Her tongue traced the soft fullness of his bottom lip. With her eyes closed, she responded, “I’m not doing anything with anyone except you.”
When she finally pried her eyes open, his green irises reflected glimmers of light and he nodded. “I know that, too.” Fisting her hair at the nape of her neck, his look suddenly turned ferocious. “Let’s keep it that way.”
“Then don’t deny me again.”
His response was quick and harsh. He clutched her vagina, digging his fingers into her and making her squeal out. “I make the fucking rules in this game and if I want to deny you, then I’ll deny you and you’ll accept it.”
Elsa’s eyes rounded and her bottom lip trembled, the pain between her legs throbbing.
“I’m breaking protocol by being here. Interacting with you outside our designated meeting place is so far out of my routine it’s not even funny, so don’t make me regret coming here and don’t fucking threaten me.”
“I wasn’t…” she whimpered, scarcely aware of her own voice as she twisted in his arms, seeking to get free all the while his strong hands holding her tight as his fingers continued to explore her depths.
The song ended and Oblivion by Bastille came on. The mellow tune seemed to speak to Mr. Black and the tense lines around his eyes softened.
“When I didn’t hear back from you on Monday…” he paused as he gazed at her speculatively. “I thought maybe you were having second thoughts about our agreement.”
“I was,” she answered honestly. Though he didn’t respond, his face spoke for him. When his eyes narrowed and his mouth parted, she cut him off before his temper flared again. “But I signed a contract and I’m a woman of my word. I’ll accept whatever you have planned for me, Victor.”
His jaw tensed but his eyes became glassy. “Don’t call me that,” he whispered hoarsely.
“I know you didn’t come here to talk all night, Mr. Black,” Elsa accentuated his preferred title as she pulled her robe open and pressed into his body.
“No, I didn’t. I came here to…”
She put a finger to his mouth. “Don’t tell me. Show me.”
Sweeping her up into his arms, his mouth captured hers as he carried her to the bedroom as if he already knew the way. It wasn’t lost on Elsa that he probably did know the way. She also wondered why he hadn’t asked if she had masturbated in their time apart. Maybe he knew that, too. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he had already been in her apartment unbeknownst to her. She might have cared about that little fact more if his tongue wasn’t planted firmly in her mouth and his arms wrapped so tightly around her body.
Expecting the same kind of roughness from the previous weekend, she was comforted when he gently eased her down onto the bed. His hands roamed over her body in search of her erogenous zones and found them quickly. He planted small kisses the entire length of her torso, concentrating on each petal of her cherry blossom. He sucked only briefly on each of her nipples before lapping his way up to her neck and mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he kissed her slowly and thoughtfully, his tongue exploring the recesses of her mouth. Rising up, he undressed entirely and stood before her, exposed. He was a sight to behold in all his dark ruggedness and austerity. His hair was a fantastic mess with his long bangs hanging over his eyes, hooding his expression as he crawled between her legs.
Just then soft notes of Overjoyed by Bastille floated into the bedroom. Tugging on her robe, he freed her of it and hovered over her, his hands caressing the sleek lines of her waist. She pushed the hair off his forehead to see his eyes and smiled up at him. When he nervously returned her smile, she was staggered by the sheer honesty of the fear glittering in his eyes. This man had been hurt. It was clear to see, but his outward calm did little to disguise the hunger in his eyes and Elsa tried to deny the hopeful feeling that was swirling in the pit of her stomach. As he guided his shaft to her entrance, she reminded herself that everything he was doing was all part of his game and that she was probably another player in a long list of participants.
She closed her eyes and gave herself to him as his pulsing manliness eased in and out of her unhurriedly, his soft panting and primal grunts making the fire in her belly burn out of control.
“Open your eyes, My Sweet Peach. I want you to see me; really see me. I want you to see the man who owns you,” she heard from above in a voice that was hushed, deep, lusty and ethereal.
Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes and focused on the beautiful man above her; the man whom she had signed her freedom away to all too willingly. She looked as deeply as she could into his soul, past the cruel game maker and creator of rules, trying to see the real man behind his vindictive eyes – the man who was begging to be seen for who he really was. She could almost see him, hiding just out of sight and behind the fringe of his long, black lashes. She closed her eyes once more, overcome with raw passion. Why couldn’t he be this man? The one now kissing each of her eyelids like his lips were meant to be there?
Yes, he owned her, alright. Right here, in this moment… he truly owned her.
***
Seated in his car outside of Eight’s apartment, Victor lit a cigarette and took a long, slow, deep drag off of it. He felt satisfied and his hunger satiated, even if only momentarily. The white smoke billowed out of his mouth and swirled around the interior of his vehicle, but he didn’t dare open his window. Her fragrance was permeating every piece of his clothing and the sweet scent of her pussy was all around him mingling with the smoke, and he didn’t want any of it to go to waste.
On his phone he accessed iTunes to purchase the Bastille Bad Blood album. It had played in full while he was with her and the alternating mellow and thumping notes had only enhanced their erotic experience. Wanting to relive the moment, he synced the Bluetooth to his stereo, allowing the music to filter through his speakers. He turned up the volume and glanced up at her darkened window to see her nude silhouette behind the curtain, watching him from above. None of the other Chapters had known about his stalking and surveillance. Even if they did, none of them would’ve dared to blatantly call him out on it. Maybe he was getting lax in his old age and losing his discreet touch. Or possibly he just didn’t give a fuck if she knew he was watching her. He laughed. No. He liked that she knew.
Taking another drag, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He hadn’t intended to go inside, but when he heard her humming in the shower and envisioned her svelte wet body, he was unable to resist the temptation.
She had fallen off his radar for most of Sunday night until the early morning hours, making him wonder if she was with someone else; a male coworker perhaps. After he hadn’t gotten any response from her after reminding her of her GYN appointment, he began to think he had scared her off. He was pleased to discover she had kept the appointment and that she was now on an appropriate form of birth control. He waited the allotted time for it to take effect before seeing her, but barely and it was a long, excruciating forty-eight hours he had forced himself to wait.
He had kept his mind off of her by submerging himself in the Cambridge case files and it was proving a daunting task to go over all the gory details yet again. His sleep was tortured with the images of the young women who had been mutilated in atrocious ways and the families’ heartrending pleas. A horrible thought had started to creep into his psyche that he would never catch the killer and it was making his days and nights almost unbearable. Elsa would never know how grateful he was for the distraction she was providing by playing his game. He was hoping to have heard back from Anthony by now, but the son-of-a-bitch hadn’t contacted him yet with any help. Undoubtedly he was too busy enjoying the chronicles of Seven to give a shit about the lives still in danger from the Cambridge Killer.