Mr. Wicked

by Maya Hughes

“I’ve got you,” he said, running his hands under my body and picking me up off the couch. I wrapped my arms and legs around him. My hands exploring his muscled back as he climbed the stairs

  “Where?” he asked at the top of the stairs.

  I pointed to the open door and he charged into the room, dropping me onto the bed and lifting my shirt up and over my head. My hair fell out of my messy bun. I flipped it out of my face, just in time for him to slide his hands under the waistband of my pajama bottoms and fling them across the room.

  A flash of hesitation ran through me as I glanced down at my legs, but it was gone in an instant when he sank to his knees at the foot of the bed and hooked my legs over his shoulders. I pushed myself up on my elbows as he glanced up at me before burying his face in my pussy and yelped. His tongue painted its way across my flesh, making me sink my fingers into the quilt on my bed.

  He feasted on me, and I cried out as he sucked on my clit. My legs trembled, and I was close to the edge when he stopped. Any reservations I’d had about this flew out the window the minute he got me to the razor’s edge of an orgasm that paled in comparison to the one he’d interrupted with his arrival.

  I mewled and he climbed up on the bed, his rough jeans rubbing against my naked legs. He threaded his fingers into my hair and tilted my head, giving him access to my neck. I didn’t mind him controlling the kiss. I liked it. I liked that he seemed to know my body even better than I did after such a short time. He nipped a spot at the base of my neck that made me tremble. I was trying to get his shirt off when he whispered in my ear. I was in desperate need of him inside me. Right that very minute.

  “I’ve been reading your blog. I’m just sad I don’t have any of my rope to give you an even better experience from me. If you have some, I’m sure we could figure something out.” He nuzzled my ear, and my body went stock straight. Every muscle in my body went rigid and it was like an anvil had been dropped on me.

  I pushed against his chest, my hands and fingers going numb as I struggled to breathe.

  “John,” I said, pushing harder as he grazed his teeth along my shoulder. “John, stop.” I scrambled out from under him. He stopped and looked at me, his eyebrows knitted together.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I rolled off the bed and ran into my closet like a ghost was after me. It was. The ghost of nightmares past. The phantom pain was back in my wrists as I threw open a drawer and pulled out a long-sleeved t-shirt.

  The terror and panic of being trapped. The sawing burning pain as I tried to break free. The ropes tightening and cutting so deep that it stole my breath away. The numbness as my arms and legs fell asleep. Raw, aching in my throat that was clogged with tears. The look in his eyes as he realized he’d fucked up and then panic when I realized he was going to leave me there to struggle and free myself on my own.

  When I finally composed myself and put on a new pair of pajamas, I expected to come back to an empty bedroom. Instead, John sat on the edge of my bed staring at the doorway to the closet. He startled me and stood, crossing the space between us. He didn’t touch me, but I could still feel him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, trying to get me to look at him.

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat. He hadn’t left. Relief and fear washed over me. I was so screwed up. He didn’t deserve this. “I’m fine. Sorry for freaking out on you.”

  “Don’t ever apologize for anything you don’t want to do. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  “No, don’t be sorry. I…it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t be this wrapped up in the past.”

  He took my hand in his and put it on his chest. “Does what happened have anything to do with these?” he asked, pushing up the sleeves of my shirt. I ducked my head and nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to wreck what little grasp I’d managed to gain on my composure.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, running his hand over the back of mine. His voice, full of concern, which made me feel like even more of an idiot.

  “Do you want some ice cream? I have ice cream in the freezer. At least six types.” I glanced past him to the door and tried to disengage myself from his hold. Ice cream solved everything, right? He froze for a second before letting me go. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something and then nodded.

  “Sure, I’d love some,” he said, not letting me run away, but taking my hand in his and threading his fingers through mine. The nervousness coursed through me as we walked back downstairs.

  He grabbed a seat at the kitchen counter and I pulled out every tub of ice cream in the freezer. I was wrong, there were twelve types. I served him up a scoop of butter pecan, coffee, and mint chocolate chip, while I stuck to vanilla bean, coffee, and cookie dough.

  We ate in silence for a while, and I felt worse by the second. The evening was ruined because of old hang-ups and disasters. He seemed deep in thought and had a grim set to his lips.

  “Are you mad? I’m really sorry.” I leaned over the counter and covered his hand with mine. He reversed the hold and ran his fingers over my hand and then down to my wrist. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t snatch them away.

  “It’s really okay. I’m not mad. These things take time. They take trust. We’ll get there.”

  Relief flooded me. I’d been putting him off and running away, and here he was saying we’d get there. He hadn’t written me off. I’d been trying to deny how much I liked him, but not anymore.

  “About our date?” he asked, smiling.

  “What about it?” I asked, sliding another spoonful of creamy ice cream into my mouth.

  “I’m thinking it’s got to be big, right? Since something seemed to always get in the way of the others.” He gave me a pointed playful glance. “Maybe if I make it big enough, a certain someone will be so overcome with guilt, she’ll actually show up.”

  I laughed. “I have a feeling this certain someone will show up for this date no matter what you have planned.”

  “I was thinking fire breathers, maybe a harbor cruise, some fireworks, balloon animals, swimming with the sharks. And that’s not even including dinner.”

  I choked on my ice cream.

  “Balloon animals?”

  “Really? Out of that entire list, the one that tripped you up is balloon animals? What’s wrong with balloon animals?”

  “They’re usually pretty basic, right? Sword. Flower. Dog.”

  “It seems you haven’t found the right guy to show you the whole new world of balloon art. It’s definitely on the list now.”

  “Are you serious?” I laughed, covering my mouth full of ice cream.

  “Completely,” he said, leaning over the counter and kissing me on my nose.

  We finished our ice cream, and John checked his phone.

  “I should get going. It’s been a long day, and I’ve got work tomorrow.”

  A pang of sadness I hadn’t expected hit me as he got up and shrugged his coat on.

  “Me too.” I walked him to the door.

  “I had a great time tonight during our not-date.”

  “I did, too.”

  He slid both hands along the sides of my face and kissed me so deeply I felt it in my feet. I lifted up on my toes and nearly toppled over as he finally broke the kiss.

  “I’ll see you at our date.” He jogged down the front steps and hopped into his car. I waved as he pulled away from the curb and stared at my wrists as he pulled into traffic and disappeared down the street.

  21

  JOHN - PRESENT DAY

  I raced around the city trying to make sure everything was perfect for our date. The fact that she said she wouldn’t back out meant I pulled out all the stops. I hoped maybe she’d open up to me about what happened. The scars weren’t from some novice mistake. Those were serious damage, and I looked at her blog in a different light after what happened the night of our not-date.

  I’d initially thought it was her kink. She had to have one, right? She owned a sex club and almost ever
y other article on her blog was about it. I realized too late it wasn’t because it was her kink. It was because she was trying to get the information out there. She was giving people all the information they needed to do things the safe way. I’d been so stupid not to see things sooner. Unfortunately, I’d discovered the ropes were a kink of mine. I didn’t know how she’d feel about them, but I was perfectly fine shelving it, if she wasn’t comfortable. For as long as that took.

  A call to the aquarium to triple-check on our reservation for the private shark-petting zoo. The balloon-artist rendition of Starry Night was ready to be delivered to the harbor cruise, and the classical-music trio was ready to board with the special arrangements of the theme songs to her favorite video games and TV shows.

  It was as close to perfect as I could get. At least what I envisioned being the perfect night for her that didn’t include the couch, binge-watching TV, and pajamas. She’d be sure to get to all that tomorrow morning after the date.

  On my way to the florist, I kept coming back to her scars. I wanted to beat the shit out of whoever had done that to her. Whoever took something that was supposed to be about trust and mistreated her. I’d love to get my hands on whoever did it. Whoever hadn’t done everything in their power to protect my girl. I froze in the doorway of the florist.

  My girl. Had that thought really just crossed my mind? We had only been on one real date. We’d had sex once. But I couldn’t deny the connection I felt to her. When I woke up, she was the first thing I thought about. And before I went to bed, it was the same. She had me tripping all over myself with that palm-sweaty, can’t-sleep feeling.

  I slid my order across the counter to the florists. I knew she’d love these when she saw them. She wasn’t a flower kind of girl, but Rachel gave me the inside scoop.

  “Isn’t she a lucky girl?” the brunette behind the counter said.

  “I’m the lucky guy. You think they’re good, right?”

  “If a guy brought me flowers like these, I’d be all over him,” she said, batting her eyelashes. Good, I let out a sigh of relief.

  I stepped out of the florist. I set the flowers down in the passenger seat of the car and slid in, taking my phone out to check on Frankie. Before I could touch her name, a call came in. Her ringtone blaring through my speakers. My stomach sank as I got a bad feeling about the call.

  I answered it when her voice came out high and panicky. Immediately, my body was on high alert. I could barely understand her.

  “Frankie…Frankie…slow down. What are you talking about?”

  “I’m really sorry, John. I’m so sorry, but I can’t make it tonight.”

  “But—” The call ended before I could even get another word out. I sat in the car stunned and unable to move for a long time. It was like there was a burning-hot poker stabbing me in the chest cauterizing my wound as it went, so I couldn’t bleed out immediately. No, this would be a slow, torturous death.

  My phone rang again. This time it was the balloon artist to confirm the delivery location. Humiliation rolled over me. What the fuck was wrong with me? I was doing all this, and she kept cancelling. I could keep pretending and showing up at her place with pizza she couldn’t turn down, but that didn’t change anything. She didn’t want me. Too bad I couldn’t stop wanting her.

  I rolled the car window down and snatched the flower arrangement off the passenger side seat before throwing it out the window and into the trash can outside of the shop. I needed a fucking beer.

  22

  FRANKIE - PRESENT DAY

  I ended the call and stared at the tests all over the bathroom. The numbness had set in. The stunned, numbness that meant I could barely feel my hands.

  I picked up my phone again from the counter, my hands trembling.

  Me: Sash, I’m pregnant

  I couldn’t believe this was happening. Birth control had been second nature since college to regulate my periods, but it wasn’t like I’d had a chance to test its effectiveness until recently.

  Sasha: Holy shit! Seriously?!

  Me: Yes

  What did I tell him? How did I tell John I’d gotten pregnant? I’m pretty sure that’s not what he had in mind when he shared my suite at the wedding.

  Sasha: Good job, way to work your way through every high school cliché and you’ve been out for almost a decade.

  I guess that was a silver lining. At least this hadn’t happened back in high school. The rumor mill would have gone into hyper drive, plus the whole having-a-kid-back-then thing.

  Me: I hate you

  Sasha: How are you doing?

  Me: I’m freaking out.

  I ran my hand across my forehead, squeezing it like I’d be able to think my way out of this situation.

  Sasha: It’s John’s, right?

  Me: Yes, it’s John’s. How many guys do you think I’m sleeping with?

  Sasha: I don’t know, just checking…

  Me: You’re no help. I’m sorry I even said anything.

  Sasha: I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, and you know I’ll be there if you need anything.

  Me: A time machine?

  Sasha: All out of the plutonium I need to run mine…

  Me: What do I do now?

  Sasha: Have John’s baby?

  Me: FUCK

  Sixteen tests. The person at the pharmacy thought I was insane buying that many, but I wanted to make sure. I’d bought two boxes of every single type they had there.

  The second time I threw up that morning, it dawned on me. I triple-checked my calendar and raced to the pharmacy.

  Sasha: Come on. It’s not that bad

  Me: It’s not?

  Sasha: You’re not some high school or college kid. You’re an adult. You have a good, if unorthodox job and your family has money.

  Me: Gee, thanks

  Sasha: I’m just pointing out the obvious. You’ll be fine.

  Me: What do I do about John?

  Sasha: What do you mean?

  Me: I got pregnant. I feel so guilty. This is the kind of shit that guys are always ranting about. Some chick getting knocked up and then getting stuck with her.

  My heart pounded as I thought about him hating me. I couldn’t handle that. We were only barely in a place of not shooting fiery barbs at one another whenever we saw each other.

  Sasha: And that’s the kind of guy John is?

  Me: No, not really

  He’d be a great dad and he’d probably not hate me, but then what? We were still trying to figure if there was an us. A real us. Throwing a baby into the mix was only going to complicate things.

  Sasha: So what’s the problem? You two fucked. You two got pregnant. This isn’t a one-sided thing. It’s a risk every time.

  Me: I don’t know what to do.

  Sasha: I’d suggest talking to the father of your soon-to-be child

  I hung my head between my knees.

  Me: I’m not ready for that

  Sasha: You need someone there with you. Who do you know in the city?

  Me: John, Rachel, Killian

  Sasha: Seriously?! How long have you lived there and you know three people?

  She didn’t need to remind me how much of a pathetic hermit I was. I already knew this, and nothing like a life crisis to drive that point home. I’d lived in my cave for so long, I didn’t even know how to make new friends anymore.

  Me: I know more people, just none I could call up and say, hey, guess who’s having a baby with a guy she slept with once. This girl!

  Sasha: Fine, call Killian. He knows John. He’ll be able to give you some sound advice in person and hopefully talk some sense into you.

  Me: I will

  I stared at my screen for a long time trying to figure out the best text message possible to tell your friend you’re pregnant with your other friend’s baby. I couldn’t stomach a call. I was such a fucking coward.

  Sasha: Do it! I’m going to get some food, but when I get back, you’d better have called him.

  Me: Fin
e

  I sent Killian a text. ‘I’m pregnant. It’s John’s.’

  The little text bubble appeared before the phone rang in my hand. I reluctantly answered it.

  “What.The.Fuck?”

  “I know,” I said, miserably.

  “So that’s why Grim wanted a beer.”

  “What? No, I haven’t told him.”

  “You what?” he shouted and I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “You haven’t told him?”

  “No, I just found out. And you can’t tell him.”

  “Frankie—”

  “Do not tell him. I will tell him once I figure out what I’m going to do.”

  “What do you mean? Are you not going to keep it?”

  “Of course, I am. I didn’t mean about that. I meant try to figure out what I’m going to do about John.”

  “Okay. What do you want me to tell him?”

  “Tell him ‘I’m sorry’. I…me cancelling the date had nothing to do with him. I mean, nothing to do with me not wanting to go on the date with him. I wanted to go. Just make sure he knows I don’t hate him or anything. This isn’t a great time, and I need a chance to think for a while.”

  “I think you should tell him. Come meet us and tell him.”

  “No, please do this for me Killian. Please,” I begged. He let out a deep breath.

  “Fine, but I’m not doing this forever. This isn’t high school.”

  Relief washed over me as I slumped down onto the couch.

  “Thank you. I promise, not for long. It will take me a little bit to get things straight in my head, and then I’ll tell him.”

  “You’d better. I’m here. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I ended the call and leaned back. When I set my phone down, it dawned on me that I’d left the house without my cuffs or a bracelet or anything. I’d gone out with my wrists and my scars on full display. The thought of leaving the house without them before usually sent me into a panic. Walking around campus with wide bandages around my wrists was a surefire way to get the wrong type of attention. People always thought they knew how I’d gotten them, but somehow them thinking I’d tried to kill myself was in some ways better than the truth.

  After all this time, I’d run out of the house without even thinking about it. There were more important things happening. I buried my face in the couch. The smell of peppermint filled my nose. It still smelled like him. Tears prickled the backs of my eyes. What did I do? How do you tell the guy you’re kind of dating that you’re pregnant with his baby?