Thor'sday Night - Paranormal Erotica (26 page)

‘You’re feeling safe, aren’t you, Carmen?’ He
suddenly grabs a fistful of her hair and forces her to meet his
eyes. ‘You think because I’m a cop I can’t hurt you. Is that what
you’re thinking?’

She wasn’t thinking that, but she is more than
willing to say, ‘Yes, sir.’

He releases her. ‘You could really get me into
trouble, Carmen.’ He sounds serious.

‘Why?’ she asks in wonder.

‘Do I have to spell it out for you?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘You could get me into trouble because I pulled
you over for speeding – which you were, by the way – but then
instead of giving you a ticket and sending you off with a warning,’
he caresses one of her cheeks with his thumb while studying her
face, almost as if trying to decide whether or not her remarkable
beauty is a crime, ‘I physically dragged you into this motel
room.’

‘I would never tell on you, Will,’ she says
fervently, inviting him to look deep into her eyes so he’ll see
that it’s true, ‘you know I won’t.’

The cheap little table where he placed his belt
is directly behind him. He turns away, grabs the handcuffs, pulls
one of the chairs out to face her, and sits down on it. ‘Come
here,’ he says impatiently.

She obeys him gracefully, her gaze fixed on the
tender weapon rising between his thighs that is always part of him,
which he can never remove even when his desire hasn’t drawn it.

‘Turn around.’

She does as he says.

‘My God, is this what he does to you?’

She knows he is referring to the red whip marks
on her back, and doesn’t say anything.

Without further comment, he snaps the handcuffs
on her, and the feel of cold metal weighing her wrists down excites
her as much as she had always suspected it would. ‘Spread your
legs,’ he instructs, ‘and take a few steps back… perfect. You’re
going for a ride.’ He grabs the tender cheeks of her bottom with
both hands. ‘Have you ever gotten it up the ass, Carmen?’

‘Yes…’ She braces herself, leaning forward and
bending her knees, but he surprises her by pulling her hips up
towards his face. Her awkward position almost defies gravity,
forcing her to strain all the muscles in her legs, yet she scarcely
notices she is so involved in the novel experience of having the
cheeks of her ass licked and bitten. She moans from all the
passionate attention he pays them, gripping mouthfuls of her skin
painfully between his teeth, then soothing the ache with his
tongue. When he buries his features in her crack she gasps in
shock, then moans again when the energetic tip of his tongue
thrusts into her asshole. She thinks of a warm little creature
trying to burrow back into its cave, and then she can’t think at
all. Her wrists strain uselessly at the handcuffs as she struggles
with this incredible new sensation, which is deliciously
intensified by the deep vibration of his voice penetrating her and
flowing through her blood as he groans hungrily.

‘What’s the matter, sweetheart, haven’t you ever
gotten a good rimming?’

‘No.’

‘Do you like it?’

‘Oh, yes!’

‘Mm…’ He rims her some more, drugging her with
his tongue’s sweet, soothing penetrations, especially when compared
with her fresh memories of two different erections thrusting and
burning and exploding in her tight space. Yet by the time he orders
her to stand up straight she is more than ready to take his, she is
actually dying to; her asshole is miraculously wet, and not from
his saliva.

‘Sit on me, baby.’

It isn’t easy to obey him with her hands pinned
behind her back, but he guides her hips with one hand while holding
his erection with the other. It takes a moment to angle it just
right, during which her legs scream in protest as she suspends
herself over him, but finally, he shoves his helmet into her hole
and grabs her hips with both hands.

‘Oh!’ she cries as he pulls her down and rends
her open. She almost feels sick with fulfillment as he packs his
erection into her then makes her start riding it, moving her
quickly up and down. Yet once again the mysterious thrill she takes
in a man’s selfish pleasure transcends her discomfort, and the
deep, sexy sounds he makes as he fucks her ass help hold her up,
even as the muscles in her legs start to burn from the strain of
obeying his rhythm.

‘Which one of your lovers taught you to take it
up the ass like this?’ he asks hoarsely.

‘It doesn’t matter, I only really care about
you!’

‘Is that right?’

‘Yes, I love you!’

‘Do you love me, Carmen, or do you love this big
dick up your butt?’

‘Oh, God, both!’

He laughs. ‘You have the most beautiful ass,
sweetheart,’ he sounds breathless, ‘it’s so beautiful, I have to
come… I just have to come in this beautiful fucking ass!’

Her knees nearly buckle as he thrusts hard, and
holds her down on his lap as he explodes deep inside her, his spunk
suffusing her belly with a powerful and delicious warmth.

Groaning, he lifts her off him slowly. He pushes
her away from him gently, and she straightens up, feeling at once
profoundly relaxed and stiff.

The chair scrapes against the floor as he pushes
it back, then she hears the whisper of cloth against flesh as he
pulls up his pants.

Trying to feel ashamed of herself, and failing
miserably, she doesn’t turn around to face him. Instead, she
listens to him picking up his belt, then holds perfectly still for
him as he unlocks the handcuffs and slips them off her.

She waits for him to say something, to break the
strange spell she is under that won’t let her look at him, while at
the same time hoping that he won’t. Yet when she hears the door
open, then click closed behind him, her breath catches as if he
shot her in the back.

She drops onto the edge of the bed and stares
down at her boots planted firmly on the cheap white linoleum
floor.

After a few minutes pass she stands up, picks
her dress up with the tip of her boot, and kicks it up into her
hands. But then it seems to take forever to turn it right side out
and slip it back on.

She catches sight of herself in a mirror.

Her eyes are black holes in which she makes a
desperate effort to see through into another, impossible universe
where Jay can forgive her for this.

She is running her fingers through her hair when
she notices the marks on her throat.

She moves closer to the glass and stares in
horror at the red trails of Will’s fingers on her neck, because
there is no chance of hiding this damning evidence from Jay.

The November sunshine flows crisp and bright as
an expensive Chardonnay into her skull, which is unusually empty of
thoughts as she walks over to her black car.

The police car is gone.

She starts the engine, pulls out of the parking
space, and merges with the endless stream of traffic on Flagler
Street as she wonders how many of the drivers around her are coming
from such an experience themselves. She will never know, just as no
one will ever guess what just happened to her, or that she loved
every second of it.

Carmen realizes that she will never see the
world in quite the same away again, and that this is not
necessarily a bad thing.

*

She is lying on her couch, possessed by one hot
memory after the other, when Sage suddenly jumps off her lap and
rushes to the front door.

Her hand rises instinctively to her throat.

Someone knocks loudly. ‘U.P.S!’

Infinitely relieved that it isn’t Jay dropping
by for lunch unexpectedly, she tosses her hair forward around her
neck as best she can, and opens the door.

‘Good morning,’ a young black man declares
cheerfully, ‘Carmen Palacios?’

‘Yes.’

He hands her a small brown box. ‘I’ll just need
your autograph.’

She signs for the package, which doesn’t weigh
anything. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. Have a great day.’

‘You too.’

The box is from her grandmother, who lives six
miles away and is pointedly reminding her of this fact by
communicating with her through the mail.

Smiling sadly at the joke (which really should
make her feel like shit) she gets a knife, and slices through
haphazardly applied strips of clear shipping tape.

Neatly folded inside crackling white tissue
paper is a brilliant red and gold scarf.

Buffy and Speckly jump onto the coffee table,
curious about this new object and intent on exploring it. Carmen
quickly lifts the delicate silk scarf out of reach of their claws.
It was obviously expensive; clothing was always her grandmother’s
passion.

Naturally, it occurs to Carmen that she can hide
the marks on her throat from Jay with this timely gift, but that
would only be postponing the inevitable.

The box hits the floor, and tissue spills out in
all directions like white foam left by a breaking wave. Buffy and
Speckly dive into it happily.

‘Okay, children, enough.’ Carmen wraps the scarf
around her neck to protect it as she cleans up the mess.

She knows she should call her grandmother and
thank her, but she is not in the mood. The old woman would have a
heart attack if she even suspected her innocent little girl was
sleeping with three men at the same time. She wouldn’t even need to
know that one of them is married and that the other one subjects
her to all the discipline she never got as a child.

Preparing for Jay’s arrival feeling like a
condemned witch waiting to be burned at the stake, Carmen
figuratively brushes the cobwebs off a short red spandex dress she
only wore once, years ago. She struggles into it, and winds the
scarf artfully around her bruised throat.

The two different shades of red clash
horribly.

She is mixing her men just as disastrously.

She whips the scarf off, struggles out of the
cheap garment, balls it up in her fists, and tosses it into a
wastebasket.

‘He doesn’t have to know everything,’ she says
out loud.

Curled up at the foot of the bed, Sage opens her
eyes, but doesn’t consider the announcement worth the effort of
raising her head.

‘I’ll tell him that Will pulled me over. I’ll
tell him everything that happened, exactly the way it happened, up
until the point where he pulled off my dress.’

Sage’s eyes are burning crescents on a
snow-covered horizon.

‘That’ll be when I fought him and he got
mad.’

Sage’s eyes don’t as much seem to close as to
set, extinguishing themselves in her fur’s snowy drifts.

She can’t decide what to wear tonight. Nothing
feels right. Every time she tries something on and looks at her
reflection, she sees the mirrors in the motel room, and Will
approaching her in his black uniform from every direction. All she
wants is to be naked. Her body feels more desirable than it ever
has. She has never felt about a man the way she does about Jay, yet
if she really tries, she can blame him for everything that has
happened to her in the last week, beginning with her impulsive
drive out to the Grove after he failed to call her as he had
promised to. Her pulse tripped the moment she met his eyes in
Mike’s office, and she has been falling ever since.

The marks on her neck are fading, but not fast
enough. The evidence of her transgression is still written on her
skin in a primitive hieroglyph evocative of the first cave
paintings made by bloody palms.

Jay is picking her up for dinner at
seven-thirty, exactly when Mike said he was coming over. She has
less then ten minutes to decide what to wear. It isn’t cold enough
for a turtleneck; she’ll have to settle for her grandmother’s
scarf.

She threw out the dress she wore to the Grove
that fateful night even though it only suffered a few grass
stains.

She chooses a pair of white cotton underwear for
comfort, steps into her short black leather skirt, slips her
knee-high leather boots back on, and completes the ensemble with a
long-sleeved white shirt that hooks closed in front like an
old-fashioned bodice. The scarf doesn’t really match, but she wraps
it around her throat anyway and lets it hang down her back.

She desperately needs a drink. She has never
spent so much time getting ready in her life, maybe because she
feels she is about to lose her life, the one she almost shared with
Jay.

She is uncorking a bottle of red wine when she
hears a quiet knock on the door.

‘It’s open,’ she says numbly.

Jay walks in, casually yet stunningly attired in
a black suit jacket worn over a V-neck black shirt tucked into
black jeans over black boots.

Sage appears in the bedroom door, and just
stands there staring at him, her back tense, as though she is
picking up on her mistress’ mood.

‘Hi.’ Carmen occupies herself pouring out two
glasses of wine.

He closes the door behind him, and walks towards
her. ‘Your priorities need work, baby.’ He takes the bottle out of
her hand, sets it back down on the table, and pulls her into his
arms.

His tongue explores her mouth with an intense
purpose and agility that gets her so hot so fast, it’s as if her
blood achieves the speed of light. She rests her cheek breathlessly
on his shoulder. ‘I love you, Jay.’ Her eyes close as if these will
be her last words.

He peels her arms from around his neck, and
looks down into her eyes. ‘Does that scare you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Something happened today.’

He seems to be able to read the lights in her
dark irises, because without her saying another word, he slips the
fingers of one hand beneath her scarf and lifts it away from her
skin.

She literally sees his pupils widen in
disbelief.

‘Who did this to you?’

‘A man who swore to serve and protect. I went to
Seaside this morning to hand in my letter of resignation, and pick
up my stuff. I’m sorry, I know I told you I wouldn’t go back, but I
had to. Mike wasn’t there, so it doesn’t even matter. But on my way
back, I guess I was going over the speed limit because Will pulled
me over. I mean, at first I didn’t even know it was him. He pulled
me over into a parking lot and asked to see my license and
registration. I didn’t even realize it was a motel until he told me
to get out of the car. He already had a key in his pocket, and he
pushed me into one of the rooms.’