Freedom

Part 5: Say It

When nighttime falls in Arkham Asylum, rooms are locked. But people always find a way out.

Danica lay in bed. 3:00 in the morning. It was a struggle to fall asleep on an uncomfortable bed, barely any air conditioning in the summer and no heat in the winter; a "blanket" that served better as a fitted sheet than its original purpose. Oh, yeah, and the non-stop howling of patients through the halls.

"AHHHHH"
"IT'S THE FUCKING GHOST!"

There was also one man who was Danica's neighbor who would *incessantly* speak the words: "He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows" without taking a fucking breath.

Tonight was another sleepless night. No doubt, it could explain Danica's unnerved intolerance of her sick companions. She stared at the ceiling, rubbing her temples with two fingers to calm an oncoming migraine from the rambunctious berating all night long.

She didn't notice the vent screws come loose from the wall above her bed, nor did she have any awareness of a man gazing down at her from the opened vent pipe, smirking at her.

When she opened her eyes, she jumped and rolled off the bed, falling with a *thud* onto the floor. A cackle followed, and when she rose to her feet, she met Jerome's eyes.

He had taken a seat in the middle of her mattress, seated criss-crossed, unreasonably comfortable.

"I was hoping you'd be awake," Jerome drawled. "I considered sneaking in while you were sleeping, but nobody sleeps around here."

"Yeah," said Danica, unsettled. "I understand why."

"I can help you." Jerome said, scooting off the bed to stand beside her. "With your bed problem."

"I imagine you could." Danica replied.
He stood close to her.

"I have an idea." He whispered, though it was unnecessary to do this since there was that yelling going on.
"An idea?" she laughed.

"Oh, *Kitten*," he cooed, cutting the gap between them with his arms, "You have to know that there are many benefits."

His hands fell to her shoulders. Danica grinned.

"Yes," she responded, "I do."

Her lips came to crash on to his with little ado, resuming their passionate kiss from the previous evening. He didn't flinch in surprise as she had, but welcomed her spontaneous tongue by parting his lips.

Jerome wrapped an arm around her waist, his other came around to her neck, grasping her throat with a firm hand.

Danica's hands flew into his hair, a silent plea for him not to stop. He uttered a moan of approval, delighted. He turned her back to the bed and pushed her into the mattress. A knee went between her legs; his hands pulled free and pinned her wrists above her head. Jerome panted lightly, eyes glinting with arousal as he gazed at her—her eyes matched his.

"You," he breathed, "still have to say it."

"You already know."

"Of course, I do," he said. He pushed his knee gently against her panties; she knew that he could feel it. The heat from her had to be intense. That familiar ache  urged to Danica to say what she had to.

"Oh my God, okay." Danica whispered.

Jerome's fingers tightened around both of her wrists; he left one hand to hold them back. The other he left free to reach for her dress, sliding under the cloth to tap his fingers on her inner thigh.

"Say it." He teased.

"Fuck me," Danica hissed under her breath.

Jerome scoffed. He moved down her body, pushed up her dress to reveal her cotton panties. Silky, porcelain skin. A fucking Barbie doll. Jerome's desire pushed at his pants, but he didn't intend to fall first. He'd have her begging. A lot different than a rich girl could be used to. To make her talk, Jerome pressed his fingers against the V of her panties.

"You're going to have to do better than that. Say it a little louder."

"Please, Jerome," Danica squirmed under him, her legs spreading wide to give him more access. "Please."

Jerome grinned widely. Music to his ears.

He rubbed her clit through the cotton. He liked her as his pet, melting underneath him as he kneaded with three fingers against her hidden slit, a thumb on her clit. Danica's eyes rolled back in her head.

"Did your husband know how to touch you?" Jerome asked out of mild curiosity. "You're like putty right now, and we haven't even started yet."
Danica's hips moved against his head. She reached toward her underwear to make an effort to put him where she wanted—Jerome sighed and took her wrists in both of his hands.

"Baby, you still don't get it, do you?" He chuckled. "I'm calling the shots here. You want to rush this thing. We've got a lot of time."

Danica's lips curled into a smile. While she was not used to a drawn out spectrum of intimacy, she found his dominance to be incredibly arousing.

"Now we're playing my game, Kitten," Jerome continued when she could concentrate. "And we're playing my rules. So there's one thing you need to know about my sportsmanship."

"What's that, Darling?" Danica breathed.

Jerome took his fingers and replaced them between her legs, though sliding under the cotton barrier, touching her pussy with three fingers against her folds, the thumb on her clit.
Danica's hips bucked under his touch. She uttered a delighted moan. Jerome uttered a pleased sigh and answered her,

"I don't play fair."