by Meg Ripley
All at once, Johan broke away from her, his intent gaze capturing her eyes for just a moment. “You want to do this,” he said, the sentence not quite a question. Chelsea nodded, tingling all over, unable to bring her mind to think of words. Johan lifted her up into his arms, draping her legs around his waist and coiling one arm underneath her buttocks. He carried her out of the bathroom as if she weighed nothing at all, kissing along the line of her neck almost meditatively as he brought her into the bedroom.
Johan gently deposited her on the bed, taking a step back. Chelsea blushed as his intent, avid gaze trailed over her body slowly, drinking in every inch of her with undisguised hunger. “Hey,” Chelsea said breathlessly, resisting the urge to cover herself up. “How come I’m the only one naked here?” Johan blinked, glancing up from his admiring inspection to look at her face. He smiled slowly.
“That’s easily fixed,” he said. Chelsea licked her lips as his hands moved to the hem of his tee shirt. He pulled the fabric up, revealing the flat ridges and planes of his abdomen, the swell of his pectoral muscles, a dusting of wheat-colored hair spattered across his chest. Chelsea glanced down to see the deep crease of his pelvis just above the belted waistband of his jeans and felt something inside of her tighten at the sight. Johan unbuckled his belt quickly, not even bothering to free it from the loops of his pants before he attacked the fly of his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping it in a movement almost too fast for Chelsea’s dazed eyes to catch. Her breath caught in her throat as Johan hooked his fingers in the waistband of his pants, tugging them down over his lean hips, along his muscled thighs. He stepped out of the fabric, standing in almost absolute stillness for a moment in nothing more than a pair of boxer-briefs. Chelsea’s mouth watered even as her throat tightened at the sight of the ridge his hard cock formed at the front of his underwear; Johan’s erection strained at the tight confines of the material, giving Chelsea a moment’s trepidation. She swallowed convulsively, her body heating up even more intensely as Johan pulled at the elastic waistband, dragging it down. His cock sprung free, fully erect, and Chelsea’s eyes widened; even if the shape of him had warned her, she was still surprised at the sight of his thick, hard, long cock.
In an instant, it seemed, Johan was on top of her, his body covering hers. He claimed her lips with his own, his hands dancing over the curves of her body, tickling and teasing and caressing her everywhere all at once. “Feeling relaxed?” he murmured lowly against her lips, as one hand drifted down between her legs. Chelsea shivered as his fingertips brushed against her slick folds, barely touching her.
“More and more relaxed by the moment,” she answered almost absently, gasping sharply as Johan’s fingers slid between her labia to stroke her slowly. She was already soaking wet; Chelsea could feel the heat of her fluids along the folds of her pussy, spreading along her inner thighs.
“I’m going to make this last,” Johan told her, trailing his lips down along the column of her throat to her collarbones. His fingers found her clit by touch—but barely missed it, making Chelsea’s hips twist as her body struggled for better contact. Johan chuckled lowly, dipping his fingers down to her inner labia, stroking and rubbing slowly—achingly slowly. Chelsea murmured an incoherent protest, a soft whimper leaving her throat as she moved underneath him in instinctive reaction. “Patience, Chelsea,” Johan said with a chuckle, one finger barely sliding inside of her before withdrawing to tease once more. “We have nothing but time right now.”
“You are such a jerk,” Chelsea told him, clenching her teeth as she writhed and squirmed, twisting her hips. Her hands kneaded and caressed, exploring the lines of Johan’s lean shoulders, the ridges of his spine, and the dip at the small of his back. “You’re…supposed to be…helping me relax…not—not making me more tense.” Her breaths came in panting bursts, her whole body humming with sensation, tingling with anticipation as Johan brought his fingers to just below her clit over and over again, denying her the touch she wanted more than anything in the world.
“Stop fighting it then,” Johan murmured, nipping sharply at the base of her throat. “As soon as you stop fighting it you’ll enjoy this much more.” He brought his fingertips up to swirl around her clit for just a moment—a flicker, no more than a heartbeat—and Chelsea cried out, every muscle in her body seemingly tensing from the short-lived relief. Johan teased her relentlessly, bringing her to the point where Chelsea was on the verge of pleading him to give her what she needed before he gave her pleasure-center a lingering stroke of his fingers, only to dip down lower once more. Chelsea gave into the torture gradually, the rising heat in her body making it impossible for her to continue fighting; she writhed and twisted underneath Johan, her hands wandering all over his body, reaching down to stroke his hot, hard cock and then up to clutch at his shoulders in desperation. Threats, promises, pleas, left her lips in a rush that she barely heard as Johan brought her to the edge of orgasm over and over again.
Finally, he withdrew his fingers altogether, pulling himself up as his hips shifted downward between her legs, and Chelsea opened her eyes without knowing when she had closed them to see him looking down at her intently, his brilliant eyes blazing with lust. “Keep your eyes open,” he told her lowly. Chelsea shivered as she felt the heat and hardness of his cock sliding against her drenched labia, barely rubbing against her as he rocked his hips slowly. “Let go of everything but me, Chelsea.” She nodded, not quite certain what she was agreeing to, her mind hazed over completely with the need for relief.
Johan shifted against her, and Chelsea felt his finger barely brush her as he guided the tip of his cock between her slick folds. He thrust into her in one slow, steady movement, pushing past the resistance of her flexing muscles. Chelsea gasped as he filled her up in seconds, barely managing to keep her eyes open. Johan’s lips curved in a satisfied smile as his hips met hers. “Feel me, Chelsea,” he murmured, brushing his lips against hers. He stayed absolutely still for an agonizing moment, his cock buried deep inside of her, twitching slightly. Johan began to rock his hips once more, somehow pushing deeper and deeper inside of her, the thick heat of his cock rubbing along her inner walls with every movement. Chelsea gripped his shoulders tightly, falling into his rhythm like a tidal flow. Johan’s bright eyes gazed into hers even as they both began to move faster, panting as the heat built up between them. Chelsea felt her pleasure mounting moment by moment, her whole body tingling with it, and gave into the rush of sensation that coursed through her, holding Johan’s gaze even as she moaned out again and again.
“Fuck—fuck, Johan…” her fingernails bit into the skin of his back as she struggled to hold back, to savor the tingling, hot and cold flashes of sensation that crackled through every nerve in her body.
“Give into it, Chelsea,” Johan told her, his voice ragged and hoarse. She shook her head, trying to reject the command, but as his hand slipped down between their bodies, his fingers finding her clit unerringly, she cried out, throwing her head back against the pillows. Wave after wave of pleasure rocked through her, so intense it might have been pain, and Chelsea twisted and arched and writhed, pushing her hips down to meet Johan’s, as sensation washed through her, obliterating any ability to think. She was barely aware of the sound of Johan’s voice as he groaned, foreign words filling her ears meaninglessly; she felt his cock twitching inside of her and then felt the hot, sticky-slick gush of his orgasm flooding deep inside of her. Chelsea had not even finished her climax as darkness rose up, wrapping around her in a warm, buzzing coil.
****
“Chelsea…” She came back to herself at the sound of Johan’s slightly wheedling voice, opening her eyes to blink a few times in confusion. “There you are.” Turning her head slightly, she caught the sight of Johan, propped up on his elbows, watching her intently; he was only inches away from her, blond hair tousled, a smile playing at the corners of his full lips. “Hungry?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Chelsea said, surprised at the fact; her stomach had
felt as though someone had twisted it into knots ever since Johan had told her about the plot to eliminate her. She laughed, turning onto her side as she shook her head in amazement. Chelsea could still feel the tenderness between her thighs, the ache in her hips; how long had she been asleep?
“I got us some food,” Johan said. “If you can make yourself climb out of the bed, it’s in the living room.” Chelsea started to sit up, only to sink back down with a groan. Her body felt deliciously heavy, her legs not quite real.
“You relaxed me too much,” she protested, turning her head. “I can’t get up.” Johan laughed and she felt his weight shift on the bed. A moment later, his muscled arms slid underneath her, and Chelsea let out a yelp of surprise as he lifted her from the bed, cradling her body against his chest. He carried her out of the room, and the smells of something delicious met her nose as Johan stepped through the door into the living room of the suite. Something tugged at Chelsea’s mind, but she felt too tired—and too satisfied—to pursue it.
“You were asleep for an hour,” Johan informed her, settling her neatly on the couch. “I thought you’d be hungry finally. Then, of course, once you’re done eating, we can relax you just a little more.” Chelsea stared at Johan for a moment, feeling her body heat up in memory of just how thoroughly he had relaxed her before.
“I think if I were any more relaxed, I’d be comatose.” Johan chuckled, and Chelsea watched as he strode to the room service cart a few feet away from the couch, lifting the cloche on one of the plates.
“I have no idea what you like, so this was my best guess.” Even as they ate, Chelsea found that she and Johan could barely keep their hands off each other; the thought of more sex—even though she was thoroughly exhausted—was too tantalizing. She ate more quickly than she ever had before in her life, cutting the filet that Johan had ordered her into small bites and dipping it into the béarnaise sauce quickly. Everything tasted so good, but all Chelsea could think about was the promise of more sex. She put her plate aside, meeting Johan’s gaze as he finished his own meal and smiling. “Unless you want to carry me into the bedroom again, I suggest we stay right here.” Johan chuckled, setting his dishes aside and reaching out for her. He pulled her into his lap in one deft movement, his hands wandering over her body, teasing and exploring.
“We have to leave tomorrow,” he told her. Johan’s lips brushed against hers, and Chelsea felt his cock against her thigh, rapidly hardening as they began to move together instinctively, rubbing against each other, touching each other everywhere. “They already tossed your apartment. They’ll get our trail eventually—it’s impossible not to leave some kind of trail.” Johan kissed her hungrily, settling Chelsea’s hips against his and rocking up against her, rubbing his heat and hardness against her still-slick folds.
“Don’t talk about that,” Chelsea said, barely breaking away from his lips. “I don’t even want to think right now.” Johan nodded slightly, shifting her on top of him. He reached down between their bodies and gave her clit a quick, lingering rub before he guided the tip of his cock up against her. Chelsea sank down onto him slowly, inhaling in an almost-gasp at the feeling of Johan’s heat pushing into her body. He felt familiar and strange all at once, and as she took him deeper and deeper, Chelsea thought absently that as long as he wanted her relaxed, she would be happy to follow Johan’s program.
Johan rocked his hips up against hers, and in moments they found their rhythm; Chelsea rode him steadily, rising and falling, twisting her hips as she took advantage of her position perched on top of him to kiss everywhere her lips could reach, explore every line of Johan’s body with her fingertips. Johan groaned as they moved together, thrusting up harder and faster, his hands trailing over her body but seemingly coming to a stop every time he reached her hips, pushing her down onto him, gripping her tightly.
It seemed like mere moments before Chelsea felt her pleasure mounting faster and faster, her body heating up, tingling flashes of sensation rushing through her nerves. She buried her face against Johan’s neck, rocking and twisting her hips as the first wave of climax washed through her, blotting out her ability to think once more. She nipped into the sensitive skin of Johan’s neck and he groaned out, clutching her body tightly to his, his cock twitching against Chelsea’s inner walls as he followed her into orgasm.
****
As they loaded their paltry belongings into Johan’s car the next morning, Chelsea found herself smiling and shook her head at herself, utterly aghast at the fact that with her apartment thoroughly ransacked and a price on her head, she was actually grinning—she who even under the best circumstances barely found the enthusiasm to smile at all before nine in the morning. She could still feel the ache in her thighs, the lingering slickness from their morning tryst. “If it will help you relax during the car ride,” Johan had jokingly murmured as he pulled her into her arms only an hour or so before.
She had no idea where they were going to next; all she knew was that they would be on the road for most of the day, putting distance between themselves and the nameless, faceless criminals who wanted to kill her. For the moment, with the lingering effects of more orgasms than she could count coursing through her system, Chelsea decided that it was enough.
PART TWO
Chelsea pulled herself out of a doze as she felt the now-familiar slowing of Johan turning into a parking lot, the shudder through the body of the third car they had been in over the course of as many days. She had no idea where they were—and for a while, anyway, she had been telling herself that it didn’t matter where they were. She had abandoned her job, her home—her entire life.
The day after Johan had whisked her out of her apartment and into a life on the run, he had told her quite simply that there was no choice but for her to throw away her cell phone. “If you want to smash it first, that would be even better,” he said as they stood at a gas station, waiting for the tank to fill.
“Why do I have to do that?” she asked him—and two competing ideas filled her mind. If she trusted Johan’s assertion that the CEO of the company she worked for was after her, then her phone was like a big, flashing electronic beacon, charting her movements. But were the thugs that were supposedly after her technologically savvy enough to find a way to track her phone? And if she didn’t trust Johan’s assertion, then throwing away her phone would mean getting rid of one of the last methods she had at her disposal to call the police, to get herself free of him.
“They may be able to track you with it, Chelsea. I don’t know for sure what their capabilities are.” He held her gaze for a long moment. “They were able to find your apartment and trash it looking for your computer. They may have already found the hotel we stayed at last night. Anything that can give them an edge is something you don’t want to hold onto.” Chelsea fought down a sense of unease; after all, she had seen the documentation, hadn’t she? She had seen the emails and text messages between Rosen and whomever he had hired to come after the people who might be able to testify against him. But could she trust what she had seen?
“Okay,” Chelsea said finally, taking her phone out of her purse. Johan nodded solemnly and glanced around the gas station, as if he thought that the people tracking them might appear in a flash to prevent him destroying their ability to follow. He let her phone fall to the ground and then, looking as if he was doing nothing more than crushing an insect, brought his heel down on it. Chelsea grimaced as she heard the crunch and clinking shatter of the screen, the grit of it grinding against the cement. “But what about your phone? If they’re after us, they’d know I’m with you, wouldn’t they?” Johan had smiled slightly, taking his phone out of his pocket and showed it to her; it was strangely different from her own iPhone, sleeker, black and oddly almost dangerous-looking.
“This is not commonly available on the market,” he told her, unlocking the screen in a series of movements her eyes couldn’t quite follow. “It’s encrypted. It’s specifically designed to be as difficult to hack as huma
nly possible—though, of course, with enough time and effort anything can be hacked.”
Johan slipped the phone into his pocket as the gas pump stopped. He extracted the nozzle from the tank and hung it up on the stand, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “It also has an interesting feature: a non-static phone number. Every time I get a notification about what’s going on, it comes to me through a different contact number—which makes it that much harder for the people coming after you to track us down.” Chelsea had had to accept this idea, as strange and science fiction-like as it seemed. After all, presumably Johan was in contact with someone; she had heard the tail end of conversations he had with his contact—whoever it was—apprising him or her in a series of short, terse sentences about their progress. But who was he in contact with? She couldn’t quite fight down the lingering suspicion that she might have let herself into an enormous trap.
But then, Chelsea thought as she looked around her in the car, if Johan was trying to take her to people who would go on to murder her, why would he keep the ruse going up for days? “If I didn’t know that the CEO of my company was trying to kill me,” she said, stretching against the back of the passenger seat, “I would almost feel guilty for missing so much work without much notice.” Johan had decided that it was pointless to keep up the ruse of being home sick shortly after she’d let him destroy her phone. After all, if the thugs pursuing her had trashed her apartment, it was easy to believe that her boss was either in on the situation, or had been told that she wouldn’t be in the office anymore.