Chapter Thirteen: Love Hurts
Harley's lips descended upon Mr. J's mouth, devouring his voice before he could whip up some witty words to wrest her from her lust. Greedy fingers tore at his shirt to find skin, his blood gathering under her nails as she raked them across his fresh wound. Unlike her, pain wasn't a pleasurable sensation for him and she felt his muscles tense under her from the onslaught, although he showed no outward sign of discomfort. Turnabout was fair play, she thought, as she licked at his lips. He was barely responding to her advances, his head turning with her lips as she kissed his scars with passion. His heart wasn't in it. But the slight movement from him was encouragement enough and it placated her.
Straightening up, she looked down at her prize with glee. He was not pleased with her, she could tell, but Harley was not put off by his disappointment. She had the power. His hands twisted within the cuffs, staring at her as though deciding how best to dissect her, his eyes occasionally flickering down her body with disinterest. Placing the edge of the blade at hollow of his throat, she smiled, reminded of their first lust-filled moment in her office when she made a tiny slice on his throat and followed it up by licking the wound with vigor. He hadn't expected the gesture and the arousal that he felt from it had been extremely evident, at the time. Ever since, it had become a ritual with her whenever he'd allow her access to his knives. Tonight, though, she would forgo it. Harley was determined to make this experience different than anything they'd ever shared before.
"I wonder if you still taste like pudding," she said, lifting her hand from his chest and sucking her blood-soaked index finger into her mouth. Savoring the taste of her reward, she moaned, her hips bucking against his pelvis.
"This isn't doing a thing for me, Harley," Mr. J said, his eyes as cold as ever. Stubborn Mr. J, always wanting to ruin her fun. To take control in the only way he had left and he was damn good at controlling his body's reaction to her.
Disappointed that the fruits of her grinding weren't blossoming beneath her, she pouted down at him. "I guess I'll have to work harder then, Mr. J."
She ripped the knife down the front of his shirt, tearing the fabric away, his scarred chest revealed to her eager eyes. She bent over, licking at his throat before her tongue trailed down his chest, tracing the edges of the scarring below his neck. His skin was magnificent to her, serving as a blemished reminder that she wasn't the only freak in the world. Crimson smeared all around his torso from her groping hands, turning him in a god of blood. She adored every curve of him, every flaw, worshiping his very existence with her hands and tongue.
Harley paused for a moment, distracted by a thought that crossed her mind. "Have you ever thought about piercing your nipples? That would be hot. I could do it for you, if you like."
"No," was all his said. His tone was unhappy, bordering on hateful even.
"Your loss," she said, before swiping her tongue over his left nipple. Many nights of passion with him had taught her that he was as sensitive to the gesture as she. The evidence of that became apparent between her thighs as she felt him tense up again, this time in a good way. Her tongue flicked across the tiny bud, drawing deep breaths from him, his eyes closing to enjoy her attention. Then she moved to the other nipple, drawing circles around it. A low rumble came from his chest in appreciation, like a tiger purring.
Stretching down over him, she directed her attention his belt, deft fingers removing it with ease. The leather slapped deliciously against the hard wood floor as it landed behind her. A quick flick to open the button on his black jeans, and then she eased her lithe body up an inch to lower the zipper. With practiced hands, she slid his pants down, barely enough to release his erection. Grasping it in her hand, she discovered it wasn't as full as she needed it to be. She shifted herself down his muscled body, pulling the pants with her as she went. Mindful of his free legs, she pinned them under the weight of her torso. She didn't want him flailing about while she was pleasuring him. It was amazing that an instrument that could bring forth such beautiful ecstasy was as delicate as it was.
With a smirk up to him, her tongue darted out, swirling around the tip. His involuntary gasp told her that despite his frustration with his bondage, he was relishing the feel of her soft considerations in every nerve of his body. Pleased with his appreciation, her hungry mouth took him in, tongue rolling against the sensitive point just under the head before she devoured him entirely. It didn't take long to get him rock hard and ready, a bit of his delicious seed trickling into her mouth like ambrosia. Mr. J always tasted like heaven to her, but somehow he tasted even sweeter, tonight. She cupped his balls gently in her hand, massaging them, as she continued to suck him in and out of her mouth.
His hips bucked up at her, his cock pushing back further into her throat as his tight muscles began to relax under her intense servicing. Her eyes occasionally shot up to watch his reactions, his pupils widening with each motion, pleasure overtaking his faculties. He met her eyes, and she felt herself melt inside. Since the beginning, it was his eyes that took her in, made her obsess over him, eventually desire him. His eyes that never left hers as she gave herself to him. And seeing them filled with lust, in this moment, created tingles across her skin and moisture gathered between her thighs. She couldn't wait anymore. Harley had to feel him inside her.
Lifting her mouth from him, a wicked smile playing across her lips, she straddled him again and rubbed her wetness against his cock, sighing in pleasure as her clit was stimulated with every movement. "You seem to be enjoying this now, Mr. J."
"A common gutterslut could do the same." His words were harsh but the demanding look of sheer need in his eyes told her everything. He desired her warm body pressed against his, her slick wetness around him.
She maneuvered her hand down between them, wrapping her fingers around his hardness, and placed him at her entrance. "I am anything but common," Harley said, before impaling herself upon him.
The feel of the penetration overwhelmed her senses with joy, filled to the brim with his essence. Too long she had gone without his presence inside of her, invading her core. She took a moment to revel in the beauty of their connection before beginning a slow, but steady rhythm. Her hands pushed at his chest as she bore down on him, adjusting only slightly so his cock could rub against the sensitive spot inside her walls. She moaned with every pass, her thighs widening further to take more of him inside her. As she began to move faster, the clinking of his handcuffs against the metal of the headboard grew louder, adding to the squeaking of the mattress.
Her hands rose to her breasts to tease her nipples, heightening her pleasure. Every stroke caused her to shudder slightly and she knew she was almost at the brink. Closing her eyes, she leaned back, letting Mr. J watch her in her pre-orgasmic glory. Then she sliced the blade across her stomach and the pain sent her over the edge into pure ecstasy. The knife fell from her grip as she shook with pleasure, lost in her own world of exquisite satisfaction. It was the strongest climax she had ever had with him, the surge of victory and adrenalin coursing through her veins. Her mind fled away from her body as the convulsions jerked her body around, screams fleeing from her throat. Her orgasm was powerful and transcendent, a mirror for herself.
She collapsed onto his chest, her inner muscles still clenching and unclenching around him, keeping him hard within her. Panting hard against his skin, she needed time to recover from the bliss of her climax. Cheek pressed firmly against his chest, she smiled. "Just give me a moment and I'll finish you off too, darling."
Evil laughter rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against her face. "No need," he said. "I'll take it from here."
Her eyes widened at the statement, just as his uncuffed hands closed around her throat. He wrenched her limp body off him, showing a strength that most people underestimated. She choked as his fingers dug in, wondering how the hell he got free. Knowing Mr. J, he must have had a few tricks just for such an occasion that she never considered. He slid off the bed, removing one hand from her windpipe, loosening his hold just long enough for her to take in a much needed breath before his other hand adjusted and closed off her air again. With his free hand, he pushed off the remainder of his pants, watching her eyes for signs of suffocation. His idea of foreplay often included asphyxiation, and her breath control increased with each passing session.
Harley tried to reach the blade that had slipped from her fingers, but a warning glance from Mr. J told her that it might be the last thing she ever did. She had seen that look in his eyes before, but never before had it been used on her. They had only played at it. This was the first time she actually believed he would do it. His eyes were full of rage, his anger sending tremors through his body. Harley couldn't understand the reaction. Their dance had always been a back and forth. He had never shown her such fury before. And then the memory hit her of the night in her apartment. The night he escaped. The night when she had canceled his therapy session because she was too tired to work that day. It was the one thing that she had control of in their relationship, their time together. And he had come after her in a rage for shunning him, terrifying her to tears.
"You thought you won," he spat in her face, releasing his grip to allow her a gasping breath before tightening again. "Do you know who you're playing with, girl?" He physically shook her by her neck to emphasize his words.
His free hand grappled her hair roughly, jerking her from the bed. Every instinct inside of her told her to run from his crazed wrath before he lost complete control of himself. Her hands yanked at the fingers around her throat, desperately trying to break free. All she wanted to do was get away but he was too strong for her. She would have whimpered in his grasp if she had the air. Instead, she was pushed towards the wall, where a support beam was embedded, its wooden surface extended out from the wall by a few inches. Above her head was another set of handcuffs, hung from a metal nail, making it easy to spin her if he so desired. It wasn't her first time standing there. But she feared it might be her last.
Mr. J's hand in her hair loosened, drawing down the side of her face towards her throat. Her fingers were still prying at the other hand there, in a futile attempt to breathe. Her body was weakened from lack of oxygen, so it was no effort for him to capture her wrists. As her vision began to darken around the edges, he released her throat, allowing her to suck in grateful breath, coughing with vigor despite her bruised windpipe. He raised her hands above her, securing her in the handcuffs and swung her around to face the wall. The balls of her feet barely touched the ground in this position. She was helpless. And at a madman's mercy.
Her head was yanked back again by the hair, his breath hot against her ear. "Tsk, task, Harley. Taking what isn't yours. You aren't going to forget this lesson for a long time. That is, if I decide to keep you." Then he pushed her head forward, slamming her forehead harshly into the wall.
Her vision ran red again, but this time from the blood that seeped from her cracked skull into her eyelashes. Sound became muted in her ears, a sign that she was close to blacking out. Although the gesture sparked her pleasure centers, she wouldn't allow herself to feel it, choosing to hang limply from the handcuffs in defeat. It wasn't a submissive gesture. Submissives begged for more. No, Harley was giving up. She had no more fight left in her. He could do as he wished, and she would let him. Because her heart was breaking inside of her chest with each passing second. She tried, she really tried. Gave him the best and worst of herself, showed him the feral beast that hid within her depths. Made him see that she could handle herself without his guiding hand. But the bastard was either too selfish or too damaged to let her slip from his control.
In her head, she imagined three roads in front of her. The first road led her to continue as the willing punching bag of the man behind her. She could endure that path and watch her passion wither away into oblivion. The second road led straight to death. Death by his hands, in this moment or the next time he lost his cool. And the third led to escape. A real escape. Not just hiding out in some motel, praying he never came looking for her. With or without him present, she would never truly be free of him. Although it tore her heart to pieces to even consider it, her only freedom would come with his demise.
Mr. J's hands wrapped around her waist, turning her to face him once more, his wild eyes boring a hole right through her, diving deep into her numbed soul. He couldn't stop himself, taking up his blade and carving into her stomach, softly humming a tune. The same tune she heard in her visions from the fear toxin. And at last, she recognized it as The Bonnie Banks O' Loch Lomond. Mr. J's tune wasn't quite right though, creepier. Hummed in a minor key. A song her father used to sing to her as a child. But that wasn't why it bothered her. It was the lyrics. The high road, the low road. Two lovers never meeting again. It sent a shudder through her, shaking the canvas of her body, much to his annoyance.
"Move again and I will write this on every limb of your body."
Even with her head hanging down, she couldn't see the word being carved into her flesh, there was too much blood. The ache in her body didn't radiate with any sort of enjoyment. It existed and that was all. She couldn't be bothered to label the sensation, just let it roll over her senses apathetically. He finished with a flourish of his knife, turning her back towards the wall again. Again, the knife sliced her open, just below the claw marks on her shoulder blades. She could feel his hands at her, cradling her body like an art project, the metallic scent of blood in the air. His tongue lapped at the blood when he completed his ministrations, his hands pulling her hips back to his waiting cock.
He entered her, lips grunting against her bleeding skin. The blood glided down her body on both sides, like water, tickling her toes as it dripped to the floor. His hands brutally gripped her hips with bruising force and despite her emotional numbness, his quick and hard thrusts were making her wet again. His movements hit her sensitive flesh within, deliberately, commanding her body to feel the pleasure he was allowing her to experience. The smack of bodies slapping together reverberated throughout the room, his pace never slowing as he grunted and groaned against her back, pumping into her as hard as he could. Unwilling, her body found itself on the edge for the second time, waiting for that final sting of agony to crash over. But even as her lips moaned her thrill, Harley knew he would never let her get there, keeping her on the brink as long as his stamina could hold.
Pleasure can be as much of a torture as pain, to some. Every nerve on fire, waiting for something to put put out the flames. There was a peace to be found in orgasm, a moment when the mind clears and nothing matters. Tantrics believed that bliss could be found before that final moment, but they had never walked in her skin, felt the way her body reacted. Everything until she climaxed was frenzied chaos and dripping viscera in her head. She shook against the handcuffs, her body needing that ending, but he laughed behind her, reaching around with one hand to stroke her clit. The gesture intensified her urgency tenfold, her body breaking into painful spasms. And it was real pain. A suffering that she had never truly felt in years. Mr. J finally found a way to break her completely, as she screamed with the torment he was inflicting upon her.
After what seemed like hours of anguish, he slowed, grunting loudly as he released his seed inside of her. A few more thrusts to empty himself completely and then he slipped out of her, spinning her back around to face him. Harley was near psychosis, tears streaming down her face from the pain, but now also, from the relief, the absence of his torment. His grin widened, staring at her lips before gazing into her eyes.
"I always wondered how you would look with these scars," he said, touching the raised ridges of his Glasgow grin. "Nighty, night, Harley." Then he slammed the back of her head into the wall behind her. Darkness clouded her vision and she fell into the dreamless sleep of limbo.
Harley expected the cold cement floor of the basement to greet her, if she ever woke again. But instead, the hard wood floor of their bedroom was the first sight in her distorted vision. She was slumped against the wall, her neck at an odd angle, but she was alive. Mr. J hadn't bothered to move her, just simply dropped her body from the handcuffs after he knocked her out, she supposed. Everything in her body ached, but it was the ache of the living, a reminder that he hadn't slit her throat in a fit of rage. Carefully, she got to her feet, fighting against the wooziness that threatened to drop her again and stumbled her way towards the bathroom to inspect the damage left upon her flesh.
As she didn't feel her cheeks split or mass amounts of blood in her mouth, she knew he hadn't gone through with his final threat, but the mirror revealed a carved smile on each side of her lips. Gentle, almost a scratch, but enough to leave a brief impression. It wouldn't scar her permanently, though. His way of reminding her of what he was capable of, as if she hadn't seen the bodies piled up at his feet. Caked blood smeared down her face from the wound in her forehead, dried into a repulsive brown. Crimson streaked through her hair, both in the front and the back of her head. And although the bruises hadn't yet appeared, she knew there would be a purple hand print curving the lines of her neck in good time.
She wet a washcloth to wipe away as much as she could, rinsing and repeating until she could see the pale, almost translucent skin beneath. She had never seen herself so pale, dark circles under her eyes. There was no color to her cheeks, her eyes deadened as she watched herself. The blood loss must have been greater than she originally estimated.
"At least you're alive, girl," she said to her reflection.
Backing away, she looked down the mirror to examine her stomach where a word was carved into the flesh. MINE. Period included, to accent the word. Intentionally made to scar. She would wear that word for the rest of her life, never forgetting who put it there. The faded J paled in comparison. Her body was littered with tiny lacerations from the broken mirror. A slice across her shoulder, presumably from the same fight. And across her upper stomach, the cut she gave herself in the height of her pleasure. Harley reached forward to touch the mirror with a sigh. Never before had she taken so much damage in one day. She was a survivor, sure, but she began to wonder if some part of her wanted to die.
She turned to put her back in view, gazing just below the claw marks. The same letters. MINE. Trails of reddish brown cascaded down her body, all the way to her toes, but she couldn't bring herself to wash it all away. The blood was her escape, her constant companion reminding her of who she was living with. Her forehead leaned against the mirror and an enraged scream erupted from her lungs, her fists beating against the sink in frustration. She knew what she had to do. Mr. J had sealed the deal with a rage that refused to compete with her own. His need for control, for dominance over her had killed everything that had been good about their relationship. Her mind immediately went into survival mode. It was time to get out.
"Everything has an ending," she whispered to the air.
The bag from her stay at Thomas' was sitting by the door. Harley reminded herself that the antibiotics would be crucial in her current state and downed two of them, before preparing herself to leave. She pulled clothing out of the bag, slipping on a brown long-sleeved turtleneck, black pants, and basic black flats. Tossing aside any clothes that needed laundering, she refilled the bag with more clothing from the dresser, ignoring the crunch of broken mirror pieces under her shoes. Then she opened the closet. The smell that hit her nostrils served to remind her of Mr. J at his most deadly, his long purple coat hanging from the rack. Her desire to hug it, breathe in his scent one last time, was unbearable, but she fought it. There was no going back.
Her costume hung next to his coat and she stuffed it into the bag, dropping in a few extra pairs of shoes from the floor for good measure. Ferreting around in the back, she located her secret stash, a small stack of hundreds that she kept in the corner, along with her favorite gun. The cash, she pocketed. The gun, she kept in her hand. Sliding the zipper of the bag closed, and donning her favorite winter coat, she looked around the bedroom one last time, her memory begging her to remember all the good times. His caresses against her skin when he thought she was sleeping. The laughter when she accidentally set the drapes on fire. The way their eyes would meet in the bathroom mirror. But the good did not outweigh the bad, and she forced her feet to carry her out of the bedroom, closing the door in reverence.
"Goodbye." Another whisper, fighting back her tears.
The second bedroom door was open so Mr. J was either downstairs or not in the house. She was betting on the latter as his desire to do more violence would have sent him out into the night. She bounded down the steps, not bothering with stealth. She was itching for a fight, for someone to stop her and tell her stay, but all she got was a sleeping Doc on the couch. He looked peaceful for once, not bothered by the paranoia that plagued him, a pillow clutched between his arms. While she may not have liked the man, she wanted to hug him goodbye. Instead, she settled for blowing him a kiss before opening the front door.
The night was cold and she flipped the furry hood of the coat up, covering her head. The pinkish hue of the clouds in the sky indicated that snow was on its way. Harley closed the front door, leaning her head against it, her heart torn asunder by her decision. Then she slung the bag over her shoulder and headed towards the front gate. She paused when she saw Mr. J rounding the corner, a bounce in his step. Her instincts told her to run, to hide, anything but confront her abuser, but she was no coward. Harley would stand her ground, even as her heart leapt inside of her chest, wanting to fling her arms around him and kiss him. Her temper flared at her own weakness. Her love for the man she called Mr. J. Livid that he could infect her so completely, she waited stubbornly, folding her arms over her chest. Cradling the gun in her hand, she stared at his approaching figure with cold eyes that would rival his own.
"Ah, so you're awake," Mr. J said, his voice cheerful. His makeup covered face made her wish she had taken all the greasepaint in the bathroom as a final middle finger. "Leaving again so soon?" He motioned to her bag.
"For good," she replied, her voice icy.
"Oh, you can't fool me, Harley." He stepped closer to her, almost within arm's reach. " And you can't stay away for long. Pretty soon, you'll get an itch that you know only I can scratch. An addictive personality like you needs her fix."
"Well, I'm checking into rehab, you bastard. Now get out of my way."
Mr. J took a step back and to the side, sweeping an arm out to point the path away from the house. As she brushed past him, he grabbed her arm, pulling her closer to him. His hot breath steamed against the frigid air as he breathed in deep her scent. And his eyes, those deep black orbs that could pierce her very spirit, were full of mirth. Harley didn't resist this final bit of authority, meeting his eyes with her own unflinching gaze. Part of her needed that last touch from him, to prove she could live without it.
Always wanting the last word, he said, "I'll see you soon, doll." And his lips swept against her own for a brief second before releasing her with a superior look on his face.
As she walked to the sidewalk, she could feel his eyes watching her. Her inner beast, prickling at his easy dismissal of her, demanded payback. Harley was a free woman now, and she could do whatever she pleased. So she turned, smiling wide to show off the scratches that he carved into her. "Oh, and Mr. J? I just wanted you to know that I did learn a lesson I'll never forget."
Harley raised her gun at him, satisfied as the smug look on his face dissipated, and fired. The bullet grazed his leg as she intended. Mr. J fell backwards onto the ground with a grunt of pain, his eyes widened in both surprise and awe of her impulsive action. He looked down at the wound and back to her. She could have done far worse to him and they both knew it. The graze was a parting shot, letting him that she was no longer his slave. And the impression it left might just be enough to convince him of her next words.
"Love hurts baby," she said with a bitter bite to her tone, as the the first snowflakes of the evening began to fall around them. "If I see you again, I'll kill you."
With that, she turned on her heel and strode down the sidewalk, leaving her old life behind in a mental blaze that consumed her heart. It was time to begin a new chapter. One step at a time.
A/N: The muse struck me this week, so you get to reap the rewards. Two new chapters in one week! Please give me some feedback on the strangely twisted smut in this chapter, if you have the time. It's an area of writing that I'm not sure if I'm any good at. :) Thanks!