by Robin Lovett
The feel of her warm skin in my hands, the plumping of her firm nipples by my thumbs, the vise of her legs around my hips.
It’s all there. The heat of her need, the force of my anger, the clashing of our desire like igniting a forge fire. If the desire is the fire, we are the metal, melting and reshaping as the fire makes us.
She’s grasping at my pants, and I’m hunting between her legs. Her hand connects with my cock and I freeze.
The last time after we had sex—after I was in her, got to feel her come around me, got to let go of everything inside of her—it was like I lost something of myself. Like I left a piece of myself behind. Or maybe it was that I felt something new in the place of something old—something I didn’t want to feel.
She pushes me off of her. “What’s wrong?”
I back away and flop onto a stool at the counter. “I can’t. I can’t.”
She sits up, her nipples on full display, making it difficult to focus on her words. “Of course you can’t. ’Cause you’re a goddamn coward when it comes to sex with me.”
“I’m not a coward.”
“You’re afraid of what I make you feel. Admit it.”
“You were just as afraid as I was. This—” I gesture between the two of us. “—is like Mount Vesuvius. We’re gonna blow and it’s gonna level everything in its path.”
She laughs, a cackling malicious sound. “You’re comparing us to a volcano? I can’t decide if I should be flattered or insulted.” She fakes a demure smile. “Ah, Blake, how sweet that you find me destructive.” Her voice flips to biting. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you kidnapped me.”
“I didn’t kidnap you.”
“No? You’re holding me against my will. What would you define that as?”
“I am not holding you against your will. You’re choosing to be here. I gave you a choice.”
“A manipulative choice that wasn’t a choice! Are you so deluded you think I’m here voluntarily?”
“All I’m saying is, you’re free to go.” I can’t decide if I want that to be the case. It would be easier to just send her father to prison than endure this. Though far less satisfying . . . I refuse to think of the sexual satisfaction offering that comes with it, though. I mean revenge. That’s all this is. Christ.
“I’m not as easy to keep as you thought I’d be, am I?” She saunters up to me, no shirt, her bare breasts perking in front of my face. She leans down to my ear. “You can’t keep your eyes off them. Why not just touch them?”
I fist my hands, still unable to look away from her protruding nipples.
“Just one little touch, that’s all,” she taunts. “Just one is all it takes.”
I move fast—grasp her by the wrists and trap her against the refrigerator. “Is this what you wanted?” I seize her hands up beside her head, just like outside at the estate. “You liked being fucked up against a wall where anyone could see. It’s the hottest fuck you’ve ever had.”
“Fuck you.” She turns her face away, but doesn’t fight me, she doesn’t ask me to let her go. I lick her ear and nip it. She shudders.
I give a bitter laugh. “And you know what, that was right after I told you that you couldn’t leave. I’m wondering—but you’ll have to explain it to me, because it doesn’t make a lot of sense.” I brush my nose down her jaw. “It’s almost like finding out I’d trapped you, turned you on. Like—ha, it’s so funny—you got off on me taking your freedom away.”
“Asshole!” she screams, and pushes me off her. “I hate you. You lying sack of shit!”
“I’m not lying. You know I’m right. That’s what’s killing you.”
“You’re a liar. You’ve lied to me from the beginning.”
“Yeah, I lied in the beginning. But since yesterday, when I informed you what a criminal your dear old daddy was, I have told you nothing but the truth. And that scares you even more.”
“I don’t trust you. I can’t ever trust you.”
“I know you don’t. But I’m telling you, I have no reason left to lie to you. I have you right where I want you and I’m never letting you go.”
She groans and fists her hands. “If I’m right where you want me, why won’t you fuck me? Oh wait, I know. You’re so fucking turned on by the fact that you’re keeping me that you don’t know what kind of man that makes you. But I’m here to tell you, sorry, it makes you who you think you are: a fucked-up abuser. Just like your dearly departed dad.”
The air seizes in my lungs. If I need to breathe to survive, I don’t deserve it.
I lose sight of the room. It’s too much. I didn’t want to hurt her. I tried not to hurt her. I swear, I never wanted to hurt her. It plays in my head like some sort of broken record.
And the next thing I know, I’m on the floor, Daisy in front of my face, saying something—I don’t know what.
Her face is hazy and her voice is muffled, and I have no idea what she’s doing.
I don’t want to be him. I don’t want to hurt her. I tried to save her. It wasn’t my fault. I tried but he hurt her. I tried to make him stop. I tried. I swear, I tried. It was my fault. I didn’t save her.
“ . . . sh, sh. It’s ’kay . . . Blake . . . you didn’t hurt me . . . look at me . . . here.” Her voice starts to come back in bursts. She puts something in my hands. “Drink,” her voice says.
I sip from the glass and water sloshes into my throat. It slides cool and smooth down to my stomach. Her voice tells me to do it again, so I do.
“Blake, look at me.”
I don’t want to. I don’t want to see her face. To see what I did to her on her face. But she puts her finger under my chin and lifts it.
“Blake, you didn’t hurt me. It’s okay. I wouldn’t let you hurt me. Okay?”
It’s embarrassing, but those may be the most relieving words I’ve ever heard. If I can believe them.
Chapter Fourteen
He sits on the floor, leaning back against the counter, his face as pale as a transparent ghost.
He’s still mumbling things. Things about being afraid he hurt me, and how he didn’t want to, but it fast turns into mumblings that obviously have nothing to do with me and everything to do with the mother he lost.
I shouldn’t care. It serves him right for being the manipulative slime that he is. He needs to reckon with the shit from his past that’s making him do these deluded things to me and my family.
But the fear in his voice, the terror on his face? I couldn’t leave him like that.
He drinks more of the water as I encourage him. His mumbling slows, but his eyes are still glazed over, not really focusing on what’s in front of him. I wonder what he’s seeing. It’s almost like he’s gone to another place and time.
I have to find some way to bring him back.
I take the water from him and realize that I’m still naked on top. This could be useful. I position myself in front of his eyes, so my chest is at his eye level, and do a little shimmy.
He jerks back so hard, his head hits the cabinet. “Ow!” He rubs his head.
“You back with me?”
“I—yeah—what the hell.” He closes his eyes. “Can you put a shirt on?”
“Mm, I’ve never heard that one before. And that isn’t a joke.” I go put on my bra and shirt, and sit on the floor in front of him.
He’s blinking fast, his breathing heavy. He tries to get up.
I hold his shoulder. “Nope. Stay on the floor a bit longer.”
He gives in too easily and stays sitting. “I—you—I’m fine.”
“Right. If you say so.” I grab the bag of pastries he bought, hand him one, and bite into one myself.
He eats, and ravenously, but he won’t meet my eyes. He keeps them locked on the floor.
I sit in front of him. “You can look at me.”
He does, and the heat is coming back into his face—the anger, the aggression. He hates this.
“What happened?” I ask gently.
“Nothing.”
“It was something to do with your mother, wasn’t it? Because I accused you of being like your father.”
“I”—he squints and twists away from me—“don’t know.”
“I meant what I said, Blake. You haven’t hurt me, because I won’t let you. I can take care of myself.”
He shakes his head. “I’ve forced you to be here. Anything sexual is just wrong.” He stands, too fast, and weaves on his feet. “I shouldn’t have—”
“You’re right there are a lot of things you shouldn’t have done. But touching me wasn’t one of them. This is not the same situation your mother was in.”
“My mother?” His gaze jerks to mine. “What do you know about her?”
“I know that you’re so twisted about her death that you’re willing to ruin people’s lives to avenge her. And you’re prone to panic attacks when you remember what your father did to her.”
“You know nothing about her. So don’t pretend you do.”
“I know what you’ve told me. Like just then—how you tried to save her and couldn’t.”
His jaw grinds. “I said that out loud?”
“Yeah, you did.”
He marches to the front door, retreating from me.
I charge after him. “You can’t leave. You can’t just run from me.”
“My private life is none of your business.”
I point to my chest. “You made it my business. You know, when you threatened to send my father to prison.”
“But it wasn’t an invitation for you to learn every detail of the sordid Vandershall family history.” He reaches for the door.
I jump in front of him to keep him from leaving. “No, no. You’re going nowhere. I only know what you’ve told me. And if you think you’re abandoning me again, you’ll find a caboose on your ass this time.”
“A caboose?”
“I’m going with you. I’m bored shitless sitting around this place, and that’s one thing you promised me—no more boredom.”
“You’d rather be bored than be with me.”
“If you’re leaving, I’m leaving. Where did you go last night?”
“None of your—”
“Stop with this ‘none of your business’ crap. There’s no reason for you to be gone overnight unless you were with someone.” I bite my tongue for saying it. I shouldn’t have. It shows my jealousy. I shouldn’t care, except I do, because I want him to fuck me again like I need my next meal, but I can’t let that happen if he’s sleeping with someone else.
I should’ve had the sense to remember that a few minutes ago when he had me sprawled out on his kitchen table.
A sly grin lifts one corner of his mouth. “She’s not another woman. I’ll tell you that. Go grab sunglasses and come see.”
“You’ll show me?”
“Yes, I’ll show you.”
* * *
This was a mistake. Before we even left the house, I knew it would be.
But I wanted to bring her. Which is weird, and I refuse to think about that one. I’m still regaining my senses after my freak attack.
We enter the marina and walk down the dock. Three slips from the end I stop and point. “Here she is.”
“A boat?” Her eyes go wide.
“A sailboat.”
“This is where you were last night?”
“I spent the night on the water. Dropped anchor in an inlet off the coast.” I point down the river toward the ocean. I check the telltales at the top of the mast. “The wind is up if you want to go out.”
“Do I ever!” She bounces and hops onto the boat deck. “Why didn’t you take me last night?”
I snort. “You have to ask?” I give her a look—the one that says, you and me trapped on a boat overnight, what do you think would’ve happened?
“Right. Good point.”
I get on board.
Her curiosity, the way she lights up, it reminds me of her and the sprinkler system.
“No pranks,” I say. “This baby belongs to my aunt. Not to me.”
“Pranks? Me?” She winks at me and searches around the deck, examining the rigging and leaning over the side. “It’s not very big for Vandershall money.”
“It’s big enough. Small enough to sail alone, being the main thing.”
“Well, show me how it’s done, captain.” The brightness in her eyes ignites something in me. It makes me want to doing something odd, something I rarely think about, something like—fun.
Sure, I sailed out yesterday because I wanted to, but it was more about getting away than having fun. But the way she’s looking at me, there’s an intimacy to what she has in mind.
“What are you thinking? You’re planning something. Have you sailed before?”
The predictable mischief enters her eyes. “Do you always expect the worst from me?” But she bites her lip.
I can’t handle any jokes. My temper is liable to explode. “I’m in charge on this boat, and if you can’t take orders, you’re not going anywhere.”
She sits back in the cockpit and crosses her arms. “I have to take orders, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” She says it like a ploy, like a game she’s baiting me with. And the way her breasts prop up over her arms, mounding out the neckline of her shirt, has me envisioning them naked on my kitchen table. And how she brought me back from my panic attack—or whatever the hell that incident was where I landed on the floor—by shaking them in my face.
Her brightness, her curiosity, this need for fun that is so a part of her it’s written in her skin and beating from her heart—it does things to me. It makes me want to take it and make it mine. It may be to relieve her of all her childish antics and tell her that life has nothing to do with the games she insists on playing.
I want to destroy it and bathe in it at the same time. I don’t want to need her, but something about the way she is and acts—I need it like I need air.
“This isn’t going to work.” I point to the dock. “Get off. Go back to the house.”
Her frustration pricks. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She’s right that leaving her alone wasn’t the best call, but I don’t know what else to do with her.
“I can’t—” I wave my arms in the air, unsure of what I mean to say. “I don’t want you here. You’re too much—” I stare at her, trying to figure out what word to use but all that comes out is, “Too much of everything. And I can’t stand it.”
“Well, you’re going to have to get used to it. I didn’t choose you. You chose me. So get over yourself.”
“I don’t have to get over myself. You have to go back to the house.”
She rolls her eyes and walks forward on the deck. “Start the damn boat. I’ll untie us.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
She storms toward me and gets in my face, seething. “Yes, I fucking am. You can take me from my family, my home, my job, you can even rob me of the freedom to go where I want. But you will not shut me out from your life and what you want to do. I won’t let you.”
“Oh yes, you fucking will.” I grab her hands and press her down beneath me, onto the bench seat of the cockpit.
She gasps in shock.
And I realize too late that I just manhandled her.
I stare in her face. Unsure what to do. I meant to trap her and kiss her—I think—but getting her here, it’s different from before. I forced her without any invitation or sense of what she wanted.
Her breathing hard and fast, she says, “If I wanted out, I could.” Her knee moves beneath me and comes in contact with my crotch. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I could.” She presses me with her knee, just to the side of where it would actually hurt, then flips her body over, her leg wrapping around mine.
I’m falling to the floor, but she grabs my arms to stop me.
I sit in front of her. “How did you do that?”
She shrugs but smiles with pride. “Like I said, I won’t let you do anyth
ing I don’t like. In fact, I could’ve stopped you when you grabbed my wrists. But I didn’t.”
“So you wanted me to grab you?”
“I wouldn’t have asked you to do it, but yeah, I was provoking you in the hopes you’d do something. And I could’ve told you to let go. If I said, ‘let me go!’ what would you have done?”
I hold up my hands open. “I would’ve let go.”
“Exactly.” She sits back, her face as serious as it was light before. “I’m guessing your father didn’t let go.”
I rub my eyes against the onslaught of images and sounds my brain resurfaces. Stop. Don’t do this. No. Please. Let go. And then there was the screaming.
She didn’t think I knew. She believed they managed to hide it from me—only when I wasn’t in the room, or at night after I was asleep. No. I heard all of it.
Soft hands touch mine, small fingers brush into my hair and lift my face.
“You promise to let go, if I ask?” she says.
I nod, and it does something inside of me. I say, “I promise,” with as much conviction as I can. A fear, one that I didn’t even know was twisting around my heart, lets go.
She strokes my cheeks, her eyes searching over mine. I worry for a moment she might say something pitying like, I’m sorry you had to grow up with that, but she doesn’t. “Will you take me sailing now?”
I kiss her. I can’t help it. All the things I feel but don’t know and can’t explain, I pour them into her. She kisses back—opening and taking what I give. Her tongue meets mine and asks for more.
I’m a breath away from putting her on her back again, where I want her to be, where she likes me to put her. She likes it—my overwhelming need for control, my fierce, unpredictable temper—at least when it comes to sex, she wants me to give it to her.
I’ve never had that, someone who could take me. All of me. Someone who I could let go with, where I don’t have to hold back and curb what I need. She accepts me.
That I’ve found all this in someone who I’m holding captive is too ironic.