FIFTY-EIGHT
Gigi
It’s hours later and Harry still hasn’t turned up. There’s no playing the role of a bitter, inhuman recruit of the Circle, because after what Harry did at Legion Casino, the thought of him in need of aid makes me selfishly giddy. I don’t doubt he’ll be able to axe through the chain, but it will take him a little while to do so.
Knowing his arrival will be later than intended, I help myself to one of his T-shirts from the drawer. Lying down wearing the garment, I surf between TV channels and dig into the chocolate-covered strawberries that were kindly laid out for us.
The duvet is firm under my stomach but strangely comfortable. Whoever felt the need to knock cheap motels is missing out. I may not know where these strawberries originated from, but perhaps that’s for the best. I pop the fruit into my mouth, humming as the pleasure of sweet citrus explodes on my tongue.
“Delish.”
The lock turns, and I hide my grin at Harry’s impending entrance. He waltzes through the door with his jacket slung over a shoulder, his hair in disarray. He tries to act composed, but I can tell from the stiffness of his body as he walks in front of the bed anger is coursing through every limb, threatening to explode.
He throws his jacket over my head as he passes. I pull it off, watching as he undoes his cufflinks. When I throw the jacket back towards him, his calm exterior cracks as he kicks it to the floor. Placing his accessories to the side, he shrugs off his shirt, and before I have time to appreciate the view, the fabric is chucked behind him and on my head.
Huffing in annoyance, I tear it off. “Cut it out.”
Today’s not a good day to test my temper.
I throw it back at him, and he grips it with his fists and chucks it back. Gasping, I grip the pillow by my side and launch it at his side in retaliation.
“I said cut it out!” I shout as he catches the pillow mid-throw, white-knuckling the fabric.
I stand ready to confront him, but my back hits the mattress as he pins me down with a hand to the throat, keeping me in place. Harry brings his face just inches from mine, his gaze fiery.
The look in his eyes is unmistakable: he’s raging.
But as if it were yesterday, I can count every eyelash, every flicker of colour in his eyes. Through my anger, I can’t help but notice his skin looks even more beautiful up close as the red flicker of the neon motel sign filters through the window, highlighting the forest green of his eyes. The sight of him so close evokes a pang in my chest, a stark reminder of bitter truth that sits submerged in my poisonous insides.
But anger must still linger, because I purposely taunt, “Gonna kiss me?”
His eyes darken, and he tightens his grip. “I could kill you.”
“But you won’t,” I say, my throat hoarse.
Then he does something I certainly don’t expect.
He rips the T-shirt I’m wearing in half, straight through the middle, with his dagger. My breasts bounce from the sudden movement, but he refuses to shift his gaze .
“Aren’t you meant to love seeing me in your clothes?”
“Underwear. Now.”
I freeze. “What?”
“Did I stutter?” he growls. “Take off your underwear before I bend you over this bed and fuck some sense into that pretty little brain of yours.”
My voice betrays me, and I ask quietly, “A-and if I want that?”
Although he’s fully capable of taking them off himself, I slip the fabric down my legs and hand them over to him.
Harry curls them in his fist. “Open wide.”
I open my mouth cautiously, and he stuffs my mouth with the black silk. His thumb skates over my bottom lip before he pulls away, tearing the T-shirt into shreds. He slips his hand to the back of my neck and uses an additional piece to cover my eyes, tying a knot at the back.
Everything goes dark.
As my suspicions start to heighten I edge for my gun on instinct, but I feel the evident loss of weight as Harry disarms the holster. My spew of protest comes as a wordless mumble against the gag.
My nipples start to harden in anticipation of his gaze running rampant over my body. I attempt to squeeze my legs closed, but his hips halt the action, and the insides of my knees meet his hips.
I freeze as the tip of the blade skates down my chest and over my stomach.
Perhaps I’ve underestimated Harry.
Perhaps this time I’ve pushed him too far.
With an edge to his voice that I can’t quite place, he says, “I’ve never been attracted to a helpless woman …”
The clatter of the knife hitting the floor makes my nerves evaporate. Yet when I hear nothing else I start to blink as if I can see through the fabric. No matter how much I try, I only see darkness.
For a solid few seconds nothing happens .
The bed doesn’t even dip with his weight.
He says nothing.
Then I feel hot lips against my pelvic bone.
My eyes flare underneath the cloth, and although I try to fight it, I instinctively arch into him. I always forget how dire I crave this feeling – this emphasis of hatred. I crave this connection like I crave air.
Though I’ll never admit it, these moments, Harry’s supernatural ability to create the realest emotions I’ve felt in a long time, become more addicting than any merciless desire within the Circle.
I keep my arms above my head as if I’m physically restrained. His lips move delicately over my stomach until he reaches the other side. He blows gently against the wet skin and lowers his head, hot breath dancing above where I need him the most.
I try to beg against the gag, but it’s useless, coming out as a mumbled grunt.
Still, at my plea he slips a finger into my entrance, my arousal allowing him to push in easily. I throw my head back into the pillow as he thrusts his fingers in at a fast, torturous pace.
He presses his forehead against my stomach, breathing heavily as he picks up a rhythm, slipping in a second finger and fucking me faster. His breath fans my stomach as he curls his digits, brushing across my most sensitive spot.
Oh God! I think, unable to use my words. Just like that .
With my stomach tightening and release nearing, it doesn’t even cross my mind to think Harry is punishing me. Despite how loud my ears ring with the intense pressure, my arousal is louder, making my cheeks redden with heat. Right as I feel myself nearing my peak Harry withdraws his fingers, making the feeling quickly subside.
Struck for breath, the sensation eases. And he thrusts his fingers in again.
Harry continues the sick torture.
Again .
And again.
And again.
I cry out in frustration, tears beading in the corners of my eyes as I relax from another comedown. Right at the point of release he retracts his fingers. And all I can feel is his forehead pressed against my stomach and his eyes screwed shut.
Tears soak into the fabric of my blindfold as the torture becomes unbearable, forcing my vulnerability to the surface. Regretful decisions flood my vision, making me feel like I have a direct line of sight to the self-harm on his chest.
As if he’s sharing his self-inflicted torture with me.
I feel the effects of each burn, each inch of hurt causing me to break apart. The scorching pain that was once limited to my neck covers my whole body, igniting mark after mark after mark. It blisters the skin, pulling the life from my very lungs.
It hurts.
Fuck, it hurts.
When I start shaking my head, unsure of how much I can take, Harry quickens his pace, and my vision fills with speckled dust, prepared for the inevitable crash. My stomach tightens with the effect of doing a thousand sit-ups, and my body convulses with borderline pain.
I can’t take it anymore.
I’m so, so sorry, Harry.
Harry pulls the underwear from my mouth. “Trying to say something?”
Right at that moment he pushes his fingers in knuckles-deep. As he curls them into my G-spot my back bows off the bed, my nipples tightening in anticipation.
“O-oh God!”
“What did I tell you before, Gigi? Even he can’t save you from me. ”
My hand finally shoots down, squeezing unforgivingly at his wrist. “Please.”
“Please, what?”
My teeth chatter, the adrenaline running through my veins. And just as I’m about to finally hit the hardest orgasm of my life, Harry pulls out of me again.
Spinning my body around, he pulls my hips back against him so I’m kneeling on all fours. His tip presses against my entrance, and he thrusts inside me fully.
“Did that teach you to be quiet?” he asks breathlessly.
It doesn’t take long for my body to seize up, my orgasm exploding as I reach a new realm. Spots of colour explode before me, replacing the darkness of the mask. My arousal drenches his cock, and my stomach explodes with a feeling I can only describe as pure ecstasy. Harry grabs my shoulder, pulling my body flush against his as he pounds me from behind, extending my release until I’m struck for breath, my body weak.
He isn’t far behind.
When I finally fall weakly against the bed, he unties the fabric and discards it to the floor with whatever little composure remains. My legs are shaking as he pulls out of me, my whole body broken. He falls back against the mattress beside me, and our heavy panting fills the room, along with the backing track of a sitcom on the television, which has long been ignored. The occasional bulb from the motel sign blinks with each flicker, but other than that, complete silence.
Eyes zeroed in on the ceiling, Harry says, “I always roll a six.”
I turn to him slowly, lost in thought. “Huh?”
“I had a dice with all sixes hidden in my sleeve. I knew they’d be too focused on you to notice I’d changed them over.” He rolls his head towards me. “To them, the chances of me rolling a six were so minuscule that the shock alone would be enough for them not to bother checking the numbers.”
The words tumble out of me. “Oh. ”
“I would never have put you in any danger.”
A moment of pause.
“Never,” he says with quiet emphasis.
Silence stretches between us again.
We stare at each other for a moment too long – too long to be an accident. It’s different, this look. Mutual understanding that things will never be the same between us. We’ll never return to the people we once were.
Harry’s the one to finally break. He sits up with a huff, swinging his legs around to his side of the bed.
“I’ll sleep in the car.”
This is the ideal situation.
So why does the remaining intact part of my brain say, Is it worth what you’re trying to achieve? Is the pain worth it?
I was always able to make everything look painless, but now …
Harry leaves the room before I can protest.
When I look out the window the shadow of his body stalls, his head tucked to his chin. He turns back to the door, appearing as if he might walk back inside.
Then he shakes his head and walks to his car.
“My best friend. Really, Gigi, could you stoop much lower?”
And to think I almost forgot about this callous routine.
I push my face further into the pillow as if it’ll ease the ache drilling my mind and push him away. It’s hopeless, of course, since the words are loud and clear, hitting me with necessary damage .
“Christ, you make me so fucking embarrassed.”
The words Harry once said must have really made an impact since each time is as painful as the first.
I’ve been fighting this endless cycle for months. The little nagging voice that started as an unwanted opinion of my actions grew tenfold in my subconscious. It turns out it’s merely him. Jack. Tormenting me further.
“You fucked his brother. Now you’re fucking my best friend. You might as well fuck Andy next—”
I wake in a pool of sweat, moisture gathering at the back of my neck and alerting me to my reckless slumber. A headache lingers at the back of my skull – a reminder I’m human. I do suffer pain.
The other side of the motel bed is cold, and Harry’s belongings are absent from the room.
Standing to my feet, I wrap the tartan blanket around my shoulders and peer out my window at his car idling in the middle of the parking lot. A stab of guilt has me standing motionless in the middle of the room.
Much like mine, Harry’s demons hide far under the surface. And I’ve never understood how deeply they lie until tonight. Until I felt the physical torment he’s been suffering in recent months.
Despite Jack’s lingering words, it’s regret that moves my feet out of the door and towards Harry’s car. He sits slumped in the driver’s seat, fast asleep, his long legs struggling to fit in the footwell. A baseball cap is pulled over his dark eyes, but it doesn’t help the sharpness of the red motel sign.
Carefully, and with the hope of not waking him, I open the passenger door. I pause as his breathing shudders, his breath hitting the cold air and creating a fog in front of his parted lips.
He must be freezing.
With the confirmation he’s asleep, I slip the material from my shoulders and lean forwards. Shuddering at the cold that hits my body in my thin pyjamas, I carefully drape it over his lap and place it down gently.
Harry’s peaceful as he sleeps, yet his brow is furrowed as if distress lingers under the surface. As if the sight is a magnet to my chest, I take a step back and quietly close the door before allowing the pang of guilt to fester.
No matter how much Jack’s words try to cut deep.