We had lain still like that, him refusing to withdraw, for what seemed like forever. His face buried in my neck, his body tense, until my hands started to slip over his body again. Just because I could see didn’t mean I would stop seeing him in my own way. Catch a trickle of sweat as it slid down his ear, hold it with my finger. Let it slide over the rest of his neck, coming to rest where it meets his powerful shoulder. The reassuring weight of him pressed into me.
Fuck. She’s killing me. I know I want her. First it was just because she was a woman. It had been a while since I’d even got to see another woman, never mind fucking one. Figured I’d get bored after a while, and then that burning ache in me would leave. It hasn’t. Just keeps getting worse. Got to the point where I want her all the time. Got comfortable with the idea of her being mine.
Mine. The word still hits me in the gut every time I say it. A mistake to let myself get close to her. But then she may not have lived through the day. I could still get over it, if I had to. Too fucking late now. How damned sad is that, that it would be easier for me if the surgery had’ve killed her, because then I’d never have to admit what she’s doing to me.
Out of my depth. I don’t even know how it’s possible to want her more than I already do. Would have been more than happy to keep lying to myself about it too. Except she has a funny way of pulling stuff out of me, whether I like it or not. Said I loved her. She didn’t hear me of course. Enough sense to bury my face in her neck before she could hear me. Doesn’t change that I said it. That I couldn’t help but say it.
Tell myself a bunch of shit, that it’s not what I want. Keep lying to myself. Then I look at her, and want her all over again. Part of me wants to run. Right, Riddick, run fucking where, exactly. There isn’t exactly a whole hell of a lot of room on this ship to avoid her. And she’s mine. Scares the hell out of me, what I’m starting to feel for her, that I can’t stop feeling for her. But she’s MINE.
Her hand stroking my neck, the back of my head. I could forget everything, while she does it. Let her make me forget. Forget I ever said I loved her. Just forget. Fuck.
I hate being ruled by my stomach some days. I could have lain like that all day. My belly started rumbling. Not quiet rumbles either. Made him laugh though.
“Gonna feed me again? I’ll close my eyes….”
How the fuck could I run from her? Just have to be more careful about what I say, until I can live with it. Move to help her up. A little dizzy still. If I wasn’t holding her, she would have fallen back. Not far, but enough to know it’s still trouble.
“I’m okay. Just a little dizzy.”
“No….that’s weird…no. No pain. Just a little dizzy still.”
“Do you want that last shot early?” Pushed her too hard. Doc warned me to take it easy on her. Guess I didn’t look like the gentle type.
“Trying to get out of feeding me?”
“Given what we’ve got left to eat, you might want to be giggly again, just to eat what’s left.” A short laugh at that. Getting to like the sound of her real laugh. She slips beside me, still naked, rummaging again. As much as the sight of her crouched down there appeals to me, I pull her up. Hell, maybe I just LIKE feeding her.
“So you killed Brightman.”
Her head tilts to the side, a flicker of lashes, lazy blink, seeming to take forever. Pools of flickering silver. I can’t stop watching her. Naked, curled on a chair, with a cup of coffee, and it’s her eyes I can’t stop watching.
“You didn’t know his name.”
“No. I never found out until after I’d killed him. Mercs weren’t exactly discreet.”
“Funny. I thought the same thing. Did you ever find out who he….” I don’t want to even think it, never mind say it. Hard to do it, and look at her, knowing what I feel about her. “Who your…contract…passed to?”
“Some military thing, someone he had served with. The whole house went with it. Guess I was to stay on as some kind of damned guard dog.”
He won’t look at me. Looks at his empty coffee cup, fidgeting with it.
The burst of rage comes out of nowhere. The thin metal cup crushed easily in his hand, but biting back enough to draw blood. A scream of male fury as the chair sails across the narrow bay. Away from me, but no less startling for that. Splinters scatter across the floor in an explosion of tortured wood. If he had hair to pull, he would have been pulling it, as he stalked off, to the front of the ship. Heels of his hands at his temples. Deep, very dangerous growl not so much a sound as a dangerous fog around him. Hands reach out, to either side of the doorway, his back to me. To hold himself up, or to keep from smashing anything else, I couldn’t say.
I admit I’m a little scared now. I’d be a fool not to be. Doesn’t stop me from moving forward, to touch his back, an ache inside, when I feel him pull from me, just slightly. An ache that grows when he doesn’t settle back into my hand.
One word, his voice impossibly small when he said it. A whisper. I was property. Maybe in his mind I still am. Someone ELSE’S property. I had been a slave for most of my life, for all that I’d known of it. I never felt the true pain of it until this moment. That I wanted him, and he felt that I was just a thing that belonged to someone else. Having the chip out stopped me from being assaulted with physical pain. It did sweet fuck all for what his words were doing to me now.
“…you’re ashamed of what I was….”
A question. A statement. Just finally seeing how he saw me? I didn’t have time to defend myself, even if I had thought about it. Spun so quickly, his hands in my hair, nearly picking me off the ground. The heat of his body pressing into me, long before his skin touched me. Against the wall. I hate the fear coming off me now. Close my eyes. I don’t want to see him like this.
His lips on mine come as a shock. I forget how to react, my body taking over. Hard to kiss him, my heart racing, it’s so hard to breathe.The blood from his cut hand seeming to sear the skin of my cheek. His heart is racing, his own breath ragged. Nostrils flaring, as the rage boils, just beneath the surface. Eyes narrow, the curve of his lip cruel and hard. Voice deep and torn, barely contained, barely controlled, wanting to scream again, but fighting it. Close my eyes again, and wait for it.
“You’re MINE, Anise. You’re not some other fucker’s property, I don’t give a fuck what they wanted to call you. You’re MINE. I don’t care what deals they think they made. I’m not letting you go. I love you, Anise.”
© 27 Jan 2006, 17:04