A/N: Much love to my reviewers and readers! Hope you're all doing well! If you ever want to talk I'm on AIM and Yahoo under oc1971jn.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Chumming the waters
Another motel. She was sick of them. Only an hour away from Gotham Jack had told Jake to find a place to stay for the night. "Something cheap and dirty. You know, where no one notices anyone."
After driving around the town of Blüdhaven Jake had spotted a desolate little rathole called the Blue Haven.
"Why not just drive on til we get to Gotham?" She'd asked when Jake left to rent the rooms. "We're close enough."
"Because." Jack had answered simply.
And now here they were. As soon as they'd slunk into the room and drawn the curtains he'd pounced on her, pinning her against the wall.
"I need to get this out of my system," he whispered. "Can't have any distractions when we get back. Got it?"
"You distract yourself, don't blame me." She leaned her head back and eyed him with a smirk.
His response was to shove her onto the ancient bed. Samantha glowered up at him, more turned on than angry but not about to let him see it. Not yet anyway.
"Well well. Looks like you're coming out of your little, ah, limbo state. So...now that you're back I've got a job for you. Take your clothes off. Don't fuck around either. Make it quick. And take your hair down." His tone was smooth and icy, utterly in command.
She took the band out of her hair but took her time with her clothes. No point in making it easy for him. And, she realized, she needed this. Despite what had happened with her father and despite the fog of anguish she'd been in she needed it desperately.
"Come on," he hissed, hovering over the bed. His tongue slid over his lips in a quick sweep as he watched her. "Come on. Take 'em off or I'll rip 'em off. COME ON."
Samantha looked up at him, smiling. What was the fun of making it easy for him?
"No," she whispered, hand lingering over the buttons of her shirt. "I think you need to ask nicely. As a matter of fact, I think you need to beg." She grinned mockingly, knowing that would drive him over the edge.
A guttural snarl that sounded like the word bitch and he was on top of her. Buttons scattered all over the bed as he ripped her shirt open. A moment later and her jeans and underwear were pulled down to her ankles. Through it all she stared at him, smile firmly in place.
"Oh you wanna play huh?" He rasped, fumbling for his zipper.
She nodded slowly, letting her challenging smile fade. He was pressed against her, hard and insistent, and it was difficult for her to keep her composure.
It was his turn to grin. One look at his hooded eyes and she knew he'd gained the upper hand. That was fine. Like him she wanted this, had to have it. Heat raged through her body, that old familiar feeling of temporary insanity, of wanting him to do everything to her. It was fire, dread, shame and an indescribable lust.....all messily wrapped in a layer of love and disgust.
"You're gonna......you're gonna do whatever I want." His voice was halting, teetering on the edge of control.
Then he was inside her in one vicious movement, his thrusts making the bedsprings creak wildly. His slender hands crept to her throat, caressing and squeezing. She let him, ready to hit him if he got too carried away. With Jack there was always that chance, he could never be fully trusted, not even by her.
In a few more minutes she was begging, wanting him to do whatever he wished. Not so long ago she wouldn't have dreamed of pushing her luck that far. But now......
"Oh I'm gonna babe," he told her, his breath hot in her ear. "Don't worry about that. I'm gonna rip you up tonight."
She ran her fingers over the fresh toothmarks on her shoulders and the nape of her neck. Her wrists and arms were already starting to bruise. In the morning she would be terribly sore.
Jack slept peacefully next to her. Odd that she was the one who was wide awake, normally it was the other way around. She looked over at him, at the healing cuts on his chest and torso. Those were courtesy of her, the newest ones from a week ago. He bore other scars, the worst on his left shoulder. They were angry and pink, the healing skin still shiny. Jack had once told her the Batman had given them to him. Something about the Prewitt building, the night Harvey Dent lost his mind and the Bat made a martyr of himself, before Jack had come back to her. Might as well have been a hundred years ago.
You need to stop fucking around and do something about Dominic.
Samantha frowned and lit a cigarette. Jack was hellbent on going back to Gotham, she knew she couldn't change his mind. As to why he'd abruptly changed his mind about leaving the city for a while....that made her wonder. It wasn't just because she'd become a liability since her father's death, it couldn't be just that.
No, she decided, he'd probably intended on returning to Gotham all along. He'd known Dominic had awakened and that he might have to be dealt with. The "vacation" thing had been a game, something to make her wonder. Jack was capricious enough for that to make sense.
But the hows and whys of his actions didn't really matter. What mattered was keeping Dominic alive. It was difficult to worry about him. Not after losing so many people she cared about. When it came down to it Dominic wasn't very important, almost a stranger to her. Nevertheless he was in danger because of her, had been shot because of her.
He'll be the last. I'll do what I can for him....but after that I'm staying away from everyone. It'll be me and Jack or just me alone. No more. No one else will die because of me.
Jack extended a hand to her, ragged nails scraping into her flesh as he ran his fingers over her thigh. He was still asleep, as near as she could tell anyway. Samantha stubbed her cigarette out and stroked his arm. His skin was smooth and warm, here in the darkness she could almost believe he was merely a man, someone she loved and nothing more. Not dangerous, not a sociopath. Just an ordinary man lying next to her.
And then it came to her, unbidden and shameful yet infinitely true:
She was glad he wasn't an ordinary man. She was coming to terms with what Jack was, more than she ever had. Right and wrong were becoming increasingly blurred. The love she felt for him had corrupted her and now she couldn't go back. Her simple life was gone.
Too late for you. Too late.
A/N: This is a little late but I figured I'd throw it out there. I sort of modeled Sam's dad (Ben) after Michael Lohan. Not his looks (Ben was supposed to be dazzlingly good-looking in his youth) but that sleazy, con-man, horrible father air Mr. Lohan has about him.
And NO, Sam is not modeled in any way shape or form after Lindsay, haha. She's a mix of Adriana from "The Sopranos", some people I've known in the past, and a tiny bit of me. Uh, a very tiny bit.
