I was back in the Quarterz by the next afternoon-night in their time zone. You probably knew I would be. Even I didn" t believe I could stay away. Rather than look for trouble in the same direction I" d found it last time, I moved away from the light, toward the sound of the river that ran behind the town.
I was aware of my own skin in a way I" d never been. As if each cell were a receiver tuned to the slightest nuances of temperature, moisture, air current. Somewhere down a distant alley, I heard the rattle of what sounded like a garbage can toppling and my skin hummed like a network picking up the data, passing it to veins and bones. From a different direction the sound of breaking glass set off another flurry of reaction.
Adrenaline washed through my veins and I felt so alive I wondered that the air around me didn" t crackle with it.
Most of the street lamps were dark, the light available cast by fires in burning barrels and an occasional burning car. It was creepy that amid so much evidence of rage there could be so few signs of life. It was meant to be creepy.
I slipped into an abandoned warehouse by the docks, clambered up a maze of steel catwalks. The last set of stairs led to a central, windowed room suspended high above the main floor. The meager furnishings included a stained mattress sans sheets, assorted beer bottles and a crate. A hubcap filled with cigarette butts rounded out the decor. A thin curl of smoke rising from the center of the butts had me backing out, looking quickly around. There was nowhere to hide up here. Unless you could float suspended in the darkness. My heart was pounding so loud I couldn" t hear the clack of my sandals on the metal walkway.
I couldn" t see him, but I knew a hunter was there, watching. I kept moving. Back down the stairs, even though a queasy feeling in my stomach warned a trap waited
below. I had more than one stalker. A shadow quivered at the edge of my vision, vanishing when I turned my head. The scent of tobacco rode an air current from the main floor one level below me now.
I stopped, pressed my body against a steel post, blending with shadows. Male voices floated up.
“You sure she came in here?”
“Can" t you smell wet pussy?” came the answer.
Of course he was baiting me. The taunt meant to flush me out.
My pussy didn" t get that. A rush of heat and scent in response to the tease would lead them right to me if I didn" t find a way out.
Again a shadow flicked just to the edge of my vision, but when I turned no one was there. I wasn" t fooled.
Three hunters on the trail then. Below, boots clanged on steel. They were coming up. What now?
There was a C container just below me, close enough that if I hung by my arms from the catwalk my feet could reach. There wasn" t much time. I had to get there before the hunters below had climbed high enough to see me lower to the roof. I slipped off my sandals, sat on the walkway, shimmied over the side and hung by my arms. My feet met only air.
Minor miscalculation.
I wasn" t strong enough to swing myself back up and my hands were sweating so bad I knew I couldn" t hold on long. I let go, hoping for the best. My landing was soft but audible.
I flattened myself against the top of the container. From my perch I could see one shadowy figure move my direction from the back of the warehouse, another moving up the walkway froze.
“You hear that?”
“Yeah. Sounds like good times ahead?”
The first man chuckled. “Here, kitty, kitty.”
I cringed.
They were both moving up the stairs now. I peeked over the edge of the container.
It was farther down from there to the floor than I wanted it to be. There was a hatch on the top of the container, I eased it back and peered inside. It was darker than dark. I looked around for something small to drop. There was a bottle cap close to my elbow.
I extended my arm as far into the container as I could before letting it go. It hit something solid sounding with a soft plink, something solid and fairly close. I lay on my belly and inched backward through the hole, my feet found a perch before I" d dropped hip-deep. I slid into my new hiding place and waited. And yeah, I know I said I wasn" t the sort of prey that shivered in the shadows. When you" re trying to give three hunters the slip, adjustments have to be made.
When I could hear the guys clomping around in that room at the top of the catwalk, I decided it was time to leave. They had to be together, because no way they made it to the top without running into the guy who" d been behind me. Apparently none of the three had noticed the small pair of sandals nestled against the post at the first landing. I inched over the side of the tall crate I" d landed on and felt along the wall toward the door I" d seen up front and to the right. The metal was cold and rough under my hands.
My feet moved over the damp floor. I stepped on something slimy and jerked, banging a knee-high crate and sending an assortment of objects skittering across the floor. I froze, looking upward. The door, right in front of me now, popped open and I had a hand over my mouth and another arm around my waist before I could scream. In the little bit of light cast through the door I could see I" d dropped into some kind of torture chamber, complete with chains and stocks.
“You can make a bunch of noise and I" ll have to share you right here with the guys from upstairs, or you can stay quiet and I" ll beam us out of here to someplace more pleasant. Your choice.”
I went still. He dropped his hand. When I stayed quiet, he took that as assent and we launched into a sickening spin that I thought must be the way it felt to get sucked through a black hole.
We emerged on a dock. Going from solid to vapor and back again has the same effect on your brain as a shot of whiskey. I staggered when he let me go. His hand at my elbow steadied me enough that I could turn to get my first look at the face behind the powerful arms that had snatched me from the container. I recognized those steel-blue eyes, that superhero body instantly. I wondered if he remembered me.
He was between me and the city streets. A boat bobbed on oily, black water behind me.
“New girl,” he said. He said it like it was a chore.
It wasn" t a question so I didn" t answer.
“You know the rules?”
“You caught me. I" m yours to use, in whatever way you choose. When you" re done I" m free to go. Like fishing.”
“Fishing?”
“Catch and release.”
“That" s just about right. You missed one thing.” I waited.
“You can always safe-out. Which means if you don" t want this, you log out for the rest of the day. No questions asked. No honor lost. Sort of like you did yesterday. Only it" s considered better manners if you just say, „I" m safing out" before you disappear.” So he did remember. “I understand.”
He folded those big arms over his chest. He appeared to be waiting for something, but I couldn" t imagine what was left to say. Finally he asked, “Staying put this time?” My mouth was so dry I couldn" t speak. I nodded.
He took a coil of what looked like black cord from his belt. He was shirtless, his shoulder-length black hair whipped back from his face by the wind off the water. He wore tight black pants and black boots. I doubted the black cord was a fashion accessory. I was right.
“This is a leash.” With a flick of his wrist it uncoiled like a thin snake. One end molded itself around my neck, the other around his wrist. The section between us lengthened when I took a step back.
“You don" t have to tie me to you. You won. I won" t run.”
“The leash is as much to prevent other hunters from snatching you away as to keep you tied to me. As long as you" re leashed no one can touch you unless I invite them.
That doesn" t mean game over,” he said with a devil" s grin. “If you get an opening and want to try taking it, go ahead. If you want a little fire in your action, you can fight right up to and through the fucking. It" s always about what you want, sweetheart. And whenever it" s not what you want, safe-out. Okay?” He" d answered my most basic question. His definition of using me any way he wanted included fucking. Fucking was his definition as far as I could tell. And, more important, the game wasn" t over until the fucking was done. I might be down, but I hadn" t lost yet.
“Okay,” I said.
He glanced over his shoulder. Flashlight beams cut through the darkness. “Then let" s get moving before we have company.” He bowed and waved me toward the boat.
“After you.”
I moved ahead of him and the leash lengthened, but the band around my throat compressed.
“Easy,” he cautioned. “The leash gets uncomfortable the farther from me you go.” The compression eased when I stepped closer to him. He held the boat steady with one hand and offered the other to help me down from the dock. I stayed on my feet until he joined me, tilting the boat and toppling me into his lap with a move that suggested it was planned rather than fortuitous. He produced a jacket from the back of the boat to drape over me like a blanket. The boat lurched forward when the motor roared to life, sending up a plume of spray that made me appreciate the thoughtfulness behind the jacket.
Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be under the total control of a sexy man? To be owned? To be a slave to his desire? I have. I" ve contemplated whether it would be as hot as it sounds.
It was and it wasn" t. My hormones were all over the idea. I was wet, hot, so ready for him I was shaking. But there was this nagging voice at the back of my mind that kept insisting I" d lost my mind. I shouldn" t want him. I suspected the voice was right. I shouldn" t need this, crave it. Problem was, I did.
The whine of the boat motor dropped an octave, to a steady chug. The wind and spray eased to misty breeze. “Relax,” he said, his breath warm, a soft tickle against my ear. “Enjoy the moment. Deal with what" s coming when it gets here.” I decided to listen to him rather than the voice in my head.
The backs of my thighs rode the tops of his. I could feel his heat, the scrape of denim against bare skin where my skirt rode up. His right hand slipped under my skirt.
Rested against my thigh while his thumb grazed moist lips.
Ahead black cliffs loomed and the boat stayed on a straight course between them.
We passed through to a brighter region of emerald cliffs and blue water. “It" s so beautiful here,” I said, surprised any part of this post-apocalyptic world could be so.
“When I first looked into those deep-green eyes of yours, I thought of these cliffs here in the wasteland. It" s beautiful, but a frozen beauty, nothing grows here. Not even love.”
Was that a warning? Not one I needed, but I kept that to myself and changed the subject.
“How did you know I was in the container?”
“I followed you down right after you slipped through the hatch. Only I didn" t make any noise and I wasn" t afraid to jump off the end.” I let my head rest against his shoulder, angled it to study him.
He lowered his head, lips brushing mine, his tongue parting them as his thumb parted more sensitive lips below. I whimpered into his mouth when his thumb flicked over my clit. Two more fingers slipped inside me. I squirmed, which only forced them deeper.
“You" re hot,” he said. “Scalding hot.” His fingers found the sweet spot, circling with exquisite pressure inside. My breath went ragged. Stopped when he stopped.
Resumed when he did. That simply he" d taken control of me and the life force of my breath. I tried to ignore his fingers, ignore my need, but my breath followed the pleasure his fingers delivered or withheld. He owned me right down to the air I breathed until he decided to break the connection.
When his hand withdrew all the way, I wanted to drag it back, push it even deeper.
With a quick snap of his wrist, the leash around my neck broke away, coiled around his wrist like a snake called home.
I expected relief when the cord fell away. I was hit with a sense of loss. This was it?
He" d decided to throw me back so soon.
“We" ll be alone here, no need to keep you tied.” Something like relief fluttered in my stomach. He did mean to keep me. Before I could digest that reaction, he pointed to the cliff" s edge where an eagle launched, swooping low over the water just in front of us and then veering off to flap lazily above an island that hovered in a veil of lavender mists. Behind that the sun rose, casting long fingers of shadow and light. I didn" t have to ask to know the island was our destination and the leaning shape of a black stone house was where he meant to have me. I shivered.
“You" re cold,” he said, holding me tighter.
The bird settled in the blackened branches of a dead tree near a dock. I tried to think up something to say. I had come expecting a fight in an alley, one he might win in the end, but I hadn" t come prepared for his need to make some sort of connection. I hadn" t come expecting boat rides and beauty to emerge from the bleakness of the Quarterz.
“I" m just nervous. My first abduction.”
The bird settled in the blackened branches of a dead tree near a dock.
He bent his head, slid his fingers in my hair, gripping tight and turning my head, tipping it back to steal a kiss. Our lips met and lust rose like a drug to chase away anxiety. I could tell from the slight maneuvering, from the way he kept one eye on the water, that he was guiding us into the dock and wasn" t surprised when a bump against the shore announced our arrival.
He didn" t let the kiss end there and the hand that I" d been wanting to drag under my skirt found its way back.
“Mmm…” The sound was a low rumble in his chest as his fingertip slid along the cleft of my pussy, parted lips plump with desire and sticky wet. His finger burrowed into my heat. I arched in his arms, adding my own moan to his.
He pulled back, but still held me cradled against his chest. I looked up into his eyes, now as dark and deep as the midnight-blue waters around us. Whatever thoughts plagued him were shaken off with a toss of his head.
“Out you go then.” He was helping me up to the dock when the boat lurched. I missed my footing and hit the water in a graceless splat.
With a laugh he leapt out behind me. Of course he was graceful, looking dashing and gallant when he landed on both feet, knee-deep. He looked like an old-time pirate, wind whipping his dark hair. He wore black jeans and boots that reached his knees.
When he stood above me, legs planted wide, hands on his hips, I wanted him enough to strip off my clothes and have him right there in the shallows of the riverside.
His eyes had a wicked gleam that made me welcome the cold slap of water against my skin.
“Now we" ll have to get you out of those clothes,” he said. “Dry you out by the fire.” He offered me a hand and I took it.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Guilty.” He pulled me to my feet, scooped me up in his arms and carried me toward the stone house. The wind was stronger here, whipping my hair across my face and his. I pushed my tangled locks away from his eyes.
He chuckled. “It" s always nice to snatch up such considerate prey.” I couldn" t help a smile and he stopped, just stood staring at me until I realized the smile must be the reason and dropped my gaze, turning away from those searching eyes. I didn" t come here to find romance. Men didn" t come here for romance either. It was time to get back to the business of making him work for what he wanted.
Inside, timbers creaked and stone walls seemed to shudder against the onslaught of the wind howling like a demon outside. My abductor deposited me on my feet in front of the hearth.
“Get the wet things off,” he said. He lit an oil lamp and set it on the mantel. The light barely penetrated the darkness of the shuttered house. Lighting a fire was his next task.
I wasn" t going to take off my clothes. I hadn" t budged from where he" d dropped me. I was hugging myself, peering at the darkness that felt as if it must have a million eyes in it. The fire cast a weak circle of light that extended no farther than the fur rug I stood on. His back was to me and the door only a few feet away. I inched toward it. I saw the quick scurry of a mouse at the very edge where light melted into darkness between me and the door, and jumped back.
The fire caught with a crackle, he moved behind me. “Don" t worry. They stick to the shadows.”
“That" s a comfort,” I said, striving for a dry tone, but it came out sounding as high-pitched and squeaky as the mouse itself.
“I told you to get naked.” His tone was hard, the harshest I" d hear from him so far.
It marked the opening of the final act.
His fingers threaded through my wet hair. When he squeezed, twisted it around his fist, water ran down my back. There wasn" t time to respond. Holding me by my hair he stripped me, peeled soggy clothes off the way he might peel an apple before he sank his teeth into the sweet flesh beneath. I grabbed at the tatters, tried to press them to me, but he kept going, unfazed. My clothes came apart with the muted shriek of cotton fibers snapping, the sound rippled through my skin and straight down to my pussy. He spun me around to face him, one hand in my hair, one hand on the waistband of a denim skirt so old and threadbare it was almost translucent. We both knew it would be gone with one quick tug.
He let the tension linger, drew it out the way a director might draw out a moment with spooky music and panning the camera in for a close-up. He leaned in, nose two inches from mine, when that last rip came.
I" d imagined how this moment would be so many times. During the days I was working up the nerve to play this game. I" d fantasized about this moment during the hunt and on the boat. I" d thought I" d fight harder when I was skin to skin with a hunter, be immune in some way to the primal beat of passion that immobilized me more effectively than rope, or chain, or the evil little black leash he wore on his belt.
Here in the firelight, I was a woman wanted by a man, wanting him back. We played the game we were supposed to be too civilized to play. The game of catch me if you can. I played because there was something erotic about a man who was smart enough to outwit me. Strong enough to take me. A holdover, I guess, from the days when those were the skills a mate had to have to keep a family safe and fed. Those instincts, our primitive needs, were off the leash now.
His gaze was a palpable touch, sliding over my body, the skin burned under his stare. My nipples tightened when his eyes lingered there, pussy wept when the gaze dropped lower, focused. I dropped a hand to shield myself from the heat. He pushed it away. I pushed back and the tussle I was craving started. There wasn" t much to be done against a man his size. That should have frightened me. It turned me on. Only a second ago I would have said it was impossible to reach a higher level of turned-on.
His stubbly cheek scraped my skin. His scent, male and spicy, made me want to press my nose to his neck and just breathe him in. It" s hard to fight when your limbs are going to jelly, when your breath is coming so fast it makes you dizzy. When his fingers find your pussy and buckle your knees under a tide of pleasure.
I resorted to the only weapon I had strength enough to wield. He didn" t have much chest hair, a few crisp curls in a tiny patch just below the indentation where his collarbones met.
I caught one in my teeth and yanked.
“Ouch.” He rubbed his chest with one hand and glared. Annoyance gave way to a gleam in his eyes and a demon" s grin. Then a hard slap on my bottom wrung a startled
“Ouch!” from me.
We went down together. At first the feeling of falling terrified me, but I should have known he was in control. I landed on top and was rolled under him.
You know those dreams you have where you want to fight or run and scream, but your limbs won" t move and no sounds will come? That" s what this felt like when his weight pinned me and his hands spread my legs to take his hips between them.
His mouth was over mine, tongue fucking me, while his chest ground against my breasts. My nipples were so hard they hurt. His zipper scraped my pussy, his weight pinning my hips to take the torture. Through it all I wanted more. I wanted that cock of his locked inside my throbbing heat. I wanted to lock him in the thrill of my muscles the way he had me locked in his. I wasn" t going to admit it.
“Pig,” I taunted.
“Slut,” he murmured against my lips.
“Get off me.” I did my best to sound sincere, but when you" re breathless with lust it ruins the effect.
He" d shifted to work his hands between us and dip his fingers into me. I closed my eyes, bit my lip to hold back a whimper.
“That" s not what you want,” he said.
“What?”
“You don" t want me to get off you.”
He pressed fingers soaked in feminine honey to my lips. When I refused to open for him, he licked them clean himself, his eyelids dropping as he savored. He sucked and glanced sideways as he did, his expression reminding me of a mischievous boy who" d gotten away with swiping a fingerful of frosting from a cake.
His hand dipped between us again. This time to undo his pants, uncovering just enough to fuck me without undressing all the way. That was unexpectedly erotic.
There" s vulnerability in being naked. Vulnerability he" d demanded from me and didn" t allow for himself.
The head of his cock bumped impatiently at my pussy as it found the way in.
“Hold tight,” he said. That first thrust ripped a cry from me. So did the second.
He propped himself on his elbows, and I could see in his face the barely leashed animal need to take and take hard. “You want me to go easy?” he panted.
I ripped another hair from his chest with my teeth.
He hammered me. From that point on, it was as if I were outside my body watching a more primitive me take over. My fingers in his hair, pulling. Teeth biting, nails scratching to spur him on.
His body slammed mine so hard my bones vibrated. I wanted that hard, fast battering ram of a man" s cock driving me out of my mind, driving out everything but the hump and bump of two bodies clawing their way toward a climax.
When he finally said, “Beg me, baby. Beg me to fill you with cum,” I did.
I pleaded. When his cock jerked inside me, filled me, I cried out and gave myself up to the mindlessness of my own orgasm. His face was pressed between my breasts. His hand clamped down on my right shoulder. His fingertips so hot his grip was like a brand. I might have paid more attention to that sensation, but I was straining toward that final release, that floating stretch of peace when my mind went silent, that time when there are no thoughts. The thoughtless time never lasts long enough.
The lamp had gone out and the fire was nothing but a patch of glowing coals in the darkness. His weight left my body. I heard him moving around. I don" t know what I thought he was doing, maybe getting a blanket to cover us, or a pillow of some sort before he lay down. Depression was settling in fast on the heels of bliss. I didn" t want to come down, return to earth. Fantasy time was over and reality waited.
It wasn" t until I heard the door latch lift, cringed and turned my back to a cold blast of air that I realized I was being abandoned. Or was he just going outside to get something? The door slammed shut and I scrambled to my knees. Mice in the darkness being my first fear, I fumbled with the fire, the poker and sticks of wood, until I had a good blaze going again. When there was enough light to see a matchbox next to the lamp, I lit the wick too, turning the flame high enough to reach the top of the chimney.
On the floor beside the rug lay his shirt, neatly folded, and a red silk rose he" d placed on top.
Abandoned.
He" d never even asked my name.
I hadn" t asked his.
“What the fuck?” I said to the empty room.
I kicked the pile. The fake flower rolled into shadows and the shirt landed in a rumpled heap.
I left without either.
Jolie was not going to think about it. She would lose herself in work, concentrate on that and the hell with the rest of it. She grabbed a desktop tower from the front shelf.
Wi-Fi problems the service ticket said. She set the tower on the back bench so she could hook up the test station. Her hands were shaking so much she couldn" t get the mouse plugged in. She threw down the mouse and went into the office. Normally, she tried to avoid her father" s room. She worked at a laptop on the workbench or at the computer in the retail space. It made sense to be out where she could hear customers come in, get to them right away. No one could grab something off the retail shelf and run. Truth was this little town might have its thieves, but stealing was rare.
He" d been dead three months now, and it might have been her imagination, but the office still smelled like him. The scents of leather, Old Spice and coffee brought him close enough that she half believed he was here in some way. His battered leather chair wore an aura of him, the seat faded to white right in the dented spot his body had carved out over the years. On a metal shelf, repair manuals for every sort of electronics were arranged in alphabetical order, many coverless from use and age.
A small kitchen of sorts was arranged atop a waist-high wooden file cabinet in the corner. His single-cup coffeemaker, a mini microwave. Instant coffee, instant cocoa, a box of tea. Jolie wanted tea. When she picked up the mug he kept especially for her, she had to bite her lip and pinch her fingers hard on the bridge of her nose to hold back a tide of emotions. She wanted to deal with those even less than she wanted to sort through what had just happened online.
“Really, how could he just leave me like that? Without a goodbye,” she said aloud.
She ripped the top off the teabag box and ripped paper from the bag, filled the cup with water and slapped it in the microwave. She paced the office and fumed.
Fine. He was gone. She was a fighter and she would fight her way through this. She just thought he might have put more fight into staying, at least staying long enough for her to get there and say goodbye.
The microwave beeped. She grabbed her mug and fled to the safety of the front desk. When she set the mug down, she noticed the scene painted on the mug changing.
The eagle that had been sitting on the ground spread its wings above a vast blue lake.
Heat changed the scene-she" d forgotten that. She could almost hear her father" s voice-a lazy drawl, words paced in his peculiar sense of rhythm-the sense of awe conveyed when he" d first shown her the magic. “Watch this now, Jolie girl.” She" d been in high school then, morose over the fickleness of a boyfriend who dumped her for the first cheerleader to bat her eyes at him. Jolie" s father-single dad, sole fixer of broken toys, scraped knees and assorted childhood ills-had been at a loss when it came to broken hearts. Or so he" d thought, but the mug, a simple gift that said I love you when she" d been feeling unlovable, had been the bandage she needed to move on.
And how, she wondered, was she supposed to get through the rest of all life was going to throw at her, without him there to show her the way.