Chapter 6 #2
Dean rises. We share a perplexed look, both confused. Both frazzled.
“I’m going to unchain you now,” Earl says to Dean, his gun still pressed hard against Dean’s head. “One wrong move and I’ll blow you to pieces. I’ll find a new doggie for my kitten. Ya hear me?”
Dean nods.
“Good.” Earl pulls a key out of his pocket and uncuffs Dean. I watch as the shackles fall to the floor and Dean rubs his swollen wrists as he awaits more orders.
Earl is quiet for a few moments, taking three steps back so Dean can’t make any sudden moves. There is a giddy smile pulling at his fat, red cheeks, and the look on his face makes my anxiety swell and churn. Whatever he has planned cannot be good.
With one satisfied, drawn-out breath, Earl voices his intentions: “Fuck her.”
The air leaves my lungs .
The room starts to spin.
I look over at Dean, who is shaken and visibly paling before my eyes.
“What?” Dean questions, his voice hardly more than a taut whisper.
Earl chuckles, his beady eyes filled with wickedness. “Did I stutter?” He points the gun at me, then aims it back to Dean. “Fuck. Her.”
Dean is shaking his head in disbelief—in abject horror. “No.”
“No?” Earl repeats.
“ No .”
“Then you die. Three, two, on—”
“No!” I shriek. “No, no, please. Just do it, Dean.” My chest is heaving, weighed down by impossibility.
This can’t be happening. This can’t fucking be happening.
Dean’s eyes are wide and conflicted as he looks over to me, his brows pulled together, the veins in his temples ticking with quiet fury. “I won’t do that to you. I’d rather die,” he says to me. And he means it. I swear to God he means it.
Earl grabs Dean by the front of his t-shirt and starts dragging him over to me, the gun smashed against his ribcage. “Kitten wants it. She’s already purring for you.”
Dean stumbles as he’s shoved towards me, catching himself before our faces collide together.
Our eyes unite in a powerful clutch as the palpability of this moment, the terrifying truth, eats right through our withered bones.
I can feel Dean’s warmth radiating into me as his hands reach out to touch me for the very first time.
He places his palms against my shoulders, squeezing gently. “I can’t, Cora. Let him kill me. Please.”
“Stop it.” Tears brim my weary eyes, and I lean into him on instinct, craving more warmth. More contact. “I’m not letting you die. Just get it over with.”
Better you than him .
I can’t quite get the words out, though.
Dean lowers his hands, his fingers digging into my upper arms. He drops his head as he lets out a hard, pained breath. “Fuck…”
“Let’s go, Romeo. Earl has things to do today. You’ve got one more minute before I get impatient and trigger-happy.”
We both glance over at Earl, then back to each other. The eye contact proves too much for me, so I twist my head to the right as tears spill down my soiled cheekbones.
“Cora.” Dean’s tone is urgent. Quiet, but laced with a thick heaviness. He takes my chin between his rough fingers and forces my gaze on his. “Cora, look at me.”
God . The tears fall faster. My lips part, and he glances down at my mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Then he leans in.
Oh, no. No, no, no .
He’s going to kiss me.
I turn my head to the side again, dodging his kiss. “No,” I whisper in a cracked voice, my hair sticking to the tearstains. “Don’t make this something it’s not.”
Dean sucks in a jagged breath, halting his forward movement. There is a slight nod of his head, telling me he understands, and then he reaches for one of my chained wrists. A frown settles between my eyes as confusion sets in. He massages his thumb along my pulse point, his gaze still pinned on me.
“Do you feel that?”
I swallow. The lump in my throat is dry and brittle, and it hurts on the way down. “Yes,” I squeak out. The gesture is somewhat soothing, despite the circumstances.
Dean continues the circular motion, his calloused thumb grazing my wrist, almost lovingly. “Focus on that. Close your eyes and zone out. The only thing I want you to feel is my thumb massaging your wrist.”
I want to cry harder. I want to cry because I’m scared and exhausted and sore and done . I want to cry because I can’t believe this is happening. I want to cry because my sister’s fiancé, a man I loathed one week ago, is about to fuck me while a freakshow jerks off from a few feet away.
I want to cry because it’s awful, so awful , but Dean is still trying to make this better for me.
I dip my chin and squeeze my eyes shut, nodding my consent. I hear Dean’s sigh, and it rumbles through me like a white wave. It’s followed by the sound of his belt buckle unlatching and his pants dropping to the cold cement.
A familiar, snarling voice penetrates the moment. “Yeah, that’s it. Get it nice and hard for her.”
My eyelids squeeze tighter as I try to filter out everything but the feel of Dean’s thumb against the sensitive underside of my wrist. His motions are soft and fluid.
Constant. Whatever he is doing with his other hand—and God , I don’t want to know—is not affecting his attention to my wrist. I inhale a rickety breath, long and slow.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Earl barks from across the basement. “She’s a hot piece of ass. Fuck her, already. ”
I jolt at the shrill sound of his voice, and my eyes flutter open. I lift them to Dean’s face. He’s staring at me with a hollow expression. “It’s okay. Just do it,” I urge him, wanting to get this over with. Wanting to curl up into a ball of shame and cry myself to sleep.
Forever .
Dean’s jaw ticks and his nostrils flare. “I don’t think I can do this.”
Earl interrupts us again. “What’s the damn matter with you? You play for the other team?”
Dean whips his head to the right and shoots back, “I’m not a disgusting psychopath who gets off on raping women. It just doesn’t do it for me.”
And then there’s a barrel of a gun jabbing Dean’s temple, and I let out a scream.
“That’s not going to help,” Dean seethes, sweat pooling along his dark hairline. He’s trying to play it cool, but I can see the fear in his eyes. I can smell it on his skin.
“You have three seconds to figure out what’s going to help, or this bitch is gonna be wearing your brains until I get bored with her and put her bony ass in the ground.”
A strangled sob escapes me and I rattle my chains, noting that Dean still has not let go of my wrist. I’m not sure what else to say, so I blurt, “Kiss me.”
He glances at me with his ice blue eyes, troubled and bloodshot.
“Kiss me, Dean,” I repeat. “Please.”
It’s evident our situation is not getting him “in the mood” quick enough for Earl, so maybe some forced intimacy will help. I shift my gaze to the pistol as it slowly retreats from Dean’s head. I can’t help the tiny sigh of relief that escapes me.
Dean’s mouth parts ever so slightly, his eyes drifting to my bruised lips. He looks back up to me, as if to confirm: Are you sure?
I nod quickly, gulping down a fear that tastes tangible. “I want you to.”
When he leans in, I inhale sharply, my eyes closing in anticipation.
I release a modest gasp when our lips make contact and Dean does the same.
I told him not to pretend this is something it’s not, but maybe we have to pretend.
Maybe it’s the only way to get through this.
I feel his tongue poke through, seeking entry, and I oblige.
My body bows forward to meet him further, and I open my mouth wider, encouraging him.
“Close your eyes and zone out,” I breathe against his warmth, repeating his own request to me. “Focus on kissing me.”
My words seem to stimulate him in some way, and Dean raises his right hand to cup my face as the other continues its lazy designs against my wrist. We each have a crux.
A survival tactic. His touch, my kiss. A kiss that deepens and deepens, taking us over, disguising this moment for what it really is. My tongue is his veil—his black cloak.
But it’s also his fuel. Before I know it, his hand has trailed down my cheek, gliding along my waist, my hip, my thigh, until he’s gently parting my legs.
I feel the tip of him settle at my entrance and everything becomes too real.
I make a sound I can’t even describe—a mewl, maybe.
Ripped straight from the torrent of disbelief spiraling through my core.
“I’m so sorry.” He pulls back from my mouth, his head falling against my shoulder as he pushes inside me. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Around, around, and around.
Left, then right. Slow and careful and kind.
Up and down.
He’s tracing my vein.
Like art.
I can pretend this is something beautiful.
Dean is kissing me again, his cock filling me, pulsing in and out with hurried thrusts. He feels big and thick, unlike vile Earl who was pumping into me only yesterday.
Around, around, and around.
Our tongues are battling, desperate to erase everything that’s happening—everything that’s happened.
Just everything . Dean’s right hand is holding up my leg and perching it over his hip.
His fingers are digging into the fleshy side of my thigh, squeezing lightly as he moves in and out of me. In and out. In and out.
Around, around, and around.
I can hear the putrid monster beside us breathing heavily, groaning in pleasure at the display. At the fucking entertainment we’re providing.
Around, around, and around.
I need to focus. I need to block out Earl and this basement and the smell of imminent death in the air.
Dean.
There is only Dean.
And it doesn’t matter that he’s inside me, spearing me deep, forcing tiny whimpers from the back of my throat. He’s here. He’s alive. We’re both alive.
We’re in this together.
He’s still kissing me, his tongue getting clumsier as his thrusts quicken and his body tenses. He’s going to come .
Around, around, and around.
I keep my eyes closed. I don’t want to see his face in this moment—I don’t want to witness his pleasure.
And it’s not because I’m angry or blameful.
I’m envious. I’m envious he’s able to find a pocket of happiness, of joy, of authentic bliss, in the midst of our shared nightmare.
We’re in this together, yes, but for a moment—for a few blinding, potent seconds—we will be worlds apart.
Dean’s hand slides up my thigh and grips my bare ass, his opposite hand still leaving whispers and apologies along my wrist.
Around, around, and around.
And then he peaks, trying to mask his groan of pleasure as he buries his face into the curve of my neck. Dean clings to me through the aftershocks, holding me like a cherished lover. But I’m not. I am merely a pawn in Earl’s game. We are both pawns.
Dean inhales a deep sigh, almost choking on the weight of the breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He repeats it over and over, devastation flooding him. Remorse has replaced the euphoria, and my own envy has faded. I can feel his hot tears fall against my collarbone.
Earl reminds us of where we are and why we’re here—as if we could possibly forget. “That was fucking beautiful. I came so hard I saw stars,” he growls, his husky laugh making me want to vomit.
Dean is still inside me, softening, yet incapable of leaving me just yet. Maybe he’s still pretending.
I don’t blame him.
“Time’s up, lover boy,” Earl snaps.
The repugnant scent of Earl’s body odor invades me, and I finally open my eyes to see him approaching us with his weapon.
Dean slips out of me, but his left hand is still on my wrist, and his right has glided from my ass and landed on my hip.
He’s still holding me, soaking me up for as long as he can.
I feel him lift his head from my shoulder, but I twist my body to the side, unable to look him in the eyes. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
“This isn’t a romantic morning after, you dumb fuck. Get the fuck over to your corner before I blow you away.”
Earl’s voice sears me, and I’m left empty and hollow.
But nothing leaves a void more than Dean releasing my wrist and stepping away from me.
His touch lingers on my skin, and I can still feel him tracing my artery, leaving more of himself behind than he’ll ever know.
My wrist tingles and hums in the wake of his absence .
When I finally brave a look in Dean’s direction, his pants are newly secured around his waist and Earl is fastening his chains.
We have returned to our former positions.
But as sticky warmth drips down my thighs and Dean’s tears mingle with the sweat on my skin, I know we are not the same.
We will never be the same again.