Viggo's Break - Chapter 17.1 - Something Good

Nyssa and Viggo are on the run from the law. They've been lying low but, now, it's time to make a decision. Nyssa wants them to go to New York and start a new life. Viggo intends to go back to San Francisco and to settle his score with the man who framed him for murder.

To know more, read Chapter 16.

Nyssa sometimes joked that she was a geek down to her DNA. She had always been. As a kid, she had collected marbles, Pokémon paraphernalia and rare coins. Nyssa’s personal favorite was a very fake Spanish dollar her mother’s best friend, Lauren, had given her. She loved the feel of it between her palms and she knew the trick to make it spin forever. She used to do it all the time.

She would balance it between two fingers, then set it spinning with the tiniest push. She remembered spending hours on end counting, one second…two…three…four…

Watching it spin, and spin, and spin. It glinted as it spun on its uneven edge. Steady. Steady. Steady.

Until it lost its precarious balance. When it met its first hurdle, she always thought it was about to fall on its face but, no, it never failed to master that turn. She deluded herself, then, that it would spin forever, steady as it had been at first but, no, something had gone wrong and, now, it hiccupped as it turned, hic…cup…cup…hic…

And then, it started twirling another dance, flap, flap, flap! One edge to the other, bam bam. Like a ship in rough weather. Until, bam! It landed on its back, looking up to the ceiling, bemused, as dead as the deadest rat, arms crossed over its chest, powerless in the stillness of beyond.

As she listened to the sound of Peter’s shower going off, Nyssa felt like the damn coin. Spinning wildly and fated to fall flat on her face. Nothing had been the same since the Lockit incident. He had said precious little about it and she hadn’t been brave enough to broach the subject.

As day after day passed, she had come to realize that there was a new purpose to him. The inconsistencies of the last few months had been magically smoothed out. He was tender now, caring in and out of bed. He made her feel cherished, he never strayed very far from her side, he always found a hundred reasons – and sometimes no reason at all – to touch her. His mood was lighter, he smiled easily, he laughed and teased again.

And yet, for all he was apparently happy, she sometimes caught him staring at her somberly. That’s when she had this question on the tip of her tongue. Peter knew it too. She could see trepidation in his eyes. Just one question. He wouldn’t lie. She just had to ask. There was no secret between them.

But one of them – or both of them – always curbed her tongue. They came at each other like fire meeting paper. Hungry, desperate, hot and rough with it. She wondered what stopped him. She knew she was petrified of losing him. If she asked, she would know. For sure. And she didn’t want to. She wanted to believe they would stay together like that forever.

The tiny voice at the back of Nyssa’s mind, the one that had kept her moving through Russ’s systematic abuse – that voice told her to get over it, that voice told her that she was as trapped in Viggo’s indecision now as she had been in Russ’s evil. Yes, he treated her better, but the end-result would be the same. She would still wound up dead at Russ’s hands.

They were so far behind schedule. They should have left the house on the beach before she even launched the Lockit attack. If not, that had been a game-changer, replacing news of Russ’s shady dealings and of the Saint-Paul break-out on TV and in the papers.

It was the perfect time to get a move on. But no, they were still stuck. Angry, frustrated and terrified, Nyssa made herself sleep, eat and generally go on. She was very good at making herself do the necessary, if unpalatable, thing. Did it bode well that the tricks she had taught herself to survive Russ came in such handy now with Viggo?

***

Nyssa was having the nightmare again. It was dark around her. Her heart pounded. The breath rushed in and out of her lungs so fast that it burnt her throat on the way down. She was winded, covered in sweat, hot and cold, like she had been running for her life.

But she hadn’t run, she couldn’t run. She was stuck! Her arms, her legs…She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe! They wouldn’t…She was pinned in place, caught in an invisible web, something hot and heavy pressing down on her.

The web jerked under her, rolled. Something was coming close, something was…A spider! The spider! The spider was gaining on her. She pushed against the weight holding her in place, but it wouldn’t give. Her struggles grew desperate as the spider drew closer.

“Come on, baby. Be a good girl.”

She couldn’t breathe anymore; the smell of spice and aftershave was too thick in the air. She could feel him, feel his hands on her, hear the sound of his breathing as he silently laughed at her. He was pinning her down with his entire body. She had never known how weak she was until the first time he had held her like that, his hands around her throat.

No, no, it was impossible. Russ was back in San Francisco and she was…

But his knee moved between her legs and she felt the whisper of his warm breath on her throat. She was paralyzed, every nerve in her body painfully alive. She could feel the lumps of the mattress under her back, could hear the annoying ping ping of Russ’s water heater in the next room, saw the shadowed ceiling over her head.

No.

It came from the core of her, from the hard survivor.

No, I’ve got a choice.

Making the only choice she had always had, she decided she’d rather die than have him touch her again. She opened her mouth to scream at the top of her lungs.

***

“Don’t touch me! Don’t…don’t! Don’t touch me!!!”

Nyssa didn’t fully realize that the arm and leg thrown over her were gone. She was tangled up in the bedding and, the more panicked she got, the less her struggles seemed to have any effect. That’s the only thing she was truly aware of – that she was stuck.

“Let me go,” she cried out, tears rolling down her face, her voice hoarse from screaming.

The male voice in her ear wasn’t Russ’s and that’s all she cared about, “…not touching you. Nobody’s touching you. You’re safe. You’re safe. Nobody’s touching you…”

“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me.”

She was begging now. She couldn’t free herself and her arms and legs were tiring.

“Nobody’s touching you. Nobody. I promise. Here. Let me help you.”

The bedding suddenly came unraveled. Her arms and legs were free, blessedly cool air bathing her bare limbs. She rolled out of bed and fell in a heap on the floor. Her hands shook. Her entire body shook. Her stomach heaved, the acrid taste of bile filling her mouth. The blood still pounded in her ears and her head hurt.

But she was back in the here and now, and she was drinking it in.

It was the parquet floor of the villa under her ass, not Russ’s cheap lino. The bed at her back was higher and the sheets were softer, a caress against the goosebumps that covered her arms. She couldn’t hear the household appliances – most were on the ground floor – but, through the open window, she could hear the waves crashing against the shore. And the man…

The man was Peter “Viggo” Carlsen. She raised wild eyes to him and she stared. Peter “Viggo” Carlsen. The one fixed point of her universe. The one island of light and goodness in her life.

“Nobody’s touching you,” he told her tentatively.

The expression on his face was one of concern but, in his eyes, she could have sworn she saw true fear.

“You can touch me,” she said, her voice low and broken.

He wasn’t sure he believed her. She wasn’t sure either but, when his hand came to rest on her shoulder, a shudder went through her and her body, which had been tense, pumping with adrenaline, came undone. She sighed, smoother, easier tears pouring out of her eyes.

Viggo, relaxing too, asked, “Back in bed?”

She shook her head. ‘Bed’. Even the word made her sick. Quietly complying, Viggo sat down by her side, their naked arms pressed together, shoulder to hand. When she felt a little better, Nyssa threw her head back, resting it against the mattress and she took his hand in hers.

Viggo bent his head to kiss her shoulder. “Will you tell me about it?”

“Tomorrow,” she replied.

“Alright.”

His easy acquiescence made her smile.

“What is it?” he asked.

She shook her head. She didn’t want to go into a long explanation. Still, she felt that he deserved for her to trust him with something she had never told anyone, “You know, when my mom first went out with Paul, I didn’t go easy on her.” Her voice had come out just a little lower than usual, so she went on, “I didn’t want another dad and I was a brat.”

“You can be a brat,” he said, nodding sagely. When she mock-punched him, he groaned and rubbed his shoulder in pretend-pain. “I’m sure you drove her crazy.”

“I did. But she wasn’t angry. She was sad – like we were a team and I had let her down. I asked her if she loved him more than me, more than my father.” He made an ouch face and she shrugged. It had been a dick move. “She said that life wasn’t simple, wasn’t clear-cut, that, in everything bad, there’s something good and, in everything good, there’s something bad. You just have to grab for the good, to hold on to it.”

Nyssa made an effort to look Viggo in the eyes despite how awkward she felt. She thought he looked like an angel, haloed in the moonlight that fell through the window. He wasn’t one, of course, because nothing was ever perfectly good. Plus, let’s face it, what would she do with an angel?

“You’re my something good, Peter, and, sometimes, I want to grab you so badly that it hurts.”

His cold blue eyes went so soft, so warm that they looked like the ice of them might melt, then, in typical Viggo fashion, he looked away, scratching his head. He seemed to notice the goosebumps on her legs and asked, “You’re cold?”

She laughed. He was being so obvious.

“My butt’s frozen,” she admitted, taking pity.

The parquet floor was pretty, but uncomfortable.

Nodding like he had thought as much, Viggo grabbed the bedding, started pulling it off the bed and wrapping it around her, arranging it on the floor. She just watched him – never a hardship. He was only wearing boxers. She raised a hand to her mouth to make sure she wasn’t drooling. He caught the gesture, started smiling that cocky smile, stopped suddenly and seemed to talk himself into playing big brother. It wasn’t what she wanted, him tiptoeing around her, treating her like a victim.

She crooked her finger at him. “Come down here, lover boy.”

He knelt back down on the floor next to her. “Dirty Dancing?” He leaned in to kiss her softly on the nose. “Who should be ashamed, now?”

“Hey, you recognized it right off the bat.” She grabbed his shoulder, lowered his face to hers again. “Don’t be sassy,” she said between kisses.

She finally deepened one and melted into it. He was so solid, such a relief after the nightmare. Viggo’s hand came to rest on her thigh, then moved up her back. Her smile widened against his mouth. The way he touched her told her that he had just remembered how much he wanted her. Dizzy with her power over him, she shivered.

“Sorry,” he suddenly apologized, drawing away, pink staining his cheeks.

“No.” She took his hand, pressed it to her stomach. “Don’t stop.”

He faltered, then flashed her his bright white teeth. “Whatever you want.” His fingers trailed down the curve of her belly. “Whatever,” he rasped, stroking, just stroking her. “Easy.” Those bright white teeth disappeared as he followed up with a kiss. “Easier still.”

She buried her fingers in his hair and brought his head up. “Who’re you calling easy, now?”

He chuckled. “Me.” He kissed her until her head spun. “Definitely me.”

Now, she thought. Now or never.

She pushed away from the bed, taking him by surprise, taking him flat on the floor, straddling him.

“Hm, Nys…What are you thinking?” he asked, looking up, desire and worry darkening his eyes.

She didn’t know how to answer so she avoided the question, “I don’t know. What are you thinking?”

“I’m doing equations.”

It stopped her short. She repeated, “Equations?”

“Well…You in your underwear, me in my underwear. One plus one equal two.”

She huffed playfully, raising her nose up in the air. “I’m also wearing a shirt, I would have you know.”

He tugged it off her, stealing her breath. “Now, you aren’t,” he said, his voice as hoarse as her own.

She had thought she would feel scared but all she could see was the tender challenge in his eyes. It was okay. It was really okay. “Smart ass.”

“Always complaining, woman. Always ordering me around. I feel like your whipping boy.”

Her hand followed a happy trail down to the most enthusiastic part of him. “Oh, you’re so mistreated.”

“Nysssss,” he hissed. “This equation…”

“Yes?”

“Getting harder.”

That retort startled a laugh out of her. How did he always do that to her?

“Maybe I can do something about that.”

“Mm.” He lifted himself on his elbows to nuzzle up against her neck. “I know you can.”

He did but it had always been playing before. Now, her panic attack was a clear reminder of how precarious their situation really was. So, she just spelled it out loud, “Let’s go all the way.”

His body went rigid under hers, but he just tucked her hair behind her ear, gently plucked her off him and down on the pile of sheets.

“We don’t need to do that,” he told her, sitting up. “I want to – very badly, but the only thing I’m more sure of – or is that ‘surer’?” His smile invited her to laugh but she couldn’t. “– is that I couldn’t bear to hurt you. Anything but that.”

Another tear slipped out. “Sex shouldn’t hurt,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t want it to hurt. But, even if it hurts, it’d hurt even more to spend my life wondering how it’d have been.”

Because you’re going to leave, went unsaid.

“Nyssa…” He pulled her in his arms and buried his face against her shoulder. Gently, she patted his head, sensing that he was coming to terms with the idea. “Alright,” he conceded at last. “But I’ve got conditions.”

“I’m listening.”

“I want you to know where you are, who you are, whom you are with. All along.”

She couldn’t blame him for being cautious after the horrible nightmare she had just had. She nodded. “I’ll tell you to stop if I…”

“No, honey.” He touched her mouth. “I want to hear my name from those lips at all times.”

“Viggo.”

“My name,” he repeated, a little forceful.

A little was sexy. A little was compelling. “Peter.”

“Yes.” He sucked the tip of one breast in his mouth, nipped at it. “Again.”

She wasn’t sure she could speak, and it came out as more of a moan, “Peter.”

“Slow and easy, I promise.”

She blinked at his serious face, then smiled. “I trust you.”

“Don’t forget. You just have to stop saying my name and I’ll stop.”

She wanted to kiss him, to tell him she loved him, to hurry him along. All she said was, “Peter.”

His grin made an immediate come-back. He teased her just the way she liked, with his tongue, his teeth, kissing, grazing his way down her neck, whispering endearments as she chanted his name. His hands were loving and bold at once. They weren’t quite rough, but they didn’t need to be to convey the impression that he was in charge.

They teased her breasts until her panties felt damp, but they didn’t stop there. Their slow strokes seemed to turn all her skin into one massive erogenous zone.

He kept demanding, “Say it. Say it, Nyssa,” when she chanted it like a mantra. His hand slid between her legs and they parted obligingly, so used had she become to his touch. His strokes were confident. He knew exactly what made her tick by now. He took ruthless advantage.

“Say my name, honey. Say it as you come. Say it.”

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” she panted.

His eyes were on her face. They burnt with a cold blue fire. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

She threw her head back, biting her lower lip. “Peter!”

“That’s right. We’re not done, honey. Hold on to my arm and don’t forget. It’s me.”

“I know.”

He started probing. Her grip tightened on his arm. It hurt. She hadn’t expected it to hurt. “Fuck, Nys, you’re so tight.”

“Sorry.”

His laughter sounded shaky. “Don’t apologize, baby. Jesus! Just relax.” He kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Relax. Trust me.”

She tried but it was as uncomfortable as it was pleasurable. He gently rubbed, carefully thrust in and out of her with his fingers, until the pain receded. “Is it okay? Tell me it’s okay.”

It was starting to…

“Don’t…stop, Peter…Please…Peter…I’m…I’m going to…Peter…”

His expression was pained as he pleaded, “Hold on, baby.”

“Now, Peter. Now!”

“Oh, shit.” He reached up for the nightstand’s drawer, but he was so febrile that he pulled it right out. He couldn’t seem to find what he wanted in the spillage. “Condoms? Where…?”

“Other side! The other side.”

“Damn it.”

She giggled. He smothered it with his mouth and threw himself over the bed. She wondered if there was a Guinness record of condom-donning. If so, Viggo was in the running because he was back so fast that she didn’t have time to panic. That came later – just a twinge when he first thrust in. He must have sensed her discomfort because he went still, bent his head and mumbled something about, “Eight fucking years!”

After all this patient coaxing, he took charge. Sex with Viggo was so straightforward, so normal. It pleased her that he could forget to treat her like she was about to break and just fuck her. She didn’t think she could get an orgasm from regular sex anymore, but she didn’t mind. She enjoyed the feel of him, the smell of his sweat, the sheen on his skin, the slow glide of their hips against each other.

Her own body felt warm and loose, and she was so not expecting to climax. She wasn’t expecting the wave of pleasure to roll over her without warning. It exploded out of her womb and radiated through her entire body. Her back arched.

“Oh, shit!”

A heartbeat later, Peter came too and collapsed on top of her. She could have thought of a more romantic expletive but, considering he hadn’t had sex in eight years, she decided to cut him some slack. His breathing slowed down, deepened.

“I’m heavy,” he growled sleepily.

“A little.”

He rolled onto his side. She tried to catch her breath while he got rid of the used condom. His head popped in her field of vision. “Was that okay?”

“Aren’t you supposed to pass out after sex?”

He raised both of his golden eyebrows. “Aren’t you supposed to push for a minute debrief?”

“That’s just plain cliched.”

“Ditto.”

“It was fine,” she grumbled.

“Just fine?”

Cocky son of a bitch. He was making her blush!

“Well, it was so-so but…” She patted his chest. “You’re a little rusty, it’s okay.”

His smile discomposed before her eyes and she couldn’t help an involuntary twitch of her lips. Of course, he noticed. His eyes glittered dangerously, and he hauled himself on top of her. “Now, you’re teasing me.”

“No, I’m not.”

He taunted her, “You’re in trouble.”

“Stop!” He was tickling her. “Stop that!”

“Tell the truth now,” he bellowed in his ‘zombie’ vice. “Or I shall tear it from your bleeding body!”

“It was okay,” she hiccupped, at last, crying from laughing too hard.

“Simply okay?”

“You’re the one who asked if it was okay!”

“It wasn’t a yes and no question. You were supposed to reply that sex with me was fantastic, remarkable, life-changing, eye-opening, …”

She pressed a finger across his lips. “Where is my Peter? The one who was essentially a yes and no kind of guy.”

He bit her finger playfully. “He just went through a life-altering experience himself.”

She threw her arms up in apparent dismay. “Oh, God…Sex makes you talkative. Who knew?”

He laughed at her antics. “Seriously, though, how do you feel?”

“I feel, hm…” She stretched lazily. “Great. Better than great. What about you?”

He intercepted her hand before she could touch him, and he kissed her palm. “How do you think I feel? I just got laid by a pretty girl.” He furrowed his brow. “It wasn’t just about forgetting, was it?” Just like that, the nightmare was back, a faint wisp in the room with them. “I’m sorry,” he immediately said. “I brought it back, didn’t I? Way to go…”

“It’s alright,” she told him, trying not to sound as shaken as she really was. “I had just forgotten. For a moment, there, our pasts didn’t exist.”

“Until I ran my mouth,” he said, self-hatred on his hard face.

She smiled and made a deliberate effort to lighten the mood, “Let’s just make a note of it for next time. No talking after sex. You’re bad at it.”

“I’m good at other things.”

His voice had gone low and sexy and he rolled on top of her, kissed her navel.

She buried her hand in his hair. “What kind of things?”

He grinned like a kid. “Why don’t I show you?”

To see more of those two, read Chapter 17.2.