nine
Liz didn't know which of the two Jacks terrified her more: the cold, distant, violent Jack, or the man who'd been so kind, gentle, so comforting, who had made love to her sweetly earlier that day. With a creeping certainty she realized that they were one.
This Jack didn't want to hear about the details, he had told her. He was sure he knew the truth already and the hot bruises blooming on her face were like a throbbing reminder of exactly what he thought she was: a stupid, deceitful thief.
And yet he was aroused. She heard it in his breathing, in the thick syrup of his voice; she saw it at his crotch. Never in her life had she considered trading sex for anything, but she thought about it now - if not for the money, then for her life. The pathetic stupidity of the idea immediately became obvious. Who paid sixteen million dollars for sex, or one tenth, one hundredth, one thousandth of it? No one: certainly not for her. Even the idea of pretending that she welcomed his desire was ludicrous. When it came to dissembling, this man was a master - he would smell her deceit in the blink of an eye. And if he did - when he did - Liz was sure she would regret it.
That brought her to the most frightening thought of all. Because, in stealing Harland Jeffries' money, Liz became the only other person in the world who knew exactly how he had embezzled it - the only one who could tell. It wouldn't be enough for Harland just to get his money back; he most certainly had paid him to kill her as well.
In truth, she didn't give a shit about the money. If it was a choice between telling Jack where it was and suffering, she would have told him in a second. But something inside her warned her that to tell him would be to sign her own death warrant.
All these things flashed through Liz's mind while she tried to think of an answer to his question. What were the rules? That she spoke and died?
When she finally got her jaw to move, she could feel it twitching with the anticipation of another blow. A bruised face was better than dead.
"I...I don't want to die," she said quietly, meeting his eyes.
The tears were back; she couldn't stop them. Streaming down over her cheeks, her jaw, she could feel their wetness gathering where the belt's edge scraped the skin of her throat, stinging the abrasion.
"I won't die for that motherfucker's money. And if I tell you... I die." The breath caught in her chest, her voice broke. "Isn't that right? Jack? Is Jack even your name?"
His only response was a bland, emotionless stare. She placed a shaking hand on his chest and pushed him feebly in a vain attempt to make him listen, knowing that he wouldn't. She was dead meat already, no matter what happened.
A bitter rage rose up in her. Fuck Harland Jeffries, and fuck his money, and fuck this bastard who conned her into feeling something she didn't want. If she were going to die anyway, then she'd be damned if she'd let Jeffries take his money *and* her life. And Jack, or whatever his name was - she sure as hell wasn't going to make it easy for him to get his fee.
She clenched her jaw and pushed his chest a little harder. "Do it!" Liz hissed. "Do what you have to do. Earn your pay, Jack!"
He responded, either to the words or the push - she wasn't certain which - with a slow smile that didn't reach his eyes. His free hand mirrored hers almost exactly, settling on the center of her chest, just above where Liz was holding the edges of her ruined shirt together. He lowered his gaze, his head tilting in a peculiar, mildly inquisitive way as if he were studying some flaw. The contrast between his unyielding grip on the rolled length of belt and the tentative, almost delicate way his fingers rested on her breastbone produced a terrible feeling of vertigo, as if she were peering over the edge of a huge abyss.
"Earn my pay, hm?" His eyes glanced up as he said that, searched her face and then fell back to where his hand rested. "I really don't like being told what to do," he said, sliding his fingers beneath one side of her blouse, delicately circling a nipple.
The fact that it peaked and stiffened horrified Liz. Would he think this turned her on? The prospect of it triggered a wave of despair. She needn't have worried. By the time she'd processed the thought, he had the erect nub between his thumb and forefinger, their pressure growing almost imperceptibly at first. Suddenly pain arced through her chest like a fork of lightning, forcing a high, astonished yelp from her throat. He tugged downwards, compelling her to follow that bright star of pain at her chest. The lack of space between his body and the bed, forced her to remain upright, bending and spreading her knees. Then casually, he released the pressure, just as her thigh muscles gave out and she slumped down onto her haunches on the floor.
Liz let go of her torn shirt and pressed both palms, one atop the other, against her bruised nipple. "Oh, God!" she exhaled. In that moment of blind shock, all her belligerence, all the bravado evaporated. When her vision cleared, the intent of his small, intimate act of savagery became obvious.
Above her, miles above it seemed, she heard Jack expel a long ragged breath. It accompanied the chitter of small metal teeth unlocking as he unzipped his pants and eased himself free. The short, sharp jerk on the belt reminded to pay attention, but she didn't require one.
"Come on, Elizabeth. You wanted this a minute ago. What's changed?" His voice was a cruel derision. "Can't get wet when you don't have a lie to hide behind? When I know what you are?"
The head of his cock nudged at her closed lips. In some distance recess of her mind, the scent of him recalled the afternoon, as if her reptilian brain could not let go of what had passed between them. The strange sadness of the connection paralyzed her, the nipple he'd just bruised ached, and, with a sob, she parted her lips and eased him inside her mouth.
The leather made a soft creak as Jack tightened the belt around her neck, pulling her forward, coaxing his cock deeper into her mouth. A low rumbling growl emerged from his chest and he edged forward, pressing her back into the side of the bed. A black panic seized her and the muscles in her jaw twitched. For a fraction of a second she thought about biting down on him, hard. But it was as if he'd read her mind.
"Don't even think about it," he whispered. His splayed fingers threaded through her hair, fisting a handful as he pushed deeper, forcing the head into her throat.
The reaction was immediate. Her body seized, her throat muscles closed, she gagged and gasped, hands fluttering uselessly against his hips. Even comfortable and relaxed, she needed to concentrate to give head this way. Scared like she was, terrified that she couldn't breathe,that he'd choke her on a whim, she couldn't control her body. For what seemed like an eternity he held her there, his breath quickening while she writhed and clawed.
Abruptly, he pulled away. "As hungry as you were, I rather thought you'd give better head. You don't like it?"
She was still gasping for air, coughing and wordless when he heaved her up, let go of the belt, and pushed her back onto the bed. She bounced once but his body blocked the rebound as his weight settled upon her.
"I'll fuck you instead, Elizabeth. You liked that, didn't you? You were so fucking wet."
Her eyes were locked on his, staring, unbelieving as the words that had once seemed so arousing to her now turned obscene as they hit the air. "No..." she croaked.
His hand was between them, fingers sliding along the leg of her panties, curling around the edge, pulling the crotch aside. "I know you find it hard not to lie, Elizabeth, but I remember. You made such sweet little noises."
There was a forced lightness to his words, as if he were speaking to an idiot or trying to comfort someone who was frightened, but the effect was anything but soothing. As she felt the hot, round head of his cock nudge against her opening, she let out an anguished, wordless sob.
"Sh-h. It's okay. You can pretend not to like it, if it gets you hot."
The thrust was so hard, so deep, her whole body lurched half a foot across the bed. Liz threw back her head and screamed. Unprepared and not wet enough, he burned inside her and her pelvic muscles spasmed at the shock.
His body shuddered pleasurably, buried and still. "Remember now?" he panted.
"Jack...Jack...pl..please," she hiccupped, miserably trying to stop him from hurting her anymore. Then she was crying aloud, pleading. "Don't! Don't. It hurts."
He lowered himself a little, resting his forehead against her cheek. His hands followed the line of her arms along, covering her balled fists, pulling them above her head. "Of course not," he whispered, and pressed his lips against her bruised cheek. "Why would I do that?"
When he began to move again, it was slow. As if everything that had come before had been some awful nightmare. She could hear the pleasure carried on his breath as he slid into her heat. And, to her disgust, her cunt became progressively slicker, wetter as he did.
"That's better," Jack breathed softly, exhaling near her ear and sending goosebumps dancing across her skin. His voice hitched as their flesh met and he ground his hips against hers. "Come for me, like you did before. Come knowing I'm fucking you, and that you like it. Need it."
"I can't." The words sounded a thousand miles away to her.
"Yes, you can, slut."
"No," she whimpered. But even as she said it, she wasn't sure it was true.
His body curled against hers, his hips angled as he moved. A distant hum, like a static rumble crept up her spine. She clenched her jaw to try and fight it. And just as she thought that nothing could be quite as shameful as the wet sounds their bodies were making when he began to fuck her harder, the body that she wanted to disown began to shudder. Hot fingers of pleasure spread out from between her legs, streaking up her body like lines of some terrible betrayal.
Liz pressed her lips together, her teeth biting into the soft interior flesh to stop the sounds her throat wanted to make, the sounds he wanted to hear. But he knew anyway. He gave a deep groan, pausing only a moment as she tightened in waves around him.
The next time he pushed inside, it was hard and final. The tip of his cock nudged at her womb, and his body shuddered again, violently as he emptied the last of his hot anger into her.
For a moment, he lay on top of her, as his breathing calmed. It was only then she realized he hadn't worn a condom. That, she was sure, was a bad sign. She felt the stickiness between her legs, the heat of him inside her, but when he moved his cheek and pressed an open mouthed kiss to her skin, she felt tears fall again. He pulled back when the first ones struck his cheek, and looked at her quietly.
Then, even though he was still inside her, he said with no emotion, "You forgot that you weren't supposed to enjoy that."