“We’re not celebrating,” he corrected. “We’re conglomerating.”
“What does that even fucking mean?”
“Means we’re going over another job.”
“You just finished a job. Who’d you fucking kill this time? Some cartel king in South America?”
“No, baby,” he let out a patient breath. “The cartel king I was after was here in North America.”
I knew he was bullshitting me.
He thought this was so amusing.
I paced around the room, throwing glares his way. “You ever care that you’re killing people, Nixon? People with feelings and souls. Fucking human beings!”
“You make it sound like I’m murdering little fucking elves at the North Pole.”
“But you would, wouldn’t you?”
He shrugged, half-heartedly. “If it paid well. If it put dresses on you like the one you just threw on the ground, sure. Pick it up, baby, and put it on.”
“No,” I refused. “I’m not going to be your fucking fluff on the side this time. Go find someone else.”
“We’ve been through this,” Nixon replied, staring fixedly at me. “I don’t want anyone else, Vix.”
“Well, you should!”
“Well, I don’t.”
Frustration bubbled inside me. I raced to the window and flung the curtains wide. I turned to him, screaming, “What if I threw myself out the window? Is that the only way you’ll let me go?”
When Nixon didn’t answer, I grabbed the lamp on the table stand beside the television and ripped the cord out of the wall. I flung the lamp against the window and watched it crash into a hundred little pieces.
The window didn’t even crack.
“Like I said the last time you did this, the windows are bullet proof, baby,” Nixon explained.
I was panting now, trembling everywhere. “You won’t even let me kill myself.”
Nixon’s jaw clenched now, the patience finally leeching out of him. “You’re never going to harm yourself, kitten, I’ll make sure of that. I had it done so others can’t hurt you.”
Defeated, I flung my arms up in indignation. “I can’t keep living like this, Nixon. You have to let me go!”
His face remained steady when he answered simply, “Never.”
“Never?!” I fumed. “Are you trying to make me go crazy? Do you like seeing me like this?”
He came to me then, and I shook my head, determined to keep him at arm’s length. I grabbed whatever there was on the nightstand and threw it his way. He dodged the comb, the clock, the fucking box of tissues, and he kept moving. I smacked his hands away when he reached out, but he was just a wall that kept on coming. He wrapped his arms around me, and this time I broke. I slammed my fists into his chest, sobbing as he forced me into his embrace. He ran a hand through my wet hair, holding me tightly even as I thrashed at him.
“Shh, baby,” he murmured into my hair. “Baby, baby, baby…”
“Stop calling me that!”
But like usual, he shushed me, rocking me back and forth, using that fucking word of endearment. It had never felt generic coming from him. He said it with so much feeling, it almost felt like my name. I began to settle down, sniffing into his chest, breathing his scent in like it was a drug I couldn’t get enough of.
I wasn’t aware he was leading me back to the bed until he stopped to pick up the dress. I tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he only tightened his hold on me.
“Let me go,” I growled.
“I want you to get dressed –”
“I’m not going!”
“Baby, you’re coming with me whether you like it or not.”
“I’ll fucking scream, Nixon,” I threatened, glaring up at him. “Everyone in this fucking hotel will hear me!”
He looked down at me, the calm before the storm. “Now you know I had these walls soundproof, too, baby.”
I felt suffocated. Anger ripped through me again, churning my insides. I opened my mouth and started to scream when he suddenly pushed me down on the bed and climbed over me, burying his mouth against mine. I bit at him, cutting the wound on his lip open, tasting his blood. He didn’t budge, though. He kissed me, tongue against mine, swallowing my sobs whole while stroking my hair like I was a feral animal he was trying to tame.
As expected, it escalated. Nixon knew what placated me. He pulled the knot on my robe and let it fall open. I heard him slide his belt off, all the while he caged me in his grip. I thrashed against him, and he held me down with little effort. I heard his zipper come undone, heard his erratic breathing as he fought to contain me. He spread my legs apart, fighting against our storm, against my limbs fighting him off, and then he slid into me. I gasped as he sheathed himself into me. It didn’t hurt. I was wet already. I knew it was coming.
“Yeah, you wanted this, kitten,” he growled, his hair unruly now. “You wanted to be punished.”
“No…” I groaned.
He slid out of me and then back in, causing me to whimper in the pleasure. He smiled cruelly at me. “Yes, Vix, you did.”
He fucked me hard, his strokes strong and punishing. He kept shushing me gently, riding out my tantrum until I had no energy left in me. I sagged, sobbing aloud, gripping my fingers into his shirt to me. No longer pushing him away, I groaned long and deep, fighting now to keep him to me.
I ached still from last night. It hurt so much, tears sprang to my eyes. He was swollen and thick, and as wet as I was, it burned every time he pushed into me.
He kept telling me I wanted this. Kept telling me I needed to be punished and used.
“You do, you want to be punished, baby.”
Somewhere along the way I conceded. I told him I did, and when he asked how good it felt for him to be inside me, stretching me wide open, I whimpered that I was going to come.
And I did. I came hard around his cock, uttering his name like a curse.
When he came, growling deep in his throat, his forehead plastered to mine, something within me gentled at the sight of his distant eyes looking desperately into mine.
He was searching.
Always searching for that connection.
As I lay panting beneath him, he wrapped his arms around me and scooted me up the bed, resting me in his lap, kissing me softly, his semi-hard cock still inside me.
We’d been through this song and dance too many times now.
And just like before, he forced me back into my cage, held the door wide open and waited patiently for me to climb in.
I climbed in, hating him and myself, though I didn’t know which of the two I hated more.
My body trembled and the tears fell endlessly. I buried my face into his chest, nuzzling into his warmth. The beast I was trying to get away from ended up being the one I was using to soothe me.
It was so messed up.
Finally, I calmed down, and he kept on stroking me, lulling me into a light sleep. I didn’t know how long I was out for, but when I woke up, he was still there, still holding me, still buried inside me.
My throat hurt from screaming. My eyes ached from crying. I felt…embarrassed for losing my shit.
Why was he enduring my outbursts? How could he remain so cool with me when I saw what he was like with everyone else?
Nixon was awful.