Keep Me in the Dark (2 page)

I grab his shirt. “No.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Laura, how drunk are you?”

“Laura? I thought I was your
sloshy mofo
.”

His grip on me tightens. “
Oh bozhe
…”

I giggle. “
Bobo he
!”

He removes his left hand from my shoulder. “One second. Let me call my driver.”

“No!” I swat his descending hand. “I hate your phone!”

“What?”

I pummel his chest with my face. “Don’t send me away when I finally have you!”

He takes a moment to answer—or, more accurately, waits until after I stop pummeling to answer. “Is that a threat?”

A chill rushes down my spine. For some reason, I get the feeling he’s smiling.

My stomach flutters. “Maybe,” I admit.

“Saying ‘maybe’ after you threaten someone ruins the impact,” he whispers.

“When it sounds like you like it when I threaten you, it kind of ruins the impact as well.”

“I don’t mind you being possessive. I certainly am.”

My body aches as it remembers just how possessive he can be.

“But you don’t need to worry, Laura.” He rests his chin on my neck. “You already own me.”

I own you?
I can’t move. Can’t think. Can barely breathe. The crowd yells as the music stops briefly. The DJ is making some sort of announcement before the next song, probably. I don’t hare any of it.

My nails dig into his arms.

“Careful,” he warns, but I don’t know what he’s warning me about.

I frown as I try to to distill all of these dark, complex desires I don’t fully understand into a single word that could somehow communicate everything I feel to him.

I lean forward. Run my tongue over my lips. “I’m horny.”

He chuckles. “Let’s get you home.”

Why the fuck is he talking about home right now? I glare at him. “You don’t think I’m sexy!” I whine childishly.

He sighs. “Trust me, that’s not it.”

“What is it then?”

“Laura, you’re…”

He doesn’t want to tell me. I’m immediately suspicious. “I’m what?”

“You’re drunk.”

“No I’m not!”

He sighs again and reaches for his damn phone. Well, he’s not going to get that past me! I swat his hand again.

“Laura.”

“I’m not drunk!” How many times do I have to tell him before he’ll believe me?

“You’re not yourself.”

“Oh whatever! It’s not like we haven’t fucked fifty billion gazillion bajillion times already! Besides, I’m really not that drunk. Just a little bubbly. I always get a little bubbly when I’ve had too much bubbly.”

I laugh, thrilled with my pun.

He does not.

“Bubbly,” he repeats, voice darker.

My body shivers as I feel him studying me. Yeah, he’s pretending to take the high road, but I can tell he wants it almost as much as I do.
Gotcha
. “You have a huge dick,” I tell him. “I don’t even know how you get it all inside me.”

His breath catches. “Well, I’ve had a lot of practice, since we’ve supposedly done it fifty billion gazillion bajillion times.”

I frown. Why isn’t my seduction working? “You’re making fun of me!”

“No, I’m…actually making fun of myself.”

I’m about to ask why, but then I lean forward and feel it pressing into my stomach—his huge, thick, hard cock.

Desire slices through my foggy mind, sobering me. My throat feels tight to speak, but somehow I squeak out, “Oh.”

I hear him swallow.

Before he has time to say something else, I grab
it
.

His hands flex on my arms. For a second, the pressure hurts. “What are you doing?”

“Rubbing your…” I start to giggle, “cock.”

He takes a deep breath. “Laura, I…”

“I told you, I’m horny.”

“Laura…”

I squeeze him a little harder.

He gasps.

I smirk. “I’ll let you take me home after you fuck me.”

“This is so wrong.” He sounds like he’s in pain.

I arch my back like a cat, pressing all my good bits that are practically bursting out the top of Dolly’s ‘dress’ into his chest. “If this is wrong, Mr. Mask, then I don’t want to be right.”

I probably could have thought of a better name than ‘Mr. Mask.’ I probably also could have thought of something to say other than the stupidest, most clichéd pick-up line known to man. But we’re both so ready to go we don’t care.

He pulls me further into the darkness. His hand shakes under the red exit sign as he grabs the handle, opening the door leading to the alley out back.

The light above is dim and murky. The haphazardly tagged dumpster in front of us aptly reads “Fuck.” There’s trash in the corners. Used condoms on the ground. Cigarette buts wedged into the corners. Wet newspapers are melded to the pavement, their printed words bleeding into and over one another like the ramblings of a street prophet.

He pulls me behind the dumpster and pins me against the brick wall. “You’re so bad, Laura.” He brushes his hand over my cheek to my lips. “Is this really what you want?”

My eyes lose focus. I part my lips and he pushes his finger into my mouth. I swirl the tip of my tongue around it, sucking, and nod.

He lowers his head slowly. He’s checking me out, drinking me in. I wish I could see his eyes.

“I can’t believe you wear shit like this out,” he says.

“Shit like what?”

“Shit like this.” He lowers his face again. “It’s barely even there. Everyone can see all your curves...everything.”

I moan as he steps forward, pressing himself against my stomach once more. “It’s not so bad,” I say.

“Yes it is. You don’t know what all those men are thinking.”

“And what would that be?”

His cock twitches. He removes his finger from my mouth and plants his hands on my hips. “You really are bad.”

Before I can respond, he spins me around. He plants his hand on the wall and then pushes me against it, pressing his knuckles to my cheek, firm but far softer than the brick.

“Um, are you sure this is okay?” He’s going to hurt his hand if he’s going to do what I think he is.

“Hmmm?”

“Your hand. It’s going to get scraped up.”

“It’s fine.” His other hand is playing with my skirt. Touching my panties. “God damn, I want you.”

Somehow, I’m getting even wetter. My legs are already aching with anticipation.

He steps forward. Through his pants, I feel his hard cock hit my ass. “I saw you dancing. I couldn’t stop looking.”

I moan as he puts his hand between my legs. His rough middle finger runs up my clit. “Can I really touch you?”

I stopped trying to fight it a long time ago. I don’t know if I’ve ever really fought it. With my every action, I’ve let him know that I’m his. It frightens me, and I don’t understand it, but if I’m honest with myself, I know that I want this. I spread my legs.

“Laura?”

Right. I still haven’t answered. “Why do you keep asking me?”

He runs his rough palm up my inner thigh. His touch sharpens my mind. It sobers me even as it intoxicates me, pulling me deeper into this dark obsession, drowning out the lingering affects of alcohol with his own sweet poison. “I ask because every time you say yes, I don’t quite believe it.”

“Is that supposed to be a line?” Part of me wants to clear my mind, the other part wants to fall deeper into this fog.

“Do you want lines, Laura?” he asks. “Is that how a man wins you?”

You’ve already won me
.

“Every time I think of you you,” he continues, “I remember how tight you are. How good it feels to be inside you, with you wrapped around me completely.”

“Oh?” I can’t believe I can even talk.

“Yes. It drives me fucking insane.” His greedy hand spreads over my skin, pushing up my small skirt.

I’ll die if you don’t touch me
. I won’t say it. He affects me so much. I think he knows that, but I don’t want to verbally confirm it. I want him so much that it makes me powerless, and so I don’t want to give him more power than he already has.

“You’re torturing me,
solnyshko moyo
.” His bare hand cups my ass as he says it. I part my legs further. My ankles roll and flop on the pavement, my heels tip over.

I press my hands harder on the wall. They’re shaking. “You can…touch me…” I whisper.

He doesn’t ask again. I hear him unzip.
Too slow
, I think.
Why are you going to slow?
Then I feel the hot head of his dick moving over my slit to my entrance. I arch my hips back into his and he enters me in one smooth motion.

There isn’t any pretense, but I’m so wet and ready for him that there doesn’t have to be. I can hear the club music throbbing dully from behind the metal doors. But it’s muffled, not nearly as loud as my moans as he drives into me.

I’m a little tipsy and it’s hard to stand. He holds me up, his hand pressing my hipbone into the brick. My toes barely touch the floor. I try to wrap them around his ankles and fall forward, my torso pressing into the wall, my face squishing the hand that shields my cheeks from the brick.

I'm not a small woman. This should be hard for him...but it isn't. I can't believe how strong he is.

His hand curls around my face, thrusting two fingers into my mouth. I roll my tongue over them as he begins to move inside me.

“Fuck, Laura,” he whispers.

Yes, that’s what you’re doing.
I don’t have the strength to say that snarky comment. My eyes roll back and I shut them, giving into the sensations dripping inside me.

Steam fills the ally. Even in the most glamorous places in New York city, places like this exist—raw and real and such a contrast to those brilliant lights.

He whispers things to me. I barely hear them over the hum of music inside. The beat throbs through me. Songs about doing things like this—songs that make it seem filthy yet desirable. He goes harder than he has before, and my body is already used to it, already craves it. I feel beautiful and bright, almost like I’m shining. And it doesn’t matter if it’s filthy, if the place is filthy, because I finally feel alive.

I spread my legs apart further and arch up to meet him. He groans another set of words over my shoulders, his voice delirious and full of longing.

I nod and moan. Speech is beyond me, but his voice makes my cunt clench him harder. I’m so dirty. I’ll let him fuck me in the back alley in a club behind a dumpster. And I want even more.

I want him to bite me.

To drag me down with him into whatever hell he refuses to speak of.

My ankles wrap around his calves as he thrusts harder, deeper.

He touches me like he can’t get enough of me. Like he doesn’t want to get enough. Even his elbow digging into my ribs aches wonderfully. I’m overtaken by the feeling of him sliding in and out of me, stretching me to my limits, making me beg for it.

Rain water makes the cracked pavement glisten. Through his mask I feel his teeth against my shoulder.
Yes, this
, I think, rolling my neck to the side, looking up at the dark sky.

There’s too much light pollution to see the stars, but the imprint of his fingers on my hip feels like a constellation. His nail scrapes my teeth as he bites and thrusts into my willing body.

I feel like the beat from the club is vibrating through my chest. I know that can’t be the case. There’s no way the sound could move the brick wall. But my body is humming under where his hands are as if we’re in the middle of the swell of the crowd. His hands feel almost impersonal when they’re on me, as if they could be anyone’s. I sink back into him, feel the heat of his breath through his mask.

Every time he comes to me I discover a new facet to this obsession. I thought something like this could have limits. That it would have to have limits. But it doesn’t, and I don’t want it to. I want to go wherever he takes me. I’m even beginning to love the midnight—the not knowing—the strange intimacy of this stranger’s touch.

I scream as that painful bliss consumes my body. My body shakes and then loses strength. My wrists slide down the brick wall. He holds me up and rocks into me three more times before exhaling sharply near my ear.

The sensual pulse of music from inside returns. My chest heaves. He holds me, one hand moving from my hip to wrap around my stomach, the other pulling me away from the wall. I notice his knuckles are bloody from protecting me from the brick while thrusting into me.

“Your hand.”

I don’t like how breathless my voice sounds. I’m still recovering. But then again, so is he.

He shifts, looking over my shoulder. “It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

I glance down, away from it. Unfortunately what’s on the ground distresses me almost as much. Used condoms. Cigarette buts. My toes curl, trying to get as far away from the pavement as possible. Thank god my heels aren’t open-toed. Still, I want to jump into the nearest bathtub and scrub away all the filth that I’d barely noticed moments before.

I shut my eyes.
There’s more important things to worry about, like his hand. It was exposed to wall
. “It might get infected,” I blather.

“Are you worried about me, Laura?”

It sounds like he’s laughing. I don’t understand what’s so funny, so I ask, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“Hey—” I spin around. He lowers his head and rests it on my chest, pushing me back against the wall he just fucked me against.

“It’s sweet that you’re worrying about me.”

My heart skips. I wonder if he notices. Probably. He’s right at my chest, and nothing ever escapes his notice. “I’m not saying you have to go to the hospital or anything.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

“Just…disinfect it.”

“As you wish,
solnyshko moyo
.” He steps back. I look at the ground and shiver. “Do you want me to carry you?”

My head snaps up. “What?”

He’s wearing his mask. Again, I wonder if he keeps it in his pocket—if he keeps it there in case he runs into one of the many girls he runs into and…God, why am I even thinking about this? It’s not like I have some sort of exclusive hold on him. I mean, I could ask but then I’d have to hear the answer and maybe that would ruin everything.