8. Mandi
Amanda.
Not Princess. Not Mandi.
Amanda.
He may as well call me Hank. Or Ms. Warren. Oh, that one may work for me… as long as he’s choking me when he says it.
A little tremor of delight runs through me, and he narrows his eyes.
He backs off and lowers me to the ground, making sure I’m steady on my feet before he turns his back to me and walks away.
“Jason…”
He pauses where he is, and then shakes his head. “No.”
He resumes walking, picks up a plain black backpack from the ground, and swings it onto his back before reaching for his helmet.
“Jason, I…”
I… what? Didn’t mean to hurt you?
Nothing I can say will change the past. The man has probably hated me for the last nineteen years. I’m probably lucky he didn’t choke me for real. I felt the control he used to not strangle me. Something he once did seamlessly was frayed and fraught with effort moments ago.
“Go home, Amanda. It’s never going to be how it was.”
He doesn’t even bother to face me before he pulls his helmet on — part of the punishment I’ve earned, I guess.
I used to adore gazing upon his face, memorizing every tiny scar, setting the tip of my pinkie finger into his hidden dimple, and counting the ginger strands in his beard while he denied their existence.
“I’ll be sorry about that until my last breath,” I declare loudly, hoping he’ll hear me.
If he does, he chooses to ignore me, because he starts his bike, kicks up his stand, and rides away.
I walk back behind the pillar, collect my backpack, and head up to the street level, feeling lost.
When I set off in this direction, it was because I needed either Jason or the bottle, and now there doesn’t seem much point in staying sober. It’s not like Lucinda’s going to let me back anytime soon — never seems likely.
Bad decisions are my forte, and choosing to drink is definitely the worst decision I could make. It’s like Jason said — drinking is not an appropriate activity for me. Not anymore. I made a commitment.
Don’t drink. Don’t drink. Don’t drink.
I walk out of the parking lot, and I’m promptly accosted by a security guard. When I don’t respond to his questions, he takes me by the arm and escorts me toward the main entrance.
He stops halfway to hold his earpiece when it squeals at him, and then he pales dramatically.
“Yes, sir. Of course,” he says, letting go of my arm in a hurry. He looks at me sideways, takes another step back, and when he lowers his hand, it’s shaking a little. He clears his throat, but it doesn’t stop his voice from cracking when he tells me, “Best you head home directly, ma’am. The streets aren’t safe for you this time of night.”
He walks away, leaving me alone on said unsafe street.
I can’t help thinking the warning has come directly from Jason. If it’s a threat that I’m in danger from him, I wish he’d come follow through with it, but when I look around, all I see is a security camera. I bet he’s watching through it. Maybe he thinks I’ll make a scene and break his shit, to get his attention. Clearly, he doesn’t realize I’ve evolved from such childish behavior. I’m adult-level fucked in the head now, so joke’s on him.
I head toward the park at the end of the street. If I turn to the bottle, I won’t make it. Not this time. It’ll give me the courage to act on the urges. Do I really want to die tonight?
A siren blares nearby, and I cringe at the noise. The firetruck demands priority at the intersection down the block, speeding to put out fires. The whole world is on fire. Can’t look at a screen without seeing it. Feeling it. It’s all around me.
I’ll find a quiet place to sleep tonight, and then I’ll find somewhere else to go. Away from the city. Someplace pretty. With trees and fresh air. Water to swim in — to cleanse my soul in.
My mind wanders back to Mountain Lake Falls. Jason, holding me close to keep me warm, while he washed between my legs in the cold, fresh water. That first time was the only time I saw him without a shirt. He was beautiful, but he said I looked at his scars too long, and he punished me for it by keeping himself covered after that.
I sit on a bench at the park’s edge for a while, listening to the city. With my decision made, the urge to drink my pain away has lessened, and with Mountain Lake in my mind, I venture into a small cluster of bushes, to make a bed.
I curl up under the densest-looking shrub. It looks the warmest, and although we’re barely a day into fall, I can already feel the season changing. I should have searched for my winter coat when Lucinda was screaming that she’d drag me from her house by my hair, but I only had time to grab the essentials before she followed through on the threat, and I can’t risk going back for more gear tonight. Tomorrow, maybe. Early. Before she wakes up.
I hug myself against the night chill. How long will it take to walk back to the suburbs? Do I need to start now? It’d probably be warmer to keep moving.
A stick cracks so close to me, I scream.
Jason covers my mouth in a heartbeat, and I feel his same barely controlled rage I felt earlier, burning beneath the surface of his skin. He wants to hurt me, but he’s quick to release me before he does — as if he doesn’t trust himself to be so close. The moment he unhands me, he loudly hurries from the garden he so stealthily crept into to find me. “Get off the fucking ground, Amanda.”
I grab my backpack and am on my knees at his feet within seconds.
He sighs. “That’s still the fucking ground.” He dumps his leather jacket on the grass next to me and walks away.
Not one to refuse such a gift, I pull the jacket on in a hurry and have to stifle a pleasurable moan when the residual warmth from his body seeps into my skin. The jacket smells of him, and I hold the collar to my nose, to breathe in his scent.
“You want to fuck that jacket? Or do you want to come over here and tell me what the fuck you’re doing, trying to sleep under a bush and catch your death of fucking cold? Where are your warm clothes? Why don’t you sleep in your house? Your bed?”
He sounds so angry. He doesn’t want to be out here, wasting his time on me.
And I don’t want to tell him why I can’t go home. Not yet. There are too many cans of worms I haven’t figured out how to wrangle into a story that won’t end with him hating me and being angrier than he already is.
I shouldn’t have tracked him down. I’m not ready to face him. I may never be ready.
I was just desperate for escape, thought of him, and then googled the son of a bitch. I saw he’s a globe-trotting, hot-shot banker now and that he has an office in my fucking city, and when I swung by to check it out and learned he was actually there, I thought it was a sign. Some kind of karmic alignment. Kismet. I had all the best intentions, but I’m not fucking ready. For any of this.
“I think I’d rather stay here and fuck the jacket, if those are the only options,” I say quietly, pulling it closer.
He stares at me a long time, his eyes shining black in the dim glow cast by the nearest streetlight. “Do it, then.”
His stern tone gives me pause, and my heart breaks into a sprint inside my chest, while I keep the rest of my body absolutely still. “Are you serious?”
“What do you think?”
As I see it, I can either play along and see where it takes me, or Jason King walks out of my life. Maybe I’ll see him in another nineteen years. If I’m lucky. If I last that long.
“I think you want me to fuck your jacket, and if you have to ask a second time, I’ll be sorry,” I say with a gulp. If he wants to humiliate me, I can’t deny that I deserve it.
I unbutton my jeans and push them down.
I could say no, of course. No is a valid option. It’s not one Jason King always accepts, but that’s what our safe word was for. Not that I’ve ever had to use the buzzkill phrase Dingle-hammer the way it was meant to be used. He always knew where to draw the line for me.
It’s himself he always pushed too far.
I leave my jeans around my ankles, so I don’t have to remove my boots, and take off his jacket. I turn it one way and then the other, trying to figure out how best to fuck it.
The leather is thick, and firmer where it’s padded. There are harder sections that must be plated for protection, in case he falls off his bike. That armoring is probably the most fuckable. Grind-able, at least. Especially the bigger sections over the shoulders. And the spine protection is almost segmented, offering some smooth ridging that may feel pretty good.
I bundle the jacket, to keep the spinal armor on the outside, and then I lower to the ground with it between my legs. The leather is cool at first, but it soon warms with my heat, and when I look up to meet Jason’s gaze, the leather gets slicker and easier to slide against.
His full attention is on me, the way it used to be, and that level of investment is the best aphrodisiac I know. Nobody can hyper-focus like Jason King, but he doesn’t use his gifts on just anyone or anything. To be the subject of his scrutiny is to know you are interesting or important and definitely not a pointless waste of time, even if everyone else is sure you are, and in your heart, you’ve always believed they were right.
He lifts his chin a fraction, and I speed up, chasing the pleasure that’s beginning to unfurl inside me. His jacket will reek of my appreciation for him when I’m done, and when I think about him wearing it…
My clit throbs with desire, and my hard nipples tingle against my thin sweater. A whole new level of fear sends my blood rushing through my veins. My quick decision to obey Jason has come back to bite me in the ass. Or rather, the breasts.
Sometimes my tits leak when I’m ready to come, and I’m an idiot for being too swept up by this warped, dangling pleasure. This isn’t how I wanted him to find out I’m fucking lactating. I should have expressed while I was waiting by his bike, but I fell asleep. What will he think of me?
My movements slow, as the panic sets in, and I shiver when a gust of cool wind whips the soaked fabric of my sweater against my skin.
I’ve made some bad choices for all the wrong reasons, and I won’t be able to hide from him much longer when I’m wearing giant, wet badges of dishonor on my chest.
How disappointed will he be in me? So far tonight, he’s allowed me to walk around the outer edge of his boundaries — he’s testing me, but I don’t know if it’s punishment or considering the idea of opening the gates and letting me back in. He might seal those gates shut when I explain my shameful fucking existence. Will he walk away? Write me off as that terrible investment he made all those years ago? Leave me alone with my fucking demons, until they slay me? It’s what I deserve, I suppose.
“Did I say stop, Amanda?” he asks.
I swallow hard and lift my gaze to him. He’s still keeping his distance, and it’s too dark for him to be able to see the wet patches blooming on my sweater. Maybe I’ll be able to hide the truth until there’s a better time to share it. Maybe I can please him enough to gain his favor, so that when the time comes, he’ll see how badly I need him and take pity on me. Like he did that first time.
I start to move again, sliding easily over the slippery mess I’ve made on his jacket. If this is the closest Jason will ever let me get, I’m going to make the most of it.
I wrestle with the balled jacket to extract the collar and mark it with my scent where it’ll be closest to his nose, and then I tug each of the sleeves from the mound of leather I’ve mounted. I want him to smell me if he brings his hand near his face, too. I drag one cuff through my slick, and then bunch the other cuff and push the stiff leather inside me before I ride myself into a panting, shivering state, where I can feel the closeness of relief. I thrust at the cuff inside me and grind faster, eager to reach orgasm and soak his sexy jacket for him.
Will he wear it smeared with my mark?
“Stop,” he commands.
I do my best to obey, but I forgot how hard it is to keep still at the edge of climax. My legs won’t stop shaking. In fact, my whole body is trembling, and now that I’m not caught up in base desires and need, I’m aware of the night’s chill again. It’s eating into my bones.
“Get dressed,” he says in the same tone. “You’re too cold.”
“I’m not.” I ignore the soaked, cloying fabric over my breasts that’s making me a liar, and tense to control the shivering. I do my best to cling to my fading orgasm, desperate to rekindle both the sensation and the warmth it provided.
My teeth chatter when I don’t clench my jaw, and Jason folds his arms.
He’s given his instructions.
I get to my feet with a whimper, and his leather sleeve slips from my pussy, to replace my pleasure with a cold, gaping emptiness.
“Jeans,” he orders.
I pull them up, keeping my gaze trained low. Only Jason can make a punishment sound like a kindness. This is orgasm denial, masked as concern for my well-being.
“Jacket.”
And now I have to wear my desperation to please him, like a stinking cloak of shame. Great. At least it’ll hide my milk-soaked chest and keep the wind at bay. It’ll give me more time to break the news to him gently.
It won’t really be news, I suppose. I’ve been a colossal fuckup since he met me, so it should come as no surprise to him that I’ve made more mistakes.
I pull on the jacket, disgusted with myself for being so pathetic, especially when I push my hand through the sleeve I’ve even made damp on the inside.
“Come.” He walks away.
I follow him like a dog. Except he doesn’t want me at his heel, so I have to keep a few paces behind. I don’t make any assumptions when we get to his bike. Not that there are many assumptions to make. It’s clearly only made to seat one.
“You were going to sleep in this park tonight?” he asks, unlocking something on his bike below the padded seat. He then lifts the motorcycle’s seat right off, flips it, and extracts a little kit from its interior.
For a moment, I think he’s going to give me something from it. Some new thing I’ll have to fuck myself with. Is that the message he wants me to receive? Go fuck yourself, Amanda?
He doesn’t hand me anything, and from the clinking metal sounds he’s making as he searches inside the little leather bag, it’s probably tools.
You can fuck yourself with tools.
Jason sets the small kit aside, having found what he was looking for. It’s small, silver, and thin, and I couldn’t do much with it in terms of fucking.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he growls, not even looking at me.
“Yes,” I reply quickly, only just remembering he asked a question. “I was going to sleep there.”
“Why?” He keeps his attention on his work, using the tool to adjust something on the underside of his seat.
My throat starts to ache, and I look down the street at the lights of the city. “I like parks. And it seemed safer than some other places.”
He stills. “What other places?”
I shrug. “Alleys and doorways?”
“How do you know?” He unwinds a screw and puts it into the pocket of his smart, office-worthy slacks. “Is that where you slept last night?”
“No.” I never would have imagined him in a suit, but he’s as sexy in business wear as he was in torn jeans and black T-shirts. “I just assumed I wouldn’t be harassed if nobody could see me.”
He grunts softly in agreement. “Where did you sleep last night?”
“Lucinda’s.” I say her name so quietly I’m surprised he hears.
“Your sister?” He frowns and puts another screw in his pocket, before putting his little tool and its kit away again. “She lives near here?”
“Across town.”
He watches me a moment, like he’s trying to see inside me.
I wrap my arms around myself, making sure to cover my chest, in case he can see through his jacket.
“I’ll take you there,” he says. He removes a section of the motorbike’s seat and puts it into his backpack, before fitting the rest back onto the machine and fixing it in place.
I stare at his sexy bike. He’s unlocked a second seat and made it so two can ride on it now. He flicks down a set of well-hidden pillion pegs where a passenger can set their feet, and my heart leaps into a gallop. All I want to do is climb on behind him, wrap my arms around his strong body, and ride wherever he takes me. Like old times.
But these aren’t the old times.
He’s not offering to take me someplace beautiful and secluded, so he can love my body and soul with everything he has. He’s offering to take me to a home that’s no longer mine. If it ever even was.
“I can’t go back there,” I whisper.
Jason steps closer and exhales like an angry bull. “Why not?”
“Because I’m a shitty human,” I admit and clamp my jaw tight when it threatens to tremble.
He steps back with a sigh. “What happened?”
My throat twists tight with emotion, and it’s too constricted for me to speak. I shake my head and stare at the ground, so I don’t have to see the disappointment I know will be written all over his face.
“Have you eaten?” His voice is softer than I expect, and I don’t fucking feel worthy of such leniency. I shake my head and hug myself more tightly.
“Get on,” he says, pulling his backpack on backwards, so it sits against his chest and leaves more room behind him. For me. He’s found it in his heart to give a shit, and I don’t want to fuck that up, but I’m terrified I’m going to.
I forgot how wonderful it is, to have someone care. For them to stalk you and drag you from the bushes. To demand to know why you’re hiding. To tell their guard to unhand you. To rearrange their fucking motorbike specially, to make sure there’s room for you.
“Hurry up,” he says when I don’t move. “Before I change my mind.”
I climb on and perch precariously on the slightly higher passenger seat, to await further instruction. I’ll do anything he asks, because even when he hates me, it feels like he still cares.
He looks at the helmet in his hands. “It’s going to be too big,” he says, before pulling it down over my head, “but it’s better than nothing.”
Nothing is what he’ll have, so that I don’t have to go without. So I’ll be safer.
It’s never been hard to fall in love with him, and although he’s avoiding my gaze, I can’t pull mine from his face. He tightens the chin strap as far as it will go, and the fit isn’t too bad. He gives it another wiggle, to test it, and then gives a muffled grunt before climbing onto his bike in front of me and starting the engine.
It purrs to life between my legs, and the past comes screaming back to my loins. I haven’t ridden since that summer, and I forgot how it felt to straddle raw power while I clung to brute strength. Pure ecstasy. It kept me wet and ready for Jason to take me anytime he wanted.
I lean forward and wrap my arms around him as we take off. I am so easily seduced by his warmth and hard muscle. I’m going to soak through my fucking jeans and mark his seat for him.
We make it one block, before he pulls to the side of the road in a sharp stop.
He sits quietly a moment, then breaks the link of my laced hands, so he can escape my arms and get off the bike. He stares down at me with fire in his eyes, and I shrink under his glare.
I did something wrong.
Jason reaches behind me and tugs at some part of his bike. I look back, to see the small handle he’s made appear at the base of the passenger seat.
“Hold that,” he rumbles and waits for me to do so, before he reclaims his seat.
Apparently, my new position is a punishment for enjoying myself too much. To hold on behind me, I have to lean away from him, and that’s the way he wants it.
I can ride with him, but I can’t touch him. This isn’t like old times. All is not forgiven.
Got it.