by Tracy Ellen
Still, I hurriedly rose up, but didn’t get much further than my elbows before his hand circled around the front of my neck and pushed me slowly back down against my pillows. The man was a fuzzy blur as he stood next to the bed. I pulled with all my strength on his hand casually surrounding my throat. It wasn’t even a huge, monster hand. This guy was seriously strong or I am incredibly weak. Either way, I couldn’t get free of him.
His hand slid off my neck and glided slowly downward. He spread his hand and his fingers dipped under the neckline of the gown. His splayed hand was lying across the top curve of my breasts, exerting no apparent effort, yet I was held firmly down on the bed. Unbelievably, I was unable to do much more than lift my head from the bed pillows.
In my bedroom, my hitched breathing was the only sound in the silent night around us as we continued battling. I soon realized it was a one-sided struggle because he was doing nothing but standing next to the bed and holding me down. He was probably getting off on the view every time I lashed out at him with a kick. I couldn’t let that stop me.
He blocked my attempts to maim him with kicks by using his left knee to pin down my thighs. I got a quick glance of a bare foot. Seeing he had taken the time to remove his shoes and socks made me shudder. He had planned for this night. His right foot stayed planted on the floor by my bed.
During this time, I still couldn’t see his face. He was a dark shadow backlit by the light from the lamp. Even with my vision restored, my damp hair lying across my eyes in tangles made trying to see an adult version of peek-a-boo. But then the man was lifting his hand off my chest and I knew it was my golden opportunity.
So I went for his balls.
With a surprised grunt, he adroitly avoided my fist by turning his body towards his right. This caused my punch to bounce harmlessly off his left thigh, but I had anticipated this move and my left hand was already in motion.
I was an inch from my goal of causing a painful distraction when his right hand shot out. The man gave a little shake to my fist in his grip and mockingly made a “tsking”, chiding sound, as if disappointed in me for missing.
I ignored his taunts, focused on pulling my hand back out of his grip.
He responded by forcibly lifting my arm up, and then over my head. He pried open my clenched fist and pressed my fingers firmly around one of the iron bars of my headboard. He kept his much larger hand tight around mine.
His free hand went for my other wrist. My free hand knocked his away. He kept coming back and grabbing for me. I kept batting his hand away. It was a Three Stooges moment. It would have been funny, if I got to be Moe instead of Curly on the receiving end. He managed to capture my wrist with a hand as tight as a manacle. He made this hand hold another bar on my headboard. My arms were held up high, and my hips and upper thighs were trapped under the weight of his angled body.
In my mind that tiny voice popped up again, the wussy one that prayed for help. Wussy voice whispered insidiously how easy it would be to give in, admit defeat, and let this man win with no more fight from me.
‘Yeah, right!’
I laid a smack down on that little cowardly voice and took several calming breaths. Surrender is not a word in my vocabulary.
I concentrated on my next move, or tried to come up with one. There weren’t many options to choose from. I’d have to be ready to act when I got the chance.
Now that I was held down and temporarily still, I was acutely aware of the fact I may as well be nude for all the cover my nightgown afforded. In his position of leaning against me, he was intently checking out what he could easily survey above and under the sheer lace, namely most of my breasts.
I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. Based on his earlier grabbing and now his intense expression, my attacker seemed to have a thing for boobs. I really, really wanted to wipe that arrogantly leering expression off his face. I took a fortifying breath and made myself focus on how to get away, determined not to give up against his greater strength. My damn brain had to count for something. I just needed to keep my wits about me and outsmart him.
As if he sensed my racing thoughts, he roused himself. He sat up straighter, removing his hands from over mine around the iron bars. I instantly started to lower my arms.
He raised his hand sharply in warning, but still spoke softly. “Do not take your hands off those bars.”
The calmness of his tone was so normal in contrast to his raised hand that I involuntarily obeyed without thinking.
I jerked my eyes up, meeting his squarely for the first time tonight. Distinctive green eyes challenged me. His mouth looked cruel. His full lips curled with a patronizing smirk, clearly getting a kick from my dilemma.
He continued to read my mind. His voice was pleasantly conversational over the implied threat. “I’ll only tell you this once. If you take your hands off the bars, you will be punished. Do you understand me?”
The man didn’t even wait for my response. By my silence, he was confident I was too intimidated to think of disobeying him. It almost drove me beyond endurance this guy could dream for a minute he’d won that easily. It wasn’t easy, but I made myself demurely lower my eyes in pretended submission and bided my time.
When he slowly pulled my nightgown down, I determinedly kept my eyes closed. As he must have intended, with my arms stretched over my head and from the tightness of the stretched neckline pushing up underneath, my breasts were high on display in exaggerated offering. My nipples were erect from the rough friction of the lace, his hands, and the cold air. As he touched me and looked his fill, I set aside the feelings of wishing to kick his ass into the middle of next week with every fiber of my being. I forced myself into calmness, and then used what weapon I did have to create a diversion, my girly-girlness.
Hands around the bars behind me, I let out some feminine squeaks. I tossed my head in agitation. I shook my shoulders to and fro, quivering in my modesty. My bed helped; it bounced and squeaked a little too.
His total attention glued where I wanted, he was starting to lean forward. Without warning, I quickly brought both my knees up and then slammed into his side with both feet flat. I gave him the heave-ho, using the strength and momentum of my legs. Holding onto the bars actually gave me greater leverage. He had been in motion, his foot wasn’t planted on the floor any longer, and my comforter fabric was slippery. I had finally caught the man completely off guard.
I didn’t once let up my attack to allow him to catch his balance. I kept up the pressure of frenzied kicking and pushing until he slid right off my silky duvet.
Legs and arms flailing, he yelled, “Shit!”
He landed hard on the floor with a solid THUMP!
“Yes!” I screamed triumphantly when he went over the side.
Hopping to my knees on the bed and scrambling to the edge, I was about to make a jump for the door and freedom, but my luck was short lived. The only thing I managed to get was a quick tug up of my nightgown’s neckline before I saw the top of his head rising up from the floor along the side of the bed.
Remembering his threat of punishment, I threw myself backwards and grabbed the iron bars of the headboard. I hit with enough force the bed posts smacked against the wall just as he sprang up from the floor like some kind of warp speed jack-in-the-box.
He stood looking down at me, hands on his hips. Gazing back, trying to look innocent, I was berating myself silently for not trying for the door, regardless of the consequences. My only small satisfaction was seeing him breathing heavier for the first time. My eyes dropped lower. I could not stop staring at the sight of his tanned, cut abs above his low riding jeans. They rippled with every breath he took.
When extremely nervous or emotional, my mind sometimes goes AWOL and thinks bizarre thoughts as a coping tool. Right now, all I could think about was how did this man manage to still be so tan when it was near Thanksgiving? Did he use a tanning booth? Get sprayed? Have his abs “highlighted” to accentuate the definition? I imagined him in a hair bonnet while gi
ving precise instructions on how to get a spray tan. I had to turn my face into my shoulder to muffle my sudden choke of crazed giggles. A small snort escaped, but I hurriedly coughed to disguise the sound.
He solved my attention deficit problem when I heard the clinking noise of his belt buckle. Without saying one word, he made my desire to laugh curl up and die instantly. He unhooked his belt buckle and started to pull the belt from the loops on his jeans.
Heart thumping madly, I looked up to see his narrowed eyes watching my face. His black brows almost met in the middle over his fierce scowl. His mouth was a thin line.
My eyes opened as wide as they could go after hearing the belt buckle sound, so I didn’t have to fake that. I swallowed hard over the dry lump in my throat. I moistened my lips with my tongue. I blinked and tried for sweetly reasonable, even if it was to tell a lie.
“Um...Mister, you’ll notice I didn’t take my hands off the bars?”
He ignored me. He paused, then let go of his belt. He undid the top button of his jeans and pulled down the zipper. Emboldened with relief at the immediate threat of pain off the table, and ignoring the zipper part, I was done with being reasonable. Sweet has never worked all that well for me anyway.
So I jeered at him.
“I almost think you didn’t have fun getting kicked to the floor by a girl. Hey, you never said I couldn’t throw you off the bed like the annoying little meat puppet you are.”
Right then, as I heard myself talking smack, I swear I was having an out-of-body experience. I had a vision of the entire scene, as if I was perched up in a corner of the ceiling with a birds-eye view of the room. I saw a tough, half-naked man looming over a sassy, half-naked woman. She looked tiny sprawled out on the big bed, holding onto the iron bars behind her, running her big mouth like a lunatic.
Maybe I was being strategic and thought I had a better chance with him mad and out of control. Maybe I wanted to prove he could restrain me physically, but he couldn’t break my will. Maybe I am just such a smart ass I can’t keep my mouth shut, no matter what the situation.
So I laughed in his face.
“Why, I do believe the big man isn’t used to getting his ass kicked to the floor by a little girl,” I drawled, giving another, much more exaggerated shimmy. “Oh, you’re so very tough and so very strong, I’m shaking.”
It felt mighty fine to smirk up at him for a change.
For about two seconds.
Until all hell broke loose.
When I had begun taunting him, he seemed to ignore my provocation. He had stood silent, arms akimbo, with no expression on his face.
He looked me straight in the eyes. I almost choked on my own breath when he let me see the blazing intent in his face. His dark glance swept over me, as if appraising where to get started to make me pay for my comments.
I knew he had decided where to start when his attention fixed on the V of my clamped together thighs and he smiled broadly. It was a nasty smile. I unthinkingly twisted my body to get away from his blazing eyes.
That was stupid.
His short laughter was as nasty as his smile. My move gave him an eyeful of my entire bare-assed backside. I couldn’t do anything about that right now, but I vowed fervently I’d never go to bed without undies again.
Simultaneously with these thoughts, I desperately flung myself off the bars towards the opposite side of the wide bed. I kept rolling, but I felt my ankle snagged. Caught in his grip, I kicked wildly as he dragged me back parallel to the edge of the bed where he was standing. Swiftly, he pulled down his unbuttoned jeans and kicked them away.
Shouting, I scooted away backwards as fast as I could go, practically crabbing it on all fours. I shouted again when he stretched over me and gripped my shoulders. His strong hands snapped both the fragile spaghetti straps of my nightgown. In one swoop, he tore it down and off of me like he was a magician whipping a tablecloth off from under a feast-laden dining table. It was done so efficiently, I didn’t have time to even flinch.
I clambered up to my knees, frantically trying to cover myself. I swore hotly in his face, “You…you ASS, you are so going to pay for that!”
With that incredibly lame threat hanging in the air, I dove again towards the other side of the bed. The big man gave a battle cry and dove onto the bed after me. When he landed, the bedsprings wailed. The end of the bed screeched crookedly sideways, scraping about a foot across the hardwood floor.
I shrieked when I felt him grip my naked hips. The force of his hands collapsed me face first into my comforter with a gasping “Oomph!”
My enraged curses were muffled, but his answering war whoops of victory reverberated loudly in the silent room. He squeezed my ass with both his hands before flipping me onto my back like I weighed nothing. I was lying across the width of the bed. He was beside me, naked and grinning.
I tried to move my feet on the slippery comforter under me. I wanted off this bed. It was an irrational goal. Even if I could get past him, the floor offered no better refuge, but I was way past making sensible choices and was reacting solely on instinct. My wildly bicycling feet kept sliding out in front of me.
I screamed in frustration when I saw him watching my sorry performance to get away with an unholy leer. I was a nude woman going nowhere fast and bouncing all over the place. I swung to slap that smug look off his face, but he deflected my hand. He pounced, and I was completely enveloped from head to toe with his much larger body. I felt him hard and heavy between my legs.
I bucked, heaved, and pushed trying to propel him off me. The man pinned my hands to the bed on either side of my face and rode me until I tired, never once losing that superior grin.
Nothing I did fazed him and it made me insane. Feeling a fiery blush of heat wash over my cheeks, I closed my eyes. Not in fear or defeat, but because I was so goddamn mad I was no real match for his physical strength. I had really tried to beat him and get away tonight, any way I could. I wanted to burst with the roiling emotions churning up my insides. I hate losing. I can’t remember the last time I lost at anything important.
He rose up on both elbows. I slowly opened my eyes to see him looking down impassively at my scowling face. His neutral expression couldn’t disguise the triumph glittering in those green eyes. If my eyes could kill, he’d be dead meat.
The man suddenly smiled. The arrogant ass had straight teeth that were startling white against his tanned skin. And he had one dimple.
Reaching back behind with one hand, he pulled open my nightstand drawer and grabbed a condom. Never taking his intense gaze from mine, he tore it open and smoothed it down over his erection with no wasted motions.
He ordered softly, “Enough play. Put your arms around my neck and hold me tight.”
I was pinned flat on my back and in no position to negotiate. I didn’t let that minor fact stop me from taking my time thinking over his words. Our faces were only inches apart. He watched me with wary, lowered eyes while I slowly ran my hands up his thickly muscled arms. I trailed my fingers along the top of his smooth-skinned shoulders. Still inherently unable to give in completely, I held him loosely about his neck with my arms crossed at the wrists.
I waited.
He gave me a sardonic look and lifted one black eyebrow.
I moaned softly at that single, arched brow and finally obeyed to the letter of his demands. I wrapped my arms tighter around his neck. With both hands, I ran my long fingernails through the back of his hair against his scalp. I pulled his face down to mine.
I whispered an inch from his lips, “You win. Tonight.”
He kissed me in answer. Wild, endless, drugging kisses. I lost myself in abandon. I was in the place where conscious thought has no meaning. Nothing existed beyond the man and the touch of our heated, entwined bodies on the bed.
Poised above me, he murmured against my mouth, “Christ, I’ve missed you.”
He kissed me deeper and continued to prove it.
Much later, he gave me a little squeeze
within his arms. “Seriously, a baseball bat, Anabel?”
I lay across his chest, my face nuzzled in his warm neck. I was too exquisitely exhausted to move, but I couldn’t help my tiny grin at his aggrieved tone.
I murmured drowsily, “No harm, no foul balls, right?”
His hands around my waist slid lower. He positioned me on top of him while responding dryly, “Yeah, it was a real no-hitter.”
I laughed.
Sleep’s vastly overrated.
Chapter II
“Fever” by Peggy Lee
Saturday, 11/17
6:30 AM
My name is Anabel Katrina Axelrod. I also answer to Bel or Junior. I am the namesake of my maternal grandmother, Anabel Katrina MacKenzie. Hence the Junior. Hopefully, Bel is self-explanatory.
I’d woken up groggily a few minutes ago and glanced over at my bedside clock. I suspected it would only be around 6:30 AM, and groaned softly. It sucked to be correct. My internal clock woke me around the same time every day. It didn’t seem to care I’d only slept two hours.
I lay on my side drowsily in the dark, pleased to remember it was Saturday. My shop was covered by my staff on weekends. My niece Stella, also one of my two store managers, would be at the helm today.
NanaBel, as our grandmother was affectionately called, was the original proprietress of Bel’s Books and the former owner of this building. That included this second floor apartment where I grew up and still live, but now own in the historic small town of Northfield, Minnesota.
Some of my earliest childhood memories were running tame in the store below. I was happy to play rambunctious games of Tag, Hide n Seek, and Red Light-Green Light in the aisles with my siblings, but it had always been about the books for me. More often than not, you could find me curled up in a wing chair with my nose buried deep in a book. I can’t recall a time when I didn’t read predominantly adult literature, except for the occasional R. L. Stine thrown in.