Текст книги "Asking for It"

Автор книги: Lilah Pace

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Thirteen

I thought Jonah would call for only one of two reasons: either to let me know about some last-minute change in our plans—or to make new plans for another of our games.

But here I am, at nearly eleven P.M., listening to Jonah . . . being concerned.

“I wanted to check on you. When we bumped into each other today, you looked . . .” His voice trails off. How strange, to hear someone as sure and stoic as Jonah Marks sounding uncertain. “You didn’t look good.”

What am I supposed to say? A bad habit of mine—I try to think of what people want to hear, instead of just telling the truth. But I have no idea what Jonah wants.

“I realize I’m out of bounds here,” Jonah says, and now he sounds more like himself. “Still, if I was any part of why you were so upset today—if what we’re doing is turning out to be a problem for you—just say so. We can always call this off, or wait a while. I wouldn’t want to be a part of anything you found disturbing.”

Which is hilarious. From the first moment I laid eyes on Jonah, my life has been nothing but disturbing.

That doesn’t mean I want to call it off.

“We’re fine,” I say. “What got to me today didn’t have anything to do with you. I promise.”

“Okay. That’s good.” To my surprise, Jonah doesn’t hang up then and there. “Are you all right?”

“Yes and no.”

We both fall silent. Maybe Jonah is afraid I’m going to start spilling my guts to him. Sharing my secrets. I have no intention of doing so. That kind of intimacy can’t be a part of our arrangement.

Yet he stays on the line. He’s giving me the option—or, more likely, can’t think of a polite way out of this.

When Jonah finally speaks, he sounds steady again. Strong. His voice alone makes me flush with heat, from my cheeks to between my legs. “Do you want me to hang up now?”

I crave that steadiness, that strength. More than that, I crave him.

Very quietly I say, “No.”

“What do you want to talk about?” He’s wary, but willing.

My bed is only steps away. I lower myself onto it, propping myself up on the pillows. “Anything. Just—distract me.”

“Not the usual distraction, you mean.”

I wonder what phone sex with Jonah would be like? There’s something about the way he speaks—and it’s not just his mesmerizing voice. Every single word seems to have been rationed. Measured. He reveals nothing he doesn’t want to reveal. No emotion slips through unless he allows it. The totality of his control, his command of himself . . . it’s even more intoxicating now that I know the intensity he’s just barely holding back. And it reminds me of how fucking incredible it felt when he took control of me.

Phone sex with Jonah might be amazing.

But I still smell like cleaning products, and I’m wearing my grubbiest Longhorns shirt, and I feel about as sexy as Jabba the Hutt. If I’m going to get in to the mood, I need a moment.

Softly I say, “Not the usual . . . yet.”

“Interesting.” I can imagine his fierce smile as he says that. “So, what would you prefer as prelude?”

I notice that Jonah volunteers nothing. We aren’t going to discuss our personal lives or our emotions—that would violate our covenant to remain strangers to each other as much as possible. So I need a completely neutral topic. The first thing that springs to mind: “Tell me about Antarctica.”

“You want to talk about a place with no rain, little life, and temperatures down to a hundred degrees below zero. I wouldn’t have guessed that was your idea of foreplay.”

“I just meant—” I have to pause while I pull my T-shirt up over my head. “It’s somewhere I’ll probably never get to see.”

“You don’t have to apologize for being interested. I was teasing you.” Jonah pauses, and I realize he’s searching for words. “Antarctica is . . . brutal. But beautiful. Unlike anything else on earth.”

I lie back on my bed. I’m topless now, clad only in my panties; the sweat on my skin could have been earned a very different way. “By brutal you mean the cold, right?”

“The cold, and the katabatic winds—those are the ones that scour the ground, stripping away all the snow.”

“I thought Antarctica was covered in snow.”

“Some areas are. But a lot of the continent is desert. The most desolate place on earth.”

“So why do you call it beautiful?”

Jonah thinks for a few long moments before answering. “Weakness can’t survive there. People live with as few possessions as they can manage, on the very edge of survival. Even the air is clearer. The sunlight can be almost blinding. It’s the only place in the world with that kind of purity. That’s why I call it beautiful.”

For Jonah, savagery is beauty. I can believe that. “What else?” I ask.

“The aurora australis, I guess. That’s beautiful.”

I’ve heard of this. “Like the northern lights, but southern, right?”

“Right. They paint the sky green and gold, and the light surrounds you.”

I wouldn’t have thought of Jonah as someone who’d be enraptured by anything so poetic. Then again, maybe the aurora australis is truly exquisite. Even a man carved out of stone would be moved.

Though I know Jonah’s not made of stone. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized I knew that.

How much am I learning about him, as we go through this?

How much is he learning about me?

Then I feel uneasy once more—off-balance, unsure of anything. In the valley between tantalized and afraid. Which is just where I like to be, with Jonah.

“Maybe we should make plans,” I say. “For next time.”

If Jonah is surprised by my change of subject, he doesn’t show it. But when his answer comes it’s in a deep purr that’s almost a growl. “Anything you want. As long as it’s soon.”

“How soon?”

“As soon as I can have you.”

I suck in a deep breath. Already my nipples are hard, darkening even as I lie here on my bed, all but naked and alone.

He wants me to name the scenario. It’s not that I don’t know what I want from him; it’s that the list is so long that I hardly know where to begin.

Besides, the control should be Jonah’s. When I do this, I turn myself over to him, completely.

“When you imagine taking me,” I whisper, “what is it like?”

“So many ways. Different positions, different speeds. Slowing down to pin you under me forever. Speeding up until I’m pounding you senseless.”

Oh, God. I writhe atop my covers, my panties are already starting to get wet. “Yes,” I say.

Jonah keeps going. “Sometimes I think about that night we met. I hated myself for the things I wanted to do to you, but I still wanted it. Wanted you.”

“I wanted you too. I wanted you to—to make me thank you, or just push me into the backseat.” Those fantasies tormented me so much that night. Now they’re fuel for the fire building within me. “So let’s do that.”

“That’s what you want next time? To act out how we met, and what we really wanted?” Jonah likes the idea; I can tell. “Whenever you want.”

My cunt pulses so hard that for a moment I think I’m going to come right here. “Tonight.”

After a moment of silence, Jonah says, “Now?”

I sit upright on the bed. “Now.”

“We’ll need thirty minutes.” He sounds impatient; even half an hour is too long. “Meet me—in Zilker Park. On Columbus, past that first side road. Wear that little sundress again.”

Am I really going to do this? Head out into the dark right before midnight, to turn myself over to Jonah?

“Yes,” I say, and I hang up without another word. It’s not like that was good-bye.

I take a two-minute shower so I won’t go to our rendezvous smelling like detergent. My hair gets a quick comb-through, and I waste a few precious moments in front of my jewelry box, trying to remember which earrings I wore that night. In the end, I just grab some simple silver studs. The red sundress is clean, and without my bra, I appreciate the softness of the cotton more than ever before. Panties are probably a waste of time, but I bet Jonah’s dreamed about tearing them off. When I met Jonah, I was wearing pretty simple sandals, but tonight I put on crazy high stilettos. Then I hurry to my Civic and drive to the rendezvous.

At this hour on a weeknight, even the streets of Austin are mostly bare. Downtown there would be some activity—but not out here. The city lights are invisible, hidden by the park’s many trees. I pull my car off the main road, onto the gravel shoulder.

Nobody’s likely to drive out this way. If someone does, we’ll be able to see the lights far enough in advance to keep a passerby from seeing anything and . . . drawing the wrong conclusion. Jonah chose well.

I step out of the car. Dry grass crunches beneath my high heels. The only illumination close by comes from my headlights. The September night is as sultry as July, and the sound of cicadas shimmers louder, softer, then louder again. It’s the sound of heat itself, of summer bearing down on you without mercy.

The last time I met Jonah like this, I had a flat tire. Puncturing it now would be taking reenactment too far. General car trouble will do.

Then, in the distance, I see a car driving up behind me.

At first I flush with excitement—and then I think, what if it’s not him? What if some other person—some other man—is about to drive by and see me supposedly stranded and helpless on the side of the road?

Every danger I faced that first night comes to life again within my mind. The adrenaline pumping into my blood suddenly feels more like fear than arousal.

I take a couple of steps closer to the car door—I can get inside within seconds and drive away if need be. Then I stand there, breaths coming fast and shallow, as I try to make out the shape of the car coming closer.

A sedan, low and dark and long, like something a Secret Service agent would drive. It’s Jonah after all.

The flush of fear mingles with my relief, and my desire. That hint of terror will make everything just real enough.

I take a deep breath and let it out. I don’t have to control myself any longer.

I’ll give myself to Jonah, and everything else—the things that worry me, that haunt me, everything—it will all fall away. Jonah will be the only one left.

Fourteen

He gets out of the car slowly, making me wait for it.

Before Jonah even looks at me, his gaze scours the area around us. He’s looking for anyone who could see us—anyone who could stop him. But there’s no one.

He’s wearing cargo pants and an olive green T-shirt, both cut slightly looser than his normal attire. Yet his muscular body still shows through, as rugged and brutish as ever.

Finally Jonah’s eyes meet mine as he steps forward, the outline of his body painted starkly by the headlights. He lifts one eyebrow. “Trouble?”

His voice is already low, husky. Like a man balls-deep inside a woman, on the verge. The intensity of his desire presses in on me like summer heat. My pulse flutters inside me, impossibly fast, like the wings of a hummingbird. I lift my chin. “Seems like it.”

“Here,” Jonah says, stepping past me. “I’d like to take a look.”

He puts his hands on the side of my Civic. I expect him to just proclaim some vague sort of problem, but no. He walks around the entire car, studying it the entire way. My God, he’s actually checking it out, like I might really have engine trouble.

At first I’m amused—is he going to go to all the trouble of changing my tire again? Then it hits me. Jonah has committed completely to this role. To our game. When he goes into this mode, nothing can draw him out of it except the word silver. Unless I say it, Jonah will remain only a stranger who has me at his mercy. He will be the perfect embodiment of every dark fantasy I’ve ever had.

I remain silent.

The warm breeze tugs at the hem of my red sundress as I watch Jonah. He says, “Looks like you need some help.”

“Sure could use a hand.” My Southern accent normally isn’t that strong, but it’s come out to play.

Jonah likes my drawl. I can tell by the way his eyes darken as he studies me. “We ought to talk.”

“Talk?”

“About how we’re going to handle this.” He nods toward the car. “You need a lot of work done, if you want to get moving again anytime soon. Work doesn’t come cheap.”

As long as I don’t say the word silver, this is real. I’m stranded out here, alone, with this man so tall and strong he could overpower me in an instant. And he’s my only chance of getting out of here—so I have to do anything he wants.

Anything.

“I—” My voice shakes with both anticipation and fear. “I haven’t got much on me.”

“Sure haven’t.” Jonah’s eyes drop to my breasts, only barely covered by the low-cut neckline of my red sundress.

I blush so hot he can probably see it even in shadow. “I meant, I didn’t bring my purse.”

“No license? No phone? No cash? Not a very good idea.”

“I guess not.”

“Don’t worry,” Jonah purrs, stepping closer. “I’ve got you.”

If only we could be sure nobody would drive along this stretch of road anytime soon. Then he could throw me down on the hood, rip my dress away, and take me as hard and mercilessly as he did the first time. My knees go weak, and I have to brace one hand against the car door. I bite my lower lip before I whisper, “I could give you my number. You could call me tomorrow, and I’d pay anything you wanted.”

“I don’t want your money.” He nods toward his car. “Get in. Let’s talk.”

Slowly—as if reluctantly—I walk toward Jonah’s dark sedan. My right hand trembles as I reach for the front passenger door, but Jonah steps past me to open the back door instead. I hesitate, breath catching, before I slip inside.

A lot of guys seem to care about their cars too much or not at all. Either they have sports cars or vintage numbers they fixed up, and they bore you with talk about horsepower and acceleration—or they have totally normal cars permanently littered with empty fast-food bags and junk mail, and they tell you to just kick that soda can on the floor out of your way. Neither scenario is attractive.

Jonah’s sedan is long, sleek, and elegantly impersonal. Cream-colored leather covers the seats. It smells like he drove it off the lot this morning. The interior gives away nothing about what kind of person Jonah Marks might be. I scoot to the far end of the car, tucking the skirt of my sundress under me as Jonah slides in after.

He slams the door. The overhead light goes off. Now the only illumination comes from the soft blue glow of his satellite radio.

Jonah studies me for a moment. No doubt he’s taking in the rise and fall of my chest, the way I’m already shaking. He makes me wait for several breaths before he says, “Kick off your shoes. Get comfortable.”

I obey, letting the heels slip from my feet, even as I say, “I don’t want to stay in your car.”

“You want to get home, don’t you?”

“I—I appreciate you helping me—”

“I’m going to help you, but you have to help me. See?”

This is—softer than our first time. Not an act of angry brutality. Instead Jonah’s using coercion, putting me in a place where I say yes because I feel like there’s no way out if I say no. Edging me closer and closer to a line that he’ll then drag me over. It’s an entirely different kind of force, but force all the same.

And it turns me on just as hard.

Jonah brushes one fingertip along my bare shoulder. I shiver as I pull back. He clucks his tongue and smiles. “So shy. That’s no way to act with someone who’s trying to be nice to you.”

“I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. You’re going to be nice to me too. Here. Give me your hand.”

His fingers close around my wrist, his grip as hard as his tone is soft. He guides my hand down to his crotch, then presses my palm against his cock.

God, he’s so big. I remembered that from last time—I couldn’t forget it, ever—but still I marvel at the length of him. His cock jumps slightly at my touch, the pressure clear even through the thin fabric of Jonah’s cargos. He starts moving my hand back and forth, the smallest, slowest strokes.

“See?” Jonah grins at me, openmouthed, already proud of himself for getting me into this situation. “I knew you could be nice if you wanted to.”

If this were for real, what would I say now? What would I do? I whisper, “I just want to get home.”

“You’ll get home. But there’s no rush. I like you when you’re being nice.”

“Nothing but this?” By now I’m shaking. “Just my hand?”

“You could do more with your hands. Why don’t you show me? Maybe your hands are all I need, if you give me enough.”

Jonah lifts his hand from mine, no longer pressing my palm against his erection. He wants me to give him more—to bargain, in the hopes he’ll demand nothing more than a hand job. So I have to give him the best hand job I can.

My fingers tremble as I clumsily unbutton his fly, then reach inside his boxers to draw out the length of his cock. It juts up, long and thick for me. Tentatively I close my hand around it. My reward is the first pre-come, slicking my fingers along with the head of his cock.

“Come on.” Jonah doesn’t sound so patronizingly reassuring any longer. Impatience grates in every word. “You can do more than that.”

I begin jerking him off in earnest, tightening and loosening my fist as I move up the length of his cock. Now down again, and I begin using my wrist. He’s hot against my palm, and so hard he must ache.

“I want it wetter,” Jonah says. “Lick your palm.”

So I do, quickly, before going back to my task. Guys have always told me I was good at this part—and I start giving Jonah what I’d give a regular lover. Twist and grip and stroke, teasing the ridge around the head of his cock.

He breathes out hard and lets his head slump back. I whisper, “This is enough?”

“Wetter.” But when I lift my palm to my face again, he shakes his head. “Use your mouth.”

“—but—you said—”

“I said you were going to be nice to me if you wanted my help. You want my help, don’t you? Or do you want to stay out here all night? Somebody else might stop, and he might not be good to you like I am.”

I wonder if Jonah will act out both parts. Whether he’ll drive off and leave me stranded—then return in a few minutes as the savage attacker he’s now using to threaten me.

Instead he reaches out as if to caress the side of my face—then fists his hand in my hair. His self-satisfied smile has vanished. “Play nice,” he says. It’s a warning.

I bend over, Jonah’s hand still clutching my hair, until his enormous cock is in my face. Parting my lips, I take him in. I have to open wide.

Pre-come wells in my mouth, slicking my lips stretched around his cock. Salt is warm against my tongue. I start sucking—soft, slow little swallows at first. Then Jonah pulls my hair, hard enough for it to hurt. He wants me to work harder for my freedom, for my chance to get home.

So I do. I use my tongue, circling and licking, as I bob my head up and down. My hand closes around the base of his cock so I can pump him in time with my movements. The sticky stuff now trickling from the corner of my mouth tells me he loves this—that he’s getting close.

But Jonah growls, “Dammit, hold still. Now.”

I go motionless. His other hand grabs my hair too, and he pushes my head down, forcing himself so deep inside my throat that I gag.

He laughs slightly. “Yeah. That’s it. Now you’re giving me something.”

Jonah takes control. His hands guide me, sometimes pushing no more than the head of his cock into my mouth, where I suck as best I can—then shoving me down again, making me deep-throat him.

“I like it when you start to choke,” he whispers. “Your throat gets tight. Makes me think about how tight your cunt must be.”

I whimper, the sound muffled by his cock in my mouth.

“Are you that tight inside? Huh?” Jonah jerks my head up and looks into my eyes as I cough and wipe my lips with the back of my hand. “Are you?”

My voice has gone hoarse. “Please—I’m already—you said this was what you wanted—”

“Never said it was all I wanted. Don’t you want to be nice to me? Don’t you want to show me how grateful you are that I’m going to fix your car and send you home? Or do you want me to leave you here? That’s right. I knew you didn’t.” Jonah’s hand palms my breast through the thin red cotton of my sundress. His thumb circles the hard point of my nipple, and he grins. “Now take off those panties.”

With trembling hands I reach beneath my skirt to wriggle out of my underwear. Jonah’s hands circle me—not for an embrace, but to unzip the top few inches of my dress in the back. After I let the panties fall to the floor of the car, Jonah peels down the top of my sundress, exposing my breasts completely. He takes them in both hands and squeezes hard enough to take me to the edge of pain. When I pull back, his smile turns cruel.

“You can take more than that, can’t you? I bet you can.” He pushes me down until I’m lying on my back. The sedan is so wide that I can almost stretch the full length of it. “Now get those legs open.”

“Please—”

“Do it!” The edge in his voice is meant to frighten. To terrify. The unspoken words are or else.

I let my left leg fall to the side, parting my thighs. Jonah angles himself between my legs as he pushes my right knee up so far it’s almost against my chest.

Jonah takes a condom from the pocket of his cargos, which have almost fallen off his hips; his cock juts out like a knife. “See how nice I am to you?” he whispers as he slides the condom on. “I don’t have to use one of these. I could just fuck you without it. But I’m a nice guy.”

My arm is braced against the back of the seat. I’m splayed wide and helpless. Jonah’s so large, so strong, that I couldn’t push him off me if I tried.

“Aren’t you lucky?” Jonah says, and then I feel the hard pressure of his cock against my cunt.

I bite down on my bottom lip as he slides inside—inch by inch, until it burns. He stretches me out, opens me wide.

“That’s it,” he whispers as he sinks the rest of the way in. “Just like that.” Then he thrusts harder, filling me completely, and I cry out. He smiles at the sound and rocks his hips back so he can shove inside me again. I wish I could watch his cock going inside me, but I can’t. The crumpled red folds of my sundress are in the way. I can’t see; all I can do is feel.

Jonah keeps going, deliberately and almost cruelly slow. The tempo quickens without ever actually becoming fast. Every time he pulls almost all the way out, then plunges in deep and hard. Each time I have to gasp for breath, caught between pleasure and pain, because I’m on fire for him—reeling on the edge of orgasm, but he won’t thrust fast enough for me to come. He’s making this last longer, because he wants to revel in his power over me. Jonah wants to show me how helpless I am. Whatever he gives me, I have to take.

He lowers himself over me more each time, until we’re so close I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin. His tongue laps at my nipple, and then he opens his mouth to suck at me. It only lasts a moment, but that’s long enough to send a surge of pleasure ricocheting through me, brain to breasts to cunt.

I’m close. I’m so close.

“I can do this all night,” Jonah pants. Again he thrusts, so hard I clutch at the car seat, my fingernails digging into the leather. “We can go slow and hard like this until you can’t even walk. Or do you want me to fuck you faster and harder so I’ll fix your car and let you go home? Which one?”

“You—just get it over with, please get it over with.”

“But say it. I want you to say it.” Jonah grabs my free hand around the wrist, holding it over my head. He’s going to take whatever he wants. Making me ask for it is just one more way he proves he’s in total control. “You want to get back in your car and go home? Then tell me. Tell me to fuck you as hard as I can.”

Merely hearing the words brings me back to the brink. I’m dizzy and flushed, entirely helpless. My voice is hardly more than a whisper as I say, “Fuck me as hard as you can.”

Jonah rams his full length into me. His hands go to my waist and grip me tightly as he starts to pump into me, each stroke as brutal as the last. I cry out—one long cry I can’t control—as my blood rushes to my cunt. The sensation spirals, soars—and then my cry turns into a scream as I come. My head swirls in the rush of pure ecstasy, and I writhe beneath him as every muscle of my body surrenders to the intensity of my orgasm.

He knows what he’s done to me. But Jonah just says, “I’m just giving you what you asked for.” Then he speeds up, and the only sounds are his heavy breaths, my whimpers, and the wet slap of our bodies. By now I’m limp and dizzy, a completely passive body for him to use.

So he uses me. Jonah lifts my pelvis up slightly so he can thrust even deeper—I didn’t think that was possible—and then grimaces. He slides in slower, once, then goes totally still. He shuts his eyes as his mouth falls open. Then his fingers sink into my flesh, and a shudder goes through him.

Already I know I love to watch him come.

After he sucks in a couple of deep breaths, Jonah pulls out. “Get dressed,” he says roughly. “And get in your car. I’ll see what I can do.”

I pull up the front of my sundress but don’t bother with the zipper. As I feel around the floorboards, my fingers find my panties, still wet. The red heels are easy enough to step into, but my legs wobble beneath me as I get out of Jonah’s car and walk toward my own.

Had I ever thought that if we did it again, it wouldn’t be as good as the first time? In some ways tonight was even better. Jonah knows how my mind works. Without my ever having to tell him, he knows how to be the dark, dangerous man of my fantasies. How many different scenarios could he play out?

I want all of them.

I sink into my car and shut the door. Leaning forward, I brace my forehead against the steering wheel and try to catch my breath. I’m flushed and woozy. Next time I should bring a cold bottle of water with me, for after.

But next time could be anywhere . . .

The passenger-side door opens, and Jonah gets in. At first I think he’s going to role-play the end of it, telling me he’s fixed my car so I can go home. Instead he gently brushes a lock of hair from my sweaty face. “Are you all right?”

I nod. “That was—amazing.”

“Yeah. It was.”

“It’s like—like you read my mind that night we met. You did everything I dreamed you might do to me.”

“And you gave in even more perfectly than I dared to imagine.” Jonah’s hand slides down my bare shoulder, a lover’s caress. “God, you have no idea how good it feels. The way you trembled the first time I touched you—”

He gets off on my fear, or my simulation of it. Shouldn’t that be enough to make me frightened of him for real? But I crave him just the same. Jonah pushes me past my limits, and I want him to.

I tilt my head and smile at him. “Not going on any more trips to the South Pole?”

Jonah laughs—the first natural, easy laugh I’ve heard from him. “No. I haven’t got anything scheduled.”

“So we don’t have to wait a month for the next time?”

“I don’t intend to wait nearly that long.” His pale gaze drifts to the loose bodice of my sundress, like he might peel it off me again this second. “What do you want, next time? Where? When?”

There is no end to what I want from Jonah. We could fuck every night for a year and I still wouldn’t have run out of fantasies for him to fulfill.

Yet the fantasy itself is about losing control. And Jonah knows me so well—or his desires match mine so closely—that I don’t have to give him instructions. All I have to do is turn myself over to him, completely.

How can I best fulfill his fantasies? By giving him the most control. The most power.

“Next time,” I whisper, “—surprise me.”

“You mean . . . just find you when you’re not expecting it. Take you wherever you are.”

“And however you want.”

Jonah doesn’t say yes. Instead he leans forward and kisses me, a deep, searching kiss that tells me I’ve turned him on all over again.

Our mouths part. He whispers, “Good night, Vivienne.”

I would tell him good night too, but he’s already halfway out the door. It slams shut, sealing me back into my supposedly normal life.

But I don’t feel lonely or rejected. I’m beginning to learn the rules. Besides, I can’t stop smiling from both satisfaction and anticipation.

When he finds me next time, it’s going to be so fucking good.