Begging for It Read online

  “Not always,” I say as I go. I’d like to think that’s true.

  And neither Kip nor anyone else needs to understand the truth behind Jonah’s darkness.

  Ten

  “So this is the famous Joooooooo-nah,” Liz says, subtle as a lightning strike. She shifts her white wine into her other hand so she can shake Jonah’s. All around us, family friends and Chloe’s pals mill around in cocktail dresses and suits; Christmas music plays just loud enough to be heard amid the buzz of the crowd. Liz’s grin is brighter than the chandelier overhead. “I’ve heard so much about you, Mr. Marks! Can’t wait to find out if it’s true. ”

  From anyone else, this would be unbearably obnoxious. But this is Liz Marceau, my friend since we were six years old. Our parents were in the same clubs, sent us to the posh Sacred Heart Academy, and lived only a few blocks apart in the Garden District, also known as the most enviable section of town. And Liz and I were both, always, so over it.

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  Thank God for her, because if I hadn’t had one person in my life always confirming that this high-society stuff was bullshit, I’m not sure I could have remained sane.

  Jonah glances at me, like, How much did you tell her? I just laugh. “Don’t let Liz psych you out. ”

  “I cull the weak ones from the herd,” Liz says as she lifts her glass for another sip. “Only the strongest survive to date my friend. ”

  “I’ll do my best,” Jonah replies, straight-faced. The glint of humor in his gray eyes tells me he can deal with Liz, which is a relief. Not everyone can. But that’s exactly why I love her; she is boldly, unapologetically herself in a way few other people are. She had that talent when she was six. I hope I’ll master it by the time I’m sixty.

  Liz is nearly as tall as Jonah, and—Rubenesque is the euphemism my mother uses, though Liz is on a kick about “reclaiming the word fat” as empowerment. But it’s hard to imagine her needing more power. Her hair is the most stunning red I’ve ever seen, and she’s wearing a turquoise dress that stands out from the dark-clad crowd so vividly that it acts as her own personal spotlight. Right now, she’s shining that hot light on us too.

  Technically this is Chloe’s party. She and Anthony have always thrown a holiday bash together, which I was always told was the “hit of the season. ” Happily I never had to find out for myself. Since she’s throwing it alone this year, she decided to have it here at my parents’ house. Some of the faces around me are unfamiliar—people she met through Anthony, no doubt. I guess they’re not yet to the point of figuring out who gets which friends in the divorce. But she still hangs out with her high school set, who have become sleeker and harder in the last decade. What do they see when they look at me?

  Then again, most of them aren’t looking at me. I might be wearing my best cocktail dress—dark red, sequined, modestly hemmed near the knee but plunging in the front. I’ve done my hair, worn my highest silver shoes. But I’m standing next to Jonah Marks.

  He wears a suit cut so closely to his body that I’d assume it was custom tailored if I didn’t know Jonah doesn’t give a damn about these things. But he’s built the way designers wish every man would be. That’s why the charcoal-gray fabric drapes perfectly across his wide shoulders and narrow waist. The shade of his suit turns his eyes almost blue. If Jonah’s not the tallest man in the room, he’s close, and certainly he’s the most built. His unstudied elegance contrasts with his brutish strength, and the effect is magnetic. Men glance at him with envy, women with the white-hot longing I know so well. So I’m invisible. It’s a little like being whatever painting hangs beside the Mona Lisa in the Louvre.

  I don’t mind; in fact, I’m relieved. After years of homecomings that felt more like cross-examinations, I can finally relax. Is this what it feels like to actually enjoy Christmas?

  In the living room, my father sits in his leather armchair, holding court with his friends. He’s not his old boisterous self again; after the heart attack, he might never again be as loud or carefree. But he’s enjoying himself, telling some hoary anecdote his pals will have heard a dozen times before, and they’ll laugh just as hard as they did when they first heard it. Near the fireplace, my mother shows off her granddaughter to her friends, a group of women who look as polished as their daughters. Not one gray hair has escaped being dyed. Libby seems to enjoy the admiration. She twirls so the skirt of her white velvet party dress flares out around her, and all the women laugh in approval.

  Nearer us, in the foyer, Chloe stands at the foot of the long staircase, one hand on the wooden banister as if she were posing for a photograph. She’s lost a little weight, and she didn’t have any to lose—but I can’t deny she’s still the most beautiful woman in the room. She always was.

  Her blond hair is pulled into a chignon; her strapless black dress flows almost to the floor. She smiles at everyone, hiding the pain she must feel behind a perfect mask of poise and grace. The glittering earrings that dangle almost to her shoulders are undoubtedly real diamonds.

  Anthony must have given those to her.

  “Oh, my God, did you hear about Jackson Overstreet?” Liz hasn’t stopped talking the entire time, though mostly she’s been telling Jonah crazy childhood stories about us. But old names have brought up new gossip. “He’s going to seminary!”

  “Jackson?” That obnoxious kid I used to hang out with in sixth grade wants to be a priest?

  Liz laughs so loud half the people in the party turn to look. “Either the Catholic Church seriously lowered its standards, or we have witnessed a miracle. ”

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  I start laughing too. Surely Jonah can only vaguely appreciate the humor, but he smiles down at me with such warmth that I feel like I could glow.

  Later, while Liz is getting another glass of wine, I whisper to him, “Thanks for being such a good sport about this. ”

  “You don’t have to thank me for enjoying a party. ” Jonah brushes his fingers along my cheek.

  “Oh, come on. You can’t enjoy hearing endless anecdotes about people you never met. ”

  “I enjoy seeing you this happy. ”

  I am happy—and he is too. Our fears and troubles seem as if they took place a hundred years ago, or in a bad dream that faded with dawn.

  We’re in the middle of a party, surrounded by a crush of people on all sides, and I don’t even care. I stroke two fingers down the length of his midnight-blue silk tie. “I’m not having so much fun that I couldn’t leave a little early. ”

  His smile widens into a grin; his hand finds my arm and grips it just tightly enough to suggest what he’ll do later. Not enough for anyone around us to understand. Just me. “You like the tie?”

  “Mmmm-hmm. ”

  He leans closer and whispers, “It would make a good blindfold. ”

  Oh, Merry Christmas to me.

  •   •   •

  Two hours later, I’m wearing my red sequined cocktail dress, a midnight blue silk tie around my eyes, and absolutely nothing else.

  Jonah pulled off my underwear a few minutes ago. Used his belt to bind my arms to the bedpost, and the terry-cloth tie of the hotel robe to lash my ankles together. I still don’t understand that, but he’ll make me understand when he’s ready. Not before.

  Normally Jonah would be talking dirty to me around now. But tonight, he remained “himself” until he had me bound and blindfolded like this. Now that he’s tied me up, he goes silent.

  I can hear only my breath and his, and the footsteps coming closer. Then his hand goes to the neckline of my dress. His fingertips are rough against the skin between my breasts. The fabric is drapey enough for him to push it aside, baring my breast. As his thumb runs over my nipple, I suck in a breath—and then he squeezes, hard. I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

  He grasps my other breast in turn, tugging and pinching until both of my nipples are swollen and tender. Right on the edge between pleasure and pain. I twist away from him, drawing my bound legs up
to my chest, but Jonah’s strong hands push me onto my back again. Not savagely—he’s firm, inexorable, silent. An unknown force taking charge of my body and denying me even the knowledge of how I affect him.

  It’s distant. Almost contemptuous. But this works on me too. This powerful, unspeaking stranger will use my body however he wants. He erases my will. Now I’m his plaything, nothing more.

  The mattress dips and creaks as he climbs onto the bed. His knees press down on either side of my shoulders; the fabric of his suit trousers rubs against my exposed, sensitive breasts, and I stifle a whimper. He rests enough of his weight on me to have me completely pinned down.

  He unbuckles his belt slowly so I have to listen and wait. The purr of his zipper goes almost tooth by tooth. I even hear the soft sound of his fingers taking hold of his cock.

  The head bumps against my cheek. His hand grips my face tightly, forcing my jaw open. I couldn’t turn my head if I tried.

  Jonah makes not one sound, even as he pushes his cock inside my mouth.

  He’s so goddamned huge. Not only long but thick, so thick that it’s hard for me to blow him even when I can move my head, angle my throat. Now it’s all I can do to take him in. Jonah rocks his hips forward and back—again slowly, so much so that I can tell he’s determined to stretch this out. That he likes me struggling beneath him, mouth open obscenely wide.

  Pre-come is thick around my tongue now, and I manage to swallow. The contraction of my mouth and throat is enough to make him thrust in deeper, almost choking me. But that’s the only sign he gives of how turned on he is, that and the fact that I keep having to swallow, faster and faster, just to keep breathing. Jonah just keeps moving at this same maddeningly slow tempo, wordless, like some machine built to rape me.

  I cough around him and feel his pre-come on my lips, on my chin. He pulls out then, pausing one long moment to rub the head of his cock around my messy face, like he’s marking me as his own. Then he climbs off me and off the bed.

  At first I just pant for breath. But before I’ve even begun to recover, his broad hand grasps the tie binding my ankles and pulls me down, toward the side of the bed. My arms stretch—not to the point of pain, but enough to make me gasp—and my ass is now at the edge of the mattress.

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  Jonah pushes both my legs straight up, toes to the ceiling. My cunt is exposed, and he slides two fingers inside. Still he goes slowly, inspecting me, testing me. But I know he can feel how wet I am.

  Then he wraps one arm around my legs, clutching them against his shoulder so I can’t move. He withdraws his fingers only to replace them with his cock.

  When he does it like this—pushing in inch by inch, making me wait for it—I feel every single sensation. The way my cunt burns as he forces me wider to take him. The wetness around him, slicking my thighs. Even the heat of his body coming closer to mine until he’s finally buried in me up to the hilt.

  For one long moment he remains still inside me. But then his grip tightens around my legs and he goes mad.

  I cry out as he begins fucking me, hard, fast, and merciless. He’s so deep inside, like he’s getting to the core of me with every single savage thrust. With my legs up like this, I’m totally vulnerable; it feels rougher than ever before.

  And I love it. I love it.

  Having my legs bound together also means there’s tight pressure on my clit the entire time. Each time he pounds into me, my thighs pulse, and it’s like I’m getting stroked faster and faster. I thrash my head to the side—it’s the only way I can move—trying to fight it. Though really I just want to stay here in this moment when pleasure is welling inside me, flooding me, drowning everything else.

  Jonah thrusts in one final time—the hardest of all. His body shudders against mine as he grunts in carnal satisfaction. Even as I hear it, I come too, and the world is swallowed by the power of it. The sounds coming from my throat must be savage, but I can’t listen. I can’t know. I don’t care.

  He remains inside, maybe still spending into me, for what seems like a long time. When he pulls out, he folds my legs to the side. He unties my ankles first, only then crawling up the bed to push the blindfold from my face. Only one dim lamp is lit in the far corner of the room, but I still squint against the light. Jonah is dark and indistinct to my blinking eyes.

  “Okay?” he whispers.

  “Much better than okay. ” I lick my lips, tasting his salt. “God, Jonah, that was incredible. ”

  “That’s how Vikings used to rape their captives. I read it once. Never stopped thinking about it. ”

  Maybe I should find that fascination of his disturbing, but how can I, when I share it? “It’s brutal. ”

  “That’s why I like doing it to you. ” His eyes are clear to me now. I see no hint of the unease that shadowed our game at his apartment, the last time he tied me. Then he was the one who hid his face.

  But maybe we’re getting back to where we were. Jonah learned my truth and came all the way back to me anyway. It feels like a miracle.

  “Untie my hands,” I whisper. “I want to hold you. ”

  He does.

  •   •   •

  The strangest thing about Christmas Day is how strange it isn’t—or, to be more accurate, how completely my family refuses to acknowledge that anything has changed. Chloe and Libby remain at my parents’ house throughout as if they did this every year. When I kneel beside the tree to tuck my gifts into the pile, with a jolt I see Anthony’s name on one of the tags, nestled between gold and silver ribbons. Did my mother buy them before Chloe threw him out, or did she simply refuse to admit they wouldn’t patch it up by December twenty-fifth?

  The pretense applies to my father’s health too. He’s recovered well enough to go up and down the stairs, which is better than I thought he’d be at this stage. But he still drives the car when he and Mom leave the house. Still eats terrible food and has a cocktail with dinner. I say nothing but stare pointedly at his glass, to no avail.

  Dad’s better at not seeing things than I thought he was. It makes me wonder how much he chose not to see, back when I was fourteen—

  —but I can’t afford to think like that. I clung to my dad so tightly in those months after the rape because he felt like the one safe person in my family, maybe the last person who really loved me. If I ever came to think of that as a lie, I don’t know what it would do to me.

  Jonah’s presence here is both the strangest thing about this holiday and the best. It’s like everyone but Libby remains in a perpetual state of surprise that he’s here, that he’s amazing, and that he loves me.

  When my mother asks if I’ve gained weight, Jonah says nothing, but smiles at me and runs his hand along my waist in a way that’s not blatantly sexual—yet makes it clear that he’s happy with my body just the way it is. Chloe spends half her time ignoring him, half her time peppering him with cheery questions about Austin. (Never once has she asked me about our best local restaurants. ) It’s as if he’s any other guy she met at the cocktail party, one she’s subtly flirting with by giving him only small tastes of her interest. This doesn’t mean she’s coming on to Jonah; Chloe flirts with pretty much any man she meets. That’s how she measures her inner worth.

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  Maybe, now that Anthony’s gone, my sister can find a deeper source of self-respect. At the moment, though, she’s still newly severed from the “perfect life” she thought she had two months ago. So I try not to judge her. And I don’t ask about Anthony once.

  But Jonah and I are doing some selective forgetting of our own. The threat of the Stalker feels like something we left behind in Austin—both the real menace he represents and the false suspicion directed at Jonah. More than that, the awkwardness that had haunted our games has faded away again. He and I have been set free.

  By Christmas lunch, I’m as blissed-out as I’ve been in years. Carols are playing, my parents’ house smells like candles and cinnamon, and my cream-colo
red cowl-neck sweater has long sleeves with holes for my thumbs. It hides the bruises on my wrists.

  “Honestly,” my mother sniffs as Libby unwraps the gift I gave her—the Lego science lab kit. “Do you have to give such political presents?”

  “What’s political about it?” I curl into Jonah’s side and smile up at her in innocence. Mom is, of course, referring to the fact that this is the kit with female scientists, but she won’t say so out loud. She sends messages with her own gifts too, always giving me kitchen items more appropriate for a bridal registry than the tiny kitchen in my rental home; last year it was a marble cookie jar that weighed at least ten pounds.

  Happily, Libby’s too delighted with her present to notice our comments. “This is cool. They have all these test tubes and stuff! You’re a scientist, aren’t you, Uncle Jonah? Do you have test tubes?”

  “No. ” Jonah leans forward to inspect the set as seriously as he would a piece of equipment delivered to his own lab. “We use seismographs. This panel here—that looks a little like a seismograph. So your lab can have one. ”

  “They can be volcano scientists!” Libby begins tearing into the box with gusto. “You can show me how to set it up, right?”

  Jonah nods, ready to get to work, but Chloe cuts in. “Olivia, sweetheart, don’t forget, you’re leaving to go see Daddy in only an hour. ”

  My entire body goes rigid. But Libby wriggles in anticipation. “Are my presents for Daddy all wrapped?”

  “Of course they are. ” Chloe’s smile is brittle. “Remember? You stuck the bows on yourself. ”

  “How’re y’all handling that?” Dad asks as he pours himself a Bloody Mary.

  Chloe clutches her club soda like it’s pure gin. “I’ll drive her to the theater out on Clearview. Anthony’s going to take Libby to a movie, that new animated one, oh, what’s it called—”

  “You could come too, Mommy. If you wanted. ” The hope in Libby’s face tears my heart out.

  “No,” Chloe says, too sharply, then tries to soften it. “This is a special treat for you and your father. ”

  Jonah hesitates for a moment before he says, “Do you want Vivienne and me to drive her there instead? That would give me a chance to talk with Libby about building her lab. ”