by Sabre Rose
You had to prompt me. “Is she okay?”
I shook my head, trying to will away the swell of tears that threatened to spill. “She’s dead.” And then they fell.
You took me in your arms. Rocking me. Stroking my hair as I cried. I don’t know why I cried with you when I didn’t earlier. Not when the police told me they knew it was her. Not when they explained that her feet and hands were bound. Not even when my father bowed his head and his shoulders shook. Then, I had to be brave. I had to be strong. But around you I felt safe. I could crumble.
“When?” You looked at me with such concern, such tenderness, there was no way I could have known the truth.
“She went missing three years ago. The police have just discovered her body.”
Knowledge lit your expression. “The prosti-” You stopped yourself when you saw the pain flick across my eyes. “I saw it on the news.” You sat back on the couch, your arm casually slung over the back, one foot resting on the knee of the other. “Tell me about her.” You must have sensed the panic that hit my chest because you added, “If you want.”
There was something in your eyes. In the way you looked at me.
I poured my heart out and in the process I lost it to you.
I told you of the ridicule she faced. Of the cruel words and the ugly hearts of the people that never understood her. I told you how we danced. How we dreamed. I told you of the desperation and loss my father now carried like a blanket.
I told you everything.
And that was when I started to imagine my life with you. Our children with your eyes and my hair. The studio where you would paint. The cover of my memoir which told of our trip around the world that served as your inspiration and my salvation.
You never stopped watching me as I exposed my soul. I couldn’t meet your eye. There was too much said in your expression.
“I lost someone too.” I heard the pain in your voice. Recognised it. “She just slipped away in my hands.” You looked down at your hands resting on your lap as though they were responsible for your loss. “I think I could have loved her. We could have been good together. But maybe now I've got a second chance.”
You were gentle at first. Just a hand on my knee. But even that innocent touch left me burnt.
I ached for you.
Craved you.
I wanted to be consumed by you.
So I inched closer and lifted my head. I saw myself reflected in your eyes. I saw desperation, adoration and desire.
Leaning further, I held my breath until my lips brushed against yours. And then your hands were in my hair. And your mouth devoured mine with all the pent-up lust I had seen lingering in your eyes. My fingers fumbled with the buttons of your shirt.
I had to see you.
All of you.
We were a feverish rush of entwined limbs and discarded clothing, lustful mouths and quivering hands. I found myself on the mattress beneath you as your mouth sucked in my nipple.
I hissed or sighed or gasped.
“I need to see you.” The words came out as pants, such was my desire to study the landscape of your body.
You slowed down, drawing away from me with hooded eyes and lips so red they looked as though they were stained with blood. You got to your feet. I got to mine. We stood opposite each other and you allowed me to study you. You didn’t look away. You never tried to hide. And that gave me the boldness I needed.
I traced the swells of your chest. You were smooth and slender. I could see the lines of your ribs as well as the ripples of your stomach.
You were beautiful.
Your cock stood tall and proud. Unashamed under my scrutiny. It was as though your body knew I adored it.
Reaching between us, you took my hand and placed it on your chest. The steady thud of your heart echoed. Controlling my hand with your own, you ran it over the dips and swells of your flesh, across your chest, your shoulders, the flat plane of your stomach, and the nest of dark hair, then finally, your hardness. I wondered if you saw the need in my eyes as you wrapped my fingers around your erection and guided me to stroke you. I wondered if you noticed the flex of my thighs, the sharpness of my breath as it caught in my chest.
You left me there, wrapped around you as your hand cupped my face. I pushed against it, relishing the contrasting feel of your hardness in one hand and the softness of my skin under your fingers. Threading your fingers through my hair, you pulled my head back, exposing my neck. Leaning forward, you ran your tongue from the dip of my collarbones to the curve of my jaw. Wide and soft. Like velvet. My hand tightened on your cock. You increased the grip on my hair. It tugged against my scalp as pain. But pain I wanted. Pain I needed. Your grip had a paralysing effect, freezing my body in an arc towards you, breasts straining and demanding attention. I wanted to climb inside, feel your body devour mine.
Moving your lips down my body, you took one nipple between your teeth, making me cry out. You grew harder in my hand and thrust against me with a grunt.
And then I was on the floor. The wood was rough under my shoulder blades, but you twisted me over, holding my arms out wide and crushing my breasts. Not one inch of me was left untouched by your tongue and your hands. Your cock dragged over my skin, leaving soft trails of precum in its wake.
I was drugged with desire. The world evaporated and there was nothing left but me and you.
I wasn’t sure if it was the vodka, the stress of the day, or simply you, but slivers of time vanished. I was pressed to the hard wooden floor. I was spread across the table with your mouth hovering over the apex of my thighs, teasing and taunting me until I wanted to take fistfuls of your hair and force your mouth onto me. My back was slammed against a wall, your arm hooked under my thigh and your cock rubbing me, sliding over my entrance with the moisture of my desire.
And then we were on the mattress again and you rose over me, nestling between my thighs, forcing them apart with the pressure of your hands. Exposed. Vulnerable. Eager.
You played with yourself as you watched me. Your eyes were fixated on my nakedness. With one hand you stroked yourself and with the other you stroked me. I writhed under your attention.
I begged for you.
You gave me what I wanted. What I asked for. You pushed inside. And I stretched for you, my lip caught between my teeth, trapped in this moment of exquisite rapture.
If someone had told me then what you did, what you would do, I would have cursed their name. I would have ripped their tongue from their mouth.
For in that moment, I would have died for you.
I would have killed for you.
Burned for you.
That was how you made me feel.
Like you were worth something.
Worth everything.
You fucked me hard. Your thrusts were sharp and deep. Each time you moved within me, I moaned and gasped. Grabbing my hips, you jerked me closer. Then your hands travelled up my body, crushing my breasts, pinching my nipples until my toes curled, my head thrashing against the mattress.
And then your hand slipped around my neck. Just one. No pressure. No threat to my airway, but the thought of it excited me. You held me in place and thrust in and out. And then your fingers pulsed, tightening just enough to make me squirm.
Euphoria rippled. You saw it in my eyes and lifted another hand to my neck, increasing the pressure. Your eyes bore into mine as you continued to fuck with your hands wrapped around my neck. I found it hard to breathe but the effect it had on me was not one of panic or fear. It was one of desire and lust. My orgasm came so quickly, it caught me by surprise. My body was on fire. Release licked my skin and exploded within me in a way I had never felt before. Because of you.
You fucked me harder. You pushed me further. I felt lightheaded and far away, but my body was grounded by the thrust of your cock and the pressure of your hands. Then your fingers tightened more and I couldn’t breathe. Panic crashed like a wave and it excited you. I saw it in your eyes. I felt it in the way you turned to steel.
But you were stronger.
You were lost with desire.
You were gone.
“Please,” I gasped through vocal cords stretched too far. Letting go of your arms, I dug my nails into your chest, drawing them down and leaving bloody and jagged lines behind.
Your hands flew away. Fear and regret focused your eyes and your body fell towards mine, scooping my head in your hands and pulling me to your chest.
“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.” You still thrust inside me but now you were gentle and I was frozen. Stroking my hair you whispered in my ear, pleading with me to forgive you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I got carried away. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Our sweat-covered bodies pressed against each other. Your chest slid over mine with each rock of your hips. Your lips moved against my ear, my face, my mouth and my neck as you mumbled apologies.
I lay limp beneath you as you peppered kisses of regret across my flesh. There were wooden beams that crisscrossed over the ceiling. Splatters of red paint had reached some of them and I wondered how they got there. The flames of the fire had died to embers. The bottle of vodka was on the floor beside your mattress, liquid oozing onto the wood.
You thrust once more. Hard. And then you came.
“Are you okay?” You lifted your head lazily to look at me. A smile played with the corners of your blood-red lips.
I shook my head. Or maybe I nodded. I think I smiled.
“That was amazing.” You rolled off me, your hand falling to your forehead as you gazed up at the wooden beams of the ceiling. “Sorry I got carried away. But you liked it, didn’t you? Before, I mean. Before I took it too far.”
I shook my head. Or maybe I nodded. I think I smiled.
“I knew you would,” you said. “I knew it the moment I saw you. You and I are the same. We have a connection.” You rolled onto your side, propping your head up with your hand. I flinched when you reached out to brush your finger over my neck, but I didn’t move away. I didn’t tell you to stop.
“They are so beautiful.”
I wondered what you were talking about. You didn’t say I was so beautiful. You said they.
I sat up, scared by the way my body trembled. “I need to use the bathroom.”
You were fumbling through the pockets of your jeans on the floor. “Right over there.” And you nodded to a door, grinning triumphantly when you found your packet of cigarettes and shook it so one popped out.
The mirror in your bathroom was mottled and green around the edges. My naked reflection stared back and I saw what ‘they’ were.
Bruises. They matched the ridges of your fingers. I had never been marked by someone before. Never been bruised by someone’s touch. I had seen them on my sister, even though she tried to hide them. It had only happened once, that I knew of, and I only knew because I saw her through the crack of the bathroom door. She was crying and feathering her fingers over her skin reverently. Then the door shut.
I closed my eyes and was taken back to when I came with your hands around me. Was this what I wanted? Was this what I asked for? Had my body betrayed me by responding in such a way?
I swallowed and it hurt.
After using the toilet, I walked back to you. You were still lying on the mattress, cigarette between your teeth, naked body spread over the sheets, your cock flaccid and content between your thighs.
I bent to pick up my dress, but your fingers wrapped around my wrist. “Don’t go,” you pleaded. “Stay with me.”
I shook my head. Or maybe I nodded. I think I smiled.
And I climbed back on the mattress beside you. With your arm around my shoulder, you pulled me close. I watched as tendrils of smoke escaped your mouth and floated to the rafters.
“Thank you.” You stretched away from me to press the stub of your cigarette into the floor. “Thank you for staying.”
And then you fell asleep.
I didn’t think I would fall asleep but I did. With my head pressed against your chest, somehow, I still felt safe in your arms.
eight
I woke with your mouth against my bruises, your tongue lapping as though you could taste them.
Did they taste of fear?
Did they taste of pleasure?
Did they taste of obsession?
My body had already begun to respond despite my lack of consciousness and I was wet. Even in sleep my body desired you. You moved over me, kissing and licking. Your hand slid between us and you moaned when you found me so ready. You kissed me and I kissed you. And then you were inside me again and my body throbbed as though it had missed you. As though it had felt the loss of you.
My mind went back to the night before, the way your fingers wrapped around my neck, the light-headedness of my desire. A wave of humiliation swept over me but rather than dissipating, it rolled into desire, starting in the pit of my stomach and spreading until every inch of me throbbed. I dug my fingers into your back and you hissed.
You liked pain.
You tore my hands away and held them above my head, pressing them into the pillow, my wrists trapped. Then you bit my shoulder. Your teeth sank into my flesh and I cried out.
The lazy haze of sleep had left your eyes and you reached one hand between our bodies to roughly twist my nipple. I cried out again but my body arched towards you, begging for more. Letting go of my wrists, you pressed your hand over my mouth and twisted my nipple harder.
I bit you.
It felt so wrong.
So filthy.
So desperate.
You slapped me.
I came.
It was a shuddering orgasm that rippled through me violently and unexpectedly. You came too, and we lay threaded together in a mixture of heavy breathing, sweat and shame.
I didn’t know if this was how you usually fucked. I didn’t know if this was your thing, but you acted as though it were. You lifted yourself off me and grinned, reaching once again for that post-coital poison. You lit it then rubbed my arm either in appreciation or dismissal. I wasn’t sure which because I had never done anything like that before. I had never experienced something that I was both ashamed and aroused by.
“You want to come to my exhibit tonight?” You looked at me, your eyes roaming over my body, lingering on the bruises that ringed my neck. “My family is out of town and I’d love someone there.” You blew smoke into the air. “Only if you want to.” Lifting yourself off the bed, you walked to the bathroom. The stream of your piss hitting the toilet bowl crept through the open door. Gathering my clothes from the floor, I pulled my dress on, not bothering with underwear.
You came back out, leaned against the wall, cigarette in your mouth, one eye slightly closed to protect it against the smoke, one eyebrow cocked and waiting for my answer.
“What time?” I asked as I tugged my shoes on. They gripped my feet painfully.
“Seven. I have to be there early, but I could send a car to collect you.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Sure. Sounds good.”
“It will have artwork from everyone in my class. It’s a group exhibition. You want a coffee?”
The machine on the bench was black and chrome. Despite the fingerprints of paint, it looked nothing like what a struggling artist could afford.
“I better go. Dad will worry. I never told him I wasn’t coming home last night.” Picking up my phone, I checked for missed calls from my father. There were none, but there were three from Jess. Plus numerous text messages threatening that if I turned up dead the next day she would never forgive me.
You smirked. “You’re twenty-one years old and still have to ask for permission to stay out the night?”
It was another clue I missed.
“He just worries, you know? With Mum and Phoebe and all.”
Your smile dropped. “Sorry. That was thought
less of me.”
“It’s okay.”
“You didn’t tell me about your mum.”
I swallowed and it hurt. “She died too,” was all I said.
I didn’t know how to say goodbye. Did I kiss you? Hug you? Slap you? But you took the dilemma away when you walked over and placed a chaste kiss on my nose. Well, I thought it was chaste, but your cock still twitched with arousal.
“See you tonight?” You said it as a question, your mouth still pressed against my nose. Then you walked away without my answer, grabbing a scarf from a hook on the wall. “Here, you might need this.”
I nodded.
I smiled.
I wrapped the scarf around my neck and I left.
nine
“Where have you been?” Dad looked at me angrily but I knew that it was just fear.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call.” I pressed a kiss to the top of his head and wondered if I smelled of you. “It was easier just to spend the night with Jess.”
Dad didn’t smile. “That would have been why she called looking for you then.” He narrowed his eyes in a knowing way but didn’t press further. There were things fathers didn’t want to know about their daughters.
“It’s all over the news.” Dad turned his attention back to the television. “She’s everywhere.”
Sure enough, the sultry image of my sister stared back at me. I couldn’t help but think of her in the back of that car, trapped in the boot. Was she alive when it plunged into the water? Did she wait in desperation for someone to rescue her then finally succumb, gulping in water when her lungs could take no more?
I shook my head, trying to clear away the mental images and adjusted the scarf around my neck.
ten
I wore a black dress. One with no sleeves and a high neck. You had to be there early, so I arrived alone. You spotted me as soon as I walked through the door and wove your way through the crowd to greet me. You pressed a kiss to my cheek, cupping my face with your hand, your little finger slipping under the neck of my dress and stroking the tender flesh.