STUCK 2

Chapter 8

Her whine muffled behind his strong grip as she felt his hand tracing the hem of her panty before pushing his hand in, touching her pussy without a barricade, moving around her clit like a gentle threat. 

She held his wrist tightening her hold, unintentionally portraying the intense effect of his fingers on her stack of nerves. If anything she should have kicked him harder, but as her heart melted like an ice cream under his excruciating warmth, she didn't. 

"I want you" she heard him breathing in her hair, losing the thread of his patience when he felt her wetness exuding on his fingers. She didn't realise when they fit into each other like a pieces of puzzle, her body spooned in his, perfectly aligning their needs as if their bodies spoke a language beyond their minds' understanding.  

Her uneven breaths ceased when he whispered, still caressing her sensitive flesh with utmost gentleness,
"But not here" 

He had removed his hand from her mouth, allowing her the needful space to roam it on her waist controlling her movements.
His hesitance made her miniscully or not, upset, wondering what was wrong here. 
"I'd rather have you somewhere else" she heard him whispering, his middle finger already entered inside her, slowly moving in and out, painfully teasing her, meeting the tightness he was accustomed to.

"Where?" She moaned, unable to remain sane, eager for something, anything that he wished to offer.

"Home" he told.

She drifted back from the evanescent paradise he had built with his seductio to be terrified by the word.

Home?

She never wanted to go his home. She had invested years if not decades to earn the sweet dessert of independence. If he thought he could lure her back to Italy just so he could vex her, he thought wrong. Tara grew alert in the moment, taking the hint of determination in his word for something more, and for goodness was it not.
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"Home"

The last word she had heard, the last whisper from his existence as he imbibed it on her senses.

It rung like a nightmare, the darkest one. Tara flinched in her sleep sensing a constant vibration under her bed, reminiscing exactly what had happened in her own kitchen, as he strangled her in a second's difference, pushing a medicated handkerchief on her face. Panicking, she had held his wrist, shocked at the sudden action, pulling it away to achieve nothing, the vapour of lust vanished in thin air. She managed to seize a pan from sink, flinging it over her head to catch him off guard, but he held it firmly instead, snatching the pan from her hand, gently resting it somewhere else, letting her hands alone attack however they wished to. And she struggled, pushing, screaming, and scratching, forced to breathe the drug drenched on the clothe. Her struggles went unheard behind the layers of fabric foisted on her face, limping in his arms like a dead body.

He had counted on the drug, hoping to achieve maximum compliance in no chaos at all. Ofcourse the best way to keep her distracted was to touch her,  seduce her, in the right places, with the right words, it always worked like magic he never knew. If he was true to himself, he knew every word that he had promised was an honest one. He did want her, in the most suffocating, romantic, horrible night of disaster, he still wanted to fuck her.

As much as his vengeance burnt for her, it infuriated him gravely that he wished to ravish her too, and not in a way to degrade her till she miserably kneeled in front of him, begging for forgiveness but rather to look in her eyes and ask why, to listen as she narrated her side of the story,  her miseries, her sadness. And that was impossible he knew. She didn't deserve confrontation in a civilized way, it had been far too late for that, he had come so far in his endeavor, much more than she had attempted to travel away from him.

He was burnt, more brutally than she could imagine.

Home

It wasn't a warning she apprehended, but a promise. A promise that she was afraid he'd adhere to. She remembered seeing him through her hazy vision as his jaw tightened, as he carried her like a bride, and for some reason she had smiled, very unvisibly, but she had, just before being drawn back to the anasthetia induced deep slumber. His face engraved in her memories, like a permanent tattoo she had excitedly drawn on herself, only to realise over time that it was a hasty wrong decision all along. But she was stuck with it, with him.

She woke up panting, unable to calm her breaths, her hand instinctively went to her neck seeking the touch of her star, and when all that her hand met was her own bruised skin, she flinchingly got off the bed, looking on the floor, moving the bedsheets around to spot it, growing agitated even more.

Her movements suddenly halted, taking  a look around the beautiful room, that wasn't hers, the vibration beneathe her feet unseizing. Her eyes darted to the window, looking at the gaping scene outside, realising that this wasn't the kind of window she could escape from.
Thousands of feet above the ground, she stood inside a private jet as it expedited to the west, precisely to the country she well knew. Her breathe hitched at the thought of her daughter, turning abruptly she ran to the door, slamming it open in fury to see a visual she least expected. 

Inaya sat comfortably in his lap, allowing him to hold the tab as she swiped her little fingers on the screen, slicing through the fruits without touching the bombs on the screen. She hissed when a watermelon dropped without getting sliced in a game,

"It's okay...wait..get that there" he hurried, pointing at a fruit and like a smart child she swiped on the banana before it fell unattended.

As a token of appreciation he landed a quick kiss on her cheek, encouraging the little fruit cutter.

"It tingles" she giggled, turning her head sideways to get rid of the fluttery feeling of his beard pricking.

"What tingles?" He asked mischievously, as if unaware, landing a kiss on her cheek again as she uncontrollably chortled in her angelic voice, uncaring towards the game she had lost when an intense wave of quake followed as his face came attacking hers. The room filled with her chuckles as she tried to escape his hold, only to be held back for the sweetest torture. Her giggles didnt stop long after he kept the distance, watching her endless laughter making a smile appear on his features. His face brightened every second, blessed to have survived long enough to witness the moment.

He watched her with adoration, joy, love, something that he had once considered himself incapable of feeling. He'd have never imagined finding happiness in someone else's, and now when he did, he didn't want it to stop, he wished to begin his life all over again, beginning this moment and ending it in the same. It'd be small life he admitted, but it'd be worthwhile one.

She watched the scene unfolding, as if picked up from a movie and recreated in front of her eyes, only that it was more surreal, more true than any of the truths. She didn't realise a tear that gradually built in the depth of her eye, lifting itself out of her orb to trickle down on her cheek, reminding her that no matter what she believed in, what held true in her morals, she was made of feelings, and emotions, and tears. She wasn't disappointed that none of them noticed her presence until they had had their share of the moment, afterall it hid the fact that she loved their togetherness, the way
Inaya found the missing piece of her childhood in her father, her mother's most bitter truth.
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Author's note: just accept that I am lame and update irregularly. Acceptance my children, Acceptance.