The movie starts. You’d think she’d never seen it before. Phoebe tightens her hand around my fingers when the girl at the beginning is pulled under by the shark. When I look at her during the diving scene, her face is a quivering mask of fear. For the last fifteen minutes of the movie, she’s clinging to me, almost in my lap. I put my arm around her, more fascinated by the way she becomes so engrossed in the movie than the action on screen.
When it’s over, she sits up and swipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand. In the dark of the theater with only the dim light of the rolling credits illuminating her face, she becomes some kind of night angel, innocent and pure in the dark. It feels almost criminal to touch her. Kissing her makes me feel like a thief.
“Come on,” she says, “can’t sit here forever.”
It’s full dark when we walk out of the theater. Phoebe is still munching popcorn. Back in my car, I kiss her and her mouth tastes like salt and butter.
“Last time we fooled around in a car, it was a disaster,” she says.
“We won’t get locked in this time.”
She grins. “Let’s go someplace quieter.”
I smile back at her, and watch her cheeks turn a bright pink. She blushes easily. I like that. I drive with no destination in mind, other than away.
“There’s a park,” she says.
I follow Phoebe’s directions up a side road and then a dirt path, finally coming to a sign that says Closed at Dusk in faded white letters on rusty brown.
Phoebe looks at the sign and looks at me.
“I can do whatever I want. I’m a cop. Come on.”
I grab a blanket from the trunk and take her hand. We walk into the park to the edge of the big picnic grove clearing. Phoebe doesn’t say a word. She unclips her gun from inside her waistband and sets it on the blanket, then begins to undress.
She twists and turns languidly, hiding from me as she exposes herself. She covers her chest with her arm and shimmies out of her jeans, leaving her clothes in a pile on one corner of the blanket.
When she turns to face me and drops her arms, my chest tightens and I can barely breathe. My head swims. She’s so gorgeous. The moonlight kisses her skin, and all her curves glow. Her blue eyes sparkle in the dim pale light. Her soft smile is full of promise.
I shed my clothes in quick, blunt motions, desperate to be naked with her. When I step close, she puts her hands on my sides and holds herself a few inches away from me, admiring my body. Her hand falls to my hip, then traces over my thigh. The feeling of her nails on my skin makes my cock rage from an erection to a throbbing, painful need that only intensifies when she slowly draws her hand along the shaft and cups the head in her palm.
I can’t take it anymore. I pull her to me, and we fall to our knees together, then on our sides. I lie on my back and pull her up, and take her nipple in my mouth. She lets out a soft, restrained gasp and her whole body flexes and shudders in my grip, her muscles tensing under my hands. Her skin is so soft and smooth and warm to the touch.
I pull her by the hips until she’s straddling my head, and draw her to sit. Surrounded by her, I drive my tongue into her hot, wet pussy as her arousal wets my chin. She sits straight up and rides, moving her hips to guide me as I pleasure her. She tastes so good, so sweet. I want her on my cock, but I want her coming so hard, she begs for mercy.
Her body quivers. I feel her muscles tightening, her thighs quaking. I hold her by the hips and attack her clit, until she starts to moan loudly, her cries spreading across the clearing. It’s chilly tonight, but she’s already slick with sweat, beads of moisture sliding down her perfect body between her lovely soft breasts.
“Alex,” she whispers, between breathy moans. “Oh, Alex, it’s so good. Please.”
Quivering, she hops off and sits on my chest, then slides down my body until she’s lying on me, her soft lips against my throat. I twist my fingers in her hair and savor the look of submission and lust on her face as I pull her head back so I can kiss her. I dig my fingers into her ass until she squirms, then pull my hand back and smack it. It’s like it flips a switch inside her and she bucks and undulates, slippery and soft.
Phoebe sits up and straddles my stomach, inching backward until she rises, pushes my cock against my belly, and sits on it. She smiles a wicked smile, but blushes even redder as she slides herself along my shaft, wetting it. The heat and slickness are almost as good as being inside her. She digs her nails into my skin and bites her lip, then reaches down and guides me inside her.
I watch, not even allowing myself to blink. I need the memory etched into my brain, the sight of the pleasure and strain on her face as she pushes me into her. The sight of my cock entering her body makes me so hot, I start to sit up but she gently presses me back down, leaning on my chest with her hands.
I rest mine on top of hers as she stares into my eyes and rolls her hips, her face slowly going slack from the pleasure. I want to grab her and fuck her into her oblivion, but the sight of her enraptured by riding me is too beautiful.
My entire body strains as I hold back and yield control to her, just for a moment. I run my hands up her arms and over her shoulders, and down her sides. I want to touch her all over, explore every curve of her body.
She falls forward on me, her head on my chest, and slowly moves her body.
“Fuck,” I growl.
I love it. I love feeling her chest glide against mine as she moves, slicked with our sweat. I love her hair tickling my skin, the way she shudders when my hands glide down her back and cup her ass.
I love her.
Phoebe locks her legs around me.
I roll on top of her, holding back my weight on my arms, and kiss her gently. I savor her body with long slow strokes, fighting the urge to give in to instinct and go faster until I explode. She kisses me and nips at my skin and when our eyes meet there is gratitude in her gaze, a strangely thankful look that I end up mirroring.
This is what it is to be happy. I feel whole. No words are spoken. When she cries out, I drive inside her, and I don’t know if it’s me climaxing or her, but it feels the same, a tight blinding moment of pleasure followed by a long slow burn as the tension floods out of my body.
Phoebe won’t take her hands or mouth off me. Her teeth pinch my skin and I let out a little yelp. She giggles and does it again, leaving little red pinch marks on my shoulder and chest. Love marks. Red lines sting on my back. I didn’t even realize she scratched me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, then kisses the places where she bit me and strokes the scratches with her fingers. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t apologize when I spank you.”
“I like it when you spank me.”
“I like it when you bite me. It’s naughty. Naughty means spanks.”
She giggles, and it turns into laughter.
“Oh my God, you’re still in me. Your cock is still in there.”
I wiggle my hips. “There it stays.”
Phoebe laughs. “Someone might catch us.”
“Arrest them.”
“I didn’t bring my handcuffs.”
“Maybe you should.”
She turns red and starts laughing so hard no sounds come out, then kisses me and plays with my hair.
I get hard again. Inside her. She feels it, from the look on her face, I can tell. I slowly start to pump again, and her head falls back. This time she spreads out on the blanket, as relaxed as a cat in the sun. I rest my head next to hers and slowly fuck her until I come again. I’m still hard, so I keep going until she tightens up and starts to shudder, gripping the blanket in her fists. She bucks under me and I slow and stop, holding myself deeply inside her, feeling her clench and quiver around me.
I draw out of her and sit up. I use the blanket to towel her down, wipe the sweat from her body, then dress her. Tugging her jeans on while she’s half asleep is a chore, but I get them up. Then I scoop her up in my arms and carry her to the car, sit her in the front seat, and pack the blan
ket in the trunk. I put her shoes by her bare feet, and tickle her soles with my fingers. She jumps, her eyes widening before she pushes at me and closes them again. She yawns.
Halfway back to town, she sits up and rolls down the window. Phoebe grins as the wind dries her hair. She shimmies in the seat and runs her fingers through it, and adjusts her clothes.
When she looks at me, it’s like the sun is in my chest and the light is pouring through my skin. The joy burns my soul. This is right. This is good.
I pull into the driveway and yawn. Phoebe steps out, and freezes.
It’s then I notice the front door is hanging open.
Chapter Twelve
Phoebe
My door is open.
Something is off. Some instinct tugs at my brain. It’s like someone dumped cold water over my head. I hear myself say, “Stay here,” to Alex, but it’s like no one said it.
He starts to take a step and I turn to him, thrusting out my hand in a gesture of command.
“I said stay here.”
I pop the retention strap on my small-of-the-back holster and pull out my sidearm. I hold it low and to my side, so I can stash it if I’m wrong, before Carrie sees me with it and gets upset. There has to be a logical explanation why my front door would be open at close to midnight.
I just can’t think of one.
Ascending the front steps slowly to avoid them creaking, I pad across the porch. Only when I set my foot on the cold metal lip of the front door do I realize I forgot to put on my shoes. I adjust my grip on my piece.
It’s dark in the house. I sweep into the living room and check the corners.
I see Alex behind me. I motion for him to stop, and touch my finger to my lips.
I’ll clear the downstairs first. I check the living room, sticking close to the walls, eyeing the corners before I move on. It’s empty and the television is off.
There’s a soft sound in the kitchen, like a whisper. It grows louder. I edge closer. There’s no light inside besides the faint glow of the clocks on the stove and microwave. Why is it dark and where is everyone? Why is the door open? Did Grace take Phoebe from the house? Why didn’t they call?
Stop. It. Phoebe.
I take a deep breath, settle myself. Focus. I duck close to the kitchen door.
A noise blasts from behind me. I whip around, raising my sidearm.
It’s just the TV. Someone…Someone turned the sound back on.
I spin back toward the dining room, but I’m too late. Someone crashes into me, falls on top of me and pins my wrists to the side. There’s a tangle of hair in my face and I smell cigarettes and cheap shitty perfume that smells like my grandmother’s house, and body odor.
Her wild eyes stare into mine. It’s her, Alex’s stalker.
She’s bigger but I’m stronger. I put all my strength into rising and shove her off me.
“Where is my daughter?” I snarl.
A hand knots in my hair and pulls back hard. I scream at the pain in my scalp, and Sarah charges me. She shoves my arms up, pinning my gun over my head.
Something cold and metal touches my throat.
“Let go of the gun,” a male voice says.
No. No no no no no no…
“Do it, cutie.”
My fingers relax and Sarah pries the gun out of my hands. She holds it in hers, testing its weight.
“You really thought you could keep my kid from me, you scheming bitch.”
It’s him.
David.
“Move or I’ll cut your throat. Make a noise and I’ll kill you.”
He pulls me into the dining room and shoves me into a seat. The knife nicks my throat. I feel its bite, then a warm trickle down to my collarbone.
“Cover her.”
Grace sits at the far end of the table, a rag stuffed in her mouth. She has a black eye and old clothesline is wrapped around and around her from her shoulders down to her waist, binding her to the chair. She gives me a horrifying pleading look of apology as Sarah points the gun at her head.
“I should shoot her,” Sarah mumbles. “She’s hurting him. I know she’s hurting him.”
“Not yet,” David says.
He steps in front of me so I can see him, and touches Carrie’s hair. He has my daughter tied to the chair with a strip of duct tape over her mouth. There’s a bruise on the side of her head. He hit her.
He hit her.
Sarah pushes the muzzle of my gun into my head.
“Where’s the other one?” David snaps. “The big guy.”
He looks the same as he did before, just older. Hollow cheeks, long stringy brown hair, a tiger-stripe camouflage jacket and loose pants. His hands are covered with scabs, and the drugs have been hard on him. His eyes are dark and sunken.
“Here we are with my nice happy family,” he says, skimming his filthy hand over my little girl’s hair. “Mommy and daddy and my precious little pumpkin.”
“What do you want?”
“I want my kid.”
Carrie trembles in her seat. Grace pleads with me, her eyes full of silent appeal.
David walks down the length of the table and sets his scabby hand on Grace’s shoulder.
“I’m taking this one with me. I was going to bring you, but I figure I’ll trade up for the younger model.”
Grace thrashes in the chair. Until David backhands her, almost knocking her over. A bruise already rises on her cheek.
“Can I shoot her now?” Sarah says, wild rage burning in her eyes.
“No,” he offers her the knife. “Use this.”
“What the fuck?” Alex roars.
Sarah whips around and aims the gun at him. I writhe in my chair, straining at the ropes. David grabs at the gun but Sarah pushes him away and raises it high, aiming at Alex’s head.
“What are you doing here?” she demands. “Wait outside while I take care of this. Then we can go home.”
“What are you doing here?” Alex snaps, glancing at me.
What is he doing?
Sarah laughs. “What do you mean? You sent the man to get me out.”
“I did. Oh, yes, I did,” David says, as if he can’t believe she’s buying this. “Was it the right guy?”
“He said his name was Lou, but I’m not supposed to tell you that,” Sarah says, giggling. “Oops. He brought a lawyer and they got me out of the jail.”
David runs his hand over my head. He rests it on my neck and plunges it down into my top and squeezes my breast, hard. Painfully.
Alex jerks forward and Sarah jabs the gun at him. He puts up his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
“Sarah, I know you don’t want to hurt anybody.”
“I don’t care about anybody. I care about you.” She jabs the gun in his face and he takes a step back.
“Okay. You don’t want to hurt me, do you? If you shoot me with that, I’ll die.”
“Get in the chair,” David snaps. “We need to tie him up.”
“Are you crazy?” Sarah hisses. “He’ll snap the ropes. Look at him. Besides, he’s coming with us. I love him.”
“Whatever,” David snarls. “Just take him outside and love him there so I can get these cunts in the van.”
“Watch your fucking language,” Alex bellows.
Sarah flinches.
I cringe. Jesus, if she twitches on that trigger she’ll put a bullet in his chest.
“Alex,” I say. “Get out. Don’t get shot.”
“Shut up,” David snaps.
He slaps the back of my head, hard. It stings, but I roll with it. I wriggle back and forth in the chair. I feel the ropes starting to give some slack. They’re just clothesline from the basement. Old clothesline I piled up one day after I took it down. How strong can it be?
Strong enough to hold me. Tears well in my eyes. I can’t let this happen.
Alex takes a step forward.
“If you love me, you’ll put down the gun, Sarah.”
“He’s right,” David says, chee
rfully. “I’ll hold it for you.”
Sarah falters, the gun drooping in her hands.
“Let me have it,” David says.
“Okay,” Alex whispers. I don’t know if he’s talking to me or himself.
A person of his size should not be able to move so fast. He almost blurs. He barrels into Sarah and crashes her into David and in the scuffle, my chair tips.
I arch my back and twist to soften the blow, but my head rings from bouncing on the linoleum floor, stars dancing in my vision. I feel wetness. I think my scalp is cut.
I thrash against the ropes, the chair squeaking and creaking against the floor. All I can see is a tangled mass. Sarah thrusts the gun at Alex like she means to hit him with it, screaming why, why, why. He pins her hand down and tries to pry it loose from her grip.
Then David takes his knife and rams it into the back of Alex’s arm, and twists. Alex howls in agony and rage, but doesn’t let go. He swings his other arm in a savage closed-fist backhand that knocks David away from him and into the wall so hard it makes Carrie’s kindergarten graduation photo fall to the floor. The glass shatters.
David gets up, clutching his head, knife held in his hand ready to stab. I kick the chair around and shove the legs between his feet, and he goes down on top of me.
“You fucking whore!” he snarls.
Alex is bleeding badly, blood gushing down his arm. He rips the gun out of Sarah’s hand, and she screams as her fingers break, pop, pop.
Alex actually says, “I’m sorry,” freezing for a moment.
David launches himself at him, grabbing at the gun. Alex is losing the strength in his massive arm. There’s so much blood, I don’t know how there can be any left. I writhe and thrash, screaming at the ropes.
The knife is on the ground. David must have dropped it.
Alex struggles. David knees him in the groin and shoves him back. Alex starts to stand, to push the gun down, but his eyes widen in horror when he realizes that if he aims it at David he might hit Grace or Carrie.
Man of the House Page 36