He was in a relentless sort of mood, and he brought me again and again, until I lost count, though with the mood he was in, I doubted that he forgot the number.
I felt boneless and light-headed when he finally impaled me. He rammed into me with one clean thrust, and my eyes shot open. They had only been closed because he was too absorbed with his face between my legs to notice the slight.
Our eyes locked, and I realized in a corner of my very distracted mind that he was still fully clothed.
Even his tie still remained hanging around his neck, thought he had loosened it. I glanced down at our joined bodies and saw that he had only undone his slacks and pulled them down slightly, just enough to give him access. Something about all of those dark, formal clothes against my naked, bound body was one of the most erotic things I’d ever seen.
His forehead nearly touched mine as he held himself over me, working in and out of me with smooth motions. It was downright gentle, for him. He was making slow, sweet love to me, in his way.
Scant drops of sweat dripped from his temples to mine. I thought it was unbelievably sensual. Only Mr.
Beautiful could make sweat into something so sexy. I wanted to lick it all off of his body. I told him so.
He grinned, though there was an edge to it as he continued to thrust in and out of me with agonizing slowness. “Not tonight. You were thinking about taking other lovers while I made love to you. Now I have something to prove. Perhaps if I fuck you unconscious, you won’t be able to wonder if there’s someone better out there for you.”
I gave him an exasperated look. As much as I could, considering he was slowly fucking me out of my mind. “You’re impossible, James. You took that all wrong. I was only thinking about you, and how lucky I am to have you.”
His face went a little slack. It made my heartstrings pull. With a shout he began to thrust in earnest, and from the look on his face, he was completely losing himself. I loved it. I drank in the sight of his composure completely deserting him as he pounded into me, his beautiful eyes made into slits with the strain. He shouted my name, rather desperately, as his orgasm took him. My own caught me moments later as he continued to arch deeply inside of me.
He let his heavy weight sag onto me for several minutes in our aftermath. I nuzzled my face into the hair around his ear, smelling his wonderful spicy scent, mixed with his sweat and just a hint of cologne.
“You’re wonderful,” I whispered against his hair.
He stiffened, burying his face into my neck, nuzzling there. “I want to deserve you, my love,” he whispered back. I could hear the desperation in his quiet voice.
“Do you even know how crazy that is?” I asked in the same quiet voice, as though we could be overheard. “I’m nobody, and you’re the most extraordinary man I’ve ever met. I don’t deserve you.”
He made a little sound of protest in his throat. “You’re my angel, Bianca. You’ve exorcized my demons. I don’t have nightmares when I’m with you. I don’t have to work seventy hour work weeks to keep my mind distracted. My life has become more than work and emotionless affairs. You make me a better man.”
“You’re so good to me,” I told him.
He reached up to untie my wrists, kissing me softly all over my face as he did so.
He had me untied and cradled into his chest in swift moments. I cuddled into the soft silken fabric of his shirt, too tired to even try to get him naked.
I was just on the edge of sleep when I felt him shift. “Love, I promised Stephan you would call and text him before you went to bed. He wanted to make sure your night went alright. Don’t drift off. I’m going to find your phone.”
I quickly found I had to sit up to stay awake as James disappeared into his closet. He re-emerged in short order, stripped down to his boxer-briefs, and carrying my phone. He maneuvered himself behind me on the bed, pulling me between his legs as I checked my phone. I had several texts from Stephan, asking how I was, and I texted him back that everything was fine and I would see him in the morning.
I checked my phone log next. I had missed three more calls from the strange 702 number, and my brows drew together as I saw that the caller had left a voicemail this time. That was new. I found myself clicking the play button and holding my phone to my ear before I thought better of it. I should have waited until morning, but something about the strange caller and number was nagging at me. If it was my father, I’d just as soon know right away, instead of worrying about it all night.
The voicemail was just silence at first, with the slightest hint of background noise, soft soothing music playing, just like in the phone calls. But eventually a harried female voice began to speak haltingly.
There was a familiar paranoid fear in her voice, though I didn’t recognize the voice itself at all.
“Bianca Karlsson. This is, um, this is Sharon.” A long pause. “Sharon Karlsson.” My entire body went still as a corpse and the hair on the back of my neck prickled with a warning. “I’m…married to your father. I, well, I guess that I’m your stepmother. I really need to speak to you. Your father always forbade me from trying to contact you. He would never say why, but, well, um, he’s disappeared. He’s been gone for over a month with no word, and I’m pretty sure he’s gone for good this time. So I would really appreciate it if you would meet with me. Please call me back as soon as you can.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
My hand dropped into my lap still holding the phone.
“What is it?” James asked, apparently not overhearing the strange message. I didn’t answer, my mind busy worrying over the bizarre development of my father having a wife.
James took the phone out of my hand, and I watched him retrace my steps and hold the phone up to his own ear to listen to my message.
Nosy, rich bastard, I thought, almost fondly.
His brow furrowed as he listened to the strange message. He reached over to put my phone on the bedside table, then came close to cuddle me against him.
“I don’t like this. If you decide to meet with her, it should be in public, and make sure you have at least two bodyguards with you. Promise me, Love.”
I nodded absently, nowhere near keeping up with his train of thought, my mind still obsessing over the strange knowledge that my father had remarried. When? Why? Did he treat this strange woman better than he had my poor abused mother? The woman was alive, so clearly he did.
In spite of my body’s exhaustion, my mind became too busy for sleep after that. James cleaned us both, even wiping away my makeup before turning out the lights and spooning in behind me. His presence was soothing, but I still worried over the surprising news for a long time before finally drifting into a restless sleep.
I was in that house again. I lay in my hard, tiny bed. I was hugging my knees to my chest, rocking and rocking, and trying to ignore the harsh shouts just a few thin walls away. If I stayed in my room, it would all go away. They would forget I was even here and in the morning my Dad would sleep all day and leave us in peace so I could tend to my Mother.
But that wasn’t meant to be. Not this time. The yelling grew louder, my mothers turning into terrified screams.
When I couldn’t stand the horrible noises a moment longer, I crept quietly through the house to investigate. In spite of my overwhelming fear, my need to at least attempt to aid my mother almost always thrust me into the violent thick of things.
I looked down at my thin bare feet, wishing I knew where some clean socks were. I was so cold, an achy kind of cold, down to my very soul.
My parents were speaking in Swedish, and I pieced together some hysterical words as I got closer to the kitchen where they fought. “No, no, no. Please, Sven, put that away.”
My father’s voice was an angry roar. “You’ve ruined my life. You and that brat. I’ve lost everything because of you. My fortune, my inheritance, and now, my luck. You’ve taken everything from me, just by living. Tell me why I shouldn’t take everything from you, you silly cunt?”
“When you’re sober, you’ll regret it. We have a child together, Sven. Please, just go to sleep. If you sleep on it, you’ll feel better.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what to do! Fuck sleep. Fuck you. And fuck that little brat. Look at her, hovering in the door, frozen like a little mouse.” His cold eyes went to me.
I was frozen in place, as he’d said. He changed his tone when he spoke to me, and it turned into a mockery of a gentle tone. “Why don’t you join us, sotnos? Come be with your pretty Mama.”
I moved to my mother, having learned a very long time ago not to disobey him when he was in this mood.
He sneered at the two of us when I stood beside her. He towered over us. My mother didn’t look at me, didn’t reach for me. I knew she didn’t want to draw more attention to me. She tried to protect me, as I did her. “Look at my pretty girls. The daughter is even prettier than the mother. What use, then, is the mother? Tell me why you’re useful, Mama?” he asked her.
I didn’t hear her answer. My gaze was focused solely now on the object he was holding at his side. It was a gun. My gut clenched in dread. The gun was a new and terrifying addition to this violent scene.
My gaze flew back to my father’s face as a laugh left his throat. It was a cackle of a laugh, dry and angry.
I began to back away, shaking my head back and forth in denial.
“Wrong answer, cunt,” he said.
He waved the the pistol in front of her. “You can’t take your eyes off of this. Do you want it? Would you like me to give this to you? Take it, if you want it. You think I can’t touch you with a gun in your hand?”
My mother watched him, her eyes almost blank with terror. She must know, as I did, from the mocking tone of his voice, that he was testing her. She would pay dearly if she took the gun from him, even if he had told her to.
He laughed. “I insist. Take the gun.”
Unexpectedly, and horrifyingly, she did. She pointed it at him with hands that shook. “Get out,” she said, her voice tremulous and awful with her terror. “You can’t do these things, especially in front of our daughter. Get out, and don’t come back.” She was sobbing, but she managed to pull the hammer back.
He laughed again. With no fear and no effort, he grabbed her hand. His hand covered one of hers, ripping the other one away. He turned the gun, slowly and inexorably pointing it away from himself and pushing it into her mouth.
I had backed myself against the wall as I watched their exchange, but when I saw his clear intent, I suddenly rushed forward, sobbing, “Mama.”
I stopped as though I’d run into a wall when my father pulled the trigger, covering us and the entire room in obscene amounts of glowing crimson blood and gore.
My horrified eyes met my father’s. His showed no expression at all.
I awoke to total darkness, a harsh scream caught in my throat. I had no notion of where I was and I began to scramble off of the huge, soft bed, fumbling around in the pitch blackness for a wall, a lamp, a light switch, anything. I needed to wash the blood off. I was feeling along the wall and sobbing like a child when light suddenly flooded the room.
