by Max Henry
His heart pushed blood through his body like a dam had let go of the overflow. Heat engulfed his fists as he clenched them at his sides. He once would have said he admired her cheek, but when it was directed at him ... an entirely different kettle of fish.
Her blonde friend pushed between the two of them, and offered Steph her drink. “I think this conversation is over, don’t you?”
He growled at the woman, and shoved her aside. “Hardly.”
“Cut it out,” Steph snapped. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t push my friends around like that.”
Pete shook his head to dismiss her, and nailed the blonde with a glare. “What do ya think of her ... her ‘new’ look?”
“I think she has a right to do whatever she wants.” Steph’s friend stepped into his space.
He lost it.
“It’s fuckin’ bollocks, is what it is. This isn’t her. She doesn’t dress like all the other trashy girls in ‘ere. She’s fuckin’ beautiful, because she’s different. What you lot ‘ave done is make her feel so fuckin’ inadequate as ‘erself, that she’s become another clone of you lot—another merchandiser’s dream.”
“Stop it!” Steph cried out. “Stop talking about me like I’m not in the same room.”
“Boss,” Gary stepped in. “Perhaps you should take some time out.”
“Zip it, Gary.” Pete held a stiff finger up to the man’s face. “Don’t push it.”
Gary took a step back, hands up. His expression said it all. Pete crossed the line to the point of no return. He couldn’t stop the runaway train. His anger fuelled the fire inside, and the raw energy that combusted from him simply grew when he thought about the fact he couldn’t control himself. You’re yer goddam father. He growled and beat his fists to his head. “You lot are fuckin’ morons!” Pete spun on his heel, and marched from the bar. People muttered as he passed them by. Speculation was rife, and the gossip factory would pump out the goods, but he had to go. He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t look back, and he couldn’t risk caring. If he cared, it would only lead to pain.
Nothing explained why the way Steph chose to dress sent him over the edge. Yet it had. She wasn’t her. The woman had caved to the expectations of a judgemental society, and in turn denied herself her freedom of expression. Why did that hurt him though? The problem wasn’t any of his business.
He slumped onto an upturned crate in the narrow back alley; the noise from the DJ dulled by the thick external wall of the club. He fisted his hands at his temples, and groaned. He knew what the issue was—if he dared to look hard enough inside his messed-up head—he wanted a dark, fairy-tale end to his fucked up story. He wanted Steph to be his twisted princess in a macabre version of Sleeping Beauty. How could she be, though? The woman was pure innocence compared to his twisted tastes. She was a sweet vanilla flower in a field of dead roses. And he was the disease that wanted to cripple the flower until its petals wilted. How fucking selfish was that? He sure as fuck was no goddamn prince.
He told her that he wanted a woman to square him up, to level him, and balance his anger. What a liar. He wanted something beautiful to crush, to tear apart, and break down to the core. He wanted to destroy her, the same as he’d been ruined by the ones who were supposed to love him. To end the hate, and the waste, he had to break the chain. Yet at time like these, he felt like the strongest link.
So, if he was doomed to carry on the sick behaviour of his lack-lustre parents, why was he so moved by her? Surely if all he meant to do was cause damage, then the feelings and emotions of the subject—Steph—didn’t matter? They did, though. Every time the two of them had connected—no matter how few and brief those times had been—a hell-fire raged between them. He wanted to ruin her, and she wanted to be ruined by him.
The dark tones of Marilyn Manson’s cover of the Eurhythmics classic, Sweet Dreams, played in his head. Steph. She was his sweet dream. He knew that much. But did she want to be abused by him, or was the raw truth of the matter that he craved the same dire treatment? He couldn’t leave what they’d had like this. He needed her—and whether she admitted it or not, she needed him.
****
Air surged into Steph’s cramped lungs, short-lived and fruitless. Cass handed her a glass of cool water, and Gary ushered them to a table.
“I’m sorry, ladies. He gets a little ... I don’t even have words for it,” Gary said.
“There’s no excuse for that kind of behaviour,” Cass seethed. “He was completely out of line, and I hope he bloody loses his job for it.”
“Come on guys,” Steph urged. Her hand still shook as she set the glass down. “Everyone has a bad day.”
“Babe,” Cass chided. “Do you ever lose your nut and push people around—at work?”
“Sometimes I wish I could.” She chuckled. Nobody joined in with her humour. “Where did he go?”
“Out the back, I think,” Gary answered.
“I should go talk to him.”
“No,” Cass snapped. “No way. You keep your ass firmly on that seat. He doesn’t deserve any attention from you. The pig can rot out there for all I care.”
“He’s not going to be any use to anyone out there though, is he?”
“He’s also no use to anyone in that state.” Gary reached for her hand, and gave it a squeeze.
The gesture only made her blood pump harder. How dare they take a condescending line with her? How could they turn against him so quickly? Yes, he acted out of line—heaven knows her hands had only just stopped quaking from the adrenalin in her system. But didn’t they ask themselves why? What ate at him so badly that he lost it over ... what ... her clothes?
“Can you show me the way out the back, Gary?” Steph drew her most no-nonsense face, and hoped for the best.
He sighed. His gaze flicked to Cass who shook her head. “All right. But you come straight back in and find me if he so much as makes a move to hurt you—physical or otherwise,” he warned.
Steph nodded.
Gary stood and tipped his head to the right. “This way.” The big guy looked down at Cass with nothing short of adoration. “I’ll be right back, Miss Cassie.”
Steph waited until they were out of earshot, then touched Gary’s elbow. He looked down at her, calm and sincere.
“Why do you call Cass that?”
A stern contemplation crossed his features. “If she hasn’t told you herself, then it’s not my place to say. It’s ... well ... difficult to understand.”
Would everyone forever give her cryptic, dead-end answers? For once, could somebody be straight with her? Was it written on her forehead, ‘FRAGILE’? Because sure as shit, nobody seemed to be able to impart anything difficult onto her. Except Pete.
Gary opened a heavy steel door into a dark, filthy alley. She looked to the big guys face, and he scowled. Steph followed his line of sight, and settled on Pete’s hypnotic baby-blue’s.
“Anything,” Gary repeated before he headed back inside, and shut the door.
Pete held her gaze. His normally unaffected expression was replaced with one of ... regret?
“Hey,” Steph edged onto a crate next to him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Yer friend’s right; ya can dress how ya want. It’s not me business.” He sat with his ankles crossed, legs pulled back toward himself, and his hands loosely in his lap. He hung his head so low she couldn’t catch a glimpse of his eyes. Apologies were hard on him.
“Why did it upset you so much?”
He looked up, and she caught a glimpse of a pained boy, unsure of the right answer. Steph crept a hand to her chest, and tried to physically urge her heart to slow down.
“Because.” He flicked the laces on his boots. “I like ya the way ya were.”
“There has to be more than that,” she said. Surely that wasn’t all?
He shrugged.
Steph closed her eyes to ease her frustration. The guy did everything he could to stay guarded of everyone—even those who gave a shit about him. S
he knew how close he was to losing all his defences, yet he still fought with himself to keep everyone around him shut out. What would it take for him to accept help? He didn’t have to ask for it, just receive it. Maybe he doesn’t want your help? Steph refused to take stock of her niggling thoughts. She opened her eyes to stare blankly at the wall opposite their position. “You have to talk, Pete. Otherwise this bollocks—as you call it—will continue to get worse between us.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”
“Is it too hard for you to spill your guts for a change?”
He smirked, and held her gaze with an impish grin. “I am a guy, Steph. We don’t do mushy very well.”
She met him with a deadpan reply. “Would you like me to get you a dress?”
He laughed. Properly. Rich, and heartfelt. Her chest swelled with hope for him. “I’ll do for now,” he replied. His face fell once more. “What do ya want out of me?”
“Mutual respect. I want you to acknowledge who I am in this ... and stop shutting me out for Christ’s sake.”
“Ya want roses, and movies, and dinner dates? That kind of girly stuff?”
She shook her head as a flush took to her cheeks. “No. Because that isn’t respect, it’s just ... nice. Besides, roses and dinner aren’t you, and I like you. I like what you do.”
“What exactly do I do, Stephanie?” His tone was low, husky, and oh so sensual. “Tell me what to do to keep ya happy.”
She closed her eyes. The darkness was easier to speak to. “You give me a glimpse of something I didn’t know I missed.”
“What’s that?”
Her breath shuddered out, and she cringed. “You ...” Her heart hammered in her ears; the roar of her blood muffled the words she spoke. “... take me to the brink of self-destruction, and I like it.”
Warm fingers entwined with hers, and made her already skitterish nerves fly away from her like startled birds. “Am I that horrible?” he asked.
“No.” She looked to him as he sat engrossed in every word she spoke. “That’s just it. I feel filthy, dirty, and wrong for wanting you to use me, push me around. But I like it. I crave those moments you scare me.”
“Why do ya think it is?”
What was this? Psychology 101? “Why do you need to know?”
He squeezed her hand tight. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Because, Cutie, I need to know what I’m doin’ to ya is for the right reasons, and not me own sick pleasure. I need to know you want it.”
“Is it right?” she whispered. “To want someone to debase you like I do?”
He shook his head slowly. “No, Love. Being debased is somethin’ utterly different. I would never, and I mean never, do that to ya. What ya do, is submit to me.”
“But—”
“Did ya ever say ‘no’ to me?” he interrupted. “Did I ever force ya against yer will?”
She shook her head. “Even so, it’s not normal. Is it?”
He reached out, and stroked her jaw. The contact sent a wave of cool pleasure through her. “It’s completely normal. It’s wrong to deny it’s what ya need.”
“That’s what I don’t understand. Why do I need it?” Emotions ballooned in her throat, and threatened to cut off her air supply.
“Ya had a good childhood, right?”
She nodded.
“Yer parents love you?”
“My mother’s a bit of a bitch, but yeah, they do.”
“And you’ve never had anythin’ serious happen to ya? Ya were never abused, in a serious accident? Nothin’ like that?”
“No.” Steph’s nose twitched as she tried so damn hard to stop her tears.
“Everythin’ in yer life is ... let me guess ... orderly. You’re in control of everythin’.”
“I suppose you could put it like that.”
“Perhaps, ya might need to feel a little less in control. Perhaps givin’ that control away is a change ya need?”
Steph stared at the ground under her feet. Cigarette butts littered the gutter, and she found herself wonder how many had touched his lips. “It’s more than that, though.”
“How?” He tugged on her hand, and urged her to move closer.
Steph shuffled under his direction until he had her where he intended—on his lap. She clasped her hands together, and trapped them between her rigid thighs. He groaned, and shifted her weight along his injured leg. “I know what the whole submissive thing is about,” she explained. “And the biggest part of that is trust; trusting that your partner wouldn’t do a thing to hurt you. With you ...”
Pete picked up where she trailed off, “... ya don’t trust me.”
“That’s the part that confuses me. I do trust you. Like now. Here I am, in a back alley with you after you lost it inside, and yet I feel nothing but safe. But when you do things to me—”
“Like kiss ya.” He wrapped his hand about the curve of her jaw, and guided her face to his. Steph sighed into his gentle kiss. Her heart relished the way he softly tugged at her bottom lip.
She pulled back; his taste still on her lips. “Yeah, like kiss me. Well, when you do that I like it when you’re forceful, when you take what you want, where you want.”
“What’s wrong with that, then?” His brows knotted together.
“Because it can’t be okay to want someone you trust to treat you like a two-dollar whore.”
A throaty growl emanated from Pete, his expression thick with desire as he held her stare. “Is that what ya think I do, Cutie? Use yer body how I please?”
Heat pooled low in her belly, and the position she sat in on his legs grew awkward. “Mostly, yes.”
He chuckled, and she dipped her chin to avoid his intense, blue eyes. “I would love nothin’ more than to shut ya away in me bedroom, ready for me when I need ya, but ya have to remember one thing, Love.”
“What’s that?” She chanced a look at him. He stroked the loose curls of her hair back, with the same adoration in his eyes she had seen Gary place on Cass.
“I would never sacrifice what ya need, yer happiness, for what I want. I will always put ya first—if you’ll let me.”
“God, yes. Yes, I will.”
Step turned in his embrace to straddle his lap, Pete’s hands firm on her face as he pulled her in for a raw, needful kiss. His mouth devoured her. His hands slipped down her neck, over her shoulders, and to her sides. He hoisted her up, and pulled her closer so that their chests pressed hard against each other. Steph sighed as he trailed kisses from her chin, down her throat, and to her chest. His fingers tugged the edges of her shirt aside as he progressed.
“Jesus, I love yer ink. Don’t hide it from me.”
Steph drew her hands to the collar of the blouse she wore, and rushed to get the buttons apart. He groaned as the full spectre of her art was revealed, her arms bare as she threaded the shirt over her shoulders. Who cared if she was technically in public? If anybody ventured into this alleyway, then good for them. Teach them for being so nosey, wouldn’t it?
Pete traced the colourful lines with shaky fingers. He finished with his palm laid over her rib-cage. His head dropped forward to rest on her chest; his hand still over her heart. “I could feel that beat for days.”
Steph let out a giggle. “What on earth for?”
He pulled his head back, and kissed the point of her chin. “Because, Cutie, it reminds me you’re real.”
“Of course I am.” She cupped her hands either side of his neck, and leant down to give him the most slow, sensual kiss she could muster. He moaned beneath her, and her already sensitised muscles twitched. His happiness was the fuel for her fire. Hearing him sated kept her going.
“Oh, Love,” he breathed. “We should find somewhere else to go. This isn’t ideal.”
“I don’t care,” Steph replied. “I really don’t.”
“Jesus,” Pete ground through clenched teeth. “Are ya sure?”
Steph drew back, and stared intently into his blue depths. “I’ve
waited long enough for you to understand that I’m not going to abandon you because you’re not perfect. I’m hardly about to stuff around while we get somewhere ‘pretty’. For crying out loud, you probably won’t last that long anyway.” Brazen, she palmed his erection which stuck painfully between them.
He laughed, and pulled her to him to kiss her neck. “I think you’re right there.” His hands traced lazy lines up her sides until his fingers dug beneath the straps of her bra. He ran his fingers under the elastic and lace toward the back, and then quickly unclasped it. Steph’s skin broke out in goose bumps as he ran his palms back to the front of her chest, and cupped her breasts in his hands. “Are ya cold, Love?”
She shook her head rapidly. “Not at all.”
He hummed an understanding as he rolled her plump nipples between his fingers and thumbs. Bolts of electricity shot through her body, and tingled through to her toes. As shameful as it was to admit, Pete had done such a simple thing, yet it was one nobody had ever done to her before. Wow.
“Are ya protected? Clean?” Pete’s hands stilled as he waited for her to answer.
Steph bit her lip, and nodded.
“Good. So am I.” His fingers resumed their massage. The rough pads slid down her torso to her waistband. He chuckled. “I hate talkin’ about that shit. It’s so unattractive, but this—” his fingers wiggled beneath the fabric to tuck inside her underwear, “—is unbelievably sexy.” She groaned at the electric sensation as his fingertips brushed over the curve of her butt. “Are ya sure ya don’t want to wait?”
Steph looked deep into his eyes before she answered. “No. No waiting.”
He dropped a hand between them to unbuckle his belt, and a wicked thought flew into Steph’s head. She’d seen it done before in movies, but never thought the idea would strike her as appealing, especially at a moment like this. Gotta try everything once. She placed her hand over his, and stilled his movements. “Can I try something?”
His eyes sparkled, and he nodded slowly as he withdrew his hand. Steph fumbled with the belt loops as she drew the leather length free of his jeans. His eyes drew wide when she lifted the strap to her neck, and threaded the end through the buckle to pull it taut—her collar.