AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I didn't answer her.
But the answer was yes. I've always run when it gets hard. Prided myself on the hard stuff I can do. Like Jesse. Like going along with all the hate and violence and drugs and deaths with the gang so I could bring them down.
That had to matter too. And it wasn't like I hadn't tried to give Mark his freedom.
* * *
"That you, babe?"
Weird conversations with commanding officers aside, I felt fantastic by the time I got home. Lighter than air. Better than fentanyl. I ran into the kitchen, saw he was making spaghetti sauce, and threw my arms around him.
Mark, driven backwards a few steps, laughed, caught me, steadied us both. "What's up?"
"How many days without a heart attack or an emergency or without you coming home to find me fucked up?"
"How many days since a dinosaur attack at work?" It was a favorite poster of Mark's.
"How many days since an appliance broke around here?"
"Um, actually, the vacuum – "
"No! bad question! Things are going great, Mark!" At the same time I said it, I realized he wouldn't think so. I was thrilled to be going back to work.
He'd hate it.
So I kissed him. Let him have this at least. It would be the goodbye John thought I should give the people in my life before heading into danger.
Let him have this and let me have it. Because it probably was goodbye. When Mark understood how happy I was to be going back to work, maybe he'd finally be ready to let go.
There. I didn't always run.
Sometimes I hoped the other person would.
Mark carried me into the bedroom. His teeth were on my neck, in my shirt, ripping the shirt, tearing at my bra. His hands stretched mine over my head. His teeth grazed down my chest, found my nipples, bit, hurting, making me arch against him, my breath hissing out of my throat.
I wrapped my legs around him the way I had with Jesse, trying to banish that image. I fought to free my hands from his and he held me down, forcing my legs apart with his knee, grinding it into me, making me grind back against him, feeling the building of tension in that sweet spot.
"Mark," I said.
"Shut up." He growled it.
I'd told him over dinner. Something had changed. Over dinner. He'd fed me wine, more glasses than I was used to. He fed me spaghetti, and garlic bread, bites of salad. He kissed me hard enough to bruise. He'd grabbed me and carried me in here and now he was holding me down, now he was using my own cuffs to shackle my wrists to the headboard.
"Mark."
"Shut. Up." He looked around for something, anything, found my panties already stripped off, wadded them up and stuffed them in my mouth.
I tugged against the cuffs, tried to force the cloth out of my mouth.
His hands were on my boobs, his thumbs on my nipples, then his teeth, then he was using both hands, pinching and twisting and pulling them, the bra long since shredded and discarded. His mouth, his teeth, his hands. He slapped them once, twice, half a dozen times in each direction and I bucked under him, naked now and wanting him the same.
It was his fingers he used on me, though, jabbing three of them in, rough and hard, fucking me with them. My ears were ringing, my senses blurred with shock and alcohol. I think he called me a bitch. I think he ordered me to come.
I did, whether or not I’d got that right. Came so hard I screamed into the makeshift gag. Came so hard he could feel me contracting hard around his fingers.
"God," he breathed, and pulled the panties from my mouth, covering my lips with his. He bit even then, broke the skin on my lip, grabbed both boobs, squeezing as he sat up and positioned himself and thrust into me so hard I would have shouted but his hand went over my mouth.
"Fuck me," he said, and I did, wrapping my legs around him again and pumping my hips until the urgency sent him over the top and he took over, driving into me over and over until we were both drenched and coming.
