Love Is Strange (I Know... #2) (5 page)

“Yeah you can send him an email but I'll also make a note of it,” Amber was saying, not waiting for me to finish my train of thought. “Feel better, okay?”

“Okay, thanks,” I replied robotically, my mind already drifting away from the conversation. “Bye,” I said and then he pulled the phone away from my ear and hung up. He tossed it to the mattress and then grabbed my jaw roughly, angling my face toward him. I could feel him moving behind me, shoving his pants down over his hips. I could feel the warm, smooth tip of him pushing against my ass, insistently. Impatiently.

“Good girl,” he whispered, the words sharp and harsh. He was finally letting himself go. He'd been holding himself back, I realized. When he knew he had me all to himself, he changed. He let the animal in him take over.

“Fuck you,” I said, because I knew the effect it would have. And I was pissed at him for torturing me and making me change my day to accommodate him. My whole body was humming for him and he didn't care. He didn't care that he was making me crazy. All he cared about was himself. His lips curled into a small, cruel smile at my words and I felt my stomach twist.

“That sounds like Daisy,” he said. “You want to be Daisy?” He slapped my ass then, hard, and I clenched my teeth against the pain. I was so sore from his earlier abuse but he didn't care. Then he slid his hand into my hair and yanked my head back again, exposing my throat. He ran his tongue up the side of my neck and I stretched my hands out, trying to touch him. I moaned as my fingertips met his warm skin. He jerked into my touch and I knew he was close to giving in. He couldn't hold out forever, no matter how much he may have wanted to. He knew it too but he was stubborn.

Before I knew it, I was face first on the mattress again. My shoulders muscles pulled uncomfortably as my bound hands hooked around the back of my thighs but I barely had time to register the pain before he was angling himself against me and pushing his thick, hard cock inside. I was ready for him but at the same time, I wasn't. I forced myself to keep my eyes open and alert, because I didn't want to miss a single second or a single inch. I wanted to feel it all. We could fuck a million times in a million different ways and it would always be just as good as the last. Sometimes better. Sometimes wilder. Sometimes more desperate or more loving or more soft and slow. But always good.

The soft thick fabric of his pants brushed against my thighs as he bumped his hips against my ass, forcing several more inches of himself into me. I felt it all. His big cock was stretching me open, but there wasn't as much room with the plug still lodged inside of me. The effect was breathtaking. My nerve endings were singing. Screaming. But I couldn't make a sound. My throat was frozen and my mouth was dry as he pushed me past my limits and then kept going. The rope burned against my wrists but I couldn't help but fight my bondage. I pulled at the rope, trying to wrench my hands free. It didn't work, of course. He tied strong knots, unless he wanted me to get free. And that day, he didn't want me to get free. He wanted me to be his for however long he wanted me.

He strummed the base of the plug as he reared back, pulling his thick cock out of me inch by glorious inch. I shivered and I felt the wetness dripping down my thighs again. I was going to be covered in my own arousal soon. He pulled hard on the plug, nudging it along my sensitive insides and a painful moan ripped from my dry throat. Then he plunged deep inside of me, filling me in the way I needed. But it took a minute to recover. A minute that he didn't give me. He thrust in and out of me, hard, the sound of our skin slapping echoing in my ears. His fingers dug into my hips and his thumbs pressed down on the base of the plug as he fucked me like the mad man we both knew he was. I bowed my back, my body involuntarily moving away from is onslaught. But he didn't let me.

He held me in tightly to him and rolled his hips and we both moaned together, because it was too good. He knew exactly what to do and even if I fought him, I knew that too. My nipples rubbed against the soft sheets and the sensation was frustratingly gentle. I needed more. I needed his lips and his teeth. I wanted his mouth on me, on my tits and my neck. I wanted his hands in my hair. But the absence of those things turned me on as well, because I was deprived. I was full but empty. The frustration made me whine and snap my hips, searching for more. He grabbed my flesh and held me in place and I thought I heard him laugh.

Beside me, my phone began to vibrate, the feeling echoing through the mattress. He slammed into me once more before reaching down and grabbing the phone. A drop of sweat was making its way down my back and I could only focus on the prickly sensation because I couldn't swipe it away. It just added to the frustration. He leaned over me, setting the phone down for me to see the screen.

“It's your mama,” he said and I could hear the devilish glee in his voice. I knew what he was going to do the second before he did it and I swore right then, I was going to smack him upside the head when I was free. He swiped his thumb and answered the call and I could've killed him. He pressed the phone close to my ear and the one voice I didn't want to hear the most filled my ear.

“I know you're getting ready for work but I had to call,” my mother said and I closed my eyes and swallowed hard, trying to find my own voice. “Do you remember your friend Melanie? From high school?”

“Mom, what?” I said, because I had no idea what she was talking about. My brain was working properly. He rolled his hips and my pussy clenched around him, the feeling almost painful. I was so wet but it still wasn't enough.

“Melanie, well I can't remember her last name. But she was the one with the long red hair. She was on the volleyball team with you that one year.”

“Sophomore year,” I murmured then bit my lip to keep from screaming. His fingers are roaming again, rubbing all over my thigh, just missing the spot. I can feel my skin move for him, adjust to his touch. My whole body has adjusted for him and he knows it.

“Right,” my mother agrees over the line. Her canned voice would normally be a comfort, a reminder of home and simpler, happier times, but right now she's everything I don't want to be reminded of. When I'm knee-deep in Elliot and letting myself be debased like this, I don't want to think of my family. I don't want to think of their suffering and their worrying about me. “I saw her yesterday at the gas station on Horton. I was buying Daddy his diet cola and his tobacco and she was in line and she recognized me before I recognized her. She came up to me “Oh Mrs. Vasquez, do you remember me?” Just like that. And you know what? She had the most beautiful baby on her hip. Brown eyes and red hair, just like Melanie.” My mother could go on like that for an hour, I knew. Elliot was still having his fun. He was slowly pumping in and out of me like he had all the time in the world. But his hand was perilously close to the spot right below my ass. The spot he knows.

“That's nice,” I said blandly because I couldn't think of anything else to say. I didn't care about Melanie from volleyball and her baby. I could barely remember what Melanie looked like, especially at that moment. I could barely remember my own name.

“The baby's name was Andromeda,” my mother said. “Can you believe that? Andromeda. What a name. I bet her mother had a fit. Although I guess a healthy grandbaby is blessing enough, you can't nitpick too much.” My mother clicked her tongue and I knew what she was trying to say. She was easy to read, even when I was half-underwater and almost drowning in lust. She wanted me to get married. She wanted to argue with me over baby names and she wanted me to ride with her to the gas station to get Daddy's smokes and his Coke. S

Mostly, she wanted me home in Dallas.

“Mom, I have to...” I had something to say but I forgot it instantly, the second he pinched the spot. I heard him chuckle because he thought he was winning and he was right.

“I know you're busy, but I just thought of it just now,” she pushed. “Melanie said to tell you hi, and she asked about you and Trace, which was a little...” It was my mother's turn to trail off. “I didn't tell her any details though, I just told her that you two broke up a while back. I didn't tell her any details.” My mother repeated the last line, like it should make me feel something. But I couldn't think about Trace or any of that, not when I'd already sold my soul to a handsome, evil devil. I wanted to kill Elliot for answering the phone.

“Good,” I said because I wanted the torture to be over. “I have to go now.”

“Are you okay, sweetheart? You sound like you swallowed a frog.”

“I'm fine,” I whispered as his fingers stroke a circle around the spot. Then he was pinching it, lightly, then harder. My whole body went stiff because it was too much. All of my thoughts  and feelings zeroed in on what he was doing. And he knew it. Without further ado, he hung up the phone and tossed it across the room, onto the overstuffed armchair. No more distractions. He was tired of playing his power games because he'd already won. One hand found my clit and the other kept pinching my thigh and then I could feel the climax ripping through me, slow like the ripping of a piece of paper. It wasn't violent like a stabbing, but slow and torturous just like the whole morning up to that point. I opened my mouth and let it out, all the frustration. He slammed into me when he heard my strangled cry and he slammed into me again, angling his hips upward, his cock and the plug working in tandem to send me over the edge.

It felt like bliss and a punch to the face.

It was worth it. So worth it.

I had a  smile on my face when he pulled out of me and shoved me over on my side. I was limp and didn't fight him as he untied my hands and slid on top of me. He quickly fastened me to the headboard, tying a complicated knot to keep me in place. He was crushing me but I didn't complain. I just gulped in air and his scent, wanting to run my mouth over every inch of his sweat-moist skin. He pushed me onto my back and slid back between my legs. He kissed me, finally, his mouth brushing over mine and then sucking my lower lips between his teeth. I tilted my head back and tilted my hips for him, submitting in every way possible. I just wanted him. And he wanted me. Nothing else matter as he rode me hard, his muscles going hard as stone right before he came. Then he fucked me through his orgasm and I could feel his come on my thighs, a thick mixture of both of our pleasure spreading all over me. I didn't realize it then that it was the beginning of the end. I didn't realize how quickly it was going to crumble. If I had maybe I would've held on tighter. Maybe I would've pulled him close and figured out how to never let go. But I didn't know. Maybe I could've stopped it, but instead I chose not to see it coming.

I chose to be a fool.

Chapter Three

W
e didn't get out of bed for the rest of the day. We drifted from sleep to fucking to sleep to lovemaking and back again. On Saturday, he had me on the dining room table and on the living room rug. I was on my hands and knees until my knees were bruised and scratched raw. On Sunday morning, after he fucked me soft and slow, he hooked his arm around my neck and held me to his chest, rolling over so that I was sprawled on top of him. I stared up at the ceiling, feeling his lungs expanding and retracting beneath me with each breath he took. I reached my hands up into the air, stretching my muscles. My shoulders and neck were still sore from the events of that weekend and they protested the movement. My joints were achy in general. My hips and knees especially. But as I stared up at my hands, the raw pink and red skin around my wrists couldn't go unnoticed. The marks called attention to themselves, like tattoos or brands. I stared up at them, memorizing them for the sake of posterity. Every mark was different, every time. No two marks were ever the same. When they healed, they would be gone forever.

“This is how it should be,” he whispered in my ear. “We don't need anything else. Just each other.”

“We need other things,” I said, running my fingers over my palms.

“Not much.” He pressed his face into my hair and I didn't say anything else because I didn't want to ruin it.

On Monday, he let me go.

I could tell that he didn't want to. I could tell he wanted me to stay there with him and kneel at his feet with my head on his thigh as he watched TV. I could tell he wanted me naked and tied to the bed when he got the whim. But we'd already done that all weekend. Three days of playing wasn't enough, but it would have to do. I pulled on one of my new turtlenecks and pulled the neck up high to cover the purplish new bruises and the yellowing old bruises on my throat. I pulled on a cardigan with long sleeves to cover the red marks on my wrists. Luckily, all the other marks he'd left on me were easily hidden under my clothes. But I would have to be wary all day of keeping my wrists covered. Two weeks before, I'd gotten careless and my sleeve slipped back during a meeting. I didn't notice it until I caught my co-worker Janice staring at my wrist. I didn't want to repeat that. The last thing I needed was people getting curious and gossiping about me. I needed to stay as normal as possible for as long as possible.

At least until we figured out what we were going to do.

He slid his arms around my waist and settled his chin on top of my head, pulling me close to his naked chest. I pretended to ignore him, putting on my earrings and spritzing perfume on my wrists. When I tried to push away to pick out a pair of shoes from the closet, he tightened his arms around me.

“Don't work late tonight,” he said, his voice husky in my ear. I scoffed, crossing my arms over his.

“Don't tell me what to do,” I said, even though a part of me definitely liked when he told me what to do. I don't deny it - I liked when he sounded so possessive. It turned me on. But it also frustrated me because there wasn't enough time. There wasn't time to be with him in the way that we both wanted. I had to keep a routine. I couldn't deviate without being suspicious. I'd already taken off more sick days than usual since he'd been with me. I couldn't keep drawing attention to myself. Not until the heat died down.

“You want me to come drag you out of there again?” His deep voice sounded so petulant, like an over-grown child. But it also sounded threatening, because I knew he was serious. I knew he'd do it again. “Because I will.”

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No more of that.”

“Are you telling me no?” he asked, lifting his hand and cupping my breast through the thick cotton of my shirt.

“Don't make things so difficult,” I said, tilting my head to give his mouth access to my neck. But he didn't take the bait. He flicked at my nipple through the two layers of fabric – the shirt and my lace bra. My nipple goes hard immediately and I closed my eyes for a moment, letting him win for the brief moment.

“I want to bite here until you scream,” he whispers, tweaking the hard little bud. I stifled my moan because I knew he was serious. He'd bite and lick and abuse me for hours, until I begged and screamed and pleaded for him to stop. He liked it most when I begged and screamed. He always did. But the worst thing of all was that I liked it, too. A lot. Too much.

“Did you make coffee?” I asked even though I could smell the heavenly scent of it already in the air. I could only think of trying to divert attention away from what he was trying to do. He was trying to get me to beg to be bent over and fucked, but I didn't have time. It sounded so odd to ask him that, but so domesticated. In hindsight, I miss those moments the most. I miss the sex, of course, with every bone in my body. But the companionship, too. The waking up together and eating meals together and the fact that he would wake up while I was in the shower and make coffee for me in the morning. I didn't even ask him to; he surprised me with it one morning and then it became something I expected, even though I tried to pretend that I didn't expect it.

That tiny sliver of predictability was so addicting. I wanted more of it. I wanted normality, although I didn't know how that would ever be possible. But until then, I was just going to have to pretend that nothing was amiss, pretend that everything wasn't on the verge of falling apart. I could do that. I had gotten so good at pretending.

“No,” he lied and I smiled to myself. He let me go, finally, and I made my escape. I went down to finish getting ready. He pulled on one of the pairs of jeans I'd purchased for him and sauntered down to the kitchen when he was good and ready. He didn't bother buttoning them, and the dark hair that trailed out his waistband to his bellybutton was distracting, to say the least. I wanted to kiss him everywhere, all over his broad back and his muscular chest and his stubbled cheeks. But I didn't. I slid on my heels and smoothed my skirt and glanced at myself in the mirror by the door. I looked alright, albeit a bit flushed in the face. I spot-checked quickly, looking for any visible bruises. When I was satisfied that everything was covered, I turned to find him holding out my stainless steel travel mug for me. I stared down at it, a laugh bubbling up in my throat. It was a small thing for him to do, laughably mundane, but it still made me happy. Happier than it should.

I slid my fingers around the mug but he wouldn't give it to me. Instead he pulled me close and forced me to kiss him until he was satisfied. He grabbed my ass and forced me against him and I whimpered in protest as his stubble tickled and scratched my face. He didn't care. He wanted all he could get out of me before I had to go. I wondered what he did alone all day. I hoped he had a good way to keep himself busy. I knew he was getting stir-crazy. I knew he was starting to get destructive again. He was getting more violent and possessive. But I didn't know what to do about it. I just kept putting it off until another time, thinking that I would take care of it later. I was hoping it would resolve itself, somehow.

My first mistake.

When he finally let me go, I slapped at his chest and grabbed the coffee and ran out before I rethought it. My job suddenly didn't seem anywhere near as important as staying with him. His presence was so addicting. I told myself it was mostly lust but, at times like these, it was more powerful than any other feeling I'd ever felt. Knowing what I know now, I would've stayed. I would've quit my job and done anything to stay with him. He was worth the sacrifice of having to rearrange my life. At the time, I told myself I was trying to figure it out. I was trying to plan it out and do it the right way. But we were running out of time. I could feel it slipping through my fingers. I'd just forgotten how quickly things could change. They could change in an instant.

He stood in the door of the garage as I got in my car. I purposefully didn't look at him until the garage door was rolling open and I was backing out. I blew him a quick kiss that he didn't reciprocate. I pulled out onto the street and then I strained my eyes and watched until I couldn't see him anymore as the garage door rumbled closed behind me. I looked around the neighborhood. It was a drizzly, gray morning, and there was no one on the sidewalk. No one seemed to be watching or paying attention. I didn't feel any prying eyes. Satisfied, I put the car in drive and headed toward downtown.

The coffee was stronger than I preferred, but I was getting used to the way he made it. He'd sweetened it with the vanilla almond milk that I kept just for coffee. Not enough, though. It was slightly more bitter than I liked. But I sipped at the hot coffee anyway because he'd made it. I didn't thank him for it, I realized. I wondered if he would punish me for it later. That would make it worth it. But I still felt slightly guilty about it. I wanted him to know I appreciated it. I wanted him to know that he wasn't useless or idle. I didn't know how long it would be until those feelings settled in. He was used to working with his hands, used to building and making things. I wanted him to know that it wouldn't always be like this, but he knew that, too.

We were still living on borrowed time.

I could smell him on my skin all morning, even over the strong scent of my perfume. It was distracting, as I typed and made copies and phone calls. I tugged on my sleeves every few minutes, making sure they were still covering the marks. It was becoming a habit, slowly but surely. I'd forgotten to trim my nails that morning and some were still ragged from when I'd broken them that weekend, digging them into the ropes and the bed frame. I chewed on them absentmindedly as I sat in the Monday meeting, trying to pay attention to the numbers and market predictions but mostly staring at the plastic palm tree in the corner of the room and thinking about Elliot. I thought about his body, his long limbs and his rough hands and his evil smile. I thought about all the things we did and all the things there were still left to do. By the time the meeting let out, I was wet and longing for him.

It was only lunchtime. The day was only half-over. I sighed with relief when I stepped outside the office and the cool air hit my face. I had every intention of grabbing my usual spinach salad and an iced tea from the cafe across the street and then heading back to the office. I'd been distracted all morning and I needed to get up and move a bit. But a sudden idea popped in my head as I stood in the parking lot. I squeezed my keys in my hands, letting the metal cut into my skin. For a second, I debated on going to my car and masturbating to take the edge off. It wasn't dignified. It wasn't smart. But it would help. A little down and dirty in the backseat might help bring me back to attention, but it was risky.

“Joan? Joan Vasquez?” a voice said, a deep voice. An unfamiliar voice. I looked without thinking, assuming that it was someone from the office. But it wasn't. There was a black sedan in front of me and inside it was a man, a man who was looking at me like he knew me even thought I couldn't place his face in my memory. I raised my eyebrows and stared at him, my heart rate spiking as I took in his faded blue button-up shirt and cheap tie and slightly rumpled and ill-fitting dark suit jacket. My first thought was that he looked like police. A detective, more specifically.

“Do you remember me?” he said, resting his arm on the cardoor and staring back at me with an expectant look on his face. He wanted something from me. But I had no idea what he wanted. “Detective Wilson. Me and my partner came to see you a few weeks ago,” he added, smiling a bit and showing slightly crooked front teeth. “Gave you my card.” He was cute, in a boyish but manly way, and I immediately remembered him. I remembered how he looked at me as he stood on my doorstep. Like he was concerned and cared about me. But that was his job. It was also his job to suss out lies from the truth. He looked harmless, but he wasn't. He most definitely wasn't.

“Oh,” I said, immediately feeling on edge. I didn't know what the hell he wanted and I definitely didn't like seeing him, especially at my job. I didn't like him knowing where to find me, although I supposed it was easy enough to find out. I was supposed to be normal, I reminded myself. A normal maladjusted person who had run thousands of miles from home to escape my past. I gathered myself together in less than a minute, but I didn't bother hiding my change in mood. I wanted him to see that I didn't like being reminded of those bad times. I wanted him to feel bad for reminding me. I wanted him to keep feeling sorry for me. The more sorry for me he felt, the less he would suspect me. I always hated being pitied, but I could stand it if I had to.

“How are you?” he asked, knitting his eyebrows and staring at me intently. I dropped my eyes to the floor, still pretending to be upset. It would be easy to play off his need to want to protect me. I bet he had a Superman complex a mile wide. I haven't met many cops in my life, but it has been my experience that they want to help more than anything. They want to right wrongs and find justice where there really isn't any. It's honorable, really. But it was also a pain in my ass at that moment.

“I'm doing okay,” I replied and shrugged lightly, letting my shoulders slump. “Everything's fine.”

“There's no news,” he said, holding up his hand. “There will be though.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, feeling a muted pang of alarm in my brain.

“Soon. We'll get him soon,” he nodded. “Like I said before, he'll make a mistake. He'll slip up and when he does, we'll get him.”

“I hope so,” I said then glanced across the street at the cafe. I wanted to escape but I didn't know how to get rid of him. I couldn't help but feel that he was harmless, even if it wasn't true.  He seemed sincere. But I also knew that there was a reason he'd come to see me out of the blue. He must've been thinking about me. He must've been concerned with my well-being. I could use that. “Was there something else you wanted, Detective?”