Yes Page 3

  To her delight, he began working his lips downward, gently kissing her stomach before settling between her legs. Without pretense, she cradled the back of his head and pulled him forward, her pussy aching for his mouth. As his lips met her flesh, she arched her back and spread open, his tongue warm and wet and skilled, her fingers gathering up bunches of his hair and yanking him along.

  Within moments, she climaxed, a gush of warmth flushing through her veins, an agony of pleasure throbbing in her loins. Once she'd recovered from the throes, she sat up and he rose to meet her, the head of his swollen cock threatening to push over the waistband of his slacks.

  Possessed by desire, she unzipped him and set it free, the phallus large and engorged and aching for her touch. She took it in her hands and he groaned, his palms falling on her shoulders, the fingers squeezing into her soft skin. With care, she cradled his balls and took him into her mouth, the size of it bringing her renewed urges and driving her on.

  As his groans grew louder, she quickened her pace, until he finally withdrew and nearly collapsed backward.

  "No," he whispered. "Not yet."

  She looked up into his dark eyes, an animal looking out from the other side, his jaw clenching, breath heavy. Slowly, she laid back while he moved atop her, their eyes locked the entire time, a carnal link between them taking on weight, the intensity blotting out everything else in the room. Everything in the world.

  He kissed her hard and she opened her mouth, their tongues warm and wet against one another, his dick working its way inside her body as she shivered with satisfaction. As his shaft slid in and out, she worked her clitoris against him, the two acts in perfect harmony, as if they weren't strangers at all, but familiar lovers reconnecting after a long separation.

  As he skillfully worked his hips, she squeezed his buttocks, the muscles flexing impressively with each thrust. Without hesitation, she took his ear in her wet mouth, his deep grunting transformed into moans of pain as she bit down. While she teased his flesh, he sucked at her breasts, one hand sliding up her thin neck and taking up a collection of her hair, which he pulled to make her chin lift, her back arch. She answered by raking her fingernails across his lower back, continuing upward over his broad muscular shoulders and then through his hair, which she gathered up and pulled until more moans slipped from between his lips.

  Finally, he quickened his pace, his upper body rising to offer her a full view of his well-built stomach and chest. She lifted enough to take one of his nipples between her teeth, chewing at it hard enough to make him curse. While his words expressed discomfort, his cock told a different story, its mass swelling even greater inside her, his pumping deep and thorough and bringing her closer to the end.

  Within moments, she felt it come over her: a crippling orgasm that nearly erased her mind for several seconds, the throes so agonizing, her mouth whaled. As the little cries escaped her lips, his body tightened and she felt his shaft clench within, everything he had escaping into her; low, animal groans filling the room. When it was over, they laid together without speaking, their breathing heavy, bodies glistening and exhausted and gathering up energy for a long night ahead.

  Chapter 5

  Over the next several weeks, they went on that way, meeting frequently for dinners, parties and such; each night always ending the same way: with their bodies entangled, mouths devouring one another, the swell of passion always building until they both finally fell rigid and then buckled under the agony of release. When she was with him, butterflies swam in her gut; when they were apart, she ached for his company and his touch.

  Then, the texts and phone calls began to diminish until they went away altogether. As the days turned to weeks, she went mad with wild little jealous thoughts of him with other girls, him pushing inside them, their mouths exploring his muscled body.

  Finally, she heard news, thanks to Courtney who seemed to know those who knew everyone. According to her, Dominic had become the target of a federal investigation and had fled overseas to escape arrest.

  "Who said this?" Hannah asked, her jaw clenched, eyes throwing daggers.

  "A friend of mine heard it from someone who knows."

  Hannah rubbed her chin.

  "Is he ever coming back?"

  Courtney put her hands atop her sister's shoulders.

  "For God's sake, Hannah, did you hear what I said? He's a fucking criminal. He's dangerous."

  Hannah looked to the floor and nodded slowly.

  "I know. You're right."

  Courtney pulled Hannah into her arms and held her.

  "It's just an infatuation. In time, it will pass to nothing."

  But weeks later, he still took up her thoughts: when she ate; at work, while she served drinks deep into the night; when she tossed about in bed chasing sleep; in her dreams, their naked bodies grinding against one another, huge climaxes awakening her in the dead of night.

  Then, it all seemed to dwindle some, or at least, enough to become tolerable: for her mind to find other ways to occupy itself. She met another man: older, quiet, polite and respectful. Something new.

  Several more weeks passed, and then, out of the blue, she got a text from Dominic. At first, she couldn't believe it, didn't know how to respond. For a good hour, she just sat there staring at her phone, paralyzed by a conflicting medley of emotions. Finally, however, she was drawn to respond with questions of his location, of his well-being.

  He said he was fine and back to stay; that his lawyers had cleared the mess and all was as it used to be. Most importantly, he said he wanted to see her that night, asked her to visit his apartment, said he'd thought only of her all those lonely months.

  Without thinking, she agreed, and that night, she readied herself as never before; her hair, her skin, her young face: everything obsessed over to ridiculous degrees until she looked and smelled like sheer perfection.

  But despite all this, she kept her mind firm toward her plan, toward what she knew she must do: let him go and pursue this new interest: this kind, considerate person who'd treated her so well. This she would do for her own well-being, and as she took a seat inside the taxi cab, she prayed her body and mind would allow her to follow through.

  When she arrived at Dominic's apartment building, the doorman greeted her with a smile.

  "It's been a while," he said, and she repaid his politeness by offering a smile her own.

  The bearded elevator attendant offered no such pleasantries; instead he merely manipulated the buttons and stood silently as they ascended, his demeanor like someone who'd just received bad news. When they reached the top floor, a single security person greeted her with a forced smile and then escorted her to Dominic's suite.

  As she entered, her eyes took their time acclimating to the low lighting. Inside, Dominic sat alone, his body hunched over, a cigarette in his hand.

  "Dominic?" She said, as she approached cautiously."

  When he looked up, she immediately noticed a three-inch purple scar running over his forehead.

  "What happened?"

  He shrugged.

  "It is of no consequence."

  He took a big drink of scotch that appeared to have little effect on his obvious irritation.

  "Are you alright?" She asked, as she took a few measured steps forward.

  He took a pull from his cigarette and squinted his eyes.

  "Come here and let me see you," he said.

  She crossed the room and he stood.

  "Magnificent," he said, as he took her little body in his arms and pulled her in with a force that seemed awkward and impolite.

  She winced at the smell of cigarettes on his breath and he squinted his eyes a little as she pulled away.

  "What is it?" He asked. "What's the matter?"

  "We should talk," she said, and he released her and sat back down on the couch.

  "What now," he said, as he picked up his cellphone and began scrolling though messages.

  Hannah frowned and sat down next to him, a three
-foot space buffering the two.

  "I'm so happy to see you, Dominic, and to know you are ok," she said with a stutter. "But things have changed for me since you've been gone. I've met someone else and I don't think we should see each other any longer."

  Dominic kept his eyes on his phone as if he hadn't heard a thing. Then, he finally set it down, crushed his cigarette dead in the ashtray and rose to his feet. She watched him cross to the other side of the room and take a seat in a chair. Without showing any emotion, he casually withdrew another cigarette from his pack and put it to his lips.

  "Let me tell you a story," he said, as he flicked his lighter to life, his eyes lowered to the floor, eyebrows squinted as if he were deep thought. "Once, there was this girl, a dancer here in the city."

  He brought the flame to his cigarette and held it to the end, a bright orange kernel flaring and then fading. He took the cigarette from his mouth and spoke, while flittering streams of white smoke escaped from his mouth.

  "She was a beautiful girl: long blond hair, endless legs, a mouth that seemed to be always wet, always pink and wet."

  He raised his cigarette and took a deep, long pull, his eyes studying her face, its beauty marred by fear, despite her best efforts. He smiled as he inhaled, thin wisps of smoke escaping upward along the sides of his sucking cheeks. Finally, he took the cigarette from his lips and turned away.

  "When she first came here, she was a clueless cunt, nothing more," he continued. "I took her in because these types arouse my attention." he turned his hand over toward her as if to make and example, his eyes drifting upward, as if he struggled to remember.

  "She was like my pet for a while," he looked toward her, his eyes dark in the low, amber light, shadows hovering over them, making him seem inhuman, demonic.

  "These types," he said, gesturing toward her again with a flip of the hand. "They are willing for anything, even if they think otherwise. Their lives before: gray to them, oppressive. When they come to me, they are like rutting animals, asses up in the air, their scent so obvious. I have them however I want them, and they go willingly, begging for me to degrade and humiliate them, loving it."

  He smiled to himself, as he flicked ashes into a ceramic tray. Hannah squirmed in her seat, her eyes on the door, on anything in the room that might pass for a bludgeoning weapon.

  "This girl I speak of, she was very kind hearted, but as I said, she had no clue. It took me no time to adopt her for my purposes, and soon she recognized her fate."

  He shook his head and ashed in the ceramic tray once more, his back turned toward her, eyes scanning the room, appreciating his great wealth.

  "Ultimately, I bored of her," he went on. "However, I decided to maintain ownership of her, so I instructed her as such and put her in a small apartment downtown, under guard of course."

  He put his cigarette out in the tray and turned to face Hannah.

  "A time or two, she made attempts to free herself; however, these were met with brutal discipline that left her scarred and useless to any man save a pimp."

  He lifted his eyebrows and offered an empathetic frown.

  "Sadly, these events drove the girl to cut through her wrists with a large shard from a broken bathroom mirror."

  His eyes drifted to the floor for a moment while he thought. Then they trickled upward and bored forth, the pupils seeming to swell according to his will.

  "You see, she knew it was her only way out, and so she took it."

  He shook his head slowly.

  "There was simply no other way."

  A harsh knocking slammed against the front door, and Hannah jumped in her seat. Dominic smiled and stood, dusting his slacks and then making his way across the room. He called through the door, and one of his men gave an earnest response. With that, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, closing Hannah inside.

  Immediately, she took to her feet and scampered to the kitchen. She opened drawers in search of knives, but she only found forks, spoons, butter knives and chop sticks. She slammed the drawers closed and ran down the hallway, checking door after door to find every one locked. Finally, she put her hand around a door knob and gave it a successful turn. The door opened to reveal a closet packed with heavy coats and a stack of cardboard boxes.

  She looked over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone, then she tore one of the boxes open and put a hand over her mouth. Inside, there were pictures of women, their lifeless bodies sprawled awkwardly upon cement floors, wrists tied together, knife wounds decorating their skin, their vacant eyes staring off into nowhere, mouths agape.

  She heard the soft thwack of the front door unsealing and lost hold of the box, the photos flittering in the air and drifting in all directions. As the soles of his shoes clapped the tile entryway, she fell to her knees and grabbed the pictures in bunches, pushing them into the box and closing it shut.

  She jumped to her feet, but the shifting weight inside the box threw it off balance, and it slipped through her hands and crashed to the floor. His footsteps grew louder, thumping the tile with a growing urgency, like big wooden hammers pounding a hollow drum.

  In a panic, she bent over and gathered it all up, pushed it awkwardly into the closet and closed the door just as his tall, broad silhouette filled the space at the end of the dark hall.

  "I need to use the bathroom," she said, her eyes darting softly between his shadowed face and the carpeted floor.

  He approached her without speaking and took her arm with an unforgiving hand.

  "This way," he said, as he led her back up the hallway and into the living room. He released her and pointed to a door in the far corner of the room; then he sat on the couch and lifted his glass of scotch. "Fix your makeup while you're in there."

  She hurried to the bathroom, opened the door and closed herself inside. Instinctually, she opened every drawer to no avail: all of them empty, save for cotton swabs, linens and decorative soaps. She closed the last one and looked in the mirror, the woman before her looking shaken and ragged, her tears polluted with mascara, streaming down and branching around her cheek bones, like tiny streams of liquid onyx.

  Soon she was sobbing, her hands on the countertop, body shaking. A fist smashed against the door several times, and she flinched at its force.

  "Don't take all night," he said from outside.

  "I'll be right out," she said with a quivering voice not her own.

  As his footsteps faded, she straightened her face until the girl in the mirror looked more like the one from a few hours before. Finally, she put her makeup bag back inside her purse and opened the bathroom door.

  Outside, he sat on the couch with his back to her, a fresh cigarette dangling from his hand.

  "Come join me," he said.

  She moved slowly toward him, taking a seat on the other side of the couch.

  "Now, now," he said, as he patted the space immediately next to him. "Slide closer."

  She swallowed hard and slid over, his left arm engulfing her slight body, his hand over the top of her head, pressing her face against his chest. He smelled of cigarettes and too much cologne, and the stink of it nearly gagged her.

  He began massaging her scalp, and as he did, she could easily see his growing arousal through his slacks. Soon, he was pressing her face downward, his fingers gathering up bunches of her hair and twisting it into a firm handle.

  "Unbutton me," he hissed, as he exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke.

  She brought her trembling fingers upward and opened his pants. She hesitated for a moment before he snatched one of her hands by the wrist and placed it against his erection. The contact inspired it to take on size, and soon, she could see the head pushing up and out the waistband of his briefs. With great force, he drove her head downward until she felt the hot tip of it pressing against her cheek.

  "Take it," he demanded. "Take it all."

  "No," she said, as she turned her head away.

  In a rage, he yanked her upward, nearly tearing the skin f
rom her skull. She let out a shrill cry and tears welled in the corners of her eyes.

  "You don't ever tell me no," he whispered into her ear. "Do you understand?"

  When she didn't respond, he leaned in and took her earlobe between his teeth. She shrieked as he clamped his teeth down and drew blood. Without mercy, he chewed the flesh until she thought she might pass out from the pain. Then he finally released and spit blood onto the lap of her dress.

  "Do you understand now?" He bellowed into her ear.

  "Yes," she whimpered.

  With that, he re-gripped her hair and forced her back down toward his aching manhood, which had seemed to double in size over the violent display.

  "Wait," she begged. "Please, just let me have a drink first. Just one drink."

  He paused for a moment, and then released her.

  "Make it quick."

  She got to her feet and turned to go, but before she'd made even a single step, he had her wrist again.

  "Get me another too."

  He drank his glass empty and then pushed it into her hand. She took it and made her way toward the bar.

  While he checked messages on his phone, she poured herself a straight shot of gin and drank it without thinking. As she struggled to hold the fiery liquid down, she saw a glittering sparkle of refracting light glint off something metal just to her right. She turned to see a corkscrew sitting all alone atop the marble top. She turned to check Dominic, but he was busy tapping the little buttons on his phone with his index finger.

  Without hesitation, she took the corkscrew and slipped it under her skirt, twining the coiled metal tip in the string of her underwear where it crossed over the top of her left leg. Then, she filled his glass with scotch and returned to the couch.

  She handed him the glass, and he took it without looking, his attention fixed upon some triviality on his phone, a wry little wrinkled smirk on his face. With a measured haste, she sat next to him, pulling her skirt upward to make bunches of space to hide the bulging corkscrew handle. He punched his finger against the phone and sent a message to someone somewhere; then he set the phone on the table and downed his entire drink in three large swallows.