12 comments/ 44804 views/ 23 favorites Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 01 By: Brunne © 2012 Brunne * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * For those of you have read my other story, 'Under My Skin', this story is kind of 'Part 2' and covers many of the same events, but in a slightly different style and from Jarod's perspective this time. For those of you who haven't read my other story, please note that reading 'Under My Skin' may contain quite a few spoilers for this story. But if you're wanting Stephanie's perspective, it's all there, so please do read it before or after this one -- up to you! - Brunne * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The sudden shock of Frank Sinatra's crooning voice filling his ears nearly made Jarod fall off the treadmill. He stumbled, fighting to regain his stride, his hand searching blindly for the kill switch. "...tried so...not to give in...I said to myself...this affair never will go so well-" Switch found, the treadmill belt finally slowed, then stopped, its relieved passenger bending at the waist, breathing hard. "...but why should I try to resist when baby I know so well-" "What the FUCK-?" he growled, ripping the MP3 player off his belt and punching violently at the pause button. The warbling music died, but the words continued to ring in his ears. Where the fuck had that come from? He straightened, tipped his head back, waiting for the burning in his calves to subside before turning his attention back to the player. He'd been mid-sprint and desperately needed a cool-down before his legs seized up. "Who's been fucking with this thing?" He squinted, swiping with the back of his hand at the perspiration that stung his eyes. But there it was. Frank Sinatra, mixed in with the usual blend of angry metal that got him through the nasty part of interval training. Fuck. He bent over again, bracing his hands on his knees, feeling a cramp creeping up on him. Gotta keep moving, he thought wearily. Hitting the resume-programme button, he worked up to a jog, forcing the playlist along to the next track and putting the glitch from his mind. A faulty MP3 player was the least of his worries right now. He switched the programme up a notch, determined to drown out all those worries, at least for a little while. * * * * * All the eyes around the boardroom table were fixed on him. No wonder, as he'd just dropped the bomb. The new web platform wasn't going to be ready in time for the release. He ignored the nervous throat-clearing of his team members on either side of him, the helpless shuffling of paper. He didn't know what they were so worried about. As their manager, the shit was on him, after all. "Sorry folks, what can I say?" he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, careful to keep his tone neutral. The managing director took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Jarod knew the man was holding his words in check. The rest of them looked dumbly down at their notes or to him, as if he might have the answer up his sleeve and was just possibly, maybe, having them on. He didn't, and he wasn't. What frightened him most wasn't the fact that he had a business-critical time-bomb on his hands. Or the fact that if they didn't find a solution in the next week he'd have hell to pay. It was that some part of him was just watching it all, detached, cool, unconcerned. It was always a bad sign (a very bad sign), when he became disinterested in problem solving. All he had to do was offer the usual promises to 'escalate' and 'delegate' and 'collaborate' and he could escape the room. Satisfied nods from a somewhat defeated managing director, panicked whispering among the small clutches of staff as they all filed out of the meeting room, and he was free. Not until his office door was closed behind him could he take a proper breath. Again, this wasn't anything to do with script testing or buffers or any of the usual technical bullshit. Why he'd taken his eye off the ball in the first place was the real issue. It had come and gone over the years, and he'd actually thought it had finally subsided after the last disastrous attempt. But he couldn't kid himself any longer. It was starting to affect his work. A soft knock on the door behind him interrupted his thoughts. He dropped his head for a moment before turning and swinging the door open wide. Angela, the managing director's PA, stood there primly, eyes narrowed as was her custom, as if assessing him through her verifocals. "Angela!" he said, attempting a brightness of tone he didn't feel. "Richard wants your final draft of the monthly report and the content he requested for the board meeting by four o'clock." "Of course, I'll get on that right away," he said, before the devil got to him. "May I say, you're looking particularly delightful today..." He smiled sweetly through the dirty look she shot him as she turned on her heel and stalked away, chin held high. This little game usually cheered him up; instead the whole day was sitting on his chest like a dead weight. Fuck. Slumping his tall frame down into his desk chair he rested his head in his hands, staring, mesmerised, at the steady blink of the cursor on his laptop's security logon screen. He should get to work on that report. But his peripheral vision had already picked up on movement somewhere across the open-plan office. Leaning back in his chair, he allowed himself a slow scan of the banks of desks, and sure enough, it was her. The dark shoulder-length hair, the demure skirt and the ever-present sensible shoes. The distraction. She walked towards and then past his office, quick darting steps, oblivious to his idle scrutiny. Or not-so-idle, as the case may be. Cautionary thoughts about deadlines and the stress lines on his managing director's face stood little chance against the distraction. It drew him. He was at the door to his office before he was fully conscious that his body was in motion. It had grown, steadily and imperceptibly, over the past months and weeks. At first he'd thought it was a general gnawing. It'd been a long time...a very long time since he'd been with a woman. That was all it was, right? It always started the same way. He'd be engrossed in a project and work and getting on with the daily grind. Then he would start to notice. Curves, lips, breasts. Women. Most of them would be instantly dismissed. The others would just float around in his mind day by day until he'd be sitting in a bar and someone would catch his eye and he'd end up scratching the itch just to get the distraction out of his head. It always left him with a bad taste in his mouth. The vague dissatisfaction and the feeling that he'd just lost a little bit of himself would linger for days, maybe weeks. But this time was different. This time when everything female and skirted and lipsticked had flooded his senses he'd done everything he could to think of anything but that. When his head had done the switch-over from the free-for-all into the more-selective phase and then drifted into relative silence, he'd thought he'd succeeded. Won. Overcome the distraction. That was until he'd stood next to dark hair, demure skirt, sensible shoes in the lift. Until the soft scent of flowers drifted towards him and he had to catch his sudden intake of breath. Until a sudden hunger had blossomed where he thought he'd lost all taste, leaving him dizzy, stunned. That's when he realised that everything in him that was still capable of noticing anything female was now completely and irrevocably focussed on one particular target. When, for fuck's sake, had that happened? So now he trailed after her, casual, nonchalant. Drawn like a scent hound after prey. Ignoring the twinge of excitement in his gut. Ignoring his own good sense. Go back, Jarod. Now. But he was already leaning against the doorframe of the employee kitchen, studying her as she pushed at the buttons of the poor soft drink machine. She had small hands. Such small hands. Lucky soft drink machine. His mind spun, trying to sort out what he was even thinking, taking in the defeated slump of her narrow shoulders, the soft sound of her sigh. Any second now she was going to turn, and she'd catch him loitering there, staring at her small hands. The words were out before he'd really processed them. "Sometimes if you kick it, it helps." Her eyes flashed towards him and he read the surprise in them before she drew herself back. Staring into those brown eyes set off some sort of depth-charge somewhere in the vicinity of his solar plexus and he had to push off from the doorway and move past her in a hurry to cover the shock of it. With some relief he grabbed at the paper cups, suddenly dry in the mouth and in need of something to cool the whorls of heat churning in the pit of his stomach. The cool water from the filter tap wasn't putting them out though, no matter how fast he drained the cup. Shit. What was he doing? Was he ill? After her initial surprise had come embarrassment. He'd caught that much. Even with his back turned he could practically feel the heat from her cheeks radiating towards him from across the room. What the fuck, Jarod? Are you just trying to torment her because you couldn't help but admire her small hands? Or because of what you'd like those small hands to be doing... Fuck. He turned and made a beeline for the door, barely allowing himself a peripheral glance at her as he stalked out of the kitchen. * * * * * It was late. Really late. He stretched back in his desk chair, massaging his aching eyes with the heels of his hands. Even the cleaners had long gone, and he'd had at least three nodding exchanges with the night security guard as he made his plodding rounds. Every time he thought he'd gotten his head buried deep enough in spec documents and capability analyses, he'd feel the pull. He'd catch himself staring out across the darkened office towards where she sat each day with the other personal assistants. He didn't even know what her job was. He wasn't sure he even knew her full name. He was far from sure whether it was a good idea if he found out. A trip to the printer was enough excuse for his subconscious to triumphantly bring him close enough to her empty desk to inspect it. He tapped his fingertips against the surface, taking in the carefully organised folders and trays. He blinked for a moment at the small pink sheep statue that held up a list of contact numbers on its little metal clip. It was at once charmingly feminine and frighteningly young. Muffled footsteps could be heard off by the stairwell, and his head snapped up. Stepping away from her desk as if it had scalded him, he back-pedalled in the direction of the printer. He braced himself against the whirring machine, watching the printed sheets collate, the plastic warm under his hands. Her named blinked at him steadily inside his head, burned onto his optic nerve from the nameplate on her desk. Not Steph, like he'd heard others call her. Stephanie. Maybe he'd just been working too hard. Too much pressure. Maybe his mind just needed a diversion. It was the only thing that could explain it. The thing was, she...Stephanie, was one of the 'wallflowers'. That's what he'd started calling them in college. There were the regular girls, the noticeable girls...and then there were the wallflowers. Regular girls came up to you at parties and made you laugh and drew you out of yourself. Wallflowers were some other sort of creature altogether. It was as if they were somehow designed for invisibility. Stillness. They didn't take up space. They seemed to observe life rather than participate in it. Wallflowers, in Jarod's experience, were to be avoided at all costs. He'd gone out with one once. Jenny. Slept with her too. But they'd only been teenagers and it was both their firsts and he'd soon fled her penetrating gaze and bleeding heart. He was sure he'd hurt her enormously, but the trapped-animal feeling had just been too much and he'd run away far and fast and hadn't looked back. And like all wallflowers, Stephanie had stood there, cheeks flushed and looking like some small lost thing, and he'd barely said a word to her. So why did that demure skirt keep sashaying its way through his brain when he least needed it? Thumping his hand on the printer didn't help, apparently. It just made his hand hurt. * * * * * "Finally," he groaned, waiting impatiently while the new data architecture maps loaded up on his screen. It wasn't a solution, but it was the start of an idea of a solution. Urgency and stress had given him a blessed respite from all other thoughts for a few days in a row. He'd avoided opening his office door if he could help it and made a concerted effort to make sure he was never wandering the halls during danger hours. He had to get this thing back on track. Beautiful. This was what he was exactly what he was looking for. He skimmed over the documents, hitting the print button on each file in quick succession. The glimmer of hope had him bounding out of his chair and heading towards the colour printer before even sparing a thought for his usual covert behaviour. He cut across behind the pillar near the printing area and stopped dead. There she was, frowning at the machine, hands on hips. One glance at the flashing lights on the control panel told him it wouldn't be printing his documents, or hers, anytime soon. The part of him that enjoyed being gainfully employed did its best to switch his body into reverse and pointedly reminded him of the location of equally qualified colour printers on other floors, but it was already too late for that. He was close enough to catch a subtle hint of flowers. She was wearing her hair up, pulled into a loose bun. If he could just tear his eyes away from the dark, baby-fine wisps of hair that were escaping and drifting along the nape of her neck... Now, Jarod. Now's the time to stop. But the other mad voice overrode the command. And just as it had in the kitchen, it tried to goad her. Prick at her. Get her to just react in some way. "Maybe you should try giving it a little kick..." She whirled towards him, that same look of wide-eyed surprise on her face. Seeing it filled him with a strange, stinging disappointment. Wallflowers. But those deep brown eyes changed, narrowing, sparking with...anger? "I'll kick you if you say that again!" He flinched internally at the defiance in her voice. He could only stare at her as she faced him, hands on hips, glaring up into his eyes. Fuck. He didn't know what shocked him more. The fact that one of the invisible ones was fighting back, or the particularly staggering effect it was having on him. She'd tripped a switch, somewhere deep down. Maybe it was the unexpected challenged in her eyes. Maybe it was more the feeling that some slender thread of golden light appeared out of the darkness, flared and in an instant, connected. The blaze of it filled his vision. His body stopped obeying conscious commands. He had to get nearer. He needed to keep feeling this brightness. Had to capture this thing, just for a moment. But they were in the middle of the fucking office. He looked away from her only long enough to spot the open door of the stationery cupboard, his lungs burning in his chest. He headed for it, grabbing for her wrist, tugging her behind him into the privacy of the small room. Some part of his mind registered the fact that she didn't even resist. He seemed to be able to hold two things in his mind simultaneously. One half considered risks of discovery, scanned the hallway quickly, took care in closing the door behind them. The other half was experiencing the velvet softness of her skin, the delicacy of the bones in her wrist, the fluttering pulse beneath his fingers. She wasn't exactly fighting him, but he needed her to face him, to stay still. Pressing her wrist against the shelving above her head, he could only stare down at her, watching the naked, shifting emotions flowing in the depths of those brown eyes. The smell of flowers again, mixed with some mysterious other thing. Her. The cool logic half of his mind told him he didn't have long. But I need to feel...to taste, he pleaded, just once. Mesmerised, he stared at the base of her throat where her pulse beat, thrumming like a little bird, all that life rushing through such fragile structures. He bent his head, his mouth finding the soft flesh on her neck. He meant just to taste...just one small taste, but the surge of possession took him over, and he was biting down, nipping the silky skin, caressing it with his lips, claiming it. He felt her body arch at the sting of the bite, but she didn't fight him. She didn't fight him, but the disappointment never came. Because, he realised, she wasn't not fighting him. She was actually absorbing him, drawing him in. The thread of light intensified, burning behind his closed eyes, threatening to consume him whole. Fuck! He jerked backwards, away from her, stunned. Voices, outside, said the logic half insistently. Leave now. He was through the door, closing it carefully behind him before he'd even decided to, chest heaving with a strange breathlessness. Heat flooded through his body, and he was suddenly conscious of how incredibly aroused he was. Wildly, nearly painfully, aroused. Shit, shit! His mind screaming in circles, finally reaching the safety of his office, he shut the door behind him and just rested against it. When rational thought returned and the raging heat in his body began to subside, a few sobering thoughts occurred to him. Such as, he'd just fled and left her there. Secondly, and more importantly, that what he'd just done was tantamount to sexual assault. He knew this. Rational thought told him this. But he couldn't shake the memory of her soft gasp as his teeth bit into her skin. The barely audible moan. That strange feeling that she was accepting him in, utterly and completely. Fuck, FUCK. He left his position behind the door only long enough to peer out through the glass wall partition in the direction of her desk. She was just returning to her seat. Sitting down. Her hair wasn't tied up anymore, and she brushed it, self-consciously, along her neck. Against the place he'd put his teeth and left his mark. Her gaze drifted in the direction of his office and he jerked his head back from the glass. He buried his face in his hands, barely restraining the urge to pound his fists into the resisting wood of the door. He would just have to watch, and wait. Wait for the polite request from Human Resources. Wait for his whole existence to go down the toilet over one moment of madness. * * * * * It didn't come. The summons. It never came. More than two weeks passed, and nothing. When there was a spare moment to spend on anything other than solving the glitches in the web platform, it surfaced in his mind, churning at his stomach in a slow sick way. He woke up in the night in sweats. Several times he even came close to reporting himself. Never...never had he done such a thing to a woman. He'd been a bastard, broken hearts, preyed on their affections. But nothing physical like that. He'd been raised with that ultimate code. No matter what logger-heads he and his father found themselves in when he was still alive, that was one thing he had taken away from it. You didn't hurt women. You didn't raise your hand...you most certainly didn't bite them. For fuck's sake, you just didn't do that. Only the glimpses of her, smiling and laughing with the other women at the office, kept him from marching over to the head of HR and confessing all. Either she hid her trauma well, or...what? She enjoyed it? He didn't miss the silly scarves she wore, even though it was the middle of summer. She had to be boiling with all that silk around her neck every day. He knew she was just trying to cover up what could only be a rather nasty bruise, but to him it was like waving a red flag to a bull. It caught his attention even more than before, and he cursed her for reminding him every day what he'd done. But then, didn't she have a daily reminder of it too? Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 01 He shook his head, still unable to fathom it. He climbed the stairs slowly, with each step his thoughts drifting between her reaction to him and the more practical matter of the conversation he'd been having with the technical developers downstairs. The building was pretty quiet, and when he paused to look out through the stairway windows he realised, with some surprise, that it was much later than he'd thought. It didn't bother him. He actually preferred the silence of the long evenings. It helped him think. Kept him out of her path. He pushed through the stairwell exit door into the short intersecting hallway, and nearly walked right into her. The split second after recognition registered was long enough to notice that she hadn't even looked at him, muttering a generic, "Sorry," and continuing towards the Ladies' bathroom door. Again, the split happened. The logic kicked in, assessing the space, her movement, listening for anyone nearby. The consuming madness took its own action. He'd only meant to stop her walking away. The hand that snaked out grasped her by her throat. As if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, he pressed her up against the wall, feeding off the shock in her eyes before witnessing the miraculous shift he saw there. It was as if something tuned in. Static morphed into to something flowing and coherent and they were instantly on the same wavelength. She was wide open to him and he could read everything. Everything. She wasn't afraid of him. Startled, but not afraid. Her eyes darted up towards the ceiling, searching for the tell-tale black dome of the CCTV cameras. Somehow that logic part of him had already taken that into account. He would never even think of exposing her in that way. Exposing her in other ways...now that did consume his thoughts with frightening frequency. "No CCTV here," he muttered to her, surprised by the roughness of his own voice. The smooth warmth of her skin was starting to get through to him, her pulse beating rapid but steady under his fingers. He moved his thumb against the heavy throb under her skin, catching the change in her eyes. What was that flicker he saw-? The madness bubbled up, and he had her wrist in his hand, twisting it slightly behind her back in a desperate bid to keep her from running away. The regret from the bite screamed at him to stop. This wasn't what you were supposed to do to a woman. But looking deep into her eyes, he could only see the flare of something incredible as he tightened his grip on her. Defiance. Desire. This was something altogether new. Uncharted territory. Another small experimental twist. Her eyes widened, her focus momentarily retreating somewhere deeper inside her. "What? That hurts?" he breathed, shocked at the teasing in his voice, at his readiness to play such a dangerous game. Her chin rose imperceptibly, her eyes meeting his clearly, proudly. Full of wanting more. He became aware of how tightly he was grasping her throat and instantly dropped his hand, wincing at the slight redness left by his fingers. Had he done that? Had she really allowed him to do that? But he was distracted by a new thought. The bite. His bite. Was it still there? He reached his fingers up, stroking first the silky dark hair that drifted along her neck, then pushed it back, eyes searching for any mark. All he could see was pale, smooth skin. It was gone. Nothing left of that moment the blinding connection of light had left a permanent mark on some inner part of him. He could feel it now, touching on the edge of his consciousness. He was fighting it, blocking it. That darting thread of light that wanted to make contact. No matter how hard he fought it, he wanted it...wanted the brightness that shone out from her when he tasted that lovely skin and bathed him in brilliant, warming light. He watched himself, as if from a distance, his head dropping, leaning in to the beckoning shelter of her neck- "No!" He jerked back with soft grunt of surprise. Everything stopped. She regarded him with steady eyes and very amazingly said something he least expected. "Not there...it shows." Not there? Not...there. She tipped her head back, trying to look up at him, and he was practically cradling the back of her head in his hand. Warmth, silk-soft hair against his fingers. The scent of flowers. He contemplated her for a moment, his thumb resting against her neck absently, instinctively, where he'd first felt everything spin together in strange completeness. Not there. Then where? He twisted her wrist a little more, causing her to yelp, more from surprise than pain. He noted how her concentration snapped back to him, enjoying the responsiveness, the blaze of heat in her eyes as he did it. The logic waded in again, warning not long now. He needed another taste. Any moment she'd flow past him like water through his fingers and be gone. He needed to tie them together, stronger, deeper this time. But somewhere safer, she was right about that. He considered her blouse and its little row of ruffles. He tugged at the fabric, pulling it up out of the waistband, freeing it. Blindly, he slid his hand underneath, making contact with the smooth softness of her skin. The arousal he'd only barely been conscious of hit him now with full force. Swallowing a groan, he let his fingers skim over her stomach. Nothing had ever felt like this. Never so intense or so consuming as this new heat that raged through him. Not much time, the logic warned. Acknowledging it, he dropped into a crouch in front of her, his hand still measuring her breaths, absorbing her sweet warmth. As if it was some sacred act, he lifted her blouse, exposing her stomach. Just there...where her ribcage created a little hollow with each gasping breath. He leaned in, instantly hypnotised by her scent, his mouth hungry to taste her again. He didn't mean to bite so hard, but it was incredible. She was incredible. The arching again, towards him, not away. The soft gasp as her head dropped back against the wall, her eyes closed, her body rising towards him. The light surrounded him, enveloping him its warmth. Footsteps. Footsteps in the stairwell behind him. Swallowing a growl of frustration, and with enormous effort, he broke away, released her in one quick movement. The safety of the women's bathroom was right in front of them. Putting a firm hand at her back he pushed her through it before she could protest. This time he could only escape to his car, down the stairs to the basement carpark two at a time. He didn't trust himself to stay in the building with her there. * * * * * Wasn't giving in to an urge supposed to be the best way to get it out of your system? Jarod lay spread-eagled, his sheets in a crumpled heap at the foot of his bed, an arm draped over his eyes. Apparently it didn't work that way. Not unlike several other occasions, he'd just woken from dreams...dreams of pursuing her. Through halls and corridors and up and down stairs. No matter how fast he ran, he never got any closer. Never reached her. He was just left, surrounded by the subtle scent of flowers and the image of her dark hair, flying behind her as she disappeared around the next corner and the next. So he lay, trying to piece together all his memories of her so he could picture her whole, hovering in front of him, or rather, hovering on the inside of his weary eyelids as he lay, exhausted. Sleepless. This need to possess...for her to belong to him, was foreign and troubling. With the various women he'd been with over the years he'd been only too glad when they asserted their independence. When they'd shove him out of their beds the same night or first thing the next morning, and didn't ask for anything more. He felt free then, not obligated or hemmed in. This was different. This was confusing as hell. The first encounter, the first bite...it had only whetted his appetite for the second. And the second brought with it such an unexpected requirement for more. An all-consuming hunger to have it all. All of her. He rolled to sit on the edge of the bed, grimacing at the time glowing at him from the bedside clock. There was no way he was getting back to sleep now. Pushing his fingers through his dark hair he sighed. Only thing for it. Punishing himself on the treadmill seemed the only thing to chase the dreams from his mind. The irony hadn't escaped him. Running and always running. Running and never catching up. * * * * * His waking thoughts were often occupied by the pale, smooth place on her neck where his bite had been. It must have shown for quite some time if her scarf-wearing habits had been any indication. He couldn't explain to himself the disappointment he'd felt at not being able to see it. It seemed pretty sick, didn't it? If you'd been hit by lightning, he wondered, would you really remember it? Or would you wonder sometimes you'd just imagined that it had happened? For his own sanity, he wanted...needed... proof that it had actually taken place. The memory of how the warm curve of her stomach felt under his hands also featured highly in the drifting of his thoughts away from the job at hand. He only vaguely remembered seeing the pale swath of midriff before his teeth had found its mark. And there would be a mark left behind, surely. The more he thought about this, the more he knew he just needed to see it. See the bruise so he could stop the terrifying thought that he'd imagined the whole thing. He tapped his thumbs absently against the edge of his desk, the gap-analysis documents lying forgotten in front of him. Short of corralling her in some dingy corner of the office and demanding she take her shirt off, what options did he have? His eyes drifted to his mobile phone. He had a work phone, but hated the little keyboard design and preferred the model of his personal one. It had a camera. The phone had...a camera. The seed of an idea grew and then blossomed. * * * * * Once it was in his mind, it wouldn't let him escape. He kept a seemingly casual eye out for a lull in the office traffic before making his move. He forced his stride into a normal rhythm. Assembled his features into a neutral expression. Breathe, Jarod, he commanded himself. He'd picked a good time. Only half of the other PA's were at their posts as he approached her empty desk. He could see she was engrossed with a task involving a lot of notes, post-its and her computer screen. When she didn't immediately turn towards him, he fought against the fleeting anxious thought that she was ignoring him, but it was the intensity of her focus, the hunch of her narrow shoulders, the lower lip held between her small, white teeth that told him otherwise. He leaned against the edge of her desk, attempting to look casual, but still able to observe her, waiting for her to notice his presence. His eyes were drawn back to that lower lip. He'd not specifically concentrated his thoughts on her lips before, but now wondered how he'd made such a staggering omission. Her bottom lip was a little fuller than the top one, but both were smooth and a delicate, deep pink. It was an expressive mouth. Sensual. Deeply dangerous to his sanity. He wrenched his eyes away, working hard to calm his breathing. But he couldn't stand here forever, not without the nosy birds over at the other desks noticing how long he'd lingered at her desk. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and quietly dropped it onto the desk next to her. From his vantage point he could see down the main corridor. The door to the boardroom had opened and people were pouring out, including Richard. Managing-Director-Richard. Damn it. He still had some figures he needed to analyse and send through for the executive committee. If he didn't get out of sight in the next minute or so, he'd be spotted. He tapped his fingertips on the desk impatiently and kept his voice low, willing her to catch his meaning quickly. "I want a picture." In his peripheral vision, he could see her staring up at him, those soft lips parted, the slight crease of a frown between her gently arching brows. Huh. He hadn't really noticed them before either. Focus, Jarod! "What?" she asked softly, the confusion as clear in her voice as it was on her face. The group of meeting-goers was getting closer, duos and trios still chatting quietly as they returned to their offices. He had to get on with it. "A picture. You know...a photograph. Use my phone." Where? Where could she do that? His mind latched onto their last encounter near the stairwell. Of course. "In the bathroom," he added. She just sat, rooted to the spot, indecipherable emotions flicking through her eyes as she looked around. Was she looking for help? Rescue from his demands? He didn't have time to waste waiting to find out. The phone sat in front of her, dark and uncompromising against the pile of papers. One last attempt to accomplish his quest for that irrevocable proof that he hadn't just dreamed the taste of her skin, not once, but twice. "Go," he told her with a growl before pushing up from the desk and walking away. Or had that command been for himself? With some effort he kept his face neutral, his breathing slow and steady. Go talk to the other women, he warned himself, stay out of the Richard's eye-line. Make it look like you're just your usual bastard chatting-up self. When he finally escaped to the safety of his own office, he couldn't shake a nagging thought. At what point had he stopped being his usual bastard chatting-up self? * * * * * The wait was just about to kill him. How many times had he looked to see if the phone was still sitting there on her desk, mocking him. Had she done it? Had she done as he asked? He hadn't been able to bear to watch her at first, closing his door and shutting himself in. The second thoughts plagued him immediately. What had he been thinking? It would be her word against his at a disciplinary hearing, but what sort of sicko bites a girl and then asks for a picture? Did she think he had some sort of vampire fetish or something? Fuck. * * * * * Several hours passed. He opened his door, but only so he could keep an eye on her movements. Okay, so he could add stalking to his list of freakish behaviour. A therapist would have a field-day with him. He had to get the phone back. He couldn't un-ask what he'd asked, but he could get the phone back. Then he'd just leave it at that. He'd block this whole mess from his mind. He'd move to fucking Siberia if that's what it took. End it, Jarod. End it. He went to pick up some fictitious printing from the printer near her desk. On his way back he was about to grab the phone, but that old battle-axe Angela was hovering nearby, instructing her underlings. Shit. Mind racing, he grabbed a pad of post-its and a pen and scribbled, "Thanks Stephanie," and signed it, taking the phone and leaving the note in its place as if it was a perfectly natural thing to do. Maybe it would look like he had legitimate business loitering around the desk of a young innocent admin assistant. Angela turned and made a point of scrutinising him over her glasses, frowning ominously. He shrugged, swallowing the panic that surged up from his belly, and directed his best innocent grin at her. "My address book...such a mess." He gestured to Stephanie's empty chair. "She's very organised..." He fled. As slowly as he could manage it, but he fled nonetheless from the ferocity of her suspicious glare. Or was it his own guilt that fuelled the churning in his stomach? * * * * * The rest of the day hadn't gone well. Even if he'd been able to concentrate on the conference call with the tech team in the US, there wasn't much promising news yet. When he finally slid into the familiar comfort of his car he dropped his head back against the headrest, just breathing in the smell of the leather and trying with every ounce of his being to erase the day. You have to look at it sometime, he reminded himself. He didn't know what was disturbing him most. The most likely fact was that there was nothing there...that she hadn't done it. This prospect was accompanied by a level of crushing disappointment he wasn't ready to examine just yet. Then there was the reality of what would inevitably come next if she had. The part of him that prayed for the end to the madness wasn't quite winning against the memory of those lips, that mouth. He braced himself mentally, flicking the phone into life, forcing himself to check his messages first. His thumb hovered over the button, staring at the photos folder. Taking a deep breath, he pressed the button. The lighting wasn't superb, but there was no mistaking the shadowy curve of her stomach, the sweet hollow of her belly button. Or the spreading bloom of bruising that radiated from the place he'd bitten her. Oh fuck. Fuck. She'd done it...she'd really done it. Heat sped through him and he groaned as the reality of his body's reaction made itself known against the constraining fabric of his trousers. One photo and he was hard as a rock. He closed his eyes, gasping, fighting the waves of desire. Desire for what? To bite her? No....to possess her. To be possessed by her more utterly and completely than he already was. If that was even possible. He forced himself to look at the photo again, examine it carefully and think it through. Trying to order his thoughts was like wading through deep treacle. She'd actually done it. What did that mean? That she wanted more? That she felt something too? Was it a permission? It was something he would spend many sleepless hours pondering. * * * * * He'd woken early with a restless energy crackling through his limbs. A sort of excitement. He tried to attribute it to lack of sleep and his steady of diet of caffeine over the past week, but it was something else. It was the photograph. He'd been unable to keep himself from checking the phone repeatedly. Checking to make sure it was really there. That he had the proof he hadn't dreamed the whole thing. It didn't change...it was the same photo each time, but every time he looked at it he remembered something different about their brief encounters. The look in her eyes. The soft silkiness of her hair. This thing...it was like a drug. He drove to work on autopilot. He went through the motions of compiling the budget figures for the quarterly meeting. The numbers blurred on the screen in front of him, and he had to lock his mobile in the bottom of his desk drawer just to keep the temptation at bay. Lunch hour finally approached, but so did the parade of office girls along the hall near his office. His eyes drifted up from the screen for just a moment, and there she was, walking with the gaggle of women past his office. The debate raged. Did he dare approach her openly? Could he do anything else but follow? The high he'd been experiencing ever since she validated the insanity in his mind carried him along in a glowing cloud of recklessness as he abandoned his reports and followed her at a distance. They were heading down the hall towards the stairs. As the girls ahead of him approached the small connecting hallway to the stairwell he thought he saw her pause, just for a second, before walking through. Was she remembering too? Him holding her against the wall while he-... He seriously had to snap himself out of this. But oblivious to all else, he couldn't help but focus on the gentle sway of her dark ponytail as she descended the stairs ahead of him, the arch of her neck, her small hand grasping the railing. He stifled a groan at the images that burst into his mind just watching her, his body responding. And this was just watching her walk down some stairs! He dropped back, pretending to check his shoelace until the group of women had emptied out into the cafeteria, taking a moment to compose himself. Deep breaths. Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 01 When he finally pushed through the cafeteria door, he saw her dead ahead, last in line, her back to him. Had she seen him? Had she hung back on purpose? He didn't wait to finish his contemplation, and instead strode up behind her, feeling the draw of her presence, greedy to be near her. He felt good. Being near her made him feel...good. He waited behind her, but she didn't turn. Was she ignoring him or had she really not spotted him stalking her down the stairs? He leaned a little closer, trying not to breathe too deep as the now-familiar scent of flowers made its dainty assault on his self-control. He wanted her to know...to know that he'd seen in. Dipping his head close to her ear, he kept his voice low. "You only sent me one." He watched the imperceptible straightening of her shoulders, her chin lifting quickly as she recognised his voice. She didn't turn around, but her retort came swiftly over her shoulder in my direction. "You only asked for one!" Why did it please him so much that she fought back? He usually hated locking horns with women, mainly because he always got the sense that it would inevitably end in an exhausting stalemate. Those sorts of exchanges were just a drain of energy. This was...different. It sparked something inside him, energising him. It wasn't a battle, it was a game. "I didn't know you were so stingy," he said, keeping his tone teasing, pretending to look through the baskets of crisps that sat up on top of the deli-style casing. No one around them seemed to be paying any attention to their exchange. His ears strained for her answer, which he didn't have to wait long for. "You should be more specific next time," she murmured in a mock admonition. Then her choice of words registered, and he couldn't help himself. Even he could hear the smugness in his voice. "Next time, huh?" Was she blushing? She kept her eyes straight ahead and still didn't turn, so it was hard to tell. He thought he saw a flush on her cheeks. And now she was definitely pretending to ignore him. The queue shuffled along, and they both stepped up. Thanks to the distraction of their conversation, they were nearly at the cash register; she with an empty tray and he with empty hands. He took a longer stride than her and bent his head, his lips almost making contact with her small, perfectly formed ear. Damn it. He hadn't noticed them before either. But he couldn't resist drawing her out again. "Your tray..." "What?" she asked, suspicious. "It's empty." He caught the stiffening of her shoulders. That proud little chin jutted up again. "I'm not hungry," she said, dropping her tray to her side self-consciously. She seemed to be searching for a way out of the queue, but they were hemmed in on all sides. He watched, fascinated, as she blushed even deeper pink, crossing her arms across her body as best she could. He liked flustering her. Putting her off-balance. It brought something out in him...a mixture of devilment and protectiveness. In one breath he longed to expose her vulnerability, and in the next he wanted to stand between her and the world like some fucking knight in shining armour. He wanted that vulnerability of hers for himself. All for himself. The queue moved up, and finding an escape route, she made a swift exit towards the lifts. He'd upset her, he could tell, but not mortally so. Her responsiveness was...delightful. He found himself chuckling as he remembered her expression when she'd realised she'd forgotten to order food. It wasn't until later, when he had to restrain himself from checking his phone yet again, that he realised they needed a better method. Meeting in hallways and cafeterias was no good. It was dangerous for both of them. Not just because he detested the gossip network. Mostly because he didn't know how much longer he could hold himself back when he was near her. * * * * * It was a simple solution really, and he didn't know why he hadn't thought of it earlier. Maybe it was the rhythm of his feet hitting the pavement as he ran, clearing his mind. It was a sunny, cool morning, which was rare, even in summer. He'd forgone the usual torture of the treadmill and headed out for a street run instead. Even at this hour there were already die-hard professionals leaving for work. Many of them were elegantly-suited women, polished, poised, lipstick on. As he jogged past he found himself searching their faces. Studying their body language. Looking for that elusive something that he saw...felt, when he looked at...her. Stephanie. He allowed himself to savour her name. He was still mystified at the difference between his response to her and all the other women he'd been with. But of course, 'being with' was a generous description for the string of short, terminal connections he'd had. But did he want this one to last? Was it just the thrill of the chase that was keeping his interest? Usually he'd have bedded her by now and moved on. But there, again, was that singular fixation which was entirely new to his experience. He let his eyes drift up and down the approaching figure of a leggy blonde. She noticed him too, he could tell...the slight widening of the eyes, the rapid blinking as she looked him up and down, the twitch of her lips. But he stared into her beautiful face, and as he passed by her, felt...nothing. It was the strangest thing. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. He had a plan now. A way to make Stephanie more...accessible to him. It wouldn't take much to put in place. * * * * * He'd spent so many evenings working late that the security guard barely acknowledged him with a nod when he came back into the office late in the evening. He'd wanted to be absolutely sure that he wouldn't be noticed. Whether he was conducting the whole affair in secrecy for the sake of her reputation or his, he wasn't sure. He just knew it was his responsibility to keep things under wraps. The box and cable felt heavy and conspicuous in his jacket pocket, and he wracked his brain to think of any loophole that he'd missed in his plan. It was simple really. He wanted to be able to contact her when he felt like it. He wanted...a lot of things. His footsteps were nearly inaudible on the office carpet, but it still sounded awfully loud in his ears. He paused in front of her desk, taking another look around him, scanning for anyone who might be lingering. Nothing. Dark offices, dim lights. He pulled her chair back and sat on it, looking around her desk for the right place to put his recent purchase. He'd gotten her a mobile. He knew she probably already had one, but this was different. It was just a pay-as-you-go phone, but it had what he wanted. Texting and a small camera. He'd set it up very carefully. The ringer was set to silent, with vibrate on, so at least she knew if something happened. His number was the only one in the directory. It was his offering to her to open up a line of communication. A private line of communication. He wasn't a monster. He'd already forced his way into her space. Twice. But with this...she could take it or leave it, and he'd have his answer. He stared at the small black box containing the phone. It had no markings or anything to identify it. In his quest for anonymity he'd forgotten something rather important. How would she know it was from him? He stared at the contents of her desk, searching for inspiration, and his gaze settled on the post-it notes, sitting in a tidy stack under her computer monitor. Simple, he'd leave a note. In the end, he wrote two. One went in the lid of the box, the other he fixed to the bottom edge of her computer screen. Satisfied that she'd see it as soon as she sat down, he placed the box in the middle drawer, tucking the charger cable further back. As he made his way down the stairs to the carpark, he tried to imagine the expression on her face the following morning as she read the notes that said, simply, 'In the drawer.' and 'Turn it on.' * * * * * The lights of the city spread out beneath him, glimmering softly against the darkness. Jarod dropped his forehead onto the arm he braced against the ceiling-high windows of his living room. This was usually a haven for him. The quiet orderliness of his flat, the ability to stand and look down on all the busy things of life racing by far below him. Tonight it felt...empty. Sighing and flexing his hands, he turned and slumped into the leather sofa, pulling out his mobile. He had to send a text for her to see when she picked up the phone tomorrow. If...she picked up the phone tomorrow. As he'd done so often over the past few days he flicked reflexively to the photograph. The intimacy of it still had the power to hit him in the gut somewhere. How could you know something so private about someone and not actually know them at all? What did he really know about her? Her name? Where she worked? That when she looked up at him, her eyes held a world of possibility he'd never known existed? What could he say that would give her some idea of what was going on with him? As explanation for his need to see her again. It had to be the truth. There was nothing else. He attached the photo. That way there could be no confusion of what he was talking about. The text he typed read, 'I think about this. All the time.' He hesitated, then hit the send button. * * * * * Jarod paced the length of the empty meeting room, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Usually days this busy raced by. Usually there was not enough time, not too much of it. The problem-solving sessions he'd been running with his team seemed to coming up with even more issues than solutions. He didn't blame them. They were working harder than anyone on ironing out the glitches. But the day seemed eternal. And his text messages remained distinctly empty. She had to have found the phone by now. If she'd turned it on, she'd have read his text by now. He stopped to stare at his phone where he'd left it sitting on the meeting room table. But nothing. Silence. Was this going to be the answer? If that was the case, he wondered if he had the strength to just let it be. To let it go. The memory of that golden thread of connection bursting into his existence flitted around in the back corners of his mind. The eternal day dragged on. * * * * * He'd thought about going home. When there was nothing left to do. No more emails to reply to. No more reports to write. Nothing to occupy the restlessness in his brain. But he couldn't. Not yet. So he drove. He didn't think much about where, just took street after street. It was nearly midnight, so there was very little traffic. The gear shift felt certain under his hand, the purr of the engine a steady comfort. It helped him switch off his mind. Without consciously choosing to he made his way north and west and up to the higher point of the city. The streets became narrower and the houses older, larger. He had a favourite place he'd discovered one summer. Up near the top and on the edge of a large grassland park. As he drove he pressed the window controls and took a deep lungful of cool night air. He slowed on the narrow road, searching for the place he always parked, there, between the tall plane trees, at the end, past a long row of Victorian mansions, their windows dark. From here he could see city lights in the distance, but it was different here than in the flat. Here he could just be part of the night. Shutting off the engine, he sat in the stillness, letting the breeze drift over him. And he knew he couldn't let it end. He had to try at least once more, silence or no silence. He blinked as he noticed the time. It was after midnight. She was probably asleep. For some reason that spurred him on. She probably wouldn't pick it up until the morning, so what was there to lose? The only light in the car came from the screen of his phone. He found the number for the mobile, opened a text and typed. 'Are you awake?' He tapped his fingers against the side of the phone, indecision nagging him. But he hit send anyway. The wind was picking up, rattling the leaves in the branches above him and bringing with it snatches of far-off sirens and the sound of distant trains passing. He nearly didn't hear the chirp of the incoming message. It was as if his stomach had decided to take up residence somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes. Fumbling with the buttons, he clicked onto the message to see who it was from. Who else? Her name stared up at him from the little screen. The message wasn't long. 'I am now.' He felt a warm flush start up from his middle somewhere. So he'd woken her? Or...she'd been waiting? He searched his mind frantically for something to say...something to ask. She was right there. On the other end, waiting. All they really had to connect them was what had happened in the stationery cupboard, and then in the stairway hall. Would she allow him another look? 'Is it gone?' A moment passed. Another chirp. 'Is what gone?' His mouth twitched with a smile. She knew very well what he was talking about. There it was again. Not a fight, not a will-less surrender. She wanted to...play. It gave him an inexplicable thrill. He answered her with, 'You know what.' It took a little longer this time. But she did reply. 'Nearly.' But not yet. Not entirely gone. He took a very deep breath. What he really wanted was to see it again. To see, right now, the link between them. 'Show me.' Silence was the answer, for at least a few minutes. He leaned his head back against the headrest and wondered if he'd gone too far. Had he gone too far? The phone chirped. The part of his brain not intent on trying to open the text noticed that his hands were shaking, just a little. When he saw the contents, he understood why. No words. Just a photograph. He'd been captivated by the curves and hollows of her stomach from the moment he first slid his hand under her blouse. He'd practically memorised everything he could see in the first photograph. To see it again from a slightly different vantage point gave him an odd shock. The bruise was still visible, but it was fading. This photo was taken from a slightly wider angle than the first. What captured his attention now was the unmistakable lacy edge of her underwear at the bottom of the photo, and what could only be the shadowy curve of her breast at the top. He was having some difficulty breathing, and his heart seemed to be beating rather loudly in his ears. It was as if he'd been dropped into deep water, and that water was need. Aching, twisting need. Every time he looked at the photo, every time he let his eyes trace the shadows and lines of her body, the desire to have her in his grasp increased. To be next to her in the dark, his body covering hers, his mouth tasting that skin, breathing in her scent. His whole body was on fire at the thought. Gasping at the images that flooded past his closed eyes, he flexed against the car seat. Fuck! He wanted her...wanted her so badly. Like nothing he'd ever wanted. Thank god he wasn't there with her, because he wouldn't be able to stop himself and he'd be on her and in her and fucking her and-... Stop! Jarod, just...stop. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and took a few shuddering breaths. This was madness. He was just letting his imagination run riot over a damned photograph. It wasn't real. None of it was real. Was it? It was some time before he'd calmed himself enough to start the car and pull away. The phone sat on the passenger seat, taunting him. He knew he couldn't reply tonight. The only thing he'd be able to say would be to ask for her address. If she'd been willing to send a picture of herself half-naked, who knew what else she'd consent to in the heat of the moment. Playing or not, he didn't trust himself. What he'd seen in her eyes was strong, but fragile. He couldn't shake the feeling that if he gripped onto it too tightly, he could crush it. * * * * * To be continued... Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 02 © 2012 Brunne * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Many thanks to the readers who voted and left such lovely comments on Ch. 01 – I hope you enjoy this next instalment. For those of you have read my other story, ‘Under My Skin’, this story covers many of the same events, but in a slightly different style and from Jarod’s perspective this time. - Brunne * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * From the moment Jarod woke up he knew he had to stop fucking around and get on with it. Either he got her by herself properly and had a closer look at whatever it was driving him increasingly mad, or he left it alone. For good. Those were the choices. Sending sweaty text messages just wasn’t the answer. He clicked through the shared calendar function on his email program until he found hers. She hadn’t been at her desk all morning and he was getting desperate to know where she was. Ah. So she was in a meeting for another hour. The calendar entry contained the floor and room number. He would catch her on the way out and say…what? What was his plan? Ask her out for a date? Book a hotel room? Was there nothing anywhere on the spectrum between awkwardly mundane and flat-out sleazy? He sat back, pushing his fingers through his hair in frustration. Why couldn’t he figure out how to conduct this…thing…with her? He’d nearly called it a relationship, but how could you call what they’d had so far a relationship? That sort of depended on people knowing something about each other. Maybe that’s what he wanted. To know more…to see more clearly. Up until now she’d been a bit of a blank to him. Unless you counted the world of possibility he saw in her big brown eyes. He’d talk to her. He’d find out more about her…that was the plan. * * * * * He must have loitered outside the meeting room for a good ten minutes, stomach churning. They were running late. He couldn’t keep standing around…someone would notice. But there was movement and voices approaching the door, followed by a flood of people leaving the room. He searched the faces, looking for her, wondering where his plan had gone. His mind was suddenly blank. There she was, hanging back from the rest of the group, busy flipping through the notes she’d been taking. She didn’t even see him as he stepped up next to her and gripped her elbow. He willed her to just go along with him, her eyes meeting his with surprise before dipping down again, colour steadily rising in her cheeks. The next meeting room over was empty and dark, and he wasted no time pushing her through the doorway, closing the door behind them. He’d just meant to stop her and talk to her, but the shock of her nearness…the softness of her skin under his fingertips, changed all that. The desire to capture her bloomed in an instant and he was snagging her wrists and pushing them up against the meeting room wall before the thought was even fully formed in his mind. She fluttered like a bird against his hold and only with great effort did he stop his body from doing what it clearly wanted to. He squeezed his eyes shut. Focus, Jarod. Say something. “You still only sent me one,” he managed to gasp in a nearly normal voice. When he opened his eyes, any surprise in her gaze was now replaced by that delightful defiance. “You didn’t ask for more,” she said with only a faint quiver in her voice, her chin inching a little higher, her lips firmly set. The flush in her cheeks gave away her excitement, and sent a fresh surge of desire through him. He held himself back from her purposefully, determine that she remain unaware of his current physical…discomfort. He allowed himself to stare down into her eyes for a moment, but had to drag his gaze away when the invitation there became too strong to resist. His eyes dropped unbidden to her lips, but that was even worse, and he forced himself to stare at the wall and take deep breaths. So why the hell hadn’t he asked for more photos? He thought back to his state of mind the previous night. It was the same precarious edge he was treading right now. “I had to stop myself,” he said, thickly, in way of explanation. “Stop yourself?” she asked, a mixture of confusion and curiosity flickering over her features. He thought she took a sharp inward breath when he dropped his hand from her wrist and let it drift down to press against her stomach, just up and to the right, along her ribcage. Right over the place he’d tasted her sweet skin. His mind drifted back to the photograph. The one he’d barely been able to tear himself away from. “It stays longer than I thought,” he mused, finding her eyes. She stared back at him. He knew what it did to him, to see that bruise marking that stolen moment between them. He suddenly wished he could just climb into her thoughts and know what it was she felt. “You see it every day…” he said, searching her features for some indication of whether it affected her. She nodded, but still didn’t speak. His thumb swept gently against silky fabric of her blouse, as if it could feel the bruise right through the material. She was so warm under his hand, so soft, and the temptation to slide his grip to her waist and pull her body against his now-throbbing, aching erection was getting much too strong. He tried again. “Do you like it?” He wasn’t sure what he was referring to. The bruise? His touch? The phone? Did it matter? But still she didn’t speak, only looked back at him with wide eyes, nodding silently. It was too much, she was too close. The soft scent of her was intoxicating, and it was all he could do not to search out that delicate warm spot on her neck and taste her again. With a ragged breath he pulled himself away from her, stepping back. The logic part of his mind, still on the alert, told him quite sensibly that they could be discovered any moment now. Stumbling upon two people alone in a dark room could only mean one thing. “This isn’t a good place,” he muttered aloud. How long did they have before they could escape this office and have a proper conversation? “You’re free after work...” He’d meant it as a question, but it didn’t quite come out that way. He didn’t miss her eyes widening as she grasped what he was asking for. Taking a deep breath he decided to put it out there. “I’ll be waiting in my car. North corner, third from the end.” Time to be going, said Mr Logic. She just stared after him as he stepped towards the door, a few rapid blinks still the only answer she’d given him. Relieved to find the hallway relatively empty, he closed the door behind him softly, willing his body to return to normal. Would she come? And if she did…what on earth was his plan? * * * * * This had been a very bad idea, he decided. He’d been sitting in his car like a complete, fucking idiot for over an hour. He heard the tell-tale click of the basement door and turned in his seat, straining to look around the passenger headrest to see who it was. He sagged back against the leather. It wasn’t anyone he knew. Why hadn’t he agreed a time? Why hadn’t he waited for her to actually agree in the first place? He rubbed his eyes and checked the time. The numbers glowed out at him from the console. It would be getting dark outside soon. Not that he had any idea where he planned to take her. If she even decided to show. He checked his phone again. No texts from her either. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He couldn’t wait forever. There was nothing for it. Time to get out of there. He turned the keys in the ignition, pulling his seatbelt on as he did, checking his rear-view mirror, and froze. Shit. There she was. She was walking up next to the car. Why hadn’t he heard the door? The sudden pounding of his heart drowned out any further questions in his mind. He ducked his head and saw she was approaching the passenger side, so he leaned across and popped the door open from the inside. She was wearing a narrow skirt, and even though it went down to her knees, it rose a few tantalising inches as she put a hesitant foot into the car and slid into the seat next to him. There were dark smudges of tiredness under the eyes that darted a brief look at him before dropping to look where her hands clasped her knees. Surprise, defiance, he was used to. Nervousness was new. If only she knew how his own hands were trembling. “You came,” he said, wincing when the words came out sounding choked and not a little surprised. Smooth, real smooth, he thought. He studied her, his hand still on the ignition key. She was wearing her hair up, tied into a loose knot. Those little wispy tendrils still managed to escape and curl along her slender neck, and it took him some moments to tear his eyes away. She only took a few quick glances at him while she fastened her seat belt, seeming determined to examine the concrete wall in front of the car. And what do you expect, he told himself. You’re staring and making her uncomfortable, idiot. He turned his attention to the car, starting it properly and reversing out of the parking spot. From force of habit he stretched his arm across the passenger headrest as he turned the car and checked his blind spot. Her hair just brushed against his wrist as he did, kicking off sparks through his whole body. She was just so…close. He could smell her, almost taste her. All he needed to do was reach across the half a foot of space and take her in his arms-… He blinked hard against the images pouring through his mind and tried to focus on driving the car in a straight line. The curved ramp out of the carpark seemed a lot more difficult to manoeuvre than usual, and he started to wonder if it was very smart for him to be driving with such a distraction taking up his passenger seat. When he finally got them out into the street in one piece, he allowed himself a glance over at her. She held her hands primly in her lap, her back straight, her knees tight together. He would have given anything to know what she was thinking. But having a conversation…that wasn’t something he could do while he drove. Not with her. Not when they’d barely spoken. What sort of small talk could they make anyway? ‘So do you let men bite you often?’ or, ‘Would you object if I fucked you tonight?’ He just drove, nearly blindly, his senses under gentle assault from the faint scent of flowers that seemed to follow her everywhere. He desperately wanted to be somewhere private, alone, safe, where he could examine this delicate flower in his own time. Her shoulders slowly dropped as they drove and she seemed to sense he wasn’t about to do anything threatening. Thank heavens she couldn’t read his mind. But surely, if she was frightened of him she wouldn’t have gotten into his car in the first place? It wasn’t until the streets steadily narrowed and began to wind in an upwards direction that he realised where his subconscious was taking him. His dark tree-covered spot near the large park. Was this really what he wanted to do? Parking in a dark corner and making out like hormonal teenagers? Bloody hell, it would nice if he just knew his own mind right about now. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she tugged again at the hem of her skirt and held herself stiffly against the seat. Fuck. This wasn’t going to work if she was wound up so tight. His mind raced back over their previous encounters, searching for the clue to the openness she’d given him each time. What was it that triggered it? Him taking control? Taking her control away? Is that what she relaxed into? When he took instead of asked? He had to shift in his seat as the mental pictures flitted past. Damn it, his dick was hard already, and any blood left in his body had gone back to pounding in his ears. Because that was what he wanted too. That thrill he got when he did the first thing that came into his head. Restraining her, capturing her, breaking past her defences so quick she didn’t have a chance to keep him out. Seeing a quiet space along the street he pulled the car over to the curb, his pulse quickening at the image that began to form in his mind. He needed his tie. It wasn’t perfect for what he wanted, but it would do. He tucked a finger into the knot and loosened it with a few tugs, aware that she was watching him intently. He hoped she couldn’t see if his hands shook as he got the knot undone. He sat, staring down at the dark grey silk, questioning what he really thought he was doing. But he wanted to know more. Wanted to see her open up to him again, and this was the only way. He held it out to her. “Put it on. Over your eyes.” What was it that flickered through those brown eyes? Fear, or surprise? But she took the tie from him with little hesitation and slipped it on over her eyes, her small fingers struggling a little with the slippery fabric, but finally getting a knot secured. He tried to tell himself that the blindfold was just part of the control game…to help her let go. But somewhere in the dark places of his mind he knew he was also protecting himself from a greater danger. It was those eyes of hers. Beckoning him, challenging him, begging him…seeing through him. It was his own control that was under threat. He had to shake his head at himself and his mad thoughts, but once her hands were settled back in her lap he couldn’t help but reach over and gently test the knot that nestled against the dark silkiness of her hair. But that merely created a whole new temptation. To unwind her hair from where it was pulled back in its knot, to release it and watch it tumble down so he could push his fingers through it and bury his face in its fragrant waves. He’d drag her over and find out how expressive that mouth of hers could be at kissing him-… He drew his hand back as if he’d been burned. Since when was he fantasising about kissing her? Without her eyes to captivate him, would her mouth be the next thing to do battle with his steadily crumbling control? He turned what attention he could muster back to the task of driving the car. There was no fighting his subconscious. Resigned, he headed in the direction of his secret parking place in the trees. At least it would be quiet and with darkness beginning to fall, it would be private enough. Private enough for what? he asked himself. He decided he didn’t really want to answer that. She stayed silent, only moving to hold tighter to the door handle when they went around a steep curve in the road. He noticed when she first felt the road surface change as they slowed towards the shadowed spot between the trees. His memory had served him well; there were no street lights this far along and the only light came from the steadily dimming headlights and pockets of the city off in the distance. He hit the window switch and took a deep cleansing breath of cool night air. It helped to clear his senses a little. Being so close to her was like being on a drug. It muddied his thinking. Like this whole scenario. At what point had this ever been a good idea? One glance over at the passenger seat told him that even with the blindfold she was strung as tight as a bow, jumping with every little sound and movement. He rubbed his hand over his eyes. Hell. Bloody, fucking hell. “I can take you back,” he said, grudgingly. He wished he meant it. But she shook her head, quickly, without hesitation. Then she reached up to the knotted tie, and he felt an irrational surge of panic. His hand shot out and caught her wrist before she could touch it. “Leave it,” he growled, more intensity than he’d intended. “I wasn’t-“ she said in gentle protest. He knew his tone was too harsh, and he loosened his grip marginally before letting her go. She didn’t reach for the blindfold again. He shifted himself in his seat, the feel of her skin against his fingers setting his erection off into something bordering on painful. There was a perfectly good reason why he’d headed for this particularly location. There wasn’t nearly enough room in the car to lay the girl down and fuck her brains out. Good move, Jarod. Now you’re stuck with the awkward scenario of a raging hard-on, a blindfolded girl and a public park. Fuck. This was certainly no time to be crossing that line, he told himself firmly. The truth was, he did actually want to know more about her. To just talk to her, damn it. If he could only get his bodily reactions in check… She was sitting very still, blindly staring out the front windscreen, shoulders lightly hunched, tense. She was waiting for what would happen next. He wondered what she was expecting. He wondered what she’d think if she knew even he hadn’t a clue what came next. “Face me,” he said, keeping his voice low and as reassuring as he could manage. He was secretly pleased at how steady he sounded, belying the current state of his insides. She turned awkwardly in the seat in her blindness, her hands reaching out tentatively for something to brace herself on, her knees making painful contact with the gearshift console between the seats. He reached out to guide her closest leg up onto the seat where it would be more comfortable, hooking his fingers behind her knee. For some seconds he was lost in the feel of her bare skin. Fuck, she wasn’t even wearing sheer tights. The skin behind her knee was so warm…smooth as satin. His fingers begged to slide up, up to her thigh and under that infuriating hemline to-… With a shuddering breath he pulled his hand back. Talk. That’s all they all they were going to do, right? Talk. “Just lean back,” he instructed, willing her to work with him. Desperate for her to just relax. Just a little. The moment her back found the padded side of the seat and slumped gratefully against its support, he breathed a silent breath of relief. His eyes drifted lazily down from her slightly parted lips to the buttons on her white blouse. They were straining from the arch of her back against the seat, and he caught a glimpse of white lace. He had to stifle a groan when he finally allowed himself to check on the state of that hemline. Pulling her knee up onto the seat had only made matters worse, and even in the darkness of the car he could make out a flash of white underwear. He turned his head towards the open window, taking a few gulping breaths of night air, the darkness that surrounded them slowly sinking in. His hands twitched together in his lap. He wanted so much to touch… But he’d promised himself. They would just talk. About what? Something…personal? The words were out before he realised he’d even thought them. “Do you touch yourself?” Fuck! What sort of thing was that to ask? He dug his thumb and fingers into his eyelids, keenly aware of the total silence from the passenger seat. Her voice was quiet and breathy, but she answered. “Sometimes…” He drew in a deep breath. Sometimes, huh? He didn’t quite know how he knew, but he could hear the lie. The devil rose in him, and there was no looking back. He grabbed her wrist and he twisted it just far enough to cause her to flinch a little. “Just sometimes?” he growled into her ear. This was the only way with her. The only way with him. Pushing through the defences. Storming the fucking gates. “Tell me the truth…” “Okay. Most days…” she cried out quickly, her voice high with strain. Most days. Fuck. The heat that had been just creeping through him turned into a tsunami as he imagined her, naked, hands between her legs-… He was holding her too tight. He could feel her tugging against where he held her. He wrestled himself back to the present and forced himself to loosen his grip a little, his mind still racing. If it was most days, then… “Have you ever…at work?” he asked, swallowing, his voice sounding thick to his ears. He watched her mouth, her lips moving slightly as she tried to make up her mind what to say. He twisted her wrist a little more to encourage the truth. Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 02 She pulled against him again, half-heartedly. “A few times…yes,” she finally admitted. Her chin raised a notch, as if daring him to condemn her for it. The whole new image of her at work set off a rumbling groan in his chest. Had she done it recently? Because of him? He wanted more. Had to have more of her. Even if he only looked. “Slide your skirt up,” he commanded. After a moment’s hesitation, she tugged at her skirt with her free hand, but the fabric was trapped under her and wouldn’t go any higher. She slumped back against the seat in defeat. “No…all the way up,” he insisted, letting go of her wrist with some reluctance so she could use both hands. Free to move, she braced herself against the floor and arched her hips, lifting herself off the seat far enough to tug the skirt higher, up over her hips, bunching around her waist. He didn’t know how long he sat there, just staring at the pale creaminess of her bare thighs in the dim light. She wasn’t like so many of the women he’d been with; pencil thin and angular or lithe and muscular. Her thighs had a womanly roundness. All gentle curves and softness. Inviting. Utterly and completely feminine. And just below the bunched layers of skirt fabric he caught another glimpse of the flash of white underwear. The blood pounded in his head. And then she settled back again, her knee riding up on the seat, giving a full view of the lacy fabric that stood between him and that intimate place his cock so desperately wanted to get more closely acquainted with. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? Did she? The buttons of her blouse were still straining against their moorings. He could understand completely how they might feel, the fabric of his boxers and suit trousers bearing the brunt of the pressure on his end. “Show me your breasts,” he breathed, trying to decide whether he would be better off unzipping his trousers or putting up with the growing discomfort. It wasn’t as if she could see him do it. But that was just yet another slippery slope, he grudgingly admitted to himself. He was distracted from his inner debate by the movement of her small fingers against the front of her blouse. Each quick tug revealed a few more inches of creamy skin, pale even in the dark shadows of the car. There was the lacy edge of her bra again, the soft curves of her breasts rising and falling with each breath. Her hands dropped away much too soon, leaving only the top half unbuttoned. He wanted to reach out…to let the curve fill his hand, fit it perfectly as he knew it would. But they weren’t touching, not this time. He satisfied himself by gently pulling the edges of her blouse apart, daring himself to keep away from the silky softness of her. He didn’t quite know why, but it was words he wanted to touch her with first. She was opening to him, he could tell. How far could he take it…take her? He took a chance. “How do you usually make yourself come?” She seemed to flinch slightly at the question, biting her lip before letting her mouth fall open in quiet breath, her hips rising imperceptibly off the seat. Fuck, he thought, she liked that? Was it his imagination or had she responded to his question with her whole body? He watched her, entranced, waiting for the answer. “I…I touch my breasts first,” came the half-whispered reply. He looked to where her hands lay in her lap, her fingers twisting against each other. “Do it…now.” He just wanted to watch her, plumb the depths of her reaction. She didn’t seem to be objecting. In fact, she was pressing her hands against the soft rising curve of her breasts, caressing, then tugging at the few remaining buttons, her blouse gaping open. She arched her back, and he felt himself twitch as she smoothed her hands over the thin lacy fabric he so desperately wanted to feel for himself. God, she was pretty. Such a lovely shape. Soft and delicately boned, but womanly. How the fuck had she gone unnoticed? “And then…?” he prompted, his voice strained. She didn’t answer, but let her hands drift down, sliding over the gentle arch of her stomach to the white lace between her legs. Was she wet? he wondered. When she pressed her hands against herself, did she want it to be his hands, on her, touching her? His head was beginning to spin, and it took some conscious effort to breathe. She was taking quiet gasping breaths, but she’d stopped moving. Her hands went still. What was she waiting for? “What do you want me to do?” There was a helplessness, a pleading, in her voice. It took a second for it to register. What was she asking of him? What he wanted? He breathed deep, unable to think. “What do you want to do?” “Whatever you want. I want…whatever you want.” Her answer was honest, he could read that much from her voice. But the words struck him somewhere below the solar plexus and radiated outwards in ever increasing circles of deadly heat. They stirred up something in him. Something that frightened him. Scared him shitless. The boundaries…the restrictions he’d always placed on himself…on his behaviour. With her few words she threatened to fracture that control. What he wanted…it wasn’t right. If she only knew what he really wanted, she would never have uttered such dangerous words. Or was this what he’d been waiting for? Was she able to take it? Take him? Could he afford to show that part of himself to anyone? His body was in motion before these thoughts even fully crystallised, and he had her swiftly trapped back against the seat, his hand on her throat, his breath hot in her ear. “Don’t…fuck with me.” Despite his firm grip he felt her chin jerk upwards in defiance. “I’m not…” she protested. “I’ll ask again…what do you want to do?” He shifted his grip, his thumb brushing the soft skin under her ear before tightening imperceptibly. He wanted an answer. “I told you…whatever you want.” Fuck it. She was relentless. And it was driving him crazy. The truth was, he didn’t actually trust himself. The overriding picture in his mind at the moment was bending her across the hood of the car, dog-walkers be damned, and fucking her senseless, right there out in the open. Fuck, Jarod, get a grip! But he would have something of her, even if he didn’t trust himself to touch her more than he already had. If he did, he wouldn’t stop. “Give me your panties,” he conceded, dropping his hand from her throat, slumping back into his seat. Pressing his hand over his eyes, he gulped in desperation at the night air to cool him. She hesitated, but lifted her bottom off the seat and fumbled below her skirt. The flash of white came into view as she tugged them down. There was a pause as she reached her knees, then she kicked off her shoes and slipped the garment over her feet. She sat back, the white lace bunched tightly in her hand, her whole body screaming her reluctance. He held out his hand. “Over here…” he muttered, just managing to catch the small bundle she thrust towards him. Warm, soft, like her. And fuck…they were damp, from her. He arched back against the seat with a soft grunt, his cock throbbing. FUCK. Never, never had he been this aroused. Never had he been so in need of release and so far from actually wanting it. Because that would end this. This flow of whatever it was between them. This thing that strung him out tight and refused to let go. He gathered himself, smoothing the soft white fabric over his knee, watching as she clenched her own knees together and stared sightlessly ahead. No, he wouldn’t allow her to back away from it now. The tension in her only spoke of walls that needed knocking down. By him. He let his hand slide over her knee, hooking his fingers behind it, tugging her leg back towards him. He felt her trembling as she turned in the seat, his grip coaxing her legs apart. He could sense her embarrassment at being on such open display, at being exposed. He wasn’t about to tell her that in the darkness, all he could see were shadows. Or that instead of her naked pussy, it was all he could do to tear his gaze away from the frantic rise and fall of her sweet breasts, the sensuous curve of her mouth, the arch of her neck. All his senses tuned into her, and the madness that pursued him took over from any remaining shred of rational thought. She’d opened herself to him, and he had to see how far back he could push her resistance. How far would she trust him? How deep could he sink into her acceptance? His hand lingered rebelliously on her knee, steadying her, catching her shiver. She waited for him. For what happened next. A rush of something new flooded through his chest and up the back of his neck and it brought small smile to his lips. He felt oddly…free. “Go on,” he said softly, his voice rough with this new-found feeling. She turned towards his voice, her own filled with uncertainty, “I…” “Touch yourself,” he said, firmly. He watched her wrestle with the instruction, her emotions flickering over her face, one after another. He caught the moment she set her mouth in some inner resolution, and her hand made its fumbling way past the bunched folds of her skirt into the dark shadows between her legs. His arousal had been evolving into some new thing. That golden thread between them glowed brighter than it ever had before, and he just wanted to ride the buzz, the hum of it. This wasn’t about physical release at all. It was the thrill of being really, truly present. With her. Tuned into every breath of the dark-haired creature in front of him. Her hand dipped down, tentative at first, then more confident, those delicate fingers moving in their own, familiar dance. Damn it, he wanted it to be his hand exploring the heat, the slick wetness. To be deep inside, feeling her draw him in. His chest ached from holding his breath, his eyes following the hypnotic motion of her hand. She was breathing deep now, raggedly, her hips rising just slightly off the seat as she stroked herself. God, she was beautiful. “Slow…go slow,” he murmured, pleased when she responded, settling further back into the seat, her earlier bashfulness forgotten, her movements slowing, relaxing, undulating. She gasped softly, her head falling back against the seat, her body shifting restlessly with a new desperation. “Please…” she whimpered. “Please what?” he demanded between heaving breaths, his voice low and choked, held captive by the power she so effortlessly placed in his hands. “I want…” she paused, conflicted, frantic. “My fingers…inside…” she whispered, barely audible. He swallowed the deep groan that threatened to emerge at the thought of filling her up, filling her with himself. Fuck. He gripped the steering wheel and buried his head in his arms, the heat rolling up his body in waves. FUCK. He wanted her so badly. He took a long, shaky breath and forced himself to answer, “Yes, go on...” He watched her out of the corner of his eye, pushing back against his seat when she began to moan softly. Covered his face in his hands when she arched against her seat, whimpering quietly. How much more of this could he stand before he totally lost it? “I’m going to come…” she cried out plaintively. No. For all his desperation he didn’t want this to be over yet. Not so soon. “Not yet. Not until I say…” he growled, cursing under his breath at the sound of her soft, frustrated cries. He turned to face her completely, tucking his leg under him and leaning forward. His eyes drifted down her body, consumed by this vision of her, the picture he’d held in his mind and made into reality. Everything about her was open, exposed for him. Blouse unbuttoned, skirt pushed up, completely bare-ass naked against the leather of the seats, her small hands buried in her wet heat. Her head was thrown back, the pale curve of her throat so close…so tempting. He ached just to taste her. He reached out a hand, sliding it along the delicate line of her jaw before gripped her chin firmly. Her lips parted slightly at his touch, and his thumb strayed, drifting across the velvet softness of her lower lip. He would have that at least. The feel of her wet tongue against his skin. He pushed against her lips gently, letting his thumb slip in, rubbing back and forth along her lower lip slowly, coaxing, requesting entry. She opened under his caress, drawing him into her mouth, sucking gently, then insistently, her warm tongue swirling around the soft pad of his thumb and along the ridge of his knuckle. He felt as if the breath was being drawn out of his body as he groaned, lost to everything but the feel of her drawing him deeper, sucking harder. Oh fuck. “Come…” he growled, his voice low. He felt her moan softly against his hand. “Come for me…now,” he said, stronger this time. It was like he’d set off a blazing firecracker, her body arching towards him, into the knowing touch of her own fingers, pressing into herself as it hit her in waves. He could only absorb it, amazed at the bucking, sensuous creature underneath him. Her cries tugged at him, wrenched his desire to breaking point. Unable to hold himself back any longer, he lunged towards her, burying his face against her thigh, his cheek pressed against the backs of her trembling hands, his teeth nipping her smooth flesh. He bit down, hard. The light consumed him, surrounded him. He drowned himself in her warmth until he knew…knew he had to drag himself back before he couldn’t anymore. “Good girl,” he whispered, gasping for breath against her damp skin. Good girl. * * * * * The leaves in the trees overhead jostled together in a quiet hiss as the night breeze flooded past them and gusted through the open window. The blood still rushed and pounded in his ears and his chest ached. He felt as if he were experiencing some state of physical shock. He tried to go over in his mind what had just happened, but it was all a bit of a blur. So much for just taking her out for a ride and a chat. He dropped his arm from where he’d been pressing it against his closed eyes. She’d gone pretty quiet. Part of him hardly dared look at her. She most certainly must be heading swiftly towards regret by now. A glance towards the passenger seat confirmed his suspicions that he was a world-class prick. She was huddled against the far door, hands still between her legs, but now it seemed in a much-too-late attempt at modesty. The cool air pouring in the window finally registered at around the same time he saw her begin to shiver. Fuck, she must be freezing. The window rolled up while he switched all the dials to heat. She visibly flinched the moment he twisted the key in the ignition. Shit. He only wanted to warm her up. She was shutting off from him again, he could tell, and that part of him that still basked in the memory of the golden glow of light from their closeness searched desperately for a way to claw that feeling back to him. He reached out a tentative hand to her shoulder, letting his fingers gently drift along her neck. But her shoulders hunched as she shied away from him. Fuck. Had what he asked from her been so reprehensible that she couldn’t even bear his touch? She’d been willing in the moment, hadn’t she? He persevered, allowing his hand to rest on the nape of her neck, relieved when her shoulders gradually relaxed under his touch. So she wasn’t entirely repulsed. Just scared shitless of him. Great. His thumb moved of its own volition, finding that soft place along her neck as if drawn there magnetically. He regarded her silently, studying the set of her mouth, the angle of her head. So beautiful. He leaned in nearer, only just holding himself back from burying his face in her hair. “You please me very much,” he whispered without even thinking, the truth of it surprising him. He pulled back, gauging her reaction, but she barely moved, staring ahead. Shit. What must she be thinking? He didn’t dare ask, and an old feeling that had been steadily creeping up on him now settled around him like a leaden blanket. Self-disgust. The small scratching, itching voice in the back of his head that told him in unequivocal terms that he was a bastard. He sat further back, barely able to look at her, memories bubbling up unbidden. Jenny, wallflower Jenny. Jenny, in the back seat of his Dad’s old Ford Consul, reproachful tears trembling in her big blue eyes as she jerked her clothes back into place. Those eyes accusing him of going too far, too fast. His rising confusion at how all those yes’s could actually mean no. Her unspoken condemnation, that he was too crass, too rough. The soft slam of the car door after the painfully silent drive home. He shook his head, trying to clear the old anguish that threatened to seep up through the steadily appearing cracks in his defences. He stared hard at the dark-haired creature next to him, taking in her dishevelled clothes, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and gave into hopelessness. “You can cover yourself now,” he muttered, with difficulty. He dropped his hand from her neck, allowing the hardness, the coldness to slam shut over top of his old wounds. * * * * * They drove, the only sound the rumble of the engine, the wheels on the road. She hadn’t made any move to take the blindfold off, and he hadn’t done anything about it either. He wasn’t sure he could stand to have her look at him. To see whatever must surely be in her eyes. He couldn’t face that right now. He slowed, tugging the scrap of paper out of his pocket to check it against the street name, then the house numbers. Yes, being the gentleman he was, he’d found his way into passworded Human Resources files on the shared server at work and nicked her information before he’d left. Address. Middle name. Jane. Stephanie Jane. She had a mild nut allergy. She earned way too little. But that was pretty obvious from the neighbourhood they were driving through. The useless facts floated around in his head. A sad attempt to distract himself from the fact she hadn’t uttered a word. Hadn’t made a sound. He spotted the right house number and pulled gently to the curb, watching her silently before leaning across and popping her door open. Sensing that they’d stopped, she was feeling around her for her handbag, tugging again at her clothes to make sure she was decent. Then she just pushed the door open and stepped out, a little unsteadily, he thought. She let the door close with a soft thump, and he was locked into his own silence. In the darkness he saw her hand go up, then drop back to her side, clutching his tie. He watched, his mind deliberately set to blankness, as she made her way up the front steps of the old row house and in through the front door. Was he waiting for her to turn back? To run back into his arms? To come back and slap him? But she hadn’t. She’d just shut the door behind her without a backward glance, and he was left sitting in the dark of his car, with his thoughts his only company. He went to put the car into reverse, and noticed the flash of white on the edge of his seat. Her white, lacy underwear. She’d left it behind. The pale fabric shone out brightly in the shadows as if to mock him. He carefully rolled them up and stuffed them into his pocket, trying to ignore the inexplicable tightness in his chest. * * * * * He ran, relentless, ignoring his usual programme. This wasn’t about fitness, this was pure, full-on venting. The arousal hadn’t entirely gone, lingering like a red haze in the corners of his mind. But it wasn’t just sexual frustration that had him at a flat-out sprint, the slap of his feet on the treadmill the only sound echoing through the deserted gym. Even he knew it was just a desperate attempt to outrun the ghosts and to distance himself from…himself. * * * * * Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 02 He woke up angry. It had roiled around in his stomach all night as he fought for sleep. It took him much of his morning run to sort out why. After all, it’s not as if she’d done anything wrong. Was he just mad at himself? But he couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter what he did, and with whom, women had a way of making him feel like shit. Love them and leave them, and you feel used. Like some sort of discarded plaything. Take them seriously, and they point their accusing, heartbroken eyes at you as if you’re some sort of monster. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. By the time he hit the shower, his way forward had crystallised in his mind. It was time, high time, that he took what he wanted. If Stephanie wanted to get herself involved with something over her head, he could only say she’d had fair warning. He hadn’t forced her into anything the previous night, had he? She could have backed out at any point. Whatever regret she felt afterwards wasn’t going to be his problem. She turned him on, that was for certain. Did he want to take it further? Take her to bed and screw her four ways to Sunday, most definitely. But he was all done with laying his heart out there and letting it be stomped on. He paused as he knotted his tie and considered his reflection in the mirror. He didn’t quite know what women saw in men in terms of attractiveness, but he was accustomed to being regarded at such. And he was fit. She would get a fair deal out of it, and he wasn’t a half-bad lover. But that would be it. So if it was going to be sex, then sex it would be. That, he could prepare for. * * * * * “You should get a scanned copy of the results through to your email within a few days, sir.” “Thanks,” Jarod said, nodding to the receptionist as he took the receipt and business card she handed him. “And you’re sure about leaving the other appointment unspecific on dates?” “Yes, that’s right. If she calls in, she can book a time the suits her.” “Okay, not a problem,” she said, tapping away at her keyboard before giving him a quick, professional, we’re-done-here smile. Jarod stepped down to the pavement in front of the discreet Harley Street clinic, glad to have that stage of his preparations complete. Even if he was just going to approach the situation with Stephanie as an itch he needed to work through his system, he wasn’t about to be irresponsible. He’d been rash when he was younger, and while he didn’t think he’d picked up anything nasty along the way he had to be completely sure. * * * * * “I thought you said you were nearly there with a fix?” Jarod took a deep, slow breath, levelling his gaze at his managing director, who was searching his desk for something to clean his glasses with. “I am…we are. But the only team who’ve done this sort of work before are based in the US.” “So? Can’t you tell them what you need and they send it all over?” Jarod ran his fingers through his hair, knowing this was a long-shot, hoping against hopes that Richard would allow him to stretch the budget just a little further. “It’s not that simple. I need to be there, on-site to oversee the work.” “You seriously want to spend the next week in Detroit?” Richard finished polishing his glasses with the edge of his jumper, placed them carefully on his nose before staring at Jarod over the top of them. No, actually, he didn’t. Michigan wasn’t exactly his idea of a fun holiday destination, but it was where the expertise was. “It’ll get the job done, Richard, I promise you.” * * * * * Jarod stared out at the silvery wisps of clouds that glowed in the moonlight. Somewhere much further below, the same moonlight scattered into a million flickering reflections on the surface of the Atlantic. Even in business class, there was nothing about flying that could induce him to sleep on an airplane. The last few days had gone well. It hadn’t been a week in the end; three days and they’d had the necessary code and transports in place and the bug fixing would continue on, but that could be done from his office back home. He’d not had much time to himself between the long hours in the office with the technology team and keeping up with his own team in the early mornings. He welcomed the distraction from other thoughts. He’d gotten the sexual health test results through to his personal email that morning. Not entirely surprised, but certainly relieved that he hadn’t picked up anything nasty from his previous encounters. If you could call them that. He didn’t even want to count how long it had been. But it was the only explanation he was allowing himself for having broken his own rules and gotten involved with her. They would have sex, he would get it out of his system and he’d move on. Get back to his work. Deliver a few projects on time for once. He switched the overhead light off, and settled back into the seat as it reclined, pressing the play button on his MP3 player. If he couldn’t sleep on the long flight back, he’d at least rest. As he closed his eyes, the warble that flowed through the ear buds was not the playlist he’d envisioned. “…don’t you know you fool…you never can win, use your mentality, wake up to reality…” He bolted upright, cursing whatever gremlin had infiltrated his music with Frank-fucking-Sinatra. Frank got in one more crooning, “I’ve got you…under my skin…” before Jarod’s fumbling forced the player onto the next track. Under my skin, huh? Not for long, he mused, relaxing once more. * * * * * He slept most of the next day, getting up only long enough to check his email and make sure his team were up to speed on the test scripts. The sleep was dreamless and deep, but he kept waking up with a heavy sick feeling in his head. Jet lag was like the worst kind of hangover. It was dark by the time he felt alive enough to venture out of the flat. Despite his fatigue there was a task he needed to accomplish. It had already been a week and he hadn’t contacted her. She hadn’t contacted him either, but that was besides the point. If she wasn’t interested she could just ignore his offer. Rush hour had petered out long ago, and the drive to the office didn’t take him long. He headed up past the security guard, exchanged their usual nods, and made his way to his office to drop off his laptop. He sat for some time, staring at the envelope. Inside it was a printed copy of his sexual health report along with a card from the clinic. On the back of the card he’d just scrawled, ‘You have an appointment here, just call them and tell them when. Up to you. It’s all paid for.’ Some part of him winced at how impersonal it sounded. Felt. Was. Had he really become that callous? So now he was destined to arrange sexual trysts by text and screen his candidates beforehand? But how else could it be? What other option did he have? He rose wearily from his chair, sealing the envelope before carefully writing her name on the front. Stephanie. Unbidden, a vision of her, moaning against his hand, writhing in orgasm underneath him. Stifling a groan at the sudden tightening in his groin, he made his way to her deserted desk with a fresh sense of purpose. It was time to exorcise this particular demon. No matter if she looked like a goddamn angel. * * * * * He lay in bed, heavy with exhaustion but unable to sleep. Part of his mind still sat alongside that damned envelope, tucked into her ridiculously tidy desk drawer. And with it, he waited…and couldn’t wait. The week that had seemed to pass so quickly, full of meetings, cab rides and baggage carousels. Now it felt as if an eternity had elapsed since he’d last filled his lungs with the soft scent of flowers, and her. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand the wait for her to find damned the envelope in her desk. Fuck it. Switching on his bedside lamp, he grabbed his mobile, tapping his finger against it in impatience as it started up. Try to say something sensible, he warned himself, acutely aware that his new-found resolve, his ability to keep his distance, was under serious threat. ‘There’s something for you-’ he began. But his fingers were ahead of him and he’d already hit ‘send’ by accident. Shit. He began a new message and finished what he’d meant to say, ‘…Inside your desk at work.’ Fantastic. You couldn’t even send a text without fucking it up? He slumped down into his pillow, pushing his fingers through his hair in frustration as his restlessness remained undiminished. Was she asleep already? Had she given up after not hearing from him for an entire week? She may not even know he’d been away. He wanted…no, needed some response. He needed to know… ‘Are you okay?’ He stared at the text cursor, blinking at him silently. Unable to tell him if he was making a fatal mistake. A step too close to actually giving a shit? His thumb found the ‘send’ button anyway. He rolled out of bed, pacing the room, staring back at the phone. It sat, still and silent on the bedside table. Was she even there? He thought hard about their last moments together in the car. Had he got this all wrong? What if she wasn’t even interested anymore? What if it wasn’t just regret she’d been feeling, or embarrassment, but genuine dislike? He was reaching for the off switch of his bedside lamp when his phone chirped softly. He stared at it, unmoving, his stomach doing a slow flip. Maybe it was the team in the US. But no, it was even too late for them to still be at the office. So it had to be her. He flicked open the text. ‘Fine. You?’ The first rush of excitement dulled to a low throb at the curtness of the words. It was far from a joyous welcome. But what did he expect? It’s not as if he’d called. He pondered his reply. Maybe if she knew he’d been away she wouldn’t be quite so prickly. ‘Tired. Lagged as hell,’ he replied. What was this? Small-talk? It didn’t escape his notice that this was probably the longest so-called ‘normal’ conversation they’d ever had. His mind drifted back to the blunt, clinical proposal he’d left for her in that envelope. No, nothing here was quite normal. The phone sounded again, catching him off-guard. ‘Where were you?’ A tendril of triumph began to twist its way up through the uncertainty. Ah, so she did care. Maybe he hadn’t made an irrevocable mess of it after all. Though there was certainly still time for that. He aimed for something, anything, to spark off her wonderful defiance. ‘Why, did you miss me?’ He could sense her hesitation, and took the plunge. Is it still there?’ The wait this time was longer. Much longer. He paced. He did a few push-ups before remembering that he was utterly, and completely shattered. He was sprawled on the bed, on the verge of giving up hope when he heard the low, metallic chirp. There was no text. Just a photo. It opened with excruciating slowness on his screen. There was the curve of her thigh, almost entirely in shadow, but the dark crescent of a fading bruise was clearly visible. Shit. It was the darkest one yet. How hard had he bitten her? Flashes of those moments in the car flitted through his mind. He sound of her soft moans and the sweet taste of her skin. But the photo opened still further and he was staring at lace. Not the shining, white virginal cottony kind. Black, damned-sexy, fuck-me lace. Why had he invented this particular brand of torture for himself? Why on earth did he keep asking for something that left his body screaming with need, with no hope of real release? The longer he stared, transfixed, at her smooth, creamy skin against the dark, gossamer whorls of sheer fabric, the more intense grew the waves of heat that steadily washed up and over his body. There was no escaping it. He wanted more. Wanted to see all of her. Wanted to taste all of her, everything. The longer he looked, the more he became entangled in the hypnotic thought of her lying in bed, bare against the sheets dressed in only those dainty lace underthings, purely for him to drag them off of her and sink into the soft, welcoming warmth of her body…and lose himself. Lose himself completely. It was the only response he could think of to send. What else could he say? What else could convey the mess of frustration and lust, the worshipful appreciation of the most erotic thing he’d ever set eyes on? He typed his reply and hit send. ‘Fuck.’ That was all. Then he rolled out of bed to take the first cold shower of his life. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * To be continued… (of course!) Thanks for reading, your votes and comments are much appreciated. Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 03 © 2012 Brunne * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Many thanks to the many readers who voted and left such lovely comments on the chapters so far -- I hope you enjoy this one too. For those of you have read my other story, 'Under My Skin', this is Jarod's side of the story (best to start from Ch 01). - Brunne * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Jarod stared into his dresser drawer, somewhat stunned. Shit. Not to get ahead of himself, but it'd occurred to him that he'd better check on the state of his prophylactic supply, as he had no clue whether she was on birth control or not. Clean bill of health or no, he wasn't in this to become a parent. Did condoms actually expire? Seriously? If the date on the box was anything to go by, they'd gone past the point of no return six months ago. Had it really been that long? No wonder he was a wreck. Ironically, he found the knowledge somewhat comforting. Being completely unable to control his body's random and inconvenient expressions of pent-up frustration was beginning to wear thin. He'd been in the middle of a budget meeting this morning and failed to haul his mind back from its wanderings into the dangerous territory of bare skin and black lace. Well, more about how he was going to remove the black lace than anything... Thank heavens the CAPEX debate had pushed the meeting overtime or he would have had an embarrassing, sidling, paper-clutching exit of the room to contend with. He hadn't had such spontaneous erections since he was eighteen. Shit. He tossed the useless box into the rubbish, and added condom-purchasing to his list of errands. He had to do something to keep himself occupied. He'd had no word from her since their conversation the previous night. She must have opened the letter by now. He just hoped to hell she was capable of making up her mind quickly, because he wasn't going to last at this rate. The waiting wasn't the only thing on his mind. He'd been experiencing a slight...problem, of late. He couldn't bring himself to masturbate. Ever since the first photo she'd taken he'd been going through crazy periods of arousal. But he'd start to take care of business and just...couldn't. It wasn't a physical thing, at least he hoped not. If he were to be truthful with himself, which he wasn't particularly willing to do at this point, he'd have admit to being scared out of his mind. Because the real reason he couldn't go through with it was that it made him feel...alone. Deeply, painfully alone. His deepest, darkest fear was that somewhere in that thread of glowing light he'd crossed some sort of line. He needed to know he could still exist as an island, with no dependency on anything or anyone. Even as he said it to himself he doubted the wisdom of this, but right along with the spectre of loneliness rose the old pain, seeping up through his mental floorboards. So he'd do this thing, and remain detached and not get involved. It would be purely physical. He focussed his thoughts, and added a silk scarf to the mental checklist. He didn't intend to risk his sanity by drowning in the depths of those wide brown eyes, either. * * * * * Jarod flipped the mouthpiece of his headset up and leaned back in his office chair, his left ear filled with the tinned holding music of yet another endless teleconference call. His eyes felt like they were pickled in their sockets. He flicked his mobile phone on and checked it. Again. It had been three days, and he'd heard nothing. So she was willing to send nearly-nude pics, but was offended by a STD test? The final stages of bug fixing on the project were keeping him thoroughly occupied, but it wasn't exception reporting or data migration his mind wandered to when he had a spare moment. Two days ago he'd banned himself from even opening the photo folder of his phone, and today he was rationing himself the checking of texts to once an hour. "Fuck this..." he growled, thumb punching the new text button. He was getting pissed off now. 'So?' The text glared back at him from the screen. He hit send. * * * * * The insistent buzz against his thigh stopped him midsentence, and the board members just sat there, staring at him expectantly. Fuck. Of all the times for her to reply. Clearing his throat, he backtracked in his notes. He could feel the heat rising to his face. Shit. Was he blushing? "Jarod? Are you alright?" queried a bespectacled Richard, staring at him hard over the tops of the gold frames. Oh, this was only getting better, wasn't it. "Yes, sorry...yes..." he stammered, looking to the glowing presentation screen as if it could somehow save him. With great effort he reoriented himself and pushed on with the briefing, but his mind never entirely left his pocket, or the waiting text. What ensued was the longest meeting he'd ever endured, not daring to even pull the phone out and check it under the cover of the boardroom table in case he found himself comprehensively unemployed. His final escape was to the closest promise of privacy; the stall in the men's toilets. He flipped the seat down gingerly and eased himself down onto the lid, wrestling his phone out of his pocket with a worrying degree of anticipation. He forced himself to stop for a moment before switching it on. You've got to get a grip, man. This is just about sex. Nothing else, right? He took several cleansing breaths and then pressed the button. 'Done. Just waiting for results.' He stared at it dumbly. Done? Already? And here he'd been expecting to just hear if she was done thinking about it...not that she'd gone ahead with it! He ran a hand through his hair and reread it just to be sure. Shit. Shoving the phone back into his pocket he unlocked the stall and wandered over to the sink where he braced his hands against the cool porcelain, staring long and hard at himself in the mirror. What are you up to, Jarod? he asked himself. What game are you playing that you're trying to fool yourself about all this. She's got you, deeper than you like. Much deeper. But there was no point wasting thoughts on that now. The wheels were set in motion, and unless she backed out he was going to do his damnedest to fuck her so long and hard he wouldn't ever feel this sort of need for another person again. The chill in his own thoughts hit him low in the gut. So maybe he was a bastard after all. As if there was anyone to care whether he was or not? * * * * * "So we're fully live on the new platform, then? "As of four AM this morning, sir, yes," Jarod said, trying to keep both the triumph and the relief out of his voice. "Good, good..." Richard muttered absently. Jarod was used to this. The moment a crisis passed, and the man had his mind on the next problem. The good thing was it meant he was off the hook, for now. "I'll bring you the usage stats when we get the last gremlins out of the reporting interface," Jarod added in an attempt to sound helpful. But Richard was well and truly on to the next thought, and only nodded, and said, "Yes...yes..." in reply. Jarod counted himself dismissed and turned to go, his hand on the door handle. "Jarod..." The mixture of concern and question in Richard's voice stopped him short and kicked off a sick churning in the pit of his stomach. What was it now? Images of each heated encounter with Stephanie flashed through his mind, and the churning moved straight into dread at the thought that they'd been found out. "Yes?" He could only bring himself to turn halfway towards Richard, and had to force himself to meet the other man's eyes. "You've not been yourself lately...I hope it's not the work getting to you?" The gaze from the older man was stern. Relief edged Jarod's voice as he realised it was probably his slip in the boardroom that had caught the MD's notice. "No, no...the work is fine." "You're sure?" The eyebrows crept higher as the eyes stared out at him over the gold frames. "Yes, of course." Jarod shifted nervously, shoving his hands into his pockets, the smooth surface of his phone only reminding him more intensely of the dangerous game he was playing. "Good, good," Richard answered, tapping at his chest, "Stress is a killer, you know. You don't want to end up with a bad heart, believe you me," he added, ruefully. "I'll keep that in mind," Jarod said, a stiff smile firmly in place, before escaping out through the door into the corridor. * * * * * It had taken at least an hour for the adrenaline to subside, but even as he buried himself in the error fix reports he couldn't escape a simple fact. People were beginning to notice. It was starting to become obvious that something was up with him. And here he'd been trying to convince himself it was just a case of pent up sexual frustration and the temptation of a pretty girl. When had he ever let his work slip this much? Even then, when had it ever been so obvious that other people...senior managers no less, began to worry? Just the thought of her, and he caught himself flicking his phone on out of reflex and habit. Stephanie. His own, personal, infuriating distraction. Did she have any clue the effect she was having? And what if she did? What did that make her? But his thoughts were put on hold as he stared at the little envelope icon blinking up at him from the screen. When had that come in? Why the hell hadn't he heard it? 'All clear. I can bring the letter with me.' He read the words over several times. But of course she was all clear. He hadn't really doubted that for a second, but the implication of the message sent a wave of heat up through his body and out to his extremities before rolling back down to his groin. There was nothing stopping them now. Nothing standing in the way of going through with what he'd promised himself. He'd have her, satisfy this damned restlessness, and then he'd move on. By tomorrow morning the torture could be over and he'd be...himself, again. It was the only reason he'd accept to explain the tendrils of thrumming excitement that started up at the thought of her. That and the fact his breathing had just sped up of its own accord. He couldn't wait any longer to have her. 'Tonight?' was his reply, a slight tremor in his fingers, every nerve in his body conscious that she was sat just across the office, with only several desks and his door separating them and no one else the wiser of what he had planned. But where? He thought back to their interlude out by the park. No, nothing like that this time. This time he would have her in private and in bed. His bed. The unsolicited image which presented itself at the thought had him shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Fuck. He pondered the wisdom of his hasty plan for some moments. Did he really want to bring her back to his flat? His mind drifted back to the swathe of black, blinding silk that lay, folded neatly, next to a certain pair of white lacy underwear in his top dresser drawer. He wasn't planning to let her see anything anyway. Why didn't he just extend that so she didn't know where she was going either? Decision made, he typed the words, 'Bring sunglasses. Dark ones.' He could make a run back to the apartment at lunchtime. He sure as hell wanted to make sure there were clean sheets on the bed. * * * * * For the third time he caught his leg drumming in a nervous twitch against the car door. He'd long ago failed to find something to do with his hands, and finally just let his fingers drum along with his jittery knee. It was four-thirty when he'd given up all pretence of working and made his way down to the carpark to wait for her. And waiting, sitting, stewing...had been a spectacularly dumb idea, as it just drew the torture out and made it and even more excruciating. He checked the glowing numbers on the console clock again. Five minutes after five. She was due anytime if she didn't get held up. He checked his phone compulsively, but there wasn't anything new from her in his inbox. The question that had been plaguing him grew ever larger and louder in his mind; would she come? At this point he was wound so tight with anticipation he wasn't sure what he'd do if she didn't. For that matter, he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do if she did. The familiar click of the basement door echoing through the cavernous space broke into his thoughts, and craning his neck, he spotted her. Head high, but walking with those short quick steps of hers. It was her walk that always gave her away. He turned the key just enough to get the lights working so she'd see which car it was. As if she'd miss it. It was the only one with a pathetic pervert of a man sitting in it. Lying in wait. He knew it wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't entirely not true either. Firmly pushing down the surge of self-loathing, he reached across and opened the passenger door for her. She slid into the seat quickly without even turning her eyes in his direction. She wore her hair down and it fell in soft, dark waves, just as it had when he'd first seen her. As she felt for the seatbelt it swung forward and hid her face, the tension in her clear as day in the way she held her shoulders and continued to stare at her knees. Fuck, not this again. If she felt this way, why would she do this to herself? Despite himself he felt the urge to reach out, brush her hair back and smooth away the anxious furrows he was sure sat between the curved sweep of those pretty eyebrows. "You okay?" he asked, the genuine concern in his voice surprising even him. Where had the hardened, take-no-prisoners Jarod gone to? Was he to fall at the first hurdle? She turned at his voice, and he found himself slipping, senseless, into the wide open promise in her eyes. Blood rushed in his ears; the rest of the world vanished. Danger! his logic warned, battling with him to break this connection that threatened all sorts of long-held hurts. He dragged himself away, but it was a quicksand he walked through, only broken when she spoke. "I...I brought the paper," she said, her voice hesitant but firmer than he'd imagined it would be. How little he'd heard her speak. How much more he wanted to hear. The soft tones tugged at threads deep down. He snapped himself back. The letter. He blinked. "Do you want me to read it?" He wondered what difference it would make, but was keenly aware that it meant something to her. It was as if she needed to prove something to him. That she could be trusted? Why did she want his trust? Why would she want his trust? He took the folded paper she thrust towards him and opened it, but his eyes just skimmed the surface, his mind on other things. On the next thing. On the first, deep, flower-scented breath he was drawing in. It had been too long. The need in him expanded and grew until it towered over everything. "Did you bring your sunglasses?" he asked, steady, neutral, on the verge of slipping over. She nodded as her hand groped inside her bag and emerged holding them. She waited for his next words. It wasn't just that she didn't speak. She waited. Didn't assume. It was driving him nuts. How could someone just wait, and not impose in any way what they wanted? It was a foreign feeling, and stirred up the things that frightened him. It gave him too much space. Too much space he could expand into and stretch into until he blotted everything else out. Some other part of him spoke. "Put them on. Close your eyes, and keep them closed." He watched her, saw the eyebrows rise ever so slightly as she began to comprehend. Noted how her lips parted just a little. For now, this was her blindfold. A blindfold that no one else could see but her. He could take her anywhere. Ask her to do anything. And she just might. The waiting in her told him so. The truth was, he'd brought something too. The black silk scarf was burning a hole in his pocket, but he couldn't put that on her now, not in broad daylight. But as soon as they reached his apartment... Feeling himself slipping too close to the edge of something he didn't understand, but feared, he turned his focus to the car. To the hard edges of the keys in his hand, the flash of lights and the steady hum of the engine. * * * * * He blinked, hard, trying to focus as the rush-hour traffic ebbed and surged around them. If he didn't concentrate on driving, he'd just be staring at her trying to imagine her without her clothes. Because that's what grown men do when they're reduced to the mentality of a hormonal teenager with their first real live girlfriend. He gripped the gear shift a little tighter and grimaced. She was just so damned close. And they just drove along in excruciating, endless silence. Why didn't she say anything? With a relief bordering on desperation, Jarod made the final turn into his street and took the ramp down into the condominium carpark. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her brace herself against the dashboard, her skirt riding up as she slid forward in the seat, baring smooth, deliciously rounded knees. Good lord. They weren't even inside apartment and his dick was about to explode. He tore his eyes away just in time to avoid losing half the paint on the car to the unyielding curve of the ramp wall. There was an edge. Like a cliff with a dark void beyond, and he felt as if he was being drawn to it, inexorably, inevitably, dragged towards that edge. He tried at every turn to dig his heels in and resist, but it pulled at him mightily, and he was no match. The familiar feeling of sliding the car into its parking spot calmed him momentarily and his hands went through the unconscious motions of switching off the ignition and pulling out the keys. He sat, breathing deep, clenching the keys in his fist tight enough for the metal to bite into his hand. The pain helped him centre. Kept him from reaching across the short distance to where her skirt rode ever higher up her thigh. He was up and out of the car in a single movement, leaning back on the car door for support as he shut it. Where was his detachment? Where was his usual skill at simply charming a woman into bed before charming his way back out again? Something had a chokehold on him, and he had to fight the tightness in his chest with every breath. Breathe, Jarod. Fuck. He walked around the back of the car, steadying himself as he went, using it as a chance to draw in a few extra breaths before he walked back into the intoxicating flower-filled air that surrounded his silent passenger. Fortifying himself, he pulled on the door handle to release her. Her hand reached out blindly, and he caught it in his own as she probed the air, first with one foot then the other before finding the ground beneath her. Her hand felt so small in his, delicate as a bird's wing, those fingertips brushing lightly against his wrist. It struck him again, the contradiction, in him. In her. That he wanted to take so brutally something which felt so fragile, but at the same time, so strong. Stronger than him, even. How could that be? Once he got her standing and the door closed, he moved his grip to the relative safety of her elbow. Now he just had to get her into the apartment without screwing the whole thing up. He peered down behind the sunglasses as best he could, satisfying himself that she'd kept her eyes closed. Between her eyebrows her forehead pinched with effort as she did her best to keep her eyelids tightly shut, and her sheer earnestness to do as he asked stripped away something raw in him. Determined, he pushed the feeling away and propelled her across the carpark to the exit. The lift took a mercifully short time to appear, but as he got her angled close to the wall and the handrail, the bloody thing dinged again and opened on the ground floor. Shit. He tried to calm his breathing and gripped her arm a little tighter as a white-haired couple shuffled in and pressed the button for the floor above his. He nodded to them, making the usual brief, polite eye contact and murmured greeting that is lift etiquette, ignoring the clench of anxiety that seized his stomach. What? he asked himself. What difference does it make? But his paranoia only deepened, and he became increasingly certain that the lavender-permed woman was staring at him suspiciously from where she stood clutching the arm of her slope-shouldered husband. With huge relief he greeted the opening of the lift doors, and mumbled the appropriate good nights, ushering Stephanie into the hallway. Shit. What did it matter what anyone thought anyway? It's not as if he'd get pulled up at the condominium meeting for being seen in the lift with a woman. Then why did he feel so damned guilty? Maybe it had something to do with all the things his contorted mind kept thinking of doing to the dark-haired girl he was steering to his evil lair. Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 03 After the seeming endlessness of the corridor he stopped them in front of his apartment. He needed both hands to open the door, so he snagged one of her wrists and helped her find the wall to steady herself. She just stood there, swaying slightly, sightless behind her glasses. Any other woman would have peeked by now. It infuriated him not knowing why she didn't. Why she was different. He wrestled with the lock and then, finally, the door was open and he was guiding her inside, his hand on the gentle curve of her lower back. His relief was short-lived, however, as he closed the door and leaned back against it. After all his imaginings, all his fantasising. After all his obsessing, the object of his mania was here. Standing in his front hallway. And she was reaching up to take off the glasses...fuck! He stepped forward with a swiftness that surprised even him and had both her arms pinned behind her back before she could protest. The sudden contact with her skin sent him spiralling off, only intensified by the closeness of the dark gleam of her hair. He wanted so much just to bury his face in it, breathe her in. Drown in her warmth. But he resisted. "Eyes closed," he said his voice low and choked. He had to get the blindfold on her, and quick. He held her a few seconds longer, hoping she understood, and then let her go, his hand digging into his pocket for the black silk. It was warm in his hand, fluid and flowing. "Glasses off...eyes closed," he warned her. He stood as close behind her as he dared, watching her hesitancy as she took off the sunglasses, her blind fumbling as she tucked them back into her handbag. As soon as she dropped her hands to her sides he reached up, brushing the smooth fabric along her cheek in a slow caress. He wanted her to know that he was taking her sight. That he had control, and that she would do as he asked. Even as he thought these things he knew she would wait. And that somehow, no matter what he did, he wasn't actually in control of where this whole thing was headed. The cliff edge was still there, with the dark void beyond, and the pull was ever stronger. Before he could change his mind he wrapped the black fabric carefully around her eyes and worked it into a firm knot at the back of her head. His fingers lingered, tempted by the warm silk of her hair. Not yet. He stepped back. She would wait. He moved toward her, then paced away again, hands on his hips, conflicted, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. Fucking hell. In the end he stalked off down the hallway and into his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt in quick, jerky movements, tugging it out of his waistband. His hands paused on his cuff buttons. Was this the seduction he'd envisioned? Undressing in separate rooms? She was still standing out in the front hall with her shoes on for fuck's sake. He tossed the shirt onto the laundry hamper and strode back down the hall, stopping short when he saw her. Other than dropping her handbag to the floor at her feet, she hadn't moved. Pushing his hands through his hair he made himself walk past her and through into the living room. The days were getting shorter, but it was still light out, the shadows of taller buildings long over the rooftops. Behind him stood a blindfolded girl, ready to do anything. He stared out into the fading light, feeling blind himself. What the fuck did he think he was playing at? But the madness had taken hold too long ago, and it was back to toy with him. He knew what he wanted her to do. He reached for the switch that closed the window blinds. This was going to be just for him. As he approached, her head turned slightly towards him, searching for sounds, trying to follow his movements. He took a long look, letting his eyes drift down from the slash of black across her face, down to the plain tailored blouse, the dark pencil skirt. Those fucking sensible shoes. He didn't want any of that. What he ached for was underneath. Beneath the civility, the formality, under the skin and wild and dark. He stepped closer, within touching distance. But still, he restrained himself. "Undress." Her eyebrows lifted and her lips parted, but she didn't move. She needed to be moved. Her wrist slipped so easily into his hand, and the barest of twitches had her chin rising in anticipation of the sting of a twist he threatened, but didn't deliver. "Everything...undress," he repeated, the scent of her starting to cloud his thoughts, his head drifting down, his lips homing in on the place just below her ear. So close... God. He dropped her wrist and dragged himself away, stepping backwards until the backs of his knees found his leather reading chair. He sat, his eyes never leaving her as she took one hesitant sidestep, and then another, her shoes discarded and her feet bare against his floorboards. Her fingers moved hesitantly at first, slowly releasing the top buttons of her blouse one by one. He could see her take a deep breath as that determination of hers settled into the way she held her mouth and drew back her shoulders, and it wasn't long before the shirt was open and she was letting it slip down her arms onto the floor. She just stood there, in her bra and skirt, her cheeks flushed, her chest heaving with every breath. Those beautiful breasts, rising and falling, the black lace hugging her curves. He watched, as if drugged, unable to look away, ashamed to be the one demanding she expose herself this way, at the same time desperately needing her to go on. He wanted to see everything. Her skirt was the next to go, and he had to shift in his seat as her black lace underwear came into view, stark against the paleness of her skin. How many times had his dreams been filled with the sweet curve of those thighs? He stifled a groan as the image of them wrapped around his waist filled his mind and had to press his hands against his eyes to regain any semblance of control. When he looked back up at her, the straps of her bra were draped around her upper arms and she had her hands behind her back, working at the hooks. Her movements only thrust her breasts further forward, and he was steady losing the battle to keep his distance. When she finally dropped the garment onto the puddle of clothes on the floor he couldn't hold himself back any longer and in several short strides he was standing within inches of her. He stared down at her, his eyes drifting from the tense line of her mouth to where her nipples puckered slightly in the cool air. They were the same deep, dusky pink as her lips, and they begged to be touched, licked, sucked. Her breasts were just as he'd imagined them, the perfect size and shape to just fill his hands, and though his body begged him to do it, he waited. She wasn't done yet. She toyed with the waistband of her panties, the indecision clear on her face even with the blindfold. He circled around her, his feet silent on the hard floor, until he stood at her back, breathing in the scent of her. "Go on..." he said. And she did. She pushed them down and stepped out from the pool of clothes and stood with her back to him, naked as the day she was born. He could only stare, his eyes consuming every curve and line of her. Just the slender hollows along her shoulder blades entranced him. Everything cried out to be touched and tasted... He stepped around the discarded clothes and moved to stand in front of her, mesmerised by the flush on her pale skin, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath. By the way she so freely gave herself, to him. So he would take her, then. She clearly wanted him to. He reached for her elbows, encircling her arms with his hands before letting his grip slowly slide down to capture her wrists. Pulling her hands together behind her arched her back, and the beautiful softness of her breasts made contact with the bare skin of his chest. Oh shit. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move. But she jerked back from him, away from the contact, and he quickly regained his senses, trapping her against him with a knee pushed roughly between hers. She wasn't getting away from him that easy. He turned her, pressing her against the nearest wall, shifting his grip and dragging her imprisoned hands up the wall to shoulder height. He expected a struggle. For her to cry out. But she only sighed softy and arched her hips up against him. Fuck! He swallowed a groan, the raging need in his groin nearly ending the game right then and there. He managed to drag himself away, his body screaming, but his thoughts clear. Not yet. "Stay still," he growled, and she instantly stilled her movements. She might be physically naked, but he just knew...knew that he needed to strip her back further if he was to truly have her. He let the madness take a lead. "Tell me...are you wet?" He watched the emotions shift on her face. This wasn't what she'd expected. Good. She finally decided to reply, and nodded, not speaking. He hadn't needed to ask to know the answer. Even in the shadows of the hallway he could see the gleam of moisture on her thighs. He could feel the dampness on his trousers. It was driving him crazy, but he held himself in check. "Did you think I was going to fuck you tonight?" He saw her flinch this time, as if he'd slapped her, her eyebrows moving into a frown, her lips opening wordlessly. He wondered at his own cruelty, the harshness in his voice, but it was the only way. Then she spoke for the first time, her voice full of confusion, uncertainty, hurt. "Maybe...I don't know-" She pulled a little against his hands. Keeping a firm grip on her wrists he dropped his head, his mouth inches from her upturned nipples. "How many guys have you been with...fucked?" He punctuated the last word by taking a nipple between his teeth and biting gently, feeling a dark thrill go through him when she cried out in shocked surprise. He watched her breasts rising and falling with each rapid breath, watched the struggle going on inside her. He reached for her other nipple and bit down, hard. This time she squealed, but she also spoke, her voice a low whimper. "I don't know...two...three maybe?" Two...or three? "You don't know?" he asked her, incredulous. How could she not know? She turned her face away, the flush in her cheeks deepening. "I don't really know what...counts," she muttered. Mind racing and fighting what could only be panic at the thought of how inexperienced she seemed, he blinked, trying to think clearly. "Okay, how many did you have full sexual intercourse with?" That had to be a pretty straight-forward question to answer, right? "Two." Okay, "And lover number three?" he queried, breathing deep, not sure he really wanted to know. Had she been raped? The thought filled him with a sick dread. "We just did some things...it was in highschool..." He caught himself pressing harder on her wrists as a mixture of relief and jealousy twisted through him. "What, you gave him a blowjob?" God, he sounded like such a prick. "Maybe," she breathed, then added after the encouragement of a sharp nudge on her wrists, "Yes...yes. Okay?" How could he be feeling jealous of her teenage fumblings? He could just see the guy now, inept, scrawny, pimple-faced...he wanted to kill him. Seriously, Jarod? Get a grip. But that need to mark her was growing again. To tell the world to fuck off, and that she was his. His mouth drifted to that soft place below her ear, his teeth just scraping against her skin. God, she smelled so good. What he couldn't ignore was that with every humiliating question, she was opening further to him. He could feel her arousal building, and while he was fuelling the exchange, it was her that drove him further, deeper. He pushed on. "And with the other boys..." Ha. They didn't warrant being called men. "What did you do with them?" he asked her. "We just did...missionary mostly," she said between ragged breaths, embarrassed. He dropped his head further, unable to keep himself away from the enticing curve of her breasts. He let his teeth skim along the skin, triumphant at the sound of her swallowed whimper and the push of her hips. He rose up to face her, his mouth in line with hers. So close to that gorgeous mouth, those lips. He could feel her soft breath. If only he leaned forward, he would be kissing her... "Were they any good?" he asked instead, his voice rough with the effort it took to hold himself back. "They were fucking awful," she gasped, and to his surprise he found himself smiling. Smiling at her honesty, at her candour. In the confidence that he could do better. The desire to be a real man for her came flooding up out of nowhere and choked his breathing for a few seconds. Fuck. She wanted him to kiss her, he could tell. The parted lips told him, the way she searched for him in her blindness. He couldn't give her that. Not yet. He released one of her wrists from where he'd pressed it against the wall, and guided it instead to settle gently against his bare chest. Her fingers moved against his skin, tentative at first, then growing in confidence. The slow explosion of desire began in his lower belly and raced, electric through his body. To have her touch him...fuck, it was like nothing else. It seemed it was pretty good for her too, because she surprised him again with a little whimpering moan as she smoothed her hands over the muscles of his chest. He couldn't help but chuckle at the expression of sheer lustful enjoyment on her face. The madness he thought was receding only came back stronger, but different this time. Not so much raging and sharp, but slow and warm. He was beginning to enjoy this. Pushing her further and deeper. With some regret he peeled her hand away from his chest and returned it to its captivity against the wall next to her head. One question he most definitely wanted an answer to bubbled to the surface. "Did any of them make you come?" To ensure her answer, he dipped his head back to her erect little nipples and tugged gently at one of them with his teeth. He felt her melt under his hands, and it was some moments before she found her voice to speak. "No...no." Her answer filled him with a mix of perverse pleasure...that he could go where other's hadn't, and a rising anger, one borne from old wounds, old scars. "So you faked it," he said, punishing with an even harder bite on her other nipple, deaf to her cry. "Yes..." was her answer. "I don't tolerate lying," he said through gritted teeth. There it was. That damned dishonesty. Why couldn't women be truthful? Why did they hide behind lies? And then she had the audacity...to smile. "What, you think that's funny?" "No!" she protested, "No...that's not why...I would never lie to you." Oh but she had. It had taken literally twisting her arm to just admit a small thing like how often she pleasured herself! "You did once...why should I trust you?" he demanded. She didn't answer. He could see her jaw clench. Through the red heat of his anger he knew he'd gotten through. He needed her to take this seriously. No more lies, no more bullshit. It was all or nothing, or he was out. "Promise me. Total honesty." "Yes..." "Say it!" "I promise...I will never lie to you." He watched her face, read the tone of her voice. Damn it but she meant it. He stepped back, letting go of her wrists, allowing her hands to drop back down to her sides. For a moment he just stood, watching the steady flicker of pulse at her throat. His anger gone, desire, pure and simple hunger took its place. He leaned in again, bracing his arms on the wall either side of her, just keeping his body back from her nakedness by a hair, dropping his head down next to hers. He swallowed, the memory of her writhing in the front seat of his car still fresh as if it had happened yesterday. "When did you last come?" He heard her drawn-in a breath. "Two nights ago..." she whispered. He tried to ignore the way his cock twitched at the thought of her filling herself with those dainty fingers of hers. Fuck. And even though he suspected he knew the answer to the question, he wanted to hear the answer. "What did you think about?" She was gasping quietly. He was having trouble finding air himself. The whole world was made of heat, and they were at the centre of it... "You." Fuck. God. The fire in his groin was getting very difficult to ignore. But still he pushed her...both of them...further. "Me what?" Her words came out in the softest whisper, and he had to lean even closer to hear her answer. "You...fucking me." With a grunt he had her pinned to the wall, with his whole body this time, grinding his aching erection against the yielding softness of her belly. She made soft noises, her body wriggling against his, and not in complaint either. He pulled his head back to read her expression only to find a little smile on her face. "Oh, you like that, huh?" he asked, pushing harder against her with his hips, letting her feel the length of him, the hardness that she caused with her little words. "Yes," she answered, without hesitation. "And does it compare?" he asked, the devil getting to him, but wanting to hear her say it. "To your previous lovers?" A hesitation this time, as she wrestled with her thoughts. Fought against his goading words. "Yes..." It was his turn to smile. "Yes what?" he asked, turning his attention to the delicate round of earlobe so close to his lips. He nipped it lightly, felt her sharp breath, the nuzzled lower on her neck, teasing her, tempting her with the threat of his bite on her skin. "Yes, you are...larger, if that's what you mean," she breathed next to his ear. Why on earth had he asked her to admit that? He didn't think she'd lie about it just to please him, but did he need an ego boost so badly he'd make her say it? He pushed away from the wall and took a few steps back, leaning on the opposite wall of the entranceway, just taking her in. So what next? He knew what he wanted to do. But even with that cliff-edge and the dark beyond it calling to him, something held him back from just taking what he wanted. Just do it, get on with it and get it out of your system for good, he urged himself. He closed the distance between them in a stride and had her nipple between his teeth before he could change his mind. The firm, soft nub begged to be tasted, and he flicked his tongue against it experimentally. Her reaction was instantaneous, and as he switched to gently suckling the sensitive peak he had to catch her and hold her up against the wall just to keep her from buckling beneath him. But his main concern was the taste of her, the velvety feel of her skin. It had been too long since he'd felt it, and this was smoother, more delicate skin than he'd had his mouth on so far. It was intoxicating and created its own hunger, a hunger that began to consume him as he consumed her, and the red haze that sat at the edges of his brain suddenly threatened to engulf him. He dragged himself away, chest heaving, stepping to the other wall to brace himself. Holy fuck, he had not been prepared for that. Naked, helpless, and distressed, she clutched at the wall for support, and it was confirmed to him yet again that he was the world's biggest prick. When her leg turned slightly he could see now what he'd missed before. The bruise was still there, and even just the edge he could see was dark. How the hell had he gotten here? The fire in his belly roiled in a sickening way. He could see she was slipping, trying to hang onto the flat of the wall. "Stand up...straight." Great, Jarod, so you hate yourself so you take it out on her? Fuck. Fuck it! He pushed away from the wall and paced, turning away each time he got near to where she stood, hardly able to look at her. What the fuck was wrong with him anyway? Words found their way to the surface. Accusatory words. He stepped a little closer to her. Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 03 "Why did you let me bite you?" She seemed to search for words, her hands pressing into the wall for support. "I don't know..." she said, helplessly. "That's it? You don't know? You could have reported me..." Should...have reported me, he added silently. She pressed her lips together in her determined way. "I didn't want to," she said with a new firmness. Didn't want to what? Report me? Or let me bite her? He stared at her, confused. "I liked it..." she said, her voice low. She liked it. She liked it? So that made it all okay? Oh hell no. He ran his hands over his face, trying desperately to collect his racing thoughts. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt like something was doing its best to strangle him. "I've let this go too far," he said to himself as much as to her. This wasn't about her letting him do anything. He'd done it. He'd brought them to this. "I should take you home," he said, his mind made up. He'd get her dressed and take her back home. He was looking around for her things when she spoke. "Is that what you really want?" What? What was that supposed to mean? He launched himself towards her, his hand hitting the wall next to her with a slap of frustration. "What the fuck do you know about what I want?" "I don't-" she said, shaking her head. "That's right, you don't." He stared into her blind face, daring her to speak again. Sure enough, that chin of hers raised a notch. "I want to...I want to know," she said. "You do, do you? You really want to know?" Why did she push him like this? Didn't she know what might happen if she pushed him? It was bad enough that her naked closeness was doing things to his senses he could barely control. But she nodded in assent, nodded that she wanted to know, signing away her fate. With that he let the madness take him. Through the red haze in his brain he was vaguely aware that he was probably holding her wrist a little too tightly as he dragged her behind him down the hallway to the bedroom. He propelled her towards the bed and watched as she sprawled across it in front of him. "Sit up," he said, hardly recognising his own voice. If he wanted detachment, he'd found it. How could he sound so cold when his whole body was on fire with his need to be on top of her, in her, fucking her. He began to shed his trousers as he watched her pull her knees up, curling inwards protectively, attempting to sit up in her world of blackness. He stripped off, grabbing for the top dresser drawer and his condom stash, wondering if she had any idea what was coming. For that matter, did he? Rolling the condom into place he stepped up to the bed, watching her flinch back as she sensed his approach. Was she seriously frightened of him? Hadn't she blatantly asked for it? He knelt onto the bed and crawled to where she huddled, trapping her wrists and pushing her onto her back, angling her knees apart with his own until he knelt over top of her. "Now's the time to say no..." he said into her ear, "Last chance." There was a moment of stillness as he waited for her answer, the only sound their ragged breathing. He was begging, praying for her to answer because that edge was right here...right now, and he was about to go over. She whispered barely loud enough for him to hear. "Don't stop..." They were too far down the bed, so he gripped her under the arms and scooted her up, following after her, his knees pressing her legs further open, his erection brushing against her belly, twitching at the touch of her satiny skin. She made a sound, of pleasure or protest, he didn't know. She wanted this...she asked for it, she was going to get it. With that thought he pressed a hand over her mouth, shifted his hips lower, and finding the slick, hot centre of her, thrust into her with one hard push. It was a strange sort of free-fall. He felt her scream against his hand, but didn't hear it. Everything just stood still as he registered the fact that his cock was buried deep inside her. She was tight...god, she was so tight, and wet and beautiful. Transfixed, he could feel her writhing up against him, her soft curves meeting and melding against his stomach and chest. Blinded by the feel of her body surrounding him, it took him some time to realise that her movements were steadily changing from arching pleasure to panic. The thought hit him like a tank of ice water. Had he heard her right? Had he been mistaken? Had she told him not to stop, or had she said, "Don't, stop."? Oh fuck. Shitshitshit. No...no, she'd definitely said yes...hadn't she? He snatched the hand from her mouth, gripping her wrists instead in an attempt to calm her frantic movements. She finally stilled, her bottom lip held tensely between her teeth, her chest heaving with every breath. He didn't move, just stayed there, braced above her, watching the emotions as they flickered over her face, sincerely wishing for the first time that he could see what was going on in those eyes behind the blindfold. She was calming herself, though, matching her breaths to his, the panic gradually receding, her body relaxing beneath his, melting against him. He leaned down, his lips near her ear, his heart in his mouth. "Wrap your legs around me," he said, relieved when she slid her knees up willingly and wound her legs more snugly around his hips. The shifting angle of her body drove him deeper and he just about stopped breathing for a minute. Never had just being inside a woman felt this good. She fit him perfectly, in every way. He pulled out of her slightly, then pushed his hips forward again, sliding deep into her welcoming warmth. Slow, go slow, damn it! he told himself, fighting the red haze. But she was arching up, drawing him in, moaning in that soft sexy way, and his careful thrusts were soon lost in that dark, animal need to take her, hard. The free-fall started again, and while some small part of his mind knew that he was being too rough, he also knew he was giving her pleasure. She clung to him, taking every pounding thrust, absorbing his aggression, turning it into some other thing. When he felt her inner muscles begin spasm around him he kept going, conscious of her orgasm, but unable to stop himself, deaf to her cries of pleasure. He carried on, in a desperate fever. Now, surely now he could have some release. Surely, with this wanton creature beneath him, the object of his obsession, he could find some relief. But the further and harder he chased it, the more elusive it became. He was aroused beyond words, his dick as hard as it had ever been, but he just couldn't come. Fuck. FUCK. He slow, then stopped, defeated, the rasping of his breathing the only sound in the room. The darkness sat like a weight on his chest, and it was all he could do to muster the energy to carefully pull out of her and roll onto his side, burying his face in his hands. What the fuck was wrong with him? "I'm sorry..." Her voice came to him as if across some great distance. She sounded like she was about to cry. She's sorry. She's sorry? "Sorry for what?" he snapped. "You didn't...I mean-" So she'd noticed. Of course she did. The welcome heat of anger momentarily displaced the despair and he didn't hold back. "Didn't come? That's right. Congratulations. Have a medal for your keen observational skills." "Did I do something wrong?" she ask, hurt and uncertainty showing in her vice. The mental floorboards were sinking fast in a rising flood of his bottled pain and hurt. He unleashed it on the closest living thing, knowing full well as he did it he was wrong. He exploded, his fists pounding into the mattress. "You? Who said this has anything to do with you? And what would you care? How do I know you're not just another game-playing little who-" Her hand came out of nowhere, searching through her darkness for a target and slapped him hard on the chest. The suddenness, the sting of it, snapped something in him. "I am playing no game, and I sure as hell am not a whore..." she spat at him, her voice quivering with indignance. He was on top of her in a flash, his hands stretching her arms high above her head, her body trapped between his knees. His breath hissing in her ear, "Don't you fucking dare raise your voice to me..." He stopped himself, wrestling with the rawness of the wound. What he'd thought was healed and gone was gaping open and bleeding all over the fucking place. "What is it with you women...you always want, want, want. You love the chase and as long as you get what you want it's all fine. But what about what I want? When does that get considered?" He knelt there, panting, the words hanging in the air between them. She didn't say anything, lying beneath him without resistance, unmoving, silent. He wanted to shake her, anything, to get a response. Fuck it, he thought, shifting his weight to one knee to climb away from her. But she wrestled against him, suddenly a wildcat of movement, pleading, "Jarod don't!" He froze, stunned. Jarod. She'd said his name. Had she-...? No, that was definitely the first time she'd said his name. The room tilted a little as the surreal thought settled in. "Wasn't this...what you wanted?" she whispered insistently, snapping him out of his thoughts, moving her head as if trying to search him out. Why, why did she keep asking about what he wanted? Wasn't it enough that he'd fulfilled her fantasy? Wasn't that what she wanted? To be seduced and forced to do things she couldn't bring herself to do on her own? He'd made her come, hadn't he? More than once. He'd done his bit. This...this was no different than any other time he'd been used. Used for his dick. Except this time...this time it hurt like hell. "What the fuck do you care?" he growled, ready beyond anything to be done with this. There was a tense wait for her answer. "I care." Maybe it was her tone of voice, or how she said it. He didn't know. But the certainty, the depth of feeling in her words hit him in the gut like a sucker-punch. Still, he couldn't stop the harsh half-laugh that bubbled up as he asked her, "Why?" She pulled against the restrain of his hands, her chin set stubbornly. "Do I have to have a reason? I just do okay?" He closed his eyes, breathing deep. Okay. "Prove it." "How?" How? His mind went blank for a few moments, then kicked back into gear. "Get off the bed," he said, before releasing her hands and her body and rolling to the side of the bed. At first she just lay where he'd left her, but she slowly came to life, moving stiffly, reaching her hand out blindly for the edge of the bed. He saw her sway as she sat up, her feet finding their tentative place on the floor. When she stood he actually thought she might fall, but she straightened herself, pulled her shoulders back, her hair falling in tousled waves around her shoulders. God, she was beautiful. It took everything in him not to reach up and stroke the back of his hand down the curve of her hip. "Walk to the wall," he said, sounding a little steadier, but not feeling it. He wasn't going to tell her which wall, or where it was. The resentment, the distrust, still sat heavy in his chest. But she reached out with her arms, and, shuffling at first, took a few steps and soon found herself against the wall facing the bed. She clung to it as if rescued, her head bowed. "Stay there until I say otherwise," he said, the command curt, his real emotions held in reserve. He watched her stand there, still and motionless, until he was certain she would do as he asked. He looked down at himself in disgust, and tugged off the useless condom. As if he'd even needed it in the end. He walked heavily to the bathroom, not even bothering to look at himself in the mirror, in truth a little scared of what he'd see there. After all this, all the anticipation and waiting. After the endless mind-game and it all ended like this. It was the bitter edge of deep disappointment that gnawed at him, relentless in its appetite. He grabbed a washcloth and bathed himself in warm soapy water. Was there any point in going on? He stood, braced against the sink, letting his thoughts take him. She was standing in there, facing the wall, blindfolded. Because he'd asked her to, told her to. Okay, so maybe she got some sick thrill out of it. He'd heard of people like that. But there was that persistent litany of hers. The one that drove him crazy more than anything else. She kept asking him what he wanted. Why did she keep asking him that? Could she somehow know the truth? The truth being that he honestly didn't know? He closed his eyes and just pictured her, letting his thoughts drift. He'd had her, been inside her, fucked her, for god's sake. He thought back to the moment he'd marked her, the euphoria of her pleasure-ripe sounds, the damp, salt-sweet taste of her. In that moment she'd been his. He wanted that again. More than anything he wanted that. He strode with purpose back to the bedroom, his intent and focus clear. He stopped in the doorway, and sure enough, she was still standing where he'd left her, head held high, hands braced against the wall for support. He could see her shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another. He stepped up quietly behind her. "Turn around." She flinched at his voice, but with slow steps began to pivot towards his voice, her face solemn with concentration. Satisfied, he retreated to the bed, settling back against the pillows where he had a clear view of her. It was an echo of the scene in the hallway earlier, but it was all changed now. He let the impulses flow, stopped censoring, ceased fighting them. "Show me your bruise," he instructed, his gaze drifting over the planes of her body, the curves and lines of her, her secret places. Bracing herself more firmly on the wall, she turned her leg and bent her knee, baring her inner thigh to him. There was the bruise, faded from the phone picture, but it stood out in stark contrast against her skin. But there was no phone camera between them now. It was just her and him. "Do you know what I did with your little photos?" She visibly stiffened, and he could only imagine what she was thinking, except that it couldn't be anything good. Did she really think that of him? Well, he was a bastard after all, so why not? When she didn't answer, he carried on. "I looked at them. Every day in fact. Looked at them...asking myself what the fuck I was thinking. What the fuck was I doing, dragging you into my fucked up world." He moved off the bed, restless with his confession. "I bet you thought I was wanking off to them, didn't you." He let out a cynical half-laugh at his own ridiculous predicament. "Nope, I just sat there, staring at them night after night, paralysed to do anything at all." There. He'd said it. Now she knew how much this whole thing had gotten under his skin. How much she had gotten under his skin. She still didn't answer, and he stepped nearer, right up to her, close. She seemed to sense his presence and he watched, fascinated, as her lips parted. His hand lifted of its own volition, his thumb finding the softness of her lower lip, brushing across it, gently a first, then with a possessive roughness. The memory filled his thoughts...his thumb in her mouth as she came, arching under him. "Remember this?" he asked her, speaking low and steady into her ear. "You want to know what I want? You really want to know?" He pressed his thumb steadily against her lips until they relented, taking him into her mouth. He took a deep, shaky breath as the sensation whirled through him, but he pressed on. "I want that cute little mouth of yours...on my cock." There, he'd said it. And it was the truth. He was aching for her, the slick heat of her mouth on his thumb was driving him wild. He thought he felt her tongue flick against him, and he had to swallow the groan that rumbled up, his hips flexing towards her instinctively. He pulled his thumb away from the sweet torture and gripped her arm, pulling her with him towards the bed. He let go of her, rolling into the centre of the bed, his head propped on the cushions, waiting for her to find him. Some sadistic part of his mind drew great pleasure from watching her, still blind, feeling her way falteringly along the edge of the bed, her hands reaching out to find his legs. She worked her way up his body, on her knees in front of him, her touch tentative and unsure. She paused when her hands reached the tops of his thighs, her uncertainty clear in her face. He watched her internal debate rage for a few moments. Impatient, he simply grabbed the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair, and pulled her forward against him. The feel of her soft cheek against his cock was heaven. God. He gritted his teeth. But still, she hesitated. "Go on," he said, his voice choked with the rising tide of need. He watched her as she raised a tentative hand and grasped the base of his erection, noting with some amusement the twitch of surprise in her eyebrows when it jumped in her hand. She seemed to draw in a deep breath, her grip tightening, causing him to gasp. He watched, mesmerised, as she wrapped her hands around him...those small hands. Oh god. Those small fucking hands. He let his head fall back, eyes screwed shut at the sudden pleasure. And then she put her mouth on him, right at the base, underneath, and started licking and sucking her way up his cock, and he saw sparkling spots behind his eyes. Fuck...fuck it felt good. Hot, slick heat engulfing him. He could hear himself groaning, but couldn't stop, lost in the sensations her mouth found its gentle way up to the tip and swirled her tongue...oh god, that tongue. He gripped the sheets in his fists as she took him into her mouth. White heat played across the insides of his eyelids, every nerve and breath in his body focussed on the insistent caress of her tongue on his cock. It was as if the air had been drawn right out of his lungs. But he wanted to see...wanted to watch her, and with some effort he opened his eyes. She knelt between his legs, her hair swinging down to brush against his thighs as she blindly grasped him and made insistent love to him with her mouth. Everything about her movements was earnest and honest, and when she took him deeper, causing him to fill the room with words even he thought were beneath him, it was with such obvious pleasure that she did it, he began to feel himself coming undone. He searched and felt, but there was no duty in her movements, no reluctance in her touch. The pleasure just spun higher and tighter, and where he thought he'd taken from her, he could only feel her giving. All his tightly bound reinforcements were dissolving at the seams, and with it came the fear... Her hands roamed over his thighs, slid up to his belly, pressing against him as if to read every thought, every flex of his body. She was with him, totally, completely with him, and he felt himself slipping towards the cliff edge. She took him as deep as she could, her tongue repeating that delicious friction until he was arching off the bed, hips flexing into her, desperate to climb to the top of that peak and go over. But he didn't have to chase it this time. She just drew him to it, higher and deeper, with a knowing and possessiveness he didn't quite understand. He could sense her own, building pleasure as he became more and more frantic. Swearing and panting he teetered on the edge before toppling over into bright golden light, without sound and without breath. Everything in him exploded into her, emptying him, draining away, the pain and dark and waiting. He just let her have it all, allowed her to take it from him, and she held him tight as he fell, senseless with relief and release. And he was not alone. Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 03 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * To be continued... (of course!) Thank you for reading -- if you enjoyed this story, please be sure to let me know with your votes and your comments, they are much appreciated. Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 04 © 2012 Brunne * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Many thanks to the many readers who voted and left such lovely comments on the chapters so far -- I hope you enjoy this one too. Apologies for the longer wait this time! For those of you have read my other story, 'Under My Skin', this is Jarod's side of the story (best to start from Ch 01). - Brunne * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * She was in his arms. Clutched against his chest, trembling. The threads of rational thought slowly wound their way through his mind. They gently surfaced as his breathing slowed to normal and he felt gravity take its normal hold. He wondered how it could be. How he could have gone this long...his whole life. So long and not known or understood how it was supposed to be. What had been a dark, winding maze, was now a wide-open space with a huge sky and no horizon. He tried to blink, eyes stinging from an emotion he could barely place. She'd opened up a whole world to him. He didn't think she even knew what she'd done. Hurtling down that track of madness, headlong, he'd finally uncovered the missing piece of himself. Her total acceptance, her unconditional giving. The door was open...the wide-open space beckoned. Like a man set free from a prison he considered all the things he ached to do. He would start from the top, and work down, he decided. He could finally give himself permission to discover the soft giving warmth pressed along the length of his body. He breathed her in. Flowers, sweat, her. Careful not to disturb her, he lifted a hand and touched the heavy silk of her hair, running it slowly through his fingers. Why had he kept himself from such simple pleasures as this? How could he have thought it a danger? His fingers encountered the knot of actual silk at the back of her head. She still had that damned blindfold on. Shit. With a gentle tug he slipped it up over her head and off. He stared, mesmerised by the soft, dark lashes that drifted against her flushed cheeks. "It's okay...you can open your eyes," he said quietly. Then she blinked, as if waking, and it was a little like watching a butterfly unfurl its wings for the first time, fluttering, hesitant, unsure. Everything that had gone before disappeared and it was as if he saw her for the first time. Those deep brown eyes. So open, so beautiful. He could tell she was studying him, though shyly, tentative. Scanning his face for clues about what had just happened between them. But he couldn't think, he could only stare back, transfixed. He'd known, really, since he first saw her. This one was different. This one was his. He drew in a deep breath at the thought and became increasingly conscious of her naked body pressed against his. He still throbbed where she'd made love to him with her lips and tongue. His gaze drifted down from her eyes to her gently parted lips. She seemed to panic a little, her hand darting up to cover her mouth, her eyes lowering...in embarrassment? Why? Because she'd just had that same mouth on his cock? And that tongue...god. His breath quickened. He reached for her hand and tugged it away. "You're fine," he murmured, his eyes flicking up to her uncertain ones before returning his focus to her lips and what it was he really wanted. "I want to kiss you," he said, breathless. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on him. He'd bitten her, stripped her naked and fucked her, but never kissed her. Right now he couldn't care less about the oddness of their progression, and an inexplicable surge of excitement filled him as he tilted her chin up and brushed his lips against hers for the first time. Soft...they were so soft. From the first instant it wasn't enough. The barest of tastes and he needed more, much more. He pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue seeking out hers in darting strokes. He thought he'd already found the missing piece, but this...this was a whole new thing he hadn't even known he was without. This was the true madness. Sinking into deep, tropically warm waters, feeling the tugging of an incoming wave and being lifted with it, riding it, the excitement just building and frothing and crashing, spilling effortlessly out into calm shallows. Then the same madness, pulling at you, drawing you back into the deep again for it to happen all over again. This wasn't kissing. This was a drug, an electric sea, and he was more than willing to drown himself in it, his fingers tangled in the silkiness of her hair. Her lips were so soft, soft and yielding...welcoming, but not passive...fuck no. She drank as deep of him as he did of her, her tongue flicking out to meet his and explore and search. With each lull, resting, breathing hard, he brushed soft kisses along her cheeks, her nose, her chin. Allowing himself access to everything he'd denied himself before. Then the wave would catch them back up, and the devouring, hungry need would be back, driving them, limbs tangling, tongues delving, even higher and even hungrier for more. Nothing in his whole life had prepared him for this. * * * * * Time passed...hours possibly, and he was starting to wonder if he would ever tire of the feel of her lips. The waves just kept coming, and he didn't stop himself diving in for more the instant she responded to him. The silky feel of her bare skin against his kept him in a low thrum of excitement despite the fact he'd so recently come. It was a different sort of arousal than he'd felt before. Warm, luxurious, breath-stealing. He wanted her, again. Not just yet, but he wanted her. Despite his best efforts to drown himself in the softness of her, the thoughts slowly started to surface. Unwanted, unasked-for thoughts. The exhilaration of discovery, the deep in-breath of freedom...they lingered at the edges of his mind. But the questions were steadily pressing in, forcing out the light. As if sensing his growing detachment, she dragged her lips away from his, leaning back, putting a little space between their bodies. He tried to concentrate on the smooth warmth of her legs still entwined between his and not the question in her face. He watched as she slowly scanned the room. "Where-?" "My room," he said, frowning as her eyes widened in surprise. "Yours?" She looked around again with renewed interest, though he still didn't like the incredulity in her voice. Where had she though he'd brought her? Did he even want to know? Her eyes came back to his, but now they were shuttered and unreadable. Here we go, he thought. This was the part where it all came to pieces and turned out to be what it was...a dream. The light receded and the lovers became strangers again. He felt himself drawing back, detaching, retreating from her as he watched her examine her surroundings, avoiding his gaze. She stroked absently at the fresh sheets he'd so painstakingly fitted. "Do you bring all your blindfolded girls in here?" she asked. Did he-...all his what? He felt the question like a sharp blow to the solar plexus. Saw the instant regret in her eyes. There. There it was. All the revelation, all the release, vanished in a moment as the ephemeral things they were. This, this was the truth of it, and he knew that it was him, and him alone to blame for it. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed, unable to escape the flood of hopelessness that engulfed him. "Get up," he said to her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" "I said get up!" Where were his trousers? Shit. He just needed to get out. To get away from the suffocation of disappointment that seemed to fill the room and claw its way up his throat. He grabbed his trousers from where he'd left them on top of the laundry hamper and pulled them on, his back firmly towards her as he buttoned them. He escaped out into the hallway, his head full of thoughts all jostling for position. All his blindfolded girls, huh? Her little question had been incredibly revealing. He'd always wondered what his reputation was like at the office, but that pretty much answered it. Why... why could the past not stay the past? Why did it have to creep in and fuck with the present? He stopped at the front entranceway. All her things lay in a forlorn puddle on the floor, including those lace panties he'd dreamed so often of removing from her body. He stooped and gathered her clothing into a bundle, restraining himself from rubbing the delicate fabric between his fingers. As soon as he bunched them together in his hands her scent surrounded him, leaving his chest tight. He didn't really know what was going on anymore. His entire equilibrium lay in tatters, his head a total mess. He closed his eyes and just concentrated on breathing. They'd sort this thing out. They'd talk and they'd figure out what they both wanted. Then he could explain...tell her that it was different for him. This time was different. Completely and utterly unlike anything he'd ever thought possible. Steeling himself he padded back down the hallway to the bedroom. She was standing, naked, pretty much where he'd left her, eyes dark and pleading. Even the million buzzing thoughts swirling through his mind didn't keep him from taking in a sharp breath. So goddamn beautiful. "Jarod, I-" "Get dressed," he said stiffly, ignoring her plea. Maybe if she put some clothes on he could actually think straight for a minute. Not trusting himself, he forced himself to toss the bundle onto the bed, turn right around and leave the room. He paced the length of the living room, only stopping to raise the blinds, staring out blindly over the glimmering city. How could he explain it to her? They'd barely talked about anything let alone relationships or feelings. Of course that was assuming he even knew what his feelings were. Should he just pour it out to her, or would that just scare her away even more? Another thought caught up with him and started a sick churning in his stomach. If she thought he was just the office playboy with strings of women, was this just some kinky fling for her? Did she even give a damn as long as she had her fun? He pressed his hands against his eyes. Fuck. But she'd said she cared. She most definitely did, he remembered that much. And he hadn't been imagining things...when she'd had her mouth on him...the way she'd touched him, her trembling afterwards. Surely that had been more than just some sort of game to her? God, he was thirsty. He stalked into the kitchen, banging distractedly through the cupboards until he found a glass. He stood, staring at the running water, waiting for it to run cold, lost in thought. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered a sound out in the hallway. Was she finally dressed? He took a gulp of water to calm his nerves before walking back through the doorway into the living room. He looked down the hallway towards the bedroom, but didn't see her. He didn't hear her moving around either. Maybe she'd gone to the bathroom. He set his glass down on the side table and stepped towards the front entryway, staring dumbly at the floor. Something was wrong. Her shoes and handbag were gone. The entryway was empty. Hadn't he left them there on the floor? He held his breath, ears straining. Nothing. Something did a sickening tilt in his stomach. In the next instant he was striding into the bedroom, scanning the room for any sign of her. All her things were gone. He lurched across the hall to the bathroom, the door slamming dully into the wall as he stared at the empty room. She was gone. No...no no. Why did she leave? What the fuck was she thinking? His building was new, but this wasn't a great neighbourhood. And what time was it...late. Very late. Fucking silly little bitch! What had she done? He was out the front door in the next breath, pausing on the threshold only long enough to put the door on the latch. He practically ran down the hallway, his bare feet pounding silently on the carpet. It was like that old nightmare. Always running, down hallways, through corridors, never finding her. He turned the corner that took him towards the lifts and instantly slowed, gulping in air in sheer relief to see her standing there, waiting. She was watching the light above the lift, arms hugged tight around her, her hair still tousled from his fingers, her blouse wrinkled from where it had lain on the floor. She looked utterly vulnerable and it only made him angrier. He covered the short distance between them in several swift strides, reaching for her arm and twisting her to face him. He didn't care if he was being too rough. She was being stupid and dangerous... "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He stared down at her, watched her jerk back from him, from his words. Confused, he stared at his own reflection in the sunglasses she was wearing. Why-? He marched her a step backwards and pressed her to the pillar between the two lifts, grabbing her upper arms and shaking her. "Did I ask you to leave? Did I?" he hissed. What was she playing at? And why was she wearing those fucking sunglasses in the middle of the night? His grip tightened as she raised her chin in that defiant way of hers, and he didn't even think. He plucked the sunglasses off her face and tossed them onto the floor. If she was going to run away she should at least look him in the eye and tell him why, damn it. But one look at her stopped him dead. Tears streaked her cheeks, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. Oh hell. He kept her pressed there, unable to think, his mind a blank. Some part of him acknowledged the faint ding of the lift arriving, the scrape of the elevator doors sweeping open. A glance told him it was empty, thank god. The doors slid closed again with a metallic clunk and it whirred off to another floor. He had to get her out of the corridor. Now. She stumbled a little as he dragged her down the hallway back to the flat. He didn't care. He just needed her indoors, safe, contained. Fucking stupid girl...didn't she know the first thing about living in a city? It had to be nearly midnight and she was wandering around half dressed and half asleep. He pushed his front door open and shoved her inside unceremoniously, letting it slam shut behind them. She took a few steps forward until she stood nearly where she had when she first arrived, and just stopped. He had to brace himself against the door, waiting for his breath to come back. This was not how he'd imagined this conversation going. Had no idea what had gotten into her pretty little head to send her off on a wander in a completely unknown part the city. He pushed off from the door and walked past her, his limbs full of a deep weariness. He slumped into his reading chair, defeated. When he swivelled to look at her, she was still standing in the same place. Her eyes were closed. It was as if she didn't even know how to look at him. He turned in his chair to stare out into the darkness of the skyline, and waited. Minutes passed, and he didn't hear a move or a sound. The hall light illuminated her, casting her reflection onto the inside of the high windows as if she were some sort of ghost...an apparition. "I-" she said, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat and spoke again. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have left..." He tried. He really tried to contain the rage that fought to overflow. Did she have any idea...any clue the panic he felt when he found her gone? He was up and out of the chair and pacing the floor, his words just erupting out of his chest. "You're sorry? You're fucking sorry? So that makes it all right then?" I'm sorry Jarod..." she repeated, plaintively. As if using his name would placate him. Images of all the horrific things that could have happened to her kept rolling through his mind, unbidden. "And where did you think you'd go? Just go out in the dark and walk home?" "I was going to get a cab," she said softly. At this time of night? The cabs didn't dare come down some of the nearby streets during the day let alone this time of night. "You don't even know where you are," he retorted. "There aren't any cabs for miles, or buses for that matter." "Well, I didn't know that," she said, defensively. "And you certainly didn't ask!" "I told you...I'm sorry, okay?" He paced some more, getting closer to her with each circuit. Why couldn't she understand what she'd been about to do? He'd brought her here. He was responsible for her, entirely responsible. But as he stepped closer he knew that wasn't the only reason he was so angry. She hadn't just left. She'd left him. Walked out without a word. Walked out and left him with a gaping, painful hole in his chest. "Why? Why did you leave?" He stopped right in front of her. Her, with her damned eyes tightly shut. Trying to keep him out. He knew what she was doing. "You told me to get dressed, and you seemed angry...I thought you wanted me to leave," she said miserably. He stared at her, looked down at the small hands she held in defiant fists at her sides. Oh no...hell no. He was not going to be made into the bad guy here. It seemed that there was only one way to get through to her. He put his hand to her upper chest, his fingers loosely circling her throat, and pushed her backwards into the wall. "You promised. Not.To lie." "I'm not, I swear!" Her eyelids flickered, but she still refused to look at him. "Liar!" He knew it wasn't the whole of it. He moved his grip to her arms and pressed her into the wall more firmly. He would have an answer. "I felt...I don't know. Rejected. I said something stupid and you were so angry with me and I just wanted to escape, okay?" She dropped her head low, her voice wobbly with tears. "I thought you didn't...didn't want me." Didn't want her? Didn't want her? Had he been so unclear? Had the fact that he'd spent hours kissing and holding her completely escaped her notice? "Did I say I was angry at you? Did I?" he said, shaking her gently, his voice rough. "No...no..." she said, the tears that had threatened finally rolling down her cheeks.. She would never understand if she didn't look at him. If she just kept shutting him out. "Open your eyes..." he said, voice low. When she didn't, he shook her again. "Now!" Her eyes opening to his had a most physical effect on him, tightening his chest, constricting his breathing. She went completely still under his hands and he loosened his grip. He couldn't read what was going on in her mind, though he thought she looked as stunned as he felt. He needed to explain...needed her to understand. Staring down into those warm brown depths muddled his thinking, and he had to look away just so he could speak. "I don't have...girls...up here. Blindfolded or otherwise. Okay?" His eyes returned to her dangerous gaze, determined she see that he was telling her the truth. "I haven't been with anyone...for...years." Her eyes drew him in, her mouth...so close. He tore himself away with some difficulty, pacing back into the living room, as if the act of walking in circles could somehow help him drag a coherent explanation from the confused depths of his head. "It's my fault...I guess I can't blame you," he said, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. What else could he say? They were in a mess, and it was him that had gotten them there. He paced some more. "This whole thing started out wrong, right from that first day in the office. I started us out all wrong. But what did you want me to do?" He turned to face her, beseeching, but not expecting an answer. She just clung to the wall, her eyes never leaving him. It unnerved him. "You just sat there...at your computer every damned day, your big eyes following me every time I walked down the office. And smelled...like flowers. And your mouth-" he stepped closer, reaching out his fingers to her lips, but dropped his hand to his side without touching her. He knew he sounded like a fool, but now that he'd started, the words just poured out of him. Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 04 "I just wanted to kiss you...and I wanted to talk to you, and find out about you. Well...you know the rest. The rest is a fucking mess." He turned and walked away from her, his shoulders slumping, his hands gripped, white-knuckled, behind his neck, wincing at how pathetic he sounded. He knew he was confessing this to himself as much as to her. Staring out into the darkness, he could feel her eyes on him. If only he could read her thoughts. If only he knew one thing he could say that would get through to her. "Why do you think I made you wear the damned blindfold?" he asked her, desperate for her to respond. When silence filled the space between them he turned to see her standing there, eyes closed. What good would this do? What good would any of this do, if she didn't want him? He had to play what few cards he had left in his hand. It was the only thing he had, and once she knew, she could decide what would happen next. He moved to stand in front of her. Her eyes stayed closed. He braced his arms on the wall either side of her shoulders and leaned in. He filled his lungs with the sweet scent of her, his lips hovering just above hers. When he looked up from the soft curve of her mouth her eyes were open and locked on him. It was a few seconds before he found enough breath to speak. It was make or break time. "I've...wanted to fuck you ever since I first saw you," he said, exhaling slowly. He watched her closely, saw her eyes go dark at his words. "But I sure as hell didn't want to care." He reached up, tracing the delicate arch of her dark eyebrow with his thumb. "You and your big brown eyes were a considerable danger to me." A half-laugh caught in his throat. "I actually thought if I didn't look into those eyes, I could keep some distance, you know." He stared down at her lips, the desire to kiss her, taste her, starting to become too strong to resist. "You managed it anyway." How she'd done it...draw him in, he wondered if he would ever know. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper, each word punctuated by a gentle brush of his lips on hers. "Blind as a new-born kitten...and you managed to crawl your way in and make me fucking care." He couldn't breathe. Couldn't fucking breathe. He was all out of words. He couldn't go back, couldn't go forward. He could only hold himself there, his lips touching hers with the barest of caresses. Waiting, chest heaving. Her hands moved from her sides, hesitant, but they found their way onto his bare stomach. He nearly jumped at her touch, his whole body tense, waiting for the shove. Waiting for her to push against him, push him away. But her hands...those gorgeous small hands, made their way slowly up his stomach instead, smoothing over his chest, raising goosebumps wherever they touched his skin. He sucked a breath in through his teeth. Fuck. Then those fingers slid up his neck and into his hair, pulling him closer. Oh yes. Closer was good. Oh god, yes. With a groan he flattened himself against her, pressing her into the wall with his body. He wanted her to feel how hard he was for her. Wanted her to know what she did to him. He wasn't kissing her gently anymore. He was devouring her mouth, his tongue seeking out hers, searching for her. She drew him in, her fingers tangling in his hair, arching her hips up against him, pulling him over the edge. She was so soft and felt so good. And she hadn't pushed him away. The relief that flooded through him was being very quickly replaced by the rising fever. He needed her, now. He slid his hands up the smooth skin of her thighs, searching under her skirt for those damn black lace panties, pushing the skirt right up around her waist. He got a purchase on the flimsy black fabric and practically tore the garment off her, tugging it down her legs. He didn't dare stop kissing her for a second, a crazy part of his brain thinking she might just escape him if he did. That he'd step back and she'd melt like a dream and be gone. He wasn't letting her go this time. He needed her. Needed to be inside her. He wrestled with the fastenings on his trousers, his lips never leaving hers, gasping against her mouth when he finally freed himself. He gripped her under the arms and slid her higher, trapping her body with his, coaxing those smooth legs up around his waist. He couldn't wait. He needed to have her. Pushing into her was like coming home. Nothing had ever felt so right. Her legs tightened around his hips as he thrust up into her, his restraint in pieces. For a blinding moment he was completely lost in the tight heat of her body. He just held her there, pinned to the wall, the weight of her wrapped around his waist only pushing him deeper inside. With a long, slow thrust of his tongue he deepened the kiss, the insistent flex of his hips mirroring his steady assault on her mouth. She moaned into his kiss, clutching at him inside and out, and he found he couldn't go slow. His next thrust was hard and deep and quick, and again, and again, utterly addicted to the new, swirling pleasure-wave of kissing her and fucking her at the same time. The sweet friction sharpened... swirled, and he knew he was about to lose it completely, driving her back into the unyielding surface of the wall with every thrust. Stop...you must stop, said the logic. He groaned a deep mental 'No', but knew it spoke the truth. They were skin to skin, nothing between them. He slowed, though the wrestling match with his body was intense. How could he stop something that felt so perfect? But Stop, it said again, insistent. And he did stop, leaning into her, panting, face buried against her neck. He let his lips graze the soft skin under her ear, scraped lightly with his teeth. Slowly, gently, he pulled back from her, letting her slide down the wall to the floor. "I'm sorry...sorry..." He breathed her in, intoxicated, frustrated to the point of pain. "I couldn't stop-" He felt her wriggle against him in protest. She hadn't wanted it to end any more than he had. "I know, I know, pet...but we need to use protection..." He heard her disappointed sigh, felt her arch of disagreement. But when he looked up and met her eyes, there was a smile dancing on her lips as she looked up at him through lowered eyelashes. "What do you mean?" she asked him, teasing, breathless. "You don't want our lovechild?" He didn't know what had struck him dumb. The beauty of her, standing there looking up at him, lips swollen from his kisses, her hair tumbled softly around her face. Or the fact she was talking about having his child. The flush of heat came straight up from his belly and he just stood, gaping at her, unable to put words together. What words couldn't say, action could, and he had her by the arms and marching back down the hall to the bedroom, methodically stripping her of her blouse, her bra, her skirt, until he tipped her backwards onto his bed completely naked. Gorgeous and naked and with that secretive little smile still on her face. She looked positively smug, and it thrilled him in some strange way. She was with him and loved this as much as he did. He watched her as she settled herself on the bed, watching him covertly as he raided his condom stash and rolled one down over his still-straining erection. He kept his eyes firmly on her, loath to even blink in case she disappeared from him again. He approached the bed and was pleased to see her little smile waver as he held her gaze, letting her know with that look all that he intended to do with her...to her. Kneeling onto the bed he quickly had her arms trapped against the mattress, straddling her legs and pinning her beneath him. She stared up at him, lips parted, eyes dark and shining. He just let himself look at her, taking it all in, his gaze drifting down her body. From the soft curves of her breasts to the gentle slope of her belly and the dark hair below. He wanted to taste all of her. To savour her, like a ripe exotic fruit. His lips found the soft peak of her breast, the nipple tightening and pebbling under the steady swirl of his tongue. He suckled gently at first, then harder, his lips and tongue insistent, drawing a keening wail of pleasure from her. She fought him, her body arching, firmly trapped by his arms and legs, but he knew she would fight him even harder if he dared to stop. Lapping at the sensitive nub, biting, gently at first, then harder, he relished the surge of triumph he felt when she arched up off the bed. He held her firmly, losing himself in the feel of her, the taste of her. Hungrily, he made his way, licking, kissing, nibbling over to the other waiting breast, his appetite for the salt-sweet taste of her only growing. Revelling in the response of that lip-pink crest, suckling, creating that delicious friction over the sensitive skin with his tongue. God, she just tasted so damned good. He reluctantly dragged his mouth from her breast, conscious that she was growing too sensitive from his assault, trailing his kisses up her neck instead. His mouth had some sort of homing device for that sweet spot on her neck. He paused, his lips and teeth just barely grazing the spot where he first marked her. Where the thread of light first penetrated through his darkness and lit up his internal sky. "I've never bitten anyone else, you know," he murmured, whispering into her ear. He felt her soft, indrawn breath. He let his mouth settle against her skin, absorbing the rapid throb of her pulse. "I just needed to taste you...feel you. To know you'd be thinking about me every day." He pulled back and looked down at her, filled with a new lightness, his voice mock-serious. "You did think about me every day, didn't you?" She just groaned in response, her eyes closed, her body straining against him in frustration and need, and he chuckled. "What?" he asked, his tone playful. "Are you wanting something...?" "Yes!" she cried, her eyes flashing open, glaring at him. "What's that then?" "You know exactly what!" She continued to struggle against him despite her helpless position. "This?" he asked, nibbling delicately along her neck. "No!" "Tell me..." "Please Jarod..." she moaned. "Please what?" He watched her, fascinated by the flush in her cheeks, the dilation of her pupils, the wild, fluttering desire that transformed his demure, dark-haired girl into a wanton. "Please...fuck me." She whispered the words so quietly he had to strain to hear her, but they still hit him in the gut, nearly sending him right over the edge. Oh god, did he want to. To fuck her and never stop. He flattened the length of his cock against the downy curve of her belly, closing his eyes as the sensation tore at his control. "You want this, hm?" he taunted her gently, grinding his erection slowly against her stomach, his voice as unsteady as his restraint. She nodded, her movements becoming more frantic, her eyes glassy with need, eyelids fluttering as she struggled to focus. He wasn't teasing though, when he kissed her. He didn't hold back, letting his lips slide over hers, his tongue seeking out the sweet recesses of her mouth. Her tongue danced with his, drawing him in, pulling him deeper. When he finally drew back, she whimpered at him in protest, the look in her eyes vulnerable and accusing. How dare he stop, was that it? By the time he was done with her she'd be begging him for mercy, begging him to stop. Just the thought of it made his cock twitch. He wanted to hear it...hear that breathy voice of hers pleading with him. To stop, to not stop, to fuck her, to fuck her harder... He took hold of her chin firmly, tilting it up until she looked him in the eye. "No complaints, just do as I say." She stared back at him, eyes wide. He watched the tip of her tongue dart out as she unconsciously licked her lips, and he knew his answering grin was a wicked one. He released her arms and leaned over her, pulling the pillows from the head of the bed towards them. The images in his mind took shape without thought and he burned and ached to see her and feel her the way he wanted to. "Turn over," he instructed, helping her along in his impatience, flipping her over onto her stomach before she could protest. "Up on your knees," he said, pushing the pillows towards her, gesturing that they should go under her upper body. She cautiously slid up to a kneeling position, the roundness of her sweet, swaying bottom nearly brushing up against his aching erection. Fucking, teasing little bitch, he thought with satisfaction, his gaze drifting down the curve of her back, the flare of her hips. If only she knew how goddamn lovely she looked. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to plunge himself into her right then. Not yet. He moved up behind her on his knees, bracing himself above her, pushing her legs further apart with his, bringing their hips intimately close. She arched down under him, trembling as she adjusted to the weight of his body. As he moved, his erection slid tantalisingly against the soft skin of her inner thighs. Smooth, soft skin, the tickle of her pubic hair, a hint of slick wetness when he pressed closer. He sucked in a breath. She was so warm, her face pressed into the pillow, moaning for him. He'd barely touched her and she was already moaning in pleasure. Leaning back to balance his weight, he circled her wrists with his hands, gripping fimly, twisting them around and back until he had her hands gathered together, pinned behind her back. He pulled, tugging until all her weight was on her knees, her only other support the pillows under her chest. She squealed in complaint at the shock of it, the tightness of the restraint, the bowing of her back. He rocked her back towards him, his knees pushing her thighs apart, her balance dictated by his hands on her wrists. She was totally at his mercy, completely helpless. All her vulnerable places open and exposed to him. He knew that he created this for himself, a fulfilment of his desires. But he also knew that he did this for her. She begged to be pushed. Demanded to be used. The thrill of it washed over him like a prickly heat. With each liberty he took from her he could feel her arousal grow. The urgency of the hallway, the need to have her and have her now...it drifted. He drifted, floating in that warm sea again, his desire a languid thing to be savoured, sipped. Her body was his to explore, and carefully gripping both of her wrists together in one hand he began his slow mapping of her body. Her back arched, thrusting her breasts forward. He slid his hands over them one at a time, tracing the curves, brushing his knuckles over each straining nipple, absorbing every choked whimper that shook her. The taut line of her belly filled his hand as he dragged her back against his throbbing cock. He lifted her arms up and away from her back so he could smooth his hand along the graceful curve of her spine, bent towards him in supplication. Some distant part of his mind acknowledged what he was doing. Staking his claim. Taking possession. Did she feel it? Feel that she was becoming his? With each caresses, each touch, she belonged more to him. He flexed his hips, sliding his erection down and underneath her, enjoying the slick friction of her along the length of his cock. God, she was so hot. So wet. And impatient. She was arching her hips up towards him with increasing frustration, begging him with her body. He smiled, pulling her captive hands towards him, angling his hips so the tip of his cock rubbed and bumped against her clit instead, denying her what she asked for, but giving another pleasure in its place. She reacted like she'd had an electric shock, moaning and whimpering into the pillow. The frantic sounds only encouraged him to do it again, slow, teasing. So maybe he was still a bit of a bastard. The hunger to be inside her was building again, and teasing her was beginning to be a game he was having difficulty playing. There was a heat and weight in his erection he'd never felt before. As if it was intoxicated...drugged by her juices, lost in a stupor of need. Gathering her wrists he slid his arm around her waist, bracing himself as the tip of his cock settled against her slick entrance. He drew her back towards him with excruciating slowness, penetrating only a short way into that dark heat before pulling back with equal slowness. She writhed against his hold, wailing softly into the pillows, crying out even louder when he started his slow assault again. Again, only pushing into her a little way before dragging himself out again. He knelt over her, chest heaving with the effort it took not to just take what he wanted. She had to be ready. This time she stopped fighting him, collapsing forward onto the pillows, her weight dragging on her arms. Her slow, sobbing breaths told him what he needed to know. With aching relief he plunged into her, deep, hard, ramming his cock into her welcoming heat, letting the thrill wash through him as she screamed her pleasure into the pillows. The bright thread of light exploded behind his eyes, competing with the red haze of need. The rest became a blur. He took her, over and over, freely, without restraint. With every thrust she absorbed his ferocity, accepted the intensity of his onslaught. Nothing existed other than the tight heat that surrounded him, the delicate wrist he gripped in each hand, the sweep of dark glossy hair over her shoulders. Her body bent and bowed and flowed with his. They pushed each other higher, up that tensioning spiral of pleasure. He wanted her to come with him. Wanted to feel her clench around him again in orgasm as he fell over the edge with her. Keeping her wrists held tight, he slid his hand along her hip, smoothing along the sweet indent of her waist. Lower and down under her belly, and his fingers were sliding into the wet folds at her centre, finding the little pleasure nub and swirling, circling, stroking. Her cries grew sharper, and she tightened around his thrusting cock, writhing back against him when her orgasm hit. He was so close to the edge, the tightness pulling in from his whole body, the tension building and building and when she spasmed around him he lost his grip on her wrists. He grabbed her hips, pushing into her harder, deeper as the pleasure began to rise, began to flow and explode. He heard his rough groans mingling with her breathy cries, felt her trembling, shaking beneath him as he slowly, steadily collapsed on top of her. Her head tossed on the pillow, her hair drifting to the side, and all he could focus on was the pale smooth skin of her shoulder. As the last surges of his orgasm ebbed, he knew he had to taste her again. Braced over her, he let his lips brush against her skin, scraping gently with his teeth before biting down, his arm encircling her waist, pressing her against him. He felt her arch, heard the whimper and the sigh. Something completed for him. Came full circle. Reached a fullness he hadn't known could be. A swell of emotion rose through his chest and he found himself gripping her harder, tight to him, loath to let her go. But he knew he was too heavy for her, and reluctantly rolled onto his side, dragging her with him until she was draped across his heaving chest. She lay still, her cheek pressed to his chest, as if intent on listening to the gradual slowing of his racing heart. He stared down at her bent head, at the small hand draped across his stomach. Even with her warm body pressed against him as evidence, there was some part of him that still doubted her existence. Perfection was something he'd always held in suspicion, but he couldn't deny what he'd felt. What he still felt. He was only half of the equation, though. She hadn't moved since he pulled her over top of him. He could tell by the occasional flutter of her eyelids that she was still awake, but he couldn't see her expression, and it was worrying him a bit. Not her reaction to the roughness of the sex, but the intensity of it. His intensity. Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 04 He shifted as carefully as he could so he didn't jostle her, freeing his arm, his fingers finding their unerring way up to her tousled hair. Sliding his hand through the silky mass he cupped the back of her head, coaxing her upwards until her face was closer to his, tilting up toward him. She looked back at him steadily, if a bit shyly, her hand slipping up to the position her ear had held, fingers splayed over his heart. Her eyes were soft...warm. He exhaled slowly. She reached up and traced a careful curve along his bottom lip with her finger, studying him intently. He sensed she was holding something in, her shoulders hunched, her eyes fixed on his mouth and not meeting his gaze. "Jarod...can I ask..." she finally queried, blinking rapidly as her cheeks went a deeper shade of pink. Whatever it was, she found it embarrassing. He waited for her next words, intrigued. "Did you...you know..." Her eyes dipped downwards, looking along his body. Ah. The penny dropped and he had to restrain the smile that twitched at his lips. "You mean...did I come?" he said, watching her reaction closely. She blushed a deeper shade of pink, but nodded, her eyes slid shyly away from his. He couldn't help himself. He began to chuckle. And paid for it with a slap to the chest from her insistent little hand. It only made him laugh harder. Did she really need to ask? Was she that far beyond it when he'd practically fallen on top of her in his passion? He finally relented and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, the smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth. "How could I not when your sweet little cunt was squeezing me half to death?" he said, half teasing, half serious, earning another slap from her. But she was smiling back at him now, the warmth reaching her eyes as she looked up at him. There it was. That little smug smile of hers. Though in all fairness, she'd earned it. "Huh...you look like a cat with cream," he muttered, raising an eyebrow. She lowered her eyes, slowly tracing a finger over his chest and nodded, still smiling. He hooked a finger under her chin until she was forced to meet his eyes. He could get lost in that look. Her eyes said, 'Come to me,' and 'You're safe with me.' He blinked rapidly, something stinging at the backs of his eyes. "For all your brattishness, I think you do like to please me," he murmured thoughtfully, still trying to puzzle her out. She merely smiled up at him again and curled herself up against his chest. Curled up like a kitten. And his heart filled with something new, and wild and deep. * * * * * The completeness of the silence told him he'd woken up into the darkness of the very early hours. His first thought was a confused one. The warm arm draped over him wasn't his own. The soft regular sleeping-breath against his shoulder held him captive for some moments. She was fast asleep, tucked under his arm, her hand possessively pressed to his chest. The shock of this realisation left him taking deep breaths, and it took some time for his mind to straighten out a somewhat perplexing thought. It wasn't the fact that she was there, sleeping with him, that was causing the shock...the breathlessness. It was how natural it felt. As if this was how it had always been. Just this thought alone was messing with his head, and he fought against the urge to escape it. He should feel good about this. Why should it be a problem for something to feel so right? He found himself overwhelmed by a steadily growing sense of entrapment, and had to slowly, gently, extricating himself from her embrace. As he pulled away from her she shifted in her sleep, murmuring softly before rolling onto her back, her face turned away from him. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her. Her pale perfect skin stark against the sheets, her dark hair pooling around her. Very carefully, he pulled the covers over her. Still, she slept on. A restlessness drove him, and he searched around on the floor until he found his boxer shorts. Tugging them on, he made his way out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the living room. Leaning against the big windows, he looked out at the faint blush on the horizon, the only light in an otherwise dark city. It was the time of night when everyone should be asleep, he thought, but here he stood, staring out the window. Stretching wearily, he slumped down into his leather chair and swivelled it towards the window, letting the quiet and the darkness soothe him. The truth was, she'd turned him upside down. Nothing was right-side up, and it unsettled the hell out of him. His mind took each and every possible route through the problem, but it didn't find an answer. Chasing itself and an elusive understanding, he didn't notice when he drifted into sleep. * * * * * He was woken by the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut. Groaning, he pressed his hands to his bleary eyes. Fuck. He hadn't meant to sleep in the chair. And he hadn't meant for her to wake up alone. He sighed and leaned further back in the chair, his ears straining to catch her movements. It was still dark, but the blush was now a firm streak in the sky and dawn was on its way. There was the sound of water running, and after a few moments of silence, the door opening and the click of the light switch. Soft, padding footfalls and he sensed she was standing behind him. He turned in the chair and caught sight of her, her hand pushing back her tumbled hair, the curves of her body enveloped in the white cotton of his work shirt. He had to think hard about breathing, just seeing her there, glowing pale in the darkness of the hallway like some sort of apparition. "Hey," he said softly, not wanting to scare her off. She moved closer, rubbing her eyes. "Hi... What time is it?" He heard her yawn softly as she walked past him and stopped, facing the window and the expanse of city and sky beyond it. The shirt nearly draped to her knees, but even in the gentle light of early dawn he could make out her shape beneath the fabric. The indent of her waist, the curves of her hips and thighs. He felt his groin tighten just watching her. Shit. He'd come...twice, not that many hours ago. How on earth could he be ready to have her again? He swallowed. "It's pretty early yet," he said, his voice rough. "You should go back to bed. Get some sleep." She turned towards him, a hand pressed back against the glass. "Why are you sitting out here?" He exhaled slowly. Why was he sitting out here? "I couldn't sleep," he said, thinking that it was mostly true. He watched her as she took slow, swaying steps towards his chair, her hands fiddling with the long cuffs of his shirt. "I woke up and you were gone..." She stopped a few inches from his knees, her eyes lowered, reaching out a hand and brushing her fingertips against his leg. "I'm sorry," he said, not quite knowing why he was apologising. He stared up at her, trying to ignore the effect her nearness was having on his body. Her hand stilled and her eyes darted up to his briefly before dropping back to where her fingers touched his skin. "Do you regret it?" His head jerked back. "Regret what?" She shrugged, raising her hands and dropping them again. "Us...this." She paused. "Me." He sat forward in the chair and snaked an arm around her waist, tugging her closer to him. God. Regret her? Regret not finding her sooner, more like it. "Never," he said firmly. He felt her relax slowly in his arms. Through the crisp fabric her body felt so warm, so soft. He realised how chilled he'd gotten, sleeping in the chair. The heat radiating out from somewhere low in his belly was quickly counteracting the cold. She twined her fingers in his hair, and he tilted his head back to see her face. She looked sleepy and dreamy and so fucking beautiful. Her lips parted slightly, and he knew he had to kiss her soon. He leaned back in the chair, dragging her with him, pulling her off balance and into his lap, half-sitting, half straddling him. Burying his face in her neck, he breathed deep. Her question pricked at his mind, and he leaned his head back against the headrest of the chair, trying to catch her eye. "Why...do you regret this? Us?" She regarded him steadily, her hands slipping down from his hair to clasp behind his neck. Overcome with a sudden shyness, she ducked her head down next to his, her lips near his ear. "No," she breathed, "Not a second of it." He felt his shoulders relax a little, calmed by her words, surprised by how much he'd needed to hear her say it. What they'd done had been madness, but here she was. In his arms. Sliding his hands around her waist, he shifted her in his arms until she faced him, straddling him, her knees just fitting either side of his hips. He swallowed, hard, as the smooth warmth of her thighs settled against his legs. She kept her grip on his shoulders, her hair swinging down as she looked down at him, her eyes wide and watchful. His hands found their own way, smoothing along the roundness of her thighs, straying up under the shirt, confirming she was completely naked underneath it. When he skimmed the bare skin of her hips, spanning her waist with his hands, he felt her grip on his shoulders tighten. He pressed his hands more firmly into the curve of her waist and felt her begin to melt towards him with a soft moan. Slowly, firmly, he massaged deeply with his hands, digging into the muscles in her lower back where her waist was narrowest. She was whimpering now, her forehead pressed to his shoulder, her hips arching against him of their own accord. Oh sweet Jesus. His hands shifted down to her hips, pulling her back against him again firmly. If he thought his dick had been hard before... He shifted down in the chair, pulling her even closer to him, pressing her tightly against his erection. She felt so good, so fucking good. He groaned when she sat back, her hands braced on his shoulders, arching slowly against him, her eyes closed, oblivious to anything but the feel of their bodies pressing together. His hands drifted up from her hips, tugging impatiently at the few buttons she'd done up. He pushed the edges of the shirt back, baring the thrusting curve of her breasts. He let his fingers brush down the outside curve of each breast, and took a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. Her back arched reflexively, her whimpers turning to moans when he swirled his tongue over skin hungrily, as if he'd never tasted her before. He filled his hands with the soft weight, his thumbs caressing the skin his mouth left damp and aching. It was as if his hunger for her only grew the more he tasted of her. He pulled himself away with some reluctance, his hands holding onto her hips, stilling her movements. Waiting until she opened her eyes and gazed down at him, he stroked his thumbs slowly along the curve of her hipbones. When her eyes met his he could see they were filled with need and wanting and a little confusion. "Kiss me," he said. She hesitated and shyly ducked her head down next to his instead. He gently grabbed her chin and drew her face back towards his, his eyes never leaving hers. "Go on...kiss me," he said patiently. She stared into his eyes, her gaze dipping down to his mouth and back up again, that little darting tongue wetting her bottom lip. She leaned in, hesitant, their breath mingling for several heartbeats before she brushed her lips lightly against his. He waited, only opening his lips slightly against hers, letting her come to him. Her hands smoothed in slow circles on his chest, her head lowering to his. Her lips pressed more firmly to his this time and he had to stifle a groan, resisting the desire to crush her to him. She angled her head slightly, opening her mouth against his, the tip of her tongue seeking out his, her hips flexing against him instinctively. Still he held back, allowing her to trace the lines of his chest and shoulders with greedy fingertips. Emboldened by his stillness, she slid her hands up into his hair, her mouth pressing against his with a new insistence. Her hands strayed back down to his chest, her thumbs making gentle sweeping strokes over his nipples, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from grabbing her. She made her way down his chin with her kisses, licking and nipping at his neck as he'd done to her so often. At his hissing indrawn breath he saw her smile with satisfaction. She was enjoying torturing him the same way he'd tortured her. She bent her head and replaced her wicked thumbs with her lips and swirling tongue, sucking his nipple gently, then harder. His patience and control snapped, and he grabbed her by the hair and the back of her head and crushed her lips to his. He chased her back with his tongue, thrusting into her mouth with a new urgency, his lips taking hers roughly. With a low groan against her mouth, he slipped his hands down over her hips and under the beautiful roundness of her bottom, lifting and pressing her against his throbbing erection through the boxer shorts. She clung to him with a soft moan. He broke off the kiss, gasping for breath. "I want to be inside you," he growled into her hair, his hands grasping her and pulling her up against the aching length of his cock. She whimpered his name in response, her arms circling his neck, her breasts crushed to his chest. Her hands were at his hips, tugging at the waistband of his boxers, impatient as he was to be skin to skin, when it occurred to him. His condom stash was back in the bedroom. He groaned, letting his head drop back to the headrest of the chair. The last thing he wanted to do was move. She felt so good pressed to him, her bare skin creating a delicious friction against his thighs, her wet little cunt dampening his boxers. He couldn't wait, he had to have her now. But he grabbed her wrists, stilling her efforts to strip him. "Babe...I haven't got anything..." She pressed against him even more insistently, wrenching a strangled groan from him as she rubbed against him shamelessly. He tried again, "They're back in the bedroom..." He tried to push her off his lap, but she clung to him, moaning in protest. "It doesn't matter," she said with a whimper. "Of course it matters!" he said, She dropped her head to rest against his shoulder before raising her eyes back up to his. "I'm on the pill," she confessed, her cheeks flushing pink. On the pill? He stared back at her, incredulous. "Why didn't you say anything before?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "You didn't ask, did you," she said. He closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts, his body still screaming to continue what they started. She was right. He hadn't even thought to ask. Just planned the whole thing out and done it his own way. On his terms. He opened his eyes and looked deep into her waiting gaze, mind still racing. He believed her, that wasn't it. Maybe he'd planned it that way on purpose. To put yet another barrier between himself and that thing that drew him so madly. Eyes locked onto hers, watching every subtle shift in her gaze, he flexed his hips up against her, the hard ridge of his cock pressing against her sensitive centre. She whimpered, her eyes dipping closed before returning to his, darker, eyelids lowered, full of understanding of what it was he wanted. She rose up off his knees long enough for them to tug his boxers off, her hands filled with the same heated urgency that twitched through his whole body. When she settled back onto him, he scooped her firmly towards him until her wet heat pressed against the hard length of his erection. He held her hips tightly, keeping her from moving against him, fighting for breath. Neither of them spoke. Gathering his dangerously frayed control, he exhaled slowly, looking deep into her wide brown eyes. He wanted to watch her...to look into her eyes when he pushed inside her. Wanted to see her lose herself. To lose herself because of him. Keeping her eyes on his, he gripped her firmly around the waist and lifted her over top of his erection, letting the aching tip find her entrance, and held her there. Her chest heaving with every breath, her eyes dark and begging, locked on his. Softening his hold on her hips, he waited, letting her feel him pressing into her, blinking slowly at her once in assent. He felt her hands grip his shoulders more tightly as she began to lower herself onto him, slowly impaling herself on his cock, her tight heat steadily engulfing him. Oh, fuck. Oh god. He felt himself begin to tip over the edge, the sensations sending white sparks to the backs of his eyes. How could anything feel this good? He groaned, his head pressed back against the chair, his hips flexing to meet hers. She settled against him and he stilled his movements, just letting her adjust to his body invading hers. She shifted forward and let out a shaky whimper as it pushed him even deeper into her. Seconds ticked by, neither of them moving, both of them just absorbing the sensation of being connected so intimately. He gave up on getting his breath back, and concentrated on massaging her waist, leaning in to bury his face against her neck, biting down gently on her shoulder and just hanging on. Her arms tightened around his neck, her breasts pressed up against his chest, but still he didn't move. It was when his mouth made its way up her neck in slow kisses, his tongue making long slow sweeps against her skin that her hips twitched against his. It was when he angled his mouth over hers and captured her lips in a leisurely, devouring kiss that she arched helplessly against him. This wasn't fucking. This was being joined at the very core by a steadily expanding orb of pure pleasure. He guided her hips, pulling her closer, showing her how to rock against him, slow and deep. He caught her whimpers with his kisses, groaned against her mouth at the exquisite friction. He leaned back in the chair and allowed her free reign, her confidence growing, her movements fluid enough to take his breath right out of his chest. He let her ride him, taking her pleasure, holding himself back, steeling his steadily slipping control. Conscious only of the silky heat clenched tight around him, her soft weight pressing down on his thighs, her fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders as her movements grew ever more erratic. Up the curve of her belly he caressed with his hands, rising to cup her breasts and mould himself to their sweet heaviness. His thumbs found her nipples, and she was soon gasping and crying, her body moving against his jerkily, urgently. He knew she was close. Threading his fingers through her hair he tugged her towards him, drew her lips to his, darted his tongue in to meet hers. The warm wave lifted them, carried them. She gripped at his back and pulled herself ever tighter to him. Gasping, he fell back, arching, flexing his hips, wanting to be deeper and deeper inside her. He pulled her hands forward to brace against his chest before guiding them down the flat of his stomach to the place where their bodies joined. Her eyes found his, questioning, uncertain, dark with need. "Make yourself come," he said, gasping. "Come for me..." Her eyes drifted closed as she moaned, her head tilting back, her hands pressed tight against herself in answer to his words He watched, rapt, as her small fingers found their mark, circling in tandem to the rocking of her hips against his. Gripping her waist, he pulled her ever closer, helping her maintain the rhythm. He latched onto a breast, sucking her taut nipple deep, suckling hard, his ears full of her cries. When she did come, he was as transfixed as she was. Watching her face as the first wave of her orgasm hit was enough to push him right to the edge, and when her body clutched at him in deep, hard spasms he realised he was going over with her. It wasn't the mad, screaming release from before. It crept up slow and warm and just held him there exquisitely before the heat and the final rush. Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 04 * * * * * "Jarod?" "Mm?" His face was buried in the flower-scent of her hair and he was loath to move, no matter what her question was. If she was going to ask again if he'd had an orgasm he would seriously need to educate her on the finer points of male sexuality. "I think we might have ruined your nice leather chair." He threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her lips to his, brushing them with a kiss that threatened more, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "We have mind-blowing sex, and all you can think about is the damned upholstery?" he murmured against her mouth, taking her lower lip between his teeth and tugging gently before letting her go. She sighed, leaning into him, curling her hand behind his neck, her fingers rifling his hair. "Mind-blowing, huh?" she asked with a lazy grin, her eyes flicking up to his, filled with a mixture of bashfulness and pride. "Uh-huh." He drank, slowly, leisurely from her lips, her shyness prompting a question in his mind. He pulled back and looked at her. "I'm surprised you didn't mind having that mind-blowing sex in front of my picture window," he said, nodding towards the wall of glass. He was teasing, mostly. The sky was still dark and there were no lights on in the flat to give them away. She stared at the window thoughtfully and then shrugged. "I figured I already stripped in front of it for all to see...what's a little more of a show?" Her cheeks still blushed pink despite her bravado. The blinds. It pinged slowly through his mind. He'd opened the blinds. She thought he'd had her strip in front of the open window? No wonder she ran away. He pondered this for a moment. "So you enjoyed it? Being on display where anyone could see?" he asked in a low voice, watching her closely. She buried her face against his shoulder, but he didn't miss the smile on her face. "Maybe," she whispered. He took her chin in his hand and caught her gaze, intrigued by the smouldering of desire that thought had triggered in her eyes. The little minx. He wondered if he should break the truth to her softly. He also wondered if she'd ever have fucked him in his reading chair in front of the whole city if she knew it was the first time she'd shown her bare bottom to the world. Both thoughts made him smile. "What?" she asked, growing suspicious. "Nothing...nothing," he said, trying to keep a straight face. "It's just that when you took your clothes off the first time..." He paused. "What?" She eyed him warily. "The blinds were closed. Nobody saw you." She shrieked and pounded at his chest with her small fists, outraged. "How dare you?" "How dare I what? Close my own window blinds?" "You didn't tell me! And here I thought..." she looked away, shaking her head. "Well, you've done it now," he said, gesturing towards the steadily growing light and the city that was waking up below them. She leaped out of his lap as if he'd scalded her. "You! You...!" She looked furious. And breathtakingly beautiful. When she stormed off down the hallway, her bare heels thudding soundly against the floorboards, he knew he would chase her. And he knew he would catch her and bring her back. He also knew quite certainly that she'd enjoy it when he did. * * * * * Dawn was approaching. He cradled her, her face pressed against his neck, her knees curled up. He didn't have any thoughts. He just held her, and held the sensation of it all tight, so tight and let it fill his mind, pushing out anything else but the feel of her in his arms. And as he twined his fingers with her fingers and rubbed his thumb against the delicate skin of her small hand, one thought did come to him, clear and without doubt. He sat, motionless; astounded by it as it exploded softly in his mind. So obvious now, he couldn't grasp why he'd not understood before. He loved her. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Thank you for reading -- if you enjoyed this story, please be sure to let me know with your votes and your comments, they are much appreciated.