sommer marsden learning to drown-CALIBRE Read online

  I didn’t think. I kicked out, my toes connecting with his leg around the sharp bone of his shin. I heard a toe crack. Wondered if I had broken it kicking his hard body with my bare foot. “Motherfucker,” Damien hissed. “Why are you doing this, you cunt?"

  Authentic. Real. Anger. I shivered, my whole body rolling with urgent desire. “Please,” I breathed.

  He stopped. I heard the fridge kick on upstairs, the neighbor's dog, Clancy, barking up a storm. I heard Damien’s breathing and I heard him toeing the dirt floor. Thinking. “Please what?” He traced his fingers along my belly and the muscles fluttered and jumped. His hand slid into my panties, his fingers found my wetness. He sank two big fingers into my pussy, pressed until the words flew out of my head like little restless birds.

  He took his hand away and the crack of the slap sounded in my ears before the pain lit my head up a camera flash. “Please what?”

  I shook my head, bit my lips, tried not to cry. My throat coiled thick and tight with unshed tears.

  I felt him walk behind me. He reached around, pushing his big clumsy hands back into my little white panties. He flicked my clit, pinching too hard, too fast until I shuddered. His other fingers thrust into me like he owned every inch of my skin. I sighed, cried. Shook with rage, humiliation, need.

  Damien’s knee spread my legs wider and his hand came down again, this time the backs of my thighs--hard and sharp like a gun crack. Every single time my ears detected the sound of his strike before my body felt it. My skin beat with my pulse, my ears too. My head full of cotton and the sound of the ocean as every blow thrummed up the backs of my thighs in to my wet pussy. Damien struck me over and over, running a pattern up my legs. But never higher. Just a running vine of blows up my long legs. Damien is an artist. How many times had he threatened to paint small portraits, words, pictures up along my thighs? Down the backs of my legs? Now he left handprints where he had once sketched invisible works of art.

  He yanked me so my arms suspended me and my legs left the ground. He tugged my panties so I swayed in my cuffs. Trying to help him but tangling myself up. I heard the snick of scissors and the sound of a zipper and the word, “Bitch,” rolled off his lips before he pushed into me from behind.

  One big rude thrust and he was in. In me and moving in huge, parting thrusts aided by the moisture my body had provided. “Look what makes her wet. Look how bad she is. What a little whore you are, Ember. Don’t you ever hit me again,” he growled. And that tone, that was Damien telling the truth "Don’t you ever do that again.”

  He bit the side of my throat so that sparkling halos flashed behind the blindfold. His fingers found my clit, pinching again. Pinching almost too hard for me to get off. Almost.

  The anger in those thrusts--real. The blows that had rained down--real. The ragged brutal thrusts deep inside of me--real. It all pin wheeled inside of me. Gathering speed and intensity until I sagged from the cuffs, sobbing, coming, saying it over and over again. “Please. Please. Please.”

  When Damien came he growled like an animal. With a bit of sadness in his voice he said, “There is no pleasing you. Not really.”

  * * * *

  The hardest jolt rattled me and I tried to force myself back into my reality, pulling from my self-hypnosis of sex. What I realized was a farewell analysis of my time with Damien. He was right, that had been the last time it had really, really worked. There was not pleasing me. At least not for Damien.

  I tried to focus, freaking out would solve nothing at all. I would only blow out my energy reserve and leave myself weaker, colder and worse off. But it was hard, I had no idea where I was or who was driving. Bright white spots flowered in front of my eyes in the gloom. Maybe this was what death was like, startling flashes of white in a crushing dark. And here I was ready for death in my panties and thigh highs, tartish four inch heels and my hair teased up into a fuck-me-big-boy bed head. A hell of a way to meet St. Peter. Not that I believed in all of that for the most part. But still, it would be pretty damn embarrassing to stumble up to the pearly gates dressed like a hooker on the prowl.

  “You are not dying. You are forgetting to breathe.” Funny, I sounded so calm and reasonable. Too bad I could hear my own heartbeat over the Hemi engine. “Breathe, you moron. Just. Breathe.”

  So I did. Pothole after pothole, speed bump after endless speed bump, I did my yoga breathing. Left turns, right turns, uphill, down. My teeth chattered, skin pebbling with goose bumps over my goose bumps.

  I worried at my misery, rolling my doubts and anger around in my head like river rocks I was trying to smooth. How did I get here? To this fucking place? Where was my intimacy? My happily ever after? Hell¾I’d take a happy just for now.

  Another bump smacked my forehead against the low lid and I screamed. I had been using my fantasy and the kink as glue to bind me and Damien together when I should have let us drift apart. Let our relationship die a natural death.

  “Free self analysis, no clothes required!” I chirped and then laughed. A slight edge of hysteria in my voice. I screamed for real to let the frustration out. Jangled my cuffs, kicked and then caved and gave up. The tears came and went. Returned. Dried.

  After what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes (time sure did fly when your nipples were threatening to poke through your bra), the truck stopped. Painfully slow, it lowered before finally banging terra firma so hard my bones seemed to rattle. “Fuck!” I screamed and started banging again.

  I held my breath, body trembling uncontrollably, heart jackrabbiting. Could anyone hear me? If it wasn’t so damn dark, I’d be able to see the skin above my heart jumping. “Hello! Oh God, please, hello?” I struggled, trying to ignore the shooting pain in my toes and knees and elbows. All the bony unforgiving parts of me.

  The door of the bigger vehicle slammed. I steeled myself and belted out the loudest scream possible. The sound bounced back--a shot gun blast of noise--my head swimming with my own terrified shouts and the dull electric reverberation.

  “Who’s that?”

  The voice was rich and gruff. I felt warm just hearing it. It quelled my fears to know that he, whoever the hell he was, could hear me. I wouldn’t die half naked in a utility box, after all! I could just hear my mother now, bemoaning my white trash death. One simply does not die in the back of a pickup. If you must die in a vehicle go for a Bentley or a Rolls-Royce. I shook my head to clear it. “Me! It is me. The lady in the box! I’m in the toolbox! Please, oh, god, please. If you hear me, which you clearly do,” I babbled. “Please, let me out! Now!”

  “Hello?” I could hardly hear him. A cold sweat popped up, followed by a hot flash and a surge of arousal. Fun. The cold sweat pricked my upper lip even as my pussy warmed. My nipples apparently thought they were turned on when they were simply frozen. Wasn’t this what happened when you died? Your whole body went haywire? And why was my pussy wet? That sealed it, I was insane.

  Jesus Christ, I had to stop thinking death thoughts, the man was right there! I flailed around, making as much noise as possible. Hopefully I wouldn‘t just knock myself unconscious. The point was to be really loud so he wouldn’t leave me here. “In here. Here!” I banged awkwardly with my knees and hands until blood trickled from my knuckles.

  I strained to hear the sound of the crunch and pop of boots on gravel. And it occurred to me, who was this person? And what would happen if I got out of the box? Who, exactly, was I dealing with?

  Chapter 2

  I jumped when someone banged the outside of the box. Another huge scream burbled out of me and my poor ears roared with the feedback.

  “Yes! Yes, in here!” I rolled from side to side ridiculously elated and relieved. “Here I am. I am freezing. Hurry, please open the box! Oh, please mister whoever you are, open the box.”

  “Motherfucker,” he said. He was close enough for me to make out his words clearly now. “Lady where’s the key?”

  The key? Where was the key? I took a shot in the dark. “The key ring!”
>
  The truck had been running when it was taken. So surely they were on the key ring. But something in my mind said no. No. Damien lost his key and gotten a spare. Where had he hidden it? Where?

  I held my breath when his footsteps receded. Lucky bastard, outside instead of in a big stainless steel coffin. The truck door open, it screamed because it needed to be oiled. I prayed. Please God, I’m not so sure where you stand on sex games and I know Damien and I aren’t married. And you may be totally against handcuffs barring their use for law enforcement, but please…Please, oh please, let the key be on that ring. I swear I will only wear big white granny panties forever and ever amen if that key is on that ring and he can save me! Amen and Hallelujah and thank you Lord Jesus, Saint Peter, Mother Mary, The Holy Spirit and Joan of Arc…

  I was way out of my element when it came to religion or prayers, but fuck it. It was worth a shot.

  “Hey!” Bang, bang, bang. He rapped on the box and my head ached worse. I had a killer of a migraine and would gladly chew off my right arm to be free. “Lady. There is no key for this box on that ring. Any other ideas?”

  Where? Where, oh where had that stupid fucktard Damien put his key so that he would not lose it? He didn’t use it often. He never locked the damn thing but for our game. Tears streaked my face, growing cold as they ran. Oh sweet God, where was it?

  …I lose everything you know that. So I put it in my wallet behind the condom.

  I was screwed. “Oh no!” I wailed, completely defeated. I tried to be a make it work kind of girl. But how did one make frostbite and imminent death by hypothermia work for them?

  “Don’t cry!” he said. His tone clipped and annoyed. The sharp order somehow comforting given the circumstances.

  “I can’t help it.” I could feel that he was there and it was reassuring. I was not alone. If I pressed my hand to the cold metal he was only inches away. “I’m scared and freezing. I’m going to die.”

  “You’re not going to die.” His voice sneaked through the seams in the metal. A rough voice like sandpaper on the skin. It got into my head and made me have to fight not to beg. Get me out now! Please, please, please save me! Instead I fought shivers and curled up as tight as I could to keep warm.

  “You don’t understand.” He pulled at the lock and let it fall. The heavy bong felt like it was in my skull. I clenched my jaw harder.

  “What don’t I understand?” His hands slid along the seams of the lid and I held my breath, praying.

  “I’m practically naked.” I blurted out my dirty confession. A muscle in my calf doubled up on me. Pain shot up my leg to my ass and I made that horrible dying cow sound.

  “What’s wrong now? Are you okay?” For just an instant he sounded worried. But calm prevailed. “Tell me what you’re talking about.” A poof of cold air slid under the tiny crack he made when he tested the lid. The slack didn‘t even allow a crack big enough for him to peek in at me. I was grateful for a moment but realized he‘d see me anyway. Hopefully. When he rescued me.

  If he rescues you. I couldn’t let myself think that way.

  “I’m not so much…um…dressed.” Would it be inappropriate to just beat my head against the metal until I achieved a blissful state of unconsciousness? Probably. “I’m nearly naked.”

  “Look, lady, are you naked? If you’re naked we have a problem because you’ve been in there a while and it’s pretty fucking cold out here.” The lock jangled again as he messed with it. Was he picking it?

  “I’m in a bra and panties and…”

  “And?”

  “Handcuffs and rope.” Another blurted confession.

  Total silence. Total. Fucking. Silence.

  And then, a slow cruel chuckle. “Okay. Got it. I hijacked you during a game. Okay. Sit tight. Think warm thoughts. I’ve got some bolt cutters in the back of my truck. I’ll have you out of there before all the good stuff is frozen.” Another soft chuckle that seemed to tiptoe up my spine like soft little cat paws. “Don’t move.”

  I threw back my head, frustrated beyond measure. “Like I have a choice!”

  * * * *

  When that lid swung back, revealing a blue-black sky dotted with pinpricks of white stars, I cried. I imagined this is what it was like to be pulled from the ocean in a riptide right before you started sucking water into your lungs. A very big man gazed in at me, saying nothing at all. My body clenched tight like a fist. I didn’t think it was possible to be colder than I was right at that moment. His mouth moved but all I heard were my own hysterical sobs. I was inexplicably terrified now that I had been saved.

  “What?” My teeth chattered louder. I couldn‘t hear him over my own clicking jaws. “One more time,” I said.

  “I said, come here. Take my hand.” And then he simply took my bound hands in his. He pulled me to my feet. My body balked at unclenching. It hurt to unbend myself.

  “Green, eh?” He smiled. When my knees gave out, he caught me. Effortlessly. As if I were some tiny boneless rag doll instead of long and leggy and completely awkward at the moment. I realized he meant my bra and panties.

  “I was feeling spring-like.” My body melded to him instantly. He could have been Jack the Ripper and it wouldn’t have mattered. He was warm.

  “Too bad for you it’s like twelve degrees,” he said. “But I’m digging the panties. And the thought behind them.” The truck rocked when he walked to the edge of the bed. When he jumped to the ground, I prayed again. Please do not let the large slightly scary man drop me. My legs are bound. So are my hands. All my bones will break. Please let him be athletic. Amen.

  He landed easily but I huddled closer. “Freezing,“ I said. I yawned. I was so tired.

  The stranger smoothed his hand over my ass, thumbed the back of my thigh. His fingers stroked my lower back. His hands tried to warm me but there was too much of me bare to warm. My body responded, though sluggishly, when he palmed my bottom. His heat penetrated me. “F-f-freezing,” I said.

  “I’m working on it. Let’s get you in the cab. I have some overalls in the back and I think a spare jacket. The heat’s on full blast. And then…” He laughed again. It was a nice only slightly terrifying laugh.

  “Then?”

  “We’ll deal with the cuffs.”

  I rubbed my hands together as well as I could while cuffed. I buried my face against his blue jacket and willed myself to vanish. To time travel back and decide tonight was not the night for the abduction game. He opened the cab and the light winked on. His eyes were dark brown and warm, laugh lines crowded the corners, stubble peppered his chin. Dirty blond hair and a sharp nose. “I’m still here, “ I said. Beyond embarrassed, beyond mortified.

  He pulled the knots and freed my legs, face intent like he was working a puzzle. “Yep. Sorry, it wasn’t a dream, girl. Just you and me. Your knight in shining armor.” He smirked and left me on the cracked vinyl seat. The heater poured warm air over me. I put my hands out to soak it up.

  “But you are my knight in shining armor,” I said. It was safe to say it because he wasn‘t there to hear.

  When he got back he looked less sure of himself. Or maybe he was just freaked out by finding prisoner me locked up like a heroine in a bad horror movie. “Did you steal me?“ I blurted. God help me, my panties were wet. I didn’t realize until I blurted it out, but there it was. And what was there to stop him from seeing that if he chose to look? Nothing at all. The panties certainly were not going to shield me from those eyes.

  Stupid abduction fixation. What a time for it to rear its head. Now. With nothing between his gaze and my truth but a pair of lime green panties. A very real urge to kiss him arose. Followed closely by the need to have him kiss me.

  “Technically, yes. Does that flip your switch?” He wrapped me in a thick wool blanket. “Better than the overalls while you still have those on.” He nodded to the shiny silver cuffs holding me captive. “So back to our conversation, don’t ignore me--does that get you off?”

  I studied my finger
nails, busted and cracked now from my ordeal. I watched him work bolt cutters over the chain between the cuffs. “A bit. The whole abduction thing is a fantasy kind of thing for me.” Jesus. Why was I telling him this? Easy. He’d asked me and I felt compelled to answer.

  He nodded as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I figured it was something like that. No big deal. Do you possibly want to know my name?” The metal chain parted like warm butter and there I sat in two heavy silver, but separate, bracelets.

  “Thank you,” I said. “And yes, I would very much like to know. What is your name? My name is Ember Sullivan.”

  He stared at me. “Ember. Nice. Very hot. And I’m sure that is the first time you’ve heard that.” He pulled a pair of overalls from the front seat and tossed them to me. “My name is Lucas. Or Luke if you prefer. And I just took your boyfriend’s truck because he hasn’t been paying and it’s my job. I repo from guys like that.”

  I shrugged into the overalls, shaking so badly that he finally reached over and helped me. His big fingers worked the snaps over my bare skin. There was another urge, I noted clinically. The urge to arch up into his big, nicked up, grease stained hand. Place my frozen breast into his warm palm with a small shift of my body. Instead I said, “My full name is September. Bet you can’t guess what month I was born.”

  That earned me another laugh. His eyes found mine and then he was back to the snaps. I shifted, nervous and excited. “So, Damien wasn’t paying on the truck. Hunh.” Then it hit me. “Shit! I bet he reported me missing for real. I mean, he clearly wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Damien and Ember,” Lucas said. He climbed in and turned the key. The engine caught, complained, and the air from the dash got hotter. “How very Dante’s Inferno. Before you get your panties in a bunch¾”more laughter here that made me blush¾“let me call your man and see what he says.”