The Chase

As if sensing my intentions, the officer suddenly grips my arm again. I gasp as panic freezes me. Time slows down as this officer—or serial killer or whatever the fuck he is—pulls me beyond the noise of the club. No one stopped him. My stomach lurches as I realize that no one would have stopped him even if I'd screamed bloody murder. I wish I had screamed anyway.

We've walked nearly a block when I finally begin asking questions.

"Why are you doing this?" He says nothing. "Why do you think I have drugs?" Nothing. "Why haven't you read me my rights or whatever it is you're supposed to do?" He stares straight ahead, as if I haven't even spoken.

I swallow back something sour tasting. "Are you going to kill me?"

His face finally relaxes. "No, ma'am."

"But you're going to hurt me."

"No."

We walk another block. I'm just about to ask another question when the officer's grip on my arm suddenly tightens, alarming me. I look around like a startled deer and gasp when I see it under a streetlight: Cameron's Audi.

"You're not an officer," I say under my breath.

"No, I am," he answers, finally turning to look at me. "I owed him one."

We both turn toward the Audi as Cameron climbs out and walks toward us. My stomach flutters as I take in the sight of his tailored suit and late-night stubble. He looks tired, but he walks with his usual self-possession. He seems always to consume the space around him. I hate how much I like looking at him.

"Thank you, Gonzalez," he says, though he looks at me.

Gonzalez loosens his grip just as Cameron takes my other arm. He nods behind us, and I turn to see another well-muscled man with an earpiece nodding back. I wouldn't have made it far if I had made a run for it.

I glare one last time at Gonzalez, who is walking to rejoin the man with the earpiece. I turn to Cameron. "How long did it take you to find me?"

"Is that how you greet your husband?"

"Fuck you."

"That's more like it." His eyes travel up and down my body. It should make me sick, but instead I feel a pulse between my thighs. His eyes light up as if he can see my arousal grow.

My hand shoots up to slap him; he catches my wrist without even breaking eye contact. It's the kind of move you see in the goddamned movies. My blood thrums with anger. I try to raise my other hand, but he already has that arm locked down.

He pulls me to him. "You knew I was coming for you."

"Yes."

"You know I'll always come for you."

I look down at my shoes. "Yes."

He lowers his head and presses his forehead to mine. "You know I'm going to punish you." He speaks softly, as if tasting the words.

I close my eyes. "Yes," I whisper.

He hooks his fingers under my chin and lifts my face until my gaze finally meets his. "You know," he says, watching for my reaction, "that we're not going anywhere until I've come inside you."

****

At first my friends were jealous of my relationship with Cameron. He wasn't like the guys they were dating. There was no playing it cool with Cameron. There was no waiting for text messages, no pretending to be too busy. He was everywhere. He was on my phone; he was driving me around; he was waiting to pick me up from work; he was taking me to expensive places that would never have let me in had I not been with him.

He was fucking me as if it only fueled his appetite for more fucking.

The day the Wilsons caught him eating me out on their sitting room sofa was the last day I worked for them. I had put the kids to bed when he texted to let me know he was outside. I had figured he would settle for a makeout session on the couch, but he had my panties off and my skirt up around my waist almost immediately. He remained fully clothed as he buried his face between my thighs. I was pulling on his hair as he laid his tongue flat against my clit and pressed hard.

"Christ, baby, you taste so good," he murmured between flicks of his tongue. I whimpered and writhed, grinding my pussy against his face. The sight of his mouth fastened to my clit was so erotic that my orgasm felt only a breath away.

Then I heard someone clear their throat behind me, and I froze.

I had been moaning too loudly to hear them come in. The mix of shock and arousal on Mr. Wilson's face made me ill. I couldn't bring myself to look at Mrs. Wilson.

Cameron hadn't even apologized; he'd looked ready to punch Mr. Wilson in the face as he straightened my clothes and stood up, still semi-hard in his trousers. I had simply taken his hand and looked at the floor as he led me out of the room. I never did say goodbye properly to the Wilsons' kids.

I sometimes think that he planned for us to get caught. It put me out of work and made me financially dependent on him. He had been paying for more and more of my expenses anyway. I had resorted to sneaking behind his back to pay my damn phone bill. He had retaliated by paying off my car loan.

Bertie was both baffled and envious. "It's super weird, Tessa," she said over drinks one night. "When is he going to chill out?"

I shook my head. "It's like he's more intense as time goes on."

"Is it because he's old?"

I roll my eyes. "He's 35, Bertie. And what does his age have to do with any of this?"

"I figured that's why he's not wasting any time," she says, laughing.

My phone buzzed on the table.

"Jesus, is he texting you now?" She cocked her eyebrow.

"Yep."

"Are you serious?" she asked, but I was already reading Cameron's text.

HOW MUCH LONGER, BABY? WE NEED TO GET TO THE AIRPORT.

"Airport?" I said, blinking at my phone.

"He's at the airport?"

"No, we're apparently going to the airport. Like now."

"See? That's weird. Who takes off randomly like that?" She tossed back the last of her drink. "Does he get first class seats?"

I blushed. "He has a jet."

Bertie's eyes were wide as saucers. "Shut your lying mouth!" She leaned in conspiratorially. "What's it like?"

"Insane," I answered. "It looks like a living room in the front. Well, a fancy living room, like in a hotel suite. And there's a bedroom in the back-"

She put her hands up to her ears. "Okay, that's enough. La la la! Not listening!"

My phone buzzed again. We both looked.

I CAN'T WAIT TO FUCK YOU AT 30,000 FEET. I'M COMING TO PICK YOU UP.

Bertie choked on the ice cube she'd been chewing. "That's what you get for snooping!" I said, laughing.

"Will you at least text me when you get to wherever the hell you're going?"

"Yeah, of course."

As we hugged goodbye that night, neither of us knew I'd come back from that trip a married woman.

****

"Will you answer my question?"

"I missed you," he murmurs, releasing my wrist so he can trace his finger around my lips.

"How long have you known where I was?"

He rests his finger on my bottom lip and presses it gently down. "Kiss me and I'll tell you."

"You'll kiss me anyway."

He laughs as his finger swipes across my lips. He's probably making a mess of my lipstick. "It's been too long," he says simply. His hand feels hot through the thin fabric of my halter top. The other hand is cupping my ass. He kisses me as if he were literally starving for me. My arms stay resolutely at my sides, though I want to press the hard muscle of his chest through his dress shirt. He smells the way he always does—like warmth and expensive leather.

His tongue is deep in my mouth; he's groaning as he feels me open wider and gasp for breath. I want to moan—I want to press myself against him—but I don't want to give him the satisfaction. I almost manage to remain silent, but he wrenches a small gasp from me as he flicks my upper lip with his tongue.

"Now tell me," I say in a voice that's breathier than I want it to be.

"I had your location within four hours."

My stomach sinks. I hadn't been on the run at all. He'd been enjoying watching me try. He was like a child who cruelly watches a bug crawl toward safety for a few minutes before squashing it under his shoe. I feel a wave of tears burn behind my eyes.

He's stroking my face as if he's memorizing it with his fingers. "Why tonight?" I ask.

"Don't you know?"

"Answer the fucking question," I bite out as tears blur my vision.

The arms around me tighten so fast that I panic a little. I try to push against his chest, but he has my arms pinned. "I would say that it's because it's the anniversary of our first date," he says mildly, "but it's because there are too many goddamned men here."

I stop wriggling in his arms as I think of the clean-shaven guy. I didn't kiss him—though he was clearly thinking about kissing me. "You saw?"

"Sokolov tells me there wasn't much to see, but he's speaking with your gentleman anyway."

"Oh God," I whimper. I'm not attached to "my gentleman," but I don't like to think about the damage Sokolov is doing to his face right now. "Please tell him to stop. I don't even know that guy's name."

Cameron's face hardens. "And yet you were going to fuck him."

"No, of course not!" I snap. "I was trying to leave with Bertie when Gonzalez showed up. Good to know that the cops in this town can be bought so easily."

He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "I couldn't let that fucker touch what's mine." He wraps his long hand around my neck. I suddenly feel his nose stroke up my cheek and hear him inhale deeply, as if he's trying to breathe me in. "And I know whose cock you really want."

His words piss me off and turn me on at the same time. I'm not just some nympho, I want to scream, but another part of me feels very much like a nympho, and it's the part that Cameron is triggering as he holds me as if his life depended on it.

His voice is sinfully low in my ear. "Did you touch yourself while you were staying in that sad little apartment?" His tongue flicks at my ear lobe. "Were you thinking about me fucking you nice and hard? Making you come over and over until the neighbors banged on the wall?" He nibbles on my earlobe, and I shiver. "Did you get yourself off thinking about it?"

I bite my lip hard. "No," I reply, but it sounds like a sigh, and he just laughs.

"Okay, baby." I can hear the smile in his voice. "We've got a little while before Sokolov calls. We can keep arguing about stupid shit, or I can make you come." He swirls his tongue right below my ear as if to punctuate the thought.

The mention of Sokolov's name shakes me from my daze. Some innocent, nameless guy—innocent of a crime tonight, anyway—is getting bloodied up because my husband is a sociopath. I try to push him away, but in one smooth movement, he scoops me up and starts carrying me the short distance to the car. I kick my legs and slap and punch at his head with as much force as I can muster. He looks pissed but doesn't react otherwise. I give up as he sets me down by the car. I know I'm about to get fucked.

Cameron opens the back door and gives me an "after you" gesture. I have a brief daydream of sliding across the back seat, flying out the other door and making a run for it, but I know he'll be dragging me right back.

Instead of climbing in, I turn to face him. "You seriously drove across the country?"

"I'd go to fucking Mars if I had to." He steps away and looks up and down my body. "Now show me your tits."

I scoff at him as he unties my halter top. The filmy fabric falls down; I hold my breath as he yanks my strapless bra down to my waist. The night air sends goosebumps across my exposed chest, and I feel my nipples pucker. My eyes dart around, scanning the darkness for any onlookers.

But then Cameron's hands are on my breasts, and it's suddenly all I can think about. He kneads them, letting his thumbs rake over my nipples. It takes all my willpower not to moan.

"These tits," he says to himself, "are—fuck, I think they've gotten bigger." He looks up at me. "Maybe I've just missed them."

He smiles, and I just stare at him like an idiot. I'm ashamed of myself, but I've missed that smile. I've missed the intense blue of his eyes. The breadth of his shoulders. The hardness of his arms. I can't even look at him without responding physically.

"Ask me to fuck you," he says, still stroking my breasts. One of his hands slides down and presses between my thighs. I moan despite my anger, despite everything. "Ask me, baby," he says, rubbing me through my jeans. "You know I'll never deny you anything."

My back straightens. It's difficult to form coherent thoughts while his hands are on me, but I can feel a wave of indignation bubbling inside me. I want to throw down the gauntlet.

His eyes are already fuzzy with lust. I look dispassionately at him as I speak. "Give me..." My eyes flutter closed as he presses between my legs with ruthless precision. "Give—oh, God..."

"Yes, baby. Anything."

I keep my eyes closed as I prepare to speak. I don't want Cameron to stop touching me, but I can't miss this opportunity to devastate him. When I finally open my eyes, he's watching me enjoy the pressure of his fingers, his mouth slightly ajar. I force myself to forget how goddamned sexy he looks as I finally form the words. "Give me a divorce."

Cameron wrenches my arms behind my back; he holds my wrists together with one hand while the other hand reaches up to my face. "Never," he says, laying his palm flat against my cheek. "Don't ask ever again."

His thumb presses against my lips until I open up. I stroke it with my tongue and gaze at him with wide-eyed, faux innocence—as if I haven't just wounded him with the D word. He watches my lips close around it and sighs. "Ask me anything—anything but that," he groans, watching my mouth so intently that his eyes look unfocused.

It's so easy to turn him on. He has always paid rapt attention to the way I eat, the way I wiggle into a pencil skirt, even the way I put on lip balm. I watch his face as I swirl my tongue around his thumb. He's looking at me the way he always looks at me. It's a look I've become addicted to, and, like most addictions, it feeds my drive for self-destruction.

I move my lips up and down the length of his thumb a few times. I'm playing a dangerous game, but I can't help it. I'm angry at him for coming after me, for turning my capture into a humiliating spectacle. I want to use his desire against him.

Even under the streetlights, I can see his eyes dilate. I wrap my lips around his thumb and slide up and down its length while looking straight at him. "Don't tease me, baby," he says, his breath ragged.

I twist my hands; they're still tightly in his grasp behind my back. I want nothing more than to torment him, make him lose control. I push his thumb out of my mouth just far enough to talk. "Let go so I can touch you," I say softly, his wet thumb still pressing my bottom lip.

He releases my hands. I immediately stroke his erection through the wool of his trousers. He closes his eyes and inhales sharply through his teeth. My fingers move faster as I watch his jaw clench and his nostrils flare.

"I've needed you," he says through gritted teeth. "You have no idea."

"Yeah?" I whisper, grinning to myself as I imagine punching him in the nuts. "Did you have to jerk off a lot?"

He smiles, his eyes still closed. "At first, yes, I did. But then," he says, looking straight at me, "I started saving up a big fucking load for you."

Before I can answer, he snatches my hand away and pushes me inside the car, and I don't resist. I want him. It's disgusting how much I want him.

I lean back on the cool leather of the back seat. This is not the first time he's fucked me here; I've lost count, honestly. I watch him unbuckle his belt.

"Say my name again." He unbuttons my jeans and yanks them over my hips.

"Cameron." My fingers dig into the leather cushions.

"You want this cock."

"Yes, Cameron. Please give it to me." I squirm as he lowers himself over me. His mouth covers mine, though I feel his tongue before our lips touch. I moan into his mouth.

He breaks off the kiss. "No one has touched you," he says as he pins my hands above my head.

"No one."

"Only me," he says as he slides easily into me.

"Only you." I grind my hips, eager for him to pound me.

"Because you're all fucking mine." He clenches his jaw as he starts to move. I want to dig my fingers into the hard muscle of his back, but he keeps my wrists pinned down. His thick cock feels as good as it ever has; he has always known how to get me drunk on pleasure and desperate for more at the same time.

"Jesus, baby," he growls, "your pussy is tight as fuck." He pulls nearly all the way out and then shoves back in hard.

I watch his mouth as he speaks, willing him to kiss me. His mouth is tantalizingly close to mine. I finally go in for a kiss, but he pulls away with a smirk and thrusts a little harder, wrenching a loud gasp from my throat.

My body wars with my mind the way it always has when Cameron is fucking me. My body soaks up every ounce of pleasure and asks for more; my mind tries to drown out the pleasure, reminding me that this is all I have with Cameron. This is all he seems to want from me. My mind eventually goes quiet, numbed by the relentlessness of Cameron's desire.

"I want you to come," he says, visibly staving off his own orgasm.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says as he watches my tits bounce, "you're going to come even though you don't fucking deserve it."

I answer by simply tightening my pussy around him; I smile as he groans.

"I don't want to come for you," I say, but it sounds more like I'm begging him.

Instantly he reaches between us and strokes my clit forcefully, and suddenly I'm coming so hard that my head bumps against his. He stays still as my pussy spasms around him.

"Was that good, baby?" he murmurs.

I roll my eyes. He fucking knows it was good. He can hear my shaky breath and see how flushed my skin is. He's still inside me, for God's sake: he can see that I'm satiated and turned on all at once. I look away as I finally answer. "It was fine, I guess."

His face breaks into a wide smile. "I missed you so much," he says as he begins to move again. I watch him reach for his own release and quickly begin to feel the promise of a second orgasm. As if sensing it, Cameron begins grinding against my clit. How did I give it away? Did he hear a change in my breathing? Did my eyes go hazy?

Cameron kisses me. I feel so completely penetrated. He's all I taste and all I feel. He seems to hold his breath as his tongue pushes in and out of my mouth. He's close.

He breaks off the kiss abruptly. "Come for me," he says, punctuating the order with a hard thrust.

"I can't."

"You come when I tell you to come," he retorts, and as I feel his muscles shake and watch him start to come, I find that he's right. The sounds of his climax push me over. My pussy contracts around him as he empties his balls inside me.

The second orgasm is milder; my pussy hasn't quite recovered from the first. Still, I feel deliciously oversexed as he withdraws. He covers my neck with kisses; I can feel his heart pounding as he presses his chest against me.

"Let's go home, wife," he says, licking my throat between kisses. His phone vibrates somewhere on the floor of the car. Sokolov.

I rub my hands over my eyes, smearing whatever makeup Cameron hasn't destroyed yet. This is the end of my stupid escapade—my complete failure of an escape. As my husband locates his phone and speaks in hushed tones to Sokolov, I lie back and pretend to go to sleep.

Our lives are back to normal. And it breaks my heart.