by K. S. Adkins
His hands are big, rough, and scarred, whereas mine are long, thin, and unblemished. He has strong hands. Hands that protect. Kind of like the rest of him. He’s big, rough, and scarred, too. I just don’t know why.
Pulling into the driveway, I wait. He helps me down and then takes me by surprise when he lifts me up by my waist.
“Wrap those long legs around me again.”
“You’re going to carry me? Up all of those steps?”
“Every last step. Including the seven that lead to our bed.”
At this, I’m struck speechless.
He’s going to carry me? All the way from here, to “our” bed? I’ve never even seen “our bed.” But right there in his driveway he kisses me so hard I forgot all about our bed and couldn’t care less if we ever made it there. I was happy right where I was.
“Princess, you have to stop, or we’ll never make it.”
“Don’t care.”
“Fuck.”
He stumbles up the front stoop; he even somehow manages to get his keys in the door while I’m attacking his neck with my mouth. Hearing him groan spurs me on so I reach down and hold onto his ass with both hands. We make it through the door, barely, when he backs me up against it and takes his right hand and buries it in soaking wet pussy.
“Jesus,” he says while he works me over. It’s too much, yet it’s not enough.
“Harder,” I demand while he rubs and explores. He can explore later dammit, I need an orgasm.
“We have all night, Princess.”
“I can’t wait all night. Fuck me here against the door, Jonas.”
“Against the —? Fuck, wait, we can go upstairs so you won’t be uncomfortable.”
“I’m uncomfortable now.”
“Shit, am I hurting you?”
“No you aren’t inside of me. I need you, Jonas,” I say while I reach down to grab his cock. He’s been rock-hard since he came to get me, and I can’t be denied any longer.
“I’ve never —”
I cut him off by biting his lower lip hard. He moans but surrenders. He’s at war with himself for some reason. I undo his jeans and push them down along with his underwear. There. He’s free, now there are no more excuses. Being on my knees in front of him is fucking hot. His cock is bouncing around like it knows what comes next and can’t wait for it, either. I lick my lips to wet them and take my left hand to cup him. He bucks into my hand so I squeeze to keep him still. I don’t hesitate to open wide and make my first pull on his cock a hard one. I follow it up by another then another all while working his balls over. He’s thrusting himself into my mouth so I suck harder and add my right hand to the mix and pump his shaft.
His cock is magnificent. Big and powerful, like he is. I want more.
“I’m not gonna last like this.”
“Yes, you will,” I say, letting my mouth pop when I release him.
“Let me take you upstairs, please, Princess.”
He loves being sucked off, but not being in a bedroom is uncomfortable for him. I decide to let him lead a bit. If he’s not comfortable then none of this will be worth for it for him, or me.
“Take me upstairs then,” I say, standing up, then taking his hand. I even pull his jeans and underwear back up because he looks really unhappy about what’s happening.
He leads me up to his room quietly.
I stay silent. Waiting to see what he needs.
Opening the door he says, “This is my room.”
“That’s the bed, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m the only one besides you that’s ever been in it?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Is the box spring sturdy?”
Before he loses his nerve, I lead him back to lie down on his bed. I remove his boots and shoes, followed by his jeans and underwear. He reaches for me but I move his hands to above his head. I take off just my cardigan and wrap his hands in it. He doesn’t look happy. Maybe resigned? I don’t want him resigned; I want him as desperate as I am.
“Princess?”
“Shh,” I say running my fingers over his chest. “Keep your hands where they are.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to fuck you, Jonas. Hard. On this bed, with your hands wrapped in my sweater, above your head.”
“This isn’t what I wanted.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Not like this, no.”
Straddling him, I freeze. He doesn’t want this? Or he just doesn’t want me? I study his face, I mean really look at it. He’s sweating and he looks terrified. No, this isn’t what he wants. Not at all.
“I’m sorry,” I say reaching for his hands to remove my sweater. “I guess I misunderstood.”
“Stop,” he says, steadying my hands. “I want you, just not like this.”
“I didn’t even start what ‘this’ is. I get it, okay? You don’t want this; it’s fine.”
“You’re upset.”
“I think I’m going to go to bed.” I attempt to climb off when he stops me.
“What’s going on in that brain of yours now?”
“Nothing worth mentioning. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Macy, wait.” Grabbing my waist, he settles me back on his lap “Are you seriously upset because I don’t want you riding me like some skank in a porno flick?”
God, the humiliation continues. “You know, I don’t even know how to respond to that.”
“What’s gotten into you? Can’t we just do this the normal way?”
“Nothing’s gotten into me! The normal way, huh? How’s that exactly?”
“You know, me on top and you on the bottom.”
“Jesus, you can’t be serious.”
“Of course I am. What, you like sex like this?”
“I want the chance to like sex like this!” Having enough of being humiliated, I get up and climb off despite his protests. He’s fucking serious, holy shit. He’s also not hard anymore. My god, this is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me, and that’s saying something.
“Don’t get mad, fuck! I just didn’t think you’d be into that type of thing all right? It’s not my thing, but we can still have sex without it getting weird.”
“Um, no. We can’t,” I say while putting my sweater back on. “It’s one thing if it’s something you’ve never done and you’re nervous about trying it; but that isn’t what this is at all. You basically just told me I’m acting like a slut in a porno and that you’re down for missionary only.”
“What the fuck is wrong with missionary? And where the fuck are you going?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it, but that isn’t the only way to have sex. Shit! I wanted to please you, do this for you, for us. The thought of me on top of you obviously freaks you out, so just forget it.”
“Where is this coming from? Christ! Sex is sex, Macy. Why are you complicating it?”
“This was a huge fucking mistake, Jonas. Sex is not just sex to me, all right? It’s supposed to be a way to connect and please each other and not …”
“And not what?”
“Hurt.”
“Hurt? I would never hurt you.”
I lose the will to fight; he’s not going to get me any more than I get him. I need to accept this and move on. I need to accept it and run far away is actually an even better idea.
“I wanted this, Jonas, with you. But I’m not just a missionary kind of girl. I want to enjoy sex, all forms of it, with you. I can’t just … lie there. If that’s the kind of girl you’re looking for, I’m not her. Actually, I’m trying to figure out what kind of girl I am, but I’m thinking it isn’t the one you need.”
“All forms of it? Shit, what does that mean? I don’t want you to just lie there, Macy. I told you, you’re it for me. What do I have to do to prove that to you?”
“Okay, that’s fair, answer me this. If I wanted you to fuck me missionary first, but then wanted you to fuck me from behind or, I wanted you
to grab your cock and masturbate for me, would you?”
I can tell by the look on his face he is mortified. The more words that came out of my mouth the paler he becomes. He really hasn’t been very adventurous, and do you know the bitch of it? Neither have I. But I’ve always wanted to be without being forced into it, and I needed to be with someone that made me feel safe in order to let go. I thought he was that guy. Once again, wrong.
“Your lack of response tells me it’s not something you’d be interested in, so it’s better that we face this now rather than later.”
“Let me guess, because I ain’t into the freaky shit, you quit? That’s it, you don’t get your way, you’re done?”
“It’s not about getting my way, it’s about discussing what we both want and need, and I don’t think we can give each other what we need. I understand we probably have a lot to discuss, that maybe our pasts are getting in the way here, but if we can’t please each other, what’s the point?”
“But Briggs could, right?”
“I knew it was a matter of time before he came up. No, he didn’t give me what I needed. He took, and I have the fucking scars to prove it. Fuck you again for throwing him in my face when you don’t know the facts, and fuck you for not being grown up enough to show me the least amount of respect!”
“You ain’t leaving.”
“Bet me.”
My chest is heaving, my stomach hurts, and even though he has no idea the depth of my feelings for him he has no way of knowing what this is doing to my heart. I want out. Out of this room, this house, and this entire fucked-up situation. He’s wrong; I’m not a quitter, but I’m also not a gambler, either. I put my cards on the table, but even I am smart enough to know when to fold.
Twice in one night, I’m running from the only guy I’ve ever truly wanted. A guy who thinks I’m a whore.
Having her all to myself for once, I thought finally we’d be together. I was so fucking hard for her I carried her up the steps wrapped around me and almost took her against a goddamned wall. I’ve never carried a woman, I’ve never brought one home, and I certainly never took one against a wall. That is not how a man treats a woman he cares about. She isn’t just a random fuck. Then she kneels down and swallows my cock and it was more than I could handle. Is this what I am? A cock to suck? I tried getting on board with it; I practically begged her to come upstairs to a bed so it’s proper. I could tell she preferred the wall, but fuck! I didn’t want to take her against a wall, and it has nothing to do with never doing it before. I wanted to take my time with her. We’d only get our first time together once.
Going upstairs, shit went from bad to worse. Why was she so fucking aggressive? The second she straddled me, I wasn’t hard anymore because I was freaking out. Then she ties my hands and tells me she wants to fuck me, hard. On my bed, with my hands tied up like some fucking sex slave. I tried reasoning with her. I’m not the kind of guy who gets off on pushy women. I have a dick, I like porn. I just don’t want to star in one.
I’ll admit a small part of me is curious. I’ve had sex, but never like this, and never with someone I’m insane for. I didn’t want to lose the moment , so I told her what I wanted and she looked at me like I was speaking another language. I suggest missionary and she flips out. She tells me she loves sex, and all forms of it. I can’t even process what that means? Paddles and candle wax? That book all the chicks went bat shit for? Fuck if I know, but the more she went on about it I found myself getting sick.
Who is this and where did my Princess go? I didn’t know anything about this chick.
No words came from my mouth at her declaration, so she decides to throw in the towel and wants to bolt. Par for the fucking course. This is Briggs’ handiwork, I fucking know it. I even say as much, but she puts me in my place. I know he hurt her, but how far did he go? No one knows, or they aren’t telling. Scars? What scars? My mind is like cotton, I can’t put any of this together. She accuses me of not respecting her? I respect her more than any other human walking the planet. She’s done, I can see it; I just fucking refuse to accept it.
“You ain’t leaving.”
“Bet me.”
“Put your bag down, god dammit, we ain’t finished.”
Now here’s where I fuck up royally. I grab her to stop her. I know better. You never put your hands on a woman. But I wasn’t doing it out of anger but desperation. She tenses up and tries to pull away. Not happening. So I use both arms to hold her in place. She starts fighting like a hell cat, thrashing, kicking, biting, and growling.
“Get your fucking hands off me!”
“Stay and I will!”
“Let go!”
“Listen to me, fuck! Would you just listen?”
“Fuck you! Let go!”
“I’m not going to hurt you!”
“You always say that! You lie! You always hurt me! Always! Look! Look at what you did, Jacob!”
She calls me Jacob and I release her like she’s on fire. Jesus Christ. She pulls her shirt up and turns to show me what he did. Her back, shoulders, stomach and both sides are covered in … pink scars.
“I didn’t do this, Princess,” I tell her. “Look at me; you know I didn’t do this to you.”
“Stay away from me; I won’t say it again.”
I open up my arms and take a step forward, and from out of nowhere she punches me in the face so goddamned hard I see stars. I stumble back. She runs to her bag throwing it on her shoulder, but then she advances with intent. So much fucking intent I have no clue how to stop her. I knew she could fight, been told she always held back, but fuck that, she’s way fucking more combative then I thought possible.
“I warned you, don’t say that I didn’t.” When I tell you she sprung an attack I am not bullshitting. Hitting me in the stomach, she yells in my face. “You took from me.” Slapping me, she screams, “I trusted you.” Back up to my face, she clocks me again growling, “You used me.” Blow after blow she delivers to my face with words meant for someone else. “You tortured me.”
I take it. Every punch to my face, I take it for her.
I take it all, hoping she will wear herself out and realize it’s me she is kicking the shit out of. But that’s not what happens at all. She is lost to me, and the guilt I feel for not listening keeps me from stopping her. She grabs my throat and bears down with her left hand, and levels her .45 even with my forehead with her right. Where in the fuck did the gun come from?
“You ruined me for him and for that, you die.”
Having no choice but to subdue her or risk her shooting me point blank, I grab her wrist and twist forcing her to drop the gun. I turn her away from me, her back to my front and I hold her to me tightly. I’m terrified of what happens next because there is no doubt in my mind had I not stopped her, I’d be dead right now.
“It’s me holding you, Macy. It’s Jonas. I would never ever fucking hurt you. Tell me you know it’s me and I’ll let you go.” Seconds go by but she’s just staring at me over her shoulder when finally she blinks and the look of fury turns into one of horror.
“Jonas,” she says. “Oh no, no, no …”
I release her and she turns to face me, and the look on her face crushes me. She’s not just sorry; she’s disgusted with herself. The longer she stares at me, the worse she gets. She’s shaking, and her eyes won’t focus on me.
“I’m so,” she tries, “I’m so, I need to use the restroom. Excuse me.”
With that she grabs her bag and runs from the room, and I fall to the bed giving her a minute to collect herself. What the fuck just happened? Minutes go by and she hasn’t come back. She isn’t coming back, either, not unless I go and get her. Will we ever get this right? Is she right? Can we ever give each other what we need?
Heading to the bathroom I see the doors cracked open but she isn’t in there. I run down the steps and see the front door is unlocked. I yank the door open and run onto the porch, and she’s nowhere in sight.
I yell her name over
and over and I get … nothing.
Grabbing my phone, I dial my partner and her only voice of reason. They pick up on the first ring and with the last of my strength I tell them, “She’s gone,” before I fall to my knees.
Running to the main road I was able to snag a cab, which was a fucking miracle. I didn’t know what in the hell I needed to do, I just knew I needed to get out of his house. Decision made, I planned to pack a bag and just leave Detroit for a while. I’m so ashamed of myself at this moment, I feel the best thing I can do for everyone, including Jonas, is to leave. He should be able to meet someone normal, someone that would never mistake him for her ex, let alone put her hands on him. I’m selfish to want him close but push him away, I know that. I’m as hot and cold as he is. Tonight was my fault, all of it. As much as it hurts to think of him with someone else, it’s even more painful to know I could cause him any amount of pain. Because, at the end of the day, I’m not a mean person.
Tears in my eyes, hand on the door, I throw money at the driver, hop out, and run to my back door. I fish out my keys and run inside and lock the door. I turn on a few lights and steady my breathing. I barely make it to my couch when I collapse. The night’s events playing like a slideshow in my mind. Here I thought I had put most of that shit behind me, but turns it out it was right there at the surface.
I would have killed him.
Shaking uncontrollably, I manage to curl myself into a ball to hide. The shame I feel actually hurts. I can hardly get air. I stay like this for several minutes, then I get angry at myself for hiding. I don’t hide. Ever. I remind myself I’m done with that.
Glancing at my coffee table, I see the research I started on the two missing girls and I want to scream. How could I forget about the girls, too? Putting my own fucked-up problems aside, I go back into the kitchen for my bag. I reach down to get the girls’ photos out and head back to the living room. I no sooner sit down then I hear Venessa pull up in Rogan’s truck. She uses her key and storms in looking all sorts of worried and pissed off.