Love Is Strange (I Know... #2) (3 page)

"Boo," he breathed, his voice deep and his breath warm on my cheek. I jerked and turned my face toward his as he chuckled lightly. He was having too much fun, scaring the shit out of me and playing the mean little game he was playing. I shoved at his arms even though he was stronger than me. He always had been.

"Let me go, asshole," I said through gritted teeth but he didn't loosen his hold on me. He was laughing and it made me want to slap his face. I hadn't processed the emotions from earlier. My whole body felt raw and on edge. I suddenly had more fight in me. “Stop trying to scare me.”

“You like it,” he said. “You like what I do to you.” I shook my head and he chuckled again because he was evil. Then he pressed his mouth to my temple, his lips soft but insistent. He kissed me then pulled away, taking the pressure away from my throat. I took a deep breath as he sat back against the backseat. The leather seats creaked as he moved. It was dark in the car, and his essence, his presence, had completely taken over. I could smell him all over me and I knew he would love nothing more than taking me over, body and soul.  He wanted everything and he had no problem with trying to take it.

"Put your seatbelt on," he demanded, lazily. I didn't move, just stared out the windshield at the empty parking lot. I couldn't figure out how I was feeling. There were too many emotions flowing through me. As always, it was his fault. When it came to him, things were never simple, especially not emotions. “Were you afraid of me?" he asked, his voice softer.

"I don't know," I responded, begrudgingly. "Yes."

"Good," he said and my eyes shot up to the rearview mirror. It was too dark to see anything except the silhouette of his head against the back window. I couldn't see his face, but I imagined he was smiling in self-satisfaction. But when he spoke again, he sounded anything but satisfied. "You should be afraid of me. Sometimes... The way I think about you - what I think about doing to you..." He trailed off and I resisted the urge to turn in my seat to look at him. "I scare myself," he said, the words low, but loud in the muffled quiet of the car. I didn't say anything as his words seeped in. I immediately regretted saying I was afraid, because it wasn't true. Not exactly. After everything he'd done and I’d done, not much scared me. Only one thing did, actually.

After a minute, he shifted in his seat and let out an impatient, yet tired sigh. "We gonna stay here all night, Joanie?"

“We'll stay here as long as I feel like it," I shot back, but I put the key in the ignition anyway, because it wasn't smart to keep sitting there in the open. I backed out of the parking lot and we drove for awhile in silence. I glanced up in the rearview mirror, but he was slouched in the seat with his head down. He was a dark, mysterious figure, not the man I was used to. He was the night crawler, the criminal, the hulking dangerous looking one that people avoided on the street. But he was also mine.

The more I thought about it, the more angry I became. All the feelings of the night – the fear, the desperation, the lust - were compounding into one. I was angry at him, for risking everything for a thrill, for a game that we were both going to lose eventually. Everything we'd gone through, everything I'd done and everything I'd fought for could've been lost in an instant. It still could be lost, if the wrong person saw him or saw us. If the wrong person looked too deeply, it could be a disaster for us.

“What are you doing?” I said, when I couldn't keep silent anymore. “Why are you here instead of at home?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he replied.

“I don't like surprises,” I said. “There are too many things that could go wrong.”

“I don't care.”

"So you don't care about going back?" I asked. “You don't care about getting caught?”

"I'm not afraid of that," he said, his voice flat and unemotional.

"Be afraid for me, then. What do you think they'll do to me? I'm the one harboring a fugitive." I heard him lean forward and then I felt his fingers on my neck.

"You'd be fine," he whispered. "You can cover your own ass." He pressed his lips to my jaw, tickling me with his unexpected gentleness. "You're a great liar. I'm sure you'd come up with something." I stared straight ahead as my stomach rolled. The thought of them taking him from me... I didn't like to think of it. The thought of losing him felt akin to death, like the most crushing sense of sadness that I had ever felt. Elliot couldn't go. I couldn't fathom it. All I knew was that I couldn't let that happen. Neither of us could let it happen.

We didn't talk for the rest of the ride home. There was so much more to say, but I didn't know how to say it. Or maybe I didn't want to say it. He'd left the house specifically to come for me, to be with me. He'd risked himself for me. Or did he? Maybe it didn't have anything to do with me at all. I didn't know, but I didn't like it. I didn't like any of it. The pressure felt less and less the closer we got to home, but it didn't go away. I was impatient as I turned down the street, just wanting it to be over. In the twenty minute drive from the office to my condo, so much could've gone wrong. But it didn't. And then it was over.

I pulled into the garage and parked. Then I pressed the button and watched the door slowly close behind us. I got out of the car without another look at him, grabbing my purse and hurrying to the door that connected the garage to the kitchen. I could feel him behind me, his hands reaching out for me, but I stayed out of his grasp. I didn't want to think all the things I was thinking. I just wanted to get into the safety of the house and shut out the rest of the world. I only made it as far as the sink before he grabbed me and flung me against the counter. He pressed me against it, not letting me move away from him.

“What's the matter with you?” he asked, his eyes finding mine. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. The manic fire was flickering behind his eyes again, and I knew that meant he was angry now too. But I didn't care. He'd been careless. I had every right to be angry with him.

"Why did you leave the house?" I asked, breathlessly, the words tumbling out. "Don't leave.”

"I'm supposed to wait here for you to get home, like a fucking pet?” He ground his hips into mine. “Am I supposed to wait around for a pat on the head, like a good boy?”

"I can't lose you," I said, not caring how desperate I sounded.

"Baby, you are going to lose me. It's just a question of when.” He said the words so roughly and so sure, like it was the only truth. Panic roared up in my and I slapped him across the face.

"Don't you fucking say that," I hissed as his head snapped to the side. "Never say that." His nostrils flared and his mouth ticked up. In a flash, he had his hands around my neck. A thrill ran through me and i arched my back, wanting him so badly I didn't know what to do with myself.

I couldn't lose him.

Ever.

"You're right Joanie," he said as he squeezed, his eyes glowing with unhinged power. I raked my hand down his ribs, wanting to score his skin with my fingernails. Then he slanted his mouth over mine, kissing me hard and deep. He dropped his hands to my trench-coat and slowly, softly, unbuttoned it as he ravaged my mouth. Then his hands were running all over my tits and my chest, like he was trying to memorize the feel of me all over again.

"They belong to you." I whispered against his lips. "I belong to you."

"Fuck yeah you do." Then he lifted me onto the counter and shoved my legs apart. I helped him, shoving my skirt up over my thighs. He grabbed my knees and pulled me into him. I can feel his erection against my thigh. It doesn't matter that he's already fucked me once tonight. I want more. I'm insatiable. "No one can change that. No matter what happens."

"And you belong to me," I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. A felt a shiver of lust go through him. He bucked his hips again and I moaned.

He loves when I touch him like that.

"Say it," I demanded, then pulled him closer and sucked on the tip of his tongue as he freed his cock. He broke the kiss and stared down at me, his eyes guarded but full of love for me."Elliot belongs to Joan. Say it," I urged.

"Goddammit, Joanie," he hissed. "I'm your fucking slave, aren't I?" Then he pounded his big cock into me until I screamed. He slapped a hand over my mouth and it was hard to breathe, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything but him. There was a voice in the back of my brain telling me that it wasn't going to last. Both of us knew it, but I was still pretending. I didn't want to think about what could happen to him or to me. I didn't want to think about the future, because I was only living for the moment. Later, as we lay side by side in bed, exhausted but still awake, he whispered roughly how much he loved me in my ear and I wanted it to never end.

What a moment it was.

But it didn't last, of course.

That kind of happiness never lasts.

*****

Gray hazy light streamed through the curtains.

It was barely past dawn but I was already wide awake.

The cotton sheets were soft against my cheek but the hemp ropes burned around my wrists. I winced as he tightened the bindings but I didn't dare complain. If I complained, he would just tighten them more. Or worse. My ass was in the air and my wrists were bound behind my knees and I was completely naked and at his mercy. He liked me best like that. The position I was in made it a bit hard to breathe and my vision was starting to go blurry. My neck was going to be sore the next day, I knew. I made a mental note to make him give me a massage before I went to work. I was already tired from the long night we'd had. I'd only gotten a couple of hours of sleep and now he wanted to play again. The light was hazy outside of the windows because the sun hadn't come up yet.

He was impatient and rough, yanking on the rope as he finished knotting it around my wrists. I moaned lightly, trying to muffle the sound in against the softness of the bedding. Then he had mercy on me. He forced his arm under my ribs, grabbed one of the heavy down pillows and thrust it under me, raising my tits and shoulders off of the mattress. The stress on my neck is instantly reduced and I squeeze my eyes shut in relief. I didn't dare say 'thank you' but he knew. Besides, he would soon pay me back for the bit of kindness he'd shown. He'd easily be twice as brutal as kind before he was done with me.

He ran his hands up the back of my thighs and I tried to contain my shiver of pleasure but I couldn't. He knew exactly how to touch me to lessen the discomfort. All of a sudden, all of my attention was focused on the sensitive skin of my thighs as opposed to the tingling and burning of my wrists. I wanted more and not soft touches. I wanted whatever he was going to do and I wanted it as soon as possible. He moved on, his fingers teasing the perfect spot under the swell of my ass and then kept going, frustrating me for the sake of being an asshole. He knew with one pinch of my spot, I would be dripping wet for him. But he didn't want me dripping yet. He wanted to torture me.

I didn't know what I'd done to deserve it, but it didn't matter. I bit my lip to keep from moaning. I wasn't going to beg, not even when he dipped his thumb inside of me and teased. He dragged his thumb down through my slit and then circled my clit and I could feel how wet I was already. It hadn't even begun yet. He kept stroking me, gently but insistently, and I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my face into the pillow. I wanted to scream at him to fuck me, to punish me for whatever I'd done. That gentle but non-committal pressure made me want to slap or kick at him to get a reaction. But that was the point. He wanted to make me suffer and he was going to do it his way, not mine. That was what my life was – suffering and begging and coming and then doing it all over again.

It was all I'd ever wanted. All I'd dreamt of all those nights when he was in prison. Every time that I fucked someone else, every time I tried to get revenge on him by giving my body to other men, I'd dreamt of that moment. I'd always belonged to him and I was waiting for him to come and re-claim his property. As strong as I was and as much as I could do anything that I wanted to do out of the bedroom, when it came to him, I wanted his power. I wanted his pain. I wanted him to take it out on me. I didn't even question it. I just succumbed.

When I felt his tongue, I couldn't hold it in anymore. I moaned into the pillow, then turned my head to gasp for air as he began working his rough, slick tongue over my asshole as his thumb circled my clit. I tightened my hands into fists, my whole body going tight as he nudged at my tightness with the tip of his tongue, pushing into me insistently. He increased his pressure on my clit and I dug my toes into the mattress trying to keep myself upright. It was hard not to collapse into myself.

I screamed when he slapped my ass, hard. It was unexpected and it made my pussy clench. I wanted to be filled. I wanted him to slam his big cock into me and make it hurt. He knew that, so he wasn't going to do it. Instead he chuckled lightly and then dipped his thumb back inside of me, just deep enough to tease but not satisfy. I tried to roll my hips and take him deeper, but he pulled his hand away. Then he was tongue-fucking me again, forcing the tip of his tongue inside of me again. I was loosening up for him and he knew it. When he pressed his thumb to the tight ring of muscle, I bowed my back and waited for the burn. I craved it. And I wasn't disappointed. He pushed inside without any fanfare. He didn't take it slowly or carefully. He just did it. Finally. That was the Elliot I wanted.