41. Reality Bites
~ brIDGET ~
The next day was Saturday and I was exhausted, but by evening I was also sick to death—no pun intended—of the sight of my walls. I should have told Sam tonight, but a Saturday felt like too much pressure, so I’d pushed it out a day. Now I was regretting it, and I needed to move. So I bit the bullet—also no pun intended—and went to the movies by myself.
I was leaving the house for the first time in over twenty-four hours, and it was natural to look over my shoulder, to scan my mirrors, to see if I could find that nondescript sedan somehow in the twilight before night fell for real.
But there was nothing, of course.
It had been over a week since Cain kissed me and I wanted to cry whenever I thought about it, because the rush I’d felt when his lips were on mine and he let me wrap my arms around him…
But then that got me thinking about Sam and how confusing that whole thing was and what was I thinking agreeing to go on a date with him?
What was I thinking wanting to go on a date with him?
It was a good thing I was already at the movie theater when the darkness hit, because if I’d been at home alone I wasn’t sure what I would have done.
I made myself go into the theater and buy a ticket for some stupid romcom that wouldn’t make me sad. I even bought popcorn and candy. Then I trudged down the hall to the screening room, up the stairs to the second-to-last row because I hated feeling like I was trapped against the wall. Then I waited while the ads played, and the trailers. I watched three different couples find seats in the lower rows, and then, just before the movie started a group of people drifted in, chatting and laughing and started up the stairs just as the entire screen went dark and that weird sound thing started that made it feel like you were in a jet or something.
When the screen lit up again the group had all taken seats two rows below me, and I was relieved. I ate a few pieces of popcorn and made myself watch the credits… until I caught that scent and my entire body tensed.
No way… no fucking way.
Then something brushed the side of my neck, like a finger pulling my hair back on that side, but when I snapped my head to look, there was nothing there. The voice, when it came, whispered in the other ear at the same time a heavy hand landed on my shoulder, keeping me pinned in the seat.
“A romcom, Bridget? Really?” he rasped.
My heart trilled and adrenaline flooded my veins. I almost laughed when he reached over my shoulder, grabbed the popcorn bucket, and set it on the seat next to me.
“Don’t turn around. And don’t make a sound,” he whispered in my ear, his breath fluttering against my neck.
I bit my lip, beaming as his hands slipped under my armpits and he lifted me from the seat, dragging me back… and into his lap in the seat behind mine.
I was shameless, already breathing harder, letting myself fall back against him, almost weeping with relief when he slid one hand into my hair and brought my head back against his shoulder, and the other wrapped low, around my stomach.
“Cain—”
“Shhhhh…”
On the screen, the woman was flustered and running around, sweaty and stressed, frantically trying to find the missing bride at a wedding. When his arm around my stomach began to retreat, I reflexively grabbed it, needing to feel the warmth of him, but he only huffed in my ear.
“Keep your eyes and your mouth shut. Just… let me touch you. I need to touch you, Bridget.”
Oh, God, yes.
Smiling wide, I let myself slump against him, the back of my head resting on his shoulder, his hand in my hair, and his other hand…
Oh, fuck, yes, his other hand slid under the hem of my hoodie and up my stomach. The thrill that shot through me was so potent my stomach pulled in and his hand tensed on me as if he thought I was going to run. But when I relaxed again, he blew out a breath in a whoosh next to my ear.
Then he drew his hand so slowly up my stomach, only his fingertips drawing trails on my skin, but the tingling, fizzing pleasure was so intense I almost sobbed, almost grabbed his arm and pushed it higher, because he was moving so slowly.
But then, thank God, he finally got up there and those fingers dragged up the underside of my breast and I sucked in a breath.
I slid both of my hands back, trying to see if I could reach his jeans behind me, but he immediately tightened both arms around me, holding me so I couldn’t even budge.
“Cain, please, let me—” I whispered.
“Don’t. Move,” he growled.
“But, I need to kiss you again,” I whispered. “I’ll keep my eyes closed, and—”
“I said… don’t move.”
When I slumped again, he waited a moment, then both hands dropped to the hem of my sweatshirt and I almost fist-pumped when he started lifting it up, over my head. I didn’t care that I wasn’t wearing anything except a bra underneath. I didn’t care that if anyone in the theater looked over their shoulders they’d see me. All I cared about was lifting my arms so he could pull my hoodie off—and then I wanted to squeal because he flipped the hood open over my hair and eyes, then pulled the drawstrings tight behind my neck to keep it there. There were small gaps around my nose, but I couldn’t see anything in front of me.
“Cain—”
“Shhhh.”
He lifted me up then, urging me to put my feet down and turn around, and when I was facing him, standing between his knees, I heard a very low rumble in his chest as he pulled me back into his lap, facing him this time and finally I could touch him.
As he settled me into his lap, I had to feel my way up his chest, then his neck, my belly tingling with the sheer joy of having my hands on him, and then I found his face and that stupid mask. I pushed it back, off his head, and he grabbed it to pull it away.
So I cupped his jaw on both sides and pulled him into a kiss so desperate I was afraid I would eat his lips.
Cain whipped an arm around my back and pulled me hard against him, his other hand cupped over my head, keeping the hood over my eyes, but also directing my head, tipping it so he could take the kiss deeper.
And I was so fucking mad that we were in a public theater, because my body was on fire. I didn’t just want him. I felt like I’d die without him. I sucked on his tongue and clawed my nails into his skin, and he didn’t flinch.
His arm at my back became a steel bar, pinning me to his chest. And I could feel him, hard under me. I wanted more .
Pushing him back until his head thunked against the wall behind him, I tilted his chin up and devoured his mouth, whimpering with the sheer relief of having him back, rocking my hips when his one hand came down to cup my ass like he was going to spread me and take me—but I was still wearing my sweats and—
“Bridget… fuck.”
“Yes, please.”
It wasn’t a joke, and he knew it. With a low growl, he brought that hand around to find the underwire of my bra and slip under it, his calloused palms cupping my breast. I arched into the touch, gasping a little when he tweaked my nipple. Then the other hand left my head and came to my other breast; I ground against him, dry-humping him like a fucking high schooler, and I didn’t even care.
My breath was tearing in and out of my throat, but all I could think about was the sensations of his touch, his kiss, my head spinning with plans to get him out of here and into a dark closet or something, so that he wouldn’t torture me anymore. Still kissing him like a leech, I clawed my nails down his chest and abs, letting my fingers scrape against the lines of his muscles, panting as— holy shit— he slid one hand down into my sweats and found me there, slick and wanting, heated and needy.
I whimpered and ground against his hand, urging him on, pleading silently with him to please keep going. And for a moment, it seemed like he would. He curled a finger inside me and I shuddered and almost came that easily.
I’d forgotten about touching him, I was just clutching his head and pulling him into me.
With his other hand he pulled down my bra and opened his mouth on my nipple, biting hard enough to make me gasp and throw my head back, and then everything happened too fast.
With my head back like that, those little gaps around my nose gave me a sliver to see him. But he had his head down and his mouth open on my breast, so all I could see was a shock of messy hair and his shoulders. I couldn’t even tell what color his hair was because the light from the screen turned the wall behind him a bright gray, but cast his face in the deep shadow of me.
He turned to the other breast and I caught the tiniest glimpse of a heavy brow and peak of his nose, but then he sucked hard and my eyes rolled back because the jolt of pleasure from his mouth working on my nipple jangled through me to meet the roar between my legs where he was touching me and I couldn’t focus on anything but wanting more.
There was a crescendo in the music and Cain groaned my name as he gripped the back of my neck with one hand, then plunged a third finger into me with the other and sucked hard, dragging his teeth over my breast so the sizzling pleasure from both zinged through me to meet behind my navel and suddenly, with a rush, I was coming, shaking, gasping, biting back his name, swallowing sound as my body twitched and jerked, riding a wave of joy that stole everything but my smile…
And then, when that shock of bliss finally broke, I slumped forward, buried my face under his neck, pulled his hand out of my pants so I could reach him—but he was thick and full in his jeans, and there was no room between us. I tried to pop the button, but he grabbed for me, pulling my hands away, and we struggled for a moment.
Then he growled, “Bridget!” and wrapped me in both steel arms, pulling me down to grind on him as he lifted his hips, thrusting against me. I couldn’t move. Mouth open on his neck, I was pinned, pleasure crackling through me because he was rubbing himself against me so that even through my sweats and his jeans, my over-sensitized skin screamed ecstasy and my breath stopped.
There were a few moments of confusing wonder—the movie roaring in surround-sound, Cain’s breath shuddering in my ear as he gripped me so hard I couldn’t do anything but move with him and suck on his salty skin. Our bodies jerking as we both clung with a desperation that bordered on violence.
Then his hips shot up and he bowed under me, his head snapping back. I felt the vibration in his chest as he made a noise that was covered by the music and every inch of his body turned to marble.
And then, the theater was dark, the sound was gone, and we were sitting there, clinging, clawing, and unable to move or make a sound, because even a breath could be heard by anyone else in the room.
As the light slowly increased on the movie, and dialogue—much quieter and without the music behind it—began in the sound system, Cain turned his head so that his lips were right next to my ear—his stubble raking on my cheek because he was panting and I was clinging to him so hard, I moved up and down with every expansion of his ribs.
“Bridget…”
I tensed, blinking back tears, terrified he was going to—
“This wasn’t a hunt,” he rasped. “I’m…” He swallowed and I felt his throat bob against my chin.
I sucked in and sat up, thoughtlessly, about to ask him if he was having second thoughts—but he exploded into motion, gripping the hood and pulling it all the way down my face as he let me go so quickly and shoved me off his lap. I stumbled back and almost fell.
I had to catch myself on the row of seats in front of me—and then duck behind them because one of the couples below us turned to look. But their eyes were drawn by Cain’s hunched form, darting away from me to the steps at the side, then down—so fast he was almost sprinting. Everyone turned to look at him—which gave me a chance to pull that hood off and look at him.
But he had his own hood back up, so all I could see was a thick, muscular body hugged by a non-descript hoodie and jeans, sprinting down the stairs, catching the railing at the end and whipping around the corner into the entryway that hid him from view completely.
It was tempting to run after him, but I knew I wouldn’t catch him, and I needed to get my hoodie back on. I let myself drop back below the level of the seats, because a few curious people were turning to look. And when I was sure no-one would be looking anymore, I yanked the hoodie back over my head and tugged it down—shivering when my hand passed over my breast where the skin was scraped and sensitive from his teeth—then got slowly to my feet because my heart was still pounding and my knees felt weak.
I crawled back over the seats, almost falling on my face when I hooked my toe on the back, but managed to catch myself and drop into the one where I’d been sitting before, still breathing hard and shaking a little.
I stayed for the whole movie. But I didn’t see a thing.
At some point my phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out.
The text was from an unknown number, but only one word.
PRIVATE NUMBER: Soon.
SOUNDTRACK: Trouble by Camylio
~ CAIN ~
We were in the movie theater again, but I didn’t give two shits if anyone saw us, or heard us. I didn’t give a fuck what happened except that I had to have her.
I pulled her up and out of her seat, dragging her over the back of it and into my lap. She gasped and I clapped a hand over her mouth because I loved keeping her quiet when she didn’t want to be.
Her breath tore in and out of her nose, rushing over my hand, but her body was liquid in my arms.
I was hard as a rock and struggling to get myself free because she kept writhing against me, but finally I got loose of my jeans, then pulled her head to the side so I could bite down on her neck, then rasp in her ear.
“You make a fucking sound and I’m never coming for you again.”
She nodded quickly, blinking fast like she was scared, but when I took my hand off her face she just pulled in a deep breath. She didn’t say a word.
Then I used both hands, grasping her sweats at the waist and tugging them down as she braced on the arms of the chair and lifted her hips to give me room to push them past her hips, down her thighs, until she was free and—thank you, God—she wasn’t wearing underwear.
With a low rumble in my chest because the beast inside wanted out, I grasped her hips and lifted her, positioning myself, then pulling her down onto me, hissing through my teeth to stifle the roar I wanted to give as I finally, finally had her, finally owned her.
A small cry broke in her throat, covered by the sound of the movie, and I held her to me, pumping into her twice, three times, hard so her body jolted and her head tipped back. But even as she arched her back, she leaned against me and reached back like she’d claw a hand into my hair.
But that wasn’t how this was going to go.
Growling a warning to her, I wrapped one arm around her waist, then planted the other hand at the back of her neck and shoved her forward, bending her in half even as I pulled her hard into my next thrust.
Her jaw dropped and she groaned, so I clapped that hand over her mouth again, leaned over her, and began to pound.
“You’re mine,” I rasped into her ear as she threw her hands forward to brace on the seat in front of us and push back against me, which only took me deeper. “No other man… no doctor, no priest, no fucking Dom will take you—you’re mine, Bridget,” I snarled hoarsely.
I felt her voice, muffled against my hand and knew she was affirming me.
The roar began to build in my chest, wanted to tear out of my throat, but I held it back.
“No one chooses for you, but me. No one gets a fucking say—”
She was talking again, and I gave in, releasing her mouth, clamping that hand over her shoulder to keep pulling her back against me as I thrust.
“Yessss,” she hissed, sucking in a breath. “It’s you… it’s only you.”
I felt her start to clench around me and the last shred of my control snapped. Grunting like an animal, I grasped for her breast, clawing fingers into her skin and saw her head snap back, eyes closed and her cheeks pressed up in a smile.
I clapped that hand over her mouth again, just in time because she came like a freight train, her entire body bowing and shaking, riding me as I fell over that cliff just half a breath behind her.
The world disappeared. The entire fucking universe was reduced to the warm plump of her ass and the softness of her skin, the strawberry scent of her, and… then the phone started ringing and I cursed, because I was still coming. Still inside her, still—
The phone was ringing again and I couldn’t ignore it because I hadn’t been to work all week and now people were worried.
Body still shaking with the throes of my dream, I rolled over, slapping a hand to the phone on my nightstand and blinking at the too-bright screen in the darkness because there were blackout curtains on the windows, before groaning and taking a deep breath to try to slow my heart before I accepted the call.
“Yeah?”
I listened, grimacing, rubbing a hand over my face as the real world came crashing back in and everything in my body got heavier… emptier because this wasn’t a dream. And I couldn’t just tell the world to fuck off so I could take her. And I couldn’t keep avoiding reality.
“Yeah, I hear you,” I said, my voice low and gravelly with sleep—or lack thereof. Bridget would have recognized me, talking like that. “I’m feeling a lot better. Set her up for eleven. I’ll need to catch up on some stuff, but… eleven should be fine.”
When I ended the call, I lay there in bed, sticky and ashamed. Then I closed my eyes and remembered, just for a moment, the feeling of her hands on my body, and her kiss— frantic and needy—and my heart thrilled and just like that, I was hard again.
She was a fucking drug.
And I was addicted.
And it was going to kill me.
I groaned as I threw the blankets back and made myself get out of bed. I was going to need a long workout this morning to get rid of this tension if I was going to have any shot at being able to focus today… on anything that wasn’t her.