My Dark Knight Page 9

  Max comes over to me and gives me a hug. “You look very pensive, Arielle. What’s on your mind?”

  “Just looking at the beautiful view, thinking how wonderful it would be to live by the ocean.”

  “Funny, I was thinking exactly the same thing. I feel a real estate goblin knocking at my door. Shall we buy something here?”

  “I still can’t get used to this,” I murmur.

  “What?”

  “Buying whatever your heart desires. It makes me feel guilty somehow.”

  “Hey, I work hard for these privileges. You do, too.”

  “I know. Just...well, we’re still so lucky.”

  He holds my hands and pulls me off the chair. “Come to bed for a little while. You look so sexy, Arielle – I love you in the morning all ruffled up. It makes me want to get as close to you as is physically possible.”

  His body is so beautiful, my heart yearns for him, but the truth is that sex is the last thing on my mind, even with the man I love more than anything in the world. I melt into his strong arms and nuzzle my face against his warm chest and lick off a few droplets of shower water. He smells of soap and his own natural Max magic – he is my elixir, the potion I need to keep me healthy and sane. I kiss him all over with sweet, girlish kisses. I want to be loving, not sexy, but it makes him groan, and I can feel his erection press up against me.

  I peel away the towel around his waist and see his beautiful anatomy, a penis that is substantial but wonderful because it has never tried to hurt me or force me. Even that time that he was angry with me, after I hadn’t been honest with him about who I was and he came barging into my apartment...even then when he took me in the kitchen and ravaged me right there and then...he knew I was desperate for him, and if I had told him to stop he would have.

  I bend down and kiss him below his waist and breathe him in – his kindness, his patience, his genuine love. And then I let out a sigh of relief; gratitude that he is the way he is. I look up at him like a puppy.

  He strokes my hair. “Arielle, darling, what’s with the tears?”

  “Tears of love,” I reply.

  He takes me over to the bed. I feel a tingle in my groin and realize that I’m moist between the legs. He does that to me because I trust him with every fiber of my being. His finger glides between my slickness and he slips it gently inside me, letting just a hint of pressure tantalize my clit. “You’re so sexy, so wet. I need you baby, I need to be inside you. How I’m going to get through this week without making love to you, I don’t know.” His mouth is on mine, pressed hard over my lips, and I respond with desire, meeting his tongue with little licks. He groans again and pushes me on the bed, his strong body covering me whole. I feel all-feminine underneath his strapping frame.

  I open my legs and cling to his firm torso, my arms gripping around his muscular back and I claw my nails into him without meaning to. “Please fuck me,” I beg, confused as to the double emotions I feel inside. I want to prove to myself that everything’s okay. That no past ghosts can come between me and the man I love. “I need you and only you,” I murmur.

  He slips inside me, his mouth again on mine, and he slowly pushes his way further between my cleft, his erection taut and full, stretching me open, his pubic bone pressing deliciously on my clit. He’s staring into my eyes. He takes my clawed hands one by one away from his back and holds my wrists together above my head with just one hand. He is claiming me, dominating me – I can’t escape from this position but it’s okay because it’s him. I feel the power of his extensive thick cock cramming me full, pumping into me. I push my hips higher to meet him and we thrust together in a natural rhythm, each time we meet all my nerves are tingling with need.

  “Don’t stop, I think I’m going to come – keep doing what you’re doing,” I moan.

  “I’ll never stop. Never.”

  I can feel it building, feel that glorious sensation of blood rushing up inside the core of me when he says, “I love being inside you, baby...fucking you...and you know what else?”

  “Tell me,” I plead. “Tell me what you love.” I’m gyrating my hips now – I need to be as close as is humanly possible.

  “I love kissing you, running my tongue along your sexy lips when I’m deep inside you.” His mouth is on mine as he says this.

  I’m thrusting hard, pressing my clit against him...this feels incredible. “Tell me what I can do to please you,” I say with urgency. “Tell me what you love.”

  “When you suck my cock tightly with your pretty lips, when my cock is deep inside your hot mouth.”

  Suddenly, a vision of the needle-dick guy flashes through my mind. I catch my breath but not in a good way. I was on the brink of orgasm but not any more...I close my eyes to make the image go away and then open them again to drink in Max, to reassure myself that he is different, that he has nothing to do with these repulsive snap-shots. I get back to my rhythm – I need this release – but more images come crashing through me...being forced, pushed, pulled, not being able to escape. Needle-dick again, suffocating my mouth. I feel panicked and smothered. Max is pressing his body against me passionately and all I can think of are dirty, smelly cocks and rape and tequila and my body as weak and helpless as a rag doll....

  “Max, I can’t...sorry, I feel sick...I think I’m going to barf....please...”

  He freezes his position and releases my wrists but it’s too late...I can feel his cock swelling and hot rush spurt deep inside me. He is instantly contrite and says, “I’m sorry, baby, I couldn’t help myself; you’re so fucking sexy the way you move. What’s wrong, babe?” Slowly, he pulls out. He rolls off me to give me the space I crave.

  I lie there hyperventilating.

  “Are you okay, Arielle?” He looks shocked with concern, puts his hand in mine and kisses my fingertips softly. He pulls me off the bed and ushers me to the bathroom. I stand there with my face in my hands, my head bent down. I turn on the shower faucet. I need to get clean. I need to wash this morning’s dream away. I feel the sticky mess of Max’s cum trickling down my inner thighs and even though it emanates from pure love and goodness, from a man who would lay his life down for me, I feel sickened.

  Penises. Cocks. Dicks. Blowjobs. Semen.

  I am disgusted.

  I’M HOPING THIS FEELING will fade, but as the day draws on it gets worse – the straw that breaks the camel’s back is a video clip Cecile sends me of her documentary about child trafficking for the insatiable sex industry. Men are pigs whichever way you look at it. Aided, sadly, by women sometimes, even by mothers selling their own daughters – but still, who is fucking these young girls (and sometimes boys)...women? No, men are the devils with their penises ruling their brains. Not women but men.

  Poor Max is the innocent victim of my sudden repulsion towards all things male, although when I look into his beautiful eyes I don’t feel anything but love and compassion for him. My heart aches – he is my everything. None of this is his fault.

  But the idea of being penetrated, right now, revolts me. Please God, let this feeling go away. I love sex with him so much...

  Luckily, he’s flying out late tonight, so I won’t have to explain myself. On two occasions this afternoon, my whole story nearly escaped my lips but something held me back. Why subject him to my baggage? Give it a few days – let the memory ride itself out and I’ll be back to normal. At least the dreams are unleashing it all, revealing the truth of what really happened that night – things my conscious mind had blocked out.

  It wasn’t my fault as I had always led myself to believe. Or was it? If I tell Max I’d have to explain to him how I got myself into that predicament in the first place. A threesome with two footballers? Thinking we’d just kiss? How naïve and dumb is that? He’d never believe me. His vision of me as the perfect scholarship student with an unblemished sexual past would be shattered. No – let his perception of me remain untainted, at least until I feel confident enough to reveal everything. Remembering all this is bad enough,
but if he finds it hard to accept? If he has it lurking in the back of his mind every time we have sex, then what?

  I need time. I need a few days to think this all through.

  We spend the day walking along the beach and then pass by Venice to see the wild and wonderful attractions. There’s a hippie guitar player zipping along on roller-skates and a bottle-blond Tarzan character working out in an outdoor gym with massive weights, right by the Boardwalk for everyone to see. There are volleyball and paddle tennis courts and funky shops, cafés, and vendor booths lined along this long stretch on Ocean Front Walk. We meander, people-watching, taking in the sights of colorful street performers and beautiful young things strutting their stuff in skimpy outfits – Venice Beach is an exhibitionist haven.

  The distractions are perfect; enough for Max to not realize that anything is particularly wrong. When he asked me earlier what happened in bed this morning, and I told him that it must have been the smoothie I drank the day before – a mild case of food poisoning – he believed me.

  And like food poisoning I will kick this out of my system. I will. It is in the past, something that happened before I met him, and it has no business screwing up my life now. I won’t let it dominate my thoughts; I won’t let it make me bitter and angry. I was a different person then, anyway – I made a foolish decision, and I paid a price for it. Does that mean it has to affect my life now? That I have to keep paying that price? Affect the person I am today?

  As Max and I continue our walk – arm in arm, I notice people looking at my fiancé, eyeballing him up and down with come-on stares and I feel proud. Yes, he’s handsome, girls and boys, and you know what? He’s mine.

  Perhaps the break of a few days will be good for us. I can sort my scrabbled head out. I’ll call Emma and talk it through with her – maybe even see a therapist here.

  I crook my arm tighter with his. “I’ll miss you.”

  He winks at me. “It’s only five more days. You’ll be so busy you won’t even notice.”

  “And you? What will you be doing?”

  “Making money for us to get a pad here.”

  “A pad?”

  “Something wonderful. Further up the coast in Malibu. A house overlooking the water where I can surf and you can walk along the beach with Prince and swim if you’re brave enough to brace the cold – would you like that?”

  “No, it would make me miserable. Too much of a punishment.”

  He laughs and pulls me closer. “You don’t have to go to work, you know.”

  “What d’you mean?” I ask, confused.

  “You don’t have to prove yourself to me. I know you’re clever at your job, but if you feel like packing it all in and do nothing but read novels and lie about in the sun, I wouldn’t think any less of you.”

  I grin. “I don’t know how long I’d last doing that. Sounds tempting, though. But I’ve always worked. Even at school I had a Saturday job – I don’t know if lazing about is my style.”

  “Well, just letting you know that you have a get-out clause. Just because we started Finders Keepers Enterprises doesn’t mean you have to be chained to it for forever.”

  “What about you? You wouldn’t ever have to work another day in your life if you didn’t want to, either, but you keep going with all these endless meetings all over the place.”

  “Just say the word, baby, and we can go and live in a tree-house in Thailand. Or join your father in Costa Rica.”

  “You mean that?”

  “I think so. Although, the truth is, I’ve always worked, too. I had jobs from the age of nine.”

  “But that’s illegal in the UK, isn’t it? Children working?”

  “Nothing about my life was legal when Jenny was playing mother to me after we left home – after we left that monster,” he spits out between his teeth, his mouth bitterly tight.

  “Your mother must feel so guilty about not having come with you when she had the chance.”

  “She does. Her guilt is almost tangible. Every time I see her, her eyes spell out regret.”

  “You know that Edith Piaff song?”

  “Why is it, Arielle, that you and I can read each other’s minds? I was just thinking the same thing! Non, je ne regrette rien...”

  He starts singing. He has a good voice, perfectly in tune.

  “Do you regret anything, Max?”

  He squeezes my hand. “I regret not having kissed you sooner.”

  “No, seriously, if you could re-live your life what would you choose to do differently?”

  “I am who I am because of all my choices, the good and the bad. Perhaps if I’d done everything in the perfect order, I’d be married to Natasha, and you and I would have never met.”

  “D’you still think about her?”

  “She’s a dear friend, we shared a past, of course I still care for her and worry about her wellbeing.”

  A clown comes bounding in front of us, interrupting our heart-to-heart conversation. Not Now! I glare at him and his painted face and turn my head back to Max, “So you don’t agonize over choices you made in the past or about things you wish you hadn’t done?”

  “Sometimes you don’t have a choice, Arielle. Sometimes external forces choose for you.”

  “Cecile says we always have a choice.”

  “Well maybe Cecile’s had a relatively lucky life. Perhaps she’s never been a victim of circumstance or ever had to battle with personal demons.”

  “Your main demon being your father?”

  “And the tidal wave he left behind.”

  “What happened to your father, anyway?” I ask, relieved that for the first time Max’s opening up about his past. I need to strike while the iron’s hot – I may not get this opportunity again.

  “He disappeared.”

  “Really?”

  The look on Max’s face is a chilling mask when he says, “Yes, really, Arielle. The nasty piece of shit just disappeared into thin air.”

  “Aren’t you worried he could re-surface one day? I mean, not that he could hurt you now that you’re a grown man, but psychologically speaking. He could come back to haunt you in some way.”

  “No. He won’t come back. He’s gone for good.”

  “How can you be so sure? Sometimes when you think something’s buried it can come back with a vengeance, just when you least expect it.”

  “Because as far as I’m concerned, that bastard’s buried for good.” Max’s eyes are cold fire, the green in them flicker to a pale, icy gold, and for just a second I feel as if I’m looking into the gaze of a man capable of murder.

  8

  TWO DAYS HAVE PASSED. I’ve been working with Valentina at her house in Topanga Canyon. Her attitude has changed. She’s less cocky than when we first met, as if she had something to prove then – as if she felt competitive with Max in some way. Since that first day, she hasn’t been coming on to me or flirting. Thank God. We’ve made huge headway with the script. She has a sharp sense of humor and has managed to slip in a lot of great one-liners. They still haven’t chosen her leading man – everything is up in the air while Billy awaits decisions from tough-cookie agents and managers. Whatever, whoever, the actor will be a star. If this film is successful, I’ll get a nice percentage of the box-office. This is a win-win situation for all of us.

  I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had a chance to speak to anyone about my nightmares.

  When I get back to the hotel after a full day’s work, I call Emma. I need her sound advice. I have become more and more picky about who I spend time with and in whom I confide. I used to wear my heart on my sleeve and had never since associated bottling up my feelings with that dreaded night. But when I think about it, it was after that that everything changed – when I lost my trust in people. I had never put two and two together. Because I had not been aware, until now, of how it affected me psychologically.

  I lie back on my deliciously comfortable hotel bed, leaning against the padded headrest, and I stretch out my legs. Em
ma takes a long time to pick up.

  “Amy stop that,” she finally shouts into the receiver.

  “Emma?”

  “Oh, hi Arielle. Sorry, Amy’s being all needy right now. One sec. Amy – if you want my attention then you need to sit quietly with your coloring book for ten minutes and then we’ll choose your Halloween outfit together. Is that a deal? Ten minutes only, I promise, then I’m all yours.”

  I can hear Amy’s willful voice soften and she says, “Okay Mommy, but just ten minutes. I’m watching the clock, you know.”

  “Sorry about that, Arielle. Johnny’s away on a business trip so she’s being really demanding. He’s been away a lot lately.”

  “I’ll try to squeeze everything I have to say in ten minutes,” I say jokingly.

  “I know. Foolishly I taught her how to tell the time and now she’s got me on a tight leash. She doesn’t miss a trick.”

  I lay bare to Emma the details about my nightmares and how I’ve been keeping their content a secret from Max – bearing in mind, I let her know, about what she said about him being a ‘a man at heart.’

  “Okay, Arielle, first off, since we had that conversation in my office? Things are not the same as I had previously imagined.”

  I plump another cushion behind my head. “What d’you mean?” I ask – sure that whatever advice she gives me will be sound.

  “Well, how you are describing the situation now colors things very differently. You’d always led me to believe that you had been totally up for that threesome with the two footballers, but you were so out of it, that later, you couldn’t remember what happened.”

  “Yeah, well that’s still true. I mean, it’s only since these flashbacks – these dreams, that I realize there was more to the whole story.”

  “This is what you have to figure out – were these actual flashbacks or are they just dreams, figments of your imagination?”

  “They’re so detailed, so in depth that I think it’s what went down that night.”

  “When you confided in me a couple of years ago about this, I remember you saying that Brad found you alone in the boys’ room drunk as a skunk, naked in a stranger’s bed and vomit all over the bedclothes. And he freaked out but took you home and then, basically, never spoke to you again and that was the end of your relationship.”