Authors: Stylo Fantome
He choked on the fiery liquid for a second.
“Forget what!?” he snapped. She smiled and reached out her hand, wiping some scotch off his chin.
“The person you really are,” she called him out.
“Oh, and like you're so good at remembering. Running around this place with your manager title, acting so prim and proper. Acting like you didn't come from a fucking trailer. If I was trying to forget, then what the fuck have you been doing?” he threw back at her.
“Is that a joke? I had to drive past that train station
every day
on the way to school. I live within five miles of it. Sometimes, on a clear night, I can see the chimney from my rooftop. So no, Constantine, I haven't forgotten. It's not possible for me to forget. And you know what?
I don't want to,
” she hissed at him.
He got out of his seat then and moved so he was standing in front of her. She didn't move at all, just stared at him with hooded eyes, so he gripped her knees and forced her legs apart. She didn't resist, like he knew she wouldn't, and he moved into the V of her thighs.
“Were you scared?” he asked. She nodded and downed the rest of her drink.
“Yes.”
“Aw, poor little Dulcie. Still afraid of herself.”
“No,” she shook her head, then lobbed the glass over his shoulder. It hit a wall and he could hear it shatter.
“No?”
“I was scared because … because I began to think I'd be the only person who'd know,” her voice dropped into a whisper again. “That I'd be the only one who'd know what I was capable of. That it was the last time I'd ever get to feel like myself. That while I was staring it in the face every single day,
you
were running away from it. That you weren't strong enough to handle it,
and I was
.
That
thought scared me.”
“I had to finish what I'd started, I had to … work shit out. I couldn't come back until then. I told you, it's only us, kid.
Only us
. I didn't give it a time frame,” he reminded her. She rolled her eyes and shoved at his chest.
“Awfully convenient for you. So what's the plan, Con? Gonna fuck me and then leave for another three years? How about five? I'm not going anywhere. Works out awfully well for you,” she pointed out, hopping off the bar and pushing past him.
“I hadn't planned much beyond the sex,” he was honest.
“So confident! I admire that,” she laughed, then raked her fingers through her hair.
“So who's the bartender? Boyfriend?” he asked.
She turned her head to the side and stared at him, and for just a moment, for the first time ever, Con felt a sliver of fear. He'd watched them the night before, seen how her coworker had been looking at her, how he'd found excuses to touch her. Con had wanted to bury his steak knife in the guy's forehead.
He'd never once lied to her – he'd meant everything he'd said that night. They were special. She was special to him. She was his whole reason for doing the things he did, anymore. He'd stayed away because she brought out the darkness in him. He'd needed to learn some self-control. If he'd stayed home, or if he'd brought Dulcie with him, he would've spun
out
of control. Patience disappeared when she was around, and they couldn't afford that, not with the kind of people they were. He'd just needed some time.
If she had a boyfriend, though, it would create a problem. As Con stared back at her, he wondered if that dead man had decomposed yet, and if there was enough room for another body in the hole.
“No. He's nobody. He thinks I'm cute,” she finally answered.
“Ah. You
are
adorable,” he teased, and was rewarded with an eye roll. “And what do you think of him?”
“
I don't
.”
“Any other prince charmings come along while I was gone?” he kept questioning.
“Jesus, Con, just ask what you want to ask. Have I dated anyone?
No
. Have I fucked anyone?
Yes,
” she snapped.
“You used to be so meek and quiet. What happened to that girl?”
“
You.
”
He'd been walking forward the whole time, and he stopped when he was looming over her. She didn't back down at all, just glared up at him.
“So you're saying you didn't date them – just a lot of casual sex?” he wanted to make sure what was happening wasn't one-sided. That he hadn't wasted three years.
“I wouldn't even call it that. After I fuck them, I steal their money and threaten to tell their wives,” she informed him. He was impressed.
“Clever girl. Do they -”
“Are we going to talk about my sex life all night? You want details? How many times, how many men? How many positions? How about the one time the guy asked me to wear a school girl uniform – which he'd brought with him. I still have the pictures, want to see? Or how about the other time, when the guy asked me to blow him while he was on the phone with his wife. He wanted to see if he could come before she hung up, so I -”
Enough.
Con snapped his arm out and grabbed her face, his fingers digging into her cheeks so hard, he could feel her molars through her skin. She let out a muffled shriek, obviously surprised, then she began hitting him. It was ineffectual; he was so much bigger than her. He could do anything he wanted to her, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.
“I didn't ask for a blow-by-blow of your daily life,” he growled, shoving her backwards and forcing her against a table.
“Really? Could've fooled me!” she yelled, her voice muffled behind the palm of his hand.
“I don't care how many people you've slept with, Dulcie,” he breathed out her name as he yanked her up onto her toes. “It's still
my property
they're fucking.”
“Oh, get fucked, Constantine. I don't belong to you anymore than any of the other guys I've slept with,” she hissed.
Now that was simply going too far. He slammed her down onto the table top, sending dishes and cutlery and wedding decorations to the floor. She shrieked and raked her nails down the side of his face, so he pinned her wrist to the table above her head. With his other hand, he let go of her mouth and clamped his fingers around her throat.
“Is that so? Then why are you so worked up,” he whispered, rubbing his nose along the side of her jaw, breathing her in. She squirmed underneath him.
“Because you're touching me,” she answered honestly.
“I've done more than just touch you, Dulcie.”
“Yeah, and then you left. I'm setting a timer for how fast you can run away this time.”
“So bitter. It's heartwarming, really, to know you cared so much,” he teased her.
She'd pushed his buttons earlier, and apparently he'd just pushed one of hers. She went wild under him, hitting and shoving at his body. Struggling to push him off.
“Is that a fucking joke? Real fucking funny, Con,” she was yelling while she slapped at his arms and wrists and shoulders. He ducked his head and rode out the blows while he moved his hands over her body. “After everything we did, after everything we said, and you just did it again! Not a fucking word ...” she was still shouting, still hitting him, but did nothing when he unbuttoned the front of her shorts and began yanking the material down her legs. “... god, I hope someone kills you. I hope someone kills you, and I hope I'm there. I'll bury your fucking body under a cardboard box by the train station, and I won't even fucking care.”
Last time we barely got to taste each other. This time, I'm going to swallow her whole.
He gripped the top of her thighs and yanked hard, dragging her across the table and into him. He grabbed a fistful of her shirt and jerked her forward, forcing her back to lift so her face was right in front of his own.
“As long as you promise it's you who does it, I'm fine with that,” he growled.
“Such a sick fuck, Con. You're such a sick and twisted
fuck,
” she swore, smacking him upside the head. He gritted his teeth and managed to undo his own pants with one hand, shoving them down in a hurry.
“Only for you, babe.”
She finally kissed him. Jesus, took her long enough. He'd been dreaming about those lips, those sharp teeth, for so long. While she filled his mouth with her tongue, he ripped her underwear off her body.
“You were gone for so long,” she whispered, rubbing her hands down his chest. “Gone for
so long
. I began to think you'd never come back.”
“You should've trusted me,” he whispered back, then sucked air through his teeth when her hand wrapped around the base of his cock. Yeah, virginal Dulcie was long gone. This creature was not shy or timid at all. She bit down on his earlobe while the palm of her hand rolled over his sensitive head.
“I should've. I missed you. I missed you so much. I would pretend everyone was you,” she promised him, her hand picking up speed.
“
Good.”
“I used to walk down on the tracks, and I'd think about you. Wished you were there with me,” she kept going.
“We'll go together.”
Maybe it was because she was an artist, he wasn't sure, but she was magically dexterous with her wrist. She could twist and curl her hand at impossible angles. If he didn't stop her, he'd be coming all over her instead of inside her.
Not necessarily a bad thing … I'll save that for later.
He abruptly shoved her and she fell back onto the table. It broke the hold she had on him and he was able to lay down on top of her.
Their kisses were brutal, full of teeth and biting. Their fingers were mean, scratching over soft flesh and leaving marks. He held her down, wanted to push her through the table. She kept talking, kept reminding him of how awful he was, and he put his hand over her mouth. Not because he didn't want to hear it, but because it was turning him on. At this rate, the moment they'd start having sex, he'd probably explode.
“So bartender boy's never been here?” Con double checked, then roughly shoved three fingers inside her. She cried out, a sharp sound of pain that sent a tremor through his body, then she groaned and writhed against his hand.
“No. Since you left, no one else's fingers have,” she was panting for air.
“No one's?”
“Just me. Just you,” she assured him.
He was holding both her wrists down with one hand, and with his other hand, he was making her just as desperate as he was; possibly more so, if her movements were anything to judge by. She was making a high pitched whining sound.
Keening
, and it reminded him of the sound an animal made when it was being hunted. When it was close to death.
Sounds good to me.
He dug his fingers into her thighs and wrenched her legs apart. He wanted it to be in slow motion – things had been crazy in his truck, and then hazy in his apartment. He hadn't gotten to witness her in all her perfect glory. He wanted to watch as she took every inch he had to offer.
But he couldn't do it. Something about Dulcie, she'd always brought out the wild animal in him. The one that lived just beneath his skin, hiding just behind his smile. He barely had his tip in and then he slammed forward, giving her no warning. No time to adjust. She screamed and there was a crunching sound. He lifted his head and realized she'd grabbed one of the fallen champagne glasses. She'd crushed it in her fist, and fat drops of scarlet blood were already falling onto the pristine tablecloth.
“
Dulcie, Dulcie, Dulcie,
” he sighed her name, slowly moving back and forth.
“God, yes,” she groaned, and her hips worked in a circle against him.
“You can't possibly have any idea what this feels like,” he told her. She managed to shake her head.
“No, because it feels
better
to me,” she challenged him. He stopped moving his hips and laid down, crushing her with his weight. Impaling her on his length. She let out a lengthy moan.
“I want to fuck you until you have bruises in places you didn't even know were possible,” he hissed against her ear.
“I have been
dying
for you to do that to me.”
It was as close as either of them were ever going to get to seeking and giving permission, and Con took it. He leaned back from her and while he wrapped one hand around her throat, he began pounding away between her legs. When she was almost gasping for air and yanking at his wrist, he let go, but moved his hand into her hair. He pulled hard, forcing her to look to the side, then he lowered his head so he could bite into the top of her shoulder.
I got blood from her last time. Seems only right I should draw it this time.
“Con … Constantine,” her gasps caused her to stumble over his name.
“
Fuck.
What!?” he yelled, hiking his leg up so his knee was on the table. It gave him more leverage to push harder, to go deeper. He wanted to pound her inside out.
“Please, please,” she begged, and he felt her arms around him, her hands working their way under his shirt. Felt her nails against his back. Against the scars he still bore, three years after she'd put them there.