Please note, this chapter is NC-17. If you are not yet 18, or you don't like that kind of stuff, hit the back button now!
It is close to an hour later when they leave the motel. And still, not a word has been spoken between them.
The silence lengthens as they swing out of the parking lot and onto the road.
Grace is driving but she slides sideway glances at John as she navigates their way back onto the interstate. She has no idea what he's thinking, but whatever it is, it can't be good. He still looks like he wants to kill her.
Still, he *had* asked for it. With his obnoxious superiority complex and his refusal to respect that she is very much her own person. He had deserved every moment of it.
Except....
She squirms slightly in her seat as she slides him another look. That moment when she had surrendered to him, when they had lost themselves in that precarious eruption of sexual rage, had unnerved her. But it had also turned her on incredibly. She's not sure she wants to go there again. Or if she can resist going there.
For his part, John is very aware of her looks and he deliberately ignores her, his face like thunder as he gazes out of the window at the scenery that hurtles by. The raw scoring on his cheek throbs and burns, forcing him to constantly revisit the earlier events in the motel room.
He's not even sure what happened. All of a sudden, she'd attacked him and they'd been fighting and then they'd been fucking. And Jesus, the fucking had been fucking *unbelievable*.
He shifts uncomfortably, realizing he's getting hard, just thinking about it.
He's not used to feeling like this about a woman. Any woman. He's not used to letting *anyone* have this kind of affect on him. He's a free agent. He chooses to work for the old man, but the moment Stefano gets too demanding, he walks away.
And his sexual encounters are just that. Encounters. No emotion and rarely any lust. He doesn't feel the need for anything more than a release. Anything more is an intrusion on his life. On his freedom.
That's the reason Stefano trusted him. The reason he didn't try and control John. Because Stefano knew him for the cold, calculating son-of-a-bitch he was and the old man knew nothing would come between John and his work. Those who tried always regretted it. If they lived to, that was.
And now, this woman.... who looks like his wife but who attacks like a wildcat and who fucks like some kind of angelic whore. And even despite the fact that he's showered and scrubbed, the scent of her still lingers on him and it's driving him wild.
And he hates it.
Hates that she is inside his head. Hates that it's just possible she might be right and she might not be as predictable as he'd imagined. Hates that he can't stop thinking about how she feels, the things she does to his body....
He makes a growling noise deep in his throat and unconsciously clenches his fists. The sooner he can ditch her and get back to his own life, the better. His own life.... uncompromising, hard and simple.
Gina hadn't been like this. Gina had been nothing more than a diversion. A warm body, something and nothing. Gina had been easy to walk away from. She hadn't wanted it to be easy. She had made it as difficult as fucking possible with her screeching and her tantrums. But at the end of the day, or more importantly, in the long dark hours, he had never thought of her.
But where Gina was dark, angular planes and cold, soulless sex; this woman is..... anything but. This blonde sexpot, she is intriguing and captivating and utterly breathtaking.....
..... and he still hates it.....
"Are you planning to ignore me for the rest of the trip or.....?" Her tone is implacable.
She's not used to being ignored. She doesn't like it and she's not prepared to put up with it. She doesn't care how angry he is, or how unstable. She's had enough of this crap.
She's pissed off.
"That's the plan, yeah" he snarls, continuing to watch the swamps as they flick past his window.
"Well," her voice is low and even but it holds a low and unmistakable warning. "Change the plan. I don't hold well with being ignored."
"You don't have a choice." He narrows his eyes and flicks his gaze in her direction. She looks about as furious as he feels.
"Is that right?" she raises one eyebrow and then stabs on the brakes.
John curses as the tires shriek against the asphalt and the jalopy groans to an abrupt halt. Behind them there is the squealing of horns as cars swerve into the outside lane and he sees the flashing of fingers as vehicles rip past.
"Get out," Grace deadpans.
He turns on her, his face crimson. "Are you fucking *crazy*?"
"No, I'm fucking *furious*," she rounds on him, her cinnamon eyes flashing with yet unexpressed wrath.
"Don't *fuck* with me John. I will NOT put up with it. I don't take shit from *anyone*, and I am NOT simply a warm body for your pleasure. You either treat me like an equal, like a fucking *human being*, or you can get out." Her eyes flash and John has no doubt that she is deadly serious. He feels a sliver of misgiving in his heart as she utters her final words. "Make your decision. NOW."
"All right, fine," he mutters.
"What was that?" She ignores the horn of the eighteen wheeler that is slowing up in the lane behind her.
John takes a deep breath, trying desperately to ignore the urge to throttle her. Instead, he grimaces. "This isn't a situation I expected."
"What? Actually meeting your match?" She demands. "A *woman* who is your match?"
The honking behind them has grown almost deafening and John cringes at the roaring of brakes. Beside him, Grace is as cool as can be.
"John?"
"Just move the *fucking car*!" he screams at her. "I'm sorry I underestimated you. I'm sorry if I upset you. Just move the *GODDAMN FUCKING CAR*."
Grace's mouth curls into a satisfied half smile as she taps the accelerator and they move forward again.
"I'm glad we understand one another," she says mildly.
"I understand that you're fucking *nuts*," he replies with unabated hostility.
"Well, if you want to change your mind and get out....." she pauses and lets the silence speak instead. She knows she has him hooked. If he *really* couldn't stand her, he'd already be gone. He would have left after they'd fucked. Hell, they probably wouldn't even have gotten that far.
He says nothing, just looks at her, his eyes narrowing. And suddenly, against all reason, she realizes that he's no longer radiating fury. Instead, there is a familiar look in his blue eyes. A look that makes her stomach flip and her knees weak.
"Pull off," he growls.
She says nothing, just takes the off ramp he indicates, trying to still the trembling of her fingers on the steering wheel. He's still staring at her as she pulls into the parking lot of a Comfort Inn, his indigo glare searing her nerves until they are as taut as piano strings.
"Get out." His voice is harsh and the sound of it grates against her already frayed senses. She doesn't understand how he can do this to her with merely a look and she's also not quite sure why she doesn't even care. "Go to the last stall in the ladies," he is saying. "I'll meet you in there in a couple of minutes."
She looks at him for a moment, trying to judge his sincerity. The last thing she needs is to come back out and find he has disappeared with the car.
But his expression makes her swallow convulsively. He is all fire and lust. It's almost as if he has expanded to fill her whole world. There is nothing she needs but to have him. Possess him. Have him possess her.
Her mouth is suddenly parched. She wants him so badly it literally hurts.
Without a word, she palms the keys and slips out of the car. She looks back only once as she reaches the entrance to the hotel. He is standing at the back of the jalopy, watching her, a lustful smirk playing on his lips. She smiles in return and enters the building.
There are two male clerks on the desk and they, along with the porter, all stop as Grace glides across the lobby. She's wearing a sundress, strappy sandals and not much else and she looks distinctly like one of Hitchcock's ice goddesses.
"Can I help you ma'am?" the porter asks desperately, his eyes wide as she passes.
"No thank you," she flashes him a quick smile as she spots the bathroom sign and heads towards it. He watches her go, his jaw dropping slightly at the sight of all that blonde hair and bronzed skin.
"Yeah Jimmy, I'd just bet I know what kind of help you had in mind," Drew calls from the desk, a chuckle in his voice. "Dame like that wouldn't even give a chump like you a second look."
"Oh yeah, and what would you know about it?" Jimmy pulls awkwardly on his waistcoat.
"*Jesus* she was *hot*," the other clerk stare in the direction of the bathroom, completely ignoring the exchange between his friends. "What I wouldn't fucking *give*...."
"Yeah...." Jimmy stared distantly at the door, "can you imagine those legs wrapped around you-"
Jimmy's feet suddenly lose all connection with the ground and at the same time, his tie tightens around his neck. Before he knows it, he is smashed face first into the wall. And he is painfully aware that there is a hand holding the collar of his shirt and another wrenching his arm up behind his back.
"I'd curb your overactive imagination if I was you, kid," a voice snarls nastily in his ear. "I ever hear you talk about a lady like that again and you'll be lucky if you find a woman that won't run screaming from the room when you walk in. You get my drift, son?"
"Ye....yes sir," Jimmy stammers. He's been threatened before but this guy fucking *means* it, he can tell. And he's terrified.
"Good." The voice hisses. "Now what do you say, you miserable little turd?"
Jimmy doesn't quite know what he means and he is silent for just a split-second too long. "I *said*, what do you fucking *say*?"
He gives a scream of pain as the hand that is holding his arm moves in a way that should be a physical impossibility. Jimmy hears the cracking of bone in his forearm and he tries not to cry. "I.... I'm sorry.... won't do it again.... I promise...." He's babbling, he knows and he doesn't care. He just wants this psychopath to go away and leave him alone. Actually, he just wants to go home and pack all of his stuff and leave this godforsaken place.
"Good kid, glad to hear it." John releases his hostage and Jimmy crumples to the ground.
He leaves the boy there and raises his eyebrow as he saunters past the desk clerks. They avert their eyes and frantically pretend to be busy shuffling through papers. Which is as it should be. No-one will bother them now.
Grace is waiting for him in the bathroom stall and he enters and locks the door behind them. With a predatory expression, he pushes her back against the door.
"You fucking annoy the ever living *crap* outta me, you know that?" He says as he runs coarse fingers across her shoulder, flipping down the strap of her dress.
"Yeah," she gasps, as his mouth seeks out the soft flesh of her neck. "I know....oh...." her eyes open wide as she feels his hand under her skirt. " I know that."
"Good." He slides his fingers up the inside of her thigh as his lips find hers. "Because you drive me fucking crazy." And then his tongue is inside her mouth and his hands are tearing at her flimsy panties. And she kisses him as if her life depends on it. She can't get enough of him and he can't get enough of her and it was as though they were created to love and hate and drive each other insane.
Her fingers are in his hair and her tongue tangles with his and she gasps as his fingers slide inside her. And she moans and rolls her head back against the door as he pulls her dress down and bends his head to her breast. And it's all soft and hard and fire and destruction and she sobs as he brings her to the brink of orgasm with the softest of touches.
Then he pulls away and unbuckles his jeans. Grace struggles for air and braces herself against the door as he drops the denims around his ankles.
"Oh *God*!" She's barely coherent as he enters her. As he moves, his fingers are unthreading her ponytail, spreading shimmering hair around her shoulders. With a grin, he moves in, inhaling her fragrance, burying his face in her golden mane.
"Your legs," he whispers in her ear between snatched breaths as he slides a hand down one naked thigh. "I want you to wrap those fucking incredible legs around me."
"Oh god, John," she moans as she wraps her arms around his neck and allows him to lift her up against the door. She crosses her ankles across his ass, the dangling straps of her heels chafing his skin as she moves against him.
"Oh Jesus," he buries his face in her cleavage as he thrusts into her. "Christ woman, I don't know what the hell you've done to me, but whatever it is, don't stop doing it."
"Oh.... oh.....oh John.....oh God...." her fingers dig into the flesh of his shoulders as he pounds her against the door. And then she's practically wrapped completely around him as she shudders and screams through her climax. John grunts and wraps his fingers in her hair, abruptly pulling her down to kiss him as he comes.
But, suddenly and inexplicably as she buries her face in his neck, tears lace her lashes. The bewildering pain that swells inside her is as unfathomable as it is disconcerting. She doesn't want to analyze it, she doesn't even want to acknowledge it. It feels threatening and dangerous and..... so. fucking. *empty*.
She can't even look at him as he wordlessly untangles her and lets her down. Instead, she sets about busily straightening her dress and hair as he saunters out of the stall and turns on a tap as though he hasn't a care in the world.
When they leave the bathroom ten minutes later, the desk clerks wordlessly watch them go. Jimmy is nowhere to be seen.
It is not until the jalopy has peeled out of the parking lot that Drew dares to speak.
"Jesus H. Christ," is all he manages to spit out.