Nightfall (21 page)

“Perfectly,” he said. He gave a tiny shiver, and then kissed her again. He went to the chest, pulled out the tiny foil square, and then came back to her. “Come with me,” he said, hooking his hand around the ropes at her shoulders and pulling her up onto her feet. He gave her just barely enough time to come with him; the motion jerked at her shoulders just enough to make her wince.

He led her into another room, across the hall from the bedroom. It was very different. There were no windows, and the lighting was dim and pooled on the floors and walls. There were piles of pillows, a cabinet, a couple of chests. In the wall and the ceiling, she saw eye bolts. Another flurry of excitement ran through her. The prospect of another orgasm, after what had happened the first time, was inconceivable. Only maybe it wasn’t.

He led her to a footstool. He helped her down to her knees, and then pressed her chest down over it with gentle force on her shoulders. She was left with her ass in the air. She heard the sound of his boxers falling to the floor, and the soft sound of foil tearing open. Then his hands ran over her body, up and down the curve of her hips. “My god, but you look good like that.” His hand disappeared, and she closed her eyes, bracing for the blow that she knew would come. It stung more than she thought it would, and she hissed and whimpered. “Your ass here where anyone could see.” Another slap, and the wetness was hot between her thighs again. She let her thighs sink into the footstool just a little, letting her body spread, letting him see how wet and eager she was. He laughed, plunging his fingers into her while she cried out. “Little whore,” he said again. “Want me so much, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she gasped, eager and desperate all over again. “Please. Please be inside me, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he said. His fingers were gone, and his cock was sheathed inside of her in one smooth motion. She was already so wide open and wet that he met no resistance. He cried out when he reached the end of her, and she felt him shake and tremble for a moment, his arms wrapped around her waist as he moved in tiny, deep motions within her body. “What you do to me,” he said, as his breathing leveled out. He ran his fingers down the ropes that covered her spine, that bound her arms behind her. His thrusts were soft, delicate, and they were agonizingly delicious. “You make me fight for control of myself. You make me delight in control of you. You bring me to the edge, over and over, and I find that I love it.”

She had never felt so incredibly full, so delightfully complete. He plunged into her body, slow and shaking, and then speeding up as passion and lust found control. His hands were on her hips, pulling her fiercely back into him with every stroke. Pleasure swirled through her, not as intense or all-consuming as it had been before, but still powerful and electric. He started to cry out with every stroke, and she met his cries with her own, clutching at him with her body, relishing the feeling of his thick cock dividing her, splitting her, changing her life into before and after this moment, this orgasm, this coupling.

He came with a gasp and a sigh, pressing into her as deeply as he could, moving hardly at all as he convulsed within her. One arm wrapped around her hips, clutching them close, then reached down to find the swollen point of her clit. The sensation of their joining had been nearly enough to tip her over the edge again, and the circling of his fingers as he pulsed inside of her was more than enough to send her spiraling into ecstasy again, screaming for both of them, bucking back against his body, tensing and milking his cock with her heated sex.

She melted into relaxation as he undid the binding on her arms, gently massaging them as the blood flow returned, rubbing her shoulders and back to ease the kinks that the bind had introduced. The tears came again, completely unexpected, and he picked her up, carrying her back to the bedroom. They curled up together in the bed. He held her gently, stroking her hair back, kissing away her tears, and murmuring kind and delicate things in her ears.

Eventually, he fell asleep. Roxanne watched him for a while. He looked completely different asleep. There was something hard in Julian’s eyes, even when he was being soft. He didn’t look like an innocent child as he lay there, or like some sort of sordid angel, but he did look like a man. A man that she could have spent the rest of her life with.

If she could take Matt’s reliability, and Julian’s passion, and somehow combine them. But neither of them was the type to share, and neither of them were going to change. She had to think about what sort of life she wanted. About what she was going to choose, where she was going to go after this night. It was a wonderful night, an amazing and passionate night that she would always treasure. But there was more to it than that. There was the entire rest of her life.

Her throat was dry. She told herself that she was thirsty, that she was getting out of bed just to get a drink and to pee. That was why she moved so slowly and carefully, trying her best to keep from waking Julian as he slept. She padded down the stairs to the kitchen and opened cupboards until she found the drinking glasses. There was juice in the refrigerator. She poured herself a glass and let it quench her thirst, soft and too sweet.

She didn’t know what it was that drew her eye to the spot on the floor behind the couch. It was dark. It wasn’t as if there were a spotlight, or even a moonbeam, to draw her attention to the specific location where the woman had died. There wasn’t a blood stain, or even a discoloration in the wood. She walked over, leaving her juice glass behind, and knelt down naked on the floor. She ran her fingers over the spot, trying to understand how it was possible that a life had been ended here, and there was no sign. She thought she’d feel a shiver, a ghostly impression of what had happened to her. The fact that there was nothing was somehow the most horrible part of it all.

She sat down on the floor, her legs crossed in front of her, and stared at the spot, waiting for understanding to come.

* * *

Time faded as she sat there, staring at the floorboards and trying to understand. Cold seeped up through the floorboards and chilled her, numbing her ass and her feet, maybe even her heart. No, if her heart was numb, she’d be able to go back to sleep. Instead, she just found herself thinking, over and over, of the woman. Wondering who she had been. If she had a family. If they knew she was gone, or if they were frightened for her, praying that she’d come home.

The conversation she’d had with Matt was looping through her mind. What could Julian really give her? She wasn’t the kind of woman who wanted a hundred kids underfoot and a herd of animals around her. So did it matter that Julian was anything but secure? Was it okay for him to just be with her until he was gone? Or was Matt right? Would she be torn in half when he eventually left her sleepy little town that barely rated its own emergency room?

She heard his footsteps coming down the stairs. It occurred to her, as she listened, that he let her hear him. He made noise on purpose. So she didn’t jump when he lowered the blanket to her shoulders, wrapping her up, then pulling her back into his arms. She felt like he would protect her, defend her against anything that ever came to hurt her. But that was different than feeling safe. The attack was inevitable with him. There would be more dead women in the future if she was with him. Whether she was with him or not, really. But she would have to know about it if she was there. 

“What did you do with her?” she asked. The question surprised her, even as she said it.

Julian sighed. “Do we have to do this?” His lips brushed against her hair, his fingers over her cheek. She recognized it for what it was—an attempt at distracting her. She wanted to give in, let him distract her, and just wander through things until whatever conclusion became inevitable.

But, no. That was not how her mama had raised her. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, we do.”

She gave him credit for the fact that he didn’t squirm at all. “I took the body into the woods. I buried it, then obscured my scent and what little trail I’d left. It won’t be found. You won’t be implicated or questioned in any way, I promise you.”

She wanted to push him away in a rage, but she was just so very tired. He’d spoken about it so coldly, so factually. Did he regret the woman’s death at all, or was it merely an inconvenience to him? “Is that what you think I’m upset about? Because I think someone might want to know what I know about a woman being killed?”

“I don’t know why you’re upset,” he said. “And I’d really rather not guess.” 

She’d never heard this tone from him before, this sharp and brusque sound. “She’s not an it. She’s a woman. She’s a person. She has—had—a family.” She pulled away from him then, turning to face him. She kept the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. He had pulled on loose jersey pants before coming down to find her. It seemed only fair.

He shook his head, his expression cold and remote. “She didn’t have any family. Amongst our kind, there are those who run without a pack. Strays. The reasons vary, but usually there’s something—they haven’t accepted their true nature. They become mentally unstable. She was one of those.”

“Did you know her?”

“No.” His voice sounded almost disgusted.

“Then how do you know?” Her tone was strident, and she hated it, but the questions were twisting up her insides, making her feel dizzy and sick.

“Because I could smell it on her, Roxie. I knew what she was as soon as she came into this house. I’m sorry she had to die, but I had to protect what’s mine.”

He reached out to take her hand, and she slapped his away. Her face felt flat, exhausted, and she didn’t know what he saw in her eyes, but he seemed concerned. Upset. “Do you think I belong to you?”

At that, he did squirm a little bit. “You were in my house, which put you under my protection.”

“Do you think that I am your possession?”

“No!” His hands ran through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you had to see that, and I’m far sorrier than you realize that it had to happen. But this is the world I live in, Roxanne. In my world, people don’t skip off into the sunset and live happily ever after. My world is bloody, and raw, and harsh.”

She was quite sure tears were standing in his eyes. She wanted to let them soften her rage, but it was too important. Too important to be strong. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He shook his head fast, twice. “Don’t do this.”

“If it were all like it was upstairs—that was magic, Julian, I’ve never felt that much, that intensely. I will treasure that forever.”

“Please,” he said. He reached out and touched her hand; she yanked hers back, far harder than she meant to.

“I don’t want bloody, raw, harsh. I’m no fool, I know that nothing is perfect, but I don’t want—I don’t want dead women in the living room. Dead women I have to mourn when I don’t even know their names.” She waited for him to say something, anything. He was silent, staring at the same spot on the floor now.

The right thing to do was to leave now, cut it clean. Get dressed and go without saying another word. But she couldn’t help herself. She leaned in, pressing her lips against his. She thought he’d wrap his arms around her, pull her into his lap, use his fingers and his mouth and that amazing cock to entice her not to leave. But he was calm, still as deep water, accepting the kiss without giving anything in return.

“I could have loved you,” she said. It was the best she could give him.

He nodded, accepting the statement for what it was. She folded the blanket neatly, placed it in his lap, and went upstairs to get dressed. He didn’t try to stop her, not even when she went to leave.

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Shackled Howl

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