Auto Erotica

Two apologies to my readers:

1- Sorry, "Chapter 12" is really Chapter 11, I mistyped when uploading. 12b is truly 12

2- I was supposed to submit this to be posted Friday 8/8/08 but forgot and uploaded 8/9/08.

For more information on story postings and upcoming schedules, be sure to visit my biography here.

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I swam to consciousness. Slowly, painfully, I found the world gray. A blindfold was over my eyes, a blinding light behind it.

My hands were tied as well as my legs to a cool metal chair. The air was drafty, the smell of lube, grease, brake fluid filled my nostrils.

The gag in my mouth tasted like an oil rag, making me nauseous. I struggled against it, moaning, and felt a large hand cup my cheek.

"Awake at last. We're alone for the moment. Care to finish what we started that one day? I'd offer to untie you if you were a good girl, but my partner likes to talk and I know you're into some kinky shit."

Gunnar's voice made me go cold, and he laughed.

The bindings on me were standard cop-issue, and without a free hand and a knife there was no way out.

I started to talk, knowing it would drive him crazy in a few minutes. He'd either hit me, and I hope so hard I fell back, possibly loosening something, or he'd pull off the gag.

An eternity later he loosened the gag. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Cal, is he safe?"

Gunnar made a strange sound and shoved the gag back on, tying it tight. I knew this meant Cal had run. Smart man.

How the fuck could I have ever thought it was Marcus? If the police hadn't gotten him, he'd know I never made it to the meeting spot, and he'd find me.

I had no idea where I was, or how the LC planned to lure Patrick out. I could only hope he was either too smart or too dumb to follow their breadcrumbs.

I began to wonder why I was still alive. Torture? Bargaining chip? Nothing held any appeal, but I had to stay sharp, take advantage.

From the echoes of Gunnar's movements the warehouse was empty. I heard a distant train crossing bell ding and closer an El line rush overhead.

I was in my own warehouse.

I kept my face tight, my breathing steady. I wanted to give nothing away, but I had a plan.

Taped to the underside of the office bathroom toilet tank was a knife. A lifeline. Something I could use.

I began to speak, wiggling in feigned discomfort.

After torturous long moments, the gag came off. "What?"

"I have to use the bathroom."

He snorted. "So piss yourself."

I frowned. "It's not piss."

"Fuck."

He started to untie my legs, but slowly with one hand, the other kept a gun jabbed deep in my ribs.

"I'll tie your hands in front. Door open, blindfold on, I'll stand and watch."

"Now who's into kinky shit?"

Just as I hoped he backhanded me suddenly. The chair slammed back, landing on my hands, and it took almost all of my concentration to take the pain. I had enough left to turn my head to the ground and rub, loosening the blindfold.

I was hauled back up, still tied to the chair, and he held me and the chair by my upper arms. It hurt like hell and I bit my lip.

"Get funny bitch all you want. We've got time alone, and when you're done, I'm going to make you pay."

Rape. I had a feeling.

He slammed me back on the ground, the metal chair reverberating, ringing through my body.

The blindfold was loose enough I could see his knees. The floor was clean, and he had a goddamn buffalo knife in his hand. He used it to cut the ties on my hands and feet, but just when I thought I was free he grabbed my hands and tied them again, in front this time, but still tight.

Gunnar jerked me up, knife to my ribcage, and walked me to the bathroom. He lifted the seat, yanked up my skirt, and used the knife to slice open my panties. I was naked from the waist down and felt his eyes on me. It took everything I had not to vomit.

"Sit, door open, and I'm watching, bitch."

I resisted a smart-ass comment. I needed him as complacent as he could get, if this was going to work. I was not the kind of girl to wait around for a rescue, and I hoped, really hoped Patrick was smart enough to stay the hell away.

I settled on the toilet and I could see his feet. Gunnar wasn't moving.

"I can smell your cologne, I can't shit with you this close."

He chuckled darkly, but backed up. It was all I needed.

I kicked my feet out of slammed the door closed. I used the momentum to throw myself to the floor and gunshots peppered in a line where my head had been.

He had two in the clip.

I threw on the lock, ripped off the blindfold, and got the knife.

"Aileen, what do you think you can accomplish?"

Again, I resisted smart-ass comment. Silence was the language true tough-guys spoke, and it would unsettle him. Still, I didn't know when the LC was due back. I found myself wishing Cal might come back. Fuck, I didn't need a rescue, but I needed a partner, backup.

"Come out now, Aileen, and I'll leave you with use of your legs."

I snorted, I couldn't help it. That was an empty promise when I knew they were going to kill me.

The knife cut through the ties, but with my hands bound it was slow and awkward. Gunnar was laughing, moving around, and I had a feeling he was looking for a spare clip.

"Aileen, you're such a bad girl."

The way he said it I knew he was imagining raping me. Now I really wanted to vomit.

Shit. My knife was smaller, I had no gun, and he was a helluva lot bigger than I was. One solid kick and the door would open. I looked around for a weapon.

Top of the toilet tank. In the movies that knocked people out, but not so in real life. Room spray, toilet paper rolls, cleanser, a sponge, matches Cal had left, and soap. All I had.

"Little bitch, little bitch, let me in."

A ha! Hairspray behind the spare rolls of toilet paper. "Not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin," I said, grabbing it.

There was a slim space between the door jamb and the wall. I took it, sucking in as much as I could, and waited for it.

Time slowed to a crawl, and I tried to listen for every sound but my heart was thumping, the blood rushing like thunder through my ears.

The door exploded and I struck the match on my nail and started the spray. Gunnar walked right into a fireball, and his gun went off, wild. The toilet tank exploded, water and porcelain rained out, and another bullet ricocheted off the mirror frame, missing my head by less than an inch.

He was down though, out of bullets, screaming as his long hair burned in a sickening smell.

I kicked him as hard as I could, and ran for it. I had guns in the office, maybe, if Marcus hadn't cleaned them out as he was supposed to. I wasn't going to find out, the LC could be headed back and I had to get the fuck out of there.

I ran for the door, and behind me Gunnar howled, but scraped to his feet. I threw open the door- and ran right into Patrick.

"Aileen!"

He grabbed me by my arms and looked down in horror. I realized my skirt was still hiked up, my panties gone. Clutching my knife awkwardly I tugged the skirt down.

"I'm okay, but your inside man? Patrick, it's Gunnar! He's inside, the LC is coming back, we have to get out of here!"

"Did he-"

"No," I said quickly, with relief. I didn't want to hear the word.

This made no difference, it seemed. Patrick was a ball of rage. "Did you hear me? We have to run!"

"Stay here," Patrick said, and moved me like a small child. He just picked me up and moved me.

I wasn't merely outraged, I was terrified. Ii turned and watched him draw a gun from a shoulder holster, click off the safety.

Behind me was his Sky. I could take it, take it and run. Disappear forever. But if I did, so would Patrick.

"Fuck."

I went back inside, headed for the office. To my left came low, angry voices. Patrick had been betrayed, by his own partner. I understood his anger, but there was so much more at stake.

There was one gun Marcus had missed. It was a Browning Hi Power, not the best gun, and Cal had found it on a car we'd gotten from a race. The thing was probably dirty as hell and the last thing I wanted was my prints on it, but I took it and checked. Four bullets, including the chamber.

Outside the sounds of fighting broke out with shouts. Something crashed, and Gunnar laughed. Shit, if Patrick was getting his ass handed to him...fuck.

I was hurt, I knew I had at least two ribs cracked clean, my left ankle was barely functioning, and if I didn't have a concussion, I'd be shocked.

Fuck.

I dragged my weakening body over to find the men rolling around on the ground. They were nearly matched, but for all Patrick's rage Gunnar was just plain bigger, and he was landing several good punches to Patrick's head.

Fuck nobility, I thought. Fighting double vision, I raised the Browning, steadied it, and aimed. One shot, and Gunnar went limp.

"Aileen?"

I hobbled over to where Patrick climbed out from under the body. "Yell all you want, we need to go."

"Fuck!" He howled like a crazed wolf after the expletive, long and wordlessly.

I slumped against a pole, my head throbbing. Shit, I was hurt worse than I thought. "Patrick, I don't know how much longer I can make it without a doctor."

I'd said it quietly, I don't know how he heard, but suddenly he was there, supporting me. "Aileen, you just killed a cop."

"A dirty cop who was selling out this city."

"Still, we can't get away clean."

"Can't we? Look, the LC will be here any minute. We get them in here, with him, burn it to the ground...how will anyone know?"

"Cold-blooded murder?"

I wanted to slap him. "What the fuck do you think they were going to do to us? Look, you can stay here, deal with them, fill out the paperwork. But I need a hospital, now."

"They brought in Marcus, I got him out, but he knows you sold him out. If that weren't the case, I'd call him for a lift."

I raised an eyebrow. "Money talks. Look, how often do I ask for a favor?"

"Aileen, if I get him here, get you patched up, get the whole damn force here on the LC, what guarantee do I have you'll stick around and wait for me?"

I was probably bleeding to death from a dozen wounds, and this was his concern? I laughed. "Crill-Wolfe, whatever. Decisions, fast."

He finally looked into my eyes. My night was there. A horrible accident. A kidnapping and near-rape. I was beyond tired.

"Come on. The LC can wait."

He picked me up, cradled me in his arms, and a part of me was pissed at how me-Tarzan-you-Jane it seemed, but then I realized I couldn't walk too well.

When we were in the Sky, pulling out, I let the darkness claim me again.

***

I woke to a dim light. What the fuck happened? Where was I?

"Aileen?"

I turned my head and damn, it hurt. Patrick looked back at me. His beard stubble so thick I could barely see half his face. His bright eyes were tired and red-rimmed.

Suddenly everything came back to me, and I felt my eyes widen.

"Three days, if you're wondering how long. You've been sedated. You broke six ribs, dislocated your knee, lost a lot of blood, and had a bad concussion.

"I'm sorry I didn't pick up on it. I was so angry, but when it sunk in just how...unlike you you were acting, I brought you to my personal doctor."

"Water," was all I said.

He produced a pitcher from outside my field of vision, and it was crystal, or glass. Not hospital issue, and neither was the cut-crystal glass.

I gulped it down and sank back into the pillow. "Where am I?"

"In my house. Aileen, we got the LC. It took a lot of money, but Marcus framed them. We have a Miguel Sanchez in for Gunnar's murder. The rest bonded out."

I nodded, but the name Sanchez meant nothing. The real big dogs were still out there.

"Aileen, your brother, his kids...we- I found Cal. You were leaving."

I closed my eyes. "Nothing personal."

He didn't even laugh. "Aileen, I love you."

My heart winced, and more than just an expression, I felt a pain in my chest. I probably loved him too, but I knew better than to try and figure anything out. I was done with his world, I had some loose ends to tie up in mine, and then we'd part ways.

"Wolfe, this isn't about you. It'd about me. There are things I have to do, and one of them is be free. I've never been free."

"And just what about loving me back would get in the way of being free?"

I laughed now. "You have a name, a life, a very public one. It's not for me, I want no part of it."

"Then what next?"

I had to think on it. "I heal up enough to get out of here, get a room someplace and heal some more. I tie up loose ends, you get your job with the bureau, and that's that."

"What if I don't want it?"

I finally looked back at him, and he seemed honest. "You can't mean that."

"My family turned their backs on me a long time ago. I owe them nothing. I wanted that job as a way to prove to them, to everyone, that I was innocent all along. But it's cost me a lot. And it's costing me you."

"So what do you want? Disappear with me? Live life off the radar?"

"Why not? Aileen, despite my many adventures, my life just wasn't...fun until you came along."

My laughter was real. "Fun?"

He laughed too, and despite the heavy tone of the conversation, for a moment we were simply a man and a woman in a moment only we could understand.

When it died, I kept my face turned towards his. "Patrick, don't you understand? It doesn't matter that you love me, it doesn't matter if I love you, we have lives to lead, and they're just too different."

"Excuses, excuses," he said quietly, but his tone was lighter than it had been. "Stay here until you're better. I'll get you a suite, hotel of your choice, and stay there as long as you need, on my tab. I won't look into what you do, neither the man nor the cop. Leave if you want."

I looked at him, really looked at him, and he meant it. I was so tired, so weak, I nodded.

I woke some time later, realizing I'd dozed off with him still in the room, but now he was gone. There were fresh flowers on the table next to me, purple roses, backlit by the sun.

Damn me, they made me smile, and sleep claimed me again.

***

I was in Patrick's room. Night complemented the colors all too well, and the moon was full. The windows were open, and below us the city moved, further out the lake shone in the bright light. This was a layer of blue and white and black, the perfect framing in any light for Patrick Wolfe.

Wind moved the curtains, caressing my body, and I was naked. I felt whole, healed, and it made me smile. Something seemed off, but I couldn't figure it out. I stroked my torso, amazed at the smooth feel, yet something wasn't right.

"Better?"

I turned, and Patrick was there, naked too. Stepping to press his body against mine, he wrapped his arms around me and drew me tight. He was warm, his skin rough, and he was happy to see me, only mildly so.

"What's going on?"

He kissed my neck, below my ear. "You're leaving tomorrow, it's all over, and you agreed to give me tonight. Any way you want it, but I know you want to leave, and if you want me to take you roughly, tie you down like I want to, desperately, I don't think I can let you go."

I turned and his hold loosened, letting me. I put my arms around his waist and laid my head on his shoulder. "That's just sex, a fantasy. I like to be tied up in bed, you know I want nothing of the sort in real life."

"Neither do I, Aileen, I just don't know why you think I want to keep you in a cage."

Pulling back I looked up into his dark gaze. "You still don't get it."

"Then explain it to me."

"I've been trapped in a life and all I ever dreamed of was freedom. Taking things as they come. Everyone else complains about that, the unpredictability of life, and they just don't know how lucky they are. To not have a script to follow, to know the choice is always yours, that's a precious gift."

He pulled away, and I stood there, watching his naked back retreat, the muscles shift and flex as he stopped and leaned a hand on a poster of his bed. "Aileen, you're so wise in many, many ways, but so naïve in others. You can't even listen to your own words. Me? I'm a choice in your life. And you had this dream of being free, wandering, alone. It's a script you're following, and I'm not part of the plot."

There was anger there, barely leashed, and a sexual thrill trailed down my spine. "No arguments tonight, Patrick. Your promised me a night, and I want it, all of it."

I'd taken two steps when he whirled around and grabbed me. He fused his mouth to mine, seared me with his tongue, and I could only moan and clutch at his back.

My mind filled with images of making love, the first night in his house had shown me a tender side to the physical act I had never before experienced. I wanted to run my fingers all over his body, through the sworl of dark chest hair, over the tight bunching of muscles, across all the various textures.

I wanted to ride him while he sat holding me tight, my hands plunged into his hair, gripping tightly and stroking as I moved. I wanted to feel his mouth all over my body, I want mine all over his.

Then he growled.

It was a true animal sound, and I found my arms ripped from him and pinned behind my back. "What are you doing?"

"If tomorrow will be on your terms, tonight will be on mine."

With that he dragged me to the bed and I was thrown across it. Before I could move he was across my chest, dragging my left arm to the corner. The cuffs snapped into place, cop-issue, and this time it was set tight enough I couldn't wriggle out of it.

He repeated the motion to my other arm and then to my shock, shackled my feet. No loose scarves this time; I was trapped.

"Patrick, please."

He stopped, silhouetted by moonlight. "Please stop, or please don't?"

I blushed, unable to answer. No one had ever made me confront this side of myself before. I had never thought about why this turned me on, it was simply a dark corner of my mind.

With him I couldn't hide. My whole life had been lived like a speeding freight train, stuck on tracks. With Patrick I felt powerless, and somehow it was freeing. With him I found respite, I could give up conscious thought and accept things as they were. And I trusted him, really trusted him to make sure everything was all right.

I trusted him, and I loved him. My eyes went wide and finally he looked away. "No blindfolds tonight, Aileen, I want your eyes on mine. Keep them open. I will see every secret you want to hide, I will read every desire and I promise you, you'll receive it."

Shivering at the erotic threat, I jerked a nod.

He crossed to the armoire and opened it up, considering. I watched as he began to remove things; a small box, a medium one that matched, and something wrapped in black cloth.

Patrick strode with grace to set them on the nightstand. I watched as from the cloth he unfurled two candles, long black tapers, and crystal holders. Though his body language was harsh, he gently set them up and withdrew a lighter from the nightstand and lit them, leaving both on one nightstand. I wanted to ask why, but his stiff stance forbade any questioning.

He opened the smaller box and withdrew something very small, then stopped to look me over.

His eyes glittered, and his erection grew. I found myself blushing as if complimented, and indeed I supposed I was.

From the small object Patrick pulled off a cap, and I saw it was a pump. He put some gel on a finger and with his eyes never leaving mine, stroked his finger across my clit, parting the lips.

Immediately a chill spread there, icy, white-hot, and I gasped, arching.

"You're moving too much."

"Sorry," I said quietly.

"No speaking unless you're directed to."

He moved to pump more onto his finger and in turn he spread the gel across my nipples. I gasped, feeling the air currents strongly.