Tangled Wires, page 10
“You don’t understand. I’ve already avoided this too long and soon it will be too late.” The expression on Matthew’s face is a mix of exasperation and a small bit of lust. The lust is understandable; my cocktail dress is quite fantastic. The tight way it lifts my breasts and the sensuous glide of fabric over my legs.
I’ve struggled every day with my own lust and want to bring him to his knees. I step into his space, making him freeze again, our faces close, well my face is close to his neck. Even with the high heels I wear, Matthew will have to bend his head to kiss me.
That isn’t my goal though, or not the complete goal. I place my hand on his chest, he’s warm under the fabric of the dress shirt. The muscles under my hand tense at the contact.
“I don’t want to talk, Matthew.” I lean forward and kiss his neck. Right over the place where his carotid artery pulses with fake blood, pumping from his artificial heart. The sound he makes as his hands come up and grab my arms is one-part agony and the other part frustration.
I know he wants this, but there is a lot of exhilaration between the knowing and the getting him to break. I open my mouth and nip his skin like he’d done to my lip this morning.
“Fuck!” Matthew whispers more to himself than to me, gripping my arms tighter and bringing our bodies together. The tension that strings him so tight envelopes my body like a hug. If a hug could make my breath catch and hips shift. I lave the spot with my tongue, and he huffs. “Fine, we can talk about how you went out with someone else after telling me you couldn’t handle my touch.”
The rage in his words makes me breathless. It’s a dark, dangerous part of him. The part of him that cruelly dragged an orgasm from me when I questioned whether he was a real boy. My lip trembles in anticipation of what this Matthew will do if goaded.
“And now you’re in my arms rubbing up against me, needy. Does what happens between the two of us even mean anything to you, Charlotte?”
Shame prickles me and I shake my head. I might ache to encourage the darker part of Matthew, it calls to me, making me wet with a single look. But I don’t want to hurt him.
Matthew walks me backward until I hit the back of the couch, “How would you like it if I went on a date with someone else after what we shared?”
My own anger spikes. At the thought of Matthew with anyone else, I try to pull myself from his grip but he’s holding me too tightly for escape.
“Jim’s touch doesn’t make me feel crazy.” I gasp the confession.
“Don’t talk about him touching you,” Matthew snarls. “Is he who you want? You aren’t acting like you want the smug bastard when you move against my body.”
Matthew invades my space and my face heats. A fever comes off of him, the force of his desire, I grip the couch back. My legs fall open, listening to the demand his body makes of me. He takes up the space between them, trapping me.
“Maybe I should leave you like this. Wet, restless, wanting, let you try and fuck away the ache with a sex toy or unsuspecting passerby just so you’d know for sure that I’m the only one who can satisfy it. Would you like that? Would that make you feel more sane?” Angrily, Matthew presses me harder into the couch back, grinding his erection where my body needs it most.
“No. No one else.” I shake my head helplessly as I whisper. Matthew dips his head as if he’s finally going to kiss me, but he pulls back. Eyes glittering cruelly when I make a sound of denial. His large hand strokes my breast, thumb lightly rubbing my nipple through my dress.
He’s right, I ache for him. Even if I tried to fill that ache it would still be there. I don’t think there will ever be a time when I won’t ache for whatever he’s promising me.
“It’s only ever been you, Charlotte; you drive me crazy. You’ve been driving me crazy since the first moment I saw you,” his voice rasps, dry against my skin.
If I were any less out of my mind, I’d ponder that statement. As it is, his body hard against me takes away all my thinking capability. I crave Matthew inside me, filling up the aching emptiness, but he just keeps talking.
“But I’ll leave right now if you tell me to. There are things I still need to tell you. Things that need to be discussed.”
I tense. We can’t stop now. I’d never survive it. Never survive not seeing where his dark predilections lead. “Please Matthew, I need you.”
Matthew rocks his hips forward as if rewarding my answer and the sound in my throat breaks into a groan at the rasp of his sweats against my tender inner thighs. My dress has been pushed up around my hips, exposing delicate skin. Matthew looks down and becomes still, an eerie stillness of a wolf scenting the air. I follow his gaze and see the wet, black lace panties rubbing against the shape of his erection. The sight makes me clench.
“You wore these for him?”
Not the time to go into the reasons women wear nice underwear. Matthew isn’t looking for an answer. He carefully strokes up my upper thigh before cruelly yanking the panties from behind. A twisting motion turns me over the back of the couch. Bent over with my hands clutching the top of the couch cushions, somehow my heels stay on the floor as he applies the right amount of force to tear the lace.
It hurts. The fabric must leave marks where it bit into my hips before giving way. Matthew makes a sound of displeasure, running a finger over a sensitive mark in my flesh as I’m fully exposed to him. I shiver. The rough actions paired with his care makes my body heavy.
“Is this how you wanted it, Charlotte?” Matthew’s hands grip my hips, squeezing. His cold anger has parts of me pulsing, edgy and ready. I try to push myself up from the undignified position, but Matthew puts a hand between my shoulder blades and presses down.
“No, you don’t. Let me get a look at you… Fuck, you look so good like this. I wonder if you would stay like this if I ordered you to. Your contrariness makes me think you wouldn’t, but could you become obedient if that’s the price for me to take away that ache?”
As I let my head fall forward, the tears start to well.
“Yes,” I say softly, barely audible. I’m done fighting this. I’d give him everything he asks of me: my body, my mind, and my tangled heart. Having him demand it from me only makes it so much hotter. My wetness coats my inner thighs. He must be able to see it too.
“Such a pretty pussy you have. Would you let me taste it, Charlotte? Would you like that?”
Self-respect has no place here. I start to beg.
“Please, please, please,” I whisper, quaking preemptively when Matthew drops to his knees behind me.
The slick pressure of his tongue against my hot core shocks the breath from me. The slide of it through my wetness, the hot feel of his mouth in such an intimate place, and Matthew’s throaty groan make my whole body tense in need.
“Fuck! Matthew… Please. I can’t.” My words are incoherent, but I feel his tongue again and moan as he shortens his licks to massage the tender folds before circling my clit. I squirm. Matthew’s hand comes down hard on my ass cheek, making me squeak as the crack snaps through the air.
“No moving. God, Charlotte, you taste fucking delicious.” Matthew returns to the task of devouring me. Sounds escape me with each stroke. Matthew’s approach is enthusiasm over skill, but it still drives my excitement higher. He takes his time, tonguing my pussy, trying different combinations of motions, refining his actions to my reactions.
I sob from the onslaught, hands scrabbling at the couch cushions. High with arousal but unable to be pushed to climax. Torture, this feels like torture but it’s so exquisite I’d rather burn than tell him to stop. Suddenly, Matthew penetrates my emptiness with his tongue, and I shatter. I cry out, thrashing but he just holds my hips harder and continues to tongue me. I surrender, bend over the couch fully, unable to hold myself up anymore, boneless. The last strokes of his tongue make shudders travel through my body.
The world blurs around me. Matthew’s arms hold me. I’m jarred from the bliss-filled moment when he drops me on my bed.
“Dress off.” Matthew’s order is curt to the point of rudeness, but his face is desperate. He pulls the covers on the bed out from under me as I struggle to get the dress over my head. By the time I throw the dress to the side, he is already naked. The sight makes me freeze.
Matthew’s body is beautiful, as expected, but the tension that holds his muscles taut is as threatening as his hand on his own cock. He roughly strokes himself in stuttered motions that look painful. His eyes run over my body. His form is all restrained strength. His cock looks larger than what I felt through clothing.
My body starts to reawaken from its boneless state.
“Bra too, I want you bare.” Matthew’s words startle me into motion but also make me consider something. I fling my bra the way of my dress before looking to Matthew, trying to find the words.
“Could you…Can you… Is it possible for you to get me pregnant? Do we need to use protection?” I have always been a cautious person. Matthew’s rough strokes to his cock stop for a moment and his look softens.
“I can’t get you pregnant, Charlotte.”
I wouldn’t classify the stab in my chest as disappointment. I haven’t even decided if I want kids, but there is a loss to being told it isn’t an option that’s misplaced in this moment of heat and passion. I let the feeling go.
“Then you get me bare.” I’m tempted to give him a ta-da motion to break the intensity of the moment but Matthew’s eyes flash dangerously. He grabs me by the ankle and pulls me under him. I squeak at the manhandling but laugh.
So fast, the ruddy head of his cock slides through my folds before he thrusts into me. My laugh breaks on a cry. He groans; his quick thrust hasn’t seated him fully inside me, but the stretch makes my fingernails dig into his back. Matthew pulls from me slightly before thrusting in deeper with a grunt. Feeling him working his cock into me, the stretch of my body accepting his, it’s borderline painful but bright.
I watch as his cock becomes slicker with each inch he forges into me; the sight is erotic.
Matthew pants above me, eyes closed, entire body rigid as he slowly pushes deeper. When he bottoms out, I can’t stop the deep sound I produce or the tensing of my stretched muscles around his hardness that makes Matthew hiss.
“Fuck, don’t do that, Charlotte. I want this to last. To be perfect. I’ve just never… Oh God.”
He’s being so damn careful. I want him to move with desperation. I’m so filled, so stretched, but now I need the drag of him inside me. Then, I understand the meaning of his words. I give a breathless snicker.
“You’ve never given the plumbing a check?”
It hadn’t occurred to me that he’d be a virgin, but it makes sense, the amount of years since his creation weren’t ones that allowed for a lot of sexual exploration. My joke weakens Matthew’s control and he thrusts out and in again with some force before halting again. I gasp and moan at the tantalizing sensation, digging deeper into his back with my nails.
“Insolent brat, what part of only you do you not understand,” he grits out.
I tighten around him, tilting my hips at his sharp words. He curses.
I beg.
“Please, please, Matthew, I need you to fuck me.” Matthew gives another small pump of his hips, a tease. The movement of him inside makes me tremble.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” His words are a deep growl.
“I’m yours, please hurt me.” My words tumble from me.
A moment of peace falls on us as we’re locked intimately together. Matthew runs the tip of his nose up my neck to my ear. The sensation is soft compared to my hunger.
“Mine,” he snarls. Matthew breaks.
The cleaving of his body into mine is both animalistic and something more. It blessedly doesn’t stop with the first motion. Matthew moves into me, driven in his artless thrusts, pushing me higher. I accept his body into mine.
Giving. The give of my body. The give of my spirit.
“Yours,” I whisper. I’ve never said anything as true as that. This physical moment disbands all my defenses. All the feelings I keep to myself, everything I hide.
Time becomes meaningless; it could be minutes or hours, physical or ethereal. My body is a cradle for his need, a hungry cradle demanding his cock.
The climax burns away everything when it hits me. My body clenches and I say his name over and over, a curse, a prayer. Matthew becomes a beast then, thrusting into my clutching body with the abandon of the starving. I’m eager for it.
Matthew’s motions stutter and he thrusts with a greater force. Trying to bury himself in me before he stiffens with a groan. He buries his face in my hair, whispering curses and prayers of his own.
Our breaths gasp in unison, a choir of momentous weaving flesh and beating hearts. This was worth my sanity.
14
The tube of lipstick starts to waver in my hand, I look at it confused, I’ve run out of time. My brain is already foggy, I don’t remember picking up the lipstick or why I suddenly wanted to wear it. I catch sight of the black lacy dress I wear. That had to be it, this urge to feel pretty one last time. I shrug and take another swig of my wine. I make a split-second decision as I carefully pick up my phone on the way to the water filled bathtub.
Stepping into the water is an act of careful coordination. It would have been just my luck to fall and crack my head open on a tile edge after considering how clean I’d planned this to be. My mother hadn’t cared about cleanliness, her blood had stained the grout in her and Dad’s bathroom, causing him to tear out the whole room, else be reminded of her demise daily.
My emotional numbness remains in place; not even this dire moment makes my brain try to respond in survival. I thought it might, that I might have just one more moment of feeling something before this was all done but maybe it’s a mercy that I don’t. A mercy to be spared the regret of my decision because I know I would. If I could feel, I’d regret everything up till now. Everything that led to this moment.
Dizziness has my head spinning as I lie down in the tub; it shouldn’t be long now.
I’m still holding the phone in one hand but realize that I’ve dropped the wine glass on the very tile I thought I’d crack my head open on; so much for this being a clean affair. There is one last thing I want to do, what is it? Urgency escalates my confusion until I look at the phone in my hand again. Painstakingly I make the call, the ringtone echoes in the bathroom, the only sounds other than the drops of water.
The sounds of water are soothing in their hypnotic song. I forget what I’m doing until the phone starts to make other sounds.
“Charlotte? Are you there?” Matthew’s voice makes me blink. That’s right, I called him. It hadn’t been a part of the plan prior to medicating myself but now that I lie on the edge, priorities have shifted.
“Matthew… I just wanted to say goodbye… and I love you,” my words slur. It surprises me that I say the last part, but it feels right to end on the truth when so much of my life has been about avoidance. I start to drift; Matthew’s voice still comes through the phone.
“Charlotte, what are you talking about? Where are you? Charlotte? Charlotte?!” His voice stops and I frown at my empty hand. The phone is now at the bottom of the tub. My hand drops and I count my breaths while I still can, listening to the music of the water droplets before the pain starts. I don’t count for long.
Pain spears into me, I’m dying. I thrash and dryly scream as horror wretches the breath from my throat. My chest is tight, as if I’m being stabbed. My body is all warmth while my insides are ice. Warm arms cradle me and I’m not alone.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Charlotte.” The words break through before I can even make sense of them. All I feel is the pain, the loss, but Matthew’s naked body holds mine and I start to return to this reality. The dream was a reality, it had been so clear, so unlike the couple of moments I had experienced up until now.
“I didn’t want you to have to remember but I also didn’t want to take anything from you. Didn’t want to change anything about you,” he says.
I push away, out of Matthew’s arms. We’re both sitting up in my bed, the room is painted in moonlight. I look anywhere but at the bathroom; the dream haunts me. I don’t want to be pulled back into the specifics of this memory; I just need answers.
“Tell me Matthew, what did you need to tell me before? That I attempted suicide?” White noise takes up space in my mind. The look of devastation on Matthew’s face is real and everything feels like it’s crumbling. “I died. I died in that bathtub, I felt it, but you revived me?”
Matthew doesn’t respond, but some part of me knows, an intrinsic knowledge, that my heart never started beating again.
“No… Noooo.” It comes out like a wail. Matthew’s arms come up, as if to hold me again, wrap me up in protection, but I bat them away.
“What did you do?” I’m here, my heart is racing, tears line my eyes. I’m here and not in a grave so something had to have happened.
“I brought you back.” Matthew looks like a man facing his final judgment, unrepentant of his crime. He regards me as if I’m his judge and executioner.
“Brought me back… Like you?” My voice is a weak sound when he nods. “How was that even possible?”
How can I have all the memories I have, act the way I do, if I’m only a programmed machine?
Matthew shrugs. “Clark was an evil genius sometimes; he had that personality reader that he used to collect attributes placed in your cranial implant as he tested it. Left it there when it proved to work.”
The shock in me is a violent and painful thing. “What?”
He would have had to do that shortly after I got it installed, when we were going in and out of the research hospital.
“I saw some of his files about it when I was cleaning up his workshop. I was going to tell you about the device, but our relationship wasn’t in a place where you would listen to me.” He is right, and wrong, about that. I know I wouldn’t have responded well at all, but it was a big deal. It probably had seemed like a small thing to him.
