Plight

by K. M. Golland

  I glared at him. “Dudley does not look like a bat.”

  “I never said he did.”

  I sipped some more soup, continuing to glare.

  “Another item of clothing please.”

  “Fine.” I reached down and untied my shoes, levering them off my feet and kicking them toward him under the table.

  A smiled played at the corners of his mouth. “Butterflies—”

  “We spoke about that one today,” I interrupted, “so it doesn’t count.”

  He clicked his jaw, and my God, it was sexy.

  “Needles. They hurt and they draw blood.”

  “Why’s that scary?”

  “Because they draw blood, like vampires, leeches, and mosquitos.”

  “You think mosquitos are scary?”

  “No. Just needles.”

  He waited, all smug-like, and I wanted to slap him with my breasts, which were currently targets for his sight. “You want my bra next, don’t you?”

  Elliot nodded. Slow. His eyes still fixed to my chest. I smiled and leisurely unclipped the red satin.

  Cool air instantly teased my nipples, so I covered them and gave them a gentle squeeze. “It’s cold in here.”

  “I can see that.” He twirled some noodles, ready to eat. “You should keep doing that,” he said, nodding toward my hands. “Keep them warm.”

  I watched him eat, my eyes zeroing in on his lips as they wrapped around his fork. “I bet your lips could keep them warm as well.”

  He choked while swallowing his mouthful. “They could.”

  Letting go of one nipple, I teased my finger across my bottom lip before dipping it to the button of my jeans. “I think I know why you’re scared of storms,” I said, standing and unfastening the zip. “Same reason I am.” I shimmied them down my legs and removed them completely, dragging down my socks with my thumbs as well. “My guess is that water is, again, for the same reason?”

  Elliot nodded, pushed his chair back and slowly made his way to my side of the table, his enlarged pupils dominating the blue of his eyes. I sucked in a breath, my breasts rising to meet his hard body as it pressed against mine, his hands settling on my hips and hooking the seam of my underwear.

  “Cat?” I asked, my whisper desperate for an answer.

  He smirked and glanced down. “Yes, please.”

  I lifted his chin with the tip of my finger. “Why. Are. You. Scared. Of. Cats?”

  “I’m not. I just said that because you had a lot of layers of clothing on.”

  Before I could whack him, he lifted me up onto the kitchen table. I gasped, blood pumping through my body like a speeding train.

  “Elliot, your noodles.”

  “Fuck the noodles. I eat them every few days.”

  My eyes widened, and I pouted, the slow dragging of my underwear down my legs as hot as hell. “You do?”

  “Yes. Fuck me,” he groaned, licking his lips. “Your cat is gorgeous.”

  I nudged him with my foot and smiled. “Thank goodness you’re not scared then.”

  “Oh, I’m scared.” He dropped my underwear on the floor, opened my legs wide, and then slid his hands up my thighs as he moved himself between them.

  Elliot hovered over me, his chest rising and falling, his eyes searching mine, their intensity so raw, so honest, that I, too, felt his trepidation. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for half my life. Trust me, Danielle, I’m scared.”

  I touched his cheek and brought his lips to mine. “Me too, so let’s be scared together.”

  His tongue dipped into my mouth, softly, then with enough avidity that I was matching his eagerness and clawing at the nape of his neck with my hands. He tasted like home, and Ramen noodle bowl, and I never wanted to taste anything else.

  Lifting me slowly once again, this time he slid his arm underneath my legs and carried me to my bedroom, laying me down softly on the bed. I scooted backward and flipped the switch of my lamp, the low glow of the bulb illuminating his skin as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and crawled up my body.

  “Kiss me, Lots. Kiss me everywhere.”

  He smiled and trailed his mouth down my neck, stopping at one nipple and gently suckling it before switching to the other. I moaned and gripped his head, pressing him hard against me, wanting to feel every inch of him. If he was scared, I was terrified. Terrified of not living up to his expectations, and terrified I was about to ruin everything we were. But I was more terrified of stopping him because I wanted this more than I’d ever wanted anyone or anything.

  Moaning again when he stretched my nipple with his lips and let go, I gripped his head and pulled him to my mouth, wanting to taste him again. I was so greedy, so wanton, my heels digging into his back as I held him to me.

  “Jesus, Danielle,” he groaned, our lips, tongues and teeth a wild and delicious mess.

  Trailing his hungry mouth down my neck, he sucked and massaged my nipples again before moving further down my body. Each kiss, each touch, sending me soaring to a height I’d never reached before. No other time, no other man, felt like I felt now.

  His lips feathered across my clit, and my hips bucked uncontrollably. “Oh God!”

  He groaned and lapped his tongue over me, once, twice, many times more, until I was squirming and lifting my legs to clamp around his head. It was just too much. The sensation of his tongue, the emotion of finally giving in … the tensing of my muscles as stars exploded in front of my eyes.

  “Fuck! That’s it, babe, let go.”

  I writhed and bucked as he gently held me down and took me to one of the most intense peaks I’d ever been to, my heart pounding, my body flushed with heat. “Oh shit. Oh wow. Lots. Wowww … ” my voice trailed off as he stood, unbuckled his belt and jeans, and pulled them down, taking his boxer shorts with him them and allowing his cock to spring free.

  I lifted my head, which felt like a lead weight, and moved upright to lean on my elbows, biting my lip and panting for the taste and feel of him in my mouth.

  “Jesus, Danielle, don’t look at me like that or I’ll come before I want to.”

  Shaking my head, I moved to my hands and knees, eyeing him devilishly as I crawled toward him. His cock twitched as I neared, his crown swollen and glistening. I wrapped my hand around it and stuck out my tongue, dragging it slowly up his shaft until I had him completely in my mouth.

  He groaned, gutturally; a sound that could find its way into your marrow and stay there. And I wanted it to. Forever. I wanted to remember this moment for as long lived, a moment where I controlled his pleasure, his pain, his everything.

  Moaning, I released him from my mouth, his pre-cum and my thirst the perfect wetness to pump him vigorously, which I did, alternating between quick sucks and light teasing licks.

  “Stop! Fuck. I need inside you … now!”

  I needed him inside me now as well, my inner thighs drenched in anticipation. Elliot guided my shoulders to meet his, his mouth finding mine with a ferocity that stole my ability to call any more shots. I was his — all his — to do with as he pleased.

  Lifting me and lying me down, Elliot moved my legs to brace his hips as he slowly pressed into me.

  My head fell back. “Ohhhhhh.”

  He kissed my neck and rocked into me, slowly. Deeply. I could feel him with every stretch, push and pull, and it felt so damn good.

  “Perfect. Just … perfect.”

  I smiled and touched his jaw, his hair dangling over his sweat-dampened forehead, his eyes full of what I knew mine were full of … love.

  “Somehow,” I said, choking on a sob. “Somehow I’ve always known, even without knowing, that we would be together like this. I can’t explain how, I—”

  “You don’t need to explain.” He turned his head and kissed my palm. “Ever. Because I know. I’ve always known.”

  Elliot’s pace picked up, his eyes intensifying as we both climbed. And when my eyes fell shut under the immense pleasure exploding within, he groaned and released into me,
slumping his hard, immaculate body on top of mine as we both rode out our orgasms, tangled around one another.

  Legs, arms, body, heart, and soul.

  “So, you’re afraid of storms and water, too, huh?” Danielle asked, as she draped her arm across my chest and snuggled into my side.

  Her skin was soft, warm and tacky from sex, and I fucking loved how her breasts peeled from my chest every time she shuffled to get comfortable.

  Holding her tighter, I admitted what I knew she would understand but something I seldom admitted to anyone. “Yeah. I find it really difficult to be outside during a storm. But at home, twenty-five stories above ground, it’s not so bad.”

  She lifted her head and stared at me, comprehension bursting from her sad eyes. “Is that why you live in an apartment? Because it feels safer?”

  I didn’t have to say yes; she knew the answer.

  “I’m terrified of storms, especially at night. I have to turn my iPad on and listen to Metallica as loud as I can stand just to block out the thunder and sound of heavy rain.” She shuddered. “I hate them. I really hate them. I want to move to a desert.”

  “Chile. There’s a port city there that experiences little to no annual rainfall.”

  She giggled. “You’re so sexy when you’re all brainy and shit.”

  “Really?” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “Want to know what it’s called?”

  “Sure.”

  I leaned down and whispered, “Iquique.”

  “What? Did you just say ‘I’m kinky’?”

  “No. E … key key. Iquique. It borders a desert and ocean. We should go live there right away.”

  She giggled again and traced a circle around my navel. “I don’t mind rain. Just not a lot of it all at once.”

  Nodding, I focussed on the ceiling fan as silence settled over us.

  “Lots, do you think about the storm drain often?”

  My answer was instantaneous. “All the time.”

  “I don’t. At least, I haven’t for a long time. Ever since seeing a doctor about it in my twenties, I’ve managed to keep the horror of our experience out of my head. The nightmares lasted for a while longer, though. But even they stopped eventually.”

  “Nightmares?” My heart began to beat erratically at the thought.

  “Yeah. They used to be so bad, so debilitating. Dr Emmerson helped, and over time, we found ways of increasing my sense of security, together with thinking less about the experience.” She shrugged and drew another circle. “The nightmares eased. I haven’t had one for over a year.”

  Hearing Danielle open up about her posttraumatic experience tore a hole in my chest, or more accurately, tore the one I already had, wider. If it hadn’t been for me, she’d never have endured those nightmares in the first place.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, kissing her head.

  “Lots, don’t.”

  I didn’t say anything, and yet I felt as if I needed to say everything … not that there was much I could say. It was one of those moments where you held your breath and hoped by the time you needed to exhale that you would. So, instead, I just quietly absorbed the moment of her in my arms, where I’d always wanted her to be.

  “I mean it. Don’t,” she repeated, her voice noticeably more stern.

  It made me chuckle. “Okay. I’m not … doing anything.”

  “Good. Now, can we go to sleep? We have a fence to paint tomorrow.”

  I stopped fighting the pull of my heavy eyelids and smiled the type of smile a man smiles when he finally has the woman of his dreams.

  “NO! DON’T!”

  I jerked awake to Danielle’s desperate pleas, my eyelids shooting open, my heart pounding so hard it hurt my chest.

  “No! NO! Stay—”

  I sat up and flipped the switch on my lamp, turning back to find Danielle thrashing in the bed next to me. She was still asleep, but trembling, her skin covered in perspiration.

  “NOOOOO!” she screamed.

  “Hey … ” I gave her a light shake. “It’s okay. Wake up.”

  She stopped screaming but didn’t wake, her frantic state, slowly easing. I sat there, frozen with shock, not knowing whether to wake her or leave her be. Not knowing whether she would cry out again or not. The muscles in her face had relaxed and she was once again breathing normally. Peacefully. Like Sleeping Beauty without a care in the world. My breathing, on the other hand, was akin to that of a marathon runner. Laboured. Nostrils flared. Fuck! She’d just had a nightmare, something she was adamant she didn’t have anymore.

  Easing down the bed to lie beside her, I propped my head on my hand and watched her sleep, dread squirming its way through my body. What if I caused this? What if being with me has triggered her nightmares again?

  I scrubbed my face with my hand, that notion unthinkable. Naaa. this has got to be a once-off. I couldn’t be a trigger. She’d said so herself that it wasn’t my fault. Unless she doesn’t truly believe that and is only saying it for my benefit?

  Swallowing heavily, I calmed myself down, moved closer and kissed her shoulder, careful not to wake her. She was peaceful, safe and sound, and that’s how I wanted her to stay.

  My fears were once again realised when the following night was no different. We’d made love, talked about the storm and our ‘gap years’ afterward. I’d asked her about her nightmares again, if they really had stopped, and that she could tell me otherwise if they hadn’t. She got pissed at me and swore blind that they had stopped then told me not to worry and to stop blaming myself for us getting stuck in the drain. But I was worried. In fact, I was scared shitless because, that night, the same thing occurred — Danielle crying out in her sleep and shooting terror through my bones when it woke me — except this time, it was much worse and lasted longer, and I couldn’t wake her.

  I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was that I couldn’t be selfish and be around her as much as I was if I was the reason for her nightmares returning and causing her pain and distress. Maybe I’d come on too quickly, my initial we’re-engaged-whether-you-think-so-or-not approach too strong? Maybe I’d not allowed enough time for her subconscious to process my being in her life again, and maybe it was all just a bit too much for her?

  Not wanting to, but knowing I should, I had to create some distance between us until it all settled down. Perhaps allow some time for her to fit me into her life once again instead of just pushing my way into it. Whether I liked it or not, distance and time were the logical explanation. It was all I could think to do.

  “You feeling all right?” she asked, breaking my drifting thoughts, as I stroked my paintbrush up and down the fence at the community garden, Karate Kid style.

  “Yeah. I just have a headache.” I gave her a small smile and continued painting. We were on our second coat and nearly finished.

  “Oh, okay.” She paused then continued, uncertainty in her tone. “Because you haven’t eaten much today, and you’ve been real quiet.”

  “I’m not hungry.” I pointed to my head. “Headache, remember?”

  She nodded, her disheartened eyes twisting my stomach. A tiny voice inside my head screamed, “distance”, and I hated it. I hated that the voice was right and that I needed the painful reminder to do what was best for Danielle — what was best for the both of us in the long run, because distance now hopefully meant they’d be no need for distance in the future.

  Placing the paintbrush down, I turned to her. “Actually, I might just call it a day.”

  “That’s probably a good idea. I’ll clean this up and follow you home, unless you want me to drive you bac—”

  “No, no.” I gave her a quick peck on the head to stop her packing up the paintbrushes and rollers. “You stay. I’ll be fine. I think I just need to go home and lie down. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  She went to object, but her body fell limp, her fight gone. It fucking killed me, but it was for her own good. I had to keep telling myself that. Just a little time and space so that she
could adjust in her own terms. That’s all we need. I can do this.

  I couldn’t do it.

  And I knew it.

  The next day, I had busied myself at work, which wasn’t difficult considering the case I was currently working on.

  Domestic Violence.

  They were the worst, especially when kids were involved, which was more often than not. I’d always been fortunate enough to have a decent father figure in my life — up until the age of fifteen when Mum divorced Pete — and it saddened me that not all children experienced that same sense of acceptance, love, and security. Kids were the world’s greatest gift and should be cared for, loved, and educated, not directly subjected to fear and cruelty by those they trusted the most. Family was precious. Irreplaceable. It should be treasured not damaged. So yeah, I fucking hated domestic violence cases and tried to avoid them like the plague.

  Dropping my keys on the kitchen table after a shitful day, I was spent both mentally and physically. Between preparing for a deposition and thoughts of Danielle’s nightmares weighing heavily on my brain, I just wanted to hit the shower and then hit the sack, which is exactly what I did, not realising I’d fallen asleep without calling or answering her worried messages until the next morning when I woke up to find yet another message on my phone.

  Danielle: Just a simple, “I’m fine” or “Real busy” message would suffice. Surely, that can’t be hard.

  Fuck! I scrubbed my face with my hand and swung my legs out of bed while dialling her number.

  My call went unanswered, so I texted her back.

  Elliot: Why aren’t you answering?

  She didn’t respond, so I got dressed and headed to work, stopping by Rebecca’s desk on my way to my office.

  “Good morning, Mr Parker.”

  “Morning, Rebecca. Do me favour? If Danielle happens to ring, interrupt me and patch her through, no matter what, okay?”

  “Sure. No problem.” Her left eye crinkled, displaying her concern. “Oh, and those subpoenas you wanted are on your desk.”