Love Is Strange (I Know... #2)

by Whitney Bianca

  “Does it still hurt?”

  “Yes,” he hisses. “Every fucking day.”

  “Good,” I whisper. He clenches his jaw and the muscles in his chest jump, like he's holding himself tight. I wonder why he doesn't just push me over onto my back and fuck me like he wants to do. He's being cautious, trying not to scare me away. I won't break this time, though. I'm trying to control myself too, but I don't know how much longer I'll be able to. I don't even know if I want to anymore. I've already lost myself. I've already given up. This is just the preliminary arguments before a lengthy trial. But we're both guilty and the only question is how long the sentence will be. Last time we were together, we got a few weeks before it all went to shit. So much has happened since then, so many terrible things, that I can't help but feel that we're cursed. Maybe this time we'll destroy each other instead of destroying everything around us. That's the only thing I can hope for.

  I run my hands up his arms, feeling his rough skin against mine. He's had a hard life; he's worked with his hands out in the sun. His skin is freckled and scarred and damaged. He's got pain etched on his flesh. He can't hide it anymore like he used to be able to. He lets out a slow, measured breath as I run my fingertips over his collarbone, feeling the familiar bump on the right side where he broke it once and it didn't heal right. I remember that bump. I remember the way his Adam's apple juts out and the way his jaw feels against mine. I remember how his hips fit against mine and how his fingers fit in my mouth. It's all coming back now, that I'm letting myself remember. I wonder if he tried to forget me as much as I tried to forget him.

  He jerks his hips and drops his head back as I continue exploring him. I drag my nails down his chest and over his flat nipples, watching as they pebble and harden under my attentions. His cock jumps between us, like it's trying to remind me of its existence. Like I could forget it. I reach between us and roll my palm over the head of him. He's hot to the touch and I almost pull my hand away because it's too much. We just fucked last night, but it might as well have been ages ago for how long it feels. Besides, last night didn't count. Last night was two animals attacking each other in a back alley and fighting for the upper hand.

  The difference is night and day.

  I lift myself up and roll my hips over him, steering his cock toward me. I bite down hard on my lip as I slide the head of him against me. I'm wet and it feels good. It feels more than good, it feels heavenly. My stomach cramps up as I think about him thrusting into me because I want it so badly. But we both can wait a bit longer. It'll be better that way.

  “I love you,” he breathes as I run my thumb over the head of his cock. “I always have and I always will.” I nod, because I know he's telling the truth. He loves me in the only way he knows how. He lives in the only way he knows how. I tell myself that it doesn't mean I forgive him as I line him up against my pussy and lower myself onto him. I'm just living the only way I can. The only way I can survive is like this. So I do it. I survive.

  His whole body goes stiff as my body stretches to fit him. It feels like it takes forever until he's deep inside of me. I can hardly breathe but I don't move on top of him. I just savor the feeling. All the years of not having it and suddenly I have it again. It's not perfect. It's not sane. But it is what it is. I dig my fingers into his shoulders, trying to steady myself against him. The sensation is on the cusp of pain, but the pleasure is there, too, lurking in the corners of my brain. It wants to be let out of its cage. It wants me to fully embrace it again.

  He runs his hands up the curve of my waist and over my ribs. He's trying so hard not to ruin it by being too rough. He's trying and that's something. It's getting impossible for me to think so I put both of us out of our misery. I slam down on his cock, calling out as he fills me up in the way that I crave. He finally loses a bit of control and grabs my ass as I move against him, rolling my hips to take him deeper. I fuck him slowly at first and he doesn't fight me, even though I can tell it's not going to last. For a few minutes, he stares into my eyes as I ride him and I can see how he's spiraling into the dark space where only we exist. The people outside don't matter; nobody else can get inside. When we're together, only we're important. Only the way our bodies collide and fit together and fight each other is important.

  He drops back against the bed and arches his body, holding me in place with his steel-like grip. He thrusts so hard into me that my vision blanks out and I call out again because I can't help it. My tits crave his mouth and every other inch of my skin craves his hands. I want him in my ass, in my mouth, and deep in my pussy. I want all of him, everywhere. I clench around his cock and lean over him, pressing my hands to the mattress on either side of his face. For a few seconds, we moan in tandem as he thrusts in and out of me. A chunk of my hair falls forward and he reaches up and pushes it away from my cheek. I lean into his touch, the striations of his scars surprising me again. I'm still not used to it, but I will be. He roughly caresses my thigh with his other hand, his touch insistent. He's not happy with just fucking me like this. He wants more.

  “Do you promise to cherish me?” I ask him, slapping a hand against his neck and pressing down lightly, enough to get his attention. “And honor me?” His eyes come back to life, flashing with a wicked light. He bares his teeth and presses his tongue to the corner of his mouth. Then he grinds his hips into mine and I have to grit my teeth to keep from screaming. For a second, my mind jumps back to the noisy couple who was fucking in the room next door earlier that afternoon. I wonder how loud we're going to be tonight. I don't necessarily care, but I also don't want to draw too much attention to our room.

  He catches me off guard because I'd let my mind wander. He shoves me off of him and I land on my side. I barely have time to react before he's got me on my back and pinned under him, his knees forcing my thighs open wide and his hands forcing my wrists into the mattress. He lowers himself over me, his mouth sneering over mine. I stare at his lips, wondering what he's planning to do with that evil mouth of his. He smiles a bit before he answers my questions, even though I wasn't expecting him to. “I'll cherish you if you'll let me,” he says. “I'll honor you until my dying day. And I'll love you forever, whether you want me to or not.” He angles his erection against me and I shiver in anticipation. My body is throbbing with need for him. I want to come but I also want to put off the inevitable orgasm for as long as possible. The longer it takes, the harder he'll try and the more painful and desperate it will be.

  I'm aching for the pain.

  “No more killing,” I say, because I can't help myself. I want to say it before I can't. He drags his gaze slowly up over my stomach and my breasts until he meets my eyes. He studies me for a moment, then a teasing smile crosses his lips. But on him, a teasing smile looks just as menacing as it does teasing.

  “Do you promise to obey me?” he asks. He digs his knees into the mattress and thrust into me. I'm so wet that he slides inside of me easily but the friction is still heavenly. I lift my head off the mattress to see where our bodies meet. I want to watch him pump in and out of me. He drives hard into me, giving me a good show and making me scream at the same time. He wants me to answer his questions, but he's crazy if he thinks I'm going to agree to that. He drops his body on top of mine, pinning me to the hard mattress and making it hard for me to breathe. “Promise to love me,” he growls in my ear and the sound is the sexiest thing I've heard in a long time. Lust swirls through my brain like steam and my thighs clamp around his waist. “Promise me,” he nudges, his voice husky and resonant. I can hear how much he needs me to say it in his voice. I can feel it with every movement, every flex of his strong muscles.

  We're sweating together, our bodies slippery and loose. It's hot as Hades in the room, but I'm getting used to the heat again. It feels good to be against him like this, to be so completely close to him that it's hard to tell where my body ends and his begins. This is something like love, I think. I used to believe that I loved him, but now I think it was closer to obsession.
I let myself become obsessed with him. The strength of those feelings haven't gone away. They were just buried, deep inside my chest. The more time I spend around him the more I know that I couldn't leave him even if I wanted to. We're stuck together, but I don't think I would have it any other way. I should've never let anyone come between us. I won't make that mistake ever again.

  “I promise to love you,” I say, my voice as strong as I can make it.

  “You'll be my wife,” he continues. “You'll love me above all others.” He's not really asking anymore. He's announcing it; he's declaring it. It's my own fault, I suppose. I was too out of it at the wedding. I made him feel uncertain. He hates to feel uncertain when it comes to me. It makes him lash out. Or in the case of earlier, drop to his knees. When I'm unpredictable, it makes him unpredictable in turn. So I have to be steady. I have to be strong, for both of us. And I have to love him. So I will.

  “I will,” I respond, fighting against his hold on my wrists because I know he'll like it if I fight. Shit, I'll like it more, too.

  “You say it like it's a challenge,” he says, stilling on top of me. “Is loving me so difficult?” I grit my teeth, wanting him to move. I lift my knees, trying to force him deeper inside of me.

  “Loving you is impossible,” I say, trying to shift my hips under his heavy weight. His forehead creases in a scowl and I know that's not what he wanted to hear but it's true. Loving him is impossible, at least in the normal sense. Loving him isn't like loving anyone else. Loving my parents or my brothers used to be easy. Loving my friends and my high school boyfriends came easily, too. I used to have so much love to give. Love always seemed infinite before. But now it starts and ends with Elliot.

  Love is strange when it comes to him and me. Undefinable and always on the verge of collapsing in on itself, but never going away. It always lingers under the surface, even if there's a build-up of layers of dark hatred on top. I don't even know how or when I started to love him, but I suppose I do now. Besides, I might as well. “Take it back,” he whispers and I feel the air in the room shift. I'm being cruel to him, but I can't resist being honest. There's no use lying to him anyway, because he can sense that as well.

  “I'm your wife,” I respond, because for all intents and purposes, I am. It doesn't matter if the rushed little ceremony at the church today was legal or not. For him and for me, it's binding. This is how it should've been anyway. When I walked down the aisle toward Mitch, I knew deep down in my soul that it should've been Elliot standing at the other end. But I married Mitch anyway because Elliot wasn't there. All the men in my life since I met Elliot were placeholders. Now I have the real thing again and it's going to last. Until we kill each other or live happily ever after. Either one.

  “And?” The word is sharp.

  “So I love you,” I say. “No matter how impossible.” I fight him again, arching my back and pressing my chest harder into his. “Now fuck me or get off,” I say, because I know he'll like it. It'll make him fight harder. He sucks in a breath between his teeth and then pushes off of me, which surprises me. I try to hold him place with my legs, but he easily evades me. My pussy clenches, wanting him back inside. He rolls over onto his side and then comes for me again, trying to shove me over onto my back. I dodge him but he grabs me again, his fingers digging into the soft skin of my upper arms. His cock bobs up toward his stomach, stiff and calling for me as we fight. Our scuffle ends with bedsheets being ripped off the ends of the mattress and blankets pushed to the floor and me flat on my stomach and him on top of me, holding me down. He runs his mouth down my spine and smacks my ass until I cry out from the perfect, sharp pain.

  “I don't think you're taking me seriously,” he says as he pinches the magical spot on the back of my left thigh, right beneath the swell of ass. Then he spanks me again with his open palm and I press my fist to my mouth to muffle my pathetic moans. I try to wriggle out of his grasp, but I can't. I don't really want to either, even though what he's doing to me is exquisite torture. “I think you like fucking with me.” Another blow rains down and the lasting sting makes my thighs clench. I feel a trickle of saliva drip out of the corner of my mouth and I know I'm about to lose it.

  “I am,” I admit, out of breath and barely able to speak. My heart is beating so fast that it's hard get the words out.

  “Why?” he asks, the word curling in my ear and making goosebumps rise on my skin even though it's so hot. “Because you love to torture me, don't you?” Another smack, harder this time. My body jerks at the pain and I see red as my eyeballs roll back into my head. I'm losing it. Completely losing it. When he reaches a hand around and tweaks my nipple, I almost come. If he'd had mercy on me and put his cock in me, I would've. It's frustrating, so frustrating. My stomach is in knots. I'm in pain and I'm covered in sweat.

  I haven't felt this alive in so long.

  “I...” I start, but I can't finish. I lift my hips as much as I can, begging for more. He pinches my nipple again, roughly enough to bruise and then he finally gives in. He must've been just as turned on as I am, because he doesn't waste any more time. He lifts off of me and grabs my hips. He pulls me up on all fours and then shoves my thighs open. I can hear how wet I am and maybe I should be embarrassed, but I'm not. I'm way past caring about things like that. I only want the pleasure. I only want him.

  He shoves inside of me, not resisting the urge to slap my ass once more as he breaches me. I shudder and push back against him, forcing him balls deep. It hurts. Oh God, it hurts. I love how much it hurts. I shiver from head to toe as he wraps his hand in my hair. He pulls my head back as he rears his hips away. I know what's coming next and I can't fucking wait.

  “This is what you want, isn't it?” he asks and I make a noise half-way between a moan and a resounding 'yes'. My brain is too overheated to speak anymore. “This is what you love.” He shallowly thrusts, teasing me. He leans forward and cups my tits with his scarred hand, one after the other, his thumb running over the sensitive nipples. Then he runs it down my stomach, claiming every inch of skin that he touches. When his thumb brushes my clit, I cease thinking. My brain shuts down and I become a creature of lust. He finally gives me what I want, yanking my hair roughly as he rubs my clit.

  Then he starts to fuck me again, thrusting long and hard, pulling out almost every inch and then slamming back in again. Then he rears back and swirls his hard cock around my wet slit as he continues circling my clit with his thumb. “This is where we belong,” I think I hear him say, but I can't be sure. “This is home.” I open my eyes but my vision's blurry. I realize the words he's saying, if he's saying them at all, are true. I have nothing else in life – a gun, a few items of clothing, a cheap wedding band – but I'm home. I once had everything I could've wanted in life, except for the one thing that I've been programmed to need the most. Elliot's trained me so well. It's sick and disgusting and perverted, this relationship I've found myself in.

  But it's home.

  When I come a few seconds later, it's the best orgasm I've ever had in my life. It goes on and on, wave after wave, and he fucks me through it, pinching my thighs until I cry and collapse limply in a heap beneath him. Then he fills me with his come, thrusting into me until his thick seed slowly drips down my thighs. It's messy and it's disgusting and it's perfect. It's both of us, mixed together until there's no separation. Our bodies are tangled together and even our DNA is combined. Our history is just as tangled up and complicated and it'll never make sense but it's us. And that's all I need.

  *****

  It's dark outside the windows but I can't sleep.

  Elliot sleeps beside me, his chin on my shoulder and his heavy arm locked around my ribs. He's not a deep sleeper so I'm careful not to make any quick movements. The lightest nudge will cause him to sit up sharply and be ready for violence. He's spent too much time in prison. He doesn't like being surprised.

  We lay on top of the sheets, naked and covered in our own sweat and come and maybe even some blood and I feel disg
usting but too tired to even consider getting up to take a shower. I stare up at the dusty ceiling fan above us as it rotates in its lazy circle, trying to force my brain to shut off. Tomorrow, we have to figure out where the hell we're going to go and what the hell we're going to do and I know need sleep in order to deal with that. But knowing that I need to sleep doesn't help my anxiety. A gunshot rings out on the street below us and I jump in surprise. Elliot sucks in a sharp breath and jerks against me. His eyes pop open, but his pupils are dilated and I don't think he's completely awake. He sits up, his hands immediately searching for something, probably my gun.

  “Who?” he asks, his voice thick.

  “It's outside,” I murmur. “Go back to sleep.” He blinks and looks at me, like he needs reassurance. Then he nods and closes his eyes, laying beside me again. He tightens his arms around me even more, pulling me against his slick chest. I don't bother fighting him. For the last few years, I've been used to a big bed and falling asleep alone on some nights. A quick kiss on the lips and then roll over as I drift off to sleep on most nights. It's strange now to sleep with someone so closely, so intimately, after so long. But it's also familiar. I'll get used to it again.

  “Joanie,” he mumbles against my neck and a small but sharp pain hits me in the center of my chest like a pinprick. “It's okay?” he asks. I bite my lip to keep myself from snorting out a small, disbelieving laugh. After the way he just ravaged me, he has no right to sound so little and in need of reassurance. But the laughter would just be a way to hide the way he's making me feel, warm and soft over him even though he doesn't deserve it.

  “Mmhmm,” I hum lightly. “It's fine.” He sighs heavily and his muscles relax again and I'm sure then that he's gone back to sleep. My eyes drift over to our clothes, tossed around the room. My makeshift wedding dress is in a wrinkled heap beside the TV stand. I remember my first wedding dress – it was so expensive and one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. It was perfectly tailored and fit me like a glove. I looked like a queen in it for a day and took pictures for austerity. Then for the next two years, I kept it in a bag at the back of my closet, like a relic. It's gone now, along with everything else. I'm not going to keep this second wedding dress, I decide. I'm going to throw it away before we leave Tijuana. I don't want to carry it around with us on our journey. It feels like bad luck, like an omen, even if that doesn't make sense. I've been engaged three times and married twice now, but the planning and the weddings are only memories and that's how they should stay. The weddings aren't what's important, after all. It's what happens after that's important.