by Iris Astres
Malcolm took a drink. He liked the bite and heat of spirits. When he finished it she poured out more. He waited, knowing she had something on her mind.
“This is what I always wanted,” she began. “Just this: a small house and garden. When Cy first brought me here, I fell in love. The garden wasn’t anything like it is now—just citrus trees and grass. The rest was me. I sat outside and stared for hours, building up an image in my mind. I even planned it all out on a chart. Color, texture, flow. And then I went to work.
“It took a lot of time, but when I saw the shoots come up, I cried. I swear, I’m not a crier, but I couldn’t help myself. The blooms formed, and I can’t describe the joy. Maybe it sounds like insanity, but it feels like love. My love. Maybe it’s the only thing I’ve ever loved.
“Making up those charts, on the other hand,” she said, downing more bourbon, “that turned out to be a joke. This garden’s never looked a thing like my initial vision. Everything I do is mere suggestion. Nature makes the big decisions for me.“ She appeared to think this over for a moment, after which she leaned back in her chair and smiled with a blush of pleasure. “That’s what I like the most about gardening—the give and take. Out there it’s like a five-year conversation I’ve been having with the world. If I leave, the conversation will go on without me. And that’s the worst thing I can think of.” Instantly the pleasure faded. Malcolm thought he saw the shine of tears. They welled up for a second, and then she blinked and they were gone. No more than that. But he could see the wild look again, the look that said I need something to do. He placed a firm hand on her arm to interrupt the process.
“How can I help you?”
She rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing anyone can do. And do what, anyway? Safety is a myth. I could sacrifice the land I love, chase after security, and still meet with some tragedy, some terrible demise.” She shook her head and brought her foot down on the floor. “This is where I want to die. This place is worth any risk.”
“I could marry you.”
Dinah leaned back so far and so quickly that he had to tighten up his hold to steady her. She laughed, as though it were some kind of joke. “I don’t hate that idea,” she said, licking her lips. “But you’re not exactly the required local boy. You would bring a different set of dangers.”
“How would they know?” Stubbornly he fought the obvious.
“You know how,” she said with good-natured reproach. “Perfection. Symmetry. Flawlessness. Hell, around here, they could tell just from your manners.”
“Do you still love your husband?”
Her facial muscles seemed to flicker from the unexpected shift in subject, but she answered easily enough.
“Of course,” she said. “Some men are tall or smart or hairy; Cy was loveable.” She frowned into her glass. “But I don’t want to talk about me anymore. I want to talk about you and the Body House. Or are you sworn to secrecy about all the orgies and etcetera you got up to back there?”
TELL ME ABOUT your destroyed life and blown-up friends. That was a fairly good example of Dinah’s skill for social interaction. That would teach the man to stop her on her way to keeping busy. Busy wasn’t only busy; doing things was how she kept herself from being dumb.
“I don’t have any secrets,” he said easily. “I’ll gladly tell you all about the Body House if you’re interested.”
Dinah perked up. “I’m completely interested. Tell me all the filthy things you’ve done. There have to be some stories when you’ve had sex with a thousand women.”
“Thousands,” Malcolm said.
“That’s crazy.” Dinah shook her head.
“The number doesn’t matter. You’ve lived thousands of days; each one that comes is fresh and new and wanted, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Good point.
“So I know you don’t do it for money, but what is it then. Religion? Is it only sex, or do you really think you heal people?” Healing hadn’t been her personal experience and still if she were honest, she’d admit she’d felt something inside her change. There was a constant physical buzz low in her belly, as though the volume on her sexuality had been turned up all the way. She hummed and crackled with electric feedback at the memory of how he’d touched her. And then there were the strings. Not just one. They seemed to pop up everywhere. When she tried to move away from him, they pulled.
“I wouldn’t say it’s only sex. But I wouldn’t use the word ‘only’ with ‘sex’ under any circumstances. As for healing, that’s not how I view it either. I offer understanding and acceptance. An enactment of those things.”
“How?”
“The key is observation. And the vow we all make never to withhold what can be given.”
The shadows in the house were lengthening. Dinah contemplated turning on a light and thought better of it. She’d just learned Bods all vowed not to withhold what could be given, and she wanted to create a picture. Maybe more than one. Such images were easier to conjure in the twilight.
“Like what? What do you give? Besides the obvious, I mean.”
“Obvious?” It was one of his smiling challenges, the kind that made her want to wrestle naked with him. “Everything is understandable, but nothing’s obvious. Some women come to us for kindness. Some for excitement. They want domination, consolation, or just a partner in crime.”
“What would I want, do you think? Imagine I were at the Body House.”
He studied her, the smallest smile on his face. “For you I think the latter would prevail.”
“A partner in crime?”
He nodded.
“That sounds pretty good.” She smiled. “How about it, partner? Wanna break a couple laws?”
“Oh yes.” And just like that he made her hot again. He could turn the sexy up to high in seconds just by showing her that part of him that was so confidently evil. He grabbed the box and held it out to her. “Draw a card.”
“I would, but I don’t cheat, and it’s your turn.”
With narrowed eyes to show the dig had not been lost on him, he pulled one out.
“What is it?” Something in his smile told her it must be a pretty nasty one.
He cleared his throat and read. “Out of chips during a poker game, your partner has wagered sexual favors and lost. For the next twenty minutes you can use her as your sex slave.”
“Again?” Dinah complained. “I was a sex slave yesterday.”
“That’s not true,” Malcolm corrected. “You were my alien sex student. A slave is very different. Stand up,” he said.
Dinah hesitated. She could tell herself she didn’t really know him. She could tell herself she wasn’t really interested in this kind of game. The truth was, she was spellbound by both him and the roles they played. And if she started acting this slave thing out, he would know how into it she was. Shouldn’t that be kept a secret? Awkwardly, she pulled herself upright.
Malcolm leaned back in his chair, a meditative look deepening the blue of his hypnotic eyes. “Take off your clothes.”
Dinah stripped. It didn’t take her long.
“Sit down.” He motioned her toward the bench at the foot of the bed. Naked, Dinah sat.
“Spread your legs.”
Her heart sped up. Her breathing grew more shallow. Dinah lifted one foot, then the other until her knees were spread a few inches apart.
“Spread your legs,” he said again. She did it, spreading wide for him and felt the now familiar pulse between her thighs that said she liked these dirty games of his more than she could ever have imagined. “Spread yourself open. Let me see more of you.” Even this she did although it made her look away and blush. If anyone could see her, she would die. Anyone besides him.
“Now stand up and turn around,” he said. His voice was lower, slightly rougher. She thought she knew what he would demand next.
“Kneel on the bench and bend over.” Dinah drew a breath and did it. She did it completely for him, knees apart, back arched, ass and pussy fully exp
osed. She could feel the tingling, the gathering wetness.
“Don’t move.” He rose and came toward her. “You disobeyed me, slave.”
“I didn’t.” Dinah lifted up to face him. He placed his palm between her shoulder blades and pushed her down again.
“You hesitated,” he informed her. “A minor infraction, but I’ll still have to punish you.”
Something slapped against her bottom. Dinah gasped. The paddle? That thing was a joke; it wasn’t real.
“What is it about bright red ass cheeks that always makes my cock so hard?” He brought the paddle down again. It didn’t hurt. A little sting, but more than that, it teased up her arousal. He spanked her ass a few more times, the light wood made the slightest contact with her swollen pussy lips, and Dinah moaned and stretched for more. He stopped.
“Kiss it.” He thrust the paddle underneath her mouth. Dinah gave it a wet kiss.
“Very nice,” he said approvingly. “Your attitude’s improved. Maybe I should let you come.” His fingers furrowed in her slit. “Is that a good idea?” She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. He rubbed between her legs in a distracted way, like someone scratching a friendly dog between its ears. Dinah didn’t care. It was incredible. She wiggled under the caress.
“You’re very dirty moving on my hand like that.” He paddled her again—a long cascade of even blows that raised her skin in pinpricks and made her vision blur. “Very well.” He pressed his fingers into her. “Use my hand to make yourself come.”
Dinah rocked her hips against him.
“That’s right. Let me see that red ass bobbing up and down.”
She pressed her face into the paddle he’d let go of, circling on his fingers while the nastiness took hold of her, shredding all her inhibition. He teased the flame with random brushing strokes and pinches on her breasts, the inside of her thighs. “That’s right, come now,” he ordered, and she did it, pussy spasming hard. Her body shuddered, her breath rasped, and her legs gave out, bringing her down.
When it was over, blood rose to her face and burned. She crawled into the center of the bed and pulled her arms and legs into a ball.
She couldn’t look at him. It was too embarrassing. She heard him though. He stood. He moved. His clothes came off, and he was on the bed, positioning himself beside her.
“That was more than twenty minutes,” Dinah mumbled. She felt tight and wet and used. Her ass was tingling, her pussy soaked. Her postorgasmic high had quickly cooled into mortification.
Gently he unfolded her, fought his way into the fray of her emotions, and subdued them all by pulling her into his arms, his big cock brushing the damp and tender skin between her thighs.
With subtle pressure he pushed at her knees and shoulders until he had her on her back. “Look at me,” he urged. “We’re partners in all this, remember. I feel it with you. I want it with you. My body’s hot. My cock is hard and aching to push into you.”
“Yes.” Dinah pulled at him, suddenly shaking with the need to fuck. “Yes, I want you.” And she had him, filling her and holding her and kissing her until she’d let go of restraint again.
Malcolm gathered her against him, moving her from one position to another. There was no hurry in him, so Dinah let go of her sense of time and purpose too. She came alive to him, trembling on the edge of here and now. His movements were as deep and slow as moans. The rolling, tactile pleasure went on and on, and when sensation overtook her, Dinah shook with it.
Malcolm trembled too. Jaw slack, skin glistening with sweat, he seemed to have cut all his tethers to this world, rising with her all the way, just as he’d promised.
Chapter Five
Rocco Evers loved his boy.
That was more than could be said for the bitch mother who ran out on him not two years after he was born. More than most men with a child who was “special.” And, no matter how often they claimed the contrary, it was more than the condescending in-laws who had somehow taken custody of his boy.
Gordon was his son, and he’d always done right by him. No one better dare to contradict him on that point.
Cindy looked like she might be about to, but as usual Joanne’s sad, gray mother preferred to do most of her talking without words. She was in the doorway, staring at him with that small, tight smile she always wore when he came for his son.
She cast a worried glance over her shoulder and stepped onto the porch. Rocco stood his ground. She was a fool if she thought a closed door would keep him from his boy. “He hasn’t been feeling well.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Rocco nearly spat the words. He knew it was a load of crap. Cindy wasn’t any brighter than the bitch she’d given birth to. Just like Joanne, she really thought a man was duty bound to honor any shit that came out of her mouth.
Women were such fucking liars. Hypocrites about it too. Let them catch a man stretching the truth a little, and they’re hurt, indignant, disgusted like he’s the worst piece of scum that ever lived. But try to call them on their own unending bullshit—all the flimsy, made-up excuses they trotted out whenever something wasn’t absolutely to their liking—and he’s a brute, a real insensitive louse. He’d seen it way too many times.
“Let’s cut the crap,” he said. “Gordon isn’t sick. He’s pissed at me. He has a right to be.” He leaned back on his heels, staring down at Cindy while he laid it out for her, real slow. “I got a woman next door to me refuses to keep her animals locked up and off my property. So instead of taking my son out on my bike like I promised, I got dragged into a fight with the guy she’s fucking. I understand exactly why my boy’s upset. That’s why I’m here. To talk it out. You need to get inside and get my son, ’cause I’m not leaving till I make things right between us.”
“What do you mean, make things right?” Cindy’s pruney face wrinkled a little more. She stared at the big bike behind him. “You’re not thinking of putting him on that, are you? You can’t.”
Rocco folded his thick arms across his chest. “You’d be surprised at what I can do.”
For a minute there it looked like it would be a standoff. Then Cindy huffed a breath, her eyes all teary as she shook her head and went inside.
She’d left him on the porch, which might be for the best. The atmosphere at the in-laws was a little less than welcoming. It also irritated him to see the tidy little Liarsland his son had been subjected to. Most days old Pat and Gordon sat there staring at images on the screen, letting Cindy run the show, the balls between their legs turning to dust. He’d kill himself before he let that kind of life grab hold of him.
Sure he was hoping to marry Julie, but that was for his son’s sake. A stable home was all he needed to get Gordon back with him for good. But Julie had run off after the fistfight on the lawn. He imagined it would take a lot more than a motorcycle ride on a nice day to smooth her mood. Rocco didn’t see the point in pandering to women. He’d tried it with Joanne and gotten shafted hard. That wasn’t happening again. No thanks.
When the door reopened he wondered if he hadn’t gotten Cindy wrong. His boy did look a little green around the gills. “What’s going on?” he said. “Come out here; let me see.”
Head hanging, Gordon did as he was told. Rocco squatted down and checked him out.
“I’m sorry, son.” Hugs put the kid on edge, so Rocco grabbed his head and wiggled it a little. “I let you down. I know I did.” He waited for those words to settle in. When they did, he got what he was after: that look of curiosity that said his boy still loved his daddy. The strong connection he felt to his son was the best thing in Rocco’s life. The most important thing.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s you and me go have some fun. Can’t let a great day like this go to waste.”
Gordon wasn’t a great mover, but it was cute the way he scampered down the steps, across the driveway. Rocco got him settled on the seat, meticulous about his safety. Not to satisfy that old cunt staring through the window, but because he was a loving father, just the man Gord
on needed in his life. Rocco put the helmet on him. Tightened up the chin strap, adjusted the footrests so that everything was A-okay. Then, with Gordon’s chubby fingers curling tight around his belt, he steered the bike around and put her into gear, tearing off into the open road.
They traveled a good twenty miles west, going at a fair clip. Nothing most people would think was dangerous. At the roadway rest stop south of Highway 40, he pulled in for a snack. They told him the ice-cream truck wouldn’t be back till April, which pissed him off a little. Gordon settled for a soda and some candy happily enough.
He was a happy kid when they were out together. That’s what nobody could stand. Not Joanne, her father, and her old bitch of a mother. None of them could bear the fact that Gordon loved his daddy more than any of the rest of them. And damn if he didn’t love the boy right back.
“What do you want to do now, champ? You wanna keep going, maybe stay the night in Nordhup? Or we could head on back to my place. Grab some grub on the way?”
“Can we stop at Dinah’s so she sees me riding with you?” The idea had come over him all of a sudden. Something in it made his face light up like Christmas, eyebrows almost to his hairline, he was grinning so damn hard.
“Is she your girlfriend?” he asked, chucking his son on the arm.
Gordon’s pleased expression faded fast. “Never mind.” He got up and walked to the bike.
“Hold up a second,” Rocco said, snagging the kid by the collar. “What changed your mind? I got no problem stopping by her house.”
“Uh-uh.” He glanced up at his father with a new expression. Worry. Was that it? “Hey.” Rocco caught him when he tried to move again. “What’s the matter? You too ashamed of your old man to let him meet your girlfriend?” He studied the boy’s face to see if that was it. There was no love lost between him and Dinah Kelley, but he reckoned they could stand each other long enough for Gordon to show her the bike.