by Holly Hart
It's like when he looks at me he doesn't just see his lover, and the mother of his child, he sees the girl he found tied to a wall in an Alexandria basement.
But I'm not that girl anymore. I was, but not for months now. That girl's gone – washed away by the sea breeze and the salt sea. This girl has a golden tan and a bright white smile.
"How did you sleep?"
I know what Val's asking. He's not asking if I needed to wake up to pee at two in the morning, he wants to know if the dreams have come back. They plagued me every night for months. Sometimes, the only thing that made them go away was getting Kitty to climb into bed between us so I could feel her warmth by my side. I know I shouldn't do things like that, letting her see her mama as anything but Superwoman, but she was my rock for so long, it's a hard habit to break.
The dream is the same every time. Or I should say it was, because it's gone and it isn't coming back. I sense Anatoly creeping in the shadows. I don't know how it's him, but I do. Maybe it's a mother's intuition, maybe just common sense.
His hands are as dark and as inky black as the deepest night. He looks at me, but I don't see eyes, just an eerie red light. It's like the gateway to hell. I know why he's here: to take Kitty, to steal her away from me.
"Like a baby," I grin, blinking back the memory of my night terrors. Terror. That was the right word once, but now I'm so relaxed that the muscles on my face take a lot of prodding before they scrunch up into a knowing smile, "just like I have been sleeping every night for months now."
"Hey!" Val raises his hands and sways backwards, pretending I'm about to slap him. He pouts.
"I'm just –"
"Worried about me," I groan, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "I know. But seriously, Val, how long do you plan on trying to keep me wrapped up in cotton wool?"
"As long as it takes!"
I'm just winding up to storm right out of there when I see the grin that's hiding on his lips. "You're messing with me, right?"
He looks down and flicks a piece of fluff off his stomach, deliberately stretching out the silence before he replies. I know what he's doing, because there's no fluff. How could there be? He's not wearing a shirt…
"Maybe," he shrugs, "maybe not. What's it to you?"
I stretch my neck from one side to the other and then hop out of my cross-legged stance, rising nimbly to my feet. Eight months of hot weather, and all the time in the world for yoga and meditation means that I'm more than comfortable with a long silence. It's my turn to leave him hanging. I meet his eyes, and watch them flicker as they rake across my body.
"I think," I say in a voice that's barely more than a throaty whisper. "The question should be – what's it to you?"
I take a step forward, heading off his reply. Val's eyes widen, and I see the faintest outline of a bulge in his board shorts. It's enough for me to stifle a grin. I know he loves it when I wear my yoga shorts. I get it. It's too damn hot here to wear anything longer, so they only cover my ass – barely. It's no surprise that out of all the choices on sale in the huts by the beach, these are the ones Val came back with…
"What –. What do you mean?" He croaks.
I take another step forward, until I'm close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body – even through the muggy warmth of an island morning. He smells salty, as if he's been for a swim. I resist the urge to bend my lips to his skin and dance my tongue across it to taste.
Behave.
Val's bulge grows.
"Oh, I don't know," I say in a husky drawl. "Sure would be a shame if I instituted some kind of point system…"
He licks his lips. "A point system –?"
I rest my hand on his torso, and almost whip it back. His skin is hot to the touch. He's burning up with desire. I close my eyes and breathe in that strong, salty scent once more.
"Yeah, Val. I've been thinking. Every time you ask me about the dreams, I'm not having any more, I get a point."
"A –?" He croaks, as if all conscious thought deserts him. He's staring at me with a hunger in his eyes, like a caveman. I hate what I'm doing to him, and I love it even more.
"I get a point." I confirm. I slide my hand down his side, scratching my nails across board shorts stiff with salt. He shivers.
"And what will you do with these points?" He whispers with his eyes closed.
I clench my legs together as a couple of ideas spring to mind. Down, girl. You're supposed to be teasing him, not the other way round.
It's hard, especially when he parades around without a shirt on all day. But this is my revenge. I scrape my fingers across his cock and leave it there. "Weeell," I say with a wicked smile on my face. I lean forward, rising up on the balls of my feet to bring my lips right in close to his body, into the crook of his shoulder and neck.
"That's the thing." I say lightly, “I’m kind of doing it now." I drop my hands to my side, and a tiny but audible hiss of air escapes Val's lips.
"What are you doing?" He groans. I can almost taste the desire radiating out of him.
I graze my cheek against his thick stubble, shivering as the heat between my legs threatens to overwhelm me. I whisper into his ear.
"From now on, every time you mention those dreams, I'm going to strip off –"
He nods eagerly.
"I'm not done. I'll strip off and parade around in front of you. I'll scrape my nails across your chest and my lips across your cock. I'll build you up until you're ready to blow, and…"
"And, what?" He moans hoarsely.
"I'll get up and go for a swim." I say proudly, clapping my hands together in a flourish. Val flinches at the sound.
"You wouldn't."
"I would."
"No fair," Val mutters, his face turning pale as if he’s just heard he's lost a parent; in his case, losing just the one parent he cared about.
"It's fair," I smile. The grin barely hides my lust for Val: the way I want him to touch me; the way I want to feel his skin rubbing against mine; the way I want his cock to enter me, to stretch me, to test me.
He doesn't know I'm bluffing.
"But just because I'm so nice, I'll give you a pass, just one."
I watch as the understanding blossoms on Val's face. It's slow at first, like the first tendrils of dawn climbing the far-off peaks of a white-capped mountain range, but quickly gathers pace. I press my legs together, riding the urge that is building inside me.
"You mean…" He croaks hoarsely.
If I keep this up he'll lose his voice.
I sink to my knees, casting a quick glance to make sure our bedroom door is closed. It wouldn't do to have Kitty try and crawl in here. Not with what I've got planned. Val sees where I'm looking.
"She's asleep," he groans in a voice pulsating with lust. "I just checked before I came in."
I smile, and put my hands on his hips, tracing my fingers underneath the waistband. I watch Val shiver as they move, ever so slowly, until both of my wrists come to rest on his pubic bones. I can only imagine what he's thinking, with me looking at him from my knees with wide, hungry eyes.
"There's one last thing…"
"What?"
"It's a big one."
"Just tell me what it is," Val begs.
"I need you to promise you'll give this dream thing a rest. I'm over it, you understand? I have you now, and Kitty and I live in a tropical island paradise. I'm over everything that happened to me, so you can stop with all the worrying, okay?"
He nods quickly, his head bobbing up and down like a buoy in a storm. It's too quick. He'd agree to anything right now, I know it. The little head is controlling him, not his brain.
"Words, Val," I smile, lightly dragging my fingernails down the full length of his cock, still hidden by his shorts.
His thighs clench together. A burst of air blasts past his lips, pushing the words ahead of it. "I promise, Cara; I fucking promise, okay? I'll stop, please just –"
"That's all I needed to hear," I say, cutting him off and smi
ling as professionally as any receptionist. With quick, professional courtesy, I take hold of the cloth around his hips and pull his shorts down. He lets a long, deep breath flood out of his lungs as the shorts fall to the ground, and his cock springs free of the material that had trapped it. Every time I see it I marvel at how big it is; at how it can possibly fit inside me; but it does, and it will again today.
This time is no different. Val never disappoints.
I put my hands on his calf muscles and stroke the whole way up the backs of his legs. One of his huge, powerful hands settles on my head and he tangles his fingers in my hair. I feel, as he tugs at it slightly, a delicious wave of electricity crackle through my body. I love it when he pulls my hair.
I lower my lips to his thigh and kiss it.
"What do you want?" I whisper, breathing hot air onto his cock.
I know what he wants. He wants me to put my lips around it, select it, to suck it, to…
I was wrong.
He pushes me backwards, catching me as I fall so that I come to rest on the yoga mat I laid out earlier on the hardwood floor. "Enough messing around," he growls, and then he's upon me. He presses his lips against mine, kissing me, taking my lip inside his and dragging his teeth across it. His fingers scratch across my body, his palm kneads my ass.
"Fuck," he says, pulling back. The heat of his body on mine is overpowering; I want him inside me;I want to curl my legs around his back and feel his weight as he starts to thrust.
"What is it?" I whisper, voice stolen away by my longing.
"Condom," he hisses with a face like thunder. "We're out. I meant to go down to the store –"
I grab him by his thick black hair and pull him into me. I stare into those deep, icy gray eyes that I once found so cold; now, I feel the heat of his gaze burning my skin.
"No. You're not stopping."
"You're ready?" He whispers reverently. "You're sure?"
I nod, biting my lip. "Yes," I say. "And yes. It's time we gave Kitty a little baby brother."
Val closes his eyes as if in prayer. His nostrils flare, and he opens his eyelids to reveal gray eyes now black with desire. This is what he's wanted since we left Alexandria; maybe even before we left. I wasn't ready to give him what he wanted, what he needed, for so long. But I am now.
He strips me off, and pulls my legs apart roughly, and I realize that I'm wetter than I've ever been. I'm ready for him, so ready my body's screaming out for his touch. I'm still holding him by the back of his head and I pull him into me, and he pushes his cock inside me in one long, powerful movement, and my eyes water as he stretches me.
"Yes…" I whisper. I don't know if it's just inside my head, or whether my lips move in unison.
But Val's not listening. He grabs my ass with both hands and his abs tense. He's one huge, thick slab of muscle, and he's mine. He slides one hand up my back and cradles my neck in his hand, gripping it tightly. He thrusts, until his hip bones meet mine, and pulls out and crashes in once more.
My head falls back and a moan escapes my lips.
I let myself fall into ecstasy as the waves of pleasure crash against me every time he thrusts inside.
His breathing is ragged now, and I can barely see him through the pleasure. I close my eyes and try to clench my legs together, to pressure the pleasure growing inside me. Val growls and pulls my legs apart. Both his hands are on my neck now, and he fucks me like an animal.
I gasp for air
One … one thousand.
Two … … two thousand.
Three –
A scream breaks out of my mouth, and waves of electricity explode from my core as the orgasm crackles around my body. Val doesn't stop, he keeps pounding and I ride the wave as shock after shock detonates in the blackness of my mind.
Warmth explodes inside me.
Finally, I'm at peace.
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I hope you loved Phantom’s Baby as much as I enjoyed writing it! If you loved seeing Roman, you can read his and Ellie’s story in Hitman’s Baby, and all you have to do is keep turning the page!
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“Jack Corra is dead.
This isn't his story. This is the story of the man he became, not the man he could have been.
Still, there are things you need to know about him. They'll help you understand. He was a good man once. A son, before his parents died. A brother, before his sister disappeared. A lover, before grief took that away from him too.
He was a goddamn success story. He graduated MIT the day after his eighteenth birthday. He made the cover of Forbes Top Ten in Tech at twenty years old. You know how many people manage to get their face plastered on every news stand in America before they can even buy a beer? Not many.
Jack Corra wrote software. Not too exciting, huh? It gets worse. It was productivity software, you know – managing teams, replacing email, that sort of thing. Boring as hell, really. But you know what's not boring?
A billion dollars.
That's three commas behind your name. Just think about that for a second. Think about what you would do with that kind of money. Anything at all. But I guarantee – whatever you're thinking of right now, Jack did it differently. It was the same when he passed two billion, then three. He was just that kind of guy.
Jack Corra was set. And then, everything went wrong.
But like I said, this isn't Jack's story. Not really. It's hers.”
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Hitman’s Baby
“I didn't tell Roman we had a son. I didn't know.”
1
Ellie.
His hands feel cold and clammy. Lifeless. They wrap around my throat, closing like a vice, his thumbs digging into my windpipe. I scream, or at least I try. It comes out a gurgle, and I don't bother attempting it again, because it's hard enough to get the air to stay conscious, let alone beg for him to let me go. He won't. I look up at him, staring up and into his eyes and imploring him to stop; or even loosen his grip, but they're blank, dead orbs.
I'm choking, I'm dying, and I still don't know what I've done wrong. Whatever I did, my eyes scream upwards, I'll make up for it, you know I will. I'll do anything you want, whenever you ask. Just don't kill me. I don't deserve that, do I?
My hands scrabble desperately against your thick, powerful forearms and, as if answering my prayers, you lift one of your hands away from its python-like grip around my throat. Whatever last vestige of my brain is still working through the torment rejoices, you've relented, it's almost over.
Except, you haven't. You bat away my desperate fingers like you're swatting away a buzzing, inconvenient fly. Like my life means no more than an insects to you. I know it's not true, or – I thought I knew.
My world's going black. Your face is fading away. I don't want my last memory of you to look like this, with your eyes dead and your jaw set with a cold, icy rage, nor to feel like this. You can be so kind, so honest. I'm sorry for making you do this. I know it's not you, not who you are. I just want to see you smile one last time.
My eyes close, my breathing slows, I slip away. My body crumples. I'm numb. You can't hurt me anymore, and I can't hurt you.
Sirens.
I thought that angels might play the harp, that their music would be otherworldly and ethereal. I dreamt, in my darkest moments, of burning gold and fluffy clouds, a
n end to my life, its tests and torments. But heaven sounds just like a busy city, an overtaxed truck engine testing its limits, a wailing child next door, the blaring roar of an ambulance, or a police car. Maybe even both.
Or maybe I'm just going to hell. Perhaps you were right, I must deserve it. It can't be worse than life – this life, anyway.
When I was a child, I watched the happy kids at school from afar. Even back then I knew we were different. They wore new clothes, all bright with color, when mine were hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs: tattered, ripped, un-patched. I saw their parents at the school gate, all wreathed in smiles, and watched them clasp hands, or reach down for a hug.
My nose itches, it feels like something's covering my face, something hard, and there's an elastic strap tugging against the soft hair on the back of my head. There's noise all around me, the sound of those angelic sirens wailing in the background, shouting, the mechanical clicking of handcuffs.
I just want to be at peace, in a place where people don't hurt me anymore, where I don't have to cover my face with make-up just to hide the bruises, where I don't have to wear a scarf to cover the marks on my neck after I've disappointed him.
My mind whimpers. "Leave me alone."
It cries. "Let me go."
Haven't I been through enough? I just want to rest, but something's bothering me. Someone’s talking to me, holding my hand. It's comforting, like the memory of a childhood I never had, but I want them to let go, to let me fall into that dark abyss where I can be at peace.
"Stay with me, Ellie. Don't you go anywhere on me."
"Why." It's not a question. I don't say it out loud, couldn't even if I tried.
Why don't they just let me go?
2