Fuensalida

Chapter 4

He was not sure what woke him up, if it was his head pounding, the nightmares, or his throbbing cock. All he knew was he was grumpy and irritated and fully awake. He sat up and looked about the sparse living room. He looked to Celeste’s room, then to Cassie’s room. He glanced outside, the sun just barely breaking through the trees over the horizon. It had to be early enough. He did not want to wake Celeste from her slumber, the sleeping pills he gave her would take a while to wear off and he wanted her to rest, hopefully in a dreamless world.

He moved to the nook that was the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, running through a regular morning routing that did not involve two captured females sleeping in opposite rooms in the small little cabin. He took his coffee black, though today it seemed even more bitter. He looked inside of the refrigerator and wondered how many days they would survive on the food that was in the cabin. He did not think he would be having houseguests here and most certainly did not stock up on food.

He poured coffee into a second mug and brought it over to the room where Cassie was. He did not bother knocking, only walked into her bedroom and look down at her lying on the bed. She was wide awake, her eyes bloodshot, her hair disheveled from its usual perfect bun. He smirked and placed the coffee on the bedside table for her and took a step back. “Grieving for your husband?” he asked her.

Without a word she reached out for the coffee and took a long drink, though she grimaced. “Don’t you believe in sugar?”

“Nope,” he told her casually. “Nor do I believe in fairies.”

She took another long drink, putting aside that she prefers sugar in her coffee and to brush her teeth before she has visitors. She pushed up from the bed, looking around at her surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. Before her was a large picture window with no curtains. Anyone could easily see in or out, though she supposed the only one who would be looking in at her were a few deer or perhaps a bear. Were there bears out here? She gripped her blanket closer to her naked body, finding it unbearable to sleep in those clothes from last night, clothes with bloodstains on them from her attempts to save her husband.

Her already burning eyes filled with tears that stung. She cursed them, sucking them back, standing with the blanket still wrapped around her body. “I need a shower,” she announced, not knowing why she felt a need to announce it. Perhaps to scare him away.

She should have known better. “I’ll join you,” he said simply, and gripped his shirt and pulled it up over his head.

“I prefer my showers alone,” she announced.

“Your preferences hardly seem to matter here,” he reminded her.

She dropped the blanket, showing the beautiful body of a woman who cared. She stepped over the blanket and moved to the small bathroom and glanced in at the shower. By the time Chris followed he was stripped and she saw the hard edge of his cock, begging and ready to be used.

“No way will we both fit in that,” she said disgustedly.

“You are going to have to get used to living a little less extravagantly,” Chris told her, gripping her shoulders and guiding her into the small shower.

She reached forward to the water, taking in what he said. There were a lot of conclusions she could draw from that statement. She pulled on the knob and cold water came spouting down on her quickly. She cried out in shock and jumped back, but Chris’s arms were there, holding her under the water. She was forced to reach down as cold water poured over her and turn it, waiting for it to gradually grow warmer.

“You used me as a shield,” she accused.

“Yes I did,” he said.

She stepped into the water, grateful for even lukewarm after the icy blast that came pouring down on her. She stood under the water and tried not to shiver while delicate skin slowly warmed up. “I need to see my daughter,” she told him flatly.

“In time,” he agreed. “Right now we have something else planned.” His hands moved down her arms to her hips. His eyes traveled over the back of her body, smiling appreciatively.

“What did you mean…?”

“When?” He asked, his hand moving between her legs, forcing her to spread out her legs a bit. She did as he wanted, spreading her legs a bit more for him.

“I would have to get used to living…” She found it hard to complete a full sentence. His hand moved over her lower lips with ease, stroke and caressing her.

“Less extravagantly?” he asked her. She only nodded, his fingers pushing deeper, slipping between the lips and caressing, stroking.

She nodded meekly, her body reacting to his touch. She hated herself for it, cursed herself for it, but there was no denying the way her body reacted to him. She tried to concentrate on what he had done to her daughter, what he had done to her husband. She lost all concentration when his finger slipped inside of her and began a slow circle.

“I’m not sure myself yet,” he told her honestly, continuing to let his finger circle the inside of her pussy, moving it deeper. “I have taken all of your husband’s money, or at least most. I had left you three enough that you never noticed it was gone. His whole fortune. I have it all.” He pushed his finger harder inside of her, starting to pump her.

She shuddered, whispered something about him being a bastard. He only laughed and continued. “If I let you go,” he told her, still pumping her hard, “you will have nothing left. You will have to find a way to fund your daughter’s private school and ivy league education. If I just let you go, and keep her, you will have even less than nothing, because I’ve won.” Cassie began to snap at him, to say something brandishing and cruel, he interrupted quickly, “You forget I have the power here.” His finger moved faster, pumping her swiftly, her whole body beginning to bounce with his finger’s pumps. He slipped in his second finger for good measure and continued to watch her body move with him.

“Your third option,” he told her, “is I keep you both and I will never spoil you like he did. I will never let you have your every whim for doing nothing,” he growled.

“I… I cleaned his house,” she began to stutter, “I cooked his meals…”

“And for that you deserved those diamond earrings you had coveted for so long? Do you know how much a maid, who does just what you just described, makes? She would never own such an extravagant item.

“Before you think to, do not add that you were also his lover, a great wife in bed, so much so he needn’t have a mistress, for that would just make you a common-law whore. You feel you are valued for your sex.” His fingers moved harder, faster, and she leaned back, panting.

“I love him,” she groaned as he pumped her body.

“You loved him,” Chris corrected, pulling his fingers quickly away from her. He gripped her hips and brought her wet body tightly against his, rubbing her against him and his swollen cock. “You now only love who he was, a cheater, a liar, a murderer.”

“A…attempted murder,” she corrected, her voice hoarse.

Chris let out a horrid laugh. “Not for lack of trying, I assure you.” With a shove that was verging on harder violence, he pushed her back down, had her bending at the waist, her hands pushing against the wall nearest the spout, his back nearly against the wall at the other end, pushing tightly against one another.

He lifted and shoved, pushing his rigid cock into her tight pussy and moaning loudly as he did so. She was tight around him, dry from the water washing over them, and yet aching for it. He grinded himself into her, moaning louder. He could not be sure how much he wanted her or how much of this was arousal at the power he had over her. He had always thought her a beautiful woman but she had not been one had had lusted after. Now he had to have her, he needed to be inside of her, thrusting hard, and did just that.

She groaned, feeling that familiar ache as he pushed through her, taking her quickly. He thrusted, she bounced, their bodies slapping against one another, the water making odd splashes as they moved against one another. The water stung as it struck their bodies, growing cold as it poured down on them. They hardly noticed it, their attentions on one another.

He growled out and pushed hard, she trembled, feeling the flow of his cock filling her. She whimpered, a bit disappointed that he finished inside of her before she had a chance. She knew it would mean he was going to pull out and leave her, which is what he did shortly after. He pulled out of her, letting the cold water wash away the evidence of their sexcapades, then he slipped out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and walked out of her bathroom, leaving her in the cold water to wash herself clean.

Suddenly the coffee was not enough in his stomach. He wanted more. He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of Cassie’s bedroom and into the kitchen. He immediately went on alert. He heard the sound of the television quietly running in the living room, though from this angle he could not see anything but the back of the couch. In the kitchen he noticed a small spill of milk on the black counters, a few crumbs wiped into the sink. Panic set in and he was moving from the kitchen to the living room, where he received a better view of the current situation.

Celeste’s door was open, wide. The knob on the inside of it was lying on the floor, left there purposefully for his attention. He turned back towards the living room and glanced at the table between the couch and the television, which was showing the news. On the table sat an empty bowl, likely having been the home of the last of a little bit of cereal he had in the cupboards. On the couch, slightly curled up, her sapphire eyes glued to the television, lay the beautiful figure of Celeste. She had found a black dress shirt of his and clad her body in it, the shirt likely coming down to just above her knees. Curled up it was barely covering every inch of her, her legs visible, her lack of panties noticeable.

He had to avert his eyes from her to keep from letting his mind stray. He looked back at the television and said nothing. It took only a few seconds of watching the screen to understand what they were covering.

“I hadn’t realized you had set the room on fire,” she told him blankly.

He shrugged, even if she did not see it. “I was covering my tracks.”

“It worked.” She sat up slowly, her eyes looking tired, her hair a slight mess. He had thought she would have slept longer, or that at least the sleeping pills he had slept into her hot chocolate would have given her more peaceful of sleep. It had not seemed to work that way. “They do not know yet whose body they found, they just know the room is destroyed and that there was one body.”

“How is your wrist?” he asked, daring to change the subject.

She looked down at it, running a finger over the small wound. It was definitely nothing more than a bad scratch, though the purple bruising around it made it look far worse than it was. He held back a wince as she moved it to her side. “It’s fine.”

It was not fine. Why did women have this bad habit of saying “It’s fine,” when they never meant it. Never. He hated it.

“How did you get out of your room?” He asked, curiosity killing him. He was pretty sure he had not left anything in there for which she could have escaped with.

She huffed, her haughty head going high. He smirked, at least he had roused some personality back from her. “Your idea of making small talk sucks,” she told him. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Well you shouldn’t be watching this drivel either,” he announced, gripping the remote on the table and shutting the news off.

She was on him fast enough he never expected it. Her hand smacked hard into his back and he could not help wincing, nearly falling forward at being caught off balance. So this was how the precious teenager decided to work through her grief and anger, violence. He liked her more already.

This time he would give her no threats. He would simply let her do her worst, or try.

He turned on her, gripping her wrist as she threw a punch. If he had not been training himself he was sure it would have landed across his jaw. She was swift and accurate, in her anger she was doing her best to be precise and damaging. She was not attacking him to escape, she could have done that a while ago. She was not attacking him for anything but because she needed someone to take her anger out on.

Anyone would have done. She just did not luck out as he was the only one who could fight back.

Her other hand went up, moving just as quickly as before. He gripped her other wrist in movement as well, squeezing, watching her wince as he gripped tightly onto her right wrist. He just wanted her to simmer down a bit, before she hurt herself more. She was either going to kill them both, or hurt herself more than he was prepared for. He would rather go with neither of those options and take the one that ended up with her sitting back on the couch watching some good ol’ Tom and Jerry, or something equally mindless.

He should have known better. Squeezing her pained wrist had her ready to fight harder. Her foot moved into the kick while he was squeezing her wrist. The kick landed hard and he released one of her hands in shock, to reach out, and then felt the sting across his cheek. All right, that one burned a little bit. His ear was ringing, the resounding slap filling the room. Her struggles ceased, she was now letting him hold tightly to her left wrist while he shook his head back into position.

“Fuck, Celeste,” was all he could manage. After another moment, “Do you feel better now?”

“No,” she snapped, and he heard in the hard edged words that she meant it.

“You knew I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

“You made that very clear.”

“You took advantage of that so you could hurt me.”

“It was the least I could do.”

He pushed her back, her butt landing firmly on the couch. She looked up at him as he resisted the urge to rub his cheek. “You really are just like your parents.”

“Screw you,” she told him.

“I’m not ready yet,” he told her blandly, “I just had your mother.” Her foot lashed out and he jumped out of the way to miss it. “Jealous?”

“No.” Her word again had the finality of a razor’s edge to it.

“It won’t bring him back,” he told her.

The little ball of rage reached out, now ready to start throwing things, breakable things, at him. He realized it quickly enough to grip her around the waist and pull her up and against him, holding her tightly even as he was jabbed in the stomach by sharp elbows and kicked with glancing blows from her, thankfully, bare feet. “I don’t want him back!” she nearly screamed.

“That’s a lie and you and I both know it.” It seemed to calm her, oddly, her body going nearly limp in his arms. Now he was holding all of her weight and hadn’t been expecting it. His stance was for someone who was fighting, now she was nearly hanging there and he had to change positions or risk them both falling. He shifted, still holding onto her, forcing her into his arms, cradling her in his arms. She let him, looking away. He understood her need to look away. “Celeste, you can admit the things he did horribly in your life and still want him back.”

She shook her head, shaking off the shudder of emotion, the sob she felt in her throat. She composed herself visibly in front of him and he sighed. She was tougher to deal with when she had a clear head. He knew that, even from when she was younger.

“What are you doing with my daughter?” Why had he not bothered to lock Cassie’s door?

He turned to face Cassie a bit, who had redressed in her outfit from last night, though it was grungy and looked off-white, even without the horribly bright blood stains. He held her daughter in his arms against him, a prissy brat who had her nose once again held high and was only dressed in a thing black dress shirt. She was stretched out, feet dangling, in the arms of a man wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, which was slipping from their earlier tussle.

He could not explain why it embarrassed him more to be seen holding her when it was innocent than he had been last night. However he would never let it show to the two women. He held Celeste a bit closer to his body and said, “I was putting her back in her bed. She needs more sleep.” He had not realized how likely and how true that statement was until he said it.

“She can walk,” Cassie snapped.

Maybe it was Mommy who was really jealous. He raised an eyebrow, and a corner of his lip, and turned to walk towards Celeste’s deemed bedroom to lay her back on the bed. She had stopped fighting him, only telling him that much more how true his statement had been. Celeste let him lay her on the bed, her eyes watching him without looking into his face. She had fought sleep, clawing herself from dreams all night. Instead of allowing herself the escape that Chris had offered her in those pills she had readily accepted the pain, making it worse on herself. Her body was exhausted, her eyes were heavy, and she was filled with a grief she only knew how to let out through violence. He regretted telling her she was like her parents, for any resemblance was because she knew nothing else.

“Chris, I can take care of my daughter,” Cassie snapped, standing in the doorway watching them.

“Get some sleep Celeste,” he told the young girl while ignoring the woman behind him.

She shook her head, stubborn. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“You are like a baby, whining when you don’t get enough sleep.”

“You are lousy at comparisons.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Because I tend to make very astute observations.” She gave him a soulful gaze, looking directly into his eyes and he bowed his head. “Except for the one that hurt you most,” he whispered to her so that Cassie, who was huffing and puffing and afraid to come too close, could not hear.

“Don’t hurt yourself because you are punishing me,” he continued to whisper, afraid if she did not sleep he would have someone too exhausted to live on his hands.

“You hurt me,” she pointed out.

“You most certainly made me pay for it,” he told her.

“I didn’t mean this.” She lifted her wrist, showing him again the bloodied bruised delicacy of her skin.
He winced again and stood up a little straighter. “I know.”

She watched him for a moment, turning in the bed. Cassie seemed to be a little more at ease in the background when he stepped back. “You won’t apologize?” Celeste asked of him.

“What’s happened has happened, apologizing won’t make it go away,” he explained to her. “I’m sure you don’t feel compelled to apologize to me.”

“Nope.”

He smiled, he couldn’t help himself. “You are smarter than most, Celeste Lieberman.”

“Not smarter than you, it would seem,” she pointed out, trying to hide a yawn.

“Soon enough, you are only sixteen.”

He turned to leave her, her head heavy against the pillow, her eyes closing while she continued to fight sleep. He wished he could have given her something but he was afraid she would fight that too hard. Perhaps regular sleep was more welcome for her right now. Let her have her nightmares and work her way through the pain and suffering she was going to slide into either way. She was welcoming it in a twisted way, one he understood.

He closed the door behind him, forcing Cassie out of the room. He growled at her a bit, but not in the same way he growled in pleasure this morning. “Go find some breakfast,” he snapped, then turned on his heel and walked away from her, to her bedroom where he would find her something else to wear, and some clothes for himself.