The Deep End

by AM Hartnett

  She sank down on the edge of the bed and breathed into the shirt. This was the scent that would surround her when he showed himself. This was what would mingle with her own signature scent of orange and vanilla lotion. This, mingling with the tang of sex, was what would fill her nostrils as he tightened that rope.

  She leaned back on the bed, draped the shirt over her face and pushed down her shorts. The air was cool on her slippery inner thighs and on her swollen sex, and for just a few moments she sprawled there, head covered, pussy exposed.

  I’m ready for you.

  A tickle against her thigh alerted her to the phone that was tucked into her shorts pocket and was coming to life.

  Grace didn’t answer it. She was done with phones and computers and all that grainy digital sex hissing between them. She was ready for the real thing.

  She pushed her shorts further down, then slipped her hand between her legs. She took her time playing with her clit, fingers gliding, delving to the knuckle into her drenched pussy. She performed for him, just as she had before, only this time she wouldn’t allow him to direct her.

  As she staved off her orgasm, the phone continued to vibrate. She could have sworn there was a hint of madness to each ring.

  When she could stand no more, when her whole body was raging for climax, she dragged the shirt from her face and rolled onto her knees. She bunched the shirt into a ball and stuffed it between her legs. She didn’t need it any more. She’d never be rid of his scent. It was the heat of his body she craved now.

  ‘Don’t you want this?’ She ground against the shirt in tune with the fingers in her clit. ‘You brought me all this way, and I’m alone in your bed.’

  The phone’s vibration stopped abruptly.

  Grace turned her face towards the window, to where she could see the corner of the barn where he hid from her.

  ‘Come out and play, Mr Taureau. Don’t make me do this all alone. Please …’

  Please … please … please …

  She said it over and over as she rode against her fingers, against the shirt, until there was no more breath, no more words to coax him, until she threw herself face-down on the bed and stifled her moan through the intensity of her climax.

  When it was over, when she was finally able to take a breath, she pushed herself up and the phone began to buzz again.

  Her anger was instant and burning. She tore at her shorts until she had the phone in her hand, and jabbed her finger at the screen to answer it.

  ‘I expect you to pick up when I call you,’ he said.

  ‘You’re not the only one with expectations.’

  ‘That’s quite the tone, so different from just moments ago when you were full of breathless pleas.’

  She hung up and rolled onto her back, dragging the shirt along the bedding. The garment had dark splotches around the neck and on the belly, where her juices had smeared. Now, her body heavy from coming but desperately unfulfilled, she tossed it to the floor.

  She had no desire to cradle it against her again, nor did she care to be in this room.

  Grace wasn’t even sure she wanted to stay here at the Mont Carmel house, if Taureau was only going to toy with her from afar. She wanted him to toy with her up close. She was dying for it.

  It occurred to her to leave the phone where it was, but she would rather the incessant vibration than to return and find it had been taken away from her. It wasn’t that she was afraid of Taureau, not in the least, but he was a tricky bastard and she wouldn’t put it past him to hide it from her if she refused to answer his calls.

  So, dressed, she slipped it back into her pocket and headed down the stairs. It buzzed against her thigh, and when she got to the kitchen she quickly adjusted the settings so it wouldn’t make so much as a peep if he called, and then set it face-down. She put on a pot of coffee and went to the door.

  For a moment, she glared at the cottage. He had only one choice now, didn’t he? He had to come out if he wanted anything more from her. She’d punish him. She’d ignore his calls and masturbate under the covers if she had to.

  Leaning against the jamb, Grace crossed her arms over her chest and called out to him.

  ‘If you want something from me, Jacques, you’re going to have to come in here and take it.’

  Silence. Nothing stirred in the cottage.

  Grace bit down on her anger and closed the door.

  Chapter Eight

  By nightfall the heat of her anger hadn’t abated, and Grace resorted to a cool shower to lower her body temperature. Getting ready for bed, she could taste her fury through a mouthful of toothpaste and growled as she spat it out.

  The last few weeks raged inside her. Rubbing herself off for him at his wish. Fucking another man for him. Coming all this way for him, and for what? So she could writhe around his bed alone and have another conversation with a disembodied voice.

  ‘Fuck you,’ she said out loud and tore her nightgown from the hook behind the door. ‘Just fuck you, Jacques Taureau. I should have left with Reeve when I had the chance.’

  She hoped hearing her words cut him as deep as it cut her to say them, but she doubted it.

  She squirted lotion into her palm, turned her back to the mirror and rubbed it in. The fog was clearing and she couldn’t bear to look at her own reflection and face her own role in all this.

  She was ashamed of herself for losing the control she had exercised over her sexual activities for so long. She had enjoyed being Taureau’s plaything. With her other lovers it had been a dance, move this way, move that way, you lead, I lead, but with Taureau there was no question who led and who followed.

  Even her display of bravado in the bedroom with Reeve that night had still resulted in the outcome he wanted.

  What was the ending? Had he brought her here simply for the pleasure of knowing she was closer than ever? Had he left the rope in his bedroom for her to find and merely be turned on by? Was she only a bird in a cage to him?

  She tucked her hair up in a ponytail and wound it tight, then finally took a good look at herself. It could have just been the lights overhead, but it seemed to her that every flaw had become glaringly noticeable. Lines around her mouth and eyes. Old acne scars that had long ago ceased to be anything to worry about. Red splotches. The size of her pores. She’d never felt less desirable than she did at that moment, and so she hit the lights and moved into the bedroom.

  It occurred to her to go into his office and find something to do, or grab one of those paperbacks and try to lose herself in some over-the-top tale of intrigue. Anything to keep from thinking of the distance that still lay between herself and the object of her desire.

  She wondered if he had tried to call the phone again, or if he had noticed it was still in the kitchen where she’d left it.

  Moving through the darkness of the bedroom, she decided on getting drunk in front of the television.

  That’s when she saw him.

  For a moment, she didn’t quite realise what she was looking at. She stared at the shape in the doorway, wondering at first what could have cast such an odd shadow, and waited for her brain to catch up with her eyes.

  It was only when he moved, when he took a step forward and she recognised the definition of shoulders rolling against the grey, that she realised he had finally come to her.

  And she wanted to run.

  The fact that he blocked the only exit thrust cold fear into her. She stepped back and with one hand sought the bedside lamp, but the mad clicking of the chain brought no light.

  She took a step towards the steam coming from the bathroom, and he stopped her with a word.

  ‘Don’t.’

  Just that. Don’t. One word and she was turned into a statue by the sound of his unfiltered voice. There was authority in the word, but now, so close to him, there was also power.

  He said nothing. Save for the rasp of his breath, he held his silence, his gaze pushing and pulling her in the semi-darkness.

  After all this time, s
he wanted to drop to her knees, beg him to let her turn on the light and let her look at him, at all of him. She wanted to run her hands over him, to explore every inch – and there was so much to explore. It was no trick of the shadow. The young man in the pictures was a wiry little scrap. This creature was enormous. She had gotten a glimpse of his bulk, but she had no idea that he had transformed so drastically.

  She struggled with herself in the silence, trying to find some word, some phrase that would end it, but it was as though his mere presence had robbed her of the ability to speak.

  It was on his terms that he ended it.

  ‘You told me that if I wanted something from you I’d have to take it, Miss Neely.’ He drew closer, and the air around her became so stifling she felt the heat with every breath she took. ‘Well, then, I’ve come to take what I want.’

  Chapter Nine

  The menace in his words pushed her back until the edge of the night table jabbed her. As the gap between them closed, Grace felt faint, and she shook when he reached out.

  There was no fumbling for her. He slipped his hand over her shoulder and drew her against him. He wound his other arm around her and splayed his hand on her ass. He made a fist, bunching the edge of her nightgown, and muttered, ‘Say it.’

  God, why can’t I stop shaking? ‘Say what?’

  ‘You know.’

  The nightgown hitched under her breasts, and he went no further. He left her trapped there, hairy thighs and belly brushing hers. His cock rested against her belly. It was the sudden throb that brought her body and mind back to earth.

  She knew. Oh, yes, she knew.

  ‘Mr Taureau,’ she said, and reached between them. The shaft was hot in her palm, like iron and silk and warm candle wax. She brushed her thumb across the tip. ‘Mr Taureau, is there anything I can do for you?’

  He leaned in, close to her mouth. ‘Let me fuck your mouth.’

  The last of her trepidation vanished. She released him so he could get rid of the nightgown, and then his hands were on her hips, turning her around. She made to sit on the bed but he pushed and pulled her, urging her onto her back with her head hanging over the edge. He didn’t want a mere suck, she realised. He wanted what he wanted in the most literal sense. He wanted to fuck her mouth.

  Taureau stepped forward and Grace took hold of his cock, guiding him until the sticky tip brushed her lips. There was no teasing preamble between them once he had her where he wanted her. He pressed down on her shoulders and pushed his dick deeper, slowly at first until she had found the perfect angle.

  Though he moaned as she began to suck him, he didn’t thrust, not until Grace slid her hands up to his ass and squeezed.

  ‘I could tell you were a woman who loved sucking cock,’ he said, jutting his hips against the suction of her mouth. ‘First thing I ever watched you do. Some just get hand jobs, some get you licking them like a lollipop, but the ones you’re really into get something special.’

  He spoke with barely a whisper, but she heard him as clearly as she had when he was growling in her ear. Every word made her ravenous for him. His glutes were solid beneath her palms, flexing with each thrust. She wanted more. She wanted it hard, his hand pushing down on her head, but this was Taureau’s big reveal. Her animosity was gone, replaced with the here and the now, with his cock filling her mouth and his weight pushing down on her shoulders.

  ‘The ones you’re really into, they get to deep throat your hungry mouth.’ He suddenly pushed deep, nearly gagging her, and then pulled back just as quickly until only the tip brushed her upper lip.

  ‘Don’t tease me,’ she whispered, and ran her hands up and down his pillar-like thighs. ‘Not tonight. I’ll go crazy if you make me wait.’

  ‘Don’t you worry. I’ll give you the hard fuck you want, but I’ll give it when I want to give it. Give me your tongue.’

  ‘Jacques …’ She craned her neck, desperate for any bit of his cock he would give her. The moment the tip of her tongue touched the smooth head, he pulled back and she was left with no choice but to comply.

  ‘Good girl.’ His knuckles bumped her nose as he rubbed the crested head against her tongue. ‘Just the tip. Do that thing you do with your tongue. You know what I’m talking about.’

  A few weeks ago she wouldn’t have had a clue, but since Taureau entered her orbit she had described every sexual encounter so that he could piece together the things he had seen. Just like he’d said, her oral performance was dependent on whether she was merely warm for her lovers or burned like a summer bonfire. When it was the latter, she treated their cocks like a special treat just for her.

  Leaving one hand on his ass, she grasped the thick length with the other. Just as she’d imagined doing so many times before, she swept her tongue around and around that smooth head. Nothing she’d done before compared to having him hard and hot in her hand, the taste of him on her tongue. Drunk on him, she relished him, licking, sucking, nibbling, teasing, tugging. All the while, Taureau gripped her shoulders, fingers digging her as throaty sounds poured over her.

  He slipped his hands under her head and filled her mouth again. ‘I tell you to stop, you stop. I’m not coming in your mouth.’

  He held her like that as he built up his tempo, fucking her mouth in solid strokes. Grace resumed her hold on him, clutching his ass as he pumped in and out. She moaned each time he went deep, then moaned around her mouthful as he leaned forward and rubbed his finger around her clit.

  ‘Open your legs and let me see how wet you are.’

  She obeyed, and released his cock with a pop. ‘Turn on the light.’

  ‘Not yet. I can see you just fine in the moonlight. Up a little further,’ he whispered, and when she was sprawled flat on the bed he climbed on top and straddled her face. Thick fingers spread her open.

  ‘Here is where you’re most sensitive,’ he murmured, breathe streaming over her wet pussy as he crooked his finger at the underside of her clit. He stopped her whimper with his cock, giving her just enough to plug her mouth.

  With every wicked stroke she pushed up, eager for more, but he gave her nothing. She had him at last, and he was still keeping her teetering on the edge of madness.

  ‘You’re ready for a tongue,’ he said, and, so quickly she had no time to brace for it, swirled his tongue around her clit.

  Up again she went with a moan, only to have him throw all his weight onto her. She scraped her nails down his thighs, but got no more than a quiet hiss for her efforts. ‘Jacques – God, Jacques, stop teasing me. I can’t take any more.’

  ‘You took almost two months, you can take a little longer, and you’ll come when I say you can come.’

  She glanced down between their bodies, craning her neck until she found a narrow valley with a clear view. He was right: she was utterly exposed in the yellowish light coming through the stained glass above the bed. She sucked in a breath as she saw, amidst the smudging darkness that was Taureau, the point of a tongue straining for all that wetness.

  His sweet torture went on for ever. Around and around he licked her, twisting in a frenzy at times, and coiling slowly at others. She begged for her pleasure to no avail, begged for him to make her come, to stop and fuck her, begged to have her pussy and her mouth filled at once. She couldn’t tell whether he was merely playing with her for the sake of his pleasure, or if this was her punishment for bucking his request for that afternoon.

  It didn’t matter. Pleasure or punishment, she drowned in it. There was nothing for her to do but quietly gorge herself on him as he played with her, and even in that act he gave and he took away, letting her suck him as hungrily as she liked for a while and then lifting his hips and pushing forward so she could take no more.

  And then he took it all away. He rose away from her, then pushed her down as she tried to get up.

  ‘Don’t leave,’ she hissed desperately into the darkness.

  He walked round to the other side of the bed, caught her wrists and held them between their bodi
es. His voice was almost tender as he said, ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ and pushed her back onto the mattress.

  For the first time since he’d entered the room, Grace was glad of the obscurity of the darkness. She could see him, but she couldn’t really see him. The moonlight had revealed to her the shape of the man, the hint of features and definition – the dusting of hair over his chest, the shape of his mouth, his nose, his cock, the light catching his eyes – but nothing more. All of her other senses were so overwhelming her that she was sure looking at him in raw light would break her.

  Just watching his hands on her thighs, spreading her apart, turned her electric. She shook as he delved into the swollen heat of her pussy once more, fingers curling and flexing against her G spot.

  ‘I could tell you everything I’m going to do to you now that I have you here, but this is better.’ He filled her to the knuckle and twitched his thumb over her clit. ‘As much as you raged against me, keeping you mystified is what keeps you where I want you.’

  ‘I know it,’ she whispered, and drew her feet close to her as he pumped his fingers in and out.

  Taureau placed his other hand on her abdomen. ‘Do you? Do you have any idea what I’ve been planning for you in the last few weeks? I decided the first night, when you bent over and did exactly what I told you, that I’d have you here.’

  Grace clutched at the pillows squashing around her head and squirmed as he toyed with her body and her mind. She needed release before she burned to ash.

  ‘You knew it too, for all your tantrums.’ he went on, and became rough with her, finger-fucking her with such force her whole body jolted up. He pushed her back down. The cadence of his fingers slowed, but didn’t soften. ‘This was mine from the moment I decided it was mine.’

  The friction against her G spot was maddening. The pressure built and built and she held her breath, waiting for him to withdraw and leave her flailing for more, but her inner walls began to quiver around his fingers as he just kept stoking the fire he’d built.