Lost Boy (14 page)

She looks back at me, "I didn’t grow up like you. I didn’t have a mom and a dad and Dr. Bradley to help me. I had to get tough on my own."

I lean against the window and try to think of a reason I would think she wasn’t coping with it all, "It just feels like you're not dealing with it. It took me months to get to where you are. Years even. I'm scared you're walling up again."

She unzips her coat and I almost have to hold my breath. It isn’t a skirt, it's a dress. An off-the-shoulder, pale-pink dress that shows every inch of her perfect form. She sits down on the couch and continues like we are still having the conversation, "Your life was filled with shit like this. Fancy things. Like therapy." She nudges my glass coffee table.

She has no idea just how fancy it was. I let her think it.

She gives me a blank stare, "I had people. They didn’t feel sorry for me. I was just another orphan. The people in my town felt sad for me and treated me with tons of kindness and pity because they all assumed I was abused and brutalized. What kind of kid is wandering the streets at six-years old? A kid who doesn’t have loving parents. It was no mystery that I was tortured or beaten or molested. But the nuns and priests taught me that nothing was easy or free and hard work was what everyone did to get by. No matter their lot. They taught me that bad shit happens to everyone and no one in the world is exempt from horror and pain."

I feel myself get caught up in her speech, "But they didn’t know what you went through."

She shakes her head, "No. But there was a girl who was taken from her parents. Her mom was actually her sister. She lived in that house till she was ten. Her name was Beth. She's the same age as me. She's becoming one of the sisters at the convent attached to the orphanage. She shakes if you raise your voice around her and pees the bed at night, still. She doesn’t speak to men ever. God knows what happened to her."

She stands up and grabs her coat like she is leaving, "I get that what happened to you was bad. It was and there is no denying it or taking that from you. But there are always people who have it worse. You were right. Your advice was right. I can't rot in that old, dirty house. I will never be okay with what happened. I can't say the words or think about the things that happened, without wishing it were me that didn’t make it out. But I did. And maybe my hard life in an orphanage, where I was taught not to feel sorry for myself, was the easier environment to heal. You need to listen the next time Dr. Bradley tells you to be grateful. I'm slowly getting there. I'm grateful to you for everything you have done for me."

I don’t understand what is happening. How did our conversation get so lost? She walks to the elevator and I am frozen. I don’t know what to say or do. She is new territory for me. She holds all the cards but doesn’t know how to be the dom.

The elevator button glows and I panic, I need to stop her before she pushes it. I jog over to her, "Wait." I brush my hand along her face, touching her just once more. I know the thing I should say and the thing I want to say, and I can't make them match in my head, "You're so much stronger than I am." Is she going to hate that weakness I expose to her?

"I had to be."

I lose control and grab her like she is the last thing I will ever touch again. I press my lips on hers, devouring her. She devours me back. She is forceful and crazed as she nearly climbs my body.

I pin her to the elevator door with every intention of pushing the button, throwing her in and letting it close. The only way to actually stop kissing her is to bite my own lip so I do it before I mutter, "You're right. I'm not like you. I can't be grateful like you are. I can't get past the fact I never saved her." I don’t know where the words are coming from. I know they're truth but I don’t know why I'm saying them. I push the button on the wall and pray for strength.

"You saved me."

The magic words turn on the beast in me and I know once it's there, it has to have its way. I need to warn her but my hands have already lifted her up, pinning her harder against the wall.

I kiss her, sucking her lips and caressing her tongue with mine. We're sliding against each other, and with every movement, I become less likely to stop.

Before the words I need to say can leave my lips, her legs are around me and my hands are massaging her bared ass cheeks. Shit.

My teeth run down her lips and I grind myself into the cotton of her underwear.

My cock is aching it's so hard, but I push it against her pussy rhythmically. She moans into my mouth and I find the strength to pull back. It's that or rip her panties from her body.

I try desperately to get my breath, "I'm bad for you, Sarah. I won't ever be the gentleman you need."

"Maybe I don’t want gentle."

Shit.

Fuck.

Shit.

I panic and pull the paper with the number Jane gave me out of my pocket, "And that is my fault."

The elevator opens—thank you, Jesus.

I furrow my brow, pick her up and kiss her like it will be the last time. I don’t know the message I am trying to send after giving her Sebastian's number, but I'm dying to maintain any control at all. Her lips are juicy and sweet. She moans in my mouth and I place her inside of the elevator.

I step back, smirking "Forgive me." The door closes, again—thank you, Jesus.

I stand there for a minute, almost concerned for the state of my penis, it might never go down. I’ve never felt that pure lust. There was no white noise, it was absolute desire. There has never been a moment like that in my entire life. I didn’t need her. I wanted her.

I turn and walk to the window, pressing my hands onto the cold glass and plot Sebastian's murder. I hear the elevator again. I almost hope and then I don’t. I am fresh out of self-control.

When the elevator door dings, she walks out into the apartment.

"Shit," I mutter and then speak louder, "Leave."

She throws the piece of paper at me and shouts, "I have his cell number. I don’t need this. You know I do. You answered him when he sent me messages."

It bounces off the window next to me. I smile and wait for it. She shoves me as I suspected she might. I'm barely hanging onto the switch that’s been hit. I turn and seethe in her face, "He's the right guy for you, Sarah. You don’t want to start this fight." I'm going to fuck her if she doesn’t leave. I hate that I'm trying to scare her but I don’t have anything else.

She seethes right back, "You want me to be pissed at myself, like you are? You want me to take years to talk about my feelings and slowly crawl out of that fucking hole?" She points her finger at me, "When you pulled that trigger at eleven, you were twice the man you are now."

Cold bitch. She's been around Jane too much.

Rage fills me instantly, "Get out." I am growling my words.

She cocks an eyebrow and grins, provoking my anger, working me like a puppet, "You mad?"

I lick my lips, hanging on by a thread, "Yup." It's the same shitty answer she always gives me.

She laughs in my face, "Good," taking steps back, taunting me more. I can almost hear the snap inside of my mind.

My footsteps make the floor shake. I grab her roughly and lift her up into my arms. When our lips meet, it's angry and heated. She drags her fingers through my hair, pulling it.

Shit.

I bite her lip and slam her into the wall, pressing the elevator button. She cries out, moaning into my mouth and pulling my hair more.

She knows exactly how I need it, but with her I like it. Her legs squeeze harder. In the writhing and moaning, her dress had ridden right up her body. I can feel the head of my cock resting against the hot, silky flesh of her abdomen.

I am kneading her ass like I might make bread out of it when the elevator dings. I step in and stay with her, squishing her against the wall.

I press the button and grind against her again. She groans. It's animalistic.

She meets my grinding with a squeeze, I swear she is cracking ribs. I moan into her mouth, making her smile.

Something is happening. The switch is turned and there is no going back. I don’t even know what button I pushed on the wall. I don’t care about anything but burying my cock inside of her. My fingers drag against the inside of her thighs, tearing the underwear right off of her. My knuckle grazes the wetness of her pussy. I don’t know what has happened but the elevator is rocking with our movements. The door dings but my face is buried in her sweet neck. Her skin drives me wild. She is soft, and yet firm, from the running. Her hands rake my back through my dress shirt as I get my pants undone.

I don’t know if the door closes.

I don’t know if I am making the right decision.

I don’t know if I will ever forgive myself for this but her pussy is dripping on my fingers when I get them near the entrance. She hasn’t just turned the switch, she has me wound right up. I am cranked as hard and high as I can go. I growl as I get a finger inside of her.

I can only imagine how it'll be on my cock. She is soaked and I forget she's never done this before. I'm so dialed up that I can't stop myself. The things I imagine as I roughly shove my cock inside of her don’t help. There is no passion or gentleness. She cries out into my ear but I thrust hard. I don’t know where I am or who I am. I know what my purpose is in life, it's to fuck this girl until I can't see straight, and even then, I think I'll be begging for more.

Something happens as I am finding my rhythm. She starts to lose it, she claws at me, forcing the position slightly and cums all over my cock. She grips it like she is milking it. I lose my hold, not expecting her to cum like that. Words leave my lips somehow, "God damned, Sarah."

She grips me hard, like a fist. Her body is clenched down on mine. She bites me hard. I orgasm instantly, nearly buckling my legs and dropping us both to the floor.

Her teeth are clenched on me still when I cry out too, just like she did. I have never done that before. I back up, looking down at her shredded underwear and wonder if she's going to hate me. I zip up my pants but I can't look at her.

She was a virgin.

The door dings, and in my peripheral, I see an old lady standing there looking at us. She's holding a small, shivering dog. I want to apologize but I am not sorry. The door closes and Sarah presses ten.

She puts her coat on and I don’t know what to say.

The elevator stops at my place but we don’t move. The doors close and I bend down and pick up her underwear. I pretend I don’t want to traumatize the old lady, but really, I want to fall asleep holding them.

The door dings. The lady is still standing there but when Sarah gets off the elevator, the lady gives her a disturbed look.

I watch the old lady for a second before I realize Sarah is leaving. I chase after her, glancing at the front desk guy. He nods at me. I frown and drag her outside. I don’t want to make her get back into the elevator.

It's cold and she seems like she doesn’t care about what we just did.

I don’t know what to say.

I want to say sorry but I'm not. I'm sorry I fucked her like that for her first time, but it was such an amazing experience to enjoy sex, that I don’t feel sorry. I feel elated and free. I want to kiss her and drag her back upstairs but I'm scared, a little.

She does the most unexpected thing. She stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips against mine and whispers, "It was nice seeing you, Eli." She turns and leaves me there in the snow.

I turn and walk slowly back into my building. I'm coated completely in the wet snow. I don’t know how long I stood out there. I don’t know anything. Who was that? Did Jane do that to her? Did Jane tell her to do that to me? Am I the one who is being played to get better? Is this some sick, twisted return to Misery Island for me?

For several seconds in the foyer, I wonder how much of this is real and how much is a dream from a bed where I am shackled, and about to be electrocuted again.

But when I step into the elevator, the smell of our sex makes a slow grin cross my lips.

That was real.

She was real.

I press ten and nod my head.

Today is the worst day of my life.

I send another text, 'Hi.'

She doesn’t respond.

I pace the apartment and wait for her answer. Instead, Jane calls.

"Hello?"

She sighs, "So you're texting her nonstop for what? You nervous about her and the big bad world?"

I pinch my eyes together; how does Jane know that? "I am nervous about her being hurt, yes. She is fragile." That is a bold-faced lie. She is something but it's not fragile.

"Okay, well I told her about the trip to see her parents or them coming here. I think we're there. I think she's ready. Her twentieth birthday is the date she has chosen. Almost seventeen years since she has seen them."

I shake my head, "Okay, great. That’s the final step."

I can hear Jane smile when she speaks, "You working? You sound different."

I realize I'm rubbing the front of my pants and stop myself, "Yes." I've gotten hard all day like I was a teenaged boy again. Of course, when I was a teenager, I didn’t have that problem much.

Pacing the apartment has become something of an Olympic sport for me.

I send her another ‘hi’ text message. She is reading but not responding. It's like the worst game of cat and mouse. I know she wants to see me. She has to. That sex was like a drug and I need it again. I walk down the hallway to get a shower and see the ornate door. It stops me cold in my tracks.

It's exactly the sort of thing a girl like her doesn’t do.

Or does she?

I open the door to the bathroom, ignoring the ornate-metal door.

The shower doesn’t take anything away.

I change and go back to pacing, ignoring the door to the room, and the images of paddling her.

Finally Stuart phones, "Dude, she’s out with that guy. I just followed them to some restaurant. Impromptu date."

The whole world crashes down.

"Eli?"

I swallow but I can't speak.

"Eli? What did you do?"

"Stu, I need her. Stay there. I need her to come to me." My words are broken a little.

"Oh man. You didn’t have sex with her, did you?"

I lick my lips, it's involuntary. I hate that. I shake my head, "Just bring her here."

I hang up and text her the truth but her truth is already there. She finally sent me back a message, 'I need you.'

I take a deep breath and feel my heart start beating again. I send her the way I feel, 'I need you too.'

I need her more than ever but she deserves to see the truth. If she is dating him, she stands a chance at her perfect normal.

I've just finished getting everything ready when I see Stuart pull up in front of the building and walk to the elevator. I hate the damned thing just a little less, now that it has such an amazing memory attached to it. I step inside and wait for her to push the button.

My heart breaks when it starts moving to the lobby. I can barely swallow when the door dings.

She looks startled to see me. I put a hand out for her. She takes it but we don’t speak. I have nothing to say. My heart will try to do the talking and then everything will be an even bigger mess. When the elevator stops at ten, I drag her into the house, stomping the whole way to the ornate door and fling her inside.

The room is warm from the crackling fireplace that I lit. I always do. I love the room and hate it a little. The four-post bed is quite the piece. The canopy rails are my favorite. The bed is king sized but the posts and rails make it that much larger.

I flick at her chin and nod at the blindfold hanging off of the post. It's new but she doesn’t know that. I'm waiting for her to run but she doesn’t move. Frozen with fear maybe?

"You need to see this. You need to know. This is what I need you for." I don’t know if regular sex like in the elevator will ever be enough. I need to face the reality that I have never been regular. This is my normal.

I close the door when she doesn’t move, hoping to scare her off by making her feel trapped and run from the room screaming.

She looks at me like I am a monster but says something so opposite, "You don’t scare me."

I point at the bed, "You texted me, Sarah. You needed me. This is me. This is what I have to offer. I don’t have anything else to give you."

Her hands shake but they reach for the zipper on her coat.

Oh shit.

She holds my gaze hostage and lets her coat drop to the floor. She looked excited. It makes me excited. I bite my lips to stop from begging her to let me lick every inch of her and step back. The chair in the corner is my watching chair. I sit and smile, "Undress."

She takes a long inhale, contemplating it and then starts. Her shirt is gone first, making my pants uncomfortably tight. Her smooth, white supple breasts are in that odd-looking bra that isn’t a bra. I have never heard a noise as exciting as the sound of her zipper. She wiggles out of the pants and stands there mostly naked.

The fire crackles, reminding me I have to be the one to talk. I nod at the bed, "Go to the bed."

She doesn’t get a chance to move much beyond touching the bed and I'm out of the chair. I press myself into her ass and wrap myself around her. Her silky skin under my hands makes them sweat. I want to do a thousand things to her and I know I'll last about five minutes. The smell of her is intoxicating. I lift her hands to the railing and nuzzle into her neck more, licking and kissing. "Don’t move those hands," She can barely touch the floor with her hands so high. Her body is tight and lean. I kiss and nibble at her neck and back. Her runner's ass sticks out, taunting me. I pull it back, moving it over the rigid bump of my cock in my pants. Her hands wobble, making me smile but I use my dom voice, "Don't let go of that railing, Sarah."

I touch her, savor her and then realize I forgot the blindfold. She has me in knots.

I tie it over her sexy eyes, making those lips seem like they stick out more. I sit on the bed in front of her and just look. She is so beautiful.

The weird bra thing is like a band across her breasts. It's not flattering, but I can see the outline of her nipples. I thumb one through the fabric. Her lips part and mine lift into a smile. If she could see the look on my face she'd laugh. I reach up and play with the other one. I knew a girl once who could orgasm with nipple play. It was fascinating but it taught me that even if girls can't orgasm, they can get quite excited.

I flick and squeeze and lightly drag my fingers back and forth until her nipples are so erect, I need them in my mouth. I flip the weird band thing off and there is the most perfect nipple. Seeing her naked before was different. I tried not to see. Now, I want to notice every detail of her perfect pink nipples. I take one in my mouth and, instantly, I notice the way she squeezes her thighs together. I lick and suck and swirl my tongue around one while still rubbing the other. Her thighs clench harder. She wobbles and I swear she's going to cum. I mutter, "Are you going to cum for me, Sarah? Before I even touch your pussy?"

She moans louder. She likes it when I talk to her.

"Come for me, baby." I suck harder and she does. She orgasms and loses her grip. My body reacts like it would if she were just a regular girl. I jump up and shove her face down into the blankets. She's still moaning and gripping the bedding.

I'm breathless and confused by her effects on me, but I stay in character, "I told you to keep your hands there." Her ass sticking out like that is sending me over the edge.

I back away, and the next moments are more like a movie playing out in front of me, than real life. I turn to the wall and pull a paddle I've never tried before. It's metal and wide. It feels like it weighs a ton in my hand, and like a zombie I walk to her, rubbing her ass and warming her up. She's writhing and ready for it. I place the cold metal against her ass. She jumps and then sticks herself out more. She doesn’t shy away from the paddle.

My words are breathy and cold, "If you struggle, I will hit you harder." I don’t want to do what I am about to, but I can't stop the movie from playing out. The side of me I never wanted her to see is there and he can't be stopped.

I reach a hand forward on her belly and push her butt out more as the paddle comes down, lighting her ass cheeks up for me. My exhale is ragged and more of a shudder.

"Touch your toes together," I growl at her, forgetting who she is. She does it fast, breathing into the bedding. I hit a second time and a third. She is writhing and moaning. I pull her back a bit and arch her back more so the next hit vibrates against her pussy. She moans harder. I start to get scared she's going to cum again and I've made something much worse than me.

"Faster," she mutters breathlessly into the blanket.

My heart is beating out of control; what have I done? She can never go back to being normal after this. You can't like this and then go back. I give her a chuckle and a line I've used before, "No, no, no. You've had an orgasm. You don’t get another one." I hit a bit harder, trying to make it less enjoyable. "That's my girl."

I don’t know how else to make it horrid than to make her feel like a slut, so I drop the paddle, rip her panties down, and unzip my pants harshly. I shove my swollen cock into her roughly. The reality of what I'm doing makes me sick. I close my eyes and push her down harder. I make noises like I've cum, she's so wet that she won't be able to tell I didn’t. I fake my orgasm and turn to leave quickly before she can see my raging hard on. I am close to punching a hole in my walls and tearing the fucking house apart, when I get to the living room. I barely manage to get my pants on after a couple minutes trying to squeeze the zipper over my cock.

I get a drink of water but I can't get it down my throat. I leave the glass on the counter.

I am pacing and running my hands through my hair like a psycho when I hear her feet on the hallway. She must think I'm a monster. I shake my head and wait for it. She's going to scream and hate me and leave and go to that fucker Sebastian.

Fuck.

She does something much worse and even more unexpected. She is silent and leaves like the other girls. She isn’t mad at me, she is hurt.

She doesn’t look at me so I say the only thing I can think of, "Don't leave."

It's a stupid-ass thing to say to a girl you just treated like a whore, but I have got nothing else. The elevator comes and my heart shatters into a thousand pieces.

She shakes her head, still not looking at me, "I don’t want your money anymore. Or anything. I'll make it work on my own." She steps into the elevator and presses a button. The look on her face is worse than anything I have ever seen on her.

I rush at the wall and push the button as many times as I can but the elevator is gone. I run for the stairs, leaping them like a gazelle. I just miss the door closing when I reach the lobby but she isn’t there. She didn’t get off. I look up and try to catch my breath, "Shit."

I press the elevator button and the door opens.

She is on the floor, curled in a ball. I broke her.

I scoop her up and hold her to my chest. She doesn’t fight me. She just lies there.

I press my lips against her head and close my eyes. I can't lose her. I have to change.

I forget I'm in an elevator. All that matters is her.

The door dings at my apartment and I walk her in. I carry her to the place I think she needs.

I switch on the light and take her coat and start to undress her slowly. She looks haunted and on the verge of tears, when she whispers, "No. Please don’t."

I don’t know how to do it—how to be gentle and love her but I can try. I kiss the places I undress, tenderly and lovingly. I spend minutes pressing my face into her and just taking inhales of her skin.

I stand, hoping she can see how sorry I am. I don’t know how to say it. I am about to ask her to undress me too when she starts, as if reading my mind.

Her eyes widen when she sees them all, no one ever does. The tatts and the scars and the lash or burn marks.

Her eyes focus on the one I have for us all.

She looks scared or intimidated. Her hands run my scars and lines and tattoos. "Where did you get these scars?"

How do I tell her every mark was for her? I mutter, "I was hard on myself as a kid."

We hold each other naked in an intimate moment I never imagined having. When we get into the shower, I wash myself from her. I soap up a facecloth and wash every inch of her body, slowly. She is so clean and soft. I love that our life never ruined her. I am ruined, scarred, and messy but she is pure. I never want to hurt her again.

She closes her eyes and lifts her face to the water as I clean and massage from foot to head and back down again.

"Tilt your head back," I say as I pour on a little shampoo. It barely does the front of her head. I frown and dump a bunch more into my hand. I finally get a lather and spend a few minutes just massaging her head. She tilts her head into the water and smiles, "What are you doing?"

I shake my head, "I don’t know."

She laughs. I don’t know why.

"Do you have conditioner?"