Blood and Bone(43)
I open an eye, scared of what I’ll find, but it’s actually quite beautiful. He’s driven us to a small house with a huge yard surrounded by tall trees. The manicured spot is stunning—the sort of yard you would imagine grandparents would have out of boredom. No working person could maintain something like this. Rosebushes line the bases of the trees on one side and lilac bushes the other side. It must be fragrant in the spring and summer. We are parked in a garage of sorts next to the little white house. My hands cramp up as I release them from the handle, giving him a confused look. “Did you lose them?”
He nods. “Why did you trust him, of all people?” His voice is cold and distant. I don’t recognize it. “Why him?”
“He had a lot of evidence against you, and none of it proved you worked for any agency. You look like a serial killer to them.”
A small smile toys with his luscious lips. “I am what I am, Jane. I just prefer not to classify it.”
Something about the statement chills me. I know he’s sick. I can see it on him when he loses his control, but it’s easy to forget about when he’s being the Derek I’ve always known. It’s easy to see him as a regular man. To me he is the only man. I take his hand in mine, trying to ignore how cool and clammy it is when I bring it to my lips. “I love you, Derek.”
He shakes his head. “I know you love me, but you don’t know me, Jane. Not really.”
“I do know you. I remember knowing you and loving you. But I prefer the Derek you were in Seattle.”
His gray eyes are void of all green. I think that the green is the goodness in him and the gray is the evil. When he’s too full up on bad, the green doesn’t show. I lean forward, completely terrified of the man I am pressing my lips against, and yet intrigued that he is the gentle giant with me. He never hurts me. I don’t think he can.
He kisses back. It’s wooden and unemotional, but it warms slowly. His lips begin to move, rubbing against mine. Our fingers find their way up each other’s arms, gripping each other.
The car is like a trap, preventing us from moving much beyond the caressing and kissing, but I can tell we both feel the need to move. He lets go of me, jumping out of the car and rushing to my side. His footsteps on the gravel beneath us are intense. When he drags me from the car it’s rough, but I fight a moan over the violence of our sudden outburst. He pushes me to the hood of the car, bending me across it, face down and writhing. My pants are ripped down, baring my ass to the garden. I hear him spit. It makes me cringe until he pushes his erection inside me, bringing instant pleasure with it. Then I ignore the way it got there. He thrusts hard, sliding his hands up my back and into my hair. He drags my head back, lifting my upper body. His other hand slides across the front of me and into the top of my shirt. He dips his entire hand into my bra, rolling my nipple as he drives his cock forward, bumping my thighs and hips off the hood and bumper.
It is not love we make. His fingers grab too hard, his cock enters too roughly, and when his teeth find my back I cry out. But none of my responses are in pain or injury. When I orgasm he can hardly move with the tension inside me gripping him. But the second I’m done quivering all over his erection, he’s back to jackhammering me into the car. He pushes my face back down, sliding my cheek and lips up and down the gray car. Words leave my mouth, words I don’t comprehend at all. They’re mutterings to my ears but to my brain they’re the true sound of bliss.
When he’s about to come, he grips my ass cheeks hard, pulling me back onto him as his balls slap against me.
I cry out again, shocked by the eruption inside me—a second orgasm. I don’t suspect it’s coming, but the moment it hits he loses himself, coming at the same time. His orgasm drips from us both as he collapses on top of me, pushing me into the metal hood harder.
“God damn, I missed you, Sam.” He kisses my back, and instantly I am unsure how turned on I should be by the events that have transpired in a stranger’s yard.
Sam?
I don’t know the appropriate response to the name, and my trembling vagina isn’t going to be any help on the matter. She’s convinced we need him, forever.
11. SEE JANE DIE
There is no way to go back when we enter the airport. The passport in my hand is a lie. The place we are going to do the surgery is a mystery. The act we are about to commit is a crime.
“She’s coming, right?” I ask, scanning the area for the one face I need to see in the crowd.
He kisses the back of my hand, an act from before the truth came out. It is an act old Derek would have done, not the man he’s been since my father’s house. I have moaned through that version of Derek’s affection several times in the last twenty-four hours. “I told you she is, three times already. Stop asking, Jane.”