For some reason, no matter how I attempt to upload these parts (Word, HTML, RTF), something is stripping away about half of my "italics" codes. This is important (at least to me), since I've used italics to indicate Mort's thoughts, but (to be honest here) I'm so tired of fooling with things that won't upload or attach properly that I've just about quit caring. I hope you all can follow it without all the italics. If not, I'm posting the story to my Live Journal too. However (big warning here), as it becomes appropriate, the version there will be the NC-17 rated one, while this is the R-rated one. Please choose the version appropriate for your age and your sensibilities.
Neither of these guys are mine. No copyright infringement intended and all that.This continues to be for Miss Becky, with love and immense gratitude!
Secrets
by Melody Wilde
Part 4
Amy was snuggling against his back, her chin resting lightly on his shoulder, her lips teasing his earlobe, her fingers slipping down his stomach. Some distant part of him knew that this wasn't right—that she didn't love him anymore, that she'd never be his pretty little wife again—but it didn't matter at that moment, as she unbuttoned his jeans and worked the zipper downward. Amy, my beautiful Amy. Oh god, how he'd missed her!
Her hand was deep inside his clothing now, inside his shorts, grasping him just…oh shit, there, touching him the way she knew he loved to be touched, stroking, bringing his body to aching life. He turned toward her with a groan…
"Good morning."
His eyes snapped open. The face staring back at him was not his wife's. Dreaming. I was dreaming. But I can feel…oh shit...
Bain tilted his head slightly and raised his eyebrows in apology. "I'm sorry. You were sleeping so deeply…I just couldn't resist." He removed his hand, slowly, dancing fingertips up across Mort's belly.
"Jesus," Mort breathed, trying to scoot away from the other man. "You...you..."
Bain lifted himself onto one elbow. "You didn't seem to mind so much," he said mildly.
No, I sure didn't seem to mind so much. Shit shit shit. Mort could feel his erection straining against the front of his jeans. Peachy. Just peachy keen.
"Would you like for me to continue? I would enjoy that, very much."
Bain's voice was soft. Seductive. For just a heartbeat, Mort wondered what it would be like—what would happen if he said yes. It felt good, no getting around that, felt damn good to have somebody touching me like that. It's been so fucking long... No, wait, stop thinking with the other head and get real here. Oh yeah, that's a really great idea. Let him start touching you. Sure, it would feel good, but then what. Then he's going to want you to reciprocate. Only he isn't going to stop with just the touching, now is he.
Mort twisted his body away from Bain's as much as possible and shook his head. "No."
"Ah. Too bad." Bain rolled out of bed and reached for his jeans. "I would have made sure that you, also, enjoyed it, very much." He pulled a dark t-shirt over his head. "Would you like to shower? I have already done so, as you slept."
Actually, yes, I'd like a shower and I'd like to piss and I'd like to do something—do it myself, though, and in private—about this boner.
"Are you going to keep me tied up like this?"
"No." Bain perched on the side of the bed and began to undo the bonds around Mort's ankles. "There is no need. I have checked your house for weapons and removed anything that you could use to harm yourself."
"Don't you mean things I could use to harm you?" The words were out before he could stop them.
Bain's smile was feral. "No. Because you could not harm me. If you attempted to do so, I would be forced to…" Another wave of his hand, a wave which spoke volumes. "To stop you."
And he could. No doubt about it. He does things like this for a living.
Bain reached for Mort's wrists and gave a wicked smile. "Do you need help with your shower?"
"No."
Bain laughed as he undid the last knot and stood. "Then I will go and fix breakfast. Take your time."
Mort knew it was pointless, but he still locked the bathroom door behind him before he stripped and reached into the shower to turn on the water. He adjusted the temperature, then straightened and stared down at himself in disgust. Okay, first things first.
He stepped into the tub, slid the doors closed, and flipped the lever to make the water flow over him. It felt good, pouring down through his hair, over his shoulders, down his body. He enjoyed that sensation for a moment before reaching down to grasp himself.
Let's just take matters in hand here and get it over with. Shit, I can't believe I'm doing this. And I can't believe he's the one who caused it.
He leaned against the shower wall, braced himself, and set his fingers in motion. Unbidden, the image of Bain, performing this same act the night before, sprang to his mind, followed by the memory of the hand on him in the dream-that-was-not-a-dream. He caught his breath at his body's response.
Fine. Then I'll think about that. Whatever works.
He began to stroke, slowly, then faster, his head tipping back to rest against the wall, lower lip catching between his teeth, moving faster, harder, until, with a muffled groan, he came.
I haven't come that hard since I was a horny teenager. What the fuck is going on here?
He didn't want to pursue that line of thought, so he busied himself with finishing his shower, shaving, and dressing.
Bain was standing at the foot of the steps when he finally forced himself to go downstairs. "You took so long, I was beginning to be afraid the food would go cold."
"Sorry." Mort walked past him, heading for the kitchen. He dropped into one of the chairs and reached for the cup of coffee waiting for him. Bain sat across from him, his expression bland.
He's acting like we're just a normal couple having breakfast, not a madman and his prisoner. Stephen King would love this scenario. Oh wait...Stephen King wrote this scenario. Amy and I watched the movie and laughed and said something like that could never happen. Ha ha ha.
"You will want these." Bain held out the wire-rimmed glasses. "I do not think they were damaged."
Mort took them, gave them a cursory inspection, then settled them onto his face. The right nose piece hurt like a son of a bitch, and he lifted them, shifting the weight.
"I have been thinking of the things that must be done today," Bain began. "I believe the first thing we must do is contact your agent and straighten out your misunderstanding. We would not want him to come here to check on you."
Maybe you wouldn't, but I might. No, he corrected himself immediately. Herb would be no match for this man. Bain would kill him without a thought.
"All right."
"I thought you would argue." Bain seemed mildly surprised.
"Why? You've got the gun."
"It will not always be like this, Mort."
Oh shit, now what? Does he think we can go back to being friends? After this? Does he think we're going to settle down together and live happily ever after? That we will be a normal couple someday?
"After you make the call, I need to go into town for food. I have been looking at your shelves and your refrigerator…" He shook his head and made a disapproving sound. "There are many things we will need. And I would like to speak with some of the townspeople."
"Can I go too?"
Bain laughed. "You are a funny man, Mort Rainey. You will be tied to your bed, of course, and gagged, in case anyone comes by. I am sorry," and damned if he doesn't sound sincere about that, "but you must see that it is a necessity. Now..." Bain stood. "Eat your breakfast so we can begin."
Herb's secretary put Mort on hold for less than thirty seconds before she connected him to his agent. One of the perks of being a best-selling author—no waiting in line. Oh, but say, Herb, bad news for you if Bain should decide to kill me. No more novels from TashmoreLake's resident author/pariah.
"Mort! Good to hear from you!"
Mort couldn't help thinking that Herb's voice was disgustingly jovial, considering the situation his best client was currently in. "Yeah," he said shortly. "Look, we seem to have gotten our wires crossed on this rental thing."
"What's this about the man you said I sent out?"
"My mistake. I misunderstood him. But it's okay."
"How did he get your address?"
"A friend of mine told him about the place. Suggested he drop by and meet with me." Oh yeah, one of my hundreds of friends, but Herb doesn't know what a fucking lie that is. "He did, and he likes it, and he's going to take it."
"I'd rather you'd let me check him out first, but...hey... That's great. So when can we expect you in New York?"
Good question. Good, good question. "I'm not sure. He has to bring some stuff in and I need to get some stuff out. It'll be several days. I'll let you know."
"Okay, then. I'll pull the ads and see you…whenever. Take care."
"Yeah. You too, Herb."
He held the receiver, clinging to it, for a long moment after Herb had hung up. Then Bain reached out to take it from him and replace it on the cradle.
"You did well."
"Yeah. I did well. Peachy."
At least Bain had tried to make him comfortable, placing padding between the bindings and his skin, hauling pillows up from the couch to prop around his body, asking several times if he was sure he could breathe around the gag. But the end result was the same. Tied to my own fucking bed again, like some cheap porno star.
After Bain left, Mort struggled against the ropes for a long time, knowing it was useless, but trying anyway. Finally, wrists and ankles bruised, exhausted, he gave up. Okay. Deep breaths. Relax. This isn't doing any good. Bain's a professional. My best bet is to settle back and wait.
He lay watching the sun creep across the wall, wondering how much time had passed. He tried to think about the plot of his book, where he would live if...when...he got away from the cabin, anything but what was happening now. What was going to happen at some point in the future. Considering the way Bain touched me this morning, probably the very near future.
Amazingly, he slept for a while, waking to find late afternoon shadows in the room. Oh Jesus, what if he decided not to come back. What if something happened to him, a car wreck or a shoot-out with the new sheriff or a fight with somebody in town or… No. I'm not going to panic. I could die here and nobody would know. I'm not going to panic.
He began to struggle again, jerking with a force that shook the bed, hissing at the pain. He didn't hear the car, or the front door, or the approaching footsteps. He was unaware of Bain's return until a shadow fell across him and he looked up into the assassin's face.
Honest to god, I don't know whether I'm glad to see him or scared shitless that he came back.
"Mort." Shaking his head, Bain sat beside him and gently removed the gag. "Be still. You will do yourself harm."
Mort worked his jaw and licked his lips, then tried to speak. "I thought…"
"You thought I was not coming back to you?" Bain looked pleased. "You should know that I would never leave you like this. Never. And I am sorry for taking so long. I became involved in some…interesting conversations with your neighbors." He stroked Mort's cheek. "Very interesting. Would you like to hear the tales they told me?"
The fingers continued to move, sliding down his jaw, beneath his ear, up around the curving earpiece of his glasses, brushing the top of his ear, back down. A part of Mort wanted to cringe away, as frightened by the gentle touches as he would have been by violence...but another part wanted to turn his head into the caress. Oh shit. He shuddered.
"I wish you were not so afraid of me. It will make things more difficult later."
Later. The fear won. Mort bit the inside of his jaw to keep from whimpering.
"But for now..." He loosened Mort's hands, shaking his head at the marks on the thin wrists. "This must have hurt."
"Yes." Mort rubbed first one wrist, then the other, as Bain untied his feet.
"Come downstairs. I brought in some food, and I bought a bottle of wine. We will talk."
Mort waited until Bain was gone, then sat up and swung his legs to the floor. Later. Oh shit. He dropped his head into his hands. I can't.
"Mort?"
He forced himself to his feet and went back downstairs.
The take-out was excellent, the best food Mort had eaten since his last quick trip to New York City, six months before. As they ate, Bain spoke in generalities about the beauty of the lake and the calm outer surface of the town. "This would be a good place to live, if the people were not so hostile to you."
Yes, it was a good place, until Amy and Ted decided to ruin it for me, just like they ruined everything for me.
"Leave the mess. Come." Bain rose, picking up the wine and a pair of glasses, and headed toward the couch. Reluctantly, Mort followed.
"Sit, sit." Bain had made himself comfortable and was uncorking the bottle. "This is one of my favorites." The cork popped free and he sniffed it, then held it out to Mort.
Mort shook his head and sat on the other end of the couch, tucking one leg under the other. Bain poured, handed him a glass, and then raised his own. "To a better future."
Whatever that means, and I don't think I want to think about what it means.
He nodded and let Bain clink their glasses together, then leaned back.
"Ah. This is good." Bain sipped the wine. "I will not attempt to tell you the names of all the people I spoke with today, but be assured that I will remember them. I told them that you had left—gone to New York—and that I would be living here alone for a time. They all told me how glad they were to see you go. I said I could not understand this, why they would shun a famous author such as yourself. Do you know what they told me?"
"That I killed my wife and her boyfriend." Mort heard the bitterness in his voice. He made a face and took a sip of the wine. Damn! It is good.
"Is it true?"
He's serious. He is seriously asking if I murdered two people. I fucking can't believe it.
"No, it's not true," he snapped. "They ran away together because I was being a butthead and wouldn't sign the divorce papers." He took another swallow of the wine. "They vanished without a trace and left me with everybody thinking I killed them and…I don't know…buried them in the back yard or something."
"Your wife and her...friend. They must be terrible people, to do such a thing to you."
Terrible? Yes. No. Amy wasn't. At least, I don't think she was. Sometimes I wonder if I ever really knew Amy. But Ted… Yeah, he's a terrible person. There's nothing that fucker wouldn't do.
"Tell me about them."
"Why?"
Bain looked surprised. "Because what I know has been learned from newspaper gossip. From the people of the town. I would like to know what really happened. The truth."
The truth. I've been telling the truth for over three years now, and look where it's gotten me. The only friend I have in the world is a crazy fan who happens to be an assassin and...Woah. Where did that come from? Friend?
"Mort?"
"All right. You want the truth..." He tossed back the rest of the wine, nodding when Bain leaned forward to refill the glass. "About four years ago, I started thinking that my wife was cheating on me..."
Once he began to talk, he couldn't seem to stop. He told Bain about the terrible night when he had found Amy and Ted in bed at the motel. About the long, empty months afterwards, when he couldn't write one coherent sentence. About the day John Shooter had appeared to wreak havoc in his life. About Amy and Ted vanishing, and the way the town had turned against him. About how long he had been alone and friendless...
Bain listened quietly, his face sympathetic, moving only to be sure Mort's glass stayed full as the hurt and the anger spilled out. And at last Mort was finished. He fell silent, his head drooping, and Bain spoke for the first time.
"Do you think this Shooter might have killed them?" Bain asked quietly.
"I don't know. It was just…one day he was gone and then a few weeks later everybody realized that they were gone. Maybe." He'd considered that possibility, but he'd never admitted it to anyone else. It would've raised even more questions, more suspicions. No, it's easier just to stick to the party line, even to myself. They went away together, to live happily ever after. The end.
"Did you ever try to find them?"
He shook his head, then grabbed the back of the sofa for support. Jeez, I'm dizzy. How much wine did I have? He looked over at the bottle. The almost empty bottle. Oh fucking hell.
"Mort?" Bain's voice was very very soft. "You do not have to be alone, you know."
His breath caught in his throat at the expression in the assassin's eyes. No. No.
"I knew there was fire and passion in you, if only you would release it. Such fire. Such passion." Bain smiled, then leaned forward and lay a hand on Mort's shoulder. "I believe it is time to turn those things from your wife and put them to...better uses."
Bain slanted his face and touched his lips to Mort's, quickly, lightly. "I believe it is time to go upstairs."
No. I can't...you can't... No...