by Dancer Vane
Of course, Blake wasn’t wasting a second of it. Eyes fierce, and lips drawn, he opened the closest drawer to the island and retrieved what must have been a condom. Yep. I watched his longs fingers slipping it along his thick cock, and swallowed painfully. He threw the ripped foil on the floor. For people like me to dispose of later, I guessed.
The light was stark, downward light, from the modern fancy chandelier. There was no fire in the huge chimney, and only that ugly flat light, playing on the bony body of the girl and these impossible boobs, and…
…and his beautiful chest, the chiseled planes and angles, his muscular arms. I must have whimpered. I knew he was beautiful — I didn’t need to have it thrown in front of my eyes, his powerful, naked body, graceful like a dancer in spite of his bulky shoulders, a wild animal of its own kind.
His lips moved, but I couldn’t hear anything, and was glad for this again when the girl chuckled; a very sexy, throaty sound, I’m sure. She was tall, slim — thin, even, except for the inflated boobs — and he was looking right now at her open pussy like… this, this was the only thing that mattered in the world.
Which was probably true. I remained in the shadows, burning my eyes on his magnificent shape, and not smart enough to realise that gaping at my boss’ cock was how nightmares began.
I didn’t believe they were going to do this. They were both stark naked, so I had been sure they had just done it and were finished. But he took himself in hand — my eyes glued to the latex — and pushed inside her with his hips, in one long, slow movement. The girl bit her lip and moved her head, but without sound, I wasn’t sure how sincere that all was. It looked so much like a performance, watching them from outside, illuminated and soundless.
My dad used to watch porn in our living room at all hours and it looked a bit like it had then, like a giant telly with bad actors and too much flesh.
Except none of the actors had ever been as fascinating, as magnificent, as the man now intent on fucking the girl in front of me.
He was practically facing me, and I took a tiny step back, afraid he could see me in the dark. But with the lights on, all he would see would be a dark expanse of glass, and probably his own reflection.
Not that he was looking, either at his reflection, or at the night outside. His eyes were on the girl, hard and cold, as he rammed into her like a powerful machine. He kneaded her breasts, and did something with her nipples, and she moaned and writhed all you could expect; but it all seemed staged to me, in this artificial rectangle of light, and with the sound turned off.
That was probably a defence mechanism on my part. Because he was fucking her for real, and I just couldn’t accept it because it hurt too much.
The forest whispered and sighed around me, smelling like wet earth and the water close by, and this was real too. Far more real than this rectangle of light where the man I… hated, was fucking this woman like there was no tomorrow.
I had known this was coming, hadn’t I? Maybe not so soon, or not so crudely, but I had known he would have a girlfriend, be with someone else, and I would be slapped in the face by the huge difference between us: his sleek strength and beauty, his wealth, and the obvious fact that, as I had imagined, he liked girls tall and thin.
And he liked that one very much, judging by his rigid cock and his little thrusts into her, followed by long ramming strokes. He was taking his time, playing with her, but he was also, at times, rough and fierce.
And he looked like an asshole.
I felt guilt tightening my chest. I didn’t like thinking of him like that anymore. He was mainly a cold bastard, sure, but… he had held me close after the attack, and given me a home when he didn’t have to.
And I was repaying his kindness by standing in the dark and watching him in a private moment, knees trembling, wet — shameful but true — and judging how he looked? And who knew how I would look, myself, sprawled on this table in front of him, and without half that girl’s flexibility? Ridiculous, obviously. At least he was… very far from ridiculous.
But he looked mean. His eyes lowered, face tensed, lips tight.
He didn’t look like he cared.
He was into it, sure, no lying about it. But he also looked hard-eyed and even colder than he was with me. Almost mean.
This was not what I wanted with him, I realised. Oh, I was dying inside, watching him ram into that girl’s pussy. I would have let him do the same to me without a second’s doubt, and I’m sure I would have writhed and moaned as much as she did. But… it wasn’t what I wanted with him.
My heart was beating too fast and my brain must have been flushed with too much blood, or too much oxygen, because I couldn’t get a thought right.
The girl smiled, a strained smile, said something, and he nodded curtly. He took himself out — thick, heavy cock jerking, the latex glistening with her juices — and she released the marble top’s corners and turned around, sliding from the top, landing with her feet wide apart and her ass facing him.
He slapped her ass playfully, but he didn’t look amused. I was starting to wonder if something hurt him, a headache of something.
She laughed, turned around, talked to him. She was pretty, not too-much make-up, long sleek hair, the colour of moonlight. My exact opposite in so many ways. I felt chubby, mousy, and desperately turned on.
I wanted to slip a hand inside my jeans and… do what I had done many times thinking of him in the same circumstances. But not with her between us.
Then he took himself in hand — that heavy-looking, straining cock, I wanted it in my mouth, or my hands, not his… and slid inside the other girl’s offered pussy, from behind. He grabbed her hips and gave a few hard thrusts.
I hated his face. I loved him — no, of course not, but I wanted to kiss away the tension there. I hated this dark focus. He looked sort of empty, and dangerous.
Well. Nobody ever said having sex had to look pretty. I had seen enough of the porn flicks, when my father called me to bring him a beer, to know it didn’t matter if they looked good, even less if they looked like they were enjoying it. That was never the point of it. Sex is sex and it’s raw, crude, and not a question of aesthetics.
Although his body was still a thing of beauty.
I took a deep breath, and looked around myself. I wished the wolf were next to me.
The wolf wouldn’t care, wouldn’t be shocked, not even at my own arousal, and it would have been a silent companion. Reassuring. I wanted nothing more than to bury my hand in his fur, feel his heat, his understanding and feel less sad, less shut out, less guilty. Just feel less of everything.
Blake’s eyes snapped open, looking right at me.
I almost burst into a run, but no way, I was still rooted in place.
He couldn’t see me through the glass, with the night outside. He just couldn’t. I repeated this to myself like a mantra as my heart missed a bit and then started to beat a wild drum.
Blake seemed to hesitate from a second, caught mid-movement, his face still turned to me. His hand stilled on her hip, and for a second I felt dread rushing through me.
He could see me.
No. Impossible. I was in the dark, and hidden under the dark foliage of a tree. He was the one in the lit-up room. The glass would act as a mirror, on his side.
He visibly shivered, shook his head as if to dislodge some annoying idea, and lowered his gaze to the girl again. Well, to her ass and her back. Not much eye contact, to say the least.
Then his lips hardened, he gave a sharp thrust, and everything became faster, rougher, and my breath followed him shoving his cock in that pussy, and it must have felt good, because after a while she suddenly jerked and shouted something — I could even hear a muffled sound through the multiple-glazed window, and he shuddered violently.
And, maybe three seconds later, before I even regained my breath, he slid out of her and disposed of the condom in the kitchen bin. Not big on cuddles, my adored boss.
The girl rose in a graceful moveme
nt and embraced him. There was no other word for this graceful claiming, her thin arms around him. Her skin was a light honey colour, freckled on her upper back and shoulders, her waist very slim.
She kissed him, but for some reason his head turned as if he’d heard something, and the kiss landed on his cheek.
I still needed out of there. Urgently.
But I was still rooted in place, heart beating too fast, and something burning my eyes.
Surely I wouldn’t cry because my boss — my boss, and he had no other name, I shouldn’t call him by any other name — was fucking a girl and… not even looking happy about it.
But then, it would have broken my heart into tiny pieces if he had.
Life. I was too romantic for my own good. He must have enjoyed it anyway, because he came inside her, and took his sweet time ramming into her before that.
I was embarrassingly turned-on, and unhappy.
He looked like a god in the stark electric light. The girl raised her empty glass. She grabbed the bottle and gestured towards him. He shook his head no, once.
And again, his eyes met mine through the dark night, defiantly, and I had to force myself to remember that he couldn’t see me in the dark.
His lips tightened, he shook his head, and, turning around, grabbed his jeans and put them on quickly.
The idea crossed my mind that he was going to get out and come straight for me, and panic finally unglued my shoes from the leaves-covered path, and I shot through the night in the direction of the carriage house, with a sob in my throat, not even thinking that if he really came out for me, I would collide right with him.
Chapter Ten
ALANNA
“Can I have a word with you?”
I froze, rabbit-in-the-headlights style. My answer was an incoherent, garbled sound.
We had just opened up the shop together, and were surveying the empty room. He had placed some cash in the register and was done up there. Instead of going to his office for a shower and some paperwork, though, or bringing up the trays laden with fresh pastries, he was watching me stammer, and for a second he seemed darkly satisfied. Then he shook himself.
“Come. Take a seat.”
He sat at one of the small round tables in the shop, mercifully empty for the time being. I hoped no-one would come in. Being fired and back to being homeless in front of an audience would have been even more humiliating.
“Grant called me,” he said curtly. He passed a hand through his hair, that looked wild, and yet soft. Old gold.
I looked at him blankly. Grant? Was that Farnwood, the rich guy?
And… what was he talking about? I still wasn’t sure if my boss had seen me the night before. It didn’t seem possible. But I was certain that no one else could have seen me. We didn’t have any neighbours.
“Farnwood,” he explained, seing my expression.
“Uh. Right. Farnwood.”
He nodded curtly.
“He’s been making a few phone calls to make sure the police takes the fire seriously.”
“The fire.”
God, I must have sounded dumb. I was sleep deprived, still in shock from the previous night — from what I’d seen, and what it had forced me to confront — and very, very slow.
“The fire at the trailer,” Blake snapped, with all the patience he’s well known for. “Are you awake?”
“Yeah. Sure. I don’t understand what this man had to do with the fire.”
Blake rested his elbows on the little table, that had never seemed so small, and his chin over his hands.
“Grant finds it strange that a trailer would burn to the ground, but that nothing else around was affected. I agree with him about that.”
I listened. Watched his lips. I had a very vivid flashback from the night before, and felt my cheeks warm.
“I’ve been watching you,” he added.
A short silence. I lifted my eyes to meet his gaze. For a second he seemed silently amused. “I’ve been watching you, at work. You’re careful. You’re focused. You wouldn’t leave a place with a candle burning, or something on the stove. Even half-awake in the morning. In fact, you’re usually wide-awake. Today is an exception.”
I swallowed.
“It is.”
“Long night?”
Was there a peculiar glow in his eyes? Some kind of a quarter-of-a smile on his lips? I wasn’t sure. I blinked, and he looked as serious as usual.
“I came home late,” I said, on the defensive.
“Fine. Try to focus anyway. Farnwood had been calling to police to make sure they investigate, and he was right. There was accelerant on… pretty much everywhere they looked for. This was arson.”
I gaped at him.
“Electrical fire,” I said. “I thought it was something electrical, because the trailer was old.”
“Well, think again.” His voice softened fractionally. “I’m sorry to give you the bad news. Grant was the one insisting they have a look, so he was the one they called with the results. He left a message yesterday but I only found it this morning.”
I was speechless. Who would do such a thing? It didn’t feel personal yet. Some kids must have played cruelly, have decided that it would be fun, or something.
It didn’t feel personal until Blake lowered his face towards me and asked in a low voice: “The two guys who attacked you. The ones the dog attacked to defend you. Could they have known where you lived?”
I tried to speak, but heard only a strangled sound. I had refused to think about them. Refused to think that they probably lived in town, and already knew where I worked. From the pastry shop, it was easy to follow me after five, when I took the bus or walked home.
“I don’t know,” I managed to get out after a moment. “It would be easy for them to find out.”
“Anyone else who could wish you harm?” His voice was tense. He took this seriously, but as he did, he was interrogating me as if I had been the guilty one.
“I don’t see anyone.”
“Jilted boyfriend?”
“I have no boyfriend.”
“I meant an ex.”
“I have no ex. Not in this town. Not since I’ve arrived here.”
I wasn’t looking at him when I said that. When I glanced up, his face was carefully composed, expressing only concern.
“We might — you might have made an enemy that morning, with these two. I’ve told Farnwood about them, and the police will try and find them. This is a small town. They will - or we will.”
I should have asked who “we” were, and why this offhand comment brought to me the vision of a campfire, flames dancing, and talk of old Indian legends. Of people who weren’t always people.
“We’ll find them and make sure you’re safe,” he told me softly.
And… that felt weird. Blake didn’t do soft. Blake was hard and… let’s not go there again. I nodded.
“Alanna, I have to insist. Can you think of anyone else who might want to hurt you?”
“You?”
A shallow laugh.
But I thought about it. My father was safely in jail. None of his friends, relations or other acquaintances knew where I was.
I had been careful not to leave a trail, partly because Social Services would have sent me to a foster home, and partly, well, to make sure none of his “friends” could find me. Most of them were pimps, the rest were dealers, and a young girl with no guardian, no protector, had better not fall in their lap. But after six years, some of them must have been dead, and none of them would remember me.
“No, I can’t think of anyone.”
“Just for the record, you’re wrong.”
I looked up, suddenly scared. Who?
“I don’t wish you any harm,” he finished.
I breathed again.
“Yeah.” I said reluctantly. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“Could it be that you feel guilty about something?”
This time it was there, a flicker of a smil
e, a gleam in his eye.
“I thank you for the croissants yesterday,” I said, rising from the table, and changing the subject in haste. “My friends loved them. They say thank you too.”
“You’re welcome.” He rose too, splendid and moving like a big cat. The kind that can kill an antelope.
“You forgot to come for your muffins.”
“I didn’t want to wake you up.”
“That’s considerate of you.”
And then I blushed again. Because, considerate? That was the opposite of what I’d done. I shrugged and turned my back to him.
But then I turned again:
“Can you thank Mr. Farnwood for me? For asking the police to check for accelerant.”
“I hope it’s standard procedure. But yes, I will tell him. And Alanna…”
“Yes?”
“Please be careful.”
Like he would care.
But for once, the harsh comment remained stuck in my throat. Because he did sound like he cared. His gaze was meeting mine — the brown flecked with green, I saw for the first time — and he also looked like he cared.
“I will,” I said simply. “I am.”
I went through the day in a haze. I told myself that lack of sleep was the problem, but I couldn’t help stealing glances at Blake as he worked the register next to me, chatting with the customers. Friendly.
Stealing a glance at his butt when he turned around. Taut, muscular, a dream. Or a nightmare, because if he caught me looking, it might well be the end of me.
I thought about legends. Old legends, but still well alive. Mr. Burr believed them. All right, that wasn’t a glowing reference. But the man who had been voted mayor believed the stories too, I was pretty sure I wasn’t wrong about that. Me? I wasn’t sure.