by Sienna Blake
I spot his tall figure striding across the half-empty car park, a brown leather jacket now covering his frame. Relief rushes through me.
“Hey! You!” I yell as I stride as fast as I can in my heels.
He just ignores me and keeps walking. Bastard. Men don’t ignore me. I snatch off my heels so that I can run faster.
His strong legs are long, and he’s halfway across the parking lot before I even get near him. When I’m close enough I throw one of my heels at him to get his attention. It clips him on the skull and bounces to the ground.
He turns suddenly. “What the hell?”
I pull up short a few steps from him. “Where do you get off talking to me like that?”
He growls as he rubs his head and I’m reminded of an angry bear. I take a small step back.
“Shit,” he mutters. “I knew I shouldn’t have come near you.”
“But you did. And you saved me from that creep and you made him apologize to me, which was probably the sweetest thing anyone has done for me in a long time, but then you said the most awful things… and… and now you’re just walking off. What the fuck?”
“I’ve seen you in there more than once. You come in alone, each time with a different dress on, but each dress has the same M.O. Up to your ass and showing so much cleavage that you could catch flies with it. And boy do you do catch some flies.” His face twists in disgust and I flush with shame.
He thinks I’m a slut. Normally I wear that badge with honor. Yeah, I can fuck like a man. If that makes me a slut, so what? But now, I involuntarily pull down the hem of my dress, then curse myself for doing so.
“So I dress like this. I don’t ever get any complaints.”
“Of course they don’t complain. They’re getting exactly what they want from you.”
I swallow. Yes, the men I fuck are using me, but I’m using them, too. Aren’t I?
“I’m an adult. I can do what I want.” But my voice sounds smaller to my own ears. I fight back a prickle behind my lids.
He sighs and the hardness slips from his face a little. “Is this really what you want for yourself?”
Through his eyes I’m not sure anymore whether I like what I see. It makes me tremble inside and threatens to blow the lid on my whole sanity. What do I do now? I need some sort of answer.
I must get closer to him. I let my other heel slip to the ground and I take a few steps forward cautiously, ignoring the stab of loose gravel under my feet, closing the gap between us. He watches me warily, and I’m reminded of approaching a wild animal. Don’t make any sudden moves. Don’t startle him.
When I get close enough to smell him the feeling of safety encases me again, and I know, whatever happens, I can’t let him get away. I need this. I need him. I take a final step so we stand face to face.
“You said I just needed to be reminded. You could remind me.”
I lift my palms towards him to get my first feel of his wide chest. He grabs my wrists before I can touch him and pins them to my sides. It’s our first touch and it makes me feel lightheaded and numb. I revel in it. Our eyes feel like they have fused to each other. In any other circumstance I would have pouted or licked my lips or heaved out my breasts. None of these things feel right. With him, I feel…real.
“You’re right.” I’m surprised at how shaky my voice is, but I keep going. “I don’t like who I am. But I don’t know how to be anything else anymore. You can’t just leave me like this. Please… don’t leave me like this.”
“I wouldn’t be good for you.”
“You said that already.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
His lips purse and he looks pained all of a sudden. I get the urge to take his bottom lip between my teeth and suck. I don’t. I don’t move.
“This isn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because… I’m complicated.”
“So am I.”
“I have rules.”
“I’m very good at following rules.” I’m not. But for him I’d try.
Under the fierceness in his eyes I detect a hint of amusement. “Do you really want to get involved with me, kitten?”
Kitten. As in, I am a kitten and he is a lion. If I get involved, he’ll eat me up. Dear God, I want to be eaten up by him.
He steps closer, but he doesn’t let go of my wrists. He’s holding me gently but firmly and I can feel the strength in his hands. For some reason being pinned by him relaxes me. It’s like Valium and I’m already addicted.
He bends his head down and rubs his lips across my cheekbone, starting from near my nose and along to my ear. Oh my. How is it possible that a man so rough-looking has lips that soft?
“Should I take your silence as a no?” His voice sinks into my skin like a bite, sending heat into my blood.
I have to close my eyes. His size and his smell and his touch and his voice are crowding all my senses. He feels like he’s everywhere around me, promising to possess me completely. My lower belly clenches with a fierce ache. I have to have this man inside me. I need it like I need my next breath.
“Yes,” I breathe. “I’m saying yes.”
As he moves a little closer, his body presses lightly against mine. We are barely touching, but the heat rolling off him is enough to make my insides shake. I need to be possessed by him.
“We start now. You can tell all your little boyfriends that they can fuck off. No more sex with strangers. No other men. Or you’ll never see or hear from me again. Is that clear?”
I should be raging at his sheer arrogance and his insistence at exclusivity. I don’t do exclusivity. Except…why do I think that he could be worth it?
I realize why. It’s him. He is different. And this demand is different. It’s not for his benefit, but for mine. Not for his pleasure, but for mine.
He pulls back and his eyes are hard. “I said. Is. That. Clear?”
I nod, my throat too constricted with lust to speak. If he can reduce me to a quivering mess with only his voice, just imagine what he could do with… his fingers... his tongue… his…
He steps back with one foot so that our bodies open apart like they are hinged. Cold air rushes in where he was standing. I feel the tips of his fingers settle between my shoulder blades. “I’m taking you home.”
Jesus God yes. I’m ready. I am so ready for this man and whatever rules or lessons he has planned for me.
He pushes me forward, directing me by the light touch on my back. The confidence with which he directs me through the lot tells me he knows how to be in control. It promises me that if I let him lead me, he will show me numbing, blissful, submissive pleasure like I have never known. I allow him to walk me wordlessly through the parking lot, getting wetter with each step.
He stops me aside a motorcycle, big and beastly and chrome. For a second I just stand and stare. “You’re taking me home on that thing? It looks like it bites.”
“The bike isn’t what you need to worry about.” I bet. “I promise I’ll start slow and gentle.” The innuendo is not lost on me.
He takes his fingers from me. Immediately I feel unbalanced. I wish he would touch me again. When I turn back to him he’s holding out my heels by the straps. He picked up my discarded shoes for me. I blink several times before I take them off him and clutch at them with one hand. I’m mesmerized by his sure yet graceful movements as he shrugs his brown leather jacket off those powerful shoulders. Sweet Jesus, can this man get any sexier? He holds it out. “Put this on. You’ll get cold on the way home.”
“What about you?”
“Just stick close to me and I’ll stay warm.”
I take it from him, feeling a prickle at my jaw. This man does one nice thing for me and I’m going soft. Have I been so devoid of simple kindness lately that this one little action has almost reduced me to tears?
A deep sadness fills me when I realize the answer is yes.
I turn my back to him
and slip on the jacket, transferring my heels from hand to hand. The inside of it is warm and it feels bulletproof. His scent brushes up my neck to my nose and I lose myself for a moment in his smell and this warmth.
He straddles the motorbike and even it seems to sigh under him. He knocks back the kickstand with his heel and runs his fingers across the controls on the handlebar. The motorbike growls to life. Holding one handlebar to keep it steady, he turns to look at me. “Get on.”
My limbs work of their own volition, moving me towards him. Before I realize what’s happening I’m seated on the bike in front of him, fitting in the space between his legs. I can feel the length of his hard, wide, muscled body behind me. Once again a sense of security falls over me. I can’t explain it. It doesn’t make sense.
His arm reaches around me to hold the other handlebar, and this feeling of safety is complete. He revs the engine and pulls out of the parking lot into the Saturday late-night traffic, following my directions towards my place.
He’s true to his word. I lean back into him and my head falls so comfortably into the crook of his neck. I close my eyes and just breathe as the wind whips around us, and the rumble of the engine causes all my muscles to relax. Within this rush of air I sit balanced, calm, at peace, like the eye of a storm. Even though we’re only touching the earth through two precarious points of the tires beneath us, I feel like I could fall asleep here in his arms.
A thought forces its way into my peace. What kind of voodoo is this? And… can I trust it?
He pulls into my driveway before I realize how far we’ve come and shuts off the motorbike’s engine. His boots tap down on the ground and I follow suit. I feel the loss of his body heat as he lifts himself off the seat behind me. He holds out a hand and I take it. The skin on my palm sears and crackles where he touches me as he helps me off the bike. The heat dances like fireflies through my body. Instantly I’m awake like I wouldn’t need to sleep for days. I’m caught in his gaze and I can’t help but just stare.
He nods at something behind me.
Oh. The front door. Right.
I try to compose myself as I pull the key out of the small bag slung over my body. I unlock the door. I almost fall in after it when he reaches past me to push it open for me. My heart is thudding in my ears and my throat is dry as I walk up the stairs, heels still clutched in one hand. Feeling his presence behind me and his eyes on my legs makes me dizzy. I have to concentrate on each step.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve slept with good looking men before. None of them has made me so damn… new and awkward like this.
On the landing I take the last few shaky steps towards my apartment door. Suddenly my door threshold seems to hold much more meaning than before. If we cross this threshold, if I let him come in... what will this mean? Am I really about to do this?
I haven’t let a man into my private space since… five years ago. My stomach tightens. I try to push unwanted images away. They disappear of their own accord when I feel his fingers brush at my hair from behind me. All I can think about is this beautiful man and how right it will feel to get very, very naked with him. Every second without him inside me, every inch of air between our bodies is a tragedy.
I slip my key into my front door and take a deep, calming breath. It almost works until he presses right up against my back. The heat rolling off him is burning me. I love it. I want more.
“Don’t move.”
My breath catches in my throat. Don’t move. Even if I wanted to move, I don’t think I could.
I feel his nose press lightly into my hair and I hear him inhale. He’s smelling me, drawing me in. At the same time, I breathe him in through the scent of him all around me from his jacket. This feels stunningly intimate. More intimate than being naked.
His fingers trail up my arms and they burn, even through the thickness of the leather. His hands run up my shoulders then trail towards the skin at the base of my neck. I suck in my next breath. I’m already a hot, dirty mess inside, aching to suck those fingers up into my mouth.
His fingers curl into the collar of his jacket and continue to trace my skin. In one liquid movement he pulls the jacket off my shoulders. I shiver. He’s going to strip me right outside my door. And I’m going to let him. Suddenly there’s no question whether or not I’ll let him inside. He has already found his way in.
His fingers brush aside my hair and drape it down over one shoulder leaving the other side of my neck and shoulder exposed. He grips the front of my throat with his large hand. The choke is firm but gentle and I can feel my pulse beating against his palm.
His lips find the back of my neck. First in a soft teasing kiss which I feel as tingles in the tips of my fingers. Then his lips part and I feel his wet tongue press against my skin as his hand tightens around my neck. I feel this kiss deep in my aching core. My back arches and my ass presses into his hips where I feel his hardness through his jeans. A noise like a pleading groan slips out from my mouth.
He pulls his lips off me and moves my hair so it falls down my back.
“Be good, kitten. I’ll be in touch.” He releases me and walks to the stairs.
I’m so stunned that all I can do for about two seconds is gape. I feel the itchy fear clinging to me again like static. It had disappeared completely just by being near him. I stare wide-eyed at this man who’s disappearing down my stairs. No one has been able to take away my emptiness like this. No one.
I catch one last look from him before he disappears down the stairwell. He can’t leave. He can’t. I let go of my key still in the door. I drop my heels and run down the stairs after him.
The concrete stairs are cold and gritty under my feet, but I barely notice. I catch up to him at the ground floor just as he’s stepping outside, door closing behind him. I rush out after him. “Wait? You’re just leaving me here?”
“Consider this rule number one,” he calls over his shoulder.
The first rule. This causes an instinctive flare of defiance in me. I almost retort back, but as I watch him straddle that bike with his thick powerful legs I imagine how he would use those legs to drive into me and I forget to breathe.
When he looks back at me I remember myself. I cross my arms and try to pin him with a glare. He merely looks amused, infuriating me even more. I fantasize about slapping him. The fantasy turns as he grabs my wrist and pulls me against him. I grab his hair, his locks feeling like silk between my fingers, and kiss the hell out of that incredible mouth until his smirk is reduced to a quiver between my lips.
I hear the growl of the bike as it comes to life, snapping me out of this fantasy. He’s sitting on his bike staring at me with a knowing look as if he just read my mind. I flush from my cheeks to between my thighs.
“Wait,” I manage to call out before he pulls away. “What’s rule number one?”
“Patience.” As he rides away I feel the rumble of his engine all the way through my body.
Chapter 2
It’s easy to remain hidden in a large city. That’s why I picked this one. With a population of just over two million, people are too busy to care. Nobody knows their neighbors. I can go several days without speaking to anyone if I want. Even the local cafes are too packed and stressed and the staff turnover is too frequent for me to ever become a “regular”. There are plenty of cafes to choose from to make sure I don’t ever fall into too much of a routine. It’s perfect.
It’s the sixth city in five years. They’re beginning to all look the same to me. High-rise buildings in the city center, dropping down to suburbia further out. Grey concrete, grey sidewalks, small splashes of green in the form of parks or the slip of nature along a river. As I walk the short distance between my apartment and my job, I barely notice these things anymore. But my eyes snap to everyone’s face as they pass me, searching for anything familiar. This has become habit.
This morning, I enter the boxing room of my gym and wave to my kickboxing trainer, Mick. He heads over to me and greets me with a nod.
“You look like shit, kid.”
“So do you, old man.”
I started kickboxing almost five years ago after watching two guys go at it in a gym. I tried it and loved it. It became my way of taking my power back. Back into my own hands and elbows and knees. Now it’s one of the only constants in my life. When you have moved around like I have and may need to move again at any minute, trust me, you need constants. You need anchors. I have always been able to find a gym to train in wherever I go. I don’t need special equipment, just me, my fists and my knees and my legs. It’s one of the few things I can take with me anywhere, and no one – no one – can take it away from me. It’s mine.
Kickboxing keeps me fit, and I feel stronger for it. This feeling of strength has grown thick enough to almost cover up my ever-present fear. Almost.
Mick holds up a thick rectangular pad about the length of his torso for me to hit and knee. I start out light with a few warm-up rounds of well-worn combinations. Left-left-right.
“Elbows in. Guard up, you stinkin’ pansy.” Oh, yeah. Everyone, meet Michael O’Leary, or Mick for short.
Mick is an Irish immigrant, tall, thick and pale with a reddish hue to his brown hair. He’s an ex-cop who spends his time between kickboxing and boxing coaching. Sometimes he moonlights as a private investigator for one of his other ex-cop buddies. Usually I’d be a bit wary of spending time with a PI, but Mick stays out of my shit and I stay out of his. I’m pretty sure he’s got problems at home with his wife, or ex-wife, or something. I don’t ask and he doesn’t tell.
Besides, I doubt that he would find much on me anyway even if he did decide to look. I officially dropped off the face of this planet five years ago.
We move on. Left-right-left-right-uppercut.
“Jesus, is that all you got? My eighty-year-old grandma can hit harder than you.”
Then to elbows.
“Drive from the hip. From the hip. This isn’t the fucking ballet, God damn it.”