She doesn’t answer even though her lips part. I have mercy on her. She deserves that at the very least.
“Don’t be afraid. No matter how much I want to fuck you, I won’t until you beg me.”
I hate how her body relaxes even if she doesn’t do it purposefully. It’s a tangible sense of relief and that tells me many things. For one, she thought I would take from her. Pressing my hand against her lower belly, my fingers would play along the seams of her panties if the shirt wasn’t in my way. I push her back to my front and make sure she feels how hard I am for her before telling her, “Your body may want me now, but you’ll be begging me to fuck you, Delilah. You will feel deprived without me inside of you.”
A huff of amusement leaves me as the sound slipping from her lips mimics both a moan of pleasure and tortured agony.
“Another question?” I ask her. “My next touch will be lower.”
With my warning lingering, she surprises me. Lifting her arm slowly and whispering, so low it’s almost not audible, “A touch.” Although her eyes stay closed and her body remains as it is, her arm moves behind her head and then behind mine.
Closing my eyes, I let her press her palm against my neck, certain the rough stubble will grate along her soft skin. Her fingers linger there, feeling every inch of the back of my neck and then move higher, up my jaw. When she trails them to my lips, I can’t resist the urge to nip them.
Shock ignites within her and she rips her hand away, her eyes opening for just a moment. A moment where perhaps she felt the danger once again.
She’ll learn, she’ll grow to be at ease around me. I’ll make sure of that.
With her breathing erratic still, she forces her eyes closed and I make my next move obvious. Slipping my left hand under the thin fabric of her sleep shirt, I slide all the way up to where it was just a moment ago and then lower, lower still, slipping beneath the elastic of her panties until her pubic hair rests against my fingertips. She’s hot, every inch of her, but I’m more than aware that just a bit lower will greet me with a warmth that already has my cock leaking precum.
“Another move on your end?” I whisper softly, daringly. “Question?” I whisper against her hair. “Or touch?” I let the tip of my nose touch her, acutely aware that it breaks the rules, but not giving enough of a damn to stop myself.
It takes every ounce of effort not to turn her onto her belly and take her how she wants to be taken. The way I imagine it is raw and deep. Far too tempting for my lack of patience right now. I allow myself the small nudge of my nose against her neck.
Her swallow is slow, her words even slower. “If I ask you for a time and place, would you agree to only seeing me then?” she asks and what a waste of a question it is.
“No.” I answer her with honesty as I slip my fingers lower, drifting them to her slit and bringing her arousal to her swollen nub to rub gentle circles. Her back presses against my chest and her neck arches, bringing her chin closer to my lips when I admit, “I’ll see you whenever the fuck I want.”
I don’t stop the heavy petting, loving her ass pressed back against my sweatpants. Just the feel of her writhing against me forces an aching need to override my senses. Her body tightens and I still, not wanting to send her over the edge just yet. “Another question?” I dare to ask and I do something I haven’t in a long damn time. I pray. I pray she has one more so I can press my fingers deep inside her cunt and feel just how tight and hot she is.
“If I message you to come to me, can I see you whenever the fuck I want?”
I hope she can feel my smile against her heated skin as I whisper something I’ve heard her say a thousand times when she’s well aware the answer is no. “We’ll see.” I wish I could. I wish it were that easy.
With the rest of my answer unspoken, I thrust two fingers inside of her heat, curling them and stroking along the front wall of her pussy while my thumb still presses against her clit. I’m meticulous, drawing it out and memorizing every detail of how her body reacts to the pleasure. Her fingers dig into the covers while her plump lips part and as much as I want to take them with my own, rules are rules. One touch is all she gets.
“Marcus,” she says, mewling my name. That’s how she comes undone. With me inside of her and my name on her lips.
My last commands to her, which she willingly obeyed: Stay very still. Close your eyes now. And sleep.
Marcus
The bad men always lose.
The boy told me that. I truly believed him back then. I can even remember nodding my head in agreement.
They will lose. They always lose. I look back on it now and know it was the heroes that led us to believe that. Comic drawings depicting superpowers and cartoon shows that came on every morning on the weekends. Even if it was naïve, it’s still true. I’ll be damned to admit anything else.
The bad men will always lose.
His large eyes stared back at me from across the cell. He said it like it was a question; after all, I was older by almost a year than him and taller too.
“Yeah,” I told him, my voice scratchy from lack of water. “They always lose.” I think the entire time we were there together, I barely spoke. Those may have been the first words I uttered out loud besides my name. Because he needed to hear it, and deep down inside I needed to hear it too.
He was the one who did the talking. All his stories kept us going.
The boy said that first night, sometimes they win, and that’s what makes them bad guys. Everyone has bad thoughts, but they have to act on them … for someone to truly be bad. He went on and on, but I didn’t respond or agree with that ideology. The boy weaved a story, while I sat against the cold broken stone of reality and let him.
It was only months later when I decided the man who came into the barn every so often with a victim of his own was a bad man. He didn’t prey on little boys like the ones in the cell did, but those women were victims nonetheless.
The first time in the barn, my safe haven and escape, I was shocked and sat in horror because it couldn’t possibly be happening. Not again. The second time, I crawled out and tried to wake the woman the moment the barn closed with that eerie creak from rusted old hinges. I shook her, I did everything I could to get her to move. That’s when I realized I was too late.
What a weak being I was, to shy away until it was too late. Yet that was who I was at my core. It’s what defined me. Both the boy and the woman showed me that. Her blond hair was matted with dirty blood when I realized how lacking I was in morality. Hiding to protect myself while allowing others to perish disgusted me, but that’s what I did.
I didn’t know if the woman was innocent, but the boy was and that’s when I heard his voice again: The bad men always lose. Wasn’t it bad that I didn’t do the right thing? That I wasn’t the hero he’d told stories about. I was nothing like the person he thought I was.
And so I waited and I watched because I wanted the bad man to fall. I thought maybe it would make it right. It would make sense, all of the tragedy would, if only I aided in this man’s demise.
So I waited, I followed, I watched and planned a way to help the good guys bring him down … because back then, I thought there were heroes who wanted to take down men like him. I thought they would listen and they’d bring the monsters to justice.