by Iris Astres
Malcolm’s arm cinched under her more tightly, and his weight descended, putting pressure on her to the bone. He pulled back and pushed into her, long, pounding strokes that scattered all her other torments. Worry. Dread. Obliterated by the hammering force.
“So good,” she said. “You say it.”
“Good,” Malcolm repeated. “Fucking you. Using you. It’s good.”
“I’m using you,” she said, correcting him.
He hesitated. “Are you? Are you using my cock, Dinah?” He stroked into her deep.
“Your cock,” she said. “Your breath, your weight, your muscle, your heat, your taste.” She turned her face to one side, and he kissed her.
“That’s your taste,” he said.
“I want to fuck you.” The words were part of the sexual contact; she didn’t really know what she was saying, but his arms tightened a fraction more.
“Do you want to fuck me? With your own cock? Fuck me just like this?”
The image was so hot it made her spread her knees and arch a little more.
“Yes, I want to.”
“Then you will.”
She moaned. He fucked. She circled on his hand. The heat between her legs intensified until it was too thick and hot and good and she was coming hard. The pleasure moved inside her like a tide. She let it drag her under, down and down and down into a world of unbridled extremes.
When she resurfaced, Malcolm’s cock was still moving inside her. “I’m coming, Dinah.” He pulled away and shouted. His whole body jerked and quivered as he came onto her sweat-soaked skin. And it was wonderful to hear him lose control and feel him tense and shake and then collapse.
* * * *
When she’d regained some of her senses, Dinah pulled her pillow free from underneath the bedspread. She cradled it against her face and closed her eyes, exhausted.
Malcolm got up long before she’d even opened her eyes. He kissed her cheek and cleaned the cum streaks off her back. She didn’t move or comment. Nor did she pay particular attention to the sounds he started making in the kitchen. This numbing aftermath of sex was good, because it meant she didn’t have to think or move.
“Have some of this.” He sat beside her, propped against the headboard. Dinah sniffed the air and turned toward him.
“Waffles?”
There were three left over from that morning. He’d folded one up like a taco shell and dipped it in the syrup he’d poured on the plate. Dinah rose to join him, folding, dipping eating the way he did. They each finished one, then shared the third, alternating bites. She watched him take the plate back to the kitchen, wash it off, and put it in the drainer, smiling with self-approval as he sauntered back to bed.
“More.” She pulled his body over hers. “Make love to me again.”
He fit himself between her thighs, gathered her against his chest. “Again and still and always.”
Chapter Nine
Something was buzzing. Dinah couldn’t get the noise to stop. Her dream self labored frantically to smother it and smash it, bury it in the backyard. The harsh alarm won all the battles.
She opened one eye just as Malcolm dragged himself from bed, standing still to get his bearings. Eventually, he found his bag and pulled the messager into his hand. The sight of the device had Dinah upright, instantly awake. “What is it?” she asked hoarsely.
Malcolm met her gaze with perfect calm. “It’s Amin, writing us to say the roads are clear.”
“Oh.” A phantom echo of the buzzing started underneath her skin. Emotional alarm bells trilling through unhappy flesh. Dinah shifted deeper in the bed and pulled the blankets up under her nose. He was going. She would have to say good-bye. And then what? She was in such trouble now that Rocco and the rest of them knew she was still alive between her legs. Without Malcolm beside her she would have to worry all alone.
The sky was the pale gray of very early morning. Four, five at the latest, which meant after the countless times they’d made love she could not have slept more than three hours. Dinah doubted she would manage to doze off again. Some coffee and a long, hot shower sounded better anyway.
She got into her robe, pulling on a pair of heavy socks against the morning chill, and stumbled to the kitchen, staring stupidly down at the kettle while the water slowly heated and the steam moistened the tight skin of her face. Malcolm was now sitting up in bed. He was naked, a sheet covering him from the waist, his back against the headboard, and he was watching her, of course. Which meant he would know how sad she was and all the rest of it, but there was next to nothing she could do about that.
Dinah poured two cups of coffee and brought them back with her to bed. He took the cup she offered him. She sat down next to him and pulled the covers over her cold feet. Side by side they sipped and stared as the room lighted gradually around them.
Maybe she should say something. Sentences presented themselves to Dinah’s mind like gloomy candidates for an unwanted job: When are you leaving? Can I make you something for your trip? Are you looking forward to getting back home?
Empty, stupid words. The real things she would never say: Will you miss me? Will you at least remember me? Was any of it special to you? Her breathing slowed. Another more important question wormed its way into her consciousness.
Do I love you, Malcolm? You see everything so tell me that. Do I love you? I think I do, but how can I be sure?
“What is it?”
“What?” He’d startled her. She spilled a little coffee on the soft skin of her breast and winced. He took the cup from her and slowly bent his head to kiss the scalded skin. Then he was stroking her and looking at her thoughtfully.
“What’s wrong?”
Too many things, all pointless to get into. She pressed her forehead onto his shoulder, which was hard and soft and perfect like the rest of him. “I’m glad you came,” she said. “I like you.”
“Do you?” He sounded pleased. It made her laugh, and laughter gave her courage to sit up straight again.
“I might cry when I say good-bye. Does that happen a lot?”
“Happen a lot?” Apparently she’d baffled him.
“With the thousandzzzz,” Dinah explained, remembering to add the plural. “Do any of them cry?” Tears of sadness? Tears of joy? Probably he’d seen his share of both.
The quiet in the house grew absolute. He wasn’t going to answer her. Soon she’d always have to answer for him. Speak for him. Imagine what he’d say.
He shifted very carefully. She blinked to find him staring at her. “Which sounds more important to you, Dinah. Thousands? Or one?” He sounded serious and sad. It made her feel like a bad girl. She crawled on top of him and tried to pull him close. His body was unwieldy when he didn’t help her.
“I’m the most important,” Dinah said. “No one cares about you like I do.” She settled in to her awkward position. In time he stroked her back and pressed his chin down on her head. It made it better but it didn’t make it good.
“What will you do now?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know. Feel shitty? Take a shower maybe?”
“Let’s play a game.”
Dinah raised her head and smiled into his dear face. “Really?” That was such a good idea. They always had fun when they played the game. She crawled to the bench where they’d left the box and picked a card.
The first one wasn’t good enough. She didn’t want to play at slave and gladiator now. She put it back and drew again. Naughty student. Not a chance. How many of those tired situations had they put in there? Malcolm watched with patient curiosity, making no objection when she reached in a third time.
A good one. Finally.
“Tell me,” Malcolm said.
“I’m a princess.”
He raised his brows, gently objecting. “Again?”
“I know,” she said, “but this time I’m awake. You’re my forbidden lover in a dungeon. My father, the king, has ordered your execution, so I have to rescue you.”
Malcolm studied h
er a moment, then acquiesced. “All right.”
“Lie down.” She motioned him toward the center of the bed. “Pretend you’re in chains. You’re worried, hungry, but not really hurt.” She ran a hand over one of his arms. “Not hurt,” she said again.
Malcolm stretched his limbs into position. Dinah nodded. “Stay here and don’t move until I save you.’’
She went into her closet and pushed clothes out of the way until she found her Christmas dress—a long, red velvet hostess gown she wore once every year, perfect for the daughter of a king. Dressing up for role-play would be new and maybe even weird, but this was the last chance she had to show herself to him in something other than a ratty robe, a pair of jeans, a dirty set of Cy’s old clothes. She put the old dress on. It had a nice weight to it and the silky lining made a pleasant swish against her skin. Encouraged by the look of it, Dinah even combed her hair and put some moisturizer on her skin.
“Sweetheart.” She went back to him and knelt beside him on the bed. He was naked and spread-eagle on the sheets. She imagined she could see the smear of dirt, the gleam of sweat, the heavy iron shackles on his wrists.
Malcolm was good at pretending things. She was nowhere near the actor he was and generally struggled to imagine what to say. This time, bizarrely, the whole thing came naturally to her. She laid her body over his. “You’re safe,” she said and placed one soft kiss on his mouth. She ran her cheek along his chest and kissed his stomach all the way down to his penis. He wasn’t hard, but she liked that. She liked his cock in all its states. Dinah cuddled him with cheek and lips. Reluctantly, she sat up and pulled a make-believe key from a chain around her neck.
“Where did you get that?” He frowned at the imaginary object she held out to him.
“I drugged the guards and took it.”
“I told you not to risk your safety for my sake.”
She ignored this, bending to unshackle him, hands first, then his feet. He sat up rubbing at his wrists while giving her a meditative stare. “You’re very beautiful,” he said.
She sat back on her heels and looked at him, feeling very tired and more than a little sad. “I hope you’ll remember me that way.”
“Remember you?”
“You have to go.”
He shook his head. “I won’t leave here without you.”
Dinah straightened, looking down at him. “But you can’t stay.”
“I said I won’t leave here without you.” On this point, it appeared the man could not be moved.
She bent her body over his and kissed the warm crease of his neck. He smelled like her: her soap, her body, and her bed. She kissed his lips, his forehead, and his hands. With both palms flattened over his chest, she kissed down to his thighs, his knees, his calves. This was a good game, exactly what she’d wanted: a place where she could be in love with him and say good-bye.
He waited while she kissed back up his body, the crimson fabric of her dress covering both of their limbs. He tightened one arm on her waist and pulled her head down over his.
“I love you,” Malcolm said.
“What?” That made her cry. Hot tears were rolling down her cheeks. Why would he say something like that? She thought about him getting into someone’s car to drive away. How could she stay here, eat and work and get into her bed alone?
She let him pull her down against his chest. “I love you,” Malcolm said again. “You know I do.” She pressed her face into his neck and sobbed while he caressed her hair, her shoulders, and her back.
Somehow Dinah calmed herself and started kissing him again. Her eyes were wet; her mouth was hot; her heart was pounding. She planted one last trail of kisses down his stomach to his cock. This time he was hard, and so she put her mouth on him.
“Come here.” He pulled her by the elbows, and she let him. Passive. Not herself. Not a princess either. When he had her where he wanted her, he fumbled underneath her skirt until he could caress her skin, her ass, her waist, and her back. She loved his hands, his firm, warm touch.
“Take my cock,” he said. She straddled him. They both fumbled to find the right position. She slid her pussy over him, and it was tight and hot and good.
“I’ll miss you,” Dinah said. Those were the words she’d looked for all along. That’s what her actions meant. “I’ll miss you every day.”
“You’ll never have the chance. “
She drew away and looked at him. Were they still playing? She was losing track of where they were. “Kiss me.” Her mouth covered his, and he kissed her while he rubbed the cleft of her behind. His eyes were on her, splintered blue and full of what she’d call gentle concern.
“I won’t leave you,” he repeated.
She shook her head. “If you don’t go, they’ll kill you. It’s much too dangerous for you to stay.”
“We’ll leave together then.”
“I can’t,” said Dinah. “If I leave my kingdom, I’ll disintegrate and turn to dust.”
She closed her eyes; his warmth was comforting, the movement of his breath a lulling sound. Dinah snuggled closer and let his smooth, muscled shoulder block her vision of the world. He rocked her gently, and in time she fell into a peaceful sleep.
* * * *
Dinah woke up later in the day to find him on his back beside her, staring at the ceiling. There was no mention of their half-played game. No mention of who would save whom or who would leave and who would stay. They rose and shifted back into their quiet companionship, and Dinah reveled in the pleasure of it so much that her mind found peace. She went on with her day and almost couldn’t hear the ticking clock or see the blinking messager in its bag.
Chapter Ten
Rocco took his shot and missed. He didn’t know why he still bothered playing pool these days. Once upon a time, it had been fun. That was before they’d stopped cleaning the place and all his friends had started to stink.
The constant stench in town was the worst part of living without women. Rocco couldn’t stand to be within five feet of Charlie. The old man’s ratty sweater smelled like he’d soaked it in milk and left it in his beat-up truck to dry. That musty, sour stink-cloud seemed to get worse each passing year, and Rocco had had just about as much of it as he could take. He made a face around the effort to get down his beer. “Christ Almighty, I can barely breathe. Don’t any of you know how to do laundry? For fuck’s sake, buy some extra clothes. Take them down to Sadavail to get ’em cleaned. Do something.”
Jim hit him with a look, and Rocco knew his so-called best friend was about to shoot his mouth off. “Well la-dee-dah. Aren’t we grand, Princess Rocco. Maybe you just can’t get the smell of Julie’s ugly snatch out of your nose.”
Rocco let the wide end of his pool cue hit the floor, straightening to his full height. “We’re not talking about my woman now.”
“What woman?” Jim said looking innocent, confused. “Last I heard you’re on your own again. How long were the two of you together? Two months this time? Took nearly two years for Joanne to get enough of your sorry ass. Congratulations, Stud. You’re getting quicker.“
College had turned Jim into a real mouthy fucker. Rocco didn’t give a shit. “We’re talking about the stench rising off old Charlie’s clothes and how sick to death I am of breathing in his stink. Don’t change the subject, fuckwad. In fact, why don’t you fuck off out of here?”
“Ah shit, Rocco.” Donnie sunk his shot and started sizing up the next. “Leave poor Charlie alone. It ain’t his fault his life’s going to shit. We’d all be doing a damn sight better with some help, but what do you want? There’s all of three fuckable women for every hundred men around here nowadays.”
“There are gonna be even fewer if Rocco keeps chasing them away.”
Everyone laughed at Jim’s little joke—a loud round of raspy guffaws that turned into stifled titters aimed at the floor. Rocco weathered it but didn’t laugh himself. He didn’t find the fact that all their women had run off particularly funny.
Ra
ts from a burning barn, that’s what the Outland women had turned out to be. Vermin. Not even the courage to be up-front about it. Most just sneaked away without a word.
Rocco enjoyed getting his dick wet like the next guy, but beyond that he was done with women. Joanne and Julie had hit him with the same line of shit, telling him how long and hard they’d prayed for a good man. And so he’d done his best to be that man, willing to marry them, give them a roof over their head, all the kids they wanted. Every fucking thing a man was supposed to do, Rocco did. Then both of them, Joanne and Julie both, they just went back on all the things they’d said. One little upset and they jump on it as an excuse to break it off with him. Call them on their shit and ask them why they want to end it and they hem and haw about how they’re confused and need some time.
“Women are nothing but a hand full of gimme and a mouth full of thank you very much.” That’s what his dad had said. Rocco had just seen the gimme. He’d never heard a woman bother to say thank you yet.
“You’re up,” said Donnie.
Rocco slammed his cue back in the rack. “Someone take my turn. I’m done.”
Anger made it hard for him to breathe. He craved his bike. The open road would mean a clearer head. He strode across the bar and out the door, but when he caught sight of the motorcycle, Rocco paused.
Gordon. How fun had it been listening to him whooping in his ear, his little hands clutching his belt. He should have his son with him, never should have let Joanne’s parents take him over like they did.
Cindy. Fuck! Now, there was another smiling bitch working behind his back to mess things up for him. Acting all apologetic and concerned so she could get her hands on Gordon.
Julie was supposed to help get his kid back, but if she couldn’t stick, then fuck her. The boy wasn’t a toddler anymore. At twelve he could fend for himself. Rocco stared down at the loose dirt covering his boots as the idea played out. He was doing this. Instead of sitting like a lump in front of infoscreens with a pussy-whipped old geezer, Gordon should be with his father. Learn what it was like to be a man. Someone had to teach him how to throw a punch and wield a wrench. It meant the kid would have to spend a lot of time alone, but if he got lonely or ran into trouble while Rocco was out on a long run, he could always ride his bike to Granny’s. Dinah Kelley’s house was even closer.