The Storm Ch. 01

It had been several months since Julian had seen Kate. Things were bad. Twenty-nine years old, divorced, playing video games in his boxers on a Friday night -- he was feeling pretty sorry for himself and had been for a while. He'd acted like an idiot, sure, but it was fixable. He was blind to that fact, however, by his pride.

In some ways he was angry at her for giving up. He planned to make her wait, to make her earn it, but in the end hi feelings for her were real and he had every intention of letting her know. In his defense things were complicated: his divorce was finalized less than a year prior, and he'd known Kate for so long. In some ways she really was a child to him -- unrelentingly naive, loyal, brave. The adults he knew weren't like that. She had no concept of self-preservation, which can be incredibly dangerous for such a pretty girl. He had shown her that.

The last time he saw her she had come over to his house for a change -- a welcome one, as he lived alone -- and she was still crazy about him, it was obvious. He wanted to hurt her just for the way she looked at him, so sweet -- why, though, was this his reaction? He'd been a normal person at one time, respectful of others, even her -- where had things changed?

"You should move in with me," he said, standing over the grill on his back deck.

He couldn't see her face, but she rolled her eyes. Inside her heart was pounding but she knew better than to take him seriously. "Why would I do that?"

He shrugged. "I have plenty of room. You'd have own bathroom. With your books we could turn the second bedroom into a library."

"And where would I sleep, if not the second bedroom?"

"With me. What kind of cheese do you want?"

"Provolone."

He pulled a slice of provolone from the package and put it on her burger. On the other he put a slice of cheddar. He took a sip of his bourbon, relishing the burn that traveled through his body. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"What do you say?"

She laughed, looking out over the city. "I can't afford the rent."

"It's paid for." Julian slipped a spatula under her burger and placed it on a toasted bun. "Come and get it."

They ate, mostly in silence. He liked the way she dipped her burger into the ketchup, rather than spread it on the patty.

"You're expending a lot of energy there," he said, gesturing toward the ketchup on her plate.

She said nothing.

As he watched her he noticed her face flushing slightly. He liked making her uncomfortable. He finished his cheeseburger without taking his eyes off her. Finally, she looked up.

"What."

He shrugged.

"You're staring at me, what?"

"Nothing."

Annoyed, she placed her not quite finished burger on the plate and pushed it away. "I'm done. Thank you."

He removed the plates and went inside, placing them on the kitchen counter. "Come on," he called. "We're done out there."

He was simultaneously unpredictable and predictable. They'd spent countless days and nights together since their last fight, their last fuck. There had been plenty of opprtunities to bicker, not that she'd wanted to, but she knew it was something that pleased him. Then out of nowhere he'd just get into another one of his moods, and no matter what she said or did she couldn't stop him from starting a fight. Although she never ceased to try.

"Get in here," he snapped, even though she was already on her way in. "What do you want to drink?"

"Nothing, thank you."

He turned and looked at her, narrowing his eyes slightly. "What?"

"I don't," she paused, "want anything to drink. Thank you, though."

He opened the refrigerator. "Beer?"

"Julian, I don't --"

He spun around and slammed his fists on the kitchen island between them. "If you don't choose, I will."

"I'm just no-"

"That's fine," he cut her off. He reached into the fridge, grabbed a beer, and twisted off the cap before handing it to her. "Drink it." Before she could protest, he continued. "Fucking drink it because I invited you to my home and offered you something to drink, and if you refuse I'm going to get really annoyed."

That was enough for her. She took a sip. "Thank you." She took a seat in one of the stools beside the island, and he grabbed his own drink and sat down beside her.

"So what do you say."

"What?"

"Move in with me."

"I can't." She was quiet. Then, "You know that."

"Why not."

"I can't...I can't. It's weird, Jules. Camilla just moved out, I'm not even your..."

"My what."

She shook her head.

"My what, Kate."

"Your girlfriend."

"You think you need to be someone's girlfriend to live with them?" He was leering at now. "That's sweet."

"I'd be sleeping in your room."

He nodded. "You'd be sleeping in my bed, under my roof, eating my food. So no, you wouldn't be my girlfriend, but you would be mine. Even now I think of you as mine, so not much would change."

"I don't even know what your talking about. How am I yours?"

"Well you're not yours, that's for sure."

"Julian."

"Are you still in love with me?"

"I never said --"

"You didn't have to."

She put her beer down. "I have to go home," she said softly, getting to her feet.

"Sit down."

"I have to go home."

"Sit. Down."

"No!" She clenched her fists. "You're taunting me. I don't want to do this. Yes, I still have feelings for you, but it's clear that they're one-sided and you're cruel for rubbing that in. I don't want to do this anymore."

He grabbed her arm before she could step away. "Get on your knees."

She pulled herself from his grip and stepped backwards. "I don't want this anymore."

Absently, he shook his head. That was the protector in him -- warning her as she took a misstep. "Do not walk away from me."

Frustrated, she threw her hands into the air. "What do you want from me?" She exclaimed. "Why did you invite me over if you just want to fight?"

"To fight," he smirked.

"I don't want to fight!"

"Well, kid," he said, as if it weren't up to him, "what you want doesn't matter."

"Please." Her voice shook as she took a step back. "I just want to go home."

He grabbed a fistfull of her hair and pushed her to her knees. "Suck me off."

As she took a deep breath, Julian tightened the grip on her hair, and she knew he would continue to do so until he was deep in her throat. Her fingers trembling, she undid his pants and pulled his boxers down, releasing his cock. She caught it in her hand as it sprang forward and took the length into her mouth, slowly at first, but had no choice but to give in as he forced himself inside of her. From there it was all him -- she merely had to keep her balance as he fucked her face and yanked at her hair. Suddenly he pulled out and slapped her, open handed, across the face.

"Well?" He demanded.

"Well what?" She started to get to her feet but he pushed her back down.

"Doesn't really seem like your hearts in it, Katie," he growled.

"Fuck you!" She spat, furious. "Fucking fuck you, Julian!"

"Don't be stupid," he warned her.

She ignored him. "How fucking dare you. My heart's not in it? No kidding. I don't want this anymore, I don't want you, I don't want to suck you off. I came here tonight because things have been good, and I like you, but you're an ugly, manipulative, venemous person." She stood up, shaking. "It's embarrassing. You should be embarrassed -- I am. It's degrading, the things I do for you, what I take from you. It's fucking humiliating. So fuck you, Julian, my heart isn't in it."

Fists clenched, he took a step towards her. She took a step back. He took another step, and she remembered how this ended, in her bedroom, with her up against the desk. Not again. He took a step, she took a step, he took a step and she spun, heading for the door just a few feet away. She grabbed the knob and pulled but with a loud bang he slapped his hand against the door, slamming it shut again. With one hand he locked both locks and with the other he held her against the door by her neck, cutting off her oxygen supply.

"You need to toughen up, Katie," he snarled. "You embarrass too easily. I'll fucking show you what humiliation is, and then you'll be more than happy to get your face fucked in the privacy of my apartment."

He dragged her by the arm to his kitchen where he pulled a wooden spoon from a drawer, then he shoved her out onto the back deck so hard that she fell to the ground.

"Get up," he said, stepping past her. He grabbed a chair, turning it to face the apartment building across the street. "Get up!" He shouted.

She was so stunned she obeyed. Grabbing the back of her neck he forced her down over his lap.

"Please," she whispered, sobbing softly. "I'm sorry."

"I don't give a fuck what you are," he hissed, still seething. He pulled up her dress to expose her behind, but he was careful not to let it fall over her head -- he wanted her to see all the windows that had a view of them.

"You want to do this bare-assed, Katie?" He asked, as if she had a choice. He hooked his fingers into the hem of her panties and yanked them down.

"Please!" She was sobbing louder now, struggling to get free.

He didn't respond. He brought the spoon crashing down against her behind. She cried out. Again, he hit her. Again, she cried out. Over and over he hit her, keeping a rapid pace, not softening the blows for anything.

"Julian!" She cried, tears falling freely as he beat her. "No more, please, no more!" She struggled to get free but his grip was too tight.

He ignored her sobs but slowed considerably as it occurred to him that inconsistency could be used as a weapon. Each time he felt her body relax he brought the spoon down with more force than the smack before it.

"I'm sorry," she wailed­­­­­. "I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry!"

"You're a child," he grunted. He was breathless now. The handle to the spoon was getting uncomfortable in his clammy hand. "You're a child and this is what happens to naughty children. They get spanked."

"I'm sorry."

He dropped the spoon and she went limp as her body flooded with relief. Before she had the chance to even think another thought, however, his hand came down hard on her already sore backside. She screamed.

"This is better," he said, hitting her again. He had more control over placing the blows, more control over the rhythm. SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. He was slowly making his way over to her pussy and when he got there he waited an extra beat before coming down hard on her taut, wet lips. She wailed.

"Whore," he growled, enjoying the sound of beating her tight cunt. "You're wet for me."

"No more," she pleaded, attemping again to get away. "Please, please no more, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"You're sorry?" He slid a finger into her folds. "You wet fucking bitch." He pinched her clit, enjoying the sound of her whimpers. "You're fucking sorry?"

"I'm sorry," she sniffled. She was too familiar with him to think that was enough. "I'm -- I'm sorry I -- I'm sorry I spoke to you like that, I'm sorry."

"Say it again."

"I'm sorry I spoke to you like that."

"Again."

"I'm sorry I spoke to you like that."

"No," he said, picking up the spoon again and bringing it down against her abused cunt. "Your words don't mean a fucking thing to me."

She was quiet now, still crying, sobbing silently. She was limp, exhausted.

"I'm bored of this," he announced moments later, sliding the handle of the spoon inside her.

She didn't even react to this invasion, and it was then that he felt satisfied with this punishment. He pushed her from his lap to the ground, flipping her from her side to her stomach. Straddling her from behind, he positioned herself at her entrance and tangled his fingers in her hair. "Tell me you're sorry again," he ordered, "and why."

"I'm sorry I spoke to you like that."

"Now you're starting to sound like you mean it," he said, and with that he pushed into her. She let out a startled, pained cry, then went silent again as he fucked her. I'd been too hard for too long to last, but what he lacked in time in made up for with brutality. He could see, even in the dim deck light, that his cock was covered with blood. This fact brought him to climax and he yanked on her hair as he came, continuing to pump in and out of her even as he started to lose his erection, then finally gave in to exhaustion and collapsed on top of her.

Moments later he rose to his feet and pulled her up by the arm. "Get the fuck out of my house," he said. "I don't ever want to see you again."