Conscience (The Bellator Saga Book 2) (22 page)

“Whatever you want.”

“What if I want you to leave?”

“I know you don’t want that.” Jack let his fingers drift down her neck. “I know exactly what you want. What you need.”

“I’m a married woman,” she said.

He tugged at her earlobe with his teeth. “What your husband doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“It’s wrong.”

“No.” He kissed her deeply, long enough that she was tempted to dip her hands under the water and tease his cock. Before she had the chance he pulled away, leaving her wanting more. “It’s completely right.” He traced an outline around her lips with one hand, tugging at the shoulders of her racing tank with the other. “Do you really need to be wearing this suit?” he asked.

“It’s usually required when swimming, despite your opinion.”

He nipped at her neck. “Not when no one else is around.”

Caroline moaned softly. “You need to be careful. My husband will be home soon.”

Jack chuckled. “How soon?”

She gasped as he started to slip his hand under the bottom of her swimsuit, gliding his finger along her most sensitive areas. “Very soon, I’d imagine.”

He leaned in to kiss her but pulled back at the last moment, chuckling at her little groan of frustration. “Then we’d better hurry.”

“He’ll kill us if he catches us,” she said. “He’s a very jealous man.”

“Tell me more.” He moved his hands back up to her collarbone, pulling the straps of her suit up and running them between his fingers.

“He’s possessive.
Very
possessive. He could probably tear you apart with his bare hands.” Caroline cried out in surprise as Jack yanked her swimsuit off her shoulders.

“What about you?” he asked quietly. “What would he do to you if he caught you with another man?”

She shivered as he continued to pull her swimsuit down her torso, brushing his fingers against her breasts. “I don’t know. Probably remind me whose property I am.”

Jack laughed. “Property?”

Caroline grinned back at him. Sometimes she had a hard time staying in character. “Come on, Monty. I’m trying really hard here. Go with it.”

He kissed the top of her breasts and continued to pull her suit down. “I’m remembering that one. Wife as property. Hmm.”

“Be quiet. See if I role play with you anymore.”

He laughed again. Her suit had sunk to the bottom of the pool. “A little help?” he asked.

She lifted up one of her legs, the suit dangling from it. Jack tossed it toward the edge of the pool and slid a finger inside her. She tilted her head slightly and he wrapped his arm around her waist, smiling as she moaned again. He slid another finger inside her, teasing her clit with his thumb.

Caroline clenched her teeth. “Holy-”

“Are you distracted by something?”

She bit his shoulder. “No,” she whispered.

“Good.” Jack resumed teasing her clit. “Your husband doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

She bit him again, harder this time. “I think he does.”

He stopped what he was doing. “Is he a pervert like me?”

“Much worse than you. He even had a fully equipped bedroom put in near the pool and weight rooms, with sex toys and everything.”

“Why’d he do that?”

“He likes me to take advantage of him after we’re done exercising in the morning.”

Jack closed his eyes. “I bet he enjoys that.”

Caroline ran her tongue up and down his neck, tasting pool water and salt. “As far as I can tell. Never had any complaints.”

He pulled her chin up so that she was looking at him. “We might be able to have more fun in there.”

That room always seemed to bring out the best in them. “Reverse cowgirl?”

His eyes widened and he started to drag her toward the ladder.

“Although I’ve never done it in a pool before,” she said.

He stopped short. “You haven’t?”

“My husband hasn’t tried to seduce me in here yet.”

Jack pulled her back into the water. “Reverse cowgirl can wait,” he said. Caroline inched her hands toward his cock. He stopped her, bringing them back up to his chest. “But so can this. Take it slow, baby. We have all night to enjoy each other.”

She wrapped her legs around his hips, leaning into his neck again. “I love you,” she whispered.

He pulled her closer. “Is the game over?”

“No,” she said. “I just needed a hug.”

“From your husband or from your secret poolside lover?”

Caroline pressed her lips to his, toying with his wet hair. “Definitely my husband.”

He swept his knuckles across her cheek. “Thank you for today. I really mean that.”

“It was nothing.”

“It was everything.” Jack planted a gentle kiss near her lips. “You’ve given so much of yourself to me and to this campaign, and you put yourself out there today for more than just objective policy reasons. You took a huge political risk to defend me. And I love you for it.”

She pressed her forehead to his. “You’re welcome. I’ll do whatever I can to help you win.”

“I hope all three C-SPAN viewers watching today could tell how much you loved me. I sure as hell noticed.”

“As long as you know, I don’t care.” Caroline wrapped her arms and legs around him again, smiling as Jack twirled her around in the water.

He paused for a moment, nipping at her earlobe again. “This will pass, sweetheart,” he whispered. “We’ll get through this campaign and it’ll get better.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It’s not good, either. I hate what all of this has been doing to you.”

She had failed to mask her stress. Maybe she needed to try harder. “Being with you makes up for a lot of it.”

He started twirling her around again, slower this time. “You make all of this worthwhile.”

She leaned in for a long embrace. “This hugging in the pool thing is pretty nice.”

Jack disentangled himself from her thighs and pressed against her hip so she could feel his erection. “Enjoy it while you can,” he said, winking at her. “Because in a few seconds, you’re getting much more than a hug.”

Caroline threw her head back and laughed.

The Fed

Caroline didn’t like euphemisms for sex. She’d been known to drop an f-bomb or twenty when the opportunity presented itself, since profanity was her default setting.
Fuck you, fuck me, fuck my brains out, fuck me hard, fuck that shit.
Sometimes she meant sex, sometimes she just punctuated her language with profanity.

But she never, ever referred to it as
making love
. Bringing love into it, even when you had valid reasons? It took all her effort not to giggle or roll her eyes. Sex accompanied by love could be wonderful, even divine, but to talk about it using foofy words and sappy metaphors? That part always made her uncomfortable.

But that’s what Jack had done that night, after they’d finished having sex in the pool. Made love. To her, not with her. He barely needed fifteen minutes before dragging her toward the bedroom and starting in again. He tied her wrists to the bedframe with her swimsuit and teased her until she could barely take it anymore. Then he loosened her bindings and glided in and out of her for what seemed like forever, whispering his version of sweet nothings into her ear.

They ruined the suit. She bought another one. Many more than one, if she remembered correctly. They ruined more than one swimsuit that summer. Not that she ever complained when he behaved that way; when he was in control she felt free and uninhibited, no matter what they were doing in the bedroom. She didn’t know if he was compelled by gratitude, passion, or need, but he spent so much time with his head between her thighs that she could barely crawl out of bed the next morning. She spent years trying to figure out how he could function after nights like that.

It hurt just to think about it. Because there were times when he was tender and sweet, as if afraid he would break her. Other times he would fuck her so hard and fast that the delicious savagery made her want to split apart anyway.

Her brokenness was anything but beautiful now. No wonder, no delight in her eyes. Just a despair that threatened to overtake her spirit with each passing day. She knew she had to fight it. Once she gave in, the darkness would envelop her and she’d never break free.

But it was hard. At night or whenever she neared slumber, reality blurred and her thoughts jumbled. She had no idea whether her visions or dreams were genuine or imaginary. The desolation was tangible and raw, and she knew that one day she’d wake up without even her fantasies to console her.

That fact alone, more than anything else, terrified the fuck out of her.

*              *              *              *              *

The next morning Murdock dispensed with the pleasantries. He asked if she was willing to talk, she said no, and the process repeated itself with her right hand. This time, she cried. And hated herself for it. Powell and Fischer laughed when she started to weep. When Fischer grabbed her hands and forced them behind her back, wrapping her wrists in the handcuffs and tightening them until they cut off her circulation, she couldn’t help herself. Their sadism had reached its peak. Or so she hoped.

Fuck hope. And its fucking feathers.

The two guards laughed again when she struggled against them. They yanked her up as Murdock surveyed her. He grabbed her jaw between his fingers, pressing his way up to her broken cheekbone, and she cried out again. Murdock hadn’t laughed at her pain, just studied her expression as she writhed on the table. Yet another of his disquieting idiosyncrasies. She was surprised he didn’t jot down notes on his observations.

“You’re proving to be much more stubborn than I thought,” he said.

She glared at him. Was it worth it to waste her words? Probably not. A lone, fat tear slid down her cheek. He plucked it off her skin and finally laughed. A supercilious screeching noise worthy of a thousand knees to the groin. Fuck him. She tried to kick at his shin and the guards tackled her to the ground.

Murdock stared down at her with undisguised glee. “We’re going to have to try a different angle with you. That much I can see.”

“Fuck you,” she choked out.

He kicked her in the stomach. Hard. With a fucking dress shoe. A wingtip, a steel toed boot, a sneaker. It didn’t matter. It hurt. It was humiliating. Demeaning. Degrading. Which was precisely the reason Murdock seemed to be enjoying himself so much, no matter what he did to her. He kicked her once more, then gestured at Powell.

“I’m done with her.” He crouched down next to Caroline. “See you tomorrow, Gerard.”

*              *              *              *              *

Lazy Fischer begged off his escort duties and left his partner to drag Caroline back to her cell. Powell heaved her through the door, pressing her face first against the wall. She could focus on nothing but the pain. Blinding, piercing pain. But she was damned if she’d let him see her fall apart. She just hoped he’d leave her cell as soon as possible, because she couldn’t contain herself much longer.

Before she knew what was happening, he shoved his hand under her shirt. Caroline closed her eyes. She had nothing to fight him with. She was cuffed and her hands were useless anyway. She had no energy to do much more than weakly protest. Maybe it would be over quickly. Maybe she could concentrate on something else, pretend it wasn’t happening. She still felt compelled to voice her lack of consent, even if the effort proved worthless. Words were the only weapon she had.

“Stop,” she whispered.

Powell withdrew his hand, leaving an unknown item under her clothing. His voice was low. “You didn’t get this from me. I’ll deny everything.” He uncuffed her and shoved her on the bed. “Enjoy your evening,” he said loudly, before retreating and locking the cell door behind him.

Caroline rolled over and angled herself away from the camera. She retrieved the item with a trembling, aching hand, biting the inside of her cheek the entire time. The lights were still on. She probably didn’t have more than a couple of minutes. She examined what appeared to be a small baggie containing an instant ice pack and a dinner roll. The lights flickered off right as she cracked the ice pack, feeling the coolness as the chemicals activated. She pressed it against her right hand. Not much, but better than nothing.

She huddled in the corner of the bed, eating the roll as slowly as she could. She wondered whether she should trust it, then realized it didn’t much matter. Food was food at this point.

Why had he done it? What kind of game was he playing? Was this another mindfuck?

Caroline winced as the ice pack slowly lost its effectiveness. Both hands were swollen and distorted, but she couldn’t do much about it. She didn’t see any medical practitioners milling around. At least she had those few fleeting moments of relief.

How much extra time would that bit of food give her? A few more minutes or hours of life before she starved to death? The ice pack was a tease too. The pain returned, more intense than before. She didn’t hold back anymore and burst into the hard and heavy tears she’d been suppressing all day.

They were going to tear her apart, smash her and break her bit by bit, bone by bone and day by day, until there was nothing left. The silver linings were fading to gray. She rocked back and forth on the bed, praying to pass out. To fall asleep. Anything. But it took forever for her to finally plunge into a fitful rest.