Vandal

by Carian Cole

  Shit.

  Tabitha

  The little blind kitten purring on my lap has a therapeutic effect on me, his little internal motor like a lullaby. I gently rub my fingers on his forehead. One would think that a kitten that was tortured and who’d completely lost his eyes would be scared, timid, hiding from people. But he’s not. He’s totally loving and trusting, willing to give life and humans another chance.

  I haven’t had a pet since I was a little girl, but this little furball is making me want one. It would be nice to have a sweet cat like this to cuddle with at night, rather than being all alone in the house. I wonder if the guy would let me have him. He really doesn’t seem like the type who would want to have a disabled pet.

  “You want to come live with me, little guy?” I say in a baby voice. He purrs louder and rolls on his back so I can rub his tummy, making me laugh.

  I think I accidentally upset the dominant dude. I didn’t mean to, really—I just can’t seem to control my emotions at all anymore. I’m a total mess since Nick died, and I feel as if I’m flailing off the edge of a cliff most of the time. Just a few months ago life was so different. We were trying to have a baby. We both had good jobs. We had great friends. We were happy, at least most of the time, and more than most couples I know. A lump forms in my throat as the memories play in my mind.

  And now …

  Now I’m lying on a some guy’s couch, a guy I let tie me up for a blow job and fuck me, a guy who threatened to spank me and wants me to submit to him. There is something incredibly alluring and sexually magnetic about him, something taboo. I want to give in to him, and I don’t even know why.

  He was right about the release of control and it making me feel better. It really did, so very much, but not in any way that I have ever felt before. It was exhilarating, like falling without a net, yet knowing I would be caught. It felt dirty, too, and as much as I tried to fight it, it turned me on.

  You’re a pig.

  There is sadness deep in him, a darkness living there that pulls him under. He’s hiding so much from me, not letting me see all of him, and I know there is more to him than he’s letting on, more than I assumed he would be. He’s a Pandora’s box that I should probably not play with, but even after just one day, I feel hooked. I honestly think his need for control stems from a fear of abandonment and loss. If he controls the relationship, then he can’t be blindsided or hurt.

  While he’s at the store, I consider calling a cab and getting the hell out of here before I get in deeper, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m too intrigued by him and what he’s offering. I like how he’s melting the ice around me, helping me feel again, awakening feelings I’ve never felt before, helping me find a new me.

  Yesterday I wanted to die, but today I just want to kill the girl I used to be and meet the girl I could be.

  It’s a start.

  ***

  A door shutting and the kitten jumping wake me up. I look around, disoriented, and he’s standing over me, holding some bags.

  “I’m sorry. I must have dozed off.”

  “Don’t apologize, I want you to rest. You’re exhausted. And too thin.”

  I follow him to the kitchen and help him take the stuff out of the bags. It feels strangely domestic and familiar. “I thought men liked thin.”

  He winks at me and my insides melt for days. “I like some curves so I can hold onto you. You’re way too skinny. My dick weighs more than you.”

  I make a disgusted face at him. “Ew. That is so … ugh. I don’t even know.” I shake my head and busy myself with the groceries while he laughs.

  He’s putting things in the refrigerator, his long, black hair cascading over his muscled back and shoulders. Yesterday my head was too messed up and foggy to notice how gorgeous and sexy he is. He’s got the kind of carnal looks that stops a woman in her tracks and makes her wet instantly just by looking at him. His dark skin, facial features, and long, black hair definitely hint at him being Native American. And those muscles and tattoos … wow.

  “I’m sorry I upset you earlier … before you left.”

  He shrugs it off. “I don’t get upset.” He’s lying.

  “I thought this worked both ways?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This morning you said you needed to know what I was feeling. I need to know what you’re feeling, too.”

  “I really don’t talk about my feelings. Sorry.” He pulls bottled water, assorted fruits and toiletries out of the bag. “I need to know your feelings so I can understand your needs better and help you.”

  I take the milk carton he’s holding out of his hands and put it into the refrigerator. “And who helps you?” I ask him pointedly.

  “I bought you some clothes,” he replies, completely ignoring my question and gesturing towards a bag on the table.

  After dumping out the contents of the bag, all I see are black sweatpants, little T-shirts, and plain bikini panties.

  “Geez. This is fashionable,” I joke.

  “No need for fashion. I’ll have you naked most of the time and on your knees,” he says, and then pauses. “Or on all fours.”

  My traitorous pussy quivers in response.

  I try to change the subject. “What about my car?”

  “Write down your address and I’ll call a tow truck to have it taken there. I’ll pay for it.” He opens a drawer and hands me a pen and torn piece of paper with a hotel emblem on it.

  “Don’t you have a job?” I ask him, writing down my address. “And a name?”

  He takes the paper from me and gives me that long stare of his, as if he’s looking right through my eyes and straight into my thoughts, making me feel vulnerable and exposed.

  “We’ll talk about that later on,” he finally answers.

  “Seriously? We’re going to talk about your name later?”

  He doesn’t waver. “That’s what I said.”

  “Don’t you want to know mine?”

  “No. I’ll call you what I want to call you.”

  “Fine,” I mutter, and take off out the sliding glass doors in the kitchen that lead to the backyard, sure to close the doors behind me so Sterling can’t wander out. There’s a chilly breeze coming off the lake. All I’ve got on is his thin T-shirt, but I don’t care. There are no other houses around that I can see from here, so no one’s going to see my pointy nipples and naked legs.

  Walking over to the small wooden dock that extends from the yard, I find a little boat tied to it. It’s hard for me to picture him in this tiny boat; he’s just too big. I think he would sink it. I climb into the boat and untie the rope from the wooden post. There are two oars but I don’t use them; I just let the wind blow me slowly across the water. From the middle of the lake I can see a few other houses, each with their own little docks and boats. I didn’t explore his house while he was gone, but now I wished I had. There were definitely other rooms—I just lacked the interest in seeing them. Maybe there is a guest room that he will let me stay in while I’m here. Unless he expects me to sleep in his bed every night. With him? I’m not sure I can do that.

  I wiggle my left hand, staring at my engagement ring and wedding band. All my memories feel so far away, and I don’t understand how that can happen in just a few months. Everything feels as if it happened a lifetime ago. I can’t remember the happiness I felt every day before the accident. Now it feels like a movie I watched, and not like it happened to me at all.

  Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m grieving the loss of Nick or the loss of myself.

  I peer over the edge of the boat and see a face looking back at me in the water. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. The girl in the water looks like a sad wreck.

  The boat bobbing in the water is making me sleepy, and I wish I had a blanket and pillow with me so I could just curl up on the small floor of the boat and sleep. Better yet, I wish I could fall over the side, float to the bottom of the lake and just stay there.

  Dom dude is just
as much of a mess as I am. Possibly even more so. He seems sad, but also dark and devious and a bit of an asshole, and yet I see fleeting glimpses of care and compassion in him too. The fact that I got on a motorcycle with him so easily without a second thought and let him bring me here to his house in the woods scares me terribly.

  I look back at the house and he’s standing on the dock with a bottle in his hand. I’ve drifted out further than I thought and doubt the wind will be nice enough to lead me back, so I pick up the oars and row back. His eyebrows furrow together when I near, and he grabs the rope from my hand and ties it to the post. I watch his fingers expertly tie the knot and I feel wetness between my legs, thinking of how he tied my hands almost the same way.

  He takes my arm and helps me onto the dock. “What the hell are you doing? I thought something happened to you.” He picks up his bottle of vodka and takes a swig. This cannot be good.

  “What could happen? I was just floating around.”

  “Next time, tell me. You can’t just disappear on me like that.”

  “I wish I could just disappear. And why are you drinking?”

  “Because that’s what I do.” He puts his arm around me and leads me towards the house. “Its too cold for you to be out here like this.”

  As soon as we walk through the doors I can smell food cooking, so he must have started dinner while I was out on the boat disappearing. He doesn’t strike me as the cooking type, but I guess he is just full of surprises.

  “It smells delicious. What are you making?”

  “Chicken cordon bleu and rice pilaf.”

  I can’t hide the impressed and surprised look that must be on my face. “Really? You made that?”

  He takes another sip of vodka before answering me, and I’m starting to worry about why he’s drinking and how much of that he’s going to be doing. I really don’t want to be stuck out here with an angry—or psycho—drunk person.

  “Yes, I made it. My grandmother loves to cook, and sometimes I just go to her house and spend the day cooking with her.”

  Picturing that scene brings a smile to my face. I don’t know many men who would hang out with their grandmother cooking, especially ones that look like he does.

  Sterling waltzes into the room and starts to wind himself around my ankles, meowing up at me.

  “Aww … he’s talking. He’s such a cutie.”

  He takes yet another drink, and opens a small pantry door, pulling out a bag of cat food. “He’s hungry. This little fucker eats nonstop.”

  I take the bag out of his hand and fill the cat’s dish, laughing at how quickly he runs over to start devouring his food. “Don’t call him a fucker. He’s just a kitten. Maybe he was starved as well as tortured.”

  “Shit, I never thought of that.”

  I put the food back in the pantry and spy more alcohol in there, way in the back.

  I turn around and eye him. “Why are you drinking so much?”

  “This is nothing. Trust me.” Thin red veins are spreading in his eyes, and his words are starting to slur just a little bit. The fuck is he doing to himself?

  “Do you have a drinking problem?” I demand, folding my arms across my chest.

  He laughs. “I have a lot of problems.”

  Irritated, I take the bottle away from him. “I won’t stay here if you’re going to drink.” I pour what’s left in the bottle into the sink, hoping it doesn’t put him in a rage.

  “What the fuck?” he yells. “Why did you do that?”

  I back away from him a little. “I refuse to stay here if you’re going to be drinking. My father was an alcoholic. Forget it. No way in hell am I going to let you put a finger on me or be wielding knives and tying me up, or whatever crazy shit you plan to do if you’re drunk or high. You said I had to trust you and there is no way I can do that if you’re drinking. I can’t go there.”

  We engage in a stare-off for a few minutes. His eyes are dark with anger and his fists are clenched at his sides. The fact that I don’t know anything about him or what he could do to me quickly comes to the forefront of my mind.

  “You keep fucking walking away from me,” he finally says.

  “And?” I prod, raising my eyebrows at him.

  “And what? I don’t like it. Don’t do it again.”

  “Fine. No more drinking or I’ll walk home.”

  He sighs, and blows out a breath, running his hand through his hair. “All right. If it bothers you that much, I won’t.”

  “It does, and thank you.”

  “Come here.”

  I don’t budge.

  “Come. Here,” he repeats.

  I relent and step forward, stopping a few inches in front of him. I crane my neck to look up at him and he touches my cheek. “Why do you run off?” he asks, his voice low and soft, his eyes fighting to close.

  Shrugging, I lean against the warmth of his hand. “I don’t know, really. I’m constantly feeling like I have to run away … like being someplace else will somehow make me feel better. It never does, though, and I usually end up just crying or getting mad at myself. I don’t know how else to explain it other than my brain and my heart feel lost.”

  He stares into my eyes for a few moments and I know that he understands. Finally, someone understands. “We’ll even you out and you’ll feel better.” He leans down and kisses me. “Come into the bedroom with me. I need to measure you.”

  I let him lead me to the bedroom, but I’m confused. “Measure me?” I question. “For what?”

  He pulls the T-shirt over my head, as if it’s just the most natural thing to be doing. I step out of my panties, hanging on to him for balance.

  “I’m going to buy you something,” he finally says.

  Well, that piques my interest. What could he buy me that I would need to be measured naked for? I recall reading about a psycho that kidnapped a woman and kept her in a box under his bed for weeks, taking her out only to abuse her. A flash of fear rips through me at the thought of that happening to me.

  He goes to his dresser and comes back with a cloth tape measure, and begins to measure my height, my chest, my waist, my hips—almost every part of my body. He types it all into a note program on his phone.

  “Okay, you’ve really got my mind going. What are you going to get me?”

  He slides his hand between my thighs. “It’s a secret.” His finger presses up between my already moist lips. “It will take about a week to get here once I order it.” He slowly slides his finger in and out of me and bends down to kiss my neck, sucking the base of my throat. I lean back, stretching my neck to feel more of his mouth on me. His teeth graze my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

  “Spread your legs for me,” he whispers, and I obey, spreading my feet farther apart. I run my hands up his arms and grip his shoulders as he pushes two fingers inside me. He pulls my hair, stretching my neck back even more, and ravishes my flesh with his lips and tongue. “Take your hands off me and put them behind your back.”

  My heart sinks a little. I like touching him and feeling his muscles. I love how strong and solid he feels.

  “I’ll fall over,” I protest.

  He bites my lip. “I won’t let you fall. Ever.”

  I drop my hands and clasp them together behind me at my lower back.

  “Good girl.” He puts his arm around me and holds me against him while he finger-fucks me with his other hand, pistoning in and out while his thumb rubs circles over my clit. My legs quake and weaken as he brings me close to orgasm. His fingers are like magic, knowing exactly where and how to touch me. I can’t stop my body from grinding against him. I have to focus on keeping my hands behind me, and not grabbing onto him.

  “You want to come, don’t you?” His voice is a sexy, raspy whisper in my ear. He slows his hand down, barely moving inside me. I press my sex against him, needing him to keep going, but he doesn’t move, and holds me back from riding on his hand.

  “Yes …” I try to kiss him but he moves his lip
s away from mine, teasing me, taking everything away. I struggle not to whimper with want.

  “Beg.”

  All pride goes out the window. “Please …”

  “Again.”

  God, he’s a cruel bastard. “Please, let me come.”

  He groans and thrusts his fingers inside me, swirling them around my core, his thumb working my clit as if his life depends on it. His lips find mine again and he kisses me so deeply, so passionately and so demandingly, it’s as if we have to kiss just to breathe and survive. I’ve never felt such intensity in a man’s kiss before and it drives me further to the brink and then pushes me over the edge. I’m tumbling into orgasm, my muscles clenching around his fingers buried deep inside me. He holds me tight as my body quivers against him, my legs threatening to give out. His kisses slow until they are soft and lingering, his lips just barely touching mine, our breathing slowing together.

  Gently lowering me down onto the bed, he holds me while I come down from the orgasm high.

  “I think dinner is ready,” he says, breaking the silence. “Let’s go eat and then I can play with you some more.”

  Damn, is he serious? I don’t think I can take any more.

  “Be right back,” he says, and disappears down the hall. He returns with the clothes he bought for me and lays them on the bed.

  “Get dressed and come join me for dinner.” He kisses me once more. “That was perfect, by the way. I love making you beg and come.”

  My limbs are wobbly, like wet noodles, as I get dressed. I really feel like I need a nap to recover after that escapade, but the smell of the food is making my stomach grumble so much that for the first time in months I actually want to eat.

  I find him in the kitchen, and he looks so out of place to me with his long hair and tattooed muscles standing over the island stove. Sterling is at his feet, literally howling at the top of his tiny lungs.

  “Oh my, what’s up with him?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “It seems he is yelling at the smells. I think it woke up his tapeworm or something.” He looks down at the kitten, who’s rubbing at his ankles. “I don’t know what the fuck Evelyn was thinking, giving me this cat. I don’t know what to do with him.”