wild animal barely tamed. That’s what he felt like to her, in many ways. Early on in their relationship, he’d been like a scared colt that could act calm and easy one minute, and be frantically bucking and struggling the next. Now, he was more like a feral stallion that had been lovingly gentled, but could still occasionally startle, nostrils flaring and ears up as it leaned back and away from the perceived threat and barely remained under his rider’s control.

  Barely.

  But on the good days when his mind and soul lay sweet and easily open for her, he was all gentle nuzzles and friendly snorts, solidly by her side like a well-trained pony, muscles relaxed.

  This was not one of those times.

  Sometimes, he would take a weekday afternoon or even a Saturday and drive up to Pasco County, to Terrapin Lakes, a clothing-optional resort he was a member of. There, he’d spend hours running their nature trails, pushing himself hard until he returned home to her, ragged and spent and needing her to gently sew the torn seams of his soul together again. He hadn’t taken time like that lately, partly because of his work and partly because of their schedule visiting Kailey or going up to Atlanta for Corey and Marcy. And she suspected that’s why he needed her so much like this now.

  It took a few minutes. She didn’t speak, waiting for him to remember to breathe, gently stroking his back, his arms, waiting.

  Waiting.

  She’d always wait for him.

  Tonight it took him about ten minutes before he drew in a long, slow, deep breath, held it, then let it out again. From that point on, he breathed, he relaxed, and she could get started.

  Sitting up, she stroked his head. “Over the end of the bed.”

  He smoothly rose and side-stepped, immediately bending over, arms stretched over his head and palms flat against the covers, legs spread wide.

  Picking up the crop, she stood to his left, her left hand settling in the small of his back. Without warning or orders to count, she quickly lit into him, watching his hands, increasing the power and speed of her strokes as she layered them up and down the backs of his thighs, against his ass, fresh welts blooming over his older bruises.

  Once he was fisting the covers, the muscles on his arms corded and bunched with pain, his back bowed, she eased up a little, slower strokes but still as fierce, until she knew she’d given him enough. Then she set the riding crop aside and smoothed her hands over his hot flesh, stepping behind him and pressing her thighs against his.

  Rusty sucked in a haggard breath, held it, and shakily let it out again as he rocked back to press against her. Eliza folded her body over his. She was too tired to give him a long fuck tonight, but knew he didn’t have to have that with this.

  This…what he needed, clearing his brain, and the next part, would be enough for him.

  Pegging him was merely the icing on the cake, in his head.

  Part of her hated that she was wet and horny now. Not that she felt there was anything wrong with her for doing this to him, because that wasn’t the case at all.

  She hated the reason why he needed this, the events that had led to this place for them. It wasn’t based simply on fun and enjoyment.

  It was a dark and painful need.

  Dark shadows she couldn’t ever fully erase completely from his soul, although she’d laid her body over his wounds as best she could throughout their life together, as much as he’d let her in the beginning, and then taking over and giving him no choice but to accept her love once he’d fully given himself to her.

  She climbed up and over him, onto the bed, all the way up to the headboard where she sat up and spread her legs wide. He stretched, reaching to stroke the tops of her feet, now watching, waiting, hunger in his eyes.

  He knew.

  Tonight he’d get a special reward.

  Waiting until his green gaze settled on hers, she smiled and crooked a finger at him.

  His speed shocked her. Always did. Like watching a lithe jungle cat launch itself off a branch or something, he lunged, burying his face between her thighs with a happy moan.

  She watched, loved watching him do this. With her hands buried in his hair, he swiped his tongue from ass all the way up to her clit and back again, no hesitation whatsoever.

  She didn’t hold back, either. It was easy to let go and give in, not torment him tonight, not make him earn it. He already had.

  He didn’t stop after he’d teased the first orgasm out of her with his tongue flicking her clit. As she recovered from the first, he hooked his arms around her thighs and pulled her down the bed a little, her feet resting on his knees, hips angled up, all the better to eat you out, my dear.

  And his cock, that sweet, cut, nine inches of stiff meat ready and eager to service her once he’d taken care of her first. The purple head already smeared with pre-cum leaking from it and proud and sensitive. She loved tying him up and edging him with her mouth, making him beg for relief.

  No begging tonight.

  Not from him, anyways.

  He rimmed her, teasing, his tongue punching through and making her moan before he moved up and buried his tongue in her pussy, fucking her there, too, lapping up her juices. Back to her clit, long strokes up and down t
he length of her cunt as he toyed with her. He knew her body as well as his own, and every languid swipe up her labia and around her swollen nub was meant to tease. To remind her he knew his place but he enjoyed this.

  No chore for him.

  He’d start out every morning eating her out if it was up to him, and she knew it.

  He’d tried that, too, early in their relationship, until it was making them late every day and she had to put a stop to that except on weekends or special occasions.

  His lips latched onto her clit and with his chin wedged between her ass cheeks and his nose buried in the short and well-trimmed landing strip of dark hair along her mound, he took her to heaven again. He had this special trick of lightly tugging on her clit, not quite sucking, but just as powerful and right along the edge of too much and not enough at the same time.

  Eliza’s back arched as she came again. Her fingers dug into his scalp and his fingers dug into her thighs. A low, sweet growl rolled through him and now he sucked, hard, setting off one final series of explosions in her cunt that rattled her spine all the way to her brain and curled her toes.

  Then he was on her, dragging her into his lap and onto his cock before he fell forward, hands planted on both sides of her head, Eliza caged by his body. This was always his reward when she signaled him like this, he was allowed to take what he wanted then, and he did.

  Slanting his lips over hers, he kissed her, another moan rolling through him as his sweet cock fucked her. She tasted her juices on his lips, and now her hands were on his head, his shoulders, holding him close and never wanting to let him go.

  Tonight he fucked her hard, deep, jabbing thrusts that dragged the head of his cock along the front of her pussy with every stroke and threatened to tip her over the edge once more.

  “Give it to me, baby,” she whispered. “I want it. Please.”

  His thrusts slowed, long-stroking her as he bent his head to her ear, another code unlocking this drawer in his soul and opening it for his pleasure…and hers.