He picked me up then and pushed me against the wall, held my hands up above my head and watched the water pour over my T-shirt, until my nipples stood out like I’d won a wet T-shirt contest. Then he leaned forward and sucked on them, through the wet cotton, hard enough for a jolt of unexpected pleasure to shoot through me. I swear, I almost came from those hard sucks. And he knew it too.
This was a discovery for me, but it was still Mathias, still coming back to him. I knew he’d protect me, and knowing that fanned my desire. “Keep going. I’m all in.”
He knew it too, because he flirted, even as he commanded my body to respond, with his mouth...his hands...
Yes, I could take it. I deserved nothing else.
He turned me then, so we faced the floor-to-ceiling mirror across from the shower. My back was to his chest and I almost couldn’t look, because it was all so hot and explicit, but I forced myself to.
When I did, Mathias stripped my clothes off. Naked, with Mathias’s hands playing with my nipples, I fought the urge to cover myself, because he was in charge.
That’s what he told me. Mouthed, I’m in charge here. You’re okay with that.
A statement, not a question, but I was more than okay with it. I didn’t hesitate to nod, and was rewarded with a hand sliding down between my legs. I gasped with pleasure as his fingers found me and my eyes closed. But his other hand went to my chin, gave it a little shake.
When I opened my eyes, he motioned for me to keep them open.
I did. I watched him walk around in front of me and kneel, watched it all happen in the mirror as he put his head between my legs. It was almost like an out of body experience. He stroked me with his tongue, hard and fast, and I watched him lick my cleft. When I came, because it didn’t take long, I grabbed his hair tightly and I broke his rule, tearing my gaze from the mirror so I could look down at him.
He’d been watching me the whole time. He pushed back and I grabbed for the wall as my legs threatened to give out. But he was up, carrying me to the bed, telling me without words that I’d broken the rules, and that I was to be punished.
He tied me to the bed. I was on my belly, arms stretched overhead, more excited than I could remember. Having just been tied by the LoV, this erased any and all bad memories associated with that, especially because his fingers were easing me open, teasing out another orgasm.
He slapped my ass roughly—three then four times—and then he ran a hand over my ass cheeks before he entered me. When he was fully inside of me, he grabbed my hips and pulled them up. And then he took me. That was the only way I could describe it, a thorough and complete claiming, his thighs slapping the backs of mine, my body helpless against his thrusts.
All I could do was surrender to him. So that’s exactly what I did.
Fight the good fight
Mathias
An hour or so later, when I was as fully satiated as Jessa was, I untied her. I’d gotten a lot of my demons out today, with the fight and with Jessa. She knew it wasn’t all gentle sex with me. And she seemed more than okay with that.
Now, she rubbed a hand along the snake tattoo and she asked, “Tell me more about the signs.”
I stared at the ceiling, wondering if I even wanted to go there. It was useless to try to keep her at arm’s length now. I’d let her so far in, farther than any woman had even been, that there was no going back now.
I grabbed the alphasmart and I started to type. It’s about when I first met Bish.
“You had a sign about that?”
I had the same exact sign I had with you.
Her mouth dropped and yeah, that was the reaction I’d expected. And then she said, “How did you meet him?”
It wasn’t pretty.
“I think you wanted to tell me, back at the warehouse this morning,” she said.
She was right. I motioned for her to read as I typed the story as fast as I could, as if speed could somehow make it all better, even as I flashed back to a night many years earlier in the bayou.
Screams. Unholy screams. It was maybe nine in the evening and I’d been on the porch, waiting for my father to come in from work. I stood, my entire body tingling, and I heard rustling in the tall grass.
Something was coming. Someone. And then there he was, a boy my age. Taller. Thinner. And beaten to fucking hell. He jumped on the porch and seemed to realize he was trapped.
I didn’t hear anyone coming after him, but I sensed it.
There was an old trunk my mom kept out on the porch—it was too big for the house but we used it at night to rest our drinks or feet on. Now, I lifted the lid and pointed.
Panic flooded Bish’s face—his cheeks smeared with dirt and tears—and that might’ve been the very last time I’d ever seen him cry. Not that he lacked emotion. But I guess everything was easier to handle once you had someone on your side.
I didn’t know he was claustrophobic at the time. Maybe it was better I hadn’t known. I locked him in the trunk and shoved the key inside the hollow windowsill, in a hole that couldn’t be seen unless you were as low as I was to the ground. And the angry Indian was well over six feet—taller than my dad, because I judged that by the way he cleared the porch roof without ducking.
The Indian bowed forward so he didn’t slam his forehead against the doorjamb. “I followed that little bastard up here.”
I shrugged. He came after me then, his hand raised to hit me, but I didn’t flinch. I thought about how bruised the boy in the trunk had been and figured I could take just this one for him.
But then he stopped. I don’t know why. And then he stared at me like he could see right through me—to this day, I believe he could but Bish told me I gave him too much credit. But at that time, I just kept thinking about what Dad said, to put up a shield to protect you from your enemies. How I had the evil eye amulet in my pocket.
He cursed, stormed across the porch, intent on opening the trunk and then the trunk and that’s when I heard the shotgun echo in the front yard. The big Indian froze and I knew Dad was sending him a message...
I swear I could feel the boy in the trunk praying. The big Indian finally left, shaking a fist at me. He’d been as silent as I was—worse though, because for all his strength and size, he never made a sound coming or going.
When I let Bish out, he was shaking, but the tears had stopped. I handed him the amulet—he still has it to this day—but I also tattooed it on him, just in case, about five years later. I grabbed the salt and, with Bish there, I made the sign of the cross on the ground with salt. I was already signing with one hand, like Bish could understand me.
He did.
“And then what happened?” Jessa asked.
After that, Bish stayed for dinner. And overnight. And for breakfast. And he basically never left, not for very long anyway.