Casey awoke with a jolt. Her body, stiff and sore from sleep, protested as she sat up. She gasped for breath and brought her knees up, wrapping her arms around them, willing the pain to subside and willing her body to stop trembling.
The digital clock read 3:05. Sunlight poured through the windows. Her lunch date with Elliot had lasted longer than intended. She slept poorly when alone and suspected he did too. Even a few hours rest, when they both had responsibilities elsewhere, was a blessing.
Casey turned to look down at him, wincing at the stiffness in her neck. Elliot was asleep on his side. His breathing was inaudible against the white noise of the air conditioner. Casey thought he looked childlike in slumber.
She looked away. Since the night of her attack sleep stopped coming easily. Often only after hours of restlessness would her body surrender with the bribe of sleeping pills. Gone were mornings of lazy consciousness and bright moments where her dreams danced into awareness. She now flung herself into full lucidity, the sharp pain in her back and face there to remind her she was in danger.
Ironic, she thought, since that first moment of wakefulness after the attack had come so gently. Olivia had murmuring soft platitudes in her ear and holding her hand. "Sweetheart, don't move. You're going to be all right. We're almost to the hospital. Don't move." The tone, not the words, had made Casey afraid. She was listening to Olivia's victim-voice and it was directed at her. Then she had realized she couldn't move.
Her body had been strapped into a stretcher. Her neck was rendered immobile by a cuff, which also forced her jaw shut. She couldn't scream, couldn't turn her head, and couldn't remember what happened. Now, when she woke up, she had to move.
Casey, still looking down at her lover, saw the faint red lines on his arms. She'd scratched him, drawn blood in swollen marks that would sting but not quite break the surface. Elliot was twice her size and four times her strength and she'd hurt him. She tasted satisfaction. She wanted to do it again. Elliot wasn't Bosnian, but it didn't really matter. Casey didn't remember the attack, so it could have been Elliot, or any man strong enough to pummel her when she was fighting back with an aluminum bat in her hands. He was strong enough to choose whether or not to rape her.
Cold fear rushed through her. She braced herself to face it, like she'd hoped she'd done during the attack, and leaned down to kiss the corner of Elliot's mouth. She stroked the tattoo on his forearm, the symbol that proved he was a man. He mumbled something in his sleep. "Elliot." He awoke at her words, and blinked at her groggily. She slid onto him, pressing him down with her body weight, feeling his muscles shift underneath her, like she was pinning down a tiger.
Elliot frowned. She watched the skin of his forehead crease as he cleared his throat, easing the sleep out his body. "Casey, I'm still--"
"Shssh." She reached down, finding him still soft under the sheets. She gripped him, flexing her hand in a massage to awaken him. He resisted until she said, hotly against his ear, "I need you." Then, against her palm, she felt the surge of blood. He groaned. She stroked him to full strength, while nuzzling at his neck, trying to be gentle, as he had tried with her three hours ago.
He had tried to be so tender, knowing she was wounded, but he was too large. Pushing her onto her back, spreading her legs, entering her... the careful, practiced movements that never hurt Kathy, hurt her. She cried out, and hoped he would think it was a cry of passion, but he knew. He slowed down, which gave her even less of what she wanted from him. She'd clawed and bit him, made demands of him, until he rutted her. His thrusts had hurt, but not much, and he'd touched something deeper. He'd let her make the choice, instead of withholding it from her by acting in her best interest as she knew he wanted.
She wanted the choice again. He was fully erect against her hand. She straddled him, guiding him inside, watching his face as she adjusted around him. He was silent, his eyes on her, as he held her hips, only to steady her. She rode him, balancing with her hands flat against his ribcage, loving the way his heavy breathing dissolved into incoherent grunting. His gaze never left hers. She lifted herself up and pushed down, taking him inside her, again and again, until he whispered her name between short breaths and she saw his lips were shaking.
He squeezed her waist and thrust upward. He came, spilling inside her, and she closed her eyes. When his hands had eased from her torso she leaned forward and kissed him, softly, and then slid off the bed. Her bare feet hit the floor.
Elliot stretched, and asked, "Did you even come?"
She'd gotten satisfaction. Casey smiled at him, pausing at the doorway to the bathroom. "I'm fine, Elliot. I'm--" No, she couldn't quite say it, that she was glad it happened. Even though she was, she knew her reasons would hurt him. "I'm going to take a shower and then go to the office," she said, not telling him he could stay in her apartment, not saying he had to go, but hoping he would leave. Hoping she wouldn't have to see it.
"How long is this going to go on?" He was sat up, wrapping the sheets around his waist.
"Until it stops hurting," she said.