by Artemis Hunt
She was right the first time. She’s a veritable mess when it comes to Brian.
The words freeze in her throat as he thunders away. Not to the elevators, but down the stairs. She can only watch his escaping back – the slightly mussed-up chestnut hair that catches the light – as he disappears.
She doesn’t go after him.
Anger rears up to bite her again. Who the hell does he think he is to judge her? How dare he?
Thor clears his throat. “Do you have your key? I’ll get you in and put you into bed.”
Suddenly, there’s nothing more she wants than to get away from him.
“Um, I don’t feel too good, Thor. I think I need to lie down.”
“That’s what I’m trying to get you to do.”
“I mean alone.” She pushes his chest away firmly. For good.
He actually looks hurt.
“Are you sure?” he says.
“Very sure. Please, I need to be alone right now. I’m not feeling too good.” In fact, she thinks she might throw up on his shoes.
“OK,” he says doubtfully, “but only if you’re sure.”
God, but is that the outline of his cock within his jeans? Surely he can’t get a stir from what just happened with her and Brian? But the bulge is very obvious.
“I’m sure.” Her voice raises a pitch. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the gym, OK?”
It takes an eternity for him to say “OK” and walk away. She waits till he goes to the elevator, stubs the button, looks back at her to ascertain she really means it – which she confirms by shooting him a glare – and then waits till the elevator doors shut on him before she resumes fumbling for her key.
Damn, damn, damn!
5
Brian is in the deep fugue of Xanax. It’s the only way he could get to sleep. Besides, he’s on duty at Delilah’s tonight. She is going to make him fuck her three times in a row again, like he’s some sort of battering ram. In essence, that’s what he is to her.
It takes a long while for the incessant ringing of his doorbell to puncture through his skull. The sound drones on and on. This apartment isn’t a penthouse. Far from it. So any sound permutations coming from the lounge are sure to lambast into the bedroom on the same level, especially since he left the bedroom door wide open.
He is completely naked. He had taken a shower when he came in. Two showers in fact, but it wasn’t enough to make him clean. He still feels dirty all over. And guilty. The morass of emotions wandering in the mists of his head right now is a jumble, and one that he can’t sort out any time soon.
He groans and buries his head under the pillow. But the ringing of the doorbell is now accompanied by loud thumping.
“Brian! I know you’re in there, so open up! If you don’t, I’ll call the police!”
Sammie. Shit. The last person he wants to see. He can’t face her like this. He really can’t.
She sounds scared out of her wits too. Likely she’s scared for him.
He has to see her anyway. Because in spite of whatever he saw last night, he knows he has no claim on her. It’s his fault for not calling her for two days. He was ashamed. Too ashamed to do anything but allow himself to be led around like a slave.
But it was something he had to do to ensure she had a future. A future which will no doubt include Thor. Processing what he saw was only the beginning. He has to keep telling himself that she has no future with a would-be jailbird anyway, and so she was only doing what came naturally.
If only his mind isn’t in such a dichotomy over her. If only he isn’t such a fuck-up. No wonder his own family doesn’t want anything to do with him.
It is this thought – ensuring her future – that makes him groan again, pull off the pillow and slide out of bed. Since it’s her, he doesn’t bother putting a robe on. He opens the door, stark naked. He is aware that he must look a fright with his hair standing up at all angles and his eyes bloodshot.
She stands on the other side of the doorway. He is right. Her face is strained with worry. She’s also uncertain – probably because of the way he acted last night. Or was it this morning?
“Come in,” he says.
She looks him up and down. “Are you stoned?”
“It’s just Xanax. Though I should probably add some ‘E’ to it.” He sees her face and then scrunches his own. “Kidding. Geez, can’t you take a joke?”
He turns to get himself a pair of jeans, and then wonders ‘What the fuck?’ She’s seen him naked only like a thousand times.
She walks in and plunks herself down on the sofa. He seats himself in the armchair opposite her. His balls twitch, and he feels his cock rising at the sight of her. Embarrassed, he grabs a cushion and covers his crotch with it. Maybe he ought to get dressed after all.
“I was worried about you,” she begins.
“So was my PE teacher when I tried to jerk myself off during detention.”
He wishes his hard-on would subside against the cushion. He practically has to exert to hold the damn thing down.
“Where were you?” she says accusingly.
He contemplates lying, and then settles for a half-truth. “Settling a few debts.”
She bites her lip. He knows she’s upset. But he can’t tell her about what he has been doing with Delilah. He really can’t. She wouldn’t understand. She would try to make him stop. She would tell him that he’s in over his head and that Delilah is dangerous and all that crap. But she would never understand that he was doing it for her.
She opens her mouth to say something, and then seems to think the better of it. She bites down on her lower lip again. Hard. His heart skips a beat. It usually means that she knows or suspects something, and she’s refraining from saying it because she doesn’t want to cramp his style.
“Brian,” she says meaningfully, although that is not the foremost thing in her mind, “please, please don’t do anything . . . stupid.”
Define stupid.
“I’m not doing anything stupid,” he replies.
“I mean with that woman. You never know what she’s going to do to you.”
He wants to deny he was with ‘that woman’. But his heart won’t let him lie even though his brain tells him it’s the rational thing to do.
He says, “I’m not doing anything stupid, or foolhardy, or insane, or anything Republicans do. Happy?”
She gives him a look to suggest that she doesn’t believe him.
“How’s Thor?” he says lightly.
“I left him in charge of the gym.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, he can now get to deploy his management skills on a larger people group. Fancy that.”
“He’s not as stupid as you think he is, Brian.”
“I didn’t say he was stupid. I’m certain he has an I.Q. well into the low hundreds. He must be smart if he thinks you’re hot.”
She sighs. “Sarcasm isn’t going to get you anywhere, Brian.”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic. I was trying to flatter you.”
She gets up. “I’m going to fix you something to eat. You’ve got to be hungry.”
He hasn’t eaten anything all day. He will need energy for what must come tonight. Which he isn’t looking forward to, even though his cock will be up for the task, as it always is. It’s a force of nature unto itself.
“You need any help?” he calls after her.
“I’ll be fine. Go take a shower.”
He doesn’t need her to politely tell him that he stinks. Again.
*
After his (yet another) shower, he dresses in a white T-shirt and jeans. He immediately feels better. The aroma of spaghetti Vongole wafts into his bedroom. He comes out to the dining area and finds the table all set.
Déjà vu.
But the woman carrying the steaming pot from the kitchen is wholesome and beaming. Sometime during his shower, Sam made the decision not to press ahead with her line of questioning. There’s a resolve in her eyes and a spring to her step that he hasn�
��t seen an hour minutes ago. It is as though she has figured something out and decided to do . . . something.
He hopes it’s nothing dangerous.
“You OK?” he asks her.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” She sets the pot upon on the tablemat. Then she smiles at him. “Eat up.”
He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. He spoons a big helping of pasta on his plate, and she does the same.
Between bites, he says, “I want you to know that I’m totally OK with you and Thor.”
She puts her fork down exasperatedly. “There’s nothing going on between me and Thor.”
“Just so you’d know.”
“Are you trying to make yourself feel better about what you’re doing, Brian?” she says sharply.
He stops chewing. “What am I doing?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
He waves his fork. “I’m eating your calorie-laden carbs.”
She gives him a funny look that says, ‘Just like you to fob off a wisecrack as pain management’.
After a while, their talk veers off to other things. Like how the gym is doing. He feels guilty for not having been to the gym for three days, but he can’t bear to face anyone until he has worked this thing out.
Later, they just sit on the couch, watching TV. He has his arm around her, and she leans in to him and lays her head on his shoulder. They sit there quietly with so many words unsaid, each thinking their own turbulent thoughts.
6
It’s crafty, but Sam believes she can pull it off.
All she needs is several items which she will pay for in cash, and a whole lot of guts. What’s one more felony to be added to her list? She has already been charged for breaking and entering. If she’s going to jail, she might as well go in style.
She doesn’t say anything about her plan to Brian. She doesn’t want him to stop her.
Instead, she says, “Why don’t we stay in tonight and . . . ?” She trails a finger down his chest suggestively.
He still looks exhausted. The Xanax didn’t offer him a refreshing sleep.
“I can’t,” he says hesitantly. “I have other plans.”
She knows what they are. This means she has to act quickly. She tries to mask the palpitations in her breast, but she is certain he can discern them. He doesn’t say a word. There’s a guilt in his eyes he cannot erase, and she pretends not to see it.
He says, “Do you have to go back to the gym?”
“Thor is in charge, so they won’t miss me for a couple of hours.”
“Good.” He smiles. A little sadly. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
For answer, he leans over to kiss her softly on the lips. His kiss holds so much meaning, so much regret that unbidden tears come to her eyes. She blinks them away quickly before he can see them. He kisses her again with feeling. She returns his kiss, open-mouthed, and soon, they are drinking in one another. Devouring each other’s mouths with abandon and a rush of clasping hands and roaming palms.
He explores her mouth. He is the most wonderful kisser she has ever known, and he sucks in her breath, the depth of her, her soul. It’s as though he knows he doesn’t have much more time to spend with her and he’s taking everything she’s willing to give him.
They kiss and kiss again and again with mounting hunger.
Soon, he presses her down on the couch, holding his weight up on his elbows. Without taking his mouth off hers, he fumbles at his fresh jeans. A rip down there tells her that he has opened his fly. She knows he doesn’t wear underwear as a general rule when he’s at home, and she can feel his rock hard flesh straining against her clothes.
He pauses from their kiss long enough to undo the buttons of her jeans as well. Then he tears her jeans off her long legs, as if he’s helping her shed her skin. She wears a plain white pair of cotton panties. He swiftly rips these off as well.
She is naked from the waist down, but he still has his pants on, even though his genitals are exposed. She sneaks a look down there. Somehow, his cock seems even more enormous spilling out of his fly this way.
His brilliant green eyes meet hers and slide away. A pang twitches her chest. Even now, when he is about to fuck her, he has guilt issues. Wordlessly, he reaches into the pocket of his jeans for a condom. He certainly is well prepared.
He rolls the condom onto his super-erect cock. With a sigh, he positions it against her moist opening, and he pushes it in. Gently. She closes her eyes as his enormous width cleaves her silky walls.
Oh, Brian.
The internal struggle is still apparent on his beautiful face as he allows her to acclimatize to his girth, as he always does, before he starts rocking his hips. The fabric of his open jeans rubs against her pubis, belly and thighs. The rough friction of this combined with the unspoken tension of their situation only serves to her excite her further, as though this is an illicit tryst. A sordid fuck behind two walls of secrets.
They gaze at each other as they fuck. Emotions flit across his expressive eyes and face. He doesn’t say anything. They merely grunt and make soft noises as they fuck away, the sweat beading on their foreheads and upper lips.
He waits till she climaxes before allowing his own pleasure to take him over. Then he comes with a sharp intake of breath. There’s a soft whoosh as he releases it. He closes his eyes and collapses on top of her half-clothed body.
They lie there together for a long, long time without speaking.
7
It’s been a week that he has been with Delilah Faulkner. She has phoned in to her office to take as much leave from work as possible, presumably to be with him. They fuck three times a day, and that does not include all the time they spend on foreplay and oral sex.
Delilah is not unpleasant to be with, Brian surmises. But he doesn’t particularly want to be with her either. He’d rather be with Sam.
He feels awful having to lie to Sam like this. OK, so he omitted the truth. That’s the same as lying, isn’t it? He never told Sam where he has been, not even once. He guesses (correctly) that she suspects, but she is not saying a word because she respects his privacy and what he has to do.
It’s better this way, he tells himself. This way, she has more time to get to know Thor or whoever it is she wishes to date once he’s in prison and out of her life.
Today, Delilah has a suggestion.
“Let’s go out,” she announces.
He eyes her incredulously. “You want to be seen out with me, the man you accused of rape? That won’t lend credence to your case, will it?”
His suspicion quotient immediately shoots skyward. What’s she trying to pull? So far, she has insisted that he be absolutely discreet. He can only enter after dark. He cannot allow anyone to see him go into her apartment if he knows what’s good for Sam. He is made to feel like the lover to the wife of a cuckolded husband. Only the truth is too bizarre to contemplate. Nobody would believe him if he told them.
She’s playing with his cock again. She appears to have a fascination with it. She snares it between her fingers and thumb, and she is pulling at it, giving him a languorous hand job. She treats him like a sex object.
The thought of this is depressing, even though women have treated him as a sex object for most of his adult life. But he was in control. He called the shots. He decided who he wanted to have sex with.
With Delilah, he has no control whatsoever. He does what she tells him, and it’s freaking him out. More so as the days whittle past.
She says, “I’m tired of staying in here. I want to be seen out with you. Only I’m not going as me.”
He furrows his brow. He watches her as she leaves him on the bed and walks to her built-in closet, stark naked. She rummages in there and takes out a brunette wig. She goes to the dressing table mirror and tries it on.
“You’re wearing that?” he says.
“Why not?” She shoots him a pointed look. “You got a problem?”
They dress. She dons her
wig proper, and he has to admit she looks pretty good. The plastic surgery job was astounding. No one would have recognized Adele Jankovic. And with her brunette, femme fatale wig, no one would recognize Delilah Faulkner either, unless you look really hard.
She makes him take a shower and brush his hair. As he is doing so, she wraps her arms around his waist and looks at his reflection in the mirror.
“You’re so handsome,” she murmurs, squeezing his waist tightly.
“Thank you.”
The wistfulness he espies in her expression makes him think that this is not a random compliment. She has gotten more affectionate with him in recent days. She strokes his hair. She kisses him deeply. She lies in his arms when they fall asleep at night. Her obsession with him is turning into something else. Something he dare not admit.
They go out in his Jeep. He drives them all the way out of Chicago to a smaller town. She chooses a Chinese restaurant, and they dine on sweet and sour pork and lo mein. Just like a regular couple on a date. She gazes at him constantly with that strange light in her eyes. His discomfort level increases. Between courses, her hand snakes out for his on the table.
I am not your date, he wants to tell her through clenched teeth. But he’s afraid to rock the equilibrium, especially since he’s poured in so much effort.
She says, “I’ve always dreamt of this. Dreamt of us being together like this.”
His voice is tight as he says, “Well, yeah, you can dream on. I may be going to prison in a couple of weeks. You made sure of that.”
She smiles. “So you think my case is airtight?”
He straightens his mouth. “I’m going to fight you all the way on that stand, Delilah.”
“But you’re not going to say anything on this past week. We had a deal.”
“The deal stands. No one knows about this. What we’re doing.” He’s a man of his word, even if people think he has other questionable morals. “Who the fuck is gonna believe me anyway?”