Kismet

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  “Are you sorry?” he asks, his breathing uneven, gasping.

  I shake my head. I’ll never be sorry.

  This time, the strike comes across my behind, harder and more ferocious—the sound echoing around the room even after I’ve grunted from behind the gag inside my dirty mouth.

  “You have no idea how much I fucking love you, Freya.” He presses his body against my back and the heat of him brings tears to my eyes when his salty sweat merges with my fiery flesh. “Otherwise why would I have chased you? Hmm? Why? I could have any woman I want, but I only want you. So what if you’re complicated and a contrary little bitch, you’re my bitch and you’ll behave from now on. Got it?”

  I’m halfway between agreeing and not, but the sweat against my stingy grazes is unbearable. If I just agree, he’ll back away and it won’t sting anymore.

  But why do anything easy? That’s not the Freya Carter way.

  I spit out the rag and growl, “I will never behave, you vicious bastard!”

  He presses his cheek to mine and snaps his teeth violently. “Tell me you love me.”

  “Never,” I spit.

  “Tell me, whore. Tell me you love me.”

  “No.”

  He stands back and strikes me again, this time across my back between my shoulder blades—the softest part of my skin, which he’s spent hours nuzzling since we got together. It must hurt for him to defile something he treasures so much, but for me the pain is pure hell and delicious torture combined, almost too much. He strikes hard and he strikes true, like only a bastard can. I sag and breathe heavily, sinking to my knees.

  Curling up into a ball, I weep softly on the rug with my knees to my chest and my eyes pressed against my forearms. It’s this cannonball of emotions inside me, which only he seems to be able to detonate, that has me crying like a baby now I’m finally able to accept why I ran tonight—why I left without thinking.

  My skin is burning, but I’m not crying because of that—I’m weeping away the last of the explosives, the very remnants of the cannonball which is now dissolving and eviscerating—the hard shell containing my angry ingredients gone, my true self released. I needed him to do that to prove that it’s never about taking it out on one another, but freeing our true emotions.

  “The thought of you loving someone else… someone alive… made me feel murderous.” The admission out there, I feel so much better. “I wanted to punch Jessie’s face in and break her jaw just for knowing the bitch.”

  “If there was any guy apart from me who you’d loved, I’d want him dead. I’d want his corpse mangled and annihilated. I’d want him destroyed, erased… these are only the things I’m allowing myself to imagine. What I’d actually do to him would probably be a million times worse.”

  I laugh, then I cry. We’re barbaric, both of us, but this is love we’re talking about here. Real love. It burns you up until there’s just this caged animal trapped inside your body, reacting to everything in a heightened manner—because in love, it’s all a matter of surviving the beast that is our inner self, which doesn’t want to put another living creature before itself but must, because slowly that other person is becoming as much a part of your wellbeing as anything else that’s required—on a par with air, water, sustenance and light. When it’s all as new as this is to us, at such a late stage of life when real love in any form never really existed before, it takes a lot of getting used to.

  I cry some more, and I sob, hating myself… regretting myself. As the tears pour everything pent-up leaves me and I’m grateful for my tears and the pain. It’s enabling me to vent.

  Ruben waits until I’ve stopped crying before carrying me to bed. The cool sheets have never felt so good as I lie back against them. And suddenly, in place of the pain emanating from him just minutes ago, come tender kisses as he moves his mouth against mine, delicate and slow. He’s capable of both inflicting and erasing agony, and I don’t think I have ever loved him more than I do in this moment. With every measured little lick into my mouth, my belly roars with lust and the adrenalin inside me turns to an ache… a deep yearning.

  Every inch of me burns, my nerve endings thrumming and tingling ten times more intensely than usual. When he moves on top of me and pushes into me, I become the pure personification of molten lust, dripping with desire, screaming with every push of him inside me. I cling to his sweaty hair and swear to all that’s anything in this world that I will never let go, not ever again.

  Ruben caresses my body with his mouth and hands, groaning with every plunge of his cock inside me. Beginning at my clit, the epicentre of pleasure, my orgasm flowers and fans out, blossoming and uncurling—everything inside me unravelling. It’s exquisite, such burning desire, nothing else on earth like it. The whole of me shakes and Ruben kisses me deeply, his strokes becoming more urgent as he feels me coming, my pubic bone contending with the sort of intense pressure it never has before or ever will again—the agony of it so exquisite, I might actually split open if he doesn’t finish soon.

  I arch up towards him, my head thrown back, the licks of his hot tongue against my throat driving me insane.

  My orgasm doesn’t stop, in fact it continues to build in a way it never has before, not from friction or pain or anything like that. This time, it’s love—this pure desire I have for him and the way he kisses me, like he will never want anyone else as much as he wants me. There’s want in his kiss, but also meaning—there’s desperation, hunger, admiration and care. His kiss alone—his love—is doing this to me.

  “I love you,” I groan, as my whole body screams out in pleasure, everything tightening and slackening, all at the same time.

  He lunges hard even as I threaten to push him out of me with these ferocious contractions, my body continually shaking and kneading and pulsing.

  He moves slower and I feel the heat of him swell inside me, burning, easing… and I’m dead.

  He withdraws tenderly and pulls me into his arms.

  We lie still together, holding one another.

  Neither of us says anything.

  I curl up on his chest as he strokes my hair, his heart slowing, his breathing calmer.

  We hold hands and cuddle. I love the weight of him when he’s like this, huge and muscular but floppy and tired, unable to move quickly. He’s a lion satiated after fucking his mate until she roared even louder than him. We turn to one another and become like animals, preening and grooming, making each other tidy again—checking for battle scars or imperfections, stroking hands over faces and caressing fingers through matted hair. We lie like this for hours, curled up, skin against skin, my heart burning for him.

  When the fever of love hits our veins again, it’s different. He’s relaxed and has patience this time but my desire is as vibrant as before, if not more so, and it’s he who needs coaxing for once—meaning what happened with the belt took a lot out of him. I nip him and grope him and shove my breasts in his face until the hairs on his arms stand to attention and the veins in his sloping groin are popping again.

  As I sink onto him in the Lotus position, he pushes the hair off my face and gazes into my eyes, cheeks flushed.

  “Take everything I am,” he moans, “it’s all yours. Forever.”

  I pull his mouth into my chest and sigh. “Forever.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Escape

  I wake knowing I’ve slept deeply because I desperately need a wee, but my motivation to actually get to the toilet on time isn’t there. The only thing that makes me get up is the absence of Ruben, who appears to have left the bed before me.

  Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I stand butt naked and call out. “Ruben?”

  “Upstairs… I have coffee.” His voice echoes, being that he’s in the attic.

  “Okay!”

  I pull on the first thing my hand touches—the shirt he was wearing last night—and chase to the bathroom to make it onto the seat in time. I’m sat on the toilet for so long, I rest my back against the
cistern and hiss, my skin still sore from yesterday. I’ll recover quickly, I hope.

  My ablutions done with, I skip my way towards the closet and bounce up the staircase in the corner which leads to the loft space.

  I find Ruben at his desk, eyes trained on his Mac. My overriding instinct is to walk up behind him, wrap my arms around him and breathe in the scent of his hair, so that’s what I do. He smells divine—meaning he showered and has probably been up for a while. I see on his screen it’s 10.30 in the morning.

  “You should have woken me.”

  “You were exhausted and I had things to do.”

  There’s a notepad in front of him on which he’s scribbled a list of tasks, most of which he’s already ticked off.

  “What’s all this, then?” I try to get a closer look at the notepad but he flips it over and swivels his chair around to face me.

  “Come here, my love,” he asks, and I drop into his lap as requested.

  He pushes my hair back over my shoulders and opens the collar on his shirt just enough so he can plant a line of kisses across my collarbone.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and our eyes lock. He brushes a soft kiss across my mouth, my stomach fluttering, my heart threatening to take flight.

  “You look so beautiful this morning,” he says, “but we can’t stay here, angel. We must go. I’ve packed some of your things and laid out an outfit in the closet. You’ve got time to wash and change, but then we must be off.”

  He looks and sounds so different today, resolute in a way I’ve never known him before.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, rather than rile him by asking why are we going.

  “You’ll see,” he whispers, lifting me off his lap and onto my toes. He grins as the shirt falls open to reveal one naked breast, then he spins back around and reminds me, “Don’t forget to help yourself to coffee.”

  “Thank you.”

  I walk to the fancy coffee machine he keeps up here in his office. It matches the one he had at Laurent’s Legacy, although this could be that same one and he had it moved here instead.

  I add sugar to my cappuccino and watch him flip the notebook back over and get right back to whatever it is he’s been doing over there.

  A change of scenery might do us both good, but I do wonder…

  When I’m back in the closet, I see he has packed and laid out clothes for me.

  “You never said you have a motorbike?” I shout up.

  “You never asked,” he yells down.

  I spy warm clothes for me to wear beneath a set of leathers.

  I notice as I rifle through my underwear drawer, all of my new things have been packed along with the best bits from my old collection. Sweaters and t-shirts and jeans are missing from my drawers, too. He’s not bothered with my dresses or anything else fancy, it seems.

  It’s then I notice he’s packed a mountaineering rucksack and two saddle bags full to the brim. Oh, great.

  A motorbike holiday in late February? It could work.

  I take some long sips of hot coffee before heading for the shower to rinse away last night’s exercise.

  I’ve had some toast by the time Ruben joins me in the kitchen, his jobs upstairs seemingly completed. He’s wearing his biker trousers over his jeans already.

  “What is going on?” I ask.

  I’m seated on a stool at the end of the bar and he walks up behind me, massages my shoulders and mumbles, “Just wait and see.”

  He drops some bread into the toaster, following my lead before I turn and ask, “There’s something you said last night… it bothers me.”

  He turns and folds his arms, hip knocking against the counter, eyes wide. “Yeah?”

  “You said that Aaron has a Tuesday girl who gives him what he wants. What did you mean, ‘what he wants’?”

  Ruben blinks fast, as if that’s not what he expected me to be mulling over right now. Then he takes a deep breath and his face contorts.

  “Something easy,” he admits.

  “If he wants something easy, then why doesn’t he split up with Jessie? I reckon she is high maintenance, but he could still split up with her. Unless… you’re not saying what you really mean.”

  Ruben looks at me with an impatient glare. “Ask him. How am I supposed to know? I just inferred that he wants something easy, like where you turn up, fuck, and that’s it.”

  “You mean like what you had with Fiona?”

  His face tells me he knows he’s digging a hole, but he can’t help himself either.

  “All I know, is that it was better that way than what I used to do.”

  “You mean, when you were like me, fucking everything that moved?”

  His folded arms tighten even more and the veins bulge. “I mean, like, when I used to have one for breakfast, one for lunch, maybe three for dinner… those types of days when I was out of my mind, high, and taking risks.”

  I take a deep breath. This all leads back to Fred, I’m guessing.

  I hold out my hand. “Give me your phone.”

  He frowns, wondering what it is I’m after.

  “I said give me your phone… unlocked.”

  He looks furious, but he cannot deny me. He hands over his phone.

  His iPhone is a lot more complex than my old Samsung, but I manage to find my way around. I discover Jessie’s number and press call. After a few beats, she answers.

  “Uh, Ruben?”

  “It’s Freya.”

  There’s a pause.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “I’m fine. Listen, Rubes and me are getting out of town for a while, but I wanted to give you a parting gift, one girl to another. Take Tuesday afternoon off work and follow Aaron, see where he goes. I think you’ll be surprised. Oh, and tell Fiona thanks, but I’ll take it from here.”

  I hang up and toss his phone back at him, his trembling hands barely catching it.

  “That’s my oldest friend, Freya,” he groans.

  “If you want easy, Ruben, there’s the door. Go take this trip alone and I’ll go my own way if you like, no hard feelings. That’s no problem for me if easy is what you want, because I have no interest in a man who wants easy. You must not underestimate me, or it’ll be your downfall. I’m three times cleverer than you. Okay?”

  He nods slowly. “I know.”

  “Good. Now, butter your toast and let’s fuck off.”

  His hands are still shaking even after he’s sat down to eat his toast.

  I may have been a slut, but I was never a liar nor a cheat.

  Fucks like Aaron can kiss my arse.

  We’re standing in the hallway, fully suited up, just the helmets to add to our ensembles. I might ask him how he so quickly acquired a suit and helmet that fit me, but I don’t think I want to know, at least not yet. All I know is that he planned this—well before today.

  The bike is waiting outside the front door and the rucksack is sitting by his feet, ready to go on my back. He’s turned off everything in the house, including the fridge freezer. We just chucked out a load of old frozen vegetables and had to neck the last of the milk between us. This isn’t going to be a little holiday, is it? More a sabbatical, far away from London.

  “I need to warn you… we may be followed. I may have to use a few manoeuvres to outrun them.”

  I look up at the ceiling, suddenly afraid. “He has you followed everywhere?”

  “He’s paranoid since Laurent. We need to lose our tail.”

  “You mean, even when you took me to work… even when…?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Everywhere.”

  “Why don’t you want him to know where we’re going?”

  “Because we’re not coming back, Freya.” He reaches out and holds my cheek. “Are you with me?”

  “I’m with you.”

  He pulls me to him and kisses me deeply, my layers of clothing and leathers on top suddenly too much as he heats the blood in my veins.

  “I’ll get us free, Freya. J
ust hold on and let me take care of it.”

  “Okay.”

  He gestures it’s time, so I follow him. I see nobody on the street waiting to follow us, but perhaps Fred has people parked on every corner, stealthily hiding out until needed. I secure the backpack and tighten the straps, pulling my helmet on while he locks the door and tucks the keys into one of the zipped pockets of his suit.

  Ruben throws his leg over the bike and takes it off the stand. It’s one of those racing bikes and it scares me. Couldn’t he have a nice Harley or something bulky, like a chopper? This thing is orange and has more exhausts than I can count.

  The machine bows a little beneath our weight, especially with my rucksack resting on the seat edge just behind me… thank god. I grab the handles to hold and when he turns his head to check on me, I nod that I’m okay to go. Taking one last look at his house, he fires up the engine and warms it up for a few seconds, then creeps slowly along the cobbles until we come to the end of his street. I’m lulled into thinking this isn’t so bad, until he pulls out into traffic and I realise he was only going slow because of the cobbles.

  My hands tighten on the hand holds and I get used to bracing myself for the push and pull every time we speed up or slow down.

  When we stop at traffic lights, I notice him studying his rear-view mirrors. It’s cold and the mirrors are slightly steamed up still, but I can see what he sees as I duck my head and narrow my eyes. There’s a black cab two cars behind, in the lane next to us. It’s not carrying a fare, but the driver appears to have somewhere to be. I can see why Ruben picked a motorbike as our chosen mode of transport today, given that cabs can use whatever lane they want, all over London.