Page 15 of The Spiral
My brows lift. Well, it’s direct. Quite refreshing really. At least that means I won’t have to second guess what mood he’s in, or whether he’ll beat me or not.
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Engaged? Because I won’t do—”
“No.”
“Right.” I’m actually considering this? Here, in a boggy field? What am I doing?
“You should get up.”
“Yes, you’re probably right.” I’m not moving, though.
Nothing moves, actually. Nothing but the clouds drifting by in the sky as I continue to lie on him in the middle of a bog. It’s comforting somehow, warming. I can feel his breath on my ear, his chest rising and falling underneath me. It might even be classed as romantic if I think about it long enough, sweet, given his overbearing attitude. There certainly isn’t anything sweet about his nature in general that I’ve seen so far, or where his hand is still lying on my breast.
“You’re not getting up?” he says brusquely.
No, I’m not, and I don’t seem to be able to speak either. My throat feels parched, like I can’t find the will to move at all, let alone tell him I want to. And my privates ache. Why? I don’t even know him. Oh god, his hands are pulling my skirt up slowly as his mouth brushes my cheek again, and I’m helping him by hitching my arse around on him.
“You want fucking or not?” I can’t do anything but squeeze my eyes tighter together at his words, perhaps scared of admitting it to myself. “I want you to say it.”
“I …” Nope, there’s still nothing coming out as his hand inches up my exposed thigh and lingers over my knickers.
“Tell me you want this, Maddy. Are you a Maddy, Mads?”
Whatever is happening stops the minute he says Mads. Rational thought comes racing back, causing me to slap out at his hand, scramble myself out of his hold, and clamber to my feet.
“This was a mistake,” I reply in a snotty voice as I search the ground for solid footing again, and attempt to straighten my mud soaked suit.
“Not from where I’m lying,” he mutters, putting his hands behind his head and staring up at me.
“You’re…” I don’t know what I’m trying to say. He’s what? Hot as hell? A pig? An animal with a dirty mouth? I’ve got no right to say that. We‘re both here, me having let him touch me, him lying there with an erection waiting for me. I lay there on top of him, not moving. No one forced me to do anything. My name came from his lips, the one I can’t take anymore, and it changed everything. I heard Lewis in it, heard his fists coming for me, and now I feel like a fool again.
I brush some soaking mud from my jacket and button it back up to protect whatever feeling I’m confused about. Perhaps I’m embarrassed, or annoyed at myself. I don’t know, but now I can’t even find words to initiate conversation away from whatever this has been.
He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at my lips for a while, frowning, and then eventually turns his face away from me as he gets to his feet.
“You’re a cocktease. Still,” he mutters, walking straight past me.
I pick up my bag, contemplating the words and frowning at his back. If I knew my way out without him I’d damn well do it on my own, but I don’t. So I wait as he tests out each piece of ground with his feet, and eventually follow, watching his ruined suit flap around with his movement. I don’t even feel like I can snap back at his remark as I jump into the places he’s stepped on. It’s true in some respects. Well, it will seem it to him I’m sure—dancing with him, lying in boggy fields and lifting my backside round on him as he hitches up my skirt—all good tease material. I’m not, though. Never have been. Never had a chance to be without fear of getting beaten because of it.
He mumbles to himself as he keeps going, grumbling about something I can’t hear. I don’t suppose I want to either. It’s probably more about me, and his cock, something neither of us should be thinking about, regardless of the fact that I am. He looks so stylish, even with the mess we’ve created. It’s the first time I’ve noticed the cut and quality of the material. Who would have thought he could be so lacking in refinement with his ‘you want fucking or not’ statement?
It makes me wonder who Jack Caldwellreallyis underneath that suit and this huge house he owns. Not that I care or will do any research on the matter because this has just been one of those things. One of those odd and unusual things. A bit like my dancing earlier.
The ground becomes firmer as we approach a small stream and head through it to the other side. I shake my head, trying to see only the garage I need to get back to rather than this man, but his hand reaches for mine and hauls me up the bank. It’s disconcerting as he holds onto it that bit too long again, just like it was earlier when I first met him. I stare at him, waiting for him to release it but he doesn’t. He just holds on, barely managing to loosen his grip as I try to tug it away gently. It makes me start imagining things I shouldn’t even be contemplating, certainly not after him telling me I’m a cocktease, but I am. I can feel it in this hand of his, reminding me of ten minutes ago when that same hand was lingering on parts of me it should have been nowhere near.
“You sure you don’t want fucking?” His lips twitch upwards slightly, making me stare all the more at how handsome he becomes when he loses that scowl. I tug again until he relents and lets my hand go, my own lips mirroring his as I look down at the floor and then away towards the garage. “Hmm. I’ll get your car fixed, and drive you home in the meantime,” he says, his hands in his pockets as he turns and ambles the last few steps of grassland up to the road.
“No, it’s fine. If I could just use your phone, I’ll…”
“I’ll damn well drive you home, Madeline.” My feet stop as I find road beneath my feet, fear drawing in at his tone and my mouth opening ready to retaliate in some way. He swings his body back to me, anger lacing his every feature and a look that fuels my panic. “Repeat after me. It’s fucking simple. Say, ‘Thank you, Jack’.”
My mouth opens and within seconds his brow indicates his displeasure at anything but hearing the words he wants to hear. I’m not sure what he thinks he’s going to do if I don’t reply favourably, but given the amount of strength in his grip I’m not sure I want to find out. Visions of Lewis sidle into my mind again, forcing me to look at the floor and nod in reply.
“Thank you, Jack.”