Begging for It

  Jonah stands rock-still, staring past Chloe—no, through her. He holds a flute of champagne in each hand. “I’m taking a drink to Vivienne. ”

  “Vivienne can wait. ”

  Chloe leans in closer and slides her hand down his waistcoat, toward his pants. Jonah steps away, his face creasing into a frown. “Drink some coffee,” he says, words clipped. “You’ve had too much. ”

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  “I’d say I haven’t had enough. ” She lets her head fall to one side; a long blond curl, escaped from her chignon, brushes her bare shoulder. “Come on, Jonah. Not even a taste?”

  “Excuse me,” Jonah replies, and walks away. Within a couple of steps he sees me. He doesn’t stop walking, merely slows as he whispers to me, “It’s not worth getting into. ”

  “Not for you. It is for me. ” I push past him and grab Chloe by the elbow. “Did you say something about a gazebo?”

  I haul my sister off the veranda, down the steps. From the corner of my eye I see Jonah hesitating, wondering whether to pursue us; he’s smart enough to finally decide he shouldn’t. This is between Chloe and me.

  “What are you doing?” Chloe protests. She has the nerve to be angry. “It’s damp out here. I’m getting mud on my shoes!”

  “To hell with your shoes. You were hitting on Jonah!”

  I expect her to deny it; the words to prove her wrong hover on my tongue. Instead, Chloe sticks her chin out. “He’s a free man. He can make his own choices. ”

  “What?” None of this makes any sense. Chloe and I are standing on the club’s broad lawn, beneath an enormous tree roped in fairy lights, in floor-length gowns—and yet I’m about two seconds away from starting an actual fistfight. “This from the same person who said I was ‘flirting’ with Anthony after he—”

  “Exactly!” Chloe smiles, triumphant. “Turnabout is fair play. You went after my man once. Now I went after yours. See how it feels? If you got to make love with Anthony, shouldn’t I get a turn with Jonah Marks?”

  Make love. I could scream. I could vomit. “I didn’t ‘go after’ Anthony! He came after me! Jesus, Chloe, you heard him admit that he raped me. ”

  She flinches. The word rape isn’t one she’s had to face very often. “I heard him admit that the two of you slept together, yes. He made a mistake, and he lied to me about it, and I’m having trouble getting past that. But that doesn’t mean you get to tell lies too. Get off your damned high horse and admit that I’ve never done anything to you half as terrible as you did to me when you had sex with Anthony. ”

  Chloe still thinks I’m lying. She always has. Even hearing Jonah confront Anthony—even seeing Anthony shrink in front of the accusation—it wasn’t enough to shake her belief in the man she married.

  Or maybe the truer answer is that it wasn’t enough to make my sister finally believe in me.

  “I ought to feel sorry for you,” I say, my voice shaking. “Because your whole fucking life is a lie. But you know what? That’s your choice. So wallow in it, Chloe. We’re done. ”

  With that I turn and walk back into the club. If Chloe follows me at any point, she doesn’t make it inside. Several feet from the door stands Jonah. While my glass of champagne is still full, I can see he’s taken a few sips of his own. No doubt he needed to brace himself after my sister practically felt him up. “Hey,” he says as he comes toward me. “Are you all right?”

  “No. ”

  Jonah studies my face. “You realize I didn’t—”

  “You did absolutely nothing wrong. That’s not the problem. ” The revelry surrounding us seems to mock the misery crashing into my soul. “Chloe thinks I slept with Anthony of my own free will. She heard the truth and she still doesn’t believe me. She wanted to hook up with you for revenge. Because Anthony raped me, she wants revenge. ”

  He closes his eyes, only for a moment, feeling my pain as if it were his own. “God. I’m sorry. ”

  “Let’s leave. I want to leave, now. ”

  “Of course. ” Setting the flutes of champagne on the nearest tray, he puts one arm around my shoulders. “We’ll get a taxi. ”

  On a Carnival night. Not likely. “We could walk there faster. It’s only a dozen blocks. ”

  “Okay. We’ll walk. ”

  Jonah puts his arms around me, and I hug him. Around us, the partygoers laugh and dance to “Don’t Stop Believin’. ” The celebration roars on.

  Twenty-five

  Our walk home passes in a daze. Jonah keeps his arm around me as we take St. Charles most of the way back, walking beneath curtains of beads trapped by nearby wires and tree branches. The crews have already cleared away most evidence of the earlier parades, but a few people in feather boas stagger around, their giggling fading into the sounds of cars driving by.

  “I want to go home tomorrow,” I say, my voice thick. “I can’t stay here until Fat Tuesday, I’m sorry—”

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  “Don’t feel bad on my account. I’m here with you. For you. ” As Jonah says this, my heel catches in a sidewalk crack; only his steady arm keeps me from falling. “We’ll fly out as early as possible. ”

  I laugh brokenly. “It’s Carnival, Jonah. Every seat on every plane has been sold out for months. We’ll have to rent a car and drive. ” Assuming the rental cars aren’t sold out too.

  Jonah remains unperturbed. “Trust me. This is one of those times when owning part of an airline comes in handy. ”

  Whatever. I don’t care if we ride horses or roller skate. Nothing matters except getting the hell away from Chloe, and my entire family.

  No wonder my mother assumes Chloe and Anthony will get back together, I realize. As far as she knows, Anthony hasn’t done anything so terribly wrong. She’s treating this as a decade-old peccadillo, something better off forgotten. Chloe hasn’t said one word to convince her otherwise.

  But—even if I had wanted to have sex with Anthony, I was only fourteen! That’s statutory rape by any measure, because the age of consent in Louisiana is seventeen. Shouldn’t my mother care about that, if nothing else?

  She doesn’t, though. For Mom and Chloe both, this is a very simple story. Anthony was just “being a guy. ” It couldn’t have happened if I didn’t ask for it. The end.

  Quietly Jonah says, “Do you want to go by the house tomorrow to say good-bye to Libby?”

  Oh, God, Libby. She’ll never understand why her Aunt Vivi left before Fat Tuesday. The thought brings me to the verge of tears. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. ”

  “Shhh. It’s okay. You can call her. ”

  Will Chloe even put Libby on the phone? I doubt it.

  Despair fills me. I’ve tried so hard to be good. To think healthy thoughts. To become strong inside and out. None of it has helped. None of it has changed one damn thing.

  By the time we get back to the carriage house, my feet throb at the heels; when I slip off my heels, the strap marks stretch red across my ankles. Jonah turns on one lamp before taking out his phone. “I’m just going to text Liz and tell her where we are. ”

  I ought to have thought of that. My mind is too crowded with memories of Chloe’s words, my mother’s callousness and always, always Anthony. With fumbling fingers I remove my heavy rhinestone necklace; it takes a few tries, because I still have just enough alcohol in me to make me clumsy.

  And reckless.

  Jonah has already shucked his tailcoat. He stands there in white shirt, waistcoat, and tie, the shadows outlining his perfect profile. The elegance of his attire can’t fully disguise the raw power of his form. I know the savage beneath the surface, and only that savagery can help me tonight.

  When Jonah takes me—when we play our games—he casts out every doubt, every fear. I become nothing but a body. Nothing but desire and delight. My mind forgets everything but how he tastes, or how he feels inside me.

  I want to forget.

  This carriage house is one large room, but a Coromandel screen separates the bed and bathroom f
rom the small sitting area. Two cane chairs sit beneath a gilded mirror, across from a coffee table laden with tourist guides and a longer sofa.

  It’s velvet. Not leather like the one we had when I was a teenager. It’s dark blue instead of tan. A couple feet shorter too. But it will do.

  “Jonah?” I wait until he looks up, and we are face to face. “I need to—to live through this. ”

  For the first split second, he doesn’t understand. So I sit on the sofa, leaning back slightly, bracing myself against force that hasn’t yet come. I lift my chin, exposing my throat. There’s nothing deliberately sexual about any of this, but it is the body language of vulnerability. We both know that vulnerability turns him on.

  Break me. Force me. Let yourself go.

  He tilts his head slightly, eyes searching mine, as comprehension sinks in. “Vivienne—on a sofa—that’s where he—”

  “I need this. I need it now. I need you. ” Does he need me to beg? I’ll beg. “Please. This one time. Just—shove me down. Push my dress up. Force me onto my back. ”

  He hesitates. Although I can tell he’d like to argue, he doesn’t. Instead his breaths quicken slightly, and I know he’s imagining me under him. Pressing me down. Fucking me hard.

  Jonah doesn’t want to want our games—but he does. No matter how much he wishes otherwise, he will always want them.

  And I’m desperate enough to make him admit it.

  “Come on, Jonah. ” I remove the rhinestone clip from my hair, so it falls loose and messy around my face—the way it would if he’d already wrecked me. His gaze drifts downward, where the satin of my gown clings to my belly. The low neckline of the dress must reveal how my breasts rise and fall with each breath. And I’m breathing so fast and shallow now that I’m starting to get dizzy. I want him so fucking badly. “Come on. ”

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  He breaks. Jonah’s on me in an instant, slamming my shoulders down onto the sofa so hard I cry out in involuntary surprise. His rough hands reach beneath the rustling green skirt of my dress, fingers digging into my thighs as he pries them apart. My panties stretch enough to allow his fingers to penetrate my cunt, just an inch or two. My wetness welcomes him, soaking through the thin fabric. Slowly Jonah smiles—the fierce hunter’s smile I crave.

  “See?” he whispers. “See what I can make you do?”

  What did I do? When this happened for real—what did I try? I struggled so little. But I attempted to pull down my T-shirt; the closest I can get is to paw at Jonah’s arms as if I could get him to let go. He’s so strong I couldn’t do it, ever. Not even if I really wanted to.

  Jonah laughs and tugs me roughly down, so that not even my head rests on one of the pillows. I’m flat beneath him as he moves his hand to cover my mouth. His skin smells of my sex. “Shhhhh. Don’t say a word. Don’t say anything. ”

  I make a small, despairing cry against his palm. His hand tightens.

  “You know what I want,” he says, grinding against me to make sure. He’s rock-hard for me already, his cock pressing insistently against my belly. Still he wears his white bow tie and waistcoat, the elegant attire a vivid contrast to his brutality. “You’re going to give it to me. You’re gonna give it up. ”

  Although I try to twist beneath him, it’s useless. He rams his cock against me again, just as he would if he were shoving into me.

  Jonah’s stare has turned dangerous. Ravenous. He loves the sight of my frightened face half-hidden by his palm. Roughly he whispers, “Take it out. ”

  I hesitate, like I would have then. I wouldn’t have been sure what he meant, or how to proceed—

  “Do it. ”

  My hands shake with remembered fear and new arousal. Clumsily I reach for his belt, fumble with the buckle and zipper. His enormous cock juts out almost immediately, eager to be free, and inside me.

  As I do this, Jonah uses his other hand to rub at my nipple through the fabric of my dress. The strapless bra I wear is so thin that it does nothing to veil the heat and friction of his thumb. Nor does it hide how my nipples are hardening into points, more and more obvious beneath the shimmering green fabric. “See?” he whispers. “You’re figuring it out. This is what you’re for. ”

  Nothing but a body. Nothing but the way his bare cock feels against my trembling hands, nothing but the spiraling, dizzy yearning that has taken me over completely.

  “Shhh,” Jonah repeats as he draws his hand away from my mouth. As I lie beneath him, helpless, he bends his head down and does something he’s never done during any of our games. He kisses me.

  But this is unlike any of his other kisses, which have been tender, yearning, passionate—and always, always real. This kiss is meant to punish, insult, and bruise. He shoves his tongue into my mouth, almost down my throat, a deliberate violation meant to mimic everything else he’s going to do to me. I whimper as he keeps thrusting his tongue into me, and as his hand moves to pull aside the crotch of my panties. The head of his cock brushes my thigh, leaving a streak of damp pre-come behind.

  My whimper breaks into a scream as he shoves inside.

  It didn’t hurt. It only burns, the way it always does, the good hot ache of my body opening for the impossible length of him. And yet I keep crying out into his open mouth, then louder and more desperately as he buries his face in the curve of my neck.

  They told me I would have screamed. I should have screamed. Now I can’t stop screaming.

  “Nobody can hear you,” Jonah pants as he starts thrusting in earnest, hard enough to make my breasts shake, so that the thumping of our bodies against the sofa is loud in the room. “Nobody cares. ”

  Oh, fuck, why did that make it better? My cries shift into a higher pitch as I feel myself starting to give.

  Jonah recognizes my response, knows I’m close. He props himself onto his arms so he can pound me faster. I can see the base of his cock in the split seconds before his shaft sinks into me again, all the way to the hilt. His smile is feral now, his abandon obvious.

  I knew you wanted it, I think. Is that his line or mine?

  My cheeks flush. The wave starts to hit me. I turn my head from his as I come—pleasure rushing through me, ten times more intense after all these weeks without him. My climax makes me shudder beneath him, and Jonah laughs.

  “Yes,” he whispers as he pistons into me even faster than before. “Fuck, yes—”

  Jonah groans as he spends into me, a deep guttural sound that comes from his core. His eyes screw shut and he grimaces as if he were in agony.

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  But it’s good. I know it’s good. He wanted this all along.

  When he finally collapses atop me, we lie in silence for a few moments, breathing hard. Neither of us knows what words to use, if we even have the breath to speak.

  He recovers first. “Are you okay?”

  I have to lick my lips and swallow before I can speak. “I am now. ”

  No, we didn’t exactly copy what Anthony did to me—but this came close. Close enough. Why was that so completely fucking great for me? Why does it feel like the fresh wounds to my spirit are already bandaged and healing?

  Doreen’s going to have to put in some overtime. “What about you?”

  “Let’s go to bed,” Jonah says as he pulls out. That’s the only answer he gives. Hot come leaks from me onto the dress—but I was getting it cleaned after this trip anyway. I’ll just have to avoid eye contact with the guys at the drycleaner’s when I pick it up.

  Together we stumble to the bed, help each other undress. We leave our things crumpled on the floor. This is one of those times when the aftermath of orgasm is so powerful that it drags you down into slumber almost instantly.

  Only in the final moments before I fall asleep do I realize Jonah’s lying with his face away from mine.

  •   •   •

  When Jonah said owning an airline would come in handy, I had visions of Oceanic punting two unsuspecting tourists so we could fly to Austin
in their place. What he actually meant is that, if you’re one of the owners of an airline, you know people who would be willing to loan you a private plane on short notice.

  “Swanky,” I say as we take our seats—lush, leather-covered, facing a small table. It’s an attempt to lighten the mood, which fails. Jonah doesn’t respond; he hasn’t said much all day.

  The pilots say hello before sealing themselves in their tiny cockpit. We have no attendant, but there’s a minibar stocked with sodas and snacks. I take a can of Diet Coke and look inquisitively at Jonah, who simply shakes his head no. Although nobody tells us to belt ourselves in for takeoff, I do it anyway. I tell myself this is for safety’s sake. Really, at the moment, I’m grateful for anything that can make me feel secure, on any level.

  It’s not a long flight from New Orleans to Austin—maybe not long enough for the conversation we need to have. Still, about half an hour in, while neither of us can easily dodge the Talk. “Listen,” I begin, “about last night. ”

  “You don’t have to explain why you wanted it. ” Jonah continues staring out the window, down at the clouds. “I don’t have to understand, and you don’t either. What we did helped you. That’s enough. ”

  If only I could reconcile my needs so easily. But my self-acceptance is something I can work on over time. The bleak expression on Jonah’s face worries me more. “I violated a boundary I meant to respect. That wasn’t fair. ”

  His smile is grim. “Do you think you could have pushed me over the line if I hadn’t wanted you to?”

  There. At last he admitted that he still longs for our games, as much as I do. I knew it last night, when he took so much delight in pinning me down; what I wasn’t sure of was whether he knew it. He does. Yet there’s no release in this. If anything, Jonah is even more conflicted than before.

  He continues, “It’s hard for me to control myself, knowing you want me to lose control. ”

  “I’m sorry. ”

  “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. Do you understand? None of this is your fault. ” Jonah finally turns to face me. “I was the one who came to you. The one who thought we could live out opposite sides of a fantasy without any repercussions. What a goddamned fool I was. ”

  “One of those repercussions was falling in love. ” I lean across the table, close enough to take one of his hands in mine. “Another was mind-blowing sex. Okay, we have some psychological issues to deal with. More than most people. That doesn’t mean we can’t handle it. ”