RECLUSE

by Andrew, Nikolai

  The thought of a man Vincent’s size and demeanor being Amish has me holding back a snort, thinking of him coming in all sweaty from raising a barn, his shirt sticking to his broad chest as he slips his suspenders down and then drops his itchy, wool trousers, freeing his—

  “You okay?” Vincent’s voice jolts me from my strange fantasy as he pokes at his food.

  “Yes, I am. But, if the storm doesn’t stop soon, I’m going to have to risk getting to my car, somehow…” It’s dumb, get to my car, then what? Even if I knew how to change a flat, I have two. “Do you have a phone?”

  “No.” He answers. “I have a radio, for emergencies, but won’t be a signal in this weather.”

  “Well, I have to figure out what to—"

  “Stay,” he interrupts.

  “What? No, I can’t stay here. I…” My voice falters under his intense gaze, and I look down, blushing.

  “You can stay here, little girl.”

  Those words again. They seem to have a connection directly with my femininity, making me soften under his gaze.

  I want to stay.

  I want desperately to stay.

  I want to stay here forever. With him. But this isn’t my life. This is mountain man fantasy like in raunchy, beefcake romance books or no…I’m Goldilocks and he’s Papa Bear…I’m lost in the woods, oh no, please Papa Bear, we shouldn’t…we can’t.

  Oh. My. God.

  Reality, please, I need to find a handhold because I’m losing my grip.

  “No, I… I don’t have any spare clothes with me. Where would I even sleep?”

  “Sleep where you want. I have room. You’ll stay.” It’s a statement, not a question. He grabs my hand across the table, jamming his elbow into the hard surface, making the cutlery jump and clash on the plates as I try to draw back, but he has me tight. He brings my hand to his lips, kisses my knuckles, and my panties take a hard hit. “I said, you’ll stay.”

  All I can do is nod and try to remember how to breathe.

  * * *

  I watch from the doorway, dressed now in one of his T-shirts as a nightdress after my shower, swamped by it but comfortable. He hasn’t noticed me, and for a moment I’m able to admire him in secret, his muscles flexing in a sleeveless sort of men’s white tank top that clings as he makes up my bed with clean sheets.

  To my surprise, each one of the five bedrooms I saw on either side of the hallway are furnished, despite the fact that he lives here alone. I picked a room with a small bed, not wanting to put him out on my behalf, but it doesn’t seem like he’s in any rush to get done.

  He carefully lays the sheet over the mattress, smoothing it down to the corners and tucking it in, military-neat. Then he bends to pick up the duvet, and I draw a silent breath at the silvery scar I spot on his shoulder, thick and jagged like the one on his cheek. It cuts across the sinuous muscle, and without thinking I step into the room and reach out to trace it.

  Vincent stiffens at my touch but doesn’t move away.

  “How did this happen?”

  “A knife.”

  “Jesus. You were attacked?”

  “It was a long time ago,” he grits, then goes back to his work, laying the duvet over the bed and moving to the pillows. “Subway in New York. Some kid grabbed a woman’s bag so I jumped in. Instinct, I guess. I got that for my trouble.” He points to his face. “And this. Same day my brother… well, you know. That was the day I moved out here. The things people will do for money, even a kid so young. If he’d asked, I would have given him what I had. He didn’t ask. He just tried to take by force.”

  “You lived in New York?” So much for my ideas of communes or Amish settlements.

  He nods. “It’s where I grew up. Robert, he—” I see a pain in his eyes as he turns back to the bed, looking like he’s about to finish making it up, but instead just standing there. “He needed my help. And I tried. But nobody would listen. He shouldn’t be where he is.”

  He turns back, and without thinking I reach out, my palms connecting with the slabs of his pectorals, and in an instant he changes. All restraint is gone as his hand goes straight to my waist, lifting me against the wall, leaning in, eyes fixed on mine as he draws a deep breath. It feels like he’s trying to maintain some semblance of self-control as my heart races and my mind is torn between wanting to get away and wanting him to take me.

  I gulp at the size of his cock against my dampening sex, covered only by the lacy panties I wore just for him. Yes, for him.

  I was thinking of him when I dressed and all I can think of now is that hardness so close to what I’ve saved for someone. For Vincent, I think. We could fuck, right here, right now.

  Make love.

  No. No, it wouldn’t be love. It would be lust.

  Need.

  A pumping sort of need. Animal and wet and wild.

  I’ve never had sex before, I focused on my studies and my career, kept men at arms’ length, noticing their glances but ignoring them as I worked for a life for me, away from pageants and country clubs and lies about how everything is just so glorious all the time when you are a family of means.

  Gak. I hated it from the time I was a little girl. I felt like a square peg pounded into a round hole.

  Vincent’s hand slips beneath the T-shirt nightdress, brushing my belly then lowering. I feel him grip between my legs, forcing a moan from my lips. Making me wonder why this man, this client, has me tossing all rational thought into the wind.

  “Why are you so wet, little one?” he murmurs.

  Panic sets in. Coming back to my senses I realize where I am, who he is.

  “L—let me down.” I push at his shoulders, but he laughs as he leans in and whispers.

  “Naughty girl. Teasing Daddy.”

  I gasp at that word, but a gush of molten need surges from between my legs. My cheeks heat, the word throwing my mind into disarray. But the worst of it is…the title fits.

  He fits.

  Well, maybe he will fit, that remains to be seen.

  But, Daddy…gah, I never thought of it before but there can be no denying the way my heart and my body are reacting to that simple word.

  But there is nothing simple going on here.

  I stare at him, danger and obsession lighting his dark eyes as he snarls, his teeth biting into his bottom lip as I dare try the word on for size myself.

  “Daddy,” I whisper and draw a deep breath as a clench grabs me down low inside. It feels right and it calms me. Makes me smaller, less defensive. His finger strays along my outer lips, stroking through the damp panties, pressing the fabric into my slit as I groan. “Daddy…”

  “Bad to tease Daddy with this hot little cunt. Bad to make me want you. Bad to be so wet and then tell me no.”

  “S—sorry, Daddy.” I know we’re playing but it’s real at the same time. My heart is leaping as he drags his fingers over my panties.

  Why does that feel so right? Why do I enjoy being his little girl, enjoy his filthy words?

  My breath is frantic now, pleasure and need mixing with panic. He’s huge all over, and from what I saw behind his zipper, and what I felt between my legs, that size extends to the hard rod now waiting to impale me. I should be terrified. I should be thinking how wrong this is. He’s a client.

  With a herculean effort I force myself to say what I’m not really feeling. “Please put me down. You need to stop.”

  Please keep going. Please keep me here forever.

  “Stop? I haven’t started.” His voice has a darker edge as he runs his tongue along my jaw, kisses my throat, his teeth nipping at a pinch of soft flesh, sending a tingling vibration down into my core.

  My heart is thundering.

  No. It’s not right.

  No, this isn’t what I want.

  Yes it is.

  NO IT’S NOT.

  YES IT IS…

  I think I’m losing my mind.

  “No. Stop,” I hear myself say, knowing it’s not really what I want. I’m play
ing, right? This is a game. Or is it?

  Without warning, I’m hurled onto the bed, flipped over face down into the pillows. I gasp as the nightdress is flipped up over my ass and my hands flail to pull it down.

  “Stop. You don’t get to fucking hide yourself from me.” His voice ricochets around the room along with the heady lust vibrating between us.

  Is this it? Is he going to do it now? Against my will? I close my eyes, waiting, hoping, then feel it.

  I cry out as his heavy palm connects with my ass, fingers stinging the flesh.

  “Little girls who tease get punished. I’ll fuck you face down into the bed so no one will hear you scream. Not that there is anyone to hear you out here in the woods.” The thrill of his words rushes through me from my toes to the tips of my ears in waves that are impossible to quell.

  Another hard smack lands and I grip the bed, biting into the pillows against the rush of pain and pleasure, trying to hold back from releasing the coiled tension gathering at my already-soaked pussy. He isn’t gentle, but I know in the deepest part of me…I don’t want gentle. “Sorry, Daddy,” I say, playing into the game. “I’m sorry.”

  I brace for the next blow. Helpless, aware of how vulnerable I am right now, how he could do whatever he likes. The thought only makes me squirm in anticipation, but the smack never comes.

  “Have you had enough?” he asks, voice apprehensive, testing, but my pussy only seeps more proof into my panties of how much I want him.

  For a second, I say nothing, then I answer, an odd wash of relief flowing over me. “One more, Daddy. I deserve it.”

  There’s a beat of silence.

  Calm.

  I’m no longer in control, nor do I want to be.

  I hear my breathing, slow and even as the air moves though my throat. I listen to my heartbeat drumming in my ears.

  The rain lashes against the side of the house, but in here all is comfort, warmth. He is here, looking after me, keeping me safe.

  As I start to feel it’s over, I’m floating, his hand connects with my ass harder, exploding nerve endings like sparklers on the Fourth of July.

  I gasp and hiss at the sting of it as I bury my face in the covers, as the coiled tension inside me releases. I lose the battle to hold back and let the rush of an orgasm go. The bedding is soaked in an instant as I fight to draw a full breath, hyperventilating until a hand in my hair tugs my head up and to the side as his lips crush to mine and the bit of oxygen I had managed to suck in is torn from my lungs. His tongue is as big as the rest of him, slick, messy and taking what it wants as I wind mine into his, listening to the rumbling moan coming from his throat.

  When he pulls away, I’m still bereft of breath but I no longer care. Let me die right now, I’m in bliss. Heaven. Weightless. I want more. I want it all.

  With him.

  “Good girl.” Vincent rubs my ass gently with his hand, soothing me. “Good little girl. It’s time for bed.”

  * * *

  I can’t sleep.

  I can’t get comfortable.

  My old, broken-down mattress at the apartment is too soft. This one is too hard.

  I’m lying here now in one of his huge shirts, thinking of him, PapaBear, wishing the shirt wasn’t so clean, wishing I could smell his scent all over me.

  Hours ago, Vincent tucked me into bed, a painful crease in his furrowed forehead as he growled goodnight, and left me, wet and wondering if maybe he was having second thoughts, that we’d gone too far…

  I heard movement for an hour through the rest of the house. At first I thought maybe it was just Bear, but after a while all fell silent and now I’m not sure. I didn’t hear Vincent’s steps pass my room to get to his.

  I thought he might look in on me, but I’ve barely closed my eyes and there’s been no click on the knob, no movement of the door.

  The storm is raging outside, mimicking the thrashing inside of me. A white flash of lightning lit up the room a minute ago and I curled into a ball.

  What time is it now? One AM? Two?

  Is Vincent in bed or was he making all that noise? Or, is he laying, naked, awake…just on the other side of the wall, stroking that obscene weight of meat between his legs? His balls probably more than could fit into my hands, hanging heavy, filled with warm, thick cream, dancing with the possibility of a future filled with little Vincents or Vincettas running the halls...

  Climbing out of bed, I shiver at the cool wood floor. It’s utterly dark, but there’s a battery lamp on the table beside the bed. I lift it and turn it on, then creep from my room, footsteps creaking as I tiptoe across the landing, but there’s no light coming from his room. I lean in and listen at the door...

  “Vincent…” I press my palm over the wood as if I could feel his heartbeat if he was inside.

  No answer. I raise my voice just a little.

  “…Daddy?”

  My pulse races into the red. I gulp, my eardrums pulsing, straining to hear his deep, rugged voice.

  Yes, little girl, come to me…

  I stand, stone still…but I hear nothing but my own inner voice pushing me forward.

  You haven’t come this far, to only come this far…keep going.

  When I try the handle, it turns and the door opens on silent hinges, but the room is quiet and as I shine the lamp inside I see the bed, made up, unused. He isn’t here.

  A sudden flash of lightning flickers in the room, making me jump and throwing ominous shadows across the log walls. I back away as the thunder rolls, out onto the landing, my heart about to blow a chamber.

  He isn’t here and the house is huge. He could be anywhere. I know I should go back to bed, but I can’t. I head for the end of the corridor and the stairs down into the living room.

  In the dark, the room looms, feeling larger than I remember, the ceiling so high the light from the small lamp in my quivering hands doesn’t reach its peak.

  Thunder shakes the house, and a squeal of fear catches in the back of my throat. The storm is growing, centered as though it’s settled itself just over the house, daring me to continue. Telling me all that could go wrong if I do.

  “Bear?” I whisper as I creep around the room, but it’s empty.

  I head back out into the hall and spot another door I haven’t tried. I ease toward it. Opening it, I find a long, wide passage, gently sloping down to a single door at the end. Windows along the ceiling tell me I’m in the single-story part of the house, and there are paintings sparsely lining the walls, along with a couple of small plinths beneath, upon which stand abstract marble sculptures.

  “Bear? Vincent?” I whisper, wanting a response even with fear snapping at my heels that I’ll get one.

  I want to knock, to call his name against the solid wood of the closed door, but I don’t. Or I can’t. I stand still again, listening, but I’m met with nothing but the sounds of the storm. I try the handle and it clicks, but I stop.

  I stand frozen, counting the seconds in time with my heartbeats. It feels different. It feels different here as though I’m intruding. I turn away, silently talking myself down from the cliff releasing the door handle ready to turn back toward my room.

  Another rumble of thunder, shaking the floor and the windows set into the ceiling, then a bolt of lightning flashes, turning the hall bright and shaking everything as though it’s struck the foundation of the house itself.

  It’s taunting me. Be daring, see what you get…

  I battle against the conflict and grip my fingers on the handle again, finding my voice.

  “Vincent?”

  That feeling of being watched prickles the back of my neck. The same one I’ve felt for months that someone is hiding, keeping their eyes on me.

  My pulse races as I turn and raise my lamp, and yelp, my insides seizing as I contract into myself.

  He’s here.

  He’s naked.

  In the light of the lamp I see his skin glistening, his hair dripping. A droplet glints as it traces a line down betw
een his pectorals, along his rippling stomach, down to the deep V that points to the heavy cock standing, engorged, like a steel pole as thick and long as my forearm.

  He stares at me, a wildness in his dark eyes, and I know I’ve never seen him like this. I back away, pressing myself against the door I never got to open.

  “Daddy, I—”

  “Little girls shouldn’t go snooping.”

  6

  Vincent

  As I crush her against the door, I think about what’s beyond. What she would have found if I hadn’t arrived when I did.

  My secret.

  My shame.

  The thought of her finding it only makes me harder. If she’d discovered just how deep my obsession goes, how would she react? Fear? Fury?

  My cock jumps at the idea, throbbing with the need to be inside her. I reach down and stroke it as I watch her squirm, struggling to free herself from me.

  “Naughty little girl,” I grit, my voice hoarse with need as I take a long breath of her sweet scent. She’s soaked, I can smell it on her as I take the light she was holding and set it down on a nook cut into the log wall.

  “Put your hands up here,” I order through clenched teeth, nodding above her head, then watch her hands flutter as she raises them.

  I reach up, gripping them together in my hand, pinning her in place while I squeeze my dick, trying to keep from spraying her with the orgasm that’s tightening my balls.

  “W—why are you so wet?” she stammers, her eyes wide as she tries to hold my gaze.

  I release my cock, I want to touch her far more than myself. My fingers drift forward then glance across the soft edge of her shirt, lifting it away before tracing a finger over the slippery lips of her bare cunt. She gasps, but I grin. “Why are you?”

  Before she answers, my lips are against hers, her body responding, arching into me on a guttural moan, her mouth opening, allowing my tongue entry, her breaths coming thick and fast as she gasps into our kiss.

  A moment later, she breaks away, twisting her face from me, I follow her movement, nose to nose, as I see a flash of fear in her eyes.