Tight (26 page)

tight (tīt)

(adj.)
closely-matched competitors

“a tight game”

Everything changed after that cock bite, the moment when I left reason behind and became an animal. Suddenly, I couldn’t hide it anymore — the hate, the disgust, the vile rise of venom that came whenever the man came towards me.

We battled through Phase Two, every lesson a fight, a push of pain against wills. I refused his questions, and he punished. I refused his advances, and he punished. He gave up on rape, my efforts making the act too physical for him to bother with. I’d like to count that as a victory, but I don’t think sex is a motivation of his. Sex was just an item in his notebook to explore, a chapter that needs to be addressed due to its societal importance. He explored, he raped me enough times to ascertain that I - in no way shape or form - was growing attracted or attached to him. The pain... it wasn’t a stimulus either. He dished out the punishment methodically and without relish. Mind you, he wasn’t wincing over it, there wasn’t an empathetic bone in his body when I was on the floor before him screaming. But he didn’t get off on it.

What he liked was the mindfuck.

And, in that battle, he was winning.

I couldn’t let him win. I would fight until the day that I died.

I closed my eyes and curled into a ball, the bones of my ass tender against the springs of the bed. Listened to the man breathe heavily in the opposite corner of the room, heard the scratch of his pen as he recorded the day’s lesson. He really only needed four words.
Man: 0. Kitten: 1.
I gave him nothing. I took everything. Once he was done writing, he would leave. Stand up and give me a parting shot, something to indicate what fun I could expect the next day. But near the end - for a brief moment during recording – I had a moment of quiet. I released a painful sigh and turned my thoughts to Brett.

“Don’t go,” he lowered his mouth to my neck and kissed the top of my shoulder. “Stay with me forever.”

I pushed against his chest, his hand firm, looped together and pinning me to his chest. I laughed softly, the wind whipping my hair, and burrowed into his chest, his body turning to protect me from the ocean breeze. I hugged him back, looking at the house, the outline impressive against the setting sun, the ocean reflected against the back windows. I do love the house. When I first saw it, I’d been blown away. Now, with half of the surfaces inside corrupted by our actions, I felt some small bit of ownership.

“There’s plenty of rooms...” he whispered in my ear.

I pushed away enough to look up into his face. “We have plenty of time, Brett. The rest of our lives.”

He smiled. “I like that. The rest of our lives. Promise?”

I smirked at him. “Maybe. If you behave.”

“I’ll behave,” he said, pulling me closer. “I promise.”

I should have said yes. Moved in that day and never looked back. Shouldn’t have planned on plenty of time when I’d barely had any.

“I’m done.” The man stood, his chair shoved backward by the motion.

I said nothing, just watched him, my head against the mattress. Waited for whatever barb would come next.

“With everything, I mean. Your training is complete.”

That got my attention. I sat up slowly, the motion causing my stomach to roll. Sitting back, my shoulders against the concrete, I said nothing, just stared at him and waited for more. Inside, amid the pain and the nausea, I felt a flutter - half hope, half dread.
Your training is complete
. What did that mean?

“Tomorrow, your diet will change. You’ve gotten too thin, you need to put some weight back on. Start bathing again. Return a little to the girl you came here as. In five days, if you have improved, I will release you.” He nodded, an odd jerky motion, and turned, pushing the chair through the open gate.

“You will release me?” My voice was hoarse, the words wobbled on their way out. Screams had stripped my throat; vomiting made the condition worse.

“Let’s see how you look in five days. If you can look normal and speak to me with some semblance of respect, then yes.”

Once through the door, he closed the gate and locked me in. Then, without another word, he left.

I stayed in place, my back against the wall, my hand holding my bruised side, for a long time. Then, with nothing to lose, I crawled to the shower.

It’d been so long. So many notebooks filled with his notes, so many lessons and questions and tests. So much pain and fighting.

Could it really be that easy? Would he really let me go?

I decided the next morning, fresh coffee in my system, dried tears and mascara washed off of my cheeks, to break up with Brett. It had to be done. Anything else would be stupid.

If I confronted him, asked him to explain everything to me, he’d deny it. Without a doubt. No drug kingpin would simply fess up. So he’d lie. And I’d have to either play the fool and believe him, or end it then and alert him to my suspicions. And what if he kills me? Decides that the risk of little ole Riley running around is too great? Or... even worse—what if he adds me to his stable? Replaces my kidney with bags of heroine and lugs me back and forth across the border?

No, confronting him was the wrong move.

So... breaking up. I could do it. Invent some lame girly excuse and let him down easy. Spend the rest of my life wondering what really was going on, and what could have been. Let the first man I’ve ever really loved walk away.

Yeah, that option sucked. Was smarter, but still sucked.

I got in my car and drove to work. Scratched my leg through a hole in my panty hose and checked my phone. The screen still open to his text from this morning.

Good morning love. Call me when you’re up and about.

Another one, an hour later.

R we still on for this weekend?

I didn’t think I could do it. Couldn’t break up with him. But should. Ugh. I had to be the most wishy-washy woman on the planet. I parked my car and walked in the branch, waving to the tellers and unlocking my office. Roses, last week’s delivery from Brett, sat dead on the corner of my desk. Already decaying, they filled the room with a slightly sour smell. Dead roses. A fitting touch. And of course, it being Monday...

“Delivery for you.” Anita stuck her head in the door.

“Send ‘em in,” I mumbled, leaning down to press the power button on my computer.

I barely spoke to the delivery boy as he took the dead ones away and replaced them with a new vase - tulips, the cheery yellow flowers doing nothing to brighten my mood. I stopped him on his way out. “Can you take them to Anita instead?”

He stopped, his hand catching the door, head whipping to me. Confusion in the teenager’s eyes. “Anita?”

“The blonde manager at the front. Just put them on her desk. I’m fighting allergies this week.” I sniffed, rather convincingly.

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

“Thanks.” I spun in my chair and watched him carry Brett’s gift out of my office.

R we still on for this weekend?

I unlocked my phone and returned to the message. This weekend was Puerto Vallarta, a place we’d been before - #11 on the Places Where a Drug-Related Crime is Most Likely to Occur list. Last time, we’d stayed at a bed and breakfast, there’d been a storm, and we’d spent most of the time in bed. Brett had had one meeting - Saturday night - I’d been on my own for dinner and had eaten at the restaurant next door. I’d been so engrossed in my novel I hadn’t minded the time apart. Had finished my book five minutes before he had returned, his spirits high. He’d had a car waiting out front, and we’d gone into the city for a late dessert and drinks. I hadn’t thought anything about it. Had left my novel in the B&B, but taken my naïveté with me.

I typed without even having a plan, the scent of flowers still heavy in the space.

Are we staying at the same place as before?

The boy was on top of his texts. His response was immediate.

Are you feeling better? Free to talk?

No. In a meeting.

I scrolled back and added a frowny face at the end. Very convincing. I should quit banking and join the CIA. In fact ... I tapped my phone against the desk.

“What’s with the flowers?” Anita stuck her head in. “They poisonous?”

“Jury’s still out on that,” I murmured. I looked up, her eyebrows high, curiosity raised. Shit. Why was I feeding the Quincy rumor mill? I reached for a tissue and pointed toward my nose. “My allergies are hell right now. Any little thing is freaking them out. Do you mind babysitting them till I get over this?”

“Oh... sure. If you need me to fly off to paradise this weekend in your stead, I could do that too.”

I smiled big. Tried to laugh but it sounded like a guffaw so I quickly stopped. Maybe my acting wasn’t as amazing as I envisioned. “Thanks.”

“We have a projections meeting in twenty.”

“I’ll be there.” I fought the urge to stand up, push her out the door, and lock it, so I could finish my thought process. Thankfully, it wasn’t necessary. She gave me a cheery wave and left.

I closed my eyes, tried to return to where I was, the buzz of my phone in my hand stopping the act. I looked down at the incoming text.

I thought we’d stay somewhere else this time. Closer to where we had dessert.

So in the city. Near the nightclubs and a gazillion places deals could occur. Maybe I could get my answers without asking the questions. Follow Brett when he disappeared for his “business meeting”. Verify my suspicions myself.

I typed a response, the scent of my relationship’s blood in the water.

I’ve got a lot of work stuff to catch up on, not sure I can get away this weekend.

Yeah, that sounded good. Offhand and casual, with no hint of an evil scheme.

Would you prefer me to come to Quincy?

Shit. That wasn’t the answer I’d wanted. That type of weekend only worked
before
. Before I knew. Before I suspected. Now, it’d be a disaster. No palm trees or vacation sex to hide my suspicions behind.

My panties were so wet it was embarrassing. I panted against the night air, struggling for silence, the murmurs of the couple that had stepped outside breaking the silence of the night. Was I really being humped in the shadows against the side of a building? Was this beautiful man really running the pad of his fingers back and forth, lower and higher, finding the—oh my god. My head dropped back, and I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped me when my silk-covered clit was brushed by his fingers.