My Heart Can't Tell You No

by M. K. Heffner

  “Hello?” John Baker’s voice came to him

  “Hello, John.” Joe surprised himself at his tone of friendliness, but still his voice shook from his concealed anger. Did his best friend know? Did his best friend keep this information from him as well? Did they all know? “Jackie and Robby are down there, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah. They’re playing. Beth said you and Maddie are coming down tonight.”

  “No—no, I—uh—was just calling to see if you could let them spend the night with you. I was planning something, and I wanted to be alone with Maddie tonight.”

  “Sure. I’ll take them to the movies tonight if that’s all right with you and Maddie.”

  “Um, yeah, that’ll be great.”

  “Do you want to send your kids too? I’ll take them along.”

  “No. No, they’re not here. It’s not their weekend to come out. I just need to know Jackie and Robby won’t be coming home tonight.”

  “I think I can talk them into staying. Especially if I invite those two neighbor kids from down the road.”

  “Thanks, John.” Joe put down the telephone and started toward the door. He knew he needed a drink, and beer wasn’t going to do the trick.

  When Maddie walked into the house at six-thirty that evening, the darkness engulfed her. A strange sensation flowed through her. Something not quite right made her reach for the light switch immediately. There was no light. She thought the bulb was blown. She went to the kitchen and flipped on the light over her sink as she put down her purse and kicked off her shoes. Then, glancing down the hallway, she saw light coming from her bedroom and turned toward it, not hearing the sound of cloth being torn until she rounded the corner to her bedroom and bathroom. As she reached her doorway, her eyes widened in confused horror when she saw Joe tearing up her work clothes before dropping the pieces onto the floor where a small pile had already accumulated.

  “What are you doing?” She ran to him and tried to grab the pair of slacks, but, with a simple flex of his arm, he pushed her back onto the bed. “Joe!”

  He turned slowly, his eyes showing he had been drinking, and drinking heavily. His smile sent chills through her as a reminder of the anger he was capable of. He tore the slacks and dropped them as he watched her, then walked to the edge of the bed where he bent over her, leaning on hands that he placed on either side of her.

  “I don’t like those clothes.” His voice was low as his hand slowly moved up to her blouse, then with a quick jerk ripped it open and sent buttons flying. “I don’t like these either.”

  Anger soared within her, twisting her away from him to get to her feet, and starting for her door as she removed the useless silk blouse, exposing the flimsy bra beneath.

  “Knock it off! I don’t go around destroying your things just because I don’t like them!”

  “Not so fast.” His hands grabbed her hips, jerking her back against him, then yanking the skirt down as the zipper split under the pressure. “I don’t like this either.”

  “Goddamn it, Joe!” She spun around to face him, her hand flying up to meet his face before she could stop herself. “Stop it! What the hell are you trying to do? Take up Bob’s old habits? Well, let me tell ya, if you plan on drinking until you don’t know what the hell you’re doing—you can just get the hell out right now, because I won’t have my boys exposed to it!”

  The amusement that flashed into his eyes made her take a step back and stare at him. His hand found hers and pulled her back easily, walking with her until they were standing at the head of the bed.

  “And just what were Bob’s old habits, Maddie?” His fingers were working at the buttons of his shirt.

  “He was an alcoholic and you know it,” she said stiffly.

  “No doubt he had good reason to drink.” He pulled off his shirt and then T-shirt beneath it.

  “What are you doing? If you think I’m going to lay with you now after you just finished destroying most of my wardrobe—you’re drunker than I thought! Either that or you don’t know me at all!”

  His eyes met hers, and, although there were still traces of a false smile on his lips, it was his eyes that frightened her most.

  “I think you hit the nail right on the head, Madelyn. I don’t know you. But that’s gonna change.”

  “Like hell it is,” she hissed, stomping past him until his arm went around her waist, pulling her back and throwing her on the bed with a force that made her bounce.

  As he walked back toward her, the fury she saw in him outweighed her anger, sending an icy fright through her that rolled her off the bed in fear. She didn’t have time to think, to wonder where the hatred she saw in him was coming from. She only had time to feel and react. Reasoning was beyond her as he grabbed her and pulled her back again, a reasoning that would have prevented her from acting like a frightened, cornered, animal functioning on pure instinct. The crystal lamp was in her hand before she realized it, and, as she was being pulled back toward the bed, her hand rose to stop her attacker, no matter who it was. The crash sounded in her ears—but it was echoed, far away sounding. She saw only a glimpse of the man stumbling a few steps away before she was fleeing out the door.

  Joe’s hand went to the bureau to support himself as his other hand felt the side of his face where the glass had shattered against it. How he had managed not to get cut, he hadn’t a clue. He heard the bedroom door slam, sending his rage to an explosion. He hadn’t planned on hurting her—not physically. Not even when she entered and showed him exactly how much her expensive wardrobe meant to her. Not even when she had struck him did he intend to actually harm her. He wanted to hurt her mentally; to use her as she had used him, then walk away and never come back. But that was before she smashed a lamp against his face; before she ran out, prepared to do God only knew what; most likely either run to her family for help or get to a phone to call the police. Well, if she wanted to call the police—he’d give her something to call them about.

  He was after her in an instant, reaching her as she rounded the corner to the kitchen. He had her from behind as she struggled to free herself, knocking things from the counter as he and Maddie sporadically moved toward the sink and the back door. He wanted to stop her, and, without reasoning, he reached beneath her, pulling her legs up and bending her forward onto the counter, yanking down her panties in the process. She continued to pull herself away, grabbing for the counter, anything she could clutch at. He opened his zipper and moved up behind her, entering her swiftly and hearing her painful cry at his unaccustomed harshness. He only moved within her a few strokes before she yanked herself away and turned swiftly toward him, reaching for the drainboard that held the morning dishes. Her hand came back with a knife that stopped him immediately as it touched his throat. Well, so the little slut planned to kill him, he thought with a bizarre twist of amusement. He had known women like her—take from a man what they wanted; what they needed, then discard them when they were through. It was why it had been done to him that ate at him, for he knew the answer. He was foolish enough to have loved her. An easy target. She got what she wanted with just the snap of her manicured fingers. He stared down at her without movement, without loosening the grip he had on her waist. She was a sight already, with her hair falling from its matronly bun at the top of her neck to present her as the small girl playacting as a woman. But as her breasts heaved against the thin material he knew and remembered just how much woman she was.

  “If you intend using that, Dear, it might be more effective if you didn’t use the back of the blade.” His voice was low and vibrating, his words doing what he had hoped as her eyes pivoted from his face to the knife, allowing him the time needed to shove her arm away and grab her wrist.

  When she wouldn’t release the weapon, his hand covered hers, squeezing tightly until she moaned under the pressure. As he released her hand his fingers ripped the knife free and tossed it into the sink with a loud clink. He no sooner looked back in her direction than he ducked from the heavy ironsto
ne plate she was swinging. He lifted her over his shoulder in a smooth, fluid motion, turning back to the bedroom as the plate dropped and smashed on the floor.

  “Put me down! Goddamn you put me down—or I swear I’ll—I’ll . . . .”

  “You’ll what, Madelyn dear? Kill me? You already tried. And could have if you hadn’t mistrusted your own judgment. In case you didn’t have time to notice—the blade was against my throat—and very sharp.” He tossed her onto the bed in a careless manner, turning to close the door and unsnap his jeans, the zipper still being down from the kitchen.

  “You rotten bastard! I told you! I don’t want you!”

  She was on him without warning, clawing and biting with such an animal intensity that it took a second or two before Joe could fight back. His attempts to push her away were useless, only seeming to drive her farther into her attack, landing punches on his body with a ferocity that was left over from her rowdy teen years. They certainly weren’t the delicate punches of an established businesswoman.

  Although his anger was steadily rising, he could have kept it under some semblance of control, but when she punched savagely at his face with her right hand, then with her left raked her fingernails into his chest, tearing skin as she pulled them down, he lost all rein on whatever control he might have had. His fist met her face with a sickening thud that sent her back onto the bed. Jesus Christ! What did I do? He was dumbfounded by his reaction! Sickened! God, he hadn’t meant to do that!

  He quickly stepped toward her to see that she was all right, but she jumped from the bed and grabbed the baseball bat she had been intending to fix for the past month. Her swing was so completely unexpected that he was left defenseless as it slammed into his ribs. When it came at him again he grabbed the end of it and ripped it from her hands then shoved her onto the bed, giving her no time to get back up as he landed on top of her. He was on his knees, pressing her face-down against the mattress with one hand as he yanked his belt free with his other, using his mouth to help turn it into a loop. He released the pressure on her back and grabbed her arm, bringing it behind her as he slipped the loop over her hand, pulling it tight as he turned her over and moved to tie the other end to the bedpost. In the freedom that remained to her, her left hand came down on his back, tearing flesh and leaving it to burn as she clawed it again and again.

  “You want the other one tied up as well, bitch!” He growled as he turned and quickly grabbed her hand. “Believe me—it will be no problem!”

  “This your new way of getting kicks, Lover Boy?! Your age proving you impotent in a more conventional position?”

  “Oh, I’m not impotent, Madelyn.” His hand moved to touch her cheek. “If anyone should know that, you should. Or is that what you’re hoping for? Never to be touched again? To be left to the perverted celibate state you seem to prefer and glory in? I’d guess you were as gay as Rodney if I didn’t know you show even less interest in the female sex than you do in the male.”

  Her hand made its way up to his face, leaving it red and stinging before he retaliated with a slap of his own. He moved lower on the bed, seeing she had replaced her panties during her attempt at escape. His fingers ripped her left stocking from its garters, tearing it as he pulled it off. As he moved back to the head of the bed, he could see she was frantically trying to undo the knot in his belt, but was only succeeding in making it tighter. He allowed her to continue as he made a knot, then a loop in the stocking, slipping it around her left wrist and pulling it back to the other bedpost. Her resistance gave him little trouble, for although she had great strength for a woman of her size, in her position, it was useless.

  “Damn you, Joe!” she growled as she looked up at him. “Untie me!”

  What was that? Tears? He wondered how many times she had used them to get what she wanted. Did she have tears in her eyes when she told Bob Green she was pregnant and left alone? Did she have tears in her eyes when she returned home from the flood and begged forgiveness? And what about when she informed her husband she was pregnant for the second time with his old friend’s child?

  “I don’t think so,” he said simply, moving off the bed to look down at her before going out the door, going to the kitchen for the object that had helped to turn him to this point.

  Returning with the knife, he looked down at the beauty on the center of the bed. Even in his drunken state he could feel the intense tightening in his loins as he silently watched her trying to free herself. Her hair was completely tumbled now, its darkness framing the face still unaware of his presence. Her creamy breasts were straining against her bra, a creaminess as tempting to him as mountains of gold. Her figure was perfection, he thought, as he watched her from the doorway; a perfection that increased the tightening in his groin. His gaze moved to her thighs, spread open to him as she tried to move farther up the bed to release herself from her bonds, giving him the sight that was turning his tightness to a heavy throb of need. He looked back to her face, the face he had kissed and held; the face that had been constantly in his memory during their years of separation; the face that had caused him more pain than any other soul in his life; the face that had brought him more joy.

  He’d leave her now. He’d done enough. He’d done what he was capable of doing to her. He knew this was nothing in comparison to what she had put him through over the years. But he couldn’t bring himself to do more—not to her—not to his Maddie.

  “You useless bastard! Untie me right now!” she growled at him.

  The arrogant bitch! Leave her, he would, but not before bringing her down a level or two. She deserved that much. His gaze dropped to the knife he held before slowly moving to the bed where he sat near her waist. He put the blade to one leg opening of her panties, sliding it inside and straining it against the material until it sliced through the lace.

  “You tried to kill me out there, Maddie.” His voice was quiet as he slid the blade over her stomach and up to the front of her bra, her movements stopping when she realized she was endangering herself. He reached her shoulders, easily cutting the thin straps. “Or at least that’s what you wanted me to think. Now, you can lay there and think about it yourself. Does Joe want to kill me?” The knife slid back down over her breasts, tossing the material of her destroyed bra aside. “Or does Joe just want to play games?” He flicked the other side of her bra off her body and moved down to slice the last bit of her panties as she lay exposed to him. “He could just be playing games—he probably is.” The knife slid across her smooth skin, up to her left breast again, resting just above its center. His eyes followed his movements, then flew up to meet hers. “But there’s always the possibility he figures what was stolen from him is worth it. He could always plead insanity. Or tell them he was too drunk to know what he was doing. After all—why would he want to kill me? I’m his Maddie. I’m the woman he’s been in love with all of his life it seems. I’m the woman that stole what I knew he wanted most.”

  “Move that knife, you son-of-a-bitch! Or I swear—when you let me go I won’t hesitate to tell Dad and John and Tom. And believe me—you won’t get off with just scratches and bruises,” she threatened as she looked at him with a steady gaze, bringing a low chuckle from him as he placed the knife on the floor, then stood up. “Now untie me and get the hell out of here! You can get the rest of your things in the morning!”

  “Do you really think I’m going to leave right now? Sorry, witch, but the spell you cast is a strong one. I couldn’t leave you now if I wanted to—and believe me—I want to.” He pushed his pants down over his hips, freeing himself into a throbbing erection. He removed the pants completely, then moved back to the bed, seeing the anger seething through Maddie as she watched him. He smiled at the way she held her legs together tightly, then tried to move away as he knelt one knee on the mattress. “Don’t be foolish, Maddie. Use your head—you can’t get away.”

  “Damn you! I don’t want you!”

  “No?” He leaned down to kiss her, but when she turned her head, he
kissed her cheek then sat next to her. “We’ll see.”

  His hand moved to her stomach, lightly tracing a circle about her navel before flattening his palm and bringing it up to caress a breast that hardened beneath his touch. He was only fooling himself when he told himself he could leave without tasting what she was so reluctant to give. He leaned down, meeting the breast with his mouth, taking what he could of its sweetness as his hand retraced its path down her stomach before meeting the softness at its bottom. As his tongue circled the stone hardness of her nipple, he found resistance as she continued to press her thighs together, preventing the access he wanted. His hand found the softness of those curls, probing farther to stroke the bud she couldn’t deny. But although he felt small indications that she was beginning to feel some pleasures from his caresses, she continued to resist him. His decision was based on past experiences with her. He knew how to make her want him just as intensely as he wanted her at that moment. He trailed hot kisses down her chest to her stomach, hearing her whimper as she tried in vain to move her hips away from him. It told him she knew what he was doing. She knew she would become just as helpless as he intended. His hands were on her thighs, using a gentleness that was making her skin begin to quiver as they barely touched her. His mouth moved lower until his tongue probed as deeply as her muscles would allow, but it was far enough; he heard her moaned gasp of defeat and felt her give up her resistance as she spread her legs to him.

  He took his pleasure in this act, just as he always did. But how many times had he done this to her, his satisfaction coming with the knowledge of the pleasure he was giving her? How many times had she reached for him in the night to offer the same sort of pleasure to him, filling his heart with love when he had always thought it could hold no more, but forever filling it again? Now it wasn’t his love driving him; nor was it the satisfaction of giving her pleasure. It was the knowledge that if she were excited enough she was incomparable in bed, and if he planned on gaining any satisfaction of revenge, he couldn’t stop until he had her completely and verified to her that she wanted him just as desperately.