There’s a flash in his eyes, a torn expression ripping across his face as he trails his fingertips down my jaw, sweeping them across my neck. A hard breath escapes his lips, his eyes lock with mine, and he slowly presses his thick forearm over my throat—gentle enough to not kill me, but hard enough to make me think he just may. And maybe that’s why he looks so torn…maybe he knows he has to kill me. There’s a long moment where we stare at each other, the pressure from his arm growing ever so slightly stronger. His nostrils flare, his teeth sink into his bottom lip. “Fuck,” he groans. A touch more pressure and then he moves away, taking both straps of my shirt in his hands and tugging until the thin material bites into my skin, then shreds.
And then…I’m at a loss.
His hands roam over my body, gripping and squeezing. I close my eyes and squirm as his greedy mouth travels down my chest, to the curve of my hip and to the top of my thigh. The pads of his rough fingers dig into my flesh as he forces my legs apart with a low growl.
My hands are still above my head, where moments ago he had them pinned, because I justcan’tseem to move them. I’m too into what he’s doing to move—too into the absolute possession he’s creating; the vulnerability. He pushes the leg of my shorts to the side, and the moment I feel his warm mouth over my clit, a deep sigh rushes from my lungs. I fist at the sheets, tossing my head back and moaning. His tongue flicks over me, soft at first, teasing me, then hard and rough and animalistic. Max grabs the waist of my shorts, ripping them down my legs. And there he sits, his hands rubbing over my thighs, his gaze locked between my legs as he slowly leans down.
“Fuck, woman,” he says in a low voice, his hot breath blowing against my pussy before his warm mouth envelops me.
I grab onto his thick hair, tugging at it as his tongue works over me. Minutes later, his fingers are inside of me, flexing and bending in ways I didn’t know were possible. The muscles in his forearm tense and bunch underneath his tattoos, and those dark eyes of his remain locked with mine in a predatory stare. Each thrust of his hand grows more rough than the last, almost violent, until I’m sitting up—his hand still buried between my thighs as I unintentionally attempt to scoot away from him. But he follows me, fucking me harder with his hand. My back presses against the wooden headboard, and I can go no farther. I’m here at his mercy. And honestly, there is nowhere else I would rather be.
With his fingers sinking deeper inside of me, he grabs my face and kisses me ruthlessly, the taste of myself coating his thick tongue. My entire body lifts away from the mattress, my hips bucking.
“Jesus… Fuck.” I pause to drag in a deep breath. “Fucking hell,” I moan and he goes even harder until I’m screaming and coming.
I’m still riding out the waves of endorphins crashing through my body when he drags me away from the headboard. He grabs my legs and pushes my knees back by my head as he leans over me. “I’m not done with you yet either,” he says before placing his mouth back on me, causing my entire body to jerk from the sensation.
Only a few moments of his tongue against me, and my muscles are clenching again. I’m spiraling into another oblivion, swearing at God and at him for how damn good this feels. At this moment, I no longer have control. Max controls everything right down to my own body.
I lie here panting, gripping the sheets and screaming while he continues to lick over me. When I finally catch my breath, I sit up, pushing against his chest until he falls back on the mattress with a slight smirk. I grab onto his boxers and yank them down, his large cock slapping against his stomach. Slowly, I trace my tongue over his length, circling around the swollen head. I stop, lift my eyes, and look at him before I flick my tongue over the tip with a smile.
“Shit,” he says, wrapping my hair around his wrist and yanking my head back down on him. I take him in my mouth, trailing my tongue over him as I work my hand up and down his shaft. Seconds later he grabs my hips, picks me up, and slams me back down on the bed. He grabs one thigh, his grip digging into my skin as he twists me onto my side and shoves that leg up against my chest before settling between my thighs. I attempt to move and his eyes flare. “Don’t fucking move,” he says, pinning his forearm over my throat.
And with that warning he slams into me.Over and over.
He moves his arm, wrapping his thick fingers around my throat and dragging my mouth to his as he fucks me. He pushes me back down to the mattress and flips me onto my stomach, jerking my hips up and pressing down on the small of my back before he slides into me again. Two thrusts in, he grabs my hair and yanks my head, causing a deep bow to form in the middle of my back. He fucks me so hard my back begins to ache, and for a brief moment, I’m afraid he’s going to snap my spine in two. I moan. I push against him. I fight the urge I have at times to pull away from him.
Max grabs me by the throat again, yanking me closer to him so he can kiss my neck. His heavy breaths blow across my skin, against my ear with each hard thrust, and that feeling sends chill bumps sweeping over my skin. His fingers slide around my throat until he’s cupping my jaw, and on a groan, he pulls me in for another hard, angry kiss. He’s fucking me like he wants to kill me, yet he’s kissing me like he wants to love me. The second he releases my throat, his hand slaps over my ass and he buries himself deeper inside of me before gripping my hips in his hands so hard I know I’ll be bruised tomorrow. It’s like he can’t fuck me hard enough. Max is dancing on that thin, fragile line between pleasure and pain. I fight to not pull away from him because while it hurts, it feels incredible.
This is fucking. Plain and simple.
His fingers sink deeper into my hips as his pace picks up. Sweat builds on the small of my back, and I can’t stop the string of moans that keep trickling through my lips, my body clenching. Another smack over the ass and he winds my hair around his wrist again, tugging my head back just before he stiffens behind me, groaning and cursing.
I collapse onto the bed, trying desperately to catch my breath. My heart is pounding, my body weightless. Max lies down next to me, his eyes trained on mine. And here we stay in the silence, hidden in the dark recesses of this house like this is the way things are meant to be. And in my head I recite a line from Pablo Neruda:I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
Max drags me onto his chest. I lie, listening to the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat as I trail my fingers over his arm, tracing over his tattoos. I’m in love with the man I should hate, and I believe he’s in love with something he must kill.
Every day things grow darker around here. I’m not sure how much dimmer it can get. All things done in the shadows will eventually come to light, and with that sliver of light will come some type of freedom for me. Whether that freedom be death or escape.
Truthfully, part of me wishes for death because, though I may escape this place, I will never escape this hold he has on me. And the one thing I am certain of as I lie in his arms is that something will change soon because it’s always darkest before the dawn.
24
Max
Tom’s houseis a fucking mess. Papers are everywhere, empty beer cans strewn all over the floor. Gnats swarm around the overflowing trashcan and there’s a pile of dog shit buzzing with flies in the corner. Months of doing this shit and finally,finally, I have names at my disposal.
I sift through papers of chicken scratch. Record keeping is important in this line of work for one reason: to cover your ass. You don’t put anything on a computer and you don’t put too much information on one piece of paper.
Underneath one of the piles is a mold-covered paper plate. I knock that to the floor and keep digging, finally finding one of the three legal pads I’m in search of. I flip through the list of names and next to each man’s name is a number. My palms slick with sweat. I shove the notebook under my arm and keep tossing shit onto the floor. The other legal pad is at the very bottom. This one is simply numbers with first names to the side. My hand shakes as I flip to the second page and the third and the fourth. One hundred and forty-five names. One hundred and forty-five women. Taken. Broken. Sold. Next to number one forty-five is Ava’s name. I turn back one page and quickly skim down until I see my sister’s name. Lila is number one hundred and eighteen. I take the other pad from under my arm, trailing my fingertip down, my pulse hammering through my temples as I read over the name of the man who bought my sister: Andrew Biddle.
Spit fills my mouth and I swallow. There’s a slow rage burning through my veins.
A name.
It seems so simple now, but for months no one cared. No one looked for her because to society she was worthless. A prostitute, a drug addict, but to me she was my blood. My sister. My only fucking family, and to me, no matter how fucked up she was, she meant something. And this motherfucker paid a menial amount to have her and do God knows what with.
I place the notepads on the desk and take my phone from my back pocket. A quick search has Andrew Biddle’s address at my fingertips, and the most fucked-up thing, he lives a mere twenty miles from this very place. My chest tightens. Blood jolts through my jugular. Snatching the notebooks up, I turn and storm out of the house. Angry that she was taken, pissed that this entire time she’s been so close. The door slams shut behind me. My pace picks up as I jog to my car and by the time I’m behind the steering wheel, I can literallyseemy pulse throbbing. Each beat of my heart blurs my vision.
