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I edge up a little so we're eye-to-eye. The gun still sits in my right hand, and I bring it to stroke her chin while my other hand moves between her thighs. "Leo. Look at me."
Nothing. She's working so hard to stay still.
I hook my fingers up inside her and shove them into a softer spot, the one right beneath her clit that will force her to respond. And respond, she does; her eyes shoot open and she stifles a gasp. I'm pressing hard, circling now—harder than a girl might ask me to—but the muscles of her pussy begin to ease and undulate with pleasure. With relief.
"You like that?" I whisper.
Wet, fleshy sounds punctuate her panting. What does she have to be ashamed of, I'd wondered? Looky, grasshoppers. Exhibit fuckin' A.
"I asked you to do something." This time, I prod her cheekbone with the tip of the gun. Let her smell the oil and solvent; let her panic over the visions they evoke. Her black button eyes meet mine, and they are pools of sticky longing, hot tar on a baked summer road.
Suddenly, she tips her chin and lets out a moan—a wrought, desperate sound. Her features relax, tense up again; she hates me for this.
Leo begins to rock against my fingers, just slightly. Perhaps she hopes I won't notice. But I see everything, even in darkness—my night vision is stronger than most. Even if I failed to acknowledge the erratic shift of her hips, her pussy quivers and contracts with every stroke. I know a burgeoning orgasm when I feel one. I know, when she starts to gasp, how close she is.
I push the gun further into the smooth skin of her left cheek, and run my tongue along the right. She tastes like smoked honey, like New York and money and the iron stench of blood. "I saw you taste me," I murmur into her ear. "On the ledge, at the ball. I bled on your fingers and you licked it up. What do you think that makes you?"
No words. But she finds the courage to look at me again, to beg me with those beautiful eyes.
"I know what you are," I tell her, repeating what she said to me not fifteen minutes ago. "Oh sweetheart, I know. Fuck, you're getting so tight."
"Mmm...I..."
I drop my lips just an inch from hers. Last time, I forced her; this time, I want a willing mouth. "Kiss me."
She straightens against the mattress. Tries to twist her face away, but succeeds only in shoving her cheek into the gun.
"If you want to come, you'll kiss me, Leo." I slow my fingers and drag them just a few millimetres from her most sensitive spot. Pure torment, no matter how hard she tries not to show it. "Am I making myself clear?"
"I, ah, I w-won't." She shakes her head, eyes closed. "No."
"I'm beginning to think you actually enjoy refusing me." I jerk my fingers inside her, forceful and hard.
It hurts her all the more when she expects pleasure. "No—!"
Enough of this. I could force both her kiss and her orgasm, but they'd be half as victorious and not nearly as satisfying. I pull my fingers out, push the gun up beneath her chin. Make her watch as I bring my hand to my lips. If I was hard before...Jesus. The flavour of her, all salt and sweet; even my cock wants a taste.
"I'm going to leave now," I say in a low voice. "You'll stay here until I'm gone. I want you to think very carefully about how, despite the fact that you had the gun and the secret, I'm the one who won."
She skips a breath. Quivers. Her legs are still wide apart, no doubt to usher cool air toward the flesh I've made so tender.
"I'll be interested to hear your thoughts on the contract tomorrow. You have my card." I finally release her, easing off the bed to stand. "I'll leave your gun on the table in the hallway."
She stares up at me and swallows. "Q—quite the gentleman."
I shoot her a grin, dimples and all. Run my palm over her bare knee as I walk past. "If you want to finish yourself off, I won't judge, sweetheart."
There's a hiss of something that sounds like go fuck yourself, but I'm already too far away to make sure. Or to care.
She had the gun.
She had the secret.
But who's leaving with all the power? Me.
I place the gun on the beech table beside her two phones and her keys, and let myself out to the strange music of her sobs.
Leontine Reeves didn't hunt me down to punish me.
Dirty little bitch wants me to punish her.
TWENTY SIX YEARS AGO
Home
Aged 6
Strange man on the floor with a bag on his head.
Man is very still. Mama sits on the green couch, watching her shows and drinking smelly tea. I pad to her in my bear slippers.
"Mama?"
Her face is dancing colours, lights echoed from the TV. She doesn't look at me. "Go to sleep."
"Can't."
"You and me both, hon."
"What were the noises?"
"Just the movie." She tuts, waves me away like a flappy bird. "Aeron. It's past nine."
The smell of her tea makes my belly hurt. "Where's Daddy?"
She freezes. "Go to bed."
"Can he play me a song? Just to help me sleep." He does good songs on the piano.
Her voice changes. "There was a problem with Daddy."
I frown. "Like what?"
"Nothing. Now get your ass to bed before I lose my temper."
"Okay," I mumble. Maybe I'll play Nintendo, turn the sounds down.
Back to the door and the stairs, past the man on the floor.
Man with Daddy's hairy feet, but not his clothes.
Man with his face covered. So still.
My belly empties, sour taste in my mouth like that time I drank mouthwash. All over the carpet and covering my bear slippers.
"Hey!" I choke out. "I'm s-s-I'm sick..."
Nothing.
Must be a real good show she's watching.
Mama...?
#7
Corruption (noun): acceptance of the fact that 'nice boys' still conduct school shootings, and the best place to find a 'nice girl' is on the end of a bastard's dick
Oh, hello there. I'm Aeron Lore. You might recognise me from scenes such as sexually assaulting Leo, or trespassing in Leo's apartment and assaulting her again. It's important that you remember this as you join me for the next part of the journey. Important that you understand how things are here in the land of American Dreams.
I made the mistake of underestimating Leo, but now I know what she's capable of and what she needs from me. Nobody asks to be corrupted, but there comes a time in a man's life when he looks around and realizes how he got this far; the answer is never being nice. It's exactly the same for women, but half of them haven't noticed yet.
This is Leo's time. This is the part where I gamble, and it could go one of three ways.
The first way—and the most obvious—is that she runs. I open my eyes and just like that, she flickers from the world like a candle blown out, taking my secrets with her.
The second is that she makes good on her go fuck yourself threat and exposes everything. Could the police hurt me? Probably not, given time elapsed and my access to good counsel. But it would look bad. Create an aura of distasteful notoriety. Rachel would probably make a couple hundred thou on a cringeworthy tell-all book, and Leo...she's not that kind of victim. But my victim...ah, that, she is.
The third way is that Leo signs the contract and takes my offer. Comes to me, despite my transgressions. Kneels at the feet of the devil, arms outstretched and forehead to the floor. I've made it clear what I'm about. What she'd be signing up for.
I don't know that she will sign. I've hurt her. Threatened her. Humiliated her. She could wield power over me if she wanted; in fact the only thing she can't do is refuse me, should I decide to assert myself upon her again. Though there's something about the image of her willingly spreading her thighs for me that heats my blood a few degrees above longing. Surrender, they call it. White flag, white skin as my canvas, and a mouthful of white truths. Shall I hedge my bets here, after she struggled not to come on my fingers? Yes, I think I shall.
Watch her closely for me, grasshoppers. Leo thinks she's supposed to be a nice girl. Her perception is warped—there's more than a streak of me in the little lion.
There are other things inside her, too. And only one way to find them: cut a hole and let them out.
