Author's Notes: I love you guys! Thank you for all the reviews and all the alerts. This is the second and final part.

Warnings for sex and excessive violence. /Nic.


2. Completed

He wants me? He wants me?

"Please, Jackson," I rasp, my voice unused for so many hours.

He raises his hand. "I'll untie you, Leese. In due time and when I decide to. You begging me for it to happen is pointless."

"What do you want me to do?" I whisper. "Are you going to kill me?"

At that he laughs and stands. He is beautiful, his head tilted down, his blue eyes twinkling, biting his lower lip. He leans closer, as if to whisper a secret in my ear. Then his face becomes a blur as it inches closer until his lips just about brush against mine. "I'm going to fuck you senseless, Leese. I'm going to ruin you for all future. When I'm done with you, you'll retreat back into that little shell and live out your life in solitude because you'll keep hoping that I'll come back." His tongue darts out and lick my lips briefly; I can't help opening my mouth to him. "And know what? I might. I just might."

His head slips lower and soft nibbling kisses descend along my neck, he licks my collar bone and then he bites me. My scar. He bites into it and I throw my head back and groan and buckle. "Stop! Please!"

"Don't make me regret taking that rag out of your mouth, Leese," he warns me, his voice a rumble against my chest. Then he crouches and grabs around my buttocks with both hands, pulling himself practically into my lap before letting his mouth finding my breast, paying excruciatingly close attention to my nipple.

My whole body has gone rigid. Just like calm is a state of mind rather than a fact, so is fear. At this particular moment I shouldn't have anything to fear. Anyone looking at this from the outside would see a lovers' game. Still I fear him. Increasingly. I want him to touch me, more and more with each lick and nibble, with each hot breath against my chest, with each deep squeeze of his hands on my buttocks. And still I fear what he'll do to me. I know he can be violent.

I don't know if he can be tender.

I've never felt so vulnerable in my entire life, not on the airplane when he threatened me and my father, not two years back, during the rape. Never. I can't move my arms or my legs. I'm naked before this man, whom I both hate and am frighteningly attracted to.

His skilled hands slide from my behind, along my trembling thighs, his thumbs inches from my throbbing core, and then he pulls my legs further apart, forcefully, my resistance nothing to his strength. With thumbs drawing circular patterns on the delicate skin on my inner thighs, his mouth licks its way down along my belly, making it shudder and clench, before he dips his head in between my legs. His breath is hot and the touch of his mouth on my nether flesh makes my toes curl and I arch the little I can against my restraints as jolts of pleasure shoot up through my body.

He drives me further than any man has done in a very long time and when he finally looks up at me with a mischievous grin, his eyes flashing, I tremble so hard that I'm unable to sit still. I clench and unclench my hands; so close, so close. The guttural sound that emanates from my throat makes me blush and widens his grin. He stands, bending over me and presses his mouth to mine, his scent and taste intermingling with mine.

"You taste so good, Lisa," he murmurs into my mouth and the arousal in his voice sends hot flares through me.

"Jackson," I whisper. "You…"



"Say it, Leese," he whispers softly and straighten, looking down at me. A muscle in his cheek twitches and he purses his lips as he regards me. Then he smiles, almost gently, almost compassionately.

Fear spikes again, mixing with arousal. I don't want to tell him how I feel. I don't want to bare my soul to this… murd-, kidn-, mons-, man! God! I see a man and nothing else. I'm ashamed of myself for letting go, for leaving the righteous path, for giving in.

"You make feel so weird," I whisper and bend my head.

"Look at me, Leese," he demands.

My head darts up, my gaze meeting his. "I'm afraid, Jackson."

He nods for me to go on. I squirm and wish he'd touch me again. "I haven't felt… you make me…" I lick my dry lips and wish him to hell.

One corner of his mouth curves upward. "I make you what?"

"You make me want you," I whisper, wishing myself to hell.

He leaves me there. Leaves the room and disappears into my kitchen. When he returns he's got a bottle of red wine in one hand and a glass in the other. At least it doesn't look like death. Not yet. My eyes dart between the items and his face. His gaze never leaves mine as he corks open the bottle, pours the glass to the rim, and takes a sip.

"Lovely stuff. Have some."

I'm starved, and desert dry from thirst, so I oblige willingly in spite of the doubtfulness of quenching thirst with alcohol. At first. I swallow a few gulps, then I need to breathe, and take a brief break from swallowing. He doesn't follow. Chilled liquid burgundy spills over my breasts, forms a flood across my belly and gathers between my legs. "What are you doing?" I sputter.

He stops pouring and leans closer. "What does it look like I'm doing?" Then he leans closer yet and circles my left and right nipples with his tongue as his free hand smears the wine over my belly, rougher and rougher with each stroke until he grabs a handful of my flesh and squeezes. Hard.

"God!" I cry out. Both from pain and lust, the two intermingling dizzyingly.

He takes a mouthful of the wine and puts down the glass, then he crashes his mouth against mine, the wine filling my mouth as his hands descend, pinching my thighs, the tender skin on the inside, excruciatingly close to my throbbing core. I groan into his mouth and respond fully, swallowing what I can, tasting him, taking what he offers as I stare challengingly into his eyes. He bites into my lower lip, just a little harder than what's comfortable and I try to break free but he puts one hand behind my neck, locking me to his mouth as he devours me, violently, passionately.

When he finally pulls back, I stare at him in equal parts shock and longing. He holds my gaze a moment longer, then he deftly pulls off his T-shirt and discards it on the floor. "You are so fuckin-" He exhales and suddenly turns the chair around so that I'm staring at the windows where the eerie light of sunset plays through slowly moving curtains.

"Jackson," I plead. "I'm hurting. My arms hurt."

He snorts. "Trust me, Leese. You don't know hurt."

I clamp my lips together as my heart makes an unhealthy jump. I yelp when the chair unexpectedly tilts, quickly but still in a controlled movement and I find myself on my back. Again I twist and buckle to no avail. "What are you doing?" I ask shakily.

He smirks down at me. "I thought you'd be more comfortable lying down. No?"

"What are you going to do?" I lick my wine-tasting lips and feel a rush of arousal as I taste him on me. "Let me loose." I whisper.

"I'd love to, Leese… there're just so many things I haven't tried yet." He kneels at my head and begins to unbuckle his belt, pushing his pants down and off, one leg at a time.

I can't help it. My eyes fill with tears and I turn my head away. Oh God, don't make me! My throat constricts and a real sob escapes me. He gently pushes at my cheek until our eyes meet. "Too close?" he asks.

I nod repeatedly. "T'reminds me," I hiccup, barely making coherent words.

"I think we're already up to six anyways," he says and bends forward, his hands fiddling with one of my bound arms. "And it isn't even dark out yet."

"Six?" I whisper.

"Times that I've made you cry."

My right arm falls to the side. Loose. I can't move it. Numb. Heavy. My eyes follow his face as he concentrates on my left arm. "Make that six hundred," I rasp.

He sits down next to my head and takes my right arm in his hands, rubbing it. "How's that?"

"'Female driven emotion based dilemmas," I sneer. Then I grimace as circulation begins to return with a vengeance, an unbearable tingling rushing through my arm like a tsunami. "Ow!"

He grins. "It's a bitch, isn't it?"

I nod and groan.

"So what's been the dilemma?" He takes my left arm and begins to massage it.

I try to lift my right arm to wipe away tears, wine, snot; all the stickiness that feels as if smeared all over my face. I only almost hit my head and nowhere near my face before it falls, useless, back to the floor in an odd angle somewhere out of my sight.

He laughs out loud. "You won't be able to hit a cow's ass with that thing for the next fifteen minutes."

I huff and drag my arm across the floor until it lies along my side again.

"You didn't answer my question."

I bite my lip and endure as the tingling pain rushes through my left arm as well. "Why are you doing this to me?" I gasp.

He leans closer and licks my lower lip slowly, sensuously. "Because I can. Because you need it. Because you deserve it. Now be a good girl and answer the question."

Outside the night has taken over completely and a slightly chilly breeze drifts across the room. I shudder. "The dilemma being that I hate your guts and still want… you." I blurt it out as fast as I can, hoping that he won't catch the words.

"I really don't see the problem," he says, his nose practically touching mine. My now not-so-useless right arm has begun to search the floor next to me, hoping to find something, anything, that can be of use. I find the glass with wine. A quick calculation comes up with that shards of glass would be raining all over me if I smash it to his head. And it'll hardly incapacitate him anyway. So instead I aim and throw the wine in his face. And eye for an eye.

He blinks and gasp, his surprise real, and I twist trying to get my bearings right so that I can untie my legs.

With a growl, low and dangerous, he grabs my arms in his hands and pulls them up over my head, pressing them to the floor. His eyes are shadowed, dark and filled with rage as we stare at each other for a moment. Then his features lighten and he raises his eyebrows, wine dripping off of them as they move.

"Well, I guess I had that coming." He tugs hard at my arms. "You do realize this means war?"

I shake my head and try to form words. He tugs again and snatches a rope up from the floor, tying it tightly around my wrists. I groan when my still aching arms are forced into yet another uncomfortable position. Then he leans to the side and begins untying my legs, one at a time. When they fall free I try to kick out and roll out of his reach, but he scoops up my wriggling body and carries me to the couch where he dumps me before falling on top of me, pinning me to the cushions.

"Was it the 'dilemma' that set that off? Because before I thought we were getting along just fine," he pants.

"You fuckin'… get off me… I'm gonna… help!" I howl before he kisses me, stealing my breath, and that last cry, away.

Slipping smoothly in between my thighs, his hips buck into me. I let him in, welcoming the oddly familiar feeling of his weight on me. The skin on his legs is warm and the little hairs coarse. The proof of his arousal sends spikes of want from every corner and every crevice of my body.

"Oh God, please," I beg into his mouth.

"You're sending off very mixed signals," he mumbles back into mine.

I huff and force my tied arms up, threading them over his head, embracing his lean, warm shoulders.

His want is real. For real. No lies, no deception. Not this time. In rushed, jerky moves, he rids himself of his briefs and eases himself back up against my body, slick, sticky, and sweaty. He repositions his hips and for a moment we're absolutely still, unbreathing, new, and then he pushes forward, demandingly, needy. I cry out from the sudden fullness and completion; my gasp, my moan, and my breathlessness matching his.

"Leese," he pants. "Oh fuck, Leese!"

I hold on, clench my arms around his hunched shoulders, feeling muscles ripple underneath hot, damp skin as he moves in me with deep frenzied strokes. My legs curl around his back, pushing myself closer to him, him deeper inside.

His teeth crash against my mouth, probably bruising it, but I barely feel any pain. I suck on his lips, his tongue, savoring his taste, his scent and his immeasurable passion. His frenzy and my wriggling soon drives us off the couch, sends us sliding onto the floor where he rolls and pulls me up over him. He grabs my hips hard, his fingers digging deep into my flesh, and slams me down onto him over and over. I can't support my weight on my tied-up arms and fall. He catches me before I hurt myself and twists around again, tugging me back under him. The carpet is squishy and reeks of wine. I don't care. I yank at his hair and pull his face closer, catching his mouth again.

I vibrate, hum, drown. My whole body tingles and my breath comes in short gasp as the tension that has been building inside me finally meets its release in a first wave of rapidly clenching muscles. I moan loudly into his mouth and arch into him, desperately grasping for his shoulders, his neck, his heaving chest, spasm after spasm transferring through his body and sending him over the edge as well. He swells, fills me, devours my body and my soul.

Leaving me with nothing.

When we finally still, I let out a raw sob.

"I told you I'd ruin you," he whispers into my ear.

I look away. I still tremble.

When he stands, I swallow hard. Please, let me go! He is silent for a moment, then he snorts and I hear soft rustles moving away, naked feet on a plush carpet. My heart rate speeds up. Is he leaving?

I begin to uncurl and glance behind me. I can't see him and start pushing myself up off the floor. Just as I'm on all fours, a pair of dark-clad legs comes back into the room. My eyes trace the legs upwards. He's already dressed himself. His face is dark, stained with dried wine in irregular blotches. I push myself up further until I'm resting on my knees.

Jackson strides closer, slowly, with measured moves. "Jeez, Leese. You look like shit."

I wince. I'm sure I do. "You're no sight for sore eyes either, Jack," I snap.

He flashes me a half smile and crouches before me. "You do know what comes next, don't you?" he asks softly.

My heart stops. No. No I don't. I shake my head mutedly.

He lays an arm around my shoulders and pulls me to him, my back against his chest. His thumb strikes my shoulder, back and forth, back and forth, soothingly, sweetly. "Yes, you do, Leese," he whispers into my ear.

I inhale shakily. Then fear, full-blown fear, erupts inside me, making my world topple. Nononononononono!!!!! Nauseous, I attempt to wriggle out of his hold in spite of my tied-up hands, but he clamps his arm tighter around my chest. I twist and turn, trying to straighten my legs out from under me to gain some leverage, but he holds me down easily, making my efforts futile.

"Sh, sh, sh, Lisa. Easy." I calm slightly when I hear his voice. It's warm, full of promises.

When I feel the cold, sharp steel on my throat I scream right out. Loudly, panicky. His hand lets go of my shoulder and clamps down over my mouth, pressing the back of my head tightly against his chest. I hyperventilate and try desperately to shake him off.

"It'll be fast," he murmurs. "A quick sting and then nothing but numbness as you bleed out." He leans closer yet. "The way we should all go, if we have a choice," he mouths into my ear.

PLEASE! I try to say, but it only comes out as a muffled groan into his palm. Then he moves; his wrist flicks and it hurts. Bad. Reflexively, I arch upwards but he doesn't let go. Warmth gushes over my chest and thighs in growing rivulets. I fall back into his embrace and try to breathe in but I can't. My joined hands lift once and then they fall back on my legs.

He didn't lie.

The hurt soon fades as I begin to lose my body: my feet, my hands, my legs, my arms. The blessed numbness spreads rapidly and I feel light and heavy. I'm lighter than air, tied to the ground.

My head lolls to the side, coming to a final rest against his chest. From a distance I hear a heart beating.

His scent surrounds me.

There could have been another way… If only you had been another you.

Or I another me...