Chapter Three
The Captive
He laughed; she cried.
Ororo sat on the edge of the bed, her gown already a white puddle at her feet. She wondered if she touched a toe to the fabric would it ripple out like a pebble hitting the water. Without thinking, she crossed her arms over her naked breasts, trying to shield her nakedness from him. Hands roughened with calluses touched her smooth skin, loosening her arms, pulling them away from her body. “I already seen what you got. Why you tryin’ to hide it now?” He said, and then he laughed.
He laughed because he knew she would never refuse him, and for that same reason, she cried. She was a captive in more ways than one. She was a captive to her emotions and thoughts, a captive to his desires, a captive to her desires, and the more she tried to deny it, the more evident it became that she was a captive. She told herself that she could end this thing at any time, cut the ties, and go about her business. She didn’t need him; he didn’t need her. Why did that sound so wrong?
He nudged her legs open with one knee and positioned himself between her legs. His hands rested on her upper, inner thigh, kneading the flesh there. He was so close, but not close enough. He was teasing her. She bit back a moan, throwing her head back slightly. She felt his hands sidle up her thighs, along her waist, up her stomach, to her breasts. She pulled away from him, pulling her hands against her thighs, clenching them into fists. “No…” She said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Once upon a time, she fooled herself into believing that all she had to do was say no. Then she came to realize that no was a futile word, and it didn’t produce the desired effects when she uttered it. She believed the word “no” was a verbal impetus to him, a challenge waiting to be defeated. She would tell him no, and he would touch her body in ways that made her mind jumble. Then, he would tell she didn’t really want him to stop, that she didn’t really mean no, and she would succumb to him.
He disregarded her statement with a grunt, wrapping one arm around her, his fingers tickling her spine, moving upward toward her neck. She shivered, arching her spine toward him. He used his free hand to cup one breast, rubbing his thumbs across the sensitive flesh of her nipple. She bit down on her lip, taking in a sharp intake of air. “I don’t think you really mean it,” his voice was a low, lusty growl. Yes, he was right. She really didn’t mean it. It was amazing how he knew what she wanted more than she did.
It was a good thing one of them knew what she wanted, though, because she sure as hell didn’t. She spent most of her day telling herself that she didn’t want it, and when she was with him, she did and she didn’t want it. Then, she was confused afterward, and her emotions would war inside her. And she hated it, and she hated him. Then, she would let herself think that she actually loved him for a brief moment, and then the process would repeat itself. She didn’t like those conflicting feelings about him. They scared her.
She didn’t even realize she had loosened her hands until she slid her arms around him. It was if her arms had a mind of their own. He rested his lips on the base of her neck, nibbling on her throat, sending her pulse into a frenzied beat. She relaxed into him while his hands caressed her breasts and he kissed a trail up her neck, stopping to suck at a pulse point, and then continuing the trail. She sighed softly and buried her fingers in his hair. Still, her earlier hesitation whispered in the back of her mind, reminding her that there was a downside to this.
What if the cycle never ended? What if they fell into the habit of her being available whenever he wanted? What would she do then? Would she be strong enough to tell him get out of her life, that she wanted something more? She didn’t necessarily be married again, but she did want to have children. She knew it was against family values to talk about having children without being married, but at that point in her life, she didn’t really care. She could have children without the hassle of having a husband. If it was meant for her to marry again, she would, but if it wasn’t, she wouldn’t worry herself over it.
Her hands roamed freely over his bare back and chest. The slight fuzz on his chest tickled her palms, and she giggled softly. She followed that trail of hair down his chest to his navel, past his navel where she ran her hand over his erect penis. She wrapped her hand around it, sliding her hand down slowly and then up again in the same leisurely manner. He groaned under her touch, and this time it was he who leaned into her, as she moved her hand up and down, up and down. He covered her hand with his own and allowed her to stroke his shaft. She could feel him blowing shallowly into her neck. Then there was the graze of his teeth on her neck as he shuddered. He made her stop abruptly.
She wondered what went through his mind during these encounters. She would never ask him because she knew she would either not like the answer or he just wouldn’t tell her. She liked to believe that he had the same conflicting feelings about her as she did him, but she wasn’t so sure that he did. He didn’t seem like the type of person that would get attached to a girl just because she was spreading her legs for him. And if he did have some feelings for her, he was excellent at hiding them. She was pretty good at hiding her feelings, too. She didn’t think he knew that she took this far more serious than she should. Whoever coined the phrase “harmless sex” should be shot.
He pulled away from her and kissed her chest. The feel of his skin against her breasts was nectarous, but the feel of his lips against her breast was even better, and the feel of his tongue against her breasts was orgasmic. And this time she didn’t try to fight the moans that escaped as he twirled his tongue around an erect nipple and rolled the other between his fingers. For a moment, her irrational mind took over. Why couldn’t things be like this forever? Why couldn’t she just be happy with this and nothing more? Her rational mind answered the questions with one phrase: because despite the circumstances, she did want something more.
She could never forget that she wanted more. Didn’t Logan want more out of his life? It startled her that she didn’t know anything about his dreams and expectations, yet she knew every inch of his body. In fact, she didn’t know a damn thing about him. She didn’t know where he lived, where he came from, where he had been. She didn’t know what he liked to do in his spare time. She knew nothing about him, and that was not an accident. He was a very closed individual. He was skilled in being aloof and cool. Who knew what secrets he could be hiding.
He explored the space between her breasts, the expanse of her stomach, the breadth of her inner thighs. She could feel that familiar throbbing rising between her legs. He held her hips down and she felt a finger stroking the inside of her thigh, moving closer and closer to her very core. She clutched the sheets beneath her with a death vise in expectation, and she still wasn’t ready she felt his thumb press against her clitoris. Involuntarily, her legs closed around his hand, and still her mind raged on in thought between her surges of pleasure. How could she let him do this? They were still strangers to one another.
He didn’t know much more about her as she did him. He didn’t ask her any personal questions. She didn’t even know if he knew she had been married at one point. She had learned early in their liaison not to ask anything personal about him. She had once tried to ask him about his family, and he had told her in no certain terms that his family was none of her fucking business. He could be married with fifty kids, and she would be none the wiser, but all that took a backseat to personal gratification. When she was with him, she could care less if he was or wasn’t married.
He was kissing her, two fingers delving in and out of her, a thumb still massaging her clitoris. Her lips moved against his, their tongues intertwining, her nails sinking into his back. Her breath was just a labored pant now. She moved her lips away from his, kissing his jaw, lapping at his neck; the taste of his sweaty skin attacking her taste buds. She savored that taste, committed it to memory like everything else about him. Knowing so little about him made her want to remember every little thing she could when she was with him.
She could feel herself nearing that point. Her body began to stiffen in response as that warm feeling rolled in belly. And then, sensing that she was close, he pulled away from her. She let out a sound of protest and abject anger as her hands flew to finish what he started, but he pinned her hands to her side. How dare he do this to her. She knew what he wanted to hear. Her anger rose, and for a moment, just for that instance, she wanted to tell him to get the hell out of her place; that it was over.
She knew she needed to end the relationship before things went too far. She could tell him that they’d had fun, and now, it was time to move on. She knew that it was already too late. Occasionally, she would work up the courage to tell him that she wanted him out of her life, but then, it was just like she was telling him no. He wouldn’t hear a word of it, and soon her words would be lost in a fury of lust and self-satisfaction like now when he took her to that brink and then left her wanting.
“I hate you,” she hissed, writhing under him, trying to free her hands. He was a lot stronger than her, and she could hear him laughing at her as she fought to free herself. He wanted her to beg for what she felt like was rightfully hers. Ever since that incident with the handcuffs, he wanted her to beg. She wouldn’t do it. She managed to wrench one arm away from him, and she used it to slap him soundly across the face. His laughter stopped suddenly. She had never struck him before, but her anger wouldn’t allow her to apologize to him. He didn’t apologize to her, so why should she apologize to him?
Her eyes burned into his for what seemed like an eternity, but she was sure it wasn’t more than a few seconds. She could see the anger smoldering in his eyes, and she felt a little fearful. He grabbed her shoulders, picking them up slightly, and then slammed them against the bed. It didn’t hurt, but it still surprised her. Then, they were a fury of motion as they wrestled in the bed, tangling themselves in the sheets, nearly falling off the too tall bed. She slapped and kicked and scratched, and he grabbed and pushed and pulled. No matter how many times she hit him, he never hit her back.
And then, she was pulling him toward her for an angry kiss. That anger transferring itself into riotous passion. She was blind with fury and passion. She wanted to push him away, but she pulled him closer. And she felt the tears of rage and frustration stream down her face, but she was unable to do anything to stop them. He entered her with one forceful thrust, and she clawed at his back, bit at his shoulders. Each vigorous thrust was punctuated with a moaned, “I hate you,” until the words died in her throat and there was nothing left but her moans and his grunts.
Then, she felt that tension building up again, and she clung to him tightly. She felt him pulling away from her, once again, and she didn’t think she could endure it a second time. She needed release, now. She heard herself saying, “No, please… I need you to…” She trailed off. He had gotten her to beg, anyway. No matter how insignificant those words may have seemed, they were still a plea. She didn’t have time to mull over the fact that she had given in when she quivered as that delicious warm feeling of release encompassed her.
Broken thoughts ran through her head as she trembled under him. She loved, she hated, she wanted, she loathed, she needed, she regretted, why couldn’t he just… She closed her eyes tightly, trying to calm her thoughts. “Open your eyes, darlin’.” She did as she was told, staring up into his eyes as her orgasm died down. There was no emotion there, and she wanted to turn her face from his, but she didn’t. A few moments later, he let out a low growl and collapsed on top of her, his face buried in her neck. She felt disgusted with herself and with him.
She pushed him off her and escaped to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She turned the shower on, letting the steam fill the bathroom. She cried softly to herself as she stepped into the shower. What was going on?
She stayed in the bathroom longer than she intended, and when she exited, he was long gone. Not that that was anything new to her. She went about the tedious task of changing her sheets. She didn’t want any reminder of what just happened there, and while she remade her bed, she got valuable time to assess the situation.
Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad if she had someone she could talk to. That was the worst part about their situation; she didn’t have anyone to confide in, to express her fears to. Jean was the closest friend she had, and Ororo wouldn’t even tell her what was going on. She didn’t want anyone to know; she was too ashamed of the fact that she was allowing that to happen. She didn’t need anyone’s pitying or distasteful affirmations to reaffirm the fact. She would continue to deal with him in her own way.
And what if she got pregnant or if someone found out somehow, what was she supposed to do then? She chewed on her bottom lip and decided that was a problem she would have to tackle if it ever came up. She shouldn’t have to be the one who worried all the time about them. It was like some punishment for getting involved with him. She often wanted to ask him what did he think of the mess they were in, but she knew she probably wouldn’t get much of an answer from him “ if any at all. He would act as if nothing happened while she was left to worry.
And as if that wasn’t enough for her to worry about, there was Joaquín. Joaquín had come to the club every night since the initial night they met. Maybe he had always come to the club, and she never noticed him. He finally introduced himself to her, even though she already knew his name, asked her again if she would visit his class, which she said she would. She found him a pleasant distraction at the club, even when she thought she didn’t want to be distracted. He was so friendly and easy to talk to.
She found herself neglecting other customers just to talk to him. Even Logan, who rarely said anything at all to her at the club, commented that she needed to pay more attention to her customers, and she made a snappy comeback about his flirting with the female patrons. Her grunted at her as usual, and then went back to ignoring her. She wasn’t really annoyed with Logan’s comment. It meant he was paying a little attention to her outside the bedroom, right? Joaquín should have been an indicator to Logan that she wasn’t a social pariah who was incapable of snagging someone, a pariah he should feel the need to take pity on by fucking her whenever he felt like it.
Besides, Joaquín was charming and funny, and she thought she might really like him. She didn’t want to like him, but it was hard not to like him. She was already in deep enough with Logan; she didn’t need a new face added to the mix. She thought she might actually love Logan, but now that Joaquín was around, she wasn’t so sure. She had to stop thinking about everything in terms of Logan.
How she decided to live her life shouldn’t have anything to do with Logan. If she decided to go out and sleep with half of New York, she shouldn’t think twice about what Logan would think about it. However, she couldn’t help it. He was in her life now, no matter if it was just for sex.
Maybe the feelings she had for Logan was post-coital emotions. Maybe she was slightly obsessed with Logan because he was the first man she had been with since her divorce. Sex had a way of distorting things, making you think you were in love when you really weren’t. She stood straight, letting a sheet slip from her hand. “Yes, that’s it. I’m just obsessed with him. I’m not in love.” She said aloud.
She felt giddy with this new information that the feelings she had for Logan were merely an infatuation thing like a schoolgirl crush. It was just a crush, and she would be over it before she knew it. And with Joaquín in her life, that process was sure to speed up.
