The meeting lasted about an hour. Instead of our normal routine of taking turns to talk about our rape-related issues, we feasted on eggnog and snacks we’d each brought along and shared what we were doing over the holidays. Dr. Williams and my sweet fellow rape victims had been invited to the wedding and were all looking forward to attending. Before leaving, Dr. Williams and I exchanged a hug. She’d helped me so much—especially with my trust issues. I was grateful Blake had urged me to join the group after the Springer attack.
The mid December air was chilly, especially for LA. Wearing only a lightweight wool sweater, I hugged myself as I walked quickly to my car which was parked a few blocks away. The poorly lit streets were dark and desolate. Nearby sirens sounded in my ears. And then I heard footsteps. So I thought. I anxiously looked over my shoulder. No one. My weary, distrustful mind was playing tricks on me. Paranoia was a recurring feeling among rape victims. We feared being followed and thought it could happen again. Holding my car keys, I picked up my pace until I reached my vehicle. Before I could unlock the door, a harsh voice called out my name.
Startled, I flipped around and accidentally dropped my keys. I bent down to retrieve them, but another hand got to them first.
Blake
A
s much as I loved my tiger, she still knew how to piss me off. She could be as stubborn as a mule. I didn’t want her to go to her rape support group. She was overworked and rundown. Plus, knowing there had been a bunch of gang-related incidents in the seedy Venice Beach neighborhood where they met bugged the shit out of me. If something happened to my tiger, I’d just about die. I’d almost lost her once; I couldn’t lose her again. It wouldn’t have killed her not to go, but it would kill me if something bad happened to her. I was as protective of her as I was possessive.
Despite my protestations, she insisted on going and told me to take a chill pill. There was nothing I could do to stop her—except tie her up and hold her down—which, in retrospect, I should have done. My cock twitched at the image of her all tied up in ropes. It made me horny as hell. Later when she got home, I was going to live out this fantasy and give her a fucking she wouldn’t forget.
She’d left the office early to head over to her group, which met weekly at seven p.m. At 7:30, I packed up my briefcase and headed to my car. Once settled inside, I flipped on the radio. Breaking news. The body of a badly beaten young woman had been discovered in Venice, close to Jennifer’s support group center. Her wallet had been stolen and her identity was still unknown. Police and paramedics had rushed to the scene of the crime and were still there. My heart leapt into my throat. I yanked my stick shift into first gear and peeled out of the parking lot.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
Jennifer
C
rouching, my unexpected companion and I were face to face. His nostrils flared. My pulse sounded in my ears.
“Bradley, what are you doing here? And what do you want?”
One word: “You.” His fetid breath assaulted me. Shit. He was uncharacteristically drunk.
I tensed but tried to remain calm and thought I could reason with him. But before I could get my lips to move, he shoved me against the car. My head banged against the frame, and in a painful breath, his slimy lips were all over mine and his hands were groping my breasts. The words “Stop it” stayed lodged in my throat as I tried to fight him off. Tearing at his thinning hair. Pushing him away. He bit my lip with his monstrous teeth and I could taste blood in my mouth.
His balls!
Go for his balls!
But before I could reach for them, he grabbed my wrists tightly.
“Fuck you, Jennifer,” he hissed.
“No. Fuck you, you bastard.” Another voice. A voice I recognized.
In a split second, Bradley was off me. Dangling by his collar in the hands of the man I loved. Blake! My hero!
Burning with rage, Blake set Bradley on his feet, spun him around, and—POW!—punched him hard in the face. Wincing, Bradley staggered against the car. Blood poured from his nose. Wiping my own bloody lip, I crawled away and stood up. My heart pounded as I watched Blake punch him again. Bradley moaned loudly and put his small hand to his bloody face.
Blake lifted his hand once more, his fingers balled into a tight fist. Bradley turned his head away and cowered.
“Man, don’t hit me again!” My despicable ex was practically sobbing.
A sudden rush of fear surged inside me. Blake was capable of murder. He had killed for me once and he could do it again. As much as I despised Bradley, I couldn’t let that happen.
“Please, Blake,” I pleaded. “Leave him alone! He’s had enough.”
Without acknowledging me, Blake held Bradley fastened in his fiery gaze. My heart galloped and my throat clenched. To my relief, he lowered his fist and then slapped both hands on Bradley’s shoulders, shoving him against my car door. Bradley’s blood-stained lips quivered.
“Let me go,” he whimpered.
Blake’s lips snarled. “Don’t you
ever
mess with my girl. She’s mine now. You fuck with her, you fuck with me.”
Bradley trembled.
“Trust me. You’ll be asking Santa for your two front teeth.”
Bradley parted his lips as if wanted to say something. Blake stopped him.
“And if I ever see you touch her, I’ll cut off your little dick. You’ll be sucking thumbkin.”
I watched as Blake kicked him square in the balls. Groping his groin, Bradley groaned and crumpled to the ground. Blake spat at him.
“Now get the hell out of here, Dickwick. I never want to see you again.”
I watched as Bradley crawled away.
Blake’s rage didn’t die down. With pounding steps, he moved my way. I gazed up at him. His razor-sharp eyes pierced me as he held me fierce in his gaze.
“What the fuck was he doing here?”
“Oh, Blake! He must have followed me. He’s been stalking me online.”
“Screw ‘Oh Blake.’” A rage that frightened me swept over Blake’s face. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
I shriveled against the hood of the car. “You’ve been away. Busy. Preoccupied.” I stuttered every word.
“Fuck you, Jennifer.”
I shuddered at his angry words.
“You didn’t listen to me. I had a bad feeling about tonight. I told you I didn’t want to come here, but you did.”
“But—”
He cut me off. “Fuck ‘but.’ You need to be punished.”
He’d punished me once before. But it was playful. I’d screwed up pancakes and he’d fucked me on the kitchen floor, dousing me with maple syrup. But this was different. There was intensity to him now I’d never known before. It both frightened and excited me.
He flipped me around so I was bent over the hood. My hands splayed on the cold metal. The headlights pressed against my middle. My head was bowed down, but I could still see his enraged reflection in the windshield. “Blake, what are you going to do to me?”
“I’m going to fuck some sense into you.”
A retribution fuck. I was strangely aroused. “Fuck you, Blake.”
“Fuck you, tiger,” he growled, shoving down my skirt along with my panties in one swift swoop and then spreading my legs apart.
His giant cock needed no warm-up. And apparently, my pussy wasn’t going to get one either. With a loud carnal grunt, he thrust his thick length into me. And began to ram me. This was fucking with no mercy. I winced. He slapped my ass. I winced again. Hot, salty tears sprinkled my cheeks. He pounded harder, digging his nails into my hips. I rocked into him, oddly enjoying every erotic minute.
“Blake, why are you doing this to me?”
“Because.
Thrust.
I.
Thrust.
Love.
Thrust.
You.”
“Don’t you have a better way of expressing yourself?” I blissfully wept the words.
In response to my question, an arm wrapped around my waist and I could feel his fingertips trail down to my soaking wet center. He began to rub my clit fervently while he continued to pummel me. Shrieks escaped from my lungs as an orgasm spiraled inside me, taking every cell with it. But before I could climax, he pulled his hand away, leaving my hot bundle of nerves bereft.
“Blake, please,” I pleaded. “I need to come.”
“I need an apology.”
“Anything.” I was desperate.
“Say you’re sorry.”
“Sorry.”
“And that you’ll never disobey me.”
“Never.”
Nonsense.
“Good.” To my relief, his hand returned to my clit, and he circled away. My orgasm resumed as if there had never been an intermission. It was coming at me at full force. Crashing through me. “Oh, Blake,” I screamed out as his own powerful climax met mine. A head-on collision. No pun intended.
“Tiger,” he groaned, pulling me back against him as his hot release coated my thighs.
I felt him pull out and then he flipped me around. A mixture of madness and passion flickered in half-mast blue eyes. They held me prisoner as he cradled my face in his large hands. Tenderness replaced the fury.
“Are you okay?” His voice was soft.
I nodded. His unblinking eyes bore into me.
“Tiger, I almost lost you once. I can’t lose you again. If you die, I die. You own my heart.”
My lips quivered at his powerful words. Lifting one of my hands, he slipped it under his suit jacket and held it against his heart. I could feel it beating against my palm. I gazed up at his beautiful face. “Blake, one more promise. I’m never going to leave you.”
“Thank you baby. I needed to hear that.” He held me close to him, as if never wanting to let me go.
Blake
W
e headed home in one car. Mine. I told Jen to leave hers in Venice. She protested, but I told her I’d have someone from the office pick it up in the morning. And if one of the local gangs vandalized or jacked it, I didn’t give a shit. I’d buy her a new car. And it wasn’t going to be another Kia.
We drove in silence. Her hand stayed clutched on my hand gripping the shift. Sam Smith’s “Stay with Me” played on the radio. The words of this soulful singer’s song resonated deep inside me. How close I had come to losing my tiger. One time after another. I didn’t want to think about it. I just knew I couldn’t live without her.
When we got to our condo, I valeted the car and led her through the lobby, my arm wrapped around her shoulders. We were almost one.
Once inside the apartment, I drew a hot bath. The rope fantasy I’d had earlier in the day had gone down the drain. It just didn’t make sense now. Right now, I just needed to hold my tiger. Let her know she was mine. Make up for punishing her. And rid myself of guilt. I felt bad about my angry fuck, yet she’d seemed turned on, not offended.
After peeling off her clothes, which I intended to burn since Dickwick had touched them, I helped her into the tub. My tub was luxurious. Big enough to let six foot three me stretch out, and it had a Jacuzzi. Truthfully, due to our hectic work schedules, Jen and I hadn’t enjoyed it much. Mostly, we took showers together.
I watched as she sunk into the breast-deep water. Her sigh was like a symphony to my ears. Turning on the Jacuzzi, I shrugged off my clothes and joined her, settling behind her. She was in my arms, her slender body and head resting against my chest and shoulders. The water gurgled around us, the bubbling jets caressing and massaging. We were in a zone.
I grabbed a large sponge, squirted some liquid soap on it, and then began to wash her everywhere. Dickwick needed to be erased.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” I breathed against her delicate neck as I washed the back of it and her shoulders. “Did I hurt you?”
She arched against me, splaying her hands on my thighs under the water.
“No, Blake. You can never hurt me.”
I pondered her soft words. They were true. I wasn’t capable of hurting my tiger. My burning desire to protect her and fear of losing her ruled me. I’d never thought about the consequences of my actions with any woman. She made me feel things—emotions—I’d never experienced. And sometimes go to extremes. Kill for her if I had to. I wanted to be her superhero forever.
Silently, I continued to sponge her. She hummed into the percussion of the bubbles. As I soaped her tender tits, her chest rose and fell against me. My cock rose beneath her. Her half-wet ponytail tickled me. Impulsively, I pulled it loose from its elastic band and it free fell, cascading over her shoulders like a velvet cape. The silkiness grazed my chest.
Keeping one hand cupped on her pert rosebud-tipped tit, I reached for the tube of shampoo. The only one she used. Gloria’s Secret Very Cherry Vanilla. I squeezed a few dollops onto her hair and, with both hands, began massaging it into her scalp until there was a rich lather. The erotic squishy sound and intoxicating scent aroused me, my cock and heart swelling with love and lust, one physically, the other emotionally. I had to have her. Not fuck her. But make love to her. She was thinking the same thing.
“Oh, Blake,” she said dreamily. “Take me. Make love to me.”
Gently, I lifted her hips onto my erection. She lowered herself onto my thick, aching length, taking me all the way. God, she felt good. So fucking good. I squeezed my eyes shut and let her know with a moan. On the next heated breath, I was gliding in and out of her, my mouth showering her with kisses everywhere it could, my hands working her slick clit, the water bubbling with love. We came passionately together.
Oh baby, stay with me. You’re all I need.
Jennifer
T
ime flew by. The weekend of our wedding was here before I knew it.
On Friday, December nineteenth, the day of the rehearsal, the familiar ring of my cell phone jolted me out of my sleep. I hadn’t slept well at all. The last minute wedding details had vexed me, and both my mind and my stomach were aflutter. I was wound up as tight as a ball of yarn but could unravel at any minute. Moreover, I was sure I was getting my damn period. I’d been cramping on and off all week and the littlest thing made me cry.