Posted by hisdinner on December 05, 2004 at 00:41:41:
Chapter 6
"You're so fierce."
Martin opened his eyes and smiled at Allie.
"When we— it feels like there's a wolf just beneath your skin."
Martin grinned. Allie's nose was just above the covers; the rest of her was hidden. It was cold. Outside, pine needles scraped against the windows, the trees creaked in the wind. Despite the breeze, a mist clung to the ground. It was too early to tell what kind of day it would be in the mountains. Or in this house, Martin thought. With Smith, you never could be sure. Martin leaned on his elbow, his face just above hers. "What big eyes you have," he said.
She giggled and groaned and threw off the covers, exposing creamy skin dotted everywhere with purpling bite marks. "I could say the same about your teeth."
Martin slid on top of Allie; they made languorous love. When her breathing quickened, Martin slipped a black silk tie across Allie's eyes and held it there. Allie held her breath. She tilted back her head and put her hands palm up on the bed, her fingers curved up, surrendering. Martin put his hand around her throat. Allie expelled her breath in a startled whoosh. Martin's pace quickened and he pounded into her. He let the blindfold slip and then he drew back. Fierce. Yes.
Both hands wrapped around her neck now, but he didn't tighten his grip. Allie twisted her head back and forth, pressing her throat against his fingers, seeking the feel of him possessing her. Martin's fingers rested on the nape of her neck and his thumbs rested just above and below her larynx. His hands formed a loose collar around her throat. She whimpered and rubbed and pressed against his hands but he would not increase their pressure on her neck. The tension was aching, unbearable. Allie shuddered and arched; Martin climaxed as well and fell down on top of her, his face buried in her hair.
"Like that?" his breath was hot against her neck.
"Yes. Like that," she said, still thrumming, still possessed.
"When?" He felt her shoulders stiffen.
He waited, easing to one side of her, propping up his head on one hand. She couldn't speak, couldn't say a word.
Martin kissed her. He shook his head. "Not yet then." He sat up and tucked the thick comforter around her.
"But I want to give you –" Her voice was muffled by the comforter. Beneath the covers, Allie's fingers explored the welted bites that covered her. She couldn't stop tracing them.
"Allie." He sat on the bedside, pulling on a pair of jeans and a denim shirt. "I will take everything you want to give me. But."
"But?" She sat up, disconcerted.
"I have a job to finish here. Then another one in San Francisco. I want you to come along. And when it's right?" He kissed her hard, gripping her hair, crushing her mouth. "Then, Allie. Then I'll take you. Any way you like."
She felt dizzy. Any way she liked. She shook her head. "A job here? But wasn't last night-?"
"Last night was the beginning. Mr. Smith-- He likes a long goodbye." Martin tied his shoes. He sat up, touched her lips with his fingers. "He has me finish them in the morning."
Allie glanced at the bundle of knives next to Martin. "Oh."
"Want to come along?" His voice was soft, tender. He pressed a finger to her lower lip, she sucked it in.
"Can I just stay here?" Allie turned her face to his palm and kissed it.
Martin nodded, kissed her nose, and stood. "Lock the door." he said.
Allie was drowsy and warm under the covers. "Okay."
"Now, Allie. As soon as I'm out the door." He pulled her out of the bed and grinned as she shrieked and shivered; they dashed to the door. He caught her around the waist and pulled her close for kiss and said, "Sleep. It'll be an hour or two." Martin left, carrying his knives. Allie twisted the knob on the door, sailed across the room and burrowed under the comforter.
She put her hands around her throat, trying to recreate the feeling of his hands on her. Not the same. She pulled the comforter completely over her head and lay there, touching his teeth marks, treasuring them.
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Mr. Smith sighed, stopped the tape and wound it back again. He sipped a brandy. His hand was a bit unsteady; Smith had been up all night. He squinted at the screen. She was so beautiful. But this was not what he'd hoped to achieve with the girl. He drank a little more, he sighed again. He wished he'd left off the blindfold. He needed to see her eyes, to see that moment of ineffable beauty, see her recognize-- Such a mistake to have lost that. Next time. He made his way to her side again. Such a lovely girl.
Graham knocked and entered the room. Mr. Smith was in a small study, walls of books fading into darkness. There was no light on but the glow of the television. Onscreen, his lost girl was arching against the cord, her body straining, her supple curves accentuated in firelight, chiaroscuro, magnificent. A masterpiece, if he could only see her eyes. Graham cleared his throat. "If you're ready for Martin?"
Mr. Smith stiffened. "A moment."
Graham sat down at the reading table and waited for the old man to move on. Seemed like each one took a little longer for him. Graham openly admired the dead girl on the couch against the wall. She lay there, naked, cold, stacked. What a waste of a great piece of ass. Smith knelt beside the dead girl and whispered things. The old man stared into her face for a full minute, and then he shook his head.
"Sir? Anything special or—"
Mr. Smith glared at Graham. The boor had a genius for ruining the moment. "Martin knows. You may take her to him. I will expect a call by four." Graham nodded. Fricking senior citizen early bird specials, anymore. Mr. Smith rose on stiff knees and brushed past his assistant; he couldn't bear to see Graham lay a hand on her. Martin would take good care of her, but Smith would not watch Martin work, either. He had lost his taste for anything but the finished product. Mr. Smith liked endings most of all. Graham waited until he heard his boss on the stairs and then he put the dead girl on a wheeled cart and trundled her to the kitchen down the long hall. "Totally fucked up business," he muttered as the cart cleared the swinging doors.
In the kitchen Martin dismissed him with a hard stare. Graham grabbed a six pack of beer from the refrigerator and climbed up the back stairs to watch the tube.
----------------------------------
Allie smiled. She felt someone sit on the edge of the bed. So soon? She pushed her head out from under the covers, yawning wide. "You're done?"
Mr. Smith was drunk. He slurred as he said, "Sorry, dear. Done?"
Allie grabbed the edge of the comforter and pushed herself backward in the bed. She blushed and stammered. "Oh geez!"
Mr. Smith cocked his head and studied her. He held a snifter of brandy in one hand and a silver revolver in the other. His body swayed and he gave into it, and lay on his back across the bed. Brandy slopped from his snifter and stained the comforter. Allie looked wildly around for her clothes. Smith had draped himself across her lower legs. She shifted, pried herself out from under him and was about to stand when Mr. Smith shot out a hand and gripped her ankle and held her there.
"What are you doing in my bed?" He asked. He seemed to find this terribly amusing. He laughed until he started choking, and then he stopped.
"Graham—"
"Graham! One of his little whores? You're a stripper, then?"
"No, no Sir. I came with Martin. I'm with him." Allie tried to free her ankle. Smith's grip tightened as she spoke.
"With Martin!" The old man sat up and released her. Allie sat up, too, shivering. She managed to reach her sweater. She pulled it over her head. He used his pistol to prod her chin. His other hand held her wrist. If he was drunk, he showed few effects now. "Martin brought you. That is extraordinary news." He touched her shoulder, smiled, and squeezed her knee. "Lovely."
"He told me to wait in here while he-- while he finished his work." Allie glanced at the door. She must have bungled the lock.
Smith followed her gaze. "He does impeccable work. Yes. And Martin has impeccable taste." He studied Allie as she pulled on her clothes. "You have beautiful eyes, my dear. Beautiful eyes."
Allie stared at him, felt shivers of revulsion ripple down her back. She muttered a thank you and began walking slowly toward the door. She'd have to cross his path to reach it. His pistol hand drooped toward the bed.
"Pretty green-eyed girl. Come to me. Now." He winked at her, glanced at his pistol, and used it to pat a place beside him.
Allie tried to keep a pleasant expression on her face. Smith watched her intently. He seemed to be memorizing her face. "You want to die, don't you, dear." He smiled at her, just making pleasant conversation.
Allie felt her stomach clench. "What?" What was he going to do?
"There is always time for fucking, first. Too crude? My apologies. And after. After? Oh, my dear. You will be transformed, you'll be perfection. A confection. Ha." Allie felt his eyes flicking across her face, scrutinizing. This is it, Allie thought. She sidled a little closer to the open door.
"I really need to commend him. He anticipates my needs now." Smith gloated at his good fortune. He scratched his forehead with the pistol, laughed gleefully.
"Sir?" Allie shook her head.
Smith gestured again for her to join him on the bed. "You, dear. He brought you, didn't he." Smith wasn't asking, he was pointing out the obvious. Allie shook her head and kept edging to the door. "But I'm his, I'm with Martin, Mr.Smith, he's – we're together. Mr. Smith, Sir—"
Mr. Smith frowned and thumped the bed, and the pistol bounced up and down in his fist. "You stay right here." Thump, thump, thump. Allie froze in place, her eyes on the gun.
He reeled out of the bedroom, only slightly off-kilter, scowling and hollering for Graham. Allie didn't know what to do. If she didn't find Martin first, this crazy old man might sic his assistant on her. Allie rubbed her ankle. He might be old, but she doubted that Smith really needed any help subduing her. She needed to get out of here. She had a feeling that Mr. Smith always got his way -- that his mistaken notions always became the order of the day. That's what too much money could do for you. For him. Allie needed to find Martin. She scrambled into her shoes and flew down the stairs.
Mr. Smith was ranting, "Pick up the phone, Graham, pick up! Pick up!" as Allie sneaked past his study door. She found the dining room and then she saw a set of double doors. The kitchen, had to be. Allie heard herself humming, trying to drown out whatever she was about to see. She forced herself to slip through the swinging doors and into a huge kitchen. Her vision was obscured by a set of copper pots dangling from a circular ring of metal. She couldn't see anyone. "Martin?" she whispered.
She heard water splashing. Allie walked around the butcher block island and found him. Martin had his back to her, scrubbing his hands at the sink. He shut off the water and turned, wiping his hands on a towel. When he saw her, he beamed. "Allie! I am really surprised to see you. This is great."
She looked over her shoulder toward the swinging doors, then grabbed Martin's arm. He was wearing a stiff white jacket over his denim shirt. It was streaked with traces of rusty red. He shook his head slightly, a little thrown by her appearance, and then he kissed her. "Do you want to see?" Martin put his arm around her, steered her toward a huge steel oven. Allie shook her head, distracted. She'd almost forgotten.
"Martin? We have to go. Mr. Smith was pawing at me and he thinks I'm dessert or something and he doesn't seem to want to listen. And he has a gun. Please?"
Martin swung around to face her, turning away from the tempered oven window. The light was on. She could just make out a rounded haunch--
"What?" Martin joggled her a little, got her attention back. "When did you see him? Have you been wandering around here? Allie, that's not a good idea. Mr. Smith is a little—"
"A little! Martin, he's nuts, come on, let's go. I woke up, he was sitting on the bed playing Goldilocks and the big bad wolf,"
Martin started to correct her. "Goldilocks? And The Three--
"Oh, you know what I mean! He kept staring at me. Touching me. He has a gun, Martin. He thinks you brought me for him. He wouldn't listen."
Martin nodded, took off the jacket and tossed it on the counter. "It wouldn't be the first time." He took Allie's hand and they headed to the door. "Let me grab my knives. Got your stuff? Meet me at the car. Lock the doors, Allie."
Allie ran out the back door and around to the drive and jumped into Martin's car. She slumped down low in the seat, peering toward the front door. "Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up!" She chanted, pounding on the car seat, jumping at every sound. The pine trees swayed in the wind and creaked and moaned. Allie watched the door. It opened. Not Martin! Mr. Smith walked onto his porch. He waved the gun around like a flashlight. Allie ducked low, then noticed that the door locks were still up and undone. She yelped and dived for the driver's door and slammed the tab into position. On the porch, Mr. Smith was drawing a bead on her when Martin shoved him aside. The old man fell hard. Allie released the lock as Martin yanked on the handle. Graham appeared on the porch. He was clutching his right bicep; it was bleeding. The blood was leaking through his fingers. He stooped to Mr. Smith and came up, screaming. "Fucking bastard!"
The car spit gravel as Martin floored the accelerator. Allie was tossed around as Martin whipped the car through the mountain curves. No one was following them, but Martin was being careful. "Should have known better. Sorry, Allie."
"What did you mean when you said, 'It wouldn't be the first time?'" Allie's stomach had recovered from Mr. Smith's gun and the road, but now she felt terrible jealous pangs. She'd imagined she was the first. But no?
"I used to deliver, until he hired that sleazeball Graham to pick up his girls," Martin said. Then he smiled. "You're jealous." He grinned. They were headed to San Francisco. It was a sunny day; the fog had lifted; Martin felt good.
Allie tapped him on the arm. "So you never took any of your girlfriends to visit Mr. Smith before?" She sang along with the radio, "Cold As Ice." She felt good, too.
Martin shook his head. None that lived, anyway. "None?" she persisted, wriggling into him, pressing her breasts against his arm.
He shot a glance at her. Grinned. "Nope. Allie? Tag. You're it."