by J H Spade
Crossing my leg over my knee, I continue to watch the water drop, making its way over his large hands and tanned powerful forearms when I ask, “You weren’t hurt, though, were you?” I can’t help the fear that resonates inside me at the thought of him jeopardizing his life every time he went in search of a lead, even though he looks perfectly healthy.
He finishes up rather quickly, reaching for a wash cloth in a wicker basket on the cream marble countertop, as he blots his face shaking his head. He answers, while avoiding my eyes, “No, I’m fine—how about you? Are you feeling better? Hungry?”
There is an easy familiarity between us when the sexual tension in the room simmers down just enough, as if we’d lived together for a while. Frowning at all the signs I’m picking up, because they didn’t add up to his story, I nod and say, “Maybe in a little bit, I’ll try to take a bite outta something. I’m already starting to feel better.” It is probably because of the adrenaline pumping through my heart.
He smiles, nodding and looking down, placing the towel on the vanity top. His face lightens with hope, and it completely fucks with me when he says, “That’s great, I’ll make you something when you're back in bed.” I get stuck on his sinfully gorgeous smile that plays with the corners of his lips and can’t help myself from thinking on how I want to gingerly trace my fingers over them. The mention of the bed with the expression on his face completely devastates me, but he then proceeds to turn and shut the door, and continues to face it.
Taking a look at his broad back that alienates the door, I begin to realize his role here. He is so absolute, a barricade dwindling any hopes of freedom. Softly shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I notice, after the much needed small distance between us, I was feeling better. I need to form a plan to take control of my situation.
I stand, lift the toilet cover, lowering my underwear and satin pants to mid thigh, and sit back down. Quickly, I proceed to empty my bladder with the loud rush of water coming from the faucet covering up any of the noise I make. When I finish wiping myself with some wet wipes, I find behind the toilet, I look down at my body.
To my horror, I’m really thin. It’s worse than anything I imagined and initially thought when I was lying in bed. I might be a hundred pounds soaking wet. The son of a bitch who took me had starved me.
I must have inadvertently gasped at the alarming discovery of my concave stomach and chest while looking inside my top because he says, “Is anything wrong? Do you need me to get you something?” There is genuine concern in his voice, making me look up. I notice his face minutely turns toward me.
“No . . . no, I’m fine. I just didn’t expect to be so thin. I don’t know what I expected, but this is a shock,” I say, while absurdly wishing to comfort him, feeling guilt as I look at him, noticing his fisted hands tightly held at his side and the flat line of his sculpted lips. I soon realize how he can’t stand to see me in any type of discomfort, and this melts my heart for him a little.
“You have to give yourself time. I know you’re trying to make sense of everything, but just take it day by day. Give yourself the opportunity to heal.” There is sadness in his voice as he begins telling me how I can’t push myself too hard as I finish up, trying not to make any noise, so I can make my way to the mirror behind him while he is talking and unaware. I don’t flush, knowing he had avoided the mirror when he carried me into the darkened bathroom. Figured he wouldn't want me anywhere near it.
Hastily, I move, wanting more than anything to see for myself all the damage I had suffered and finally be allowed the chance to gather evidence of my age to prove him wrong. I can tell the moment he notices I’m looking at myself in the mirror when he stiffens, coming to the conclusion I’m standing behind him. It is like he can scent me so close behind, just as I scent him anywhere in the room. I knew I caught him off guard because his concern for me has given me the upper hand the instant he became distracted, trying to calm my shock.
Now, I rapidly undo the buttons on my pj top and notice how he doesn’t say a word or move to stop me because that meant he would need to turn around.
I take full advantage of the opportunity, letting the top slide off of my shoulders not really giving it much thought. I am too arrested by what I see.
A complete stranger.
And as I continue to gaze, I see I can definitely pass anywhere from sixteen to my mid-twenties with my innocent features. Sixteen is pushing it, but my fragile state plays into my youthful appearance. My light-blonde hair is pulled back in a ballerina’s knot. Making me look even more childlike, and my weight seems to add to the illusion. But my body has already grown into a woman’s figure; although, most of the curves are missing with my weight being what it is, except for my heavy breasts.
Thankfully, there aren’t any marks on my body from my time spent with my captor.
There is no bullet wound either, and I clearly remember being shot. I look over my shoulder in the mirror, almost thinking that by looking at him, I can get my answers and see Darius is barely breathing, while I look at myself for the first time. I can tell he is fighting hard not to give into the urge to turn around, his knuckles have gone white from how tightly he’s fisting his hands. The connective energy always flowing between us lets me know where to look for the signs of the things I can already feel in my gut, but that he refuses to give voice to. Yet. If I have my way he will be telling me the truth very soon. He can't keep hiding it from me much longer if his quick breaths are any indication of the desire he is feeling for me.
The room is hit by a flash of sudden blue neon light. I turn to face the large window and see the glass pounded by the falling rain, noticing for the first time it is storming outside. The flash of light must have been lightening. I find myself waiting for the accompanying sound of thunder when he clears his throat, interrupting my thoughts.
“Finish up, so I can take you back to bed,” his voice is stone cold, hard with no room for objection, sounding both impatient and wary.
“Alright,” I meekly say.
My hand feels unsteady as it reaches for the cold knob of the faucet. I’m waiting for the water to get warm when, through the reflection in the mirror, I study him and see him looking down. I slightly turn, following his gaze and see my top is by his boot.
He must be looking at it, barely holding on to his control. I hopelessly try to find mine underneath the flow of water. The cool water feels good over my hand, but it isn’t enough because I feel like I’m burning up all over. So, I decide to skip the faucet and head for the shower. He won’t follow me, and if I want to massage my neck with some water I can do it better in the shower.
“What are you doing?” he immediately objects as I open the glass door and step inside. I don’t hesitate, or answer before opening up the flow of water.
Putting my hand against the cold marble, I lean in while I lower my pants and underwear with my free hand. I'm so thin, they easily drop in a heap at my feet. I let out a sigh of relief as I kick them towards the door.
“Fuck! Do you always have to make things harder than they need to be?” he demands, his voice momentarily lowering in a growl, going dark.
“Look, I just want to get clean. It isn’t much to ask for. Besides, it’s dark in here. Take a seat and give me just a few more minutes or go fetch my clothes,” I say evenly, reaching for the shampoo dispenser.
He stalks out of the bathroom like it’s on fire, cursing under his breath.
Good god, I think as he leaves, raising my hand up in an expletive gesture after finally dealing with him as he deserves because he continues to keep me in the dark.
I shudder even though the water is scalding. I'm naked and we've been too close together. It brings me no comfort that I have the urge to undress him and do worse with someone who tries to warn me we are strangers to one another. My mind, body, and heart can't take much more. I can tell it’s taking its toll on me. I need him too much, and with no danger presenting itself for the time being, I want to push harder for
the truth. For the first time since I can remember, I’m a little bit satisfied, so I won’t let his poor mood bring me down. Actually, his outburst is putting me in a better mood, giving in to a different type of relief than the one my body demands I take. I feel the soreness of my muscles slowly vanish when I arch my body into the strong stream. Facing the hot spray, I try not to think of him for once, take a step back from the pelting water and squirt a dollop of shampoo into my palm, placing the runny liquid on top of my head. Feeling my way, I remember the tight bun my hair is tied up in. I find the three bobby pins that keep my hair in place, pull them out and put them on the marble boxed ledge where all the toiletries are. Running my hands through my hair, I get a frothy foam going while I begin thinking of how I’m about to push him into a corner, so he can finally start telling me the truth because I’ve had enough of his lies.
I turn, leaning my head into the renewing stream of water. When he walks in, the silky foam is slipping over my body, making me all that much more aware of his presence. Again, there’s no noise alerting me he’s close, but his scent signals me where he is before I hear the flush of water. My body recognizes how he’s only a few feet away, my nipples begin to painfully bead, so I give him a drowsy sidelong glance. Darius is sitting on the toilet with his elbows pressing on his knees, with a hand over his eyes, as a shaky hand runs over his head. I can find the traces of strain on the ticking muscle over his jaw and the thin wrinkles near his temple enhancing how tightly shut his eyes are closed. My clean clothes are neatly folded on the countertop next to him.
I smile, asking lightly while thinking there’s no better time like the present to press him, “So, do you want to tell me how it is we know each other?”
“What would make you suggest that?” he all but grunts out.
“For starters, I can tell you’re having a hard time keeping your hands off of me. Now with the way I look, not very appealing if you ask me since I'm just skin and bones, that makes me think you knew me at a better time in my life when I was filled out in all the right places, and you developed enough feelings for me, you're willing to overlook my current state. Catch my drift?”
I'm operating under a false sense of security, I soon realize. Maybe it was put there by the tender ways he’s been all the times I've woken up before. But now, there's a lethal, calculated readiness in him I choose to ignore because the man has been a saint all this time. His heated eyes promise sin as he stares up at me, momentarily paralyzing my breaths and hands as they’re squeezing the shampoo from my hair, and the pained need I read in them almost undoes me.
I immediately apologize for my wickedness, “I’m sorry, but I need answers.” I say as a poor form of justification for my actions. I begin to feel pretty shitty about what I'm putting him through. Right until he decides to fuck with my head, resorting to lies again which only angers me further.
His features are impassive, giving away nothing of the storm brewing between us when he says, “Can you blame me, Emma? Can you fucking blame me when there's nothing between us other than what you've decided to fill in the gaps of your memory with because you’re a spoiled lonely rich girl who’s suffered too much? And I'll tell you what, you can't blame me, because even when you’re skin and bones you’re fucking gorgeous, and I've been working too hard for too long. First, exhausting all efforts to find you and now trying to keep you alive . . . and from shattering. Yeah, you’re damn right. It's taking its toll. That and I'm a hot-blooded male who’s bound to get excited by a girl who's laying it all out there for him! Especially since I haven't had a piece of ass for too long, running after you and any leads. So, yours is starting to look damn good right about now. Want solid advice? Stop fucking pushing me, alright? I'm your only hope, but if your father gets wind of this, there will be a contract out on my head. How would you expect me to keep you alive then? Do me a fucking favor and stop looking at me with your doe eyes. Now tell me, is that what you wanted to hear?”
I’m shocked, takes me a minute to scream back with all the shame he causes me to feel, eating away at me. I’m livid when I shout, “You know what? Great fucking speech, Darius, really worthy of an Oscar!” I want to punch his face so hard, I actually think about running out of the shower and doing some damage before I continue, “Your only mistake is you can't keep anything from me, and you know that! So, why do you even keep trying? You can feel it, too, and I know it, so no use pretending. It’s this connection we have, like we are in sync or something that allows me to know when you’re lying.” I know he’s had enough when he reaches over and with jerky movements begins untying his shoelaces, but I can't be distracted when I have to get this out.
“You know what else I can read?” His boot comes off, then his sock as he moves on to his other shoe when I continue, “You wanna know what else you can't hide from me? The possessive look in your eyes when you think I'm not looking or paying attention. I'm not just some ass, baby. I'm the only ass you'd been getting for a while until some asshole came and took what was yours.”
He loses it, utterly snaps with a growl that doesn’t sound human in the least.
The glass is starting to fog up, and I can't see him clearly, so I almost jump forward and begin to wipe with my hand as he erupts up. It is all a big blur of precise movements. His gun and hand monitor land on my clothes at the same time, each of them released by his left hand as he unstraps the monitor from his forearm. His shirt comes off next, over his head in a split second, and right when his fingers make quick work of unbuckling his pants, I see how much he strains against them. I can see the long and hard outline of him, and he is huge. It takes this long for my mind to start signaling me with self-preservation commands. With my heart beating out of control–sprinting out of my chest–I dash to the handle on the shower door to keep him out.
What the fuck have I just done? For the first time tonight, I understand how dangerous he is and what a complete fool I was to bait him with my body.
I lean up against the glass before I throw all my weight behind me, so he won’t get in.
He is at the glass door too quickly. With a sardonic twist on one side of his lips, he says, “Oh, Emma, I tried to warn you. You should know, there’s no keeping me out when I want in.”
Chapter_:
I shrug, blindly drinking down
like sugary heavenly wines,
your candy-coated lies,
Sublime heavy cream,
languorous liquid heat,
in my veiled daydream.
“No! Wait!” I yell, pleading uselessly as he yanks open the door, sending me skidding into his waiting arms. Praise be to how thin, slippery, and limber I am because I manage to duck under his arm, throwing his towering body off balance with my momentum when I fly past him and continued forth in the direction of his gun. I quickly make contact and hold onto it for dear life, turning while cocking the semi-automatic .45, aiming, and ready to fire.
Darius rights himself instantly. He is burning his gaze into me, filling it with a dark promise, so I take one healthy step back and then add another for good measure without taking my eyes off of him.
“I applaud you, Emma, no one has ever succeeded in taking me unaware quite like you have. So, have you thought this through? What do you plan on doing now that you have my gun because I'm not letting you walk out of here; especially looking like that,” he says, waving a finger and pointing at my body as he slowly allows his eyes to snake over me, watching me hungrily and unapologetically. “Are you willing to shoot me?”
I nod, the motion causing my gaze to lower over him in response, seeing how absolutely smooth and decadent his tan skin is over his long and muscled torso. A dusting of dirty-blond hair leads my eyes to the edge of his loosely hung military pants. He'd gotten as far as unbuttoning his fly and my eyes are caught frozen on how much he tented the material. I lean sideways into the long vanity sink, swaying and needing support. A wave of need washes over me, weakening my knees. Feeling a sting, I wince with the burn of the sharp
pain because I connected too hard against the marble edge.
My need only heightens for him at the flash of pain, and I question my sanity once again.
“Careful,” he roughly murmurs. “You may get caught unaware yourself, and then I’ll have no choice but to settle the score. And you should let me ice that for you, it's a shame for it to bruise your lovely skin.”
The water is scalding inside the shower and I think of his words . . . of playing with fire and ice and of watching his body erupt in pleasure for me.
He sharply inhales at what I presume is the expression on my face all while shutting his eyes, his hands reaching for the zipper on his pants. Before I find my breath to object, he’s already sliding them over his firm thighs in one smooth move.
Eyes closed, he seems less threatening. Blinded by need, I take a step towards him. “What are we to one another?” I ask, it sounds like a plea on starved lips.
“Everything.” He groans with his head falling back on his wide shoulders.
One word, and he's summed up in a nutshell what I’ve felt between us, even before I knew anything about him.
“I'm not really sixteen am I? And why would you lie about my age? What did you hope to gain?”
“Distance. Sanity. A fucking safety net,” he says, his throat working while he’s taking fast shallow breaths.
“That was cruel,” I can't keep the anger mixed with pain out of my voice.
“Yes, not only for you. Believe me. It was . . . necessary, too.” He presses the bridge of his nose in between his index finger, middle finger, and thumb.
I'm afraid he's about to storm towards me, but I have to ask. “Why?”
He throws his arms in the air, and his tone is cutting, “Because if we give in to our need for one another he'll find you. An enchanted tracing spell he has on you.”