by Dakota Lee
“Only the best kind.”
She considers my response for a second, then nods. “Okay, show me.”
I reach down to retrieve an ice cube from the glass I brought over earlier. I slip it into my mouth before continuing my trail of kisses down to the juncture between her thighs. The tip of my tongue slips through the hole in the cube. I use it to push the ice inside her sugary walls.
She hisses, as if scalded by hot water. I quickly follow that cube with another and another until they’re pushing at her opening. “Keep them in Jordy.”
“I don’t know if I can.” She moans, shifting against the sheets.
“You can. Clench your muscles, and hold them tight, the way you do my cock.”
Settling my mouth over her clit, I lave it with my tongue. Her heels dig into the bed, her quads and stomach straining with the effort it takes not to let her pussy muscles relax. I add another cube with my finger, and lap up the water dripping down her legs, along with her arousal. I’m enjoying the sounds she’s making. Part plea, part curse.
Grabbing the final cube, I slide it in slow teasing circles around her nipples, using my tongue to lick up the drops.
She groans as I slowly inch inside her. My strokes are unhurried, even though all I want to do is slam home. This is just a taste of how she has me feeling. Always on the edge of coming apart.
She grips then releases her walls around my shaft as she rocks her hips up, taking me deeper. I inch out again, chuckling because she thought she could provoke a response from me.
Just when she’s getting used to soft, I push in hard, twice. Then back off again.
“You’re being a tease.” Her body shakes underneath me, her synapses fried from being overstimulated. “Stop torturing me.”
Nipping her lips, I say, “I haven’t started torturing you yet.”
“Then stop acting like you’re still trying to break me in and get on with it.”
Did she just say what I think she did? Leaning up, I look into her eyes. “Jordy?”
“You keep telling me that there’s more to you than I know. Let me see you. The real you.” She takes one of my hand in hers and lifts it.
“Fuck,” I groan when she presses my hand against her throat. We’ve gone at it hard before, but it wasn’t even a taste of what I could do to her. This. This is like playing Russian roulette.
I tighten my hold around her neck, getting off on the flush of her skin and the feel of her throat fighting to expand for air in my hand. This time is different. Or at least I want things to be different. I want to be the man she deserves. Loving and caring and gentle. But Jordy’s trying to drag me one fuck at a time back towards hell. She’s skating the edge of the line that leads to the dark side. Her subtle demands for me to go harder fuels my addiction to the extreme, testing the tenuous hold I have on my control.
“Jordy.” I grunt. “I don’t wanna hurt you.” It’s a testament to how much I care that I even recognize it’s a possibility. Her reaction is wholly unexpected.
“Fuck me, Logan. Fuck me like you hate me.”
I don’t hate her. Far from it, but I’m down to play if she is. I turn her over, pushing her face into the bed and slam into her, without a second thought to if she’s ready or not. I let all the feelings I hold at bay when I see her with someone else slide to the surface. My hand at the back of her neck holds her in place as I pound her tight cunt. My cunt. I’ll destroy anyone who gets in the way of me having it. “Did you fuck him?”
“Who?”
Now is not the time to play games with me. Not when she begged me to open the cage. “You fucking know who!” My mind flips through the endless possibilities of who she could be with when I’m not around. Robbie, Dixon, Noel and Sterling. These are the guys she spends the most time with. I can imagine them with her. Separate. Together.
But it’s Noel’s voice I hear the loudest in my head. Convincing her he’ll take away the sting of what I did. Promising to make her feel better.
“Never, again.” I warn, gripping her hips, pushing deeper inside. So deep, as if I’m trying to make the tip of my cock come out the other side. Because I am. “Never again will you let another man touch this. It’s mine, Jordy.” She snorts, or gasps. None of it sounds like her agreement. “Say it!”
“Logan…”
“You fucking swear to me right now, or the next time anyone sees you, you won’t be able to sit.”
“You’re gonna spank me, again?”
“Yes, after I tattoo a picture of my cock on your ass.” I pull my hand back, shivering at the sound it makes when I make contact with her flesh. Her walls clench around me. It feels so good, I do it again and again. My handprint blossoms bright pink against her perfect skin. My free hand pulls her back each time she rocks forward to trying to get away. “You’re not going anywhere,” I grunt, pinning her down. Running is not an option. She wanted dark. She begged for this hate fuck, didn’t she?
It’s just a little taste of what I’m capable of, and until just now, I’d pretended I didn’t need it. Spine tingling pleasures courses through me as her cries fill the room. I pull out, flipping her onto her back, ripping the condom off. “Dirty girls don’t get cordial orgasms. They get to bathe in the fruits of their labor.”
The thick white ropes of semen land on her tits, chin, and stomach. My free hand holds the base of her throat, keeping her in place as I stroke myself until there’s nothing left.
When the final shiver passes. As I step back, dragging my pants back on, the red haze lifts. Fuck, what I just did is no better than how I treated her before. Justifying that she asked for it doesn’t make me feel any better. I wait for the disgust. The regret. The anger. I deserve it. She avoids my gaze, crawling off the bed and heads to the bathroom. I hear the toilet flush, then the water running in the shower. When she emerges fifteen minutes later, wrapped in a towel, she still hasn’t said a word. She slips her clothes on then wraps her hair in a bun.
“Where are you going?”
“I have class and then a meeting with my mentor.”
“You mean Noel?” My disbelief overshadows the guilt I was on the cusp of feeling. “Tell me you’re not leaving here to go spend time with another man. After what I just… said.” I almost said did.
“Give me a break, Logan. You were caught up in the moment. There’s no way you expect me to avoid men, and Noel is helping me. He’s my friend.”
“Oh come on Jordy, Noel has never been friends with a woman he hasn’t wanted to fuck.”
She bends over to lace up her sneaks. “Your distrust of him is your problem. Not mine.”
“Jordy. After everything, you can’t still be this naïve.”
Standing, she grabs her bag, heading to the door. “Logan, you just spanked, fucked, and came all over me. How do you even have energy left over, to worry about if I’m letting someone else finish me off?”
The door closes, leaving the words hanging in the air. Did she just say what I think she did? Shit. I was so busy treating her like a fucktoy, that I treated her like a, well, a fucktoy, and when I’m dealing with those; I don’t care if they get off.
Jordanna
Logan’s outside the lecture hall when my class ends. His eyes are dark as coal when he sees Dixon with his arm across my shoulder. My friend takes one look at Logan and leaves without answering my follow up question about the homework assignment.
“It’s been what? Three hours since you were wiping my cum off your tits and you’re testing me already.”
“As you said. It was hours ago. I’ve already moved on from that little interlude. Haven’t you?”
He follows me down the hall and out the back door. It’s the quickest way to get to the library, where I’m meeting Noel. I rush through the sliding doors, trying to get away from him, but he’s close behind. My head jerks back when he grabs my bun.
“Hey!” I turn, slipping out of his hold. It’s all fun and games in bed, but we’re not about to make this level of brutality th
e norm.
He grips my arm before I can put space between us, pulling me towards the aisle beside the study nooks. He rips my pants down; the air hits my legs and the realization that anyone could see us, steals my breath away.
“Logan, what are you doing?”
He lowers to his knees in front of me, latching his mouth around my clit. I feel each suck, nibble, and tongue flicker in my toes. He’s going down on me in the library. My mind says fight it, but my body is craving the release I didn’t get earlier. It’s wrong. It’s so wrong. This is exactly the type of voyeuristic shit he was trying to get me into before.
Back then I was hesitant, but now I know this is the key to winning. I’m aware of the risk of opening myself up to him, and I have to push past the mental block if I’m going to come out whole in the end. I grind my pussy into his face. Hard. Needing a little more pressure. I don’t recognize my voice or my body when my hand grips his hair, shoving his face closer.
He hums against my center, stiffening his tongue, driving it into me. “That’s so good.” I murmur, “So fucking, good,” I coo, bucking against him as I detonate. He stands, pressing his hand against my throat, cutting off my choked moans.
“Nobody hears those sounds but me.” He loosens his grip, and my body shudders as he strokes my clit, pulling the last bit of pleasure from my body. He kisses me, long and deep, before pulling away. “Now you can go see your mentor,” he says swiping his tongue over his glistening lips, smirking at me like I just sold my soul to the devil. I yank up my pants and it takes everything in me to walk away from that look on his face, without reacting.
Logan thinks he won this round, but what he doesn’t know is I positioned him right where I wanted him. I knew the jab about being unsatisfied would be too much for his ego. Did I think he’d right his wrong in the middle of the stacks? No, but this just tells me to be prepared for anything.
I send him a text, smiling when he clicks the link, activating the software that will allow me to access the microphone on his phone. I’m meeting with Noel, but he’s meeting with his friends, and this time I won’t have to wonder what they discuss in their fucked up little think tank, because I’ll be listening in.
Thirty-Four
Jordanna
I pace the floor, switching my phone to my other ear. “I know what I agreed to, but I can’t flunk my classes either.” I listen as the person on the other end of the line reminds me of the importance of finishing this assignment. “I’m handling it, and I’ll have some more information soon. Yes. I’m really close.” I get another earful of meeting obligations and time management before we get to the point where we end the call. “Okay. See you soon.”
I turn when I hear a sound in the hall behind me. When I get to the door, the hallway is empty. I don’t know how people with multiple jobs and a family do it. I’ve got school, the dean’s office and the paper, and I feel like I’m letting everyone down. Not to mention this little scavenger hunt I’m on trying to track down the history of Pepper’s compact.
Searching the shadows in the hall again, I can’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. Now that I have secrets I’m keeping, I feel like I’m always on guard. The only time I don’t is when I’m in my room, or for those blissful moments when I surrender control to Logan. But that’s just a temporary fix. As soon as this is over, I’ll be back to having to manage my paranoia and stress on my own.
* * *
There’s an email message waiting for me when I get back to my dorm. I check the sender and it looks like it’s from one of the archive searches I sent out. The message says there’s an article I might find helpful, but it’s on microfiche and will be hard to read if scanned and uploaded. I write down the address of the records building in a town I’d never heard of until a few weeks ago. My maps app says it’s somewhere halfway between Carryville and New Haven. The closest bus stop is two hours from there. I calculate the average cost of a cab, and the round-trip bus ticket. There’s no way I’m giving up the chance to see what’s in that newspaper article.
Pepper, once again, has made my trip easier by providing a car. Most people would and have told me that I should just confront my fear of driving by getting behind the wheel. Push through. They’ve said. Thankfully, Pepper, who I think is the queen of head-on confrontations, doesn’t feel the same. She dialed her car service the moment I mentioned taking a bus. When I worried she’d be without a ride, she snorted. Literally snorted and told me she’d use a backup driver because she didn’t want to leave my road trip in anyone else’s hands.
I even tried to limit the expense by suggesting I only use a car from the bus station to the archives. Well, we know who won that debate, because here I am, leaving campus with her driver.
“It’s good to see you again, Emmett.”
“Good to see you too, Miss Felding.”
“You know, if Pepper insists on sending you to drive me all the time, you should probably call me Jordanna. Sorry about that, by the way. I know you have better things to do then take an unplanned road trip.”
“Mrs. Dane might have insisted I drive, but I don’t see it as an inconvenience. Just like her, I’d rather be assured you arrive at your destination, safely.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say, though I don’t know what I did to deserve it.”
“You’re important to Mrs. Dane. You indulge her stories, play chess with her, and have her smiling more than I’ve seen in years. So, it is my honor to help you.”
My maternal grandparents don’t live close by. They’re amazingly sweet people and I love them dearly but with what I’m going through, it’s nice to have the formidable Pepper Dane’s wisdom to rely on while I’m still here.
* * *
It seems like no time has passed when Emmett rouses me from my nap, announcing we’ve arrived at our destination. I’m excited about spending a few days in an unknown city, and I can’t wait to explore. We pull up to the quaint little B&B, and I’m immediately taken to my room. I drew the line at letting Pepper pay for my meals and lodging. I have some money I can use without putting a strain on my mom, or my food budget at school. If the buyer at the auction wasn’t anonymous, I’d thank them in person for providing me with this financial freedom.
For a while, I thought it was Pepper, even though I’ve never seen my artwork hanging anywhere in her house. When I asked, she admitted she inquired about the painting, but someone else snatched it up first. I have no reason not to believe her.
The town of Garonet is like the place that time forgot. Tucked smack dab in the middle of two bustling cities, somehow they’ve retained their small town charm. The town square with the clock reminds me of the one in the Back to the Future movies. At any moment I expect Doc or Marty to show up in a DeLorean.
The concierge was nice enough to give me suggestions for places to visit while I’m in town, and I might’ve squealed a little when she said there’s a museum. I’m still struggling with my painting, but I hope I never lose the part of me that loves art in all its forms. I’m also just in time for the beginning of Spring Festival. An eight-week festival showcasing flowers and plants from local growers. Dad would have loved this. I’m glad I brought my camera so I can document this trip.
For the first time in a while, I don’t feel like I’m being dragged down by the weight of sorrow when I think about him. The pain is there, but today, all I feel is happy thinking about flowers and greenhouses. Maybe I can get some seeds and plant something at home. There’s a nice plot in the backyard for a flower garden, and I could probably convince Summer to help.
I’ve got my phone on vibrate, instead of turned off, just in case mom or Summer need me. But other than them, I’m not answering any calls. Taking a deep breath, I smile, heading off to the first stop on my tour.
I smile at the security guard when I enter the archives building. Looking around, I see I’m the first one here. Probably because they only opened about seven minutes ago. Here’s hoping the clerk has a
lready had her first cup of coffee.
“Good Morning,” I say, keeping my voice low like it’s a library, because one it’s early, and two I’ve always thought county archives deserved respectful and reverent behavior within their walls. This one with its marble pillars and etched molding reminds me of Palladio’s Olympic Theater. Yeah, this is one place I don’t think even Logan would try to defile.
“Morning.” The clerk says looking up from her computer screen. “How may I help you?”
“I’m looking for records from late eighteen to early nineteen hundred New York. I was told you may have some housed here.”
She studies me, probably wondering what an outsider is doing coming all this way for a stack of papers. And I make no assumptions that she doesn’t know I’m not from around here. Garonet is a small town. The kind where everybody knows each other my name. Everyone I’ve encountered so far has been extremely nice. Here’s hoping that streak holds.
“Hmph.”
Okay, I guess not. “Hmph? What’s hmph?”
“I honestly told my boss I thought it was a typo when the archive request hit our system. She assured me it wasn’t and told me someone would be showing up to see the records in person. The old bat is always right, so I guess I owe her lunch.”
“I’m sorry. Why would the search be wrong?” I ignore the insinuation that I was once again the subject of a bet.
“Because the last time someone researched those records was almost a century ago.”
She types something on her computer and writes it down on a card, pulling gold keys from the drawer. “If you want to follow me, I’ll show you where to go.”
I hitch my bag higher and follow behind her.
“You’re also a lot younger than I would have guessed. Most people navigating this deep into history are older, looking into their family history.”