by L. B. Dunbar
Take the power from him, she heard whispered in her head. Closing her eyes, she felt the beat of her heart, the pulse of the island under her cheeks, and the sound of the breeze overhead. She imagined him at her back, enveloping her in love, not control, and she wrapped her hand over his as she had last night. She slid it downward, covering her breast, feeling the sad beat under her skin.
“Juliet,” she heard whispered in the wind, but she kept her eyes closed. She had no words to speak. She only wanted to imagine she could dominate him. She wanted to speak through touch—controlling his over hers. She pretended it was his fingers squeezing, ripening her nipple to a sharp peak. A steady beat increased between her thighs, and she took slow breaths to match the tempo. Her teeth bit back a moan threatening to escape. She arched her back, recalling the connection of his excitement pressed along the seam of her backside. In her head, she lowered his hand, letting the heat of his palm cover her belly. She used her free fingers to pull up her dress, guiding his hands under the material. She wore bikini panties under her dress. How stupid she’d been. To think she’d risked herself again, and with him, of all men.
She pressed two fingers between needy folds, increasing the achy pulse. She imagined his fingers moving in a circular motion, a pattern of friction, similar to the slow tap of a drum.
The breeze picked up, caressing her neck. Like touching you, Mouse, she heard him murmur against her skin. His fingers took control, but her hand covered his. The sensation was so real. The pressure so intense. He could please a woman. She wanted him to please her.
Show me how, the wind whispered. The words mixed with the breeze, brushing back the hair at her sweaty temples. Her tears had subsided for the moment. Her concentration was on the physical connection she shared with this man. The mere thought of his fingers between her thighs heightened her pleasure. An exhale of air escaped her lips as her body moved in a dancing rhythm. The beat of island drums rang in her head, matching the pulse at her core. Her hips followed the thumping, vibrating over fingers nimble and greedy. Her body became an instrument. Suddenly, wild with need, she clamped down on the back of his imaginary hand at her core and thrust a finger inside, feeling the length of his digit filling her. She’d climbed to her knees, panting in need, clutching her thighs together. A second finger forced its way inside and she let out a grunt as her free hand dug into the hard, packed dirt at her tips.
Her body became something other than her own. She was an island goddess, paying homage to herself, using him as her fantasy. She would not allow him to stop the rhythm, the touch, demanding it until she reached her peak. His imaginary fingers danced inside her, a sliding movement creating its own music. Her fist pounded the earth as she screamed to release. An animalistic roar rolled from her throat, and she called out his name. She refused to be his mouse. She did not want to be tamed by him.
Her name whispered in the air like a lullaby, lilting around her ears. It didn’t match the slowing tempo between her thighs, but the sound sent a wave of anger through her.
“Just one,” she yelled aloud, repeatedly his words. Just once, she wanted a man to care about her, and she hoped her voice carried down the slope of the island, directly to him. Hear me, she whispered in her mind.
Just once, she thought again as she felt wetness slick down her inner thighs and sweat curl down her hairline. Tears filled her eyes again, and she lowered herself to the ground in exhaustion, like a mouse hidden in the field. No, she told herself. She was a lioness, and she would rule over him. But as the pulse within her lessened, and her heart rate lowered to a normal beat, she felt the calm rhythm of the island under her tear-stained cheeks. Her lips sought the dirt like they reached for his chest, and she knew it was too late.
She cared about him, and that meant he ruled over her.
22
Day 41 – Juliet
Seven full days I’d gone without a visit from him. I didn’t hear his voice or seek him out. It wasn’t healthy focusing on him, I told myself. I’d already followed him once, and that had been the mistake of a lifetime. It was all because of him that I entered that room.
I remained holed up in the tree house or took long treks through the jungle as I had a week before. My discoveries led me in circles, winding and weaving through areas that one moment looked similar and another seemed diverse. It never mattered. I was on a small island without much land mass. One inch appeared the same as the next except for the white beach near where his tent stood and the small enclosed cove with Lillian’s dock. I wandered letting the exercise distract my thoughts.
In a moment of weakness, after my self-soothing toss in the dirt, I allowed myself to remember him from that night. I’d been asked to wait on a room on the third floor, and I took the assignment out of curiosity, but also because of him. I didn’t know much about him, but I marveled at the cut of his jaw, the gleam of his eyes, and the crooked smile on his lips. I was attracted to him beyond anything I’d felt before but recognized the giddiness of infatuation with a man out of my league. Still, I went when asked. I’d been told it was a special request.
The moment I entered the room, I sensed the tension. The subtle glances in my direction. The appraisal of my body in the skimpy uniform—little black, skin-tight dress. The air was charged with a nervous energy, and I looked up at him, his eyes glassy with drink. I thought he saw me, but he looked through me. Distracted, that’s when I was captured.
“Cooperate, and your promotion will bring you wealth.”
I had wanted a raise, but not like this. I struggled without results as I was quickly bound at the wrists and gagged after I screamed. I couldn’t imagine the other men would stand around and watch, but as I noticed their movement, as if in slow motion or a dream, jackets removed, and shirt sleeves rolled up, it was if the men prepared to relax and watch a performance. My body jackknifed, and I was thrown on the leather couch. Roughly, my dress was removed, and I lay exposed in my demi-bra and thong.
There I stopped. I didn’t need to remember the rest.
Look at me, I had willed with my eyes, keeping my concentration on Tack while I was taken by Rick. He paid no attention to me. My guard had been down for only a moment, my distraction was him, and a sharp slap to my face was the result. A mouse trapped by the lure of the cat, they had caught me.
Never again, I told myself, walking with my head higher as I explored the jungle around me. And yet, his body rutting over mine had released a nervous energy, one I couldn’t deny on that morning as he offered his apology and then rejected me. My toss in the dirt had been a baptism, freeing me sexually, liberating my voice as I screamed, drying my tears as I cried. I would take and not be taken again.
+ +
The call of my name was a whisper, but it caught my attention as I sat in my chair at the square table. I’d been working on writing my self-reflective discoveries every moment I wasn’t sleeping or walking. My body had toned with the extensive exercise, and my eating improved. I didn’t anticipate Lillian and Franco for four days, and the rugged voice wasn’t either of theirs. I paused in my writing, listening intently.
“I’m dreaming him again,” I said aloud, telling myself it was only the wind.
“Juliet,” I heard louder, distinctly present beneath my tree house. I lowered my head to the desk, rolling it back and forth on the notebook.
“I have to stop doing this,” I muttered into the pages.
“Let me up, Juliet, or I’m coming in without your permission,” he snapped. My head shot up, and I realized he could have entered anytime he wanted, but he hadn’t. He’d only been uninvited once and that was when he saved me from the snake. I walked to the latch for the ladder, my legs heavy with dread. Kicking at the rope structure, it slipped through the hole in the platform and tumbled to his reach. I stepped back as he climbed, my heart racing with each creak of the rope, straining with the weight of him. As his head crested the opening, I turned for my room. I didn’t think my heart could stand the first look of him, so rea
dy to burst with anticipation and trepidation.
I sat in my chair at the table, trying to appear casual while my body quaked. I fisted my hands in the hem of my shorts. Sweat instantly slicked my palms.
He passed through the doorway, swiping back the jagged cut of his hair, grown out slightly in a week. His jaw was covered in light stubble, and my breath caught at the appearance of him. His eyes gleamed brighter than I’d ever seen, matching the leaves outside my tree house window. He was breathtaking, and I hated him at the same time my chest clenched with relief at seeing him.
He scanned the room, taking in the layers of books and open notebooks across the table. There were two chairs set on either side of the table where I sat but he selected the trunk at the end of the bed. His long legs bent and he balanced his elbows on his thighs. I remained silent, willing him to speak first.
“You left,” he whispered.
“You didn’t really want me to stay,” I offered, my voice harsher than I expected. He instantly looked up.
“I want so many things, Juliet. Some of them I can’t even articulate because I don’t have a name for them.” His comment startled me and I blinked.
“I—”
“I have things I want to say.” His tone was sharp, and I was taken aback again. I shifted in my seat, sliding my sweaty palms down the sides of my shorts and then nervously curling loose hairs behind my ear. He watched the movement, following the stroke of my fingers before swallowing and beginning.
“Rick Fontaine was my best friend—”
“I don’t want to hear this,” I cut him off, looking away from him, Rick’s name on his lips was a sharp sting to my cheeks, the bite of a snake, and I trembled. My jaw clenched. I was letting this go. Him go. Them go. I didn’t want to think about that night again.
“You’re going to hear me out, and then you can kick me out. But I’m speaking first.” His voice remained short.
We’re going to play this my way trickled through my head, but I could only blink in response, the reply he wanted from me.
“Rick Fontaine was my best friend, and he was an asshole. He should have been killed twenty times over by drug dealers and disgruntled women, but I loved him, in a strange way because he was my friend. I didn’t agree with all of his practices. It was always a competition between us—never set by me, but by him. It was just the way we were. He worked for what he had, while I had it handed to me. He didn’t openly begrudge me, but it was apparent with every risk, every dare, every suggestion for trouble, that he envied me and how easily things happened for me.”
He paused and I stared at him, sweat trickling down my neck. The idea of sympathy for Rick Fontaine made my stomach toss, and the pressure of vomit rose inside me. I swallowed the bile-taste in my mouth.
“He had taken on a lifestyle that suited his need to be in control. He wanted to prove he was better than others, and his club was one way to do this. The Front Door was going to be an investment for me. He needed money, but he’d never take a gift, and I was intrigued, as I am too often with anything that would piss off my father. To prove myself, Rick suggested this initiation, but he wanted first dibs.”
“First dibs,” I mouthed.
“It was so fucked up. We would each get a turn. Rick, myself, Rory and Smack.”
“I was there,” I bit, reminding him that I was in the room, and his recall was coming at my expense.
“Something happened to me. I couldn’t do it, but I didn’t know how to back out. The look in your eyes.” He paused. “I thought if I could just get through it, get it over with…” His voice faltered, and he combed through his hair, sitting upright.
“It was wrong. On so many levels it was wrong. It had nothing to do with you directly, and everything to do with Rick.”
“It was all me,” I choked. “Why me? Why any woman?” The sickness in me grew, and nausea crept up my throat.
“It had to be you, according to Rick, but I don’t know why.”
“I wouldn’t have him. He made advances and crude suggestions, but I refused him. I’d had years of practice avoiding my uncle, so Rick was easy to push away.”
Tack shook his head. “But you can’t push a guy like Rick, so ready to prove himself, prove he has control of a situation.”
“Isn’t that what you want? Control? Domination? Tear down, rip apart.” My hands twisted and turned for emphasis, shaking with the need to punch something, and my intention focused on him. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to take back what he took from me.
“I thought I did, I just…” He stared off toward the tree trunk centering the room. “There was this moment when I looked at you under me, and I just…I wanted you to give yourself instead of me taking.”
If he had cut himself and spilled blood on my floor, I don’t think he could have looked anymore raw and vulnerable than he did in that moment. But I had no sympathy for him.
“I have nightmares. I couldn’t sleep for weeks. When I went to get my final paycheck, Brandon assured me Rick wasn’t present. I should have had it mailed to me, but I didn’t have an address to send it to. I’d left Chellie’s apartment. I slept at the university a few nights in an empty dorm. Killing Rick brought me no satisfaction. It only started a new set of nightmares. I’ll never forgive myself, and I might never forgive you.” The words were venom spewing from my mouth, but they were things I’d longed to say. He had to know my feelings were strong. I hated myself, but I hated him as well.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, lowering his head.
“Weak,” I whispered. His head shot up again. “You think I’m weak, that’s why you wanted to take me. It had nothing to do with me, but more about you and your weakness. You need control to make you feel important. To make you feel worthy. You take because you have no understanding of giving. Asking would be a weakness.” My chest rose and fell with each statement, the adrenaline coursing through my body in such a surge I nearly choked on it.
His shoulders slumped forward, and he rested his elbows on his thighs again. His hands clasped together, the knuckles whitening with the pressure. I don’t know if the words struck a chord, or if he wanted to act on his anger.
“I might never be able to love a man because of you,” I snapped. “I might never trust one again. I want things.” I beat on my chest with my fist as I stood. “And you’ve taken them from me with your little game. I want to believe it can be more than it was with Rick and you. I think it can, but I can’t get past the pain in here.” I poked at my own chest, signaling my heart. “Even when I ache here.” I slid my finger between my breasts down to the edge of my zipper.
His eyes opened wide and he stood as well. With two large steps, he crossed the room, his green eyes bright as he focused on my finger. Standing before me, he shocked me further by folding to his knees. His fingers came to my hips.
“Tell me how to make it better for you, and I will.”
I didn’t answer him. My hand slipped away from the front of my shorts. My fingers twitched to run through his hair as they had after the cut a week ago, but my heart raced and my thoughts conflicted. His hands released my hips, and he sat back on his ankles. His palms came to rest on his knees, his eyes lowering to them.
“I’ll be your submissive. Control me. Tell me what you need physically, emotionally, and I’ll give you anything.” He peeked up at me. “Anything.”
My hands could no longer hold back, and I reached for his hair. Combing through the soft locks, my brows pinched. I didn’t understand. I didn’t know what he was offering, or how I was to respond. His forehead came forward to rest on my lower belly. Two thick hands gripped my hips, and he tugged gently at the pockets of my shorts.
“Anything you ask,” he offered on his knees. “Just don’t leave me again.”
23
Days 41 – 44 - Tack
For four days, we learned about one another. We didn’t see each other naked. We didn’t touch. I marveled at how we seemed to have worked in reverse.
We fucked, we foreplayed, we kissed, we snuggled…and now, we nothing-ed. But we were learning about one another, and some of the conversations were difficult. She told me about her uncle and some of his intentions toward her. I told her about my mother and her pills. She told me about the accident during a storm that killed her parents. I told her more about my father’s manipulation. We did not speak of Rick again, nor of that night. We focused on one another’s history instead.
Most of our conversations took place as we walked. We traveled the island, seeking places we hadn’t seen, and trying to memorize the land. It was a beautiful, tropical haven if only each moment didn’t still feel like a punishment.
“Garvey is coming tomorrow. I don’t have a set time for his arrival. They just arrive when they want, but I want to see you afterward,” I said.
“Lillian will be coming as well. Maybe it’s best to take a day off,” she suggested. I reached for her hand and tugged her to stop. She spun as she was walking before me.
“I don’t want a day off. Each day, I feel as if I’m in a dream, and when night falls, I’m afraid to sleep and end the dream.” The words were raw, the emotion behind them displaying my vulnerability. I didn’t want her to disappear again. A man on the verge of insanity was the only way to explain those days she’d been missing. I hadn’t found her in her tree house, or if she was present, she ignored me. I never stumbled upon her in the pond or even walking through the trees. It had been lonely without her.