Dubious

by Charmaine Pauls

  He looks like shit. His hair is disheveled, standing in every direction, and stubble blurs the neatly shaved line of his beard. His eyes are bloodshot and his clothes––the same clothes from last night––are creased. Wherever he’s been, it looks like he slithered out of some woman’s bed a second ago.

  His eyes fix on me with the kind of intensity that isolates us in this moment. Everything else fades away as he nails me with his glacier stare, making me shiver inside. He holds me locked in invisible constraints until he’s almost on top of me. Even if I want to, I can’t move. I’m frozen to the spot.

  He leans an arm above his head on the wall and crosses one ankle over the other, his stance both relaxed and intimidating as he stares down at me.

  “So,” his eyes run over me from top to bottom, “how was last night?”

  There’s a bite in his words that’s contradictory to the flash of hurt in his eyes. The whiskey that laces his breath drifts to me on the air. He’s been out drinking?

  I want to tell him he’s an asshole, but his masculinity folds around me like a cloak, the power he has over me both frightening and exciting.

  “Did he kiss you?” he asks on a drawl, cool amusement masking something else I can’t place.

  “On a first date?” I say sarcastically. “Some men are gentlemen, you know.”

  First, he looks surprised, then relieved, and then angry. “Are you telling me nothing happened?”

  “Like I said, Quincy is a gentleman.”

  Predator intent fills his eyes. He moves so close to me, I can see his pupils dilate. “Then it seems it’s not a gentleman you need.”

  I pull myself to my full height, my breasts brushing over his chest in the process, but I don’t care. “Why, Gabriel, you look disappointed.” I bat my eyelashes in mock innocence. “What were you hoping for?”

  He reaches out so fast I jump in fright and drop the basket when he grabs my wrist.

  “I offered you a chance to have it pretty.” His lips thin. “I offered you beautiful. You blew that chance, and now you’re left with hard and ugly.” He squeezes to the point of pain. “You’re left with me.”

  There’s so much meaning in those words, I can’t stop the shiver that crawls up my spine.

  He releases me with a soft shove and says in a quiet, threatening voice, “Remember, you begged for it.”

  Picking up the basket, he pushes it into my arms and walks around me like I’m nothing but an irritating obstacle in his way. If I was infuriated last night, I’m ten times more so now.

  “You can’t pass me around like a toy for your men,” I say to his back, “and you can’t decide who I sleep with.”

  He stops and takes two steps back to me. His smile is cold and cruel. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re property, Valentina. You agreed to any duty I see fit. I can share you however I want, but you don’t have to worry about being a toy for my men. I don’t like to share my toys. Last night was a big fucking gift. Not for Quincy. For you.” Heat and possessive intent darken his eyes, making him look more dangerous than ever. “And it’ll never happen again.”

  He stalks away with a heavy limp, leaving me trembling with something other than anger. Understanding blooms in me. Gabriel wanted my first experience to be with someone normal. He wanted me to have a taste of how sweet it can be before he submits me to the dark lust I sense in him. I brace my back against the wall and take a few deep breaths. I’m not sure what’s worse, that I find his intention sweet or that I crave the darkness he’s withholding from me.

  11

  Valentina

  That afternoon, Gabriel goes out on a job and doesn’t return for dinner. I’m already in bed when I hear his uneven gait in the kitchen. Rummaging sounds come from the pantry. If he’s hungry, I left his food in the oven. I’m not ready to face him, but I can’t put it off indefinitely. Rather now, than later.

  Entering the scullery, I forget my apprehension. Gabriel is removing a bloody shirt over the basin, the medicine kit balanced on the edge.

  “Gabriel!”

  I run to him, my eyes doing a quick evaluation of his state. There’s a cut in his shoulder through which blood is oozing and several scrapes on his stomach and ribs.

  He presses the shirt to the wound and opens the tap. “Shh. Where’s Carly?”

  “She went to bed after dinner. What happened?” I take the shirt from him and dump it in the trashcan. It’s torn and stained beyond saving.

  “Business.”

  He flinches when I touch the wound to assess how deep the cut is.

  “This needs stitches. Where are Rhett and Quincy?”

  “I sent them to bed. It’s not that serious.” He flashes me an amused smile. “But your concern is flattering.”

  “This is no time for jokes.” Taking disinfectant and sterile gauzes from the medicine kit, I start cleaning the wound.

  “Good thing blood doesn’t make you queasy.”

  I don’t return his smile. I don’t even want to think what sinister activity earned him these injuries.

  “Give me a needle and thread,” he orders.

  Only Gabriel will keep sterile needles and surgical thread in his medicine kit. I locate the items and hold them out to him. He takes a vanity mirror from the shelf and balances it on the counter. I watch as he pulls the thread through the eye of the needle, but when he angles himself toward the mirror and pushes the needle through the skin at the top of the cut, I take over. He lets me, studying me as I work to sew him back together. I’m no nurse. I’m not even a vet, but I’ve watched Kris stitch up cuts plenty of times. He winces, but he doesn’t say a word until the cut is closed and dressed.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I dispose of the used materials and scrub the basin and my hands with disinfectant. When I’m done, I give him a painkiller and anti-inflammatory with a glass of water. He drinks the pills without protest. Fine lines of fatigue mark his eyes and the corners of his mouth. His permanent frown lines run deeper than usual. Taking his hand, I lead him to my bathroom.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Getting the blood off you. You should be worried about catching AIDS.”

  He grins. “Next time, I’ll wear surgical gloves.”

  I snort. He lets me undress him while the water runs warm. I have to undress as well so my clothes don’t get wet, but the shower in my bath is too small for both of us to stand comfortably. When I’m with him in the shower, he has to drape me over his body or hold me in his arms. I angle the water away from his wound, and wash the rest of his body, trying to be gentle on his abdomen where he’s bruised. When he’s clean, I wrap a towel around his waist and take another to pat him dry. I have to stand on the toilet to reach his hair. Judging by the teeth he flashes me, he finds my care amusing, but he doesn’t interfere or take over. I dry his back, chest, and arms, and then I go down on my knees to rub the towel up his legs. There are so many muscles on these legs. They knit together in rigid lines, defining the man’s hard exterior with an accurate mirror image of what lies inside his soul.

  As I’m pushing to my feet, he prevents me with his hands on my shoulders. I look up. He’s devouring me with his eyes, his cock tenting the towel at my eye level.

  “Valentina.”

  There’s a plea in the way he says my name. I can’t help but want to please him. My reply to his unspoken question is to tug on the towel and let it fall to the floor. I take him in my mouth, and like always, he lets me do whatever I want. I suck him as deep as I can take, eating him hungrily. He groans and dips his knees, giving himself over to me. I take his pleasure like I own it, like it’s his duty to give it up to me. He’s breathing hard when I’m done, but so am I. He hooks his hands under my arms to help me to my feet, pressing our lips together, and dipping his tongue into my mouth like he always does when I’ve swallowed his seed. He growls deep from his chest as he sucks on my tongue. The primal sound makes liquid heat gather betwe
en my thighs. I’m impossibly slick, my body preparing itself for his invasion, an invasion that’s yet to come.

  After drying the water that splashed on me while I washed Gabriel, I take him to my bed, and make him lie down on his back to avoid putting pressure on his shoulder. I curl up against his side with my head on the uninjured side of his chest.

  “Why did you do it?” he asks.

  “Do what?”

  “Take care of me.”

  “I don’t know.” Deep inside, I wanted to. It frightened me to see him hurt.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He cups my sex, stroking a thumb over my clit. “It was sweet.”

  He delves a finger into my wetness, teasing and torturing me until he drags a long and slowly detonating orgasm from my body.

  Later, as he holds me in his arms, I say, “Gabriel?”

  “Mm?”

  “Are you ever afraid of dying?”

  He answers without hesitation. “Every day.”

  The big, strong man next to me suddenly seems too vulnerable for my liking. “The scars, are they from fights like today?”

  He gives a low chuckle. “You didn’t think I was born all ugly, did you?”

  I cup his cheek. “That’s not what I said. I just tend to think of you as indestructible. Untouchable.”

  He places his hand over mine and rubs his cheek against my palm. “I’m not untouchable, Valentina. I’m far from it.” He moves my hand to his chest. “I do have a heart.”

  I kiss the flat disk of his nipple and put my ear on his chest, just for good measure. The beat is strong and rhythmic. It sounds sure and secure. I have to believe nothing will happen to him. If he’s gone, our nine-year deal is off, and I’m dead. Magda won’t honor the agreement. Of that, I’m certain.

  I push up on one elbow to trace the embossed lines on his face. “Tell me how it happened.”

  He catches my hand. “Not tonight.”

  “Nothing?” I ask with a tinge of disappointment. I want to know his history. I want to understand the man inside the sadist.

  “All you need to know is that I regret them.” He moves my palm to the bandage strip covering the cut on his shoulder. “For this scar, on the other hand, I’m eternally grateful. I hope it never fades.”

  “Why?”

  “Now it’s a reminder of you.” He kisses my temple. “Go to sleep. It’s late.”

  The balance that started shifting between us from the day he bought me food tips to the one side of the scale, the side where affection surpasses the physical. There’s no denying it, any longer. I’m starting to care for my jailer. Maybe I’m suffering from Stockholm syndrome. Not that it matters how or why it happened. Whatever sparked my feelings, they’re real.

  When I wake up sometime in the middle of the night, he’s gone. I don’t even have a scar to run my finger over, no raised tissue on the surface of my skin that can make me feel closer to him. All I have are the marks he’s leaving on my heart.

  My period is over. My breasts and womb are no longer sensitive, but my body is primed with a powerful arousal that won’t grant me relief. The orgasms Gabriel gives me are no longer enough. He made me like this, a pathetic addict who needs, craves, and aches, and still he denies me the remedy, even when I beg. I lie in the dark for a long time, trying to make myself come. It’s not my fingers, my touch, I need. It’s not even Gabriel’s touch. I want him inside me. I don’t care that he’s ruined me or that he still holds my life in his hands. He’s conditioned me, and I’m at the end of how far I can go. I’m at the edge of a dark abyss, and even if I fear the plunge, I can’t turn back. Getting out of bed, I pad barefoot through the dark house.

  He won.

  Again.

  * * *

  Gabriel

  Leaving Valentina in her bed is becoming harder. I want her next to me all night. It’s an impractical and dangerous notion. If Carly sees us or Magda suspects I’m taking it further than the game I claim, I stand losing both my daughter and the woman who dominates every minute of my waking hours and even my dreams. The alarm beeps, pulling me from my thoughts.

  The red dot on the bedside monitor warns me of movement in the house. Our security is top-notch, but even the best systems are breached. I check the doors and windows on the monitor. No entrances have been compromised. It can be Carly or Magda. Still, I’m not taking any chances. Whoever is moving through my house is at my door. The creak of a floorboard confirms the information on the screen.

  I reach for the gun on the nightstand. When the door opens with a soundless swing, I take aim. My finger freezes on the trigger. It’s Valentina’s slender form that fills the doorframe. A bolt of shock runs through me for how easily I could’ve shot her. I lower the weapon. The fight leaves my body, but my muscles don’t relax. They’re tense with a different kind of anticipation. Her white negligee glows pearly in the moonlight. She’s staring at me, biting her lip. Putting the pistol back on the nightstand, I flick on the lamp for a better view.

  I know what she wants. We both know why she’s here.

  I told myself I couldn’t do it, and yet, I’ve never wanted anything more. I’ve belted and spanked her without breaking a molecule on her skin, but if I take her tonight, I won’t only break her virgin body, but also my promise. Call me a weak man, but I already lost the battle the night Rhett locked me in the gym. It was only a matter of time. Tonight is a night for broken promises.

  I hold out my hand. “Come here.”

  She walks to the bed and crawls over me. Every inch of my skin catches fire. By the time her pussy is resting on my crotch, I’m a live wire, ready to explode, but I hold back, giving her control, because she came to me and it’s the sweetest moment of my entire fucked up life.

  I’m not a man to make small talk or beat around the bush. Especially not when something as serious as this is about to happen. When she doesn’t move for several beats, seeming uncertain of where to go from here, I roll us over, pinning her underneath me.

  “Get rid of the clothes.” I give her just enough space to pull the negligee over her head.

  Impatient, I pull the panties down for her, and she kicks them free. She wiggles my pajama bottoms over my hips to my knees. I have to lift first one and then the other leg to get rid of them. Stretched out on top of her, naked, static sparks detonate in every cell of my body. My cock is heavy and painfully hard, cushioned between her soft thighs. My balls ache from too many weeks of celibacy and not enough hand and blowjobs. The need to drive into her is so fierce that I have to grit my teeth.

  I slip my hand down our bodies and dip my fingers between her legs. She doesn’t need foreplay. She’s dripping wet. For me. The nights of training her body to want and need me are like one long endless stretch of foreplay, and finally, it’s about to explode. I’ve sucked and tweaked her tits, eaten her pussy, and played with her clit for weeks. What’s left is to give her every inch of my cock. Once I’m inside her, there’s no turning back. Her body belongs to me, but when I’m done fucking her, her soul will be mine. Once my seed spills in her womb, no other man will touch her again. Not tomorrow. Not when her nine years are up. Never.

  Spreading her pussy lips with my fingers, I push the head of my cock against her entrance. My head spins as if I’m on a high. I keep my eyes open. I want to see her face the moment I sink into her. I want to remember her expression. I want to know what she looks like when she comes on my dick, and what she feels when I mark her inside with my cum.

  She meets my stare head-on, as bravely as I thought she would, and takes my face between her hands.

  “Gabriel…” She inhales deeply.

  There’s hesitation in her voice. I’m ready. So is she, or she wouldn’t be here. The only thing preventing me from tearing into her is the air trapped in her lungs along with her unspoken words.

  “Say it,” I grit out, my need painful.

  Placating my libido, I grind down on her pubic bone. The tip of my shaft edges forward, dipping into the slick heat t
hat waits. Almost violently, I jerk back before I lose all reason and fuck her before she’s spoken.

  “I know you think I’m a virgin,” she says softly, “but I’m not.”

  For a moment, I’m shocked to a pause. How could I have been so wrong? My judgment concerning a woman’s body is always on the mark. All this time, I punished myself, withholding from her, making promises I couldn’t keep. To think I almost let Quincy have her. I shake the thought. It’s not where I want to take my mind, right now. Whoever her lover was, the asshole didn’t know how to get her off. In that regard, I’m definitely her first. Anyway, I don’t care who her first was. It doesn’t matter, because I’ll be her last. It makes no difference to me if she’s a holy virgin or a whore.

  “I don’t care,” I say gruffly, grabbing my shaft and directing it to the place that will give me access to her soul. It’s when you take a woman, when you make her fall apart in your arms, that you see the nakedness of her heart, and all the truths she hides from the world.

  “It doesn’t matter to you?” she asks with a tinge of disbelief.

  “Of course not.” I nip at her ear. “Why would it? I’m no virgin, either.”

  “I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  Disappointed? Is she crazy? “Believe me, nothing about this,” I rub my dick over her slick folds, “can be disappointing.”

  A sob tears from her throat. It catches me so off-guard I almost miss the flash of terror that sparks in her eyes.

  “Valentina.” I pull back an inch. “If you’re not ready, you have to tell me now.” I used seduction as my weapon to lure her into my bed with good reason. There’s no pleasure in it for me if it’s by force.

  “Is that why you waited? You thought I’m not ready?”

  “You know why I waited. What are you really asking?”

  “Do you…?” She bites her lip. “Do you want me? I mean, do you want me like this?”

  “Goddamn, Valentina. This isn’t an act of kindness or a favor. The reason you’re here is because I wanted you from the moment I first saw you, and a second from now I’m going to fuck you like I’ve been wanting to for a very long time, so you better tell me if you’re having second thoughts.”