Free Jake & Mimi by Frank Baldwin Page A

slipping off the floor, gaining it again, slipping off, her thighs tight against my
     knees, all her weight concentrated now on our one true point of contact — the shred of cotton that keeps my fingers from her
     softest spot. I find her eyes — pained, beautiful. Ten thousand times they must have melted her father’s heart, and never
     again if she can’t keep quiet during the seconds to come.
    I press, hard, on the very heart of her.
    Her body spasms but somehow she keeps silent, twisting what little she can away from the door, her head sent back now, her
     white throat taut, thrilling. I lean in. A tiny gasp escapes her but she fights back, pulling with her wrists against the
     unrelenting hook, her fingers clasped as if in prayer. Harder she pulls, still harder, desperate for any sensation, even pain,
     that will slow the explosion building in her. Her father’s steps reach the door, pass it, then continue down the hall, finally
     fading just as Diane Silio lets out the soft moan she needs to keep sane.
    Her cheeks are deep red now, her shining bangs damp on her forehead. One more hard touch and I will lose her, so I ease off,
     my fingers calm against the soaked cotton as I watch her tremble along the brink, whispering to herself, searching inside
     for strength, for some trick of breathing that will get her through the next round, which will begin, she knows, as soon as
     her father’s steps start up again.
    Through the door, faintly, comes the deep, metallic thud of the refrigerator door. It must be a relic — the one she knew as
     a child. She shuts her eyes tight again. Escaping through the years, perhaps. Seeing herself at five, her feet set, pulling
     hard on the big handle with her tiny hands as she dreams of the cold milk inside. I flick my fingers. A spasm rocks her. “No,”
     she whispers, opening her eyes, brought back to the moment as if out of a dream. Back to the binds, the pressure, the edge.
     “I won’t,” she whispers, shaking her head from side to side, but two more quick spasms rock her, then a third. My fingers
     are still now but her gasps come faster, louder, and her thighs go slack against my knees. I’m losing her. We hear the fridge
     close, the soft clink of a bottle on a countertop. Another spasm shakes her, another, and with the next one comes a moan,
     too loud, and then from the kitchen — silence.
    I don’t move. Two seconds pass, three, the only sound the sigh of the metal hook as Diane Silio strains with all she has against
     it, her head back like a saint. A single sound from her now and we’re lost.
    She bucks again.
    I reach with one hand for her mouth, to quell the cry that will give us away, but just as I do I feel — first in her legs
     and then all through her — tension. She is rallying, struggling back from the edge, finding, at the last second, true will.
     And through the door now comes the gush of tap water. She’s made it. A final spasm rocks her but she stills it, her breathing
     steadying, her thighs pressing hard against my knees again. And then her eyes open, open and find mine, and the look in them
     sends a charge clear through me.
    Gone is any trace of fear, of panic. In their place, acceptance, and something more — fight. Diane Silio signed on when she
     offered her wrists in the limo, and now, at her breaking point, she wants not mercy but
more
. She is with me now, a full partner in this magic ride, and her beautiful eyes dare me to take her the rest of the way, even
     as we hear, through the door, her father’s footsteps start up again.
    I stand quickly and take my hand from between her legs. She closes them, at long last, buckling with relief even as my fingers
     find the clasp of her skirt, unhook it, and send it to the floor. She steps out of it, her eyes holding mine, daring me still.
     I take a side of blouse, from the bottom, in each hand and pull away.
    Her smooth belly, taut from the gym, is so close it hurts, and her effort against