Inn on the Edge (23 page)

Maybe I did too. I don’t know. But my heart…it was breaking.
That I do know.

I scooted closer to Josh, pressed his head into my neck and
put my arm around his shoulder. We lay there in my stupid North Tower, clinging
to each other, frightened for Zenith. Was Mr. Abiba really a doctor or was that
a lie too? Had he taken proper care of her finger? Surely there was a better
way than putting a hot iron on it. Oh please let her torture be finished. Please!
And I admit it—yes, I admit it—I hoped with all my heart that my poor Zenith
had indeed been “handled”by Mr. Abiba after he was finished with her,
that she was no longer terrified or in pain or a writhing mass of blind hatred.

Because I loved her. And that made me hate him all the more.

It was the worst night I’ve ever spent.

We lay like that, wide awake, not moving, not talking,
trying not to think too hard for fear of attracting unwanted attention. Maybe
Mr. Abiba could read our minds. Who knew what that man was capable of? But not
thinking was impossible. My thoughts spun out of control no matter how hard I
tried to distract myself, no matter how frantically I recited Hamlet’s famous
speech—
to be or not to be, to be or not to be
… No matter how desperately
I counted to one hundred in Spanish or made lists of the guests who’d come to
my wedding or named every single goddamn color at my favorite goddamn art
supply store.

Goddamn it, how could my thoughts
not
spin out of
control?

The hours passed. One by one, Josh and I dutifully ate the
yellow petals as instructed, wondering if our life together was over when it
had just begun, wondering if we’d ever get out of this wicked place. Wondering what
the hell we were going to do when morning came, wondering if and when Mr. Abiba
would claim me as his own true love. Wondering what I would do when the time
came…and what Josh would do. Until finally, horribly, it occurred to me to
wonder what Mr. Abiba did to people he was
really
mad with.

Jesus.

I didn’t want to find out. But what choice did I have?

At first light, I flushed Zenith’s note down the toilet.
Then I cleaned up the rancid mess on the floor where I’d lost my dinner and
Josh threw a towel over the bloodstains so we wouldn’t have to look at them. We
crawled back into bed and huddled under the covers again. Our minds were still
mercilessly, relentlessly clear.

Later we showered.

Then, subdued and nervous, we dressed. I pulled on a short
gray skirt, not even bothering to match it with the proper blouse. It was ten
minutes before breakfast. We each ate a yellow petal, tucked a couple of wilted
flowers into our pockets and started down the eight flights of stairs for yet
another gluttonous feast that neither of us wanted. It was Wednesday morning—Champagne
Extravaganza morning. Zettia had been telling us for days how lavish the spread
would be but I wasn’t ready to face all that food. Or all the people. Or Mr.
Abiba. Especially Mr. Abiba.

I suppressed a shudder and reached for Josh’s hand, eyeing
the new, painful-looking bruises that colored his knuckles, being careful not
to hurt him. He stopped on the last landing and gave me a quick hug. “Okay?” he
asked, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Because I’m scared shitless.”

“We have a plan now.”

He rolled his eyes. “Kind of.”

I had to agree. It was flimsy, made at first light in
furtive whispers and with pantomime and innuendo and desperation—lots of
desperation—but our plan, such as it was, made us feel a tiny bit better. At
least it did me. The idea was to find Zenith, see how she was doing. And then
to contact Vane. Find out if he knew what was going on. Perhaps sound out Zora
and Valerian if the chance presented itself. Obviously it all had to be done
furtively. We couldn’t do anything in the open—we’d have to tread very, very
carefully. Taking Zenith’s example, we had each armed ourselves with two scraps
of tightly folded, scribbled-on paper.

We want out!

And,

We need a plan, now!

Josh peered at me, frowning. “You’re sure about going to
breakfast? I know you’re scared. We can go back up.”

“And do what? Hide?”

“Yes. No. Maybe.” He sucked in his breath. “Damn it, Angie,
I don’t know. Maybe we can lay low and tough it out. Maybe things will blow
over. Maybe things aren’t as bad as we thought.”

I just stared at him. “Do you
remember
what happened
last night?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t say anything.

He let go of my hand and gripped the handrail, his knuckles
turning white. “I remember every excruciating moment.” His face blanched. “But
fuck it all, Angie! It’s already Wednesday—on Saturday Mr. Abiba has to let us
go. Right? The vacation ends on Saturday. In three days this will be over and
we can get the hell out of here and go home. Three days!”

I put my hand over his and shook my head. “We can’t stay,
you know that. He’s probably hatching up some gruesome thing for me right now,
as we speak. He loves me, remember? And what about you? He could do something awful
to you! I don’t know, he might…” I shuddered, then spat out the words, forcing
myself to complete the thought. “He might want to get you out of the way so
that he can have me all to himself. After last night, who knows what he’s
capable of?”

“He wouldn’t.” But it was clear that Josh didn’t believe his
own words.

“Three days is a long time. Especially here. We have to do
something.”

His eyes met mine. He reached for my fingers, held them to
his mouth, brushed my knuckles with his soft lips. “Of course we do. You’re
right. We’ll follow the plan.”

We stared at each other, steeling ourselves to move down the
stairs, steeling ourselves for whatever might come next. Then we heard
laughter.

“What the hell?” Josh whispered, his eyes narrowing.

We turned as one, leaning over and craning our heads over
the banister, trying to peer into the dining room one floor below us at the
bottom of the stairs. The door was open, but all I could see of the interior
was a corner of the Turkish carpet and the back of Mr. Abiba’s chair. Why was
everyone already gathered in the dining room? Tim and Rhonda-Lynne were there—I
heard their voices—and they were always late for meals. The Champagne
Extravaganza hadn’t started yet, so what was going on? I held my breath, bewildered.
I couldn’t see in but I could hear just fine. There was a clamor of excited
voices. Clapping hands. Shrieks and scuffling chairs. A male voice—Tim? Then
more laughter. Logan said something—I couldn’t hear what, exactly—and the
others erupted in gleeful amusement, Mr. Abiba loudest of all.

This was wrong. All wrong. It didn’t fit, this gaiety, after
the night we’d just spent.

Then came peals of delighted laugher from Nikki, with
Geoffrey’s booming guffaws as an underpinning.

Geoffrey!

A rush of pure, unadulterated lust slammed into me, hot and
wild—a hunger so deep, so profound, that I could barely contain myself. I
sucked in my breath and turned away from Josh, hunching over and crossing my
arms over my belly, my cunt throbbing with need.

Geoffrey! Geoffrey! I want you, my sweet mountain man!

How lovelyit would be to hold him in my arms. Oh! To
kiss him, to pull him to the floor on top of me, to feel his weight over the
full length of my body, to writhe with him in ecstasy. How delightful it would
be to take his nice, fat cock in my hand, raise my hips to him and guide his
erection far, far inside my wet, willing body. Oh, how wonderful it would be. I
could almost feel his beautiful big erection stretching me, filling me, opening
me, reaching my innermost parts. So real, so intense! My knees went weak. My
mouth watered. My insides clenched into hot knots as I almost felt his hairy
chest tickling my breasts. Damn it all, I wanted to fuck Geoffrey, right then,
right there on the stairs. Right against the wall, right below Mr. Abiba’s
stupid tapestries.

I need you, mountain man.

Forget the fear. Forget the desperation, forget Zenith,
forget
everything
. All those trifling annoyances faded away, unimportant
now. I wanted Geoffrey as I’d never wanted anyone, not even my own beloved
husband.

Next to me, Josh lurched against the rail, gasping. Nikki.
Of course.

My head cleared just a little.

“Oh my god,” Josh wheezed, reaching for me. “What
is
this?”

We clutched at each other, catching our breath, staring into
each other’s eyes, steadying ourselves, keeping each other from rushing to our
objects of desire. I blinked. I shook my head, trying to think straight but
failing as my body clamored for sex and my mind spun with infatuation. How
could I feel that way? How was it possible after all we’d been through? How
could my body betray me when I felt so wretched,so frightened and
heartbroken? But there we were, wanting it again and wanting it badly. In the
open, no less. I held Josh close and his erection rose, pressing into my
stomach. He moaned as Nikki’s lilting voice came wafting up the stairs.

And then Geoffrey…

His voice. Those rich, throaty tones making my insides catch
fire.

Oh my god, but I wanted that man.

I buried my head in Josh’s neck, trembling, leaking all over
my underwear. He wasn’t Geoffrey but he would do.

Josh clamped his arms around me. “This is torture! Oh! Oh!” he
screwed his eyes shut and his normal expression was replace by his sex face. It
told me how close he was to apexing and I hadn’t even been anywhere near his
cock. Yet. “This has to be for our benefit!” Josh said through gritted teeth.
He kissed me. Hard. His erection probed at my stomach, demanding attention.
“The bastard is playing with us, Angie!”

As soon as he said it, I knew he was right.

“Like we’re toys!” I said, settling the palm of my hand on
Josh’s pants, pressing and squeezing, rubbing and tapping, amusing myself with
his erection through the denim of his jeans. What a nice long cock my husband
possessed! It would do just fine, even if it wasn’t as beefy as Geoffrey’s.

Ah, Geoffrey!

My heart skipped a beat at the memory of my mountain man’s
mighty erection jutting out of its bed of dark fur, his heavy chest on mine, the
way he’d ridden me with such enthusiasm, such delighted eagerness. I spread my
legs just a little, thrust my pelvis forward, causing my skirt to hitch up.

I unzipped Josh’s pants. “Goddamn Mr. Abiba, making us act
like this!” I shoved his pants down around his ankles. “It’s like we’re
freaking puppets or something.” I took handfuls of Josh’s ass and squeezed
hard, pressing his erection against my mound, digging my nails into his soft skin,
raking them across his butt cheeks.

He gasped. “Holy hell. That’s…that’s…”

“Like it?” I breathed.

“
Fuck
, yes. Don’t stop!”

I didn’t.

“You’re doing exactly what she does—what Nikki does.
Shit
,Angie! You aren’t drawing blood, are you? Fucking amazing!” He kissed me
then, all tongue and teeth and low growls deep in his throat. He came up for
air, breathing hard. “Marionettes. That’s what they’re called. We’re goddam
marionettes! He’s controlling our sex drives, isn’t he?”

“Oh my god, yes. He is. The asshole. Yeah. Touch me now.
Josh.
Touch me
.”

He slid his hand between my legs. He pinched my inner thigh.
Just a little. Then harder. Enough to make me hiss with pleasure, writhe in his
arms, soak my underwear more than it already was. “It’s barbaric,” he
whispered, pinching me again, twisting and pulling my sensitive skin, making me
squirm with pain and pleasure. “What kind of person does that?”

“He’s an asshole,” I said again, tossing my head from side
to side, moaning, raking his butt in answer to the pinches. “A card-carrying
asshole. I detest every moment of this! Ah…ah! Do that again, will you?”

“Liar.” Josh trailed his fingers along my leg, up my skirt,
then dipped under the band of my underwear, where he followed the band to the
point exactly between my legs. He snapped the elastic sharply against the
delicate, quivering skin of my vulva, making the most luscious jolt pass through
me, giving me my first apex. He grinned wickedly at me. “You lie! You lie! You
do
like this. And he’s a goddam
fucker
.”

He snapped me again.

“Ow! Ow!” I shrieked, shuddering. “Do that again!”

But he didn’t. Instead we heard Geoffrey and Nikki laughing
long and hard, their voices intermingling from the floor below, a concert
designed just for us. We stiffened, our hands on each other, hurting each
other, pleasuring each other, holding on for dear life.

He moaned.

I gasped.

“Mr. Abiba is disgusting,” I said, trembling. “Horrible. A
sadist. And we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know. We shouldn’t. Absolutely not. Claw me again?
Please?”

I complied. “But it
is
awfully nice, don’t you
think?”

He bit his lip and sagged against me, nodding. I worked my
hands around his hips until they nestled on either side of his cock. Then I
wrapped several pubic hairs tightly around my finger and yanked them sharply.

He jerked. And gasped. “Wonderful! Positively fantastic!” He
kissed my neck. “But awful too. Stand still now. Don’t move.”

I trembled—I couldn’t help myself—as his long musician’s
fingers, dancing and skipping and not at all compromised by their many bruises,
passed over the place where my skin still smarted from the snaps and pinches.
They made their way ever so slowly onto my clit, where they lingered, tracing
tight circles, causing my insides to turn to mush. I closed my eyes. “Oh my god,”
I moaned. Then I repeated the three words—
ohmygod, ohmygod
,
ohmygod
—until
they ran together and stopped making sense.

“No,” Josh whispered in my ear, his fingers still working.
“He is
not
a god. He’s the spawn of the devil. Making us do this when we
clearly don’t want to.”

“Oh, I know! I
so
don’t want to be screwing you right
now!” My breath caught in my throat. “And that’s…scrumptious, what you’re
doing! Holy shit, but that’s marvelous.” I tried to catch my breath, spreading
my knees even more, always helpful. “He’s a nasty, degenerate sex demon, that’s
what he is.” I crouched the teeniest bit, to give his fingers a better angle
for entering me. Which they did, three of them, together. They moved slowly,
teasingly, farther and farther into my cunt, his palm warmly cupping my mound.
I bit my lip, sucking air through almost-closed lips.

Delicious!

I started working my magic on his cock. I had a plan.

“A sex demon? Not a sex vampire?” Josh said. “You think?” He
went limp for a moment, enjoying the workings of my hand on his cock.

“He might be. Hey, you want something new?” I asked, my
voice husky, my lips brushing his cheek.

His boyish grin told me all I needed to know.

We let ourselves fall against the wall, almost unmooring one
of the tapestries—the largest one, the one with the lunging white stag. The
priceless piece of needlework bunched against my shoulder, all scratchy and
stiff, as Josh and I, still standing, writhed against it. “This is all wrong,”
I whispered. “You know that, don’t you?” I nibbled on his ear. “But you’re
going to
love
what I’m about to do. Guaranteed.”

“Try me,” he said. At least I thinkthat was what he
said. He had a hard time getting the words out.

I took the swollen tip of his erection between my index
finger and my thumb, tugging gently. Nothing new there. But then I took it
further, delving into new territory in the world of Josh-and-Angie hand jobs.
Purely by feel, I located the exact place I was looking for at the head of his
cock, the place Valerian had shown me. I pulled on Josh’s erection with only my
thumb and finger—more, more, until it was almost more than he could bear—then I
squeezed. He moaned softly. I leaned in to him, alternating between tugging and
squeezing, tugging and squeezing. His fingers stopped caressing my insides,
which I took to be a good sign. So far, so good. I concentrated, searching for
the sweet spot where the hardness of his cock ended and the firmness of his
glans began, just as Valerian had taught me in that mini-Lesson before we’d
entered the ghost town.